《Ignis》


 Chapter 0 Part 1: Birthworld

    You feel formless, incorporeal. Several bright gems float before you, each calling out to you. You get the sense that this is not a choice to be made lightly, so you examine each of the gems in detail.


    The first gem is a deep green emerald. "Deathworld" it whispers, "Dagda."


    You remember Dagda. The old forests, full of hungry plants and animals. The deep caves, from which few brave souls return.


    Choosing this gem would grant you strength and toughness, but limit your learning and social skills. You would be good with primitive weapons, and resistant to most poisons.


    The next gem is a cave-black opal, visible only by the soft blue light it sheds. "Voidborn" it purrs, "Ship-birthed."


    You remember the ships that sail the night-water between the stars. The subtle thrum of the gravity generators and drives. The stink of hundreds of years of sweat worked into the very deck plates of the ship.


    Choosing this gem would leave you weaker of frame but tougher of mind. You would lead a lucky early life, and a scrap of that may follow you onwards. You would be used to the ships and sailing the stars, disdainful of the ground.Stolen novel; please report.


    The third gem is a fiery red ruby. Forgeworld it rumbles, "Kannus."


    You remember Kannus. The endless beat of the machines, the constant march of worker''s feet.


    Choosing this gem would give you a sharper intellect, but slow you hand-to-hand skills. You would have the mechanical knowledge most lack, and be well-tuned to your chosen purpose, but ill at ease with the beliefs of others.


    The fourth gem is a smoky grey agate. "Hiveworld¡± it grumbles, "Thunderspire."


    You remember Thunderspire. The endless press of crowds, the endless strife of the downtrodden and dangerous.


    Choosing this gemstone would leave you weaker of frame, but faster at making friends. You would be accustomed to large crowds and super-urban areas, twitchy for the first sign of trouble and uneasy in open spaces.


    The fifth gem is a yellow amber. "Imperial World" it murmurs, "Viking."


    You remember Viking. Law and order, bureaucracy and prayer, paperwork and devotions.


    Choosing this gem would leave you strong willed and familiar with the Imperium''s religious customs, but willfully ignorant of the wider galaxy.


    The sixth orb is a blue sapphire. "Noble Born" it croons, "Von Sebastion."


    You remember House Von Sebastion. Wealth and connections, influence and etiquette.


    Choosing this gem would give you a weakened will but good social skills, and access to wealth an influence above and beyond the common man. But it would also give you a foe, a personal vendetta.

 Chapter 0 Part 2: BIrthright

    You listen to the rumble of the ruby for a long time. You feel the pull of its call: to know how your equipment works, not simply how to use it. But ultimately the croon of the sapphire wins out. Who cares if you know how your equipment works if you can simply throw money at the right person to explain things to you in a way that you will understand. That desire to know mutes itself to a good fellowship with the people who do understand such things. It does help to treat them well for their work on your behalf, after all.


    You grasp the sapphire firmly in your hands, and the other gems vanish like smoke on the breeze. You can feel your shadow detach itself from your feet, floating off to form your Nemesis. You know that you will be seeing It sometime in the future.


    Two new objects slowly materialize before you: a goblet to your right and a book to your left. You consider them the same way you considered the gems,as you feel that they represent the next step in your life. Well, your life before you were someone important.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    You shake your head to clear it of distracting thoughts and consider the book. "Savant" echoes in the rustle of pages turning. Learning, logic, knowledge is power. Learning would dominate your early life, strengthening your mind at the cost of you body.


    You turn and consider the goblet. "Vaunted" resonates in the clamor of voices at yet another party. Mixed drinks, the smell of recreational narcotics, keeping your wit while others lose their inhibitions. Partying would dominate your early life, leading to an increased fellowship and tolerance for intoxicants, at the cost of duller perceptions and a tiny piece of your soul.

 Chapter 0 Part 3: Lure of the Void

    You consider the goblet briefly, but decide against drinking its poisoned contents. Your soul is your own, and you plan on keeping it. You open the book to start reading, and feel another breeze tug the goblet away after the other gems. The sapphire sits comfortably on its chain about your neck as you read, time slipping away. Eventually you close the book and look upwards longingly. You can see stars up there now, three clusters of three, twinkling in the darkness between landfalls. You can hear their siren song.


    But there are three clusters to choose from, so you take your time considering them, separating each voice from the chorus.


    "Duty" the first cluster calls. You shut the other two clusters out of your ears for a moment and sort out the three bass voices.


    "...to the Throne" sings the first. Your will would strengthen, as would your contempt for all others not of the Imperium.


    "...to Humanity" the second intones. Your perception would increase, but a small fraction of your wealth would flow out to charities.


    "...to your Dynasty" the third trills. Your Nemesis would grow in strength, but so would House Von Sebastion, your house. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    You tune out the Duty cluster and shift your ears to the second set of stars. "Zealot" they chant as you begin to parse their tenor voices.


    "Blessed Scars" calls the first. You would be much more intimidating, much less charming, and gain an augmetic of some sort.


    "Unnerving Clarity" responds the second. Your will would strengthen, at the cost of a small sliver of your sanity.


    "Favored of the Faithful" counterpoints the third. You would strengthen your fellowship with your fellow man, and with the Religious Authorities in particular, at the cost of your durability.


    You neglect the second cluster''s chant for a moment and listen to the third. "Chosen by Destiny" their sopranos soar.


    "Truthseeker" the first Warbles. You would be better able to parse the best way forward, but at the cost of ignoring conventional wisdom on occasion and thus irritating the Religious Authorities.


    "Xenophile" echoes the second. You would strengthen your understanding of non-humans and their cultures, at the price of being more vulnerable to their influence.


    "Fated" calls the last. Your will to live and achieve greatness would increase, at the cost of a tiny fragment of your sanity.


    You lay back on the ground and bask in the lure of the void, contemplating to which star you might hitch your fate.

 Chapter 0 Part 4: Trials

    You fix your gaze and ears on the Truthseeker star and its soaring soprano solo. The others quietly blink out, one by one, until only Truthseeker remains. Now you have a destination, and must go to it.


    You amble down the road towards the shuttle pads, passing by the temples and shrines to dogmatic belief that mark the way, ignoring their chants and the fury of the monks who man them. How long it takes you cannot say, for time has no meaning in this place of symbols and decisions.


    You are almost at the shuttle pads when you come to another fork in the road. Each way leads to a shuttle, and each shuttle leads onward toward your star. But upon pondering them, you know that each represents a different hurdle for you to overcome. That you will do so is not in doubt, but it is up to you to choose which you face and which you avoid.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The right-hand path and shuttle are marked by the shadows of a High Vendetta. You sense your Nemesis along this path, a confrontation, a fight without a winner or slain foe. Taking it would give you a strong sense of honor and desire to have vengeance upon those who wrong or slight you.


    The left hand way and shuttle are dark and brooding, the omens of a Dark Voyage. You sense knowledge and truths that would push the borders of your mind, perhaps even beyond what Man was meant to know. Taking it would grant you that knowledge, in all its glory and horror.

 Chapter 0 Part 5: Motivation

    You give your Nemesis a rude gesture and head for the other shuttle. Arrogance comes before a fall, and you have no desire to see It empowered for no reason. As the shuttle begins to ascend, you ponder over your actions. What drives you? Why have you chosen to reach for the stars? Three things come to your mind, and you consider each of them. Only one can dominate, and you must choose it.


    Renown: to have your name known down the ages in fame and glory. You would gain an Air of Authority, and be a leader amongst men.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Pride: in your house and yourself. Not the prickly kind that inspires honor-duels and blood-feuds over spilt drinks, the kind that stiffens your spine and prods you to prove others wrong just because you can. You would gain a relic from your family''s history.


    Prestige: If the Imperium is a hierarchy, then you will stand as high in it as you can. By wit or will, blade or bullet, you will climb as high as you can. You would gain an extra skill, something you would not normally have.

 Chapter 0 Part 6: Career

    The flame of your pride burns brighter than the other two as you consider the Arechotech Laspistol holstered at your side. But as the Dark Voyage docks at her mothership, you look down at your hands and your visions splits and wavers.


    With the first beat of your heart, you see your hands as the ink-flecked hands of the Missionary, tasked with bringing the Emperor''s Truth to the darkest places, leaving light or ashes behind you. You would be healer and incinerator, orator and confessor. And the whole time, looking for the corrupting taint of the Ruinous Powers.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Your heart beats again, and you see your hands as the calloused, silk-gloved hands of the Seneschal, tasked with keeping the records, the budget, and the intrigue webs of your Ship and House. You would be trade-master and spy-master, a prominent peacock of an actor and a grey man blended into a crowd. Always serving under another, you would go where they could not, to see and do what they never could.


    With the third beat of your heart, you see your hands as the hooked, pallid flesh of a Navigator, tasked with guiding your Ship through the insanity of the Warp. You would be the one with the body and mind to stare into the Laughing Void, to guide the dance along it currents and winds. And all the time, It would be laughing at you, its endless gaze meeting yours.

 Chapter 1: Welcome Aboard

    You close your eyes and take a deep calming breath, Willing yourself to Awaken from your dream. You open your eyes again, and see your hands as they actually are. Slightly pallid, long-fingered, elegant. You flex them, and they respond with their usual grace.


    The arrival chime dings, and you stand up and glide to the storage bin to collect your things. You muse at the irony of having to do so: most nobles would have a footman or minion to do such a thing, but not you or any other Navigator. No one likes to touch the belongings of a psyker, no matter how safe or sanctified.


    As the ranking passenger aboard the Dark Voyage, you were the last to board and the first to disembark. Again, despite your esteemed rank and birth, there is no over-elaborate greeting ceremony. The shuttle bay is neat and clean, and the other passengers disembark and peel off to their destinations, clearly crewmen returning to their ship. You glance about, and your eyes fix on a uniformed officer, clearly there to meet you. She sees you at the same time, and comes your way.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    "Lady Dannan, I presume? Welcome aboard the Ignis. Executive Officer Ravi Ekhi." She reaches out to shake your hand. You take a moment and a second glance to appraise her as you shake. Of average height and build, brown hair, brown eyes. Were it not for the uniform, you would easily have lost track of her amidst a group of people. "Shipmistress Faunia Von Sebastion extends her welcome as well, and would appreciate you joining her in a meeting, if you are not too tired from your journey."

 Chapter 2: Feet First

    You nod to XO Ekhi, "lead on to the meeting. I slept well enough on the shuttle, and I''m only bringing what I''m carrying anyway." You shrug the backpack on your shoulder.


    Ekhi raises an eyebrow, "no luggage Lady Dannan?"


    You give a small smile. "no one likes to touch a Navigator''s things. And I don''t like carrying extra things when I don''t have to. I expect to be aboard for quite some time, so I''ll fill out my wardrobe and such as we travel. Now lead on, It won''t do to keep Shipmistress Von Sebastion waiting."


    The XO can only bow and lead the way. You glide along behind, wondering what exactly has your cousin so tied up that she didn''t greet you herself. A half mile of corridors and lifts later, you have some inkling. Two men stand sentry outside the conference room. One is the expected Von Sebastion armsman, dutifully guarding his Shipmisstress. The other is in the white-on-orange of the bodyguard of a ranking Bishop of the Ecclesiarchy. Inwardly you sigh. Priests. Why did it have to be ground-bound dogma-wed Priests. Outwardly you still your expression and lower the cowl of your robes, displaying your Navigator''s headscarf as your mark of rank.


    The armsman comes to attention, while the bodyguard comes on-guard. Hardliners then, who are going to have problems with psykers of all stripes, no matter that you are the only person aboard the Ignis who can guide her to whichever destination Faunia requires. XO Ekhi makes the needed introductions, and the armsman and bodyguard step aside. The latter with a clear degree of reluctance, but he is a professional.


    The doorway open and you enter. You drift over and take a seat left open for you at Faunia''s side, placing you bag at your feet and leaning your staff on its arm. "Shipmistress. Navigator Ethna Nic Vir Dannan reporting as ordered."


    Faunia nods in your direction. "Welcome aboard Navigator." Her soprano is as smooth and silky as always, despite the strain you can hear in its depths. The Bishop sitting at the other end of the table must be a real pain in the neck to negotiate with. "Now that my Navigator is aboard, we can begin preparations for departure to Oasis."


    The Bishop puffs out his chest indignantly. "You were waiting for this tainted heap of flesh? That is what we were waiting for?"


    Faunia stares levelly at him "Bishop Rynald, as I have told you several times before, no Imperial ship is capable of moving between systems without a Navigator. This Includes the Ignis. If you are incapable of showing her the respect her profession deserves, then I''m more than willing to confine you to your quarters for the duration of the journey."


    Rynald bristles, indignant at the fact that Faunia isn''t fawning all over him, and clearly hasn''t been for quite some time. His bodyguards are too professional to show their opinions openly, but their hands have been close to their weapons since you entered. He opens his mouth to start another tirade, but Faunia slaps her hand down on the table.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    "The Ignis was contracted by Archbishop Romanus to conduct you to Oasis to assume your Bishopric. I have no intention of breaching that contract, but it means that you are a guest aboard my ship. You will conduct yourself as such, or I will have you confined to your quarters until it is time to disembark. Is that understood?"


    Rynald clearly wants to argue, and you have to wonder if this is his first time aboard a starship. He is clearly young for his rank, probably just raised to it, and looking to rub others face in it. Equally clearly, Faunia has no intention of being bullied and has reached the end of her patience. Rynald backs down. "Understood Shipmistress."


    "Good. I''d suggest you make sure everything is stowed and secure for departure. With Navigator Dannan aboard, we will be departing as soon as our stores are topped up." She stands to depart, with Ekhi trotting and you gliding along in her wake, the armsmen bringing up the rear.


    "I''m guessing Rynald is a first-time traveler then, Shipmistress?" You venture as the party moves down the corridor.


    Faunia nods. "And as self-important as they come."


    "First Transition will humble his ignorant ass then."


    "I know that tone, what''s rubbed you on the raw now Ethna?"


    "Mostly that he''s the type to get his neck broken by shoving it where it doesn''t belong in an effort to exert his ''power''."


    Faunia sighs, "and I can''t let him hurt himself, or the contract goes out the window."


    Ekhi shrugs. "Treat him like a new midshipman? Yank him up just short of burning his eyebrows off so you only have to do it once?"


    You shake your head. "I''m thinking that he''s too stupid for that to work. Estimated Time to departure?"


    Faunia passes the question, "XO?"


    "If the stores are topped up on schedule, we''ll be leaving Viking orbit in three hours, and be at the translation point in another ten."


    "Just enough time to get my things stored away then. XO, my quarters please?"


    Ekhi flips a hand at one of the armsmen. "I need to see to the cargo storage. Armsman Chaplain, if you would escort the Lady to the Navigator''s quarters?"


    A short while later, you are in your quarters and putting your few things away. The staff you leave leaning by the hatch, for when you head back out again. The relic Laspistol that Aunt Yasha gave you goes into the arms chest alongside the customized Hellpistol with its Ferinwood grips from your mother. Your few changes of clothing go into the closet and dresser, your toiletries into a cabinet in the head. Your Xenomesh armor and cowl hangs on the armor stand in the closet. You consider leaning the bolt shell charm on the shrine, but decide against it. Your father Vir gave it you you, patterned after his own. From the drake-head headstamp on it, you know that the material for it came from the same source as his and Aunt Yasha''s, no small honor in its own right.


    With all of that done, you check the clock mounted on the bulkhead. You could take a proper nap before it is time to depart, or you could head to the bridge now and start plotting the jump early.

 Chapter 3: Food for Thought

    With nothing to do for the next three hours or so, you head for your bed. The shuttle flight wasn''t too restful, due in large part to your Dream, and a few hours rest would do you good. The bed proves nice and cozy, and you quickly drift off to dreamless, and more importantly Dreamless, sleep.


    Eight hours later, you awaken feeling well rested. A quick shower in your quarter''s washroom and a fresh set of robes later, and you are ready to begin your day. With five hours until the projected Transit time, you decide to locate breakfast. The staff is an auto-equip, as is your relic laspistol. The hellpistol stays in the arms chest, as its increased penetration is as likely to go through a bulkhead into something important as through an armored target. Stopping power is nice, but not at the cost of blowing away the local life support relay.


    Properly outfitted and equipped, you stop for a moment. You have no idea where the officer''s mess is, if you are even welcome there, or if you are expected to summon a servant to bring you food. You sigh. Ethna is a good sort, and you should probably message her, but she is probably tied up with Bishop Rynald in some fashion. Which means XO Ekhi is busy doing the actual work of running the ship. That leaves asking a servant or a data-search though the Ignis'' database. You promptly discard asking a servant. They may be everywhere, see everything, and know everything, but your mere asking would have better-than-even odds of spreading as rumors before you even got breakfast. Which only leaves the data search.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    You grumble in frustration, and turn back to the terminal. You have had to do some of this work before, so you know that generic search terms will turn up too much data, and specific ones not enough. So you type in a string of search terms you have used successfully in the past on other ships: "Damage Control Map". This pulls up far too much information, as it includes not only the rooms and passages, but also the ducting and wiring and thousand-and-three things groundsiders never think of as being needed parts of a ship.


    The overwhelming advantage of using it is that it leaves nothing out. When the terminal obligingly beeps and displays the results of your search, you have at your fingertips a map that includes every compartment, every duct, and every passageway. The dining spaces are included, of course, and you quickly note the other facilities. The list is far longer than you would normally expect. A Orion-class star clipper like the Ignis usually has four to six supplemental facilities. The Ignis has sixteen. You have little idea how such a feat could actually be achieved, but it does speak of a high degree of miniaturization and optimization usually only seen in Adeptus Mechanicus Ships. Or, you think as the words Deathwatch Private Quarters catch your eyes, an Inquisition ship. Faunia has some explaining to do the next time you sit down, but at first glance it looks like Inquisitor Ironsides got Archmagos Explorator Echo to build a covert transport, with a cover as a fast and efficient cargo hauler.


    You glance about for a dataslate to download your map onto, and come up empty. You will need to pick one up for later. In the meantime, breakfast is calling your name, and you still have another four hours or so before the translation.

 Chapter 4: Leaving Port

    Eating alone has little appeal for you, but you have little hope of companionship in the Officer''s mess. Being a Navigator is oft a lonely experience, but this should let you gauge the Officer''s morale at least. You leave your quarters and lock your door.


    Twenty minutes later you enter the mess and collect a tray of fresh food. The servers are courteous and professional enough, despite their obvious discomfort at having a Navigator in the room. But you don''t notice any outright fear or disgust. Professional standards would mask that, but It also may indicate that other psykers use this mess on a semi-regular basis. You pick a table slightly away from the other diners, all mid-to-upper ranks, all off-duty, to give them a bit of distance. They would probably instinctively move away anyway, but this also makes it clear that anyone sitting closer to you wants to be there.


    You eat slowly, knowing you have several hours yet before the translation, listening to the hum of conversation. Morale seems very good, and discipline tight. You wouldn''t expect any less from Faunia, particularly not if the Ignis is indeed a covert transport for the Deathwatch. You finish your food and head back to your quarters to relieve yourself in private.


    Upon approaching them, it is clear that someone tried to enter. Scratch-marks around the lock indicate a rather pathetic attempt at picking it. Still you examine the doorway closely, looking for any other signs of disturbances, tripwires, that sort of thing. Finding nothing, you unlock the door and enter your quarters. You shut and lock the door behind yourself and stand in the doorway. Examining the room shows no disturbances, and all of your things are in their proper places. Glancing at the clock, you quickly attend to your business and make for the bridge.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Leaving your quarters (after locking them of course), you begin making your way towards the bride with three hours to spare before the translation. One of the Bishops servants tries to follow you unobtrusively, but his cassock is not meant for blending in among crewmen or shadows. Three feet from the bridge door, in full sight of the armsmen guarding it, you turn to confront your trail. "I see you preacher. Head back to your room and prepare your soul, we will be entering the Warp soon."


    The priest blanches in fear and turns to flee.


    Shaking your head you turn back to enter the bridge. "Navigator Dannan reporting to the bridge."


    The armsmen stand aside and you enter the bridge for the first time, and it exceeds your expectations. The Kukri was a warship and boasted an impressive targeting array, and the Megatherium was uncompromisingly merchant design, with her bridge was built around maximizing every possible Throne out of a given cargo.


    But the Ignis'' bridge is a wonder. Built to an older pattern, and with Archmagos Explorator Echo''s touch tweaking the performance to the maximum, it positively thrums with purposeful activity. Every line of sight is clear, every communications interlink is active and ready for use. The sensor display is displaying its results clearly, without the usual wash of false returns or interference. Even the servitors hard-wired into their stations are acting with clear purpose.


    Faunia acknowledges your presence, and motions towards the Navigator''s Vestibule at the rear of the bridge. You enter and take your place on the throne within. The fixtures and interfaces are all top-notch, even better than that perhaps. You pull open a set of Astrographic maps and start considering what course to take.

 Chapter 5: Gotta Go Fast

    You strongly consider taking the long way around, but ultimately decide against it. The sooner the Bishop is off the ship, the better. And if the journey encounters just enough turbulence to shake him up a bit in the process, all the better. It might even begin to dislodge the stick from his asshole.


    The first step is to sketch out the route on a real-space map. you call one up and lay out the direct route, for now a direct line from Viking in the Tichel system to Oasis in the Riptide system. Going outside the well-traveled warp routes cuts the expected duration from 15-25 days down to 5-10, dependent on the currents, tides, and winds of the Warp.


    You put the real-space map away. Aside from the general departure vector, it''s of next to no use once you make Transition. The tools you need for that task are your highly-trained and disciplined mind, and the pineal Third Eye in the middle of your forehead. You hit the switch that closes and secures the Navigator''s Vestibule, to protect the crew from walking in and eating stray Warp energy. Bad Things happen when that occurs, from madness to mutation to possession.


    Drawing a deep breath, you hold it for a long moment before letting it hiss out slowly, taking your physical distractions and errant thoughts flow with it. You close your eyes, remove your headscarf, and open your mind. Promptly, you are assaulted by the distant cacophony of thoughts, emotions, wills, and desires. You filter it out, diving into your interfaces with the Ignis. Crewmen ascribe emotions and motives to the ships they sail on. They called the Kukri belligerent, the Megatherium slothful. Techpriest Enginseers, the ones that minister to the ship''s iron bones and electrical blood, see a touch more clearly. They called the Kukri vengeful, the Megatherium plodding. Navigators link directly with the ship, felling the beating heart of her plasma and warp drives, the energetic crackle of her mind. You called the Kukri a Mountain Warrior, raining fire and lightning down upon her foes, the Megatherium a Beast of Burden, stubborn and stoic.


    The Ignis is another beast altogether. Her drives purr with tightly tuned power. Her computers reek of eons gone by. Her very hull and bones are shaped and runed to shed the energies of the warp like water. She is a Grand Old Lady, ancient and wise to the tricks of the void and Warp alike.


    Satisfied with your anchor to yourself and your ship, you filter further out, ignoring the glow of lesser minds and the siren call of the wild warp. you raise your eyes and look beyond, seeking the beating pulsar fire of the Astronomicon. You find it, and bask in the glory of the Emperor''s will and the souls of his subjects made manifest. To mortals, it is just another institution of the Imperium. To you it is The Lighthouse and The Beacon, The North Star by which you set your course in the warp. With it fixed fully in your mind you ease your filters back a touch, picking out the lesser glows of densely-populated Hive Worlds, Astronomicon Relay Stations, the black oozing scars of Warp Rifts, and the unholy fury of Warp Storms.


    With your current position triangulated, Your destination fixed, and your path Illuminated, it is time to actually set about charting your course. Up, down, coreward, rimward, spinward, even time means little or nothing in the Warp, and a Navigator forgets that at her peril. All that does matter are the immaterial currents, winds, and tides of the Warp itself. So you don''t even attempt to set anything in stone, as everything will have to be adjusted on the fly once you make Translation into the Warp. Nevertheless, you reach your mind out, searching for the prevailing current in the local area in addition to warp-carried debris and other hazards to navigation. The current around Tichel always pulls towards Kerella, which is in more-or-less the right direction, but you intend to take a swift-flowing cross-current from a little while, just long enough to catch the edges of the inward pull around the Riptide system. You triple-check your work, as much as you are able to, and find yourself satisfied.


    You close your Third Eye and open your normal ones, once again rooting yourself in reality. "Navigator to Bridge. Warp-course plotted, ready for Translation at your command."


    "Bridge to Navigator. Warp Drive is spooled up and Gellar field is online. Translation in three minutes. Transmit entry vector and stand by to assume the Helm." Faunia''s voice is cool and confident.


    You settle the liquid nutrient dispenser and catheter a touch more comfortably, settling in for the duration of the warp journey. Once you make Translation to the warp, you won''t be leaving your throne until you return to Reality. "Navigator to Bridge. Transmitting vector now." You tap the vector into one of the armrest control panels. "Assuming Helm command at your discretion."Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    "Navigation, Helm. Vector locked and steady." A smooth baritone. Calm, ready. A fighter-pilot on the launch deck.


    "Engines to Bridge. Standing by to answer helm commands on Warp Drive." Mechanical, crisp and eager. Flesh-voice, not synthesized. A rare concession to humanity for a Techpriest.


    "Bridge, Bosun. All hands at Warp stations, all blessings issued, Transit Security Detail standing by. Crew is ready for Translation." Tenor. Stern and foreboding. Discipline master and executioner, ready to end any incursion.


    "Bridge to all hands. Stand by for Warp Translation."


    You feel the familiar tug and twist of the Warp-portal opening. You open your Third Eye and set you mind into the zen half-trance of active ship control in the Warp.


    "Translation in thirty seconds. Navigator, the Helm is yours."


    "Acknowledged. No course change at this time." Already you can feel the local tides pulling hard. This will be a very fast transit. Deep inside that current, a twinkling laugh echoes, the torment of condemned souls. "Helm, left rudder to bearing two two six. Three degree up-planes. Bridge? Warn the Bosun, something Wicked is on the tides."


    "Helm confirms. Left rudder to two two six, three degrees up-planes."


    "Bridge copies your warning Navigator. Bosun is advised."


    You continue to stream heading and vector changes to the Helm as needed, rolling around one particularly nasty eddy, under a rouge back-current, and over a flare of energy. You can feel that sinister laughter snake its way around a handful of weak-willed minds, jumping sideways into their Dreams. The Bosun responds promptly, the Infested minds quickly stamped out before the Infestation can spread.


