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

Our honeymoon ends and Brigid and I return to work. After our little talk, Brigid arranges a mass audit of the Stellar Fleet’s expenses. I am unsure if she wants to prove some point that she refuses to elaborate on, or is merely being thorough. No matter the cause, it is a worthwhile endeavour, one that neither I, nor the rest of Fleet Command, oppose.

Not trusting anyone else with the task, I personally extract our children from Brigid and place them in well warded exo-wombs, or vitae wombs as the rest of the Imperium tends to call them. We’ve adopted the Tau term because that’s what they were referred to as in all the documents they gave us.

Hopefully no one will call heresy over it, but one can never be sure what level of caricature a fellow Tech-Priest will stoop too. Perhaps if some become too uppity, I can transfer their minds to a toaster so that the only resistance coils they can pop are their own.

After four months of hard work, Brigid’s audit successfully discovers some oddities and Lonceta Ridel, Thorfinn’s replacement, is quick to step in and assist Brigid in locating and arresting the culprits. What’s most surprising is an impressive network of nepotism that’s been growing right under our noses, all orchestrated by a person called the ‘Merit Broker’.

Despite going dark the moment the audit is called, we know they’re with the main fleet as Brigid found evidence of their trading among the HR records even after the Pathfinder Group departed. Seven weeks later, Lonceta arrests the shipyard Overseer, Kai Ballantyne.

It’s a big enough scandal that Fleet Command convenes immediately to discuss the case. We commandeer the officers’ break room near Iron Crane’s bridge for our secure meeting location. Unlike the room for ratings, this one doesn’t have just N.O.M.s and a few vending machines to provide refreshments, but real fruit juice, handmade biscuits, and all manner of fresh hot drinks, from recaf to soup. Still no proper builder’s tea though.

At that thought, I still can’t stop myself from frowning. Everyone in the room probably thinks I’m annoyed at the Overseer, and I am, but his behaviour, at best, deserves an eye roll. I’m sure someone else will try and replace his clandestine brokerage soon enough.

The break room has some comfy sofas and armchairs, as well as several potted plants, inspirational posters, and in true Mechanicus fashion, various digital and mechanical puzzle devices that the officers like to leave around to challenge, troll, and show off to each other with.

Lonceta triggers the holoviewer built into the recaf table and brings up the details of the case as I gingerly sip my lemongrass and rosehip tea with a slight grimace.

A model of Overseer Ballantyne appears alongside notes on his career. Kai has a slightly rounded face, with a tall and athletic body. His augments are discrete, with small covers for different ports in his neck and arms. The last note on his activities state that he’d finally persuaded Róisín to approve the first production run of the D-POT assault patterns for the Aeronautica. Everything about the notes on his long career mention that he’s always done an excellent job at whatever he’s been assigned to and that’s the least complicated factor in this case.

Lonceta clears her throat, “As you can all see, this is Overseer Kai Ballantyne, the ‘Merit Broker’. He’s been using his authority to ensure that anyone who pays him enough, gets the job that they want by letting other people sell their own achievements to others. Using these merits, Ballantyne’s clients falsely earn their promotions or swap departments. It’s also how he got his own position.

“Normally, this sort of behaviour would be caught rather quickly, or those people get fired, but Overseer Ballantyne has avoided notice for over two decades. As you can see, his own records are immaculate and regardless of who was ultimately responsible for the merits his work has gained, there are no faults in the actual work presented. For one man to keep up the ruse for many years is possible, but all the people he’s helped? All the merits he’s traded? For no one to complain or give away the secret? Highly improbable.

“This is where the contradictory genius of the scheme comes to play. Overseer Ballantyne has not only been doing his own job to the best of his considerable ability, as far as we can tell anyway, but he’s also been teaching others. He ensures the people that he gets placed in their dream position are often more qualified and competent than those who are already working in the departments he places them in. As such, he has gained a reputation for recommending the right people for the right job, at least to other senior officers. What is less well known is that Ballantyne also helps lower ranked individuals get the implants and luxury goods that they want but can’t afford, or don’t have the procurement authority for, for a small favour, like selling their credit for a project.

“While his acts are illegal, he hasn’t caused any harm. One could even argue that he’s done the opposite, ensuring maximum productivity and morale. His defence, once we finally proved beyond doubt that he is guilty and he was forced to admit his role, is that he: ‘wouldn't have to do any of this if we were better able to identify the needs of others and provide the specialised, individual help that his special quantum bubbles need to get where they want to be’.”

Maeve chuckles, “That’s a rather unique attitude to have towards his clients.”

“We already provide custom classes and learning experiences to everyone,” says Brigid. “He must be quite the sculptor to shape the delicate foam he claims need even further help.”

“There are always those who fall through the gaps,” says Owen. “You can lead a man to a pew, but you can’t force them to listen.”

