You Dream

Before you sits three tomes.

The first is ensconced in a gilded reliquary. Pearls and rubies adorn its flourishes. Silvered knotwork chases its sides. A humming stasis field generator protects its contents. A humble little thing, made of cheap pulp-paper, raggedly bound in pressed cardstock. Of no notable worth, save for the undying belief of its author. It is signed E. Keeler. Euphrati Keeler, the first Saint of the God-Emperor of Mankind.

You turn away from it in disgust. For all of its passion and eloquence, it has been corrupted by the graft and corruption endemic to the Ecclesiarchy. For all of its faith, it is now a token of the ignorant and the charlatan. What once shone clear and pure, now is shaded and veiled, roped 'round with undue hagiography and ceremony.

The second tome sits atop a pillar of basalt. Sheathed in scaled leather, it is untouched by the molten stone lights that illuminate its ash-strewn pages. Penned by the Primarch Vulkan, it blends the wisdom of the Emperor with the endless volcanic worldforge of his homeworld and all of its folklore. You stroke a hand across its cover, the heat bothering you not at all. Vulkan knew his father and creator as few could, both rendered eternal by the powers bound to their blood, bones, and souls.

You sigh and step back from the tome. For all of its insight, much is artfully clouded by superstition, facts become stories, become myths, become legends forgotten. Yet it holds some facts. The Emperor is a man, clad in flesh like any other. It is his Mind and Will that elevate him beyond the commoner, propelling him into the highest echelons of the great game. For all his denials of his own divinity, he is not mortal. Indeed he stands toe-to-toe with the greatest beings in the Warp, beings that fools call gods, and earned from them the title of Anathema. To be called an Abomination by such beings is a blackened honor indeed. You once followed this path, seeking to dig truths from ashen fields of forgotten lore. But you can't any more. Once, you were close enough to be called human by those who truly were. Now, you are Navigator first, mutant second, human third.

You turn to the third tome. It is a slim folio, made of fine paper and wrapped in good vellum. It contains your personal faith and connection to the Emperor. You set your course through the warp by his Light. You serve aboard ships Sworn to his service for ten millennia or more. He is a man called a god, playing the Grand Game for the highest stakes, and you are but one tiny pawn upon his board. He will not even notice your life, or your fall, but that is alright with you. By his Light, you have seen things most humans never will. Indeed, by his Light you dance on the edge of knowing things Man was never meant to know.

You let the tomes fade away and drop into restful slumber. A storm is coming, and you will need to ride upon its currents when you awaken.

You find yourself resting on the deck, a comforter beneath you, a trio of pillows beneath your head, and a light sheet over of you. Canala looks up from her stitchery and gestures to a figure outside of your vision. "Medicae Littleflame, she is waking!"

You hear the slap of Littleflame's sandals as it crosses the deck to look down at you. "You told me that you were dangerous, Sho'kara. Now I believe you. I've been assigned as your physician of record, as both Bedard and Ducarin have refused that honor."

You wince, though you were expecting something like that. "What's the status down on Vrenna?"

Canala shrugs. "Havoc in a handbasket, and getting worse, according to the scuttlebutt. Deathwatch is focusing on the 'Stealers, but word is they got a call out, so any Tyranid splinter fleet in the region is gonna be coming just as fast as they can."

Littleflame tosses his hands up in the Tau equivalent of a shrug. "As good of a ship as the Ignis is, she doesn't have the firepower to fight a Hive Ship, two Cruisers, and a dozen Escort Drones all on her own. And that's assuming a tiny splinter fleet. One that has had a chance to feed could triple that strength with ease."

You lever yourself to a sitting position, your head-tail snaking around to hold the sheet in place as you rub your eyes. "Which means we'll be making a run to a fleet base soon. I need to head for the Vestibule, see if I can get it adjusted for my new form."

Canala resumes her stitchwork. "A cogboy is already on that. Gave him your new dimensions when I started your new dress. Not as fancy as steel thistle silk, but it'll cover you 'till we get back to Oasis. You just sit there and let the good Medicae give you a once over while I finish it up. Wouldn't do for you to be rushing about skyclad like a guttersnipe bilgerat."

Littleflame brings out a dataslate and what looks like a sleek little medical scanner. "We Tau have had more than a few of our mechanical Sho'kara... change... without any logical reason, so I'm not even going to try and guess at what caused your changes. I'm just going to go for a basic physical and document any changes. I already have your gross physical dimensions from Stewardess Canala, so I'll start with your cranial region, if that's acceptable?" You nod, and Littleflame steps forward. You hold still while it works its way around you. The scanner and dataslate chirp and beep periodically. You can almost feel Littleflame's expression fighting to stay neutral and professional.

