Dozens of shuttles scurried between parked ships and the surface on the big auspex screen. Fluffster zoomed in to focus on the battle barge. Other vessels avoided the Galeos Parthenos so the bounty hunter's shuttle would be easy to see in the empty space around. Knowing the Warsmith's paranoia, I wasn't surprised he preferred musing in his chambers to rowdy fights and boozing in port bars. At least he had a vox channel open for contact as most of Oldhaven's guests.

'That's still improper, my lady.' Melitara didn't even look at me.

I spoke in my most reassuring tone. 'I'm not forcing you to start the talk, Captain. Trust me, my latest adventures brought along at least some experience in delicate matters like that. If you worry about his suspicions, I can tell you Dark Apostle Imudon was an only witness to Plodia's penance. Limax has never worked with him. The latest widespread rumour about Plodia was her intrigue with the Pirate King.'

Melitara reached for another glass. I took a seat at the panel and checked the voice modifier. There was an option of secure trade requests in the list of channels presented on the port's network page. 'Outcoming request sent to the Galeos Parthenos. Stay on line till the answer.' Short beeps, then the familiar heavy breath came from the speakers. Limax didn't trust his advisors enough to negotiate for him.

'Best greetings from Captain Melitara, my lord!' I started cheerfully before Melitara could have interfered. 'Hope you have good memories of your long-term collaboration with the noble heir of the Interpunctella dynasty.'

He was panting into the mic for a few seconds. 'So-so,' he muttered at last. 'What do you want now?'

'You're famous for a glorious range of precious commodities especially valued by top-level customers all over the sector, Lord Limax. Further cooperation will bring us mutual benefit.'

'Scrap-metal from the forges of Medrengard, unique weaponry and automata crafted on Medrengard and Gallium, all kinds of spare parts for machines both human and xenos, a stock of necrodermis for a special price,' he kept on mumbling the list of goods like a pupil reciting a rhyme in class, but then stopped abruptly, catching his breath.

'Wonderful, totally wonderful! I hope we can discuss the terms in a friendly way aboard your barge.'

'You'll have to wait until I finish with another deal,' he answered after a pause. 'No tech-priests, special weapons or modified guards allowed. Sending the access code.'

He turned off his mic before I could say goodbye. Relatively harmless compared to other Chaos Lords I'd encountered, he'd be pretty fine to talk with if only Melitara didn't scare him into shooting around. His nervous attitude wouldn't let me bring Angel or Fluffster along but Uncle would do as well without unpredictable odds.

I put on a long cloak taken from Melitara's wardrobe and wrapped my scarf around my head and face like warrior-nomads of Tallarn do, all but the eyes hidden from sight. Fluffster had provided me with a stealth device that would disrupt the work of security sensors but the hardest part would be avoiding legionnaires and serfs on the way out. He had checked the record of shuttles that had left the barge for the port, and it looked like most of his crew were spending their time and money in the bars. Guard automata were usually equipped with the same sensors as the board security systems, so my task was to sneak through unpopulated areas of the barge back to our shuttle where Fluffster would be waiting with a stasis container. I asked him to give me the trophy rod but he refused firmly. Not safe for a psyker to wield, he said, and even less safe to flash in front of its previous owner.

When we docked to the Galeos Parthenos, memories of Torquigener sent chills down my spine. All I had seen last time was the cargo hold where Limax kept factory slaves packed like cattle in a compartment of bare metal. The upper decks showed a striking contrast. The barge itself was a relic vessel of a pattern forgotten by now, but, thanks to its owner, it was little more than a flying junkyard. Piles of scrap-metal and battered crates lay on the docking deck without any order, mixed with other rubbish and food waste. Melitara pursed her lips at the stench that filled the place.

'Lassie, you've made a good choice of headwear,' Uncle said to me covering his nose.

'I would be grateful if you refrain from comments right now, sir.' Melitara straightened up, smoothed her grey hair and shook off a drop of water tat fell on her prim tunic from the corroded vault. 'The shipmaster is aware of our arrival but I don't see anyone to meet us.'

We waited at the airlock for a few minutes but not a single sailor ever appeared on the deck. A cargo servitor walked past us on long spider legs to dump another bundle of deformed metal parts in a shaded back corner. Lamps were dim and flickering, cracked control screens barely reacted to the touch. I walked along the wall, passed between a few hills of junk and finally saw a row of beat-up transfer cars. A good excuse to return to the deck afterwards.

At the fourth attempt I managed to trace the route to Limax's chambers on the inset navigator and start the decrepit engine. The closer we got to the central part, the paler was Melitara's face. She sat next to me, straight and motionless as a statue, looking at her clasped hands. When we rode past a legionnaire in horned armour mottled with Chaos emblems, she closed her eyes and kept them shut until I stopped the car before the half-open metal doors guarded by two automata. I typed the code sent by Limax on the security screen by the doors, and they lowered their boltguns to let us in.

