The door opens, a rustic metal airlock complete with circular valve handle, groans under the pressure of age-old stains that glue its sides to the wall. I just notice the words Danger! Mutants! indented on the wall under layers of paint. I slowly peer into the bar, a rather macabre place filled with posters containing the words The End Is Nigh and dated 31,000. A pair of Squats tend a barbecue at the far left corner of the room, a large steak hangs over the edge of the gill. The wall behind it is covered in awards from ‘Best Tasting Rare Animal on Logans World’ to ‘Best Biohazardous weapon on Logans World’. All were awarded for their ‘Squig Surprise’.  I walk up to the men, desperately trying to strike some conversation into the quiet room.
        “What’s cooking?”
        “Zoat.” The fist man says in a broad accent that I cant quite put my finger to. He picks up a powersword and tries to cut a slice, but to no prevail. He leaves me pondering over the grilling chunk of charred flesh, the smell grabbing my sinuses and tying them into a reef knot. The man comes back with a lightning claw strapped to his left arm, the words Horus Wuz ‘Ere scraped onto the side. He raises it, the crackling from the generator lights up the room. The contents of the bar (customers being too vague a word) scramble under their tables, clutching their beers to their chests. I duck but find that I’m not so lucky than to have any thing (or anyone) to try and hide under. A flash lights up the room, the people with photo chromatic visors just cringe and bear it but the unlucky ones without run from the bar screaming.
    I open my eyes and noticing that the lighting has subsided to its usual dimness, I stand up. The rest of the bars occupants follow. I look around. The room was a techno-coloured burnished silver, although after the all-to-recent fried Zoat accident it’s been redecorated in burnt flesh with-a-hint-of-brain. The people in the bar were varied. A group of Primarches sat around a table discussing ‘old times’ and when ‘a credit could by you two Space Marine chapters, a couple of planets and still have enough left for an avocado sandwich,’. An Imperial squad of human bombs are gathered in a corner pushing screwdrivers into their explosive harnesses. Sufficed to say the rest of the people are keeping a safe distance between them and the Human Hiroshima’s, as they had been dubbed. A Genestealer Patriarch sits on a barstool, the actual seat disappearing between two chunks of fat. The Squat stands up, a pleased look on his face, the lightning claw clutching a piece of zoat hide. He walks up to me.
        “Sure ya don’t want a bit a Zoat? Last Zoat on Logan’s World, this.” I think about taking a bite but noticing the several pairs of diseased legs jutting out from under the barbecue grill I retire to taking a drink. The bar itself is situated on the right hand side of the room, the wooden bar top replaced by metal grating. An Imperial Beastman stood behind the bar , an apron around his neck advertising the slogan  ‘You Don’t Need To Be A Beastman To Work Here But It Helps’. He uses his right horn as a jar opener, since he seems to have gotten half-way through loosening a bottle of Squat premium XXXX when he forgot about it. It hung there, dripping corrosive ale onto the bar.
I was about to order their weakest beer (just looking at it can give you a hangover) when a Zoat walked into the bar. A cheer rose from the room, a rapturous wave of “Go Zoat, Go Zoat.” Made him (he, it, whatever) blush a putrid green. I look at the Squat who in turn looks down at his plate and then up to the menu where ‘Only One Zoat. Every Limb Must Go.’ is displayed in big letters. He reaches up and replaces ‘One’ with ‘Two’ and picks up his 7 foot carving knife. I smile at him, he just shrugs his shoulders and says: “S’ good fae business.”
    The Zoat sits down next to a brooding Ambull and tries to pick his nose through the respirator. I walk up to him and pull a chair up to where he’s sitting.
        “Hi.” I could think of anything else to say. Thankfully he replied.
