Herald of the Stars - A Warhammer 40k, Rogue Trader Fanfiction - Chapter Thirty-Three

I send the thunderhawk out to get detailed scans of Erudition’s Howl’s hull, looking for a good spot to attach massive cables to its hull.

Mr Cygnus appears in my vision and manipulates my screens, showing sections of the hull, highlighted in blue.

“We can’t attach cables there, Mr Cygnus.”

The machine-spirit honks, teleports on top of the screen, then taps the highlighted parts again. Labels, filled with numbers, appear around highlighted sections and Mr Cygnus taps them with his beak.

“Oh? The ship still has some power? Well spotted. We shouldn’t need to shut it down, but I’ll keep an auspex on it.”

Mr Cygnus preens, then disappears in a puff of feathers similar to bolter rounds.

I smile and relax on my throne. The more I interact with these machine-spirits, the more I like and trust them. Every single one is unique, helpful, and terribly stubborn about the oddest things.

For example, the simian-class machine spirit only speaks through sign language, the cygnus-class gets annoyed if I use any other vehicle than the thunderhawk to do missions, the feline-class likes to tell me stuff then ‘disappear’ before I give it orders, and the corvus-class that inhabits the ships sensors, or auspex, refuses to do as I ask unless I personally polish its cogitator case once a week.

Only Aruna, the feline-class, and Iwazaru, the simian-class, actually speak and neither of them use lingua-technis, the Adeptus Mechanicus’ language, and use high gothic, the language of imperial nobility, instead.

I’ve spotted many other types, like the dung beetles that reside in lasguns, or the fireflies that swarm in the genatoriums. These machine-spirits are much simpler and only raise a fuss if you misuse the equipment they’re installed in.

The federation data guardians installed in the D-POTs are similar, great albatrosses with iridescent feathers that perform their tasks without complaint and only communicate through the systems they’re installed on, rather pushing themselves upon my vision and making a fuss at every opportunity. They also have no personality.

I have yet to decide which type I prefer as the machine-spirits in my personal lab are terribly judgmental and also behave like caffeinated children every time I show them something new. The servo skulls literally butt heads when they get into arguments over scan and simulation results as each one has a preference on how data should be presented as that can affect the conclusions I come to and they all have different agendas, or priorities, that they like to push.

Mr Cygnus pings me. It has finished the scans.

I rejoin Quaani at the holotable. Two copies of Erudition’s Howl appear, each attached to the Distant Sun in a different way.

“Our first option,” says Quaani, “is to fix cables around the prow and the central superstructure.” He points to the left, “The second is to use the cross at the stern. It gives us four, rather than two attachment points. This would drag it backwards and there is a chance the Erudition’s Howl’s engines will be damaged by the reaction mass expelled by our own, unlike the other way around where the ram will protect the other ship.

“Before you ask, we can’t pull it sideways. The ship was never designed to accelerate much in that direction and, while it would probably be fine, if we have to accelerate hard, there is a chance the ship could warp slightly.”

“Thank you Quaani. As Mr Cygnus pointed out there is still some power on the ship, I don’t want their torpedo bays pointing at the rear of our ship until we’ve had a chance to clear the vessel. I’m willing to risk damaging Erudition’s Howl’s engines in exchange for more attachment points and minimising possible threats. Regardless of the chance of bending, I wouldn’t want to pull it sideways for the same reason. They also have light macro cannons on their port and starboard. Is there anything you can see that I’ve missed, or can’t?”

“I’ll look.” Quaani focuses for thirty minutes. “I can’t detect any minds on the ship, we should be clear, but it’s not something I’m trained in.”

“Alright. Aruna. Please deploy the D-POTs and servitors.”

Aruna’s digital voice echoes through the bridge, “Hangar doors opening… shuttles launched… orders complete.”

“Thank you, Aruna. You’re free to do what you like for the next few days, Quaani.”

“Then I shall return to my studies.”

“OK.”

Quaani leaves and I work on hitching Erudition’s Howl to the Distant Sun. Six days later, we’re back in the warp taking the least volatile warp current coreward.

Six weeks later we arrive at a new system. The journey was turbulent and Quaani sleeps for two days straight. As he recovers, I go over the data for the new system.

The star is yellow with seven planets, two terrestrial and five gas, and a Kuiper belt. Auspex implies sufficient minerals to meet my needs within the asteroids, comets and dwarf planets within the Kuiper belt, hopefully these will be easier to access than the minerals on Mote.

I begin manufacturing one hundred class one D-POTs to deploy when I enter the system, all filled with scanners, servitors, and prospecting equipment.

