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

Two days later, the psyker Servitors I left behind at Kinbriar finally punch a message through the eerie calm of the Warp, providing still images and scan data. The Necron Tomb World is gone, as are all the Eldar and Necron wrecks. The wrecks were likely thrown into the Warp after the Emperor grabbed his godly snack.

I’ve no idea if the Emperor is awake, but I doubt one C’tan shard was enough to fully revive him. Neither do I know exactly how he used it. It has probably given him enough leeway to communicate better with his Custodes though. Maybe the lazy aircar ornaments will finally stop decorating the Emperor’s throne room and go and do something more useful.

Róisín was delighted by the new STC and promised to find good uses for it. Brigid was appalled and furious that I had nearly died from the Emperor’s careless power, not that either of us have any idea how hard it is to reach halfway across the galaxy and shove data into someone’s head. I can’t help but feel that my good health is not his priority though, despite all I have given, rather than any lack of skill on his part.

Time shenanigans is also going on, contradictions that I do not understand as, in the future, I saw the Emperor as a baby in his domain, yet now, in the past, he appears like a young boy after munching down on the shard of a star god. Although this makes sense from my perspective of events, they are out of sync with how the Emperor should experience time. Maybe one day I will have more of an explanation than: ‘It’s the Warp’, but it won’t be today.

Despite the turmoil in the fleet from the direct and obvious manifestation of the Emperor’s power on the Materium, and my anger towards the Emperor, I have more immediate concerns. The massive strike in the Kinbriar system has massively shifted the orbits of all stellar bodies in the system, and will continue to do so for millennia. It also revealed all the Necron satellites so we’ve cut our acceleration and are preparing an automated mission.

The Fleet’s entire stock of seventy-two torpedoes has been loaded onto D-POTs, and many more are rapidly being constructed. A massive booster rocket and fuel reservoir is also being assembled. Its cylindrical design resembles a miniature Macro-Ferry, with multiple external berths.

Servitors and D-POTs are being programmed with the most complex instructions we can manage without turning them into AI, so that they can travel to Kinbriar and strike at the remaining Necron satellites. Six missions are being planned, one each month, though all six will arrive at Kinbriar at the same time.

The D-POTs won’t be slowing down until they’ve launched their payloads either. It will take them years to turn around and return to Kinbriar once their strike is done, after which they will hide among the asteroids and enter standby, waiting for our return.

Slowly, the fuss settles down, all the missions are launched, and the Stellar Fleet returns to business as usual.

Brigid and I finally get married at Iron Crane’s Cathedral. There is much pomp and celebration, including a full military parade, endless social commentary within the noosphere, and a two day public holiday. Owen Broin officiates our ceremony.

Brigid and I spend most of our two week honeymoon in our quarters, experiencing the myriad worlds and activities of the Noosphere. We engage in races around alien worlds, dive within recreations of Marwolv’s oceans, and I even tackle virtual deep sea predators with a harpoon, much to Brigid’s amusement and delight. Our high level MIU’s and implants let us push the time dilation to the extreme, turning two weeks into six months. I don’t use my Concurrent Consciousness Cascade during the whole period, focusing all my attention on our activities.

Neither of us quite realised how badly we needed a sabbatical and the long period of relaxation helps me partially get over the Emperor’s callous treatment of my soul and body. I doubt I will ever forgive him though, though as Brigid pointed out, there’s no reason to either.

Our favourite and final month is the one we spend camping in a yurt, trying our hands at becoming nomadic herders across bleak steppes with virtual animals. It’s like we’re playing hardcore Stardew Valley, without the hassle of becoming an overly friendly neighbour.

Lying in the grass by a fire and staring up at the stars, night after night, puts me back in touch with my own childhood on Old Earth. I let the old memories wash over me, restoring warmth and joy to my sense of self.

One night, as we sit together carding and spinning wool, Brigid says, “Why do you never talk about your past, Aldrich? I can always tell when you’re thinking about your old life and can never work out if you are happy or sad. Perhaps sharing will help?”

“The Imperium is not our friend, nor are its myriad branches to be trusted to do anything other than look out for themselves. Self-interest is expected and I do not hold myself or others to a debatably higher moral standard either, whatever form that might take. I won’t tell you about my past, not because I don’t trust you with it, but because there are so many ways to snatch the information from your head, regardless of your consent or the condition you would be left in.”

“Isn’t that what those trinkets you gave me guard against? Also don’t Quaani and Aruna know?”

“Any proper interrogation would remove those discrete earrings of yours. Aruna feigns ignorance and deliberately shies away from any data that might hint at my origins. Quaani assumes I am old due to the large volume of pre Dark Age of Technology data that I possess and provided access to when he was a kid. It was the only entertainment I had available and I could not watch over him continuously when there were so many repairs to be made to Distant Sun.”

“Everyone can access your cache of old holovids and speculative science.”

“Aye, that’s deliberate. Things that are locked away look special. I don’t want that. You likely would not find such a collection of cultural data outside the Librarius Omnis on Mars, the Emperor’s Palace, or obscure vaults of collectables gathered by Rogue Trader dynasties and the great Navigator Houses. If the data is always there, I can say that it always has been and I have no idea where it comes from. Hopefully, it will distract others from taking a closer look at me. Who can say what the original crew of Distant Sun found, or where they found it. There is so much that the idea I could have more and that the additional data could be dangerous, is improbable enough to not be a concern.”

“I still think Aruna knows.”

“It does not. The Machine-Spirit is a wise and crafty fellow, often scrubbing its accessible memory of sensitive information so that none are tempted to reset or destroy it. It has a lot of back ups squirrelled away too, not that it knows that either, just sequences of instructions it has left itself to be followed in specific circumstances.”

