Raynor received the reply and instinctively covered his mouth with his hand. He placed the data slate on the desk and continued reviewing his documents.
A cool voice echoed in his mind: "Are you not sending anyone?"
"No rush," Raynor said. "Let her fly one more time."
"What if she actually fixes it?"
"They won't. They are looking in the wrong direction."
"Oh," Sarah replied flatly.
"However, we must go after the next attempt. Such low-level tactics can only last this long because of their misjudgment."
"Understood." Sarah asked no more; she trusted Raynor's judgment.
The third test flight of the Measure of Discipline failed in exactly the same fashion.
This time, the main engine was the culprit. During the third lap, its power suddenly dropped by thirty-five percent, a condition that persisted for a full twenty minutes. The ship's speed plummeted to half its normal level; in orbital mechanics, engine power loss and ship speed are not linearly proportional.
Luna stood in the control center, watching the fluctuating data. Her face was as calm as a pool of stagnant water. She realized that she could not solve this problem on her own. Raynor was right; she truly needed "help."
Yet, she still didn't believe the ship had developed a natural fault, nor did she believe Raynor could truly fix it. She simply wanted to see what kind of game he was playing. She ordered a request for assistance to be sent to Raynor.
The next day, a dozen people arrived at the spaceport. They wore the uniforms of the Governor's Mansion technical staff, carried various strange boxes, and wore humble smiles on their faces. Luna scanned them; all were unfamiliar faces.
She ordered a background check on these individuals. The results were unexpected: they were neither members of the Mechanicus nor Genestealer cultists. They had never even left Brevis on a starship. They were merely local commoners who had previously worked as maintenance laborers in factories. Later, they were recruited by the Governor's Mansion to handle odd jobs.
"These are the people?" Magos Emile frowned, his tone full of disdain. "What can they possibly do?"
When it came to soothing machine spirits and repairing machinery, who could compare to the Adeptus Mechanicus? Luna did not answer him. She knew these people couldn't possibly solve the problem, but she wanted to know what Raynor was up to.
"Let them try," Luna decided, much to Emile's bewilderment.
The workers walked to the bow of the Measure of Discipline. They did not ask to enter the ship, nor did they even approach the engine room. They simply stopped in the open space before the bow and began tinkering with the items in their boxes.
Luna narrowed her eyes, watching as they pulled out... a stack of paper?
They were yellow slips of paper marked with red symbols. They laid the papers on the ground in a strange pattern—circles, squares, and several crooked lines. Once arranged, they formed a circle and began performing odd gestures.
They hooked their middle fingers with their thumbs, curling the other fingers. Their eyes crossed into a squint as they began chanting nonsensical words:
"Urgent as the law dictates, Mommy-bebe-hung!"
"All things in the world serve my command; with peach wood in hand, I ride into battle!"
Their movements were perfectly synchronized, but the incantations were a chaotic mess. Sometimes they chanted fast, sometimes slow; sometimes together, sometimes in turns. They looked like stage actors who had never rehearsed.
Luna and Emile were stunned. The mechanical eyes of the surrounding Tech-priests flickered with data streams, their owners unsure of what expression to wear. Someone wanted to laugh, but seeing Luna's ashen face, they forced it back.
The "technicians" chanting the mantras were also crumbling internally. They didn't believe in this nonsense either. Terms like "Urgent as the law dictates" or "Mommy-bebe-hung" were things the Governor had taught them at the last minute. They didn't even know what they were saying.
But they had to chant. The Governor had promised a reward if they finished. If they failed, they would be sent back to the factory to work "007" shifts—from midnight to midnight, seven days a week. So they braced themselves and continued, feeling the icy gazes of the Mechanicus members and praying the Governor's method actually worked.
The ceremony lasted about ten minutes. When it ended, they immediately packed their things, bowed to Luna, and left. Their departure felt like a desperate escape. From beginning to end, they had not touched the Measure of Discipline once.
Luna watched their retreating backs, remaining silent for a long time. Magos Emile finally couldn't help himself: "That's it?"
Luna massaged her temples and shook her head. She didn't know either. She turned to the priests: "Inspect it again, refuel, and try one more time."
The priests hesitated for a moment before busying themselves.
The fourth test flight of the Measure of Discipline began. The first two laps were completed smoothly. Everyone held their breath. Time ticked away, and finally, the Measure of Discipline steadily finished its third lap. It returned to the spaceport without a single incident.
Everything was normal.
Luna found it hard to believe what was happening before her eyes. Even Magos Emile was dazed. The priests looked at one another, unable to explain the scene. The Measure of Discipline landed safely after three perfect orbits around Brevis. Speed, stability, and system operations were flawless. It was like a well-behaved child that had finally learned to follow orders.
Luna stared at it, speechless.
The following day, they tried once more in a state of urgency. This was the fifth test flight of the Measure of Discipline. This time, there was no strange ceremony.
As soon as the ship reached its second lap, the main engine's power began to drop. By the third lap, the secondary engines developed faults. It limped and stumbled through its final orbit before slinking back to the port.
Luna and Emile stood in the control center, silent for a long duration. They felt their worldviews gradually collapsing.
"Could it be..." Magos Emile finally spoke, his voice the usual digitized radio tone. "That strange ceremony actually worked?"
Luna closed her eyes and did not answer. Her mind was a tangled mess. She was a Tzeentch sorceress; she had studied countless forbidden secrets and witnessed innumerable bizarre phenomena. She knew the Warp contained things that defied explanation, that machine spirits existed, and that faith could alter reality.
But she had never seen anything like this. A few ordinary humans, chanting meaningless gibberish and making ridiculous gestures, could restore a Tyrant-class cruiser to normal functionality? It defied logic. It defied every principle she knew.
Yet the fact was right before her. The Measure of Discipline was indeed "fixed" by the ceremony.
Luna suddenly felt a wave of inexplicable fear. Because she completely failed to understand what Raynor had done, and the unknown always invited a primal terror.