Chương 61: Chapter 59: The Calm After the Storm

POV: Nicole Considering how busy everyone is with the repair efforts, I was understandably caught off guard when my offer to help was met with a firm "No."

"Nicole. Child. You are the head of a noble house. You are the individual who has been recorded with the highest individual contributions to the recent ordeal. A one percent stake is an obscene amount of funds And I have a considerable amount of resources to now allocate across my fleet. You," he punctuates by pointing at me with an open hand "are too important for menial labor. Let the people of Ur-Haven and the swarms of Tech Adepts work. Go relax, rest, study, organize your house, or whatever you want.

The Emperor knows you'll have piles of paperwork to do soon. Ha!" Lord Drakios laughs before giving me several head pats and sauntering off. I blink and look around, but no one in my retinue of guards looks adverse to me taking it easy for a week.

"I'm going to take a nap. If you leave the ship, wake me up." Baldos grumbles, sounding bored before lumbering off. I ping Master Doll to inquire if he needs anything.

"Negative, I am merely initiating repairs on a selection of items I procured during the battle. I may ask for your aid with one of the later repairs. Feel free to work on your projects. Please remain on the ship." Master Doll almost stops there but seems to think better of it.

"Magos Zeta-9 Kane is a master logistical coordinator and he has things well in hand. His current plans are available for perusal in the Noosphere." Doll replies, Master isn't the type to offer undue praise, so Zeta-9 must be quite good at logistics.

"Alright, thank you, Master Doll. I will… take a break, I suppose." I head back towards the section containing the Cavalero House storage module. The Murder Servitors are all packed away back in their pods. I just hope we have enough room for all the Stalkers.

"Alright, Sci. Time for an inventory check. If you have any concerns or comments, speak them freely. One Cyclops, two Overlords, four Archers, and four Butchers. You purged the Swarmers before making contact due to high levels of corruption. A good choice." I comment as I pull out my auspex in one hand, datapad in the other.

"Confirmed. All units accounted for. Princeps Cavalerio." Sci replies politely. Sci has taken to using a more feminine tone for their synthesized voice, possibly due to their affection for Genta.

"Good! Now, your unit looks like it is mounted with a Storm Laser?" I ask as I approach the Cyclops unit. It's a lot smaller than the larger Overlords, but Sci is the brains of the swarm, literally.

"That's good, any units with Exo-planar weapons are to step to the right side. We will be replacing those immediately. Warp-based weaponry will not be permitted." I watch as two of the Archer units and one of the Overlords scuttle to the indicated position.

"Now, Sci, are you content with the Storm Laser? We could swap you to the Scintillax lascutter. Thanks to you providing all the weapon schematics for your units, I can confirm that producing one for you is doable." I explain with a smile.

"Would it be possible to replace the assembly with a dual-purpose mount to swap between the two as needed?" Sci asks. I perk up and consider the idea.

"I could do so for your Cyclops unit, however, the time, materials, and effort to do so for the other units is not feasible at this time. Producing more Stalker units for your squad is also out of the question for now. Getting permissions to do that will likely take a great deal of finesse, and only once you prove yourselves useful and obedient over long periods of time. Not to mention the resource costs. Even if I know you're fully loyal to me." I say, shaking my head and sighing.

"That is acceptable. I thank you." Sci says. Her bright red iris is blinking at me as she lowers her main chassis.

"Right. Any issues with your shield projector? Armour plates? Joints? Limb Actuators? Noospheric Controller? Cyber Cortex?" I ask as I walk around Sci in a circle.

"I am several centuries behind on my primary reactor maintenance. One armour plate has significant corrosion and requires replacement. Sensor suite could use calibration." Sci vocalized.

"Alright, we'll fix all of those issues. For the Archers, we can't replicate the Volkite Culverins, so the Stalker Maxima Bolters are the only real option there. The Overlords will both end up with one Storm laser array and a set of Serperos Lascutters. I do not want to even try to get permission for an Irradiation engine that's almost as bad as the Exo-planar bombard." I say, shaking my head and chuckling." Those are acceptable," Sci replies considerately.

"That leaves us with one Vulkite Archer, and the one that already has the bolters. Of the four Butchers, two have the Errax meltagun loadout, one has maxima bolters, and the last one has lascutters. We'll get them all checked over and back in prime condition." I look around and hum softly.

"Correct. What is to be our purpose?" Sci inquires, her tone curious yet respectful.

"Well, I figure your swarm could provide support, your Stalkers would provide a similar role to knight titans in our maniple. Which you would probably work with when I eventually field my titan and rebuild my legion. I am glad you can fold up because the Overlords take up a lot of space." I explain to Sci. Sci nods and seems content.

