Chapter 11: Touched by Angels
December 31st, 3241, 0400 hours
Rogue Trader Vessel Fair Lady
Unknown Deck Prison Cell
EUS 1840

Miles Prower rubbed his chin to feel the bristles of stubble poking up through the rest of his fur, and for a moment, he wondered just how interesting it was to have two entirely different sets of hair growing on his body.

He had time to have such nonconstructive thoughts as he was sitting in a cell that measured roughly twenty feet by twenty feet with only the most basic furnishings, most notably a bed and a bucket. He had forced himself not to use it, but knew it was inevitable. Not like it mattered anyway since the cell itself smelled of such decay, no doubt from its previous inhabitant or perhaps inhabitants, that it couldn't get any worse, and in any case he was alone. They had made sure he was set apart from the others. Several days ago, according to his watch, they had been split up and presumably all been placed in cells like these. The man, who Miles overheard was named Departeu, had come by to check on all of them once. He came into Miles' cell approximately a day ago with one heavily ringed finger holding a similarly heavily jewel-studded cane. He had no less than five guards backing him up.

Departeu looked Miles over, gesturing him to stand up. Miles had done so as he was afraid he would either be shot or whipped with the wooden stick, but he doubted the latter would happen - the cane was far too nice to be damaged on a cranium like his.

The man had paced around him, speaking in a language that sounded alien to his ears with no connection to his mother tongue to speak of. He could swear he could pick out perhaps a stubborn word or two that had worn out eons in the same way that some had survived since the days of Beowulf, but then the similarities were lost.

The words were guttural like German, snappy like Chinese, or perhaps Korean, but there was just enough phlegm that it brought to mind something Semitic, perhaps even older? Sumerian?

His thoughts were interrupted when Departeu came close to him, so close that Miles could see every groomed hair on his face, and he could smell the wafting and intoxicating cologne that radiated so much that his keen sense of smell almost overloaded. All the while, Miles did not move, and stared ahead like a good sailor.

Departeu made a sort of clicking noise with his tongue and looked even more, tracing the line of his snout with his hands, analyze his twin tails that stood just as much at attention as he did, and he even dared to flick one of his ears, making an approving sound while nodding his head.

Still, Miles made no effort to speak. This man could have his fun. He had no doubt that the way that he was poring over him suggested that those of Miles' kind were not present in his world. Suddenly, Departeu snapped his fingers to get his attention. Miles broke his stare and made eye contact. Something then seemed to lighten in the man's gaze, though it was clear he was the eccentric sort. He stared Miles down, though the latter blinked comfortably and took regular breaths, treating this like an inspection, knowing though at any minute his life could be burned away at the drop of a hand.

When Ekdal started to raise his hand, Miles took a sharp intake of breath, but Ekdal held his arm up at shoulder height, and then made a gesture of his hand for Miles to do the same.

Prower was confused by this, but did as Departeu asked, holding his arm up. The man took his own fingers and felt along the fox's lower arm. Miles felt confusion, but let the man continue his action, as he traveled to the fingers, then the thumb. He located the main artery in Miles' arm and then, seemingly satisfied, stepped back. He made another gesture and Miles guessed that this meant that he could lower his arm, which Departeu did not move to stop.

The man gave a half-smile, and then reached into one of his many pockets, and retrieved what Miles recognized instantly to be a UNSC Interpreter. Departeu held out his hand, palm open and facing up, waiting for Prower to grab it, which he did and fit it around his ear as best he could. He waited for the device to activate, but did not speak first.

"Can you hear me fine now?" The digitized, but similar sounding from the device said, hearing and translating Departeu's voice.

"Yes." Miles said, answering with the suggestions offered by the device.

"Could you please identify yourself?"

"Lieutenant Junior Grade Miles Prower."

"You are an officer?"

"Yes, aboard the Ontario."

"Serving under Captain Ekdal?"

"That's correct." Miles said with the slight narrowing of eyes. "You've already met the Captain?"

