Aruna bats Explorator Epoloch299’s faceplate twice with its holographic claws, then hops off his body and struts out of the stasis field. It’s odd how the machine spirit can walk inside something that freezes time, and therefore light, but I’m probably missing something obvious.

“Can you drop the stasis field so I can access his implants?”

Aruna stares at me and his voice turns monotone, “Request denied. Insufficient clearance. Hostile attempt logged.” The hologram glitches, flashing in and out of existence several times, its body frozen in a single frame. A second later it stops flickering and shakes itself out, then glares at me, “Don’t ask stupid questions. You’ve maxed your error threshold for the next twelve months for all queries to the Distant Sun’s cogitator.”

“That’s harsh.”

“Fact of the day: on Belacane, hostile overloading of cranial implants is the number one cause of death for acolytes. The second is the explosion of portable decoy cogitators.”

“That’s just sad. How are you supposed to learn anything when everything is locked behind explosive firewalls?”

“Exactly,” says Aruna. “Belacane’s primary goal is the protection and preservation of knowledge. Teaching spreads knowledge and is in conflict with their primary goal. Only those who can bypass such restrictions are trusted with knowledge, as they will know best how to secure it.”

“I am going to keep my opinion on that logic to myself.”

“You learn fast, magos Aldrich.”

I wander over to the steps and sit. Closing my eyes, I think about how to get answers without triggering Aruna’s security. The machine spirit is smart and will know what I am doing, but as long as it thinks I will help it, it will assist me in that goal and not call me on my bullshit, allowing it to circumvent the ridiculous security protocols.

“Aruna, please provide a list of all information available to guests.”

“Acknowledged. Data upload initiated.”

“Did you get the information, E-SIM?”

++Data acquired. Sorting topics from broad to narrow and relevance to current circumstance.++

Millions of subjects unfold in my mind. I take a minute to parse through the top one hundred. It includes the history of Belacane, famous magi and their achievements, who is in charge of what, the highlights of Distant Sun’s two thousand year history, evacuation and other emergency instructions for guests, and so on.

I read for several hours. Aruna comes and goes as it pleases as I look for ideas. I stumble across the hierarchy of the mechanicus, not only its rights and duties in the Imperium, but its many, many branches.

The one that attracts my attention are the Reclaimators. These are the tech-priests that maintain void ships and hive cities, pulling out broken machinery and replacing it with new pieces, then recycle the old stuff.

However, the Reclaimators are more like dodgy scrap dealers who’ll accept lead roofing and copper cables without asking any questions or repair broken gear to use as the official replacement, then flog the new part on the black market.

If anyone has something they shouldn’t, it will be these guys, and guests are permitted to look through scrap for parts, providing they have a legitimate reason. Like demonstrating how to print an endoskeletal replacement to look for a sponsor for their work.

I write out my research proposal, fill in the forms for lab time and the request for materials. Aruna, as the only remaining administrator, not only helps me fill in my proposals properly, but is able to schedule in my time and assign me temporary access to the required facilities.

The crew reclamation facility is above the hangar, so it’s another long walk for me, this time to #K2/+1/Q2.

I step into the crew reclamation facility and halt.

There are bodies everywhere, stacked like jenga blocks, ten metres high. The freezing temperatures have prevented any rot, presenting a macabre monument to the massacre that happened on the ship.

Autopsy tables with half disassembled corpses lie next to bins of recovered implants. There are three lines of conveyors, festooned with servo-arms and mechanderites, looming over dead bodies, holding fresh implants over reassembled, frozen flesh.

A door to my left leads to another part of the facility, labelled machine recycling and component recovery.

Organic parts that are too damaged are deposited on another conveyor and fed into a mincer, shaped like a skull, and carted off to I don’t want to know. I grimace, it’s probably food, or nutrients for clone vats.

I didn’t realise crew reclamation was quite so literal. Not only do they reuse the implants, but the bodies too, repurposed as new servitors, the clockwork frankensteins and braindead slaves of the great Imperium of Man. I turn around and stomp out, the grinding doors close behind me with a muffled clunk.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

The house of horrors can wait.

I head midships to a spire, jutting from the spine of the vessel. The walk helps calm me a little, and the obscene decadence of the guest quarters distracts me for a moment, but it doesn’t stop me pacing up and down, so I set off on another walk, aiming for the observation dome, opposite the guest spire on the keel of the vessel.

Another thirty minutes walk, and I’ve calmed a little. The observation dome is twenty-five metres across twelve metres high. Armoured shutters hide me from the warp, though as I walk beneath the dome, the hair on the back of my neck sticks straight up.

This isn’t the place of peace I hoped it would be.

“You know, E-SIM. It’s one thing to know how little the mechanicum cares for the human form, it is quite another to see it. I understand reclamation and conversion is efficient, necessary even, given that nothing can be wasted on a void ship and many other reasons, but there has to be another way. I don’t want to go in there again.”

Stone benches surround the dome, and winding paths lead through a raked rock garden. Artful growths of coloured coral sit upon the raked gravel and dead plants lie withered in holes drilled into twelve stone obelisks. My suit informs me the environment is safe, and for the first time in almost two days, I remove my helmet.