        “Just been down the Post Office.”  He paused, wiping a tear from
his cheek. “Picking up my unemployment allowance. You know how hard it is to get a job when your a just another lost race on a forgotten world. I have a degree in Astral Engineering, was almost accepted into the Adeptus Mecanicus until they decided to bugger off looking for Genestealer cults of all things.” I feel sad for him, a single man (thing) stranded away from everyone he ever knew. Every month hoping someone will remember him, include him in their ‘possibilities for re-release’. Just a chance to fight again, that’s all he wants, a chance to roam the stars once more. I signal a group of Goff Rockerz who pick up their instruments and push themselves into the middle of the room. The sound of Orky Moozic fills the room, not as bad as some may think although not exactly my cup of tea. I smile at the Ambull and begin stroking his pet Bouncer, George. A group of Field Police enter, there beaked helmets creating another round of applause. From behind comes a Necron, the latest from the long line of alien that have been rejected by society. An Enslaver takes the Necron to a seat while his Scarab looks cautiously at the Bouncer. I smile at the thought of these people being friends.
    I look down at my own worn uniform, my Imperial insignia still shining after years of use, my light-blue shoulder pads glowing under the artificial sun. I pull my commlink out of my pocket and turn it on. A crackling noise greets my ears, although its hard to hear it under the blanket of noise erupting from the Rockerz. I smile again and readjust my curved helmet and think of home, Cadia. A lone Comm Officer in a world of misfits, mutants and warp entities. But I look around and see a room of friends; Ambulls with pet Bouncers; Genestealer Patriarches chatting away to Beastmen bartenders; Leman Russ passing his last drop of Squat Larger to a thirsty Thousand Son; an Eldar and a Dark Eldar immersed in a drunken daze singing old Orky war songs. I look around and see not what others see, not the horrors of war, nor a group of people taught from childhood to hate one another, nor the pain and fear of the old gothic ways.
Maybe in the 41st millennium there isn’t only war.
Maybe there’s hope for the universe yet.
 

Day 1:

        The deep, smoky air fills my lungs and burns through my throat like a hot iron. I sit, deep within my little hovervan, pushing the food around my plate.
        “Damnit!” I cry to the world at large. I pick up the plate and toss it across the room, sending its contents flying over the interior of the caravan. I take a deep breath and wish for something good to happen. There’s a knock at the door, I feel like throwing something else but manage to restrain myself.
        “Hello?” The head of Spike, the local Ambull, peers around the outside of the door.
        “Irrugagul jhak?”
        “It’s okay, I’m fine.” I had learned the Ambull language while living with one for five years in Joberoth City.
        “Isak marrok cho! Isak marrok cho tikrak!”  Spike yells out of the open doorway until the jumping form of George (his pet bouncer) comes through the door and sits gleefully on the bed.
        “Don’t shout at him like that-”
        “Jabba choilak ke!” The Ambull shouts at me, waving his arms around the caravan.
        “Sorry, she.” I can never understand a species where they call their females Jim and Bob, and -unfortunately for his pet bouncer-, George. For a species with 274 characters in their alphabet, they only have one word for ‘happy’ and twelve for ‘food’.
        I stand up, making my way around the large bulk of Spike that takes up most of the space in the small room. I push a bundle of papers away from a small metallic box that sits on a hovering table.
        “Time for some fun, Spike.” Spike just gives a grunt and sits down on a small table.
        One of the joys of being an ex Comms Officer is the fact you get to know all of the properties of a communications array as humanly possible, and on a small, isolated planet like Logan’s World these skills can be used to your advantage. Every day, for a couple of hours, me, and whoever happens to be there at a time, tune in to any of the Imperial frequencies in search of passing ships.
        “Hargrove, you know him, the guy who works at the outpost near Nedgir City. Well, he told me a couple of days ago that an Imperial Frigate was passing through this area, and a large one at that.” Spike just looks at me, a puzzled stare on his face.
        “Ossolok jerra? Perkask kelto fratiak, Logan’s World hysellalok bya.”
        “Yeh, I asked him that. I mean, why would one of the biggest ships of the Imperium risk Warp Storms and demons just to pass Logan’s World.” I begin hooking up the small box to the array of holo-monitors lined along the wall, the question still lying in the back of my mind. After a short while I finally finish and began surfing through the channels.
