I almost feel bad for the Genestealers that keep trying to ambush me, almost. It's not exactly an easy thing to do when I have my Auspex and AME running at full capacity, providing me a hundred-meter bubble of nigh-total awareness. Three times, a hybrid tries to leap out from one of the overhead vents and ambush me. Only to end up dead before it hits the deck perforated with holes. The ship has a rather extensive but inoperable mag-tram system for moving things along the length of the ship. Unfortunately, there isn't enough power to run them at the moment, so we have to walk. By the time we are finally nearing the bridge, I feel the entire ship shudder as the Argent Drake's gravity tethers lock in and the lamprey tugs latch into place along the hull for the tow. The bridge itself is a wreck. The main security door has been ripped off its track and inside, it looks like a bomb went off, or perhaps a blender made of claws came through is the better descriptor. "No wonder they didn't try to leave." I say, shaking my head. Thankfully, the Abacus and main Auspex feeds are in a secure module a few decks above the bridge. "I'll come back and fix this in a bit." I tell my team as we make our way above. Thankfully, the Void Abacus appears to be untouched when we find it. I take my time getting a thorough scan of the faint energy signature it emits. The mysterious Dark Age container makes a faint clacking noise that resembles the beads of an abacus, its internal power source still running after all this time. Though the box itself is not particularly useful when not integrated into a working ship's Auspex and propulsion systems. "Abacus secure. Forwarding the energy profile and dimensions." I Vox back to Master Doll, who is still on the Drake. "Moving to repair and secure the bridge." "Nicole, when you retake the bridge, refrain from ejecting the broken reactor for now. I believe it may be worth recycling the raw materials and using them to test the integrity of the forges." Master Doll replies eagerly. I was so focused on the hulls, I didn't even think about salvaging anything for raw materials. A quick scan of the logs indicates the ship's holds are mostly empty. Something we can readily rectify once the forges are operational. The Emergency Repairs III has everything required for both asteroid mining and ship repairs, including a full spacedock piers system. I let everyone stand guard while I indulge in some Technomancy practice to repair the entire bridge. While I know it isn't manipulating time, seeing some of the screens pull in their broken fragments and repair themselves feels incredibly close to how I imagine it would function for a chronomancer. As one of the main monitors flickers on, I smile and jack myself into the ship's network to take stock of the situation. Energy is the biggest and most pressing issue, the emergency reserves are at five percent. The plasma stores are bone dry for both the dead primary plasma drive and barely limping along secondary plasma drives. I make a list and flag systems for total removal and replacement. Primary plasma drive, void shields, life support, and Gellar field all make the list. The sails, point defenses, and weapons are secondary priorities, with the hull armour and other systems being tertiary. The engines need an overhaul and refurbishing, but will serve if they must. I message our forces, warning them that I will be rerouting power away from the crew decks, which will cut the lights and what little gravity is available. Instead, the power will be used to maneuver the gantries and docking ribs into the most useful out-of-the-way positions and prime the forges for what is to come. The sterilization of the ship was progressing, but the teams had suffered a few casualties. No fatalities yet, but one Skitarii had been bisected and would need a few weeks in a vat of regeneration goop in the recovery chambers, and a Sister lost an arm to an Aberrant. Nothing we can't fix, but a good reminder to not underestimate the enemy. I monitor the probes as they drift into the sea of hulks - their steady progress is reassuring, yet daunting once I zoom out and grasp the vast expanse they've only just begun to cover. —-------------------------------------------------------------- POV: Archmagos Akellonon Doll Doll was excited, and he allowed the emotion to persist and bypass his neural suppressor systems. The Emergency Repairs III was going to make a glorious addition to their fleet. The relic ship was a fantastic example of the industrial might of Mars and the Machine God. He had distributed the Magi amongst the fleet to ensure someone of proper skill was nearby for the salvaging of the various ship parts - with strict instructions that if