868.M30.
Ultima Segmentum, The Maelstrom Zone.
Aboard the bridge of the Glory of Light, Wilshire stood before the hololithic tactical table.
Entering the Maelstrom was a novel experience. Even on its fringes, they felt the strangeness of this region.
Realspace was affected by the Warp, flickering intermittently.
The number of officers handling communications had tripled.
The Simulus Chamber, unique to Shadows of Order and the Iron Hand was also affected.
Communication ships from the holds were dispatched.
"Communication Ship A-1, proceed to sector A-59. Establish contact with the Shadow Song."
"Communication Ship C-5, report status of the Sun Shadow."
Wilshire's hearing absorbed the cacophony of information.
'This operation is also an accumulation of experience.'
'Perhaps the Chapter will face similar situations in the future.'
He stared at the hololithic star chart. Occasionally, one or two of the black and iron-grey runes would vanish.
Sometimes, runes would suddenly reappear, but only as blurred points of light.
The internal comm in Wilshire's helmet suddenly buzzed.
A rune flashed; it was from the Chapter's Chief Navigator.
He hadn't left the Navigator's Sanctum since entering the Maelstrom zone.
No one would be foolish enough to enter the Navigator's Sanctum now.
Exposure to a Navigator's innate eye would drive one mad, or even kill them, and that would be the best outcome.
Wilshire activated the channel. The voice of Navigator Othello sounded.
"Light Lord, I have good news to report. My House's Navigators have observed a common phenomenon that will occur in perhaps three or four days. Forgive me, I cannot quantify the exact time here."
"We call it Malick's Wind. At that time, there will be an area like a Warp rift, calm as a peaceful breeze by Warp standards."
"We can ride this wind and reach Tovendis."
"What are the risks?"
"Honored Lord," Othello chuckled softly, "there are always risks."
"That calm space within Malick's Wind might cause a ship to run aground, for a few days, a few weeks, or possibly forever."
"But the experience of House Orsellio proves it usually doesn't get that bad. That shouldn't be your primary concern."
"The most common occurrence is Gellar field fluctuation, causing crewmen to go mad."
His tone was helpless, yet also somewhat proud. "They don't have the firm will of us or the Astartes. They are affected by the tides and lose their minds."
"Understood. Plot the course." Wilshire ended the communication and immediately began formulating a plan to respond to potential threats in three or four standard ship cycles.
From the data-crystal the Black Emperor had given him, he had acquired some forbidden Imperial knowledge.
Knowledge that defied the Imperial Truth.
Daemons of Chaos exist within the Warp.
"Master of Vox." At Wilshire's call, an officer from the center of the bustling area approached.
"My Lord."
Wilshire nodded slightly. "Dispatch communication ships. Ensure all vessels, including our Feather-Quill Scions allies, understand our navigational plan."
"As you command, my Lord."
Wilshire then switched communication channels and ordered the Chapter's Librarians.
"Assign all Court members and Librarians to designated zones. Prepare for possible threats from daemons, Warp predators, and out-of-control crewmen."
"My Lord, that won't be a problem for us," the Astropath said confidently.
"Entering this region amplifies our psychic abilities. Even Codiciers can handle astropathic communication."
"As long as your orders aren't overly complex, I can relay them to the other ships."
"Maintain your Thelema mindstate when communicating." Wilshire reminded him before ending the call.
Four standard ship cycles later, Wilshire did not, like the mortal crew, frequently glance at the hanging clock.
The timer in his helmet told him the time. Only forty-two standard minutes remained until the end of this cycle.
Wilshire clasped his hands together, fingers pointing downwards, and silently intoned.
'May my Lord protect me.'
After repeating it eleven times, he unclasped his hands. Simultaneously, the Chief Navigator's voice sounded in his helmet comm.
"My Lord, Malick's Wind has risen. Requesting Warp transition."
"Granted!" Wilshire said decisively, simultaneously switching to the Chapter's comm channel.
"Alert!"
The black and grey-limestone ships cautiously began increasing their Warp engine power.
