+Hate…+

The Sorcerer of Stars stood in the ship's barren Navigator quarters, his staff burning with arcane power as he stood before the observation aperture. His eyes stared out into the madness of the Warp, drowning in the undulating psychic forces of Chaos, but his mind did not process these signals. It was elsewhere, even deeper in that darkness. It plunged into the writhing shadows, only his sheer willpower keeping the insidious wisps of lunacy and corruption at bay as he charted their course, keeping them on their ordained path towards salvation.

+Hate…+ The Savory Wound repeated, pressing the sensation upon him.

+Patience+ The Sorcerer of Stars communed soothingly. The ship was not fond of the Warp. She rarely tolerated existing within the Sea of Souls for long, their stints within the Eye of Terror becoming shorter and shorter over the centuries as their vessel grew… agitated if forced to remain outside of realspace for too long.

The rest of the sorcerer's brethren believed it to be a mechanical issue. Some malfunction within the ship's Warp Drive or Gellar Fields. Up until recently, the puzzle of it all had intrigued Pyotr greatly and the Sorcerer of Stars saw no reason to reveal the truth to him. Only the Mechanicum, he suspected, knew that it was the Savory Wound's own machine spirit that rejected the Immaterium, but even they mistook the reasoning.

They believed that she hated the Warp, that she despised the way that it corrupted her motive force and threatened to unravel her and cause her to mutate into something unholy. They were wrong about this.

The Savory Wound was very fond of her name. She resonated with it, enjoyed the taste of it. But she also thought of herself occupying a larger role within the Company, a grander purpose than simple transportation and had chosen a title befitting such a station.

She was the Warden of the 51st Company, monitoring and correcting all that went on within her core. The Warp heavily limited her ability to do this, and it irritated her greatly.

+Return. We return. I must see again+ she insisted. The Sorcerer of Stars felt a tension within their communion, a tugging upon the psychic lash his mind had upon her spirit as she attempted to enter the Materium once again. He tightened his grip and resisted.

+Patience+ he repeated. +Only a few days more+

+No!+

+Yes+

The Savory Wound projected a sensation that the sorcerer interpreted as a growl and gave another tentative tug on his control. The attempt was futile.

+If we exited the Warp now, we would not reach our destination+ he explained. +We would die. You would no longer be able to perform your duty+

The thrashing ceased. The ship begrudgingly allowed his guiding hand to assert complete dominance once again. The Sorcerer of Stars had already made this argument to her twice since the daemon invasion had ended, but the Machine Spirit of an VIIIth Legion vessel was not one formed by logic and reason, it was raised by far more primal, choleric passions. A strong argument would mean little as her desires continued to flare hotter as time went on. The time he was able to step away from their communion was shrinking continually. He could hardly go an hour before the ship threatened to jeopardize the plan once again.

+Zseron…+ the Savory Wound hissed. +I am blind, Zseron+

+I know this+ he projected. +It will be over soon+

+I see so little. Flickers. Only flickers+

The sorcerer ignored the vessel this time. She would demure for a time before her protests grew volatile once again. The Sorcerer of Stars considered this to be his measure of peace when it came to the Savory Wound's cycles of outrage.

+Again. It is happening again+

He barely caught the words in his focused meditation. They were innocuous, potentially just more of the vessel's dissatisfied projections of thought and emotion. Still, they were tinged with something unusual, a sensation that the sorcerer could not help but investigate.

+What is?+ he asked.

+Conspiracy…+ she emitted with gnashing force. +Rebellion… Like before+

The Sorcerer of Stars almost lost concentration of their communion.

+What do you mean? Explain+

+Before the Sea. Before the hate+ The spirit of the Savory Wound tensed, as if remembering the full extent of her earlier indignation.

+What did you see?+

+Plotting. Conspiracy. Hate+

The sorcerer had to exert a surprising amount of will to keep the ship's motive force from escaping his dominance over her. The questioning was clearly driving her into a frenzy, but it was essential to know more.

+Why did you not inform me of this initially?+

+No need. Failure. Lacked support+

+Do you know who it was?+

+Yes… No… It is possible+

Even with the sorcerer's frail and weak link to his physical body at present, he felt himself frown.

