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1045758 No. 1045758 ID: f57349

"Rise and shine, miss Haarlock! Or was it 'shine and... rise'? Not that I... wish to imply you have been sleeping on... the job. No one is more deserving of a rest..."

Clang of docking clamps wakes you with a jolt, tumbling out of bed.

https://questden.org/wiki/JamesLeng https://www.patreon.com/user?u=4587981[/spoiler]
Expand all images
No. 1045759 ID: f57349

What first?

a) Breakfast
b) Clothes
c) Desk
d) Exit the cabin
e) Fencing practice
f) Who said that?
No. 1045762 ID: 287555

No. 1045782 ID: f97719

b) Clothes
No. 1045795 ID: dee951

No no, you do your morning routine, bathing and taking care of your teeth and hair and body and any other needs, THEN get some clothes on, THEN some breakfast, THEN you leave your local area!
No. 1045852 ID: e51896

I think it makes more sense to eat breakfast first before brushing our teeth.

A. yeah, breakfast
No. 1045871 ID: f2320a

No. 1045874 ID: dee951


It depends -- is breakfast a big to-do, maybe a big cultural communal meal with lots of variety, or is it a quick obtaining of nutrients, done privately? Some cultures have breakfast as the most important meal of the day!
No. 1045878 ID: dee951


That is to say, 'the order of brushing teeth doesn't really matter when you are just downing a nutrient shake real quick, go by what's expedient and/or your dentist's recommendation', but if there's a big out and about social meal, than you want to go to the meal with your breath fresh.
No. 1045902 ID: f57349

Breakfast: supply locker has at least a month's worth of "food." Grab one off the top - don't bother reading what it's supposed to taste like, that'd just be setting yourself up for disappointment - and fill its pouch from the tap on the wall. On command, your personal silver-plated hovering minion fires a plasma bolt at minimal power, flashing ice water to steam.

>guardian class servo-skull w/ common quality plasma pistol has joined the party

Smells better than expected. You must be starving. Brush teeth, check over a few other grooming essentials and personal basics while you wait for the rehydrated slab to cool off enough to eat safely.

>shipboard emergency kit added to inventory (glowstick, power cell, ration pack, water canister, emergency vox, mask and air bottle (30 minutes), anti-rad tabs, sealant)

Blood on your sleeve. Just a few drops, maybe a diseased cough, or splash from some grievous injury halfway across a room. Fresh, on the order of minutes.

1)Clean it off right away
2)Preserve a sample, damaging the cloth if necessary

Fencing: Last thing she remembers, was on family flagship, the Spear of Destiny. Mother was fighting an assassin. Practice sword is missing, replaced by that cold shimmering blade the assassin wielded, along with a note in mom's handwriting describing it as "a birthday present from aunt Oriana."

>Anguish has joined the party
>common craftsmanship power sword added to inventory

Clothes: May's cabin has almost everything she'd think to bring for a long voyage, but she's still wearing the same dress as during the fight. Doesn't remember the actual process of having packed.

3) keep the dress, it's comfortable and people are easier to outwit when they underestimate you
4) change into something more formal, with dignity befitting your station, and lots of pockets
5) light carapace armor, hexagrammatic and pentagrammatic wards covering every plate and joint
6) selenite void suit, in case there's an air shortage or someone forgot to pay the gravity bill
7) xeno pelt cloak, warm and fuzzy, might be heresy just to own it, lets you turn invisible

c) Desk
d) Exit the cabin

f) Who said that?
No. 1045942 ID: 287555

>Practice sword is missing, replaced by that cold shimmering blade the assassin wielded
Does May know this blade's capabilities? Relying on equipment, especially a weapon, one is unfamiliar with can be dangerous.

>Last thing she remembers
Are discontinuities in memory normal after waking up from... this situation, or something to be concerned about?

>blood, unknown origin, minutes old
If you can't remember how minutes-old blood of unknown origin got there, a sample might be more prudent.

Clothes 3, for now. Check the c) desk.
No. 1045974 ID: 3f01d5

Sound of clamps means there's more than one ship, potentially other people. Clothing option 6 then whatever lets you check the ship status. Damaged systems, hails from other vessels?
No. 1046630 ID: f57349

You change into the void suit, but leave its helmet open and gloves folded against your wrists. Easier to interact that way, should only take a moment to button up fully in a genuine emergency.

