Stranded On Santa Astarta 🆓

“Noted,” Valerius grunted. He rounded a bend and found the hull peeled back like a tin of rations. Beyond the torn metal hung Santa Astarta.

“We need a power source,” Liatris whispered. Her voice echoed too far. “The Hauler’s cells are cracked. We can’t leave.”

“Life support is critical,” came the vox-click of Mender Korr, the ship’s enginseer. “Atmosphere will be breathable for another four point three standard hours. After that, nitrogen narcosis, then hypoxia.” stranded on santa astarta

The brain’s optic lens pulsed. “I can build you a ship. I have the schematics. I have the forges. They are dormant, but I can wake them. In exchange, you will take me with you.”

“You could stay,” Anima Sola said. “You could rule this world. Rebuild it.” “Noted,” Valerius grunted

Silence. The kind of silence that has weight.

It was a circular vault, its door sealed with a cog-and-skull lock. Korr spent six hours communing with the machine-spirit before it hissed open. Inside, the air was warm. And it was breathing. “We need a power source,” Liatris whispered

The landing was a controlled crash. The Hauler plowed through a stained-glass dome the size of a stadium, shattering a mosaic of the God-Emperor into a billion dust motes, and skidded to a halt in what had once been a transept.