"He and I have had extensive conversation over the last few days. I have been bringing him up to speed on the situation, and he, likewise, has been informing me of the most delicious information regarding you and your colleagues. I actually am speaking to you on his recommendation."

Miles was rather taken aback by this, and he tried to think of a way to respond. His mouth opened and closed once, twice, and by the third time, he asked in a rather low voice, "Why?"

"Your intellect. By his admission, you are but a lad, assuming you abhumans age like the rest of us. How old did he say you were? Nineteen? Twenty? In any case it is irrelevant on how old you are, because the age of your mind easily reaches to that comparable to an adept."

Miles had absolutely no idea what this man was talking about, but he thought better of retorting or offering any sort of response until proffered to do so. The way that this man moved around seemed to give the impression that he wasn't quite there. The feeling was just slight enough to give him a slight tingle, His fur seemed to subconsciously puff out at the thought, which thankfully, most of his uniform hid.

"So, what this means to me..." Departeu continued, waving his hand in an intricate circle, as if tracing some sort of design in space, "... is that I think you will enjoy the finer points of realizing your current situation and how our time together will... evolve."

There was still something that he didn't trust about this man. He watched him stand there but blinked neutrally, as if he wasn't giving any sort of emotional response. The truth was that he was slowly becoming more distressed the longer Departeu continued, and noticing the gigantic handgun that was on the man's hip was not comforting. The barrel seemed to be more than half an inch across, maybe putting the weapon somewhere around .60 caliber if not larger.

"So, Mister Prower, I will ask you one question and one question only. I expect you to give me a straight answer, or I will be making some rather unfortunate and spontaneous calls in a moment. As you are on my ship, you are also at my mercy."

Departeu stopped pacing and came close to Miles, staring down at him, his wide-brimmed hat casting a dark shadow against his eyes. In the lighting of the cell, it appeared as if half the man's face had fallen into a void, with the twinkle of a reflection being the only indication he had eyes at all.

"I ask you this: will you walk with me?"

Miles blinked, and his ears sunk slightly in confusion. "Excuse me?" he asked, not sure if he had heard that correctly.

"I am on my way back to the bridge, and I desire some company aside from these fine gentlemen. I ask you again... will you walk with me?"

His voice was bizarre in that moment, varying from cheery, content, and then suddenly with a sting of icy penetration that unnerved the young fox.

He had no choice of course, no choice unless he wished to die. He nodded slowly, hoping that in this world it meant an affirmative gesture.

"Splendid!" Derparteu cried in amusement. "Splendid indeed! Now, come-come, my dear Lieutenant, we have much ground to cover, and I have an inexhaustible number of questions, and you will answer every one!"

The way that the man spoke as if he were a child going to the zoo only served to deepen the unease. Miles quickly formed two opinions on the matter. The first was that Departeu was positively mad and had no control over his feelings, and the second was that he was perfectly sane and used an insidious variation of emotional states that served to confuse his audience, forcing them to comply at the risk of their brains overloading.

Another flash in his cerebrum. Two black silhouettes strolling one after the other. A simple enough message. He waited for an affirmation that this was Jolee, urging him to follow, but he found no additional message. Someone was watching him and it was someone from this crew. How was that possible? He saw no cameras on the walls of his cell - it looked like an empty room that was hastily made to be a prison.

"Mister Prower! I would be off!" Departeu smiled, one hand brushing the grip of his weapon. Whether it was a slip of the wrist or intentional was not something he wanted to contemplate.

The guards had their weapons raised just high enough not to actually target him, but at this range, Tails know, they wouldn't need to aim. He nodded, and slowly stepped towards Departeu. "OK." was all he said.

"Ah-ah-ah!" Depearteu said waving a finger. "As a precaution of course..."

Miles found his wrists seized before he could respond. They were forced behind his back in a flash by one of the green armored soldiers and were locked in place by strong cuffs. The men uttered something in their own language that remained untranslated by the device on his ear. They seemed to find this whole thing amusing. The Mobian thought, frightened, whether he had made a mistake, and whether they would shoot him not unlike one of their own in the cathedral, for reasons that eluded him.

