40 Thousand Reasons

[Pef]

40000 years have passed in the Milky Way galaxy, and the bright future has come and gone.
Not only is the advanced technology lost, but it is now worshiped by dedicated tech-priests uttering machine-canticles and spreading holy oil to appease the spirits of the machines.
Humanity itself worships the God-Emperor of Man, who rests on the Golden Throne of Terra and illuminates the galaxy with his golden glow, like a lighthouse for the ships lost in a storm.

------------------------------------

"Only the insane have strength enough to prosper. Only those that prosper truly judge what is sane."
0001101010011110000111111

My savant implant must be acting up, for some reason. Hopefully it is only a technical glitch, and not something else.

The else could mean something much worse.

Something that money, or thrones as they are called here could not fix. Like a demonic possession.

Fortunately, I know I must have Blank, like I vaguely remember choosing during my build. Before I was sent here.

My father is rather amused at my so called "Blessing".

For a Rogue Trader being born as a Blank is a boon, unlike back in the Empire. And if my children should inherit this trait, our position will become even stronger.

Warp incursions would avoid the clan, and thus keep the ship safe. Safe-ish.

Not everything that wants to kill you is a warp-spawn, after all.

And here, everything wants to kill you.
Rogue Traders are a special type of Imperial citizen. They receive a lot of freedom and privilege, based on a Warrant of Trade, which is basically a privateer license to explore and loot outside the Imperium. There are thousands of them, and each has a different agenda, area or preferred method. Some act as missionaries, conquistadors or mere bulk traders. Others deal in xenos tech and slaves, or exterminate xenos to sell their lands and technology.
Some grow beyond a single ship and conquer entire galactic sectors with their own private fleets.
Others steal and pirate on the Imperium, or worse they deal with cultists and demons and thus are often killed by Inquisitors or Astartes, or the very demons they trade with.

"Augur telemetry confirm the planet sustains life. The missiles heading our way confirm this as well." the sensor station girl spoke with a faint trace of irony. Linne Joana Decima. A cousin, if some steps removed. Pretty girl with short black hair, like most of the crew. Hair is hard to keep, in the void.

Also, a potential concubine, should the Lord Captain wish it so. And on this vessel, he speaks with the Voice of the Emperor.

"Turn ship to port. Lance batteries target the launch sites." my father orders in a calm voice.

I look at him with curious eyes. A tall, heavy set man with glacial blue eyes and a power armor of dubious provenance. He is a Conqueror, a build that emphasizes as guessed, war. Conquering his own merry kingdom, among the distant stars in the Eastern Fringe.

Our ship, the Litany for the Vanquished is the epitome of a war vessel, armed to the teeth, and the teeth armored to hell.

I suspect it has started out as a docile and pleasant light cruiser, before whatever Favor my grandfather traded with Forge World Antax was returned in a plethora of advanced tech and upgrades to every possible, and a few impossible systems.

Like a choir of tech priests detached to our ship, forever. Lance batteries that would put a heavy cruiser to shame.

An armored battalion and a grenadier regiment, all equipped and provisioned by Antax for the next 1011 years.
Time has a different value around here.

Windows tint as spears of light start flashing, each of them sufficient to obliterate a city or a meter of adamantium armor.

Soon enough, our lance guns evaporate the ground missile launchers of the natives, and probably any nearby cities.

There is no Geneva Convention in the 40k universe. The Tyranids would likely eat the entire convention as a snack.
Then eat the whole world and keep going.

In fact, they did just that, on Okassis. Hive fleet Kraken ate whoever didn't manage to fly away. And in this galaxy, you need to be rich or powerful to have a ship.

Well, one able to travel the Warp at least. There are in-system ships that are much cheaper and easier to acquire. You don't even need a Warrant of Trade for those.

I have one myself, so I know. Technically, you could call the Mona Lisa a shuttle, even if it's larger than a passenger airplane back home.

And armed and armored by default. Anything without weapons and armor is only a snack for this evil galaxy.

"Captain, the ground 'skaks' are human. Shall we conquer this world in the name of the Emperor?" the XO, Master Swedros, asks rhetorically.

Of course, we will. We don't carry all those tanks and grenadiers for a pleasure cruise. Their purpose is to fight and die and make us rich. Richer.

And if the Emperor is merciful, we might find another relic or ancient tech that we can barter with the Mechanicus for.

Best guys in this corner of the galaxy, the tech worshipers. As long as you 'gift' them nice stuff.

With a metal tentacle waving at my father, the bridge priest signals he has begun his own part. Data and signal warfare.
A somewhat analogue version of ECM.

I don't expect the poor natives to rise to the challenge anyway. This is the 46th planet we are pacifying this century.

The Eastern Fringe is rather filled with old era human worlds, mostly devolved into barbarism of some kind.

In fact, missiles or other advanced weapons are rare. Maintaining old stocks is difficult, and inventing new stuff almost always leads to suffering. Eternal suffering sometimes.

"Going back to my work, Captain. Please call me when the landings begin." I say politely and nod to my father.

The grizzly warrior smiles proudly and waves me off.

He knows I don't like orbital bombardments. They might look clean and neat from orbit, but I've seen the results afterwards. Charred buildings and corpses are not that glorious.

As I slink away and salute the marines guarding the armored bridge door, I run another diagnostic on my implant.

"When you decide to die, remember to give the enemy the same honour"
11000111000001

Oddly appropriate this time, and a sign it's not a mechanical malfunction. Those neuron filaments forming the biological part of the implant are becoming sentient.

And possibly stealing data from my own brain. Not sure if that's a heresy or not.

Most likely it is. Everything not by the book is heretical after all.
And for good reason, as it happens. Machine Spirits are actually human souls, cloned and chopped into bits, then used as conduits and processors instead of the worse variant, the Abominable Intelligences.

The demented A.I. that always, always, always try to genocide everyone. Not that I blame them much.
For those not Blanks, exposure to Warp and it's inherent dangers must be like living in Hell.

Come to think of it, this galaxy might be Hell.
The Outer Fringes of it, if the Eastern Fringes reflect a higher reality.

I reach my AdMech lab and drop into my chair.

"Praise the Omnissiah, Revelator. What are we working on now?" my Mechanicus mentor wonders and tilts its coghead towards me.

"First, we need to calibrate my brain implant. I keep getting random quotes from a various codex. Then, tank tracks again." I explain in a tiny voice.

The tech priest has been mostly polite and nice, for something of his nature. But it might slice me into bits anytime, should I make a critical mistake, like those reactor crew enginseers did.

They didn't suffer long, so at least I know my mentor is not really a sadist. Only disconnected from humanity.

"There is no truth in flesh, only betrayal." Magos Gyron says with a trace of humor.

Yes, he can do jokes and humor just fine. They're merely hard to get sometimes.

"I was speaking of a broken machine, mentor. My flesh is fine for now." I quip back, and lean my head forward.

Without painkillers and any kind of kindness, the Magos opens my skull and peeks inside at my brain.

I'm pretty sure I should be fainting in pain, or screaming my lungs out, but I feel only boredom. The operation takes too long.

"The silver contacts have melted away, and the implant was being oxidized by cerebro-spinal fluids. Only the gold connectors are intact. Curious. But then..." the tech priest mutters in Gothic, maintaining politeness for some strange reason.

"If my brain gives off enough heat to melt silver, I shouldn't be alive anyway." I said after thinking for a minute.

"Exactly. There, I've replaced everything with platinum wire. The organic parts seem to grow nicely. You'll become a savant soon enough, Pef." Magos Gyron replies while gluing my cranium back in place. With glue of some kind, that resorbs into the bone.

I've become quite stoic at the strangeness of the Machine Cult, and their lack of common sense.

As the mechadendrites retract from my head, I power on the cogitator on my desk, and project a greenish hologram of a tank drive system.

This one is a Chimera personnel carrier tracked vehicle, a standard model among the armies of humanity, in the Astra Militarum and others.

Without 3D tools it takes painful and tedious work, to create a template for a mechanical foundry. But it only took three years and we're almost finished.

I tap a few keys and open the other version, the original STC template.

For someone without technical education, they would look nearly identical. But, both me and Magos Gyron know better.

My new version has 36 percent less moving parts, is 10 percent more durable, has 10 percent better ground pressure resistance and many other perks.

The drive sprockets need to be covered in adamantium, and the torsion bars as well, if possible.

But even using cheaper materials, the new drive train will be revolutionary. Because anything made simpler and more rugged means longer operational times, less maintenance, fewer vehicles lost in transit or during maneuvers.

Now combine that with 1 million army regiments, and a billion war machines.

Even if the new tracks increase the Chimera effectiveness by only 5 percent, although it should be at least 10 percent, that means 50 million armored vehicles more, to fight the Emperor's enemies.

Logistics is the basis of any war, and the Warhammer universe is always at war. If my three years of work provide millions of extra tanks, critical victories might be won. Even if it doesn't lead directly to more victories, the enemies will lose more troops, and then be vanquished later.
Gyron observes my work with its mechanical eyes, lenses recording me with something approaching fear.

