Sorry this chapter took so long, my internship got busy and I had to revise some of the older chapters. One part of this chapter is from something I cut out of Ch. 3, so if you feel like you've read it before...well, you might've! If you have the time, I recommend re-reading the older chapters: I've changed a couple scenes, added little 'X time and Y place' things to make reading it easier, and re-orged things to make it a little more streamlined. No big changes, but it's a little more polished now.


Grand cruiser Implacable

High orbit, Agria, Terran Dominion

June 19, M98.41

The armor was old. It had been scavenged from a wrecked Lunar-class cruiser, bones ripped from a dead giant to adorn a dying one. The Avenger-class grand cruiser Implacable had armor twice as thick as a regular cruiser, of course; any ship designed around short-range gun decks deserved no less. After Trieste, however, the Implacable was the only remaining Avenger-class of the old Entente Sector Fleet, and the breaches in its hull were repaired with scraps from a nearby hulk. The makeshift patches kept out the vacuum, but they were weak points, and the Shark assault boats aimed for it when boarding the old giant.

ka-BOOM fireinthehole tinktinktinkBOOM movemoveclear...jenkinswhatthehell-clearboss OKallclearpeople - the sounds of a successful B&E, along with A&B of a hapless servitor, ** echoed and rolled down the Implacable's cramped passageways. Several makeshift Guardsmen squads and one angry Commissar spilled into the p-way, ready to fight daemons but facing-

"Wait, what?"

...

Steel-toed pressure boots clattered across the Implacable's decks as the Guardsmen mutely continued onward. Corner-checking and shouts of 'clear!' faded as the soldiers pressed onward through the massive ship.

"What in His-"

"Not now," Sergeant Mathias ordered. In truth, he was worried too: the Implacable, aside from its missing crew, was perfectly normal. The walls weren't oozing blood, the bulkheads were made of steel alloys instead of human bones - everything was as it should be. Mathias had cleared a ship taken by the Warp once, and had almost lost his life while fighting the daemons possessing it (he'd nearly been eaten by a hungry table). By contrast, the Implacable was...fine.

"Ma'am?"

Lady-Commissar Reinholdt had fought to close Chaos Gates before, but never while aboard ship. She decided to defer to the local expert. "Your opinion, Sergeant?"

"It's...not right, ma'am. Too normal."

"Normal?"

"Ma'am, the Warp is plenty of things, but it isn't normal." The two soldiers shared a nervous laugh at that. "I've seen one ship look like this after a Warp misjump, but it arrived out near the dead-barren Halo Stars. There wasn't anything but our frigate for several billion klicks around, so that ship looked much like this." Mathias gulped. "I mean, ma'am."

Reinholdt ignored the Sergeant's slip-up. "Either the Warp is unnaturally calm here, or..." "Or something happened to change the Warp itself, ma'am."

**B&E: breaking and entering, A&B: assault and battery


Bridge, Armageddon

High orbit, Agria, Terran Dominion

June 19, M98.41

"Can I trust you?"

An simple question, really. Innocent, innocuous- and as loaded as the naval trooper's shotguns. Not that he'd be killed here, of course. Airlock failure was a much more discreet and deniable form of execution. Lieutenant Maroun, commander of the Armageddon's aerospace wings, still knew that his life could be measured in minutes if he answered the wrong way.

"I serve the Emperor," he answered. Not treason - the priests would get me for that - but that should keep him off my back for a bit.

"As do we all," the Admiral replied. Internally, however, he was seething. He watched on his display as the Aleph Squadron interceptors - my fighters! - continued to fly towards the opposing ship. I need information, and those humans have it - if that wretched Librarian is trustworthy.

"Librarian Marcellus!" the Admiral barked. The Librarian didn't bother with a response. After an uncomfortable silence, the human tersely ordered, "Recall my fighters."

"The distance-"

"Damn the distance! Call them off!" Inwardly annoyed but outwardly calm, Marcellus opened his other senses and smelled the Warp around him. Psychically reaching outward, he 'sniffed' for the thirty men of Aleph Squadron - and much to his surprise, found them. The local Warp currents were so calm that he could have reached out and psychically crushed the pilots from millions of kilometers away - if he'd had the strength. The same currents which normally blocked his reach also gave him psychic strength, and the Beta-level psyker found himself as weak as an average Imperial psychic. What in the Warp - wait, no Warp. Marcellus's twin hearts sped up, adrenaline and synthetic stimulants flooding his metabolism. "Sirs, I have the answer."

Even in the middle of a different universe, Marcellus knew the value of looking mysterious and omnipotent.

...

"Groxshit."

"See it for yourself, my Lord." By a quirk of his psychic power or perhaps simply through years of practice, Marcellus managed to sound both respectful and mocking at the same time.

The Admiral didn't notice. "Broken equipment, calm Warp currents, a scattered fleet - that's not conclusive, psyker."

