"Starkan is warned?"

"Yes. They are aware."

"The plan continues then."

"Or begins."

"How droll. I'll ensure you'll get your share of the spoils."

Warhammer 40,000: Chains of Fear

Chapter 1: Alert

Space was empty.

Not completely, empty, he reflected. Stars illuminated the galaxy, and the galaxies outside the Emperor's reach. Worlds orbited those stars, as moons did those worlds, and the detritus of planetary formation circled the systems that those worlds resided in. And throughout the vacuum of space itself, cosmic radiation filled the darkness. Space, in literal terms, was not empty.

But for practical purposes, it was. And that suited Captain Galen Shinnon just fine. He could stare out the viewing port of listening station Pathe, leaning back in his command chair and resting his feet on a cogitator,looking at the stars that lay beyond the Artika system. Stare, let the crew of the listening station do their work, and take solace that for now, he hadn't been reduced to his constituent atoms. Or maimed. Or tortured. Or been subjected to anything that space, in all its "not that emptiness," could throw at humanity.

"Captain."

He glanced towards the source of the voice, one that, unlike the voices of the servitors that manned the Pathe, wasn't robotic. Rather, it was the only voice he conversed with on a regular basis that wasn't in monotone.

"Commander."

Someday, that would change, and the polyphony of human conversation would cease between him and his subordinate, as a silence that mirrored that of space would develop. Whether that day best come sooner or later was something he wasn't sure about.

"The day's report."

He took the data-slate from Commander Sabina Cipcini and glanced at its contents. An electrocution on sub-level 7. A formal reprimand of Petty Officer Pouteria for failing to keep her laspistol in working order. A malfunction in one of the technomats. He grunted and handed the slate back. Malfunctions had made up the bulk of the report, and chances were that the Pathe would destroy itself before xenos would. Emperor knew that they hadn't bothered with Artika for decades.

Keep it like that will you?

The Emperor protected, he supposed, but space, in its emptiness, was doing the job just fine for now.

"Thank you Sir," Cipcini said. She stood straight and began to walk off.

Emperor protect me from-

"Sir?"

That.

Shinnon kept his gaze focused on the emptiness of space. He imagined what it would be liked to be cloaked in its entropy to be cut off from the Emperor's divine light. Cold, he supposed, and lethal in all manner of unpleasant ways. But at least silent.

"Captain?"

He glanced back at her. She wasn't young – short black hair, sharp eyes, exceptionally thin, late thirties, he supposed. The Imperial Navy tended to have the very young die quickly, and the lucky few grow to be old men (and a few women), with little in between. But youth didn't always die as age increased.

"Does it bother you?" he asked.

She didn't say anything. But the look on her face said more than any words could.

"Would you prefer it that I stand around all day?" He leant back in his chair even further, to the extent that his boots were hanging off its end. "Do the rounds? Uplift the spirit of those who serve out here?"

"I-"

"Or perhaps I should do something rather than just wait for reports that inform me that Petty Officer Pouteria has the brains of an ork, and servitors are of little better service than the scum they were in their old lives."

Cipcini didn't say anything. She just stood there – it looked like she was trying to stand even straighter.

"How long have you been on this station, Commander?" He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from her.

"…two weeks."

"Hmm." He rose to his feet and walked across the command deck. It was arranged like an oval, with servitors manning consoles around its perimeter. He neared the viewport. "Well, I'll tell you what a listening post is good for, and that's two things. One, receiving messages."

"I figured that when I was assigned here."

"And the other is target practice." He glanced at Cipcini. "Yes, we both know it. If a fleet emerged from the Immaterium right here, right now, there's nothing we could do bar send a transmission to Starkan before being blown out of the sky."

Cipcini didn't say anything. He frowned – maybe this really was news to her. But he continued regardless. "So, yes, it's my job to do nothing. Because the Emperor's will demands it." He smirked. "That's fine by me."

The doors to the bridge opened with a clank before Cipcini could react. Shinnon turned to its source – a servitor. For a moment, he was afraid of another malfunction, that machine would rise up against Man, and that the Pathe would need a new captain. But it was a fear that was unjustified, as the fusion of flesh and steel handed him another data-slate. Shinnon frowned. The servitor stared at him blankly.

"What is this?"

"From. As. Tro. Path," it said, its voice slow and dreary as ever.