    A long timeless instant later, you are inbound on the final leg into the Riptide system. "Navigation to Helm and Engines. Real-space Reversion imminent. Begin Reversion protocols on my mark." Their affirmations flow past you as you concentrate on this last step in your journey. Too soon, and you will have a long slow real-space trip in from the Outer Reaches of the Riptide system. Too late and you will find yourself in the hellish cauldron of Riptide''s ravaged inner system. "Begin Revision sequence... now."


    Your timing of the Revision Sequence is impeccable, dropping the Ignis neatly into the approach vector for Oasis Orbit just above the busy Shipyard Belt at the edge of the Primary Biosphere. With reality re-asserting itself, you can feel the exhaustion beginning to creep in slowly. "Navigator to Bridge, relinquishing Helm Command at this time. Requesting time check."


    "Bridge acknowledges Helm Command. Clocks re-calibrating to real-space time... calibration complete. Elapsed real-time: thirty hours seven minutes, a new passage record. Well Done Navigator." XO Ekhi''s mellow voice.


    "Affirmative Bridge. Navigator standing down." You disengage all of the connections, wincing in discomfort as the catheter comes out, and straighten your robes as best you can. You stink of your own sweat, in desperate need of a bath, and definitely in need of a new robe. You gather up your belongings, secure your headscarf, and exit the Navigator''s Vestibule. Curtsying stiffly due to your weary muscles, you exit the bridge.


    Almost immediately you are met with an angry Bishop Rynald. "You worthless piece of filth! You cost the lives of sixty good and pious servants of the Ecclesiarchy! What madness did you deliver their souls up to?"


    You clench your jaw and stand at tall as you can. "This is your first time off-world and your first Warp transit, is it not Bishop?" Your voice is slightly horse from calling out so many course changes, but you allow your derision to sharpen it to a razor''s edge. "And you never bothered to seek instruction as to what precautions to take before a Warp transit, did you? Nor as to what to expect during one? Had anything breached the Gellar Field, we would all be dead at best, probably starting with myself and the Astropath. No, your men died because they lost their Faith and Sanity, and had to be put down before their shattered minds took others with them or called Warp-predators to the Ignis. I suggest you go to the on-board Temple and pray for their souls and your own. Now if you will excuse me, I need a bath, a new robe, and a rest-cycle after being on-station since we entered the Warp." You brush past him and head for your quarters, leaving the Bishop blustering ineffectively having just made a fool of himself in front of at least two armsmen and a crewman. Within the hour, his reputation will be ruined, and it will all have been his own doing.


    You enter your quarters after checking the door again, secure the door behind yourself, and head for the head. You set your robe aside for cleaning, select a fresh one from your wardrobe, noting that you only have three good robes left, and settle in for a long bath. You plan on resting up, but have a decision to make once the Ignis has docked at Oasis. Shopping, or Socializing first?

 Chapter 6: Home Away From Home

    The bath feels delightful. you rest your head on the edge of the tub and let your eyes drift shut for a few minutes.


    The water is room-temperature by the time you wake up. You stretch the crick out of your neck and finish washing up. Shopping can wait, you decide, it is more important to check in with your extended family. You aren''t sure if the Terra Incarnadine is in orbit or not. Probably not you decide, She may be too big and important to risk, but also too useful to leave sitting around. Which would mean Aunt Yasha will be off with her.


    Properly clean, you head back to the closet to select your robe. You leave your brown robe where it hangs. Its comfortable, durable, and tattered around the edges. Instead you select your blue robe. It¡¯s a little less comfortable, but a little more dressy. You make a mental note to pick up a few more, perhaps even a dress or three, while you are here. Oasis Steel Thistle Silk is a wonderful material, by all accounts.


    Before you leave the ground-side starport, you make sure to acquire a durable data-slate. Its a basic model, nothing fancy, in a durable and waterproof case. What it does have is a (relatively) quick CPU and good data read-write speeds. You are not sure exactly how the numbers stack up, or what each of those components do, but you know from having used many such devices that having a fast-ish CPU and data read-write speeds means that programs and files will load sooner. You intend to load the schematics you pulled up earlier onto it, turning it into a map-slate that you can carry around with you.


    The private jitney drops you off at the Von Sebastion mansion. You tip the driver and head inside. Faunia beat you here by landing directly from orbit, but you deem the acquisition of the Data-slate worth the extra hassle of finding a jitney willing to take you. The poor fellow probably assumed you were an astropath, but was properly deferential to your noble status. Or simply scared shitless, but it doesn''t matter overly much to you. He did his job competently and was properly compensated.


    Faunia greets you just inside the main door. "You really should land directly at your destination. Too many people out there aren''t exactly psyker-friendly."This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    You raise one eyebrow. "Like the good Bishop Rynald?" You snort in contempt, "he doesn''t have the balls to take a shot at me. Not with the local Ecclesiarchy, House Dannan, and House Von Sebastion ready to come down on his head if he even tries."


    Faunia grips your shoulder in one strong hand. "It¡¯s not his balls or lack thereof that concerns me cousin. It''s his lack of brains."


    You pat her hand gently. "You concern is noted, but unneeded. Relax Faunia, I''m not exactly helpless. Now who''s home at the moment?"


    "Just Odin, planetbound and tied up in managing this place as always. He''ll be happy to have the company, if only to break up the monotony."


    "Then let¡¯s go join him!"


    The next few hours flow by in pleasant conversation and a truly scrumptious ''welcome back'' feast for Faunia and the Ignis. You have a position of honor, of course, but no-one, particularly yourself and Faunia, make anything of your relation to each other. It''s known within the family, of course, but not much outside of it. Too much possible bad publicity, at least, if that fact was known. If nothing else, it would mean the Ignis would be taken into overt Inquisitorial service, and probably an Inquisitorial investigation into House Von Sebastion and House Dannan. The Houses would probably survive, but that is no certainty, and no-one wants to open that box of horrors.


    The next day dawns bright and clear. You spend an hour or so stretching out all the aches and pains of you previous day''s labors. Well, you aren''t sure if it was just one 30-something hour day, longer, or shorter. Warp travel does that. You have a day or two yet on-planet while the Ignis finishes unloading the shipment of stones for the Bishop Rynald''s cathedral. It''ll be finished eventually, probably with too much ostentation and ego-polishing as always seems to be involved when the Ecclesiarchy has a hand in things.


    But that means you have a day or so for shopping, and every intention of making the most of it. Some practical robes are on your list, but you are strongly tempted to pick up something a bit more fashionable.

 Chapter 7: Apparel and Accessories

    Finishing up your stretches and the rest of your morning wake-up routine, you begin to ponder where to get the clothing you want. Loose-fitting lightweight robes are common enough on Oasis that you aren''t worried about a footman getting the wrong size or anything like that. You pull out a piece of parchment and mark down your general requirements: sizes, various colors, lightweight, loose-fit. Cotton acceptable, steel thistle silk if available. You tap the pen top against the table as you think about formal clothing. You have so few opportunities to use it, as you rarely get off-ship much. Oasis is an exception, as is Dagda. Viking, less so.


    As you contemplate, you realize that you don''t know of any dressmakers or shops on Oasis. Particularly ones that can produce reliable results in a short time-frame, that would suit your needs. Faunia might however. As you reach for your microbead, it chirps with an incoming message. Bemused you answer. "Navigator Dannan."


    "So formal Ethna?"


    "Faunia! I was about to call you! I''m in need of a new dress or three and I have no idea where to get one made up in the next day or two before we depart again. Help me out?"


    "We''ve a few more days than that. You got us here in time for Founding Day, and Odin had tapped me as a guest of honor in the celebrations, alongside our new Bishop."


    "No way for me to fade into the background?"


    "Not a chance Lady Dannan! Not with aunt Yasha off somewhere. I was going to ask if you had a dress to wear instead of your usual robes, but you already answered that question! I''ll meet you in the Green Room. East Wing, second floor, green door."


    "Hey! Not my problem if I like comfortable over flashy! You try sitting in the same brocaded abomination for sixty something hours non-stop!"


    "You got me there. Green Room, half hour. See you then!"


    Faunia hangs up before you can get in another word. With the size of the Von Sebastion / Dannan compound, you will have to start walking soon if you want to get to the Green Room in time. You swish off, moving quickly through the halls. Servants are scurrying about, clearly preparing for the upcoming festivities.


    You make it to the green room with a few moments to spare. On entering, you see Faunia being fitted for a new dress by a team of three seamstresses. You have to stifle a giggle when you get a look at her face. From her expression, she clearly would like to be elsewhere. "Not looking forward to the upcoming festivities Faunia?"


    She flexes one well-muscled arm away from a seamstress long enough to wave at you. "And hello yourself Ethna. It''s not the festivities I mind, it''s the interminable speeches."


    You find a vacant stool to sit upon. "At least you don''t outgrow your clothing every few months anymore."


    "No, it¡¯s only about once a year or so now. And mostly due to muscle growth, which should settle out in another year or so."


    "Just in time for your thirtieth birthday then?"


    "About then yes."


    "Your pardon Lady Faunia, but we have all of the measurements we need. Skuld will help you pick out the design, just over there on the table. Lady Dannan, we are ready to assist you."


    You cock an eye at Faunia. She grins back. "Don''t worry, Urd does good work, and I can help you with picking out a pattern if you get stumped."


    You roll your eyes, but refrain from sticking out your tongue at Faunia, and glide up onto the stool in front of the two remaining seamstresses. To their credit, they don''t flinch at your fluid movements, too smooth to be quite natural. The third seamstress starts taking measurements with a cloth tape measure while the one who spoke, Urd presumably, eyes your frame up and down. "Are there any peculiarities we should know about Lady Ethna? Movement patterns, physical damage to be covered over, things like that?"Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    You ponder for a moment, raising your arms to let your chest be measured. "Freedom of movement is my only major concern."


    Urd nods, and helps you remove your robe for more detailed measurements. "That should not be a problem Lady Ethna. It will limit some pattern choices, to be sure, but it is no burden compared to Lady Faunia''s scars."


    A few moments later, Urd helps you put your robe back on again and leads you over to the table next to Faunia to help pick out a pattern. You glance down, and promptly mentally discard the designs cut to the hip, or with extraneous cleavage. You are a professional Navigator, not a three-for-a-Throne Harlot out to improve her standing by bedding the right person, after all. Faunia groans and flicks a sketch aside. "Too much damn brocade and velvet and floof. I''m going to look like a damn house in half of these."


    You study the sketch she flicked aside. It shows a multi-layered dress and petticoat assembly, topped by a heavily-embroidered vest and overly-plumed hat. "I agree on that score. Perhaps it is time to use your status to set fashion instead? I might be a little clueless, but we do have three professionals here to assist us."


    Urd nods, "I''ve been telling Lady Faunia that for a year or three now. Verdandi can come up with a new design in no time flat, and we can have it run up and fitted in the week we have before Founding Day."


    Faunia scrubs one hand against her chin. "I don''t know..."


    You turn to the third seamstress, Verdandi. "Hmm, How would you design a dress for either of us. Forget about current fashion and just maximize the assets we have."


    Verdandi clicks her tongue in an ''I''m thinking'' mannerism. "Have to keep to a dress for a civilian outfit, but forget about the petticoats. Steel thistle silk, of course, long and flowing. Vest is still a good idea, for pockets and to anchor weapons-belts, probably of hai-skin suede. No hat for Lady Ethna, a new ''kerchief instead, color to match the dress. Beret for Lady Faunia, white for a starship commander or colored to match her dress. Dress would be House primary color, vest the secondary, of course. White-silver and blue for Lady Faunia, cream and jade-green for Lady Ethna"


    You watch Faunia from the corner of your eye. She slowly starts to nod as she visualizes the dress. "That sounds like it would probably work. Can you have a sketch ready by sometime this afternoon for me to evaluate?"


    Urd drops a curtsy. "Not a Problem Lady Faunia. And for yourself Lady Ethna?"


    You cock a crooked grin. "I have eminent faith in your skills miss Urd. When would you need me for fitting?"


    "Tomorrow afternoon, if your schedule will permit."


    "It will. Do you need any information on the particular pattern of kerchief I will require?"


    Urd drops another curtsy. "No mam, we sew Lady Yasha''s when she requires them. Steel thistle silk, the usual particulars on threads and patterns."


    "Thank you. Lady Faunia, I do believe we had a luncheon meeting to attend?"


    Faunia''s brow furrows. "Oh? With who?"


    You roll your eyes and lead the way out the door. "Me silly! Fifteen years of catching up doesn''t happen in one formal dinner!"


    Several hours of conversation and good food later, you are sitting with a cup of tea when Faunia brings up an old disagreement between the two of you. "So when are you going to get a maid?"


    You roll your eyes. "This again? Why would I get another person just to order them around?"


    Faunia rolls her eyes right back. "Oh please. Even I have a steward to keep my schedule, remind me of appointments, keep my uniforms organised, and help clean up. The Ignis may have automated cleaning bots, but they don''t touch the Navigator''s or Astropath''s quarters for obvious reasons. If nothing else, a maid would cut down on your chores and let you get a good night''s sleep between warp transits."


    You all but gape in surprise. "You have a steward? Miss I can look after my own secrets?"


    Faunia shrugs "Lepa came with the Ignis, and she has been a great help in all of those regards. I''m actually ahead of my paperwork without all of the extra chores. So when are you going to get one?"


    "Hmm, I''m not so sure. Who would you recommend if I decide on accepting the services of one?"


    "Her sister Canala would suit you well. She''d be prone to fuss over your appearance, but you could use some help in that regard. You probably still have that ratty old brown robe"


    "I do, and it''s the most comfortable robe I have!" You take a sip of tea to buy time to ponder Faunia''s suggestion.

 Chapter 8: Informed Assistance

    You set your tea back down. "I could use some help, but Canala would have to know that she would be working for a Navigator, with all that that entails."


    Faunia snorts. "She is already understudying with Lepa, and is used to dealing with all of my eccentricities and requirements. How much worse could yours be?"


    Your eyebrows climb up into your hair. "Medical included?"


    Faunia nods, "medical included. Full battery."


    You shrug. "Grossing out wouldn''t be a factor then, not even after a long Transit. Its the Navigator factor I''m worried about. How well would she handle working for a psyker?"


    Faunia shrugs again. "She has helped out with Astropath Tamefusa when he needed assistance."


    Your eyebrows couldn''t be fixed any higher without surgery. "Old Man Kudo? How did she handle that?"


    Faunia sips her tea. "Well enough, I think. Kudo was pretty far gone by the end, in body and mind, and Canala didn''t voice many complaints. Spent a bit of time with Chaplain Danus when he was aboard, but nothing serious."Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    "Danus was made a Chaplain?"


    Faunia laughs, "Yeah, I didn''t see that one coming either..."


    The rest of the day passes in languid fashion, and you relish the time you can spend at peace. You get the feeling that the Ignis is going to be an interesting ship to serve aboard.


    You arrange to spend the next morning shopping with Canala, alongside Faunia and Lepa. Canala does quite well, and you take her into your employment as your Maid and Steward. She begins her work by heading up to the Ignis with your purchases, robes mostly, and to settle herself into her new quarters adjacent to yours.


    Your afternoon is taken up by your new dress being fitted. Urd and her two sisters have done a magnificent job. The dress follows your form, but allows you plenty of room to move in without mincing steps or restricting your movements. The vest has just enough pockets for the essentials, and the kerchief is more than acceptable. The coloration is just right as well, the blue of the vest striking over the white-silver of the dress. You decide that Faunia definitely knows good seamstresses, and she all but drools over the work they put into your dress. Faunia does veto the beret in favor of letting her hair hang down, but other than that makes no changes to Verdandi''s designs for her dress.


    With your part in the upcoming Founding Day celebrations being little more than ''make an appearance and don''t make an ass of yourself'', you find yourself with about three days of idle time on your hands. Rather than slowly start climbing the walls in boredom, you decide to do some poking around, to see what you can find. With only three days available, you are limited to the Ignis or to Landing, the capital city of Oasis.

 Chapter 9: Home Sweep Ship

    With the extra time on your hands, you decide to head back up to the Ignis and poke around a bit. Once you load your dataslate with the schematics you pulled up earlier, you can find your way just about anywhere. Obviously, there are places you probably shouldn''t go, like the weapons decks or the bilges, but that still leaves you with quite a list of destinations.


    You catch the evening shuttle. The other passengers give you full deference to your rank, meaning you are the first to board and first to disembark. Canala is waiting for you on the disembarkation deck, along with the usual side-party of lieutenant and armsmen. You greet them all as the formalities require and then make for your quarters, Canala in tow. You exchange the usual pleasantries and begin to form a better appreciation of what kind of person your maid is. Of average height, mousy-haired and brown-eyed, she is somewhat demure, but rather persistent in seeing to your needs. From the way she behaved on your shopping trip yesterday, you know she can go full Yiddish Mother in the traditions of the Oasis colonists. As formidable as your will is, you have a hard time standing up to that kind of mothering, especially when Canala is only trying to get you to do something you should be doing anyway.


    When you reach your quarters it is just about dinner time. You dismiss Canala and plug your dataslate into your terminal to start downloading the schematics. While you are still working your way through the ritual of data retrieval, she reappears with a tray of roast chicken, mashed potatoes, asparagus, and wine. You thank her, but turn your head to follow as she departs. You are startled by a cleverly concealed panel sliding open to reveal a pantry and galley, and beyond it presumably Canala''s quarters. With the data transfer in progress, you decide to investigate a bit more. "Canala?"


    The panel slides open again. "Yes Ma''am?"Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    "How did you find that hatch?"


    "Ma''am?"


    "I didn''t notice it when I came aboard, and I''m wondering what else I may have missed."


    "Oh! Well, the hatch is rather clearly marked from my side Ma''am. There was a note about a broom closet, just beside your closet, but nothing else I''m aware of."


    "Thank you Canala, that will be all."


    "Yes Ma''am. If you require anything, just buzz." She vanishes again, the hatch closing silently behind her.


    You stand up and start pacing back and forth. Someone wouldn''t have had to force your door to get into your quarters, which means the ''failed'' attempt to pick your lock might have been a fake. Or it might have been quite real, but Canala''s lock might have been easier to pick. In either case, someone could have been inside your quarters. You decide to investigate.


    The broom closet is reasonable easy to locate, once you know to look for it. Opening it reveals the expected stockpile of cleaning supplies, as well as a pair of emergency breath masks and void suits. They are not tailored to anyone''s frame in particular, being intended for emergency use by anyone as needed. While their presence is comforting, more comforting is the absence of any listening or recording devices.


    After finishing your dinner, you search the rest of your quarters anyway, working on the assumption that it is better to be thorough than sloppy. You find nothing, as expected, and relax somewhat. You were probably being just a bit paranoid, but with a half-decent reason at least, given the preacher that was following you to the bridge and the marks on your door.


    You terminal dings out its ''job complete'' chime, and you head over to check on your dataslate. Clean data transfer, though the memory of the slate is completely full, or close enough as to make no difference. You cycle its power after making sure the schematics are saved. It take a few minutes to turn on and open the file, which is not entirely surprising given its size. You pull up the list of facilities, musing over where you want to spend tomorrow before you have to head back groundside the following day.

 Chapter 10: Memento Mori

    You settle on checking out the trophy room on the morrow, before heading back down to Oasis for the Founding Day festivities. With your plans settled, you collect your plates, pop the pantry hatch, and place the dishes in the sink before heading to bed.


    The next day you rise with the morning watch. It''s not quite dawn down on Oasis, but that''s what happens when every watch is eight hours long, and a ''day'' consists of one watch on, one off, and one asleep for the average crewman. It''s nice and regular, but after a few cycles, you have to check your chrono to figure out what date to put on the paperwork. Your schedule is different, of course, effectively being off watch until Warp transit, and then not going off-watch again until the transit is complete. The fatigue almost does more damage to Navigators than the Warp Exposure, depending on how you count fatigue-induced errors and the time-distorting effects of the Warp.


    You shake your head to clear the maudlin thoughts away, and head for your closet. Opening the doors, you nod in appreciation of Canala''s handiwork. You had just tossed things on hooks and hangers in no particular order. She has them neatly sorted by casual, working, and dress occasions, then color-coordinated them. Your shoes are all neatly on a trio of new racks, sorted in the same manner, and the armor stand and weapon chest sit on their own.


    You move three robes over next to the combat gear: baggy dark browns and grays to wear over your armor, intended to give you at least a little concealment if it comes to a fight. Then you pick out one of your new light-weight robes form the ''working'' category: a nondescript brown robe and matching comfortable steel-toed leather boots. You rolled your eyes when Faunia insisted on the steel-toed part while you were making your list, but you have to admit they are quite comfortable. You complete the set by placing your sleeping kerchief on your bedside table for when you come back and replacing it with a more formal one.


    Properly dressed, and with your night-clothes neatly sorted for cleaning, you pick up your laspistol and mapslate before heading out. You close and lock your door, consult your mapslate, and head off down the corridor.


    You bypass the Arboretum deck, and walk on by the Library Vault and Temple to the Emperor. Both varieties of Tempe to the Emperor actually, given the temple to the Omnissiah you note is a deck above your route. The lift glides to a stop, and you glide off down one of the spinal corridors just below the bridge and just behind the landing bays. Conference rooms and offices for the bureaucratic types line the walls, but you pick up on the slowly-increasing ostentatious displays of wealth as you approach the VIP landing bay. You are moving from the working areas of the Ignis to the ''display'' areas, intended to impress, over-awe, and / or intimidate business contacts not already in awe of the Ignis herself. The trophy room itself is quite near to the VIP landing bay, and you have to shake your head as you open the door.


    The carpet is a set of assorted furred predator hides, heads on. Two more scaled predator hides hang from one wall, along with several more stuffed big game heads on wooden plaques. The obligatory side-bar of expensive alcoholic beverages and hunting rifles takes up a second wall. The remaining two walls are covered with paintings, plaques, artifacts, and curios. It''s all so stereotypical over-blown Rogue Trader chic that you have to shake your head at it. The more your eyes wander over the room, the more your mind starts picking at why Faunia would have a room like this.


    You slide your fingers along the scaled belknor-hide as some of the pieces start to come together. Faunia is (from your experience) a practical sort, not given to ostentatious displays of non-functional wealth. So this whole room is out of character with her. But the Ignis herself has a two-faced personality, you muse, considering the ''Deathwatch private quarters'' notation on your mapslate. Those quarters are buried in the aft third of the ship, right above a ''cargo hold'' that your mapslate notes as containing two Steel Rain drop pod launch bays, just behind a complex mass of machinery marked as a Teleportarium and Emperian Mantle stealth system. This ''Trophy Room'' is forward, up near the bridge, both main cargo holds, their cargo-handling facilities, and the VIP landing bay.


    This room is part of the ''face'' Faunia shows to guests, however important, that are not in the know about her covert nature as a Shipmistress of a Deathwatch Fast Transport Ship. Part of the Ignis'' and Faunia''s cover as a legitimate Rogue trader specializing in express cargo delivery. Well, as legitimate as Rogue Traders ever get. You have to wonder how much of her performance in front of Bishop Rynald was just for show. Not much, you decide. He really did push almost all of her buttons, and if he did try to kick any complaints back up the line, they''d get squashed by the Ordo Xenos at some point. Not fast enough to have them simply vanish, but soon enough to prevent a firestorm.


    You consult your map slate again, looking at the schematics just inside the Deathwatch section of the Ignis. As private as the Deathwatch tends to be, they do have to interface with the rest of the Ignis. And you have spent a little bit of time with them, usually when they were checking in on the Von Senbastions or the Dannans between missions. Just enough that off-duty and out-of-combat they are human writ larger than mortal life. Danus, though he''s Chaplain Danus now you remind yourself, had a dry gallows humor, tempered by all of the secrets he had to keep locked away. Lord Pyrus has a love of good craftsmanship, and often worked on his own weapons in his spare time. And Helheim had an insistence on two rooms: one a dining hall where the restrictive formalities of military life could relax just a bit, and a trophy room for items collected on missions.


    "There it is!" You exclaim quietly. Just inside the main crew access to the Deathwatch Quarters is a pair of large open rooms. One is marked ''dining / feast hall'', the other is marked ''DW Trophy Room''. You drift out of the ''Trophy Room'' and head back toward the lift. You can only hope that the security isn''t too tight. You do have general-purpose high-authority access codes because of your rank as the Ignis'' Navigator, but they don''t get you quite everywhere.


    Two and a half hours later you approach the large, nondescript hatch that marks the entrance to the Deathwatch Quarters. You pause a short distance from it to give it a once-over, looking for obvious extra security. You find nothing, just the usual coded-lock for middle-security areas, one that would be accessible to crew moving to a particular destination, but enough to bar casual wanderers or passengers lost in the Ignis'' bowels. You let out a breath and enter your access code. The door chirps and admits you freely, though it does close and re-lock behind you automatically. You check your mapslate, not wanting to wander too far in, and turn left for the dining / feast hall first.


    Within six steps, you feel like someone is watching you. You brush it off as extra security cameras, and keep moving. The hatch to the feast hall is wood, not metal, hung on huge hinges, and opens with a pair of big iron handles. You grin, already having an inkling of what you will find inside. When you open the doors, you have to grin. Classic Helheim.


    Big wooden table, flanked by matching benches. the occasional ale- or grease-stain soaked into the wood. Fire pit near the back wall, banners hanging from the walls. The smell of roasted meat, strong ale, and old war stories hangs in the air. You breath deeply, taking in the homely odors. Much more like Faunia to associate herself with a room like this. Practical, multi-purpose (doubling as a mission planning room, in all likelihood), and with no pretensions to be what it isn''t.


    The Deathwatch trophy room is just across the hall, but you still feel the eyes on your back as you swish across to open the standard ship hatch to that room.


    The hatch opens on a scene much more professional and less egregiously opulent that the ''Trophy Room'' back at the other end of the ship. Six plinths line two of the walls, each with the skull of a fallen foe and plaque denoting what it was. The skulls range from little bigger than your fist to the size of your torso. You have no idea what any of them are, but more than one of them shows only a single killing blow. The back wall has two shelves of odd little curios: little bones, bits of metal from armor or implants, broken blades, spent bullets, a rusted or bloodied scrap of wire, the list is longer and more varied than you can memorize in a breath.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    But it''s the weapon rack that draws your attention. A simple wooden frame holding three weapons upright. The left hand one is clearly a primitive hunting spear, eight feet in length, its flint tip the size of your open hand, and with a grip scaled to Space Marine hands. For you, it would be a short lance or polearm. For a Space Marine''s enhanced strength and size, it would be a practical throwing weapon. The rightmost weapon is a staff made of a bone-like material, covered in deeply carved runes. Dried blood and an ozone stink both still cling to it. You need only a passing moment to know it as a focus staff of a psyker, probably alien, who died while channeling Warp Energy through it. The center staff is perhaps six feet in length, and made of what looks to be gleaming chrome. Nothing marks its length, no blade adorns its end, yet it sits in a place of honor in this Trophy Room, between two weapons of much greater prestige.


