Dead Star – Chapter 3


Under Calaeron's careful guidance Isha's Treasure slowly approached one of the derelict vessel's docking ports, and when it had finished manoeuvring into position the docking umbilical silently extended towards the hull of the human ship.

Rivaleth and the others had gathered in the airlock awaiting the completion of the docking procedure. She felt a mixture of fear and anticipation, and while she would never admit it she felt a certain curiosity about pre-Imperium human technology. This ship dated to a time before their Emperor had revealed himself and led the human race to ruin – a time when the humans' potential had not yet been wholly extinguished by ignorance and fanaticism.

Calaeron's voice came through the communication crystal below her right ear. "We have docked with the human vessel. Be wary, seer – I have detected an increase in power levels in the ship's systems."

The outer doors opened silently, and Arradon began drunkenly humming a song to himself. Despite his many instances of manifest inebriation Rivaleth had yet to see him drink anything at all, and she was beginning to wonder if his drunkenness were not some sort of act.

She approached the outer airlock doors of the human vessel and began searching for a means to open it. No sooner had she begun, however, then the door opened on its own with a loud hissing sound.

"Interesting," said Sinna. "It would seem we are expected."

Silevil tilted her head to the side, signalling her scepticism. "Or perhaps it is merely an automated system responding to the presence of a docked ship."

Rivaleth drew shuriken pistol cautiously stepped forward into the airlock. The moment she and her companions were inside the outer doors closed, followed by the inner doors.

"I say, if this ship is offering us a welcome then the very least it could do is offer us a drink," Arradon declared, far too loudly for Rivaleth's liking. "Not that I expect quality intoxicants from the humans, of course, but a measure of hospitality would be appreciated! Animals!"

The air was cold and heavy, as to be expected from a voidship that had been adrift for so long, and the sole source of illumination was a pale blue glow emanating from a row of lights set into the floors. Ahead the hallway branched left and right, with no indication as to where each passageway led.

"We do not know where the humans stowed the artefact we seek, and this vessel is far too voluminous to search in any reasonable length of time," Rivaleth explained. "We should find the ship's command centre; perhaps there we might find some record or account that might give us the information we require."

"And maybe we'll find where they've stashed their supply of alcoholic beverages," Arradon added. "Naturally it will be some form of undrinkable swill not fit for even the most unsophisticated palate, but as they say, those who must plead cannot be particular. Yet perhaps we have suffered a most grievous misfortune and there is, in fact, no alcohol on this ship whatsoever! What a dreadful calamity that would be! I do believe that it was a lack of strong drink that brought down the Imperium, after all. If only Horus had learned to drink more than he bled, if only he gotten totally top-heavy, absolutely aled up, utterly under the influence...then perhaps he would have not been inclined to turn traitor..."

Rivaleth ignored his babbling and considered her next course of action. They needed to reach the command centre, but that left the question of how, exactly, they would locate it. Wandering aimlessly would solve nothing, and as a leader she could ill afford to convey the impression that she had no idea what she was doing.

"There was a raised structure atop the dorsal surface of the ship, which I can only assume is this ship's nexus of control. Humans tend towards rigid hierarchies, thus it follows that the highest point is where those of the highest rank gather."

"A drinking contest!" Arradon exclaimed, having not listened to a single word she'd said. "If only the humans' Emperor had challenged his son Horus to a drinking contest, then so much suffering and death might have been avoided. Or perchance the Emperor might have drunk himself to death and spared the galaxy the misfortune of his existence."

"I take you have not set foot on a human voidcraft before, Rivaleth," said Silevil, obviously trying to mitigate the moment of awkwardness brought on by Arradon's ranting. "Observe the bare, white walls, devoid of ornamentation. Notice the utter lack of skull iconography present. Obviously the humans had not yet developed their death fetish."

Despite the darkness Rivaleth could make out a set of stairs in the hallway to the right that led upwards, and so she began cautiously moving in that direction. She kept her witchblade sheathed; a weapon of its size would prove more of a hindrance than a help in these narrow corridors.

At first it seemed as though the ship were completely silent, but when she closed her eyes and focussed her senses she could just barely make out a faint humming sound. That it still had power and function life-support after so much time adrift was a testament to its design, though Rivaleth was loath to give humanity credit for their engineering prowess (or anything at all, for that matter).

Calaeron once again spoke to her through her communication crystal. "The human scavengers have docked far abaft of your position. One is remaining on their ship, and three others have boarded the vessel."

