Back from the Brink

“Get up Ian! Dyrke’s been hit!”

Ian fought to clear the fog from his brain. His body was bone tired and his mind was a complete blank. Oh the man now standing over him, handing him his tool kits, was loud enough – but he could not quite wrap his mind around who was yelling at him or where he currently was. As he stood up Ian took the offered tool kits.

“Come on kid!”

The caller was spattered with blood. His name… what is his name? Katan, his name is Katan.

“Wh…where is he?,” was all Ian could manage to say.

Katan darted out of the room and Ian jogged after him. It was all coming back to him. Dyrke, the trials, his completion of the test… he had become a member of one of the gangs. Ian picked up his pace.

As Ian turned the last corner he ran into the back of Boanerges nearly barreling him over. As he slipped in between the Van Saar heavy and Katan he saw Dyrke sitting on the edge of a table holding a bandage over his left shoulder. His bodysuit was covered in blood but he seemed alert. Ian dropped his tool kit on the table next to his new leader and reached for the bandage.

“Not me kid. I’ll be ok. Go take care of Rogers over there.”

Ian turned around. Lying on top of the table was Rogers, obviously in pain. Cacee struggled to calm the man down. Blood was everywhere and for all the man’s struggles it only made it worse.

As he stepped up next to the table Ian could see that Roger’s lips were a light shade of blue. If he could not get adequate air flow restored the man would die. When Roger’s arched his back trying to draw a breath Ian noticed the bullet wound. An ugly hole, with white foam, was evident on the left side of the chest.

“I need a sheet of plastic!”

Nobody moved.

“Katan! Run back to my room. There’s a small pack of food. Get it and bring it back! Go!”

Turning back to Rogers Ian calmly stepped between Cacee and the patient. With help the two men sat Rogers up and cut off the rest of the fabric around the wound.

Katan returned with the meal pack and handed it to Ian. He cut open the pack and let the contents spill to the floor. Pulling a small bottle of antiseptic from his tool kit he handed the items to Cacee.

“Cut the plastic so that it is one flat sheet and then clean it with this,” was all he said to his helper. “Rogers, I need you to calm down. All you’re doing right now is bleeding… calm down… that’s it. Look at me… focus.”

When Cacee handed the plastic back to Ian he immediately laid it over the wound site. Rogers winced in pain but sat still.

“Tape!”

Cacee fumbled through the tool kit, the contents of which now lay everywhere, and handed the tape over.

As the Ian taped the piece of plastic in place Roger’s countenance improved and he took a deep breath.

“Easy… lay back down. Can you roll over on your left?”

Rogers moved to roll over but growled in pain. Sending Katan back to his room once more, this time for a pillow or sheets, Ian continued to try and make Rogers comfortable.

“Can you talk?” Ian asked.

“Yea,” Rogers replied in a raspy voice.

“Are you hit anywhere else?”

Rogers just shook his head and took another breath. His lips were now returning to a normal shade.

Katan returned with the sheets and Ian used them to prop up Rogers’ feet, head, and right shoulder.

“I’m all out of pain killers, but you should be ok.”

Turning back to Dyrke, “he needs something more than a band aid.”

Dyrke shook his head, “you’re it kid. Just do the best you can.”

Ian frowned. He was no doctor, and his little tool kit was not even an adequate first aid kit.

“Let me look at your shoulder.”

“Don’t worry about me kid. I’ll be fine.” And with that Dyrke hopped off the table and turned to leave.

“You did good out there kid… and in here. Welcome to the team.” With that Dyrke walked on out.

The fatigue threatened to overtake him once again. “What have I gotten myself into,” Ian asked himself. The rest of the team had followed Dyrke out of the room. Looking back at his patient Ian noticed that he had passed out, but he was breathing ok.

He couldn’t help himself. Clearing off the other table Ian just laid down and fell fast asleep once more.

One of Them

“Come on lad. Dyrke will have my hide if I don’t get you out of the area in one piece.”

Ian’s ears had stopped ringing and the little white dots clung only to the edges of his vision. He shrugged to get the large man to stop long enough so he could stand on his own two feet once more.

“Why did you save me Boanerges?” Ian said as he looked the severely scarred man in the eyes. “I thought this was my test?”

“You made it all the way to the door on your own kid, hell of an effort if I do say so myself.” The Van Saar heavy shifted the heavy machine gun in his hands. Ian could not help but stare at the scar move as the man spoke. “When you went down to your knees I thought you were gone, but you never stopped moving until you reached the door.”

Looking back into the man’s eyes Ian replied, “I don’t remember anything after that slug slammed into this.” Ian held up the nomad rifle he took as proof of his trip. Looking down at the rifle it was a mess. The optics for the scope was smashed out and the firing chamber had a breach where a large caliber slug had tore into it as Ian carried it across his back.