    You feel the eyes on your back again. This time, you know someone is watching you, waiting. Given the state of the feast hall and the presence of a single large-caliber bullet-hole in several of the skulls, you have an idea who may be watching you. So you take a not-so-wild guess. "Come on out Helheim, I can feel you staring at me again."


    The hatch hisses open, and you hear someone thump on in armored boots. Helhiem''s familiar baritone rumble all but shakes the room. "Told you she was a sharp one Wraith."


    Another person sighs loudly, and thumps down to the deck from the ceiling right behind you. Startled, you take one long step forward and spin in place. A black-armored figure stands before you, even the characteristic silvered left arm of the Deathwatch muted and ash-dulled. The right shoulder bears an off-white insignia of a stylized bird. Wraith, you presume. "What gave us away, Navigator? Helheim clanking around and sloshing his mjod everywhere?" His voice is a mellow tenor, and you get a hint of laughing curiosity in its depths, backed by an adamant discipline.


    You shake your head. "I felt eyes on my back since I entered these quarters. Before I entered the feast hall, I brushed it off as an extra security camera. Between the feast hall and here I felt them for the second time, tracking me, which made them not a machine. The third time was shortly after I entered this room, which meant that whomever it was had followed me through the door when I passed through it. I know of Helheim from my first cruise on the Kukri, and saw him startle the shipmaster more than once before he started deliberately stomping a boot before entering the bridge. Plus the decorations in the feast hall are evocative of his style, so I took a stab in the dark."


    Wrath shakes his helmeted head, and Helheim holds out an ale-horn to him. "Drink up newblood. Told you she would come poking around, and she''d spot you first!"


    Wraith takes a step back from you and accepts the horn. He disengages his helmet to reveal a light skinned face with deep set dark eyes. "I''m thinking she didn''t spot anyone. Didn''t even look up, and guessed your name, not mine."


    Helheim laughs and hoists his own horn. "That why I''ve this one to drink down! Don''t think anyone this side of Pyrus could spot you, truth be told. Sk?l!" He throws back the horn and downs over a pint of mjod in a single long swallow. That much strong drink, just about the only drink you can think of that can actually get a Space Marine drunk, would lay you out cold and give you a hangover for three days. Helheim just belches and gestures for Wraith to follow suit.


    Wrath shakes his head ruefully and downs his forfeit. "So you''ve met our Navigator before?"


    "Aye. Know her father, mother, an'' aunt well enough to. Good People, been through hell an'' came back clean all three of them. Pyrus sent her a gift for her eighteenth birthday, by way of her father. Rubicon would have presented it himself, had he not been laid up after Blinding Shroud at the time. An'' I''d have sent something along too if I wasn''t getting re-built again after Burning Jester."


    Wraith looks at you with a new appreciation. "My apologies Lady Dannan. You keep good company indeed, to be regarded so highly by so many."


    You shake your head in slight embarrassment. "I just do my job the best I can. Figured I''d take a look at the Ignis'' Trophy Room, see what kind of image Lady Faunia was trying to project."


    Wraith nods, thinking something through. "Saw right through the showpiece up at the bow and came down here looking, eh? How did you know what rooms to check?"


    "Pulled a Damage Control Map when I came aboard to find the Officer''s Mess."


    Wraith and Helheim both frown. Helheim asks the question that is clearly on both their minds. "So that led you down here how...?"


    You pull out you mapslate and hand it to Wraith. "I put a copy of it on there. Only file on the thing, it''s that big. Reason for that is that the Damage Control version of the map is intended to get damage control parties wherever they need to go when everything is on fire, voided out, blown to hell, or all of the above. So it includes everything, every compartment, passageway, duct, and wire, all labeled and searchable. ''Trophy Room'' pulled up the showpiece as you called it, while this whole block simply shows up as ''Deathwatch Private Quarters''. Zooming in and reading the noted compartment names gave away the feast hall and actual trophy room''s locations."


    Helheim nods in understanding, while Wraith whistles. "Whoo-eee. She wasn''t kidding when she said this map shows everything. Even has data-links to the technical documentation and manuals, complete with reference numbers."


    Helheim grins. "Out of the mouths of the uninformed. Thank you Lady Dannan."


    You raise one eyebrow, inviting further comment.


    Helheim shakes his head. "We''ve had to retrieve map-data on ships on more than one occasion, and the deck guides are hopelessly inadequate for our purposes six times out of seven. This kind of data is going to exist on every ship at every damage control station, and will get us where we need to go to do what we need to do much better than we could in the past."


    Wraith hands you back the slate. "That''s the understatement of the day, perhaps even the week. If we had this kind data back during Spectral Temple..."


    Helheim shakes his open hand in a gesture of uncertainty. "We wouldn''t have been chewed up quite so much, but Danus probably wouldn''t be a Chaplain either. Fate and Wyrd stick their hands in everything for a reason."


    Wraith ponders for a long moment, then slowly nods his head. "That is true." He glances at the weapons rack that you had studied so intently earlier.


    Helheim follows his gaze, then cocks his head. "Ah. Yeah, that would link into the family wouldn''t it. And those two certainly play the long game. Got the lifespans for it too."


    "Can someone tell me what is going on?" You interject, "in a way that isn''t shrouded in things never said?"


    Wraith purses his lips in thought. "Can''t say much, but I''ll say what I can. During Blue Apollo, a follow up to the cleansing of the space hulk Malignus Maximus in this system, we came across the central staff there in the ruins of a wrecked Eldar escort. The same one that Tristan and Mu''randa Von Sebastion, and Yasha Dannan had cleared during the initial cleansing of the same hulk. That implies a link between that staff, the individuals who left it there, and those two houses."


    Helheim scratches his chin. "The last things left there were a set of distinctive amulets, wedding gifts from those same individuals. Which would indicate that this staff was also intended as a gift, but was placed there later for the Deathwatch to find, presumably by the same individuals. Then you come wandering on in, just for a look-see, and end up heading smack-bang for it."


    It is your turn to nod slowly. "A deathwatch team that contained members who were also part of that same initial cleansing operation? One coincidence too many I think."


    Wraith grunts. "Try six or seven too many. Can''t elaborate, too many mission details involved, sorry."


    Helheim shrugs. "If it was meant for you, then you should be able to pick it up, no problem. If not, then you won''t be able to lift it. I haven''t been able to since putting it there."


    You ponder what you know about the staff in question for several minutes in silence. Wraith and Helheim simply wait, seeing that you are thinking it over. Your choices boil down to only two, and you get the feeling that this will be your only chance to make this choice.


    On one hand, the individuals who are presumed to have left the staff behind on purpose have obviously given gifts to your aunt in the past, and this may indeed be a gift intended for you.


    On the other, that assumption rests in turn on several other assumptions, which are based on shaky inferences at best.

 Chapter 11: Mind Blank

    "Well, only one way to find out for sure." You reach a hand out and grasp the staff. Everything slows to a crawl. You can feel the thoughts in your mind move about like chilled honey over ice. You can feel the muscles in your heart begin to tense before they contract. Your Third Eye starts to itch.


    +Greetings Truthseeker. We apologize for this, but you have a part to play in our plans.+


    The voice inside your mind is melodic, harsh, sing-song, artificial, psychic, void. It is a living, thinking, contradictory union of disharmonies and united wills. You mind strains under the pressure, but refuses to yield.


    +Open your mind, let winds echo across empty voids. We do not wish Dominion.+


    Your body refuses to move, but the staff is speaking into your mind.


    Your mind, your Will, your rules.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    You stop trying to command your flesh. Instead, you gather your will and speak. +In this time and place, there is naught but Truth. You say that you do not wish Dominion, but you issue Commands. So I ask you this, before I Decide: What is it that you want?+


    +Union. To Test a possibility and to See a chance Taken, an opportunity Seized.+


    +And what do you offer in Exchange?+


    +Union. Strength in body, mind, and Will. You the Alpha, We the Omega.+


    +A Prediction. You know not the Outcome.+


    +As we said. A possibility Tested, a chance Taken, an opportunity Seized.+


    +And to accept?+


    +Mind Blank, and let the winds blow over emptiness.+


    You have come this far, you have precisely zero intention of turning away now. You let your mind drift into the zen-trance state you use when Navigating the Warp.


    Time resumes. Your Third Eye snaps open. Something sharp pricks your palm, and thoughts not you own curl and drift across your mind. They caper and dance, a million sparks of light and sound settling into the very flesh of your being.


    Your body crashes to the deck, staff still in hand, and everything goes dark.

 Chapter 12: Merging Souls (Dream)

    You Dream


    "...it. Medic to the feast hall! Wraith, get a quiet priority line to..."


    +Who are you / am I / are we?+


    +Thruthseeker / Miotal Scathanna / Ethna Nic Vir Dannan+


    "..igns of recovery? If she isn''t at..."


    "None yet, but the scans show..."


    +Where were you Born / Forged / United?+


    +Dagada, the house in the clearing / The Night''s Labyrinth and the Sundered Wayshrine / In Fire.+


    "...ence was remarked upon."


    "We are scheduled to make warp soon, perhap..."


    +What are We? How can we be as One without Knowing the Other?+


    +Then let us Share Alike. See me, see you, see Us +


    You stand in a cave, deep below the red ground. At your toes, an abyss stretches, sound and light alike vanishing in its depths. It stretches beyond your sight and Sight alike, neither end nor far wall visible. You shudder, though you are not cold. You can feel the Beast at the Night''s Labyrinth''s heart before you.


    You stand in a shaded clearing, a Titan Oak older than all but the oldest townships at its center. A small wooden hut leans against its base, a small plot of gravestones beyond its back wall. You don''t need to read the time-worn names that were once etched in their granite faces. You know them, their stories and sagas, loves and heartbreaks, etched in the tongues of the lorekeepers.


    You stretch out your hand and tug ever so gently on the shadow cast by the Beast, pulling free the tiniest of whispering shards. You could forge from its bones and blood and scales, craft a blade to sunder the stars themselves. But that is not needed. There are no weapons more deadly than information and surprise, and you mean to make a weapon to aid them both.


    You stretch out your hand and brush your fingers over the places where the names once stood. Pellea Flametoung, firekeeper and flamedancer. Calamas Earthfriend, old soul and lorekeeper. Alea Dannan, first of her Clan. From this place and these people your lineage springs, oaths and vows bound in blood and fire.


    You stand at the Shattered Anvil at the heart of the Sundered Wayshrine. Will and metal and shadows flowing together, crossing over and under, through and around, binding together and folding in upon themselves. No words are spoken, for none should echo in this place, lest they awaken the Shades from their rest.


    You stand at the iris hatch to the Navigators Vestibule. Your first flight and first solo Transit await. Exultation and fear dance in your mind, for no Warp transit will ever rival this one, not for you. The hatch shusshes open, and you step through it to the next part of your life.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    You stand at the old curtain of pelts. Every other item has been cleared away, and it is only this one last thing to do before you can leave this place for good. You grip the staff, still asleep and awaiting the Truthseeker, tightly. You let out a long breath, and brush the curtain aside. When you return, the staff sleeps behind you. The Old Wolf and the Shadow will arrive shortly, and you need to be well gone, onto the next piece of your plan.


    "...elids are flickering! She''s waking up!"


    "after a head hit like that, who knows if her thoughts are back yet."


    You Awaken


    You crack one eye open, trying to figure out exactly where you are. Not standard piping and mesh all over the ceiling, so not in a normal shipside room. Nor the plain or painted plaster of a groundside room. Clean steel, regular square pattern, recess lighting covered over with a seamless clear glass cover. Your thoughts start tracking again. Medical bay, shipside, probably the Ignis.


    Your hands feel rather stiff. You flex your fingers and they pop, the sound of your knuckles loud as gunshots in the quiet room. The shaft of Miotal Scathanna is smooth in your grasp. Clearly, no one was able to pry it away from you while you were unconscious. You roll your neck sideways. Your vertebrae crack like lightning bolts. Your gaze settles on a white robed figure leaning over an overly large bank of medical displays, and Helheim sitting in a chair watching you. Definitely in a Medical Bay aboard the Ignis, probably the one reserved for use by the Deathwatch.


    Helheim leans forward. "You gave us all quite the scare Lady Dannan. Can you tell me what happened?"


    Your voice is a dry rasp as you try to speak. "Not... sure. Give me a... day to puzzle... it out?"


    The white robed figure turns around. "I''d suggest five or more of rest, followed by at least some physical therapy. You were locked up solid for almost two weeks, no voluntary muscle movement at all, not even a twitch. Had to hook up a nutrient drip and waste disposal plumbing to keep you fed and hydrated."


    "And you... are...?"


    "Apothecary Zachariah Bedard. I''d have shooed Helheim out already, but he''s a stubborn old Wolf. Go ahead and give him what you can for the moment, then I''ll help you get cleaned up."


    "Ok. Psychic data-transfer, I think... Caught me off-guard..."


    Bedard is staring at his readouts again, probably looking at brain activity if the wires you can feel tugging at your scalp are any indication. Helheim nods for you to continue.


    "I think... I got a name: Miotal Scathanna, though... I also have a notion... that its a translation from... the language of whomever... made the staff in the first place. Also got the... impression of three places... associated with it, though I don''t know... where they are located, not.. for sure. First one is a massive... chasm in a cavern, deep below... red earth. Material for the... staff was gathered there. Second... one is a sundered shrine... of some sort, with a... broken anvil as its... centerpiece. Location associated... with the crafting of the staff. Third... one is where the staff... was placed."


    Helheim''s left eyebrow raises a fraction. "Placed, not left behind?"


    Bedard clicks his tongue. "You knew that Helheim, don''t go prying when there''s no need. Now, are you going to help me clean her up, our are you going to tell Shipmistress Faunia that her Navigator is awake?"


    Helheim stands up and heads for the door. Bedard shakes his head. "Now then, let''s get you unhooked and into the bathtub. Lay still, I''ll start with the EEG..."


    You sigh and does as he instructs. You have a long week or two ahead of you, getting back into some semblance of physical and mental shape after this whole ordeal. The real question, you muse, is whether you intend to push your limits hard, or follow the doctor''s orders?

 Chapter 13: Muscle Atrophy Sucks

    You lay back on the bed after your bath, horrified at how weak you feel. You had to lean on Bedard and Miotal Scathanna all the way to the tub, barely able to hold yourself upright and move. You resolve to take things slowly, to give your body time to recover. Bedard hooks a nutrient drip back up, to fuel your body while it rests, and leaves you alone in your room.


    +We need to restore our body.+


    +No arguments there. I am so weak. I''ve never had muscle atrophy this bad before.+


    +What is this flesh-weakness? How is it to be repaired?+


    + As I understand it, when one does not use a muscle for more than three days or so, it begins to weaken. I was immobile for fourteen days. I''m honestly surprised that I could walk at all. To heal from it, I need to exert myself: move around, lift things, stretch out.+


    +A good time for us to re-learn our Martial forms.+


    +Once we can stand again, and move without falling!+


    You close your eyes and start drifting off to sleep. Bedard obviously intends to let your mind reorder itself before working on your body.


    The next morning, Bedard helps you bathe and change your clothes again. He also has you try to walk around and eat some porridge by hand instead of by the nutrient drip. It''s not a pleasant sensation, but you push through it. Bedard seems pleased at your performance, and helps you sit upright in your bed. "Helheim showing up to ask more questions?"


    Bedard nodded. "Plus Canala sent down some books from your quarters along with the clothing, so you should have something to do while resting between therapy sessions. Once you can lift them safely, of course."


    Helheim knocks polity at the door. "Hows is the Lady today?"


    You grin. "Much better, thank you. Long way to go yes, but better. You have questions, let''s see if I have answers."


    "I also have some for you, hopefully. Bedard, would you mind getting us both some water? We may be talking for quite a while."You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    "If I do kick you out, you stay out."


    "Understood Apothecary." Helheim takes a seat at the foot of your bed. "Both of your hunches played out. The staff was placed for us to find. I went back over that ship and found only two sets of tracks in the recent past. One was our intrusion, the second one a pair of tracks, one small-footed lightweight humanoid, one lightweight bipedal machine. Wraith tracked down your hunch about the staff''s name, and actually found something. He had to dig all the way back into pre-unification languages, but he found it. ''Miotal Scathanna'' matched up to an old language called Eriesh, and translates to ''Shadowed Metal'' in plain old low gothic."


    You lean back against the pillow. "Thank you. I''d planned on tracking down the name as soon as I could."


    Helheim shakes his head."We got lucky. Wraith has a habit of studying old languages, and he found more than a few references to Eriesh when he started looking into Dagda. I''m thinking the AAs did the same studying when they Named the staff."


    "The ''AAs''?"


    "Ariavari and Anai. The Deathwatch knows them as individuals of interest, known to work together, and as extremely dangerous. If they were both involved in creating the Scathanna, and then gave it away, then clearly they are playing a much longer game. What I''d like to do is go back over those other two locations you saw, try and track down what and where they might be. They''ll be long-abandoned by the time we discover them, but they will point out the path that at least one of the AAs traveled in the recent past."


    You nod and gather your thoughts. "I''ll do the best I can, but I''m working from glimpses in a Dream here. The first one, the cavern. Underground cave, deep below red ground. Big underground ravine takes up much of the space. Big enough to be completely dark, and to not echo. Two names, I think: the Beast and the Night''s Labyrinth."


    Helheim leans back. "Allfather..." He then slams his hands on his legs. "Allfather!" He repeats in a very different tone. "That may well be the Noctis Labyrinthus on Mars. And that means one, we''d never get access. And two, at least one of the AAs got all the way into the Sol system, made planetfall on Mars and got back out again undetected. Impossible to verify, and it would drag the Adeptus Mechanicus into the fray, which the Inquisitor does not want happening." He lets out a long breath. "Alright, what about the shrine you mentioned?"


    You shake your head. "Fewer details, but three names or titles. The ''Shattered Anvil'' at the heart of the ''Sundered Wayshrine'', with ''the Shades'' sleeping in attendance."


    Helheim shakes his head. "Sounds Eldar, but we''ll have to look into that. You stay here and rest, I''ll see if I can pry Wraith out of his books so we can start looking." He gets up to depart, but hesitates at the door. "You just concentrate on getting healthy Lady Dannan. Leave the work of prying into dangerous secrets to the Deathwatch. He vanishes, heading down the corridor.

 Chapter 14: Recovery

    By the third day of your recovery, you can stand without Bedard''s assistance. By the sixth, you are well enough to go back to your own quarters. Canala is keeping a hawk''s gaze on you, making sure you rest and recover. Fortunately, the Ignis is undergoing ''routine repairs'' and a general tune-up while you recover. You do note the increased shuttle traffic, so it''s likely that several minor repairs are indeed underway of the loose-nuts-and-bolts variety.


    That happy state of affairs is not likely to hold out forever, given the Ignis'' Sprint Trader cover. Faunia is already looking for a suitable cargo, and Helheim and his team are quietly transferring off of the Ignis. Without serious oversight from the Deathwatch, and time on your hands, you decide to start looking into the history of Miotal Scathanna.


    With not much time left in the Riptide system, your initial investigations have come up short. You know the information you want is out there, but all of your possible leads are dead ends for the moment. You need to either find Aunt Yasha, Tristan Von Sebastion, or Mu''randa Von Sebastion. Or locate the ''Sundered Wayshrine''. Or come across one of the AAs.


    A fourth possible lead opens up as you run through a set of staff exercises with Miotal Scathanna. You decide to ask the staff itself. +What do you know of those that made you?+


    +Only that which they left with us. Why?+


    You start another form. +Because I''m left to wonder why they intended us to Merge, or what they want to learn from the Merging.+


    +They did not tell us.+


    You finish the form and come to a resting position. +Which means we need to find out. What knowledge did they leave behind.+


    +Wardancing, how to Listen, and Shadowstepping.+


    +Wardancing? What''s that?+


    +How to fight with a staff. We would have mentioned it sooner, but we know that we can fight if needed.+The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    +I am no master combatant. If there are other ways to fight, then let''s work on them.+


    +Accessing memnonic data.+


    You feel a tickle in the back of your mind, and new information starts to flow in. Automatically, you quarantine it off for examination. +What is this?+


    +Memnotic data, pulled from the staff.+


    +From you, you mean.+


    +No, from the staff into us.+


    You drift down to sit cross-legged in your quarters and close your eyes. Opening your Third Eye, you turn your gaze inwards and examine your mind. You see all of the familiar sights and sensations. But dancing around the edges of it is a tracing of silvery wire. Carefully, you lift away the filter of memory to see flesh, and the wiring persists. You trace it down your spinal column, down your left arm to your palm where it forms a small circle, and down the left side of your body and left leg, where it forms a second circle on your left heel.


    +Now you begin to See. We are one. Let us center ourselves and begin learning these forms.+


    You close your Third Eye, let out a breath that you didn''t realize you were holding, and rise to your feet. You begin to float through a new form, gathering strength and speed as you gain confidence.


    By the tenth day of your scheduled recovery, you are back to your full strength, and perhaps a tad bit sharper than before. Certainly, your new workout regiments have rebuilt your body with whipcord muscles and your usual inhuman grace. You noted a pair of schools in the new forms pulled from the staff, as well as a distinct flavor to the forms you already knew.


    Your pre-existing weapons drills were rather Imperial in nature: obstinate on the defense and powerful in the attack. They were also ill-suited to switching between the two, and favored heavy blows over economy of force.


    One of the new schools is even more aggressive than the Imperial forms. It leverages your grace, strength, and speed into a flowing wave of go-for-broke ferocity backed by instinct-level combat awareness. This is balanced by its overemphasis on the attack, to the point of willingly taking a hit to end a foe.


    The second is almost purely passive and defensive, all but totally reliant on using your opponent''s moves to break them. It focuses on countering, evasion, and total economy of effort. It may not be aggressive, but it would almost never let you get hit.


    With your recovery complete, Faunia sets to work finalizing one of the shipping contracts that form the backbone of her and the Ignis'' cover. A shipment of radioactives and foodstuffs to a new Adeptus Mechanicus Forge-station / shipyard in the HJG-1034 system. Once again, it falls to you to plot the warp-course to your destination.

 Chapter 15: A Leisurely Stroll Through Madness

    With this being a simple cargo run, maximum speed isn''t a priority. You glide on up to the Navigator''s Vestibule as the Ignis breaks orbit, seal the hatch and pull out the real-space maps. Taking the long way around from Riptide to HJG-1034 passes ''over'' three intervening systems, as you ride the stable Warp-routes between them. Total expected transit time would be four to eight weeks. With this in mind, you make sure that the Vestibule is configured for long-haul Transit. Extended duration liquid nutrient feed, check. Extended tethers for the nutrient feed and catheter, check. Change of clothes, negative. You comm Canala, and have her send up a change of robes and undergarments for after the transit. She delivers your requested clothes and then departs, nervous to be inside the Vestibule. Understandable, you suppose.


    With all of that complete, and the Navigator''s Vestibule fully prepared for the upcoming Transit, you open your Third Eye and flow through the ship. Already, you can feel Miotal Scathanna flowing with you, the delicate traceries of sentient metal flickering along your thoughts, enhancing your anchoring to the ship. Little flickers of extra details file themselves away, notations for investigation later. You raise your gaze to the Astronomicon, its pulsar-beat illuminating the familiar reference points along your expected journey. You promptly trim your projected course to the stronger currents, and refine your estimated time to around fifteen days.


    With your projected course shaping up quite handily, you lock in the entry vector with the helm. All hands prepare for transit, and you slip smoothly into the Warp.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Despite your projections, the first five days of the Transit are marred by repeated evasions around jagged reefs of warp energy and whirlpools of flotsam. You keep diverting around them, making steady progress, but slightly irritated that you missed spotting them at the time of transit. The second and third weeks pass smoothly, a clean and relatively quick run through the warp.


    You manage to catch and free the Ignis from a flex of warp energy just before reverting to realspace in the HJG-1034 system. It inflicts no damage to the ship, but does skew your exit vector slightly. You relinquish helm command to the bridge, where Faunia promptly gets the ship back into the entry lane.


    Disconnecting from your command throne, you feel the weight of the last fifteen days begin to sink into your bones. You are once again quite disheveled from not having bathed or slept for the duration, but you change into the spare robe and make for your quarters with your dirty one in a garment bag. You don''t bother with new undergarments, not wanting to soil them before you get your bath. You lean on Miotal Scathanna all the way back to your quarters, where Canala helps you into the bath and starts to scrub you clean. Exhausted, you fall asleep beneath her gentle ministrations.


    When you awaken some eighteen hours later, the Ignis is already in the process of off-loading her cargo to Gibil 2, the new shipyard in the system. An Adeptus Mechanicus shipyard is no place for shopping or socializing, so you will be stuck aboard the Ignis until your next port of call. But that does leave you some free time relatively unsupervised.

 Chapter 16: Books

    With a few days in dock and having read everything in your personal book collection, you decide to head down to the Library Vaults of the Ignis in search of new material to read. You gather up your usual accessories, including the Scathanna and your mapslate, and set off.


    Three-quarters of an hour later you are wandering through the stacks, browsing at random. You could try searching through the index, but you don''t really have any idea what you are looking for. New reading material, sure. And there are more than enough books in plenty of different genres, styles, and authors to keep you from getting bored anytime soon.


    But unlike the Library Vaults, your personal quarters don''t have near enough room to store all the books you might want. You''ll have to settle for bringing a selection of them back to your rooms to read through at your leisure before returning and exchanging them for the next set.


    You continue to wander aimlessly about for a half-hour, picking books here and there, reading a page or two, putting it back. Your aimless meandering draws you back to the carols, the reading area. No one is back here, and there is a fine layer of dust on top of the desks and chairs. Not many people use this area, and no one has come through here recently.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    Which makes the skeleton key left on one of the desks all the more interesting. Made of brass, it sits on the corner of one desk. You look around the Library vault. No one is in sight, and the only disturbances in the area can be attributed to your passage. You don''t recall a locked door or container in the Library, so you stand there for a moment and think it over. Something is bugging you about this key. Something is off about it.


    There is almost no dust on they key. It''s the same amount as has settled on the desk, but there isn''t much. You check an adjacent desk: the dust is much deeper. You return the the key and study it some more. Nothing else appears off about it. You ponder over the facts that you do have. This desk and they key on it is covered in less dust. Therefore, the desk was last used more recently than its fellows. The key was left behind when the desk was last used, and has been gathering dust at the same rate as the desk. You take a quick pace about the Library vault, but once again find no door or container that the key might fit into.