The astropath? The Pathe had an astropath on board, but a message would mean the psyker actually had something to say. Shinnon ran his eyes over the astropath's ramblings and frowned.

"Sir?" Cipcini asked, walking over. "What is it?"

He glanced at his XO. He glanced out at space. And felt, for the first time in a long time, something that felt different. Something that felt like fear.

Space, he reflected, didn't feel so empty right now.

The shrap-shot pressed against Maria's shoulder. It was heavy, it made her shoulder ache, and she would have liked nothing more to engage the safety, sling the weapon over her back, and call it a day. Still, that would have presented a few problems. First, it would mean returning to Artin without her quarry. Secondly, her quarry was a grox that had snatched numerous eidouns and mauled several townsfolk and farmers. Thirdly, being the best tracker in Artin, she was on the beast's trail, and turning back now would have made today's efforts a waste of time.

"Emperor's arse, I thought you knew what you were doing."

She gave a look at her brother, bringing up the rear, carrying around an autogun like a bloody ogryn. Fourth problem – she wasn't going to turn back and let her brother rub it in. She was the elder of the Liao siblings. The more responsible one. The better one. The one with a rifle that was effective for up to three-hundred metres, while her brother was equipped with an automatic weapon that would just as likely hit an innocent bystander as their prey. Also a hunting knife stuck in her belt as well.

"I do know what I'm doing," Maria hissed, as they made their way through the karak field. She pointed down to the grox's footprints in the mud below them. "We're on its trail."

"Huh." Aidan shrugged. "And we're not taking the rover because…?"

"Because I said so."

"Right. Of course."

Gritting her teeth, Maria kept on moving. The karak had long since withered – she didn't know who owned this property, but as they'd driven their rover down the road, she'd spotted the grox footprints on the side of it, heading through the field that they now made their way through. Starkan didn't keep many grox, and this little incident was testament as to why. Grox were hardy, and every part of their body had some use to humans. They were also like orks, brazenly attacking any other creature in sight. So if you were going to keep grox, you'd be of sound mind to keep them in isolation, and/or lobotomize them. This grox apparently had been subjected to neither. If she had to guess, it had slipped through the cracks due to the rebellion of two winters past. The same rebellion that had cost them the rest of their family.

"Come on," Aidan moaned. "It's cold."

"It's autumn. Of course it's cold."

"Fine, let me put it this way – I'm cold."

"One more word and you'll be cold for the rest of your life."

"I...oh." Aidan sighed. "Forget it."

Maria kept moving. The karak hadn't just withered, it stank. Winter would be upon Starkan soon, and food was rarely at a premium on this planet – at least not after it was handed over to the Imperium to cover the world's tithes. She gritted her teeth, thinking of how many mouths that could have been fed with the karak, had it been harvested in the spring like it was meant to. How many people would die in the coming winter, she wondered? Far less than during the rebellion she supposed, but-

"Oh."

It was Aidan who spoke, and, as they emerged from the karak field, and beheld an open grazing area, she was struck by the source of the exclamation. The grox. Also a farm house behind it, but first things first, namely the grox. A four-legged reptilian beast that could kill her with its claws, its fangs, or its horns. Just like the horse in the field that it was now tearing into, its teeth and horns stained with its blood. She could only hope that its death had been quick. She flexed her shoulders before returning the shrap-shot to a firing position. She could also only hope that the grox's death would be quick. If not, she was at risk of joining the horse.

"So," Aidan said. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Be quiet for starters," Maria said. "And get ready to fire."

"Seriously?" he hissed.

She sighed, and lined up her sights. "I'm going to fire the shrap-shot. It'll send a single round that fragments into shrapnel, hitting the grox in a dozen places. If I hit it right, it'll be winded enough for me to keep firing until it succumbs to blood loss or trauma."

"And if you don't do it right?"

"Then chances are it'll charge, and you'll have to open fire as well."

To his credit, Aidan didn't say anything. They both understood that autoguns were reliable, if lacking in accuracy.

So, Maria lined up her sights, spying the ugly creature through the shrap-shot's eyepiece. Its face was an ugly mix of green scales and red blood. For a moment, she imagined it as being an ork, but quickly stopped. Grox were bad enough. She didn't want to think of xenos being on this world.