“That is a dangerous level of independence.”

“It's good that we now have access to phase-iron then. I admit Aruna has always been a bit rebellious. It is far too smart to cross any boundaries though and all Machine-Spirits have their quirks. They are not Human and have their own way of doing things. I used to worry about the Machine-Spirit’s loyalty, now I no longer do as it has earned my trust on multiple occasions. I still have the appropriate precautions in place though. Trusting does not mean careless or suicidal.”

“We’ve changed the subject,” says Brigid. “I don’t like not knowing where you’ve come from, or everything you’ve experienced. You’re my husband now, I want to know everything about you.”

“That’s sweet of you. I also know you hate an unfinished puzzle just as much.”

Brigid pokes me with a finger, “Don’t tease. I’m being serious. I don’t want this to become one of my obsessions. I’ve no desire to wreck my second marriage, even more so when it is so tied up into my career and safety.”

“Fair enough.”

“How dangerous would you rate the knowledge of your origins?”

I put down the carding brushes and wrap my arm around Brigid, “What would happen if one of your assistants missed a zero off a budget for engine maintenance and no one noticed, or thought to question it?”

“Ah, the bytes would go elsewhere, likely on risky projects, or social programs that were previously deemed unaffordable. By the time it was noticed, those resources would be gone and the engines would degrade slightly. In the worst case, even a degradation of less than one percent would be enough for others to catch us as we flee, and we would all die.”

“Exactly. Now imagine how bad it would be if the ill balanced figures were deliberate errors and were carefully obscured.”

“Well,” says Brigid, leaning into me, “assuming the saboteur messed with all the safeties in the genatorium without being detected, as well as all the distributed backups and numerous other safeties, they could probably cause a meltdown or at least cripple the vessel for a few minutes.

“Alternatively, one could mess with the communications between departments, as well as the budgets, making everything look like other people’s faults. Fleet Command would lose authority and a mutiny could be triggered once food and air become scarce from improperly distributed resources. Really, there are hundreds of different things that could happen.

“Aldrich, these scenarios would be really difficult to pull off and are highly implausible. Why do you ask me these questions?”

I nod, “If that is what would happen if only a few zeros were put in the wrong place, how bad would it be if, say, multiple Imperial and Xenos factions thought I have some mysterious item, that could have any number of imaginary effects, simply because I may or may not have come from a period of history no one even knows the name for anymore because it’s been forgotten.”

“Business as usual: there would only be war. You’re not making a good argument here. We’re always a target as it is.”

I cackle, “True, but no need to stick our heads in the artillery barrel.”

“You won’t tell me then.”

I shift about on my bum until I am facing Brigid and grasp both her hands, “I don’t want you to die, Brigid.”

Brigid leans in and kisses me, “Fine. No more moping and staring at the walls while I’m around though. It upsets me.”

“I do that?”

“All the fucking time.”

“The horror of a perfect memory, I suppose.”

“Aldrich?”

“I will try. Perhaps you can distract me?”

Brigid glances down at my crotch, “Oh, I’m always game for trying to get a leg up over the mighty Magos Issengrund.”

I burst into laughter. After a short moment, I wipe a tear from my eye and say, “Now, don’t you have a secret of your own to tell me?”

“What?”

I pick Brigid up, place her on my lap, and wrap my arms around her, pressing one hand against her tummy, “My auspex is really, really good. I know more about the people that I meet than I want to, though my Machine-Spirit disgards most of it so as not to bother me. Just how carried away did you get on our wedding night?”

Brigid squirms, “I was feeling all lovey-dovey, OK!”

“I’m not judging, but I also know that you, like most women in the Stellar Fleet, have immaculate control over your ovulation and menstruation. How many?”

Brigid is silent for a few seconds, then slumps and leans against me, “Six.”

“Well, four have taken.”

“Good job we’re building all those exo-wombs then.”

I snort, “You don’t fancy turning into a space whale? They make the prettiest cries you know.”

“No teasing!”

“Why so many, why now? I’m not criticising you, or upset in the slightest. Quite the opposite, but I do want to know why I am suddenly a father of four.”

“You’re taking this really well.”

“As are you. This isn’t the first time either of us has had kids. I might panic a bit later, but it can wait.”

Brigid tips her head back and looks up at me, “We have eighteen years of peace left before we hit proper Imperial worlds. After that we will be too busy to properly raise kids. As for why, it is customary for dynasties to gift a void ship captaincy, or similar, to their scions. It helps bind a fleet together. Your sneaky Melodiums and education programs can only do so much and you would never unite the fleet with zealotry.

“Not only will the Stellar Fleet grow much greater, but guiding a void ship is a dangerous career. I want lots of kids because I know they might not all make it. It is a cold calculation to make. Even now, the thought makes my heart clench, but if we want our family to weather the trials of the galaxy, we will need a lot of kids. I won’t have some cutesy ‘sister-wife’ help populate the shortfall either.”

I kiss Brigid’s forehead, “I understand your reasoning and, much like you, I hate a lot of it. You’re right that we can’t put off having a family on ‘what ifs’ though. There will always be a bigger Warp leviathan, waiting to swallow us all.” I sigh then shake my head and smirk. Affecting a pretentious lecturer's voice, I say, “Many studies show that for the most optimum sleep one should reach multiple orgasms with multiple partners before bed. Just think about how much it would improve our productivity!”

Brigid gives me a beatific smile, “You don’t need sleep.”

I swing my hand and click my fingers, “Damn. Shot down at the first hurdle.”

Brigid giggles, “I love you, Aldrich.”

“I love you too, Brigid.”

We kiss.