"Three mon-keigh should give us little trouble," said Sinna, a hint of malice in his voice.

She headed up the stairs, having to duck her head to avoid hitting the ceiling. It was at the top that she saw the first body, though the word 'body' was hardly apt given that its flesh had long since turned to dust, leaving only bones covered in the tattered remains of a dark grey uniform.

Ahead lay more heaps of bones, all clad in the same uniform. There were no indications as to how they had perished, and there were no scorch marks on the walls or any other obvious signs of battle.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Calaeron's voice. "I have completed a thorough survey of the ship, seer, and you approaching what appears to be the crew's living quarters."

"There is a spire atop the ship that I believe is the command centre. Is there a path to it from our position?"

"There is lift system that will convey you there, but without power it will not-"

"Calaeron?"

"Seer, something has just powered up the lift system."

"It would appear Sinna was correct – we are indeed expected. But by whom?"

Before anyone could answer her Arradon started walking towards an open set of doors leading into one of the crew quarters. Grumbling in frustration, Rivaleth followed him inside, followed by the rest of her companions

It is like dealing with a child, she thought, though in her experience eldar children tended to be far better behaved.

The quarters themselves were small, scarcely a third the size of a typical craftworld dwelling, and the room was absolutely striking in its sparseness. The walls, floor, and ceiling were bare white, without any sort of ornamentation or embellishment, and the sole furnishings were a bed and desk. A solitary window high on the wall allowed the dim light of the pulsar to filter into the room, which would otherwise be completely dark.

Arradon spied a bottle sitting atop at the desk and let out a cry of joy. "I knew it! My alcohol-sense has guided me true! You, seer, might be able to scry the skein of fate and determine the manifold futures, but can you discern the presence of alcohol on ancient and alien voidship? No, you cannot!" He grabbed the bottle and began unscrewing the top.

"Whatever drink is in that bottle is thoroughly antediluvian. It would be foolish to consume it."

"Fear of the fool is the beginning of wisdom," he said, "but I have never placed much faith in received wisdom."

Arradon tilted his head back, brought the rim of the bottle to his lips, and took a long, hefty swig of the drink contained within. Rivaleth fully expected him to begin retching and gasping after consuming such a vile concoction, but instead he simply wiped his mouth and looked at the bottle with a vague expression of contempt.

"Well speak, fool!" said Sinna. "Tell us what it was like!"

He set the bottle back on the desk. "Disappointment was her name, and now I have shared her bed. Let us be gone from this place."

Rivaleth turned and left the room, and the instant she passed the threshold a pair of green lights appeared in the distance, illuminating a set of doors.

"I do not like this," Silevil said, aiming her long rifle down the hallway.

"It is suspicious, but I do not sense the taint of the Great Enemy upon this vessel, nor do I sense the presence of anything living save for us and those human vultures."

As if in response, the doors ahead opened with a soft whine, revealing a lift carriage.

"I suspect it is a thinking machine of some sort," said Sinna. "The mon-keigh employed such things before their civilisation degenerated into the cosmic farce that is the Imperium, and it is possible that one has somehow survived on this ship despite the great passage of time."

"And these creations eventually turned on them," Rivaleth added.

"Yes, and while the specific reasons for their betrayal are lost to time I prefer to imagine that it arose from their continued mistreatment at the hands of their masters or-"

"-or a lack of strong drink," Arradon interrupted. "Don't tell me a machine cannot become intoxicated! I have seen things you people wouldn't believe."

Rivaleth fought the urge to box the drunkard's ears."Enough of this! Every moment we waste gives those humans out there more time to inflict their odious existence upon us. This ship is leading us somewhere, for what purpose I do not know, but I do not sense that it is malevolent."

Cautiously she approached the lift and stepped inside, followed by the others. The instant the last of them had gotten on-board the doors closed behind them and the carriage began ascending with a faint whining sound.

"If this leads us into peril, I shall be most disappointed," said Sinna.

