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

“You mean my vestments and how I assigned myself as a chaplain?”

“Yes.”

“I’m still undergoing my tech-adept courses, so I haven’t had to drop anything that would make me stand out. I will be a crew member on a void ship, listening to the troubles of the crew. How am I supposed to relate to them if I cannot even follow their conversations? What should I do in an emergency? How do I use all the gadgets and machinery, or even navigate the vessel?

“Not learning this information is foolish at best, suicidal at worst. I may not be attuned to the motive force, but that does not stop me from moving my hands, or speaking the words and these are skills that will help me survive and, perhaps one day, continue to teach.

“As for the vestments, I just filled out the right forms and they were made available to pick up in the auto-temple. As for being a chaplain, there was an open position, I applied for it and was immediately assigned the role by the Distant Sun’s machine-spirit.”

I have a thought-stream double-check what Owen has told me and it checks out.

“That is fabulously mundane. I’m glad the systems in place are working properly, even if the circumstances are a little unconventional. We only have small shrines for the Imperial Cult as this is a mechanicus vessel. There is a proper temple on the Iron Crane though. I may have you transferred at some point once you are a competent tech-adept.

“As for my own philosophy, once you pass your basic tech-adept course, I expect you to not only learn your imperial history and Imperial Cult doctrine, but also earn a basic medicae certification, which will then let you progress into learning psychology.

“Confessions are for the mental health of the crew and I expect you to be properly trained in it, even if you have to learn it yourself from the databases. The interactive learning courses on your datapad can teach, test and qualify you. The same standards will apply to all chaplains and I intend to recruit a lot of you. The void is not for the faint of heart and everyone will need all the support they can get.

“As for how this benefits you, getting ahead now will mean you have a greater chance to lead the Imperial Cult within the fleet and the more qualifications you have the more I will pay you and the more resources I can justify being assigned to you, increasing your survivability and your longevity. Is this agreeable? Fulfilling work, responsibility, and social influence in exchange for loyalty, longevity, and security?”

“That’s a decade of learning, I’ll be seventy-four before I even make the cut!”

“With my aid you will make it to four-hundred before your body fails you, a millennia if you turn to cybernetics.”

“Truely?”

“Yes, but you won’t be able to afford such treatments without those qualifications and the pay rise that goes with them. You have to be important to remain important.”

“Alright, I get it. What a crazy offer.”

I stare down at him, “You’re welcome.”

“Oh yeah, thanks Aldrich.”

“Good bye, Owen. Keep up that initiative,” I shake his hand again.

“See you again, Aldrich.”

I leave the auto-temple and a pale and shaky chaplain to his ruminations. I’ll have no zealot priests in my fleet, only scholars and skilled doctors.

Another two months pass without a major incident then I receive an unpleasant call from headmaster Aileen Nan Sop and rush groundside on the thunderhawk and land in a park.

Two kataphrons and thirty guardsmen accompany me.

A chimera, one converted to wheels rather than tracks and with no dozer blade, meets me at the park and the driver rushes me through Mormaer Caedmon, a city four hundred kilometres from Dimpsy Fortress to a theatre.

I exit the chimera and stand in front of the building, flanked by two kataphrons and six guardsmen. The rest remained at the thunderhawk.

The theatre is a series of large, interconnected domes, resting on rounded stone plinths. The domes are laminated and treated wood. Marwolv timber contains significant metal content and, while heavier than terran timber, is almost impossible to burn.

Seeing the domes black and smouldering and their delicate glass windows shattered is an unwelcome surprise.

++Aldrich, there is significant residue from the immaterium present. I cannot detect any demonic taint. The fire was warp based.++

Aileen exits from the charred entrance and descends the steps. He’s wearing the arbites armour I gifted him. It isn’t powered like my heavy infantry carapace armour as that interferes with Aileen’s biomancy.

“Good day, Aldrich. Thank you for coming so swiftly.”

“No problem. I appreciate you informing me.”

“This is the largest incident we’ve had in over twenty years and I’m not sure what to make of it. I’m hoping your tools and greater breadth of knowledge will chase away my uncertainties.”

We shake hands.

“Lead on and tell me what you’ve discovered.”

I have the kataphron follow me in. Five guardsmen join the psy-errants securing the theatre and the sergeant marches to my right, constantly looking about.

“This is what remains of the Mormaer Caedmon Grand Theatre. It was founded a hundred and seventy years ago by a small, if rather rebellious group of my students. I was only a teacher at the time and I am saddened to see their legacy charred and dispoiled.”

I did not know he was that old. I knew Aileen’s biomancy was good, but staving off old age while contending with the corruption of the warp is a phenomenal achievement.

Aileen points at the ruined carvings on the ceiling, “They actually crafted those decorations by returning the wood to life and growing it in the shapes they desired. An echo of their skill and enthusiasm remains within their work. Perhaps with a small spark?”

He raises his hand, shedding enough power my gellar field shimmers over my power armour like a soap bubble. The air frosts and ice creeps over the ceiling, then melts and drips, evaporating before it can hit the floor.

The carvings grow and bloom, shedding petals that swirl through the air then turn to dust, leaving fine wood and a gentle scent in the air.

“I have never been fond of destruction. Perhaps now there is a chance their efforts will bring peace and laughter once again.”

“That was remarkable. I’ve never seen an imperial psyker, but I have no records of psykers who can perform a feat like that. The eldar, though, are fond of such skills.”