Desk: There's a present from dad, box covered in glossy black paper with ribbons on top like a golden spider. Inside, a thick tome outlining the history of your family, from before the Warrant of Trade was first awarded up through curre... wait, no. You already knew most of this line-of-succession stuff, but then it continues for several years beyond the last major holiday you can remember celebrating.

Dense, ugly years. Forty-nine broad branches of your family tree, hacked off, burned, and clinically summarized in the span of as many pages.

More than half the deaths are attributed to one man. How odd that this terrible scourge should have so much in common with your father, who you've always known as a soft-spoken, absent-minded scholar, affectionate but unambitious. You turn back the pages, searching. Perhaps they have some common ancestor, also named 'Erasmus.'

No. One man.

You nearly choke on the last of your breakfast, realizing that genealogy textbook isn't his actual gift. It's a receipt, tallying oceans of blood spilt. None remain to dispute your inheritance.

>Maioigo Haarlock, Rogue Trader has joined the party
>family register, notarized identity papers, and signet seal added to inventory

Exit cabin: It's a fairly standard guncutter, drop-harnesses stripped out and cargo capacity reduced to make room for longer-term comfort. Six cabins. May's own, Lottie's, Old Ben's, the tech-priest's, and the last two which were reserved for May's parents but are disconcertingly empty. Never used, furnishings not even fully installed.

An invisible force lifts you off the deck, pins your arms to your sides. Bones creak. You squeak out "G'morning, princess!"

With a faint smile, she releases the telekinetic hug. "Really? 'Morning,' sleepyhead? We're aboard the Sigilite's Word, graveyard shift is about to start, and surviving senior officers have requested the honor of your presence. It seems your hour has come again."

>Lottie Solheim, best friend, shuttle pilot, and alpha-level psyker, has joined the party
>8x [cube, 25cm, steel] added to inventory

"Aw, what happened to your dress?"
"Blood got on it."
"That's what I'd like to find out. It's still fresh."
"I see. Well then, stasis locker ASAP, analysis later."

Stained dress leaps up at Lottie's glance, folds itself neatly in midair, then two of the Burning Princess's practice cubes glide together, cloth pressed between them, isolating the sample from further contamination until it can be sealed away properly.
Outside the shuttle's hatch, a pair of well-dressed but weary armsmen stand ready as escorts. Must be a fairly small starship, ride up the lift to officer country is only about a hundred meters. On arriv,.,_.,,.,_.,

>Entire party has unwittingly departed vicinity of the Orb of Infinite Psyche!
>resplicing from 6̸̛͎̭̦̓̐͑́́̿̉̓̑̓̆͆̚6̴̜̓6̴̟͈̟̭͔̜̊͌͛̇̀̽͘.̸̧̨̰̩̯̞͋͊̀͐̀̈͠8̷̖͓́͛̈́͛̀̇̀͂̑͜͜͠1̴̧͎̹̩̭̠̇̈́̾̾̓͗͒̀͛́̕͠5̶̨̗̳̠̥̖̟͐̌̃́̔̒͜.̸͖͚̠̮͕̩̘̗̠̯́̇̓̾̍͒̊̑͑̈́̾̈́̚͘M̶̧̙̗͕̺͇̲̰̦͓̼̈4̴̢͉̖̞̳͛̓̾͗̑͂̔̂͠ͅ1̵̺̟̬̗̗̝͙̇͂̓̒̎͝ ...
>Who finds it instead?

)]mischievous winged cherub-servitor
!]shuttle bay maintenance crew, human
@]hullghast raider
#]senior tech-priest Sarcos "Bubbles" Vathek
%]other {specify}
No. 1046631 ID: e5709d

Aww, you shouldn't have!
*Deep breath*
A gant-furred muzzle peeks out of a scar in the ship's interior brass wall, ripped open a week before due to inebriated misadventures with a dying servitor. The little Lord wonders how long it shall take before the man-things casually discard a lavish tankard of fine ale. The sniveling vermin would not complain about excess bounty of fresh rodents within the backwalls to cannibalize, had it not been for the excess number of cybernetic enhancements installed into every last one. At least, thinks the little Lord, I shall not die of boredom. The (former) servant of the Fifth Chaos God turns to yet another slice of machinery running through the ship, hostile in design yet easily dominated by the rodent's lithe fingers. The machine is fixed of its decades-long issues in mere seconds thanks to the rodent's superior understanding of the warp sciences. Also, there was a little glass bead some deckhand foolishly mistook for a metal ball bearing - why is it talking?
"The Warpy is this-this?"
>You are playing Further-Lord, the Skaven Traveler. Whatever happened to them during their suicidal (and completely involuntary) expedition through the Fields of Chaos has (very slightly) changed their nature, strangely leaving their body mostly intact.
No. 1046668 ID: 287555

Well drat, there were consequences for avoiding the who's-that prompt.