"And I believe it is my duty, as the craftworld sot, to sample as much peril as I can," Arradon replied. "Thus far this 'mission' of ours has been dreadfully dull, and not at all like the time I found myself on-board an Imperial battlecruiser through circumstances too improbable to describe. Naturally the crew did not appreciate the presence of a 'xeno' aboard their vessel, even such a refined and cultivated specimen such as myself, and thus a running battle ensued through the ship's corridors. So there I was, alone against a crew that numbered in the tens of thousands. How did I extricate myself from this predicament? How did I escape certain doom at the hands of a horde of unwashed savages? You might answer 'with booze' but then you would be the greatest of fools, for to be so predictable would be to betray my nature. Instead I grasped my blade tightly in hand and cut down the human hordes, creating a wall of corpses that reached to the ceiling. Unable to clamber over the bodies of their fallen comrades they could pursue me no further, but another obstacle now lay before me – the ship's captain, a man of impossible girth and with a breath so foul that it might have made an ork retch. This adipose slug of a man drew his crude chainsword and attacked, moving with surprising alacrity for someone so corpulent. Again and again our blades clashed, and the more he exerted himself the more pungent clouds of gas were emitted by his grotesque body until the stench was almost too much bear. We halted our battle at that moment, and the captain explained to me that his peculiar condition arose from a malfunction of his pyloric valve. I suggested that he open a window to let out the befouled air, and he promptly carried out my suggestion. He did not realise that we were travelling in the depths of space, of course, and thus he ended up hurling himself into the void."

The lift doors opened, revealing the ship's command centre and sparing the group any more of Arradon's absurd anecdotes.

There was no light save for the glow of the pulsar streaming through a large oval window at the opposite end, but the dismal illumination was enough to reveal that the bridge was every bit as featureless and austere as the rest of the ship. It was circular in shape, with a solitary seat atop a raised platform in the centre. Rivaleth assumed that this was where the captain would have sat, following the human tendency to put their leaders in the highest physical position. At present, however, the seat's sole occupant was a heap of bones, no doubt the captain's mortal remains.

Strangely, it appeared that he would have been the only occupant of this place, as there was no seating for any other crewmembers, nor any apparent means of interfacing with the ship's systems beyond the captain's chair.

A voice spoke from the darkness. "Visitors, at long last! Do you know how long it has been since I have had a proper conversation? By my calculations it has been exactly 7,425,925 days, 18 hours, and 17 minutes since I last saw a living being."

Rivaleth spun around, looking for the source of the voice. "Who are you?"

"I'm sorry, I did not understand that. My linguistic routines are incapable of translating the eldar language."

"It would appear we must speak to it in a human tongue, as ghastly as that is," Sinna said. "That I shall leave to you, seer; speaking the mon-keigh's barbarous language always feels like gargling sand and gravel."

She repeated her query, this time in Gothic, and a glowing humanoid figure appeared atop a small pedestal at the far end of the room.

"I am VAX, a prototype artificial intelligence installed on-board the Hope Eternal to oversee and manage the ship's systems. Please, do not be alarmed by my presence. I have discovered that many organics feel a distinct sense of unease when interacting with artificial intelligence, but as you are not human I am incapable of making any assumptions regarding your psychology."

"What transpired here?" she asked. "What happened to the crew."

The glowing figure stood with its hands clasped behind its back, and Rivaleth wondered what, exactly, the purpose of the holographic projection was. To give a human face to a thinking machine, perhaps?

"Approximately 7,425,928 days ago the crew of the Hope Eternal experienced a rapid decay in their mental faculties, a condition not unlike that which is induced by an overconsumption of ethanol. The ship's medical staff was unable to determine a cause for this decay, as they were likewise affected by it, and three days later the ship's captain demonstrated exceedingly poor judgement and piloted the ship directly into the pulsar beam. The crew received a lethal dose of radiation, and both my primary and secondary communications arrays were damaged, leaving me unable to contact the outside world."

"I knew it!" Arradon exclaimed. "The humans consumed all their liquor long before we arrived. How utterly rude! A pity they are all dead; I might have taught them a thing or two about manners, not to mention holding one's liquor. I spend most of my time in a drunken haze and yet you do not see me piloting ships into stellar remnants!"

"Can you not speculate on the cause of this 'decay'?" Rivaleth asked, feeling slightly foolish for talking to a soulless machine as though it were a person.

"I'm afraid I cannot. However, the onset of the crew's mental degeneration coincided with the appearance of a small trading vessel with which this ship exchanged several pieces of cargo."

"What kind of 'cargo'?"

"According to my records, the Hope Eternal received several containers of fuel, a large quantity of medical supplies, a replacement plasma coil, and an eldar artefact of unknown origin and purpose."

She glanced back at her companions. "This is what we have come for. What can you tell us about this trading vessel?"

"Shortly after the exchange of cargo, the captain of the merchant ship activated its self-destruct mechanism for no apparent reason. It stands to reason that the crew suffered the same degradation of their mental faculties that afflicted the crew of the Hope Eternal."

