WARP SPAWN
Matt Ralphs


PETTY OFFICER DRANT manoeuvred his wheelchair closer to the edge of the loading ramp and peered out into the gloom. The light from the cargo hold spilled out before him, illuminating a portion of the landing compound; it looked like a vast frozen lake, shining dully in the encroaching dusk. He drummed his fingers nervously on the arm rests and shivered as frigid tendrils of cold penetrated through his tunic. The crisp evening chill steamed his breath and he blew on his fingers, inwardly cursing his captain, who at this very minute was probably tucked up in bed. As far as his aging eyes could tell, the cargo port was empty and still. He cursed and waited, stewing in his own disquiet.
Where were they?
A few small spacecraft, mostly private merchant clippers, sat squat and silent, their hulls softly lit up orange by the sodium lamps that battled valiantly against the deepening dark. These ships, although large, were dwarfed by the vessel Drant looked out from. Guild Freighter Sable Bess, half a mile from stubby snout to square cut fins, loomed up massively. Her holds were laden with military supplies destined for the Imperial Guard, and she patiently waited for departure at dawn.
But she was not yet fully laden. There was more cargo still to arrive.
Drant activated a comm-link on the bulkhead and it buzzed into life.
'Private link, captain's quarters,' he whispered.
'Unable to respond. Please speak up,' a mechanical voice replied.
Drant smacked the offending device in exasperation.
'Private link, captain's quarters,' he repeated, louder this time.
He waited, fidgeting nervously - then looked round towards the loading ramp, his pale face panicked.
Voices!
He retreated back into the shadows behind a bulkhead mainstay, terrified by the seemingly deafening noise his chair made in the quiet that surely anyone could hear. In his haste to hide he bumped into a loading cradle, toppling a precariously balanced pot of grease which he managed to grab in the second that two arbites rounded the corner onto the ramp. They stopped and peered up, shining their torches into the hold.
At that moment the comm-link connection to the captain's quarters was made and the line opened with a crackle. Drant's eyes widened and his grip on the slippery pot slipped; it overturned, spilling two litres of stinking axle grease onto his uniform.
The arbites heard the comms unit bleep, and hurried up the ramp. A rough voice, heavy with sleep, crackled over the connection.
'Captain Matteus here. That you, Drant?'
The arbites exchanged perplexed looks, and one touched the ''respond'' icon.
'Er, good evening, captain, this is perimeter patrol, Private Hu speaking. Any reason you're paging an empty hold?'
Drant held his breath, waiting for his captain's reply. S'blood, it'd better be good! There was a slight pause, then: 'Dammit, that connection's still faulty. Where're you speaking from trooper?'
'Says hold one-forty on the floor, sir,' Hu replied, slightly bemused.
'Answer me this, Hu. How can a freighter captain such as myself, charged with supplying the brave men of the Imperial Guard with important equipment, be expected to run a tight ship when his supposed comm-link with engineering patches him through to an empty cargo hold?'
Drant could see Hu grin at his colleague, and relief swept through him. They were going to get away with it!
'I can't answer that, sir,' Hu chuckled. 'But I suggest you get it fixed before departure.'
'Good advice, trooper. Thanks for checking up on us. I'd better close that hold door now.'
'Understood, sir. Safe voyage.'
'Emperor protects.'
The connection clicked off.
Drant let out his breath as the arbites ambled down the ramp, idly swinging their power mauls, and disappeared into the night. He whirred back over to the comms-unit and re-connected back to the captain's quarters.
'That actually you, this time, Drant?' Matteus growled.
'Yes, sir,' Drant replied. He kept the exasperation he felt out of his voice and replaced it a weary tone of irony. 'Our extra cargo is not here and the compound arbites are, as you've just experienced, somewhat alert tonight.'
'I should hope they are, that's their job. And calm down, our cargo will be here. They paid in advance so I don't much care if they turn up or not, though I suspect they will. They seemed… keen, shall we say, to leave this sector entirely. Told me the local gangers were after them. Behind in protection money. Sad.' Matteus paused as if reflecting on something. 'They had a little girl too…'
'You and your hard luck cases,' Drant muttered. 'We were nearly caught with those Cumanian refugees in the silage ducts last year. I don't need this kind of excitement. It was too much excitement that lost me my legs.'
'Then you've nothing to worry about, old friend,' Matteus replied slyly. 'You can't lose your legs twice.'
The connection cut off, leaving Drant alone again in the silent cold. He scanned the perimeter of the compound for any signs of movement, getting more nervous with every passing minute. The next half hour dragged by until two figures carrying a limp bundle appeared from behind some loading frames and dashed over to the cargo ramp. He didn't know whether to feel relieved or frightened.

AFTER A SUCCESSFUL launch, with the planet Vrantis III receding into nothing more than a bright light behind her, the Sable Bess began preparations for the warp jump. Her decks were alive with activity as the crew busied themselves with maintenance and routine duties. Captain Matteus found Drant outside the infirmary.
'All well?' he asked.
Drant eyed him darkly. 'Well enough. They're in hold one-forty.'
'Good. As planned then,' Matteus replied. 'Was the girl with them?'
Drant regarded his captain shrewdly. 'Is that why you took this contract on, Matteus? Because of the little girl?'
Matteus glanced down, 'They paid. That's all the reason I need.'
Drant snorted, unconvinced. 'She was asleep, looked dead to the world.'
The phrase echoed in Matteus's mind.
Dead to the world. She's dead to me now, or may as well be. Where is she now? While she is gone, I will know no peace. Ten years since… It felt like a prison sentence.
Matteus collected himself, as Drant looked on trying to read his inscrutable face.
'Check on them would you, Drant? Make sure the child's not sick.' He paused, thinking, 'I may move them somewhere more comfortable for the journey.'
Drant grunted and whirred off down the corridor. Matteus closed his eyes for a second, then turned on his heel and strode towards the bridge.

