The morning sun gleamed off the polished metal towers as Dr. Dew and his companions led Captain Dominia Virellia Merikova and her carefully selected entourage deeper into the city. Dr. Dew, Leonardo da Vinci, Paracelsus, Celeste Starfire Cassidy, and Nikola Tesla moved casually, yet each step, each glance was measured. They were friendly, yes, but they revealed nothing critical. This wasn't a social tour; it was a silent chess match of observation and control. Dr. Dew understood that strangers asking too many questions were dangerous, especially strangers with starships and armies behind them.
They spoke about art, about philosophy, about engineering—surface things. The Rogue Trader and her crew drank in the sights with wide, curious eyes. They took mental notes constantly, studying every detail: the relaxed discipline of the guards, the well-maintained streets, the diverse yet harmonious mixture of races and designs. Meanwhile, Lucien Vel, the Astropath, was troubled. The warp around this place was... wrong. Or perhaps it was too right. Silent. Calm. A silence so total it gnawed at the edges of his mind. No whispers, no hidden claws, no daemonic snickers from the shadows. Just a dull, endless void.
More troubling still were the people. Some of them shimmered oddly in his second sight. No soul. No echo. No presence. Like blanks—but not blanks. They moved too naturally, laughed too freely, felt too real to be pariahs. Lucien kept his silence, but inside, alarms rang. He needed to inform the Captain soon.
As the group paused near a market square lined with colorful banners and energy displays, Captain Merikova turned to Dr. Dew with a measured smile.
"Forgive my forwardness," she said, voice smooth and diplomatic, "but trade is the lifeblood of any civilization. What might you have to offer?"
Dr. Dew tilted his head slightly, feigning casual consideration. In truth, he had anticipated this from the beginning. It was better to control the narrative than let them guess.
"Weapons, for one," he said easily. "Tools. Medicine. Armor. Technology your people may find... interesting."
At a nod from Dew, Celeste produced a crate, opening it to reveal a neatly organized selection of weapons and devices. Dr. Dew began to explain, his voice steady, measured.
First came the Lazer Rifles—sleek, deadly, emitting thin beams of condensed energy that, when demonstrated, vaporized a thick steel target into molten slag within seconds. Captain Merikova's guards stiffened, clearly impressed, mistaking them at first for a variant of Imperial lasguns.
"No connection," Dew corrected calmly when one of the Lexmechanics voiced the suspicion. "Entirely separate design, and a completely separate principle."
Next came the Plasma Guns—smaller and more compact than the bulky Imperial versions, yet stable and devastating, launching precise balls of superheated matter capable of burning through ceramite.
Following were the E.M.P. Rifles, capable of disabling machinery, vehicles, and powered armor without lethal force. Tesla gave a brief technical description that left the Magos visibly intrigued, several mechadendrites twitching in suppressed excitement.
Then the Flamer Units—handheld projectors designed for clearing obstacles and foes alike with controlled torrents of burning promethium, surprisingly lightweight and easy to wield.
And finally, the Cryo Guns—able to freeze targets solid in moments, a technology unknown to the Imperium at large, highly prized for capture missions or environmental control.
Alongside the weapons were samples of slim, wrist-mounted Pip-Boys—personal computing devices light-years beyond the crude dataslates common in many Imperial worlds. Dew showed how they could map terrain, scan biometrics, and even link into there own localized network.
A Gen-1 model of power armor was next. Less bulky than Imperial suits, it offered strength enhancement, ballistic resistance, and environmental protection. While not as formidable as Astartes plate, it was well beyond standard Imperial Guard issue.
Finally, Stimpaks—compact auto-injectors loaded with a powerful regenerative cocktail capable of accelerating wound recovery dramatically. Dr. Dew demonstrated by slicing his own palm with a dagger and healing it within seconds before their astonished eyes.
Captain Merikova hid her surprise well, but her inner strategist was roaring. These items could make a fortune. A fortune in the right sectors. And the best part was: these people seemed unaware just how valuable their "basic goods" truly were.
"I propose a trade agreement," she said after a carefully measured pause. "In exchange for regular shipments of materials, luxuries, and information from our broader networks, we will send trade vessels here. Quietly. Without undue Imperial attention."
Dr. Dew offered a neutral nod. Exactly what he wanted. Control over information. Limited contact. Leverage.
As the terms were discussed, the Astropath finally leaned closer to the Captain. Using private thought-speech, a psychic link only they shared, he whispered:
"Captain. Caution. Many among them have no souls. Not blanks. But... something else. Constructs. The warp here is weak. Stifled. We are protected... or blocked. This is no ordinary world."
Dominia's fingers twitched once behind her back, signaling acknowledgement. She kept her face smooth.
Later, aboard the Vigilant Venture, the landing party gathered in the ship's secure strategium. Guards secured the doors. Machineshrouds sealed them from outside listening.
They reviewed everything: footage, samples, impressions.
Arxtis-79 analyzed the weapons again and confirmed—while primitive in appearance, the guns had flawless energy matrices, rivaling even Mechanicus design efficiency in some areas.
Lucien repeated his findings, this time openly.
"The warp recoils from that city," he said grimly. "As if something immense shields them. Or perhaps... consumes any influence that tries to enter."
One of the Lexmechanics proposed cautiously that the city might be a hidden Forge World project, but Arxtis-79 denied it immediately. "No record. No signature of Mechanicus doctrine."
Captain Merikova leaned back in her throne-chair, considering.
"They are not of the Imperium," she said finally. "But they are not chaos-touched either. For now, they are useful. Their goods are useful. I will report the trade finds... selectively."
The others understood. A Rogue Trader's license gave her freedom—so long as she served humanity's broad interest. Reporting every detail was optional. Especially if selling the equipment would gain favor with the Adeptus Mechanicus, who prized exotic technologies, and the Administratum, which always needed new weapons for its endless wars.
"And their origin?" asked Lucien carefully.
Merikova smiled thinly. "Mysterious traders. Settlers of an unclaimed world. No known allegiance. Potential future allies... or potential future customers."
In the depths of space, power lay not in purity—but in secrets.
As the Vigilant Venture prepared to send its first official trade ship, hidden behind astropathic filters and dead channels, Captain Merikova stood once again at the observation window.
Below, the unnamed world turned slowly under the twin suns. A hidden jewel.
For now.
End of Chapter Thirty-Four