The base of the navigator spire is a fortress, with an entire company of Ortelius infantry, fully kitted with carapace armour and high yield energy weapons. There isn’t a single lasgun in sight. Heavy bolter emplacements cover our approach and I detect an enginseer watching us through an impressive array of sensors.

“Oh, this looks just like home,” I say.

Quaani snorts, “Well if you discount the missing cyber mastiffs, enhanced infantry, Servitors, and Machine God knows what else you hide in the walls, Uncle Aldrich.”

“I was trying to be polite!”

Raphael says, “I am sure House Ortellius will be pleased to know you take security seriously. Silas and Fyona value Annette greatly.”

“While one cannot put a price on family, my spendthrift scion here has certainly given testing that sentiment his best shot,” I say with a huff.

I’m not annoyed with Quaani in the slightest, so he knows I am playing my part in this play to soothe the aquilas I’ve stomped on in the past few weeks.

“Don’t be so upset Uncle,” says Quaani. “Nothing’s been signed just yet.”

“A formality at best,” I say. “We’re already installing the Runecasters and Inquisitor Hamiz’s Tempestous Scions are nearing the end of their recovery, so this bride of yours had best be worth the trouble you’ve caused me.”

Raphael has an excellent poker face, superb mental discipline, and a telepathy blocker of some kind, but his skills and implants are no match for my own and he is positively radiating smugness.

After several formalities, we pass through the checkpoint. While waiting for the doors to creep open, I say, “Inquisitor, how goes your investigation into Trader Modren’s missdeads and did the lessons you downloaded help you better use your MIU?”

“Talliel-Iota-5 and JK-404 have been examining the Owl-Class Machine-Spirit that provides the customised learning environment for each user. They were most intrigued by it as it is intelligent enough to hold a conversation and explain advanced concepts in multiple different ways, not just regurgitate a fixed lesson.

“At first they were concerned it was an Abominable Intelligence, but once those fears were put to rest, they’ve since been compiling their own database of knowledge to see if they can use it to automate teaching for all of the lower ranking Mechanicus members on the ship. Last I spoke to them they were arguing over the cost of providing MIUs for everyone vs the time and cost savings of more traditional teaching.

“In their enthusiasm, they have not cleared the lessons you provided for general use. Yet another remarkable innovation, given away for free. It makes me wonder what you actually think is valuable.”

“Even I can answer that,” says Quaani. “Those lessons only tell you how to use what you’ve been given, not how to make or install an MIU. That’s the valuable bit. As for the Machine-Spirit, any competent Omnissianic Congregator, Datasmith, or Cybertheurge should be able to create a similar Machine-Spirit. How could your Enginseer Prime and Magos Biologis have known if the Owl-Class Machine-Spirit was safe if they didn’t know enough sub-disciplines to examine it, let alone expand on its functions?”

Raphael says, “Then why had they not done so before?”

Quaani shrugs, “No time? Maybe they didn’t think of it? If I were to take a bet though, it would be about control. Magos Issengrund is a lot more free with his knowledge than most Tech-Priests, but he can afford to be.

“My Uncle is at the top of the game, he doesn’t have to worry about hoarding knowledge to impress superiors or to compete with his peers. He can afford to uplift others and provide a chance for them to excel, should they put the effort in.

“Talliel-Iota-5 and JK-404 will have their hand picked assistants for whom they do the same, creating a master-apprenticeship bond with those whom they favour: the intelligent, hardworking, and loyal whom they’ll have picked out from the menials, or other low ranks. These apprentices in turn prop them up, making Talliel-Iota-5 and JK-404 perform their own jobs with competence, which in turn can lead to promotions and further knowledge from their own chain of command.

“Inquisitor, you're seeing all of this from the outside and looking from the top. Your Fleet’s Tech-Priests have just been handed a way not to teach others easily, but an easy way to sort the chaff and discover who is worth sponsoring. They’re not actually arguing over cost. They’re arguing over who gets who to make them look good. Neither of them wants to pay for the MIU program if the other gets all the benefits. If they intended to improve the situation like Magos Issengrund does, they would have already signed the work order.

“Not only that, they’re likely worried about the favour Magos Issengrund might ask for. Everyone knows that free stuff is the most expensive, that it might actually be genuinely free in this case will have never crossed their minds.”

Raphael smiles, “Your nephew takes after you, Magos. Both of you just love to explain things. A most helpful trait for assisting the Inquisition.”

I grin, “We’re all in this ship, together, Inquisitor.”

Quaani groans and Raphael laughs.

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

“Now that’s a sentiment I can get behind,” says Raphael.

“Please do not ruin my chances with your bad jokes, Uncle. Are you going to reciprocate, Inquisitor, and answer my Uncle’s question, or tell us that you cannot comment on an ongoing investigation, despite us being the ones who collated the data you are using?”

“Force of habit, my apologies. There is not much we can do with the data right now and I am still in the process of cross referencing it with our own records and requesting data from the local conclave. Once we are certain everything is in order, a punitive strike will be undertaken and Trader Modren’s associates will all be swept up together as best we can, likely triggering a new round of investigations.

