---
The bridge of the Ship smelled faintly of burning insulation. A minor scent, almost gone now, but still there.
Cassian stood behind the command throne working with the officers, Admiral Spire was there, seated, helm feed cables linked into his neck and spine. His eyes flicked from realspace displays to the void map holo hovering above the bridge. His expression never changed. He only nodded, occasionally issued short, clipped orders.
The bridge was silent in the way military vessels always were, quiet controlled tension, voices low but urgent. Vox officers monitoring channels from nearby ships. Tactical ratings kept their heads low over auspex displays. The ship's choir was silent, their compartment sealed. Navigator chambers further aft were sealed tighter.
The Ship was moving under full void sail. Systems strained, but held. The old Dauntless cruiser had taken a beating weeks ago. Hull breaches welded. Torpedo racks replaced. Void shields reliable, gellar field stable. Engines running hot.
Cassian stood beside Farron at the observation station. He didn't say anything. Neither did Farron. They both watched the flicker of runes across the ship's internal schematic a live feed of every system still under repair. It wasn't good. But it was more than enough for there situation.
Spire broke the silence. "Engines holding at eighty seven percent thrust. Vector stable. Time to Forge World Voltraxis: seventeen hours."
"Aye, Lord Admiral," replied the helm officer, tightening the coordinates into the navigation cogitator. "No deviation."
Spire continued issuing orders, sparing only the necessary breath for each. He trusted his crew to execute. Cassian respected that. He could see the layers of it: command without waste. The bridge moved like a muscle flexing, contracting, relaxing. As he himself assisted in the process of it all.
Farron muttered, "Spire could fly this thing with his heartbeat."
Cassian nodded. "He almost is."
They watched as the rendezvous coordinates with the Forge world's task force were locked. Several Mechanicus vessels, one of them a cruiser twice their tonnage. Escort frigates surrounding it like carrion crows. All were waiting for them. Their target was Planet Orar after meeting and refueling the ship at Forge world Voltraxis.
That was the next problem.
Distress signals had been coming from Orar for days now. Fragmented at first pings, scrambled vox calls. Then a data burst, partially corrupted, but clear enough. Planetary PDF overwhelmed. Civilian population being pulled back to hive shelters. Multiple unknowns likely Chaos. Fallback orders had gone out, requesting reinforcements from all nearby systems.
Spire had answered. Not out of kindness or mercy. Orar's position was too strategic to lose. Supply chain worlds nearby. Astropathic relay points. More importantly if it fell, it gave the traitor fleets another forward staging point.
Cassian had studied the map. The fleet movements. Every piece that fell made the next one weaker. One breach led to five more.
"Estimated resistance?" Spire asked.
Sevrik didn't look up, as he answered his captain. "Unknown. They've jammed the local vox grid. Forge ships will send in probes before we breach the system. Until then, assume heavy resistance."
Farron gave a dry grunt. "It always is."
On the lower deck of the bridge, officers moved between systems. One called out the status of the torpedo bays. Another confirmed that shields and gellar field would be at 100% capacity.
Far below, in the belly of the ship, Faevelith worked alone.
She was researching Afriel Strain, the material was spread across several sealed canisters. Sample data. Tissue growth. Genetic drift logs. A project Cassian had asked her help in. She was after all, very old in human terms which meant accumulation of hundreds of years of knowledge. Even if she would vehemently oppose it if someone said that to her face.
Now she was running blood cultures under atmospheric variances. Testing how the strain responded to synthetic stims, stress toxins, nutrient starvation. It was ugly work. But necessary. Every result meant something.
The lights flickered once, briefly. Old wiring. She ignored it.
She paused long enough to note the date and test iteration, then resumed. Cassian would ask her for the findings soon. And she would need some results to show for it.
—
The Ship drifted into Voltraxis's orbit like a tired soldier returning to the front lines. Below them, the forge world stretched out in every direction a sprawling nightmare of blackened steel and roaring fire, a world forged for war and ash.
From orbit, the planet looked like a living engine: massive foundries spewed molten metal into the sky, rivers of slag ran like veins across the scorched surface, and smoke stacks belched acrid plumes that stained the clouds red and orange. Conveyor belts and rail lines crisscrossed the landscape, carrying raw ore to gigantic assembly halls where titanic war machines were built without pause.
The hum of factories, audible even from space, vibrated through the void. This was no peaceful home; it was a godless heart pumping out engines of death.
"Approaching docking ring seven," the helm officer reported.
Spire's voice was clipped, and direct. "Open comms with the fleet commander."
Static hissed, then a voice cut through a gruff tone laced with authority. "This is Fabricator Cambrius of the Indomitable Judgment. Identify yourselves."
Spire replied evenly, "Admiral Spire aboard the Ship. We are here to join the fleet for resupply and to coordinate the upcoming operation at Orar."
"Understood," Cambrius answered. "We've been holding position near Voltraxis. The forge is running full tilt. Docking protocols will be strict crowded harbor and high security."
"Confirmed," Spire said. "Prepare to receive us."
Cassian glanced out the viewport. The docking ring was a chaotic hive of activity. Servitors scurried along catwalks, hauling fuel lines, ammunition crates, and replacement parts. Red robed tech priests moved among them, their mechanical limbs twitching as they issued terse orders.
Below, he could see enormous war machines being assembled: Baneblades, their massive turrets swiveling as if alive; towering Knight suits receiving final inspections; endless lines of Skitarii infantry marching in perfect formation across landing pads.
The forge world was merciless a place where men and machines were forged alike in fire and steel, every second spent producing weapons for the Imperium's endless wars. Life here was harsh, measured in metal, sweat, and the clang of hammer on anvil.
