I cough into my hand, poorly covering my incredulity at Brigid’s statement. “I’ll skip the rest of the meeting then.”

Mimicking Quaani, I continue, “With relation’s rapidly improving, shore leave was granted after five days since our first contact with Lickspittle. Four further days passed without incident, and by the end of it, both Lickspittle and the Pathfinder Fleet were fully stocked and Lickspittle’s recovery was well underway.

“With thousands of crew visiting the mining station, some minor discrepancies were expected, but the alarm was raised when seven MIU’s failed across two days, forcing the returning crew to go through multiple checks to confirm their identities. The first two were allowed to return to their posts after a thorough check, but after the third individual was discovered they were immediately confined to the Brig, as were the previous two individuals and all the subsequent crew with MIU failures.”

“We departed from Lickspittle after ten days and plotted a course to Cobalt, the world that currently claims RO-R0KST4R-TPK. As the days went by, the confined crew became increasingly erratic as they lost their memories. Fearing the worst, they were moved to medical observation. After four weeks, they’d lost their memories entirely. No one else showed any signs of memory loss.

“Beyond the four week mark, the victims began to mutate rapidly, then return to their original shape. At least, that’s what we thought was happening for the first four days. By the fifth, another threshold had been passed and all seven adopted the same thin, almost skeletal humanoid form with long arms, hands with only two long fingers and a thumb. Their heads were elongated and oval without eyes or any other obvious sensory organ.”

Fial sits dead still, gripping my legs with his little fists and his eyes screwed shut. Alpia hugs my head, her arms covering my three eyes, though it does not inhibit my sight.

Dareaca stares at me and Luan’s face is all scrunched up as if he’d eaten something sour. Brigid idly strokes their red hair, her lips pursed and a small frown on her face.

“None of us had any idea of what they were, after much debate that went nowhere, Aruna intervened. The Machine-Spirit changed out the air mix in the observation rooms with pure nitrogen and locked the doors. When questioned, it claimed it was preserving specimens for further study. The victims quickly suffocated.

“The bodies were autopsied. Within their stomachs were traces of multiple human brains. When pressed for further information, Aruna directed us towards the records of the Calixis sub-sector, Malfian. Pouring through the records took weeks, but at last we uncovered an account from Hive World Malfi that notes a series of mass disappearances that are attributed to a Xenos species called Simulacra.

“That’s disgusting!” says Luan. “Who eats brains?”

“Most people eat brains,” I say, “if they are hungry enough or processed into something more palatable. Like corpse-starch. It is an essential food on most Hive Worlds.”

“I’m never eating anything on a Hive World!” says Alpia. “Even yucky fish is better than that.”

I glance at Brigid, “We are going to have to find a way to harden the tongues of these fussy little eaters.”

“I suppose we will,” says Brigid. She raises an eyebrow, “Perhaps Soylent Viridian’s for when they misbehave.”

“No way!” says Luan. “Even paper tastes better.”

“Are there people in it?” says Fial.

I laugh, “It depends. Any organic matter can be recycled into soylent viridans, fueling the algae it is made from. We do something similar, though the bodies are incinerated first. Additionally, Soylent Viridian’s made with Human bodies is exclusively turned into animal or fish feed so that there are two degrees of separation before it gets back to us. Many producers, like the Corpse Guild on Necromunda, do not bother with these extra steps for soylent viridans and corpse starch does not require them at all.”

“For us, the most common use of incinerated bodies is compost for all the lovely gardens around in the fleet. There are few things as practical as becoming the growing medium for your own grave flowers.”

“Is that true, Mum?” says Dareaca.

“Yes. Now be quiet. You can look up more on your datapad later. There’s still a little more story to go. Aldrich?”

“Right, back to Quaani: These Xenos consume brains and use them to mimic the body and memories of their victims. Realising we’d spent four weeks questioning the memories of our dead crew without our sensors, or their friends able to tell the difference, was chilling. I heaped Aruna with praise and thanks, as directed by the canticles of the Machine Cult, but was ignored.

“By the time we reached Cobalt, however, a marked, yet inexplicable increase to the air quality within Distant Sun’s promenade was observed, gaining a sweet and minty smell that my auspex informed me was nepetalactone.”

“All hail the Machine-God!”

I return to my own voice and say, “I will save Quaani’s adventures in Cobalt, Dolorium, Falcon’s Fall Gamma, and the SR-651 Breaking Yards for another day.”

“No!” says Alpia. “I don’t want to go to bed yet. More please?”

“What’s nepetalactone?” says Fial.

