“Dad, this is just watered ethanol,” says Luan.

I say, “That’s ‘cause your brother is a cheapskate.”

“Dareaca, Is your’s actually any good?” says Alipa.

“It’s...different? I don’t have a reference for it to describe the flavour other than sweet, sharp, and fruity. Can’t complain about the strength though, both in flavour and booze content.”

“OK, I’ll have five Black Ice’s please,” says Alpia. “Eighty thrones, right?”

The barmaid nods rapidly, “Sure, my lady. I can get that for you.”

Alpia laughs, her pleasant voice echoing throughout the bar and stopping most of the conversations for a moment. Even the Tech-Apprentice looks up from his work, pushing up a pair of magnifying goggles so he can actually see us from a distance.

“Are you really going to waste all your wages on a few drinks for us?” says Dareaca.

Alpia scratches her cheek, “Dad, what’s the current Fleet exchange rate?”

“Three point two bytes per throne gelt. Approximately. Maximum conversion is 100 thrones a day for all personnel. We don’t have a lot of external currency in store as we tend to swap goods, rather than coins. Really the exchange is more of a courtesy for the crew, based on the byte’s value of the goods that we exchanged for the current batch of thrones, than an accurate comparison. Once they’ve all been used up it could end up being completely different next time.”

The barmaid pushes the drinks forward and says, “The syndicates will be happy to fill your currency reserves, sir.”

I give the barmaid my best friendly smile, “I am sure they would, but I have no further spare supplies that I would be willing to sell them at this time than what we have already given.”

Luan says, “What, not even the booze, Dad? Didn’t the last trader who bothered us pay some reparations from his private stash?”

Well, that’s one way of putting it.

“Sure,” I say, “but that’s for easing negotiations, not sale. It’s one of those goods paid for in favours, not thrones, and only the most desperate will squander a favour for coin.”

“There’s also other things,” says Fial. “Selling weapons can upset the balance and start a bloodbath, medical supplies are unlikely to go to those who actually need them, and Inquisitor Hamiz requisitioned all our tradeable supplies. We actually swapped clean water for polluted water and mixed chemicals with the station as our recycling is better. Once the water is cleaned and the chemicals separated, the thrones will have been traded at a significant energy loss, but we won’t lose any resources other than hydrogen. Shame we don’t have any luxnets, nor are they safe to deploy in this system, because then it would have been effectively free money.”

Fial is partly lying here. I only gave Hamiz a small fraction of my supplies. I am genuinely out of spare military gear though after I formed three new penal regiments, traded one to Cobalt, then founded several more regiments for Haddon’s Throne.

Fial’s comments are a good bit of misdirection though, as implying we were robbed by the Imperial authorities is a fine way to build rapport because I suspect everyone here understands what it is like to lose valuables to those higher up the chain than they are. It makes us seem more Human, and with our exotic appearances, we need all the help we can get on that front. He’s also just established us as people who don’t want to mess with the status quo, something everyone will likely appreciate, even though we intend to do the complete opposite.

It might seem weird to come to a bar and discuss stuff like this in the open, but with us appearing as somewhat limited in resources, arrogant and careless, and extremely out of place, we ensure that every word of our conversation reaches the syndicates and gangs. We want our fleet and its personnel to be a target that looks tough to crack and has a miserable payout upon success.

I say, “That’s a good explanation, Fial. I didn’t know you’d looked into it before we set off this morning.”

Fial shrugged, “I wanted to budget my day out and asked Eire about it. She got a bit excited and over-explained.”

I laugh, “I’ll know what to expect when I chat with her later then.”

Alpia says, “Didn’t Quaani say there is a missing cruiser stuffed with weapons, or some other mystery good, in this system? That could replenish what we lost to the Inquisitor. I’m pretty sure that rumour has been around for decades though at this point. I don’t know how much chance we’d have of finding it. ”

“Dad, that could be fun,” says Luan. “Shopping was a total miss, so how about a treasure hunt before we take up our new posts, just like the ones you and Sadako used to set up around Iron Crane for us when we were younger. Maybe even Mum could get in on it?”

“Yeah, that would be awesome!” says Dareaca.

I say, “We can spare a bit of time for that.”

The Tech-Apprentice in the corner speaks up in a burst of static Lingua-Technis, “Magos Issengrund, this one can answer that for you for a small fee. Knowledge for knowledge.”

I don’t find it odd that he knows my name, as my name is part of the vox contact protocols that I am periodically broadcasting in the area around me, similar to a wifi-node when I was still a plumber. Just because I am broadcasting my name, doesn’t make that name true, or tell someone who I am unless they already know information related to the identification codes I am using. It just gives them an address to contact me with. Faking it would be terribly bad manners, especially trying to pass yourself off as a Magos!

I glance over and vox him, “Go ahead and tell me. I’ll at least buy you another drink at minimum. Tell me something good and I will answer a single question too.”

“Acceptable. There is a cryptographer on the noosphere who goes by Geliran Phingh. He has the data you want and has challenged everyone on the station to solve his puzzle. No one knows who he is or how he is hiding himself. The best anyone has been able to guess is that he works at a local auspex station and hid the data when the missing cruiser was dropped off in a debris field, yet still he remains unfound.”

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Is there any guarantee he will follow through with his bargain?”

“He has hundreds of puzzles available and those who have cracked them always brag about what they win. He’s been at it so long, using them has become a bit of a hazing ritual for new initiates. I would absolutely love to see a few cogs knocked off him.”

“I am pleased with your information. Ask your question.”

“Should you solve the puzzle, I would like to know how.”

The Tech-Apprentice sends me a noosphere address.