“How big was this trade?” I say.

“Between ten and thirty individuals a year,” says Lonceta.

“That’s a rather small volume to run a black market HR business with,” says Róisín. “What sort of money are we talking about here?”

Lonceta brings up another table with a gesture, “Anything from ten to sixty thousand bytes.”

“Funded by parents?” says Eire. “That’s a bit too much for a Tech-Apprentice to save up easily.”

“Not always,” says Lonceta, “but parents are the usual culprits. Depends if it’s someone hoping for a specific assignment after passing their Tech-Adept qualification, or a more established individual who is being oppressed by their boss and wants out. While, almost universally, the Overseer’s clients have personality issues, every single one had a legitimate need for his help, from social tutoring, to retraining, or just a kind word, a ready smile, and a greasy palm.”

“Then rather than focus on what’s going to happen to the Overseer,” says Eire, “We should worry more about what led to his rise in the first place.”

Lonceta nods, “I have been giving this much thought over the last seven weeks. There is little we can do about the greed of others, too impatient to save their bytes, or or adopting a short term mindset. We do provide education on risk management, but as Confessor Broin pointed out, the willfully deaf wallow in a silence of their own making.

“For those in need of extra help, whether it be first job jitters, or poor social skills, we can certainly encourage the formation of focused support groups in this area. I will leave that up to Confessor Broin, as that’s his department.

“As for workplace bullying, nepotism, and encouraging a healthy work attitude, I have a proposal. One that will cause much upheaval within the Fleet. At the moment, it’s just an idea, and I’d like to discuss it with all of you before I undertake the effort to put forward a proper write up. Magos?”

“I’d love to listen to your idea, Lonceta, but let’s not get sidetracked before we decide Kai’s fate.”

“Ah, my proposal might have some influence on that, which is why I wanted to cover it first,” says Lonceta.

I nod, “Then give us a five minute pitch and we’ll go from there.”

“Thank you, Magos, and esteemed members of the jury.”

Owen and I chuckle and the others smile.

Lonceta clears away Overseer Ballantyne’s case from the holoviewer and brings up new text in bright gold, gothic font.

“Blessings and Castigations,” says Lonceta. “A system of excellence recorded, judged, and administered by the primary Machine-Spirit on each vessel within the fleet. The goal of the program is to reduce the soft power of officers and ensure upwards social mobility without it being reliant on promotions, which are mostly tied to combat losses, fleet expansion, and ennui.

“Currently, our days are grouped into ten. Six days on, four days off. We also have another sequence. Twelve months duty, three months education. A cycle of fifteen months. I propose we introduce a third: twenty-five years of labour, then a one to ten year sabbatical, before returning to work for another twenty-five years. I can see the questions on your faces at that large gap in work. Perhaps you are wondering why we should bother with such a thing when most individuals will only survive two or three cycles?” Lonceta smiles, “I’ll be covering all of that.

“In addition to the twenty-five year cycle, we would alter the fleet’s system of rejuvenation treatments. Currently, so long as you become an officer, and save up the bytes, you can afford rejuvenat treatments. Lower members only have access to cybernetic or bionic replacements of failing organs. While an important part of treatment, implants are only one half of the life extension process.

“As such, those who are kept under the thumb of their superiors are, to an extent, slowly being murdered by them; if they never rise, they can’t get life extension treatments. As most new positions only open up when their superior dies, commits a significant series of blunders, or we make new ships, individuals might never advance, even if they deserve it. From my interviews with Overseer Ballentyne’s clients, that’s the main reason why we ended up with the ‘Merit Broker’.”

Surprise and realisation crosses the faces of everyone other than Lonceta.

“My proposal is that we have the Machine-Spirits evaluate the work of our personnel over each twenty-five year period. So long as they consistently turn up to work on time and meet reasonable expectations for their labour, the Machine-Spirits will bless them with a long life. Poor behaviour will result in Castigations and life extension will be denied until they have offset their mistakes.

“The long sabbatical is there so that Fleet personnel can focus on their carers, knowing that when they finish their stint, they will have a long period of time afterwards when they can raise children with proper attention, go back to education, work on their private research, or anything else they care to do, with their youth partially restored. We should get between nine and twelve rejuvenat cycles from each person with our current treatments.

“Over time, this will create multi-generational family units who can share the raising of children to adulthood, as it’s likely that at least one member will always be on sabbatical. It will also create close knit support groups and large families should ensure, in the majority of cases, that there’s at least one member of each family that even the most socially stunted can tolerate and learn from. This would, in theory, reduce the instances that created Overseer Ballantyne’s niche.