Late into the night, I stop to save my progress, and then make a backup copy on my implant.

"There is no strength in flesh, only weakness."
0111011110000000

My implant feeds me another ironic wise quote, as my body fails me and I fall asleep.

A minute later, a voidguard marine busts in room.

"Lord Pef. Your presence is required on the bridge. Now." the soldier says in a harsh voice.

Not my earliest convenience, then. I run towards the bridge elevator, still half asleep.

As I pass other soldiers, they salute me rather startled.

Then again, Captain's son running at full tilt wasn't that common in the main corridor. I usually trained my body in the barracks floor, with all the other grenadiers. Morale is thing, out here.

I rush on the bridge, to find it devoid of higher rank officers, only the Navigator and a couple of tech priests, with some distant cousins manning the auspex consoles.

"Where is the Captain?" I ask as I force myself to breathe.

The Navigator scowls and turns to stare at me with all three of his eyes. He doesn't like Blanks much, I suspect. That was a joke. I heard psykers have a revulsion towards any Blanks, not just me.

"Lord Pef. Your father left clear orders. In the event of his death, you are to succeed and inherit the Warrant. All hail Captain Pef!" the Navigator proclaims in a psyker voice, a wave of command dispersing the words throughout the ship.

With a bewildered face, I fall in the Captain's chair, and feel the ship's Machine Spirit link up with my implant.

"Victory needs no explanation. Defeat allows none."
000111000

Not the time for quotes, damn implant.

With a sad sob, I turn to stare at the Navigator, while reading the ship logs on my implant.

The natives had other advanced weapons. Melta guns, strong enough to burn through ceramite-encased power armor.
Just like the one former Lord Lancefire wore, as he debarked for another glorious conquest.

Well, they probably didn't have the guns anymore. The planet didn't have any cities left now.
"Launch full occupation, all battalions except the void marines." I order with a sad heart.
I will have to name this planet now, after it got conquered. Probably something corny, like Retribution.

The crew would not accept any compromise now, and these guys wouldn't want one either. Not after we killed like a billion of their people. Sins of my father...

 

[Pef]

Slowly, the shock of becoming an orphan, alone in a middle of a hostile galaxy worn off, as my mind concentrated on the important goal of survival. I had to prove myself a worthy ship Captain, a skilled Rogue Trader and at least a decent general for my small army. Otherwise, I would find myself kicked out from an airlock, with the ship's Navigator finally happy to be rid of my Blank aura.

Not that my aura works like normal Blanks do. I read they create instant hostility into anyone with a soul, or at least a minimal Warp presence, something humanity has in spades. Feeling your soul getting absorbed into a menacing black hole would explain the hostility, perhaps.

Luckily, I am not one of those natural and rare Pariahs. My gift is bland and merely protects myself from the Warp, something which confuses those more sensitive to the Warp, but doesn't burn their soul. Of course, it also protects me from astropaths, telepaths and diviners, as well as other potential troubles like daemonic possession and all those visions or dreams so common among the crew.

Not that I need visions to plan ahead. Somehow, I remember perfectly everything I seen of this universe in my previous life, although the order of the events is sometimes different. I have my own theories why this happens: maybe my memories got scrambled, or some local deity plays with time, or the Emperor himself dreams on his Golden Throne and changes things, perhaps subconsciously.

I do recall the existence of a special Inquisition Order, Ordo Cronos, that investigates timeline manipulations. And there are other beings around that play with time, be they Necron or C'tan, Eldar or H'rud.

But for now, I focus on the task at hand, proving my genius and savant status, by using my expensive implants to run the logistics of a planetary invasion from my Captain's command chair. I am also very lucky and do not fail.

The conquest of Retribution lasted merely months.

Then again, we had a cruiser in orbit, 5 kilometers of guns, armor and cathedrals, too able and willing to impart Retribution on these heretics.

Paired with air superiority via our fighter squadron, and liberal use of Mechanicus noosphere magic, the ground-locked enemies were rapidly corralled and captured, or killed if they resisted.

Either way, the planet provided fresh replenishments for the depleted lower decks, new serfs and other lower servitor castes being inducted, stamped and cyborgdized into more useful forms.

I even convinced Magos Gyron to begin installing servitors as targeting heads for our long range torpedoes.

It took a dozen trials, but now our long range weapons could turn and attempt homing while the propellant lasted. The efficiency increase was over 300 percent this time, but sadly my own area of control was limited by the Warrant.

Back in Empire Space, my words were feeble and likely without any true power, but here on my Ship, I now spoke with the Voice of the Emperor.

Something even the Mechanicus Cult was not likely to defy, just like every other members of the crew or the military we carried.

It will take a few more generations before the regiment fully transformed from an auxiliary Mechanicus unit to my own household regiment, but my father had already began that plan, replacing sergeants and corporals with loyal soldiers, sending difficult officers on long range reconnaissance and other dangerous missions.

I didn't want to stir things too much with the grenadiers, but I did want a proper armored regiment if that was possible. My clan was rich, very rich. I could afford to pay for new machines and equipment from my clan's budget, if we really needed to.

I named Lord Swedros, my Father's XO as planetary governor on Retribution, and gave him all the old Chimeras, half the new servitors and a grenadier battalion formed by the least loyal troops, as well as one orbit capable shuttle.

The guy seemed rather pleased at his new post, and probably thankful I didn't simply space him. That was the tradition after a Captain change among Rogue Traders.

But I didn't want to waste a competent guy, simply because I didn't like or trusted him. He could still be useful, making Retribution productive again, in a few decades.

"We head to Antax now, I'll need my Warrant ratified and some new equipment." I told my new bridge crew, still mostly clan members but with an enginseer and a more pliable auspex tech priest added in for extra points of view.

I knew I could get away with minor quirks, and myself being mentored by a Mechanicus Magos was no secret among the clan.

Not that anyone could tell we were related just by looking at us. Genetic diversity in the galaxy was enormous, and grandfather had over 30 wives during his millennium long life.

My father had been more conservative, with only half that many wives, including my own mother that nobody knew where she had come from, and where she had gone.

I had a few pics of her, platinum hair and green eyes, and a rumor she was a witch. Probably a Blank, if I think on it. Still a witch, but the good kind in my view.

Keeping away the Warp was a nice gift she gave me.

I had a strange feeling I will meet her again, but hopefully not from the other end of an Exitus rifle. The Vindicare assassins are rather famous for training Blanks, after all.

Back in my mechanical lab, I go over a few more projects, all of them attempting to simplify and enhance Imperial technology with varied degrees of success and heresy.

We have a hand-held melta gun to analyze and rebuild, the standard template lasgun, an auspex sensor based on lasers, and my masterpiece: the tri-barrel multilaser.
The Lasgun is rather hard to improve cheaply. The Emperor himself had worked on this weapon for years, and he is rather smarter than me. Sure, expensive capacitors and high definition lenses can improve the gun significantly. The reverse is rather hard, dumbing down the weapon will not make it better.
I do have two minor fixes that will increase the lasguns's lethal range by 10 meters and powerpack's capacity by 5 percent.

Gyron is quite amazed at the simple solutions I found and has vowed to support the new Retribution template in front of his Mechanicus peers. That's our story, and we will stick to it.

Ancient STC patterns, discovered by a famous Rogue Trader. Highly effective, considering the Rogue Trader paid with his life for the discovery.

The auspex sensors are a type of LIDAR, and by increasing photon density and collimating the beam by a few microns, we extend range and definition by 7 percent. Nothing huge, until you consider the trillions of such sensors installed on nearly every war machine in the Empire.

The new Multilaser is nothing so simple. At first, I simply tried adding a new barrel for extra cooling and a minor rate of fire. But somehow, moving the cooling coiling into a new pattern increased not only the rate of fire, but penetration and range by 25 percent.

It is almost like geometric magic. Separating the barrels even further doesn't work, and instead reduces the damage.

"It is the polarization, Captain. Turning the mechanism by 45 degrees, it increases lenses reflection, as fewer photons pass through the focus mirror. Thus, less heating and better penetration." Gyron concludes after trying the same orientation with a normal two-barrel multilaser, and replicating my results.

I shrugged in defeat. "I bow to your wisdom, mentor. These Ancient humans were so clever, right?"

"You think me foolish, but all knowledge is manifestation of deity. The Emperor was learned indeed, and that's why we are allied now. But, as his Voice you improved his works too. Thus, Omnissiah flows though you." the priest commented in a serious tone.

I hummed in deep thought at that. Religion was a serious thing here, more so for those exposed to the Immaterium, unlike me.

"Our Navigator cannot sense the Astronomicon so far way. He locks on Ultramar instead, and works well enough. Though I still want to get a look inside those Geller generators once we are in dock." I mused out loud.