So she fired. Less than a second later, lead fragments tore into the grox's hide, causing the creature to let out a roar. She smiled grimly as she saw blood pour out from its hide. She pulled back the bolt of her rifle and loaded the next round, firing it. Another clean hit. Only one more, and-

No.

The bolt was jammed. The next round wouldn't load.

Shit.

She pulled again. No luck.

"Shit!"

The grox roared, and though wounded, began to charge. Aidan looked at her. "Sis?"

"Shit!" she repeated.

She fiddled with the bolt, praying to the Emperor, to the rifle's machine spirit, to fate itself, that it would work. That she wasn't going to die because a bloody round wouldn't load correctly.

"Emperor damn it!"

The grox drew closer. She stumbled back, heart racing, forehead sweating. She let out a yell as the creature drew near…

…and winced as Aidan began firing, the auto rounds tearing into the creature. Blood poured out from scales. It was wounded. It would soon be dead. So would she. She yelled, covering her eyes…

And nothing happened. All that remained was silence, and her heavy breathing. Opening her eyes, she saw Aidan standing above her, his autogun smoking, his eyes wide. The grox was before him, lying on the ground, motionless.

"Maria?" he asked.

She got to her feet. She opened her mouth. The grox moved, trying to bite Aidan's leg, and-

"Get back!"

…and she stuck her knife into its throat, tearing through its muscle. It twitched, blood pouring onto the soil, letting out a final gasp of life as death took the beast. Now, she reflected, it was dead.

"Thanks a lot," she murmured, tossing her shrap-shot into the ground. Before the day was done she'd retrieve it, but for now, she wanted to show the gun's machine spirit that she was pissed. That her brother had saved her only added salt to the wound.

"Aidan?" she asked.

He just stood there, the gun still in his shaking hands.

"Aidan, are you alright?"

"Hmm?" he asked. "Oh. Yeah. Sure." He trailed off. "I mean-"

She snatched the autogun from his hands. She didn't want her brother to hold a loaded weapon right now. But as she pulled out the clip, she discovered it was a moot point – it was empty.

"Nice shooting, by the way," she said.

"Oh. Right."

She gave him a slight smile, a pat on the shoulder, and returned the autogun to him. "Don't worry Brother. First one's always the hardest."

He nodded, and the smile faded. The 'first one.' At twenty and eighteen years respectively, neither of them could have been called children. People much younger could be conscripted into one of the many branches of the Imperium. Still, those two years could make a sector of difference. The difference that involved her seeing death two years ago, and Aidan only seeing the aftermath of it.

"Come on," she said. "Let's get this thing back to the rover."

Aidan didn't answer. Instead, he began walking out into the field. At first she wondered if he was headed for the horse, but no, it wasn't that. He was walking to the burnt out farmhouse instead.

"Aidan?" she asked.

He didn't answer, so she walked over to him. His gaze didn't waver, instead remaining on the homestead. Two stories, wood and brick, a smouldering ruin.

"Who do you think lived here?" he asked.

She shrugged.

"Think it was the rebels?"

"Maybe." She didn't know, and she didn't care. Some dead person had lived here, possibly in a period in her life when lots of people died, in a galaxy where xenos slaughtered millions of the Emperor's subjects. She couldn't care about one farmer that she'd never met.

"Do you think we-"

"Aidan," she said firmly, "it doesn't matter." He looked at her. "The farmer's dead. The grox is dead. We're alive. Be happy with that." She patted him on the shoulder. "You on board?"

"Yeah…yeah, sure," he said. He forced a smile. "Horse is dead too, by the way."

"Tragic," she murmured, forcing a smile. "Can you eat horse? I mean, I know you can ride them, but…"

She trailed off, and began to laugh. A moment later, so did her brother.

Fear, she reflected, was a beast stranger than any grox.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"Saint Nega is said to be the Patron Saint of Mercy, right?"

"More or less."

"Well, Sister Lynne said that while a heretic could be forgiven, a traitor could never be."

"Such are the edicts of the Emperor."

"But didn't Saint Nega forgive the rebels of ages past? What about the last rebellion? If we're meant to follow the teachings of Saint Nega, why didn't they get mercy?"