A SCENE OF organised chaos greeted him when he arrived. He watched the hurried preparations from a darkened alcove in the bulkhead. He could see Lieutenant Eusoph, his rangy second-in-command gesticulating to the pilots as they busily entered data into the ship's main computing engine and conducted last minute safety precautions. Dozens of servitors crouched before banks of machinery, checking and cross-checking numbers that flooded their screens in endless reams. Black-clad crewmen hurried around taking gauge readings; and amongst all this movement and bustle two robed tech-adepts glided, anointing both men and machines with blessed oil from silver tureens. Noticing Matteus in the shadows, Eusoph looked questioningly at him, but his captain waved his hand, allowing him to continue conducting the final preparations himself.
The atmosphere was tense. Matteus had lost count of how many warp jumps he had undertaken, but always he felt a giddy, nervous excitement at this point in the proceedings. Safety checks be damned, he thought; we're in the power of the warp now, anything can happen.
'One minute,' Eusoph snapped over the bridge-vox. 'Be ready.'
The noise and flurry of activity slowly petered out and then ceased altogether. All eyes turned to the huge stained glass window that monopolised the starboard side of the bridge. The coloured glass depicted a stylised outline of the Bess surrounded by a halo of protective light, which was itself surrounded by a horde of ravening daemons. This impressive diorama was part of a wall that sealed off the navigator's chamber. The bridge crew stared at the twisted and wizened man behind the window, who himself overlooked them from a cradle that hung on dozens of chains from the high ceiling. He looked like a living sacrifice.
Although the imperfect surface of the window blurred and distorted his form he could clearly be discerned; silent, apart, but omnipresent to a crew that regarded him with a mixture of fear and awe. His body was wrapped in a harness of interlinked straps that swung gently to and fro. A mass of cables and wires extruded from the mummified creatures' face, linking him to the ship's navigation equipment and the engine servitors below decks. The only human features visible were sightless milky eyes, flat nostrils and the thin line of his mouth. The third eye that allowed this otherwise blind man insight into the flux of the warp was hidden by a circular metal plate, which fitted snugly around his domed forehead. Upon this was etched the outline of a staring eye.
Eusoph cleared his throat. 'Navigator?' he prompted.
The cocooned man shuddered, as if waking from a deep sleep. His mouth opened and a voice like sandpaper on rust rasped over the vox-com.
'I am ready,' he said. From the floor before him a large screen rose up elegantly on a jointed support pillar. His mind activated the metal plate on his head which opened up like a flower, allowing his third eye access to the warp field as it appeared on the screen. 'The warp is ready,' he said after a few seconds. 'It is time.'
Eusoph nodded. 'Blast shields down,' he said.
Matteus gazed out of the viewing port before him. Staring back was a vista of stars, bright and clear against the blackness. It was starkly and coldly beautiful. Matteus shivered. With a heavy grating sound, a thick shield began to lower over the forward windows and the stars blinked out one by one as it slowly ground down into position. With a solid thump it stopped and locking bolts snapped into place.
Tech-Priest Iotep Kull, garbed in a silver trimmed black cowl, bowed low before the main engine control board, and whispered the final initiation sequence that would ignite the warp engines. A deep booming throb began to seep up from the decks below, as the power unleashed from the warp core in the bowels of the ship was distributed to the engines themselves: the Machine God was awake. Matteus could feel it emanating through the soles of his boots.
'Prepare for warp entry,' Eusoph said, his voice tight with tension. 'On the captain's command.'
Matteus settled down into his giant leather chair, savouring the moment, 'Now, if you please,' he said, indicating to Kull. Kull, flanked on either side by two priests swinging incense pendulums, lifted his face up to the towering bank of instruments that blinked with dozens of glowing runes. Streams of heavy smelling vapour issued forth from fluted pipes to settle in miasmic layers around his feet.
'Ignis, aduro, illustro!' he intoned.
The engines crackled into violent life and the ship lunged forward. The navigator strained to steady the vessel as she nosed past the forced rent in the fabric of space and into the warp. Matteus leant forward in his chair, feeling the intensity of the merciless pressure winds buffeting them. In the face of this unmanageable power and fury, he felt helplessness and futility deaden him to his core. It was a personal struggle against his own inadequacies that he battled with during every warp jump.
The navigator's scratchy voice rattled over the vox: 'The warp has swallowed us whole.'
Eusoph flicked off the vox-link.
Brock, the security officer, watched the crew for telltale signs of warp psychosis. Seeing none, he relaxed a little. The danger period passed and the bridge crew settled back to their respective duties, anticipating another uneventful journey through one of the safest supply routes in Imperial space.
'Into the maelstrom,' Matteus whispered.
The reserve navigator, curled up in his cot in a recess in the bulkhead and lost in a deep slumber, twitched and whimpered.

THE LIFT SCREECHED slowly down on grime encrusted runnels and settled heavily on the deck. Drant heaved the rusty lattice door open and activated his chair. As he whined down the dank corridor, inquisitive rats poked sleek black muzzles from out of their holes to see what the intrusion was. He ducked his head rhythmically to pass under hissing overhead pipes and wrinkled his nose as the heavy odour of promethium fuel battered his nostrils. For centuries the Sable Bess had been a tanker until she was downgraded to a dry freight vessel. She was now consigned to an easy routine, supplying non-essentials manufactured on Vrantis III to the Imperial Guard garrison on Jared's World, deep inside Imperium controlled space.
The name Sable Bess was derived from the black fuel she once towed from supply depot to war-zone, in the more exciting period of her career. But that time was now passed. Her former cargo's powerful smell hung in her holds and corridors, dormitories and gangways like a pungent ghost from the past. The stench was particularly bad near the stern where hold one-forty was situated. Drant glided down the corridor, enjoying the quiet.