        “This is Break Fighter One, leave area and tail my tar-” Either a training mission around the space stations orbiting Logan’s World or one of the frequent pirate battles around Kelto-Sal, the first moon of Logan’s World.
        “-from Ganyemede to Titan, yessir I been arou-” Ah, someones rendition of ‘Lunar City Seven’, quite a well know hit in its time.
        “-an all escape pods, prepare for immediate evac-”
        “-Imperial Ship Uriga, you are clear for landi-”
        “-this is not my decision to make!” I look around to Spike who nods excitedly.
        “Always loved a good argument, didn’t you?” I turn the volume up and switch the monitors to view the scene. It seems like I’ve stumbled on one of the security cameras on an Imperial ship. Two men stand in the middle of the screen, one wearing an admirals uniform, the other one of a military captain.
        “Sir. Why are we here sir?” The captain says. “This backward little planet is nothing but a mining colony, and a reasonable one at that.” The admiral pulls his collar around his neck and shows the other man a small datapanel with lines and charts scribbled all over it.
        “You have been misinformed, captain. This is Logan’s World’s last report, as you well see the mining is becoming obsolete, the small amount of Imperial officers there are on a constant revolt. Twice this year already we have had to send a platoon of Marines down to deal with the outbreak. This planet is turning into the hell hole of this sector, the people are sick, malevolent people, the cities; a gothic representation of what we once were. This planet is a heresy waiting to happen, a world full of mutants and demons. A planet that must be brought to its conclusion.” Conclusion? What a polite way of putting extermination. “The virus bombing of Logan’s World will commence within days.” The other man looks around, hands placed on his hips, desperately trying to think of a reason to leave the planet alone.
        “How will you destroy Logan’s World, the planet is rich with minerals, and if you virus bomb it then it will be inhospitable for years.”
        “You are a fool, captain. Maybe you are just too young to know. After the Horus Hearsy,” the words forced a chill down the man’s spine, “the atmosphere on every new colony was infected with a different non-lethal virus, a virus that would alter the very DNA of the population. A D-virus. If anyone left then the virus would dissipate on its own, if anyone arrived, they would be infected too.” The captain looked confused. “Beneath certain locations around each of these planets is a bomb, a virus bomb, but a virus that would only contaminate the people with the D-virus of that planet.”
        “And  Logan’s World is one of these planets, yes?”
        “Correct. Where the bomb is held, in a small complex, are a team of people who have stayed there for almost a hundred years. If we give the order, the bomb will go off, killing everyone on the planet and destroying every last shred of the Logan D-virus. Then, after a week or so, we will land and re-establish the Logan’s world colony.” I feel the contents of my stomach rising in my throat. The captain smiles.
        “A perfect Exterminus, eh?”
        “Precisely my young man.” I don’t even wait for the conversation to finish. I turn of the monitor and push the box off the table with my fist.
        “Damn this. What the hell is going on here.”
        “Juberassta fergon hi kuyl eadka fratiak? Logan’s World gerkak’ol demka quelso licrak.”
        “Of course they’re going to blow the planet up, that’s what they said, I just... These people, the citizens of Logan’s World, are the only people left in the Imperium with a shred of sense, of decency. These people live in harmony.” Spike gives me a rather puzzling look, one of shock and confusion. I look out the window, at the burning midnight sky filled with the fumes of the factories and the towering shapes of skyscrapers.
        “I know. But this is how the Imperium made this planet. But we see people here that were born to hate each other living together.”
        “Daamon gor jyca frescor?”
        “I don’t know. Is there anything we can do?”
        “Dymasoraa.”
        “What? That’s.. that’s never been done on an Imperial outpost before.. I...”
        “Dymasoraa.”
        “Rebellion.” It may be the only way. Imagine it, a small world fighting against the might of the Imperium. If it wasn’t so stupid I might laugh.

Day 2:

        The bar buzzed with excitement and fear. I had just told them about the Imperial Ship and its bombing plan, and had even showed them the recording I had taken from the conversation.
