Fanfiction written for Cold Open Stories, a collection of wonderful fan-made stories for the grim-dark universe of Warhammer 40,000. Some may be linked - this will be indicated in the parts, but all can be read as standalone.
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He watched the smoke seep out of the end of his lho-stick. The noctis shift was continuing their busy work above him. The manufoctorum's din was somehow muzzled in the atrium, interrupted by the occasional growl of a grox. The air felt cleaner in the multi-level atrium, and he looked up at the multitude of blinking lumens and molten glows spilling out of the steelworks.
"Look Sister Cass! Stars!" Little Fyne had remarked with giddy enthusiasm.
Sister Cass had laughed; he'll never forget the shine in her dark brown eyes and the smiling creases on her face.
'Not quite Fyne. But," she looked around quickly and leaned in for a whisper. "You want to know something?"
Little Fyne held her hand even tighter, tiptoeing and nodding hard.
"We are all stardust, Fyne. We are all stardust."
"We are... stars?"
Sister Cass laughed again. "Yes, we are."
"Hey Champ," a voice came from the doorway. "You done lickin' that stick or wot?"
"Scurn, cover for me a bit, will ya," He sucked hard on the lho-stick, embers of its sweet perfume scuttling up its length.
"Wotcha think you doin'?"
"Going to check-in on my scholum matron for a bit Scurn. Will be quick."
"Sumpshit! We got work to do Champ! Wot you expect me to tell da boss?"
"I needed to pee." Fyne waved started climbing the walls of the long collapsed grox pens that made the hole in the hive level. He remembered finding the inhabitants still crushed within; no one had bothered to get them out.
"Blightass sumpshit! You bettah be back soon!"
The scholum was the way it ever was, a rotting building battered by time and falling construction. A quarter of the front had been dismembered and replaced with a patchwork of hide. A nearby wall had collapsed into the scholum's facade, tilting everything at an angle. He patted the rotting columns with nostalgia as he ducked under them to enter the main door.
The main hall was... small. Very small. It would be considered a large hab before the neighbouring wall burst through. Still, it was the world to little Fyne. Dried things draped from the ceiling, the hive's oily air smothered by a miasma of almost exotic smells. On the far wall hung a curtain of various caps and sprockets, small knick-knacks that little Fyne had gathered over a long time to gift to Sister Cass. He caught the whiff of lingering wood smoke coming from the room behind.
"Sister Cass?" He called out, weaving through the curtain. There was a little gasp, a clatter of items and a desperate clacking of gunmetal. "Sister Cass? It's me, Fyne. I'm here to visit."
"Fyne?" The clacking stopped. "My precious Fyne?"
A gun clattered to the floor, and a form shambled out of the shadows. Sister Cass was stooped and bent as ever, wispy white hair framing her severely lined face. She had lost one eye, the scar still red and inflamed, the other, that bright dark brown eye, welling up with tears at the sight of the strapping man before her.
"Lovely Fyne. Lovely lovely Fyne! How much I've missed you!" She embraced him, and he felt her bony arms around his thighs, her defunct augments jutting painfully here and there. He knelt down and gave her the old awkward hug, trying to find flesh behind the mass of cables and piping in her back.
"Me too Sister Cass. I hope you've been well."
"This star," her bony fingers brushed the tarnished brass star on his lapel. "It has made you cold and distant."
He smiled. "Well, you did say we are all made of dead stars."
A grin cracked her face. She patted his hand and shuffled to a heap of junk and metal parts, pulling out a box with a latch.
"So this is the last time you'll come visit, yes?"
Fyne felt a choke coming on.
"My little Fyne is finally going to see the real stars for himself." She chuckled. "You've always been obsessed by them."
"Sister Cass..."
"Tch tch tch," she shushed. "Now, take this. My last gift to you."
"So it's done?"
She nodded, the cabling jangling behind her. "Really special. Phosphex"
"That's..."
"I know. Still, plenty of time to enjoy. Now now, you're a busy man and not supposed to be here with an old crone." She started pushing him towards the door. He protested, and in doing so, a wire necklace with a cog dropped from his tunic. Sister Cass picked it up and rubbed it, examining it.
"Jeryn... so you found him, didn't you?"
Fyne nodded. "He is my brother."
"How is..."
"He malfunctioned, and we had to terminate him. Servitors in that manufactorum had a tendency to lose control. He took out three of my men."
Sister Cass was silent. The air hummed with ambient machinery and muffled shouts.
"You sold him so that we could put food on the table. That's all." He took a glance at his Chrono. "I have to leave now." Glancing back at her, he smiled.
"I love you Sister Cass."
---
He did the last checks before take off, feeling the welcoming hum of freedom. This time, to beyond the blasted atmosphere, beyond the bloodied clouds that choked the skies. He nodded to Scurn, getting restless in the copilot seat.
"Wot you did down there anyway?"
"Grew up there."
"Yea yea. Pretty story. Posh boy like you didn't do no growing up in slums." Scurn grumbled and flicked a few more switches. The craft began its climb.
"Wit there you got. Pretty little box, eh?"
The box was open, the inside lined with velvet, and within sat a small metal button.
Fynn smiled.
They started to move off the platform, gaining altitude when the hive klaxon blared loudly. Fynn looked back. Deep within the hive, a massive explosion blossomed and was chewing it up from inside.