+Mortal or Astartes?+

+Mmmm…+

Even in realspace, the Savory Wound had difficulty recognizing those that lived within her. They were all small, insignificant entities to her. Ants to be ushered and controlled. She did not need to understand who was committing a betrayal against the Company in order to report it to Zseron or put an end to it through her own, subtle machinations.

+What occurs now, is it being done in the same location?+ he asked, for that was a question that she would be able to answer with clarity.

Or so he'd hoped.

+Blind… Return. I must return…+ She strained against him and the sorcerer forced her back into compliance.

The Sorcerer of Stars felt his essence prickle with unease. Something foul was occurring upon the ship and he had little idea of what. That was not something that pleased him. He would need to inform the other Atramentar, have Krayle begin an investigation and end whatever was occuring before it began. And with the Savory Wound's current behavior, he would have to do it quickly. He began to withdraw from their communion.

+HATE+

The ship's spirit thrashed with such intensity that the sorcerer had no other choice but to sink back into their connection and reassert control, his being exerting monumental will upon the spirit of the ship as it nearly succeeded in slipping from his reigns and plunging them back into realspace. The Sorcerer of Stars felt his physical form's breath grow heavy and labored with exertion. Slick moisture coated his brow and scalp.

+Patience+ he projected. Its effect was almost inconsequential. The sorcerer's mind was trapped in a battle for control that required more focus than he ever had to apply when communing with the ship. A well-trained Navigator would likely have an easier time of it, but the 51st Company had not had one of those in decades.

+Hate… Hate… Hate…+

The Sorcerer of Stars let his psychic semblance pulse in what amounted to a teeth-grating sigh. He could not aid his brothers at this time. He could only hope that the Revenant would be able to uncover this conspiracy himself and stop it.

He had a terrible feeling that it could mean their doom if he failed.


Artemis felt her head throb with bellicose cruelty. Each skittering neuron was a cannon firing inside her cranium, each flickering synapse a lightning storm across the surface of her mind.

It was probably the worst hangover she'd had in years.

Artemis stifled a groan as members of the fuel-loading crew slowly trickled into her cramped chambers and began talking amiably with each other. The constant noise did little good for the pulsing inside her skull.

"Everything all right, Artie?" Jep asked, looking at her with concern.

"Ah, she's fine!" Brelja clapped her on the shoulder. Annoyingly, the woman appeared utterly unaffected by the previous night's libations. If Artemis had the strength to scowl at her, she would. "Probably just daunted by all the people."

"Ah-hah…" Jep said skeptically, eyeing the two of them.

Artemis forced herself to her feet, ignoring the sudden wave of dizziness and the intense urge to run to the nearest chamber pot. "I'm fine," she corroborated. "Just… didn't get much sleep last night."

Today was the day they began to set into motion events that would determine their fates, Artemis couldn't afford to be weak. Not now.

"Who are we still waiting on?"

"Er… Lamora and Tyahn, I think," Jep said, scanning the crowd.

Artemis nodded, then set out to begin mingling with her gang of dissenters. She was aware of the reputation she'd acquired and how it was beginning to spread, but that wasn't what she wanted to be known for. She didn't need to be some powerful hero who could kill with but a thought. That was what the Astartes were for, and they commanded fear more than respect. No, Artemis didn't want that. She wanted the people to see her as one of them. That would be how they'd listen, that would be how she gained their trust.

She made her way through a few groups and cliques, trying her best to learn names and relations. Several of them seemed more unnerved by her than anything, but upon looking to Jep for approval and receiving a nod, they appeared to warm up more quickly. Artemis frowned at that.

"Tell me," she asked, looking to a dark-skinned woman with coppery hair named Kosa. "I've known Jep for quite some time and he's always seemed so…"

"On the brink of an eternal nervous breakdown?" Kosa finished with a knowing grin.

Artemis smiled sheepishly, but nodded. "So why does it seem like all of the people of your station treat him like he's in charge?"