“Hey, all I said was that you had to bring proof of reaching ‘Hell’s Gate’, I never said anything about pissing of any Nomads. They don’t take too kindly to us hivers being out in their turf, not to mention the pilfering of their goods.” The heavy had a gleam in his eyes. He smacked Ian heavily on his shoulders. “You’re good enough for me kid. Just as soon as we get back to the ‘Bifrost’ the first round is on me.”

BAWHOOOM!!!!

The sound of the Nomad demolition charge caused Ian’s ears to ring once more. Dust and metallic chaff filled the small dome. Both Ian and Boanerges regained their feet and looked back for Dyrke and the rest of the team.

Dyrke was standing in the middle of the dust storm that now howled through the breach of the hive wall. “Boanerges, get the kid and Cacee back to the Bifrost. We’ll be along shortly!” And with that he and the other two Van Saar began shooting into the breach.

Cacee’s autogun and Boanerges’ heavy stubber joined the chorus of the battle now being joined.

“Move back kid!”

The heavy motioned his head over his shoulder. Looking down at the obviously useless las pistol in his hands Ian hesitated.

“I said get moving!” and with that the Heavy let loose a long burst from his weapon as if to emphasize his point.

The staccato of gun fire began to increase. The Nomads had started to return fire in an attempt to suppress the Van Saar and gain the breach.

Ian slung his trophy across his back once more. Once he reached the relative safety of the shadows in the back of the dome he stopped. Cacee had joined him and aimed his assault rifle back towards the gaping wound in the hive.

The Nomad return fire was furious and was beginning to overwhelm Dyrke and his fellow defenders. Ian looked through the haze trying to spot any of the rest of the team. Katan had Rogers under his left arm while in his right he braced his autogun. Firing from the hip Rogers kept the Nomads at bay for the moment. With his foot Katan kicked open a grate in the floor and glanced down and seemed to be talking to someone. The man then lowered his cargo as gently as he could, stood back up and let loose with burst after burst from his autogun in all directions, all the while screaming into the wind.

Finally, his ammunition spent, Katan jumped feet first into the hole in the floor.

Once Boanerges saw that the area was clear he also stopped his salvos and turned to leave. Ian watched as the pair of Van Saar fell back in an orderly fashion, not returning fire anymore so as to not give away their avenue of retreat. As he followed the men into the tunnels of Hive: Primus Ian heard the sound of the enemy gun fire slowly abate behind them.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

Ian stumbled as the fatigue of his trials began to take a toll on his body. Muscles ached that he never knew he had and his ribs throbbed from where he took a Delaque knife… when was that? Three or four days ago now?

“Come on kid. Only another half a kilometer and we’ll be back home at the Bifrost.”

Looking up at the grizzled Van Saar Ian was filled with an inward sense of pride. The Heavy had not called him ‘little rat’ and included him as one of them. His new home was now the Bifrost with the rest of the Van Saar gang known as ‘Team Delta’. Ian just prayed that he would never let his new family down.

Finally the Bifrost came into view. Their approach brought them up from the underside of the massive bridge and drinking hole. The chasm it spanned was over twenty meters across and five hundred meters deep. Just like other similar areas of the hive industrious hivers moved in to take advantage of perceived business opportunities. (The Bifrost being one such example.) Make shift lifts adorned the chasm walls. Some linked the bridge area with the floor below, others to mine claims, and yet still more to hab sites that recently started to spring up – all the result of the new trade routes being established between the underhive below and hive city above.

The lifts were all quiet at this time of day. Although the hive factories operated on a full twenty six hour day some sense of normalcy was imposed on the hive. Lights are dimmed for six hours for what is considered the primary rest cycle. Being this close to the edge of civilization meant that things were not always ‘normal’, but even here people tended to retreat indoors during the times of imposed darkness.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

The gang’s rooms were slung underneath the bridge. Old long forgotten cargo containers had been lowered and welded to the underside of the bridge with access points to both the drinking hole that they provided protection services for, and the exterior to ensure less observable comings and goings. It was pretty spacious for the underhive, more then a score of rooms and all to themselves.

“Go on ahead. I’ll wait here for Dyrke and the others,” Cacee said.

Ian caught the non-verbal exchange between Cacee and Boanerges. All three of them had seen that one of the team had been injured.

“Come on kid. I’ll show you your new space.”

As the pair climbed the last ladder Ian’s body began to relax. He let the fatigue wash over him and he barely heard the Heavy tell him where his room was. Instead he just walked into the indicated room, set down his gear on a small table, and collapsed into what apparently was his bed.