“I also propose that, as part of the twenty-five year cycle, junior officers would be moved to a new post after five, fifteen month cycles, senior after ten, and command officers after twenty-cycles. That’s almost six and a half, or twelve and a half, and twenty-five years. Fleet officers, like captains, would have a max of three complete twenty-five year cycles, that’s seventy-eight, to one hundred and five years at the same post. This should reduce the suppression of low ranks or other forms of stagnation, like ennui, or poor motivation from excessive job security. Yes, that includes our own jobs.

“This new cycle would require the lifespan of bytes to increase to ten years to match the length of time personnel might not be earning money for. It would also extend the practical lifespan of all personnel to at least four hundred years, drastically slowing the loss of knowledge and skills. I now open the floor to debate.”

“I like the neutral arbitration and name,” says Owen. “The faith will not object.”

“I do rather like the idea of a ten year holiday,” says Eire. “Not practical for me to take, but it would work for most. I wouldn’t mind taking a long break after three cycles though, with something new to look forward to at the end of it. It is a good substitute for retirement, something we can’t offer at the moment for our most well worn crew without Marwolv to return them to.”

“Your proposal addresses several social issues within the Fleet,” I say. “My objection is having to pay for it all. I don’t know if I can afford such a program.”

“You gave us all rejuvenat glands,” says Róisín, “but never mentioned how difficult they are to make. Would it be possible to increase production of them?”

“They’re both arcanotech and archeotech,” I say. “I have the means to create them, but I don’t have a way to practically produce more than five a year, nor are they suitable for all individuals. It is not a skill or tool I can give or teach to others either.

“The only current viable path is a careful mix of gene therapies, drug regimes, and implants. It is also possible to transfer old brains into new clones, but such surgery has significant risk, you’d only do so if all other methods have been exhausted. A full cybernetic body would be safer. After four hundred years, the point at which our available treatments would start to fail, all surviving crew should have completed their conversion to such a body and have the specialist life support implants that would be required to maintain such ancient flesh.

“A rejuvenat gland would not tie people to the Fleet and encourage good behaviour either,” I continue. “Lonceta’s proposal only works when people have to come back for repeated treatments. You could certainly add better rejuvenat treatments to your research list though, Róisín. Just don’t go digging into how the Space Marines manage it.”

“I’ll do that,” says Róisín. “As for the practicalities of how to implement it with what we have? I expect it would require a dedicated garden ship.”

“The Macro-Ferry will have space to spare,” says Brigid. “As for cost, my suggestion is that we do not provide this service for free, Aldrich. That’s just begging for abuse. For something as exclusive and conflict inducing as rejuvenat treatments that’s a terrible idea.

“Having the necessary facilities on the Macro-Ferry would also allow for a form of tourism and become a serious revenue stream if properly managed. As for our own use, I suggest a life extension pension scheme that personnel can pay into as a set percentage of their wage, regardless of income. Money that disciplinary fines are subtracted from first, before income or other sources. Once established, health tourism and mass production should assist in minimising any shortfalls that would impact the Fleet’s operational capabilities from funnelling too many bytes into this project.”

“I do not agree with tying discipline to life extension,” says Owen. “That would return the power we’re trying to divest from officers right back to them. It would also impact the Blessings of the Machine that Lonceta wishes to emphasise.”

Brigid sighs, “I see your point. Still, there must be other ways we can claw back the expense somewhere, should we go ahead with this scheme. Perhaps pilgrims to Kinbriar V, where Aldrich claims that the Emperor manifested, would make a reliable additional income stream.”

“That will bring its own host of problems,” says Owen, “the least being the planned Tau community on the Macro-Ferry. No matter the magnitude of the endeavour, however, we should tackle it with faith and fervour. It wouldn’t do to have others snatch the offering bowls from our hands.”

Brigid and I chuckle at Owen’s mercantile approach to faith.

“Could the extension of bytes play into it?” says Eire. “Maybe allow for them to be reissued after a deduction in their value, rather than arbitrarily doubling their lifespan. Also, do we really need a whole ship when our organic printers can produce plants? How much more difficult could it be to print rejuvenat herbs than a loose leaf salad?”

“There are a lot of ideas going around,” I say, “Go ahead with a proper proposal, Lonceta. A full write up with all the expected costs. Consult with each of us on our areas of expertise as needed and we will help you. Don’t ask anyone else. We cannot let this leak. This is not the sort of project we can have floating around as a rumour before it’s safely stowed.”

“Yes, Magos.”

“As for Kai, I can see why you wanted to talk to us about Blessings and Castigations first as it might determine if he remains eligible for rejuvenat treatments, but I see no reason why we should delay the sentencing of a criminal, no matter how beneficial he has been. I will deal with him myself. Let’s not sit around here talking more than we have too. The officer’s might just mutiny if I eat any more of their shortbread.”

There are a few laughs and Brigid pokes my stomach. Everyone breaks up into little groups and chats for a few more minutes before departing. Afterwards, I pocket a final piece of shortbread and head to the Brig. I should at least talk to the man before I decide his fate.