they were at all in doubt that they could recover the components, they were to cut the entire module or components out wholesale and drag the chunk back for processing. This massive stellar graveyard was both a treasure trove of parts, resources, and material, but also a reminder of what could be lost and just how small their place in the universe was. The only salvage site that he felt concerned for was the Battle Barge. According to his calculations, and based on its unusual movement pattern, it had originated far deeper in the Sea of Hulks and drifted out of the Inner Sea. He hadn't noticed until after the meeting and had yet to bring it up to Nicole. He shook his head ruefully. Did it say something about his life that the prospect of going into a derelict hulk infested with a genestealer cult that was being purged barely registered as a problem? He shrugged it off. Doll had gathered a massive team of Tech Priests and Adepts from the Manufactorum of the Argent Drake and the forges of the Adamant Hammer. Along with the personnel came a horde of exactly five thousand one hundred and three industrial servitors. "Welcome, everyone. Today is a glorious day for the Mechanius! As we clear the boundary for the Outer Sea and return to our forward operating location, we disembark and attend to the Emergency Repairs III, where we will engage in the holy Rites of Awakening and restore fire to her forges. We shall enact repairs on her ailing hull! Transplant her reactor and bring new life to a glorious machine once lost but now returned to us!" Doll extolled proudly to the crowd. An excited buzz rippled throughout the assembly. Data streams in the noosphere practically exploded as the information on the Emergency Repairs III was distributed. Assignments were organized and teams were assembled in minutes. When the appointed hour arrived, the shuttles were swiftly loaded and dispatched the moment the vessel was secured within its designated berth. Functional docking gantries creaked to life, channeling the remaining supplies and crew into the Emergency Repairs III, swarming about it like tireless insects tending their hive. From the Adamant Hammer, a massive power conduit stretched across the void, its thick coils feeding power into the derelict hulk. Doll headed straight for the primary forge. The extermination teams had pushed back and corralled the Xenos into a three-kilometer stretch along the central and upper decks, leaving his path unimpeded. The forge, like the ship itself, was a colossal piece of ancient infrastructure. His scans reported some minor issues, slag that had not been cleared, and some metal that remained in the primary furnace that cooled into a solid, lumpy block of mixed elements just above the primary ignition chamber. "We will begin the Rituals of Awakening immediately!" Doll declared as he and his team began their holy work. Doll picked a nearby Tech Priest at random. "Congratulations…" Doll quickly accessed their noosphere identity tag, "L3-3T. I have chosen you for an important task. You will take a team of fifty and dismantle the broken plasma drive immediately and ensure the space is ready for the transplant of the replacement drive."Doll moved to turn away but paused. Almost as an afterthought he added "Be sure you take thorough scans and notes. This is a rare opportunity for you to learn about such drives. Then use the servitors or request a loading team to bring the parts back here for recycling." Then he turned and scuttled away before poor L3-3T had time to process the commands. As Doll carefully coaxed the ancient furnace to life, he felt naught but satisfaction and joy. Not even a stray Genestealer trying to murder him could interrupt his good mood. —------------------------------------------------------- POV: Captain Bolaar of the Star Dragons Bolaar thought back to the choices that had led up to this moment. After the conflict with the Tyranid bioforms on the Argent Drake, where he and his battle brothers performed decently, but not well enough as he would have wanted. He had led the entire company to familiarize itself with the foes and the best methods of combating them. Their tactics had evolved, and his men had vastly improved since then, with the fights with the traitors serving as a prime example of their drive to improve. The cultists aboard the Emergency Repairs III were not particularly well armed. The largest dangers were the larger Genestealer bioforms, the psykers, and the purestrains if you allowed them to get close. The Star Dragon scale teams had moved with methodical precision as they cleared the ship, with only a few outliers like Venerable Baldos who operated semi-independently doing whatever he wanted with minimal regards to