Herald of the Stars: Chapter Two Hundred and Eighty-One

Emil’s cruiser has long since docked at Footfall and four teleport strike teams, of six Warforged each, from my Close Protection Company have joined me. I appreciate their presence as it lets me focus on my tasks, rather than my safety. I am not concerned about duplicity from Battlefleet Koronus of Tithe Fleet Calixis. I do not trust the fleets’ security, however.

Navigator Leonis Aleene and Enginseer Prime Threnseus Oserael have been able aides, smoothing my communications and flattering me continuously. I have yet to work out if they are hoping to appease me long enough to get out of their mechadendrites or if they are hoping for a promotion of some kind. Their desires are none of my concern though.

For the last fifteen days, repair teams have been gathering Footfall’s dead and sealing breaches. A census is underway and the Heralds have been consolidating habitation, moving all survivors to the Hab-Fanes and Leige’s Court with their belongings and suppressing looting. The Pit of Voices and the port beneath the Macro-statue are undergoing fortification and maintenance. 

All the other sections of the station have been locked down and are being cleared of malign influence and xenos artefacts. There are a lot of small symbols, carved into the walls, dedicated to chaos that have crept in over the centuries and these have to go.

I’ve ordered everything to be stripped down to the ferrocrete and repaired or recycled, even the Boneyard, Footfall’s frozen rubbish heap. After that, Footfall will be rebuilt, although I won’t be staying to supervise it. 

With a big meeting planned ten days from now to decide what to do with all this new void estate, I spend my time investigating the famous void station.

After the fighting, only the Xenosium remains untouched. Raphael and I lightly interrogated the Aeldari soul stone belonging to Farseer Anaris, captain of the ghost ship, Whisper of Anaris. Raphael and Lyre brought the dead Farseer to my attention when I first met him at dinner with Trader Modren, from whom I stole my Warrant of Trade.

Anaris and his two attendants had little useful to say, though Anaris did confirm the connection between Ulthyr Ellarion, an Aeldari corsair who raids the Calixis Sector and the Crow Spirits, another Aeldari corsair group who plague the Koronus Expanse. Both corsair groups have been sneaking onto the Xenosium to trade information and sell the goods they have stolen from Imperials back to its own people.

The disembodied Farseer Anaris was quite happy to give up the corsairs’ secrets in exchange for resources for his followers and to avoid further Inquisitorial scrutiny.

From Anaris’ descriptions I get the distinct impression that these corsair groups are raiding for the thrill of it and to rub their ‘superiority’ in the faces of the Mon-keigh. The Aeldari don’t really understand money or wealth like humans do as they can sing all of their technology and most of their goods into existence. What they seek is experiences and extreme emotions. Even the disciplined, acetic Eldar, are prone to extreme, emotional highs and impulsive acts.

I don’t think Anaris approves much of the corsairs. He’d much rather they seek their thrills dealing with whatever doom he’s prophesied that’s related to his ghost ship, not dancing within the quiet halls of Whisper of Anaris like the Crow Spirits apparently do. Not that Anaris actually told us what that doom was, just that someone, not him or his followers, should take responsibility for whatever mess he’s cooked up.

We used Anaris’ knowledge to set up a few pict recorders within the Xenosium and other smuggling spots. I personally purged a gang of Kroot mercenaries and even hunted down three dozen Orc Freebooters that were hiding in the Xenosium. Both species were occasionally raiding the rest of Footfall while they waited for someone brave, or perhaps dumb enough, to hire them. There weren’t many and their souls did little to sate me. Better than nothing though.

Yes, I know we were being good little errand boys for Anaris, but that doesn’t change that the other xenos had outstayed their welcome. Anaris was also helpful in chasing down the remnants of the Daemons and several possessed artefacts. All were destroyed.

Five days into my inspection, I leave Emil’s cruiser, one that I still haven’t bothered to learn the name of, and head to the Hab-Fanes to visit Canoness Ephrine Stern. Leonis and Therensus follow me off the vessel at a discrete distance, unwilling to brave the line of overbuilt Warforged whom I discreetly requested to close ranks and keep the toadies from me.

Raphael, however, shows little outward concern. Using his status as Master of Whispers, he slips through my guards cordon as I walk through the stripped down docks and approaches me. 