The Magos waved a few metallic tentacles in warning. "You should really not. This may be your ship, but those that stare into the Warp, they get stared back at."

"But if we are in real space, it should be safe, right?" I wonder for argument's sake.

"Nowhere is truly safe, silly boy. And inside a Geller field generator, much less so than anywhere else. Even your Blank aura isn't sufficient. When we assemble...well. I better not speak of it. But there's a reason only higher ranked priests can enter them." Gyron continued in a calm tone, while producing a dozen vials of scented oils and incense burners to sanctify the new multilaser.

Normally, I would dismiss such things as superstition or stupidity. Until your own weapon grows fangs and tries to eat you. Sometimes happens, during traveling the warp.

Not so much with sanctified weapons. I still have a scar on my forearm from my first laser pistol that became sentient or maybe emotional. And bit me.

Did I mention how Machine Spirits are made from cloned human tissue? Well, humanity is the Emperor's domain in the Warp. Including the amputated ones.

The Mechanicus have rapidly learned the trick, and have used this knowledge to great effect to protect all their machinery from the warp using human cells and nerves as conduits for the Emperor's protection.

"Emperor protects!" is the most commonly used phrase among humans. Because he really does.

Just not in the mundane world, not unless He raises a Saint or sends the Legion of the Damned to intervene directly.

But those things are so rare that they are myths and legend anyway.
Sometimes I wonder how the Emperor sees me, while under this Blank cover. Then again, I do have humans genes. It's possibly blood-magic or something like that, for a high level entity like the God-Emperor of Mankind.

That Eldar tentacle warp god does kinda the same thing, in reverse. Targeting all Eldars for more excess and shit.

'Stay strong Adam. One day I will reach Terra and try to fix your chair. This galaxy needs you.' I whispered in my mind, watching the familiar gestures of the Mechanicus priest painting my projects with holy oils.

Not too soon though. I still had lots of things to do, out here outside the Empire.
Mentally, I began preparing contingencies for the Forge_World visit, and various trade protocols left behind by my dear grandfather, who seemed to be good friends with the Fabricator-General.

Probably a whole bucket of crap, the famous friendship. But if it worked once, it should work again, as long as I brought nice gifts.

 

[Pef]

The trip through the Warp was relatively safe and quick, three weeks for those on board, and 6 months for the galaxy.

Losses on the lower decks remained under 2 percent, which meant we will not need to restock of Gellar field consumables, whatever they were.

Gyron tells me we only need to worry at 6 percent loses.

For now, I have no choice but to believe him, and hope for the best. The Mechanicus uses the same type of generator as my upgraded cruiser, and they rarely vanish during trips, unlike the local Navy ships which tend to encounter problems on every single patrol.

Forge world Antax is a dead world, since nobody bothers with environmental laws around here. The pollution and radiation alone would kill unarmored humans in minutes.

That's only on the surface though. Deep underground, the Cult Mechanicus lives in enclosed tunnels and caves like ants.

It also has a ring of orbital shipyards and thousands of mining or transport ships to supply the forges with metals or organic components.

The Litany itself carries a million spare parts of organic origin, and could always come round with more. Human resources are plentiful in the galaxy, and we only need to wait a few decades for more such resources to regenerate on their own, then visit a conquered planet to harvest more.

We send codes and passwords, as well as the electronic Warrant ahead, to avoid being atomized by some zealous priest. Our void shields stay up, and the void marines are on full alert anyway.

That was among the first things I did as the new Captain. Three companies of marines are now always posted around the bridge, reactor and the Gellar generator. Another company patrols the lower decks, in fully enclosed suits and backed up by twice as many combat servitors. A couple AFVs are also deployed with them, to provide some armor support in case of need.

I have also begun to slowly increase the serfs food rations in quantity and quality, but I can only do so much, and not annoy the traditionalists among the crew, who would rather dispense burning promethium instead of clean water and decent food.

I had to explain to them how much costly promethium is compared to water. "Don't spend my thrones when is not needed, guys. Water is cheap, so we give the serfs water."

Afraid they might get be penalized from their shares for every munition they spend to quell revolts or mutinies, the officers had temporarily agreed to try the humane option first, if it was cheapest.

After a day of waiting, my cruiser is finally allowed to dock and refuel in an orbital dock, as I am escorted towards the Fabricator General with all the new 'discoveries'

Sadly, the Retribution pattern melta gun is not reproducible by our on-board forge, but I expect the Mechanicus priests will equip a few companies with licensed guns for free. We cannot simply buy stuff from the Cult, but trading favors is not only accepted but the only way to acquire Mechanicus-level weapons or technology.

Sure, technically the Mechanicus is obliged by treaty to provide weapons freely to every ship and regiment, but the waiting list is longer than my cruiser. I rather skip ahead by providing a worthy gift.

"Lord Pef, Captain of the Litany of the Vanquished. The Fabricator General will see you now." a red-robed tech priest says in Gothic, and glares at me with blue lenses cyborg eyes.

"Thank you, Magos." I answer and enter the study, and notice that Gyron has been halted by the other Magos for a friendly chat in binary.

A monstrous construct receives me, not even a hint of organic origin left. Dozens of tentacles and arms, at least thirty weapons I can detect and probably twice as many I do not.
"So you are the famous BlankTrader. What do you want for those patterns?" the Fabricator priest asks me in fluent Gothic.

I blink confused. The protocols are burned already.

"They are gifts. If every forge world also receives them, once they pass your tests, Fabricator." I answer in a level voice.

That is the crux of the problem. Forge worlds tend to be secretive and jealous, guarding tech like religious relics.

The Fabricator holds still for a second, which should mean hours of accelerated thought for someone of his powers.

"Denied. Even if I could accept these gifts, dissemination of holy knowledge is reserved for Mars." the head priest answers in a slow voice. Angry maybe?

"I see. Sector wide, perhaps? Surely nearby forge worlds will be interested in new patterns, and offer some of their own in return." I muse to myself, and turn round to exmine the Fabricator's study.

Weapons and fragments of them, scrolls and codex glowing with arcane symbols reminding me of quantum physics formulas. They probably are exactly that, and more.

"So, it is true. You are trying to spread these advance patterns, even at cost to yourself. Gyron wasn't wrong, after all." the priest mutters while poking a cogitator and running some high speed simulations, possibly for my sake.

I try to store everything on my remembrance implant, but I fail. Too much data, too fast.

But I get the gist of it. Hive fleets Kraken and Behemoth attacking the sector, and logistical needs to supply everyone with new weapons. Not possible of course, going by the plethora of red errors and yellow alerts.

I hum in deep thought, powering up the savant implant for a minute.

There is no miracle solution, of course. The Empire has been slowly dying for 10 thousand years, and every single part of the government is corrupt to hell.

Still. "Hydra tanks, armed with the new multilaser pattern, maybe even new tracks and sensors. Same thing for medium grade skitarii troops. Melta guns, if you manage to reproduce them."

The skitarii are cyborg soldiers for the Mechanicus, and good ones. Their elites can match Space Marines in some scenarios. But if we could upgrade the medium ones, which number in the millions...

"Gambit Sk/2/33. I suppose we could try it with a few regiments and compare their new efficiency for cost. But ground troops are all presumed destroyed once a hive lands." the Fabricator says with a dismissive gesture.

So, he had already considered it. Of course, he has. This guy is basically the closest thing to an A.I., this side of the Galaxy.

"Ships take too long to build." I mutter in defeat. There are never enough ships, and a Hive has millions of ship grade organisms able to overwhelm any defensive fleet the Navy, or the Mechanicus can gather in a short time.

The Fabricator stares at me with glowing eyes. Something more then?

"Cheaper ships, maybe?" I wonder out loud. It's close to heresy, but not really.

"Yes, many radical priests argue the same. Millions of low quality ships to stem the tide. Millions of times weaker too." the Fabricator says with a doubtful voice.
"The Imperial Guard." I argue with a shrug. Humanity throws trillions of poorly armed soldiers to stem the tide. Sometimes it works. Sometimes they need Space Marines or Titans to help them. Sometimes, nothing is enough.

"Gyron speaks well of you, Lord Pef. Very well. We will try it for 101 years, when the Hive fleet Kraken is expected to arrive at Brimlock. Iridium-tungsten armor, mechanical Gellar fields, and cheap plasma engines. You will provide the officers, and we provide tech-priests and servitors for gunnery." the priest says in a not too pleased voice.

I feel I was given a test and a quest here, but I'm not smart enough to figure everything out. I'll need to ask Gyron.

"Great! Meanwhile, I thought of what I might need to go back beyond the Empire. An armored regiment, with a few low level Titans for support. And a few escort ships, if there are any to spare. Training officers works better if they can experience real missions."
I quip in a friendly voice. I wonder if my grandfather had the same experience here.

The Fabricator waves a few mechadendrites to signify something. Perhaps anger?