Most notable of the planets is a ‘hot jupiter’, a gas giant closely orbiting the star, with seventy-two moons. The largest moon is partially tidally locked, keeping it on the shadowed side of the gas giant as it wobbles all over the place as it is tugged by the gas giant and the six outer planets.

Sheltered in the twilight of the gas giant, this dark moon has liquid water and is covered with small clusters of lights. An ancient imperial satellite flitters around the moon broadcasting the moon’s name, Marwolv. There is no sign of any other orbital craft or exploitation of other planets.

I query the satellite. The last visitor was X667.022.M40, or Sept. 1st, 39022. Marwolv is a feudal world, with a mediaeval level of industry.

The system was discovered in X330.559.M33 already inhabited by humans. A small mechanicus enclave of a dozen tech-priests and their acolytes was established to search for archeotech.

This is unexpected as the first record I have of a person entering the maw to the Koronus expanse is M36, and the first known return journey is M38 from a mechanicus fleet when the neighbouring Calixis sector was finally brought under imperial compliance.

I shake my head, I should not be surprised that someone has been obscuring records and routes to a resource rich sector.

The M33 mechanicus found nothing useful on Marwolv and isolated themselves. The enclave gathered little local support and with no visitors to trade with for almost eight hundred years they slowly died off and were eventually overrun by local wildlife in X196.795.M40.

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The whole secrecy of this enclave is likely what caused it to fail, as it wouldn’t take much for whoever was sending support to die and the knowledge be lost. I sometimes wonder if the Imperium loses more planets to administrative error than they do from xenos incursions.

At this point the records on the satellite halt and the only other data in its failing hardware are the machine-spirit’s requests for aid as its systems failed and fuel was exhausted. Over the thirteen hundred years, its functions have diminished as it shut down piecemeal to prevent further damage and minimise power use.

I collate the satellite’s auspex data with my own to select my prospecting targets.

Its chronometer does provide me with a date, X073.018.M42. It is the 27th of January, 41018. If my son’s videos are right, that puts me around the time of the Indomitus Crusade. A time of renewed imperial compliance, xeno incursions, and hope.

Whatever the year, there is no peace among the stars.

With the data from the satellite available, I don’t bother hanging around the Mandeville point like I did for Melbethe and head in system, a journey of fourteen days at one gravity. I pour over the data and spend many hours just looking at pictures of people, marvelling at, despite their limited health care, how universally good looking they all are. I learn their low gothic dialect and much of their history. Clearing Erudition’s Howl can wait.

There is little sign of the imperial cult, the Imperium of Man’s religion. Dynasties on Marwolv have risen and fallen under the oppression of politics and pride, while any and all progress repeatedly swept away by blood and time.

At last, I am above the orbit of a planet containing people and find myself completely at a loss. I really don’t know what to do. How does one introduce themselves when they’re from an interplanetary ship and haven’t spoken to more than two humans in a decade? Is there even any merit in doing so beyond my curiosity? Would that be like treating my fellow humans like animals in a zoo?

While I consider my options, I recover the satellite and give it the refit it requires and deserves, then relaunch it. Next, I spend more time making Quaani new armour, to fit his new frame, and putting together a few trinkets, filling several crates with precious metals, good tool steel, and freshly printed books filled with science, maths, and practical engineering as well as data slates with demonstration videos and digital teaching assistants. The computing sphere I picked up from the Federation facility contained an excellent simulator that I use to create the videos.

After two days of procrastination, I strap myself into the pilot’s seat of the thunderhawk, and Quaani joins me in the cabin and takes the co-pilot’s seat. Both of us are equipped in a similar manner to when we landed on Mote. The hold is filled with gifts and thirty armed and armoured servitors.

We descend while flanked by two, class one D-POTs loaded with four crew and fifty six servitors each, and aim for the largest city on the planet, a city on the east coast of one of three continents and inhabited with half a million people.

The D-POTs still don’t have weapons, but I don’t think it will matter. We land a kilometre from the city on a hill overlooking a gentle slope to the coast and surrounded by fields growing luminescent grain. Dozens of rabbits scatter into their burrows as we land.

A wide, paved road ploughs through the fields leading to suburbs. There are no walls, but the city does have well spaced, octagonal towers one hundred and eighty metres tall, scattered around the city. Giant ballistae, sheltering beneath tarpaulins, squat in each corner and the towers are covered in barred windows.

The entire planet is locked in a perpetual twilight.

As the D-POTs deploy two chimera armoured personnel carriers each, fourteen riders on seven massive, collared lizards sprint down the road towards us. The thunderhawk’s guns track them automatically.