        “We must act now!” Half of the room agreed with me, bringing up the cheers, but the other half huddled in their corners, quietly discussing their last days.
        “A agree, we canni just sit ‘ere and give these people whit they want. If I’m gonna die, I’m gonna go oot fightin’.” This remark came from Skag Hurthenburg, the dwarf who runs the barbeque every Friday night. We had already recuited a Necron who goes by the designation KBL-1721 (we named him Kable), the beastman bartender, Baarag (a man with a surprising talent for explosives), and a Dark Eldar, Nadgior Belek.
        “This is a suicide mission.” says Nadgior, raising his fist, a splinter rifle clutched between his fingers.
        “This is Heresy.” The whole room stops at this comment from a Field Police officer. The only sound breaking the silence is the constant heavy breathing. “It is. We all know it is. And Heresy is punishable by-”
        “Death.” The final words didn’t come from any of the people in the bar, it came from the doorway. All eyes turned too see an female Adeptus Arbites trooper flanked by five Riot Squad policemen. A group of people stand up too leave, but are met by the barrel of the Arbite’s shotgun.
        “Sit down, men. We have a lot to talk about...”
 

Day 3:

        The cell stinks of rancid mucus and rotting sick, I sit among this, pondering my future after the Arbite raid. I am chained to the wall, the iron shackles tearing into my wrists, burning through the skin. My speech centres have been muted and my jaws hang beneath me. I have been kept in darkness for the whole day, so there could be a hundred other people in the cell with me and I would never know. The food has been scarce and water pumped into my body with tubes. The room is windowless,
the only sound is the occasional screams from beyond the walls. Tears appear from under my swollen eyelids, puffed up by the hours of beating I was given by the Riot Troopers. I open my mouth to scream but to no avail. The door opens for the first time and the light hurts my eyes. I adjust to the light and look around, Nadgior Belek (the Dark Eldar) hang from the other side of the exceptional large room. Skag hangs there as well, his feet dangling just above the floor.
       The shadow of an Arbites trooper blacks out the light from the doorway. A woman’s voice echoes throughout the room.
        “Ah, Mr Brannagen.” She knows my name, how could she know my name. She walks towards me, the shotgun strapped to her waist. A badge clings to her chest, the shadow blacking out all the letters except one. D. She leans over me and presses some kind of injection device into my
neck. I scream, the words bounce around inside my skull.
        “We are about to take you for interrogation. You may confess here if you wish and save us the trouble.”
        “Where am I?”
        “You are on an abandoned space station. Now you may still acknowledge your involvement in the crime.” I look up at her masked face and begin repeating the chant I had been taught since I had joined the Imperial Guard.
        “My... my name is Joseph Brannagen. Designation 234-676. I am the chief comms officer of the 45th Regiment, Obsidian Talons.” The trooper takes a deep breath, shaking her head in defiance.
        “We have many weapons of torture, Mr Brannagen.”
        “My name is Josep-”
        “This is your last chance.” Her tone rises, each sylable sending shivers down my spine.
        “ Designation 234-67-” With lightning quick reactions, the trooper pulls her shotgun to my face, its shiny metallic surface reflecting the only light in the room onto her face.
        “Confess.”
        “Confess to what.”
        “Heresy.” She says the words without contempt or fear.
        “If I do I will die.”
        “And if you don’t you will be tortured, with the same results.” I look up at the ceiling, processing the options in his mind.
        “How did you know about the bar.”
        “That does not concern you.” She turns away from me at the sound of footsteps entering the room.
        “No. I think it does.” Says the unknown man. He steps into the light and I see him clearly.
        “Baarag?” The beastman walks up to me, his dirty apron replaced by the bulky form of an Imperial battle-dress uniform. He pushes the shotgun away from me.
        “Yes, Joe.”
        “Why?”
        “None of that matters now, the only thing that matters is that you are safe. And I can help you.” I look up at the face of my one-time friend, my pupils shrinking in the light. I feel the hand of Baarag push into my stubbled face.
