Here's Chapter One of the fic. This one should begin to set the scene,
but the whole reason Ranma was chosen has not yet shown itself. So,
hold your horses, all will be explained.



Disclaimer: The trolls in Great Britain at Games Workshop 
own Warhammer 40,000; I don't. I don't own the Ranma 
characters, either.


 
                 The Emperor's Hand
               Chapter One: Encounters



     Ardallan stared out at the battlefield from the viewport of 
his Wave Serpent. The vehicle's armor and force fields protected 
him from harm, but only his own training as a warlock protected 
him from the horror just outside. 

     Everywhere he looked, green alien blood mixed with the pure 
red of the Eldar. Though more skilled and with greater 
technology, the Eldar just did not have the numbers to push back 
the Orks from the beachhead they had developed. 

     A shriek of sonic and psionic feedback announced a squad of 
Howling Banshees diving into close combat with the Ork assault 
troops. Their masks, fitted with special psycho-receptors, 
channeled both their battle cry and feelings of rage into a 
potent weapon, capable of overloading the nervous system of the 
target. So potent was this, that one of the enemy Orks found his 
head exploding from the feedback. Unfortunately, there were only 
eight Banshees attacking over thirty Orks, and the odds did not 
look good for the warrior-women of the Eldar.

     A flare of energy, and the Wave Serpent lurched. One of the 
erratic heavy weapons of the enemy had impacted against the front 
energy field, which barely dissipated enough energy to protect 
the vehicle. Ardallan turned his helmeted head to look at Farseer 
Dalhavadar. With a nod, the leader of Task Force Arweinydd 
motioned for the driver to stop, and let them out. One Farseer, a 
psyker of power more than any other race in the galaxy could 
imagine, and his five Warlock bodyguards, a force that could aid 
the beleaguered Banshees.

     *************************************************

     The energy surrounding him faded, and Ranma Saotome found 
himself in what looked like Hell. Huge, green-skinned monsters 
were fighting what looked like women in strange armor. A hovering 
vehicle of some sort was disgorging helmeted men in robes with 
swords, and energy bolts were searing across the field. Making a 
snap decision because of the huge axe that narrowly missed 
splitting him in two, not that he really needed much help in this 
decision, he launched himself into battle against the greenskins. 
Perfectly placed shots send his foes into each other, rendering 
them rapidly unable to continue the fight. 

     The sound of a pistol shot impacting armor caused the 
pigtailed martial artist to spin, and see one of the warrior 
women spinning from a round that had caught him in the shoulder. 
Ash she fell, so did an immense axe, heavy enough to cleave her 
in two. Unwilling to just sit and watch, he hopped forward, and 
snatched her up, and jumped out of the way of the green thing. 
Setting her down by the stopped vehicle, he bounded back into the 
fray with a leap kick at the axe-wielding thing. It flew 
backwards as one of its tusks shattered from the impact.

     As the sand of the desert world crunched under his feet, a 
loud whirring noise alerted him to danger from the rear. 
Spinning, he saw a clockwork monstrosity almost twelve feet tall. 
Two crane-like arms jutted out at awkward angles. One ended in a 
buzzsaw, while the other ended in a lobster-like claws. Two odd 
cannons sprouted opposite each arm, and it tottered on awkward 
legs. He ducked a sawblade, seeing the weapons of the armored 
people bounce off the thing. "Geez, what is this, a tinkertoy 
robot? Gimme a break!" With a loud kiai, he projected his 
confidence forth. To most, shimmering waves of heat seemed to 
flow rapidly from his outstretched palms. To those with the eyes 
to see it, however, it was a lance of brilliant yellow energy. 
All, however, could see the armored shell of the lumbering thing 
rip apart like a tin can in a sandblaster. It fell, the tiny 
green thing inside flying clear just before it exploded. Looking 
around, and seeing that he was surrounded, it sprinted off in a 
random direction, knocking itself out on the hull of the hovering 
vehicle.

