Herald of the Stars - A Warhammer 40k, Rogue Trader Fanfiction

I lie on a beach chair, enjoying the warmth of the artificial daylight and listening to the waves. The air is tinted with salt and a cool breeze. All around me hundreds of families play in the water, and snorkel above the carefully grown reefs of the biome. A short pier runs into the water, topped with cafes. For maximum disrespect, I’m wearing only my swimming trunks and the most colourful Hawaiian-style shirt that Brigid could find in the Fleet.

Bedwyr guides Raphael and Lyre to me. They’re in full dress and are shivering from walking through the corridors without a proper undersuit.

The two officers are surrounded by six Ogryns and twelve voidsmen, but all their bodyguards are openly gaping at the environment and not paying any attention whatsoever to actually doing their jobs. The Ogryns even have to be threatened to not run off and play in the water.

I push the aviator sunglasses, that I totally don’t need, down my nose a bit and peer at the two officers over the top.

“Good day, gentlemen. I hope you brought shorts like I suggested.”

Raphael removes his rebreather and says, “What is this place, Magos?”

“A beach.”

They both stare at me and I sigh.

I continue, “I’ve reserved a private booth at one of the cafes. It’s secure. I will treat you to lunch and we can have our discussion there. You can bring a couple of your bodyguards if you feel the need. The rest will have to make do with relaxing beneath an umbrella or staring at the fish from the pier.”

“Very well, lead on,” says Lyre, also removing his rebreather.

“Are all your corridors filled with plants,” says Raphael, “and horribly cold?”

I say, “There are hydroponics systems all over the vessel, wherever there is space and a need for them. The inhospitable environment is everywhere except for the promenades and other community spaces, like breakrooms. It discourages disease, minimises decay, promotes the efficiency of Machine-Spirits, and inhibits unwanted guests, among other things.

“The beach biome, while relaxing, is also for education, training, medicine, and food. Underwater is a good place to practise how to manoeuvre in zero-G once you get the hang of it in the simulator. The artificial sunlight also promotes good morale and health, especially in children.”

“Yes, yes, all very fascinating,” says Lyre.

We enter a cafe called Pier Pressure and take a seat by an open window, overlooking the water and the beach.

Raphael says, “Surely you haven’t put something like this on every vessel!”

“Not a beach, no, but there are other biomes, like arboretums, and more practical facilities, like swimming pools, on both Iron Crane and my light cruisers. Torchbearer is a more recent addition and requires refitting, as do all my other new vessels. The escorts are, unfortunately, much more limited and have minimal entertainment. Crew and civilians on my smallest vessels are restricted to the noosphere, or community gatherings arranged by the Imperial Cult and Cult Mechanicus. You only need a small room for a science fair or church choir after all.”

“This all seems like a waste of resources,” says Lyre. “A little hardship is good for the soul.”

“You are more right than you know, Adjunct Hamiz, but it is easy to forget that as much as these are warships, they are also cities and homes. A person can die for a cause, but they will fight for their homes, a small space that they can call their own. It is in my best interest to make it as meaningful a location as possible.”

“That isn’t something I ever thought I would hear from a Tech-Priest,” says Raphael.

I nod, “Worship promotes unity and discipline. It inspires us to learn and unravel the mysteries of the universe. It does not fill one’s belly or give you someone to hold at night. We are so very alone out here in the void. Loneliness is an easy thing to prey on for the Ruinous Powers, so I fill my ships with life, laughter, and love, silly though it may seem.”

Raphael gives me a sharp look, “You have an abnormal number of wards within this vessel. Everyone other than the children are the same height, with unusually smooth skin. Your Servitors are only distinguishable at a glance from Humans because you mark them as such. Your weapons are better and your suits are made from an unknown fabric. The composite materials you use for your armour, foldable shields, and much of the rest of your equipment is non-standard. My Tech-Priests do not recognise the engine designs on your ships, or the plasma macro-cannons that you use. You have an STC.”

“Close, but so very off the mark,” I say. “Let’s have some lunch first, eh?”

