Medea sat in the navigator's chamber, in the chair prepared for her use and her use alone. Only navigators and psykers could bear the warp's light, even filtered through the Gellar field and the protective occulus. Any other Astartes who entered would be driven mad in seconds.

She didn't truly look at the warp currents, the way Sextus did, but the light helped her focus her abilities on them. It was difficult to see far in the ever-shifting madness of the warp, and she couldn't have guided the vessel on her own, but she could see its near future on whatever path it took. Right now, that was being torn apart on a warp shoal.

"Port ten degrees, up five," she instructed. The direction was meaningless except as inputs to the helm; the result of the maneuver on the realspace trajectory could be entirely inverted. She felt the tone of the engines shift as the helmswoman complied.

That bought them two subjective minutes of clear running before another future appeared in her gaze. A fluctuation pulse striking the Gellar field in a moment of weakness, a daemon coming aboard. "Down twenty degrees."

Sextus gave a command five minutes later. "Starboard thirty degrees." No hazards, Medea remained silent. The rest of the fleet tracked in their wake, allowing them to avoid the most dangerous of the warp's tides.

But the warp was inconstant, and it raged on the verge of a storm. No path remained safe forever.

o - o -O - o - o

Quartermaster 1842 was displeased. The regiment had not been provided with an appropriate level of ammunition by the Munitorium, leaving his assigned Basilisk battery with only sufficient supplies for two days of full-rate fire. He was aware there were additional stockpiles of ammunition aboard the ship that could be released, but this was clearly an insufficient allocation.

He had informed lieutenant 294 of the issue, who had informed him it was the Emperor's will and they would obtain additional ammunition as required. Ordinarily this would have satisfied him, but the warp journey had him on edge. He'd been on enough to know that something was wrong with this one, and being told there were multiple translations scheduled before final arrival had not reassured him.

You need more ammunition the thought whispered in the back of his head.

He spoke to Colonel 76, who told him that they would deploy with the ammunition they had, and the Munitorium would provide additional supplies as needed.

Since when has the Munitorium done things on schedule?

He contacted the commissar, and informed him of the issue. The commissar replied that he was working on it, and that he was sure they would get a resupply in the field.

They won't. They're lying to you.

He contacted the Munitorium aboard ship directly, which was in his remit, and requested additional ammunition. The clerk replied that ammunition was only available in limited supply, and would be replenished only as the need arose.

They have the ammo. They have enough to arm you properly.

He returned to his bunk and considered the matter.

It's on board. Take it!

He spoke to lieutenant 294 again, and proposed seizing the ammo. The lieutenant refused and informed him that this would have to be reported.

Don't let him stop you! Don't let anyone stop you!

He shot lieutenant 294.

Kill! Spill their blood!

He returned to his battery and informed them mutinous Munitorium elements were refusing to distribute ammo, and the battery would be leading a strike on the mutineer's positions. He knew that they'd follow.

Take their skulls for the throne!

o - o -O - o - o

"A transport has fallen out of formation," Sextus informed the bridge.

"They're lost." Medea said.

"Continue on course," Minerva replied.

o - o -O - o - o

By the time gunner's mate Raine fell sick, the medicae had stopped coming. The last one who had showed up had been coughing behind his mask. She coughed weakly, feeling mucus in her throat shift, and scratched at the rash on her arm. She needed to eat, to keep her strength up, but the food refused to stay down.

It had started almost as soon as they had made shift, an announcement that there'd been an outbreak of a flu, and the usual medicae reminders about preventing the spread of disease. It'd been in the hanger bays on the opposite side of the ship, miles away.

Then the announcement that there was an outbreak of dysentery in the forward port broadside macro-battery. Then it had been pox in the torpedo tubes. Then the announcement of shipwide quarantine; no one was to leave their section except with medicae authorization or a void suit. Then Bryant had started coughing. The medicae came for him in their void suits, and bundled him off to sickbay. He hadn't come back. Neither had the next two dozen.

She thought about getting up, going to get some water. The thought faded into apathy; even the idea of standing made her tired. Maybe one of the other crew would come check on her. Maybe they were too afraid. Maybe they were sick too.

Raine thought about her grandfather. Always so kindly, feeding her when she was sick. He'd had such a ready laugh, and he'd… he'd died before she was born. Both her grandfathers had, when the orks had boarded. It was her mother who cared for her when she was sick.

There was a buzzing in her ears now, like nothing she'd heard before in the steel warrens that defined her life. Another symptom; she'd stopped keeping track. There was a ringing, too, and red flashes of light.

