NOVEL SIMPLE Chapter Fifty-Eight
Lounging in the captain’s quarters on the Erudition’s Howl, I blast towards the industrial facilities around the hot gas giant, a journey of approximately nine hours at one gravity per second, per second.
The Distant Sun remains above Marwolv, ever ready to strike the tau and glass the planet if a psyker implodes into a warp portal.
Today is X596.030.M42, or 6 August 41030, two years since Operation Sea Mither and twelve years since I arrived on Marwolv.
Time in this twisted galaxy is hard to measure. It may be X596.030.M42 on Marwolv, but visit another system, especially one near the Great Rift, or the Eye of Terror, two massive breaches in the materium where the warp bleeds over, and the date could go a millennia either way.
I can only keep track of my personal time and, by my best reckoning, today marks twenty years since I woke up.
The Imperium squabbles over what date it is, keeping a local time as well as marking the beginning of the forty second millennium from when the light of the Great Rift, or Cicatrix Maledictum, reaches their system’s star.
Unsurprisingly, these dates rarely match, making decent administration an improbability and a proper timeline an impossibility. This issue is compounded by the two methods by which the Imperium communicates: void ships and astropaths.
Whether information travels on scrolls and datachips or through sharing dreams through immaterium, both methods require access to a realm filled with the most pernicious enemies of Man who can intercept and distort information at will.
That anything functions at all is an absolute miracle, one likely fueled by the sacrifice of thousands of psykers to the Emperor every day.
The Koronus Expanse, where I am, is too far for such blessings, the Emperor’s light is weak and flickering, and often non-existent, cut down by distance and the Great Rift.
Demons can manifest more easily, psykers are less prone to persecution and breed unchecked, and navigators struggle to path safe passages through the warp. These are the threats and challenges I must keep in mind day after day, year after year.
Today, however, I have cast these concerns aside as I rewatch the messages from my family, enjoy ancient terran TV, music, games, and internet. It’s become a yearly tradition for me, even if it does refresh my dislike for the man who married my wife and renew my appreciation for him properly caring for my children when I could not.
Screw you Graham! I sip some amasec and raise my glass to the shrine in my quarters, and thanks, you annoyingly genuine fucker.
Eventually, I fall asleep, a rare state these days as I am far too busy. I enjoy a close analogue to an English breakfast, sourced from Marwolv, though the recaf is as disappointing as it always is.
With my sleep, and possibly my only meal for the next month being rapidly disassembled in my industrial grade stomach, I open the flood of messages and return to work.
Tau activity is minimal, though their operations are now spread throughout the system and much harder to track or aggregate actionable data from.
The Iron Crane is fifty-four percent complete and its machine-spirit, Sadako, has been awakened. It has only been aware for two weeks and is still configuring, though it has chosen its avatar, a swarm of origami cranes shaped from gold wire and cut glass that amalgamate into a young girl whenever it chooses to speak and otherwise flit around the vessel like a swarm of butterflies.
Distant Sun and Aruna have no pressing concerns. Erudition’s Howl, however, and its replacement machine-spirit, an anthropomorphic fox fond of Victorian formal wear, has sent me a to-do list written in poetry signed: ‘Lord Beryllium’.
I had intended to tour my new moth-class mining ships, Voracious Light and Hazy Meditations, but the list it sent me contains a worryingly long obituary for servitors.
Gathering my tools and weapons I head to the bowels of the ship on a troubleshooting mission.
I created the mining ships from the platforms that were planned as a gas mining satellite and a material synthesis station from the ‘Shipping Container’ STC and then downsized to save resources and time.
The design was a collaborative work between E-SIM, Aruna, and I taking the hull template of the Distant Sun and shrinking it massively, then using a fraction of the material processing machinery from the original satellite designs, and using miniaturised components adjusted from the Iron Crane.
Originally the satellites were structures the size of the Federation research station that I was revived on. Now they are a new class of ship the size of a viper-class scout sloop, the Imperium’s smallest void capable ship at zero point nine-five kilometres long and zero point two-five kilometres abeam.
The moth class are monitor ships, with most of the space usually required for the warp drive, high speed thrusters, and sensors replaced with storage and processing machinery. They’re small enough to fit inside the Iron Crane, so it will be much easier to take them with me when I go, rather than towing massive structures through the warp, or leaving vital fleet infrastructure at Marwolv.
When their collection machinery is deployed they look like lionfish, though the rest of the time they are more like a miniature version of a lathe-class light cruiser.
The downside is their capacity. For example, the Hazy Meditations, my cloud miner, can hold fifty thousand cubic metres of metallic hydrogen pellets, one of the Distant Sun’s main fuels which takes up one percent of the Distant Sun by volume.
Zero point five percent goes to lithium, atomics, and other fuels while three point five percent of the Distant Sun is filled with tanks containing super-critical and hyper compressed water used as reaction mass for the thrusters, or heavy water if hydrogen pellets are scarce.
The water tanks are even more armoured than the macro-cannon ammunition storage.
Fifty thousand cubic metres might sound like a lot, but it’s only zero point three percent of the Distant Sun’s hydrogen capacity and it takes a month to fill, manufacture, and transfer the fuel from Hazy Meditations to Distant Sun.
In orbit, and without the weapon’s firing or stressing the void shields, I can get decades of power from a single trip of the Hazy Meditations. Run the ship at full capacity, and a full tank will get me fifty years and a score of engagements.
From full to empty it will take the Hazy Meditations almost twenty eight years to fill the Distant Sun at the current rate, not including the reaction mass for the thrusters, or mining atomics. I also still have to fill up the Iron Crane, as well as fuel Erudition's Howl and Voracious Light.
