“E-SIM can you get the codes from his implants?”

++No. The cyborg is unpowered, nor will it power up without a command from its organic processor, which has been critically damaged.++

“Anything else I should be searching for?”

++A vessel like this will require more than just codes to start it. There will be a physical key.++

“Dammit! I need more time. Ah! E-SIM what do I need to shut down the stasis field for good. Does it have a maintenance mode or will it require an application of force?”

++The latter.++

I ready my nanite sprayer, “Where?”

++There is a hidden panel on the bier. Perhaps that morphing screwdriver you requisitioned from the thunderhawk might work better.++

“Highlight the panel for me and talk me through it please.”

++Acknowledged.++

I pop the panel in seconds and unplug the stasis field from its power source.

Aruna struts into my field of view, “An adequate solution. The strike craft have been repelled. Your temporary authority has been suspended. Sergeant Odhran has holed up inside the thunderhawk. The hangar has lost 10% of its air before the void shield deployed over the breach. Aruna is removing the remaining air until the door is repaired.”

“What about the boarders?”

“Twenty three orks are trying to shoot down the thunderhawk, the rest are dead. The thunderhawk has taken off and is making slow circles of the hangar. Its weapons are still disabled. The ork weapons are ineffective, but numerous. They will get a lucky shot eventually, or recover a defgun.”

“E-SIM, can you pilot the ork craft from here? I see no reason why we can’t cook them in exhaust plumes.”

++Executing...orks destroyed...two shuttles disabled.++

The skull counter in my vision ticks up. After my masacre in the hangar it sits at a whopping eight hundred and twenty-seven, “Thank you E-SIM.”

++Gratitude noted.++

“What is Sergeant Odhran doing?”

Aruna says, “He jumped out of the thunderhawk with his bolter slung across his chest and an armful of clips, and is double checking the orks are dead. The thunderhawk is waiting for him to get clear before it lands.”

“Sounds like they’re doing fine. Aruna, as the stasis field seems to be broken, please may I have two servitors and another gurney to take Explorator Epoloch299 to crew reclamation? I want to remove his implants so they can be properly stored for safe return to Belacane.”

“Request accepted.”

“Thank you, Aruna.”

Aruna swishes its tail and disappears. An hour later, I get Epoloch299 to crew reclamation. I have Aruna pass a message to Odhran so he knows what I’m up to.

The space marine is rather resourceful and is stripping the thick ork armour off the shuttles and welding it across the multiple rents in the hangar door made by the strike craft. Sure, there’s no way it will open again without some proper repairs, but there’s no point giving the orks an easy way in. He’s also pulled an automatic gun, a tarantula turret Aruna tells me, from the thunderhawk and dozens of mines. I expect he will be busy for a while.

At crew reclamation, I fire up its systems after spending a few minutes arguing with its machine spirit, a snow ape who wears a welder’s mask and industrial ear defenders. The machine spirit only talks in sign language and won’t let me activate anything without its supervision. It tumbles over backwards when I agree, then gets up and scratches its head. I suspect the mechanicus usually ignore this eccentric fellow and run the facility with a manual override and servitors.

The snow ape, once placated, is incredibly helpful saving me much grief when extracting data from Epoloch299 as it is an expert at neutralising scrapcode and cracking encryption. Without its help, I’d probably be foaming on the floor and E-SIM’s loyalty overwritten and slaved to my cyborg corpse.

It takes two days to get the command codes off Epoloch299 and disassemble his body, as well as a mechandrite for a small, unpowered chip, the circuitry of his electronic tattoos (electoos), and a fancy signet ring with Belacane’s heraldry on it.

The electoo is embedded into my skin, making me an official member of the mechanicus, and the snow ape’s digital trickery allows me to assign myself as an Explorator, the same as the deceased captain, giving me the rank I need to command the Distant Sun permanently.

The chip goes in my right arm, granting me security clearance throughout the vessel, and the ring goes on my left middle finger. Between the codes, tattoo, chip and ring, I can now reach the bridge and take control.

I’ve no doubt that without the favour of the machine spirits, I’d have been set upon by murderbots and killed.

The many fascinating implants and power armour belonging to Epoloch299 are placed in storage. I might be able nab them once I am captain, but that will have to wait.

Feeling confident, I stride through ship to #M1/0/Q3, below and in front of the auto-temple. The bridge is not quite in the centre of the ship, but it is close. It’s a big room and protected with a void shield and armour like the warp drive.

There is a security checkpoint outside and inside the bridge. The captain’s chair, or command throne, is behind and above the door, surrounded by a semicircle of screens on articulating arms hanging from the ceiling. Its back is five metres high and stretches to the ceiling and the throne has hundreds of armoured cables leading in and out of it. Red and gold reliefs coat every surface, a mix of arcanotech runes, and Imperial and Mechanicus heraldry.

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The command throne oversees the entire room from above, able to gaze at hundreds of different stations filled with thousands of screens, banks of glittering buttons, and dozens of levers. Most of the stations have strange helmets, cables, or sockets for crew to plug their implants into. Some of the stations are damaged, likely from when the gellar field went down.

I take the stairs up to the command throne and find Aruna napping on it. Aruna opens a mechanical eye as I approach, then jumps up onto the arm rest.

“Hello, Aruna. Please could you tell me the procedure for activating the command throne?”

“It’s a chair. You sit on it. How your species ever reached the stars is a mystery, Magos.”

I chuckle, “Money, manpower, materials, and moxie. Oh, and some really big rockets.”