"I have a Sword-class_Frigate that isn't covered by an adamantium hard contract. Titans are excluded. A dozen transport voidships with servitor crew. Now, for an armored regiment...we can empty a stasis block and extract two Baneblades and a Storm Blade. A thousand lesser vehicles, half of them Hydras and three Stormbird attack landers to deploy the heavies safely. Is that enough, Lord Pef?" the Fabricator asks in pleasant tone.

I'm not certain what it means, but I fear is not something good. Still, it seems the new multilaser was truly valuable.

A brand-new frigate, and armored regiment? Including those Baneblades.

I almost agree, before I catch myself. Gellar Field generators?

"Could you install these mechanical Gellar fields on the Stormbirds? Makes sense to protect such relics, should something happen in transit." I ask in a level voice.

"Yes, yes. It will be done, and make us start the new fabrication line much sooner. Come back in three years or so." the priest says and waves me off with a metal arm.

I walk outside and exhale deeply. The meeting was rather fruitful, but so tense and tiring.

Gyron nods at me in a friendly gesture.

"Steel of body,
Steel of mind."
111001111111

Damn it. I thought I have fixed the implant.

 

[Pef]

While the Antax forge world is preparing their gifts for me, I decide to visit another Forge world called Graia.

It's pretty close as things go, 2 weeks of travel time and hopefully would result in more barter for ancient tech, perhaps even a few Titans.

Meanwhile, I try to spend more time with my officers and crew, even having meals together and discuss options for the future.

Decima proves to be a pleasant surprise, a free thinker and competent space tactician, coming up with a plan to overwhelm massed tyranid void ships with a massive barrage of long range torpedoes.

It's not a new tactic, but implementing it necessitates good coordination between our future ships, as torpedoes are not friendly fire.

My new enginseer bridge officer, called Sigma 099 or Signus, provides another tactic, blowing up the reactor of a disposable ship, like those transport vessels we're about to receive. The Navigator is not convinced, since opening the Warp might destroy some tyranid ships but release a host of demons or enslavers out into the galaxy instead.

"We'll prepare one such sacrificial fireship for the low chance of taking out a Hive Queen. If we get the chance, it would be worth it. Otherwise, no." I decide after a minute of computing and estimating risks on my savant implant.

Signus nods in acceptance, while the Navigator scowls at me like always. "At least you have some sense." the psyker noble mutters to himself.

Soon enough, we arrive at Graia, to find them preparing for evacuation. They had a diadem-like array of battlestations in orbit, arranged such that the entire Forge could move and travel to another system.

Well, such preparations would take years anyway, even with thousands of landers lifting their machines from the surface.

Another tense meeting, while I gift them a twin-linked version of my multilaser and an ultraviolet based auspex sensor. I simply replaced the normal beam of the LIDAR detector with a home made UV laser, but such a simple conversion has immense utility, as the auspex will now detect camouflaged enemies and many hidden troubles like mines or traps.

Then I deliver then poisoned apple, under the guise of having been used by our enemies. " My friend and mentor, Magos Gyron has deduced that those barbarians that killed my father might have used servitors or some kind of cyborg unit to target their missiles. No other way could have they been so accurate and able to home in on the ship and shuttles."

The Fabricator General freezes while he considers my words. Just like I do, when diving deep in the savant implant. "You mean, piloted missiles?" he asks to make sure.

I just nod, afraid to give myself away. The Fabricator might have a way to sense lies or something.

"Makes me wonder if they had an STC cache on that fringe planet. Perhaps your Lord father should have investigated in more detail, before starting the orbital bombardment." he says in a regretful voice.

I kinda agree, the contact with those natives had been violent from the start. Even if they fired first.

"Well, we did find a few more patterns, but I gifted them to Forge Antax, since they sponsored us with tanks and a grenadier regiment." I answer with a hint of more bartering in the future.

The Fabricator nods its cyborg head, and turns on his cogitator, scrolling through a list of possible gifts of his own.

My eyes record the list, by the grace of the remembrance implant, and I start picking and choosing what I want from their trading cache.

A dozen mining barges, another Baneblade, another fighter squadron. The Fabricator doesn't offer tech priests or servitors, but then I do have plenty of those anyway. And he probably knows that already.

I mark the gifts I want and wait.


"You're very frugal, for a Rogue Trader." the Magos observes and seemed unhappy. So I should have gained more.

"I try to maintain a cohesive force, with same type of equipment for better logistical support and repairs. It serves me less to take flamer tanks without a promethium refinery. Same with heavy bolters or Basilisk artillery, as there are no Munitorum depots outside the Empire space." I tell him with a shrug.

It is also true. No ammunition factories out there, among the barbarians and xenos.

The Fabricator General sighs, in almost human manner. "Yes, I suppose so. What would you need, when you go back exploring the wild fringes?" he asks in a more resigned voice.

"Heavy tanks, Titans, torpedoes, and a way to build missiles. Millions of missiles." I answer truthfully.

Beam weapons are great, but they have limited effective range. Missiles and torpedoes have 10 times the range.

"Even Antax wouldn't give you Titans. It's simply not possible, but I guess you're young and hopeful. I will add two more Baneblades then. As for missiles... I will provide you two thousand Hunter-seeker launchers and a million krak missiles. No factory or ship based forge though. Not outside the Empire." the Magos proclaims with a wave of tentacles.

Getting close to his final line then.

Krak missiles are not very useful in ship-to-ship combat, but the launchers can be installed on fighters and tanks. They even come with Logis-engines inside. And a million krak missiles should last me for a 100 years, unless I fight a tyranid swarm or something.

"Antax is building cheap ships to fight the Tyranid Hive. Iridium-tungsten armor and mechanical Gellar fields." I announce as I leave.

Then I walk away briskly, as something crashes inside the Fabricator's quarters.

Loading up the missiles and the tanks doesn't take long, since Graia was already evacuating, fleeing from the path of Hive fleet Kraken. A sensible thing to do, in my view. They couldn't hope to stop it, even with a whole Mechanicus fleet in orbit.

They might have a few battleships and battlecruisers and escorts by the hundred, but a tiny splinter of the Hive would still win. However, I planted the seed, under the guise of providing news and gifts.

Next stop, Forge World Tigris. This is a major forge world, with many unique STC designs like the Vanquisher cannon and the Fellblade heavy tank. I want some of those.

Travel time is longer, 6 more weeks of warp immersion and the lower deck causalities reach 5 percent now. Time to restock on those blackbox consumables for our Gellar field generator.

Already the crew complain of hearing whispers and having nightmares.

During flight, I complete an infrared auspex sensor, and three variants of the multilaser in various sizes, including fighter and frigate sized guns. Another, even simpler design for the tank tracks, with wider tracks made of adamantium and even less moving parts.
Tigris is a rich forge world, they can afford using adamantium for higher quality products. They seem to have recovered nicely from being overrun by Orks a few millennia ago.

I gift them my STC patterns and spread the news, and the Fabricator General is rather pleased.

Thus, I am promised another Sword-class frigate in 10 years, and gifted 4 Fellblades and 12 Leman Russ tanks with Vanquisher cannons.

I don't ask for Titans anymore, because it's clear I will never get any. Makes me look naive too, which is not recommended for a Rogue Trader.


Even one barely out of his teens.

A transport ship loaded with more krak missiles and a hundred torpedoes will be prepared and sent to Antax in 2 years, when I plan to depart to the Eastern Fringes again.

But the nicest gift is a working Gellar generator without organic parts, and its own tech priest crew. I plan to install this thing near the reactor core on my cruiser, and hopefully reduce the risks of warp travel malfunctions.

And I also want to scan and learn how it works, because demons.

And during this cruise, Decima decides she wants to be my first wife. I am a young man and rather grateful for her gift.

We hold a wedding and invite everyone of rank, all officers and priests and commissars and have a great feast.

"You were born in the shadow of the Omnissiah"
00001000100

I'm not sure what the Machine Spirit means, but I take it as a blessing. The shadow could mean the Blank, or something else.

Still, I began to suspect Magos Gyron has a machadendrite in this implant quoting stuff affair. He has been the only one poking inside my head after all.

Then again, I am somewhat smarter and wiser now. It might be the growing up, the responsibility of being the Captain and dealing with command prerogatives every day. But it might be something else.

If only I could remember what I picked on my damn build.

Is the being that brought me here the Omnissiah? That would be a great cosmic joke, right?

Anyway, time to enjoy my wedding night, and the pretty wife.

Decima has short black hair and asian eyes, and she seems to like me a little. Hopefully it will grow into love. We both do our best, and fall asleep exhausted a few hours later.

Meanwhile, we depart for Metalica Forge world, the last part of the gift cruise before we return to Antax.

 

[Pef]

For the next barter, I prepare larger things.

An X-ray laser auspex pattern that needs a ship sized reactor to scan the void for enemies. Also, tri-barrel laser cannons, that have larger range and damage. Also fire faster by 10 percent, due to less over heating.

