"Take us in."

The command, transmitted as a burst of data through Archmagos Aldren's Manifold connection, sent the navigation centre of the vessel into a frenzy of activity. Astrogation servitors plugged into massive navi-cogitators sent updated headings and charts flying through data-light prisms into the bridge's consoles. Tech-Adepts muttered prayers to the Machine God in muffled binharic as their haptic controllers twitched, sending renewed power to the engines. Ponderously, the mighty Ark Mechanicus turned, presenting its bow to his chosen heading.

Tuned to the Machine Spirit of the warship, the Archmagos felt its every thought and sensation: the steady rasp of cosmic particles brushing against void shields, the powerful hum of generators powering numberless labs and foundries, the clicking and whirring of weapons as they went through self-diagnostics routines. He felt the tingling in his own fingers as crackles of electricity ran along augmitter lines in the lower decks: overseers barking orders to slaving menials, exhorting them to ever-greater heights of labour in the Omnissiah's service. With a thought, he sent repair codes through the system, purging accumulating micro-errors in root functions. The spirit purred with satisfaction.

"Archmagos, we are within scanning distance. Shall I hold position?"

"Kill engines. Reroute power to electronic defence and cyberwarfare suites. Prepare the data-djinns. A scan may draw unwanted attention."

The helmsman's Noospheric signature flared with acknowledgement tags as he relayed his orders. The burning heart of the vessel was stilled by the ministrations of Enginseers, and his G-force sensors squawked alerts into his MIU as they slowed to a stop. He fired off another memory backup to the server and air-gapped it. They could never be too careful with the Warp. Through the Manifold, he linked his ocular systems to the ship's, looking through its eyes.

"Omnissiah bless our endeavours."

The object of their curiosity was still shrouded in darkness; even the Ark's harsh searchlights illuminated only a miniscule part of the hull. His forensic systems told him that it belonged to Boreal's Wrath, an Imperial Navy battleship lost in this Sector three centuries ago. Only a few hundred metres away, the sanctified metal gave way to the ramshackle, blasphemous chaos of Ork engineering. Rusted metal plates intermingled with pieces of rock and compacted dirt, held together by copious amounts of wire, plaster, and adhesive tape. The sensors even identified some parts of the surface as biological protein polymers and minerals: teeth and nails. Miraculously, it still had perfect structural integrity; no atmo leaks or weak points were visible. Beyond the light, however, the structure diversified even further, splitting off into tens of thousands of designs, origins, and time periods, all smashed together into a crude lump by the giant hand of gravity. A vessel conglomeration. Or, as the menials called it, a Space Hulk.

"We await your command."

"Initiate active scan."

Rows of Augur Arrays flared to life, rising out of opening hatches on the hull. Hundreds of sensors, from radio to optical to gravimetric, scoured the surface of the target, as far as their range would allow. Their Machine Spirits hungrily parsed incoming data, sending shoals of golden data-packets swimming through sheeting waterfalls of data-light. The information suffused the ship's systems, finding its way to every analyst in its belly. Archmagos Aldren let the flow wash through his own cogitators, allowing himself to revel in it. He felt lingering garbage data being overwritten and flushed away by the influx. Closer to perfection. Closer to the Omnissiah.

A single signalling subroutine sounded an alarm: one discordant note among the harmony. Immediately, quarantine programs slammed shut, isolating the sector from the rest of the data-sphere. Security djinns blasted the foreign data with kill-codes and purge routines, simultaneously screaming alarm signals to every single Techpriest on board. The Manifold burst with overlapping commands and strategy suggestions as the crew melded their minds together, assaulting the intruder and protecting the ship. Archmagos Aldren reached into his data repositories to construct firewalls around the infected subsystems, trying to keep the enemy out.

Nothing was working. The code was evolving, finding ways past defences, sidestepping quarantines and firewalls, nullifying purifiers. Cyberwarfare specialists fought back with desperate fervour, adapting defences with a thousand code-bursts every millisecond. Servitors were being air-gapped, and cogitators disconnected. With hastily muttered prayers for forgiveness, adepts cut cables and burned conduits, attempting to physically stop the blight from spreading.

Yet it kept coming. It found alternate routes, outran responses, and dodged analysers, spreading from system to system relentlessly. The Ark's Machine Spirit howled in frustration. He calmed it with a soft binharic prayer. There was no choice. Conventional methods would not work here. Partitioning off a sliver of consciousness, he accessed the deepest, most secure repositories available in his mind. Inquisitorial records. Data-Hex training. In an instant, specialized cogitators implanted in his cranium computed a solution, infusing binharic kill commands with a disassembler cant created by a Martian heretek so many years ago. He had put the blasphemer down himself. Now, his creation would save their lives. The Quest for Knowledge worked in strange ways.