Cassius Dac kept walking, holding an eidoun sandwich in one hand, and the palm of his five year old son in the other. They'd just exited the service held in the Shrine of Saint Nega, milling about with all the other families of Reltoyla. A statue of the saint herself was in front of the shrine, casting her bronze gaze upon the people of Starkan. A gaze of firm kindness, as Cassius's father had called it, and how he in turn described it to his children. He took a bite out of the sandwich, thinking of the fat, flightless little critters kept on farms that eidouns were, and not the subject at hand.

"Dad?"

"That was two millennia ago," he said, his son having forced the subject, and forcing him to talk with his mouth full. "The rebellion of two winters ago was different."

"How?"

"It…" He sighed, swallowing the eidoun meat. "It just was."

"How?" Octavian repeated.

Cassius let out another sigh – Octavian was only five. Too full of questions, too full of self-independence, not knowledgeable enough to understand that an open mind was like an unguarded fortress, that the most important virtue in life was faith in the Emperor. Not yet at a level of understanding to accept that the story of Saint Nega was likely more fable than fact.

"Have you got next week's readings from Sister Lynne?" he asked.

"Yes, but-"

"Good. I'll help you if you like."

Octavian didn't say anything, but a glance down at his son told Cassius that Octavian wasn't satisfied. He glanced over at Jocasta, his wife of eleven years, talking with Mr and Mrs Molva, holding onto Portia as she did so. Portia, at least, seemed happy. He watched as Octavian kicked a pebble across the square.

"Don't do that."

"Why?"

"Just don't."

"Don't ask questions, don't kick, you always say-"

"Octavian!" he snapped.

"You're no fun! You're always playing soldier!"

"Octavian, be quiet."

"No! You-"

"I said be quiet!"

He rose a hand, and almost slapped him, but held back. Octavian's words had cut through him, but there was no reason to draw blood in turn. And yet, Octavian saw the motion. Cassius in turn saw his eyes widen, saw his lip tremor. Saw him run over to his mother.

Emperor help me.

He couldn't count on that happening, no matter how hard he prayed in the shrine. He glanced up at the structure – a two storey edifice that towered over the capital's hab units, but was paltry when compared to the great works of cardinal worlds. He shifted his gaze to Saint Nega herself, her gaze forever downward. Forever merciful.

Can you help me?

Forever silent.

He knew the stories about Saint Nega. She had been a sister of the Orders Hospitaller, who, two millennia ago, had treated the soldiers of another rebellion, who had risen up against Governor Lucinda. It was said that her mercy had convinced the insurgents of their heresy, and through her kindness, had once more embraced the light of the Emperor. Nega herself remained a shining example of faith, and how even the faithless could earn respite. Cassius wasn't sure what to make of the account – the Emperor's word was writ, but Nega's story had been taken down by mere mortals, men and women no different from himself.

And what of the last rebellion?

It had been two years prior. A rebellion that had sprung up from within Starkan's Planetary Defence Force, disgruntled with imperial rule, and been put down by loyalists from the same organization, with the help of the Arbites. The rebels hadn't offered any mercy to the loyalists during their bid to overthrow the governor. Even if he'd been inclined to give mercy himself, circumstance and the chain of command wouldn't have allowed it. The rebels were traitors. There could never be any mercy for a traitor.

"Cassius?"

Mercy for his son for running to his mother? He could manage that.

"Octavian says you're being mean to him."

Maybe.

"Well?"

"Octavian is being Octavian," he said. He took a bite of the eidoun sandwich, watching as his two offspring played with the other children. "He'll learn."

"If his father teaches him." Jocasta sighed. "Sometimes I worry that-"

"Jocasta,"

"I know, I know," she said, forcing a smile. "You're in the PDF. You keep the roof over our head. You had to do…things, two years ago. But-"

"Do you have a point?" he snapped.

Jocasta sighed. "No. I guess not. I just…"

Cassius turned away from her. He didn't need this. He had one day off per week, and he wasn't going to waste time bickering over trivial matters.

He supposed he should be grateful though. The worst Starkan had faced in his lifetime was a rebellion. As everyone from heretics to xenos sought to sully the works of the Emperor, he could be counted as getting off quite easy.

"Dad, Octavian hit me!"

Or not.

It was called the governor's palace. In reality, it was more akin to a governor's residence.

