... a man entered an audiance chamber on a little ship, silently floating admids the stars ...
'So, has he confessed or given up any valuable information?'
The interrogator shook his head. 'He just continues singing an old childish rhyme. They must have trained him to do so in case of a ... questioning.'
The old man in his chair scratched his chin. 'Are you familiar with it, or do you just asume that is a child's rhyme?'
'Well, i personally do not know it, but the simple pattern and metaphors used make it obvious.'
'Record it, and run it through the data-bank, maybe we can pin-point it to a certain planet or even hive. While the cogitator is doing that analyse the remains of his equipment.' As usual when he was slightly nervouse, Cyraxio Levthanus played with lucky charm, a necklace from an old friend. 'And take a sample from his hair. If he was to a hive in the last few days there should be miniscule traces from the local chemicals.'
'Chemicals in his hair?' The interrogator seemed to be put off 'did he bathe in them?'
'Don't be ridiciolous. Every hive uses his own secret methods of making certain products. For example, the bullets made in Gunmetall City have a different gunpowder from those made on Scintilla. And when he was exposed to the air in the factories or the Hive miniscule traces of the used chems start to stick to ones clothes, skin and hair. Ingested food is unlikely to be a better helper, since it spends less time with him that his unwashed appearance.'
The young interrogator, Rabaaielas Scraant, nodded and made a mental note of this interesting fact. 'As you command, Sire, we will find this ... things last home.'
'Home, Rab' Levthanus said 'is something where you like to live and FEEL at home. He had no such feelings, so better refer to it as his last stop before we caught him,' he got up from his chair and walked past his servant 'and our next stop for rooting out another petty cult.'
Rabaaielas hurried to open the door for his master. 'If he won't speak on his own, i will make him. And after that his body will tell us the rest of his pathetic story.'
'Good, then get to it. I am tired of waiting. My hammer and me are aching for a good skull cracking!'

... a cat strolled into a sleeping room in an IG barrack on Canopus ...
Guybrush looked for his favourite bed and found it empty. His can-opener had left a day ago and would not come back for several weeks. At least the other humans in the room were decent enough to keep up the feeding rythm, but somehow they had the athrocoty to pat him on the head or even try to pick him up for cuddling. They soon learned not to do that again.
But without his favourite can-opener things seemed dull, so Guybrush turned around and walked back to a livelier spot.
There he found three of them, all dressed alike in that olive-green clothes. And what else did they brag about than his 'owner'.
'So, for how long do you guess he's gone this time?' the first human asked his ... siblings. At least Guybrush thought so, all of them looking, acting and smelling alike after some time.
'Well, he shot down another offer to become officer. So i wager ... one to three months, so that his old man cools down to a manageable, not-burning-the-air-around-himself temperature.'
'Ah, the joy of being a generals only son' the third one replied 'my sympathies.'
'Hey' the first yelled 'i've been with him since youth-korp, and he never took a karkin' favour his dad offered him.'
'Yeah, watch your mouth, Hangin. Taranis is the youngest sergeant in recent history because of his own hard training and skills.'
'Oh really' Corporal Sveret Hangin didn't want to stop 'so bein' born rich was no help at all? Gee, now why can't i believe that?'
'And i can't believe that three squad-leaders have time to dilly-dally in the middle of the day' a loud voice barked.
'Sir!' all three men stood antention as Lt. Carani Fernandel walked up to them.
'It's still Ma'am, you impotent grease-sniffing butt-monkeys! Get your teams ready for departure, ten minutes sharp! Moooooove out!'
As the men ran off, she grinned to herself. 'I just love my job.'
Guybrush stopped licking himself. This human was far too ... loud and uncivilised. Plus, she had never opened a single can for him. So he went back to his favourite sleeping-place and curled himself up, waiting for his owner to come back. Or for a human decent enough to open a can for him.

I'm quite liking the light hearted feel to this so far. Not something you get alot of in official GW fiction... Also having part of the story told from the perspective of a cat named Guyrush is just made of win as far as im concerned.