>)]mischievous winged cherub-servitor
No. 1046836 ID: 3f01d5

I'm casting my vote for maintenance bay crew,!]
No. 1047797 ID: f57349

able voidsman third class Pozzo Ekasdottir
20% weapon skill - primitive weapons trained
20% ballistic skill - las weapons trained
35% strength - Intimidate trained to 45%
35% toughness - Carouse trained to 45%
25% agility - encumbered to 20%, Security trained
20% intelligence - Common Lore (imperial guard), (tech), Secret Tongue (underdecks), and Speak Language (Low Gothic) trained, Trade (voidfarer) trained to 30%
27% perception - Awareness trained
30% fellowship - Blather trained
armor 2 (work jumpsuit with vac-rated undergarment, covers arms, body, legs - helmet missing)
health 10
movement: 2 meters as a half action, 4m jog, 6m charge, or 12m sprint
weapons: axe-rake, 1d10+5 impact or rending, primitive, effective skill 20%, reduced to 10% for parrying

Pozzo's parents are technomat specialist Ekaterin Skol (launch bay gamma's current shift chief), and Sgt. Makrade of the Maccabian Janissaries. Dad's platoon was recently deployed on Inquisition business. Ice Station Mara isn't the sort of place people come back from, even when their transport lands properly... rather than, based on overheard vox chatter, having a stabilizer torn off by turret fire and coming down hard 1600 meters outside the destination's perimeter. Never seen deep snow with her own eyes, but supposedly it's difficult stuff to march through, especially while being shot at. Never even walked that far in a single straight line, because the Sigilite's Word is only 1.5km from prow to stern. She wants to know the strategic goal for which her father's life was expended, whether he did his part with honor, contributed to a victory.

cherub-servitor 616 Lugubrious Tailor
10% weapon skill
10% ballistic skill
16% strength
20% toughness
28% agility - Concealment trained to 38%, scrawny size
16% intelligence - Trade (tailor) trained to 36%
27% perception - Awareness trained
22% willpower
10% fellowship
armor: 1 (innate)
health: 3
movement: 1 meter as a half action, 2m jog, 3m charge, 6m sprint, or 5x in flight (combination of wings and antigrav)
weapons: waxy fist, 1d5-3 impact, effective skill 5%

Drop-troop shuttle was in bay gamma's aft berth long time. Cloth all the same, shiny things too well guarded. Gone now. Good. New guncutter smells fancy. What's inside?

Lucky Rat Bastard, priest of the horned antegenitor
44% weapon skill - unarmed trained, hatred (humans)
10% ballistic skill
32% strength - Climb trained to 52%
40% toughness - Carouse trained to 50%, true grit reduces crit damage
38% agility - Silent Move trained to 48%, Concealment trained to 58%
41% intelligence - Ciphers (Occult), Forbidden Love (Mutants), and Secret Tongue (Underdecks) trained, Forbidden Love (Warp) and Gamble trained to 51%
33% perception - Awareness trained to 43%, darkvision
39% willpower - sorcery, unshakable faith
40% fellowship - Deception trained
armor: none
health: 18
movement: 3 meters as a half action, 6m jog, 9m charge, 18m sprint
weapons: archaeotech laspistol, 1d10+3 energy, penetration 2, reliable, 90m range increment, ammo 0/70, effective skill 5%, further bonus when aiming
claws and teeth, 1d10+4 rending, primitive, toxic, effective skill 44%, further bonuses when charging
known sorcerous powers: beastmaster, call creatures, dull pain, healer, flash-bang, mask of flesh. Two empty slots.

A skaven card-shark with aspirations of piracy, answering some of Pozzo's questions while maneuvering her deeper into debt.

>Orb of Infinite Psyche added to inventory - freeform suggestions unlocked
>freeze-dried ration pack x50 added to inventory
>warded carapace armor added to inventory
>xeno pelt cloak added to inventory

Quite a haul. That stack of fancy food alone is worth more than a year's wages.

Could continue ransacking the shuttle and other nearby valuables under pretext of repairs or resupply, end up with too much to carry, stow away in the unfurnished cabins, get dragged into the young Haarlock's upcoming planetside adventure.