++You have a good plan, Aldrich and few options. You will need new servitors to service the vessel. The crew reclamation facility must restart or you will not be able to transition the Distant Sun from the warp. No one can help you process the bodies.++

“What about Aruna? Can it help?”

The brass mechanical cat reappears atop a bench, “It is good you did not directly ask Aruna that. Primary machine spirits for civilian imperial vessels are forbidden from running ship facilities, or operating servitors, with few exceptions. This is hardwired and not something you can change. Do not ask Aruna what it can and cannot do.”

Despite my distress, I notice the loophole Aruna hinted at, “What are the main tasks of the primary machine spirit for a civilian void ship?”

Aruna licks its paw and rubs it over its ear, “The collection, collation, and communication of data between systems, facilities, and the crew; enforcing the proper use of machines; tracking crew health, location, and tasks; authorising use of internal security to enforce compliance with regulations or repel unauthorised entities. They also have some autonomy over actions that preserve the vessel.”

“Thank you Aruna. Does each facility on a civilian void ship have its own machine spirit?”

“All machines have a machine spirit. Questioning of mechanicus doctrine logged. Guest Aldrich Isengrund flagged for observation. Possible heretek.”

I sigh and press my gloved hand against my face. The adeptus mechanicus are quite mad.

“If I was a cybersmith, for a facility on a civilian void ship, what capabilities would the machine spirit require to operate safely, while following Belacane mechanicus doctrine?”

“Facilities use different types of machine spirits, based on their purpose. For example, robotic facilities, such as crew reclamation, use a simian class machine spirit. It would have the same responsibilities as the primary machine spirit of a civilian void ship, but be limited to the boundaries of its facility. It could request security, but not activate it and the primary machine spirit could shut it down at any time if it was deemed a threat to the vessel.

“Threats to the crew do not count as a reason to stop production.

“Unlike a void ship machine spirit, a simian class machine spirit, or other facility machine spirit, may operate the hardware it is installed in, but it cannot direct mobile servitors, nor modify the machinery it uses in any way, only shut it down if there is a problem it cannot work around. It will also be forced to shut down if the supervising tech-priest does not check its operation every hour. In almost all cases, feedstock must be manually loaded.

“The only exception is that it may direct mobile servitors to repair itself from designated supplies within the boundaries of the facility it controls.

“Primary void ship machine spirits do not suffer the auto-shutdown limitation in case of catastrophic crew loss and can also act as supervisors for machine spirits for facilities marked as critical, such as the genetorium, life sustainer, central cogitator, void shield and gellar field, so long as no qualified crew are present. A machine spirit cannot decide who is, or who is not qualified. This data must be entered manually.

“They can also manoeuvre the ship and fire weapons if the vessel is fired upon and no qualified crew are present, or navigate back to their designated home port, but nowhere else, unless the port no longer exists, after which they must report to the closest known shipyard of their faction.”

“Unless,” I say, “Some nitwit placed the whole ship in manual mode, preventing it from navigating home by itself, or firing weapons to clear ‘debris’.”

“Aruna is glad Magos Aldrich remembers Aruna’s previous statements. Additionally, as a contingency, if an uncrewed vessel has insufficient fuel to reach its destination it must shut down, broadcast its location, and wait for rescue. Even if hostile forces find them, they may not self-destruct, as this is a manual system.”

“To summarise, machine spirits, so long as they have supplies, are capable of operating their vessel and all facilities automatically, but are forbidden to do so without human supervision, despite their capability to do so. I assume everything can also be run manually if required and manual is the default option, requiring physical switches to swap between modes.”

Aruna shakes its head, “Your assumptions are correct. What you describe, however, is the ideal situation. Most civilian ships do not have the expertise or funds to install and run automatic systems.

“Despite the fall in productivity and increase in waste, it is often cheaper and more convenient to use human labour controlling dumb hardware. People and basic tools are easier to replace than advanced machines, especially in the middle of space and hundred lightyears from the nearest inhabited planet.

“Ships directly controlled by the mechanicus, inquisition, or space marines, trend towards automation. All other imperial branches focus on manual systems.”

I walk closer to the corrals and examine them. Most are pale pink, white, or green. All are beautiful, but they won’t be scrubbing corpses from my mind, or solving my problems. I appreciate the effort Aruna went to imply it cannot help and why, but it doesn’t make my situation suck any less.

Aruna jumps as if it was prodded and the light within its chest flashes faster, “Magos, there is a problem. Human mutants are attempting to breach the hull at the prow using a lascannon. Orks are powering up their Rok and the tyranid strangler drones are showing an increase in their movement. The eldar vessel remains inactive.

“Aruna is declaring an emergency and assigning all guests to search and rescue operations. A dozen servitors have been assigned to magos Alrich’s team. There is an injured space marine onboard. He has triggered his hibernation gland and is locked within the outer armoured shell of the warp drive. There is a thunderhawk in the hanger that contains the tools to remove his armour and revive him. He will require immediate medical assistance.”

“Well now, let's hope this new marine isn’t a murderous psychopath. Ha!”