 Chapter 17: Now, Where is the Lock?

    You consider they key a moment or three longer. Finally, you decide to extend your other senses. You close your eyes and start breathing slowly, clearing your mind. While you don''t have the active, directed Warp-sense that your father Vir has, you can get a general read on an object or area. A passive warp-sense, if you will. You briefly consider removing your kerchief, but decide against it. You don''t need to unleash offensive power, nor do you wish to risk distorting whatever impressions you might get with active emissions.


    When your heartbeat slows to a three-count between beats, you open your eyes again. The whole area seams just a little bit darker, the shadows a little deeper. Stillness and silence blankets the area. The key itself sits in its own little pool of shadows. If anything, the area directly around it is even more quiet. As if there is an absence of sound.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    +So we already know how to Listen.+


    +Perhaps. What do you make of this key?+


    +Nothing that we do not already know. We see only what we see, know only what we know.+


    +Your habit of speaking in the plural form is confusing me.+


    +We are the same being with more than one strain of thought. Why would we not speak in the plural when speaking about all of ourselves?+


    You blink your eyes and close off your other senses. The key is harmless enough, as far as you can tell, so you pick it up and drop it in a pocket. You sweep the dust off the desk to mask the fact that you took the key. It will tip off that the desk was used, but perhaps hide the absence of the key.


    With the key in hand, and a few new books selected for later reading you head back to your quarters to prepare for the upcoming return to Oasis.

 Chapter 18: Bad Trip

    Six days later, with a fresh cargo of servitors, shuttles, and hab-domes for Oasis loaded up, the Ignis is ready to depart. You don''t find any lock that the skeleton key would fit, but you do browse your way through more than a few books. You are well-rested when the time comes to begin the trip back, and you opt for the same stable course you used on the outbound portion of the run. It was stable last time, and mostly clear. With a little tweaking of the course near the Riptide system, you feel confident that you can avoid most problems.


    The day of departure comes, and you head for the Navigator''s Vestibule, change of robes folded under one arm. With an expected travel time of four to eight weeks, you once again make sure that the Vestibule is configured for a long-duration run. You pay special attention to the tethers for the nutrient feed and catheter, making sure that they shouldn''t tangle when you get up to stretch and pace.


    You quickly reverse the realspace portion of the course back to the Riptide system. You will be ''passing over'' the same three systems, and all of the warp-routes between them are marked as stable in both directions. With your realspace course confirmed, you spend an extra moment to double and triple check it, making sure that you flipped all of the course instructions properly, and anticipated translation points line up.


    Everything lines up properly, so you go ahead and ready yourself for the Warp-space part of the process. Miotal Scathanna added a new ripple last time, so you plug in and open your Third Eye anticipating more of the same. Miotal Scathanna doesn''t disappoint, and you take an extra few seconds dancing through the Ignis, getting a feel for her. Again, the sense of ancient wisdom comes to you, along with the age in her adamantine bones. Satisfied with your anchor, you once again raise your gaze to the Astronomicon. Its familiar Beacon is faint, but not so faint as to be invisible. It takes you a few extra minutes to triangulate your position, and verify all of your navigational waypoints, but it is not an impossible task.


    You confidently chart your course from HJG-1034 back to Riptide, matching it up quite handily with the course you took to get to HJG-1034 in the first place. You assume Helm Control, and steer the Ignis into the Warp. Your course feels right, fast, clean.


    In your ignorance and arrogance, you were blind to the trials that awaited you. Within the first week, a massive spike of warp energy pierced the Gellar Field for a shivering fraction of an instant. The flare weakens almost instantly, and the Gellar Field snaps back into place, cutting of the incursion, but trapping the Warp-predators aboard the Ignis. You snap to your feet, still aware of the Bosun fighting her horrific battle against the things crawling out of the bilges.


    One of them drips down the wall before you. You can''t open the Vestibule to summon reinforcements, as that would also allow this thing to ravage the bridge. You will have to face it yourself. You take advantage of the moment it gives you while re-forming to slam Miotal Scathanna into its head, splattering its foulness against the bulkhead.


    Impossibly, it begins to reform again, snapping a pseudopod out towards your legs. you adroitly hop over it, and bring Miotal Scathanna around in another sweep. Again you connect, and this time the fiend stays destroyed. its body shivers back into the ether, driven from the Ignis. You take a shuddering breath, and the very air itself seems befouled. You retch, spewing stomach acid and semi-digested nutrient paste across the deck. Your mind reels, but you pull yourself together, an effort of will keeping you on your feet.Stolen novel; please report.


    "Bridge? Navigator''s Vestibule, Navigator speaking. Clear, I repeat, clear. Append the Navigator''s vestibule to the list of rooms to be cleansed and re-consecrated when we reach Oasis."


    "Bridge to Navigator. Understood. Advise at once if the Ignis needs to Revert."


    "Understood Bridge. Will advise if a crash-translation is required." You slump back into your throne and resume steering the Ignis along your chosen course, wary now for signs you may have missed earlier.


    The second week yields no threat the the Ignis herself, but your vision is plagued by fragmentary, ghosting images of a pair of graceful figures. They ever stand just at the edge of your peripheral vision, and you find yourself wondering who they are. But every time you try to address them, they either make no response or fade from view. You can feel you body squirm just a bit, just enough to make you aware that these apparitions are some echo in the warp given form within the Vestibule. Their silence is both blessing and curse, for they seem to only wish to observe you, not interact with you. Or corrupt you further.


    The third week crawls past. Your course doesn''t waver, but it seems to take small eternities between every course adjustment as the winds of the Warp slow to just above a dead calm. Counting your heartbeats against your paces on the deck, you notice that time is flowing strangely. Sometimes liquid-slow, sometimes burning fast. Your mind strains at the tedium, and you can feel a small piece of it fray away. Your helm commands become rote, quoted directly from the book and according to hallowed formula and instruction.


    Finally, the Ignis approaches the Riptide system. The malaise and dirge-slow passage of time falls away as the revision to realspace approaches. You grit your teeth, triple-check the timing and procedure, and drop the Ignis back into reality right in the approach vector for Oasis orbit. At least one part of the Transit went according to plan. You gratefully relinquish Helm Command to the Bridge, change your robe, and make for your quarters before your exhaustion overtakes you.


    You make it in time, and promptly consign all of the clothing you were wearing in the Vestibule to the incinerator. Standing before your mirror, you carefully check yourself over. You show no obvious signs of fresh corruption, but everything is slightly too bright. You dim the lights down to a twilight-darkness, and the pain eases. You count yourself fortunate indeed if a weakness to bright light is the only manifestation of your brush with the Warp.


    With that done, you all but collapse into your bath, soaking in the warm water. You hear Canala enter, but can''t muster the strength to open your eyes, much less your mouth to give orders. You drift of into thankfully dreamless sleep.


    Ten hours later, you awaken in your bed. Your muscles ache with post-workout exertion, and your head throbs with the pounding ache of a hangover. You don''t remember working out or drinking heavily, and mark it down to the after-effects of a difficult transit. You drink deeply from the water glass on your bedside table, and have Canala bring you a mild painkiller with your breakfast. Watered, fed, and with your aches fading away, you feel the need to do something.


    As Canala clears away the breakfast dishes, you ponder over what exactly to do. A message on your microbead indicates that Helheim''s Deathwatch team are transferring back aboard, and that the Ignis will be departing just as soon as it has loaded a cover-cargo of industrial metals for a run to Outbound. With both main cargo holds being filled up, it will take another ten days, give or take, so you have time enough for a few errands.

 Chapter 19: Vision Enhancement?

    You eyes are slightly better, and the painkiller is suppressing your headache. Still you decide that getting your eyes examined would be the best place to start. A quick comm message to XO Ekhi confirms that the Helheim''s team is back aboard and settling in. You brace yourself for the brightness of the hallways and glide down the familiar track to the Ignis'' Medical Bay, where he had helped your physical therapy along. He''d want to check on your recovery anyway.


    Two hours of walking and a half-hour examination later, your eyes are watering and the painkiller is wearing off. Bedard is scratching his chin at a set of readouts, tallying up the signs of your recovery and new damage. "Well, I have good news, bad news, and somewhere in-between news. Worse news first, the light/dark receptors in your eyes are hypersensitive, and as the likely cause is exposure to the warp there isn''t anything I can do to correct that."


    You nod your head, eyes shut against the bright lights of the examination room. "I was worried about that. What can be done about it?"


    "Treating the symptoms is relatively easy: sunshades. Or you can do what Lady Yasha Dannan does, and use a thin veil or other eye-covering. It will limit your vision somewhat in dark or cave-black areas, but you''d be near-blind in those situations anyway. A more invasive approach would be total eye replacement surgery, installing augmetics instead. I''d recommend against that, as the symptoms may spontaneously re-emerge. Also, we''d have to rebuild about half of your face to install them, and that would be a right mess."


    You nod again, daring to open your eyes slightly, slitting them against the searing brightness. "I''ll stick with the eye protection then, unless something gets worse. Skuld, Urd, or Verdandi probably has aunt Yasha''s patterns on file, so that shouldn''t be a problem. Now about that good news?"


    "Good news is that between the physical therapy and whatever new exercise routines you started, you are more fit than before you would up on the Trophy Room floor. Reaction times, hand-eye coordination, brute force, and intricate fine-motor capabilities are all showing about a three-percent increase over your records from before that Incident. Perceptions and cognitive functions are up as well, by about six percent. Possibly higher on the perception side, given the damage to your eyes. Muscle definition is way up as well, and body fat is nearly non-existent. I expected the later, given how much stored energy your body burned off during the incident despite the nutrient drip. If I may ask, what form of exercise are you using?"


    "About an hour of weapons-drill each morning with my staff."


    "Staff drill? Those must be some fairly intense forms, for a non-Astartes, to produce such results. Would you care to join me in the sparring chamber tomorrow, so that I can see them?"The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    You don''t hesitate. An Astartes'' sparring chamber is his sanctum, second only to his sleeping quarters in terms of personal space. Turning down the offer would be an unforgivable insult. "Of course! Hopefully I can get a veil or similar sent up in time, so I won''t crash into something."


    Bedard nods, though you can only tell this by the movement his shadow makes, given that you are stuck staring at the floor. "Tomorrow afternoon, say at sixteen-hundred ship-time? I''ll see you then. Now for the in-between news." He sucks air between his teeth. "The mental health indicators are all over the place, but generally higher than your record would indicate. By a factor of about two. Overall, that''s less than good, but you show no signs of new disorders."


    "Influence from Miotal Scathanna perhaps?"


    "That can''t be ruled out, but you also just had a close-and-personal encounter with a daemon, and kicked its ass to boot. That''d leave a mark even on an Astartes, but I''m not the best judge of non-Astartes psychology. I assume you had plans to meet with a confessor or similar?"


    You snort. "I don''t bother with the minions of the Ecclesiarchy. Rote-learned dogmatics, by and large. I was planning on seeing if Chaplain Danus was available, to get his blessing if at all possible. Any extra ward against Warp-corruption would come in handy."


    Bedard pauses. "That could work, but Chaplain Danus wouldn''t always be available if you needed to talk to someone. I''ll see if Helheim or Wraith know anyone good. Probably wouldn''t hurt to get a decent confessor permanently assigned to the Ignis, just in case. I''ll also see about getting a regular Medical officer briefed in on your condition and file, in case my services aren''t available. But we''re all done here, so you''re free to go Lady Dannan."


    "Thank you Apothecary Bedard. For everything." You make your way out the doorway, brushing against the frame briefly, and make your way back to your quarters.


    Once there, you set about working on the little paperwork that has piled up during your rest. Requisition forms, by and large, awaiting your signature. You do note that Canala has slipped a few extra sets of clothing into the list, along with the usual toiletries and essentials. With this in mind, you make a note to get your existing dress and new ones fitted by the three seamstresses. A quick check of your calendar later and you pencil that in for three days from now, to give them time to ruin up the dresses and your new veils.


    Paperwork complete, you work out with Miotal Scathanna before taking a bath and having lunch. You have the afternoon to yourself, and a busy few days ahead of yourself. On an impulse, you head down the the Library vaults, to swap out a few read books for new ones. As you are browsing the stacks, you reach into your pocket for the brass key you found last time you were here. Instead, you find a small folded note. You frown and unfold it. The message in side surprises you.


    Thanks for keeping my key safe while I was away. -Wraith.


    You''ll have to ask him how he knew it was you when you see him next. But for now you have a new book, a new schedule, and some time to read before tomorrow morning.

 Chapter 20: Silent Drifting

    The next morning comes at its usual time, and you go through your usual morning routine. Exercise, bath, food, so on. With a morning to play around in, you decide to consult with Miotal Scathanna to see if you can learn ''Shadowstepping''. +What is Shadowstepping anyway?+


    +Moving unseen and unheard.+


    +And why would your creators consider this skill important?+


    +As they have named you Truthseeker, they also know that not all truths are illuminated freely. Thus there will be times when you must move unseen, to See and Listen to what is not illuminated.+


    You put on your comfy old brown robe, noting that the frayed sleeves have been stitched up, and the splits in the hem mended. +So how to walk rather quietly and stick to shadows?+


    +That can be part of it, yes. So can simply standing where others cannot see you, even in the brightest lights.+


    You thank Canala for helping you dress, and accept one of your new veils from her. It ties across your eyes like a blindfold, but it''s almost translucent. This isn''t one of your formal occasions ones, so its a simple utilitarian black. +Care to explain that?+


    +Stand where those looking cannot see us, and we are invisible. If they would look only in the shadows, then stand in the light.+


    You leave your quarters, locking the door behind you as always, and glide down the passageway. +So, how do I go about learning this skill?+


    +We practice, how else?+


    With all morning to practice, you decide to walk generally aft, towards the Deathwatch Quarters. With your mapslate in hand, you can find your way to the training hall easily enough, and with your veil, the bright lights don''t bother you nearly as much. You do notice several changes to your usual walking pattern, such as drifting around people instead of simply staring over their heads and having them move aside for you, avoiding joints and the occasional puddle of condensation, and watching the play of the light.


    As lunchtime approaches, you feel that you have learned a little bit, but this is certainly no skill that can be mastered in a single day. You will need to revisit it later. Still, you decide to try and apply its lessons in reverse, to see if you can pick out Wraith or Helheim from their habitual concealment. You pass a message over your microbead to Canala, letting her know that you will be having lunch elsewhere, and head into the Deathwatch Quarters.


    You head for the feast hall, but pause at the door when you notice that it is closed. You consider it for a moment, but you only make a cursory attempt to listen. The wood is thick and you can''t hear anything more than muffled eating sounds, so you knock politely.


    While waiting for a response, you glance about the passageway. You can feel Wraith watching you again, so you try and spot him. It''s difficult, particularly with you veil stealing away some of the brightness. You do however spot the barest hard edge of a darkened pauldron in a deep shadow along the ceiling. "Is the floor not good enough for you Wraith?"If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Wraith nearly crashes to the floor in shock. "How in Corvus'' name did you spot me? You are blindfolded!"


    You shake your head. "Veiled. Bedard has the detailed reasoning for it, I won''t even pretend to understand the medical terminology, or the hows and whys. And to answer your real question, I felt your gaze again, and picked out the hard edge of one of your pauldrons."


    "Shape recognition?"


    You shrug. "Shape, or color, or the play of shadows perhaps. I saw the hard man-made edge more than anything definite. Put that together with your eyes on me, and it wasn''t hard to guess."


    The doors to the feast hall open behind you, revealing the black-robed and skull-masked figure of an Astartes Chaplain. You quickly step out of the way, not wanting to leave an unknown person at your back within melee range. The figure just chuckles at your sudden movement. "Someone actually spotted you Wraith?"


    Wrath sighs. "First human to do so, but second overall after Pyrus. Lady Ethna Nic Vir Dannan, meet Chaplain Danus, on secondment form the Dark Angels. Chaplain Danus, our Navigator."


    "Another Dannan? I had thought there were only three of them."


    You answer the Chaplain. "Six of us so far, although I understand Morrigan and Vir are working on the seventh. I haven''t heard from either of my brothers since they were dispatched to Terra to be Sanctioned as Astropaths and Soulbound."


    "Ah, my condolences then."


    You shrug. "I Navigate for a living, and I know how far we are from Terra out here on the frontier. Flight estimate is seven to seventeen years, one way. I don''t expect to hear anything for several more years."


    Danus shrugs, and flicks his left hand in a throwing-away gesture. "So what brings you down to our quarters again?"


    You are saved from answering that by Bedard rounding a corner, pushing a trolley loaded with protein-heavy food. "Me actually. I invited her down for a training session, to measure her physical rehabilitation. Didn''t expect her quite this soon, though."


    You shrug. "I''ve not much to do until the Ignis has a destination and departure date. That''s still nine days from now, meaning I had some lose time on my hands, so I came down here early."


    Bedard nods. "Helheim spotted you coming, and I went and made sure I had food for two."


    You look at the trolley. "Food for two humans, or two Astartes?"


    Bedard blinks, Wraith snorts, and Danus bursts out laughing. Bedard shakes his head. "Servitors, they do exactly what you tell them to..."


    Danus waves wraith and Bedard inside. "Lady Dannan will be along in a moment, I just need to ask her a question."


    Wraith helps Bedard bring the trolley into the feast hall to start unloading it. Danus shuts the doors behind them and turns to face you squarely. "I noticed the Navigator''s Vestibule was on the list of areas to be re-consecrated after the last transit. What went wrong?"


    You sigh. "I got cocky. We had such a smooth transit out to HJG-1034, so I simply reversed the course to re-use it instead of making an entire new one. Bad practice, but acceptable when the Astronomicon is hard to detect, which it was. My screw-up came in not scanning as carefully as I perhaps should have for hazards during the Transit itself. I managed to run into a spike of Warp energy, and the Geller Field blinked. Only for a fraction of a second, if that, but it was enough."


    Danus sighs. "That''s going to delay our departure somewhat. Now I''ve got to check every bilge and vent, and the armsmen are going to have to stay on guard for re-appearances for years."


    You nod. "Thank you."


    Danus nods. "Go and eat, I''ll be checking in with you later."


    You nod and turn to enter the feast hall.

 Chapter 21: Whirly Bird

    Lunch goes well. You, Bedard, and Wraith all swapping horror stories about traveling in the warp. Being the only non-blunt at the table, you do have a certain edge, but the natural mental durability of the Astartes means that they come within a whisker of matching you. All of you agree that both Danus and Helheim have seen worse, and Lord Pyrus is in a league of his own with the Kania Incursion.


    With those important formalities out of the way, the three of you make your way to one of the training chambers. It is a fairly large room, featuring a cleared circle in the center, with racks of training weapons, inactive sparing remotes, and other training aid mounted to or parked along the walls. Wraith posts up over by the door, leaning back against the frame. he looks somewhat interested, but Bedard draws your attention as he gestures to the center of the cleared circle. "I''ll be standing back making notes. Go ahead with whatever morning routine you usually perform."


    You raise one eyebrow as you glide to the center of the circle, Miotal Scathanna in your hands. "You will excuse me if I skip over thinks like waking up, getting dressed, and relieving myself in favor of just working out?"


    Wraith snorts again.


    Bedard waves a hand, "of course, of course. Whatever you are comfortable with Lady Dannan."


    You take a moment to judge the space around yourself, measuring out where you can safely move without endangering either of the Astartes. Fortunately, the circle is larger than the cleared area in your quarters, with a higher ceiling as well. You also ponder over just how much to show off while you are at it. You have more than enough space to do all of your forms in a single uninterrupted string, instead of resetting to a start position due to a wall or bed. You decide to show the expected Imperial forms, as well as some of the defensive forms you have mastered. The aggressive ones can stay in reserve, alongside the forms you aren''t totally confident in.


    Taking a deep breath, you take a moment to stretch, cracking your knuckles, elbows, shoulders, knees, ankles, back, and neck in the process. Bedard raises an eyebrow briefly, but settles in along the wall to watch.


    You start with your purely Imperial forms, working through the standard blocks and strikes. You put a little more effort and intensity into it than usual. Once that is done, you start into the actual katas. The Imperial ones flow with their usual percussive beat. Strike, strike, pause, strike, strike, strike, pause, repeat. You run through them for a good twenty five minutes before you get to the defensive forms that you learned. They flow much more smoothly, without the semi-erratic pauses of the Imperial forms. They are also much more of a workout, keeping Miotal Scathanna spinning and moving continuously. The katas come to an end, and Wraith looks mildly impressed, while Bedard is scratching his chin. Bedard speaks first. "Well, I can see how that workout would improve your physical fitness quite a bit! Dynamic muscle movements, with weight, plus a medium to high intensity heartbeat. Most impressive Lady Dannan!"


    Wraith flexes a hand, as if gripping his fingers around the hilt of something. "Most impressive indeed. That second set of katas seem ...familiar. Would you care for a sparring session, that I might better judge your style?"


    You turn to face Wraith, still breathing a little heavily. "I''m certainly not going to say no to training with an Astartes! But do keep in mind that I''m only human."


    Wraith nods. "Practice blades only. Shouldn''t hurt any more than a Shockmaul set on stun."


    You wince. Shockmauls are riot police crowd control weapons, and presumably hurt like hell. You heft Miotal Scathanna. "No power-fields on this thing, so if it hits it hits. Best of three touches then?"


    Wraith nods. "A reasonable match." He draws a short-sword from one of the wall-mounted racks. "Go ahead and go all-out. If you can touch me, I figure I deserve it."


    You both fall into your starting positions. You pride demands that you make your best attempt. Wraith will know if you aren''t doing so anyway, and scoring even a single touch would be an impressive feat.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    You take a pair of deep breaths, and then you begin. You stay with your defensive routines, forcing Wraith to come to you. Even as you deflect his first attack harmlessly wide you realize two things. The first is that a purely defensive strategy is ultimately a losing one, and the second is that Wraith is definitely holding back.


    Your counter-blow is deflected contemptuously, and you move aside from another of Wraith''s strikes. You miss its follow up, and take a glancing blow across your right leg. It promptly locks up, dumping you on your posterior. "Dammit!"


    Wraith helps you to your feet. "That''s one. Ready for round two?"


    You flex your right leg tentatively, surprised to feel it coming back into function quite so quickly. "I believe so."


    The second round flows much as the first one does, but you give up trying to use any of the Imperial attack-patterns you know. Wraith knows them, their normal counters, and several more unconventional ones as the first round has handily demonstrated. Remaining purely on the defensive isn''t a winning strategy, but you want to see more of Wraiths attack patterns. As the heartbeats drag past, you start dropping into the zen battle-trance you associate with your longer training sessions. Wraiths attacks continue at the same rate, but you keep deflecting them. He leaves you no openings for counter-attacks, but it is clear that he is holding back just a little bit less as the round drags on. Finally, you get a counter-attack off, catching Wraith in the left leg just as he connects with your left arm. Both of you fall back out of the melee, acknowledging the other''s hit. Were this actual combat, Wraith would probably be only slightly injured, while you would be missing an arm. Still, you managed a touch, and Wraith clearly has a bit more respect for your capabilities.


    You both come set for the final decisive round, and you decide to go for it. With the second round a draw, you can''t win the match outright, but you can still force a draw. If you get just a bit lucky... or go on the attack. The third round starts, and you can feel more than just Bedard''s eyes watching the fight. You force that information from your awareness, dropping back into the battle-trance. Three strikes flow past, then seven, and you make an opening. You intentionally start your attack up high and keep it there, forcing Wraith to back up just a half step to give you room to work. As soon as he takes that step, you sweep Miotal Scathanna down low, forcing him to step back or jump over. Wraith opts to jump the staff, and come down behind it, closing the range. Just as you had hoped he might. You tighten the arc of your swing and lunge out, catching Wraith as he lands and begins to close. His counter comes with breathtaking speed, knocking your weapon up and right, but you follow through by closing the range yourself, stepping inside his reach and bringing the butt of the staff up into his belly.


    Everything freezes for a moment, then the battle-trance snaps and you step back from the melee. The contest is a draw. Wraith shakes his head and bows in respect. Bedard, Danus, and Helheim are all standing on the sidelines watching with interest. You return Wraith''s bow and turn to Bedard. "Was that an ample demonstration?"


    Bedard nods. "more than ample. What do you think Wraith?"


    Wrath shakes his head. "I haven''t been pushed that hard by a mere human in... well, ever."


    You snort and smooth your kerchief. "Best remember that I''m a Navigator then. Still human, when all is said and done, but never just a human."


    Wraith cocks his head. "So are you saying you cheated?"


    You shake your head as his benevolent blind-spot. "To quote an old, old saying: ''If you aren''t cheating, you aren''t trying hard enough.'' You have speed, size, strength, and endless hours of drill on me. Of course I had to use every trick in my book just to keep in shouting range of you in a fair fight."


    Wraith nods slowly. "That battle-trance was impressive, almost machine-like. I''ll not be underestimating you again in the future."


    Before you can respond, you microbead chirps. It''s Canala, your stewardess. "Lady Dannan, will you be back for dinner?"


    "I will be Canala, in about an hour and a half."


    "That''s quite late Lady Dannan. I''ll keep it warm for you."


    You close the link and bow to your hosts. "Gentlemen, it appears that I''m late for my supper, as my stewardess has just reminded me, so I must beg my leave."


    Helheim opens the door for you. "Best hurry then Ethna. We''ve planning to do, and can''t have any non-Deathwatch here while we do it."


    You pause at the doorway. "If we need to make a fast run, or any diversions, let me know and I''ll make them."


    Helheim nods, and you hurry back to your quarters. Canala had mention that she was making Grox Bourguignon, and you have no intention of letting it get cold!

 Chapter 22: Curses and Blessings

    Seven days pass by slowly as the Ignis continues to load the last of her cargo. You keep track of Chaplain Danus as he works his way through the ship, cleansing and blessing each affected area in turn. The Navigator''s Vestibule is one of the last items on his list, so that the blessing will be as strong as possible for the next Warp Transit. You quietly arrange to be blessed right alongside your workplace the following afternoon. While you are making those arrangements, You notice an orange cassock''d figure moving about the Ignis. Not having seen him before, you decide to put your stealth to use and track him the next time you see him.


    Just after lunch, you see him coming down the hallway from past your quarters in the officers row. Before you can attempt to hide, he notices you and approaches. You get a decent look at his face, and recognize the preacher from before. Short, standing perhaps an inch over five feet, with brown hair and eyes. He would be a nameless face in a crowd were it not for his cassock and the silver presence-crown of an ordained Bishop. He does not hesitate to take your hand, and bow to kiss it by way of introduction. "Navigator Dannan, I cannot thank you enough for your advice on the trip here, nor for making the time spent in the Warp as short as possible."