As it happens, Forge Metalica was building a large order of Cobra-class destroyers, at least 20 hulls laid down and completed to various degrees.

I will receive the first 2 of these torpedo boats when they are ready, probably in 8 years.

Then I load up three more Baneblades and another fighter squadron, piloted by cyborg servitors. A thousand more hunter-killer launchers, but no missiles.

Still, I get gifted 20 new torpedoes so it's all good. My torpedoes launchers are full again, which makes me feel safer.

We wait a month for the first X-ray auspex to be produced and installed on my cruiser, as well as 100 hunter-killer launchers, mostly on the ventral side, to serve as close defense against boarding shuttles or for planetary pacification.

As I leave, I notice an empty dock being prepared to construct smaller ships, with a single adamantium beam for reinforcement.

"You think the Fabricator listened?" I wonder out loud, looking at the view screen with hope.

Gyron walks beside me and measures the incipient shape of the corvette sized skeleton.

"Just over 1 kilometer long. Barely enough to support Warp travel. The longitudinal beam will provide support for high-G maneuvers and acceleration, as well as some resistance to ramming. But only one dock, so it's merely a curiosity test." the Magos answers after a minute.

I sigh and turn away from the window. Changing the traditions of an ossified empire is not easy. But even a small ship is a start. I would have a hundred such ships around every planet if I could.

Then every single invasion would need to be much bigger, which would give the Navy warning and time to assemble their battleships. That means 100 million ships for the Imperium, so it's not very likely.

I now have 13 Baneblades or variants, enough to create a Heavy Armor Company for my regiment. Ideally I should use 20 of them for better results, but Baneblades don't grow on trees.

Then, I'll have a dozen Leman Russ tanks and Chimeras and Hydras for support and air cover. I am happy with what I have right now, once my tech priests install hunter-killer launchers on every armored vehicle and void fighter.

And once my escorts are ready, they will receive upgraded sensors and missile launchers as well, in the hope of providing protection against fighters and bombers or assault shuttles.

There is a pirate empire I know about, from the files left by my father, and while they have perhaps a dozen ships and hundreds of void fighters they are not that dangerous if we're prepared. If I catch them spread out, I can defeat them in detail.

But if they have some relic battleship, even half operational...then it would be quite bad.

I need to be bold and aggressive however. A Chaos incursion might turn those pirates into demon worshipers, and then I wouldn't have anything to salvage. At best I would push the desecrated ships into a sun, or something.

At worst, I would get my crew eaten by a Demon Prince or such. My clan has always avoided corrupted worlds, knowing their limits and aiming for easier conquests.

There are also xenos out there, Tau and Banghesi and H'rur and many others.

The Forge Worlds would gladly examine their technology and reward us greatly, but I don't have a Crusade behind me.
Three years have passed in the galaxy while we cruised a few Forge Worlds and acquired weapons for the next conquest.

At Antax, my gifts are ready. The new Sword-class frigate, and a dozen transport ships, loaded with food, and construction equipment of many kinds.

Also, the armored regiment with a thousand new tech priests of lower rank, that will maintain and repair the vehicles.

We stay here a few months, while everything is getting up armed and upgrades, and new tank crews trained.

The frigate came with only a skeleton crew, a Navigator, 2 astropaths and perhaps 1000 tech priests, engineers and servitors.

I split off my own officer corps and appoint a new Captain for the Requiem for the Vanquished.

As it happens, this guy is a half-brother from a different mother, with some experience in boarding and other void combat. Probably my replacement, if I failed to please my father for a worthy successor of the Warrant.

Captain Veryon Tertius, has brown hair and blue eyes, and looks vaguely similar to father. Which is probably normal.

The Requiem flies around the system for a test drive, fires the lance batteries at a dozen asteroids and doesn't explode during testing, which is great.

We depart for Retribution, and the rest of the upgrades are finished during the warp travel.

Gyron and I monitor the new Gellar generator, and record every fluctuation. The Warp radiation can be measured somewhat, with a kind psychic reactive sensors of the Mechanicum, but the mechanical generator doesn't drop below the safety limit during this trip.
Still, it only takes once. When demons and apparitions flood the ship in a second of integrity failure, pretty much everyone on board will get corrupted, starting with the Navigator, then the astropaths, and then everyone else.

I might last the longest, thanks to my Blank aura, but that won't save me from manifested demons with claws and tails that can rip ceramite to shreds.

"Magos Yridan-Serge has indeed given you a quest, Captain. Because the new ships will be vulnerable to the Immaterium, more than normal, he wants Blanks for officers. And possibly Blank tissues for the Machine Spirits." Gyron reveals when I do ask.

Damn it. I'll need hundreds of concubines, to obtain thousands of Blank officers for those ships. And clones for organic parts...if Blanks can be cloned.

I need to ask Decima what to do. Using my bed skills to save the sector from being eaten by Tyranids? And resist the Chaos as well, now that I think of it.

Then again, the Emperor had 20 sons given the same task...


Every Forge world has tiny quirks and updates hidden in their construction, and a couple of them are made on Mars. I magnify the schematics to the maximum and power up my implants.

Extra memory and thinking speed will help. A minute later I reach the implant's memory limit and leave the deep dive.
Then I close my eyes and enter the trance-like meditation I learned from my Mechanicus mentor.

Superimposing the designs, and figuring out what changed and how. Some modifications make no logical or structural sense, moving parts added for religious or symbolic reasons, side sponsons that expose the tank to huge danger for minimal extra firepower.

Energy conduits for laser guns on the outside of the main armor, and hundreds of other design flaws. In my opinion anyway.

They possibly changed the original design for easier access or due to lack of spare parts. Maybe battlefield repairs.

All these tanks have seen combat and carry the scars proudly. Even if that scar is now a weak point and would likely result in crew death the first time a large shell or other weapon hits the damaged side.

The Stormblade, with its plasma cannons is the most advanced model, and could theoretically wear down a Titan. Once I dissect and learn how the thing works, I might upgrade all the Baneblades to that model.

The Fellblades are nice, their Accelerator cannons have a dual role by design, both vs infantry or armored enemies as needed. But nice is not enough, because the ammunition is expendable, and I cannot produce the advanced shells in the ship's forge.

Instead, I will try and learn how to make Atomantic arc reactors like they have, and replace their projectile cannons with the plasma cannons of the Stormblade.

This will take decades anyway. Advanced relics are not easy to copy, even by the largest forge worlds. And the tech priests are really smart, even if trapped by ritual and tradition.

One Fellblade is set aside for this task same as the Stormblade. The Heavy company will have to do with 11 super heavy tanks and 11 Leman Russ Vanquishers, and one Vanquisher is set aside too, for reverse engineering. Making my own tanks will be nice, someday.

We return to Retribution to find it much the same, although most of the dust from the bombardements has settled and all the injured or sick people have already died. Evolution at work, some might say.

Lack of medicine or care, I argue with a tiny voice inside.

The Mechanicus transport ships begin unloading their construction machines and servitors, and thousands of tech priests begin rebuilding the planet for me.

We set up a dozen small forges to repair and produce more equipment, and my faithful bridge tech priest is nominated Fabricator General for Retribution.

As it happens, here I speak with the Voice of the Emperor, and as such I am obeyed. It is a great feeling, I admit.

Religious people make great subjects, especially when they see you as their prophet or holy spirit.

Because the Emperor is not only the temporal leader of the Imperium of Man, but also their God.
Sure, poor Adam doesn't do much rule these days, being entombed in his Golden Throne while the Nobles and Inquisitors say and do things in his name, much like I am.

And lastly, my wife Decima learned of my Antax Fabricator quest and agreed to help, bearing my children and selecting concubines to bear more.

She is now expecting our first child, and the Navigator says he will be a Blank, while gritting his teeth in displeasure.

"Lord Duras, a Blank child will not be exposed to the temptations of the Warp. And I expect psykers will have a hard time reading his mind or future. Isn't this great for a ship captain?" I ask him in a mild voice.

The Navigator sighs. "Perhaps you are right, Lord Pef. I wouldn't wish on anyone my own gift and torment." Staring into the Warp to navigate the ship must be harsh.

We drink a glass of expensive wine, and then return to our own duties. I am training a new cadet class of clan kids, both male and female.

Daily lessons are then applied on the frigate and the transport ships, while they patrol the system and practice scans and live fire on asteroids or comets.

I aim to produce a thousand new officers in a decade, because I will get new ships and will need people to operate them.

The armored regiment trains on the ground, pushing the tanks and personnel carriers to the limit, and finding what can be improved, both on maneuver warfare or assault tactics. Creating a working military doctrine will take time, but that's fine.

Defense is much easier, but if you need to use tanks in defense something has gone wrong anyway. My best defense will be offense. There is less need for defense if all your enemies are dead.

 

[Pef]

Again, we hold a strategy meeting about our next campaign, the Ileviar pirate empire.

I power up the cogitator screen and put up the findings of my father, notes and rumors obtained during his own travel and conquests.