minor obstacles like walls. Still, they had coordinated perfectly with the Mechanicus teams, maximizing their effectiveness without overextending themselves. Having the scale under his personal command be fitted in the Saturnine Terminator armour helped immensely. The first problems arose when they located the Genestealer Patriarch and its personal guardians. Bolaar and his terminators had fought their way through the purestrain guards, meanwhile Librarian Astrovas had immolated a Primus in a psychic duel. All of which led him to the current situation. The fight with the Patriarch, or rather the lack thereof. Brother Dragonmaw, in his Deredeo Pattern Dreadnought, had blown the knees off the beast within the first few seconds of combat. Now Bolaar was watching as his two oldest dreadnoughts, Venerable Baldos and Brother Silverfury, in his Contemptor, used their combat claws to each grab two of the Patriarch's arms and were playing tug of war with the screaming, thrashing Xenos monstrosity. Bolaar muted his external audio as the creature's frantic screams went up in pitch and the sound of ripping, snapping flesh echoed in the chamber as something finally gave way and the beast was ripped bloodily in half. The half with the head went to Baldos, who cheered, "Ha! I win again, Brother!" Bolaar watched in silence as Baldos ripped the monster's head off and placed his trophy atop his chassis like a hat. "Best two out of three!" Silverfury grumbled as the pair eagerly lumbered off to find more Xenos to play wishbone with. Half an hour later, the Princeps had come by to check on something and saw Baldos still wearing the severed head of the Patriarch as a hat. "Baldos…. What is that?" She had asked innocently. "My hat." Baldos proudly declared. "Baldos… are you aware that certain variants of that species have highly potent acid glands in their mouths and acidic blood? Did you check before putting it on your chassis? I can already see several compromised layers of paint." She said, glaring up at the Venerable with her hands on her hips. Baldos froze and carefully took his trophy off, he dropped it on the ground where it sizzled against the floor, and then quickly departed at full speed, loudly claiming that another nest of foul creatures required his immediate attention. Bolaar watched as Nicole shook her head with a small, amused smile gracing her lips as she called for an acid sterilization kit and a container for the trophy. He was aware that Nicole was slated to go assist with the reactor transplantation. No doubt her technomancy would smooth over any issues with the installation. With the Patriarch dealt with, and Baldos actively participating, Bolaar felt comfortable enough in their current state. "Brother Astrovas, the primary threat has been terminated. I would like you to accompany the Princeps while Venerable Baldos is occupied." "Yes, Sir." Astrovas agreed moving into position amongst her retinue. Bolaar watched them depart before he turned his attention elsewhere. He wanted to see how the new recruits they recruited on Ur-Haven had handled their first real taste of void combat. From the scattered reports only one had lost more than one limb to an unfortunate ambush. —------------------------------------------------------------- POV: Greg Olds, former Guardsman, current… dad of a princeps aspirant? Greg was not adapting well to his new higher status. People were calling him 'Mr. Olds' and 'Sir' and not yelling 'Greg, you idiot' or 'Tanker, get off your ass!' His quarters were suspiciously nice, and Robin had her own even nicer suite! They even had multiple rooms, and he had no idea what to do with them. The heck was he supposed to do with a lounge?! This was a voidship! They're supposed to be cramped! His friends each had their own rooms, with each room distantly connected to the main family unit in the module. He had thought his windfall payday was a lot. Until he discovered what they were paying Robin while she was only a princeps aspirant in training, and he saw the amounts allocated to the current top students. His little Robin was thriving, and she had a good rapport with the other top students, or rather, her friends. Greg had needed something to do, so he had wandered down to the motor pool for something familiar. Somehow, he had ended up as part of the team changing the tracks on a Shadowsword that looked factory new. The Enginseer hadn't told him to get lost. Just stared at him for an uncomfortably long time before hissing out, "The tank machine spirits like you. You can work second shift." That was his new routine. Eat breakfast, which was way too nice and fresh for food on a ship. Work, eat the far to luxurious lunch, work a bit more, hit the bath, meet Robin