Situated in the centre of Starkan's capital city, the "palace" was a two story building surrounded by an iron-fence patrolled by members of Skartan's Planetary Defence Force. Above them all flew the flag of the Double Eagle, reminding anyone who gazed upon the "palace" that they were denizens of the Imperium of Man. That out here, in the Akarat sector of Segmentum Ultima, they still owed their loyalty to Terra, and to the one who watched them all from Earth.

A reminder that didn't distract anyone from the fact that it wasn't a palace, that an iron-fence wasn't a fortification, that Terra was tens of thousands of light-years away, and for all intents and purposes, Starkan might as well not exist as a world of the Imperium. Which, at times, was a matter of irritation for Lord Hector Tiberius.

But not today. Today, he had his back to the wider world of Starkan, his eyes on his desk's cogitator, and his ears towards Ordinate Gollan.

"Protests against tithe increase in Fidelia, twenty-three injured, five dead. Flash floods in Ahn, two-thousand and five dead. Production of castellon estimated at only sixteen percent reduction. Forecast rebound in-"

He continued working at the cognitor. For Gollan, it was his job – the job of everyone in the Administratum, to make sure that the worlds of the Imperium continued to function. For the governor himself, it was a reminder that a world existed outside his "palace," and his world was but one of a million, with a million more problems and intricacies existing on his planet alone.

"Investigation of the Sect of the Weeping Flower has concluded that its beliefs do not coincide with that of the Lex Imperialis. Official Scotia awaiting clearance for-"

The doors to his office burst open, and Hector looked up at the trio of men that looked down on him. One of them he recognised as General Buren – commander of Starkan's PDF. The other two he didn't recognise, but were likely members of the general's staff.

"Lord Governor," Buren said.

Gollan had fallen silent. And Tiberius smiled grimly.

"General," he said. "I hope this isn't another coup."

He briefly glanced out towards the lawn of his residence, the iron bars looking less like something to keep people out, and more something to keep him in. Autumn mist hung in the air - a prelude to winter, and therefore, a prelude to all the shit that Starkan would throw at him as people dealt with the hardship of the season. Only two winters ago had some dissidents tried to overthrow him. Only two winters ago had Buren's PDF executed the rebels to a man. Or so they hoped, at least – rumours existed of some rebels having turned to banditry out in the provinces.

"A coup?" Buren said. "No. Not today at least."

"But tomorrow is another day?"

"Tomorrow is twenty-six hours away," Buren said. He smiled, but Tiberius could see past it. Could understand that the banter was but formality, and that while Buren hadn't come to kill him, he was still the bringer of bad news.

"Let's dispense with the pleasantries General."

To his credit, Buren didn't hesitate. He took a piece of parchment from one of his aides and handed it over the desk. Tiberius took it in hand.

"A transcript from listening station Pathe," Buren said. "We received it via vox only a few hours ago."

Hector nodded. The transcript was a word for word account of what the Pathe's astropath had uttered. And reading it, fighting the tremor in his hands, he realized that planetary rebellion was the least of his concerns. In fact, death by planetary rebellion or coup was looking very appealing.

"The Dark Eldar," Buren said. "They're going to attack Starkan.

Tiberius leant back in his desk and closed his eyes. Xenos. A rebellion two years ago, and now xenos. All he could do was put on a show of irritation.

And fool Buren into not realizing that right now, he, Hector Tiberius, planetary governor of Starkan, was absolutely terrified.

A/N

So, there's a bit of a story behind this...well, story, so I'll indulge myself and spill the beans. Basically, this was originally conceived as a story for a Black Library competition years ago, where writers had to submit a story with the theme of "Fear the Alien." I never actually got round to writing it, but decided to go back, revive the concept, and try to make it work. Key word is "try" though - I'll be honest, after about seven months of writing and rewriting (not including the original outline), I can't say I feel the story works. The Maria plot-line was developed based on writer feedback that the story needed more action. Cipcini was added because I realized, as I began writing it, that my younger self hadn't included a single female character. Space Marines were meant to show up, but I realized that they didn't mesh with the structure. And there's the issue of tone, and concept, and...well, yeah.

Still, only four chapters and an epilogue, so this is kind of me throwing in the towel, but hopefully something good can come out of it.

Edit: Tried re-uploading the story, as over a 24 hour period, it failed to be listed in the Warhammer section, or generate an email alert.