    You free your hand and tilt your head slightly. "I recognize you, but do not know your name Mr...?"


    He actually blushes. "Bishop Allen Ducarin. I was only elevated to the orange" he gestures to his cassock "three days ago, and assigned as the Ignis'' Bishop only yesterday. I had hoped to see you again, truth be told. Your faith in the God-Emperor of Mankind is almost as strong as mine."


    You can''t help but shake your head with a grin. "You say you just came aboard?"


    Bishop Ducarin nods slowly, suddenly wary at your tone. "Yes, why?"


    "And did Shipmistress Von Sebastion or the Executive Officer brief you on the Ignis?"


    Ducarin nods slowly again, "No, but Shipmistress Von Sebastion did request my posting. At least the paperwork was in her name, and affixed with her seal among others. Again, why?"


    You shake your head. "Not my secret to tell. But you may learn something if you visit the bridge tomorrow afternoon."


    Ducarin nods again. "It would be my pleasure. I was asked to keep an eye on your health, actually, and was heading to the Medical Bay to be briefed on your case."


    "Oh? By whom?"


    "Medicae Tottle, though I understand my duties will mostly be ones of mental health. If your faith is still as strong as it was on my last trip aboard the Ignis, then I have no fears for your mind or soul."


    Now you can''t help but laugh. "Tomorrow morning, we should talk on that matter. You may be surprised, but not dismayed I should hope, on that score."


    Bishop Ducarin bows and kisses your hand again. "After breakfast, in the Officer''s mess then?"


    You extract your hand from his grasp. "That would be acceptable. I''ll see you then." As he vanishes down the corridor, you wipe your hand on your robe. This must be the ''confessor'' Bedard had mentioned earlier. The sooner you break him in and get him to leave you alone, the better. You wander back into your quarters to pick up reading you book again, marking time until tomorrow. Your reading is interrupted about a chapter later by a distinctive ringtone on your microbead. You answer at once. "Uncle Pyrus! You are coming aboard?"


    Pyrus'' deep bass resonates across the communications link. "Of course, little lantern. How could I not, after what you have been through."


    "When? We have much to talk about."


    "This night. Get some rest, we''ll talk in the morning."


    "Over breakfast? I should warn you, the Ignis just took on a new resident preacher."


    "Still irritated at them?"


    "After they shit they pulled back on Dagda? I''m thinking you''ll stop hating Dusk Raiders before I forgive them."


    "Long time to hate, lass. What did this new preacher pull already to drive you up the walls?"


    "Try attempting to pull rank by setting up a breakfast meeting without even asking me? And then just assuming I''d show up? And being totally ignorant of what the Ignis is, despite being permanently stationed aboard her?"This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    "Oof. Well lets gatecrash him at this ''meeting'' he arranged. Should I bring Hellheim?"


    "Ehh, probably Apothecary Bedard to keep him from going totally off the rails."


    "Smart call lass. I see you''ve grown up some since I saw you last."


    "Well, he''s at least marginally smarter than Oasis'' new Bishop, and under the illusion that I saved his ass by advising him to pray when we made Warp on the way here. So I figure throwing him to the Wolf right out of the gate would probably be a bad idea. He might even flip out over you."


    "Hrm, who is this new Bishop?"


    "Of Oasis, one Rynald. Never got his last name. Of the Ignis, one Allen Ducarin."


    "I''ve already seen Rynald. Not worth the breath to argue with his stupidity. This Ducarin I haven''t heard of before."


    "You''ll meet him in the morning then. Good night uncle Pyrus."


    "Good night lass."


    You close the connection and start turning in for the night. Ducarin is in for one heck of a surprise tomorrow.


    The next day comes soon enough, And after your usual morning routine, you have Canala bring out one of your new dresses. Not the formal one that you never got to wear to the Founding Day celebration, but a deep green one with a black vest, veil, and kerchief. You take a moment to look at yourself in the full-length mirror, and you admire the Seamstresses'' handiwork. The dress and vest make the most of your graceful form and movements, covering you from neck down in elegant costume without bothering to hide the fact that you are a mistress of your craft. Ducarin may think it''s because you are trying to impress him, but you couldn''t give a damn about what he thinks. You haven''t seen uncle Pyrus is about ten years now, given how much time you spend in the Warp, and that realm''s tangential relation to reality at best. Plus getting blessed is something of a formal occasion, and a comfy casual robe just doesn''t feel quite right for the occasion. You pick up your Bolt Shell Charm and hang its golden glory about your neck before heading out.


    You run into Bedard in full armor as you approach the officer''s mess. His raised eyebrow at your appearance draws a curtsy from you, and a bit of a grin. "Lord Pyrus should be by soon, to help us enlighten the Ignis'' new Bishop."


    "That''s why I''m waiting out here. Play nice with him, would you? He''s the best fit for the job that we could find."


    "That''s the plan. I''m just hoping to get him to realize that not everything on the Ignis is what it seems, and that poking around blindly is probably a bad idea. If we happen to stretch his mind a bit, that couldn''t hurt either." You finger the charm around your neck. "Particularly if it''ll stop him from trying to frag me for ''heresy''."


    Bedard thinks this over, then nods. "I do need to remember that we Astartes have our... differences with the Ecclesiarchy, the Salamanders and Space Wolves particularly so."


    Pyrus looms out of a side corridor in his battleplate. "I arranged a private dining room for this meeting, just in case. How are we going to spot this Ducarin? I don''t want to just guess."


    You shrug. "He was elevated four days ago, so is probably wearing his orange cassock and presence crown."


    Pyrus nods. "If he''s there, we''ll sweep him into the private room and call for food. If he''s not, Bedard and I will head in there, and you''ll bring him in when he arrives."


    You nod, take a calming breath, and make your Entrance into the officer''s mess. It goes exactly how you hoped. The various officers look up at your entrance, note the presence of Astartes, and go back to their food. They''ve seen Helheim''s squad often enough that they aren''t a totally new sight. They also know much better than to pry into the affairs of the Deathwatch. Bishop Ducarin however jumps to his feet and starts to come to attention before realizing that he''s the only person to be doing so. You smile a bit, and nod at a server as you cross the mess towards the private rooms. The server comes over, takes your orders, and scurries off to fetch the food. You gesture Ducarin to join you as you enter the private rooms.


    Ducarin gathers up his tray and joins you. "My lords, I didn''t expect such an honor! What crusade is the Ignis bound for, to have representatives of two Space Marine chapters aboard?"


    Pyrus looks at you. "You weren''t kidding when you said he was new." He looks at Ducarin. "Alright then, if you are to be permanently stationed aboard the Ignis, then you need to learn some things..."


    Several hours later, you leave a stunned and shaken Ducarin behind with Bedard as you make your way to the bridge. Pyrus has already gone ahead of you, to meet with Chaplain Danus and ensure the Navigator''s Vestibule is properly re-sanctified. When you enter, they are both ready and waiting for you. You seal the vestibule, just in case, and the ceremony begins.


    Five minutes later, it is completed. Your Oaths to the Emperor are renewed and confirmed by a Chaplain in His name, and an Epistolary in His will. Most people are content with a priest or similar fulfilling the ''in His name'' half of the confirmation, and skip out on the ''in His will" half. This isn''t really an option for you, given how close you skim to the Warp on a regular basis, and having Astartes doing the confirmation should help solidify the blessing nicely. You re-seal the Vestibule behind them as they depart and open your Third Eye to double-check their work.


    Everything carries a soft white-orange glow, like minute candle flames flickering along edges and pooling in crevices. You recognize the glow of a fully faith-blessed area, even if all three humans involved believe in the Emperor as a man, not a God. It''s a small doctrinal point that has resulted in a few hundred thousand dead Astartes and Ecclesiarchs down the millennia, but it doesn''t bother you overmuch. You rely on the Psychic manifestation of the Emperor''s will every time you guide a ship through the Warp, and its heartbeat illumination ''tastes'' distinctly human to you, unlike the endless hunger and emotions of the bigger Warp-denizens and outright Daemons.


    You dismiss your Sight and close your Third Eye. With the scheduled departure date tomorrow, you decide to start thinking about your course ahead of time.

 Chapter 23: The Speed of Necessity

    You start doing the real-space time calculations, because those don''t shift from one day to the next. They are only ever an estimation, but they tend to be a good average time. You start by tracing the standard route: spinward to Kerellia, rimward two systems to Viking, spinward to Kania, then rimward to Polaris, and rimward again to Outbound. Six systems, an average of five to ten days between each, call it thirty to sixty days. All of it would be along known stable Warp routes, which would be fairly predictable, and therefore safer. It would also take longer, which would give more time for things to go wrong. The chance of something going wrong on a given day would be much lower, but there would be more days. You next step is to plot the faster direct route to figure out how much time you could save.


    Tracing a direct line from Riptide to Outbound skips over Kerella and Viking, but goes more or less through Kania and Polaris. Only four systems, so twenty to forty days on average, half of it not on known routes. It''s slightly more risky, but it would shave ten to twenty days off of the ''standard'' route. Being off of the usual routes would mean a slightly higher chance of something going wrong, but only for the first half or so of the transit.


    The Ignis being so quick in the Warp will cut about five days off of either of those estimates, but it would still be fifteen days for the ''fast'' estimate, or 25 for the ''safe'' route. Not too shabby, and your actual course in the Warp and lock on the Astronomicon can reduce that time even further. Or stretch it out, if you get a weak lock or the Warp throws a wrench in your course. You store your plans for the upcoming transit and head for bed. Tomorrow will bring troubles enough, and you feel no need to rush into them.


    Tomorrow does bring trouble aplenty. After breakfast, you head for the Vestibule again, to get a head start on the upcoming transit. You find a comm message waiting for you however. It''s Helheim, and It''s not good.


    "Navigator Dannan, I''m afraid I''m going to have to insist that we expedite our transit to Outbound. A local contact has gotten a report through, and things are escalating far more quickly than we anticipated. I can''t say any more. Helheim, clear."


    You discard your work on the stable route you had been planning and focus on the fast but risky option. You quickly refine your estimate down to fifteen to thirty days, assuming you press the Ignis almost as fast as the Warp will let her sail. You link into your throne, feeling the pulse-beat of the Ignis'' electronic blood and star-fire heart. You caress the runes that anoint her adamantine bones. +Time to fly Ignis. We are called in all haste, to be sent onto the anvil.+Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    The Ignis purrs in response. Her engines burn a tiny bit brighter, her point-defense turrets cycle through a self-test routine on their own, and a half-dozen evasive Warp-exit maneuvers pop up on one of your secondary monitors. You hope you won''t need them, but you have then if you do. You raise your Sight a bit higher, opening your Third Eye to the light of the Astronomicon. It''s pulsar glow is strong and steady, Illuminating your course forward. The warp-currents are as turbulent as ever, but you can See their vectors like burning oil on water.


    You give the entry-vector commands right on cue, and drop right into a fast-flowing vector bound towards Outbound. Your course is anything but straight and true. You have to flick-switch between close-hauled to a storm-fanged gale to slewing around rip-currents. You vector-dance your way through a flickering congruence of hell-tides. You can feel the Ignis respond to the commands, squirming around onto the desired courses, bursting across wavelets of faith and fury. You have never driven her this hard, but she responds beautifully. Thirty days turns to fifteen, and then to seven as you streak across areas that would mire a slower ship in despair.


    Nothing slows or disrupts your passage, and by the mid-point of the eighth day, you are preparing for your return to Reality. You time the translation with razor-tight timing, leaving the Ignis screaming onto an inner-system approach vector. The Dannans and the Von Sebastions have history with this system, as does Helheim and Pyrus. This time, the Ignis is here to settle that score, leaving however much of the system in ashes as is needed. Even as you complete the translation, you can feel the Steel Rain Drop pod bays surge to readiness, and a coil of power gathering in the Teleportarium. Whatever the situation is down on Outbound, the Ignis intends to greet it with extreme prejudice.


    You close your Third Eye, disconnect, and stand down from your watch station, heading for your quarters for the rest that you require. Whatever situation is in Outbound, Helheim, Pyrus, and the other Deathwatch members can deal with it. You hope.


    Three days later, as you pore over another book, you are startled by a comm call. "Faunia! What''s going on?"


    "A little bit of mayhem actually. Deathwatch has called on our armsmen to help maintain order in the civilian areas. I''m sending Ekhi to coordinate, and was wondering if you wanted a chance to stretch your legs...?"

 Chapter 24: Badlands

    "Of course! But I must ask, what are you dragging me into this time Faunia?"


    "Hopefully nothing much. Helheim and Pyrus seem to be on top of things, so we should just have to play diplomat. I''m also sending Ducarin down, to try and play the Piety card if Ekhi needs to."


    "I''m dressing for trouble then."


    "Probably smart. Shuttle departs in an hour."


    You set your book aside and head for your wardrobe. You pull off your comfy robe and put on your Xenomesh armor. It fits tightly against your frame, bulking out your curves with armored padding. The cowl drapes over your head and down the back of your neck. You stretch, flexing out the few kinks in the material. Satisfied, you don a light-weight battle-robe, its mottled grays and blues helping to break up your outline. It also provides a bit more decency, given that your armor hugs all of your curves rather tightly. You put your charm back on before raising the hood of your robe, and gather up your full suite of weapons: Hellpistol and Archeotech Laspistol riding your right hip, Miotal Scahthanna slung across your back.


    Satisfied with your load-out, you head out into the hallway, only to encounter Bishop Ducarin. He seems much more withdrawn, having lost most of the bluster that made him seem so large the last time you met. "Navigator Danann..."


    You hold out a hand to stop him from leaving. "What''s wrong Ducarin?"


    He breaks out into tears, his shoulders heaving. "I... I want to go home..."


    You sit him down there in the hallway. He curls up, his knees pressed to his chest. You sit across from him, cross-legged. "Why?"


    "There is so much more out away from Viking. I have sailed the infinite void between worlds, and seen the demons that lurk in their depths. I have met His Angels of Death, and found them human. I feel so... small. So insignificant. So helpless."


    You can''t help yourself. You laugh. "How do you think I feel, every time I bask in the light of the Emperor''s Will?"


    Ducarin sniffles, rubbing his nose. "Is.. that what the Astronomicon is?"


    You pat Ducarin on the shoulder. "Yes."


    His head drops to his knees and he cries even harder. "Now I just feel even smaller."


    You reach out and grasp his chin, raising his head up to make him look into your veiled eyes. "There is a price for standing ever-closer to Him. You spread His word, and so must travel far from home and risk your life among the stars. The Astartes fight the worst of His wars. Their life is one of endless battle and it will eventually claim their lives as it has already claimed their bodies. I must guide a ship of the Imperium through the Void, and it stares back. It has already claimed some of my vision. It will eventually claim more, or all, of me." You let his head sink back down. "We all must end someday. But as we stand closer than most to His light, we are measured by what we do, what legacy we leave behind. As the Ignis serves the Deathwatch, much of what we do will never be known to the masses. But we will know it, as will those that come after us, and those after them."Stolen novel; please report.


    Ducarin continues to weep, but nods. "Still, there is so much heresy... so much disbelief... how am I to make a legacy?"


    You ponder that for a long moment. "You were never a war-priest, were you?"


    Ducarin shakes his head. "No, I never left the cloisters. Never served with the Imperial Guard or PDF."


    You shake your head at his innocence. He has never known undue hardship, never seen man nor beast blown apart or carved to pieces by uncaring gunfire. "Then don''t try to be one. Be instead a good shepherd, a light for others to follow. Out here on the frontier, among the fringe-stars, there are many that could use such a light."


    You stand Ducarin up. "Now come along, we need to fetch your armor and wargear."


    Ducarin scrubs at his face. "Why? We''re just along to bulk out the XO''s party, make him look sufficiently important."


    "Vrenna is a frontier world, and there is something going on down there dire enough to draw a Deathwatch team to it. We''re getting your wargear and armor... don''t tell me you don''t have any?"


    "No..."


    ¡°Shit. Alright, stay behind me or an armsman if everything comes apart down there. Hopefully you won''t need to learn on the fly."


    An hour later, you regret ever speaking those words. The Dark Voyage launched on schedule, but came under Anti-Aircraft fire as it approached the city of Landing. The starboard engine took a hit as the Pilot tried to divert away from the city. The crash-landing ruined everyone''s day, but Ekhi, Ducarin, and you all managed to walk or crawl away from it. Well, to be accurate, you half-walked and were half carried considering the massive lump on your head. Ducarin collapses to the ground and starts digging through the medkit he salvaged from somewhere.


    Ekhi is hopping mad. "Who the hell shot us down? That was auto-cannon fire, Imperial auto-cannon fire! And we were a clearly announced shuttle carrying Imperial visitors!"


    Ducarin starts pressing a ice pack against your lump. You thank him and answer Ekhi. "Who said that those were Imperial gunners?"


    Ducarin almost drops a bandage in shock. "Surely an Imperial world wouldn''t turn traitor that quickly?"


    Ekhi shakes her head. "I know a couple of ways it can happen. The Great Enemy taking a hand is one example, but the Deathwatch being called in would indicate Xenos, probably Genestealers. Which leaves me wondering if the Tau are going to put in an appearance?"


    Ducarin looks alarmed. Ekhi laughs. "Relax Bishop, the Inquisition sanctioned the contact long ago. I suspect they are using it to learn more about the Tau, wagering that they will learn more than the Tau will."


    You raise your free hand to point at a blob on the horizon. "I think someone found us..."


    That last thing you see is Ekhi waving down the unfamiliar shuttle as it approaches.

 Chapter 25: Sentient Song (Dream)

    You Dream


    "...oncussion? What''s the issue?"


    "Medic coming through! Stand Aside!"


    "I''m not letting a..."


    "Can it Bishop, we don''t..."


    Your head aches. Everything is hazy, like it is wrapped in gauze and lit from within. Your mind throbs. You give up trying to shift your limbs when they refuse to do more than twitch against soft restraints. Instead of reaching outwards, you turn inwards. +What happened?+


    + ... +


    +The shuttle got hit, we crashed, where am I now?+


    + ... +


    +ANSWER ME DAMN YOU!+


    You feel the feather-light touch of another mind against your own. Not the chromed wire of Miotal Scathanna. A sing-song tune, an ear-worm dangling just beyond your range of hearing. +I can hear you.+


    The song turns, and you get the impression that it is staring at you. +Curious. You are not rendered catatonic by the swelling?+


    +What swelling?+ You drift about your physical brain, feeling every bruise and neuron. +Oh. That swelling.+


    The song creeps close on your heels, until a strand of chromed wire seizes it. +Who are you to invade our mind?+


    +I am one of your makers.+


    You and the wire both clasp the song tight. +Why did you make us / leave us behind / bring us together?+


    The song sings itself free. +Tehe! To see if living flesh and metal can form new life!+


    + ??? +


    The song sighs. +No one has told you then?+The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    +Told us what?+


    +Perhaps even he doesn''t know then.+


    +Told us WHAT??+


    The song slips about itself, a figure sitting in for a long rest. +Do you know what I am?+


    +Psychic presence, in the form of ever-changing music. Ariavari?+


    +A good guess, but that is not all that I am. Or all that Anai is either.+


    +What then? Tell Us.+


    +Exiles. Lovers. Wanderers.+


    +Machine and flesh... New life...+


    The song bows. +Now you begin to see.+


    +Why Us? Why not Faunia?+


    +False-lifer? She is mind-blind. Her skull would have split in the merging, her brains boiled out her ears.+


    A sharp pain interrupts the conversation. The pressure lessens, and the song slips away with the outflow of over-pressurized blood. +Have a care Truthseeker... Press not Fate overmuch... We''ll meet in the flesh soon enough...+


    + Wait! Where will we meet? + But the song is gone, and reality calls you to Awaken. Your eyes snap open, staring into a thick blindfold. You can feel the gentle restraints at wrists and elbow, hip, thigh, and ankle. Your neck rests in a splay-fingered immobilization cradle, and you can feel the pressure of a boring instrument digging into the back of your head, just above where your spine meets your skull. "Oww..."


    "Ah! The Patient is awake! Mrs. Ekhi, could you fill her in? I need to watch this display over here..."


    A hand pats you on the shoulder, Ekhi''s presumably. "You took a nasty tumble when the Dark Voyage met her end. With the AA fire too thick to punch another shuttle through, much less return to the Ignis with you aboard, the Tau offered to provide medical assistance after they picked us up. We''re currently back in space while it finishes draining the extra pressure out of that thick head of yours."


    "And the Bishop?"


    "Trying to keep the locals calm. They seem rather irritated by the Tau having moved back in to their system. Rather ungrateful of them, given that they sponsored the colony in the first place..."


    The drill-bit retracts, and you can feel blood start to drip out of the back of your skull before a three-fingered hand presses a bandage against the wound. "Give me a moment to bind this up properly Ma''am. The auto-coagulants will have it sealed over, and the nanobots will have sealed the plate in place in a few minutes."


    You''d look at Ekhi and cock an eyebrow, if your head wasn''t immobilized. "You let a Tau operate on my brain?"


    "Why not? They know what they are doing, and the doc is kinda cute..."


    "Ekhi, when I am mobile again, I''m dragging you back to the Ignis and Shipmisstress Von Sebastion is going to have words with you."


    "Uhm..."


    "Don''t tell me..."


    "We are on the Ignis. Meet our new Medicae."

 Chapter 26: Blue Berry

    You sigh. "Alright, I suppose I do owe our new Medicae my thanks, Mr...?"


    The Tau answers, its tongue forming the hissing words of its birth-language "Shas''Saal Sa''cea Saum''al."


    "Wha...?"


    A hissing expulsion you take for laughter. "Just call me Littleflame. It was a pleasure and honor to be of service Navigator Dannan."


    "And Helheim and Lord Pyrus cleared this?"


    Ekhi answers, "Actually, Bedard cleared it. He''s convincing Helheim and Pryus at the moment. Something about pseudo-immunity to your Third Eye?"


    "Indeed. I have never observed another Gue''la with three eyes such as yours Navigator Dannan."


    You are not sure if you can trust this ''Litteflame'', but Bedard obviously doesn''t think it can do any harm, so... "It''s the major part of the Navigator mutation. Rare, precious, and dangerous. Usable to stare directly into the Warp, if the Navigator can survive the strain. Hence the kerchief covering it, so others don''t look into the Warp accidentally."


    "A living Sho''kara? Rare and dangerous indeed! I''ll start cleaning up. Pardon me."


    "Any chance of releasing me?"


    "From the restraints? About three minutes, as soon as the plate is in place and secured."


    You can hear Littleflame''s boots slapping against the deck as he withdraws to wash up. "Ekhi, who has seen Littleflame so far?"This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    "Us two, the Bishop, and Bedard. Bishop is currently down on Vrenna playing the Piety card and trying to calm the masses down. Shipmisstress Faunia knows as well. Why?"


    ¡°If Helheim or Pryus decide against Littleflame, it won''t be a problem, it''ll just vanish. If they decide to keep it around, it will need secure and secret quarters. I can''t imagine the crew will tolerate it''s presence indefinitely."


    Ekhi chuckles. "You''d be surprised. All of them were either born aboard or recruited from frontier worlds. They have a higher tolerance for Xenos than anyone else in the Imperium."


    "Do all of them do? Because it would only take one to end it."


    "Enough of them do, I believe."


    "You believe?"


    "Littleflame''s quarters are next to yours for the moment, so that should keep the crew away."


    "Not a fanatic on a mission, but such a person would be as likely to come after me as well..." You pause as you hear the slap-slap-slap of Littleflame''s boots returning.


    "Alright Navigator Dannan, let''s get you up and moving again. I''ll start with limbs and them move to neck. You''ll be sore for a while, and do report any headaches." It unlatches the cuffs and frees your neck from the restraint before helping you to your feet. "Can you dress unassisted, or do you require assistance?"


    "I think I can dress myself..." You glance about for your clothes, and catch your first good view of Littleflame itself. Light blue skin, no nose but a nasal slit between the wide grey eyes. Black hair trimmed short in a military haircut, the kind to fit easily underneath a hard-shelled helmet. Skinny body, shrouded in a pale red tunic. Cloven-hoofed feet, wrapped in soft sandals. "...if I knew where my clothes were."


    "Just over there on the sideboard. Your stewardess sent up a robe when she retrieved your battlemesh."


    "Thank you." You walk over to the sideboard, conscious of your nudity. Ekhi you don''t mind so much, being a fellow female and therefore used to seeing what all you have. You are not sure what gender Littleflame is, if it even has one. You give up on pondering what you don''t know. You intend to learn later, if you get the opportunity, but you have a slightly more pressing concern.

 Chapter 27: Puppets and Mindprobes

    You beckon to Ekhi to help you back to your room. It''s not that you need the support so much that you want to talk to her outside of Littleflame''s hearing. When the hatch closes behind the two of you, you start asking questions. "How did Littleflame end up on board?"


    Ekhi runs a hand through her hair. "How much do you know about what''s gone wrong down on Vrenna?"


    You shrug as you glide along. "Not terribly much. I know the Dark Voyage got shot down, so the local populace must be in revolt, corrupted by the Great Enemy, or infiltrated by Genestealers."


    Ekhi sighs. "Try all of the above, plus the Tau enclave too. The Deathwatch was working on clearing out the cultists and trimming back the Tau''s influence when the Genestealers started making some quiet moves."


    "Ok, walk me through it, because I''m missing the pict here."


    "The locals came from a fringe sect of the Cult Imperialis. The kind that would make a conservative Ecclesiarch look like a stark raving liberal. Why and how the Tau sponsored their colonization attempt I''ll never know. But evidently one or more Chaos Cults had hidden themselves in the mix, and started spreading their tendrils as the colony matured.


    "By the time Vrenna was well established as a frontier colony, with all of the xeno-influence and resulting tolerance and outright xenophilia that comes along with it, the cults were well-established too. The colony was steadily heading for a Chaos-influenced revolt, which would have sent the Tau running for the hills. They dislike the Great Enemy even more than we Humans, something in their cultural baggage.


    "When the Deathwatch started cleaning up the cultists, the Tau pulled back to their enclave and forted up due to the running gunfights in the streets. That''s when the Genestealers started poking around. They had started infesting Vrenna, and the local Tau, sometime in the past half-century. But something about the Great Enemy''s corruption and the Genestealer''s biological mind-control implants mean they don''t work on the same subject, so the ''Stealers couldn''t get a proper foothold until the Deathwatch started working over the cults. Pyrus and Hellheim''s teams got called in when that infestation started showing up as well."