Inside the reception chamber two voices were speaking. I'd better say one and a half, as Limax answered mostly in brief mumbling interjections or violent puffing. The other voice, dramatic and loud, belonged to a woman. We entered the poorly lit waiting room. Through the doorway I saw the gawky Warsmith with his arms folded on his chest. His interlocutor, a fidgety girl in an assassin bodysuit, looked waifish against his hulking shape.

'I wish you luck in your studies of sorcery, my dear lord,' she crooned stepping closer towards Limax. He reeled backwards instinctively with a muffled gasp. 'And I should thank your for the vortex grenade. Otherwise, the bacons could have shot me.'

'Not me,' he huffed out.

'You're still a formidable warrior even without lightnings from your eyes.' She ran her fingers through her fuchsia-pink hair and winked at Limax. 'How will you reward the lady for a sweet little secret?'

Limax cleared his throat. 'I've paid you enough.'

'As if money is all a lady needs.' She touched his pauldron with a flirty giggle. Limax threw off her hand and darted back. She shrugged her shoulders, a sour grimace on her face. 'My lord, that's improper to be so rude while I know something that will influence on the coming campaign.'

'Tell then.'

'I hoped you showed more interest.'

'An extra set of weaponry,' Limax wheezed out. 'Devices of your choice.'

'Fine.' She puckered her neon purple lips. 'You've got rivals on Myristica. They found out where the thing is. Hurry up lest they sell it away even before your fleet reaches the system.'

'All? Go get the reward.' Limax made a few ungraceful steps towards the trashed back wall and turned aside from the visitor.

The bounty hunter headed to the exit. As she passed by, she leaned over a row of boxes and crates and pulled out a long cylinder case with a blue rune glowing on the lid. It kept on slipping down as she tried to place it against the wall so she just left it behind the door. I felt warp noise subdued by the case when I peeped into the chamber before Melitara could enter.

Limax's reception room was something in between a workshop and the same scrapyard as the other compartments of the barge. Working tools lay piled up on workbenches, leaning towers of hardware boxes were about to come down on the Warsmith and his guests. The only reminder that the room used to be a strategium was a dusty holographic table for battle simulations in the corner.

'Rogue trader Melitara, Captain of the Perseverant, in the service of the Interpunctella trade cartel of Uebotia!' I announced.

Limax jerked up his head. I met the gaze of his grey eye-lenses. 'Enough femoids for today,' he muttered. To my relief, he didn't recognize me.

'Sir, let us get down to business with due attention to all formalities.' Melitara's boots drummed on the metal floor as she pushed me aside and walked into the chamber with her head held high.

Limax clasped his gauntlets panting through the helmet rebreather. 'Captain, your bodyguards. They have to go away.'

'Sir, I beg you. Giants like you tear up a whole squad of soldiers with their bare hands.'

'The rule of my barge,' he answered stepping back to the table.

I nodded and made a sign to Uncle so he hid behind the door. Melitara gave Limax a ceremonious smile, and he responded with a clumsy bow of his helmet.

'Lady Plodia speaks very highly of you,' Melitara continued with factitious courtesy. 'It has been thirty years since you started the cooperation, if I am not mistaken.'

'Like that,' Limax did his best to imitate small talk.'I remember that day. She arrived to buy hardware from Medrengard. I made a vid-call to the Morning Glory.' He paused to recuperate, then went on as Melitara didn't show much enthusiasm to comment on the story. 'She answered from her private room. And was quite glad to see me. She had candy wrappers stuck to her dress. Her cheeks were red like a tomato. Something was buzzing on her night table and made her speech hard to hear.'

Melitara's face turned redder than Plodia's on that day. She clenched her jaws and straightened her collar. 'Sir, I will give your regards to Lady Plodia,' she finally squeezed an answer out of her throat. 'I think we should have a look at the list of goods.'

Limax, glad to stop the small talk, rushed to the large wall screen and started tapping on the scratched surface. It lit up slowly, and a large pict of a naked woman appeared on the screen. Limax muttered something and poked the menu section in the bottom left corner. Another window popped up over the pict. We saw a Drukhari wych undo the clasps of her spiky corset. Limax threw himself in front of the screen trying to cover the vid-log. 'No, not that, don't watch, just a minute!' he gabbled into his helmet speakers punching the battered screen. It went dark for a few seconds, then a presentation with blurred picts of his goods finally opened. Melitara stood wordless, her eyes open wide, her lips pursed together.

'It's time.' I closed the door carefully. 'The granny and the nerd are too busy to pay us attention.'

'Hard to believe this one is His Angel of the Great Crusade,' Uncle whispered shaking his head.

I put my finger to my mouth and crouched down over the case. I'd already seen a few rune-locks visible to psykers only, but some were trickier and needed specific sigils and rituals to open. The glowing sign was warm to the touch. I closed my eyes, tried to get in touch with the lock. It opened with a click, and an outburst of psychic power threw me to the floor.

Shifting reflections of emerald green and blue danced on the walls and ceiling. Frozen up in eerie trance, I reached for the case. A flash of warp-flame, and the staff was already in my hand, its weight and size perfectly fitting its new holder. A turquoise bird head on the top was breathing colourful spectral fire, lightnings cracked all over the crystal pole. Cackling voices were muttering words of mockery inside my head but I stood still unable to drop the cursed weapon.