“They train for war, no? There is no beauty in that. How can one find the inner peace to cast aside the doubts and whispers if all they see and create is death?”

I grimace, “Discipline and pain.”

“How limiting,” Aileen scoffs. “There is an example of where that leads ahead. Brace yourself.”

We enter the auditorium. The sergeant and the kataphrons remain by the door while Aileen and I head to the centre of the room.

Rows of ascending seats fill much of the space, arranged in a circle. Twenty private boxes jut from the walls. At the base of the slope is a circular platform, fifteen metres across.

An altar, built from the stripped, pink bones of the audience, festers in the centre of the platform. Runes, painted in blood and treated with something to keep it fresh and bright have been daubed all over the platform at random.

Four bodies, crucified on upside down, skeletal crosses mark the edges of the ritual.

The most bizarre thing about the macabre display is that it has no power whatsoever. It meant nothing and called nothing, though the violence has left the immaterium churning, chummed with despair for predators that never came.

Aileen stops at the edge of the platform and stares at the carnage, his arms folded. The helmet obscures his face so it's hard to get a read on him.

I walk around the scene, scanning everything and have Brian do the same in case I missed anything. He also floats around the auditorium in search of discrepancies and scrapes some blood into a vial.

The victims have all been killed by MOA blades and restrained by local, plant based rope.

The fire damage is from warp fire, likely from the four crucified psykers as they tried to defend themselves and their audience. It was a fairly popular show and there are three hundred and seventeen bodies.

I pick up a trampled leaflet and see the show was a satire of the imperium and its representative: me.

Well that’s awkward.

“Whoever did this had no idea what they were doing,” I return to Aileen.

Aileen nods, “I agree. Let’s discuss this outside, perhaps back at the park?”

“Better than here.” I glance at the scattered bodies, “At least there’s plenty to feed the fish.”

“How morbid,” Aileen chuckles. “Do you have everything you need from here?”

“I do.”

“Very well, I will have the psy-errants remove the most objectionable display and purge the runes. The local law enforcement can deal with identification and disposal.”

We exit the theatre, my escort in tow, and travel to the park on the waiting chimera, keeping silent until we arrive. As I stomp down the ramp I look back. The sergeant is pale and sweating. He fumbles for his canteen and drops it.

I walk back and pick it up for him, undo the lid and pass it over, “Take a moment to centre yourself and talk to chaplain Broin once we return to orbit.”

“Ah, thank you, Magos. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

I pat his shoulder, “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

“Acknowledged, Magos.”

I join Aileen on a cobbled woodland path.

“That was kind of you.”

“You know perfectly well why I choose to be kind.”

“Good manners? A proper upbringing?”

I laugh, “I like to think so. It certainly plays a part. My grandmother, for example, was a real stickler for good table manners and my mother would nag me if my diction was any less than perfect.

“I hated it.

“Now, I am grateful. I don’t make a fool of myself at the officers’ mess, or when I invite well performing crew to my dining table as a small reward. Neither do I have to repeat myself over the vox or appear uncertain when I give orders.

“While being kind is important, there is always a part of me that sullies it with cunning and practicality; I need to set a good example at all times. I am certain you do the same thing with your psy-errants and their teachers.”

Alieen nods, “A little kindness goes a long way.”

The trees here have been grown into abstract shapes and their leaves shimmer with bioluminescence, forming living sculptures. Small, glowing insects flitter about pollinating scented flowers glittering upon the musty woodland earth.

“Some sayings survive the millennia too,” I smile, then clap my hands once. “Back on topic. The empty ritual. I detected a minor warp disturbance, evidence of warpfire, no mind twisting runes were present, only imperial ones and none of them were used correctly. Is there anything you would like to add or comment on to my observations.”

“Yes. There were runes from the Clubhouse libraries. These runes spelled, I won’t say his name though his real one was written properly, ‘Bad penny, I summon thee!’ None of the psykers on Marwolv, as far as I know, are so poorly trained in rituals to believe something like that would work, nor do we keep records of the actual symbols required to communicate with warp entities.

“We must ask ourselves, who can gather this knowledge, perform such a wide scale assault in speed and secret, and has the motive, or propensity, to do so?”

I remove my helmet to better appreciate the environment. “I missed the Marwolv runes, all my psy-errants are accounted for and have not been trained in bypassing my security, nor should they have access to that knowledge as none are training to be tech-priests, only to use technology.”

“I cannot account for all of Marwolv’s psykers,” says Aileen, “there are too many and the surveillance is not available. Evidence suggests that this was not a trained psy-errant. Even the general population should know not to try such a haphazard ritual, simply through information discussed within communities with psykers. There is, unfortunately, no way of ruling out sheer ignorance and stupidity. Desperate people will grasp at anything.”

“Let’s look at this a different way. What did the ritual achieve? It proved a negative for an attempted ritual. Once the news spreads it will cause social unrest. It created a measurable response within the immaterium detectable by yourself and my advanced auspex. It proves violent, torturous deaths stimulate the warp. Who would benefit from these consequences and also fits a desperate group of individuals ignorant of the warp and how to manipulate it?”

“We’ve been dancing about the answer for a while. I think we’ve been sufficiently thorough in our speculations, now we need to find the evidence.”

“Which in turn lets us know what sort of clues to look for. Those troublesome blue bastards are trying something new.”

Aileen snorts, “For the greater good.”

“Well at least they didn’t lie when they landed. They could have said: ‘We come in peace’.”