The beam of the lance caught the raider more or less right in the middle and very nearly cut the ship in half. Superheated metal gobbets the size of hab-blocks sprayed into the void, glowing violently, and secondary explosions rippled across and under the surface of the vessel.
One especially violent detonation did actually succeed in finally bisecting it, severing what few scraps connected the prow and stern and the two halves slowly started drifting apart from one another, held together only with a few slender, slowly unlooping trails of ducting and pipes.
Like intestines, really.
The sight of the stricken, dead ship filled the main pictscreen on the bridge of the Assertive. It filled a good few of the other screens, too, some in greater details, but none quite as spectacularly as the main one.
"That went well," said Jarrion, beaming.
The last few months had been exceedingly dull, at least as far as he was concerned.
While his father and his brothers were off doing important, exciting work on the fringes and out in the black he was stuck here safe in the practically civilized bosom of his House's freshly carved territory. Rugged and positively rural by the standards of the Imperium proper, it was a damn sight more civilised than where he would have preferred to be.
He was on the map, and while the ink was still wet - as it were - he was still in known territory, rather than out there charting it. This rankled.
Important work, to be sure. Flying the flag of House Croesus, ensuring that the colonists remembered upon whom their safety chiefly relied. They might have had the light of the Imperium let back into their lives courtesy of House Croesus or else been given a chance at a new life on a virgin planet, but the authorities were stretched as it was.
It wasn't the Navy looking out for them, that was for sure, and these people would do well to bear that in mind.
The point was Jarrion could see why it had to be done, he just wasn't especially happy being the one doing it. He felt like a prop, not so much like a Rogue Trader. But that was being the younger son for you.
He had been given command of the Assertive - a fine and redoubtable Dauntless - for the task several reasons. For one, it would easily handle the worst of what he might expect to find, what with raiders and pirates still lurking here and there as they were wont to do in the wake of such upheaval.
For another, it was more impressive than a frigate, and being impressive was important. Important to be seen and to be seen as a House of means. And for a third, it was outfitted for extend operation which meant he could wander around for as long as was needed.
A bonus on top of that being that the same facilities that allowed it to remain operation for so long - the on-board manufactorum, for example - were the very same that allowed the Assertive to provide the occasional spot of assistance for flagging colonies. The supply of freshly-constructed spare parts for broken machinery, a new piece of farming equipment here and there, a few crates of lasguns to help them keep themselves safe on those long, cold, frontier nights, and so on.
That sort of thing always went over very well with provincials. Very helpful in reminding them to whom their immediate loyalty lay, in a way that didn't rely on blowing something up from orbit. Always better, Jarrion felt, to open up with the niceties and fall back on the guns if your largesse was unfairly rejected.
Probably one of the reasons why his brother didn't like him. One of the reasons.
Jarrion watched as the raider vessel's halves spun further away from one another. Unlike some of the smaller ships that had already been taken care of, this one looked to be of actual Imperial make, albeit very old.
The make and model was a mystery to Jarrion, but certainly it appeared to be a cut above what he'd encountered so far. Likely the lead-ship of the bunch. All the others had been rather ramshackle, locally-built ships obviously operating out of a base of some sort - likely operating from this very ship currently spinning into two pieces and venting into space.
It was difficult to pick out the exact details given the distance, but the twinkling detritus and debris ejecting from those damaged compartments open to the void caught the light every so often. Some of that debris, Jarrion reflected, would be crew.
He wondered if they'd had enough time to regret their life choices.
"Excellently handled, my Lord," said Torian, a man by Jarrion's elbow who looked like a stiff breeze might snap him in half.
Nominally Jarrion's seneschal, actually just there to keep an eye on him and report back to father. Not that Jarrion really minded, much. He was very useful to have around because he was better at remembering the fiddlier, more tedious details that often proved surprisingly important.
That, and having been around so long meant he was also packed with anecdotes. Some of them were sometimes even useful.
"Why thank you, Torian, very kind of you to say," Jarrion said without taking his eyes off the screen. His first actual ship kill. The ramshackle little ships had hardly counted, being suitable only for bullying colonists stuck on a planet surface with no way to fight back.
They'd run on his approach, not even trying to fight. They had not got that far. But they did not count, particularly. This one, though, was closer to a proper ship, and so did. His first actual ship kill.