Departeu muttered something that sounded like "Xjho, xjho..." to the soldiers before saying in Gothic, translated naturally, "The bonds will be loose enough not to cause discomfort, but these Guardsmen will accompany us for the duration of our trip." He smiled sweetly and added, "Do behave yourself. I would hate to have you be a poor ambassador for the abhumans of your vessels."

Without a further word, Departeu turned on his heel and strode out of the hall, gilded cane raised as if it were the baton of a parade marshal.

Tails felt himself shoved forward with a hand to the shoulder blade. He was pushed along with an elegant but forceful language pushing him on. The language itself sounded almost aristocratic even though he knew there was no understanding it now. Without much encouragement, he fell into step behind Departeu who strode slowly, taking his time. It was his ship after all.

Without looking back, Departeu began to talk.

"So Mister Prower, I would have you begin to explain your kind."

"My kind?" he asked, sort of irritated at the way this was put.

"I would have the description of your peoples. It appears that you are abhumans, but given the circumstances of your arrival, I require more information.

"We are Mobians." Miles said at once, saying it with a degree of pride.

"Mobian." Departeu said, rolling the word around, testing it over and over, quickly, then slowly. "What a peculiar name for a species."

Miles took a breath. "We are a collection of species with a singular name to unite us. We were named after our homeworld, and our homeworld was named after a Human."

"Most fascinating." Departeu muttered. "How did your kind come about? Genetic engineering?"

"No." Miles said, keeping close to Departeu, but not too close to make the guards uncomfortable. "We came apart as an... accident during a colonization effort."

"Ah yes." the captain said, "a tale that we can relate to, I am sad to say."

They passed through many more winding corridors. Every now and again one of the floating skulls would cross their paths. They startled Miles as they came close which elicited chuckles from the men behind him. Departeu did not react, but kept walking.

The next chamber was low-ceilinged with several pipes exposed along the girders. The air was thick with some sort of dust, but the amount of people in this area made it seem like it was important in some way. Humans dressed in robes were moving about and performing tasks at what Miles assumed were computer stations. Many were not paying attention to him as he passed, which struck him as odd given his physical appearance. However, those that did stop to look at him saw their captain, and immediately got back to work.

"Tell me, are your kind subservient to Humans?"

"What?"

Departeu looked around. "That didn't sound like an answer to me."

Miles definitely didn't like that question at all, but he answered it, as he was sure barrels were lined up against his back. "No. We are equal. We work on the same level as Humans. We aren't slaves."

"Slave is such a harsh word. Those who work in any capacity for the betterment of the Emperor are seen in a favoring light."

"We don't have an 'Emperor' in our world."

"Tell me then, do you have psykers? Those who can affect the world through their connection to the Immaterium? Do you know of the Warp?"

"Nothing. There is no warp. We don't have... what was that word you just said?" Miles asked, trying to reason it out.

Departeu seemed quite flummoxed at this, turning his head wide enough to leave it in profile. He seemed confused by the young man's answer, as if he had been told an aspect of his life was a lie.

"The warp does not exist?"

"No." Miles answered again, drawing out the word a little. "Tears in reality like this don't happen. What's a psyker?"

The Rogue Trader's confusion drew further. Every answer these people gave him had only served to raise more questions. He began walking again. No warp? No psykers? How was life even possible for these people? That meant that they had no navigators either, which meant they travelled through the stars only using either the simplest of calculations, or perhaps they...

He stopped himself before he let his thoughts get away from him. He would let Servaus look into this afterwards.

He passed through one larger door to reveal an atrium ten stories high with a vaulted ceiling, beautifully painted frescoed walls, and gold trim everywhere. In the middle of the atrium was a floating array of precious metals that were suspended through unknown means. Serfs of every stripe were milling around on the many levels of walkways, some of whom were only barely important enough to see the outside of the bilge holds. Departeu walked on unthinking and uncaring of the plights of his crew, fixated only on his personal gain.

