In the end, Inquisitor Lyre Hamiz stays for an extra week, departing at the same time as us. Both Lyre and Raphael choose a Rejuvenat Gland for the single cybernetic I promised them each. The two-thousand upgraded Tempestus Scions and ship supplies were all completed and transferred without any major issues, as were the Runecasters.
Lyre was particularly surprised at the new appearances of Silas and Fyona at the wedding. I can’t quite decide if letting it be known I can help navigators is a good thing or not. It is far too powerful a political cog to leave unpolished, yet I am sure it will bring me trouble.
The couple, at least, were delighted at their new bodies. Even their servant’s thanked me. Slightly inappropriate, but their jobs are not easy ones and they are rather close to the family.
I successfully traded JK-404 and eight Lathemasters (Kin) for Gellar Field repairs on Hamiz’s Petitor Veritas. Lyre was not pleased that his field had gotten into such a poor condition, but then, he’d also been ignoring all his Tech-Priests’ requests for supplies while chasing down Trader Modren, hoping to catch the slaving bastard in the act.
He also wasn’t happy to lose his Magos Biologis, or that his Tech-Priests are in a complete frenzy over all the basic STCs I handed out and that they now ‘include me in their daily prayers’. After all, disappearing famous public figures, especially those who can cure machines and people with a touch, much like the Emperor when he first visited Mars, causes much more blowback than your average heretek. I have no doubt the Tech-Priests will gossip about me at every port they put in at.
It probably didn’t help that I’ve managed to influence his protegé too, who has joined my Fleet, and that Raphael is taking ‘Miss Vanus’ with him. I am sure she will enjoy the security games that my personnel play, once she learns the new, or rather really, really old code base that the Stellar Fleet runs on.
I was not surprised at all that Inquisitor Raphael Horthstien assigned himself as my Master of Whispers. He brought a squad of Ogryns with him, as well as an entire battalion of Imperial Guard.
Imperial Guard companies are usually a lot larger than Stellar Fleet ones, even if they also arrange everything in squads of fifteen individuals, so ten companies amounted to ten thousand soldiers, rather than three thousand three hundred and sixty.
Suddenly needing to find appropriate space for ten thousand people on our overstuffed ships was a bit of a pain, as Rapahel didn’t want to split them up. He didn’t get his wish, at least until we can leave our extra infantry at the Breaking Yards.
The Imperial Guard were well equipped, so Raphael hasn’t tried to weasel more resources out of me just yet, but it is only a matter of time. I’ve no idea how well the Guard will settle in just yet, but I’ve mixed them all in with the Heralds. I’m not expecting too much trouble as half of my personnel have been through the Herald program and are tall, well muscled, well trained, and rather intimidating to a normal human. I’m looking forward to putting the other half through their service, but it’s going to take a long time to properly assimilate all the new crew.
Many will likely die of old age before I get to them as I’ll be starting with the forty year olds and working down from there. Anyone else isn’t really worth it before life extension is more freely available.
One amusing change is that our military police suddenly have the most popular job in the Fleet as they are getting the new environmental suit power armour first. Given how many tens of thousands of Tech-Priests we have that have forged their own dragon scale power armour, or modified already lethal weapons over the last century, giving our MPs the means to apprehend rogue crew is rather vital.
Usually the MPs have to call in the Battle Smiths or Warforged if an arrest gets out of hand, which erodes the implied deterrent of the MPs and can cause some rather obnoxious rivalries. Rivalries are still going to happen, but with fewer opportunities to rub shoulders, and a proper balance to the most powerful members of the Stellar Corps, there should be fewer issues.
Despite our large civilian population, we don’t have Arbites, as they don’t really cover the role of traditional police, being more interested in maintaining tithes and suppressing rebellions. I’m also not keen on introducing any part of the convoluted Imperial legal system into the Stellar Fleet.
I did establish Arbites back on Marwolv, but that was more because I wanted to put my own people in place, rather than have someone come along and do it for me. They probably never would have, given how distant Marwolv is, but leaving an opening like that would have been foolish. There’s always some ambitious prick out there willing to make a move under the flimsiest of pretexts.
I am still uncertain if inviting an Inquisitor into the Fleet is the right move. I have no doubt that he will eventually discover most of mine and the Fleets secrets. Neither do I think that the Inquisition will view being invited to investigate with any less suspicion than being kept from investigating.
I do think that letting the Inquisition monitor me, and enabling the easy and friendly option of simply asking me for information or help, rather than having to go to vast expense of chasing me down all the time, will at least encourage them to monitor me as a variable, rather than hack at me like an obstacle. Optimistic? Absolutely. They’re not a monolithic entity and every Inquisitor is different and none of them trust each other. Raphael has been likeable so far.