The Iron Crane is six point six two five times the volume of the Distant Sun and stores, proportionally, a similar amount of fuel. With its launch date approaching I have become increasingly concerned about how I’m going to get the Iron Crane out of the yard under its own power.
Fortunately, all the ships are capable of collecting their own fuel, so it’s not a complete disaster, but they’re not as fast at it as a specialised vessel and can’t make the hydrogen pellets in a speedy time frame like Hazy Meditations, or synthesise warp engine fuel like Voracious Sun, without rare ores.
Also, I need my bigger void ships for other tasks, like Marwolv overwatch, or transporting ore from the Kuiper belt, which is part of why I travelled here, as I want to build two more moth-class mining ships as there is little point in having the established minor shipyards run idle now the vessels are mostly complete.
I’m also delivering two crews to these two new vessels, who will be assembling the horrifyingly complex machinery at the heart of these specialised mining monitor ships. Tooling up to build this machinery literally took me nine years and another three to manufacture it.
These moth-class ships are about as difficult to construct as the Iron Crane, requiring a similar quantity of rare elements. Being able to synthesise rare elements instead with the Voracious Light is going to accelerate my production speed drastically.
If some careless twit drops this refining equipment they’re going out the airlock in their tighty-whities.
At last I reach Erudition's Howl’s bilge deck, or #K2/-2/Q4. This is the lowest and least visited deck on the ship, underneath the main engines and is the same area I found the mutants in, mutants I am yet to fix.
This area is all storage. There are a lot of atomics down here and the area is heavily irradiated. Many rooms are filled with junk, waiting to be recycled, or tanks of water too foul to go through normal processing and too heavily laden with precious elements to dispose of.
On the Distant Sun, areas like this have all been restored, but the Erudition's Howl has been too busy collecting resources with the D-POTs to be fully restored, nor do I have the spare industrial capacity to do so.
As I trudge through the darkness, Brian floats overhead, scanning broken components and tapping failed lumen bulbs. The servo skull constantly trills in distress.
I open each room and navigate around massive tanks and rusted junk, looking for the hazard that killed sixty-two, lemming-like servitors. The more I look about, the less I am surprised I’ve lost so many. There are damaged wires, loose plasma conduits, and hazardous chemicals in every room and corridor.
While my servitors do have mesh suits and exoskeletons, as well as a diverse set of cyberware to increase their intelligence and survivability, I will have to assign the ones in pressure carapace, the same servitors that I use on space walks, for areas of the vessel as bad as this.
Still, there are no signs of them and the standard servitors should have been enough to at least change the lightbulbs and they are smart enough not to trip on live wires or walk through spewing plasma.
Feeling uneasy, I direct my servo-harness to pass me my souped-up pipe. The powerfield hums to life as I grab the shaft in my armoured hands and I hold the pipe in front of my chest, taking care not to let the smashing end touch anything, especially myself.
A third of the way through the rooms, I find a tank that’s burst open. Black ooze cakes the floor and the tank has been stuffed with bits of servitors.
“Did I miss some of the mutants?” I mutter.
I continue my patrol and request the support of the trainee twist catchers. There are only six on Erudition's Howl and, while this was flagged as a maintenance issue, they should be patrolling down here and clearly haven’t.
As I leave the room, my armour drags my attention upwards and the servo-clamp on my back lashes out catching a falling creature around its torso. Mechadendrites curl around its thrashing limbs and present the subdued organism in front of me.
“Thanks for the save.”
A golden dragon twirls in my vision then disappears.
The creature is pale grey and humanoid with four long limbs, large hands and feet, and short, sharp claws. Its face resembles a human, crossed with a bat, with an upturned nose and wrinkly face.
Large black eyes and pointed, wide ears stare at me as it struggles and spits. A wide mouth full of long, needle-like teeth hisses at me. Keen to find out what exactly is on my ship, I direct a mechadendrite to pierce the creature’s jugular and let it bleed out, keeping the corpse intact enough to study.
More creatures crawl from the dark and attack.
The servo-clamp holds onto the body and I swing my pipe, pulping the chest of a lunging creature. The powerfield disintegrates its wiry flesh and thick skin spraying a red mist into the air.
My upgraded strength pulls me off balance and I stumble into the dying creature, barely avoiding putting my pipe through my own foot.
Sharp claws and heavy limbs scrabble on my armour and try to pull me to the floor and I backhand a creature, bursting its skull. Lunging forward, I regain my balance and gather my wits, taking count of my enemies.
Twenty-nine creatures surround me in a circle, closing and retreating as I turn from side to side.
Snorting, I direct my flamer behind me in a wide sweep, bathing eleven of them in purifying flame. Their flesh backens and bubbles and the intense heat kills them before they can even cry out.
I assign targets and the hellfire pistol on my shoulder launches pencil sized energy beams at the remaining creatures to my back. I charge forward. Mechadendrites trip up my enemies and I stomp on them as I break their encirclement and cut right, killing another with a swing of my crackling pipe.
As I raise my arms for another strike, an explosion hits my chest and I am knocked back. E-SIM and my armour flood me with data, highlighting a creature lurking on the top of a tank to my left, pointing a bolt pistol at me.
My conversion field dissipates the next two shots and before my hellfire pistol can take out the creature it gets in a fourth that punches through my shield and into my armour.
The ancient rounds are potent; my armour cracks and I can feel the heat of the explosive as it scorches my hyperweave undersuit. Nanites seep from my skin and into my armour, gradually repairing the breach.
Finally my hellfire pistol blasts the pale miscreant and it collapses. Feeling foolish for not taking this fight seriously, I finish off the creatures in front of me while my servo harness and hellfire pistol dispose of the remaining creatures, though not before eight of them managed to flee into the rusting depths.
I secure the bolt pistol and direct Brian to track down the fleeing creatures.