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He unleashed the constructed Data-Hex. He almost felt it snarl, like a rabid animal, before it took off through the data-flows, hunting for its quarry. Even his own allies recoiled from its touch, unconsciously putting up data-wards to hide their presence. The hunter-killer found the invading code, wrestling it down with flashes of adaptive purges and barriers. Systems freed of the infestation immediately activated repair subroutines, bringing functioning back within tolerance ranges. No permanent damage, then.

The code ducked away, disappearing into the augmitter systems. Aldren pursued it, firing off kill-codes so powerful that static ran across the ship's own Noosphere. A servitor nearby slumped over in its seat, Manifold wires popping off automatically as its brain boiled within its skull.

"Archmagos, IFF routines flawed! Please discontinue assault!"

He ignored the plea. Resources and time spent in identification meant less efficacy. He fired off another cyber-attack. A cogitator on the bridge sparked and shut down. Connected adepts and priests collapsed, augmetics twitching and smoking from traumatic disconnection. Repair servitors tumbled out from dispensers built into the walls, stabilizing them with instruments and prayers to the Machine Spirits.

"Archmagos!"

With a binharic expletive so loud that it sent static screeching through the augmitters on his body, he broke off, abandoning the pursuit. He terminated the hunter-killer Data-Hex with another thought; it was too dangerous to let it run around targetless. His subordinates took the opportunity to close in again, filling the data-sphere with more defensive measures as they slowly but surely cornered the errant code. Most of its adaptive routines had finally been corrupted by the Ark's cyber-weaponry. It was crippled.

As a last-ditch measure, it entered one of the augmitter networks, growing new interface codes like limbs to link up with the audio systems. A voice blared over the speakers, impossibly deep. It carried unspeakable weight and power behind it, as if its words were the thoughts of a god. But Aldren knew that to be false. There was only one God, and he would never oppose their august purpose.

"Turn back."

He created a sandbox instance to interface with the corrupted system, letting his own voice speak throughout the ship as well.

"Verify your identity."

"Turn back."

"Collected data is insufficient to verify identity. It is impossible to comply with orders from an unknown progenitor. Please confirm identity."

"Name: Aldren Nevis. Affiliation: Adeptus Mechanicus. Title: Archmagos Dominus. Turn back."

He diverted a sliver of power to his emotional centres. Anger and arrogance were required.

"And if I refuse?"

There was a moment of silence.

"Then I will be the reason for the destruction of that rusting embarrassment you call a ship."

The Ark screamed with rage across all channels, data-light prisms flashing red with overflows as the Machine Spirit diverted power to combat systems and cycled weapons. Techpriests sent counter-orders through their Manifold links, trying to control the belligerent vessel. Aldren initiated an override litany, crooning binharic prayers to soothe its bruised pride.

"A threat is meaningless without a threatening personality to attach it to. Identify. Or are you too afraid to reveal yourself?"

"I am already before you, little priest."

"Scan data indicates the hulk is devoid of any life form."

"There is no biological life on board this vessel, Archmagos. And I intend to keep it that way."

"Then you are not biological. You are blasphemy. An Abominable Intelligence."

A loud laugh boomed over the augmitters. "How narrow-minded. My nature is of no concern to you. I will not ask again. Turn ba—"

The voice cut out abruptly as djinns purged the last remnants of the code from the system. Aldren allowed himself a moment of satisfaction.

"Your objection has been noted."

A data-packet tagged with alert identifiers floated down from sensor command. He compiled the massage with a sliver of processing power.

"Logged 100 ms ago (approx.), vessel conglomeration accelerated debris towards vessel. Intercepted by point defence systems. No damage registered."

A futile attack. No cause for concern. He forwarded the message to garbage collection programs.

"Archmagos, allied vessels have completed translation into system. What are your orders?"

"Switch vessel to passive operations mode. Run diagnostics and effect repairs. Dispatch a boarding party to establish a landing zone."

"We will board the hulk, Archmagos?"

He generated a sharp burst of Noospheric admonishment tags for the adept.

"Does my command leave room for interpretation?"

"No, Archmagos."

"Data is pure and certain. Abandon the flesh-vice of extraneous questions."

The student winced, radiating apologetic identifiers as he returned to his work.

"Send the hostile code to forensics for sandbox analysis. I want our data-sec updated with countermeasures. And hail our allies to have away parties ready as well. They are to proceed as soon as the Skitarii have cleared a suitable rendezvous point."

"As you command, Archmagos."

"And yes, adept, that means we are boarding the hulk."

"Yes, Archmagos. Sorry, Archmagos."

Some of the senior Techpriests sent him amused code-blocks along private channels. They were asking him to not be too harsh. He reassured them with a thought.

"That will be all for now. Ave Omnissiah."

Every member of the crew plugged into the ship's data-sphere echoed, "Ave Omnissiah."