It ended up taking quite a while and I got turned around more than once, but I finally managed to find my way to the engine section of the station and started my search for the Omnissianic Congregator. Not that he was hard to find, I simply followed the slow shuffle of tech-priests that were wandering the oil-stained and damp corridors near the engines, applying new oil to the various parts they passed on their way while they chanted incessantly in high gothic. Some carried ancient tomes containing their prayers, others carried human skulls, swinging from long chains and emitting copious amounts of incense smoke. All of them were modified in one way or another. Some had replaced their eyes with cybernetics, others opted for arms or legs, a few of them had their entire torso exchanged for mechanical devices, the skin near the areas of fusion showing up as highly inflamed and infected if the bright red color and the small oozings of pus was anything to go by. I skulked through the station, surrounded by servitors, servo skulls, tech-priests, and slave gang workers, I even passed a single cherub, the bio-sculpted homunculi with the appearance of horribly looking, child servitors. The ability to fly with the implanted cybernetic wings and an anti-gravitic generator didn't improve the horrible image. It all suddenly became too much and I felt violently ill as the horrors surrounding me finally overwhelmed me.

Turning to the side, I unloaded the contents of my stomach unto the floor where it seeped into the grille I was walking on to disappear into the bowels of the station, forever. I was shaking like a leaf in the wind, I felt drained of all my energy and it was all I could do but sit on the floor for a while, pressing my head against the cool and grimy metal. It was nice here. Cool, dark, almost peaceful. I could sit here forever, forgotten in the dark. And yet, I couldn't. I had to pick myself up, keep moving forward. I was good at ignoring my situation and embracing the moment, but I was eventually overwhelmed. I had no idea how long I lay there, but the chanting had moved so far away that I could barely hear it when I eventually got on my feet. I found a smooth surface shiny enough to function as a makeshift mirror and was horrified by the sight that greeted me. Pale as a ghost with sunken cheeks and dark rings around the eyes, I could barely recognize the body I was inhabiting. I looked haunted. Was it taking so much of a mental toll on me, being here and having been given the responsibility I had? Or was it mostly caused by the past few days of little sleep and too much reading? I would have to take better care of myself if I didn't want to have a stress-related heart attack.

I shook my head and got moving again, determined to not let these dark thoughts dominate my mind, but I found it hard to distance myself from them. Surrounded as I was by evidence of the very things that I wanted to avoid, dark thoughts and terrible moods kept trying to exert their power over me, but I wouldn't let it happen. There was too much at stake, and I wasn't thinking about the Imperium or the station, but of myself. Weakness would be taken advantage of by anyone that saw it, and the only reason I had been spared ridicule and/or attempts at my life or undermining my authority was that I was in the station's mechanicus area. The engines, the various machine parts, the small local manufactorums on the station, even the menial workshops and the mighty generators, all of these were the shrines of the mechanicus and they guarded them zealously. Being caught doing anything not supervised by a tech-priest and blessed by the omnissiah would guarantee you being turned into something less than human for your transgression. However, I was their captain, their rogue trader, and I had the might of the Inquisition at my back. They couldn't touch me even if they wanted to.

I gathered myself and resumed my walk toward the chanting, the mechanical voice of the Congregator sticking out like a sore thumb, leading their prayers as it was. I soon found who I was looking for, the Omnissianic Congregator, standing in front of a large conduit that transported the power across the station, surrounded by lesser tech-priests chanting, applying holy oil, tightening bolts, and adding new paint to the flaking layer covering the conduit. The Congregator himself was chanting out loud from a tome in his hands while the servo arm attached to his spine was slowly attaching prayer parchments to places of apparent significance. I knew better than to interrupt their work and thus made myself comfortable in a corner where I wouldn't be in the way.

I knew the Congregator had noticed my presence long before I entered his but their prayers and rituals would suffer no delay or interruption, such was the importance of their work. Yes, I considered it to be bogus, nothing a regular engineer could not accomplish, but unfortunately, the cult of Mars had a monopoly on the manufacturing and invention of technology, and they would be more than happy to disintegrate anyone that threatened said monopoly. And in a way, they made the imagined belief of the omnissiah become reality through belief. They literally willed their godlike entity into existence.

This was the way of things in this universe. If enough faith was poured into something by enough beings, then it would manifest. The realm of souls, or the warp as it was commonly known, ensured this was the case. It made me miss my home, where faith was superstition and gods were nothing more than a figment of our collective imagination.