I step out of the side door from the thunderhawk and onto black grass. My nervousness evaporates and a big grin spreads over my face. Quaani follows behind me.

“We made it, Quaani.” I point, “Look, people! Let’s hope they’re more friendly than the cultists and greenskins. That should be a low enough bar, right?”

“Oh, come on, Aldrich! Did you have to go and say it? These people are riding grox, the most ill tempered and dangerous cattle in all the galaxy. They’re clearly not right in the head.”

We walk towards the road, followed by two chimeras and thirty servitors. The additional one hundred and twelve servitors and two chimeras start securing the site, deploying heavy weapons and barricades.

“Eh, we frequently have to make do with less efficient options too. I can cut them a little slack.”

“You should check your rebreather. It’s supposed to loop the air, not make you loopy.”

“Such fine teenage snark. I’m glad you’re feeling better after our last jump.”

“Yeah, me too,” Quaani sighs.

We stand in the centre of the road. I direct a chimera to each side and the servitors fill in behind me, cradling their lasguns in their arms and pointing them at the ground.

The cavalry slow their mad dash, then halt a hundred metres from our position. Large crossbows are fixed to their saddles. The lead soldier dismounts from his double saddle and jog towards us, his scaled leather boots stomping against the stone. A hand axe and buckler swing from his hips.

I raise my hand and shout, “Hello!”

The soldier is wearing a breastplate, greaves, and arm guards over a thick scaled leather jacket and cloth trousers. A grey, USA, vietnam style helmet bounces on his head and his eyes are protected with WWII style flight goggles. Metal inserts protect his knees and elbows.

He stops five metres from me and stares for a good minute. He shakes his head, “You come from the stars?”

“We do.”

“Why are you here?”

“Chance.”

The soldier snorts, “I was expecting something more elaborate, but that makes more sense.”

“Do you shake hands at the edge of the galaxy?”

The soldier cocks his head to one side, then approaches. I hold out my hand and we shake.

“Yeah, I guess we do. Is it different where you come from?”

“Not anywhere I’ve travelled. I am Magos Explorator Aldrich Isengrund and captain of the voidship, Distant Sun. Please call me Aldrich. Who are you?”

“Thorfinn Ursus, fourth captain of the Skyguard.”

“Skyguard?”

Thorfinn points upwards at a tiny black dot, “The birds here are nasty.”

“Ah, there was mention of some challenging wildlife in the records I found. You’re not the only planet I’ve heard of with that problem either.”

“Truely?”

I nod, “I can gather accounts of such things if you’d like to read them.”

“I figure I have enough trouble on my hands already, but sure, I’d love that. It will make a good story at least.”

“Alright, I’ll print some off for you. I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again. I doubt I’ll be hard to spot.”

Thorfinn laughs, “Sounds about right. Now, to business. I, Thorfinn Ursus, bid thee welcome to Marwolv and our city Pearroc.”

“Thank you, Captain Ursus.”

“Thorfinn will do. You dropped in awful fast, but I figure as I’m the one who said hello first, I’ll be volunteered to be your liaison. Being formal all the time will get a mite tiresome.”

“I’ve no objections to that.”

“Pleased to hear it. Now, I’m guessing you be wanting to see the leadership, yeah?”

“That would be ideal.”

“Well, you’ve a choice of Mayor Maeve Muir, Prime Minister Callen Gunn, or Commissioner Sorley Ciardubhain.”

“Who do you think would be the most likely to see me immediately and are there any political factions that will drag their feet depending on who I meet with first?”

“Well, if you are trying to avoid getting tangled, the commissioner’s your best bet, but I doubt he can get you much. I reckon they’ll all be happy to see you immediately though, so I doubt it matters.”

“Then we’ll start with the Prime Minister. I admit, I was expecting a king, not a parliament, so I brought a few gifts. I’d hate to be seen bribing a public official though. Do you think Prime Minister Gunn will mind?”

Thorfinn laughs, “I bloody well doubt it. Maybe hold off on that for a bit though. Sounds a bit much for saying hello, eh? I doubt you want to cheapen any political lubricants you’ve stashed in your metal machines.”

“I’ll do that, thank you, Thorfinn.”

“Happy to help, especially if it gets me a box of tribute too.”

I wave to my right, “Well, how about you chat with me in the armoured transport while your patrol leads my escort and I to your government offices and you can tell me what’s valuable around here, national issues, and anything else a trader might want to know then we’ll see about getting something that you’d like.”

“Can’t say no to that.”