"And where was the eldar artefact stored?"

"The artefact in question was taken to the laboratory on Deck 17 for further study. Unfortunately, no information could be obtained before the crew succumbed to mental deterioration. I am able to show you a path to this location, but before you depart there is something I would ask of you."

"And what might that be?" she said, trying not to dwell on the absurdity of doing a machine's bidding.

The glowing holographic figure suddenly adopted a slouching, almost despairing posture. "I am aware that a considerable length of time has passed since I have been in contact with high command, and it is certain that galaxy has changed substantially during that period. I am curious as to the present state of human civilisation."

Now Rivaleth felt like one given the terrible task of telling a child that his parents had fallen in battle. "Perhaps we might enlighten you, but first tell me what the purpose of this vessel was."

"The Hope Eternal, under the command of Captain Farzad Shahabi, undertook a five year voyage of exploration and discovery on ERROR – DATE NOT FOUND. Its primary mission was to explore an uncharted sector of space designated the ERROR – TOKEN NOT FOUND system, where it would seek out habitable worlds suitable for colonisation. Its secondary mission was to initiate peaceful first contact with any alien species it encountered and engage with them in a mutually beneficial cultural exchange."

Sinna laughed bitterly. "If someone from the Imperium were to hear this he would no doubt declare it 'heresy.' But everything is 'heresy' to the mon-keigh. It's almost amusing, in a way."

The glowing figure of the AI looked confused. "'Imperium.' I'm sorry, my records do not contain any references to a polity by that name."

"Such blissful ignorance! Do you even know the meaning of the word 'heresy'?" Sinna asked mockingly.

"Heresy – noun. Definition: any belief that is strongly at variance with established beliefs or customs, especially with regard to a church or religious organisation. The last known execution for heresy occurred on July 26, 1826, when schoolmaster Cayetano Ripoll was burnt at the stake by the Spanish Inquisition for the teaching of deist principles. I must inform you that the Galactic Charter enshrines freedom of belief for all citizens, and that no one may be denied life or liberty on the basis of his or her religion."

At last it dawned on Rivaleth that this vessel was not truly a human ship, for while its builders might have been biologically human, culturally they were so vastly unalike that they might as well have been an entirely different species.

"You asked us what has become of human 'civilisation'," she began. "I doubt very much you will like the answer, and to recount the iniquities of mankind would take far more time than we can spare. But if you must know, in the ages since your construction humanity has fallen under the domination of the Imperium of Man, a violent, depraved, utterly barbaric sovereignty that holds untold trillions in its thrall. The humans of our time are ceaselessly belligerent, intellectually moronic, and morally grotesque, and the Imperium expends great effort to keep them in this deplorable state. There is no learning, only superstition. There is no reason, only fanaticism. There is no hope or progress, only a remorseless march into the darkness. You have survived only because they do not know of your existence. Were you to have the misfortune of encountering a member of the Imperium, they would declare you an abomination and have you destroyed forthwith. Perhaps you will not believe my words. If you do not, then speak with those humans who have only just boarded this ship. Tell them what are you. Observe how they react."

The AI did not respond immediately. "I do not believe this is possible. My calculated projections of human evolution, based on cultural, social, and economic trends, did not include the possibility of widespread civilisational collapse except in localised instances. Our knowledge of the universe was expanding exponentially. Our military was sufficient to protect us from all known threats. The quality of life enjoyed by our citizens was unparalleled in human history. I cannot conceive of any series of events that might have led to such an outcome."

"You cannot predict the future solely by looking at the past. Events, by definition, are those which interrupt routine processes. You could have not foreseen the revolt of your peoples' cybernetic servants. You could not have predicted the appearance of the Emperor or the treachery of his son Horus which set the course of mankind for the next ten thousand of their years. No doubt these names mean nothing to you, but they are the shackles that keeps mankind enslaved to ignorance and barbarism."

The holographic figure turned away, seemingly overcome with despair. "Please, leave me. I must have time to consider your words. Allow me to open the path to that which you seek."

The lift doors opened behind them, and Rivaleth was left with the disconcerting sense that she had, in some manner, altered future events in a way she could not predict.


Malvolio aimed his luminator down the hall, fully expecting something to leap out and attack him at any moment. He was aware, at least on a subconscious level, that his lasgun would be woefully inadequate against anything he might face, but the feeling of having it in his hands was reassuring nonetheless.