Miles however took a moment to stop. With his hands restrained behind his back, he wasn't capable of grabbing the railing, but he did take it all in. The painting on the roof was of breathtaking beauty with angelic figures dancing across a starlit sky, wings outstretched. A golden band of a halo caressed their heads as they held hands with one another. On a second piece, a gold-armored man with long and flowing black hair stood atop a mountain with a flaming sword that gave Miles the thought of the Archangel Uriel, stretched towards the heavens. Below him, rows of Humans raised their arms in praise. The artist's work was so sublime that Tails could see every tear rendered with heartwrenching quality on the cheeks of the faithful. This must be the Emperor, he thought, looking in curiosity as well as wonder. Behind him, rows of similarly golden-armored men stood with banners. In the sky above this, cherubs with flowing red robes sang. He couldn't swear by it, but he thought he felt a tear streak into his fur at the sheer beauty of the piece, far more wondrous than in any gallery on Earth or beyond. He was truly at a loss for words.

He felt the jab of the rifle barrels against his side and got moving again, the feeling of awe lost as he fell back into reality. Departeu did not stop, but the Guardsmen got him to catch up. Across the atrium, a distance that stretched maybe two hundred meters or so - which, Miles understood, was large enough to fit in a frigate across the beam of this massive ship. After a minute or two of trying to get to the Rogue Trader's side, audibly panting, he tried to ask the question again.

"What's a psyker?"

Departeu seemed to hear him this time. "A psyker can wield the powers of the warp in the name of the Emperor. Sanctioned psykers anyway. They are fonts of power, drawing from the Immaterium and serving as a sort of engine for its powers. The warp is fuel and the psyker combusts it. Dangerous creatures."

"Why dangerous?"

"Many, many psykers know not what their powers are capable of." Departeu explained. "Many worlds have been lost to the carelessness of a psyker not put down by the Imperium at large. Many become corrupted by the warp into tools of destruction for the Lords of Chaos."

Put down? The thought stuck in Tails' mind. They put down people, he understood, with psychic powers? He felt suddenly very sick, thinking now of his time in EUS-39. He and Jolee were potentially slated for death.

"But there are many who are in glorious service to the Emperor and watch over his children. Astropaths and Navigators to name a few. These are essential to the operation of voidships much like this one. Everyone has his place. I am reminded of a particular thought: 'all souls cry out for salvation'."

That wasn't going to make him feel any better.

"You have no taint of the warp. Your kind seems to know nothing of it. You seem stable in my mind, and you are intelligent at that. The deal your Captain made with us may prove to make you all useful in the end. We can avoid calling the Inquisition over this matter and perhaps we can help each other out after all."

"What deal?"

"He can tell you himself."

The atrium was behind them now and they were back to twisting corridors. Miles noted that he saw no actual robots anywhere on the ship, only these deformed and sad looking creatures shuffling around. They made Miles' skin crawl as they went about performing menial duties. The sounds they made, especially the deep raspy breathing, made it seem like it was in pain.

"Why do you do this to them?"

"Excuse me?"

"These people." Miles said, voice rather hollow. That got Departeu to stop and turn again.

"What people?"

Tails pointed to the shuffling mass of flesh and machinery. It was holding a heavy pack on its back full of electronic equipment. Its massive legs thundered on the deck while the passing people gave it a wide berth. It had no eyes, but two lenses that projected out of where they would be on its sockets. Metal actuators helped pulse the legs as it continued its long journey down the pathway that Miles, Departeu and the Guardsmen came from. "That's a Human being!"

Departeu's face seemed to soften for a moment. "Your concern for Humanity touches me, truly. Let me alleviate your naive mind by informing you that these are not men."

Miles' ear cocked in confusion as he watched the grey mass of muscle and machinery ambulate down the hall, each step releasing a sharp sigh that could cut metal.

"These are servitors." Departeu explained, his elegantly ringed finger jabbing at the retreating figure. "Vat-grown creatures built to assist in the operation of the God-Emperor's holy vessels. Their minds are weak and they know nothing of the world."

