Chapter 12: The Uninvited Guest

Herkes System, outer asteroid belt.

Distant starlight reached the fringe as faint fireflies.

Yet hidden human colonies in the belt still raised vast solar arrays, desperately harvesting the meager gift.

Since Orks ravaged Herkes, three main worlds fell fast.

Tyranid and Chaos reaver incursions claimed most outposts.

For long, Gothic Sector fleets tried cleansing—failed campaigns left a mess.

Today was unusual.

Deep Space Colony 29 received an uninvited guest.

“Lord Vares!”

Titanium doors parted, bisecting the aquila.

Aged central control reeked of oil and sweat.

Red-robed tech-priests tended sacred machines, guarding secrets in silence.

“What is it, Grace?”

The man at command turned.

Fifty-plus, right temple scarred and augmetic, left cheek gashed from an Ork raid.

Red-haired woman approached, bowed.

“Lord Vares, observatory detected a jump signature. Our astropath can’t contact. A merchant near Mandeville Point imaged it, but…”

She tapped her wrist.

Fuzzy hololith appeared before Vares.

Void: dark silhouette eclipsed stars.

Imperial warship outline, but matte black—special stealth coat?

No ram prow, unlike most Navy ships.

Details obscured—mysterious, dark, dangerous, cloaked in mist.

Vares recognized instantly.

“Damn, a Black Ship. What’s it doing in Herkes? No psykers here.”

“Black Ship?” Grace blinked. “What’s that?”

“Adeptus Astra Telepathica’s psyker-harvester. Dangerous. No need to know more.”

“Yes… father.”

“Don’t call me father,” Vares snapped. “Workplace—Lord Vares or sir.”

“Yes, Lord Vares.”

“Dismissed.”

Grace gone, Vares pondered.

Hands propped, staring at system tac-table.

Black Ship: minor threat.

Three worlds lost—no tithe, especially psykers.

As planetary governor’s heir, Vares bore duty.

Hoped no worse.

“Sir, astropath received distress—Golden Fleece.”

“Lady Loon’s ship? Trouble?”

No reply.

“First Black Ship, now Loon. Damn, bad news piles. What’s today?”

As admin, Vares knew rogue traders’ value.

They sourced vital goods—pricey, but mutual.

Lady Loon’s Golden Fleece: “kind” partner, only 50% markup—not 200%.

Losing her pained Vares.

Hoped her legendary luck saved her.

Alas, disappointment.

Meanwhile, belt edge.

Void: unremarkable Lunar-class cruised silent, mains dark, inertial drift.

Chen Xing floated in virtual pod.

Gothic bridge stylish, but she preferred floating.

“Boo, boring.”

Mind fused hull—godlike control.

Felt bio-mass burn, bio-forms patrol, hatchery heartbeats.

Hatchery?

Eyes spun—idea.

Grabbed system, buffed.

[One Pregnancy Eight Treasures, shorten gestation.]

Minutes later, pod burst.

Eight hormagaunts charged, mucus-dripping, shells soft, but ferocious!

Chen Xing dominated via synaptic net.

Ordered one to digestion pool, calculated recycle.

Uh… less than one-eighth!

Sigh.

Buff-spawned Tyranids recycled at 1/8 bio-mass—conservation.

Thought BUG exploit—infinite bio-mass.

Failed.

[Host, planning to abuse my power for BUG?]

“Yup,” Chen Xing admitted. “Failed.”

Light-ball system wiped non-existent sweat.

Full rule-change? Why system—be god.

[Eh? Host, detected something.]

“Oh ho, good stuff?”

[Likely starship wreck.]

Chen Xing lit up—free bio-mass!

Mind snapped to pod, wiggled pale feet, adjusted.

Tiny hand sweep: “Full speed ahead!”

Disguised Lunar-class deftly turned, toward belt edge.

If seen aft—odd: complex maneuvers sans mains?

Answer: stern psionic tendrils.

Generated fields, swung for thrust.

Plus psionic anti-grav attitude—far nimbler than most ships.