        “How could you help me?”
        “By letting you free. If you confess that it was the other’s idea, Nadgior, Skag, Kable, maybe even one of the field police. If you do that I will let the rest free.” I spit into Baarag’s face. He wipes
it away and pushes my head into the concrete wall.
        “You are a very foolish man, Joseph. You would risk the lives of your friends instead of sacrificing one. If you will not make the decision, I’m sure one of the others will.” I cannot face the prospect of someone else sending me down for a crime neither of us did commit, although I doubt anyone I know would do such a thing. I have to make a decision.
        “Go to hell.” Baarag smiles, his yellow teeth showing through his horned face.
        “I kind of thought you’d said that.” Baarag sighs and shakes his head. “Your execution will serve as a message to the people.” He turns for me, disgusted and walks out of the room. On his way out he shouts: “Bring the man. His execution will start now.” The woman reaches for my arm, pulling the chains off the wall and begins to drag me from the cell. I brush myself off her, running up to where Baarag walks along the corridor.
        “Answer me this. How did you get back into the Imperial Army?”
        “My friend over there,” he points to the Adeptus Arbite following us, “let me into her own personal army.”
        “You know the Imperium now classes Homo-Various as a mutant.” Baarag stops and turns to look at me.
        “No. The Imperium takes Ratlings, Ogryns and Beastmen as members of the Imperial Army. It has always been so.”
        “You are wrong, Baarag. After the Horus Heresy your kind were taken and added to the forces of Chaos. You will be an outcast, do you believe this woman will uphold her claim?” Baarag takes a step back from me, as if I’m insane. He clutches his head as he is filled with conflicting thoughts.
        “No. Anyway, the Imperium has abandoned Logan’s World. They no longer care.”
        “Another misconception.” I lead him to one of the airlocks arrayed around the perimeter of the space station. Baarag looks outside at the closing hulk of the Imperial Frigate.
        “She never told me. I.. I never knew about any ship.” Baarag began pacing up and down the corridor, sweat pouring off his face.
        “What... what will they do to me if they found out.” I look up at his face, a face no longer one of happiness but one filled with fear and hatred.
        “You know what will happen.” Baarag had seen it a hundred times before. Back in the old days his team was one of the strongest Beastmen groups in the Imperium, but one by one the members were disappearing, taken by the Commissioner to the Extermination Chambers. A tear comes to
Baarag’s eye. I put a hand on his shoulder.
        “We can still make it.” Baarag smiles and pulls a keycard from under his cloak.
        “You go ahead. Kable is in the mechanics lab, just down the corridor, being processed and Spike is in the Artificial Environment Suite. The rest are in the cell.” I take to my heels and begin running
down the corridor.
      “Hey! You forgot something!” I turn around and see Baarag toss me the vials of the antidote to the speech-drug. I run to the cell, not noticing the strange absence of the woman or her guard.
I enter the small room of the prison cell to see the huddled figures of Skag and Nadgior squinting in the light. The light hits their faces, the scratches and burns becoming all too clear. I un-cuff them and press the syringe into their neck.
        “Ah! For the love of god, what the hell happened?” Skag shouted, fingering his laspistol satchel that lay empty beside him.
        “I would... I wouldn’t mind knowing either.” Said Nadgior wearily, rubbing the back of his neck and his wrists. I pull Nadgior and Skag to their feet and lead them to the small mechanics bay where the scattered remnants of Kable lie in a heap on a bench. I pull one of his limbs from under a sheet of paper while Skag picks the relevant mechanical chips from a large box marked ‘Stuff’.
        “Bloody amateurs. Place is a mess.” Skag mumble too himself while sieving through more boxes. He finds a small clipboard with the results of tests that have been run on Kable  (or Experiment 273 as he politely put it). The name ‘Brian D Schenck - Adeptus Mechanicus Artisan 1st Class’ adorns the top.