The aetheric glow, visible only to psykers, was clearly visible, but all viewports were shuttered, and no one witnessed it.
On the lower decks, laborer Jorinton sat on a crate, patting his oily pockets. His last ration card was gone.
He slammed a canister angrily on the ground. A few drops of remaining oil mixed with some greenish liquid spurted out.
Jorinton lunged like a starving dog, lapping up the liquor on the deck.
After a dozen seconds, his fist slammed onto the deck.
"Shit! How come those officers and Astartes get to drink fine liquor?"
Jorinton didn't actually know who on the ship could drink; he just heard things from others and let his imagination run wild.
He had just gotten up when he suddenly froze.
A cacophony of voices sounded in his ears. He looked around panicked, but saw no one.
He suddenly stopped. Madness slowly crept into his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah..."
"If they won't give it to me, I'll take it."
Jorinton grabbed a wrench from the crate. He strode to a copper pipe and smashed it twice with a clang.
A wave of heat struck him. His thin clothes became soaked.
"Damn!"
Jorinton winced in pain, but thinking of the liquor, he shook it off, ignoring his burns.
He hurried towards the supply depot. After a few dozen steps, he suddenly saw an oil-stained man holding a rusty box, taking small sips with an expression of enjoyment on his face.
It was the expression he himself wore when drinking liquor.
"Mine!"
Jorinton roared. The laborer flinched and looked up in surprise.
The copper pipe slammed into the laborer's face. Again and again.
Jorinton dropped the wrench, grabbed the lunchbox, and peered inside.
"Damn!"
Seeing that trace of green, he recognized it as porridge from the cauldron on the deck.
Jorinton picked up the wrench and smashed it into the back of the laborer's head.
"Pah!"
He spat and walked a couple of steps, then suddenly turned back and rummaged through the blood-spattered body.
Moments later, he found four yellow cards.
That was two days' wages for a lower deck worker, enough to live on for four days.
Though the old-timers said this treatment was better than most crew in other Legions, Jorinton was always dissatisfied.
He wanted liquor, lots of it.
Jorinton's eyes lit up. "Kill twenty-four more, and I can buy a bottle!"
The hissing voice sounded in his ears again. He slapped his hands together excitedly.
"Right, buy it? Kill that fat pig, and it's all mine!"
"Kill them all, kill them all..."
Jorinton shouted excitedly. He killed seven more laborers in a row, replacing the pipe with a knife.
As he approached the ninth laborer, the man looked up, saw the blood-soaked Jorinton, shouted, and ran.
"Die!"
In the center of the deck, a "Light Suppliant" heard the report from the deck enforcer and immediately rushed over.
"My Lord..." the enforcer exclaimed, hurrying to catch up.
He didn't know why this adjutant had come to the lower decks, and so urgently.
This was the enforcers' responsibility.
In three seconds, the "Light Suppliant" navigated the winding area and found the blood-soaked laborer swinging his wrench.
Thinking of his Lord's instructions, the "Light Suppliant" dared not delay. Two sun-like lights suddenly blazed in his eyes.
Light, like the midday sun, suddenly flared in the dim deck. The two fleeing laborers were momentarily blinded.
The "Light Suppliant" saw that "Sunshine" had not purified the enemy. A thought struck him.
'Could it be... I overestimated him?'
He didn't approach. Cautiously, he drew his archaeotech pistol.
A flash of stellar light. The laborer's body was instantly vaporized.
'Well, I definitely overestimated him.'
The "Light Suppliant" smiled wryly. His reaction had been overly cautious.
At the same moment, aboard the Shadow Song, 2nd Company Captain Olivier rushed to the upper decks.
He too raised his archaeotech pistol. A beam harvested from the planet's radiative layer lanced into a creature whose tongue was glued to the floor.
ZZZAAAAP!
Blood mist surged, but the daemon possessing the body did not fall.
The "Solar High Priest" spread his arms, as if to embrace it.
A pure, clear, brilliant, warm light descended from above, striking the daemon's head.
The daemon roared in fury, then rapidly dissipated in the "Holy Light Summoning."
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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