No, the ringing was real, it was familiar. Boarding alarm, she realized dizzily. Hostiles on the ship. Had they translated out? They hadn't; she was sure she'd have noticed even in her state. Which meant… which meant…

A voice was speaking over the intercom, the first announcement in two weeks. "Armsmen to sickbay! Daemons in sick-"the voice dissolved into hacking coughs. Raine struggled to her feet. She had to get to her station, had to…

She sat back down. What was the point? What had ever been the point?

o - o -O - o - o

"Enduring Defiance has deactivated its Gellar field," Sextus reported. "Lost with all hands."

"That was one of the Dictators," Europa remarked. Minerva nodded. The first warship lost, likely not the last.

o - o -O - o - o

"Embrace the change!" the blessed one roared, the remains of the robes of a lay brother of the mechanicum hanging from his furred body, crystal horns glittering in the emergency lighting.

"Embrace the change!" Alexander called back with the rest, gazing on the blessed one with his four new eyes. It had terrified him, at first, and for a moment he had thought to hide them, until he saw the tentacles of his fellow gunners. Then he'd known them for the blessing they were.

"The blind fools still think they can stand against us!" the blessed one cried. "But change is the only constant! It is in their flesh; it is in their machines! Their corpse god will not preserve them, here in the Changer's realm! The armsmen will try to stop us, but we cannot be defeated! To the bridge!"

"To the bridge!" they roared. Few of them, perhaps none of them, had ever been there, had ever known it as more than the source of orders. But even the lowest menial knew that to control a ship, you needed the engines and the bridge. They didn't know what to do when they got there, but the Changer would provide.

Some of them had changed even more than the blessed one, their forms gone into a mass of writhing, clawed tentacles, dozens of eyes, and countless mouths opening and closing. The spawn were herded ahead, servants of change even in their mindless state. They tore at sealed bulkheads, rending apart the metal.

As they crashed through, they were met by scattered lasgun fire from a handful of armsmen. Several more lay dead on the ground, shot by their comrades when the change had come for them. The spawn didn't flinch from the incoming fire, hurling through it with mindless determination. They reached the line and tore the defenders apart in seconds, then began to feast.

"Grab the guns!" Alexander called, rushing forwards to scoop one up. He'd never touched one before, but he knew where the trigger was. His comrades followed suit, grasping firearms in tentacles and clawed hands.

He felt a crashing shock then, the worst warp translation he'd ever experienced. He felt a moment of panic at being forced out of their new home, but the blessed one was unbowed. "Too late!" he crowed. "They left it too late!"

o - o -O - o - o

"Guardian has dropped out of warp," Sextus reported. Minerva knew that whatever catastrophe had befallen the light cruiser, it wouldn't be returning to formation. Even if the warp predators hadn't followed them out, they wouldn't find the Alecto's trail again.

o - o -O - o - o

Navigator Cornelius cursed under his breath as he watched the Alecto make another inexplicable course correction, cutting out of a strong current for no apparent reason. They had a librarian playing at navigator, and somehow they'd convinced the admirals to use her as a guide. She'd had them all over the warp, and he was sure they could have made it much further before their first coordinate confirmation translation.

"Shouldn't have made this trip at all," he muttered. Without the Emperor's light, he couldn't place their position relative to the materium, and the currents weren't what they'd been before the Rift opened. Daemons were scratching at the Gellar field constantly, and the wannabe-navigator seemed to be steering them into the densest concentrations.

He started to signal the helmsman to change course to follow the Alecto, then paused as he saw further down the current. There was a light there, a guiding beacon. Its sound was sweet, sweeter than the Astronomicon had ever been, and he knew in his bones it was guiding him right to the target system.

"Maintain current course," he ordered. The rest of the fleet wasn't coming with them, following the Astartes fool. They'd be lost without the light, damned as surely as the ships already overrun. He could see angels now, swarming from the light.

He followed the current straight towards the glorious light, seeing the daemons veer away as the angels came forth to battle them. They formed up around the macro-transporter, guiding and protecting it, steering it towards the greatest angel of them all. It was beautiful, six-limbed and male and female both.

o - o -O - o - o

"We've lost another transport," Sextus reported. "Path of Righteousness. Fell for an anglerfish."

Minerva winced. That had been one of the larger transports. Over a hundred thousand soldiers and hundreds of tanks gone at a stroke.

o - o -O - o - o

"Down ninety degrees," Sextus ordered. Medea's latest evasion had taken them off-course, if he'd judged this madness right. If there even was a course to be found. He'd sailed without the Astronomicon before, navigating blind amid the Great Devourer's shadow, but never in the face of such fury.

The warp surged again, a current made of the terror of an entire world washing across their path. The Gellar field whined as it compensated, the wave washing over, screaming faces pressing against the field. In its wake came another wave of warp predators, like monstrously overgrown white squid. Their tentacles lashed at the Gellar field, seeking purchase, finding none.