I don’t have an adaptive STC, but I do have an engineering grade one. Few bother to make the distinction between maintenance, manufacturing, engineering, and adaptive, but when someone talks about an STC they’re usually talking about an adaptive one, an AI that can generate new technologies. It’s the holy grail of the Adeptus Mechanicus and so long as Lyre doesn’t define it, I can lie to his face and tell the truth all at the same time. While I have perfect control of my body, I could have tells that I don’t know about. It is far better to stick to the truth, as I see it, wherever possible.

A Servitor fills the table with plates of battered fish and chips, condiments, and Tanna tea. There’s even a slice of real lemon. I squeeze the lemon wedge over my food with a big smile on my face, then sprinkle the chips with vinegar and salt, and squirt a blob of ketchup on the side of my plate as well as scoop out a dollop of tartar sauce from the small pot that came with my meal.

“What’s this?” says Lyre.

“Fish and chips, or battered cod and deep fried potatoes with mushy peas. A traditional meal for the seaside for the ancient Albish on Old Earth. It’s best hot, so hold your questions and eat.”

This meal costs an entire month’s stipend, or over a week’s wages for a Tech-Apprentice. Hardly a concern for me, but I went to a lot of trouble to recreate this taste from home and I want to enjoy it, not answer the endless questions of these nosy fools.

We eat in silence for several minutes, I deliberately finish last, taking my sweet time to savour the dish. Eventually, I put my knife and fork down and push my plate to the side. The Servitor removes the remains of the meal and a curtain is pulled across the booth. I lean back and wait for the Navy officers to speak.

I observe the Machine-Spirits running around the two testing for auspex devices and trying to scan me. None of them get anywhere.

“Are you quite done?” I say, raising my eyebrow.

Lyre reaches around his neck and pulls out a rosette. He places it on the table. It is shaped like an Ⅰ with a small human skull placed in the top third. Three short bars stick from the circular inset that holds the stylized skull in place.

“I am here to requisition resources from you, Magos.”

I reach out and tap the rosette, scanning it. I engage my nanites and dissolve it into powder, then sweep the silver residue off the table.

“No.”

Both of the two agents' hands twitch towards their pistols. I open my third eye and freeze them in place, then let them go. They remain tense but do not move.

I look them both in the eyes, “Inquisitor Hamiz, Interrogator Horthstien. Throughout the millennia and across a million worlds you will find stories, anecdotes, and cultures that reference the number three.

“I saved your lives and you attempted to steal from me. I armed and armoured you, bringing you beneath the aegis of my own defenders, and you attempted to steal from me a second time. I brought you aboard my vessel, offered you food and shelter and, once again, you attempt to steal from me, or requisition as you so put it. That’s three for three.

“Not once have you thanked me for saving your lives, offering you protection, or inviting you into my home. That’s another three. You are part of the Ordo Xenos yet in your pursuit of perfidy have forgotten what makes us Human. Manners Maketh Man, gentlemen.

Lyre looks at me utterly baffled. Raphael is a little quicker on the uptake.

“Magos,” says Raphael. “I thank you for saving my life. I thank you for offering me protection and hospitality. I apologise for attempting to steal from you.”

I stare at him for a few seconds, “You are forgiven.” I turn my gaze back to Lyre, “Be you man or xenos, Inquisitor?”

“You destroyed a symbol of Imperial authority for a lesson in manners!” shouts Lyre. “Do you have any idea of what the consequences of your actions are? You’re even an Emperor damned navigator!”

“I do. Absolutely nothing. I don’t think you quite understand the gravity of your actions.” A small cavity opens below my sternum and I pull out a brand new rosette. I place it on the table and Lyre attempts to snatch it, but I hold it in place with a single finger and he cannot move it no matter how he tugs.

“Stop embarrassing yourself,” I say. “You answer directly to the Emperor. Every action you take reflects on him and your actions reflect most poorly upon the Golden Throne.”

I select Minor Bless Object from my list of miracles and target the rosette. A golden aura rises from my skin and the two officers flinch back. My aura grows, pushing them back into their seats, then flares beneath my right hand and rushes into the rosette. I feel the Emperor look through my eyes for a brief moment, entirely disinterested with what is going on. The pure authority of his psychic might cannot be mistaken for anything else though and both Lyre and Raphael pale.