Sleep took him quickly.

To Hell and Back

Chapter 8 – “To Hell and Back”
Pt. 1

“Your last test is down that tunnel.”

Ian looked down at the hole that was once a sewer access point. “Where’s Boanerges?”

“He will meet you at the other end, and before you ask any more questions, he will address them.”

Without another word Katan turned to leave. Over his shoulder he said, “You did good. If you survive this one you will have earned some respect among the team.”

Ian stared at the Van Saar ganger’s back as he disappeared into the shadows. Calling out into the darkness he yelled, “How am I supposed to recognize him? I’ve never even met the man.”

“You will know him when you see him. He is… unforgettable,” the shadows answered back. Then Ian was left to ponder what lay ahead.

“Nothing to it, but to do it,” he thought to himself. With that he lowered himself into the old sewer drain and turned on his torch.

-=-=-=0=-=-=-

The old sewer line was cramped for the most part but gradually expanded as other feeder lines joined it. Soon Ian was able to stand full upright and straddle, or avoid all together, the trickle of fluorescent sludge as it meandered on its way. There was no light beyond what his little torch could illuminate and despite his best efforts his footsteps echoed.

For over an hour and a half Ian negotiated the tunnel, passing the occasional carcass or warding off a small predator. Finally he reached the end. In the past bars once blocked the opening but now most of them had been cut off for salvage.

Stopping ten meters short of the end Ian listened and try to determine if there was anything laying in wait. The last thing he needed was to get jumped by some predator.

“You might as well come on out ‘little rat’. Your footsteps announced your approach long ago.”

Ian’s shoulder slumped slightly despite his attempts to conceal his disappointment. At least he knew it was not something waiting to eat him for dinner.

A piece of metal still protruded from the ferocrete and he used it to swing clear of the sludge pool that the sewer dumped into. When he landed his left foot landed wrong. To avoid rolling his ankle Ian dropped and was dumped unceremoniously at the feet of a very tall and imposing man.

The first thing Ian noticed where his boots. They were not standard Van Saar issue, solid black; quick-snap buckles along the front, and a solid metal toe. He had seen them once before… where was that? On the Enforcers! His jumpsuit was the same blue, grey, and black pixel pattern as the others on the team he had met. The utility harness was also of Enforcer issue, solid black that held several pouches and a holster that was secured with a strap around his right thigh. The holster contained a pristine Bolt Pistol. Cradled in the man’s arms was the first piece of Van Saar issue equipment he had seen on the man. An air cooled heavy machine gun with bi-pod support with a magazine feed system that was superior to the belt fed models that the other houses seem to favor. Hanging from a pair of straps was a mask that no longer concealed his face. The visage that met Ian’s eyes caused fear to creep into his heart. The left side of the man’s face was gnarled and the skin, if it could be called that, was transparent revealing bone and muscle. Even the eyelid over the left eye revealed what was beneath. Instinctively Ian dropped his eyes to look away.

“Are you just going to lie there, or are you going to get this test over with?” The Van Saar said apparently not taking notice of Ian’s discomfort.

“Right,” Ian said as he stood up. “You must be Boanerges.” Ian stretched forced himself to reach out his hand, but the man ignored it.

“This test is a simple one really. All you have to do is travel to a small trading post known as ‘Hell’s Gate’, and return with evidence of your visit.”

“Ok, so where is this place?”

As if on cue the Van Saar ganger swung open a small service door and said, “Right this way”. Boanerges grunted as a sudden gust of wind grabbed at the door and threatened to pull it out of his grasp. Debris kicked up from the wind smacked against the two men and Ian ducked his head to protect himself.

“What is it?” Ian asked.

“It is the ash wastes... I will await your return here.”

-=-=-=0=-=-=-

“It’s just not natural,” Ian thought to himself. “If man had been meant to live outside the hive he would not need a respirator and goggles to survive.”

The only things to be seen for as far as he was able were dune upon dune of industrial wastes. The constant shifting and affects of toxic rains reduced the resins and polymers to a sand-like consistency. Lifting his eyes the only constant reference point he had was the hive itself. The wind kicked up dust clouds constantly obscuring his vision, cloud cover above swirled caused light levels to change often, and even the ash beneath his feet felt unstable.

“Who could live in this Emperor forsaken place?” Ian thought to himself. The only additional guidance Boanerges gave him before he shut the door, his only way back into the world he knew, was that he had to follow the outer shell of the hive for two kilometers and he would find “Hell’s Gate”. In the hive such a journey could take a person the better part of a day if the paths were difficult; and out here it was impossible to tell how far he had gone or how far there was left.