        “Sadistic, worthless human. Give me a Squat to a man’s work any day,” mutters Skag under his breath.
We eventually find all of the pieces of Kable and put them in a large box which Skag has to carry.
We  locate Spike sitting on a rock in a simulated garden nearby. The birds fly around him, occasionally blurring out of existence before returning with a bang.
        “Urgak, jobal fegulor. Perwok quntix hy exothg.” Spike said angrily as he storms out of the AES.
        “Too sunny for you eh?” Spike ignores my sarcasm. It seems these people don’t know that Ambulls originate from Luthar McIntyre IX, one of the warmest planets known to man.
        “Where do we go from here?” said Nadgior, sitting on a drainage pipe lodged into the wall.
        “Urrah dem kuldar fre ke dosa?”
        “I doubt it.”
        “We’ll have to find some sort of escape pod,” said Nadgior optimistically.
        “Why should the have any? If this is a pirate outpost why would they care about escaping?”
        “No. I worked on an outpost like this for some time and it definitely a prison station. And believe me, the guys who run this wouldn’t want to stay here while a riot was going on.” We make our way
to where I think the pods are kept, and I occasionally wonder where Baarag has got to. We reach the pods, only to find Baarag isn’t there. I look around the small hanger, its dirty hull and creaking bulkheads warped beyond all belief. The bay is a corridor, about ten doors line its sides, each one the entrance to one of the pods.
        “Baarag!” I shout, but my question is only answered by the screeching of the walls and the echo as my voice meets me again.
       “Maybe the bastard made a runner, look.” I spin around to see one of the pods has disappeared. I look down at my feet in disgrace. How could I think a man like that could ever be truthful after he betrayed us all.
        “Hello, Joseph.” The voice is one of a woman’s, and is oddly familiar. I see the figure of the Arbite, her gloved hand caressing her well-kept shotgun. She pressed the barrel of it against her shoulder and walks up to me. She passes Skag and walks up to a small panel set into the wall. Buttons array every side. She presses them one by one, each time the doors to one of the pods shuts and the surrounding light glows amber, then red. She pushes all buttens except one. Her finger lingers
over the ‘Enter’ button. She opens her mouth to speak but ends up just smiling at me.
The button gives way and the words of the computer grate through the room, accompanied by a warning siren.
----------------------------------------------------------------
PODS 1 - 9 RELEASING. PLEASE STAND BACK.
----------------------------------------------------------------
There is the sound of pistons heaving as the clamps holding the pods to the side of the ship release and the empty craft drift off into space.
       “Well. It seems there is only one left. What a shame.” The woman walks to the pod door and types in the long code to open the bulkhead. The door hisses open and she begins to walk in.
I look down at the small dataconsol the sits next to me on a desk. I smile as a thought comes to me. I begin rapidly re-wiring the pad from beneath, talking to myself while I work.
       “Now the Oxygen Recoil goes... here.” The array of pipes and conduits fall out form under the desk. Behind me, the woman desperately tries to eject the pod, constantly being met by security blocks that I set up.
With the warning lights burning though my eyes I finally hook up the system.
I smile.

The woman hits the table again, her fingers numbing with the constant typing. Every two seconds some other thing seemed to stop her, either another algorithm encryption or a mainframe virus. She pulls off her helmet, rubbing the sweat of her forehead. The heat swims around her, scratching at her skin and warming the inside of her suit. The vents above her head begin to spew gas, the cloud of smoke spreading throughout the small control room. The heat is becoming unbearable, searing into her skull and sending her in and out of conscienceness. The last thing she sees is a ball of burning fire hitting her full in the face.

I look away as the small window set into the airlock door is lit up by the flames inside. he woman screams, her burning body flailing around inside the compartment in pain. The sprinkler system is set off, cooling the pod and recessing the fire. The charred carcass of the woman falls to the ground, smouldering in the air.
       “Nice work. Almost as good as me, if I said so myself,” said Skag, admiring the circuits and wires held together with plaster. Nadgior looked at me and ventured a question.