Raphael has changed much since I first met him. He now sports the notable height of a Herald Conscript and the faint lines of their warding electoos as well as the subtle signs of multiple other implants, like the silent step of integrated grav-skates and the smooth texture of Void Skin across his classically handsome features. Four brass and steel mechadendrites poke out the back of his navy uniform. His eyes glitter slightly, protected by a second set of eyelids and reflective glow of interkeratic implants.

“Good day, Aldrich.”

“Omnissiah bless you, Raphael. I do not plan on chatting with irascible Aeldari spirits today. You need not bully your way past my stalwart guards.”

“No, no, I am not concerned about that. I just came for a chat.”

I laugh, “A bold claim for an Inquisitor. You have until I reach the Hab-Fanes to work up to whatever it is that bothers you before I am once again out of your reach. Until then, company would be welcome.”

“Much appreciated, Magos.”

“I should hope so! If we are to ‘chat’ I do have a few queries of my own.”

“Please, Aldrich. You first.”

We leave the docks and enter a connecting corridor. The flexible tube is little more than cloth and plastic rings with a plasteel deck yet it is one of the major thoroughfares between the Emperor’s Macro-Statue and the Hab-Fanes. Even if the shield shrines were working, walking along this corridor is asking for micro-meteorite punctures, especially with all the extra debris in the system. I am not concerned for my own safety but the sheer disinterest of the residents’ interest in their own lives never fails to leave me flabbergasted and depressed in equal measure.

“Did you ever get any actionable intelligence out of the Drukhari brains I wired up for you or was it not worth the effort?” I say.

Raphael says, “That was back at Cobalt. Why are you following up on this now? Did you not make your own queries through their Haemonculi?”

“Curiosity. A lack of more urgent tasks. Take your pick. As for my own success? You first, Raphael.”

Raphael tuts, “Fine. I do have some information I can share with you. Much of what we gathered through your assistance was passed on to the Ordo Xenos and the other Inquisitorial forces within the Koronus and Calixis sector. We were able to dismantle multiple slavery syndicates, foil seven Drukhari raids and acquire the coordinates and codes of fifty-three webway gates.”

“Excellent, that is good news. I am sure there are just as many, if not more successful operations that you aren’t mentioning. I am not looking forward to the inevitable follow up strike, or perhaps an increase in raids in other sectors. I can only hope that the Emperor’s new crusading forces have the strength to spare.”

“How do you even know about the new crusades all the way out here?”

“He showed me,” I say.

“If it were anyone else I would doubt them.”

“The mountains are high and the Emperor is far away. You, of all people, should be aware of the weight of Imperial scrutiny.”

“Oh? Is His personal attention not to your liking, Magos? Too many Machine-Spirits hiding underneath your red robes?

“Alas, I am well oiled and ready for service. Labours fall upon me like rain.” I wave my hand at all the Heralds and Servitors moving about the docks. “Cobalt, SR-651, Footfall. I fear to step upon a larger stage lest I overestimate myself, yet my Quest of Knowledge cannot be completed alone. If I am to chase down the secrets of the Haemonculi, or fulfill the orders of the Emperor, I must step forth from the cradle of the Koronus Expanse and pray my fortitude and family will see me through.”

“Not your technology?”

“It is a tool, not a blessed bolter round. It will not save me from politics. Brigid, at least gives a good lap pillow to save me from my woes.”

Raphael chuckles, then shakes his head, “On there we must disagree. I much prefer byzantine plots to xenos horrors.”

“The difference between you and I is that I can only get away with shooting one of those.”

“You speak of Commodore Astoris?”

“He was first in line for my grace,” I say.

“I cannot speak for my mentor, though I agree you made the right call to spare him. Lyre intends to drag him to Port Wander and stand trial by his peers. It would not be good to overly upset the Navy. They are a clannish lot.”

I hum, “I see. Do you suspect he will get away with his incompetence?”

“For the navy, a Commodore losing three ships is an embarrassment, not a fatal error. If they executed every fool in their ranks they would soon have no one left to crew their vessels. Not only that, he technically didn’t disobey any direct orders. As far as the navy is concerned, Commodore Astoris made a bad political move, nothing more.” 

I sigh.

