NOVEL SIMPLE Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Nine
The picture hanging above the bed changes to a slideshow of images, captured by Thorfinns eyes and sensors as well as his bodyguards, forming composite, three dimensional pictures. First up is a damp cavern, covered in rusting pipes and seized fans, just big enough for a small Imperial shuttle. Next we see a rocky tunnel, glinting with metal, though I can tell the colour in this image is false as the corridor has no lighting and the Heralds do not add light to any scenario unless they have too.
At the end of a tunnel is a rectangular lobby with a dozen seats, set between pillars of rock. In the centre of the lobby is a barricade of plasteel crates, stuffed with rocks and other junk. A Tech-Priest in a Mars-red robe, smudged with oil and other stains, stands behind the barricade. He is surrounded by four naked servitors, their genitalia hidden behind armoured plates like an iron thong, and their mouths replaced with rebreathers. Each Servitor has had his arm replaced with a Mirtralock, a bulky las weapon that has a similar role and function to a shotgun.
The Tech-Priest cradles a Flechette Carbine and his belt is a poorly disguised Electro-Flail. Thorfinn’s scans easily bypass his robe, revealing mismatched and battered void armour, a cyber mantle, and many other crude cybernetics that are bolted to his body. From the way it’s assembled, I do not think he can remove his armour without significant effort. Two mechadendrites sway above his head, bristling with tools and sensors.
“What follows is a transcript of our first meeting with Factor Vingh Belomor, assistant to Enginseer Prime, Anterhovo Taybax, the primary mechanicus authority on RO-R0KST4R-TPK, or as the the locals call it, ‘Lickspittle’. The conversation was undertaken in Lingua-Technis.”
I return to my own voice, “I’m going to skip the greetings, threats, and insults.”
The pict-viewer goes through several more images. Most notable is the main cavern. Some three thousand small cabins are fixed to the walls, assembled from welded crates and piping. Their walls are stuffed with old packaging, mostly packing foam, cardboard, and food wrappers.
Lickspittle has a slight spin to it, but there is no uniform artificial gravity. In the holopic some two hundred people are floating about, redirecting themselves around the shanty town with wires strung throughout the cavern, and other hand holds. In the cavern’s centre is a long tube, held in place by multiple, uneven struts, like a cocoon trapped in a spider’s web. Thick cables and air ducts run along the struts that hold the cocoon in place.
The cocoon is festooned in mixed lights, not quite as varied as a christmas tree as most of the lights are white. Among the eclectic mix however, are pale shades of red, yellow, and blue.
What few faces are visible among the masses are thin and dirty. Their voidsuits are bulky and patched, with crudely welded, ill fitting plates of mixed, hand beaten metals. Manual, unpowered tools hang from their belts and equipment webbing, more like charms and fetishes than a carefully organised toolkit. The Cog Mechanicum is stamped on absolutely everything, with no thought put into a tidy, uniform appearance. The messy mix reminds me of the gang tags sprayed on the pedestrian underpass near my old house.
Other than the cocoon, there is one other major structure, fixed to one end of the cavern. It is distinctly gothic with its tall windows, and pointed arches, but built with brutalist materials, clean lines, and few flourishes, rather than the usual ostentatious decorations. The building has thick, armoured doors and many gun ports, and two soldiers in proper void armour stand either side of its doors. It is almost certainly the local church of the Imperial Cult, and likely has many other administrative and security functions as well.
The next few pictures show Thorfinn and his two squads of Heralds are being led to a secondary airlock in the central cocoon, then we get an image of a cramped workspace with just Thorfinn, two Heralds, two Servitors, and Factor Vingh Belomor.
Factor Belomor has removed the top half of his helmet. Half his face is an implanted rebreather and much of his skull is metal. His eyes are mechanical, with stylised irises like the aperture on a pict recorder.
“Factor Belomor, and most of the other Tech-Priests on the station have digital, almost toneless voices. As such, they all have the odd habit of preceding each statement with a declaration of intent as a substitute for the tone they can no longer inflect.”
Factor Belomor: “Query: How may the Mechanicus aid you, Remembrancer?”
Remembrancer Ursus: “We seek news of the greater Imperium, trade, and offer assistance of our own.”
Factor Belomor: “Confusion: Our records show Distant Sun visited this station one hundred and fifty-nine years ago. You traded our latest information package with us in exchange for ore and labourers.”
Remembrancer Ursus: “Apologies, Factor Belomor, our records suffered damage after a tumble in the Warp. Only two crew members of the Distant Sun survived a collision with a space hulk, the Navigator and Magos Explorator Aldrich Issengrund. He restored the vessel as best he could and travelled at best speed to known space.”
Factor Belomor: “Lamentation: the loss of knowledge is a terrible affliction. How did you recover Distant Sun?”
Remembrancer Ursus: “With the guidance of the Omnissiah in his heart, Magos Issengrund stumbled across a lost world, Marwolv, where acquired new crew and vessels and returned the population to the embrace of the Emperor. After many decades of exploration, he was able to trace a path back to the edge of Distant Sun’s maps. No doubt that is why we found you once again.”
Fial tugs at my clothes, “I don’t like the funny voice, Dad. Belomor sounds scary. Can you do a different one?”
“Sure, but if you meet someone like that, you mustn’t mention that. I’m already translating it from Lingua Technis to Low Gothic so it’s not too intimidating.”
“Why don’t they have voices like our Tech-Priests?”, says Luan while leaning against Brigid and gripping her arm as hard as he can.
“Well, it’s a difference in philosophy. They think speaking like that will make them closer to their machines. The Stellar Fleet prefers to mimic the form of the Omnissiah as best we can, in homage to his great skill and strength. We are also traders and sounding human makes it easier for other humans to trust us.”