        “What did you do, exactly?”
        “I rewired the environmental system in the pod so it though there had been a coolant leek in the control room. It activated the Fire Enducers to get rid of any liquid nitrogen and then the sprinklers to
eradicate and left of flames.”
        “Nice touch. A plan worth of a Squat that is.” Skag said, trying to fit ‘Squat’ into every available sentence. I ignore him and open the door to the pod, dodging the scorched hull and letting Nadgior, Spike and Skag (complete with Cables body parts) into the pod. I look down at the fried remains of the woman, whoever she was. I kick her body out of the door, and upon noticing a small tag on the floor, I pick it up. It is a name tag, the words Adeptus Arbites clearly written on the bottom. The name had been burnt off, all except a single, capital letter in the middle of the tag. D.

Day 4:

Baarag sits in darkness, scowling under his breath and cradling his aching stomach. Suddenly a light flashes on from above him, beaming a single ray down upon his crouched body. He looks up, dodging the blinding light.
        “You are a mutant.” The words bellow out from every corner of the room, the darkness is lunging out at him with invisible, ferocious arms.
        “To be Unclean. That is the mark of the mutant.” The words are so loud, loud within his aching head.
        “To be Impure. That is the mark of the mutant.” Still he crouches, hiding away from sight and sound.
       “To be Abhorred. That is the mark of the mutant.” Make the voices go away.
        “To be Reviled. That is the mark of the mutant.”
        “Nooo!” he screams, but the words reach deaf ears.
        “To be Hunted, That is the mark of the mutant.” Pain, pain go away, come again anot-
        “To be Purged. That is the fate of the mutant.” Echoes surge though his ears like a knife.
        “To be Cleansed. That is the fate of all mutants.”
        “No, no, you’ve got it wrong.” He breaks down into tears. But the darkness doesn’t care.
        “To be Unclean that is the mark of the mutant......”

The space outside spins around as the small lifepod 'Oberosca' slowly makes its way though the darkness around it. The pod is furnished quite well, obviously this was one of the more lavish of the craft for the lords of the prison we had so recently left.
Skag pushes his squat form over the cushioned chair and to where a bunch of circuits lies in a small box. He pulls a mechanical skull from beneath the pile and begins hitting it with a small hammer.
        "What the hell are you doing?" I say, stopping his arm in mid-swing. Skag grips my hand and begans to sqeeze. I let go and start to rub my wrists while Skag continues his work. He hits the head another time and a small flap on the side opens up. A concealed box appears, bleeping and whirring, and is placed on the table.
        "What is it?" I say, still cradeling my hand.
        "It's a  communcation unit, taken from Kable's headset. It we can get it up and runnin' we can use it as a beacon to contact home." I smile and pull a small datapad from one of the walls. Dials and meter
readings cover the screen.
        "We have another problem. The fuel will run out in 6 hours. We need to land." Nadgior hears this and runs up to where we sit, his face full of the paronoia we have all come to know.
        "What? Where will we land?"
        "The first moon of Logan's World, Dethlon." Skag says, wearily, still tinkering wit the machine.
        "No, we can't. Dethlon's gravity is twice that of the planets. If we land we'll drop like a stone, the thrusters will be useless." Skag thows the Odiencutter to the floor.
        "What do we do then?" he says.
        "We could land on Logan's world itself, although we won't have any room for error. We will probably land at the closest point and we will have to make a straight run, no time to dodge other ships."
        "Barrathazo delmok sw ingrfea? Logan's World frohtyuon ger jublon sek." Spike screams from the other side of the room, his feet pushed into a group of pillows.
        "Ahh.. that's right." I push my self back in my seat and ponder the situation. "The atmosphere of Logan's World is rather high, and since we need to use more power to pilot through high gravity areas we will need to take the last part of the trip freefall."
        "Freefall? No way, no, never." Nadgior shifts unsettelingly in his chair. Skag thows a small instument at Nadgior, narrowly missing him and making a quiet *clunk* on the floor.