Aruna rubs a paw down its face, “Forty millenia later and you’re still doing the same thing. Aruna speculates that your learning algorithms are faulty.”

“How else does one give chance discoveries an opportunity?” I shrug.

“Ah yes, nothing quite like failing your way to success.”

I smirk, then sit in the command throne, worried I’m about to win a Darwin Award, but the Omnissiah smiles upon me and Aruna’s deep, mechanical voice rumbles through the bridge.

“Codes accepted... Captaincy confirmed... Magos Explorator Aldrich Isengrund has control.”

“Praise the Emperor,” I say, trying to adopt the habits that will keep the inquisition away, “now how do I put Distant Sun in automatic?”

A grinding hiss escapes from Aruna, followed by a cough. I think I almost managed to make it laugh, and isn’t that a scary thought.

“Try the sliding panel beneath your right hand.”

I follow Aruna’s advice and reveal a plain, unlabeled lever.

“Pull it towards yourself while stating ‘Distant Sun has control’.”

I turn and stare at Aruna.

“Getting cold feet, Magos?”

Speaking in my head, I say, “E-SIM, do you have the teaching materials for commanding and piloting a void ship?”

++I do.++

I slide the panel back, leaving the lever untouched, “Aruna, I’m never going to learn if I don’t practise.”

Aruna huffs.

“Upload the void-ship training please, E-SIM.”

++Acknowledged.++

I grab my head and moan. This is nothing like the combat protocols E-SIM uploaded months ago. There is far too much data and I grip the arm rests as I sway. Lights dance behind my eyes and I pass out.

My internal clock fills my mind’s eye as I wake, reporting fifty-nine hours have passed. My mouth is dry and my head hurts so bad, I’m seeing more white dots than scenery.

“Ergh. What the hell was that?”

++A mix of inadequate wetware and limited time damaged your organic processing unit during upload. Damage is still being repaired. While all knowledge was uploaded, skill transfer was minimal as you are incapable of directly controlling a void ship without appropriate modifications.

++You will not be able to interact with the ship beyond standard verbal or physical commands; Aruna would overwhelm you were you to interface with it directly without additional cybernetics. While E-SIM can and does interact as an intermediary, it will do you no good if you lack capacity to understand what E-SIM translates for you.++

I groan, “That’s a lot of ways to say I’m an idiot.”

++Repetition is the mother of learning.++

“Ah no wonder it hurts so bad, my ego has been completely shattered. Aruna, where might I acquire a glass of cold water please?”

A gold plated, person-sized box rises out of the floor on my left and its door slides open.

“That is the most ostentatious fridge I have ever seen.” Holding onto the arm rest, I stand and lurch towards the fridge and pick out a water pouch, “Thanks Aruna.”

Fiddling with the external straw for my helmet is frustrating; tears form in my eyes, my body fills with heat and I sniffle a few times. Eventually, I succeed and finally get a drink. The water is pure and has no flavour. It’s also cold enough to give me a brain freeze, sending the tears rolling down my face. I grab another pouch and stagger back to the command throne and the fridge descends into the floor.

“E-SIM, I know we’re in an emergency, but I would like a warning if a training package is beyond me.”

++This package was not beyond you. Please clarify.++

“If it will cause enough damage for a migraine or will not fully transfer.”

++Acknowledged. Operator preferences updated.++

I’d love to sit here and do nothing for a few hours, but that would be unwise. “What is Sergeant Odhran up to and how are our enemies progressing?”

Aruna hops up onto my lap and I absently try and stroke it, feeling a slight sense of resistance and actual fur upon my hands. I pause for a second, completely shocked at the sudden sense of touch, then throw my thoughts to the wind; I can think about the machine spirit’s pseudo-form another day.

Aruna nuzzles against my palm for a moment, then bats it away with a growl and sharp claws.

“The orks have tried to breach the hangar twice and been repelled both times, their rok has lost most of its strike craft and the Distant Sun has taken minor damage, losing 28% of its turrets.

“Sergeant Odhran has turned the hangar into a bastion of cover, automated guns, choke points and mines. During the ork assaults he took additional damage to his body and power armour. He requires aid.

“Human mutants have broken through and are advancing through the vessel. They are being held back by the armoured bulkheads, but they will not stop them forever. The cultists have eighteen elites with advanced weapons, fifty four with stubbers, one weapons team with a lascannon, and another seventy three cultists with assorted improvised weaponry. The cultists are aiming for the bridge.”

“Tyranids have landed on the portside and crawled through the macro cannons. Again, they are also held back by bulkheads and the automated defences in the ventilation. They have three hundred and seventeen genestealers, eighty six termagants, and a brood lord. The tyranids have split up, aiming for organics and water, with the majority targeting the bridge.”

“Wow, what a shit show. Thank you for the information, Aruna; please update Sergeant Odhran with this information if you haven’t done so already and inform him I am awake and in control of the Distant Sun. Next I want you to remove all oxygen, with a priority on the routes the boarders are taking and exceptions for the bridge and hangar. If you don’t think Sergeant Odhran’s welds will hold, keep the hangar depressurised.”

“Executing. Priority command six hours. Full command, two hundred and thirty four hours. Hangar integrity testing underway.”

“Great. Not sure how much that will help against the tyranids, but there’s no point feeding the cultists’ rebreathers. How many combat servitors remain and what is the condition of our internal automated defences.”

“Combat servitors: destroyed. Automated defences: critical.”