Next came the physical repairs.
There was originally a small team of Tech-Priests on the Song of Dedication, responsible for the ship's daily maintenance and the appeasement of its Machine Spirits. During the previous chaotic uprising, most of these Tech-Priests had been slain. However, the mindless Servitors used for heavy labor and hull repair remained largely functional.
To expedite the repairs and ensure total obedience, Raynor had Sarah forcibly infect the surviving Tech-Priests. It was a messy affair; Tech-Priests, whose biological forms were already heavily replaced by cybernetics, did not react well to the Genestealer's kiss.
Their logic-driven brains clashed with the alien genetic code, and their nervous systems were scrambled as Sarah's psionic influence overrode their binary cant.
They were essentially being "overclocked" into a terminal state; they would be completely scrapped soon, but Raynor didn't care. He only needed them to keep the ship navigable until they reached Brevis. He never intended to bring these twitching, oil-leaking enthusiasts to the surface anyway.
...
Finally, he had to decide what to do with the Purple Crystal and the massive swarm it carried. After its recent transformations, the biologically modified merchant ship no longer resembled an Imperial vessel. It looked like a gargantuan, floating tumor of chitin and muscle, covered in pulsating blood vessels and writhing tentacles.
There was no way such a monstrosity could approach Brevis without being obliterated by planetary defense batteries. Furthermore, the swarm itself could not be hidden on a Hive World. Since it was impossible to conceal the Tyranids, carrying them along would only increase the risk of immediate execution upon arrival.
After much deliberation, Raynor made his decision.
First, he selected one thousand people from the migrants who had followed him from Necromunda. These individuals had a low degree of mutation, and their appearance was nearly indistinguishable from ordinary humans.
Moreover, their time aboard the Purple Crystal had given them a hardened psychological tolerance for the Tyranid presence. They would serve as his base of operations—the grassroots cadre of his future power.
He left the majority of the Genestealers behind, keeping only a skeleton crew of essential hybrids to operate the ship's remaining systems. Aside from his core team, he only brought Dobby and his forty-odd Ogryn brothers, along with the seven hundred relatively "clean" servants. Sarah and Sarah II would, of course, follow him; she was Raynor's ultimate trump card and his primary source of strength.
As for the Purple Crystal and the bulk of the swarm, Raynor pointed to a map of the Lysis system.
"Go here," he commanded, indicating the outermost planet labeled "Dead World-B."
According to Kerry's information, the planet's surface was hellish: toxic atmosphere, intense radiation storms, extreme temperature fluctuations, and lethal native predators. It was unsuitable for human life. But for Tyranids? It was a paradise of untapped minerals and primitive biomass with no complex ecosystems to disrupt or intelligent races to resist.
Raynor had Sarah II produce several standard Queens to remain on the Purple Crystal. Accompanied by Tyranid Warriors, they would explore and seed Dead World-B. While their efficiency would be lower than Sarah II's, and their ability to hatch advanced organisms would be limited to basic cannon fodder, it was enough for them to slowly accumulate strength in the shadows.
"I will establish myself in Brevis," Raynor thought, a glint in his eyes. "When the time comes, you will be my hidden blade."
...
Three days later, under the frantic direction of the collapsing Tech-Priests and the tireless labor of the Servitors and Genestealers, the Song of Dedication regained its basic flight capability. The Warp drive remained paralyzed, but the auxiliary engines and power units had been patched into a barely usable state. It was enough to limp to Brevis.
The Void Shields were far too complex to fix in such a short time, and the weapon systems were ignored entirely. With the Purple Crystal acting as a cloaked escort, any pirate foolish enough to attack would find themselves boarded by a swarm of hungry predators before they could fire a second volley.
The Purple Crystal followed the Song of Dedication for as long as it could, dragging its massive, fleshy body through the void. It would remain just within the periphery of the system's "sight" before veering off to vanish toward the Dead World.
...
Inside the luxurious restaurant of the Song of Dedication, Raynor, Kerry, and Isod sat enjoying a meal meticulously prepared by the Genestealer chef. Over the past few days, the couple had come to accept the reality of their situation: Raynor was serious. This heretic intended to take Kerry's place as governor.
Numb with fear, they adapted. At least they were still alive.
The atmosphere was awkward. Raynor ate with poise, Kerry had no appetite, and Isod had seemingly regained some of her former social vigor. Over the past few days, Raynor had consulted her extensively on aristocratic etiquette, political maneuvering, and the factional conflicts of Brevis. Isod had spoken without reservation, providing valuable insights she had collected herself. She believed Raynor had recognized her value—a value that far exceeded her husband's.
Halfway through the meal, Raynor put down his knife and fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He looked at Isod, his tone unusually gentle.
"Isod, if I become the Governor of Brevis... you wouldn't mind continuing to be the 'Governor's Wife,' would you?"
Kerry's head snapped up. His face turned ghostly pale, and his lips trembled as he looked from Raynor to his wife. His eyes were filled with a mix of shock, agony, and disbelief.
Isod was overjoyed. Her gamble had paid off! This powerful, mysterious "Titus" needed her—her wisdom, her connections, and her experience. What was Kerry? A useless title-holder.
She flashed her most radiant smile and tossed her hair gracefully. "Of course I don't mind," she said, her voice lilting. "I simply want to be the Governor's wife. I don't care who the Governor is."
The words were a dagger to Kerry's heart. He let out a strangled sound, his body trembling. After years of marriage, even a match of convenience fosters some attachment. Witnessing his wife's blatant betrayal was a pain sharper than any terror he had felt thus far.
Raynor watched the spectacle with a hint of cold amusement in his eyes. He stood up, walked around the table to Isod, and extended his right hand.
Isod, thinking this was the moment of her ascension, adjusted her posture with the grace of a high-born lady. She gently placed her hand in his, a perfect, practiced blush rising to her cheeks. She looked up at him, shy and expectant.
"Madam," Raynor said, his voice remaining soft even as his purple eyes turned colder than the void itself. "It seems to me that you've misunderstood something."