Chapter 4: The Star Speaker?

As the small moonlet gradually distanced itself from the combat zone, Chen Xing’s suspended heart finally settled.

When gods fought, mortals suffered—she, a juvenile hive ship, had nearly croaked!

But she cared nothing for the battle’s outcome.

She only wanted a quiet corner to hunker down and develop.

Gurgle-gurgle—!

Hunger struck.

Chen Xing instantly panicked.

Tyranid devouring instincts were eroding her will.

She could only think on a full stomach!

But right now, no bio-mass in sight.

Without food, she’d starve.

What to do!

Just as Chen Xing despaired, she sensed something.

A point appeared in the void.

She seemed to hear… someone praying to a greater existence.

That being sat on a golden toilet, manifesting as a gleaming astronomican beacon.

An astropath!

On a moon near this gas giant.

Taking a deep “breath,” Chen Xing adjusted posture in the virtual command pod.

Pale little feet poked from under her skirt hem.

Silver hair danced in the void.

The system light ball blinked non-existent mascara eyes, confused about its host’s intent.

Chen Xing unfolded a hololith—her maximum observation range.

The system watched her poke around, baffled.

“System,” Chen Xing grinned, “can you calculate orbital parameters for me?”

The system crashed for two seconds.

[Orbital parameters? I’m not a nav-computer! How can I do that? I’m clearly just a female-frequency system, a tool to gather small-world energy for the main system—why must I calculate trajectories for a bio-ship aaaaaah!]

The system raged, feeling life hopeless, wanting self-deletion.

“System bro, pleeease!” Chen Xing gently stroked the light ball. “I can’t compute alone—help me just this once!”

Being cooed at by a silver-haired, blue-eyed beauty was wonderful.

The system was not immune.

It wriggled its orb body, then merged into the open hololith.

“Wowa, system bro, you’re amazing.”

[Hmph, this system hails from a higher dimension—this trifling matter is doable. But your route planning sucks. Flying straight is exhausting!]

“Ah, this…” Chen Xing scratched her head. “I thought the shortest path between two points is a straight line.”

[Space travel doesn’t care about straight lines—unless you have thrust to ignore planetary gravity, which you don’t, right?]

Chen Xing nodded, cheeks pink.

[Let me teach you fuel-saving: gravity slingshot!]

Before the words finished, the hololith route turned chaotic—Chen Xing dazed.

[Gravity slingshot uses the gas giant and moons’ gravity to accelerate with almost no propellant. Saves effort and time over your direct flight.]

Chen Xing clapped tiny hands, eyes starry.

The system struck a waist-akimbo pose with non-existent arms, smug.

Chen Xing: Hehe, slight ploy and it’s wrapped around my finger.

Fifteen minutes later, Chen Xing detached her hull from the hiding moonlet.

She swung tail tendrils, generating psionic fields to accelerate toward a nearby small moon.

As a massive gas giant, it boasted many moons—82 charted by the Imperium.

Eleven held true mining value.

Rich resources, low gravity—small orbital towers eased transport.

The Imperium built large mining stations on three.

Over 500,000 souls lived there.

Overseeing the district was a star fort.

Once part of the Imperial Navy defense grid, disrepair turned it into the mining admin hub.

Mining Director Eric Parlan entered the control center.

Titanium alloy doors stuttered before closing behind him.

As Parlan family head, Eric answered directly to Planetary Governor Daniel Rosiles.

But since war began, homeworld comms cut off.

Rumor said siege—yet his astropath fearfully reported subspace shadows engulfing the region.

He heard only soul-wails.

“That madman’s probably truly mad.”

Eric scoffed—a rare materialist.

He denied subspace’s existence.

His only concern: the mines.

“Director,” a family member reported, “Mining Station 21 has gone dark.”

“When?”

“About 9 hours ago.”

“Useless!”

Eric drew a finely crafted laspistol from his waist, blasting the man’s head.

Gray-robed servants silently removed the corpse, cleaning blood in under a minute.

The floor gleamed pristine again.

“You,” Eric pointed at a youth, “take his post.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The youth stood hands-behind-back at proxy command, issuing orders.

Eric lingered in the command room.

His right eyelid twitched uncontrollably.

An ominous feeling crept in—he felt he should act.

Moments later, Eric entered the astropath’s meditation chamber.

Veiled attendants bowed and withdrew—silent as trained ghosts.

Between hanging veils, Eric beheld the astropath.

A pallid figure.

A third eye sprouted on his forehead.

Fingers like demon claws.

An astropath—practically a xenos possessed by daemons.

“It comes! It comes! Shadows swallow the stars!” the astropath shrieked suddenly. “No no no! I see nothing! The Astronomican’s flame is gone! Emperor, the Emperor abandons us—he abandons us! Aaaah! No, don’t come closer!”

Watching the raving astropath, Eric frowned.

This man was no sanctioned astropath—just an unsanctioned psyker he sheltered.

Competent, but prone to fits.

Hope this one doesn’t make me regret it, Eric thought, exiting toward the orbital docks.

Something had happened at Station 21.

But it lay on the gas giant’s far side—star fort auspex saw nothing.

Battle had erupted near the ring—an ark mechanicus versus Dark Eldar pirates.

Wait—could Station 21 have been raided by Dark Eldar?

Eric’s gaze hardened.

He decided to investigate personally.

“Captain Bruce,” he keyed the vox, “ready the Stormhawk at once. We’re heading to Station 21.”

“At your command, my lord. Departure prep in one hour.”

Outside the Gothic-statued connector passage, a Cobra-class destroyer lay berthed in the void dock.

Distant starlight cast shadows on its weathered armor.

The Parlan crest now occupied the spot once reserved for Imperial Navy hull numbers.