Three weeks had passed since the last major development in Project Gaia. Under the synthetic sun of Pangea, Dr. Dew and his trusted inner circle gathered inside the strategy dome. Leonardo da Vinci, Paracelsus, and Nikola Tesla were physically present, while Celeste Starfire Cassidy monitored remotely via encrypted satellite feed. They were deep in discussion, evaluating the next step in their planetary defense initiative—expanding outward, beyond the atmosphere, to solidify dominance over their...
"We've stabilized most of Pangea," Da Vinci said, adjusting the holomap, "but if we want to stay ahead of any larger threat, we need installations on every celestial body in this system. Military outposts. Mining facilities. A network."
"Agreed," Tesla added. "Satellites alone can't enforce presence. If we can begin resource extraction from the moons and dead planets, we become less reliant on external materials. Defense and infrastructure must evolve in sync."
Dr. Dew nodded. "Then it's settled. The God Androids stay here. Pangea is their domain. But the Starbound ships can deploy colonization units and construct orbital platforms and surface stations. Minimal AI crew to maintain and monitor. No life-support needs."
Paracelsus leaned forward. "We reinforce before anything reaches us."
Just as he finished, red glyphs flashed across the upper display wall. The warning tone echoed through the command dome.
"Contact?" Dew asked.
Cassidy's voice crackled over the feed. "Yeah. You'll wanna see this. Warp anomaly at the edge of our system. Three signals. One's Imperial."
The team turned to the feed. Space warped—ripped like a wound. From the roiling void emerged a battered but intact vessel. Identifiably Imperial. Worn sigils of the Aquila still clung to its hull, despite deep scarring. Its engines sputtered, but the ship maintained course.
But the momentary relief was shattered by what followed. Two more ships clawed their way out of the Warp behind it—diseased, rusted things. Pulsating like tumors in space. Death Guard.
"Lock them in," Dew ordered. "Strike Fleet Three—intercept. Destroy on sight."
The order was obeyed instantly. Starbound-class ships, smaller and faster than their diseased counterparts, deployed in seconds. Built from advanced fusion alloys and armed with precision-based railguns and plasma-cored accelerators, they moved through space like bladed wind.
The Death Guard returned fire. Blight-lances arced through the void, but they were too slow. The interceptors danced between projectiles, splitting formation only to surround and pound their targets with hyper-charged shots. One corrupted vessel exploded into a roiling ball of bile and flame. The other tried to pivot for retreat, but it was crippled, then annihilated. It never got a chance to scream.
The Imperial ship remained.
"Get comms open. Send them a dock vector. Designate Landing Zone C," Dew said. "Maintain full human interface. Everyone else, behind the curtains. Cassidy, no Nova Kids. No xeno signatures. Full blackout on non-human biometrics."
"Already done," she replied.
Docking arms extended from the orbital spine. As the damaged Imperial vessel limped closer, auxiliary drones scanned it from every angle. No signs of active corruption. Life signs intact, but faint. Inside were people—and not just soldiers. Dozens of smaller biosigns populated the interior.
The ship landed.
A slow hiss of hydraulic locks. The bay doors opened.
First came the civilians—pilgrims in layered robes, some clutching faded icons. Exhausted. Eyes wide with reverence. They stumbled onto the polished alloy of Landing Zone C as though stepping onto sacred ground.
Then came the power-armored. Sisters of Battle—helmets sealed, bolters in hand. Vigilant but not hostile.
And then... the Astartes.
Black Dragons. Their mutated armor flared with bone growth and serrated protrusions, their presence unmistakable. One of them stepped forward, massive and looming.
"Who commands this place?"
Dr. Dew approached, adorned in command armor patterned after the Mechanicus—modified to avoid heresy. "I am Dr. Dew. Guardian of this world. You crossed through the Veil and found sanctuary. You're safe."
A Sister stepped forward. Her voice was firm but curious. "Your city... it feels wrong. But not corrupted. There is no... Warp."
An Astropath, smaller and hunched, stepped onto the ramp. He paused. His eyes widened behind the cloth.
"This place is... silence. A black bubble in a sea of madness. No whispers. No screaming. Just... calm. How?"
He turned slowly, gaze sweeping across the horizon. Then his eyes caught something in a high observation window. A woman.
Short, cheerful, and waving.
Hestia.
The God Android's soul shone like a star to his psychic sight. It didn't make him recoil. It didn't frighten him. It calmed him. An artificial being with warmth. Purpose. Soul.
He blinked, raised a hand in quiet greeting. She smiled. Turned and walked out of view.
Later, in the briefing dome, the team met to discuss the encounter.
"They didn't ask too many questions," Da Vinci noted. "But they will."
Paracelsus agreed. "The Astropath saw something. He knows something's off."
"They'll start probing eventually," Tesla added.
Dew stood at the head of the table, hands behind his back. "We give them nothing they don't ask for. If questioned, we're a remnant from the Dark Age of Technology. Our shielding systems were lost in the records. Ancient. Reliable. Beyond duplication."
"And if they want to inspect more?" Cassidy asked.
"We stall. We redirect. And we pray we don't have to do more."
The Black Dragons and Sisters of Battle were recovering. The pilgrims were in medical shelters, receiving care. Rations were distributed—nutritional, but standard. No advanced healing. No signs of heresy.
The Imperium had come to Pangea. And the galaxy just got smaller.
End of Chapter Forty