Raphael continues, “There is also some question as to whether they will even believe who you are, much like Commodore Astoris did not, at first. Data can be faked, Inquisitors can lie, and psykers could have made Astoris hallucinate your Warrant of Trade. The truth matters little. The quality of Emil’s friends matters far more. 

“The words of the two lost lambs following you about will likely be dismissed. One is a mutant and the other is Tech-Priest. Neither are considered sane enough to be witnesses.”

“A frustrating reality,” I say. “So long as they are not so bold as to try and take me to task for locking up the fool I will leave it be.”

“I’ll be sure to pass it on.”

“How is Inquisitor Lyre after his close brush with death?”

“I am uncertain he noticed,” says Rapahel, his tone dry.

“That does not surprise me.”

Raphael and I enter the Hab-Fanes and navigate through the mangled decks and past splintered, janky constructions. Teams of Heralds, Servitors, and survivors comb through the wreckage while large trucks, mostly Cargo-6s and the occasional, much larger 40 tonne Cargo-8, haul scrap to empty warehouses and crude industrial forges for recycling.

“Aldrich, why do you like to walk among the weary and impoverished? You are going to assist Cannoness Stern, yes? Surely that is a task for others.”

“I have another piece of Old Earth wisdom for you, Inquisitor, from the lips of an old dictator: ‘One death is a tragedy; a million is a statistic.’ I walk among the people to brush against their emotions. I wish to remind myself of the consequences of my actions and inactions. I do so love my numbers and facts, yet if I do not see beyond them I will fail to learn the lessons the collation of data is intended to pass on.”

Thank you Total War loading screens for that poignant quote!

“I cannot decide if your words are profound or pretentious,” says Raphael. “I rather think you are chasing the wrong heretic, but I cannot deny the success of your methods.”

A church appears in the distance, fortified to the Warp and back with barricades upon its steps. Its gothic facade is pitted with weapon’s fire and turrets peek out of shattered stained glass windows. Hundreds of people move in and out of the church, watched by weary Adepta Sororitas and preening Penitents.

“We are nearing my destination, Inquisitor.”

Raphael slows his pace then stops and I turn to face him.

“Aldrich, I owe you an apology.”

I raise an eyebrow at Raphael.

Raphael continues, “I once called you a monster and you promised to shove all the knowledge I could ever want down my throat. Since you gave me all of the Fleet officer implants and more, my thoughts have flown with swiftness, my investigations have become trivial, and my body moves with a grace I did not know I was lacking. I still haven’t changed my mind. You are a monster.”

“You suck at apologies, Raphael.”

“Just... hear me out a little longer, please. I feared you because I did not understand what you are, or the costs you have paid for your achievements. I saw a mutant who hid his flaws behind impossible technology. Now I find myself in awe of your humanity. I know what it is like to turn one second into six, yet you repeatedly extend that to six minutes. Millennia of simulated isolation, just to drag us all through one more day of surviving the Traitors, Daemons and Xenos clawing at us from within and without.

“You never stop learning or fighting, even when you sleep. Instead of hoarding your secrets to assure your own survival, you have taught me without prejudice or holding back. It is not a behaviour I am familiar with. I saw it as unnatural. A temptation waiting to drown me through ignorance I was too greedy to see. I was wrong. If Trader Winterscale likes to say he peddles fear, you dye the galaxy with the greatest poison of them all: hope. Well, hope and your dangerous energy currency. 

“Emperor save me from my own foolish dreams, but it’s working. Everywhere you go gets better, not worse, and it stays that way. Your presence is a fleeting glimpse at what we once were, and what we could be again. It is a reminder that all is not lost and that greater things are yet to come. I am sorry for my behavior, Magos Explorator, Aldrich Issengrund, and thank you. Thank you for giving an Inquisitor of all people, a reason to smile. Please excuse me.”

Raphael strides off without a backward glance.

I stand there in shock, replaying Raphael’s confession through my head. Of all the things I expected to deal with today, I would never, in all my prayers, dared to dream I would hear such words from an Inquisitor. He even turned off his psychic protections so that I could tell if he was lying or not.

He wasn’t.

That was an Inquisitor, engaging with his emotions like a reasonable adult, even if he still did get one little dig in about my plans for a bank.

Machine God preserve us! What have I unleashed?