     Slowly, the tide of the battle began to turn. Routed by the 
appearance of this strange, invincible warrior, the unit fighting 
Ranma panicked and ran, spreading their panic to other units. Not 
knowing why their buddies were so scared, the others decided it 
must be something pretty bad, and decided to scarper, themselves.
Although still outnumbered, the armored warriors took advantage, 
and immediately counter-attacked. Only a short battle later, and 
the green enemies had either been cut down, or fled the field.

     *************************************************

     Seeing the injured Banshee by the Wave Serpent, Dalhavadar 
knelt by her. The wound was not severe, but a fragment of her 
armor had shorted her Mask, and the feedback had stunned her. The 
only reason she was still alive was the strange, unarmored Human.
Strange, that a Human would save the life of an Eldar. "Mon-
Keigh, I would speak with you," he said. The Farseer spoke in the 
crude tongue of the Humans, trusting that he would not know the 
full meaning behind the Eldar word for Mankind.

     The human walked over, and spouted gibberish, with a 
concerned look on his face as he glanced at the fallen Banshee. 
It was not in Imperial, or even Old Imperial, but in a lilting, 
musical language. Realizing that they shared no common language, 
the boy tried again, slower, while pointing to her shoulder.

     Dalhavadar shook his head. He did not know how this boy had 
gotten here, or what language he spoke, but he was a Farseer, a 
psyker with the powers of the mind. He removed his helmet, and 
locked eyes with the human. *She will be fine, warrior. But I 
must know about you.*

     Confusion grew in the boy's mind, making it difficult to 
maintain contact with. *I-in my mind? How? Not get too 
deep...thoughts of Akane not probed...* The boy shook his head, 
and steeled his gaze. *I a-am Saotome Ranma. I don't know how I 
got here. I jus' saw some girls fightin' monsters, an' helped 
'em. Waitaminute - pointed ears? Who are you?*

     *And who are you, Warrior, to not know the Eldar, or the 
Orks?* responded Dalhavadar. Squinting slightly, he read the 
boy's aura. At the core, the shining light of confidence burned 
with an intensity that shocked him, layered as it was with the 
touch of another. The signature was clear, for he had seen it 
first hand. This boy had been touched by the Emporer, perhaps 
even taken from his backwater home to this battlefield.

     *I dunno. I jus' know you look like an Elf from one o' 
Hiroshi's manga.* The word Elf carried with it connotations of 
not just pointed ears, but also grace, skill, and longevity, and 
not a little honor. 

     *Elf is a word I have not concieved of in thousands of 
cycles. How is it you were able to project your aura as a weapon? 
It was no psychic power, for I would know.* Dalhavadar cocked his 
head, as his Warlock bodyguard approached, and began to bind the 
Banshee's wounds.

     *You mean my Mokou Takabisha? Um, it's a chi blast. I gather 
my confidence, and channel it at an enemy. It does the rest.* 
Ranma shuffled his feet, nervous by an entirely silent 
conversation.

     *Remarkable. You will accompany us to Valdur-Avendel.* This 
was a statement, not a question.

     *I guess...what's Valdur Avendel?* asked Ranma.

     *Our home. But, first, take this...* He reached into the 
pouch he carried on his belt, and pulled out what appeared to be 
an earring of some sort. *Place it in your ear.*

     Doing as he was told, Ranma thought, *So what is this thing 
gonna do for me? I hope it isn't cursed or nothin.*

     Dalhavadar spoke. "No, it is not. It allows you to 
understand us, and us to understand you. I did not give it to you 
earlier, as I had not made contact with you long enough to guage 
the pattern of your thoughts."

     Nodding, Ranma did a double-take. "Hey, it works! But I 
kinda heard your voice in the background, an' Japanese in my 
ears. Does it sound like that the other way, too?"

     "Yes, Mon-Keigh. Now, you will get in this Wave Serpent, and 
we return to Valdur Avendel, and away from this blasted patch of 
blood-soaked sand." 

     What amazed Ranma most about that statement was that 
'blasted patch of blood-soaked sand' was only a single word.

     *******************************************

     Akane still could not believe what she saw. He was gone. 
Because of her. Her anger. Her...her jealousy. He wasn't coming 
back. He had to come back. But where was he? He was gone. He 
probably couldn't come back. And it was her fault.