"Starboard thirty-three degrees," Medea said. The ship turned aside, narrowly avoiding a true leviathan of the Immaterium that emerged from a wall of rage. A beast too great to ever breach into the Materium, it ignored the tiny ships scattering out of its path. The lesser forms following in its wake swarmed over the fleet, battling the tentacled creatures for the privilege. They seemed set on the Inquisitorial ship, but its Gellar field burned stronger than any he'd ever seen, fit to hammer through a storm.

Sextus saw the next threat, ordering an evasion of an eddy of distorted time that could have flung them a hundred years forward or back. Medea remained silent as he maneuvered them back into a favorable current. Then he saw a wall of pain rushing towards them, and no feasible evasion. "Medea, course?"

"Up fifty-three degrees. Prepare for intrusion in vehicle bay."

o - o -O - o - o

"All hands stand by to repel boarders!" the intercom blared. "Incursion anticipated in vehicle bay!"

Julia turned to move, then checked herself and waited for Artemis to give the order. It wasn't long in coming. "With me. Into the bay, stick together and sweep," Artemis commanded the half-squad, then voxed the other scout detachment to hold their position and shifted into conversation with the other sergeants as she ran.

Julia felt a fierce rush of anticipation. She'd only encountered a single daemon during the shipboard incursion over Telerion, and Artemis had handled it with her blade after Julia's shotgun had proven ineffective. Now she was carrying a flamer, looking to get her first kill of a true enemy of the Imperium, not a mindless animal.

They passed chapter serfs forming up in the corridors, armed with a generous array of hellguns from Etna. The serfs were trained to defend the ship against boarding actions when its Astartes complement was away, and Artemis said they were excellent warriors by the standards of mortals. Having trained against them, Julia wondered what bad mortal warriors were like. Then again, she'd almost been one of them; she'd placed fifteenth in the final combat test with the scars to show for it and only received her gene-seed because five girls ahead of her failed the gene-screening.

She dismissed that from her mind; the hatch was ahead. She heard the whine of the Gellar field change even as they passed through. The serfs had evacuated the bay beyond, to leave no easy targets for the daemon to possess. Servitors continued their work mindlessly, more difficult paths for entry and in any case difficult to retask quickly. The air reeked of rot.

"Rebreathers!" Artemis ordered, sealing the door behind her, and Julia snapped hers on immediately, replacing the scent of corruption with filtered air. Artemis switched her vox channel, but Julia still caught her next words. "Vesta, incursion is Nurglite." She switched back. "Don't leave the vehicle bay without clearance, whatever happens."

Quarantine, then. Julia wasn't looking forward to it, but she understood the necessity. In the meantime, there were daemons to kill, and she was on point. She scanned the bay quickly, and spotted a greenish stain emanating from behind one of the rhinos. "Over there."

"Watch your corners," Artemis reminded them unnecessarily. "Advance carefully," she added, as though they hadn't learned that lesson already on the south continent over the past five years.

"Zero," a voice rumbled. A humanoid figure stepped around the corner of the rhino, green-skinned and sickly, a horn protruding over a single eye. In one hand it held a corroded sword, dripping green rot. "Zero. Zero."

Julia raised her flamer and depressed the trigger, releasing a short, controlled blast of flame, coating the daemon in blazing promethium. It didn't react, simply advancing towards the scouts as its skin blackened.

"Sustained fire," Artemis ordered, bringing up her own flamer as the other scouts joined in with bolters. "These ones are tough."

"Zero," said another of the creatures as it rounded the Rhino. The first one was still lumbering through the wall of flame, absorbing bolt impacts. They didn't seem to be passing through, but the craters they left had no apparent effect on the daemon beyond taking out its eye. It moved slowly, but closed the distance faster than it should, as if each step covered twice the distance its feet moved.

"Back up," Artemis instructed calmly. "Maintain fire." The original creature finally dropped in a pool of flame, which wasn't deterring the half-dozen behind it.

"Maybe blades will have more luck," Julia growled.

"See any guns?" Artemis replied. "Always take a range advantage when you can. We'll fire until we run out of space."

They felled four more daemons before that happened, two more forcing their way through the wall of flame. "Blades," Artemis ordered, drawing her own. "Split and take them from multiple-"

Julia saw her moment of opportunity and lunged, driving her combat blade into the first of the remaining pair, cleaving for its heart. She wasn't entirely surprised that it didn't fall, but it was slow enough-

The daemon's blade arm moved faster than she expected; still slow by the standards of Astartes, but she'd badly over-committed. She just barely managed to take it on her free arm, and to her shock the rusted blade bit through carapace and into the flesh beneath. "One," it said triumphantly.