When they finished their incantations and prayers, the Congregator and his tech priests swiftly gathered up their tools and got ready to move on to the next job.

"Honored Omnissianic Congregator. A word, if you please." I called out, and the group turned as one.

"Captain." The voicebox that had been installed to replace his vocal cords made the voice of the Congregator sound like a horrible parody of an 80's movie robot, but the words were clear enough. "The blessed engine requires our attention."

"I understand, but this cannot wait. I require tech-priests to perform a sweep of the security measures around the mess area where we had a riot. I need to know exactly what happened, in detail. I understand this would take them away from their duties, but I have neither the time nor the patience, to put this on hold." I demanded. My words were carefully chosen, a perceived insult at this moment could very well mean that I would not get what I wanted for several weeks, and it dawned on me just how much I loathed the inefficiency of the Imperium. Human nature at its finest, is self-serving and greedy no matter the situation. Not that the Ruinous powers of Chaos were any better, raving madmen that only cared for the death and suffering of every living being, in the pursuit of a slave's powers. Sure, they were powerful beyond measure but they were forever bound beneath their chosen chaos god, doomed to an eternity of servitude. Even death would not see them free, as their souls had been sold to their gods.

"This will be a difficult task. A large part of the station remains unblessed, its systems laying dormant and unused. Power is there, but the machine sleeps. We must awaken the great machine, in the name of the Omnissiah. We calculate at least 2 weeks before we can approach this task." The answer came swiftly and it was nothing I had not expected. Of course, they pushed back, they had their own agenda. I had seen them scurrying around, trying to gain access to the quarters I now inhabited, the many exotic and uncatalogued items stored in there drawing them in like flies to grox shit.

"What if I send a team down to the planet to secure a group of indentured servants to take over some of the more menial tasks, freeing up your tech-priests valuable time in exchange?" I had thought about it, and the easiest way to placate these technophiles would be to increase the number of hands they had at their disposal. But I would be damned if I gave them access to properly educated people, the shift in political power could very well see me relegated to a crown figure role, a puppet that was controlled by the Congregator. I needed to properly cement my power as well as my authority. "As for the jewelry I handed over to you, have you identified the digital weapon used in the assassination attempt on me?"

The one human eye still left in the Congregator's face flashed a moment of irritation and regret, annoyed at me for remembering the digital weapon. Had he been able to squirrel it away, it would have secured him a rise in rank the next time he was able to contact Mars.

"We were. I shall have it delivered to you quartes. Indentured servants would indeed increase the speed at which we can sanctify the station We calculate 3 days before the security sweep can be completed." Even through the robotic voice filter, there was an undertone that told me I shouldn't press the matter further. No matter, I got what I wanted and now I just had to sanction a press gang raid on the planet below. Somehow I don't think that is going to do anything other than improve the mood of my men, growing restless as they were. I said my goodbyes and started the trip back toward the bridge with the Congregators' single eye burning a hole in the back of my head. I didn't like the feeling I was getting from that one, it was more hostile than the Enginseer Prime and that warranted a response. Giving it some thought while I backtracked through the station, I got the idea to issue the press gang to target penal colonies on the planet, solving several problems with crime, granting more hands to the mechanicus, and having them go through the arduous process of turning hardened criminals into cowed servants, on account of the less than successful interaction I just had.

I also needed to figure out what to do with the planet below. Sure, I could lounge around in my temporary ivory tower of a space station, but that wasn't me. Lounging around would only lead me down the same path that the former governor had taken, and considering how it ended for that sack of potatoes, it was not a path I was eager to follow him down. And I did vow to myself to annoy the Imperium for locking me down here. I wanted to explore, to see the new things in the galaxy. To find a way back home! Maybe it was time to deliver on that personal promise.

With a new energy and a much more positive disposition, I set a course for the treasury, looking to have a serious word with the Purser from my vessel. I had neglected this for too long as it was, and now was as good a time as any to make him understand that I had my own plans for how we were going to run things in the future. It was a long walk, getting to the administrative offices on the station, the layout was less than optimal for efficiency, but perfect for a nepotistic governor that wanted to play favorites with the varying factions within the Imperium. There were going to be grumbling and complaints when I ordered them to rearrange their various offices, but once the efficiency skyrocketed, they would sing my praises in the shadows. They wouldn't dare say anything that could inflate my ego.