He reached the hold door. It towered above him, a rusty orange colour with dark streaks smeared down its length. Under the layer of dirt was painted ''140''. He punched in the relevant code on the rune pad set into the door frame. With a grinding roar the huge doors heaved apart and Drant was momentarily stunned by the smell of promethium that wafted over him. But he was more stunned by the scene that confronted him inside compartment one forty.
The hold opened out immeasurably on either side, the walls receding into darkness. Two portable glow-globes, plugged into the door mechanism lit up an area of floor about fifteen yards distant. Several packing cases had been pushed together to form a makeshift table. Lying on this was a little girl. Her face, white as cotton and turned towards Drant, was fixed with a livid expression of despair; frightened eyes, framed within dark rings of fatigue, were wide open and alive with movement. Her mouth, the edges pulled down in an expression of utter misery, oozed drool. Spittle flicked and her pink tongue lolled grotesquely behind white baby teeth. She hissed as her thin body bucked and arched from the table as if caught in an uncontrollable spasm of agony.
Over her, stooped with intent, was a man. In his bony hand he held a long, liquid filled syringe that was poised over the struggling girl's neck. At the sound of the opening door he looked up, alarmed. Seeing Drant, he roared with fury and before the medic could react, lunged for him.

WHEN MATTEUS WAS assured his ship was safely on its way, he handed over the bridge to Eusoph and headed to hold one-forty to see to his stowaways.
As he rounded a corner, whistling lightly through his teeth, the ship lurched, throwing him heavily against the wall. Deafening klaxons sounded and the light globes in the ceiling dimmed, flickered and came back on a deep orange hue. Underneath the noise of the alarms Matteus heard the ship's superstructure groaning like a stricken beast; dread twisted his guts as the noise grew. He reached out a hand to steady himself against the bulkhead and he felt it shiver under his touch.
For a split second his mind flashed back ten years…
…the sickening crunch as the eldar corsairs latched onto his vessel. The ruptured hull imploding inwards. The billowing smoke and crackling flames. The murderous boarding crews, screaming like banshees, seizing his cargo. And his child…
Clutching his numbed arm and regaining his shocked senses, Matteus found a vox-corn control on the wall.
'Bridge, this is the captain. What's going on up there?' he said, fighting to hide the panic in his speech.
Eusoph answered, his voice strained but controlled: 'We don't know. You'd better get up here quick.'
In the background Matteus could hear the clamouc of the bridge crew, and men shouting urgent orders.
'Did we hit something? Any sign of intruders?'
'No, and there's no damage that we can tell. As yet…'
Matteus winced as the hull around him quivered, sending shallow shockwaves down the length of the corridor. The light above his head shattered in a shower of bright sparks. He cowered as slivers of glass rained down, pattering onto his head and shoulders.
'Tell that to the Bess! On my way. And for the love of all that is holy, turn off these alarms.'
Still holding his arm, Matteus pounded back up the passageway as the ship strained and protested around him.

DRANT'S VISION WAS filled by the quivering needle just an inch from his eye and a rabidly angry face looming behind it. The man's knee was on Drant's chest and his elevation over the chair-bound medic gave him an advantage; but Drant had once been a corporal in the Imperial Guard and, although disabled, he was stronger than most able-bodied men. With one meaty hand he clutched the man's throat, and with the other his thin wrist; but still the point edged closer. Drant struggled, heart beating fast; all he could see was the wicked looking needle, one drop of clear liquid hanging like a tear from its tip.
Then the ship reeled, and the lock was broken. Losing his balance, the man pitched over Drant's chair and in doing so sent him rolling back against the bulkhead. All the lights went out, plunging the hold into darkness. For a second the light fizzled back into life and Drant had a snapshot of the man picking himself up; and someone else, slight of build and with raven black hair covering her face, leaning over the comatose child who now lay crumpled on the ground.
Blackness returned. He could hear movement, and urgent whispers that echoed confusingly around the enormous hold. Then it went quiet.
Drant tried to control his ragged breathing. He'd seen plenty of combat in his Imperial Guard days, so fear was not new to him, but being consigned to a wheelchair had been an agonizing test of faith and character. He had adapted, with the help of the Emperor. But now his lack of mobility frustrated him; he was fully aware that this disadvantage could be the death of him. He switched off his chair motors, knowing that their use would alert his enemy to his position. He began to roll towards where he thought the door was by turning the wheels manually. Seconds passed. Straining his ears and eyes for his aggressor, he trundled on with agonising slowness. He could see a faint light outlining the door frame. Evidently some of the glow-globes in the corridor had not gone out.
Nearly there… ten more yards…
There was a sudden rush of movement and something heavy collided with his chair, tipping Drant over onto his side. He grunted as all the air was knocked from his lungs. The man brought all his weight to bear and Drant was rendered completely immobile. Hot breath rasped into his ear and a voice, scratchy and cold said, 'This is not your business, cripple.'
Drant, terrified and helpless, felt something cold and sharp against his cheek; it slid smoothly under the skin. He pictured the man's white skinny thumb over the syringe plunger, about to press…
A buzzing sound filled the room and the lights burst back on, burning bright and harsh. Shouts invaded his petrified mind even as all he could think about was the needle in his flesh. There was a guttural roar of violent rage above and the weight of the man on top of him was suddenly gone. From the corner of his eye Drant saw him sprawl onto the ground, robes flying around him and limbs flailing. He smashed into a packing case and fell limp. His neck rested at an ugly, crooked angle; Drant knew he was dead. Towering over the corpse stood a mountain of uniformed muscle, it was Gunnar Larson, the captain's mate, and huddled against the table was the raven-haired woman, cradling the child in her arms. As Gunnar approached her, she snarled, mouth twisting into an ugly grimace.
Drant clawed at the needle that was still embedded in him, pulling it loose. He felt relief beyond measure when he saw that it was still full of liquid. Strong hands gathered him up and set his chair upright. He looked up into the concerned features of Brock, the security officer.