Words of prayer broke through the daemonic giggles. Uncle stared at me, deadly pale, his hands folded in the sacred sign. I took a deep breath and turned on the stealth device. The case was closed again, and I stepped over it reading litanies in feverish haste, concentrated on the hard struggle with the staff. Dull pain in the midriff was growing stronger when I ran between the automata and jumped into the car.

Uncle was driving now while I sat in the back seat, almost paralyzed by the sorcery too powerful to wield. The staff lay down at my feet, its lights hard to notice for a non-psyker. A deal of luck, and soon we'll get rid of this daemon stick. A loud tinkle came from my pouch. I stirred, too weak to even take out my dataslate. It tinkled again. I rubbed my eyes and put my hand inside. An incoming message. Fluffster. I covered it with the other hand and tapped on the utility menu to decipher it. 'Latest news. Lady C. tracked down the dusty soldiers. Myristica. Leaving today. Hurry up.'

The very planet Limax had a mysterious rival on. I started typing in the answer field. My fingers trembled, and the dataslate slipped out to my knees. Finally, I pressed the 'send' button and sat back recuperating. Blue sparks were flickering before my eyes, the contours of the passages started shifting and distorting.

Uncle was rocking left and right on the driver seat as if he was drunk as a skunk. The engine itself didn't obey his commands, the car's crazed Machine Spirit made it jump and turn at random. We narrowly escaped a crash at the row of support columns that separated Limax's quarters from the decks. Cultist serfs turned their heads staring at the wonders of drunken driving but quickly returned to their usual business as we passed by.

When we got close to the descent to the docking deck, a group of serfs stopped and waved their hands at us. I felt another psyker's aura touch mine. I shoved Uncle in the back so he speeded up. The serfs went on running after us on their augmented metal legs. One drew a laspistol, and the beam made a smoking hole in the back of the seat next to me. Their leader tapped on the wall screen.

I cussed and reached for the staff. Its might flooded my mind open to channel the tremendous energy. A desperate cry broke out of my lungs, violent daemonic chirping subdued all other sounds. I stood up, shaking at the warp power running through my body and soul.

'Get away! You haven't seen us!' I ordered with the Will and swung my staff. The bird head uttered a shrill cry.

The psyker fell down to his knees, blood running from his nose and eyes. His companions threw their weapons to the floor and scattered. I dropped the staff and flopped back to my seat. Uncle staggered for a second. It was enough to slam into another information column. The back wall of the car broke off. I fell out and rolled down a wide ramp to the engine compartment.

'Lassie, I'm running to you!' Uncle's voice shouted from the vox bead.

'Don't you dare!' I cried back tumbling down past metal crates and repair servitors. 'Back to the shuttle, quicker, than take out the Cap!'

'We won't leave Oldhaven until you return!'

Steaming hot air enveloped me. The compartment reeked of oil and smoke but they were none as repulsive as the psychic stench. It was almost dark save the reddish glow of daemonic furnaces and warp lamps. I slid to the very bottom and slipped through an open hatch. My cloak got caught in another weird construction, and I found myself hanging over a vast chamber packed with corroded machinery animated with malignant essence of the tainted Immaterium. Daemon automata of gruesomely deformed shapes scurried between the machines. Boundless fury of the Neverborn trapped within their metal frames made me shiver. Even the stealth device was of little help where they yearned for living souls in their eternal hunger.

The thin fabric of the cloak started tearing up. With a desperate dash, I gripped the bundle of cables hanging from the vault. Holding on to the cable with one hand, I undid the clasp and got out of the cloak, then climbed down struggling with vertigo. I shouldn't have listened to Fluffster's warnings. Better to have clashed with the bounty hunter than to become daemon fodder away from my crew.

A feeble call reached my mind. Not a daemon. A human being. 'Girl.'

'Who are you?' I sent back as my feet touched the floor.

'Come closer to the reactor'.

'Who are you?' I repeated, more surprised than scared.

'I was a Librarian in my Chapter. Limax captured me. I've spent seven years here in the direst of torments.'

'The daemon guards will rip me and devour my soul.'

'Don't fear,' the psychic voice answered. 'I managed to break one of the ward sigils. That's why I'm able to speak to you. I'll shield you from their evil.'

Step by step, I walked up to the fiery heart of the Galeos Parthenos. Fierce eyes of the automata glimpsed at me but the mechanical servants didn't dare to touch me. The warpflame reactor pit was covered with an elaborate construction of metal with psychoactive crystal shards glowing in a strange pattern over the intertwined cables and chains.

An aura of suffering struck me when I looked upon the whimsical machinery. A giant was bound to the twisted metal net with rune-engraved shackles. Cables were connected to crude plugs carved into his body black with soot, a plain crystal mask his his face from sight. His marine bodyglove had turned to oil-soaked rags stuck to his skin. His chest heaved when he gasped for air as warp-fire was licking his limbs and sides.

'Seven years of unimaginable agony. Help me, good girl.'