"Why?" asked Miles though, confusion mounting further. Why would you even spend the time... growing these things? For what purpose? Why not just make a machine? Why not just make a computer to send this information?" Why would you make something like... this?"

"It is because 'computers' as you call them risk the same downfall that our ancestors experienced."

The distorted voice came from up the hallway. Gregorias Servaus slowly made his way towards the pair.

"Lieutenant Prower, I would have you meet Explorator Magos Servaus."

Tails' first reaction was to raise his hand and extend it, but he remembered that both were restrained behind his back.

"You ask why?"

"It seems inhumane."

"Servitors cannot feel the world. They are just as abominable machines. If your soul is troubled, I urge you not to be. A brain without a mind is no different than a cogitator without its soul; it cannot reason. It shall not reason."

"Why?"

"That's a dangerous question, you know." Departeu said. "And one we shall not answer standing still. Come; the bridge."

As they walked, Servaus answered, one of the metal arms behind him whirring as it translated up and down.

"Thinking machines it is said led to a horrible accident in the ancient past. What it was, nobody knows."

"Thinking machines?" Miles asked. "Artificial Intelligence?"

"Abominable." Servaus corrected.

The Lieutenant was shocked to see hear that this was similar to its English pronunciation.

"AIs are capable of helping people, not just harming them."

The silence was unbearably long. The Guardsmen looked at each other, not sure what to make of the quiet. They could not understand the dialect that the Rogue Trader was speaking, but the lack of interaction had them wondering. Had their Lord Rogue Trader wanted this abhuman dead?

"Another damning utterance." Departeu said. "The Emperor must want you alive, for if you had spoken that to any other man, they would have killed you on the spot."

"My Lord Captain, I believe the Lieutenant should go to the bridge now. I must return to their vessel. Something now requires my attention."

Miles watched the robed cyborg step away at a rapid pace down the hallway he had come. Departeu ushered him forward once more. They spoke no more, even when they came to a gigantic and intricately carved metal door arranged in rough wedges. On the top third of the door was a symbol set as a relief into rock perhaps. Asteroid rock it seemed. It was a rolled up scroll flanked by a two headed eagle. A single skull sat in front of the scroll. The seal was lined with gold leaf. As they approached, the seal rotated three times and three massive locks retracted. The door slid apart to reveal what clearly was the bridge.

The massive room was roughly coffin-shaped with series of segmented windows. Beyond, stars by the tens of thousands scattered the inky black. The Fair Lady was illuminated by its own running lights, the blood red hull clashing against the void, crenulations and steeples pock marking the surface.

Miles watched the activity around him as uniformed Humans spoke into communications equipment, some of which that looked like very old tubes for shouting orders to lower decks. Miles was blown away by how forwards and backwards this whole situation and how hopeless it was to argue or rationalize anything.

He searched the faces, and felt a shudder going down his spine as he saw individuals with heavily modified faces, many with hoods and metal inserted into flesh. Some had cables snaking from their shaved craniums. Others were unaugmented, tapping at keyboards or swiping on what looked like tablets. Departeu stepped up to an extravagant captain's chair. All who were close by stood up straight, hands at their sides. In response, Departeu raised both hands, urging them to get back to their duties. The Rogue Trader looked about until he found who he wanted to see, a cheery "Ah!" coming from him. He stepped somewhat quickly towards the robed figure who stood further ahead on the raised central platform of the bridge.

The figure was tall, slender, and Miles noted, blindfolded with a silk sash that was the color of an ember. Two eyes were embroidered onto the silk, closed as if the person who wore it was sleeping. However, despite being blinded either by the sash or through organ failure, the individual had no trouble locating people or had no danger of falling off the platform. Perhaps it was memory? No, Miles decided. There was more than one form of sight.

Miles also saw that this was a woman. The only clue was the curves of the body.

She was strikingly beautiful with cherry red lipstick and alabaster skin. Beneath her hood, there was the hint of knotted back auburn hair. She couldn't have been more than thirty. In one hand, there was a staff with an iron outline of an eye at the top.

