Herald of the Stars - A Warhammer 40k, Rogue Trader Fanfiction - Chapter Thirty-Five
I struggle and fail to hide my shock. My throat tightens and my hands shake. I swallow.
“Nothing bad has happened, truly? No violent cults covered in symbols that drive you mad? No whispers in the dark promising grand powers and eternal life? No twisted creatures stalking the streets and dragging people from their homes?”
“If that’s what the Imperium is like, I want nothing to do with it. Nothing like that has ever happened here. We used to have the occasional megalomaniac psyker or those idiots who think they’re better than they are and go boom, but ever since the Tau came, that’s stopped happening. Which is why it’s the one idea of theirs we’ve adopted.
“Can you imagine what it would be like if we had to lock up one percent of our population? Families would be super uncooperative and psykers would go on the run blowing shit up. Much better to give those special snowflakes somewhere they can go for help or find something to do.”
The convoy reaches the city and creeps onto their road. I keep a thought stream focused on each chimera’s autonomous driving system and order them to avoid churning up the road as best it can. The servitors that follow use the strength of their exosuits to stomp down any dislodged slabs.
“I have read some accounts of how that can turn out.”
“See? Looks like you get it. If you want to know more, you’ll have to go to their clubhouse and talk to their headmaster.”
“Clubhouse?”
“Right, they have this big compound on the edge of town. Lots of gardens, classrooms, and places to meditate. A few administration buildings and warehouses too. There’s a special library and market for them and a bunch of towers. The central tower is the most used building. It has a big canteen, so everyone calls it the clubhouse and that ended up meaning the whole compound.”
“Are there others?”
“Yeah, one in each town and city. They’re all smaller compounds though.”
“Well, I suppose that is needed with so many psykers.”
Checking the external cameras, I see people lining the streets pointing at us. Several kids run up and try to touch the chimeras. I direct the servitors to keep them away so the idiots do not hurt themselves.
“Sure do. Back to things with value. Around here, it’s fuel, or anything that needs fuel to make it. Any sort of worked metal, like knives, kettles, and jewellery. Boiled water, alcohol, industrial spirits, things like that. Oh, and salt. With our minimal sunlight, it takes forever to evaporate seawater and mining salt is dangerous with all the earthquakes.”
I nod, “What do you use for currency? What makes a good unit of exchange?”
“That’s a bit philosophical for my tastes. Not like you can bottle time, eh?” He pulls his gloves off and fishes iridescent balls from a pouch on his belt. Thorfinn holds the balls out to me, rolling slightly in his palm. “See these? These are pearls. Shiny bits you find in a water creature. They make pretty decorations, but are otherwise useless. Wearing pearls is considered cheap, or lazy. The sort of thing a kid might do. Pearls are our unit of exchange and farming them is controlled by the state. You pay by weight. They vary in size, shape, and colour, but if it’s too small to pick up easily, you don’t have to accept it. Animal bones are also used for barter.”
The buildings either side of the road are all domes, made from grey shingles, and resting on stone pillars with mushroom-shaped tops, like mediaeval granaries. I zoom in and notice nothing is attached, allowing the pillars and domes to shift, rather than crack when the earth heaves.
“I know what a pearl is,” I laugh, “but thank you for clarifying.”
Thorfinn grunts, “How was I supposed to know? Not like there are oceans in space.”
“A reasonable assumption. Do you have any use for precious metals or gemstones?”
“What do you mean? All metal is precious. Gemstones make good tools.”
“I mean gold, silver, and platinum.”
Thorfinn shudders, “No. Far too shiny. It attracts the birds. We have to use a special wax on our armour to stop reflections. You really don’t want to wear shiny metals and there isn’t anything else you can use it for.”
“That’s new! The Imperium decorates everything in gold, especially their temples and ceremonial weapons, armours, and clothes. Our coins are made from silver and platinum-type metals are used in energy production.”
“Let me guess, you filled those boxes of yours with the stuff.”
“Some of them, yes.”
Thorfinn chuckles, “So, what will you give me?”
“Well, for a soldier like you, how about a weapon?” I hand the captain a laspistol.
“The tau offered us bigger ones of those too. Rifles, I think. We turned them down. They’re no good if we can’t build or maintain our own and there is no way the tau would tell us everything.”
“I have some ‘how to’ guides, but that’s a national level trade. I could, however, gift you a melee weapon that will likely never break or require maintenance. A renowned or wealthy imperial officer would likely carry something similar. Would you like a weapon that is large and flashy, or small and easy to carry?”
Thorfinn scratches his cheek, “My weapons already don’t break.”
“Really? That is good metal. I’m talking about a power weapon, a weapon that cuts armour and flesh with equal ease.”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“Well now, that does sound handy. I’d love a new axe.”
“It will be waiting for you at my camp. You can collect it anytime, two hours from now. Speak to any of my crew and they will give it to you, alongside its manual. I wouldn’t bother trying to engage the crew in a conversation though. They have orders not to speak to locals to prevent, as you call them, incidents.”
That’s a lie, but I’m not going to tell him they’re all lobotomised cyborg slaves.
“Wonderful. Glad to be of service. Could I have some of these power weapons for my riders too? It doesn’t look good if the captain snatches all the good stuff.”