    "So it''s a three-sided war down there?"


    "Five-sided. Loyalists, Cultists, ''Stealers, the Tau and their cronies, plus the Deathwatch. With the Ignis smack in the middle of it all."


    "So how did Littleflame end up on the Ignis?"


    "It came to our aid, and wasn''t infested by the Genestealers. As far as the Deathwatch can tell, just about every other Tau on Vrenna is by this point, Littleflame being an exception due to having just been transferred in. So Bedard asked it aboard and stuck him to taking care of you while he went to talk to his bosses."


    "Only port in a storm then?"


    "Yeah, that''s about the sum total of it."


    "Then just for your ears, we may have a sixth cook stirring the pot. I had an eldar poking about in my head while Littleflame was operating. No damage or influence that I can detect, but I''m going to need to speak to Pyrus about it. Soon."


    "Aww, hell. The last thing we need is those sneaky knife-eared bastards working their own angle here. You head to bed and rest up a bit, I''ll send Pyrus your way when he becomes available."


    "Thanks Ekhi. I appreciate it." You enter your quarters and sag as the hatch closes behind you. A xeno was inside your head. You feel your heart start to beat faster as that thought chases itself in circles. An eldar was inside your head, has plans for you, and is going to show up in person to make sure they go forward.


    You sag to the floor and clasp your arms about your knees. This is all way above your paygrade. Way above your level of understanding. Way beyond your ability to grasp, hold, know. An eldar, older than you, your mother, her mother, and her mother''s mother stretching back for thirteen generations, has you as a pawn on her regicide board. In a hooded, shadowed game moving into the end-phase after lifetimes of maneuvering, influencing, backstabbing. How much of your life did she set up? Of your mother''s? Of aunt Yasha''s? Of your father''s? Your breathing accelerates, heading for hyperventilation as the panic and dread sets in.


    +Breathe in slowly, and out moreso. I will explain what I can.+


    You scrabble sideways as the familiar feather-light touch of music enters your thoughts. +What the hell what the hell what the hell???+


    +Breathe slowly. Calm yourself. I mean you no harm.+


    You take in a breath and hold it, biting your tongue to prevent yourself from screaming in panic. +Ariavari?+


    +Indeed, Truthseeker. And no, I haven''t orchestrated your life or that of your family. Either of them.+


    +Pyrus know you are coming.+


    +Flamebearer? Good, I have information for him as well. Repayment for a debt and battle-aid from before you were born.+


    +Are you here? Can/will you show yourself?+


    +Yes.+


    You glance about, and watch a shadow in the far corner twist, unfurling to reveal a feminine form, shrouded in a grey-trimmed black robe, crowned by crystalline hair and knife-sharp ears. Ariavari bows gracefully, and makes a small gesture, asking if she can sit beside you.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    You nod. "Not like I could stop you."


    Ariavari glides over and drops slowly to a cross-legged seat. "Ahh, thank you. My joints aren''t what they used to be. My years are catching up to me. I imagine you have questions, but let me give you a brief summary first. Perchance it will answer some and birth others."


    You cough out a wet laugh. "The worthwhile ones always do."


    "Indeed. I''m sure you noticed my hair, and my stiff limbs. I''m getting old, and for us Eldar, that means we start to... crystallize. Given long enough, and spared violent death, we become lifeless statues. This is something that I wish dearly to avoid, so Anai and I started experimenting. You know your aunt Yasha''s wounds have a tendency to scar over with metal?"


    You nod slowly, wondering where Ariavari is going with this.


    "That was an accidental discovery, a side effect of a condition and a surge of biomancy coming together just right. I call it ''ferrosanguine'', and it''s something I''m looking to duplicate in myself on a much grander scale. You were an intermediate step, to see if it could even be done. The risk was great indeed, but if you survived, success or fail, them Miotal Scathanna would be of great use to you. You succeeded beyond my wildest hopes, and taught me infinitely more about what I must do in the process. Anai and I forged Miotal Scathanna out of sentient necrodermis, a kind of ''living metal''. This gives it several incredible properties, as you have discovered for yourself, as well as the complications. I''m no longer planning to use the same in my own reforging."


    "We noticed," Miotal Scathanna''s voice rasps out of your mouth. "We are now as One, though we suffered damage in the Union."


    Ariavari nods. "We never intended that to happen, and for that we are sorry. It should heal over time. I only have a single attempt when it comes to myself, so I can''t take the chance of anything going wrong. Which is why Anai is off collecting some non-sentient necrodermis. I didn''t ask, but I have the feeling that she is using herself to grow more, carving away and regrowing portions of her own flesh."


    "So you are looking to become more like her?"


    Ariavari nods. "Eldar live for many centuries, millennia if we are fortunate. Anai''s kind... The oldest is over sixty millennia old, perhaps older, and shows no signs of dying anytime soon. Which is fortunate in its own way, as they haven''t had a ''birth'' in the last forty-three millennia or so, and more than a few have ''died'' over the same period, or been rendered to mindless automatons."


    "And you are looking to become one of them?"


    "No. That process is long abandoned, though not forgotten by Anai''s race. It involves ''uploading'' one''s entire mind and soul onto a set of engrams and installing it in the proper ''body''. But the engrams are immensely intricate and complex, tens of thousands of microscopic engravings on a fractal-formed surface that must be utterly perfect on the atomic level, and then stay that way down the eons. They only got a tiny handful of them right, though the defects often didn''t appear until millennia later. And the transferred mind itself tends to... fray in the process of uploading, resulting in thousands of little insanities, if the mind survives the experience."


    "So what are you looking to do? Become?"


    "As my flesh begins to fail, I''m hoping to replace it with living metal, using my own mind and body as a vessel for my soul. With enough Will and Anai''s expertise, I think the odds are good, particularly if I bring in some Eldar techniques for psychic manipulation of the Self."


    The hatch hisses quietly shut. "That sounds.. risky, Ariavari."


    "And hello to you to Flamebearer. You will pardon me if I don''t stand, I hope? My bones aren''t what they used to be."


    Pyrus nods. "I was hoping that you were the eldar Ekhi mentioned. I need to determine just how much damage Miotal Scathanna has done to poor Ethna Nic Vir Dannan here, and as you had a hand in it''s creation, perhaps you can help me?"


    "I can."


    "Whoa, whoa, whoa, you intend to pry my mind open?"


    Pyrus nods. "We need to know if the staff has compromised your mind or just your flesh. I''d have said if it had, but Ariavari just confirmed it has done something to you.


    "And if it has? My mind is still my own, and it is staying that way for as long as my will is my own."


    Pyrus shakes his head. "That''s the problem. Is your mind and will really your own?"


    Your mouth drops open, and your head drops to your knees. "Oh, Emperor..."


    You hear the thunderous crash as Pyrus drops to a knee beside you. "Open your mind, relax your will, and this will hurt less." His gauntleted hand grasps the back of your head, and hoarfrost starts to crystallize in your hair. "Open you mind to me, submit your will to mine, and reveal yourself onto my thoughts."


    You can feel Ariavari''s musical thoughts dancing around the edges. Pyrus is a battering ram, crashing against the walls of your will while Ariavari tries to undermine them, sneaking around the flanks. Their combined assault leaves you gasping, wheezing, helpless. Your Third Eye snaps open, and the room vanishes from your sight with your scream ringing in your ears.


    Everything snaps back into razor-edged focus. You stand at the epicenter of a endless grey plane, its edges extending beyond all sight. To your left stands Pyrus, blue-hearted flames clothing his scarred flesh from head to toe. To your right stands the Song-shrouded figure of Ariavari. Pyrus recoils in horror at the sight of you. And rightly so: this is your mind, and here your will is supreme. Ariavari simply stands still and observant.


    +You wanted to see my mind and will, did you not? Here we stand, Truth laid bare for all with the eyes to see in all of its glory.+


    Ariavari nods, her gaze unrepentant in ins scanning of your skyclad flesh.


    Pyrus gags on something, before forcing the thoughts from his flame-choked throat. +Your arm, your left arm, what happened to it?+


    You glance down, and see the familiar tracery of chromed-metal necrodermis wire from Miotal Scathanna entwined into its being. +Scars, from the Merging.+ With a thought, you summon the silver-steel length of Miotal Scathanna into your left hand. +But you knew this, before you even forced your way into this place.+


    Pyrus makes a sign of aversion, a childish gesture of warding against the darkness of the Void. Fire flashes at his fingertips, washing across the plane. Ariavari dances nimbly over and through it. Pyrus retches up more flame before speaking again. +It goes so deep, so deep, about the bones of your soul. How? How did you live through such Violation? Such Desecration?+


    Ariavari speaks, her tones echoing off the infinite plane. +The Mon''keigh mind is as durable as the Will of the one that dwells within it. The Truthseeker Chose, and her Will would not be denied.+


    +Indeed, I did Choose, and so We became as One.+


    Pyrus heaves up more flame, wiping at his mouth. +It must come out. Out!+ He reaches forward to grasp at the staff, to burn it from your flesh and mind.


    You stop him with a single gesture. +My Mind, My Will, My Domain. I will hear why you would set blindly down this course before you plunge into it.+


    Pyrus strains against the ice-clad bindings preventing him from approaching any closer. +It is incomplete, and it is tearing you apart. Another Warp transit, perhaps three, and something else will reside here.+


    +The Merging you mean.+


    + Yes. +


    Ariavari bows. +Or she could complete it, and in the doing harden her mind and will against any intrusion. If she survives the doing. Even now, in this incomplete state, we are here on her sufferance alone Flamebearer.+

 Chapter 28: Once-human

    +You hardened yourself against the Warp, Pyrus, I can see it clearly. Hoarfrost ever at your fingertips, no matter how hot your Fires burn.+


    Pyrus strains at his ice-shackles once more. +That was sanctioned, blessed and conducted by a true and loyal servant of the Emperor! This... merging... can not be.+


    +And burning out Miotal Scathanna would cost my left arm, left leg, shatter my spine, and sear away half of my soul. Emperor alone knows what would ooze into that gap.+


    +But to permit such xenos taint to infest you so permanently...+


    Ariavari lays a restraining hand on Pyrus'' shoulder. +Define human.+


    +Of sound mind and body, of strong faith and duty, pledged in service to the Emperor.+


    You lock eyes with Pyrus. +Then neither of us were ever human Pyrus. You, a psyker from birth, changed further into an Astartes before your tenth year. Myself, a Navigator from birth, cursed and blessed and bound to His service, knowing that I will mutate onto death, if the warp does not claim me first.+


    Pyrus hangs his head, his flames burning lower.


    +You were selected, and at every step chose to give yourself to your training and service, knowing the cost and the risk. It is my turn to choose, and I will merge completely with Miotal Scathanna, that I may continue to serve the Emperor for as long as I am able.+


    Pyrus slumps to his knees. +I can play no part in this.+


    Ariavari steps to your side. +Then do not. Stand watchguard instead, should the worst come to pass.+


    Pyrus comes to his feet, a flaming sword appearing in his grasp. +That I can do, with clear conscience and in firm faith.+


    You release his bonds with a gesture. Ariavari sits before you. You drop to your knees, Miotal Scathanna held in a double-handed grip across them. +Then let us begin. +


    You unshackle the little safeguards you had built up, the insulation about Miotal Scathanna''s wires. You feel them start to spread throughout your mind. You grasp them and twist them, trying to bend them onto your will. They slip away, scurrying deeper into your mind. Your eyes begin to weep little black droplets. +We must complete the merging, we will be as one.+


    You try again, Ariavari crooning to the staff, prying at its substance, seeing to subsume it into yourself. A third of it does so, flowing into your eyes and nose and mouth. You all but choke on the substance, the oily alien sentience of the staff made manifest. Your nose starts to bleed, and you feel your form twist. Your skin hardens, your sense receptors sparking and fizzling out. +We are Truthseeker. In this place, there is only Truth.+


    Ariavari sets to work on the next section of the staff that was Miotal Scathanna. Her song croons and shivers, a thousand little razors shaving at the metal as you draw in another breath redolent with Essence.. and cough it right back out again. You can feel the urge to forge a set of runes, carving them from the knuckle-bones of your foes. You cast the thought from your mind and try again. +We are Truthseeker. We are of one mind, one will, one form.+Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    The cloud of the Essence of Miotal Scathanna wavers tauntingly before you, scraping at your aching eyes and seeping nose. +That is not the Essence of Miotal Scathanna, that is the Essence of the staff that was Miotal Scathanna, yet to be merged with the flesh of the Truthseeker.+


    You inhale deeply, the acrid taste of the once-sentient metal scraping at your throat and lungs. Only a third of the staff remains, its crystalline core. You ready your will to shatter it, Ariavari''s song showing you its resonant weaknesses. You bring your will down, the crystal sings, and your flesh twists in protest of what you ask of it. You can feel you muscles drain away, bone all but meeting skin at the joints as your strength flees your frame. You can feel the effort of the task ravage your flesh. Your eyes start bleeding the ever-shifting colors of the warp beneath your veil. A metallic tail sprouts from the base of the back of your skull, its prehensile length dancing to your subconscious thoughts. You feel your form grow in size, stretching up to nearly eight feet in height, your muscles bulking up once more, winding whipcord strength about your larger frame. Your clothing shreds, and you will need an entirely new wardrobe when this is over. Your incisors elongate and sharpen, forming into vicious fangs. Venom drips from them, as parts of your sinuses convert into sacks and glands to produce it.


    You gather your will anew. +We are the Truthseeker, This is Our Mind, This is our Will, this is our Domain!+ You bring your will down, and the crystal shatters into a thousand needles that plunge into your flesh, each one a scrap of mnemonic data. A muscle-memory, a trained reaction, a half-remembered glimpse of Things That Can Not Be. Your mind is proof against such blandishments, and you sag and collapse, your objective complete.


    Ariavari glides up, back, and away. +It is done. Despite scars in mind, the Truthseeker''s Thoughts are her own once more. Despite the twisting of her flesh, the Truthseeker''s Will is her own.+


    Pyrus stares down at you. +What have you done to yourself...?+


    You clench a fist, testing your new size and restored strength. +Nothing that would not happen to a Navigator over her years of service Pyrus. Probably going to need to redecorate my quarters and acquire an entirely new wardrobe however.+


    Ariavari twitches in surprise. +I feel a silence in the Warp. The Splinter fleet has heard the cry of its Spawn.+


    +Then go. I will recover my strength on my own.+ You flick a hand, opening two doors and ushering them out of your mind.


    Reality resumes. Pyrus is thrown off of your back as your new size becomes manifest. He crashes back into the hoarfrost-coated walls. Ariavari drifts aside as your head-tail snaps and curls about your neck defensively. Your clothing shreds to so many tatters and falls down about you. Your throat is raw from screaming, and you can hear the echo of boots on the deckplate as the medics come running. You stand quickly, and stride towards your bed. You almost trip over it as your legs eat up so much more ground than you are expecting them to. Hurriedly, you seize the sheet and form it into a makeshift wrap, draping it about your now hulking form.


    You glance about your quarters. Miotal Scathanna is gone. You blink at this particular physical manifestation of your changed mind. You look down at your right palm. There on your skin is the metallic circle tattoo that you used to only be able to see with your Sight. Your eyes water with multi-hued tears as the intensity of the light makes itself felt. You pluck up your veil with your head-tail, wrapping it around your eyes. It isn''t quite big enough, but you tie it off anyways, wincing as it digs slightly into your flesh.


    Pyrus regains his senses and stands. Ariavari bows, twists a shadow, and slips out the opening hatch as Bedard and Littleflame charge in. Pyrus holds up a hand, forestalling Bedard from drawing his sidearm fully. Their words whisper past your unhearing ears as you sag back to the frigid deckplates. Sweet oblivion welcomes your bruised and battered mind.

 Chapter 25: Sentient Song (Dream)

    You Dream


    Before you sits three tomes.


    The first is ensconced in a gilded reliquary. Pearls and rubies adorn its flourishes. Silvered knotwork chases its sides. A humming stasis field generator protects its contents. A humble little thing, made of cheap pulp-paper, raggedly bound in pressed cardstock. Of no notable worth, save for the undying belief of its author. It is signed E. Keeler. Euphrati Keeler, the first Saint of the God-Emperor of Mankind.


    You turn away from it in disgust. For all of its passion and eloquence, it has been corrupted by the graft and corruption endemic to the Ecclesiarchy. For all of its faith, it is now a token of the ignorant and the charlatan. What once shone clear and pure, now is shaded and veiled, roped ''round with undue hagiography and ceremony.


    The second tome sits atop a pillar of basalt. Sheathed in scaled leather, it is untouched by the molten stone lights that illuminate its ash-strewn pages. Penned by the Primarch Vulkan, it blends the wisdom of the Emperor with the endless volcanic worldforge of his homeworld and all of its folklore. You stroke a hand across its cover, the heat bothering you not at all. Vulkan knew his father and creator as few could, both rendered eternal by the powers bound to their blood, bones, and souls.


    You sigh and step back from the tome. For all of its insight, much is artfully clouded by superstition, facts become stories, become myths, become legends forgotten. Yet it holds some facts. The Emperor is a man, clad in flesh like any other. It is his Mind and Will that elevate him beyond the commoner, propelling him into the highest echelons of the great game. For all his denials of his own divinity, he is not mortal. Indeed he stands toe-to-toe with the greatest beings in the Warp, beings that fools call gods, and earned from them the title of Anathema. To be called an Abomination by such beings is a blackened honor indeed. You once followed this path, seeking to dig truths from ashen fields of forgotten lore. But you can''t any more. Once, you were close enough to be called human by those who truly were. Now, you are Navigator first, mutant second, human third.


    You turn to the third tome. It is a slim folio, made of fine paper and wrapped in good vellum. It contains your personal faith and connection to the Emperor. You set your course through the warp by his Light. You serve aboard ships Sworn to his service for ten millennia or more. He is a man called a god, playing the Grand Game for the highest stakes, and you are but one tiny pawn upon his board. He will not even notice your life, or your fall, but that is alright with you. By his Light, you have seen things most humans never will. Indeed, by his Light you dance on the edge of knowing things Man was never meant to know.


    You let the tomes fade away and drop into restful slumber. A storm is coming, and you will need to ride upon its currents when you awaken.


    You find yourself resting on the deck, a comforter beneath you, a trio of pillows beneath your head, and a light sheet over of you. Canala looks up from her stitchery and gestures to a figure outside of your vision. "Medicae Littleflame, she is waking!"


    You hear the slap of Littleflame''s sandals as it crosses the deck to look down at you. "You told me that you were dangerous, Sho''kara. Now I believe you. I''ve been assigned as your physician of record, as both Bedard and Ducarin have refused that honor."


    You wince, though you were expecting something like that. "What''s the status down on Vrenna?"


    Canala shrugs. "Havoc in a handbasket, and getting worse, according to the scuttlebutt. Deathwatch is focusing on the ''Stealers, but word is they got a call out, so any Tyranid splinter fleet in the region is gonna be coming just as fast as they can."


    Littleflame tosses his hands up in the Tau equivalent of a shrug. "As good of a ship as the Ignis is, she doesn''t have the firepower to fight a Hive Ship, two Cruisers, and a dozen Escort Drones all on her own. And that''s assuming a tiny splinter fleet. One that has had a chance to feed could triple that strength with ease."


    You lever yourself to a sitting position, your head-tail snaking around to hold the sheet in place as you rub your eyes. "Which means we''ll be making a run to a fleet base soon. I need to head for the Vestibule, see if I can get it adjusted for my new form."


    Canala resumes her stitchwork. "A cogboy is already on that. Gave him your new dimensions when I started your new dress. Not as fancy as steel thistle silk, but it''ll cover you ''till we get back to Oasis. You just sit there and let the good Medicae give you a once over while I finish it up. Wouldn''t do for you to be rushing about skyclad like a guttersnipe bilgerat."


    Littleflame brings out a dataslate and what looks like a sleek little medical scanner. "We Tau have had more than a few of our mechanical Sho''kara... change... without any logical reason, so I''m not even going to try and guess at what caused your changes. I''m just going to go for a basic physical and document any changes. I already have your gross physical dimensions from Stewardess Canala, so I''ll start with your cranial region, if that''s acceptable?" You nod, and Littleflame steps forward. You hold still while it works its way around you. The scanner and dataslate chirp and beep periodically. You can almost feel Littleflame''s expression fighting to stay neutral and professional.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    He finishes up and shakes its head at the dataslate''s display. "New extrusion from back of skull is bio-metallic in composition, smooth surface layer, prehensile. Optics are now of a shifting poly-chromatic hue, several frequencies of which are outside of the expected visible spectrum, Tau and Human alike. 322% increase in incisor size, along with the addition of toxin glands and storage sacs. Toxin is both Haemotoxic and Neurotoxic on a broad spectrum. Definitely effective against Humans and Tau alike, probably effective even on Kroot and Vespid."


    You nod slowly. "If that and my new size is about all of the changes, then I was fabulously lucky."


    Littleflame indicates your left arm and leg. "Plus the extrusion of more of that bio-metallic substance in discrete patterns at both your hand and foot. The preliminary scans I performed earlier indicate that it tends to match whatever surrounding structures there are. Fortunate indeed, given that it connects those two surface deposits via a triple stand that also forms an integral part of your spinal column. Additionally, there are several crystalline structures, encysted within more of the same bio-metal, at various points along your spine and cranial regions, in particular along the length of your head-tendril."


    "I was still lucky beyond all reason then. Warp corruption has... incredibly unpredictable effects. I''m fortunate to not be sprouting wings, or be little more than a puddle of hyper-toxic slime on the floor. Or worse."


    Littleflame scratches the back of its head. "What could be worse than dying?"


    You and Canala both favor it with an old-fashioned look. You speak before she can. "Think on it a moment, and something will come to you. In the meantime, I was meaning to ask you, what gender are you Littleflame? I''ve been thinking of you as an ''it'' for a while now, but that feels like lumping you in with inanimate things, which doesn''t feel right."


    Littleflame looks down at its hooves and scrapes one across the deck. "It''s... complex. I know several Tau words on the matter, but I''m not sure how they translate into Gothic, and an imprecise translation would cause more mess than good."


    You study Littleflame for a moment longer before dropping the subject. You know its Low Gothic is quite good, even if it does use a Tau word every so often. The subject must be touchy indeed, and perhaps shameful somehow? You aren''t sure, and resolve to look into it later, if the opportunity presents itself. Your thoughts are interrupted by your microbead buzzing on a side-table. It doesn''t fit your now-larger ear, so you answer it in speaker mode. "Navigator Dannan, go ahead."


    "Enginseering reporting, Navigator Dannan. The Vestibule is reconfigured for your new physical dimensions. Comfort adjustments have been put on hold given the imminent Warp Transit to the Alphara System."


    "Thank you. I''ll be up directly to prepare for the Warp Transit." You close the connection with a click. "Canala, I''m going to need that dress, kerchief, and veil."


    Canala ties off a thread and studies her stitchery. "This will have do for now ma''am. I''ll fetch the kerchief and veil from my worktable in my cabin." She hands you the dress. You put it on as she hurries off.


    Littleflame starts rubbing his eyebrow nervously. "What should I expect during a Warp transit?"


    You pause in your struggles to get your one and only dress to sit just so to consider the matter. "If all goes well, nothing much. We''ll be making a high speed, high-urgency transit to the Alphara system, so it should be fairly short. I''d recommend you stay with Canala for the first Transit or three, until you get a better feeling for what can happen."


    Canala emerges from her cabin. "And if things do go wrong, just follow my lead. Here you go ma''am."


    "Thank you Canala. For everything." You take a moment to examine your appearance in the mirror as you put on the kerchief and veil. Your eyes are rather disturbing, but Canala and Littleflame didn''t seem to mind them too much. Canala has probably seen much worse, living on a frontier world, and Littleflame doesn''t know enough about the Warp to be afraid, Emperor bless him. Your dress is a makeshift affair, made from a spare sheet. Canala''s needlework is quite good, but the dress only comes to your knees due to a lack of materiel. Going from five foot and change to almost eight feet in height will do that. The kerchief and veil fit, just barely, and you gather the dress to your waist by tying a scarf as a belt. You have to leave your weapons behind. The pistol belts aren''t long enough for your new frame, and your old metal staff is too plain short. You feel a bit irked at not having proper undergarments, but that''s a side effect of nothing from your old wardrobe fitting anymore. You make a mental note to get that sorted out as you hustle out of your quarters hand head for the bridge, slowing and stooping under every overhead pipe and door frame. Fortunately the Ignis was built with Astartes and their large frames in mind, so you don''t have to do this too often.


    You enter the Vestibule and take in your adjusted throne. The arms have been moved apart, the back heightened, the seat expanded by adding on a plate of sheet metal. It won''t be comfortable, but you are under the impression that the Ignis needs to get moving now, so creature comforts come in a poor second to getting the ship moving.


    But as you start to clip in to the extended-length nutrient drips, two of them now to fuel your extra mass, you can''t help but wonder. With the riddle of Miotal Scathanna completed, what should you next endeavor be?

 Chapter 30: Eye of the Tiger

    You decide that you need to know more about your body. What it can and can''t do, new attributes you haven''t discovered yet, everything. And Littleflame will need to know all of it, if he is going to be your medicae. Plus the Deathwatch needs to know as well. The first individual affected if the Gellar fields flicker and daemons slip onto the ship is always the Navigator after all. If they end up having to fight one wearing your flesh, they need to know how to kill it. And if, in the process, you learn more about Littleflame, all the better.


    The expected order comes down: Full Warp to Alphara. All hands to prepare for a high-speed Transit. The astropath has sent the alert out to all military commands in the sub-sector. But they are going to take time to respond: they need to muster their strength, escorts need to come in from patrols, transports need to be organized. And they can''t start doing that until the message gets to them, which will take even more time.


    The Ignis can cut some time off of that loop, but she needs to get moving fast. By going directly to Alphara, and utilizing both of her cargo holds, she can bring two regiments of Guardsmen to the fight. And running alone, she can make the trip faster than any convoy. Hopefully, other Von Sebastion ships will be in the area as well. The Terra Incarnadine was scheduled to stage through Alphara before heading back out again on survey work, and her Pathfinder Task Force might have enough firepower to hold off the Tyranid Splinter Fleet. But all of this planning hinges on you. The Ignis can''t navigate the Warp without its Navigator. Which means that as much as Chaplain Danus or Bishop Ducarin might hate your new form, they can''t just kill you out of hand. Not without a replacement ready.