He was sure he was meant to feel something about the moment. Something momentous and important. But mostly Jarrion was just glad it hadn't gone wrong. Not that he let this relief show.
"I think it might be worthwhile investigating that wreck, don't you?" He said, finally turning to look at Torian when speaking. Torian, in turn, blinked in surprise at the suggestion.
"My Lord?" He asked.
Jarrion waved a hand back towards the pictscreen.
"On the off-chance that our raider here is part of a greater group rather than a lone wolf. Maybe he has friends. We may find information as regards their base of operations, if any. Seems wise to me."
Jarrion had spent considerable time reading up on this sort of thing prior to arriving, not to mention asking some of the House staff who had naval experience. He'd felt it wise to be as informed as possible, and this seemed to him a fairly sensible thing to do.
"Pak," Jarrion said, turning to Magos Pak who was stood nearby, plugged in and staring blankly into space. That dead, grey face swung in Jarrion's direction and Jarrion did his best to look as if he had got over how disarming he found this.
Prior to his command, his experience of and contact with the Adeptus Mechanicus had been rather limited.
"Pak, data gathering would likely be your wheelhouse, wouldn't it? Might be worth our time sending over a techpriest or two, wouldn't you say? Could you please see towards organising them for me, in the spirit of cooperation and mutual advancement?"
The Magos nodded, and their mechadendrites unplugged and replugged themselves into different sockets. Presumably this did something, though what wasn't clear.
Jarrion wasn't entirely sure where his father had picked up Pak, nor why Pak had insisted on being placed aboard the Assertive. But they had, and they now were. The constant silence had taken some getting used to but Pak was at least reliable.
He then turned to the Master at Arms, standing at the ready not too far away.
"Organise some armsmen to make up the boarding parties, if you'd be so kind, Master at Arms? There'll probably be at least one compartment that survived and they might be happy to receive visitors, you know how these things go."
"Lord Captain," said the Master at Arms, saluting and departing at speed.
And with that things became rather subdued, the previously chaotic activity on the bridge settling back down to its usual level of quiet hubbub, the sort that indicated things were proceeding comfortably without issue.
Jarrion remained standing, hands behind his back, eyes on the pictscreen, watching the wreck twist ever further and further apart from itself, almost like it was a ribbon unwinding.
Odd ship, now that Jarrion could look at it without gunfire clouding the view. Human, clearly, so presumably Imperial, but then again perhaps not. Unlikely anything Jarrion had ever seen before, certainly. Very sleek looking. Perhaps some odd, old local design. Something the raiders had dug up somewhere.
Could have been anything, really.
Now that he thought about it, seemed a bit of a shame to have wrecked it so utterly. The thing might have had some value. Too late now. Hopefully they'd find something on board to ensure it wasn't a complete waste. Possibly even archeotech, if they were very lucky!
Father would like that, Jarrion was sure. Certainly, it would get his attention. Though that might not necessarily be a good thing, Jarrion realised. Still. Such was life.
A little less than an hour later a pair of lighters departed, and Jarrion watched them make their way through the black towards the dying, possibly dead, ship. They'd probably take a little while to get there and a little while after that to get properly established, but he was very keen to hear what they found.
Then, a flurry of activity from the crew manning a bank of consoles to Jarrion's right.
"Warp drive breach!"
Alarms blared and automatically the lightning on the bridge slammed over to emergency, bathing everything and everyone in red. Jarrion found this unhelpful, but could do little about it.
And right now he had other things to worry about.
"What? That's a local ship! We didn't read a drive, did we?" He shouted, storming over to the consoles and hunkering down behind the frantically-working crew.
Nothing had indicated it was anything other than a system-bound ship. Readings had not shown anything to make them suspect otherwise. Not that this changed anything at that moment. The wreckage on the pictscreen was beginning to distort, as though viewed through the bottom of a glass. The distant and barely-visible shuttles of the away teams could just about be seen to be frantically turning back.
"It's just spiked! Out of nowhere!" Yelled the crewmember over whom he'd hunkered, hands working furiously across the controls, console lit up with warning runes.
Jarrion turned, arm flung out, finger pointing, voice rising above the din.
"All power to engines, get us out of here at-"