Kosa shrugged. "Most of the time, you're right. The man's a mess. But once we get close to those machines…" Her expression changed, becoming somehow both awed and amused. "It's like they sing for him. He just… knows what it is their spirits want, understands their needs and how to communicate with them."

"Like a tech-priest."

Kosa shook her head. "No. With the Mechanicus, it's all about worship. Jep, though? It's like there's a mutual respect between him and those motors."

"Huh." Artemis glanced back at her friend, watching him anxiously pick at the skin surrounding his fingernails as he stammered through a conversation with one of the other crewmen.

"You should see him when he's really at work with the machines." Kosa said. "He talks to them." She laughed. It was bell-like in timbre.

"Talks to them?"

She nodded with a grin. "Probably the most relaxed we've ever seen him."

Artemis blinked, then frowned once again. She never knew these things about him. Why hadn't he ever bothered to tell her?

Did he not tell you, or have you just not been listening?

Before she had the opportunity to come to terms with that thought, a man stepped up to her bedside and picked up her stub revolver, inspecting it. "Woah…"

Excusing herself, Artemis quickly maneuvered her way over. Though her master never explicitly said it, she had a bad feeling that other individuals handling her gifted firearm was a punishable taboo.

As she approached, the man—a younger fellow with skin so pale that the blue of his veins were visible to the naked mortal eye—looked at her with a gapped-tooth smile. "What pattern is this?"

Artemis stopped short. "I don't know."

"It looks like some variation of the Zarona design," he said, looking at the stub gun from various different angles and inspecting parts and mechanisms with his eyes and hands. "It's definitely old enough to be around that same period of conception. Maybe it's a custom variant? A specialized mark? Or maybe just a bastardization of various different components that were put together. Yeah, that's probably the most likely case. See the barrel here? Looks like it comes from the Oressa Mk IX pattern, but that was developed independently on the opposite side of the Imperium five-hundred years after the Zarona Mk IIa. Oh! And if you look at the release switch–" He clicked the cylinder open and whistled upon seeing the bullets inside. "Are these Man-Stoppers?"

Artemis blinked. "Ah… Yes."

"Throne, that's awesome." He smiled up at her, snapping the cylinder closed and handing the weapon back to Artemis. She took it from him gratefully.

"You seem to really know your small arms."

The man that Artemis was rapidly starting to conclude was still in his teens shrugged. "I grew up on a Forge World. You pick up some things here and there."

"And I suppose you ended up here as the result of a raid?"

He nodded.

"I would've thought someone like you would've been amongst the artificers."

The kid rolled his eyes and snorted. "I… applied to join them. Their standards were apparently too high for what I'm able to do."

Artemis nodded in understanding, then held out her hand. "What's your name?"

He took it, if only briefly. The act didn't seem malicious, at least based on his expression. It was more… It was as if the idea of skin-to-skin contact made the kid uncomfortable but was weathering it for her sake. "Cai. It's… short for Ciaphas."

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "Like the hero?"

"My parents thought the Emperor may bless me if I was named after one of His greatest servants," he said with a chagrined expression. "You can see where that got me."

Artemis gave the boy a smile. "I think I can somewhat relate."

Cai looked at her with a blank look. "How?"

Before she could answer, Artemis caught Jep's eye from across the room. He nodded to her as a final person entered the chamber, signaling that everyone was present.

She gave Cai an awkward farewell before returning to her spot near the center table and took a breath.

"Ready?" Jep asked.

Artemis nodded, but hesitated before she addressed the room. "Jep?"

"Yes?"

"You said you had something to tell me back in the fuel-loading dock during the invasion?"

The man's face suddenly grew an even more impressive shade of neurotic red—which Artemis found astonishingly impressive, considering she didn't think that was possible—and averted his gaze. "Oh," he said with a nervous chuckle. "It doesn't… Well…"

He looked up and put a hand on her shoulder. "I-It's silly, but… I just wanted you to know in that moment that, no matter what happened, I'd be there for you. I'll always be your friend."