Worth the risk considering the political capital that having an Inquisitor present can generate? Maybe. I already have Space Marines with orders to pave the way for me. However, an Inquisitor offers a ‘soft power’ approach to problems, a role that the Barghest Chapter is ill suited for.
All our trades with Cobalt were completed, including the extra sleeping pods, and purging the Orks. The Orks will be back, but at least Governor Mattius will have an extra penal regiment to keep them suppressed and he can always call on the new colony at Haddon’s Throne if he really needs to.
My Herald’s now have proper Ice World combat experience and our noosphere training scenarios have improved from all the new data. The only thing all the reports agree on is that the Heralds would rather storm a Space Hulk than fight on an ice world again..
The voyage to the edge of the system takes the Stellar Fleet three weeks, then twenty days Warp time to SR-651. The voyage is uneventful. Real time passes at the standard ratio of twelve to one. Remarkable, considering how distant the Astronomicon is. We still don’t have enough navigators, but Ardent Bane was sufficiently repaired to make the jump without issue, so we were able to put all our escorts back inside Iron Crane.
Stuffing eighteen, Sword Class sized vessels inside a single ship always amuses and awes me in equal measure. It is quite ridiculous, and Iron Crane, even when expanded, is still four kilometres shorter than an ‘average’ Universe-Class Mass Conveyor.
I am somewhat curious as to how many escorts one could pack inside a Universe-Class vessel, but can’t calculate it reliably as they don’t follow a standard model and can vary in size significantly.
SR-651’s main star is a red giant. There are no planets in the system, with them all having been shattered by an unknown event aeons ago. Now, massive debris fields, ranging from tens to thousands of kilometres across, swirl around the system in vast eddies of somewhat unpredictable gravitational anomalies in a cosmic display that is as beautiful as it is deadly.
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Sensor readings of the Receiving Yards, a spindle shaped, thirty kilometre long void station, and the Breaking Yards, a teaming mass of chained asteroids and broken ships three and a half thousand kilometres across, reveal nothing of the ancient system’s past.
There are thousands of dead void ships here and at least two dozen active ones. I spot thirty-seven hollowed out asteroids strapped with salvaged macro-cannon batteries, hangars, and other defences and I would be shocked if that was even half of it.
Orks from the ‘Undred ‘Undred Teef are known to raid the SR-651 from time to time, chasing all dat sweet scrap n’ gubbins, but they’ve never taken it, or even done much damage. This place would be a nightmare to assault, and so long as they aren’t cut off by one of their frequent Warp storms, ST-651 can call every single ship in the Koronus Expanse for reinforcements, who are all going to rush to defend the only shipyard this side of the Maw, even if it is only semi-functional.
Seeing it for myself makes me even more glad that I’m not going to try and take it forcefully, and reinforces my commitment to the revised plan I’ve been working on.
We try hiring a local pilot to take us through the debris field, but he freaks out when he sees all the plants on Iron Crane and refuses to walk through the corridors to the bridge, so we have to spend an extra two weeks observing the gravity flows before making the voyage to the Receiving Yards with our own skills.
It is with great excitement that my kids and I all step into the main promenade of the Receiving Yards. The void station has aged poorly, with minimal upkeep performed by the various syndicates and gangs that squat in its ancient halls.
Vestiges of glory are visible everywhere, from the vaulted ceilings, massive chambers, frescoes and statues. Most of the artwork has been defaced with weapons fire and all of it is coated in grime and a lot of the station is unfinished. More often than not, scrapped hulls have been welded into place for extra space, or to patch holes in the original design. Up close it looks more like a Space Hulk than a void station.
A lot of Rogue Traders have taken over SR-651 over the years, but every attempt at organising the venture has been lost to treachery, Warp storms, and mechanical mishaps. Now only the poorest of the Expanse labour in terrible conditions with barely functional tools and insufficient food, yet the Yards remain, fueled by greed, anarchy, and desperation.
I am hoping to avoid such a fate by not directly trying to take them over or organise anything, just provide the means for people to do a better job and live better lives, while running my own side hustle. I may even take some inspiration from the space based agri-domes that Talliel-Iota-5 told me feed the Lathe Worlds, though having seen what a mess SR-651 is, I have my doubts I can pull it off safely.
We had to shoot a lot of asteroids on our approach. Which is just plain weird as space is big even with the amount of debris in the system, there should not have been so many asteroids miraculously crossing our trajectory.
Without our void shields, our vessels would have lost a notable portion of their outer ferrocrete ablative armour. I expect the Breaking Yards are one of the few, vaguely safe parts in the whole system, and even then, the broken ships sometimes collide with each other, gradually moved about by the repeated micrometeorite impacts.