"That is a fine purpose. We are willing to serve. Mistress Cavalerio."

"Great! Now, how do you feel about a makeover? I'm thinking Cavalerio blue, silver, and some Mechanicus red mixed in with some Mechanicus symbology on your outer armour layers?" I ask with a grin. —---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Handling the refit of the Stalkers is a nice distraction, but it's not quite enough to occupy me for the entire week. It was just a shame that Sci's memories of Chrom seem to have been purged.

The Stalker could recall the parts of Mars linked to when she first gained awareness, but after that, much of it had been redacted and purged from her memory banks. I lean back against the bench in the observation dome, sipping my tea as I sit. In the distance the wreck of the Rak'Gol Mangler is pulled free from the Hulk by a series of massive chains tied to the heavy tugboats and the Purest Shadow and towed towards the broken Silver Tower where various corrupted bits have accumulated into a big ball of nope.

I glance around at the scorch marks on the floor a little ways off. I looked into it, and apparently, the painter noble Santar Von… whatever his name was, and a few other lucky survivors, are still unconscious. Psychically induced comas, according to the specialists, none of them are currently possessed, though several show signs of prior possession. Lord Striker had checked them using an artifact of some sort.

Lucky for them they didn't get sacrificed to fuel the warp portal or killed out of hand by the boarding party. Or killed by chance in the following mayhem. I lean back and close my eyes, and let my psychic sense stretch outward. The range has increased by a few meters thanks to my progress with the original's memories, although the advanced psychic lessons continue to be tricky. Nicole's original tutors liked to parrot quotes from other powerful psykers.

One such quote I even recognized from Malcador himself: "Power without control is a fire that burns the world and the soul alike." My power will increase, but my implants make sure I never exceed the limits of my control. When my head starts to throb from accumulating psychic strain, I switch to a different topic. Given the Eldar are around, I've decided to figure out their language.

Thankfully, the Inquisitor has an entire database of Xenos languages onboard the Purest Shadow, which I gain access to after making a polite request. I was terrible with languages before my reincarnation but with my ability to process absurd amounts of information, learning the runic systems and bizarre pronunciations feels nearly effortless.

After the Aeldari lexicon, I started dabbling in Necrontyr, the most common Ork dialects, Jokaero sign language, the Tau lexicon, and even a bit of Votann which has a heavy European accent like a strange conglomeration of Celtic languages. My thoughts drift, and I shudder as I remember the pile of paperwork I discovered in my quarters after Lord Drakios's comment. I can handle the digital paperwork in the Noosphere but that mountain of physical documents caused me physical discomfort with its mere presence.

"Lael… I've decided to delegate. I am putting you in charge of finding and hiring two Administratum scribes to handle house legislature for our family. Thoroughly vetted - and let them know that Volitor implants are mandatory, but additional cybernetic implants are negotiable. They should have a strong sense of self and a strong will." I sip from my cup of tea and giggle.

"They must be willing to travel and, in the most dire circumstances, fight the enemies of Mankind." I joke, but Lael just nods thoughtfully as she nurses her cup of perfectly brewed tea.

"Wait… Do I need maids?" I turn and squint at the Sister who had made us the tea.

"You're not a maid." As if the bolter slung behind her modest dress wasn't a dead giveaway.

"I wouldn't say 'no' to having my maids be armed, though."

"No, ma'am. My name is Sister Swift. In the abbey, I am well known for making the best tea. I am pleased my brewing meets the expectations of the Saint and your Ladyship." She replies with a polite bow. I hum thoughtfully. I hold up a few fingers and count off.

"Right, we need paper pushers, an accountant or five - proper nobles' servants. Not that I mind the Sisters helping out, but we might need proper ones for appearances on other worlds, and we need more potential knight pilots and Princeps candidates." I mutter before pausing. I gasp and sit up.

"I need Secutarii!" I spin around.

"Delta-A3! You are promoted to the head of my Secutarii. Wait, are you even allowed to be an Axiarch? Ehh… find out, and if so, you have permission to start recruiting. I'm going to need to find the design schematic for Kyropatris field generators." I mutter as I go to stand up, ready to run off to the archives, only for a message from Master Doll to appear in the Noosphere." You can worry about amassing an army of Secutarii when you recover your God Engine.