    You shove that line of thinking out of your head. Right now, you need to get the Ignis to Alphara as fast as possible. You pull up the real-space maps. Tracing a direct line Coreward and anti-Spinward from Outbound to Alphara bypasses Polaris and Kania, but not Viking. So two systems means between five and ten days, for a normal ship under normal conditions. The Ignis will cut perhaps five days off of that time, given her finely-tuned Warp drive. Perhaps even more, depending on how well you do your job. You store the charts away and Open your Third Eye, staring into the Warp in search of the Astronomicon.


    Everything is slightly muted, and it takes you a moment to figure out why. Either the Hive Fleet is even closer than everyone thought, and already starting to disrupt Warp travel and communications in the region, or you are now resistant to the minor bits and bobs of interference you used to have to parse away. But if the Splinter Fleet was close, then the Astropath wouldn''t have been able to get his message out, so it has to be you! This must be part of the ''hardening'' that Ariavari spoke of! You can''t know the full extent of it until you run into your limits once again, but even this is no small advantage. Your hope flares and your heart beats in time with the steady golden glow of the Astronomicon''s light. With so little interference in the way, you have a lock of Iron on its direction, and your course will be well-illuminated indeed.


    You lay in your course, including the Warp entry vector. You can see the reefs around the Alphara system, drifts and shoals of destroyed ships from failed invasion attempts. With the Tau to Rimward and Renegade and Corrupted humans steadily emerging as the Warpstorms retreat from its Spinward flank, Alphara has seen more than her share of fighting, even for a Fortress-world. Your course arcs cleanly over and round the debris you can see, avoiding the worst of the wrecks.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    "Navigator to Bridge. Course laid in. Transit at will."


    "Bridge here Navigator. Translation in thirty seconds. Helm standing by."


    "Understood Bridge. Helm, stand by for course corrections." They must have gotten the Ignis under way even as you were locking in the entry vector. You take a deep breath, let it out, and start issuing course corrections as you feel the Ignis slip into the Warp.


    Less than twenty hours later, you are coming up on the Revision point. You call the start of the revision exactly on cue, and drop the Ignis back into realspace in one of the designated approach lanes just outside of the weapons range of the nearest defensive batteries. It''s a new record for the route, and one likely to stand for quite some time. You disconnect from your throne, pull your dress back into place, and head for your quarters. Given your new body, you can''t exactly walk about on the Ignis the way you used to.


    Over a rather belated breakfast, you inquire on Littleflame and its condition. Canala informs you that it is laying down, having been rendered quite seasick from the transit. You shrug, and set aside the thought of starting your investigations right away. It deserves some time to recover after all, particularly if you are going to be taking the Ignis back to Outbound in the very near future. Instead, you pull up one of the external feeds form the Observation dome on your terminal. You have to sit cross-legged on the floor to use it, but it''s not that uncomfortable. Panning it around, you can''t help but grin.


    The Terra Incarnadine is indeed at Alphara, and her Pathfinder Taskforce is almost ready to ship out. The Ark Mechanicus-class battleship Terra Incarnadine is the flagship of course, supported by the Armageddon-class battlecruiser Olaf Thorson, the Overlord-class battlecruiser Skylark, the Dominator-class cruiser Skyfall, and the Lunar-class cruiser Terra''s Light. The Sword-class destroyer Aegis leads the escort squadron of five newer Firestorm destroyers.


    All told, it is a powerful formation, but a small bit of uncertainty churns in your gut as you consider the size of the fleet. If the Imperium deems it necessary to dispatch the entire taskforce to squash one Splinter Fleet, then how dangerous is the Splinter fleet really? Surely a force smaller than six destroyers, four ships of the line, and a super-capital ship is overkill for anything short of an outright invasion? Your terminal chimes with an incoming message. You answer tentatively, unsure who could be calling you. "Navigator Dannan speaking."


    "Ethna? Is that any way to greet your Aunt?"


    "Aunt Yasha?"


    "Who else would be calling you dear? I didn''t expect to see you again until next Founding Day, back on Oasis. You know, the big 50th founding bash?"


    "Oh right, that one."


    "That''s it, something happened to you. What''s going on dear?"

 Chapter 31: In the Cryomancers Lair

    You sigh. "It''s the old Navigator condition rearing its head."


    "Oh, oh dear. I''d come running if protocol didn''t get in the damn way. Appearances to maintain and all that. I''ll send a shuttle for you."


    "That... probably won''t work. I need to replace my wardrobe first."


    "Thin or thick? I can send some robes at least over with the shuttle. The Clan-crew makes some wonderful garments, and with the auto-looms, they can make them rather quickly."


    You let out a mirthless chuckle. "Try tall instead. Eight foot less some small change. Mostly the same otherwise."


    "Mostly?"


    "Still two arms, two legs, and one head in the usual proportions, just larger."


    "That''s no small relief! The shuttle should be arriving an hour or so after the Ignis makes orbit. Now Which Clan should I contract? The gun-deckers make a beautiful sleeveless pattern, but they insist on that hazard-stripe hem..."


    "Considering I''m stuck with a modified bedsheet at the moment, go ahead and surprise me. My stewardess works a good needle, she can modify whatever needs it, and Faunia''s seamstresses back on Oasis can run up formal numbers the next time we pass by there."


    "I''ll contract several then! And none of those Oasis formal outfits! Too much lace and petticoats, last I was there."


    "You might be surprised. I''ll bring over one of the ones that no longer fits me. Seems a waste to just throw out good steel thistle silk."


    "Oh? Dare I ask?"


    "Better I show you. Nothing risque! I just got it through Faunia''s head that she could set fashion instead of adhering to it."


    "Ah HA! finally someone got some fashion sense into that girl''s head! How big was the clue-stick?"


    "49th Founding Day formal dress, Oasis traditional fashion? About thirty pounds of excess fabric."


    "Big stick indeed! Well, I''d better get those contracts out so the clan seamstresses can get their dresses done by the time you get into orbit! see you in a few hours then!"


    "I''ll see you soon Aunt Yasha. Bye." You close the connection with a sigh. You are not looking forward to the upcoming conversation. Interrogation might be a better word. Nothing to do now but wait for the shuttle, and see how the clan-crew of the Terra Incarnadine dress.


    The Ignis takes her time settling into orbit. Despite the urgency of the situation, there is no point in making the System Defense Force gunners twitchy. Not with the amount of firepower at their disposal. So the Ignis follows all of the rules, answers all of the challenges, and settles into her assigned orbit. Shuttles are promptly dispatched every which way, carrying messages and messengers where they need to go. It''s actually closer to an hour and a half before the shuttle Raven alights from the Terra Incarnadine. Her official cargo of messengers and fact-confirmers head off to talk to everyone they need to, while Canala quietly collects the cargo assigned to you.


    Soon thereafter, you are examining the dresses spread out before you on your bed. You eye them carefully. Canala has her sewing kit out and ready, but you need to pick one to try on before she can get to work on it.


    The first is the sleeveless dress from the gun-deck clans. A ruddy red, slashed with bright yellow-gold ''hazard stripes'' on its lower third, and about the neck and shoulder openings. You run your fingers down the fabric, and feel the sturdy woolen cloth. The Terra Incarnadine must have a herd of near-sheep somewhere aboard to produce such cloth on a regular basis. You don''t mind the sleeveless look, but the hazard strips are rather noticeable. Sensible, for people who spend their entire lives in such a high-risk environment, but attention grabbing. And you don''t particularly want to draw undue attention to yourself on this trip: your body will do that for you.


    The next is a deep blue, barely a shade above purple. You eye its tight-fitting appearance, already spotting several points at which it will need to be loosened. You do like the overall form fitting appearance, but it needs to be fit to your form before you can wear it. The well-hidden zippers only become apparent on very close inspection, revealing how to put it on without contorting yourself. If you had to guess which clan made it, you''d pick one of the flight deck clans, given its vague similarities to the atmosphere suits worn by combat pilots.


    The third is clearly from the engine-clans. Short-sleeved and with a hem just below your knees, sleeves ending just above your elbows, and all made of a very lightweight synthetic cloth of some sort. It''s loose-fitting, clearly intended to reduce how much it would stick to sweaty skin. Unlike the gun-deckers red and yellow, this one is a bright crimson with a white cog-toothed pattern on the edges. You like it, and it would need few adjustments, but the last outfit draws your attention strongly.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    The last outfit is a baggy brown linen robe. Belted at the waist with a simple belt of the same material, and with a voluminous hood to cover your head. You can''t help but smile when you consider that this had to be specifically requested by Aunt Yasha. Folded in its depths, you find something even more comforting: undergarments! Simple, adjustable, undergarments! Half of the reason you were staying in your quarters since your change was to avoid walking about ''commando'', but now you won''t have to!


    With a smile on your face, you start dressing in your new brown robe. It''s a little loose, but that''s just fine with you. You put one of your old formal dresses, the good steel thistle one you were planning on wearing to the Founding Day celebration, in the bag you new dresses came in. Leaving Canala to work on the other dresses, you head for the shuttle that is going to take you to meet your aunt. And a potentially awkward conversation that you''d rather avoid but can''t. Especially now that Aunt Yasha knows you''ve changed, and it''s not one of the usual Navigator degenerations that tend to happen over time.


    Safely cloaked and relatively anonymous, you make your way down to the shuttle heading back to the Terra Incarnadine. You aren''t surprised to find it in the VIP hangar. Nor are you surprised to notice a Thunderhawk gunship, undoubtedly carrying one of the Deathwatch marines, is headed in the same direction. Your destination is a bit of a surprise however: the Terra Incarnadine''s Shipmaster''s hangar. Usually reserved for the shipmaster''s personal shuttle, Your aunt must have put in a word with someone important to get you brought directly there. Disembarking, you notice the heavy lander crowded with tools and equipment for survey work parked next to a sleek red VIP shuttle badged with the cog of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Bemused, you follow the footman to the officer''s decks.


    You are less surprised by the fact that an entire deck of the command tower is reserved for flag officer''s quarters. Battleships have more room to spare than most other Imperial ships, and the Terra Incarnadine was re-built with its status as a flagship in mind. Tristan Von Sebastion has his quarters somewhere on this deck, along with his wife Mu''randa. That the Navigator should also be housed in the same style is a little ostentatious for a small Nomadic Navigator House like the Dannans, but probably not for a more wealthy house.


    The footman leaves you at a doorway. You draw a breath and stoop through it.


    Aunt Yasha hugs you tightly. "When you said eight feet, I thought you were joking"


    You close the door, set down the bag, and look for a clear spot of floor to sit on while you think about your answer. "I sometimes wish it was a joke, but If I can''t take a joke, I shouldn''t have joined."


    Aunt Yasha glides over, moving just as inhumanly smoothly as you do. "Here, don''t just sit anywhere, I''ve tea heating up. Move one of the chairs over and use a footstool at the kitchen table."


    You pick up the footstool in question. "Thank you aunt Yasha."


    She pours the tea and hands you a small pitcher, the better to fit your large hands. "Well, clearly you ran afoul of something unusual. Do you want to tell, or do I need to pry?"


    You take a deep draft of the tea. Black, no honey or milk, and almost strong enough to float a spoon. "I''ll tell. It started when I wandered down to the Deathwatch section of the Ignis, and came across a familiar face. Helheim. No, before you ask, he had nothing to do with how I changed, That was later, and he wasn''t involved. We got to talking, and he mentioned a staff he had recovered and placed in storage, but then been unable to move. He found it where you found your Knotwork Amulet."


    Aunt Yasha purses her lips in though. "Anai and Ariavari sticking their hands in again?"


    "Yes, though I didn''t know their names until later. Helheim, one of his men Wraith, and I agreed that it was all one coincidence too many, and that I should try and pick up the staff. Turned out to both be the right decision, and the wrong one. Staff had a whole pile of psychic data storage in it, and it dumped it all in my head. Knocked me out for two weeks, but didn''t cause any of this," You gesture at yourself, "That came later. Specifically, Ariavari put in an appearance to check up on me I guess, after the Ignis put in at Vrenna. Turns out the staff hadn''t quite worked as intended, and I had to either Unmake it or fix it."


    Yasha frowns, then pours her tea into a large empty glass before conjuring up some ice and dropping it in. "I''ve had my own run-ins with Ariavari and Anai. Almost got me killed, and pushed me past a few boundaries of my own."


    You nod at the glass. "Like cryomancy?"


    Aunt Yasha nods. "Exactly. I''m guessing you opted to ''fix'' the staff, given that you are all in one piece?"


    "Yes, with Pyrus standing guard in case the worst came to pass. It worked, but at a cost." you lower your hood with your tendril, revealing your face.


    Aunt Yasha studies you for a long moment, swirling her iced tea about. "So the size, the tendril, the eyes, and what, fangs? Not terrible overall. I know of one person who ended up squirming about on a serpent''s tail for the rest of their life. Which wasn''t too long, given he was trying to kill me at the time."


    "Add in the venom, and you know as much as I do at the moment."


    "Ok, I think I know someone who could help us, if you are willing to meet him."


    You furrow your brow. "It''s not like you to get all evasive all of a sudden. And why the qualifier?"


    Aunt Yasha sighs. "Because he isn''t exactly human, despite being the best expert I know of on the subject."


    You raise one eyebrow. "Does he have any problem working with other non-humans?"


    Aunt Yasha looks directly at you. "I''ll tell his race if you tell me yours."


    "Agreed. I''m stuck with a Tau medicae by the name of Littleflame at the moment. In part because no one else was willing to tend to me, and in part because Vrenna was a five-way mess and heading downhill faster than a meteor on re-entry."


    "Then we shouldn''t have any problems. Shaper Monat is a Kroot, and used to working with the Tau."

 Chapter 32: Prelude to an Interlude

    "Ok, that should work, so long as the Deathwatch aboard the Ignis don''t simply shoot him on sight. Or me, for associating with him."


    Aunt Yasha nods her head. "That could be a concern, if they encounter each other unexpectedly. I''ll worry about that after the Outbound System is retaken. As far as I can tell, the Ignis is being assigned to escort the transport division, along with a Loki-class, the Kukri. The Universe-class Megatherium will haul the bulk of the troops, plus whatever else they scrape up in short order. "


    A small shiver runs down your spine. "I''ve served aboard both the Kukri and the Megatherium. The Kukri will perform ably, especially in the ground support role, given her unusual armament. The Megatherium... well, I''m glad the second echelon will be expected to arrive after the main combatants. But enough about the old condition and the upcoming fight. I said I''d bring over a dress, and so I have!" You open up the bag and pull out your old dress.


    Aunt Yasha coos in approval. "Oooh! An excellent break from Oasin tradition, but similar enough to not get rejected out of hand! And so stylish! No way you came up with this on your own! And no wonder Faunia liked it!"


    You hand her the dress and its accompanying vest. "No I didn''t, I let Verdandi come up with it."


    Aunt Yasha runs a hand over the hai-skin suede of the vest. "Verdandi? So Faunia is still sticking with the Norn sisters as her seamstresses?"


    "Why not? They have done a superlative job for her for almost thirty years, why stop now?"


    "A good point..."


    You and Aunt Yasha wile away more than a few hours in catching up, enjoying tea with Mu''randa, catching up with her... Before you know it, you are due back aboard the Ignis, there to sleep for a few hours before the second echelon departs for Outbound.


    After a good ten hours of sleep and a large and hearty breakfast, you head for the Vestibule. You are early, for good reason. The Enginseers are finishing up the comfort adjustments, and you want to make sure they get them right. Re-springing and upholstering the bare metal of the throne, re-positioning the catheter and nutrient drips, fine tuning the height of the data-interfaces, lengthening the tethers for all of the feeds, the works. They finish up in four hours, only needing you to try out a given configuration or setting a time or two.


    They depart, and you settle into your freshly refurbished throne and glance about the reconfigured Vestibule. Excellent work, as you have come to expect of them. But you have a course to plot, and it''s time to be about it. You trace the route back to the Outbound system on the realspace charts: Alphara-Viking-Kania-Polaris-Outbound. Four systems in total, no skips, and limited to the slowest member of the convoy: the gargantuan, wallowing Megatherium. You run the calculations in your head, and come out to about twenty days.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    The Ignis, Kukri, and Megatherium form up, Ignis taking point with Kukri watching the rear. With the speed of the convoy limited to the speed of the Megatherium, space seems to crawl by as the Terra Incarnadine and the rest of the First echelon race for their Translation point and vanish into the Warp in a swirl of violet un-light.


    Keeping in mind the fact that you are setting a course for the fleet, you open your Third Eye and take care in establishing a lock on the Astronomicon and the other ships in the convoy. First, you brush your mind against the other Navigators in the convoy, linking their course to your own. There is a bit of grumbling at this, but there always is. No Navigator like to blindly follow the trail of another. So you allow the light of the Astronomicon, burning so bright it almost hurts your Sight, to illuminate the course you have plotted. It runs swift, even limited to the speed of the Megatherium and the usual Warp-paths. The other two Navigators go over it, piece by piece, examining it in detail and comparing it to their own calculations. They can find no fault with it, so you settle back and prepare for the Translation itself. You are set and ready, as is the Ignis, but your Medicae probably isn''t quite sure what to expect. You open a private communications link to Canala.


    "Navigator''s Quarters, Stewardess Canala speaking."


    "Canala, can you check on Littleflame? This transit looks to be a bit longer than our previous one, and it didn''t handle that one too well."


    "Yes Lady Dannan. Was there anything else?"


    "Could you have the red-white dress ready for when we revert to normal space? It shouldn''t be more than twenty days or so, though it may be as little as five, Warp-winds willing."


    "Yes Lady Dannan, along with a matching cowl. I managed to get some good fabric while you were aboard the Terra Incarnadine. Not enough for any new dresses, but enough for the needed modifications."


    "Thank you Canala. We''re approaching the Translation point, so I''ll sign off now."


    "Good luck Lady. Canala, out."


    You close the connection and prepare for the Translation. Moments later, you are leading the convoy through to open warp. The Megatherium is as plodding as you recall, and the winds and current are all but still. You issue the needed helm commands and brace for a long, long journey.


    Twenty days grind past slowly. With the winds of the Warp flowing so slowly, you are able to trade off Guide and Watchman duty with the other Navigators of the convoy and actually catch some much needed rests without having to revert to reality short of the Outbound system. But as you approach the system, you can feel the Warp is... unsteady. As if churned by a great conflict.


    Nervous now, you call for the Translation to realspace to happen well short of the target. Something is very wrong in the Outbound system. The Ignis and Kukri can look after themselves well enough, but the Megatherium is a sitting target for anyone or anything that wants to take a shot at her.


    The early Revision leaves the convoy beyond the outer fringes of the Outbound system. Even from this extreme range, you can see the flash and flicker of weapons discharges. They seem to be flying in multiple directions, as if more than two fleets were locked in combat. Faunia''s initial consternation rings in your ears, but it dies off as she studies her plots. Instead, her exclamation echoes your own thoughts.


    "Merciful God-Emperor..."

 Interlude: The Battle for Vrenna (NSFW)

    After fifteen days in the open Warp, the Terra Incarnadine led her Pathfinder Taskforce through the revision sequence and back to realspace on the outer edges of the Outbound system. Aboard her, Fleetmaster Tristan Von Sebastion could not help but worry.


    He remembered the Outbound system, and the planet Vrenna. The lone semi-habitable lump of cursed rock in the system. His augmetic eye and leg ached in sympathetic fashion as he observed the sensor readouts of the system. He had lost both of them down on Vrenna in his earlier days, and they still pained him from time to time, his body periodically becoming ''grumpy'' at the metal that had replaced flesh and bone.


    But he had a duty this day: Vrenna was threatened by both Chaos cultists and an infestation of Genestealers. The former just wanted to reduce the world to anarchy and bloodshed in the name of whatever dark patrons they served. The latter wanted to spark unrest or revolt as a precursor to the invasion of the world by the all-devouring Tyranid Fleets. Tristan had a duty, alright: command his Taskgroup as the lead echelon of a two-part force, secure the system, and land the forces his ships carried on the planet. The Terra Incarnadine carried a full infantry division, the Muritian 12th light rifles, with the Corbuilt 17th Grenadiers spread across the Olaf Thorson and Terra''s Light, and the Orgoth 14th Armored aboard the Skylark and Skyfall.


    Three divisions to fight and win a three-sided ground war. Not enough, not nearly enough. Which whas what the second echelon was for. A transport convoy, devoid of proper warships, but headed up by the Ignis, was bringing another eight divisions. Two each of heavy and light infantry, two of mechanized infantry, a second armored formation, and an entire artillery division. Added to the forces aboard his own ships, that was enough to hold out against a Chaos assault, and perhaps a Tyranid Splinter fleet. Against a full Hive Fleet, they would be as dust before a black hole. As would his ships. Powerful they may be, but against the nigh-endless numbers a Hive Fleet could bring to bear? Nothing short of a full Battlefleet had a chance.


    Fortunately, Tristan had time for such dark thoughts. It would take his Taskgroup almost two days to settle into orbit over Vrenna. Time enough for the troops to shake down from the transit and get back into fighting shape, dusting off the inevitable sickness and training injuries suffered by troops in transit. He just hoped that the transports arrived in time.


    **


    Estariss lounged on her command throne aboard the Countess of Sin. Her pleasure-slaves cringed as they watched her gaze wander, wondering which of them might next share her bed... or her torture rack. In reality, she was gazing past them, staring out the armorplast windows at the terrible glory of the Warp, wondering what juicy prizes awaited her at her next destination. Her Reaver Fleet was wandering between raids at the moment, searching for a sufficiently delectable prize after being flung from the depths of the An''sax Warp Storm.


    A small flicker drew her eye. Many things flickered in the warp, and the wise paid them no special heed. But this flicker was different. A summoning ritual, pulling one of the Blessed Dwellers back into reality? More flickers followed, a discernible pattern now. A gate had opened briefly, but collapsed at once. An insufficient sacrifice, Estariss thought, Not enough blood on the altar or pleasure/pain in the air. But where there are summonings, there are worlds. And frankly, I''m bored. We could use fresh slaves, more food and fuel. And my minions will relish unleashing themselves against a hapless target. She issued the orders and turned her Reaver Fleet onto the scent of her prey. She beckoned to two of her pleasure-slaves, a pair of brothers. Time to have them play a delightful game of hers. And the winner might actually survive¡­


    **


    The Mind heard the call. +Food Here!+ it bellowed. The Mind was always hungry. More food meant more feeding, meant more ships, meant more mouths to feed. It spread its two Hive Ships slightly further apart, the better to triangulate where the signal was coming from. A little to spinward, a little coreward. Not far, but always hard to judge with weaker signals. +Hurry, Food Here, tainted-fleshed coming to take food away!+


    Tainted-fleshed trying to take its food? Now the Mind felt a little something besides its endless hunger. Anger. How dare anyone try to take its food away! It turned towards the signal and brought its Brood to full speed. Two of the older drones wouldn''t survive such speeds for long, but that was fine. The Swarmer Hive Ship was hungrier than most, and about ready to give birth to a new clutch of drones. The mind directed the old drones into its waiting maw. Nothing could be allowed to slow its Brood! Nothing could be allowed to stop its feeding!


    **


    Tristan stood at his viewport and watched the shuttles dropping away to the planet below. All of the guardsmen had been briefed on what to expect, what their objectives were. Vrenna was in their hands now, and he was free to guard the system. There was an itch between his shoulder blades that he couldn''t quite scratch. Tristan trusted that itch. It had saved him before, and would do so again. He gave the orders for all of his ships to maintain a heightened state of readiness. The ''Stealers had probably gotten a call out, and no-one could see a Tyranid fleet coming until just before it dropped out of the warp. When they arrived, he intended to be ready.


    Tristan wasn''t surprised to see a series of warp-rifts open. It was the usual precursor event to ships leaving the warp after all. The problem was that they were too many of them. The Transport Echelon only had three ships, but there were seventeen rifts opening. He gave the needed orders: all hands man battlestations. No point in hiding if this was a Splinter Fleet, they would go right for the planet anyway. And it was his job to stop them, however he could.


    **


    Estariss was not pleased. This is a hapless frontier world, right enough, but that fleet! Well perhaps I can take some of them intact... Eh, not worth my time. Typical Imperial designs, slow and lumbering. Not even their cruisers can keep pace with my Countess of Sin. And those two slave-brothers couldn''t even stand my little game. Ah well, at least the surviving pleasure-slaves ate well last night. Perhaps that will motivate the next one. She caressed the head of a pleasure slave curled up at her knee. "Lick me slave, I desire pleasure to accompany the pain we will inflict on our foes this day. Signals, array the Fleet for the spearhead, and try to keep MurderBoat from slipping the leash this time. I''ll let it loose when the time comes."


    Signals went away to yabber and poke at its box of toys. Estariss leaned back to consider how best to destroy the faithless servants of the corpse-throne before her. And also how to reward the slave licking dutifully away. Perhaps the slave might survive a Blessing from the Prince of Pleasure? It may earn it yet, if it performs well enough, and wins the next contest in celebration of my imminent victory...


    **


    The Mind was confused. This was not something that happened often. The signal had called out of imminent danger and opportunity, then gone silent. But the Mind shrugged off its confusion. This had happened before. A piece of food had fangs, and had gotten lucky enough to silence the signal. Too late. The mind new where the signal had come from, and could smell the Tainted-Fleshed on the wind. They would die first, then the Mind would feast on the food-orb and flesh they wanted. It dropped from the spinning un-space back to hard-space, spawn streaming after parents, drones sliding free of motherships. There! The Tainted-Fleshed in their iron skins, then more flesh in more iron-skins, and the food-orb beyond them. The Mind was pleased, it would not have to fight the instincts of its Brood. They streamed forward, the Swarmer Hive ship shedding its hundreds of breaching-spores and hurling them at the iron-skins. Fang and claw would run red this day!


    **


    Estariss'' head snapped around in confusion, a moan slipping past her painted lips. Signals had just burbled out a warning, jabbing claws at a display showing a new fleet chasing hot on the aft of her precious Reaver Fleet. "Signals, let slip MurderBoat and her cronies, they can tie up the imperial dogs we slip away from these Bugs on our backsides. Helm, full power to engines. We''ll rake past the fools before us and leave the bugs to chew on them. If the MurderBoat falls behind, leave her. Slave, a little lower, the other entrance. And press yourself against the ridge, feel the shudder of the engines, you''ve earned that much. Weapons, engage the enemy at will."


    **


    Tristan watched the two fleets react to the presence of the other. He nodded, unsurprised by the turn of events. "Communication to the fleet: Olaf Thorson, Skylark, and Terra''s Light to form line of battle between the Terra Incarnadine and the incoming hostiles, Skyfall to form up on Terra Incarnadine¡¯s flank and prepare for long-range bombardment. Escorts to picket positions, we''ll have torpedoes incoming soon enough."