'Drant, can you tell what in the Emperor's name is going on?'

MATTEUS GAZED MORTIFIED at the ravaged mess behind the stained glass window. The navigator hung half out of his harness, face a tormented mask of agony. Reddy-brown rents ran down his cheeks and, where his warp-eye should have been, was just a raw crimson pit weeping pus and blood.
'What… what did this?' Matteus stammered.
'He did it to himself,' Eusoph said. Matteus looked at him dumbly. Eusoph pointed to the navigator.
'Look at his arm.'
Matteus saw that one scrawny limb rested by his side. He had somehow managed to free it from the restraints. His fingers were curled into claws and stained with dark cerise fluid. The pipes and cables that made up the navigator's delicate connection with the ship had been ripped from his head, leaving deep welts in his ashen skin.
'One minute all systems were functioning and the navigator was guiding us,' Eusoph continued. 'Then he screamed something over the vox. A warning I think, but incoherent. Then he tore himself apart. He used his restraining buckle to pierce his eyes.' Eusoph swallowed. 'There was nothing we could do but watch.'
Matteus tore his gaze from the dead navigator. 'What's our current status?'
'The Bess is stable but we're adrift within the warp,' Eusoph said. He looked at the dead man. 'Some sort of exposure to the outside elements may have caused this but we should be safe, the navigator's chamber is completely sealed off.'
Matteus calmed a little. Around them, bridge officers barked orders and conflag-servitors were dousing dozens of small fires that had broken out. Smoke filtered away through ceiling vents, and a semblance of order was being restored.
'Organise damage teams to inspect every rivet and bolt on this ship, and I want all tech-priests testing warding beacons and protective veins. Get them preying to their blasted Machine God, whatever…' Matteus checked himself. I must keep calm, he said inwardly. 'I want our secondary navigator linked up in half an hour.'
Eusoph looked troubled, 'We can't wake him. He's in some unholy trance. Filthy psychers, I don't understand them. It will take time to rouse him.' He paused, as if assessing whether he should tell his visibly shocked captain any more.
'There's something else.'
'Go on.'
'Someone's opened compartment one-forty, and there's no reason for anyone to do that. It's empty. I've sent Brock and Gunnar down to see.'
As if on cue the vox-com crackled into life.
'Bridge, this is Brock. We've some uninvited guests. One dead man, one unconscious girl, and one woman screaming blue murder.' In the background Matteus could hear a woman's shrill cries of despair. Brock's voice faded from the voice pick-up. 'Gunnar, shut that harpy up, for Terra's sake.' A slap rang out, followed by silence. Brock spoke back into the vox-com. 'I'm taking the woman to the brig and Drant's going to see to the child in the medi-bay. And what the hell happened to the ship? I almost fell over the gantry on the way here.'
'Tell Drant I'll meet him in the medi-bay. Then I'll see you in the brig. Find out what you can from her, and don't stand on ceremony. I'll talk to you then.' Matteus looked down guiltily, 'Is Drant alright?'
'He's had a narrow escape. This maniac was trying to stick him with a needle as long as my arm. But he's fine.'
Matteus breathed a sigh of relief. 'I'll meet you in the brig.'
'Acknowledged. Brock out.'
Eusoph raised an enquiring eyebrow, 'Who or what was in hold one-forty, captain?'
'I'll deal with that,' Matteus replied, trying to sound as neutral as possible. 'Eusoph, you have the bridge. Get us moving again.' He cast a nervous glance around him, as if expecting daemons to appear through the bulkhead, then strode hurriedly off the bridge. Eusoph stared after him, eyebrow still raised.

BROCK LIFTED THE woman's face up by her hair and looked into challenging black eyes. Manacled to the wall of the brig cell, she glared defiantly back at him, her mouth horribly swollen from where Gunnar had slapped her. Brock kept his expression contemptuous, but in truth the woman disturbed him. She was young, but her face had a haggered look that belied her youth, as if she had seen things so terrible they had aged her prematurely. It made him feel uncomfortable. She held him with her eyes and the depth of experience he perceived within them intimidated him further. A thrill of fear shivered up his spine.
She spat back into his face and the spell was broken. Eusoph smacked her hard around the face, angry at himself for losing concentration. She recoiled, ugly words pouring from her lips.
'Who are you?' Brock shouted, wiping the spittle from his face. 'And what in the Emperor's name were you doing to the child?'
A few seconds passed, and then she looked up, her face calm, 'I would never expect you to understand.' Her voice was soft and seductive, totally at odds with her weathered, beaten face; her words were tinged with a strange, melodious accent that Brock could not place. But underneath was an unmistakable undertone, like steel under satin, hard and unforgiving. 'All I know is that you will die.'
Chief Brock frowned, momentarily disconcerted, but he quickly regained composure.
'You can talk or you can remain silent. It matters not.' He smiled a thin smile. 'We are reviving that poor girl. She will tell us what we want to know.' He stepped back to see her reaction and was shocked by its vehemence.
Her eyes widened in panic and all composure fled her face. She had a slender frame but became possessed of a strength born of terror; words gabbled from her mouth and she struggled with her bonds, arms straining and fingers bent into talons.
'No, don't wake her!' she screeched. 'Keep her dormant. They will find her, it will find her.' Her last sentence was screamed at nerve shredding volume: 'You don't know what she is!'

MATTEUS ENTERED THE medi-bay, blinking in the unforgiving glare of the lights. The infirmary was a sterile white; a room of scrubbed surfaces and gleaming surgical-servitors. In the corner, incongruous amongst all the delicate machinery, hulked Gunnar Larson. His uniform was stretched to tearing point over his muscular frame, and with his giant hands he petted his huge rat, Leman. Gunnar cooed and warbled as the rat sniffed suspiciously at the air. Against the opposite wall was a line of about a dozen examination slabs, all empty except one.
