Alexa follows Hera, doing her best to shake off the impression that the [i]Plousios[/i] is a colossus turning in its sleep. Everywhere they go, the ship's cavernous steel halls ring and re-echo the sounds of a thousand lives preparing for war. They pass the Alcedi, and the staccato rattle of spear-on-spear kata turns the room to a rainstorm. They pass the engine, and the call-and-response of the engine crew's shanty bears witness to the effort of turning the engines for maneuvers. Painted battlecrab legs skitter and scuttle across tiles, snapping claws bashing spears against shield. And below all, the thrummm of the engine is less heard than felt, the star that powers the ship rumbling as it wakes to its master's call.

Frankly, it was less lonely when the ship was empty. Everywhere, creatures bend the knee, offer her respect--she is the Emperor's right hand, the Pallas Rex, she who will lead them in battle.  She's surrounded by the loyal, the brave, the followers of Emperor Molech. And yet…

"I am not wrong to reject this," she insists. "To turn from the purpose for which I was designed. These people follow joyfully the call of War, of the Emperor Molech. That does not make it right.

"But what can I do?" She stares at a passing crew of Hermetics, hauling something bristling with crystals. "I cannot harm Emperor Molech. Cannot plot against him, cannot disobey him. And I cannot wait for a rescue that may not come."