After the storm, the stars were like diamonds scattered in the deepest darkness, and the ruined fleet hung upside down in their brilliant light.
His fingers were clenched under his spotless gloves, and there was not much else he could do except wipe down his gear.
I can't seem to do anything.
A cough pulled him out of his self-pity—back to the bridge.
To be honest, he didn't know which place was worse.
"grown ups?"
He turned his face away from the despairing scene outside the window to speak to an equally despairing man.
A technological heretic, Neo Marco, is three hundred years old and has little flesh on his body, but he stubbornly retains his stinky face. Now he looks extremely tired.
His mechanical prosthetic eyes were surrounded by deep circles on his pale skin - the loose skin and dark lenses paired together, making the two look incredibly huge in the half-light on the command deck.
The red and black robe hung loosely around his body, the command panel on the back of his head was squeezed together with the wrinkled skin, and the originally damaged mechanical arm had been hastily modified - at first glance, he looked like a sick man playing dress-up. The languid little old man seemed to have run out of the sculpture.
"Bishop Marco, I think you have another damage report for me."
"Now is Marko the Sage, my commander."
"What I say is what it is, and everyone seems to have gained something. However, I am still sitting on the wax, which is surprising."
"Your meeting with Mr. Ossie Bravo and Mr. Heller Reno is about to begin."
The technical heretic continued without arrogance, saying that showing weakness in the Black Legion would get people killed.
"Yes Yes."
"So are you going?"
"Great, what if I don't go?"
Marco didn't answer. He pinched the tactile sensor on his fingertips and projected a complete holographic image of the Everlasting Wrath on the nearby display screen.
The image shook in the air, then became nearly stable.
A large number of projection lenses were damaged, and various parts of the image flickered and disappeared one after another as they rotated.
"We estimate that it will be another three days before the main electrical system to Geller's Station is operational, my lord."
Iongraspiel sighed loudly.
"This is awesome, I'm pretty sure I told you - you know what I mean is I'm absolutely sure I told you, to this day."
Marco looked at the big warrior through his red lenses.
"It may not be much fun, my lord, but we've made far more progress than our most optimistic estimates, and I'm talking about fifteen, or nine, days before we can do it."
“Fear drives people very well.”
"That's where the fear ends. They are doing well because of my foresight and foresight."
Iongraspiel stared at Marco.
"How can you talk, you old guy without a penis, I will kill you, I can kill you."
"Maybe so, but you won't."
"So, are you even ready to belittle me?"
The corners of Marco's eyes twitched, and he tried his best not to let his contempt radiate from his body.
"Of course not, but if you don't want this ship to be turned into space junk in a few days, then don't try to do anything against me."
The tech heretic replied, adding another sentence.
"Your Majesty Commander."
His arrogance made Iongraspiel laugh, but to others it sounded like a vicious roar.
"So fast! I should have hugged you tight! Maybe now, after staying in this shitty place for so long, I don't care anymore and I'll crush your head just to have some fun..."
he shouted loudly.
"Now!"
Some of the sounds on the bridge were quiet, just a fraction of the cacophony that once filled the place.
The surviving crewmen, all sunken-eyed and exhausted, glanced nervously at the Space Marines.
Marco ignored the failed naval commander's posturing.
"Nothing on this ship is intact, my lord."
The Tech Heretic waved his hand towards the badly damaged side of the hull, the intact outline of the Ceaseless Wrath outlined in green lines, while the actual situation was a muted red.
"The total loss of hull mass is 13%, crew mortality is 70%, there is no one on thirteen decks, weapons output is reduced by 80%, we are close to reactor failure six times, but we are still here, and this is all If you think your life is not fun because of my work, it doesn’t take any credit from me.”
"I'm so happy for you, Bishop."
"I am the Technical Sage of this ship, Captain Iongra Speer."
"Ahhhh, you win, okay."
"Your attitude is based on my ability, so if you are going to rot here forever, I advise you to kill me now."
Iongraspiel smiled, but only for a moment.
This is both a concession to the damn old man and a form of self-mockery.
His image is probably no better than that of a mutant.
"Three days, I guess that's really good news."
He paused for a moment, then reluctantly said:
"Well done, but too late."
Suddenly, his communicator rang a bell, and a communications officer came over, sweating with fear all over his body.
He didn't have the same courage as Marco, so he tried to ignore the Space Marine and only spoke to the techno-heretic.
"Two adults are requesting a call."
"Great! What a mess, and I can still talk to these two bastards!"
Eingraspeer said to him:
"Bringing them in must be encrypted throughout. I don't want to alert the enemy and attract the Empire."
Soon, two faces appeared in the holographic image, crushing the Endless Wrath into a blurry ball of light.
Ossie Bravo, a former Captain of the Sons of Horus and now Captain of the Sacred Corruption, was the first to speak:
"We are ready to leave as promised. Will you come with us?"
"Nice to meet you, brother."
Iongraspeer said sarcastically, and then looked at another person, Helle Raynor, the captain of the Wild Howl, a former captain of the Alpha Legion, now leading a warband to be hired by the Black Legion.
"And you, Brother Reno."
"Good morning, Eingra Speer."
The other party just nodded in greeting.
"are you ready."
repeated Bravo unhappily, his horse face always looking miserable, though more self-righteous than usual.
"In three days, my diligent, hard-working, and loyal technical sage said so."
"Then we have to leave you behind."
"Seventy-two hours, you can't wait to sell me? Three boats are better than two."
The two captains looked away from him, and he thought they exchanged glances, silently asking each other who would help him, although from his perspective, their projections seemed to be flirting.
As far as he could tell, most of the time, such a glance wouldn't bring good news.