Drant was examining the girl's eyes for signs of shock whilst chatting quietly. She perched on the edge of the slab kicking her legs back and forth, seemingly quite happy. She was peering at the polished floor with intense interest at her own vague reflection. Lank black hair like that of her mother's was draped in strands, obscuring her face.
Drant looked over when he heard Matteus enter the room. His genial face turned angry and with a final word to the girl that was duly ignored, he wheeled over to him.
'Are you well, my friend?' asked Matteus with concern.
'I was very nearly killed.' Drant narrowed his eyes. 'Gunnar told me, in his fashion, about the navigator. What have you done to us, Matteus?' he said.
The captain blanched and wiped his perspiring brow.
'That has nothing to do with your… incident. Or the stowaways. Coincidence, nothing more.' Matteus laid a hand on Drant's shoulder. 'The man is dead, the woman is in the brig and Eusoph will have us on our way soon. We'll just have to cover this up.' He glanced at the girl and whispered, 'Has she said anything?'
Drant sighed, placated for now. 'Not a word. I gave her a stim-drug to wake her and she seems healthy enough, considering her treatment.'
Matteus gazed at the child and was reminded of why he'd agreed to help them. There was little likeness between this girl and his daughter, but she was the same age and build as Nadia had been when she was stolen, and she exuded a vulnerability that Matteus responded to immediately. He felt a deep sympathy for the lost child who sat alone, still staring at her reflection and swinging her legs in the air. He approached her, signalling Drant to stay back. He crouched and looked up into her little white face.
'What is your name, child?'
Her electric blue eyes regarded him levelly. When she spoke her voice was light and clear as dawn in spring.
'Are my parents gone?'
'Your father is dead,' he said gently. 'But you mother is in another room helping us.'
She dropped her gaze and bit her bottom lip.
'Child, your name?' She ignored him and turned away, scratching at the pink needle mark on her skinny arm.
'My friend is coming,' she said, suddenly brightening.
'What friend?'
'My friend. The one I feed sometimes.' She tapped the side of her head. 'I grow him in here.'
'I don't understand,' Drant said. 'Who do you grow?'
A tiny frown darkened the little girl's otherwise serene face. 'My friend,' she said.
Seeing that Matteus still did not understand she leaned close, tapping her temple with both index fingers. 'In here,' she insisted.
Matteus, confused and taken aback by the intensity of the child, stood up, obeying an unconscious desire that demanded he be taller than her and thus regain some initiative.
She looked up at him, smiling happily, her legs swinging like incessant pendulums. 'You'll see who soon,' she said airily.
Matteus, at a loss, shook his head, 'Drant, do you have any truth-drugs?'
A ragged scream echoed upwards through the grilled ventilation cover set into the floor, rising in pitch then suddenly cut short. Silence fell for a split second then another cry followed, higher, and infused with so much fear and dread that Matteus felt his knees go weak.
For the first time that day he took immediate and constructive action.
'The brig,' he ordered. 'Gunnar, to me!' and dashed from the infirmary with the giant lumbering in tow.
Drant, shaking as the shrieks echoed around his infirmary, tentatively approached the girl. She was bouncing up and down, giggling and clapping her hands together. 'He's here!' she said gleefully. 'At long last, he's here!'
Drant grabbed her, sat her on his knee and whirred after the captain.

IT HAD TAKEN half an hour to prise open the navigator's chamber. He had been sealed within for decades and had since never left what had eventually become his tomb. Eusoph coughed in the stale air, holding a handkerchief over his mouth.
'Get the vents working. I can hardly breathe in here.' He cast an appraising eye around the chamber. 'No sign of forced entry, and the hull's intact.' He snorted. 'If it weren't we wouldn't be here anymore.'
The secondary navigator had been revived from his self-induced trance and was getting ready to link up to the ship. He could sense the dead body even if he could not see it. Eusoph looked on in distaste as he crept blindly but with complete assurance around the small room.
'What do you think caused him to do this?'
For a moment the navigator was silent, probing the ship and the space around it with his sensitive psychic sense.
'Something on board,' he said in a blank monotone. He turned, empty sockets directed at Eusoph's own grey eyes as if he could see him. 'Something nearby, something close. And more are coming. They circle us like vultures.'
'Ensign Jagg!' Euposh shouted, louder than he needed to. 'Help our new primary navigator into his harness.' He indicated the former incumbent who lolled precariously from his straps. 'And get that abomination out of there before I vomit on the Emperor's holy floor.'
'Sir?' the young ensign said.
'What is it?' Eusoph snapped.
'I think I can hear something.' Jagg sidled up to the huge gothic window that commanded the entire forward facing bulkhead. An impregnable blast door had been lowered over it for protection. Jagg put his ear to the glass.
Eusoph tapped his foot impatiently.
'Ensign…'
Jagg pressed his finger to his lips. 'Listen.'
Eusoph was about to scream blue bloody murder to the man who had dared silence him when the blast door jolted in its runnels and a piercing scraping sound jarred their ears. Jagg stumbled back, terror etched onto his youthful features. They watched as the bottom corner of the door tilted upward, juddered and then dropped back, as if something with unimaginable strength on the other side was trying to force it open.
Eusoph, eyes wide with shock, did his best to rally the startled crew.
'Jagg, get the navigator hooked up at the double. And seal off this chamber from the bridge when you're done. I want that door welded shut, understand? Everybody else get out, now! I want the engines ready to fire as soon as the navigator's in position.' As he walked with unseemly speed from the chamber he asked himself: where is Matteus?
The new navigator primus said nothing, even as the blast door undertook another brutal assault, shaking the ship from prow to stern.

THE BRIG LAY in the squalid bowels of the ship, directly below the kitchens. Some said the worst part of being there was to smell the swill that the cooks produced that overpowered even the all-pervading odour of promethium fuel. This pungent cocktail was whipped sluggishly by slowly rotating fans on the ceiling.