"Explain what happened to the astropaths, then, My Lord."

"We misjumped through the Warp! Anything could have happened?"

"Yes, my lord. Absolutely anything." Sarcasm dripped from the Librarian's every word.

The fleet commander growled, unwilling to concede the argument. "Fine, then. How do we get home if you're right?"

"Ask the Navigators."

...

Navigator Iblis was in heaven - that is, if heaven was very, very quiet. Born and raised for the sole purpose of seeing the Warp, the Navigator was accustomed to the daemons constantly surrounding living creatures. While the rest of humanity lived in blissful ignorance, the Navigator was forced to constantly see the nameless horrors waiting to jump into realspace at any time. Bred to guide ships through Hell, the Navigator was constantly reminded of his fate when his mortal body died. He'd seen damned souls lost to the Warp: he knew what happened when the daemons were let loose on a hapless creature. The daemons were everywhere, at every time...until now.

Safe in his armored command chair, the Navigator opened his third eye and gazed at the calm psychic sea around the fleet. Nothing...thank the Emperor! The Admiral might want to get back to the Imperium and its wars, but Iblis was content simply to sit and be rocked by the gentle waves of this calm Warp.


Admiral's quarters, Armageddon

High orbit, Agria, Terran Dominion

June 19, 998.M41

The briefing happened in the Admiral's public rooms again by default, as even the Mechanicus had not yet restored full communications fleetwide. Officers and dignitaries trickled in slowly; many clutched red-tinged bandages or haphazardly-applied splints. Many failed to arrive at all: some were busy, some with the medicae, some on other ships (the Admiral had banned all shuttle flights for the time being), while many were dead or dying across the Armageddon.

A general atmosphere of shock and confusion reigned. All of them knew of the dangers of a Warp-jump, but none had seen the usual Warp-signs. Instead, much of their equipment had simply ceased to work: logic engines ceased their holy functions, hull patches failed, and many machine spirits had departed the consecrated engines that they inhabited. The problem had crippled all of the fleet's ships to some degree, and only the Mechanicus ships of the fleet still functioned anywhere close to normal.

That…and the astropaths had gone insane. Being soul-bound to the Emperor Himself made astropaths much more stable than other psykers, most of whom regarded "conversations with air molecules" as slightly more normal than "recaf in the morning." However, once the jump had been completed, the minders of the surviving astropaths had each found, judged, and executed their charges. Only prompt action by a Lunar-class Captain had saved an astropath for future study; the luckless individual in question lay in the ships' infirmary, restrained hand and foot to keep himself from clawing his own throat out.

"The Admiral!" the bandaged herald boomed, tapping his shock-staff several times on the deck. The Admiral, already seated on his shadowed tertiary command throne, cleared his throat. The dull murmur of shell-shocked survivors instantly gave way to a torrent of questions and accusations, all aimed at the supposed cause of the Event (as it was already being called).

"ORDER! ORDER, EMPEROR DAMN YOU!" The exhausted herald thumped his shock-staff again and again, knocking nearby dignitaries off their feet. Captain Nicodemus, standing silently in the center of the room, attempted to gauge the situation. Disorderly and getting worse; violent conflict possible. The Mentor was considerably better with normals than most Marines, but he remained unsure of what to do as the near-conflict worsened.

I'm dreadfully sorry, Captain. A sudden mental rush overwhelmed Nicodemus's normally relaxed mental defenses, spinning him before he could react. With a sudden mental assault, the Captain regained control over his mind to feel himself reaching for his bolt pistol, his attention focused on a particularly belligerent priest.

Wait, you must- GET HIM! NOW! The Captain resisted the psychic impulse with difficulty, his form locked and his attention focused inward. As the shouting continued, the priest reached into his voluminous robes and began to pull out- Mars-pattern straight magazine .75-caliber bolt pistol,** target will likely shoot a high-ranking officer – target is not necessary for primary mission – execute.

The Captain's bolt pistol sounded, the whoosh of the fin-stabilized round drowned out by the sudden ka-boom as the massive shell detonated inside the bulky priest. Instinct and training subsiding again, the Captain lowered his pistol as the nearby blood-ridden dignitaries reached for their weapons. Only the presence of the priest's bolt pistol, his severed arm still inside the trigger guard, prevented the nearby Ecclesiarchy members from firing on the Marine. However, they still aggressively drew their weapons, chainswords revving and guns cocking as confusion spread.

"SECURITY!" the Admiral boomed, causing the assembled naval troopers to snap their hot-shot lasguns to firing position at the entire crowd. Nicodemus glanced across the crowd: the situation's critical. Whoever you are, you saved the Admiral at the cost of the command staff.

I know, the now-chagrined foreign mental voice whispered to the Marine. Any ideas?

The Marine lowered his mental defenses and 'thought' as loudly as he could, Embarrass them. Cause extreme heat around the room's ceiling autosensor. Near the extra-ugly chandelier, middle of the ceiling.