I practically kicked the door open, the sour and annoyed face on the wrinkled old woman that served as my economic advisor and personal banker quickly turned friendly and warm as she saw me enter. "Great," I thought to myself, "Another snake in the grass, waiting to backstab me or rip me off."

"Captain. To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?" Her voice was like sandpaper scraping across gravel and her eyes were hiding beneath a sea of wrinkles. She was arched over a table covered in mountains of papers and data slates with a small army of scribes squirreling around in the background, handing over and receiving stacks of paper at a frightening rate. Despite her obvious advanced age, her hands moved with a frightening speed, grabbing and handing out the stacks of paper the scribes transported around while typing down information on the data slates.

"I wish to restructure the economic overview of the planet below. Now!" I started and I saw her narrow her eyes at my words.

"That is an enormous undertaking, Captain. Are you certain we have the time?" Her objection was a fair one, but it was not as hard as she made it out to be. Running an economy, be it for a nation or a planet, was like a household economy, there were just more zeroes at the end of the numbers.

"How much does the average worker on the planet earn, for every 100 Imperial crowns made in profit?" I pressed.

"5 Imperial crowns, Captain." The answer came without hesitation. She had accepted that this was happening.

"And we have a 20% flat tax on any income in place on the planet. Here is what I want you to do. Raise the pay of the average worker to 15 crowns on the 100. Implement a varied tax rate based on income, with the richer paying the lion's share of the taxes, Institute 4 daily mandatory working hours in the mines for anyone who is not working there already, including the nobility and their households. Start work on disbanding the class system and move toward a system where worship of the Emperor is at the top of everyone's to-do list. Start the process of disbanding nobility and higher ranks, we need hands in the workforce, and I will not accept that a good portion of the healthiest part of the population sit on their asses while the rest struggle to meet the tithe requirements.

Start confiscating any food that is grown, sold, transported, and otherwise located on the planet, distribute it into large food banks in every city, and start rationing the food to ensure everyone gets a fair and proper share determined by family size. I need the populace to be strong and healthy to work hard and serve as guardsmen. Start disbanding the various militias and noble household armies, and start creating a PDF, with a focus on keeping the peace rather than anything else. I want them to function both as upholders of the law, and protectors of the planet. Yes, there will be push-back from the local lords. I care not. They will accept this new way of things or see themselves obliterated. I will not hesitate to order the ship to fire from low orbit to prove a point!" This was a good beginning and would keep the various people around me busy for the foreseeable future.

"Captain! This- This will take quite a while and will be met with severe opposition from the local lords! They might rebel against the Imperium in response!" The Purser argued, and she had a good case. Except I had a reason to not listen.

"They will listen to their governor or they will be sent to meet the Emperor! Do not fail me, but inform me if I need to deploy troops to the planet below. I have things to attend to, you know my will. See it through.." I was not in an arguing mood, and I did have the power to simply veto anyone on board this ship, except perhaps a commissar, which I conveniently did not employ the use of. Who in their right mind wanted to work with someone who could declare you unfit for service?

"I...- Yes. Captain. Ave Imperator!" The old woman said and presented the Aquila.

I returned the formal greeting and turned to leave. When I left the room, I could have sworn I saw a shadow flicker in the corner of my eye, but when I turned my head, there was nothing. My danger instinct was calm and no gut feeling told me anything was out of order, but I still felt curious. Walking down to the junction where the flickering had taken place, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. I looked around, behind pipes and wiring, underneath panels, everywhere I could think, and nothing. Thinking nothing of it, I shrugged my shoulders and began walking back, but my eye caught something out of place. There, embedded in the wall and partially hidden in the shadows, was a small rat skull strung upon a simple, thin iron chain wrapped around it. Most people would have thought nothing of it. Not me though. I knew this thing, this foul pendant, better than most. It represented the faction I had loved most of all within the 40k universe, aside from the glorious space marines.

But that couldn't be, they couldn't be here, it was the wrong universe. They belonged in the Warhammer Fantasy universe, not the 40k one. And how would they have found their way to an Imperial space station, hanging above a feudal world? And there it was, staring me in the face. Feudal world. Fuck me.

I was staring at the evidence of a Skaven infestation. And not just any Skaven infestation, but one that was sanctioned by a Council of Thirteen.