“No. Power weapons take years to make and are heirloom weapons. The power axe I have ordered from the armoury is over eight hundred years old. For something so grand, I expect you to help me as best you can throughout my stay, regardless of what your superiors say.”
“That sounds like more trouble than it’s worth.”
“I could provide several tonnes of charcoal, if you prefer, or bags of salt. That would conclude our exchange.”
“I’ll take the weapon.”
“Glad to hear it.”
The chimera stops and the back ramp opens. Large, multiple domes, all connected by thick canvas, balance on thousands of stone pillars set amid a gloomy park. Eight, octagonal towers and a thick wooden fence encloses the building and grounds.
Thorfinn looks over then detaches his harness, “We’re here.”
Twenty eight grox riders on fourteen colossal lizards are at the main gate, and two hundred infantry patrol the grounds.
“That’s a significant military presence, is the parliament unpopular?”
“No, but you might be.”
“Well, at least you didn’t pretend they’re there for my safety.”
“I don’t lie to friends.”
I smile, “Sure. We can go with that.”
We leave the chimera and the ramp closes behind us. Thorfinn chats to the guards at the gate and hands them a badge. A short, blond haired guard heads inside their booth, then returns after a minute and gives Thorfinn his badge back.
Quaani disembarks his chimera and joins me.
Thorfinn waves us over, “Aldrich, you and two others can come with me,” he gestures at the blond guard, “Lieutenant Carvorst Pitfichie is going to escort us. Lieutenant, this is Captain Aldrich Issengrund and Navigator Quaani.”
“Thank you, Captain Ursus, Lieutenant Pitfichie. Navigator Quaani will join me. No others will be required.”
Carvorst looks up at us, “Blimey, what did you two eat to get so big?”
“Ration packs,” I say.
“You’re kidding. No way I could keep enough of those down to get so tall.”
“He also ate a lot of metal,” says Quanni.
“Space food is weird,” Carvorst shakes his head, he glances at Quaani. “What about you?”
“My height is a side effect of my profession.”
“I suppose you do have to be tall if you want to see far in space. Are you some kind of psyker? You’ve got that skin tingling aura about you.”
How odd. I’ve never noticed that about Quaani.
Quaani laughs, “It is good you see it that way, Lieutenant Pitfichie, and yes, I am some kind of psyker.”
Carvorst grins and points down the drive, “Let’s be off then.”
We follow Carvorst along the paved road, soldiers keeping an eye on us the whole way. We reach the main dome and step through an oval doorway. The interior is covered in fine wooden panels and intricate carvings. The space is open all the way to the top and lit with large glass tubes filled with glowing algae. Dozens of people fill the dome, rushing around two crescent front desks in the centre of the dome.
“Impressive, eh?” says Thorfinn. “I’ve only been here a handful of times, and everytime I get a crook in my neck trying to pick out all the patterns in the ceiling.”
“It does give me an appreciation for visiting new places,” I say. “I’ve never seen somewhere lit with algae before.”
We follow the paths marked in different patterns of wood.
“I’m guessing you’re one of those profligate types that burn fish oil,” says Thorfinn. “What do voidships run on anyway?”
“Stars,” says Quaani. “Stars and prayers.”
“Sounds fantastical to me,” says Carvorst.
“I build voidships,” I say, “and even though I understand the how and why of a voidship’s hull and motion, the awe has yet to fade.”
The next dome is less open and Carvorst takes us along high ceilings corridors to a reception room.
“I’d love to see that,” says Carvorst.
“It can be arranged. I don’t mind having a few visitors. You can make a petition at my camp if you really wish to go.”
“Really? If I can muster the courage I will stop by. Please wait here. I will inform the prime minister you are here.”
“Thank you, lieutenant. It was a pleasure to meet you,” I say.
Carvorst nods, “Likewise, captain.”
A young man, dressed in a tweed suit, enters from a side door and offers me tea. I accept and receive a slightly sweet herbal concoction, served without milk or sugar.
Locking my power armour, I imitate sitting as I perch on the edge of a leather sofa and sip my drink. It’s no builders tea, but it is pleasant, and the closest I’ve come to a real drink since I first woke in this uncivilised hellhole. It even comes with knockoff shortbread with a plant based butter substitute.
The call of luxuries so similar to my lost home prompts me to amend my goals. I will leave this planet in a better condition than it was when I arrived.
A short man with black hair and a straight, aristocratic jawline enters. He, too, wears tweed and an elaborate kilt.
“That’s the prime minister,” whispers Thorfinn.
I stand and step carefully around the coffee table, then hold out my hand, “Prime Minister Callen Gunn?”
He shakes my armoured hand, “Indeed, and you are Magos Explorator, Aldrich Isengrund. How goes your Quest for Knowledge?”
I raise an eyebrow, “My, my. I did not expect you to know such details. Is it your education or competent assistants that found you such details so swiftly?”
Callen smiles, “It was one of my bodyguards. He recognised the title.”
“I’m impressed, and yes, my quest has met with some success, thank you.”
“Glad to hear it. “What brings you to Marwolv and why did you choose to contact us?”
“Like all captains far from home, I was looking for fresh supplies. I contacted you because you have the largest city on the planet and are the most likely to have the capacity to aid me in my endeavour.”
“What do you propose?”