        "Shut up. Anyway, when will this start?"
        "It will take about five minutes to program the computer, bypassing the safety protocols and the like. After that we'll just have to sit tight and hope for the best." I avoid Nadgior's gaze and usher Skag to a small control console where we begin to ype franticly the final landing code.

    The stars outside dissapear under the blanket of red that is the atmosphere of Logan's World. Heat is pushing its way through the bulkhead and against Skag, who is leaning against the wall and staring out of a small porthole. The landing has begun, and I sit near the front of the craft and stare out into the burning sky. We discovered halfway though serching the pod for supplies that the secondary oxygen tank was jettisoned into space - along with most of the surrounding hull. One of the corridors comes to an abrupt end in a twisting mass of burning hull. The only thing stopping me from being thown into the storm outside is the temporary force-field in place. I hear the large thumping footsteps of Skag's heavy-duty boots as they
close on me.
        "Sir? We have to move. The pod is landin' in 5." This is the first time Skag has ever called me 'sir', although it doesn't appear to matter anymore. I stand up and nod at him. I take one last fleeting glance at the dark sky, glinting beneath the scarlet vail, and leave the corridor. I hear the hiss of the bulkheads as the final preparations are made for the landing.
The ship spins, the leg struts appear from the bottom of the pod.
We push ourselves into maglev-boots and brace for the inevitable.
The inevitable arrives.

    The sand covers me up to the waist and I just manage to pull my self onto a control panel. The heat had made the panel warm, although from my elevated height I can see Spike pushing sand from his ankles and Nadgior
helping the reluctant Skag from his grave in the ash. I manage to make my way out of a large hole that has been dug into the
side of the ship by a clump of rocks. Outside is nothing. Nothing is a rather bland word to describe the emptyness I see around me. There is the occasional rock in the distance and a set of mountains to the right but nothing of any importance.
        "What.. what happened?" says Nadgior, clutching his head in pain.
        "The stabalisers collapsed and the gravthust motor packed in. It was lucky for us we crashed near a mountain range. The bloody rocks broke our fall." Spike is pushing some electronic equipment with his claw.
        "Edsado berfalo hjhygthsad ? Metragor novascol." I walk up to Spike, who is franticly pointing to a small screen.
        "What is it?" Nadgior says from the background, where he is nursing his wounds.
        "It seems... it seems we have crashed near the city of  Helsreach."
        "A city? That's a good thing."
        "Yes and no. According to my watch - if it isn't broken that is - a busride will be passing through in about an hour. I worked on the trips for a year before turning to the Imperial Guard." Nadgior smiles from under his bleeding.
        "Bus?"
        "Yeh, if any of the inhabitants of Logan's World want to get beyond the mountains they need to take one of the many busrides that are run by the pirates." There is a rumbling from behind me. A trail of smoke was followed by the violent screams from the pirates. A small group of buses, armed to the teeth with autoguns and Heavy Bolters appear from over the horizon.
        "Seems ya watch isn't as exact as we all hoped." Skag says, turning to grab his bolter and chainaxe. Nadgior begins to look around franticly.
        "Time to go. In the opposite direction, if possible." He picks up a Splinterrifle and heads for the city. At that exact moment an army of Imperial Riot Troops begin to converge on the small site.
        "Bloody hell, reinforcements." Says Skag, dropping his axe to the ground and starting to wave his arms around franticly. I begin to rummage around for my Imperial ID card.
        "Shit. My card, Baarag took my card when we were on the prison station."
        "So? Just tell them you're on their side."
        "It isn't as simple as that. These troopers don't take anything with an open-mind. If we have no ID they'll think we're one of the pirates."
        "Agh, shit." Says Skag, picking his weapon back up and preparing to fight. I pull out my miniature copy of the Adeptus Codex while Skag gets out one of his family's ancient tomes from his back pocket. We both look up to the attacking forces with dread.
        "A wise man once said that no army could conquer the galaxy but faith alone could overturn the universe. I think we are about to find out, don't you?"