Dunes shifted seemingly at will. Sludge rivers would appear out of nowhere, meander aimlessly along, and then disappear below the wastes once more. And yet Ian always kept the hive in sight. As if he knew that if he failed to do so this test would prove to be too much.

One stream pushed Ian over five hundred meters from the safety of the hive wall, but just as it dropped below the ash wastes his goal was revealed. At the bottom of a hidden gorge lay a small settlement. On the outskirts lay a small encampment with several small vehicles among the tents. Glancing back Ian looked at the hive once more and then headed down the hill.

The gates were closed up tight as the sun, long not seen through the toxic cloud layer above, had set several hours ago. The camp too was quiet. Ian had detected only two sentries patrolling among the tents. There was no visible access to the Shanty settlement but the tents were another matter entirely. With the exception of the guards there was nothing to stop him from just grabbing something and getting back.

Ian just let his head slip above the last dune between him and the encampment and waited. Although the guards did not have a set pattern to their progress they did eventually both begin to head away from his vantage point.

Slipping over the dune Ian wasted no time. The thing to him was a tent that had a big motorbike parked in front. It was not ostentatious, but it was slightly larger than the others. No guards were posted out front so Ian slipped cautiously into the tent and out of the direct line of sight of the patrols.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Having spent a lifetime inside the hive his eyes adjusted to the very dim light quickly. There was a small back area cordoned off from the front area. From there he heard a slight snore. The main room was fairly plain. Some cooking pots, a small box filled with who knew what, a table and even a chair. Adjacent to the table was a small display, upon which stood a long heavy barreled rifle with a small optical scope. Just below that was a knife what had a blade extending not just above the handle, but below it as well.

He needed something to prove that he had been to ‘Hell’s Gate’ – either one of these little trophies should do. Without hesitation Ian hefted up the rifle. It felt good in his hands and he couldn’t help himself. Tucking the butt stock into his shoulder he nestled his cheek against the weapon and peered through the scope, very comfortable. Dropping the weapon into the cradle of his arms he looked back over the table for any ammunition, nothing. Oh well, this will do.

Before Ian slipped out he listened to make sure that he had not disturbed the owner. After he heard the snoring continue he allowed himself to breath once more. A quick check of the area in front of the tent verified that the guards had not returned and he slipped back out into the open.

Now all he had to do was get back across the first dune and he would be home free. Slinging his new prize across his shoulders he took off for the dune. There would be no way to know where the guards had gone without running into one of them, and that would not do.

Fifteen long seconds Ian ran full out. As he crested the dune he kicked his feet out from under himself and slid to a stop. Turning back around he inched his way back up and lifted his head once more over the top of the dune. Ian’s heart skipped a beat. His trail was obvious. He might as well have dropped his torch as a calling card. There was no time to lose. He had to make for the hive and hope he could get a good enough head start to out run those bikes.

Chapter 8 – “To Hell and Back”
Pt. 2

Ian’s breathing was labored as he struggled to fill his lungs with usable oxygen. His respirator was struggling to keep up with the demand, but glancing down at his body suit’s reaction to the surrounding atmosphere there was no other choice, the mask had to remain in place.

How had he lost his orientation? Oh he knew exactly where the hive was, but the angle of his return path was off. Even with the shifting dunes Ian knew he had not passed this way before. The plateau he now found himself on was rocky and peppered with sink holes and mounds. Almost as if on queue to his next question a geyser erupted only twenty meters to Ian’s left spewing some kind of liquid fifty meters into the air. The air currents carried the bulk of it behind him but a fine mist rained down all around him. Even through the filters he could smell the distinct odor of acid eating away at whatever it touched. “Just another example of how Necromunda tries to kill you”, Ian thought to himself. Looking around the geyser field stretched out for several hundred meters in all directions. As Ian looked back the way he had come a pair of motorbikes vaulted over the edge of the dunes and raced across the field right at him. Without further hesitation he renewed his flight.

Thirty meters from the edge of the geyser field Ian could now hear the throaty roar of the engines that hounded him and he realized he was never going to make it of the field before they ran him down. Stopping dead in his tracks Ian drew a las pistol in one hand and a knife in the other. The bikes were at fifty meters and closing fast.

One rider dropped some sort of rifle across the handlebars of his bike and began letting loose – despite being well out of the effective range. The other readied a nasty looking double headed axe from across his back and dropped it into a low ready position in his right hand. Both laid into their accelerators and picked up speed. Ian dropped onto one knee and took aim at the lead bike.

Fwooosssssshh! A geyser opened up beneath the shooter’s rear wheel causing the bike and rider to cartwheel over ten meters into the air. His companion reacted quickly and smoothly steering around the carnage that was his partner, but it was exactly what he should not have done.