Spire's voice interrupted Cassian's thoughts. "Initiate docking sequence. Coordinate refueling and repairs with the fleet supply."
Over the next hours, the Ship was tethered tightly to the orbital dock. Promethium hoses hissed as they pumped fuel into the ship's reserves. Ammo loaders moved methodically, restocking bolter rounds, plasma cartridges, and torpedoes. Engineering teams replaced damaged hull plating and patched up breached bulkheads under the watchful eyes of Mechanicus overseers.
Cassian met with several of the fleet's officers, battle hardened veterans and sharp eyed tech priests. Conversations were blunt and focused: status reports, weapon inventories, troop readiness. There was no room for idle chatter here. Mechanicus as a faction were least human like and more like machines they worshipped.
---
Docking Platform Theta-9, Forge World Voltraxis
Local Time: Irrelevant. The forge never sleeps.
The blast doors groaned as they sealed behind them, shielding the crew from the shrieking winds and sulfuric haze that drifted across the forge world's ash stained surface. Cassian stepped out behind Admiral Spire, keeping to his place observant and silent.
Before them stood the delegation from Voltraxis.
Fabricator Cambrius, clad in burnished crimson robes and draped in the cables of a thousand data tethers, waited at the terminus of the landing platform. His face was half polished brass, a single mechanical eye glowing a sullen yellow. The other side of his face still flesh, still lined wore an expression not of warmth or contempt, but perpetual, thin lipped calculation.
He didn't speak at first. Merely observed them.
Spire broke it. "Fabricator Cambrius," he said, nodding stiffly. "We appreciate the docking clearance and refit opportunity."
"You requested immediate assistance." Cambrius replied in a voice like a broken servo hinge soaked in oil. "You are receiving... prioritization."
Cassian resisted the urge to snort. It was clear what Cambrius meant, your Dauntless class cruiser is a piece of antique garbage, and we're doing you a favor.
"Expected completion time?" Spire asked.
"That depends," Cambrius said, flexing a long, skeletal mechadendrite tipped with an auspex. "On how much heretical jury rigging your enginseers have inflicted on her since she left drydock. The last three Imperial Navy vessels we assisted were... creative in their modifications."
"We've kept to the Codex," Spire assured.
Cambrius's mechanical eye zoomed in with an audible click as he scanned Spire's face, then Cassian's, then Farron's, then the entire delegation.
"Of course you have."
Cassian kept his mouth shut. Cambrius hadn't addressed him and if the stories about Cambrius's temperament were true, interrupting now would be like stepping on a landmine for fun.
One of the Forge Adepts barely human at this point, more a walking rebreather with arms passed a dataslate to Cambrius. He didn't look at it.
"You will receive drydock three allocation. Refuel and minimal repairs only. We are currently producing munitions for three Segmentum level Crusade fleets, as well as replacing two Warlord Titan reactor cores. You may imagine how far down the list you are."
Spire kept a straight face. "Understood. We will take what we can get."
"I assumed as much." Cambrius turned, robes dragging ash. "You will follow."
---
They passed through the arteries of the Forge World massive corridors of steel and smoke, layered in grime and heat. Titans walked in the distance, towering silhouettes with reactor cores glowing like dying suns. Girders groaned. Chains rattled. The air stank of scorched lubricant and ozone.
Cassian kept his eyes on the movement around him Skitarii patrols in disciplined formations, each step synchronized; Scyllax Guardian Automata scanning every crew member that passed; servo skulls flitting through the smog like scavengers.
Farron finally leaned toward him. "So, thoughts?"
Cassian didn't answer right away. Just watched a labor servitor get crushed beneath a platform loader, its organic screams silenced by a descending piston. No one flinched. Not even the servitor.
Finally, he muttered, "It's worse than I imagined."
Farron gave Cassian a look. "You imagined this?"
"Not in this lifetime."
---
They arrived at a wide, elevated control chamber overlooking the refit yards ten kilometers of steel and flame. Mechanicus adepts scurried across catwalks. Massive cranes lifted voidship hulls like toys. In the far distance, a massive Leviathan Siege Drill was being craned into an orbital deployment barge.
Cambrius activated a series of noospheric links, data streaming into ports on his spine.
"Your cruiser will be serviced within thirty six standard hours. No promises on weapons calibration. Your lance battery is... suboptimal."
Spire didn't take the bait. "Acknowledged."
"And the other ships of your battlegroup are... late," Cambrius continued. "Typical."
"You know how the warp is."
"Unfortunately."
There was a pause. Cambrius didn't move. Then, unexpectedly, he turned his half mechanical head to Cassian.
"You. Biologis."
Cassian stiffened. "Yes, Magos."
"I recognize your pattern. You were made Biologis by magos Darius in Hive Desoleum weren't you? I checked database of everyone who comes into this Forgeworld. "
"Yes."
"Darius would be overjoyed that one of his proteges survived that Aberration of a planet."
Cassian's eyes widened in shock, "He is still alive?"
"Alive," Cambrius said at last. "And as stubborn as ever. Against all probability, he still clings to life. His mind remains functional, if... increasingly eccentric."
Cassian exhaled. His hands clenched behind his back, instinctively reverting to parade rest. Memories surged of his memetic Virus procedure under him, when he was still a greenhorn. The one who introduced and made him into Biologis.
Cambrius's voice returned, cold and efficient. "I have established a secure noosphere channel. You'll report to your mentor. He'll want to... interrogate you for your survival data."
Spire interjected. "Cassian is on active deployment."
"It will not take much time," Cambrius said dismissing the Admiral's objection.
Cassian muttered under his breath. "Comforting."
The group moved on as the machines around them buzzed.
---
Word Count: 2008
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