"Julia!" Artemis shouted, rushing forwards herself. Her combat knife severed the daemon's sword-arm at the wrist, while the other three scouts cautiously surrounded the other daemon, two taking chunks out of it when it focused on the third.

Julia gasped, her hearts hammering, heat rushing out from the cut. She felt dizzy, off-balance, but retrieved her blade and cut again. Something was wrong. She was… she was sick. She hadn't been sick in years.

"One," the daemon repeated.

"Vesta, we have an injury," Artemis said urgently. "Cut with a blade." Julia could barely hear her. Artemis decapitated the daemon, and that finally took it down. The other one fell, too, its spine severed in two places.

"We need to… clear-" Julia began. She felt sweat dripping down her face.

"You need to stay back," Artemis said furiously. "We are going to clear the infestation."

o - o -O - o - o

"I'm treating the injured scout now," Vesta reported over the vox.

"How severe?" Minerva asked. She'd stayed on the bridge, in case there was an incursion there, but had been monitoring the situation over the vox.

"The cut isn't bad, but it was a Nurgilite weapon, and one of the more severe cases I've seen," Vesta replied. "Systemic infection, immediate onset. I'm dosing her with antibacterials and countervirals. The big question is the warpcraft. Medea?"

"Incursion is fading," Medea replied. "It will dissipate."

"Then she'll recover," Vesta said. "And it won't be contagious. I'm taking her to sickbay for further treatment."

"Who was it?" Minerva asked.

"Julia," Artemis replied. "Decided to take a daemon on with a knife alone when she didn't have to. Girl thinks she's a Blood Claw."

"Ah," Minerva said. Artemis did not have a high opinion of the Space Wolves' training process. Minerva hadn't thought much of it herself when Afi Redclaw had described it, but admittedly he had been the best sword in the watch-fortress not counting Medea. Minerva had taught him a few things about boltguns, though. "Do you want to take her off the squad?"

There was a long pause. "No," Artemis finally said. "She's aggressive and impatient, but she's learned not to give away the squad by breaking stealth, and I think this will make an impression on her."

"Wasn't she already nearly killed by a hydra?" Minerva asked.

"She won that fight," Artemis replied. "Humiliation sticks with us a lot better than pain. It's why I like the cargo servitor lesson so much."

o - o -O - o - o

"Checking astral referents," Sextus reported to the bridge, after they'd dropped out of warp to confirm their position for a second time. "The rift may delay confirmation."

Minerva knew little of how such calculations were performed, except that they involved identifying the angles between stellar and quasi-stellar objects that could be positively identified. With half the galaxy cut away, she supposed the task was more difficult than usual. Time enough to speak to the other commanders, though in truth there was little to discuss.

Soon, she was in the strategium, speaking to Solon, Brant, Gerax, and Malachi by hololith. Gerax was the first to speak. "We've lost several warships already, just flying this course."

"That was expected," Minerva replied. "The conditions would be hazardous even with the Astronomican lit. We had to fend off an incursion ourselves, even with Medea helping us evade."

"It's been a bad trip," Solon agreed. "No full manifestations on my ship, but more than the usual problems with timepieces. Riots, madness, food rotting unnaturally. And we're out a good chunk of our siege artillery."

"We did have a manifestation," Brant said. "Red things with flaming swords, took out about a company. Nothing like the kind we saw on Telerion; they sound Khornate and you said those ones were Tzeentchian."

"Bloodletters, from the description," Malachi replied. "They are indeed Khornate. It's unlikely, though not impossible, that they are allied with the Thousand Sons. More likely simply opportunistic predators."

"We shouldn't have begun this trip before the Astronomican relit," Gerax said. "We have the supplies to stop and wait for it."

"I agree," Brant said. "This has proven more hazardous than even I anticipated. We could easily lose the rest of the fleet."

"I would concur," Malachi replied, "if we had any indication of when that would be. Unfortunately, we know only that delay will be costly. We continue."

"And if we don't?" Gerax asked threateningly. "If we decide to hold here?"

"Then you damn Astor V, and you damn yourselves," Malachi replied harshly. "You let fear turn you aside from your duty. You put yourself in defiance of the will of Him on Earth. You will be cast from the light of the Golden Throne, damned to suffer in the warp for all eternity. Do not forget with whose authority I speak." Gerax's face went white.

Minerva was impressed; usually inquisitors turned to more temporal threats. Most likely Malachi usually did too, but there wasn't a plausible threat to make under the circumstances. It wasn't much of a threat to her, since she had no expectation any of them would escape torment in the warp, but it seemed to work on mortals.

"I apologize," Gerax said shakily. "I should not have taken council of my fears. We can continue when you are prepared."