“A chemical produced by some plants to repel insects,” I say. “I don’t know which ones though. You can find out for yourselves if you want to know.”

“That wasn’t very scary,” says Dareaca. “You should try again.”

“Enough children,” says Brigid. “Up you get. It’s time to get into your own pods.”

The protestations go on for several more minutes, as they always do, even as Brigid and I carry them all to their shared rooms. Dareaca shares with Luan and Alpia with Fial. I’ve promised them their own rooms once they reach ten. Keeping them together is supposed to teach them how to tolerate others and bond with each other. I let them swap roommates and redecorate once a year. I think my methods are working as intended, but it’s hard to tell without a control group or comparing it to other testing methods. I’m not willing to properly test it either.

Carrying my kids to bed always amuses me as they make all sorts of wild promises to stay up for just a few more minutes. It never lasts though as quiet notes broadcasted from the Melodium quickly puts them to sleep, even as I sit by their side. Am I shamelessly cheating? Absolutely.

Brigid is on watch soon, and if I don’t catch her before she rushes out, I’ll miss out on some private time with my wife. As a great leader of men and women, it is important I set a good example and spawn more progeny to defend us from the horrors among the stars. Grinning at the ridiculous thought, I grab Brigid as she leaves Dareaca and Luan’s room and steer her towards our own.

Brigid looks down and runs her hands across her perfectly pressed uniform, huffs, then pulls me into the bedroom with a cheeky smile on her face.

A few days later, I meet up with Odhran in one of the Herald training rooms. Odhran is looking rather different these days, and beneath the martial arts robes that he usually wears when not in armour, I detect several ports for mechadendrites. Aside from the black skeleton, Odhran also has the full suite of basic implants I provide all my crew: MIU, Void Skin, Warding Electoos, Pain Ward, and the connection points in his neck for a Vitae Supplement.

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When I enter the training room, Odhran pings me with his MIU and the data includes his qualifications. My eyes widen slightly as I go over the information and I smile at him.

“Congratulations on your advancement, Tech-Marine.”

There is a minute flush of blood beneath Odhran’s Voidskin, completely invisible to normal eyes.

“Thank you, Aldrich. It may not be an official designation, granted by Mars after thirty years of study within their ancient forge temples, but I appreciate you recognising my efforts.”

“What brought on this change?”

“There is only so much training one can do before it becomes counterproductive. Having the opportunity to improve my skills and knowledge brings me great joy.”

“I’m happy for you, Odhran.”

“You are a strange one, Magos.”

“Says the newly minted Tech-Marine who still wants to meet face to face, rather than use the noosphere.”

“I don’t trust anyone unless I can shoot them.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

“All comedy has an element of truth to it.” Odhran says, completely deadpan.

“Oh, have you been expanding into other pursuits?”

“No, my hands have been too full with learning and teaching.”

“The other four. How are they now?”

“Fit for duty, though still a little reckless, even after letting them run wild on Kinbriar V. I worry for them. While I have stuffed their heads with knowledge, helping them to reconnect their old memories, only with new experiences will understanding come to them. I hope they survive long enough to appreciate the transition. Unfortunately, their old memories do not feel real for them.”

I nod, “As do I. What did you call me here for today?”

“A moment, Aldrich.” Odhran uses his authority to request Sadako to cut the room from standard monitoring. “I have a sensitive subject to discuss. You are aware of the importance of gene seed?”

“I am. I could not make a new Marine with it though.”

“That does not surprise me. It is good that the secrets of the Apothecaries are not within your datalooms. There is no need for you to know.”

“Yet you looked it up. Were you hoping to learn?”

Odhran nods, “I was exploring my options. It is time for the gene seed within our bodies to be harvested, and if it cannot be used, it must be stored. All of this requires your aid and discretion.”

“Only mine?”

“Yes, I will trust no other. We also require more secure quarters so that we may guard it properly. A shared apartment in the Promenade, or borrowing training spaces from the Heralds is no longer adequate. I can hardly keep it stored in the kitchen fridge, or inside those stasis takeaway boxes now can I?”

I chuckle, “That would make for a poor sandwich filling.”

Odhran’s face twists in disgust, “Quite.”

“Alright, I’ll repurpose a subdeck for you and assign a budget. You can oversee the construction yourself and I will personally answer any queries that you have.”

“I would like one near the Heralds in the Castellan superstructure, preferably in an area where we can have a private hangar as well.”

“There won’t be space for a hangar, but I can reserve an area in the Heralds hangar for you. If you absolutely must have your own, I can give you mine as it is currently empty. However, your quarters would be just below the navigator spire, on the completely opposite side to the Heralds. You would be near my bodyguard company’s quarters though.”