Matteus stepped off the ladder, wincing as his boots struck the metal gantry with a clang. The brig corridor was dim, lit only sparsely by orange glow-globes set low in the bulkhead. The noise of the engines would normally be more profound here than anywhere else on the ship, bar the engine rooms. The narrow walkway was usually filled with the powerful throb of the warp-drive and the faint cries of the engineers and crews as they toiled with the giant machines. But now it was quiet, except for the mellifluous murmur of ventilation pipes.
Gunnar followed, along with two security ratings who wielded power mauls. Matteus was hefting a heavy piece of pipe; Gunnar needed nothing more than his mallet sized fists. Matteus motioned for silence as he crept down the corridor. The door to the brig cell hung at an angle, the top hinge torn from the frame. It was buckled outwards, as if something with tremendous power had smashed it open from the inside.
'That door's made from solid titanium,' the security rating whispered.
'Put your mauls on full power,' Matteus said softly, and was heartened as the buzz from the weapons increased behind him.
'Gunnar go first,' a voice as deep as a chasm intoned behind him. Matteus was startled, not by the volume but by the fact that the gigantic man had actually spoken, something he rarely ever did.
'Thank you, Gunnar,' Matteus said, patting him on the arm, 'but I should go first.'
After reaching the door, he hugged the wall and preyed silently, while the other three looked expectantly at him. He turned to them and mouthed, ''One, two, three'', and burst into the room.
He stopped short, mind taking several seconds to register what he saw; he put a hand to his mouth to stem the flow of bile that rose up his throat, bitter and sharp. The others barged in around him, brandishing weapons. Their war-cries died on their lips.
The entire opposite side of the cell was stained crimson. Red streaks spattered the brown hued steel in garish rainbow patterns, which dripped down to pool in viscose puddles at the base of the wall. Two bodies lay on the ground, one on top of the other, as if locked in a lover's embrace. They seemed fused together, loose flaps of skin and torn flesh overlapped to such an extent that it was impossible to judge whose body they belonged to. Matteus could tell the one on the bottom was Brock only because he could see his ornate security officer's epaulette, almost obscured by a mass of human offal.
The warm air, heavy with a nauseating tang of copper, caught in Matteus's throat. His mind reeled as the violence of the scene hit him like a kick in the stomach. He heard one of the ratings moan as he vomited in enormous, raking heaves. He dropped his club which rolled across the floor and came to rest next to the gently steaming corpses.
Matteus's horror deepened when he noticed the manacles on the wall. Dangling grotesquely like meat joints in a butcher's window were the woman's arms. Gunnar was pounding his fists on the cell wall, his simple mind unable to-cope with what he saw.
When Matteus heard the lift door rasp open at the other end of the corridor he found his senses again. He slapped Gunnar hard and indicated for them all to be quiet. They edged back against the wall, grim faced and trying to ignore the terrible vista of death that lay before them. The security rating who had been sick wiped his mouth with a shaking hand. Matteus caught his eye and nodded encouragingly. The rating nodded back. They turned their eyes on the door and waited, with weapons at the ready.
They exhaled in relief as the familiar whine of Drant's chair grew louder towards them. They could hear the little girl's voice over the noise of the motors.
'Don't bring her in here,' Matteus called, but it was too late. They rounded the corner and glided into the cell.
Drant gasped.
'Damn it, get her out of here, will you?' Matteus ordered, but the girl slipped off Drant's knee and padded barefoot into the room.
'Mummy?' she said. The men watched her, not knowing what to do. She turned to Matteus, her blue eyes shining in the gloom. 'Is that my mummy?' she asked.
Matteus looked again at the bloody mess in the middle of the floor, for the first time noticing the coal black hair spread out like a fan.
'Yes,' he said, voice cracking, trying desperately to think of something comforting to say; but the scene of devastation around them negated all words of succour.
She crouched down next to her mother, the bottom of her white dress becoming saturated with blood. Glancing up and cocking her head, she sniffed the air. She looked perplexed, as if inwardly struggling to take in what had happened.
'He's been here.' She fixed her gaze on Matteus. 'Mummy must have made him angry.'
Being under her scrutiny unnerved him. There was something old within her eyes, something old and wise. 'It's best not to make him angry,' she continued.
Matteus swallowed, attempting a smile.
'Best not to make who angry, child?'
'My friend.'
'What is your friend like?'
She looked appraisingly at Gunnar who stood at the edges of the room shaking his head as if trying to clear it of heretical thoughts.
'Bigger than him,' she said. 'Much bigger. He looks after me. But sometimes he can be very messy.' She gestured to the scattered flesh parts and liquid pools around her. 'I can make him come back, if you like.'
'No!' Matteus said, too loudly.
She frowned. 'But I want him here,' she said petulantly. Bowing her head she began to soundlessly mouth words. Instantly the atmosphere in the room became heavy and time seemed to slow down; the temperature plummeted as the girl became the epicentre of a psychic storm, her long black hair standing on end, electrified in whipping blue bursts of energy. It looked like her elfin face was wreathed in headless, writhing snakes. The air around her thickened and shimmered; to Matteus her outline became hazy. The only point of clarity in the unearthy vision that had once been a petite and seemingly innocent child, was a look of hatred centred in her once sky-blue eyes which were now deepest black and vacant of humanity. Leman the rat squealed and leapt from Gunnar's top pocket and dashed out into the corridor. Gunnar bellowed, lunging for the child.
Quick as lightning she spun round to face him. A fleeting look of fear and confusion swept over her face but it was gone as soon as it had appeared. She spat an ugly command and the giant was lifted clean off his feet and hurled bodily out of the door as if he were rag doll tossed aside by a bored child. He smashed into the corridor wall, rupturing pipes. Hot vaporous steam erupted with an explosive hiss. For a few seconds Gunnar sat there, stunned, then he leapt to his feet and pounded off after his beloved rat, weeping in distress.