... a squad of imperial soldiers made it's way through the forest...
'Let's face it, we're lost.'
'Shut up' another soldier hissed. 'We got a map, a m-o-d and the necessary training, so how can we get lost?'
'I dunno, but according to the map we should already be at base camp. Instead we seem to get closer to a lake, which isn't even on this map.' The soldier turned the map around, but he could not find it.
'Ok, that's the last time that you had the map Kovalksi, you always lose something. This time, it's us. In a karking forest!'
'I didn't do it on purpose!' he defended himself.
'In my eyes, that only makes it a bigger crime' a voice behind a shrub whispered.
'We're dead, aren't we?'
'Oh yeah, big time' the bush continued. 'So, are you going to launch the flare yourself or do we have to paint you guys first?'
'No other options?' 'Well, you COULD try to go down fighting, but it will still be 15 lashes ... for each of you.' A half-naked man made his way out of the forest. He was wearing a red painted orc-mask over his face, while the rest of his body was as green as a regular ork warrior. Sergeant Taranis Kerman liked to dress up as a so-called Red Skull Kommando, and his squad would follow his example. During the training manouvers in the hills surrounding Hive Srtent they would harass the supply lines, kidnap officers, even blowing up the strategic targets made out of cardboard with an efficiency that scared the seasoned veterans sent home to train the recruits and conscripts.
The squadleader pulled out the flare pistol and aimed high into the sky. 'I guess, we won't see each other very soon, Sir.'
Taranis shrugged and said 'Happens, soldier.'
'Sir' the first bush said 'HQ wants to talk to you.'
Kerman made a gesture with his left that ment 'I'm not here'.
'Neg, Sir, HQ expects you to show up, otherwise they will choose for you.'
The man behind the shrubbery needed a moment to think. 'Choose what for you, Sir?'
The sergeant groaned and rubbed his temples. 'My future wife.'
His soldiers possessed enough decency (or willpower) not to comment that.

... the hands of the clock made their rounds ...
'So, have you reached a decision yet, my dear?'
General Ginoviro Kerman poured himself a rather generously big glass of brandy, while he waited for his wife to answer. Not that she had much choice in this, or any other matter. Her silent obedience was after all one of the main reasons he had married her for.
'Only the three women on the top of the list seem acceptable. The fourth and fifth could have been, if not for the decline in their family businesses.'
He toook a sip from the glass. 'Well, then we should set up a nice little meeting with their parents. We can't let our precious boy marry some little middle hive trollop.'
'Or an army mule?' Tritanja shoved the pile of unworthy women aside. 'He spends nearly every minute either on base or in the field.'
'Yes, that's why i transfered him to the palace guard, just an hour ago.' He snickered 'he'll be not even half an hour away from my office, and no forest to hide himself in.'
She nodded. 'He will still try to stay away from you. No matter how far he gets, he wants to get there by himself.'
'It wouldn't hurt, if he from time to time asked for a little push. I can't believe that my son wants to end up as a simple Captain in his higher age.'
She got up, and went over to her husband. 'He has his pride, dear, as you have yours. You had not made it to Captain before your fourtieth birthday, and if we cannot convince him to take your help, neither will he.'
'Yes, but at least i had made myself a name in the right circles. If he could, he would have never taken those **** dancing lessons for the various balls and parties the other nobles celebrate.' He snapped with his fingers 'aren't the Nilgensares giving a more or less private party next week for their sons graduation from Fleet academy? We could set him up to meet their daughter Sverana.'
'Yes, dear, i will have a little chat with the Countess about that over a nice cup of tea. We ladies will find something ... fitting.'
Ginoviro opened his private humidor and picked a rather light cigar. 'I do fear that i'll have to order him to that party.' A match flared up in his hands, and he startet to smoke his cigar 'that would solve the problem with finding clean clothes for him.'
'I wil make sure that his parade-uniform for formal occasions will be prepared accordingly, but a new medal or so would be useful.'
'Don't worry my dear, until next week he'll have his new lieutenant stripes, and another reward for service and or marksmanship. Even if that little bastard is not going to appreciate it.'
'Language, Ginoviro Kerman, do not talk like your sub-ordinates from the low-habs.' She wiped some imaginary dust from his uniform. 'He is our rightful child, and therefore no bastard in any way. And as to his pride as a soldier and man ... we both know from with family line he inheritated that.'
The General smiled and continued to smoke his cigar.