My XO...one of the oldest clan members and an uncle of mine, with the greatest experience in void warfare takes over the meeting with practiced words and gestures.

He doesn't look over a thousand years old, but he served on the same bridge with my grandfather in the past. I found him while training with the grenadier regiment, relegated to weapons instructor by my father due to some disagreement.

Decima might have pointed him out as well.

"If I may, Lord Captain." Clan Elder Wentian says politely. I nod in acceptance and let him take over the holographic screen.

"Please, Major Wentian." I agree in a mild voice. I gave him the rank for a reason after all. Experience matters with warfare.

"First thing, reconnaissance. We can insert the Requiem at the edge of this mining system, and send out a fighter squadron coasting with unpowered engines to retrieve operational data. Number of ships, trajectories, target's mass and everything else we need to plan our assault. We can't rely on old maps and astronomical observations." he proposes in a calm voice.

"They will detect the Warp fluctuations anyway. Better to exit in force, and blast whoever we catch." I argue with a glance at my enginseer advisor.

Signus nods hesitantly, and wipes his cyborg eye with a cloth. Possibly terrified of being the center of attention. He'll get used to it.

He's not quite a tech priest, and his expertise is sort of limited to Warp systems, but he does know them inside and out.

"The frigate will produce a wide area radiation wake as it exits the Warp, as well as a hugely visible flash. Even at light speed, everyone in the system will know they have visitors, in a few hours." the enginseer explains in a weak tone.

My uncle nods and tugs on his grey beard. "Knowledge of something arriving is not evidence of an enemy. It could be some ore miner ship or a cargo vessel. Perhaps...yes. We can send a transport ship as well, to serve as bait and draw out the pirates."

I power up my implant and review the system map. "If we insert behind this gas giant, they will not see us at all. They will see a transport ship, leaking atmosphere as if damaged. We can insert our fighters and let them scan the system while we follow the bait with cold engines."

Once the decision is made, I speak with every staff officer for more ideas and solutions but the unknown limits our options. Can't plan for what we don't know, after all.

Decima advises me to keep two fighter squadrons for defense, should anything surprise us while we are flying blind and unpowered. It makes good sense so I approve.

Then she drags me to the bedroom and presents to me two soldier girls from the void marine battalion, vetted and eager to provide babies for the clan.

Oh well, it is duty after all. Might as well make it pleasant and fun. We all work hard on this for half the night, and then I crash into sleep.

The two concubines are assigned as permanent guards for my apartment and move in, as there would be no point to lose them in a firefight or boarding action. They have a higher calling now.

Decima goes exploring a few more companies and talks to a few more women soldiers, looking for more concubines, but she fails to find someone she likes.

In the end, she picks another cousin of ours as a second wife. Henna Octa looks amazing with brown skin and hair, green eyes and a loving smile. And has bountiful breasts and hips, something rarely seen aboard void ships. Most women crew are solid packs of muscles and training, unlike the fat and lazy groundpounders.

Octa used to work in the hydroponics, and likely had more fresh food available to maintain her nice looks. Not that I'm upset by that. Not at all.

Some three weeks later, I'm almost certain to have a couple more kids on the way, and Magos Gyron is rather displeased with my priorities, arguing for the Quest for Knowledge and less flesh pleasures.

"I won't say sorry, my mentor. Blank officers won't appear out of nothing. Did you have any success with the Atomantic reactor?" I wonder in turn.

He shakes his head and points at the simulation. Still not enough depth with our scans, so no progress. "This reactor is very compact. And the Tigris tech-priests are too secretive on their prized Fellblades."

"Isn't that how all Forge worlds do things?" I ask rhetorically.

A metallic tentacle pokes my forehead. "You are changing things, Captain. Spreading new patterns and more efficient machines. I can barely wait to see what else you might discover."

I sit down next to him, in the only chair. The Magos never sits down, although with his metal frame he probably doesn't need to rest anyway.

"Let's start with the missile launchers then. We have plenty of them to test and see what can be simplified."

Waiting for the trap to work and draw out the pirates takes another week, and I do find a way to increase the range of our missiles by 10 percent, with some clever software upgrades, or rather by uncluttering some buggy programming.

With simpler commands to follow, the logic-engine can maintain target lock for a bit longer.

Gyron goes to update our missiles launchers with the new patch, and I visit my wives and concubines for a few hours.

Then alerts blare out and the fun times are over.

The pirates arrive with 2 Iconoclast-class_Destroyer and an ore hauler transformed into a bastardized weapon platform, with a hundred guns of various types. Possibly collected from whatever victims they have killed during their predations.

Then we wait for them to start matching speed and board the transport vessel, before we spring the trap and accelerate, launching space superiority fighters and battering their void shields for boarding actions.

The void marines and 2 battalions of grenadiers, all armored in carapace suits and void resistant helmets attack the pirate ships, while from inside the transport ship, hidden combat servitors spring out and massacre their own invaders.

A day later, we have a captured destroyer, a rather damaged ore hauler and a lost grenadier battalion as the second destroyer managed to blow up somehow.

Sadly, we also lose 5 clan members to this victory, although even one destroyer is worth a billion thrones, should anyone sell ships for cash.

The battalion needs to be rebuilt, officers and new recruits trained and armored.

We hold another meeting to discuss what went wrong and right, with my brother seeming upset he wasn't given leave for a boarding action.

"Captain Veryon, if you were leading the 4th grenadier battalion in the assault, you would be dead now. And I would lack a competent frigate captain." I tell him in a stern voice.

Major Wentian nods and agrees with me. "I think we should use more combat servitors for boarding. They are smaller, able to enter service vents and have quicker reflexes. Plus...it won't hurt us that much when they die."

"Fine. Use servitors if you are afraid to die!" my brother exclaims upset.


I sigh and drink some wine with regret. Damn glory hound.

"You do have a point, brother. Perhaps someone with experience and training could have stopped their reactor going critical. We will add tech-priests to the next boarding actions. But no officers, unless they wear power armor." I conclude and wave off the holographic display.


Hundreds of helmet and servitor mounted cameras and vox transmissions gave us sufficient knowledge what really happened.

Either a grenadier fired on something critical, or some pirate did. Either way, the ship went up in flames with our troops on board.

"If we had teleporters..." Decima says in a peaceful voice.

Everyone sighs at that. Fat chance we will find a working teleporter anywhere. Those relics were mostly the domain of Space Marines and the Inquisition.

"So, we conquer the system and establish a mining base. Does anyone here wants to be the system Governor?" I ask out loud.

Nobody raises a hand or tentacle, so I'll have to promote a grenadier officer. Most likely the 3rd battalion leader, who was wounded during the capture of the Iconoclast destroyer.

With Major Richard Fynman thus promoted to Governor, we start the tedious task of rooting out the rest of the pirates and assault the mining outposts.

We liberate a few thousand slaves, including a few Navigators and astropaths as well as a fallen Noble who used to freelance around in his Knight suit.

His Knight is gone but the guy is skilled and a fierce warrior. His nickname was Whitelance, after he discarded his House. A few centuries ago. It will take some time to get used to the long lifespans of the rich or nobles.

"Lord Whitelance, I do have good relations with a few Forge Worlds. Once you prove them your genetic ability to pilot a Knight, we will provide a new suit for you." I offer politely beside his hospice bed. The pilot nods and falls asleep.
The pirates weren't kind to him, unlike the reverent care that the Navigators received.

In fact, the Iconoclast Navigator will keep his post, having gone from a planetary force vessel, conscripted to the Imperial Navy, impressed to the mutineers, then captured by pirates and then by us without anyone bothering to replace him.
Navigators are too rare and useful to waste.

Luckily I still have a hundred clansmen to send to our new ships, although the ore hauler will be reformed to its old task, and simply upgraded with a dozen defensive multi-lasers.

The relic cannons are being removed for scans and attempted reverse-engineering, and one of them is a large Bombardment_Cannon that fires plasma bombs. I find it strange that I never heard of it, since it's very potent, both for planetary bombardments and void combat.

"What do you say, mentor? A dozen of these on every cheap corvette and they'll have the firepower of a frigate. Maybe more." I ask Gyron while examining the trophy gun.

Gyron spins an arm for some reason. "Not a dozen. One per ship. I doubt our own cruiser reactor can power a dozen such cannons."

Damn it. Limitations are not fun.

"Would it be stronger than the heavy lance on the Requiem?" I wonder hopeful. The new frigate has exactly one heavy lance, just as powerful as the ones on my cruiser.

Only, the cruiser has eight of them, in 4 twin batteries.

"At least three times stronger. It would have a longer range but a slower rate of fire. Perhaps twice slower than a heavy lance." the Magos explains while interfacing a few mechadendrites with the captured weapon.

I hum inward. Not that great then. I need these ships to match frigates in firepower.

But perhaps I can improve it a bit. I haven't found a single machinery without flaws, not yet.