for an even fancier dinner. On his off days, he'd meet up with his friends who had all found work on board and were adjusting a bit better than he was. He'd share what he learned from Robin when he could, but a lot of it went over his head like a manticore missile. From what he had gleaned, Legio Tempestus was fostering and encouraging competitive rivalries but also insisting on cooperation. The classes were thorough and a mix of subjects. They even had a comprehensive history of Legio Tempestus that he was downright certain could make a remembrancer historian froth at the mouth. Robin had gotten her main MIU port installed, and the little rascal had bounced back after only two days. The implant made his own look like rusty scrap, and he had been out for over a week when he got his first put in. He still had the leverage of his pict recordings from when Robin had to go through abbreviated basic training just in case she needed a little embarrassment or humbling, as was his prerogative as her parent. The memory of that harmless mischief felt oddly grounding, especially after what came next. Passing into the Webway was like an acid trip. He'd made the mistake of looking outside exactly once. Shifting vistas of impossible geometry and fractured starlight crawled across his vision, while colors without names bent around them. He'd nearly vomited on his new boots. For all that the Webway was trippy. The Procession was worse. When they entered the strange system, he had felt off immediately but was unable to place why. Robin told him that they were apparently in some gigantic, cursed ship graveyard of a system. On the third day, he had trouble sleeping. He got out of bed to get a drink, and saw it. There was a freaking ghost wandering around his living room! Greg watched as it ignored him, going through the motions of daily life. The ghost in question was wearing an ancient mechanicus robes, and it never acknowledged Greg. Even walked through him once, which gave him chills! Greg, being a responsible man, quickly called aid. A Tech Priest came and studied the phenomena, attempting several minor rituals to appease the spirit.. They even called one of the Ministorum Priests to try and banish the specter, but they didn't succeed either. Eventually, one of the Magi stopped by to view the phenomenon. "Oh, this is not a ghost. This is a spiritually imprinted temporal resonance echo, not a warp phenomenon. We've had other reports of this happening when we delved into the Outer Sea. A curious phenomenon. Likely due to the unusual nature of this star system. This is a reflection of a past event. Mostly harmless… we think. However, if it tries to talk or interact with you, report it immediately," they warned him before prescribing him a mild sedative to help with the sleep issue. However, as the week progressed, he just kept seeing strange things in the corner of his vision and sometimes in the mirror he used in the morning. His friends reported a growing sense of unease and felt like they were being watched. McStabby even got them all sanctified pocket knives. "To cut away the wrong when the time is right," McStabby had said cryptically. When the Argent Drake once more delved into the Sea of Hulks, the effects worsened. The worst for Greg was when he saw his wife in the mirror one day and heard her voice echo over an old vox, singing a quiet song she used to sing when Robin was little. Greg reported the issue with his mental state himself, not wanting to put Robin or his friends at risk. Unfortunately, while he could be placed under watch, the only other alternative was cryo-stasis or ride it out for as long as they were in the system. He was by no means the only person with the symptoms, and a lot of the crew were having it far worse than he was. Rumors were going around about strange shadows that could spirit people away and ominous Vox messages from the future. —-------------------------------------------- The Argent Drake is an enemy boarder's worst nightmare. In stark contrast, the Emergency Repairs III is the opposite. Outside the narrower confines of the crew quarters, the ship was almost entirely composed of long, broad, straight corridors running the length of the ship. The forges were large open spaces with easy access to the cargo holds and maglev systems to easily allow for the transportation of raw and processed materials. This made rounding up and purging most of the Genestealers a simple affair. I hadn't seen a single one since my first two days aboard. My main focus has been getting the maglev systems back up and running after installing the new plasma drive. Meanwhile, Master Doll has brought the forges to full bore. The test smelting of the old drive went well, with only the first few tons of material not meeting our quality standards. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Just to be certain the ship is clear of Genestaler taint, we have removed the remaining atmosphere, and chose to fully replace the life-support systems before reintroducing air back into the ship. A few highly clustered areas are voided directly into space to expedite things. I also provided aid in the installation of the point-defense laser systems and the gravity sails over the course of the week. The latter would be critical in keeping the Hollow Men away, though, with our main base sitting outside the bounds of the Outer Sea of Hulks, they should avoid further conflict. While the templates inside the ship were mostly standard, there were a few interesting ones for a few voidship parts. The original schematics are listed as originating from Forge Worlds Metalica and Ryza. The files had remained in the ship's system after their last repair operation and hadn't been purged by the time the mutiny captured the ship mid-warp transit. A small shame was discovering that the ship previously held a license to produce parts from Mezoa, but lost it a few years before the incident, the production schematics were no longer on file. Master Doll and I are returning to the Drake for our next delve into the Processional. A week is all we are willing to spare getting the Emergency Repairs III to a functional state. Magos TH-102 and another Tech Priest I hadn't met until now from the Adamant Hammer, Excavator L-201, will remain with the fleet in charge of continuing the refit and repairs. The rest of the fleet will target suitable objects at the edge of the Outer Sea for recycling while the Drake makes her way to the inner ring. I've agreed to Lord Drakios's proposal to spend a day looting the battle barge on the way. Its unusual path from the Inner Sea to the Outer Sea should provide a relatively stable lane of ingress. The scans of the battle barge increase in detail as we draw closer, and the amount of debris decreases. Something starts to nag at me the longer I study the display. "Something wrong?" Master Doll inquires as he scuttles over to investigate. "Maybe? I don't know, something is bothering me subconsciously about the scan," I admit, as I rotate it and flicker through filters. Doll hums and studies the readouts. "The hull is deflecting some of the deeper scans, through some manner of obfuscation. No obvious life signs. High levels of external corrosion." He points out. My focus finally lands on the underside of the wreck, the lower fin is encased in something. I watch as a small chunk breaks off and trails behind the wreck. "Ice, it's the ice," I say, pointing it out. "Whatever deflected the barge was covered in a thick layer of ice. It's leaving small chunks like a breadcrumb trail. Possibly a comet, but the bits of metal mixed in make me think it's a wreck that accumulated the ice over time. But there is something else under the ice wrapped around the main ventral fin. What is that?" I ask, but the scan doesn't have enough detail for me to discern what it is. "Unknown. We can perform thorough scans upon arrival. Will you be going aboard?" Master Doll inquires. "I think I should. It's a battle barge, so the Astartes should go, but given how decayed and desiccated the hull appears to be we can infer it is quite old. I believe it would be prudent for me to be present to help identify valuable items," I say, trying to be reasonable. Master Doll nods, "Just be sure to take your full retinue. We will start extracting the prow components immediately." "Keep an eye out for the Hollow Men. I am not sure why they left this hulk alone for so long," I pause on my way out as Arianwyn approaches. "Can I come?" Arianwyn asks hesitantly. I almost say yes, but part of me hesitates as I glance back at the display. I frown and purse my lips, "Not this time. When we find the next ship to recover or another to salvage. You can come with as long as it's an Imperial wreck and there are no signs of corruption or life signs." I say, giving her a small apologetic smile. Arianwyn looks puzzled but nods, "Alright. I'll be ready." Not questioning why this trip wasn't suitable, as she returns to her grandfather's side, he shoots me a brief but grateful glance. I go back to don my armour and bring a few extra tools just in case I need to break into a vault or two. I also bring a small pouch full of Teleport Homers to slap on anything large we want to yoink out of the ship. Half the Star Dragons are coming along; three scales were still combing the nooks and crannies of the Emergency Repairs III for any lingering Genestealers. Two would remain on the Drake while the rest were going