“That will do, thank you, Aldrich.”

“Why did you want to be near the Heralds?”

“They have the best weapons range and the officers lounge is an enjoyable place to relax. The younger children tend to pester us around the promenade when outside of their parents' view. While I do not mind, there are only so many times I can be asked how to become a Space Marine before I lose my patience.”

“Fair enough.”

“That leads me to my next query. I wish to test your population for compatibility with the Barghest Chapter’s geneseed.”

“We do not have enough children to spare the attrition of such an honour.”

I really don’t want to send kids to Space Marine trainers, or subject them to the painful surgeries of Space Marine conversion. Even more so when I can make cyborg bodies that are just as good, or even better. I don’t want to say that to Odhran’s face though as it will upset him. It would also put me at odds with Imperial culture.

“Not yet, at least,” says Odhran. “Aldrich, you are ambitious and this will change. Not only have you begun a vitae womb program, but you are always building new vessels.”

“Fair enough. Your’s is a fleet bound chapter, yes? How do you normally handle recruitment?”

“All chapter serfs on our vessels are tested and initiated if they are compatible. Our pool of candidates is quite small, so we cannot be too fussy. Despite waiting until the cut off of fourteen to give us more time to evaluate suitability, we still have more geneseed rejections than most chapters. This is usually fatal. About thirty percent make it through the initial implantation of the first three organs. This is why I am looking for a better match.”

Odhran is so stone faced, I cannot tell how he feels about this, but that he is looking for ways for fewer kids to die is all that really matters.

“What of those who survive?” I say.

“Those are treated rather carefully. At least, we do not use live ammunition during our training scenarios like some chapters do. Twenty percent complete their transition. Further rejections of Space Marine implants are rarely fatal in this phase, for the Barghest Chapter at least; our Apothecaries have become skilled at helping aspirants survive rejection.

“Failed aspirants are allowed to retain successful organs, so long as they join our auxiliary forces. If they quit at this point, all the extra organs are removed and the children are returned to their families. Most choose to continue their service, as a failed marine has more privileges than a chapter serf, though few live beyond fifty. The incomplete transition is unbalanced and puts great stress upon the body.”

I clasp my hands behind my back to stop them from shaking. “So for every one hundred children, on average, seventy die, twenty-four become the biological equivalent of skitarii, and six become scout marines.” I recall my visions of Odhran’s past from when I called back his soul from the Emperor. “Though only one or two become full battle brothers, yes?”

Odhran sighs, “That depends. When our casualties are high, aspirants are deployed as scouts much earlier, before they have all their implants or power armour. When that happens it is rare for new battle brothers to reach initiation. This gnaws away at the foundation of the chapter. Scouts are deployed early when the situation is one of two extremes: dire or trivial.”

I frown, “I calculate you require approximately eighteen new battle brothers per year, yes?”

“For a good year. We have more good years than bad.”

“So you have between two and four thousand children as aspirants at any one time, just to supply, what, one thousand line infantry, and half again as many in officers and support roles, like drivers, void ship captains, scouts and tech-marines? Odhran, with those numbers, if I let you recruit from my fleet, you could take all our children and we wouldn’t make a quarter of the numbers you need. It is horribly inefficient.”

Also horrifying, but I need to sound like a Tech-Priest here.

“This is why I hope to find better stock,” says Odhran, “customised offspring from vitae wombs would drastically cut failed aspirants, though many chapters would view such practice with disdain.” Odhran sighs, “Your estimation of our numbers is accurate. We are usually split into four groups, one on campaign, two in transit or reserve, and a fourth undergoing replenishment.”

“How do you even sustain those numbers?” I say, my exasperation seeping through, “Your fleet must have ten million chapter serfs, if not more.”

“Our fleet is not so great. We recruit orphans from the worlds we save to make up the difference. That, or kids whom their parents can no longer afford to feed.”

I know the galaxy is horrible, but hearing Odhran talk about this with less passion than the weather is an uncomfortable reminder.

“Perhaps with gene seed samples we can work on compatibility. I’ve no idea how the transition might function with the chromosome library we have begun to implement though.”

“That is agreeable.”

“How did you handle your own transition?” I say.

“Space Marines do not ask these things of each other.”

“I am no Space Marine.”

Odhran grinds his teeth, “Why do you ask, Aldich?”

“My own nears completion.”

Odhran relaxes a little, though a small frown mars his face as stares at me. He places his hands behind his back. “Very well. Tell me of your transition.”