Docking is a little tedious as we are swarmed with requests from the syndicates and gangs, aggressively advertising their services and requesting docking fees. I assign Eire to the task and it takes two days before she can discover who we’re supposed to be paying and can safely leave our ships without starting a small war.
After much back and forth, Eire is able to set up liaisons with each of the major powers in the system, easing our communication issues.
When I finally leave the ship with my kids, our flaming red hair, height, and fine clothes, really stand out as we walk about. Almost everyone tenses as they pass us, or squeeze into alleyways and vents like rabbits.
We’re not wearing void armour, only clothes over an undersuit, or even carrying any visible weapons, as we’re trying to have a normal day out. We are wearing conversion shields, but those aren’t visible unless someone attacks us.
From the emotions and thoughts I’m picking up around us, it’s because we don’t look visibly dangerous, other than our size, that so many people are nervous. I’m slightly impressed by how astute such a large group of people appear to be. One would expect for there to be a daring idiot, but so far, we are free of such stereotypes!
Bedwyr, the ever reliable bodyguard, is shadowing us with four squads, so I don’t think that we’re taking any significant risk.
“Dad,” says Alpia, “You take us to the nicest places.”
Dareca sniggers, “Well, at least it’s better than Lickspittle.”
“We can at least check out some of the shops,” says Fial. “They might have some archeotech or something we haven’t seen before.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. Wouldn’t all the good stuff get hidden away or snatched up?” says Luan.
“That implies everyone knows what they’re looking at, or have found,” says Fial.
“Well, hopefully it will be us doing the snatching,” I say. “I should have phrased that differently.”
Alpia says, “Where’s Mum?”
“Still Absolutely swamped with work,” I say. Brigid also thought this would be a waste of time and she might be partially right, as my scans aren’t turning up anything interesting, but that wasn’t the point of this trip.
“Thought as much,” says Luan, grimacing. “Shall we all pick a shop each? There’s always a chance Fial is right.”
Dareaca says, “Is there something other than armour or weapons?”
“Like a bric-a-brac store?” I say.
“What’s that?” says Dareaca.
“A store filled with objects of questionable taste and past fashions that have little value or use, but are still in too good a condition to throw away. They gather dust for decades, waiting for that one oddball to pass them by who actually thinks they’ll get some use from the object, or can’t bear to pass up something that might be useful later, and don’t want to miss out while they can pick it up for cheap. Some objects remain there for so long, they come back in fashion again and are suddenly valuable.”
Alpia grins, “You mean like your endless draws of random wires, screws, power packs, and half-filled boxes of drill bits?”
I try to give Alpia my best disapproving frown, but can’t keep the smile from my face. “Think novelty clocks, porcelain animals, and incomplete sets of dining utensils. Maybe old vox boxes, data slates, religious icons, and amateur paintings. You know how you always need more knives than forks in the kitchen, but everything is sold in pairs with forks? Bric-a-brac stores let you solve life’s little niggles like that.”
“I don’t think that’s a problem we’ve ever had, Dad,” says Luan. “Also, oddly random and specific. Do they even have a store like that here?”
Alpia points, “Oh, does that store count?”
A store with its shutters down and a thick door is down the side of an alley. The sign swinging above it says “Odds and Sods.”
“Er, that’s a different sort of odds and sods they’re selling there Alplia,” I say.
Dareaca bursts out laughing, “Oh, I really shouldn’t laugh at that. The noosphere says it’s an LGBTQ brothel and dive bar. That is a remarkably offensive name.”
“Oh. That’s just the sort of tasteless joke you would come up with Dad, if you were a madam,” says Alpia.
I say, “You wound me.”
“The truth hurts, Dad,” says Alpia.
Luan snorts, “It sure does with an Inquisitor on board.”
I wince, “Not a fan?”
“No,” says Luan. “I get why you invited him, I even think it is a good scheme, but I’m also glad that you’re leaving all of us, except Alpia, at the SR-651 while you tour the Imperium. I wish Alpia was staying too. It’s literally his job to be an asshole and I don’t want to be anywhere near when he decides to drop his load all over us.”
“Throne, that’s a disgusting image!” says Dareaca.
“I wished to express my discontent in an unforgettable manner,” says Luan.
Alpia pulls a gagging face, “I do not want that to be the last thing I associate with you while you guys aren’t around. I’m glad you will miss me though.”
“That’s not what I said,” says Luan.
Alpia wraps her arm around Luan’s shoulder and gives him a squeeze “No, but it’s what you meant.”
Luan looks to the side, then pats his sister’s hand before throwing her arm off him.
“Oh, there’s a clothes shop there,” says Dareaca. “Let’s try that one.”