The other men stood aghast as the child spun to face them with an expression of malevolent fury. The security ratings sprang towards her, power mauls swinging in deadly arcs. She uttered something and they were catapulted into the ceiling, skulls impacting with wet thuds. She held them there, then let them drop to the deck like unstrung puppets.
She turned her gaze to Matteus and Drant, her tiny mouth chanting words of arcane power. Matteus felt them invade his mind and take over his senses…
The chase was over. Rain fell about them, soaking the walls of the blind alley; and she shivered as it ran down her neck. Her parents clutched her to them as the gang advanced. The tallest stepped forward, boots splashing in shiny black puddles. She looked down, frightened, catching her reflection in the water at her feet. She struggled to master her emotions, but did not know how. Something inside her, powerful and possessive, began to surface.
The man pulled back his hood. His face was hard, but his mouth hinted at amusement as he watched the family shiver. Rendered in blue on his highbrow was the Imperial spread-eagle.
'Elusive, aren't you?' he said. 'But no one slips through my grasp. The Inquisition will not be mocked by you, Chaos filth.'
'Do as you will,' her father said. 'We serve the true powers of the warp. Soon you will weep before her gaze.'
The inquisitor barked a laugh. 'Then I sentence you to return to her.'
His band of hunters drew forth weapons from their robes.
'Fire at will.'
She felt her mind flex like a muscle, and the air around her became stiff with cold fingers of energy. In her head she formed a shape with claws and a soulless heart. She screamed, clutching her temples as the vision became solid.
She continued to look down at her reflection as the cries of the inquisitor mingled with the sounds of renting flesh and splitting bone.
The vision ended and Matteus found himself on the other side of the closed door with Drant breathing heavily beside him.
'Cultists,' he whispered, almost to himself. 'And the girl…' He looked with uncomprehending eyes at Drant. 'They used her to channel the fiend that is now on my ship.'
'At your invitation, Matteus,' Drant said sullenly.
Matteus heaved on the cell door, but it was wedged shut, held there by the child's incredible psychic strength.
'Where's Gunnar when you need him?' He activated a vox-com: 'Bridge, what's our status?'
Eusoph's voice crackled over the speaker, his usually commanding tones steeped in barely controlled panic.
'We're under attack; they're trying to get through the blast doors.' In the background Matteus could here fearful cries mingling with the sound of tearing metal. 'There's something already on board. Reports of an intruder are flooding in from all over the Bess. I can't get hold of engineering. I sent a squad down to see and they haven't come back. We can hear screams in the vent shafts…'
'Calm down, Eusoph. How's the navigator doing?'
'It's too late for that. Didn't you hear me? They're already on board!'
Matteus slumped against the bulkhead; feeling like someone was filling in a grave over his head. He could hear Eusoph's irregular breathing magnified over the speaker, and behind that, shrieks of terror. Someone was shouting: 'Back to your posts, or I'll drop you where you stand!' Chaos was reigning supreme on his craft. Matteus knew it was time.
'Eusoph, I'm authorising a ship-wide abandonment. All crew to the escape pod, at the double. Tell them to stop for nothing. Don't wait for me. As soon as all personnel are accounted for and I've got the ship out of the warp, abandon her. Just get the navigator hooked in to the ships systems before you go. Do you understand?'
'I understand. Eusoph out.' Mercifully, the sounds of turmoil on the bridge clicked off.
Matteus knelt down next to Drant. 'That means you too: bail as soon as we drop out of warp.'
'We'll go nowhere without our captain. Besides, you must be held accountable for this, old friend.'
'Get to the pod, you old fool.' In the cell the little girl wallowed in blood. She dangled her fingers in it, giggling, and began to daub patterns on the wall; stylised runes in the shape of ever wakeful eyes. They glowed like beacons. The feeding frenzy in the warp increased in violence. Deep in the ship, something responded.

THE SHIP BOARD vox-com had been left on an open channel. As Matteus shinned up ladders and sprinted down gangways on his way to the bridge, he heard the shrieks and dying prayers of his crew from the vox-pickups dotted around the vessel. It was obvious that many were not going to make it to the escape pod. He charged across gantries, legs pounding on the steel floors, tormented by the cries of the murdered as they echoed around him. His boots were spattered with blood and several times he slipped in the wetness.
He reached the bridge with the ship quaking under the escalating attack from the warp-creatures as they scratched and lacerated the hull. He stared, awestruck, as part of the blast-shield was peeled away with a tortured screech. He turned his eyes away from the dizzying whorl of distorted stars outside and dashed into the navigator's chamber.
The navigator lay curled on the deck, twitching and jerking spasmodically. Cables sprouted from plugs in his head attaching him to the ship.
Matteus shook him roughly, 'Awake, blast your eye! Get us out of the warp! Drop us out, now!'
The navigator whispered, voice barely audible above the din of the attack, 'So much malevolence toward us, strain's too much…'
'No! Get us out, for Emperor's sake, don't condemn us!'
'Trying…' the navigator murmured. A grating sound filled the room as the blast door was at last torn from its housing; a victorious gibbering filtered through from outside. Warp light streamed in, Matteus shielded his eyes and cried out in fear. The navigator screamed as his frail body succumbed to a final violent spasm; the warp-light died and silence descended.
'It is done,' he said, his face tranquil.
Matteus collapsed onto the deck, relief flooding through him.
'We are free,' the navigator whispered through raking gasps.
Before Matteus could thank him, a vision from his worst nightmare lumbered into the chamber, bringing with it a cloying stench of death. Walking upright and fully four yards tall, it stooped under the door; a black shadow of catastrophe. Its grossly swollen head turned left and right, as thick drool streamed from slavering, fanged jaws. Long arms, ending with lethal white talons, lashed out with deadly speed and impaled the navigator through his belly. He let out a weak bleat of pain, and fell silent.