     A loud 'Thwack!' on the table by Cologne's staff brought her 
back to her senses. "Child, I realize you seem to find it 
neccessary to wallow in guilt, but this will not help us find out 
where Son-in-law has gone to. If you please, could you describe 
the edges of this 'hole' in space?"

     Glancing around the table, she could not bring herself to 
meet Cologne's intense gaze, or the scornful look of Shampoo. Her 
eyes dropped back to the table as she spoke. "I-it was like a 
thousand swirling colors were mixed together for the outline. It 
was pretty ragged, but it was almost hypnotic. And the hand was 
pretty much the same. It was like I was frozen, and couldn't 
move. Um, Cologne?"

     Not dropping her intensity one notch, the old Matriarch 
simply said, "Yes?"

     Akane fiddled with her thumbs, and said, "Wh-why can't you 
ask Shampoo these questions?"

     Cologne nodded. "True, I could ask Shampoo. Or almost anyone 
in Nerima. With one problem."

     "Wh-what?"

     "Only the two of you saw what happened, and only you could 
clearly make out either the gate, or the hand. To everyone else 
in Nerima,"continued the Matriarch, "the only thing strange 
appearing in the sky today was a white duck wearing glasses."

     "I don't understand, why could I see it as clear as... as, 
well, day, and Shampoo couldn't, when she was right next to me, 
and she even spotted it first?" Her voice dropped a few notches. 
"She's got better eyesight than me." An unspoken thought added to 
the troubles on her face.

     "I do not understand, but I will. First, you need to eat, it 
is dinner time." Cologne hopped down off her chair, and walked 
back to the kitchen of the Nekohanten.

     "Dinner? Oh! Kasumi will be worried..." began Akane.

     "SIT! I have called your family." Cologne peered out around 
the edge of the counter, as it was taller than her. "I have given 
them a suitable story, and told them you and Ranma are eating 
here tonight."

     "And they bought it?"

     "Yes. It seems that your middle sister was out, probably 
fleecing more money of the Kuno boy. She ought to get it over 
with, and fleece him for it all." The Matriarch had raised her 
voice, to make it easier to hear over the clatter of pots and 
pans.

     "What you mean, Great-Grandmother?" asked Shampoo.

     "She ought to marry him," came the reply. In spite of 
herself, Akane started to laugh at the idea.

     The door of the Nekohanten almost exploded off its hinges as 
Kuonji Ukyou charged in. "Cologne, something's happened to Ranma! 
And I want to know if you had anything to do with it!" Her chest 
was heaving, causing her spatula shuriken to rustle in their 
bandoliers, and was holding her giant battle spatula.

     "N-no, Ukyou. It was my fault." Akane could not bring 
herself to meet the okonomiyaki chef's eyes, any more than she 
could Cologne or Shampoo. In fact, the tears she had been holding 
back by sheer denial finally erupted forth.

     Confused, Ukyou turned to the young Amazon. "What happened?"

     "Shampoo don't know. Was on delivery, and stopped to say 
hello to Airen, when Kitchen Destroyer knock him for loop. Then 
hole in sky open up, and hand grab Airen. Now he gone." Her face 
showed sadness, but, strangely, little anger towards Akane.

     "I-I thought I was hallucinating...but he's gone?" Ukyou 
pulled out a chair next to Akane. Glancing over at the crying 
girl, she reached over. They may be rivals, but they were still 
friends - somewhat. "Don't worry Akane, if anyone can figure out 
what happened, it's Cologne."

     "I know. But it's my fault!" Turning, she buried her face in 
the chef's shoulder. "I just lost my temper! And now he's gone!"

     Cologne watched the touching scene from her perch on her 
staff. A thousand swirling colors, drawing in the eyes. It 
sounded like... but it could not be him. Though he was ten 
thousand years old, still was he physically a child. And his 
power was not that great.

     Not yet.

- Valandar the Red of the Empty Tankard
http://members.tripod.com/~Valandar/fanfic.html


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