"Are you hungry?" Martin asked Molly, having heard her stomach rumble—two hours had now passed since she woke.
"Yes," she answered, her voice trembling with lingering fear.
"Good… good," Martin murmured, before heading out to the stores, leaving Molly alone.
"Wait—wait, don't leave me alone—" Her voice cut off as the door hissed shut.
"Corpse starch? No. Protein gel? No. Nutrient paste? No," Martin muttered, rummaging through the dim, slightly musty supply hold crammed with pre-packaged rations.
"Ah—there we are! Cured grox meat!" He pulled out a plastic-wrapped slab from the pile. As he turned to leave, A40AT hurried into the room.
"Greetings, A40AT. What brings you to see me?" Martin asked, noting at once the tension radiating from the tech-priest.
"Motis is tearing itself apart, my lord, and the Gellar Field is straining to breaking point. We are critically under-crewed. I only stepped away from the field generator controls to warn you—"
Martin's eyes widened in alarm, and he waved A40AT back immediately—they'd all be dead if that failed, even if there were only three of them on board.
"Then get back to your post at once!" he ordered, sharp and urgent. They were deep in a warp storm now; the smallest mistake would mean the end.
"But I need your help to oversee and balance the ship's systems… I cannot manage it all alone—"
"I have to look after this child first—otherwise we all perish. And she may prove vital in standing against daemonic influence. I trust you. Do not fail me." Martin gave A40AT's shoulder a firm, gentle squeeze, then pressed a set of tools into his hands.
"As you command, my lord." A40AT turned and sprinted straight for the engine deck.
"By the Throne…" Martin sighed, heading for the galley—a luxury most ships of this class did not carry.
Grox was legendary across the Imperium: tough, vicious, and notoriously hard to raise, but its meat was prized above almost all others for its rich flavour and unmatched nutrition.
He unwrapped the slab, laid it on a plate, seasoned it with salt and dried spices, and let it sit for three minutes.
He lit the electric burner and set down a heavy pan. Preparing grox steak followed much the same rules as good beef—high heat, careful timing.
Martin laid the meat into the searing pan with his bare hand, searing every side quickly to lock in the juices. He flipped it every fifteen seconds to cook it evenly without drying it out. Once done, he set it aside to rest for two minutes, letting the juices settle back through the flesh.
"Perfect." He had not cooked for himself since he had been gifted as a servant to the Kazumi household thousands of years ago—but it seemed his skill had not faded.
Beneath the dim medicae bay lights
The automatic door slid open, and the warm, rich scent of seared meat drifted in, followed by Martin's steady footsteps. He moved with deliberate care—sudden moves could startle her, and that was the last thing either of them needed. In his hands he carried a metal plate holding the cooked grox steak.
Molly flinched at the sound of his approach, but the familiar, comforting smell instantly soothed her.
"…Who is it?" she whispered.
"It is I—Martin," he answered softly, setting the plate down on the small table beside her bunk. "I thought you might be ready for something better than rations."
For the first time in days, a faint, fragile laugh escaped her.
Martin sat down beside her, carefully slicing the steak into small, tender pieces with a sharp paring knife. He speared one piece, then lifted it gently to her lips.
"Careful—it is still warm."
Molly opened her mouth and took the bite, chewing slowly.
"…It's delicious," she said, her voice trembling—not with fear this time, but with a strange, unaccustomed warmth.
"Of course it is," Martin chuckled softly. "It seems even after thousands of years, I haven't forgotten how to cook."
Molly tilted her head. "You cook just like my father did." For a moment, her voice softened, drifting back to those gentle, happy memories.
"I shall take that as the highest praise," Martin smiled. "But first—eat all of this, little one!"
Some time later…
A soft chime rang out from the medical monitors beside the bed. There was no cause for alarm—only a quiet confirmation that the child's vitals had steadied, and her breathing had grown calmer.
Martin glanced at the empty plate.
"Would you like another bite?"
Molly nodded faintly. "…Just one more, please."
Beneath his helmet, Martin smiled. He lifted another piece to her lips.
He could not remember the last time he had felt this light, this at peace.
Deep in the ship's engine room
A40AT darted between banks of consoles, servos whirring frantically. The Gellar Field generator thrummed in an erratic, dangerous rhythm, arcs of pale blue plasma flickering across its coils—but his mind was not on the readings.
He thought of the small girl… the strange, potent psyker. And of the Space Marine… acting so unlike the grim, distant warriors he had known all his life.
And for the first time in centuries, he felt truly tired.