The geyser field also hid several fissures that had been caked over by thin layers of ash. The extra stress of the maneuvers on the terrain caused it give way and Necromunda swallowed up the bike and its rider. As his fear began to subside Ian realized he was in danger of hyperventilating. “Get moving Ian, get back to the hive,” was all he could say to himself.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

“There it is! Move it!” Ian screamed to himself. Only a hundred meters left to go, but he could feel the presence of his pursuers hot on his heels. Glancing back he could see maybe a dozen men, mostly on foot but one or two buggies also in the mix. But Ian was barely walking. His lungs were screaming for more air, and his muscles were threatening to refuse his commands from lack of oxygen. But so close to safety spurned his will on and once more he was up and running.

“Come on!” Ian yelled at himself, only fifty meters to go. The roar of the engines could now be heard.

At Twenty meters to go the hatch to his freedom sprang open. Immediately rounds from an auto cannon began to impact against the wall surrounding the door.

Ten… five, “almost there!” Suddenly Ian was hammered by a blow across his back. The impact of some incredible force drove him forward onto his knees. White spots filled his eyesight, and he could no longer draw a breath no matter how hard he tried. Even before the white filled his vision it turned to black and he saw nothing more.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

The next thing Ian realized was that he was being dragged, and none too gently. Something was snagged, and there was a lot of yelling. What ever it was also released him and he dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Who was yelling, and why couldn’t he hear through the ringing in his ears?

Looking around he saw several familiar faces but his mind could not recall their names. One man with a reddish black goatee and a heavy stubber was yelling and motioning for him to move back. The man hollered something else and let loose a long burst from his machine gun. Another man handed him something and shoved him to move on.

Ian just stared at the weapon that was thrust upon him. It was bent at an odd angle, and the firing chamber had obviously been breached. Finally a man with a full beard grabbed the man with the machine gun by the collar, pointed at Ian, and then pointed somewhere beyond Ian’s point of view. The heavy looked as if he was about to argue, but then nodded. With a determined look on his face the heavy scooped up Ian by his arms and practically dragged him away form the door.

At last Ian’s ears began to clear and he shrugged to get the man to stop carrying him along. Looking back Ian could see that there was no a ten meter hole in the wall they had just come from and several men clad in hooded cloaks and respirators were coming through the breach.

“Come on lad. Dyrke has made it very clear that you are to get out of the area. Katan and Rogers are staying behind with him to cover our retreat.”

Fight or Flight

“Come on you Emperor damned beast!”

No matter how much Bahlaam spurred or whipped the beast it just would not move. For several hours the man had been trying to rejoin his gang, a Shanty Towne horde. He had joined in hopes of earning some respect, and maybe even some guilders for his trouble.

“A little raid is all says he. Be home by supper. My Emperor forsaken rump says I!” He said shaking his fist at the toxin filled sky. “Them Nomads are mighty pissed, I tell you what… Come on you stubborn lizard!”

The two legged beast just turned its head and looked bored, and no amount of prodding seemed to regain the interest of the animal.

“Fine, have it your way.” And with that he got down off the animal and fetched a pair of binoculars out of his saddle bag. Tracking his mount’s trail back the way they had come he wanted to see if the Nomads had followed them in search of vengeance. More than once he could have sworn that he heard the roar of an engine over the unceasing winds, only to see nothing beyond the dunes.

Returning to the saddle bags he withdrew a handful of feed for his mount.

“Come now Dokey. We best be getting back to ‘Hell’s Gate’ before sun down or else them Nomads are gonna make a meal out of ya.”

The beast gobbled up the food, but would not budge until it had had another six more handfuls of food. Finally remounting the beast the both of them headed out, racing over the dunes, where once more towards home.

As the pair neared ‘Dead Man’s pass’ Bahlaam noticed several overturned vehicles and smoke winding its way up to join the clouds above. The closer they approached the more carnage he saw and the more it became obvious that his fellow militia had been ambushed. By the amount of dead (both man and beast) it would appear that not many, if any, had survived. Pulling his beast up short on top of an ash dune some hundred meters distant, he surveyed the killing ground. As he peered through the binoculars his attention was more on the bluffs overlooking the pass then upon the dead below.

His options were limited. The pass was the only safe passage back to ‘Hell’s gate’. A sludge sea filled the area to the south, and an acid geyser field to his north. It would take him days to go around either one, and his food was all but out.

“Necromunda you have lived up to your name this day, haven’t ya.” Bahlaam thought to himself. After several minutes of surveying the area he could not detect a single living thing. Leaning over he talked gently into his mount’s ear.