“Thanks to Magos Issengrund, we are fully supplied and with the Runecasters we should be able to outrun most messengers, reducing the amount of coordination required with other Imperial forces, and thus the chance of the targets catching whispers of their arrests. I cannot give you a time scale, only that we will resolve everything as fast as we are able. One can never know when they might be pulled of course to deal with an even larger threat.”

Quaani says, “Those are some pretty words, Inquisitor.”

“I wish you luck, young navigator,” Raphael gestures towards three people who are standing patiently on the other side of the door, surrounded by two dozen servants in skimpy outfits.

The entrance hall is in the Imperial Gothic style, with statues, religious iconography, and gold absolutely everywhere. A gigantic mural covers the ceiling, depicting the Emperor placing a chain of office holding the Ortelius House symbol around the neck of a kneeling, three-eyed man. The symbol is a flat disk with multiple markings, but my old files identify it as an astrolabe, or mechanical navigator, an instrument used to calculate the position of the stars and who’s earliest versions predate the Roman Empire.

Raphael continues, “I present to you Lord and Lady Silas and Fyona Ortellius, and their daughter, Lady Annette.”

Silas is in a wheelchair, his legs partially fused together. His body is withered and his eyes are completely black. His skin is translucent and enlarged veins pulse beneath with white blood in a hypnotic fashion.

Fyona is incredibly tall, her body stretched to four metres and stick-like. A mechanical exo-skeleton supports her frame. Her hands are more like talons, with thin, fifteen centimetre long nails. Her body has aged prematurely, her skin wrinkling and forming liver spots, despite Petitor Veritas’s records stating she is only forty-nine.

Annette’s joints are swollen and held in place with strong elastic sleeves. She is standing, but there is an empty wheelchair behind her. A vestigial third arm is pinned across her chest, twisted and non-functional and ending in a three clawed talon. Annette is completely hairless and albino.

I immediately feel sorry for the girl. While her parents are wearing formal brocade robes that cover them almost completely, Annette has been shoved into a dark blue, drop-waist dress, with a corset covered in diamonds. It’s a very pretty dress, but it does not enhance her figure in the slightest, but rather highlights her flaws. Her cosmetics are rather thick and I just can’t decide if this is someone’s idea of a cruel joke, or a sheltered young woman trying to attract her arranged fiancé.

Quaani keeps his face straight but his control over his mind slips for just long enough for all three of them to detect his disgust and pity.

Annette holds it together well, but I can see the tears forming in her eyes. Just when I think this can’t get any worse, Fiona gasps and practically throws herself to the flaw, prostrating herself before us. I feel the pain radiating off her mind as her damaged limbs hit the floor.

“Kneel you fools, can’t you see? It is His light that burns in the darkness!”

Silas squints at me, then his eyes widen and he tries to lever himself off his chair but gets nowhere. When a servant moves to assist him he shouts, “No! I must do this myself. I must!” He tries, his face going white with exertion.

“Mother, Father? What is going on? Why must you embarrass me further? This whole day is ruined!”

I sigh, “Please stop trying to kneel. If you absolutely must, a handshake and the resumption of your warm welcome is all that I require.”

“We could never!” says Fyona, her forehead stuck to the floor. “House Ortellius will not shame itself by failing to pay proper mistakes to the master of the Astronomicon.”

Raphael tenses and he steps away from me, his hand hovering over the holster of his laspistol.

“I’m not who you think I am, Lady Fyona,” I say. “I commend you on your talent for recognising me. It is by the Emperor’s grace and power that a part of me fuels the Astronomicon. I am no avatar of His and He still burns upon the Golden Throne, keeping the Enemies of Man at bay.

“At best, I have his attention when He has a task for me, much like your own duties as you guide Petitor Veritas and His most Holy Inquisition from one trouble to another. We are all equal in the eyes’ of the Emperor.” I slowly approach Fyona and help the stubborn woman to her feet, healing her with my biomancy as I do so, “There is no need for us to kneel before each other.”

“Th-thank you, My Lord. I apologise for the misunderstanding.”

“Do you feel better?”

“I do.”

“Good,” I shake her hand, “I am Magos Explorator Aldrich Issengrund. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Ortellius.”

“Yes. A pleasure,” says Fyona.

I approach Silas and shake his hand too. Again, I heal him slightly, removing many of his aches and pains. It won’t hold for long, but it will stop him from having a heart attack in the next few hours. Today has already had enough excitement.

Silas rubs his chest, “It is good to meet you, Magos Issengrund. I am honoured that you have chosen our family.”

“I, too, am pleased with the match.”

Silas gives me a grim smile and I step back so that I’m not towering over him so much.

Last of all I greet Annette, “Good to meet you, Lady Annette. I do hope this kerfuffle has not soured your opinion towards my nephew.”

Annette's swollen joints recede, returning to white, healthy skin. She stands a little straighter, “I want an explanation. If my formal introduction is going to be such a mess, you and my parents owe me that much at least.”

“Magos, I also require a word,” says Raphael.

“All in good time, Inquisitor. At least let Quaani give his greetings and gifts. We are guests here and the sky isn’t falling. There is no need to throw the proverbial towel at the faces of our hosts just yet.”