to plunder the barge with me. "That doesn't look like a normal Battle Barge," Captain Bolaar comments as he gets strapped in. "Pre-Heresy," Baldos answers curtly. I dutifully note that he has had the paint spot fixed. "Baldos is correct. It's an older design, which only adds to the mystery of what we may find. Despite its age, it may still have functional defenses, so stay sharp," I say as we fly over. I do a quick lap around to confirm the ship's status. "The hangar on the port side looks clear and accessible. I'm heading in." The hangar is dark when we land. No power, but that's not surprising considering the reactor and the back part of the ship is utterly gone. I set the Comet down and start using the Comet's auspex to try and get a feel for the layout. It's messy. AME is doing her own scans and aiding with post processing "Vessel degradation extensive. Estimated age: nine to eleven millenia. Trace organic materials detected. Compiling schematic." I use the manual override to open the door, only to hesitate, "The manual override on this door is trapped," I share with them as I disable the simple explosive device. "Saboteurs, or did they trap their own door?" Astrovas asks. "Not sure, just keep an eye out. We'll find out shortly," I reply as I holster my combi-tool. We enter the dark, empty vessel, and then the teams split up. While the other teams head towards the prow to help detach the Bombardment cannons, Bolaar's Terminator scale and my retinue make our way towards the spine and head aft. Each and every door I have to override, be it the manual override or using a console and a portable power source we brought along, is trapped, and most not in the same way. I look over at Baldos, who glances down at me. There is only one Legion I can think of that is this paranoid. The Iron Warriors would be more consistent, and the traps are trying too hard to be clever to be Imperial Fists. "Alpha Legion?" I postulate. "Alpha Legion," Baldos grumbles loudly. After a few more doors, we find our first corpse. AME declares "Organic material located! Identified. Desiccated Astartes remains!" It's a ruined suit of Mark III power armour and is almost as degraded as the hull of the ship. I can barely make out some bolter holes in the rusty mess. "That looks horrible. Is it some kind of warp sorcery?" Bolaar asks. "No, it's just an effect of the Turbulent Star. This ship has been bathing in its light for a long time, it seems. Only the most well-made of vessels with some manner of protection can resist the effects for millennia." I say and shake my head. As we get to a junction, I consult the map AME is making with her Auspex. "There should be one of the main ship armories that way, or we can check out the aft. The module holding the warp drive would have been right along the line where the ship split." "Armory first," Bolaar decides. Follow current novels on novel•fire.net As we continue, we find more and more dead Astartes. Most are clad in Mark IV Maximus suits. A handful even had the old Mark II Crusade suits, and a bunch were still in the Mark III Iron suits. None whole enough for salvage, unfortunately. "That's odd," one of the Astartes remarks. "All their weapons are missing." "They're also positioned like they were fighting each other. The bodies are clearly oriented, attacker and defender." When we finally reach the armoury, we find the confirmation I needed. Above the massive double doors is a massive carving of a stylized hydra, with multiple serpentine heads, each head is arched outward in a menacing, coiled fashion. The heads all stare down imperiously at those who would enter. I approach the doors and find that there are multiple redundant traps this time. Even with the Machine spirit helping, it takes me nearly half an hour to avoid setting off numerous silent alarms, multiple different explosives, a gas grenade, and an emergency lockout. It is good practice for me, and I power through while everyone remains on guard. Finally, the doors let out a sharp hiss as they grind open for the first time in millennia, and we shine our lights inside. Most of the weapon racks near the entrance are empty. Piles of spent bolt casings litter the floor. However, the rear of the armoury remains untouched. There are several Astartes inside, all of which are much better preserved. All of them sport the clearly defined colors of the Alpha Legion on their armour, though the corpses inside have long turned to dust, even the bones. The dead Astartes near the door are absolutely perforated with holes, while the last few in the back have a single shot to the head, and each is holding a bolt pistol with one casing nearby. "They killed themselves," Astrovas says with confusion. 