You have already used your entire allotment of forge time for this week on the Stalkers. GO. REST. CHILD." Doll didn't need to put quite so much emphasis on the last part. I feel like a chastised child, which I realize after a minute of self-reflection is not entirely inaccurate. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"I'm going to go take a bath and then sleep. In three days, we plunder the Space Hulk!" I declare boldly. Getting amused looks from Lael, the Sisters, and my Skitarii guards. —------------------------------------------------------------------- POV: Lord Inquisitor Agatha Striker Agatha sighed. It had been a good week, great even, all things considered. But that only made the nagging sense of annoyance all the more irritating. The preparations for the exploration of the Hulk were progressing smoothly.

The Rak'Gol vessel had been removed with surgical, mechanical efficiency and transferred alongside the Tower wreck for proper disposal.

"Something wrong, my Lord?" one of her trusted Interrogators asked, glancing up from his dataslate.

"The girl. Genta." Agatha said, her tone clipped.

"She's passed all the latest Mechanicus tests of faith?"

"Yes, ma'am. The Astartes were present and confirmed the results." Agatha sighed again, this time with a mixture of exasperation and resignation.

"How long can we reasonably hold onto her without offending the Princeps?" The Interrogator hesitated, then answered, "A few weeks, perhaps? You want to keep her around, ma'am?" Agatha slid a dataslate across the table toward him.

"Of course I want to keep her. Do you have any idea how useful and rare that sight mutation of hers is? After just the first round of tests, we confirmed she can identify individuals whose souls are tainted by Chaos. All the benefits of a skilled mentalist psyker without the major risks." Her voice dropped, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"I purged over a hundred crew members this week alone. One of them was already possessed by a daemon. All of them were triple checked, and she hasn't been wrong once." She leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers in thought.

"I've been parading suspicious individuals past her as often as possible. If she didn't belong to the Princeps I would have requisitioned her already. She's obedient, intelligent, skilled with machines... and that movement mutation has very interesting infiltration potential." She paused. Then, almost reluctantly, shook her head.

"Give her additional formal training preparation for dealing with nobles and high society. That should buy us a week. After that, shift her to basic and advanced weapons training. Armor, too. Throw in a course on Imperial history. That should justify keeping her for at least a month before we're forced to hand her over to their Venatorii Magos for additional screening." She signed off the documents with a swift, practiced motion.

"Enough about the girl," she continued, brushing the matter aside.

"Any issues with the removal of the corrupted ship parts?"

"A few minor incidents, but nothing significant," the Interrogator replied.

"The local Mechanicus contingent is going beyond standard protocol—precautionary measures. A few penal laborers and servitors had to be terminated after exhibiting signs of mutation or possession." He seemed almost pleased by the efficiency of it. Agatha turned to another of her analysts.

"What about the Governor's training initiative? Viable?" Agatha was intrigued by his initiative.

"He's already begun recruitment and training. It's ambitious, but he's executing it well. We could use ten thousand more trained ship crewmen-if they pass muster. Our embedded agent confirms his motives are simple: remain in our favor, rebuild local naval forces, and trade the trained personnel for resource shares and hulls." Agatha nodded once, satisfied with the thorough answer.

"And the Eldar?" She asked.

"They've begun excavation of their vessel. Anvial has been evasive. He won't specify what they're seeking in the wreck. The ship itself is unsalvageable, so their objective must be something or someone inside. Reports confirm a significant number of Wraith constructs guarding the site. At least two Wraithlords. We've opted not to press further."

"I see, we'll keep monitoring the situation. Have we cleared the Hive of Woe of the artifacts the Princeps warned us about?" Agatha asked, the Heavy Cruiser was currently being towed to one of the Halo's empty berths opposite the hulk.

"Yes… But." He hesitated, and Agatha narrowed her eyes.

"What is it?" She asked coldly.

"We confirmed the crystal is a Speculum Umbrae. While we would normally destroy the device. One of your peers in Malleus has put out a request for such a device for study. The other artifact, the book, was a daemon weapon and was sealed and put in storage with the rest as per protocol."

"Which peer?" Agatha asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Lord Inquisitor Severan Khol Ma'am" She clicked her tongue.

"That prickly Malleus bastard? Fine, secure it in one of the null boxes." He was lucky she owed him a favor.

"That's another issue, we are running low on the high-security suppression containers. We have recovered a concerning number of heretical items, and even more have been selected for incineration." Agatha looked around. She had worked her team hard the past week.

"If we run out, notify me, and we can prioritize certain items. Good job, everyone. You're doing the Emperor's work. Keep up the good work." She praised them. Agatha turned to her accountant, "I know we won't be able to tally everything until the hulk is thoroughly explored and the hulls are inspected, but how goes the appraisal?" She asked.

