The words sent a shiver up Lucian's spine, for they spoke of things few men were allowed to know, but his position at the head of his dynasty granted him knowledge that the authorities had few means of barring from him. For most, daemons were the terrifying creatures of nightmares. Real, most certainly, but kept at bay by prayer and the eternal vigilance of the God-Emperor of Mankind. For the likes of Lucian Gerrit, they were the denizens of the empyrean, for vessels such as his must intrude into their realm when travelling between the stars.

The medals affixed to Lucian's crowded breastplate, the servitor appeared once more. It bore a mighty cloak of luxurious fur. The snarling head of a beast of terrible aspect was mounted upon his right shoulder, its huge fore-daws draped across his back and over his left shoulder.

Lastly, he opened an armoured hatch upon the wall. He brought out an antique leather belt. Attached to it was a pair of ornate holsters. The first held a heavy, blunt-nosed pistol, a plasma weapon created for his line by the famed master artificer Ernst Heckler, impossibly intricate devotional text carved upon its every surface.

Lucian lifted the weapon, activating it with the press of a stud and savouring the rapidly rising, near ultrasonic whine that indicated that the weapon's war spirit was content. The second weapon was of unknown manufacture, a pistol-sized device of pure crystal. Violet and blue lights danced within as he hefted it. He knew not who or what had constructed the bizarre weapon, but on many occasions had had cause to thank their skill. The weapon unleashed a blinding ray that interfered with its target's brain functions, reducing him to a gibbering imbecile in seconds, very useful in some of the places Lucian had visited.

He then slid onto his fingers a series of rings, each a cunningly wrought, miniature laser weapon. With luck, such weapons would not be required, but few authorities in the galaxy, short of an Inquisitor Lord or Space Marine Chapter Master, would presume to demand a rogue trader divest himself of his arms. Given the dynasty's standing, he would expect that even they would do so politely.

He regarded himself in the mirror one last time, before striding from the cabin. He would take to his command throne and guide the Oceanid, and with her, the Arcadius Dynasty, to a bright, new future.

The rogue trader flotilla slid through banks of pale green stellar dust, flashes of lightning illuminating them from deep within. Such regions were the stuff of space mariners' superstitions, for they awoke primal notions, the fear of the unknown, and of 'things' lurking in the mist. The vessels navigated by dead reckoning alone, for their augur banks were useless amidst the thick cloud. It was all too easy to become jittery, reflected Lucian, for the surveyor reported all manner of weird returns. Ghostlights they were often called, for they would appear solid and real one moment, only to fade to nothing the next.

Communications too, were troublesome in such a region. Where the cloud thinned, short range, line of sight transmission was possible, but psychic communication was by far more efficient, except that the vessel's telepath was near incapacitated at present: burnt-out, Lucian suspected. The guild had so far been unwilling to replace him, a sore point that would need addressing once the current crisis was resolved.

Lucian watched as the cloud thinned, the system's star penetrating the green murk. The dust parted, and the Oceanid glided clear, gases swirling at her passing.

The view from the bridge was suddenly one of clear space, Mundus Chasmata visible as a black disc eclipsing its star.

Lucian stood, savouring the moment as he prepared to hail Mundus Chasmata's outer defence monitor. He glanced at the surveyor, certain in the knowledge that his son and daughter would be ordering their vessels into formation astern of his own. Two returns indicated they were. Behind them, however, four more returns flashed an angry red. They were set upon a headlong dive towards the Rosetta as she emerged from the cloud, their course indicating but one possible motive: attack!

'General quarters! bellowed Lucian as he took to the command throne. Sirens wailed and the bridge lights flickered off, to be replaced an instant later by the red glow of the emergency lights employed during battle. Lucian wondered how the hell raiders had found his flotilla in deep space. Were they betrayed so soon? He would have to deal with them first, and worry about the details later.

'Helm, on my mark, all engines to ten per cent, new heading thirty to starboard. Comms, give me a channel to my fleet.

The address system chimed to indicate the channel was open. Korvane's voice burst forth, …ur of them one fifty to port, contact in nine. I could do with some help here'

'Do as I say, both of you. On my signal, Korvane, power up and come about to forty-five degrees to starboard. Brielle, maintain your current speed and come about to forty-five to your port. Do you both understand?

Both Korvane and Brielle indicated they understood their father's instructions. He glanced down at the surveyor screen, paused, and calmly ordered: 'Mark!

The compensators cut in an instant late, as the Oceanid decelerated. Raldi simultaneously veered the ship to starboard. The surveyor tracked the Rosetta as she increased her speed, crossing the Fairlight's bow with the four raiders in pursuit. Viewed from the bridge, the manoeuvre was a stately affair, but Lucian knew, a potentially deadly one.

The graceful manoeuvre brought the Oceanid to the attackers' eight o'clock, and the Fairlight to their four.

'Starboard battery aft! Open fire on lead target!

Below decks, the mighty weapons bank locked onto its target: the fast-moving raider closing in on the position the Rosetta had occupied minutes before. The master of the smaller vessel evidently saw his coming fate, but a moment too late. The battery erupted in blinding fire, launching huge, high-explosive projectiles across the gulf of space.

Lucian watched on the surveyor screen as the raider pitched to starboard, a last desperate attempt to avoid the Oceanid's wrath. It failed, as Lucian had seen it would. The salvo struck the smaller vessel amidships, robbing it of forward momentum with such violence that it split into two, its entire prow tumbling forwards whilst its drive section sheered off at forty-five degrees. Even at this distance, the spectacle was impressive, as the plasma core at the heart of the engine cluster went critical, creating a second sun for a moment.

Lucian winced as the explosion flooded his bridge with harsh white light, the viewing port dimming a moment later to compensate. When his vision had cleared, he looked out once more to see the Fairlight opening fire upon the second raider, but this vessel recovered far more quickly than its recently deceased comrade had, evading its former prey with ease.

A veteran of a hundred such skirmishes, Lucian read the raiders' manoeuvres with practiced ease. His redeployment had caught them at the moment they had anticipated easy victory, but their captains were not fools. Even now, they were rallying, recovering from the shock of their prey's counter-attack. They were coming about for a second attack run. Lucian performed a mental calculation: three raider frigates, probably up-gunned, certainly up-armoured, and therefore slower and less manoeuvrable than would ordinarily be the case, and his own vessels: a heavy cruiser and two light cruisers. Under normal circumstances, his small flotilla would have little to fear, but all three of the rogue trader vessels were running at reduced capacity, the sad result of the dynasty's deteriorating fortunes. Now of all times, he could not afford damage to his precious vessels.