“Dokey, you must fly and you mustn’t stop for nothin’. You hear me! There is no where else for us to go. Come on now, get on home! H’ya!”

Digging in both heals into the beast’s ribs Bahlaam urged the lizard-beast into a headlong flight down the dunes, straight for the mouth of the pass.

His mount seemed to sense the danger and picked up speed. Without hesitation or further instruction from its rider the beast vaulted clear of dead and debris, never turning from their goal and the relative safety ahead.

Bahlaam let the animal dictate the path and speed. They two had been together since he was old enough to ride and his mount had always brought him home. Instead he continued to scan the bluffs now looming above his head, searching for anything that might reveal imminent danger.

“CRACK!” The unmistakable report of a rifle played off the rock formations, but the beast never skipped a step and both mount and rider raced into the pass through the other side of the Nomad killzone.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

“Open the gates! The Militia is returning, open the gates!”

Slowly the massive metal doors swung wide. But there were no militia to greet the townspeople, just a lone beast. Its rider being dragged still connected to the stirrup.

Several people ran out to help the man, but it was too late. The man was dead – a single, large caliber, bullet hole to the forehead which exited via a small cavern out the back.

Shopping for a Ride

Elder Khanst wandered through the market. His little shanty had recovered nicely since the last storm. The barricades where rebuilt and the gates repaired. Even the local businesses had been restored to their previous glory. As a matter of fact the recovery had been getting along so well he was now in the market for some new rides for his newly recruited defenses. Having to recruit almost an entirely new gang afforded him the opportunity to be more aggressive in his tactics. No longer would they sit and wait for the Nomads to attack, they would go out on patrol. Maybe even venture in-hive to forage from time to time.

“Ah, Gaul! How are we doing this fine day?” Khanst’s voice reverberated nicely through his respirator.

“Elder Khanst! So good to see you well this morning. What can my humble little trading post offer you today?”

Khanst despised the rotund little man. He was always scarce when the town needed work done, but impossible to get rid off when things needed to be acquired. Still, the man was resourceful in getting those hard to find items – either sanctioned by the ruling house or otherwise.

“Mobility Gaul, mobility. What can you do for me in the way of transportation for me and my boys?”

“Ah, yes, right this way my friend.” The Guilder led his client to the back of the little shack where he bartered goods and then out through a little door. Once out back Khanst looked upon a sizable stable, fully enclosed of course. Roaming among several vehicles was a wide variety of animals. “Let us start with a wonderful truck. Right over here.”

It was a truck in name only. There were no doors, no windows, the cargo area was the only thing with a complete floor, but it was sizable. With eight wheels, and such a large cargo area it was not really what the Elder had in mind.

“Gaul, I said I need mobility. Does it look like I’m going to be running caravans back and forth across the wastes to you?”

“Ha ha ha, perhaps I misunderstood you,” the man said with a smile. “Perhaps a buggy, or a few cycles then? Right this way.”

Walking around the back of the truck the guilder had to shoo away several dog sized reptiles. “They are not much now, but once they reach their full size they will tower over these bikes,” the guilder said as he waved his hand to direct Khanst’s attention. As the elder followed the guilder’s hand he saw some very nice specimens. Three hefty looking bikes with good dust gripping tires, and one sported a small side car with a pintle mount. This was more of what he was looking for. Slightly behind the bikes was a buggy. A two-seater with a pintle welded to the roll bar above the riders seat. And in the back, just behind the engine, was small cargo area.

“Much better Gaul, much better. But what about something that does not require as much maintenance?”

The guilder seemed to hesitate for a moment. Almost as if he was distressed – like he had lost a sale. “Perhaps these animals would suit you better Elder Khanst?” The little man pointed just over Khanst’s shoulder to a small herd of reptilian-like animals.

No two were identical. Several were bipedal, most had four legs. There was even one with eight. They ranged in size from about the size of the cycles he had just seen to one larger than the truck. The range of colors was also widely varied, but all of them were suited for their harsh environment.

“Wonderful Gaul. Let’s get down to business…”

The Recruit

Harten watched his new boss pace back and forth before him and the rest of the “recruits”. He had been itching to get out of that rats nest of a shanty since his thirteenth birthday, and when the guilders came recruiting he jumped at the chance.

“Anyone here that does not own their own weapons take one step forward!”

The scrappy kid to his left stepped up and was immediately escorted out the back door, and Harten’s was very grateful that his respirator hid the smirk now plastered all over his face. Reaching down with his left hand he patted the hefty stub gun in its holster. Good thing that scavvy didn’t need it anymore – served him right for wandering into town all alone like that.