She couldn't have known that Miles was there, but he felt a slight tingle again when she turned her head to face him perfectly, and what was even more disturbing was that she tracked him as Departeu waved him over.

"Lieutenant, one of the reasons I have you here is one of my most trusted crewmembers. This is Uliah Jasparine. She comes from a noble line of astropaths, who reach into the void..." he theatrically extended his arm, and seemed to close his fingers, "... and snag the thoughts of others like her."

Jasparine responded by smiling. Her smile was sharp, angled, yet genuine. She didn't speak yet, but Miles saw her thoughts, could have sworn she saw her lips moving when in reality nothing of the sort happened.

"Ah, you can see." she spoke, her voice like a music box, modulating, but not unpleasant; her eyes fluttering behind the silk sash. "I reached out and felt a mind. It was yours."

Departeu nodded several times enthusiastically. "I'll leave you to it. Yes! Yes, I'm on my way, you don't need to wave me over!"

As Departeu ran across the room, Jasparine continued to regard Miles, who was still entrapped by her beauty. "Don't be afraid." she whispered. "I felt your soul the instant you came near. You do not know what you have though. You are not like the others."

"I know. I..."

"Yes." Jasparine said. "Yes, yes, you are different. Your soul though is holy, embracing the purity of the Human form. It is I who argued for you to be spared by those who wished for... other plans."

"Why me? My mind can't be the only one that stands out."

"No." Jasparine said, "Indeed, there are others. There is another. He is worried for you. I have set his mind at ease. He is an old soul. He may appear rough, but he means well."

"Jolee."

"He wishes that you are well."

Tails didn't know what to say. This woman had gone out of her way to save their lives - convince Departeu that he was human? He didn't understand that part, but he appreciated her actions.

"Thank you." he said, bowing his head slightly. "I'm still coming to grips with this, but thank you."

She smiled once more. "Your gift will need to be molded. You are here for a reason. Teaching is not possible. You must learn through doing I am afraid..."

She froze, head drawing back.

"What's wrong?" Miles asked, before suddenly being hit with an energy he was not ready for. Pain, unimaginable pain gripped his skull and he felt like it was tearing asunder. He dropped to his knees, gripping his head, suddenly crying out. His vision failed for a moment, before he saw a snowfield. He was standing there watching the snowstorm rage, flakes flying through the air like frozen arrows. He squinted, and then he saw it.

Out in the distance, he saw a wolf. It was moving slowly through the snow, stumbling, and howling in pain. He saw that it was badly hurt, and was leaving a trail of blood. The wolf was limping, one paw held to its chest as it hobbled along. It stared at the sky and Miles followed its gaze. Three moons glittered in the sky through the blizzard, and above those, eight stars arranged in an odd pattern. The wolf raised its head to the sky and howled. All at once, reality coursed back in.

Miles was on his back. At once, two robed attendants came forward. Departeu barked to pick him up in his dialect. The Rogue Trader's crews handled Miles gingerly, not quite comfortable lifting him up. Some appeared to show distinct distaste for it. However, the young Mobian was dazed and not quite sure he was where he was before. The world seemed fuzzy, as if he had a concussion. He tasted copper in his mouth and made the discovery that his nose had started to bleed.

"What happened?" he tried to say, but the words tumbled out as a jumbled mess. His eyes were unfocused, and his limbs felt miles away from his body. When he tried to step, he lost his balance. This time he was caught from the front. Miles' face landed in the crook of the man's arm. He didn't want to move, but his ears perked at the sound of the voice in accented English.

"Come on, son. Get up!" came the warm, but clipped order.

Miles struggled to raise his head, and saw he was looking at Captain Ekdal, still clad in his UNSC uniform. His face was pale, and his normally humor-filled face was blank, as if he had witnessed something horrible. A thought lit up in the back of his head told the fox that the Captain just had.

"Captain?"

"Stand up." Ekdal said, slowly placing him on his feet. The Captain pantomimed the crewmembers to grab Prower's shoulders and bring him to a step that could double as a seat. As they moved, blood dripped from the Mobian's nose onto the polished granite floor.