Could have Pozzo equip the invisibility fur, depart from human controlled sectors of the ship toward the Dark Holds, reverse-engineer pentagrammatic wards into a superior binding circle for an unholy ritual to summon a warp-entity and force it to give truthful answers.

Could have Pozzo equip the carapace armor, stack bonuses on Lucky's already impressive stealth and disguise, infiltrate officer country to eavesdrop on that emergency meeting.

Could trade some or all of the loot to an "unsanctioned quartermaster" for quick cash, go get drunk instead of trying anything heroic.

Or something else?
No. 1047799 ID: e5709d

Humph. Little Pozzy has begun yammering about how she's in charge and she gets the spoils that I scrounged from her suicide mission. Oooh, that weak-dumb manling... Curse my old clan, they were ultra-weak, yes-yes, for not surviving the Fields of Chaos, as I triumphed! An endless sea of worlds to conquer... and this 'Lord' has no army. Only an endless horde of angry little monsters that wants me found and dead. So I bend-knee to this inferior creature... for now.

>What do
These miserable man-things! They stare at wealth the gods would envy, and all they see is that flimsy skull with the fake ruby jammed into its eye socket! They do not deserve such lavish riches, such advanced technology! We shall take-take, and we will not stop until they realize they are doomed to starve!
'Lucky' derides the Haarlock clan as ignorant and stupid, and thus unable to detect the party's simple thievery. He orders recommends Pozzo continue their... appraisal of this entire ship until they have enough assets to purchase a whole damn planet.
No. 1048407 ID: 287555

>what do
Pozzu's long term goals necessitate information gathering... information that might not normally be avialable at her rank or security clearance. That's going to require following unconventional approaches, and some risk.

The uh, "unsanctioned quartermaster" might be one such source of intel, but the officers undoubtably have more, and if they're discussing this mess right now (or at least whatever's going on with that ship-out-of-nowhere), Pozzu probably wants to know it.

>Could have Pozzo equip the carapace armor, stack bonuses on Lucky's already impressive stealth and disguise, infiltrate officer country to eavesdrop on that emergency meeting.

Getting executing for spying would suck, though. Hmm. Maybe if you're caught, claim you're there to fix something, accompanying the mechanical servitor? Repair and cleaning is generally beneath the attention of the officer class, unless they're assigning it as punishment, or its getting in their way.
No. 1048952 ID: f57349
File 166807638196.jpg - (36.26KB , 345x479 , Maccabian.jpg )

Pozzo Ekasdottir straps on the warded carapace armor, steps back out into the shuttle bay, and spreads the word among her crewmates that the guncutter's two unfurnished cabins need to be made ready for new additions to the Haarlock heir's retinue - one a mercenary, the other a priest. Better be quick about it, and spare no expense, since it'll be a well-heeled rogue trader picking up the tab.

She leaves the shuttle bay, headed home to crew quarters, holding a stack of ration packs - wrapped with optic-orange caution tape, the bundle resembles a demolition charge. Ordnance technician at a dead run outranks everybody. Dive down a laundry chute, kick off a handrail to turn that one corner with the flaky grav-plates just a few seconds faster. On arrival, stops and kneels before the family shrine. Spare pieces of kit left behind by Dad's platoon are still there. Quick, apologetic prayers to the Emperor, and to St. Drusus, then an entreaty to the Lathes that interchangeable parts remain indistinguishable from one another. Unlatch the enshrined helmet's distinctive face-plate, set five fine ration packs and a pair of clean socks in its place, Do Ut Des. What soldier could refuse such an offering? Combine that mask with her stolen suit's helmet, put it on, and get into character as an interchangeable Maccabian Janissary while riding the lift up to officer country.
Door guard outside the staff meeting keeps glancing down at his own left sleeve, holding himself back from scratching at something nobody else can see. They say there's three kinds of people: those who've never traveled through the warp, those who've hallucinated during, and liars.
Salute, then hold up the Orb of Infinite Psyche when he asks for ID. He blinks a few times, hesitates, but waves her through rather than question it. Inside...

