They’re Aboard – Epilogue

This is the unofficial story of Reserve Imperial Guardsman Kye Cromp. When the defenders of the massive warship Honorable Action die to the boarding swarms of monsters, Kye’s journey to escape will bring him face-to-face with horror.

Start at the beginning.


The human sits in a cold cargo hold, its hands clammy from the damp. It rubs its larger eyes, wiping goop off on a dirty shirt. The scabbing at the base of its neck itches. Flipping the collar up does little to abate the chill. Memory hints to it that the body remembers such a chill, but it’s more a dream than concrete recollection.

The bulk cargo ship also serves to shuttle passengers. Many people are spending their trip among the ill-insulated containers, storage, whether for holding food, goods, or luxuries. Their destinations for some populated world are the same. For them. For it.

They are coming out of Warp travel. It’s a strange place to go. There are voices without bodies that want to talk to the human like as they prattle to the other humans, the creatures without a family who are ones among none. This human is accompanied by many and can give the whispers no heed.

Bells chime. Orbital entry is close. The human gets up, joints aching in the low temperatures. It doesn’t mind. There’s work to do.

It has long since memorized the paths needed to traverse the labyrinthine aisles between the stacks of freight. With walls whose heights disappear into the gloom above, privacy had been easy to come by. Walking to the main sections only takes minutes.

Before the section’s airlock, many others join the human. They are its family, its handiwork during the length of the dismal voyage. Every one of them smiles at it as their paths converge. It doesn’t know if they recognize how special they are to each other, but it need not wonder about such things. These former strangers are ready for the work ahead.

There are no guards at the hatchway. Security must be looking after the more lucrative passengers. Stepping into the bright light gets the human to squint.

Strolling through the polished halls, members of the family split off down side corridors. Their absence does not disturb the human. Those travelers will find their way to other departures, other ripe vistas teeming with life.

The vibration of atmosphere baking along the superstructure hums in the walls. The human feels the rumble of retrograde engines in the roots of its regrown teeth. The sensation goes away soon enough.

A group of civilians mills about outside of their cabins. The crowd is large. It works a way among them without recoil or pause. No one troubles the filthy wanderer. The vox speakers direct all non-essential personnel to gather at the unloading ramps. A tide of bodies carries the human along as it blends into the soon to be departed.

Waiting doesn’t last long at the exit. With a gentle rocking of the deck, the ship touches down. A smooth, reassuring impact evokes a quiet cheer among the passengers. The human smiles because nothing is stopping its work.

Pressure changes in a hiss. Gates the size of buildings perform a gentle slide along their tracks. The crack between them sheds glorious sunbeams onto the upturned faces of the crowd. Of the dirty human. Its eyes adjusting to the shine, it looks out on the field of wonder.

Megastructures lose themselves in clouds on the horizon. Ground transports zoom along tiered levels of roadway. Ungroomed trees dot the far fields of the landing zone. Able bodied folks, elders and children alike, go about their business. It seems all is right with this peopled world.

Boots stained with human and inhuman blood march off the ramp. Crowds swallow their wearer into superficial oblivion.

The human breaths deep of the crisp air, itself hinting only slightly of ozone, a taint of smog. A tear wets its cheek. “So many to join us in communion,” it says, voice lost in the commotion. Everything was right for this one of many.

This unofficial work is published under the Intellectual Property Policy of Games Workshop Limited:

Published by

Jimmy Chattin

Processor of data, applier of patterns, maker of games and stories.

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