 

[Pef]

The new mining system is now named Liberation, and will take at least a year to become productive again.

Fortunately, we have a million servitors and half as many captured pirates or their dependents. By Imperial law they should all be killed for rebelling, but I am merciful and will spare the young children for re-education, while the remaining pirates are given to the tech-priests to be converted into productive members of society. Only without higher cognitive functions.

Miners and combat servitors do not need feelings.

The Cult Mechanicus still uses babies for their seraphic servitors, grafting wings and floating devices, topped with a burning candle.

Not in my domain beyond the borders of the Imperium. It's simply cruelty without reason.

The kids will grow up as ship crew or new recruits in my army. There is enough pointless cruelty in this hellish galaxy without me having to add to it.

Of the remaining slaves, most are useless to us, so they are sent to Retribution to live their lives in a modicum of freedom and peace.

Those that have experience with weapons or ships can stay.

The tech-priests have just completed a few orbital defenses when a pirate battlegroup warps in system and loudly demands to know why we haven't sent the tithe minerals to the capital.

It's funny, I know. Even pirates operate the exact same way as the Empire they fled from.

The warships are hidden in the asteroid field, engines powered down, so they won't detect us until is too late.

The pirates move in cautiously, and send out a wave of old fighters to scout ahead.

Those fighters vanish in krak missile explosions when they approach the mining outpost and we power up for another fight.

It won't be as easy this time, as they have 3 destroyers, a frigate and an old cruiser without void shields and very few weapons. Hopefully it's not a trap and it is really damaged.

The boarding actions are mostly headed by armored void marines and combat servitors, while the second wave is made up of tech-priests and grenadier escorts, along with more servitors.

We capture the destroyers and the cruiser, but the frigate escapes, being more durable and faster than expected. It sucks, but it's war. Things rarely go according to plan.

Emergency repairs and upgrades for the captured ships begin immediately, and the old ore hauler is cannibalized to bring the cruiser back into fighting shape.

The transport ship leaves Liberation soon after, loaded with captured minerals and a few thousand ex-slaves, heading towards my own Forge World, the Retribution.

I don't expect the forges to mass-produce anything yet, except perhaps plows and swords.

The Mechanicus is obsessed with hand-crafting everything, from lightbulbs to lasers and spaceships.

I aim to change that here, where my words are law. A munition and tank factory would be great, as well as infantry weapons and armor.

Even tractors would be nice, as we would be able to farm on large scale and feed everyone, without depending on Antax for food.

My four captured destroyers get armed with 2 torpedoes each, from my own cruiser, since the pirates have long depleted their torpedoes stockpile. They also get 20 hunter-killer launchers and 1000 missiles each, so they'll be more effective in escort role against fighters or maybe bombers.

The Requiem receives a dozen multi-lasers for point defense, and the rest goes to the cruisers.

Gyron has been forging new weapons non-stop, melting down old weapons for rare minerals and pouring brand-new laser cannons and multi-lasers. One at the time, by hand.

And for every new weapon, a dozen organic spare parts are spent, harvested for nerves and neurons. Human resources. It's kinda gruesome, but it is better to give the weapons Machine Spirits, than have them inhabited by demons.

The Emperor protects, but you need to give him a conduit for that protection.

An entire grenadier battalion is moved to the captured cruiser, along with a dozen clan members that serve as officers.

A thousand tech-priests join them, since maintaining a 6 kilometer long void ship is a lifelong duty. They seem quite happy to sanctify every nut and bolt on their new home.

Boarding holes made by melta charges need to be patched up, sensors and weapons cleaned and upgraded to Retribution standard.

We have minerals, tech-priests and servitors enough. What we don't have are forges, which are complicated machines resembling an incinerator with numeric commands, and some lathes for finer work.

And sadly, forges are not easy to obtain. Not even Gyron has the knowledge to make a new forge.

And thus, when the last wave of pirates returns for our heads, we aren't quite ready, although a whole year has passed.

A huge flash, and 2 Grand Cruisers emerge, escorted by 5 more destroyers and the same frigate that escaped.

We have 2 cruisers as well, 4 destroyers and one frigate, so we are technically outnumbered.

But my ships are upgraded and somewhat modern, at least half of them. My captured ships not so much, and the old cruiser might unravel and fall apart under sustained fire.

This sucks!

I order my squadron to maintain range, and wear down the escorting pirates.

The idiot pirates rush ahead, escorts reaching weapon range first, as destroyers are much faster. They do not have good defense though.

Our heavy lances core the destroyers one after another, and as single one gets close enough to fire on Requiem. Veryon fires back and blows up the guilty destroyer with his own heavy lance.

Then the pirates stop to reconsider, as the situation has become unfavorable for them.

I send Requiem and the more intact destroyer after the frigate, while my cruiser and the rest of the squadron, begin our attack run on the prizes, the two Grand cruisers.

The fighter squadron helps as well, both with interceptor or strafing missions.

Then torpedoes begin striking the pirate cruisers, my destroyers focusing one and my own cruiser the other. In huge plumes of plasma fire, their void shields fail, and we can begin melting through the thick armor.

The Lament for the Vanquished, my other cruiser struggles to keep up, and can barely fire a few macrocannon rounds before the boarding action begins. Nonetheless, the pirates focus fire on it, and damage it pretty badly.

The Grand Cruisers have enormous internal volume, and the pirates have plenty troops to oppose us, although poorly armed and trained.

Combat servitors, then void marines, then the rest even a dozen Hydra tanks get transported by assault shuttle to breach barricades and clear the main corridors.

The fighting is harsh, and we lose as many servitors as they lose crew. A hundred thousand loses on both sides, plus many damaged machines and weapons.

In the end, it is worth it. We capture both Grand Cruisers and about 200 thousands serfs and pirates, as well as the Navigators, the astropaths and even a few xenos.

A single Avenger-class_Grand_Cruiser matches my entire fleet in mass, and now I have two.

Sure, the things are old and in poor repair. But I also have a few friendly Forge Worlds in my pocket. So to speak.

I doubt the tech-priests even know what friendship is.

Another year passes while we convert the pirates into more servitors, and execute necessary repairs for a single Warp journey.

I chose to return to Forge Metalica, because the destroyers would be nearly ready. Forge Graia has most likely moved away, and Antax might not have much to trade anymore.

But Metalica is rich. And I have a few destroyers to upgrade.

Their allies, House_Raven also take my attention. They have Knights, and we need Knights if Titans are not possible.

Like midget Titans, with midget weapons. But still fearsome, when piloted by experts.

The Requiem and 3 destroyers leave to patrol my Empire, while the old cruiser and the last destroyer stay to pacify and conquer the pirate empire. Without capital ships, it shouldn't be too hard.

They have an armored battalion and a grenadier battalion, as well as 100 thousand combat servitors.
And when you consider the servitors never flinch or lose morale, they make very effective frontline troops.
My wife Decima stays to oversee the conquest, and heads directly for the Ilevar Hive world captured by the pirates.

A month later, I arrive at Forge Metalica with two Grand Cruisers, and a dozen new patterns, some real, some self-made.
The new model corvette flies from the orbital dock and greets my ship, not very politely. The Forge World's defense fleet is slowly powering up as well.

"Halt and surrender. Or be destroyed by the might of the Machine God!" the Magos on the Vox orders us sternly and even fires a warning shot on my ship.They might think we are pirates, considering the reputation and profile of my captured cruisers.

"This is Rogue Trader Pef Lancefire. I bring gifts. Big ones." I answer in a flat tone. Why do I get this lucky?

 

[Pef]

Slowly, the emotions calm down as the Fabricator has met me before. Heh, Mechanicus emotions!

I leave the Grand Cruisers parked further away and approach Metalica's orbit in the Litany.

Then a whole month of tedious negotiations. I mean, I just returned for beyond, and brought a host of STC designs, and given them for free.

The Mechanicus is probably confused what to do with me. Not even their own Explorator expeditions return this quickly and with so many discoveries.

"Lord Pef, you are conundrum for me, and a test from Omnissiah." the Fabricator complains in a small voice.

I nod and shrug. Yeah, I know. Out of context problem.

"Is it that hard to allow a friendly trader to advise on things he has experience with? I am the one going out and fighting pirates, or returning lost worlds to Compliance." I quip and sip some wine.

The Archmagos doesn't drink, but I bet he wants to.

The cogitator screen powers up, and brings the corvette schematic out for examination. I cringe while I look over it. Whoever designed the STC pattern for the corvette class had no idea what space warfare is.

Then I draw a connecting wire and plug it into my head, and download my modified STC design, containing what I want for a cheap ship.

Armor is not 2 meters of Iridium-tungsten alloy, but a triple layer of plasteel, IT alloy and ceramite plating, with 10 meters of ultra cheap plasteel. Shock and recoil will deform the less resilient plasteel, but it does return to shape by itself. This also prevents spalling and stops dozens of other problems like boarding pods and explosive decompression.