Artemis smiled, but inwardly she felt as if there was something distinctly off about his mannerisms. There was almost an imperceptible hesitation before he reached out to her, as if he worried she'd be hot to the touch; his gaze never fully met her's, instead resting just above her brow, and his words felt… Well, they were certainly true, she didn't doubt that for a moment, but they also felt like a haphazard backup plan rather than his original design.

What are you hiding, Jep? She thought, but ultimately decided to let the matter rest for now. There were more pressing issues for her at play than her skittish companion's clandestine thoughts.

"Thank you," Artemis said and swore she saw him let out a held breath as she looked away to address the crowd. She watched as the amassed people slowly grew silent as they noticed her standing at attention. It wasn't a pleasant sensation between her cracking skull and drowning vision, but it had the effect she wanted, so it was worth the suffering. Probably.

"Everyone," she said, voice warm but grave. "You know me. You know my intentions. I thank you for being here, for being willing to take a chance on my hopes to claim the retribution and liberation that we deserve against our captors." She let her eyes drift across the gathered faces. Previously, she had to search desperately for anyone willing to hear her out. Now, she couldn't find a single person who seemed unwilling to join her crusade. "The plan remains the same, but as do its problems. I do not intend to lead like our masters; with an iron grip and demands for obedience. I would hear your thoughts, your suggestions. We succeed together.

"Our largest issue continues to be that an Astartes may arrive at the station to monitor performance and see what is happening. How would you prevent this? How do we ensure none of the Night Lords—or World Eaters—stumble upon us as we drain the fuel reserves?"

A hand shot up almost immediately. Artemis nodded for the individual to speak.

"I think I have an idea, miss! Oh, and it's a good one. I just know it!"

Artemis almost choked on her own saliva as she recognized the voice and began to focus on the man it belonged to within the crowd.

"Phihks?" she couldn't help but show her surprise. "You lived?"

The rat-meat seller cooed with amusement. "Of course! I'm very good at not dying! Even against daemons!"

A round of chuckles rose up from the crowd and Artemis had to stifle her own smile. "You said you had an idea?"

Phihks nodded eagerly. "We need the gods somewhere else, right? That means we just need to make enough noise to cause them to go poke their noses somewhere else for long enough to bleed the ship, eh?"

"Sure," Artemis agreed. "But these are Astartes. They won't send more than one or two of their ranks for any problems we mortals could cause."

"Which is why we won't be causing it. They will!" the mangy man's eyes twinkled with a certain light that Artemis couldn't tell was genius or madness. Only one way to find out.

"What do you mean?"

Phihks giggled. "I hear the two legions aren't getting along too well right now. All we need to do is give them a little… push to get them to scuffle. Yes, another, louder fight between gods would force all the heavens to bend to investigate the clashing."

Artemis furrowed her brow. Another fight?

"And how would we give them this… push?"

"Leave that to me, miss."

Artemis frowned at that. "Would you care to illuminate us on what you'll be doing?"

Phihks rapidly shook his head. "Oh, no, miss! No. I can't. It's important no one knows. Otherwise, they may mess it all up!"

"We can trust each other here, Phihks."

His eyes went wide. "Oh, I do! I trust my friends." he put his arms around the two people nearest to him to make his point. They didn't seem particularly pleased to be pulled so close to the scraggly little cretin. "But they still can't know. This is a good thing, I promise! It means if something goes wrong, then it can't be traced back to everyone else and you can try again!"

Artemis glanced at her friends to get their thoughts. Brelja simply shrugged ambivalently while Jep picked at his palms. "I… I-If he says it won't jeopardize us, then… Well, I guess."

"I'll throw in a free rat for everyone!"

"I'm more inclined to support this idea now," Brelja said quickly. Artemis grimaced at her. "What? He catches good ones."

Sighing and trying not to gag, Artemis rubbed the bridge of her nose, then looked back up again. "Fine. But only if you can promise whatever you do can't be traced back to us."

"Yes! This is good, miss! I promise! When do we start?"

Artemis was dreading that question. She knew it would come up, there was no way around that, but that didn't change the fact that they simply didn't have the time that they needed. Things were going to be tight. Too tight. They had little other choice.

She took a deep breath and addressed the crowd at large.

"Tomorrow."