"...who died in an unrelated incident before the chain of command could even be formally handed off, at which point I became acting captain. Attempts to access hard-copy backups of the original briefing materials set off concealed, ah..."
Acting Captain Flinders gestures at a fancy new eyepatch.
"So between all that, and the astropathic choir in disarray, we had no way to confirm what the primary Inquisitorial mission even was, much less whether or not it had been completed. I would have ordered a prompt return to base, but both our qualified Navigators are in the infirmary with psychneuein infestation. Spotted early for once, thank the Emperor, so they'll likely pull through. Even so, full excision and recovery is expected to take months. If you and Old Ben Nostromo hadn't shown up, would've been adrift in the immaterium with dwindling provisions until then. The Sigilite's Word owes you a debt of gratitude, Miss Haarlock."
>"Wait, 'both?' Isn't it standard Imperial Navy practice to have at least three Navigators aboard any ship on solitary patrol? 'Pair and a spare' and all that."
"We do, technically. Waiting it out like a Chartist seemed safer than trusting the helm of a Tempest-class strike frigate to an illiterate nine-year-old."
No. 1048961 ID: e5709d

>Waiting it out like a Chartist seemed safer than trusting the helm of a Tempest-class strike frigate to an illiterate nine-year-old.
Further-Lord can't help himself. He lets loose a bellowing chortle.
"*Ahem* S-sorry, inside joke about expiration date of bio-organic warhound liver spouts. Don't ask-tell.
Wait, you said illiterate? T-that's no-no joke! The girl must travel-sight a marvel of Inter-Chaotic ship technology, and she doesn't even know how to tell the stop / self-destruct buttons apart, let alone a space-flight manual?! Who do I need to report for kill-kill- I mean execution?"

Further-Lord realizes the whole room is now staring at him.

"Yes-yes, all of you praise the All-Saviour-All-Destroyer, He who shall obliterate all Chaos in all things for all the Imperium (once we man-things get our God-Emperor-be-Damned act together). Apologies for the verbal tics, can't stop them, install-grafted sacred biotechnology to save-preserve it from decay out of broken tube. Manual said it was tested on rats. Manual never said it harvested brains of rats and grafted them to user.
...A demonstration is in order. Yes-yes."

Further-Lord finds the nearest piece of technology or aching crewmember and 'repairs' them.
No. 1049086 ID: f57349
File 166825003423.png - (519.91KB , 698x366 , daring_escape.png )

Everyone in the meeting room whips out a pistol and aims at the babbling rat-monster, who promptly vanishes into thin air.

>Pozzo Ekasdottir equips archaeotech laspistol (unloaded)

Acting Captain Flinders taps a button on the table, engaging an in-ship vox link.
"Gellar field status?"
"All green, sir. Nothing to report." The assembled senior officers relax, slightly.
"Acknowledged. Over and out." Taps again, disconnecting. "Goddamn hallucinations."
No. 1050233 ID: f57349

Any exorcist worth her salt could tell you that "neither within the law nor outside it" and "entire star system" do not belong in the same sentence.

Quaddis is essentially a planet-sized vacation getaway for the upper crust of the Calixis Sector's nobility, kept in perpetual extraterritorial limbo by a legal loophole. As heir to the Haarlock line, May is the closest thing it has to a planetary governor. There were no fixed orbital facilities or other industrial infrastructure to speak of, even before some more recent catastrophe. Interplanetary-range vox chatter is mostly a mix of eerie silence and variations on the Voidfarer's Prayer for Aid.

Initial skim by the astropathic choir estimates only a few hundred thousand people left alive across the entire system. When the Sigilite's Word last passed through here, just a few months ago, that was roughly four million, expected to swell to over five million as offworld visitors arrived to view the Grand Conjunction and attend the concomitant Festival of Tattered Fate. That event was last week - around the same time as the incident at Ice Station Mara, and far too recently for conventional transport to have departed via any safe jump point unless they broke orbit before the festival started.

Your party has effectively been reunited. Novator Benhamin "Old Ben" Nostromo, alpha-level psyker Lottie "The Burning Princess," Anguish, and Magos Biologis Sarcos "Bubbles" Vathek, aren't in the same room with Acting Captain Flinders, the rest of the navy officers, Ekasdottir, Further-Lord, and May (who hasn't been formally recognized as being in charge of much of anything yet), but from their respective duty stations they can all speak to each other easily through the in-ship vox, and everyone else seems to be assuming Maioigo Haarlock knows more than them about what the hell is going on.