"My Lord, I expect we are about to leave Ur-Haven with a considerable amount of wealth. Rest assured, I will extract the maximum value from your ten percent stake and prioritize any items you desire." The skinny man adjusted his glasses and flashed a tooth-filled grin.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------- POV: Farseer Anvial Veilwalker Anvial made his way into the depths of the Hulk, his footsteps silent beside the towering wraithbone form of his grandmother and the solemn procession of wraith constructs that followed. The ghostly light of spirit stones pulsed faintly in the dim interior, casting elongated shadows against the warped metal corridors and ruins.

"You are certain this is necessary, Grandmother?" he asked, his voice low, uncertain. The cryptic summons she had received gnawed at him, an echo of something half-remembered and wholly unspoken.

"Yes," she replied, her tone layered with ancient finality.

"We will recover the soulstones of the fallen, and any artifacts or relics still of use. Then, we shall open the gateway to aid one of our kin. A task long unfinished must be completed." Her words, as ever, left more questions than answers. The vessel embedded in the Hulk was unmistakably Aeldari, a transport ship, humble in design, its grace now swallowed by violence and entropy. The once elegant wraithbone hull lay cracked and sundered, fused with twisted alien metal and overgrown rock.

The prow had been crushed, its stabilizing fins torn asunder like petals in a storm. Anvial approached the fractured side of the ship and began to hum a low, harmonic tone. Wraithbone, even wounded, remembered its purpose. Responding to the song, a seam in the hull shivered and parted, revealing a darkened passage within. He stepped through, frowning at the sight that greeted him. The air was stale, thick with the scent of old death and ancient dust. Time had moved strangely here.

Though the atmosphere lingered in this sealed bubble, it had done nothing to preserve it. Rather, it had hastened the corrosion of all things: spiritglass dulled, wraithbone splintered, symbols of his people's legacy decayed into the murk of forgetfulness. He bowed his head, a silent lament stirring in his mind. So many had been lost. Anvial stepped through the wraithbone aperture, the inner corridors of the vessel groaning softly as if exhaling after millennia of silence.

The light of the outer Hulk dimmed behind him, replaced by a faint glow from spirit stones embedded in the walls, most of which were hollow and empty. The air was heavy with memory. Every surface hummed with the psychic residue of suffering, sacrifice, and silence. He reached out, placing a gloved hand on the nearest wall, his spirit brushing against the remnants of the ship's fractured matrix. It barely responded to his touch, and he sighed. His grandmother and the wraith constructs followed in solemn procession.

Their presence steadied him.

"We are close," she murmured, voice like a wind across old bone.

"It lies deeper, near the soul vault." They moved through collapsed chambers and corridors half-swallowed by alien growth. At last, they came to a circular chamber at the heart of the wreck, partially shielded from decay. Wraithbone pylons ringed the room, dark and inert. At its center, a basin of polished crystal lay dormant, its surface veiled by layers of dust and psychic residue. Anvial placed the dark spirit stone into the crystalline basin.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened, then a low, harmonic thrum pulsed outward, shaking the dust from the chamber's high ceiling. The wraithbone pylons shimmered to life, veins of light tracing ancient patterns that even Anvial, Farseer though he was, could not fully decipher. The gate awoke. In the basin's center, reality folded inward, space and light collapsing into a mirror of impossible depth. From that impossible fissure stepped a figure.

He moved with an otherworldly grace, his presence like the flicker of a flame glimpsed through a mirror. His bodysuit was adorned in patterns that defied logic, blacks and silvers shifting subtly in ways that made one's eyes ache. His mask was a fanged, laughing face contorted into a sneer with two curved horns jutting from the forehead. A Solitaire. Anvial's breath caught in his throat. Every soul in the chamber, living and dead, seemed to recoil at the psychic weight the figure carried.

Even the Wraithguard froze, their animating spirits shivering in their crystal hearts. The Solitaire turned his head slowly, gaze settling on Anvial. For a moment, there was only silence. Then, he spoke. His voice was not loud, but it carried through the chamber like a blade through silk.

"Where is she?" Anvial's heart skipped. His grandmother stiffened beside him.

"She's here. The Fateless One. That is who you seek, is it not Stillness in Motion?" she murmured, more to herself than to him. The Solitaire said nothing more. He waited, perfectly still, as if time itself had paused to hear the answer.

"Finally!" He hissed before he turned and vanished. Anvial looked to his grandmother.

"What was that?" She did not answer. Because some questions did not yet have answers, and some answers came only with the end of the dance. The dance had only just begun.