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He finishes up and shakes its head at the dataslate's display. "New extrusion from back of skull is bio-metallic in composition, smooth surface layer, prehensile. Optics are now of a shifting poly-chromatic hue, several frequencies of which are outside of the expected visible spectrum, Tau and Human alike. 322% increase in incisor size, along with the addition of toxin glands and storage sacs. Toxin is both Haemotoxic and Neurotoxic on a broad spectrum. Definitely effective against Humans and Tau alike, probably effective even on Kroot and Vespid."

You nod slowly. "If that and my new size is about all of the changes, then I was fabulously lucky."

Littleflame indicates your left arm and leg. "Plus the extrusion of more of that bio-metallic substance in discrete patterns at both your hand and foot. The preliminary scans I performed earlier indicate that it tends to match whatever surrounding structures there are. Fortunate indeed, given that it connects those two surface deposits via a triple stand that also forms an integral part of your spinal column. Additionally, there are several crystalline structures, encysted within more of the same bio-metal, at various points along your spine and cranial regions, in particular along the length of your head-tendril."

"I was still lucky beyond all reason then. Warp corruption has... incredibly unpredictable effects. I'm fortunate to not be sprouting wings, or be little more than a puddle of hyper-toxic slime on the floor. Or worse."

Littleflame scratches the back of its head. "What could be worse than dying?"

You and Canala both favor it with an old-fashioned look. You speak before she can. "Think on it a moment, and something will come to you. In the meantime, I was meaning to ask you, what gender are you Littleflame? I've been thinking of you as an 'it' for a while now, but that feels like lumping you in with inanimate things, which doesn't feel right."

Littleflame looks down at its hooves and scrapes one across the deck. "It's... complex. I know several Tau words on the matter, but I'm not sure how they translate into Gothic, and an imprecise translation would cause more mess than good."

You study Littleflame for a moment longer before dropping the subject. You know its Low Gothic is quite good, even if it does use a Tau word every so often. The subject must be touchy indeed, and perhaps shameful somehow? You aren't sure, and resolve to look into it later, if the opportunity presents itself. Your thoughts are interrupted by your microbead buzzing on a side-table. It doesn't fit your now-larger ear, so you answer it in speaker mode. "Navigator Dannan, go ahead."

"Enginseering reporting, Navigator Dannan. The Vestibule is reconfigured for your new physical dimensions. Comfort adjustments have been put on hold given the imminent Warp Transit to the Alphara System."

"Thank you. I'll be up directly to prepare for the Warp Transit." You close the connection with a click. "Canala, I'm going to need that dress, kerchief, and veil."

Canala ties off a thread and studies her stitchery. "This will have do for now ma'am. I'll fetch the kerchief and veil from my worktable in my cabin." She hands you the dress. You put it on as she hurries off.

Littleflame starts rubbing his eyebrow nervously. "What should I expect during a Warp transit?"

You pause in your struggles to get your one and only dress to sit just so to consider the matter. "If all goes well, nothing much. We'll be making a high speed, high-urgency transit to the Alphara system, so it should be fairly short. I'd recommend you stay with Canala for the first Transit or three, until you get a better feeling for what can happen."

Canala emerges from her cabin. "And if things do go wrong, just follow my lead. Here you go ma'am."

"Thank you Canala. For everything." You take a moment to examine your appearance in the mirror as you put on the kerchief and veil. Your eyes are rather disturbing, but Canala and Littleflame didn't seem to mind them too much. Canala has probably seen much worse, living on a frontier world, and Littleflame doesn't know enough about the Warp to be afraid, Emperor bless him. Your dress is a makeshift affair, made from a spare sheet. Canala's needlework is quite good, but the dress only comes to your knees due to a lack of materiel. Going from five foot and change to almost eight feet in height will do that. The kerchief and veil fit, just barely, and you gather the dress to your waist by tying a scarf as a belt. You have to leave your weapons behind. The pistol belts aren't long enough for your new frame, and your old metal staff is too plain short. You feel a bit irked at not having proper undergarments, but that's a side effect of nothing from your old wardrobe fitting anymore. You make a mental note to get that sorted out as you hustle out of your quarters hand head for the bridge, slowing and stooping under every overhead pipe and door frame. Fortunately the Ignis was built with Astartes and their large frames in mind, so you don't have to do this too often.

You enter the Vestibule and take in your adjusted throne. The arms have been moved apart, the back heightened, the seat expanded by adding on a plate of sheet metal. It won't be comfortable, but you are under the impression that the Ignis needs to get moving now, so creature comforts come in a poor second to getting the ship moving.

But as you start to clip in to the extended-length nutrient drips, two of them now to fuel your extra mass, you can't help but wonder. With the riddle of Miotal Scathanna completed, what should you next endeavor be?