Matteus acted instinctively, dashing through the monster's muscular legs and diving over his command chair on the bridge. He scrabbled underneath and found the shotgun he kept there for emergencies. Training the gun on the door with shaking hands he fumbled for the safety catch; but the creature was on him, foot-long claws raking his arm and sending the shotgun skittering out of reach.
Matteus had a second to register the enormous beast that towered over him; jaws wide in a silent scream of malignant rage; hot, rank breath blasting his face. A part of his mind screamed when he noticed an ear attached to a length of flesh dangling from a gore stained incisor. Matteus shut his eyes and waited for death.
'We go.'
'We wait.'
Eusoph looked at Drant incredulously, 'He's dead. Nearly everyone's dead. I'm in command. We go.' He reached over to the launch icon.
Drant grabbed his wrist and pulled Eusoph's face close to his own.
'We wait for our captain,' he said through clenched teeth. 'I insist.'
Something in the old man's eyes told Eusoph it was dangerous to argue. He backed off, chastened.
Ensign Jagg sat in the hatch to the escape pod from where he could see the fifty yard corridor leading back into the Bess.
'All quiet at the mo, Drant.'
'Let's hope it stays that way, lad.'
Drant fingered the handle of the autopistol he kept hidden under the armrest of his chair. 'Let it come', he thought.
He thought of Nadia. Soon, perhaps, he would join her in whatever afterlife the Emperor had prepared for them.
The staccato rattle of an autogun broke his reverie. He looked up to see the creature careen away, puce fluids bursting out of its carapace skin. Gunnar burst through the bridge doorway, howling with rage. He emptied the magazine then wielded the gun like a club, laying into the stumbling creature, bludgeoning its swollen head and roaring like a man possessed. It fell over, crashing into a gantry rail, blood oozing from a dozen wounds.
Gunnar turned to Matteus and pointed to a pulsating bulge in his breast pocket.
'Found Leman in kitchen.' He patted the now buckled autogun. 'Found this also.'
'Thank the Emperor! Let's go.'
Behind them, even as they made their dash for freedom, the creature stirred. It knew this ship and where they were heading. It pounded after them with a hunter's instinct to cut them off.
'Two more corners and we're there,' Matteus cried euphorically. Gunnar grabbed him suddenly by the collar and clamped a gigantic hand over his mouth.
'Leman frightened. He smells it.' He pointed to the corner up ahead and whispered, 'There.'
A vast misshapen shadow was cast on the wall up ahead; the creature had beaten them! Matteus crouched onto the floor, broken at last.
Gunnar tapped him on the shoulder. A grin slowly crawled over his face, the cognitive process for this action taking some time. He pointed up to the ceiling. Matteus followed his finger and managed a smile.

JAGG LET OUT a cry. 'Something's there, at the end of the corridor!'
It came at them in a stooped charge, a solid mass of glistening muscle and scything claws, wide shoulders taking up the entire width of the passageway. Drant scrabbled for his pistol, levelled it in shaking hands and fired a wild volley of shots that ricocheted off the walls, puncturing coolant pipes. Scorching steam gushed out, burning the creature which jumped back, suddenly cautious.
Drant stared at the awful apparition that crouched just yards away, now wreathed in hissing vapours.
'It has come,' he breathed. 'Emperor preserve us, it has come.'
'We go, now!' Eusoph yelled, reaching for the launch icon.
Then a body fell down in front of them from the ventilation shaft in the ceiling of the corridor. It was quickly followed by another larger one. They tumbled inside.
'Launch!' Matteus screamed.
Eusoph hit the icon, and as the creature reached the doors they slammed shut with a resounding clang. A gaping mouth, spraying juices, lashed violently against the glass. The men cowered back, crying out in shock. Gunnar pressed his face to the window, howling in delight,
'Gunnar won! Gunnar won!'
Launch thrusters ignited with a roar, pushing the pod out into the void. The fiend, cheated of its prey, stood framed in the doorway for a second, and then retreated back inside the Bess.
'Now they are together, child and beast,' Matteus said, exhausted. 'Which is the bigger fiend, I wonder?'
He glanced around, eyes bright with grief. The shuttle was built to take the full crew compliment of one hundred and forty-five men. A tally revealed twelve left, including him. No one spoke. No one could think of what to say.
Matteus stared out of the window as the Sable Bess faded from view. A blinding flash and she disappeared entirely, swallowed into the fathomless netherworld of the warp, and taking with it the girl and her Chaos spawn.

ON THE EDGE of a giant radiation cloud that was drifting across the Imperial freight route connecting Vrantis III to Jared's World, a hunter lay in ambush. From hooked nose to elegantly tapered fins, the eldar raiding vessel was a study of harsh, lethal beauty.
'Death can come from anywhere. She waits, then takes you into her embrace.'
And so spoke her captain, Khorach Wyche, who sat poised in her command chair, the very embodiment of a deadly predator, waiting patiently to strike.
'We have a contact,' her pilot informed, relish fairly dripping from his voice.
'Details?'
'Single vessel, probably a freighter, low readings, minimum power. A fat human maggot for us to burst.'
Khorach smiled the coldest of smiles. Easy pickings, yet she felt a twinge of disappointment. It was too easy. The cruel nature of her soul demanded a challenge, a foe that would wriggle and fight in her death grip. This prey would barely whimper before it fell to her guns and boarding crews.
Her pilot was looking at her expectantly. She made her decision, the only possible one.
'Assemble my raiders, I board with them today.'
'As you wish,' her pilot said. 'I have a designation on the ship. It's the Sable Bess.'
Khorach waved her hand dismissively. 'Unimportant. I just hope she puts up a struggle.' She licked her thin lips and looked hungrily at the lumbering vessel as it hove across the vision portal.
'Good hunting, lady, and good luck,' her pilot called.
'I won't need luck for this. I anticipate no problems.'
With that she turned and strode out of the bridge.