April 15th, 8252

You begin to order the Night Horse to jump stations before you recall your order to Midshipman Huckle a bit over two weeks ago. You refrain from smacking yourself on the forehead in frustration and instead reach for the communications controls.

“Bridge to Engineering. How's it looking down there?”

“Much better then she was two weeks ago Sir. I located the faulty warp jump screen generator. it's been striped down, cleaned, reassembled, re-calibrated to specification, and re-tuned in with the rest of it's kin. We are clear to jump.”

“Good work Engineering. We'll be putting your hard work to the test here in two hours.

April 18th, 8252

You are woken by a quiet gibbering sound outside your quarters followed by a monotone mechanical sting of curses, the thump of a fist hitting flesh, and the sound of two automaton crew walking away. Cracking the hatch to your quarters you see midshipman Huckle standing in the corridor leaning his forehead against the wall.

“Before you ask Sir, dump my latest batch right into the head. I'm not sure if Engel mixed it with his sleeping meds again or if it's a bad batch that slipped past my tests but I'm taking no chances.”

“What did happen?”

“Looked like a bout of hysteria sir. Not sure how else to put it. I heard Engel mumbling something, come out into the hallway, and he goes bug eyed and attacks me. Quick thump on the head slowed him down long enough for a pair of eggheads to grab him. Think they are taking him to the auto doc for treatment.”

“Matches up with what I heard. For the record I am required to check the footage to confirm your story but with no weapons involved and no serious injuries I think we can handle this in house without serious repercussions.”

“Aye aye Sir. I'll be in my quarters then.”

“Good night Midshipman.”

April 20th, 8252

Your sleep is troubled by dreams of Cloudbury's purple star. You find yourself staring at the sensor display as nonsense streams across it. A mixture of erratic numbers, archaic words, and insane laughter interspersed with new vectors and spectral sensor configurations. You watch in horror as your hands reach out and change the sensor configurations to match. As you stare into the screen you swear that you can see a face of purple flame laughing back at you.

You awaken abruptly and crash to the deck of your quarters having thrashed out of your cot in your sleep. Cradling a bruised arm and nursing a throbbing head you make for the auto doc. Mixing painkillers and sleep aids is a combination for a rough night but at least it will be a dreamless one.

April 21st, 8252

For the second night in a row the purple star of Cloudbury haunts your dreams. This time you see a rain of Royal Marine dropships screaming down from a sky wracked with purple lightning. Their hulls are daubed with crude purple glyphs. Sunbursts and bleeding hands dominate, Star Empire and unit markings have been stripped and burned away, and synthetic voice booms endlessly in the air.

“Burn a path to the core. Prepare them for the arrival of the Star.”

You awaken once more in a tangle of sheets falling out of your cot to the floor. Six minutes later you manage to untangle yourself and stagger off to see the auto doc again.

April 25th, 8252

The Night Horse staggers back into reality at the edges of the Sono and despite the last four days passing without further incident you set an automated silent running course to the system's star and stand the whole crew down for a full day of rest. You stumble back to bed and pass out thankful at last to get a good night rest under the light of a normal star once more.