“Agreed. Thank you for your help.” I turn back to the barmaid and place a few more coins on the counter, “A Ruby Cog for the red robed gentleman in the corner.”

“Yes, sir.” The barmaid starts mixing a fragrant mix of edible flower based oils, red food colouring, and alcohol.

The other barmaids are still rushing around serving the free drinks that I’ve paid for, but the senior barmaid keeps returning to stand in front of us and is ignoring everyone else. No one is being dumb enough to complain about the special service though.

“What would you like me to call you, Miss. I can’t keep calling you ‘senior barmaid’ in my head, it seems a little rude.”

This gets me a small smile, “Call me Hattie Shang, sir, or just Hattie.”

“Alright, Hattie. Thank you for taking care of us. Do you serve any food?”

“We have a stack of Imperial Guard meal packs that we can heat up. Visiting soldiers tend to trade away the ones they don’t like though, so they’re a bit hit or miss. Cheap and filling though. Three thrones a piece. We also have a few locally produced ready meals. They’re more reliable and a bit pricier at five thrones. One of the girls who works here can actually cook and mixes and matches everything into a decent meal, but she’s not here today. I could call her in if you like though, sir.”

“Nah, no need to bother someone on their day off. I’ll try one of each, just take your best guess. Kids?”

“I’ll take an IG meal pack,” says Dareaca. “I want to see how it differs from what we get in the Heralds.”

Alpia says, “The local one for me please.”

“One of each,” says Luan.

“I’ll take an IG,” say Fial. “I’m curious too. Could you make sure they’re all different flavours? Then we can swap and try everything.”

“Sure,” says Hattie. “Is that OK with everyone?”

The kids nod, or give a thumbs up.

“Thanks Hattie, here’s the Thrones,” I say.

Hattie sweeps the coins off the bar, “I’ll be back in ten minutes or so. Do you want to eat at the bar or move to a table?”

“We’ll grab a table,” I say.

“OK.”

As soon as we pick a table, Hattie dashes out from the kitchen and scrubs down the table with some hot water and bleach while we stand around, waiting for her to finish. The plasteel is rather grimy and she starts to panic when her efforts don’t make much difference, let alone start on the chairs.

I put my hand on her forearm, “It’s OK Hattie. Just watch.” I place my other hand on the table and silver flows from my skin and covers the table in seconds, then the chairs. Hattie jerks her hand back.

“Don’t panic,” I say. “They’re tiny machines. They won’t hurt you.” Moments later the thin film of nanties flow back inside me, leaving everything pristine. There are still dents and scratches, but the plasteel has had its brushed finish restored.

“Emperor protects,” Hattie makes the sign of the Aquila and bows to me. “That was machines? Not witchcraft?”

“Yes, Hattie. The Omnissiah rewards all who seek his teachings. How about you go and sit down in the kitchen by yourself for a few minutes, have a recaf, then come out with the meals when you are ready. We can wait a bit.”

Hattie looks up at me in awe, “Yes, sir. Thank you for your kindness.”

Hattie rushes off and the kids sit down. The Tech-Apprentice in the corner is gaping at me and everyone in the bar makes the sign of the Aquila and bows towards me.

Alpia puts her arm around my shoulder and gives me her signature bone breaking hug. “We just can’t take you anywhere, Dad. You awe everyone you meet. It’s amazing, annoying, and amusing in equal measure.”

“For someone who hates to be revered, you sure suck at being low key,” says Luan.

“Do you want a list of everything that was on that table, or are you going to smile and say: ‘Thank you for being so thoughtful, Dad.’”

Dareaca says, “Can’t be worse than eating with Ork guts on your gauntlets.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“What, seriously? It was that hazardous?” says Dareaca.

Luan chuckles, “Actually, when our data say Orks are sterile, they’re not talking about their non-existent reproductive systems. The Orkoid Fungus doesn’t let anything else grow in or on an Ork, no matter how grubby they get. Why else do you think Orks never get sick? It certainly isn’t because they wash their hands and bathe regularly.”

“I can’t believe I never thought of that,” says Fial. “That makes so much sense. Where did you find that out?”

“I went to JK-404’s first open lecture. She picked Orks because we’d just finished fighting them.”

“That’s not like you, Luan. You’re more of a hands-on kinda guy,” say Fial.

Alpia groans, “I bet he went because he thinks she’s hot.”

“Got it in one, little sis.”

I smirk, “She’s ninety three.”

“Fuck! You pulling my leg, Dad?”

“Nope. It’s in her public information. She likes to advertise her skills by showing off her young and strong looking body.”

“Ha! Serves you right, granny basher,” says Alpia.

Luan drums his fingers against the shiny table for a few moments, then grins, “She’s still hot.”

Alpia looks at each of her brother’s in turn, but none of them will look her in the eyes. I burst out laughing, and stroke her hair.

“Let them have their dreams, Sweet Pea.” I say, “She’s coming with us anyway, so you can make friends with her then boast about it to them when we get back.”

Alpia suddenly looks incredibly smug, “I am totally going to do that, especially as Rósín won’t be around to hang out with anymore.”

“That’s a great idea, Dad,” says Luan. “Alpia can give me an introduction.”

“It will never happen!” says Alpia. “I am not going to be your wing woman. That’s just gross.”

“Whatever,” says Luan.

We chat for a few more minutes, then Hattie brings out the food in battered mess tins. I spot that she has washed her face and hands and reapplied her make-up. She’s covered her ripped clothes with an apron and I detect caffeine on her breath and her eyes are bright and wide with another mild stimulant.

Wow. That’s the first time I’ve seen someone get high before they can bear to face me!