“Right… anyone else? Good!” The man stopped his pacing and turned to face the rest of the men. “You all will be riding with the outgoing caravan tonight. We didn’t have time to be picky so y’all will just have to do.” He paused to let that sink in. “We leave in fifteen minutes. Report to the caravan and get your assignments.”

Harten walked from the warehouse. The wind was howling and whipping up the wastes around him. He would finally shake off this shanty town and get out and see what Necromunda was really about. ‘Fortune favors those who seek her,’ he thought to himself. And that is exactly what he intended to do.

The Mechanic

It was the center of his entire world and he hated it. A vein of some strange metallic ore twisted into a mockery of a long extinct tree. The “Killer Angels” had first been attracted to it because they thought it was something to be salvaged, but even back then it mocked him. There was nothing that could cut it, and he had tried. Saw blades, cutting torches, even demo charges. Not even a scratch. Then it became a symbol of their band’s strength and resistance to the elements of Necromunda.

Once Halleck had discovered the ruins of that crash landed drop ship his fate was forever sealed to that thing. Within the hulk they discovered scores of vehicles and spare parts. There was no way Halleck would walk away from such a find and he established what he called a way-station. You got it, right at the base of that… thing. Since then he had barely traveled more than a half a kilometer from that visage of metal. Buggies, trucks, and even a walker all hung from that “tree” like marionettes – all of them in some state of disrepair.

His latest challenge was a two-seater buggy, and of course the owners just had to have it yesterday. The rear axle had been knocked at such an angle as to cause it to continually pull to the left. Its roll cage had been caved in just above a pile of bloody goop in the “gunner” seat (he had know it was a gunner’s station by the pintle mount now smashed). And to top it off the engine had seized. They couldn’t have discovered a batch of electrical motors – no! But like a craftsman he had put it back together and now it only needed one last piece.

Picking up a mesh of respirator’s that had been jury rigged into some sort of air filter he set to the task of mounting it to the engine. Once the last bolt was in place he stood up and reached into the crew area. Hitting the starter button the engine roared to life spewing a cloud of black smoke. That’s when the urge hit him. Jump in and take it for a test run out on the dunes, no body would miss him for a few hours.

As he lifted his leg to slip into the driver’s seat a small truck raced in and slid to a stop only a meter from his boots.

“Gunder! She’s took a round to right rear axle. Think you could have it fixed in a day or so?”

He could almost hear the “tree” laugh at him as the winds blew through its boughs.

The Shanty Town Elder

Elder Khanst emerged from the bunker with little fanfare. But that was to be expected. The Ash storm had lasted for 3 days and his town was just beginning to dig itself out from under the carnage. Behind him Telila, the town’s doc, kicked at a partially submerged piece of plasteel.

“Doesn’t look too bad,” was all she said.

Khanst just nodded without looking over his shoulder. He looked around at what was left. The walls had held up well, although he was sure there would be digging involved to remove any natural ramps that formed from the shifting wastes outside. The nomads would quickly realize the strategic importance of being able to get over the walls so easily thus making the removal of wastes from around the walls his town’s first priority.

“Thank you for the Shelter ‘Tel’,” Khanst said as he turned to face the doc.

“It was my pleasure Khanst,” she said as she winked.

There wouldn’t be much time. Nomads and scavvy bands were quick to immerge from the dust and debris. With the storm lasting so long hunger would be a powerful motivator, and his town was now vulnerable.

Walking down the main street through town Khanst noticed the merchants were quickly setting up shop. ‘They’re always the fastest to get back to normal’ he chuckled to himself. Taking advantage of the empty paths through the market Khanst eyed the wares. In the last three years he had served as town Elder he gotten to know the usual guilders, or their representatives, that braved the wastes. On the surface they all paid homage to Lord Helmawr and their wares were perfectly legal. But outside the hive walls Lord Helmawr’s strong arm was not quite so firm. Many traders also dealt with black market items. After all ‘slaught’, ‘spook’ and the various other drugs of choice were so much more profitable.

“Glad to see that you weathered the storm Gaul. Looks like you got some new hardware I see,” Khanst said picking up a rectangular device with tubes and wires protruding out at odd angles.

“You have an eye for quality Elder Khanst,” the slightly rotund merchant said with a smile. “But, I am sure this is out of reach of even your deep pockets.” And with that the guilder reached out and relieved the elder of the device.

“Perhaps, but has my shipment arrived?”

The guilder looked around, slightly nervous.

“Relax Gaul. The Enforcers won’t learn of your little side business, just so long as you keep Talila supplied with the Stinger patches – unofficially of course.” The Elder let the words hang in the air momentarily before moving on his way.