“Drain their power!” yells Alpia, “Syphon their liquids! Stamp their minerals with our mighty symbols!” With each yell, she smacks my head like a drum.
I burst out laughing, reach up, and grab her fists, “That’s not very nice, Alpia. You have to give them back something or they will have nothing to take another day. Also, no hitting Daddy, that’s not how tech support works.”
Brigid smiles, “Aldich, I don’t think that’s quite the right lesson,”
“It will do for now.”
“What does Belmor really sound like?” says Dareaca, picking his nose.
“Ask Mum, she’s good at voices too. Also, stop trying to tickle your brain with your knuckles. It will turn you into a big fat snorer.”
Dareaca snaps his hand down and holds both of them tight under his armpits.
Four sets of eyes stare at Brigid. She sighs, then puts on a super serious face. The lights in the room fade and start to flicker slightly, clanking fans and thrumming engines play from the vox casters embedded in the room. A distorted voice, heavy with electronic interference and an ominous hiss passes her lips. None of the words sound like any known Old Earth language. There is a slight echo to her words as if she is speaking in a grand temple.
Outside the standard range of human hearing are whining bursts of data broadcasted in beeps: static, music-like waves, similar to whalesong, or the EM recording of a planet. She weaves all the tones together and it sounds like she’s singing every part of a grand, lo-fi choir, though it is rather eerie. The kids can’t hear the extra tones though. They shriek and giggle. Luan and Dareaca both try to slap their hands over her mouth and she lets them, then plays her voice directly from the vox casters instead.
“Nooo!” says Fial. He curls up into a little ball and covers his ears with his hands.
Brigid stops speaking and the lights return to normal. Imperial chants start playing from the vox. Brigid puts Dareaca and Luan down, and reaches over to caress Fial’s cheek. “It’s over, Fial, don’t be scared now.”
“Come now, children,” I say, “You’ve heard people speak in a similar voice around the vessel before.”
“It’s different when Mum does it,” says Fial. “She sounds like a different person. I don’t like it.”
“I think it’s awesome,” says Luan. “I wanna hear it again.”
The kids argue about it for a couple minutes, then I say, “Let’s see what Factor Belomor has to say about our big adventure among the stars, shall we?”
“Will there be xenos?” says Alpia.
“Maybe if you sit still and listen, you will find out,” I say. The kids settle down and I continue, this time giving Factor Belmor my best impression of a Yorkshireman speaking in low gothic. Brigid gives me an amused look, though I know she does not recognise the accent.
Factor Belomor: “Awe: Returning the spark of the Omnissiah to a lost world is of great merit. I would appreciate a full account to better understand the guidance of the Machine God. Clarification: Magos Explorator Isengrund is not the recorded captain of Distant Sun. Is he available for a discussion?”
Thorfinn Ursus: “Magos Issengrund is bypassing an anomaly in the Warp currents at sublight speeds. We rushed ahead of the main Fleet to establish agreements and verify our maps. While Distant Sun has some manufacturing capacity, it would be better to place your orders in advance for a more substantial trade in another decade. They will not rush without due cause.”
Factor Belomor: “Surprise: How many vessels did Magos Issengrund acquire from this lost world? Your fleet departed with one ship!”
Thorfinn Ursus: “Magos Issengrund found an empty Cobra-Class vessel, Erudition’s Howl, floating among xenos wreckage, with all its data and holds scrubbed clean. He is a prolific builder of void ships and used the patterns stored within Distant Sun and his own memory to establish new industry and build new vessels. Our lost world has been re-dedicated to the Machine Cult.”
“There is a notable pause in the conversation and a slight smile shows on what’s left of Factor Belomor’s cheeks, half hacked off as they are beneath his integrated rebreather.”
“That’s disgusting!” says Alpia. “Did he have weird teeth, Daddy?”
It takes me a moment to work out what Alpia is getting at, “He wasn’t hiding his teeth, Sweetpea. I think he just likes clean air.” I point at a few points on the picture, “Those vents are dirty, see?”
“Oh.” Alpia slumps, resting her cheek against the back of my head. “Carry on.”
Factor Belomor, “Statement: We have one record of Erudition’s Howl. It was in the possession of the Disciples of Thule, circa 741.M41. Last sighting was orbiting Dolorium, a Feral World in the Koronus Expanse. Query: Can Magos Issengrund repair and replenish our mining barges and equipment?”
“To summarise, Thorfinn and Factor Belomor talk for several hours negotiating the details of what each party can do for the other and finding out what life is like on Lickspittle. The mining station has not seen a supply mission in over a decade and they have no Astropaths. Most systems are broken or running in safe mode.
“New parts are supposed to arrive at Lickspittle in five years, when a Mass Transporter is due to collect their ore and replenish the mining crews, but they didn’t bring the necessary parts on the last two visits. Factor Belomor is willing to exchange a large part of their tithe for the necessary supplies and parts to restore functionality and make them more self-sustaining. The key trade is new tools for their Forge Temple, the poorly welded cocoon in the middle of Lickspittle’s main cavern. New mining barges are to be built by Iron Crane.”
“Belomor waves off Thorfinn’s concerns about accusations of theft and expects that better equipment will allow Lickspittle to make up any shortfall before their next visitor. Thorfinn promises to give a preferential price as thanks for the data the Pathfinder Fleet acquired. With this offer, tensions dramatically decrease and Factor Belomor starts listing the dangers to be found on the station. Details of further trades with the Stellar Fleet are in a separate document.”
“See,” says Alpia. “I knew Thorfinn and Quaani would take all their stuff.”
I sigh.
“I thought this story was supposed to be scary!” says Fial.
I barely manage to stop myself to laugh at the sheer hypocrisy of Fial being the one to say that.
Brigid fails and sniggers, “Yes, you heard our boy. Frighten me, Daddy.”