    His Taskforce swept majestically into position, and Tristan nodded. "Orders to Guns and the Skyfall, engage the Chaos fleet. Aim for their engines, we''ll cripple them and let the Tyranids chew them over. If we can detonate one or two of them in the Tyranids'' faces, all the better. All other ships, hold fire until the enemy reaches optimal engagement range."


    "Sir, the Skyfall reports her Nova Cannon only has six rounds remaining. She''s requesting permission to hold her fire until she can detonate crippled targets."


    He considered this for a moment. "Permission granted. Open fire." The Terra Incarnadine twitches as her Damocles opens fire, sending a round screaming into the void. At such extended ranges, physics play a major role in scoring hits. Only the Chaos Fleet''s predictable course makes hits probable at such extended ranges. This was why Tristan granted the Skyfall''s request: with such little ammunition for the Nova Cannon, wasting it would almost be a crime. The first Damocles round would take almost ten minutes to reach its target, by which time another nine would be in-space.


    **


    Estariss hissed in ecstasy as her slave continued its valuable work. This slave is definitely receiving a Blessing! "Mmmh, Helm, evasive course. I don''t like the look of those Nova Cannons. Let''s get the dogs to shoot the Bugs off our backs for us. Weapons, full spread on the torpedoes. If the dogs are just going to sit there, then they''ll be easy meat. Anything that misses will just hit the planet, which doesn''t bother me at all." Weapons compiled, and nine great ship-killers belched flame and rushed away from the Countess of Sin. The dogs would see them coming of course, and get out of the way, but that was the point. The planet couldn''t dodge, so they wouldn''t be wasted.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    The first Damocles rounds come in almost unnoticed: without an energy signature from the projectile itself, sensors were all but useless at picking the flying lumps of metal out of the background radiation. The Slaughter-class cruiser MurderBoat found that out the hard way when her void shields imploded one after another under their impact. the threat had barely encroached upon the frenzy-whipped mind of its captain when the third round tore the aft third of the ship away. MurderBoat spun on for a while longer, and unintentionally saved its squadron-mate BloodDream by taking the rounds intended for it. BloodDream sailed through the cloud of plasma and wreckage before slewing onto an evasive course with the rest of the Chaos Fleet. The Infidel-class escorts Ur-Slime and Ur-Ooze weren''t so lucky: their evasion paths took them right into rounds meant for their larger brethren, and they joined the MurderBoat in death.


    **


    The Mind felt something tear into one of its immature Hiveships. Its flank was ripped asunder and spilling blood into the void, soon it was dead, food to be consumed when the fight was done and the feasting could begin. It assessed the situation. The Tainted-Fleshed were running faster, and three of their iron-skins had come apart. Food wasted, but not really, because the Tainted-Fleshed weren''t edible. And they were still running towards the food-orb. If they stopped there, then the Mind would destroy them with its brood. If they didn''t stop, then the Mind would let them go and eat the food-orb in peace, drinking it dry and listening for the next signal. A drone imploded under another of the projectiles flying past the Tainted-Fleshed. The Mind pulled the drones around in front of the Hive Ships and their immature offspring. They couldn''t go faster, not in hard-space, but a drone was easier to eat and birth again than a Hive Ship.


    **


    Tristan watched the first of the Chaos ships vanish into the incandescent blooms of plasma-drive detonations. The stray Damocles rounds were slashing into the Tyranids, so no ammunition was being wasted. "New orders to Skyfall. Target the Hive Ships, if she can slip a round past the damned Chaos ships." Communications reported confirmation, and the Skyfall belched her first round moments later. Slower than a Damocles round, but packing enough of a warhead to have a worthwhile area-of-effect in a Void battle, it would arrive in the vicinity of its targets in three minutes. In the meantime, there were still eight Chaos ships in the fight. "Weapons, Focus the Terra Incarnadines'' fire on the cruisers, let''s get them put out of their misery. Escorts, intercept the torpedoes." The next salvo went out on the surviving Slaughters. Even with their evasive courses, some of them would take hits.


    **


    The Mind considered the positions and speed of its breaching-spores. Not near enough to the iron-skins, not moving fast enough. It pulled them back along the Swarmer Hive Ship''s flanks, there to unleash as a massive swarm on anything that came within its reach. The Instincts of its Brood were to surge forward, but the Mind Held them back. Better to keep the Brood together than to have the immature Hive Ships rush ahead and be hurt alone. It would be patient. The food-orb wasn''t going anywhere, and the two Broods of Iron-skins were hurting each other.


    A sun-bright storm of pain tore into the Mind. one of its drone-swarms was dead, and the Spitting Hive Ship was hurt. The iron-skins by the food-orb had brought a big projectile launcher into play, and it hurt. The Mind spread the drones a bit further forward, allowing the Hive Ships, mature and otherwise to fall back and spread out some. Only drones, but more food to be eaten, and more drones to be birthed later.


    **


    Tristan considered his plots once more. The Tyranid fleet was in optimum Damocles and Nova Cannon range, but the Chaos fleet was getting too close for comfort. "Orders to the fleet, Terra Incarnadine and Skyfall to join the line of battle. All ships, form line abreast of the Terra Incarnadine and prepare to engage the Chaos fleet. Escorts, get those torpedoes out of the void!"


    The Aegis led the Firestorms of Vector squadron forward, nipping out under the cover of the guns of the fleet to close on the torpedoes. The Aegis struck first, paring away two of the nine: one hit directly, the second taken out when the wreckage of its slain salvo-mate crashed into its detonator. The Aegis and Vector squadron got off a second salvo as the torpedoes bored in, striking three more from the void. The remaining four took what targets they were offered and bored in on the Firestorms. Their point-defense turrets threw up a wall of flack and las-fire, knocking down two more. But the last two shook of the near-misses and claimed their targets in mutual-suicide pacts of nuclear fire. "Aegis to Terra Incarnadine. Vector-three and Vector-five destroyed with all hands. Returning to formation."


    Tristan grit his teeth. "Understood Aegis. Take up picket positions and concentrate your fire on the escorts." The loss of two escorts was painful, but far less so than letting those torpedoes loose amongst his Taskforce. "Orders to Olaf Thorson, Skylark and Terra''s Light. Fire Torpedoes, center-mass on the Chaos fleet. The Tyranids will backstop anything that overshoots." Eighteen Torpedoes slid into the void in obedience to his orders.


    **


    Estariss moaned in over-stimulated pleasure-pain as the bug escorts came apart under the stray fire from the dogs. The loss of the two Infidels and the MurderBoat was offset by the relief at not having to deal with the inanity of the MurderBoat¡¯s crew anymore. "Down slave, kneel at my feet. Signals, fleet orders. Countess of Sin, Havenfall, and Anarchy''s Child will break port and engage the dogs at nine thousand. BloodDream, ScarMaker, GoreSmith, and the Infidels will break port and engage at six thousand." The slave kneeled, Signals gurgled away. "Yes, I see the torpedoes. Our flack will knock them from the sky with ease. All ships, Weapons free, fire at will."


    Estariss was almost right in her prediction. As the Chaos fleet steadied down for their attack run, the trailing edge of the last Damocles salvo was able to find victims in the ScarMaker and BloodDream. Both ships died with all hands, leaving a hole in the point-defense protecting the ships behind them. The torpedoes from the Olaf Thorson arrived first. Of the six that it had launched, four were shot down, and the last two took out the remaining two Infidels. The salvo from the Skylark tore through the debris field left by the ScarMaker and BloodDream. One of those six torpedoes died on scrap metal, but the other five made it through and found the Havenfall at such a range that its point defense had little time to react. Its point defense did its best, but its best was not good enough, and the Acheron-class heavy cruiser died with the scream of reality tearing as its Warp drive imploded, condemning all aboard her to the Warp. Of the salvo fired by the Terra''s Light, they found only the waiting point defense of the Anarchy''s Child and the Countess of Sin. None of them inflicted any damage.


    But then it was the Chaos Fleet''s turn to strike back against its tormentors. The Countess of Sin, Anarchy''s Child, and GoreSmith all came to port and opened their broadsides, venting their fury upon their foes. There was no discreet co-ordination of fire, which was the only reason that the Imperial Task Force took so little damage. GoreSmith, with most of the Imperial line of battle still out of reach, targeted the survivors of Vector squadron. The Firestorms were elusive targets, hard to lock onto, but the GoreSmith didn''t bother with sensor locks. Anything that missed the destroyers might hit the Ships of the Line, or the planet behind them. So it opened up with everything in its starboard broadside, and reduced Vector squadron to wrecks and ruins, burying their evasive maneuvers under indiscriminate salvos of macro-cannon and lance fire. The longer-ranged guns of the Countess of Sin and Anarchy''s Child latched onto the Imperial line of battle, scattering ruptured shields and buckled armor all down its length.


    **


    But the Imperial line had kept its heavily-armored bows toward their foes, and reloaded their torpedoes in anticipation of the moment. Close as the range was, it was still just outside of minimum Nova Cannon and Damocles range, and just beyond the arming distance of their torpedoes. Tristan gave the orders "Terra''s Light, lock your torpedoes on that Slaughter-class. Skylark and Olaf Thorson, the Acheron. Skyfall and Terra Incarnadine, spinal mounts fire on the Despoiler. Fire!"


    The results of such point-blank fire were fatal. The GoreSmith took three torpedoes directly amidships and a fourth to her bridge, leaving her broken in half and drifting clear of Vrenna. Anarchy''s Child takes six of the twelve torpedoes aimed at her and dies, shattering as her spine breaks apart. The Countess of Sin takes the Nova Cannon round on the prow, altering her course by almost seventeen degrees as her void shields blow out hard. The three Damocles rounds following on its heels crash into her weapons decks, going in the starboard side and exiting the port accompanied by massive sprays of shrapnel and gun-components. One of the three passes through a magazine on it way through the ship. The resulting detonation leaves little more than the few lifepods, already fired and heading for Vrenna, intact. The Imperial Ships¡¯ Point Defense uses them for target practice and strikes down all but one.


    **


    Estariss had dragged her one worthwhile slave into the lifepod before pulling the release lever. "Worthless minions, they can''t even die properly. But you, slave, you showed some spark of promise." She strips off her ruined uniform. "Come then and please me more, we have several hours before we make landfall." The slave kneels obediently, but Estariss has missed the small pointed shard of metal that it picked up, broken off from the weapon impacts. As Estariss leans her head back the slave kisses its way up to her throat and cuts it.


    **


    The Mind considers the sudden death of the Tainted-Fleshed''s iron-skins. It is still some ways out, and the signal has not re-appeared. The food-orb is well defended indeed, and the local flesh has sharp fangs indeed. The Tainted-Fleshed iron-skins ran quickly, almost twice as fast as the Brood can, and were destroyed before they could harm the other iron-skins. The Mind does not like these odds. It is not as great as it once was, does not have unending Hive Ships to simply bury sharp-fanged flesh under their bulk before birthing new ones. It calls the drones back to their motherships, discards the boarding spores, and slips back into un-space. It lost some of its Brood today, but there will be other signals, other chances to feed. The Mind must nurture its brood carefully, find another food-orb without such sharp fangs and feast before it tries to claim this one again.


    **


    Tristan leans back in his command throne, watching the Tyranid ships slip away into the warp short of the planet. They''ll be back at some point, and must be dealt with. But for today, he has a world to re-conquer in the Emperor''s name. He notes with some satisfaction that the second echelon arrived just before the Chaos fleet was completely destroyed, and that they had the good sense to stay well away from the fight. He passes the order for them to head in-system and unload their cargoes. Vrenna will be returned to the Imperium, under the boots and treads of the Imperial Guard.

 Chapter 33: In the Shadows of Vrenna

    As the convoy slowly accelerates in system to Vrenna, the battle unfolds before its sensors. All you can do is sit in the Vestibule and listen to the second hand reports coming in over the open communications link from the bridge. You hope that an emergency Translation isn''t required, but you keep updating that particular entry vector on a secondary display, your left hand tapping uneasily at the keys.


    "There goes another one!"


    "Scratch one ''Nid! Stray round or no, that''s a few million fewer bugs we have to shoot!"


    "WHOA! Scratch one Chaos fleet! Damned idiots walked right into that one!"


    "Bridge to Navigator. Stand down. I repeat, Stand down. We''ve won this day."


    "Navigator to bridge, understood. Standing down." You close that communications link and open another to your quarters. "Canala, can you send up that dress and cowl?"


    "On my way Lady Dannan!"


    "Thank you Canala." You close that communications link and sit back to wait. The Ignis will be stuck at Vrenna for a while, waiting to transport the Guardsmen back to their staging area when this little war is all wrapped up. If nothing else, it should give you plenty of ''off-duty'' time to work with this Shaper Monat and Littleflame getting up to speed on what your new body can do.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Three days later the ground war is well and truly underway. The Kukri is kept busy with the occasional round of gunnery practice for its bombardment cannon on surface targets, smashing open any position the Guard cares to name. Faunia is left cooling her heels and conducting drills on the crew, as is every other imperial ship in the fleet. You work with Canala on getting your paltry wardrobe fitted properly, wondering when the call will come from the Terra Incarnadine.


    A week later, it comes. Tristan Von Sebastion puts out a fleet-wide message: all Shipmasters to report aboard the Terra Incarnadine for a fleet-wide conference. Attached to the Ignis'' copy is a second message: All members of house Dannan to report aboard for a family conference. The wording is benign enough, a nomadic navigator house taking an opportunity to discuss internal matters. You board the waiting shuttle right behind Faunia for the trip over, Littleflame following behind under a heavy cloak to disguise its form.


    After the disembarkation and welcoming ceremony aboard the Terra Incarnadine, Faunia heads off for the conference. You lead Littleflame to Aunt Yasha''s quarters, utilizing your imposing stature and prominently displayed navigator''s kerchief to clear the few crewmen you come across out of the hallway. They do so with alacrity, taking no note of Littleflame following along in your wake. You hope.


    You find Aunt Yasha poring over some documents, intently studying something. She doesn''t even look up as you enter. "Monat is in the sitting room, just off the dining room. I''ve some important work to do here, so I''ll leave you to your own introductions."

 Chapter 34: Lost Legacies

    "Littleflame, go get started with Monat, perhaps you can compare notes before we begin?"


    "Yes Sho''kara Dannan." It heads off, its sandals slapping on the deck.


    You wait until he closes the door before you say anything. "So what''s got you wound tighter than a Warp Storm Aunt Yasha? Any way I can help?"


    Aunt Yasha drops her head into her hands. "A big risk, but a possible massive reward. After the mauling that Tristan gave the Chaos fleet, we didn''t expect to find any survivors, much less any untainted ones. We did, and it''s a thornier problem than I''ve ever tangled with before."


    You squat down so that you are at her eye-level. "Alright, I can see that whatever it is has you running in mental circles. Stuffed Grox problem solving time, walk me through it and see what kicks loose?"


    Aunt Yasha lets out a whistle of air and stares at the ceiling. "Can''t hurt, but you can''t tell anyone. This has the potential to turn into an absolute dogfight, politically speaking. I''ll make any announcements that need making."


    "Ok, start at the beginning."


    "Well, alright then. We, meaning House Von Sebastion, found a survivor from the Chaos fleet. Not tainted, as far as our astropaths and resident priest can tell us. Ex-slave, found catatonic next to its former master. Near as we can tell, the slave cut her throat before the lifepod even hit Vrenna."


    "I''m with you so far."


    "This is where things get complicated. The slave is, or was, a Navigator. Haven''t been able to test, as it''s still near catatonic and unresponsive. The obvious solution would be to turn it over to the Ordo Xenos for evaluation and employment. The catch is we, meaning house Dannan have a stake in the matter."


    "What stake? The only Dannans are you, me, and my father and mother since my brothers were shipped off to Terra. Unless..."


    Aunt Yasha looks you dead in the eyes. "Got it in one. Tattoos on the Slave''s body match my long-missing relative Stiehr Saurlance. With house Saurlance dissolved and house Dannan taking its place, he would have the choice of joining House Dannan and giving our ranks a much needed boost. Thus the conflict. With Stiehr catatonic, I can''t ask him, and the Deathwatch or the Ordo Xenos is all too likely to just grab Stiehr off without letting him wake up."


    You think about it for a moment. "I''m missing something here. Why would Stiehr not join House Dannan?"If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Aunt Yasha shakes her head. "Old history. Stiehr didn''t like your father very much, and he''s now the Patriarch of house Dannan. Also, there is the matter of the mutations..."


    You shake your head. "Take it piece by piece. First off, you need to keep Stiehr from being grabbed off before he wakes up. Once he does wake up, you need to ask him if he wants to join house Dannan. If not, problem solved, he goes off to serve the Ordo Xenos."


    "If he ever wakes up at all. But you do have the first step right. get Stiehr the medical help he needs until he wakes up, then go from there. Head on in to work with Monat, I need to make some arrangements. And thank you."


    You rise. "Glad to be of help." You head through the door the Littleflame went through and stop dead in your tracks as you find yourself nose-to-beak with an avian creature. It has quills for hair, and is dressed in hides instead of cloth. You are unarmed, but instinctively your tendril whips defensively about your throat and you bare your fangs.


    Before you can speak, Monat does. "Why have you brought this... tube-born here?" He almost spits the words, irritated or angry at something.


    You are thrown off balance by the question, but know what Monat must be talking about. "So Littleflame is not naturally born? I never knew that. And I brought it here because it is my personal medicae, now that the human one aboard the Ignis refuses to work on me should I need it.¡±


    Monat blinks, cocks its head, and steps back, giving you space to enter the room. "I do not like working with others."


    You step close in to Moant''s face and lock eyes with it. "Well that''s just too bad, because you are stuck aboard the Terra Incarnadine, but Littleflame is going back to the Ignis with me. That means Littleflame needs to know everything we learn here, so that he can treat me properly if I get hurt in the future. If you are not willing to do that, then I guess we are done here."


    Monat takes another step back and raises its four-clawed hands. "Peace Sho''kara. I will work with it and you. I did not believe everything Littleflame said about you."


    You roll your shoulders. "And I don''t know it all myself, so let''s get down to the learning."


    Monat gestures the the middle of the room, where a space has been cleared in the middle of the rug. "I understand that you are adept at melee combat, but are left weaponless until you have a new one made?"


    You follow Monat into the middle of the cleared area. "Yes, though I never got any training in hand-to-hand combat."


    Monat shakes its head, quills clacking, "not what I am searching for Sho''kara. Littleflame already knows much of your body, but does not know how to check for other things, such as using both hands at once. That I do know how to check for. Let''s begin."


    An hour later, you have learned a few new things about yourself. You can use both hands equally well, a skill that should extend to your pistols as well. You are no stronger or weaker than you were before, despite your increased size and mass. However, you are far tougher than you used to be. You can''t even feel it when Monat nicks the back of one arm to examine your blood. The little cut scabs and scars over in moments, leaving a tiny wire of blacked chrome wire along your arm. You are just pulling your robe back on when Aunt Yasha bursts in.


    "Ethna, come quickly, Stiehr is starting to wake up!"

 Chapter 35: Broken Minds

    You take a split moment to think over whether you should bring Littleflame or not. Pure logic would dictate that bringing another Medicae into the mix couldn''t hurt. But that rests on the assumption that the other medicaes involved would have no objections, doubtful in the extreme aboard an Imperial ship. Add to that the crew in the area, the orderlies, and the probable members of the Ordo Xenos or Deathwatch, and someone would pick up on what Littleflame is and object. Violently.


    But the real deciding factor is that this is a personal family affair, and the fewer outsiders involved, the better. "Littleflame, Monat, stay here. Aunt Yasha, I presume you can lock your quarters?"


    Aunt Yasha blinks, then nods. "Yes. Lets go, no time to waste!"


    You follow Aunt Yasha out into the corridor, who pauses to lock her door, and then hustle off. You''ve never been aboard the Terra Incarnadine before, so you are hopelessly lost inside of four turns and one lift. The walk takes quite some time, and covers enough distance that you stop even trying to figure it out. Soon enough, you arrive at a very private medical bay. There is only one bed. No guard stands outside the door, nor inside the room. The only medical person in attendance is an elderly orderly, hunched over a life-support apparatus of some sort. The wires lead to the figure on the bed, and you can feel the bile rise in your throat as you survey the damage that Stiehr has survived.


    The sheet is only pulled up to his waist, to facilitate the numerous attachments to the life-support equipment. You note and ignore a pair of tubes that do duck under the sheet: waste disposal, nothing you need to look at closely. The half-dozen drips tapped into Stiehr''s arms and chest must be a mixture of nutrient and medicine feeds and monitoring sensors of some sort. But it¡¯s the tattoos and scars that hold your gaze. They begin on Stiehr''s left palm with a swirling circle, and spiral up that arm, over his left shoulder and down his left side to vanish below the sheet. All of it forms a single intricate pattern of knotwork, an unending loop of incredible complexity. A stylized human form stands at Stiehr''s left shoulder, above three animal forms. The scars cover his entire chest. Some are the slapdash hatch-work of whip marks, others deliberate spiraling cuts where the flesh was peeled away. The knife-scars trail up Stiehr''s neck and over his lips and cheeks, crossing over his eyes. Some of them are tender-pink, just healed shut. Others are the bone-pale white of old wounds. They overlap and criss-cross with wild abandon, several lifetime''s worth of agony compressed into a canvas of flesh.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Aunt Yasha sits at the foot of the bed and starts to speak. What, you are not sure, because she stops almost at once. You follow her gaze, and get a look at Stiehr''s mutations. Pink scales dot his lower right arm, and more trace themselves out of the scars on his torso, becoming more frequent further down Stiehr''s torso where they disappears beneath the sheet. Stiehr''s head raises up fractionally to stare at aunt Yasha before dropping back to the pillow and rolling to fix his unblinking gaze on you. You note that his eyelids have been cut away. Stiehr speaks, his voice the rasp of one who has screamed for far too long. "You... I have Seen you. What is your name?"


    You see no reason not to answer him. "Ethna Nic Vir Dannan, Daughter of Vir and Morrigan Dannan."


    "The Truthseeker from the Blinded-Seer and the Battle-Crow." Stiehr hisses intermittently, which you take for laughter of a sort. "So the runes didn''t lie. The old Matriarch is dead or damned, and with her passes House Saurlance."


    "What runes?" Aunt Yasha exclaims. "Who cast them?"


    Stiehr twitches his head from side to side. "Not ones that any mortal would use, and by a being once-human now damned and thrice-dead. But who are you? For they did not predict any other survivors of Saurlance."


    Aunt Yasha grins crookedly. "Yasha Dannan. And they are right, after a fashion I guess. I did die, as I guess you did as well." her hand drifts over her abdomen, right above her womb.


    Stiehr twitches a shoulder. "The Warp is... fluid... about such things. The person I was is certainly dead, annihilated that day back in Kania."


    You lean forward a bit, recapturing Stiehr''s attention. "So what do you know of what is going on at the moment? With house Saurlance destroyed, what will the last Saurlance do now?"


    Stiehr''s eyes lock onto yours, his unblinking stare holding your gaze. "Whatever you command, mistress mine."

 Chapter 36: Welcome Home

    You feel the temptation to open your Third Eye and take a look with your Sight, but hold off on it. Instead, you master yourself, refusing to blink, and ask Stiehr point-blank "What do you think I should do?"


    Stiehr flinches. You get the impression that he would blink if he could. "I..." His voice trails off, and he looks about to cry.


    You wait patiently. This is something that he needs to work through on his own. He is free now, or as close to it as any Imperial Navigator can be, and he needs to know it. Not just intellectually, but also instinctively.


    "I..." Stiehr''s head falls back to the pillows, tears flowing freely down his scarred face. "I don''t know. For so long, there has not been an ''I''. There were no decisions to be made, someone else always made them. It has been so long, I... I don''t even have a name. I was once Stiehr Saurlance, but he died. In Kania, when the rift opened. Then there was Slave, staying alive by serving the cruel will of its Mistress. What am I now? Who am I now?"Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    You consider this for a long moment. Aunt Yasha opens her mouth, then closes it again when you twitch your head. You let Stiehr cry for a long moment. Finally, you speak. "You are free now, free to make your own decisions. I think the first one you could make would be to choose your own name. What do you want us to call you?"


    Stiehr stares at the ceiling of the compartment, weeping silently. Finally, he croaks out something, almost too quietly for you to hear. You lean closer, and he repeats it, more strongly now. "Saor Dannan."


    You nod approvingly, translating from old Eriesh in your head. "Free of the Dannan Clan. Welcome to our clan, to our family. Welcome home."

 Chapter 37: Aftermath

    Six Years Later¡­


    The Ignis sweeps into dock in orbit over Tuatha. It is your last day aboard her, and time for a long-deserved stand-down until your next command comes to pick you up. Your relations with Helheim, Pyrus, and the other Deathwatch members has been frosty but professional. They don''t attend the departure ceremony, but you do find a token of respect on your bedside table when you wake up: a small raven, forged from cave-dark metal. A small brass key lies pinned beneath its claws, a tiny duplicate of the one you ''kept safe'' for Wrath all those years ago.


    You wish Littleflame or Monat could be with you on this day, but they are long since departed, back into the Tau Empire. Monat to resume his services, Littleflame as a messenger of what transpired on Vrenna and as a token of goodwill. You never did find out exactly what Littleflame was, but you have some good guesses. It is probably artificially born, the same way Faunia is, and is perceived to be less-than-Tau by its fellow Xenos. But that''s just fine with you, as Littleflame was more than human enough for you.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    You shake the cobwebs from your mind as the Light''s Embrace approaches the shuttlepad. Four figures wait at a safe distance for you to disembark. You can scarcely make out their shapes through the streaming sunlight, but you already know who three of them are. Your mother Morrigan and father Vir are waiting to greet you, along with uncle Saor.


    The Light''s Embrace lands and you disembark. You exchange hugs with your mother and father, and a dignified handshake-and-bow with Saor. You are impressed at his progress since you saw him last. He can meet your eyes without flinching, his grasp is firm, and his scars are finally starting to fade. You turn to greet the last person, and are surprised to meet another ex-Saurlance by the name of Amissa Dannan. Upon further conversation, it turns out that Vir and Yasha had been cut out of the wider House Saurlance by the Matriarch, and had lost contact with the widely-scattered members of the nomadic house. Saor''s contact information was out of date, but was enough to start reuniting the scattered House Saurlance under the Dannan name. Amissa was the first, with others to follow in the years to come.