Preparing to Enter

Deputy Captain Clawven's gravelly complaint brought a hint of life to the corridor, despite the stench of death that filled it.

The tension in Old John's jaw eased slightly. He looked away from the corpse on the floor, its body twisted into an inhuman pose and its organs scooped out.

These armed crewmen had spent years making a living on the fringes of the Imperium, or even farther out in the dark. Which of them hadn't seen a few things that defied explanation?

Xenos worship, unknown whispers, nests of alien creatures, and horrors even harder to name...

They had seen the whole damned assortment.

"Enough, Clawven." John's voice regained its usual steadiness, though his eyes remained alert.

"Stay sharp. There's something wrong with this place, and for all we know, whatever killed the crew is still hiding in a corner somewhere."

He gave a hand signal. The crewmen behind him immediately spread into a standard defensive formation, their guns trained on every corner and ventilation duct from which a threat might emerge.

"Wink!" Old John called to the technician in the group, a man in red robes with close ties to the Adeptus Mechanicus.

"Get into the ship's main system first. Dig out the voyage logs, especially every record from the last forty-eight hours—internal surveillance, communications, sensor data, all of it! We need to know what the fuck happened here."

"Yes, Captain," Wink replied in a low voice. Beside him, a floating Servo-skull hummed softly as ghostly green scanning beams flickered in its eye sockets.

A slender data probe extended from beneath the skull and slipped into an exposed data port in the nearby wall.

A rapid stream of binary whispers came from beneath Wink's mask. He was struggling to "communicate" with the ship's dying Machine Spirit.

"Clawven!" John continued.

"Use the Auspex to establish a stable link and report what we've found directly to Mr. Fettman."

"Give him every detail, especially the god-awful state of the crew. Make it clear. Ask for further instructions, and find out whether the Pathfinder can provisionally designate this ship a 'safe zone.' We need to establish a forward base."

"Got it, boss."

Clawven dropped his teasing expression and deftly worked the multifunction Auspex mounted on his arm. After adjusting the frequency, he tried to make contact.

"Pathfinder, Pathfinder, this is Team One. Do you copy...?"

While Clawven made his report and the Techmarine worked, Old John took two other crewmen to conduct a preliminary search of the nearby compartments.

They kicked open a half-closed hatch and found crew quarters inside. The bunks were disheveled, and personal belongings lay scattered across the floor, as though a frantic struggle had taken place. Yet there was no blood, no bodies—only an unsettling emptiness.

Another compartment appeared to be a small recreation room. Game boards were scattered about, and a cup of congealed synthetic stimulant still sat on the table, as if its owner had only stepped away.

Meanwhile, Clawven's clear, calm report came over the Auspex to the bridge of the Pathfinder.

When Charles Fettman heard the description of a body "with its organs scooped out, dead in a bizarre pose," his brow furrowed deeply.

As a Rogue Trader, his instincts told him that what had happened to House Canary was no simple mutiny or pirate attack.

There was something unnatural and disturbing behind it.

"...I repeat, no survivors found aboard, and we have encountered no resistance. The nature of the threat is unknown, but the scene is deeply abnormal. Requesting instructions. Over."

Fettman considered for a moment, his gaze moving across the bridge display to the silent black megastructure looming so close.

The tragedy aboard that ship was a terrible warning. But the Primarch's mission, and the immense rewards that might come from exploring the ancient ruins, tempted him like a devil's whisper.

Turn back? That was not the way of House Charles.

"Exploration Team One, message received," Fettman's voice came over the comms.

"The Pathfinder will provisionally designate that ship a forward operations base. I'll send a logistics team and additional security personnel over with heavy equipment at once. Once you've secured the docking area, expand your control step by step. Your priority is the voyage logs!"

"The technical team will try to restore some of the ship's functions, especially its defenses. We need a position we can hold. Understood?"

"Exploration Team One understands. Over," Clawven replied.

With the order given, more "tentacles" of the steel behemoth that was the Pathfinder began to move.

More airtight doors opened. Logistics personnel in heavy protective suits pushed hover stretchers loaded with weapons, ammunition, medical supplies, temporary generators, and communications relay equipment through the docking passage and into the silent merchant ship.

Accompanying them were more than a dozen full-strength squads of armed crewmen, carrying Bolters, Lasguns, Flamers, and breaching charges.

Before long, the docking section of House Canary's merchant ship had been turned into a temporary fortress.

Sandbag barricades went up, heavy weapons were positioned at key points, and powerful Searchlights lit the area as bright as day. They drove back some of the gloom, but made the dark brown stains on the walls stand out all the more starkly.

Elsewhere, after confirming that the docking area was largely secure and leaving enough personnel to guard it, Old John received new orders from Fettman.

This order was bolder—and far more dangerous.

"Exploration Team One, this is Fettman."

"We cannot let fear stop us. What happened to House Canary is a tragedy, but it may also be a clue. Once the rear is secure, assemble an elite reconnaissance team and make an initial external survey of the Ancient Structure."

"I'm not asking you to go inside. Just get close, collect data on the exterior environment, look for an entrance, and assess how difficult and dangerous the approach would be. Remember, your job is to be eyes and ears, not fists. If anything seems wrong, withdraw immediately! Understood?"

John took a deep breath, then answered promptly. "Understood, Captain. We'll carry out the reconnaissance."

He selected five of his best, steadiest veterans, including Clawven, and checked their equipment. Each had a helmet with high-powered lighting and video recording, environmental sensors, a long-range communicator, and ample weapons and ammunition.

The helmets' video feeds were linked to the temporary command post's holographic display, allowing Fettman to see clearly what happened inside.