Ships in orbit include two heavy transports, four cruisers, and a dozen smaller warp-capables, all seemingly structurally intact based on long-range scans... or at least, no signs of a conventional space battle.
)Might be able to assert salvage rights under the Haarlock warrant, regroup survivors into an adequate crew for at least one of those.
)Or you could start by visiting Xicarph, Quaddis system's capital (only) city and the event's probable focal point.
No. 1050343 ID: 3f01d5

Let's start by asserting control, rounding up surviors- locals can likely tell us the rough shape of the thing, then we can get detailed examinations later. Standard quarantines protocols, let's make sure we're not losing anyone from our crew to whatever happened here.
No. 1050661 ID: f57349

First distinction in ship types is warp capability. Non-warp-capable ships include orbital habitats, semi-static planetary defenses, and everything from tiny passenger shuttles (such as the ever-popular aquila lander) to multi-million-ton in-system vessels which could in principle be fitted with a warp drive but simply haven't been.

Among warp-capable ships, the major distinction is size.
Smaller category is escorts, subdivided into transports, raiders, and frigates.
Largest common category is capital ships: heavy transports, light cruisers, cruisers, battlecruisers (also sometimes known as heavy cruisers), and grand cruisers.
Finally, battleships. They're equivalent to at least two cruisers each, ranging on up into huge, absurd superweapons. Rarely seen outside major fleet engagements.

Raiders are fast but fragile. Frigates are more well-rounded. Usually takes five or six of either to be a fair fight against a cruiser, and you could expect to lose at least one in the process, but they're not really meant for fleet battles - any given ship of the line can only be in one place at a time (not counting arrive-before-you-left warp shenanigans), so if you've got five escorts and your enemy has one cruiser, ideal strategy is to spread out. One encounters the enemy capital ship and retreats, while the other four get to play "I brought a space warship to this meeting and you didn't."

Not quite up to that level yet, though. So, what do you want for your family's new flagship? Your father, and several generations of Haarlocks before him, operated out of a frigate known as the Spear of Destiny. It's not here, but there are about a dozen escort-sized vessels to choose from, could probably find something similar.

Could even combine the best of two or more of them, thanks to the Viat Lux, a Goliath-class heavy transport outfitted as a mobile shipyard. Might be a good pick itself - slow moving, with barely any weapons, but superbly well equipped for stellar surveying and capable of operating almost indefinitely without resupply. Onboard refinery can fuse low-grade ore and blue sunlight into fuel for the plasma drives, while agriponic decks transmute stale air and sewage into fresh fruit and lumber.

Only other heavy transport in the system is a Conquest-class star galleon, the Frost Dream. First and foremost a luxury passenger liner, secondarily a school for assassins. Ship-to-ship armament consists of several short-range, high-precision lance weapons rather than conventional macrobatteries. Lot of potential for profit, but also chronic problems with corruption, incompetence, and obscure doctrinal disputes escalating to murder.

There are four other cruiser-sized ships, though naval records don't reveal much about them - each is registered to a different faceless holding company, nominally headquartered at the sector capital, and overdue for its decadal inspection. Probably the 'deniable assets' of some noble faction or other. That very deniability makes them easier to get away with seizing for your own use, since those original owners would have a harder time proving their claim, but could make powerful enemies - and even if not, upkeep costs for such a vessel are considerable. Good news? Raw combat power, and catching up on maintenance while rooting out minor tech-heresies could provide pretext for refitting one of them according to your preferences.

Smallest of the four is the Secutor-class monitor-cruiser. Some heavier systems won't fit, but it's a bit more agile than most cruisers, and cheaper to operate.

Middle-of-the-road is the Dictator-class cruiser, with room enough for full macrocannon broadsides or even a nova cannon. Lot of interior space is dedicated to launch bays, including a full complement of starfighters, bombers, and assault boats, though those could easily be swapped out for aeronautica or utilitarian cargo barges.

Biggest, and only one that can fit triple void shields, is the Repulsive-class grand cruiser. Very few of those in Imperial service anymore, some flaw in the design combines poorly with warp travel.

Armageddon-class battlecruiser can fit just as many guns as a Repulsive-class, and nearly any other shipboard systems too, without the corruptive flaw. However, it's surprisingly cramped. Power cabling clogs the ship’s passageways like arterial plaque. Thus it can only stock three months of provisions, rather than the normal six.

a) smaller ship, details to be determined in step 2
b) Viat Lux, as-is
c) Frost Dream, as-is
d) Frost Dream, overhauled to replace luxury features with refugee barracks
e) Secutor-class, details to be determined in step 2
f) Dictator-class, details to be determined in step 2
g) Repulsive-class, details to be determined in step 2
h) Armageddon-class, details to be determined in step 2
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