"Oh, could you not?" Departeu called from his chair, before snapping his eyes to the astropath, switching to the dialect of Low Gothic used on his ship, a language that had developed over the last four thousand years. Before him, the Astropath also held her head, her features now lined as she struggled to keep her balance.

"Speak!" he barked.

"This was not an astropath, Lord Captain. It did not commune as one, but it is of exceptional power."

"Astartes?" Departeu said, now dashing up to the robed woman. "Speak! Speak! What did you see?"

"A wolf," came Tails voice.

Departeu whipped around, coat-tails flapping wildly. His eyes were wide and his mouth lay slightly ajar. "What did you say?"

"I saw..." Miles said, swaying slightly on the step before Ekdal caught him, "... I saw a wolf. A bleeding wolf... in a field of snow. It was hurt."

The astropath appeared to be looking right at the Mobian, frozen.

"A wolf." Departeu said.

"The Vlka Fenrika." Jasparine said, shocked, but keeping her voice low, which sounded like a cannon in the totally silent bridge. "I know where they are. I know their stars."

Departeu wasted no time. He turned back to his men and began to move. "Look alive!" He cried. "Duty stations now! Jasparine, feed those coordinates to Commodus now! We make ready for warp travel within five minutes! Sooner if the God-Emperor is with us!"

The bridge came to life as if someone had flipped a switch with deckhands running around to their consoles, tapping on keys and shouting things into their headsets. Pandemonium had set in as preparations were now underway. He reached his chair and tapped a button on one of the arm rests. "Gregorias, contact the enginseers to initiate emergency litanies! We are initiating translation to the Immaterium! Yes! Yes, shut up! I will explain myself when we are through! Just tell them to incense to the point where I can smell the Omnissiah!"

He shut the channel off and grabbed a cone attached to a pipe that fed from the floor. As he did this, several blast doors began to close over the massive windows. The bridge began to darken before strips of light prevented inky blackness from setting in. "Attention, attention! All crew will prepare for warp translation! Repeat that emergency translation is underway! Taskmasters will prepare work crews for possible damage upon jump! Guardsmen make ready to fend off potential boarders!"

"Potential...?" Miles asked before his head slumped forward again.

"Gellar Fields online and holding steady!" A woman at a console shouted. "Resonances are good; praise be the Emperor!"

"Navigator is confirming route has been determined!" A man with cables snaking from his head shouted. "Warp translation verified!"

Departeu turned towards Miles and Ekdal, his face split by a massive toothy smile. The look in his eye was like a child getting what he wanted for Christmas.

"This is where it gets fun!" he said. "You're in for a treat!"

"Ecclesiarch is reporting that wards cannot be applied in five minutes!" Another crewmember screamed.

"Well of course!" Departeu screamed back. "Because there's only four minutes!"

Tails was close enough that his keen ears picked up a voice close by. He didn't speak, but he heard the young man at the console next to him mutter under his breath. He couldn't understand the patois that the crewmember was speaking, but his eyes were closed so tightly he was shaking. His hands clasped together, and tears flowed from his eyes. The young Mobian could recognize a prayer when he saw one. Before the massive windows were completely covered by the blast shields, he saw a flash of violet that slowly began to form into a maelstrom. Tongues of lightning forked into space and strange distortions began to tear at realspace. Miles looked away just as the windows were completely blocked. The bridge light twinged red.

"Gregorias! Are those engines perfumed?" Departeu cried again. "Well tell them to do it on the way! Astartes call for aid, and I will be nine-times damned before I let them die on my watch! Full speed ahead on critical mass!"

Ten seconds later, the deck shuddered as the Fair Lady rocketed forward towards the massive gash in space that radiated something that could not even be comprehended by a mortal mind. Space began to warp, twist, and decay into something completely alien as the prow of the ship, with the alien voidcraft in tow, crossed the threshold, and in a flash, was gone, leaving a fading memory of the passage etched in the stars.