The autosensor triggered with a sudden breek-breek-breek, and fire-retardant foam flew into the room from recessed hoses. A sudden mental pulse, too weak to affect the Marine but powerful enough to stagger the regular humans, caused the confused dignitaries to drop their weapons and reach for their heads for a second.

That work? the voice 'spoke' again. Nicodemus glanced across the room: confusion had replaced anger, as the fleet's VIPs attempted to wipe the rapidly-expanding red foam off their robes. Better, the Marine thought grudgingly.

"Now then," the Admiral commented over the quieting crowd. "Let's discuss our current predicament."

...

He broke the news quietly, steadily, and without hesitation. "We are in a different place. The Warp is unnaturally calm, but the Astronomican is nowhere in sight. Our fleet has sustained damage, and we are apparently near to a human-inhabited planet. We are attempting to contact the humans of this new...'universe.'"

The reactions were about as expected: some declared the Admiral a heretic, some hung their heads in worry or grief. Others schemed and calculated the effects of this new change; Marcellus kept his eyes and his 'nose' on them. Even as he watched the Imperial elite jockey for power in an uncertain world, the Librarian's other senses were aimed at the planet and the strange ship orbiting it.


Rec room, Hyperion

Low orbit, Agria, Terran Dominion

June 19, 998.M41

Tosh did not know what was going on. This was unusual.

An extremely powerful psyker, and further enhanced by his exposure to the unstable terrazine gas, Tosh was both extremely psychically talented and emotionally unstable. Unable to filter others' thoughts, Tosh felt and knew what was happening in a solar system, often before Raynor and Horner did. However, right now no one else knew anything, which left Tosh in the dark.

Ignoring the furtive glances from crewmembers around him, Tosh crushed one of his voodoo dolls and looked out.


The two psychic powers met somewhere in the void. Marcellus being a Space Marine and Tosh being Tosh, they each did their level best to kill the other. Tosh was incredibly powerful, a Primaris-level psyker by Imperial standards even before his exposure to terrazine. Marcellus, by contrast, lacked the strength that he would draw from the turbulent Warp but had uncountable years of finesse and discipline. Born and raised in a universe inhabited by uncountable trillions of creatures which fed on psykers, Marcellus knew how to hide from a powerful psychic presence.

He hid, and struck. The battle of wills was fought through hyperspace, as the two powers dueled and grappled. Tosh flailed his power in wide sweeps, while the Librarian dodged the spectre's attacks with the ease born out of literal centuries of experience. One hit from Tosh would cripple the Librarian, but he was careful to avoid that hit. Tosh's power was near-inexhaustable, but his will and concentration were not. The longer they fought, the more uncoordinated Tosh's attacks and defenses became. Finally seeing an opportunity, the Librarian ignored Tosh's psychic sweep and attacked the spectre's mind itself.

...

-bastard's cheating, I'm sure of. Aces and a-

-hell, the port actuator's down AGAIN? Oh my bunk, I'm gonna miss you-

-Raynor says 'shit,' they say 'how much and where do you want it.' How do I-

The psychic backwash of Tosh's mind washed over Marcellus. He staggered slightly as Tosh's fragmented mind spilled its contents over, the Librarian quickly regaining control and looking for information. Marcellus knew that Tosh would quickly rally and shove him away, so the Librarian ruthlessly hunted information down in Tosh's mind.

Marcellus sifted through the stream of other people's thoughts that constantly ran through Tosh's mind, looking for anything useful. He learned that the ship battlecruiser, Behemoth-class was named the Hyperion - damnfool name, if you ask me. It had launched Wraith fighters to scout, which had taken casualties I don't know who you people are, but I swear that I will damn well end you myself! and that the ship's mission in-system was to rescue trapped colonists.

While he searched through the enemy psyker's mind, Marcellus saw the Captain. Compared to the world-ending horrors which the Librarian had seen and fought, this Captain was physically unremarkable. The man - Raynor - lacked psychic talents, commanded a single warship, and had no planets to call home. It didn't matter worth a damn to Marcellus; he'd never trusted his gut instinct anyway. Marcellus's talent for premonition was nearly nonexistent, but his senses were screaming at him that this Captain could make or destroy empires.

As Tosh tried to secure his own mind, Marcellus drifted towards the small dropship leaving the Hyperion, bypassing the psyches of crewmen and officers as he went. No servitors...strange. Finally reaching the Captain, Marcellus extended a needle of psychic power and gently poked Raynor in the back of the head.

-Knock, knock.-


**The good Captain's job is to test new weapons and strategies…so yes, he's a complete gun nut. Show him a baby and he'll think about giving the Emperor's Peace with his chainsword, but give him a Ryza-pattern double-cell short-barrel plasma pistol and he'll turn into a 10-year-old. :)