'Why would they do that?" I make my way deeper and pause in front of a wall of large shipping containers. "Guys… I know you're trying to puzzle things together, but do you know what's strange about these crates?" I ask, shaking my head. "What is it?" Silverwalker asks as he walks over to examine them. "None of these crates have Alpha Legion markings. It's all gear from the other Legions." I say with a small giggle. "It doesn't explain the suicides or the infighting. This last shipment is dated at least a year before the Heresy." I continue cataloguing the crates and then stop and let out an excited squeal as I find a large container pair with Salamander's markings and see they are listed as dreadnought parts, but not normal parts, Saturnine dreadnought parts. I slap two homers on them immediately and Vox the Argent Drake for retrieval. A few of the Star Dragons help me dig through the wall of crates and find half a dozen more valuable containers. One had an Araknae Quad Accelerator Platform. Another two had Tarantula Missile Batteries marked with Imperial Fists insignia. A crate with the mark of the White Scars was filled with Kontos power lances. One marked for the Iron Warriors had a Leviathan Grav-Flux Bombard. The final crate is packed to the brim with disintegrator weapons that were supposed to go to the Ultramarines. Then the Alpha Legion themselves only had a selection of long-barreled sniper rifles and a crate of breaching charges that Bolaar deemed worth taking. We watch together as the boxes vanish one after the other back to the Argent Drake. We depart the armoury and continue to follow the signs of combat and the occasional dead Astartes. We find two more armories, one looks like a bomb went off, or perhaps the ammo cooked off, doors blown outwards, walls scorched black and charred. The other is open but empty and unused. As we get deeper, I get an automated warning: the signal to the teleport homers has been interrupted. "The damned Alpha Legion put in teleport blockers," I grumble. We are on a wide loop back towards the aft section when AME notices a discrepancy. I shift my awareness to her senses as she peers through a wall. AME is looking at what was likely once the Warp Drive. Inside the chamber, right next to the dead drive, is a large bundle of strange little spheres. The unusual balls have a strong warp presence and look to be clustered around a bundle of old fuel rods, but what makes my blood run cold are the piles of Alpha Legion Astartes corpses surrounding the bundle, the entire floor is covered in them. AME lets out a shrill warning screech and hisses "Danger! Danger!" Then I see it come out from behind the bundle. An amorphous, floating, bulbous mass of flesh, it has jellyfish-like form with floating, bulbous masses of flesh and multiple rubbery, barbed appendages extending from its body. It turns towards me, staring right at me through the walls with a cluster of baleful eyes radiating a psychic aura of dread. The body ripples as though half-material, half-warp, surrounded by an oily distortion of reality. I feel a jab in my frontal lobe that makes my eyes water and instantly triggers my automatic mental defenses. Recognizing the creature, I don't fight the surge of panic. "Everyone off the ship now!" I scream into the Vox while clutching my head. I watch in horror as the eggs start to wiggle and pop open. "Argent Drake! This is Cavalerio declaring an emergency! Get everyone off this ship now! Xenos threat detected! Level is Terminus! I repeat TERMINUS! I need a cyclonic warhead on this position right freaking now!" "Nicole, we're in the middle of recovery operations!" Master Doll replies, concerned. "Blast the prow off if you want what's on it! There is an Enslaver nest on this ship! The Krell, Psyrens! It has seen both myself and Astrovas! It has hundreds of eggs! I am under psychic attack! Kill. It. Now!" I scream back. "Nicole, we need fifteen minutes on the torpedo! Get that torpedo loaded! Fire the lances!" Drakios roars. Moments later the ship shudders, a rolling thunder that rattles through the decks as the lance batteries carve molten furrows through the forward section of the battle barge. The follow-up salvo of plasma macros booms through the void, shaking bulkheads and sending the temperature within the hulk climbing several degrees. The deck trembles under our boots. The Star Dragons react instantly, without hesitation or wasted motion. Their armor gleams dully in the rising heat, each warrior shifting seamlessly into formation as they close ranks. Weapons snap to the ready. Their discipline is absolute, the kind only centuries of gene-forged training and brotherhood can forge. Astrovas, lunges forward and scoops me up as though I weigh nothing. His