After the storm, the stars were like diamonds scattered in the deepest darkness, and the ruined fleet hung upside down in their bright light.
His fingers were clenched tightly under his spotless gloves, and there was nothing else he could do except wipe his equipment.
I can't seem to do anything.
A cough pulled him back from 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 desperate scene outside the window and went to talk to an equally desperate person.
A technological heretic, Neo Marco, is three hundred years old and has little flesh on his body, but he stubbornly retains his stinking face. Now he looks extremely tired.
His mechanical prosthetic eyes were surrounded by deep circles on his pale skin - the saggy face 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 to give 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 go?"
"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 Fury on the nearby display screen.
The image shook in the air, and then became almost 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 it will be another three days before the main electrical system to Geller's Station is operational, my lord."
Ian Grasper sighed loudly.
"That's great, 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. I'm talking about fifteen or nine days and we'll be done."
"Fear drives people very well."
"The fear ends here. The reason why they performed well is because of my foresight and meticulous planning."
Ian Grasper stared at Marco.
"What are you talking about? You are an old guy with no 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 to prevent contempt from radiating 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 wrong with me."
The tech heretic replied, adding another sentence.
"Your Majesty Commander."
His arrogance made Iongraspiel laugh, but in other ears it sounded like a ferocious 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 and raised his voice.
"Now!"
Some of the sounds on the bridge quieted down, becoming just a fraction of the cacophony that once filled the place.
The surviving crewmen, all with sunken eyes and tired expressions, 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 Infinite Wrath outlined in green lines, while the actual situation was shown in a soft red.
"The total loss of the hull mass is 13%, the crew mortality rate is 70%, there is no one on thirteen decks, the weapons output is reduced by 80%, we are close to the reactor failure six times, but we are still here, and this is all
If you think your life is not fun because of my contribution, it doesn’t matter at all.”
"I'm so happy for you, Bishop."
"I am the Tech Sage of this ship, Captain Iongra Speer."
"Ahhhh, you win, okay."
"Your attitude is based on my ability, so if you are going to die here forever, I advise you to kill me now."
Ian Grasper smiled, but only for a moment.
This is not only a concession to this damn old man, but also a kind of self-mockery.
His image is probably no better than that of a mutant.
"Three days, I think this is indeed 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 talked 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 go with us?"
"Nice to meet you, brother."
Iongrasper said sarcastically, and then looked at another person, Helle Raynor, the captain of the Wild Howl, a former company commander of the Alpha Legion, and now leads 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."
Bravo repeated unhappily, his horse face always looking miserable, though more self-righteous than usual.
"In three days, my diligent, hard-working and loyal technical sage will say this."
"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 knew, most of the time, such a glance would not bring good news.