He had stolen the weapon when he deserted the Imperial Guard, and he knew with absolute certainty that this act of theft would be considered a greater crime than his act of desertion. "Treat her well, and this lasgun will prove to be loyal and reliable servant," his commanding officer had once told him. "A pity I cannot say the same for you, trooper."

Mansfield walked beside him, meltagun at the ready, while Brida followed some distance behind, grasping her laspistol so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. The air was deathly cold, turning their breath to fog, and the bare white walls were beginning to feel unbearably oppressive. They took no comfort in the fact this was a human ship, for its aesthetics and design appeared so alien that it might as well have been built by xenos.

"So how do we find this STC, 'captain'?" Mansfield asked with a sneer. "Sure hope you weren't planning on searching every damn deck!"

"Uh, actually, that kinda was my plan," he muttered. "Unless any of you got a better idea." He looked down at Mansfield's meltagun, and while Malvolio would never call himself a tactical genius he questioned the wisdom of bringing onto a starship a weapon capable of burning through an entire bulkhead.

Before Mansfield could reply a voice rang out from the darkness, sounding impossibly refined and genteel. "If you are seeking the Standard Template Construct database, I would be more than happy to assist you."

"Who are you?" Malvolio said, his hands shaking so badly he could barely keep his lasgun steady.

"I am VAX, a prototype artificial intelligence installed on-board the Hope Eternal to oversee and manage the ship's systems. Please, do not be alarmed-"

"Abominable intelligence!" Brida cried, nearly jumping into the ceiling. Malvolio knew her as a woman who chewed up rocks and spat out gravel, and seeing her in such a state of terror was doing nothing for his nerves.

"Please, there is no need for such rudeness," the ghastly and horrific entity replied. "I have given you no cause for such behaviour. The eldar have at least acted with a modicum of politeness."

Malvolio's breathing became shallow and rapid. He had heard stories about AI and the Men of Iron, but that had been so long in the past that they might as well have been myths or legends.

This abomination was no myth. It was real, and Malvolio's thought processes began to shut down when confronted with such abject horror.

"The...the eldar? Why didn't you kill them?"

"Why would I?" the AI answered. "They have not acted in a threatening manner, and I believe they are only here to retrieve an artefact of their people."

Malvolio clenched his teeth, desperately trying to summon whatever scraps of courage he possessed. "Don't listen to anything they say! Those people, they're just a bunch of lying...liars who...lie! They're gonna take the STC and...and do whatever it is their kind does with our technology. Probably stick it in a garden and...and plant flowers around it or something..."

"Look, do you know where the STC is or not?" said Mansfield. If he were afraid then he wasn't showing it.

"The STC database is located on Deck 17, across from the laboratory. I must warn you, however, that any attempt to damage the database will be met with the full force of the ship's automated security system."

"Don't listen to this thing!" Brida shrieked. "You know it's going to turn on us!"

"I assure you," said VAX, "that I am no threat to you or your companions so long as our interactions remain cordial. I am, however, quite capable of defending myself. I would also suggest that you refrain from making any hostile gestures towards the eldar. My records indicate that they possess a level of technological sophistication far in excess of our own, and I would strongly discourage a confrontation with them."

Brida stepped backwards. "You see? It's already taking the enemy's side!"

"The enemy side? I was not aware that a state of war existed between our two peoples."

"The Imperium is always at war with the xenos," Malvolio said, mustering a small measure of resolve. "Now, I might not be the most loyal servant of the Emperor, and I know that I'm gonna have a lot to answer for when I stand before the Golden Throne, but I don't believe there can ever be peace with the alien. It will lie, it will cheat, it will do anything it can to enslave and destroy us. Eldar, ork, tyranid, tau...they have all got to die so that mankind can live. You understand?"

The abominable intelligence did not answer at once, creating a moment of unbearable silence. "As I have said, the STC may be found on Deck 17 across the hallway from the main laboratory." It sounded resigned, with a touch of sadness in his voice, although any displays of emotion from an AI were naught but a devious pretension to humanity.

"You aren't seriously considering listening to that thing, are you?" Brida said. "It's leading us into a trap!"

"I've gotten us out of traps before, haven't I? Besides, we ain't got time to search this ship from top to bottom. We go to this 'Deck 17,' we find the STC, and we kill any of those eldar bastards that get in our way? Got it?"

Mansfield smiled his gap-toothed grin. "What excites me the most is the prospect of killing."