voice booms over the din, command layered with urgency: "Nicole! Null field!" We sprint for the hangar, boots hammering the deck. I push my null field to it's current maximum, a cold pressure spilling outward to cover as many of us as possible. The warp recoils at its touch, and for a moment the world sharpens, reality asserting itself against the invasion. My throat tightens as I shout a warning: "It's a mind controller!" We approach a junction but Baldos blasts straight through the wall ahead with his melta before ramming right through the steel like he's the Kool-aid man and leaving a Baldos shaped hole for everyone to leap through instead of going around the long way. "Damned Xenos!" he curses. "We just need to get close enough to the hull to teleport. I can tell the Comet to head back on its own." Is the last thing I say before I sink deep into meditation. My psybernetic suite has registered the attempted intrusion and is working overtime, keeping the probes of the newborns at bay. The growing distance is helping, but only because the beast seems hesitant to leave its remaining eggs even for such delicious prey as a pair of high grade psykers. The moment the Teleport Homer reestablishes its lock, we all vanish. The mental pressure from the creature decreases immensely thanks to the Drake's wards, but it's not entirely gone yet. "Astrovas. Get us to the Null Bay." I say and he breaks into a sprint while princess carrying me. Only when the Cyclonic Torpedo and the full fury of the Argent Drake's broadside slam into the aft of the vessel - reducing most of the hulk to scattered atoms - does the pressure finally abate. Even then, protocol keeps us confined for hours in one of the emergency isolation cells meant for rogue psykers. It is there that Astropath Supine and Navigator Nostromo examine our mental wards with careful precision, searching for any trace of the warp-creatures' corruption. Once released, we are marched straight into a formal debriefing. The air smells of oil and incense. Officers and Adepts wait with styluses and auto-quills poised, ready to dissect every detail of what we endured. "You know," I mutter once we are cleared and the debriefing begins, "it almost makes sense. They're like sea turtles." That draws a frown from across the table. "What, by Terra, is a sea turtle?" someone asks, suspicion and bewilderment in their voice. "Ancient Terran aquatic fauna." The comparison earns me a few raised brows, but I press on. "The Enslavers are native to the warp, but the warp is where their potential predators lurk. So they lay their 'eggs' here, in realspace, where it's safer. Waiting, gestating… until prey stumbles close. Luckily, they can be killed - or at least banished back - so long as they fail to form a tether. Forming a tether requires breaking a psyker's will and turning the victim into a living warp-gate, a beacon for more Enslavers… and eventually, something called an Enslaver Behemoth. We only know that those even exsist from recovered logs on lost worlds. No one who's faced one has survived to give a first-hand account." I shiver at the memory and grimace. "Omnissiah, that thing felt so foul… Is this forbidden Xenos knowledge? Or just restricted? It feels like it ought to be." I mutter tilting my head. Half the room looks absolutely horrified at my explanation. The other half are grim and stoic. They all pointedly ignore the question about the knowledge of the Enslavers being forbidden. "We managed to separate the prow, a few of the cannons suffered minor damage in the… sudden violent separation. The remaining parts should still be salvageable. All teams and transport craft were recovered successfully, and everything has been screened for any signs of the Xenos." "That's good. If nothing else is immediately pressing, does anyone mind if I excuse myself for a nap?" I ask and look around the chamber. Master Doll speaks up, "Actually… that unknown metallic object in the ice. We managed to identify it while you were scouting. It appears to have been the ruined arm of a Reaver titan, a Gatling blaster specifically. Though it showed faint signs of corruption." "Well… assuming whatever vessel the barge collided with came from around the same time period… We should investigate the source of the arm. Follow the little icy and metallic nuggets of breadcrumbs to the treasure." I mutter, wiggling my fingers tiredly. Lord Drakios smiles ruefully, "We're already on it. The estimated time to the target location is two and a half days." "Great! I am going to rest for a full day. If you need me, I'll be in my quarters. Try not to find any more cosmic horrors without me." I say jokingly, but no one laughs. They all just nod seriously and politely thank me.