A rival Rogue Trader won't even let Zedek speak to her -- cruiser-class ships outrank manners. The crew talks their way aboard the derelict Carillon instead, where thousands of somethings skitter from the searchlights, a cherub caked in dried blood hums while smearing the mess around, and a possessed crewman whispers "we boarded" before detonating. Something much bigger hasn't noticed them yet. The clock is ticking, and the cleaning babies are following.

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