“I am going to tell you what you need to know, then you are going to leave. Hand me your subordinate rosette, Interrogator Horthstien.”

Raphael hands shake slightly as he hands over his rosette. I update the name on Raphael’s rosette and hand it to Lyre, then hand the new rosette to Raphael.

“Congratulations on your promotion, Inquisitor Horthstien. The new rosette is also a rosarius and will protect you in combat. The blessing will repel minor demons and psychic influence upon your mind and block up to three strikes from a greater demon, after which the blessing will fade and will need to be renewed by another who can channel the Emperor’s power. I suggest you look towards the Sisters of Battle, should you survive such an encounter.”

Raphael looks towards Lyre who is sitting absolutely still, gripping his fists so tightly that his palms are bleeding. Raphael nods slowly.

“You may send me a two thousand voidsmen before you leave and I will equip them as well as my own Herald Acolytes. This will include all the required implants, spare parts, and maintenance grade STCs. I will also restock your vessels with fuel and food. Each of you may choose a single implant from my personal list of craftables that I reserve for my most senior officers and I will gift it to you.

“Last, and perhaps most importantly, you will be provided with the promised data as well as a rather morbid cargo container. Within are all the brains of the senior Drukari and other xenos. They are hooked up to cogitators and life support. The device will require maintenance. A barebones, maintenance grade STC will be provided.

“This device will let you ask the imprisoned individuals questions. Answers are taken directly from their minds without context or explanation. Repeated and varied questions will be required to acquire precise answers. Without a source of pain to feed off, the Drukhari will deteriorate quickly. I suspect you have between nine and twelve months before they die. Once an individual dies, their specific container will self-destruct.”

I’ve created a much smaller device that holds the Haemonculi brains. I’m hoping to advance our genome research with their hoarded knowledge, but I doubt we’ll learn much. They’re really good at keeping secrets.

I continue, “I will not have you abusing my gift and sticking whoever you like in there once its job is done. Attempting to reverse engineer the device will result in its immediate and total destruction, likely taking whoever is fiddling with it out at the same time and a good chunk of whatever vessel it is on. Once the last brain is dead, the self-destruct will automatically disarm and the container can be recycled safely.”

I place my hands palm up upon the table, “Interrogator Hamiz, yes you heard that right, place your hands in mine.”

Lyre doesn’t move so I grab his fists before he even blink, I heal his hands and body with my nanites, clearing away old scars and bad injuries. After several minutes, the sudden lack of constant pain he is clearly in snaps him out of his funk. I look him in the eyes and select another minor blessing, clearing his mind of doubt and renewing his sense of purpose. He looks back at me in wonder and a small amount of joy.

“The Emperor is always watching,” I say, “ready to offer help to those who are sincere in their tasks and faith. Do not let the troubles of the galaxy wear you down, Interrogator, or forget the troubles of those who work with or below you. Most of all, never forget in whose name your authority resides. Go, and may the Emperor be with you.”

Lyre pulls back his hands, his expression returning to stern disapproval. He stands and leaves, pushing back the curtain as he does so.

Raphael reaches out to shake my hand and I accept.

“Thank you for your aid and hospitality, Magos.”

I smile, “You are welcome. I am happy to aid the Imperium.”

Glancing at Lyre’s back, Raphael sighs and says, “So long as its servants say please and thank you. He is an old man, Magos, and most weary. You have both insulted and uplifted him. Perhaps a break will do my mentor some good.” He frowns, “You haven’t made any friends today, but I don’t think you’ve made any enemies either. Neither of us are stupid enough to actually believe you have the authority to demote or promote an Inquisitor, no matter the might of your miracles or your technological marvels. I doubt I’ll ever see such a good bluff ever again though. Good day to you, Magos. I do hope we don’t run into each other again.”

“Farewell, Inquisitor Horthstien.”

Raphael chuckles and departs.

Well, that didn’t go too badly. I think I made my point well enough and have proven I am both useful and dangerous enough not to be provoked. I doubt the Inquisition will bother me again any time soon.

I tap the wooden table a few times, then return to my beach chair. I am rather old as well. I need my breaks too!