For a follower of Tzeentch, the fear of the unknown is never just fear. It is also a rare, untapped source of knowledge.
Luna stared at the video recording, watching it three times over. She scrutinized every detail—the ridiculous movements, the nonsensical incantations. She searched for hidden patterns, celestial alignments, or a stray detail she might have missed.
But she found nothing. It looked exactly like a circus performance. During the actual event, she hadn't even felt a ripple of Warp activity. Yet, she knew it wasn't just a simple charade. After that ceremony, the Measure of Discipline had truly been fixed.
Following the principle that performing an action once is better than thinking about it ten times, she decided to try it herself.
"You several, come here."
Luna pointed at a group of Tech-priests, her tone leaving no room for argument. The priests remained stationary, their faces etched with reluctance.
"Regent, this..." the lead priest began, his voice stuttering through his vox-grille. "This is not according to protocol. We are formal members of the Adeptus Mechanicus. How can we perform such... such a..."
He wanted to say "embarrassing display," but didn't dare.
"This is an order," Luna said, her eyes cold.
The priests exchanged glances. Finally, the leader gave a neutral but firm reply. "Our apologies, Regent. We belong to the Machine Cult and follow the truths handed down by the Omnissiah. We must refuse such an irrational request."
With that, they turned and walked away. Luna's face darkened instantly. However, she was powerless; these cogboys were not entirely under her thumb. She sighed and summoned several of her own attendants instead.
These attendants lacked the courage to refuse. They stood before Luna, trembling as she explained the key movements. Their expressions were more pained than if they were mourning.
"Do you understand?"
"U-Understood, Regent."
"Good. Don't worry, I will participate as well," she added.
The attendants' eyes widened in disbelief.
Thus, the current Regent of Saint Gallus, the Technical Overlord of the family, and—though unspoken—a Champion of the Weaver of Fates, Luna Saint Gallus, stood at the bow of the Measure of Discipline with a group of shivering attendants to begin the ritual.
"Urgent as the law dictates, Mommy-bebe-hung..."
Luna's right middle finger was hooked to her thumb. She forced her biological and mechanical eyes into a squinting cross-eye, muttering the chant. Her movements were a perfect, one-to-one recreation of every detail from the video, as serious as a student sitting for a final exam.
The attendants followed suit, mimicking her gestures. The scene was utterly absurd.
Magos Emile stood nearby. Despite his mechanical augmentations, the remaining flesh on his face betrayed his inner conflict. The surrounding Tech-priests and Saint Gallus retainers looked as though they wanted to bury their heads in their chests, pretending they didn't know the Regent.
Luna felt their gazes. She was embarrassed, but she forced herself to endure. For knowledge, and to understand exactly what game Raynor was playing, what did a little dignity matter? She continued to chant, gesture, and cross her eyes.
However, she felt nothing. There was no feedback from the machine spirit, no psychic resonance—nothing like the protocols of soothing a machine spirit she was familiar with. The ritual felt like an empty shell: all form, no substance.
Luna's brow furrowed. Had she been played?
While Luna was doubting herself, back in the Governor's office.
"Isud" suddenly covered her mouth. Her shoulders began to shake, first gently, then violently. Her usually cool face was flushed red from holding it in. Raynor looked up at her with curiosity.
"What is it?"
Isud didn't speak. She simply pointed to her head, indicating that Raynor should check the consciousness link. Raynor closed his eyes and connected to Sarah's mind.
He saw the image: Luna Saint Gallus, dressed in her formal Regent's robes, standing at the bow of a warship with her fingers hooked, her eyes crossed, and chanting gibberish alongside a group of confused servants. The sheer surreality of it broke his composure instantly.
"Pfft—hahaha!"
Raynor couldn't help it; he burst out laughing. In the office, the two of them held their stomachs, gasping for air.
"She... she actually... Hahaha!" Raynor wiped tears from the corners of his eyes, unable to form a complete sentence.
Through Isud's mouth, Sarah also let out a clear laugh. It was a bit awkward, as she was still learning human expression, but the joy was genuine.
"I didn't expect it either," she said, her voice smiling.
After they composed themselves slightly, Raynor shook his head. "I think I know why That One chose her."
Once the laughter died down, the ritual on the other end concluded. The Measure of Discipline immediately began its sixth test flight.
This time, everything was normal. The main engines were stable, the secondary engines were flawless, and the ship performed as steadily as a brand-new vessel straight from the forge. Magos Emile and the Tech-priests stared at the data on the screens in total confusion.
"Could it... truly work?"
"Impossible. It's illogical!"
"By the Omnissiah, I must be malfunctioning."
Luna stood at the dock, watching the warship return successfully, lost in thought.
What none of them knew was that Raynor's actual trick was insultingly simple. From the start, he had guessed that Luna would focus on Tyranid-related capabilities: Genestealer infiltration, psychic sabotage, or genetic contamination. Those were the Tyranid signatures, the things Luna and the Mechanicus were most vigilant against.
So, they spent all their energy scanning for Genestealers and psychic residue. They never considered that Raynor hadn't used the Swarm at all—or rather, he hadn't used the Swarm to do the dirty work.
He had simply bribed a few management personnel responsible for supplying fuel to the generators. The method was basic: kidnap their families, then offer them food rations they couldn't possibly refuse. Under the combination of threats and incentives, the managers quickly succumbed to Raynor's authority.
The actual operation required zero technical skill. On a warship like the Measure of Discipline, the main and secondary engines required high-purity hydrogen isotopes and precision-controlled combustion. This rare fuel was treated as a "holy relic" by the Mechanicus and strictly guarded; Raynor's informants couldn't get near it.
But the ordinary fuel for the generators was different. It was considered a common resource, and management was significantly more lax. The informants didn't even need to risk replacing it or adding impurities. They only had to slightly lower the fuel concentration—just enough that routine testing wouldn't flag it. This caused the generators to lack sufficient output after running for a certain duration.
Naturally, the engine power would then drop.
The tactic was as low-end as it could get. Yet, it was this crude method that fooled a Tzeentch sorceress and the Adeptus Mechanicus for a whole week. They simply couldn't imagine Raynor would use such a "primitive" solution.