Khanst left the guilder’s quarter and headed towards the gates – his little town’s ‘red light’ district. Emira and Jinty were a pair of Delaque who had left the hive for reasons all their own. Not only did they run some highly profitable businesses catering to various pleasures, but they were an invaluable source of information of what was happening. Not just within the walls of ‘Hive’s End’, but also the occasional tidbits of information from out in the waste. And at times – even within the hive itself. As he drew near to the gates the above ground portions of the buildings were in ruin – but not to worry. Peeling apart some smaller sections of what used to be a wall he found what he was looking for, a tube extending four meters into the air. As he climbed the ladder he pulled at the stock of his nomad long rifle – a specialized weapon afforded to him by his position – bringing it over his right shoulder. As he reached the top of the ladder he was able to rap the bulkhead door with one hand.

After a few moments a distant metallic clang resounded. He was sure the two had sheltered a large portion of the population, for a slight fee of course. Still this is where the bulk of his work force would come from.

“There you are boss.”

The Elder turned around to face his second, the town’s former leader. “Do you have the rest of the boys Zatar?”

“Everyone except Gurst and his juves, apparently they threw some kind of ‘ash storm’ party and paid the price.”

“It doesn’t matter. There will be other to replace them.”

Khanst sighed. Not many of the buildings above ground had survived. Who knows how many perished because they had tried to brave the elements. But one thing was for sure, “Hive’s End” would rebuild. He would see to that.

The Scout

The rushing wind raised a howl and caused the ash dust to rain against the rock hard industrial waste throughout the canyon. As the light filtered down through the chemical cloud cover above a purple hue was cast on everything. As the inevitable ash storm prepared to whip through, a lone figure nestled into a crevice high upon the canyon wall. Pulling a telescope from his hooded long coat the man peered down at the shanty town on the canyon floor below.

About four dozen shacks, with no apparent forethought, huddled within a seven meter tall make shift wall. Everything within the settlement was a patchwork of salvaged industrial wastes. Girders, sheet metal, old vehicle parts, or whatever the particular occupants could manage to find and thrown together for shelter. It didn’t matter if the hovel was used for as a personal residence or a gambling den it all looked the same.

The man lowered the telescope then glanced up at the wall of the massive hive. It continued up well beyond his field of view. It was not the wall that he was interested in. From somewhere within the toxic clouds lights began to flicker on causing not only a slight increase in the light level, but a shift in the shadows below. Beneath his respirator a grin formed. It was only a matter of time, and he had survived his entire life out here.

At twenty three he was a seasoned veteran. Since childhood he had known how to change the filter and adjust his respirator. From adolescence he could read the shifting ash dunes and blowing toxins in the winds. Once he was allowed to join the band of nomads he quickly learned how to navigate between the hives. Even so he was better than most. He was a scout for his band. Entrusted to recon routes, gather information, and to report back anything of interest. It was the later that brought him to edge of this cliff on the eve of the biggest ash storm he had seen in many seasons.

A bolt of electricity cracked the sky between the hive and cavern wall having been grounded from somewhere in the eighteen kilometer skyline above. Raising the telescope back to his eye the nomad noticed that the activity level had increased dramatically within the shanty town. Some tried to board up their flimsy shelters while others sought entry into under ground bunkers, handing a few coins in barter to the owners. People were running everywhere. But there was a group of men walking around a rather large shack right against the hive wall. They neither looked scared nor rushed. This is what he was watching for.

Ten men had formed a semi-circle perimeter in front of the building, small arms at the ready. As the wind picked up the nomad barely detected the roar of a very large engine coming to life. He watched the makeshift building behind the men as it imploded. Out of the newly formed pile of scrap a large vehicle began to move. In pairs the men moved from their perimeter and climbed aboard a slowly moving crawler as it emerged from its self inflicted shroud.

It didn’t move all that fast, but it was mammoth. It was twice the height of the shanty town’s defenses and weapon stations covered its armored shell. As it lumbered towards the gate it became obvious that unless someone opened up the gates it was going to just plow on through them. Faint alarms could now be heard and several figures changed their course to move to the gates. As the behemoth reached the gateway the pair of doors began to swing outwards barely keeping pace. Without any noticeable hesitation the crawler squeezed through the gates. When it cleared the gates the gatekeepers did not waste any time and closed the gates behind it.

The sheer mass of the vehicle caused the ground to tremor slightly as it rolled beneath the nomad. He no longer needed his telescope and tucked it back into its pocket inside his long coat. Shifting his weight he turned to watch the crawler slowly disappear. Once out of sight the lone figure climbed back up over the edge of canyon wall. Jumping into a waiting buggy he quickly gunned the engine and raced out into the wastes. His fellow nomads would be very interested to learn about this.