The void shield is split up into three layers, each decreasing the potency of the penetrating shots, until it splashes futile on the ceramite plating and dissipates.

The reactor core has a secondary room, used for emergency or combat levels on extra power. Same thing with the Gellar generator, using two units for redundancy.

The macrocannon batteries use shell magazines, loaded from an upper deck, and then falling into place and being fired like a semi-automatic gun. They would still need 40 crew per gun, but it would not be 400 like they do now.

My new LR plasma cannon pattern is mounted on a sealed turret and can track targets in 360 degrees and the whole lower hemisphere, because it's mounted on the ventral side.

The ship even has 40 point defense multi-lasers, a pair of space fighters and a shuttle in a hangar behind the bridge. The officers could now evacuate at speed in case of imminent destruction.

Also has 10 hunter-killer launchers on gimbal mounts, if they need to engage boarders or hive organisms of smaller size.

The armored prow has two torpedo launchers inside, because torpedoes are the coolest thing ever. They make a big boom when they hit. The torpedoes are also 50 meters long and are expended in one salvo.

The Fabricator compares my 'Deimos' pattern corvette and runs a few simulations. Of course, my thing is much better, even if it costs 20 percent more. It is at least 200 percent better and uses 200 percent fewer crew.

"Does Antax have this already?" he asks me with a pained sigh. So this is not about the ship, but competition with their rivals.

"No. I have another pattern for them, but it doesn't have the macrocannon new pattern. Nor torpedoes." I explain and let him draw his own conclusions.
"At least there's that. And you want those Grand Cruisers to use the faster macrocannon feed?" The Fabricator asks and stares at me for too long.

I set down my wine glass and try to look calm and powerful.

"This humble one would never presume to want anything from the Machine Cult, Fabricator. If you consider the new pattern safe and efficient, then I will use it. The same with all the upgrades myself and my officers dream about. We are not shipbuilders but ship users." I answer in a level voice, trying to appear scared but brave.

Which I am. The Mechanicus are scary. And I try to be brave, in front of a war machine able to dismantle space marines in a minute. I've seen Gyron dismantle people before, a dozen in a few seconds. He didn't just kill them, he harvested their useful parts while they were still alive and standing. A blur of tentacles, then corpses fell down without brains or nerves.

"And you know your place too. Must be hard, as you go beyond and speak with the voice of your Emperor. Then you come back as a mere ship captain, like millions of others in the Imperium, without any privilege." He wonders with some irony.

I nod shyly. "There is temptation of course. I fight it every day, and restrain myself, lest I become someone like those pirates I hunted down."

Another holoscreen opens, with a new trade list. I can pick 6 brand-new destroyers, a dozen Baneblade heavy tanks, and a fully refit Grand Cruiser, the best of what the Mechanicus can throw at it.

No Knights though. Damn it.

I knew Metalica was rich, but this is beyond belief. Not even my grandfather has gained so much favor. Something in my gifts must be worth much more than I thought. I did give them 10 new STCs.

I tap the remodeled cruiser and examine the refit. Pretty much everything I want. Except teleporters.

Oh well. I probably need to visit Mars for that.

"I will need it ready in 90 years." I muse to myself. The Grand Cruiser is nearly battleship in size, and will be able to match older battleships after refit.

The screen changes to the sector map and projected courses for known invasions. Brimlock is highlighted...and a few others.

The Fabricator turns to stare at me with a flash of lense glare. "All this, just to stop the tyranids..." he replies with a sad voice.

I gulp the wine and nod in silence. That, but not only that. "And the Knight suits, if that's possible."

Chaos Incursions cannot be predicted, not by tracing vectors on a map. But I know they'll happen. They might even happen when I remember, so I can prepare.

"Come back in a decade or two, young captain. My shipyards are full of contracted vessels. But there's time to complete your favor as well. For once, I'm glad to find a human that's not in a rush." he urges me and waves me away.

And thus, I collect the Baneblades then I fly back to the Litany, and depart, heading for Forge Tigrus first, to collect the other frigate. Waiting 20 years for 6 new destroyers from Metalica isn't that bad.

I leave the Grand cruisers behind, one with minimal crew and a thousand tech priests helped by their servitors. This is parked in a neutral orbit and awaits refit. The other Grand Cruiser is taken over by Forge Metalica, as their property.

Two Cobra destroyers escort me on the journey to Tigrus, with a single clan member appointed as captain for each of them. They are both my aunts, and have centuries of ship experience. Still, I'm running out of clansmen.

I need a bigger family if I'm to gain more ships...finding more wives as well.

I also need a better clan name than Lancefire. Best not to mess with that yet. The Warrant is in that name after all.
The newly recruited Knight pilot is a bit despondent at my failure, but we still have other places to try.

Meanwhile, he trains the armor regiment in maneuver tactics, speed, flanking, and all that. I already provided some measure of combined arms and flexibility, but it's better to have an actual expert in charge.

Although a decade has passed in the galaxy, for me it has been much less, due to the saved time by Warp travel.

At Forge Tigrus, I get a much better reception, and nobody fires on my ships. That's improvement, right there.

I still waste a month with negotiations and bartering, gifting a few STCs patterns for a whole company of Leman Russ Vanquishers and 500 new Chimeras.
This includes a stripped down corvette pattern, without triple shields or a double Gellar field. It's cheap, fast and quite effective against small sized targets.

Then I manage to collect the Sword frigate, from under the nose of some arrogant Navy Admiral, and run away before he gets violent. I get no respect from these high brass Navy types.

A month later I arrive at Antax for upgrades to my armor regiment, and ask for a single Knight suit. The Fabricator asks to see my pilot, tests him for compatibility and loyalty, and then promises to build him a new suit in 20 years.

Whitelance cries in relief. His life has meaning again. Especially if the Fabricator manages to craft a Force sword for his suit. That thing could cut through demons or Necrons, just like any Force_Weapon.

So I use the opportunity to make him swear himself to my House, and give him a few pretty cousins as brides, to bind him closer. Hopefully, his genes will pass on and allow me to create my own Knight House.

Forge World Antax has already produced a dozen corvettes, all different variants as they test configurations and reactor outputs, and perhaps engines or weapons.

I add my own variant, designed for long range missions, thus with very few consumable ammunition, like macrocannons or torpedoes.

Instead, it has advanced plasma cannons, two of them, 50 multilasers and 10 missile launchers.

And by advanced, I mean simplified to hell, reducing wear and heat buildup with oversized Iridium and plasteel turrets that serve as radiators. And by oversized, I mean 100 meters wide. Bigger than a lance battery turret.

With triple void shields and a doubled reactor, this corvette is almost as durable as a destroyer...while the shields last.

Costs ten times less, because it uses a single beam of adamantium for structural support.

My transport ships have already arrived with melted hulls from the pirate ships, but once the adamantium is reforged, it will be good as new.

"I heard you captured two Grand Cruisers, Lord Pef?" The Fabricator asks without any ulterior motive.

"Yes. Gave them to Metalica. I need ships now, and they promised 6 new destroyers, plus a dozen Baneblades." I answer mostly truthful.

The Fabricator sighs in defeat. He knows he cannot give me as much.

"And the Lament?" he wonders in a small voice. The old battered cruiser?

Ah, he got the transport guys to spill all the beans. But it's good anyway.
"Is that ship of any use to you, Fabricator? I doubt it can even travel safely this far. Only calculated jumps, 4 light years or less." I explain with a shrug.

The Magos stares up, then blurts some binary toward Gyron.

"I will send a Manufactory ship then. Gyron will have command of it, while it is beyond Empire borders." he explains in a pleading voice.

Oh? He really wants to grab a big ship then.

I hum and pretend to think it over. "Fine. You can repair the old ship and bring it home. But afterwards, the Forge ship stays. Crew included. I have 50 planets in need of tractors and pipes and everything. It's brutal out there, without civilization and wealth like here. And I have a Hive world...plenty of human resources."

The Fabricator considers this for a long time. "Questor mechanicus?" he asks after a whole minute.

Hmmm. That would mean near servitude for his Forge World. The clan would mutiny, if I just gave away all they fought and died for.

"One world. You pick which." I answer back.

"Good. Gyron will decide after he knows more. But if you want those ships, you provide the minerals, organics and officers. Agreed?" The Fabricator demands in a forceful voice.

I agree of course. Who else would build me whatever I need for free? The Mechanicus are really the best!

 

[Pef]

My armor regiment takes a few months to be upgraded to my needs, with hunter-killer missiles and multi-lasers, the tracks and drive train modified for more reliability, auspex sensors for day and night combat and so on.

I even manage to obtain ceramite facing for the frontal glacis of my tanks. This will make frontal assaults of fortified positions much less costly.

Adamantium is too heavy and expensive for lesser machines, unlike for Baneblades or Titans.

Plus, without shields most ground units are considered expendable anyway. Too many things can and will pierce armor or ignore it completely.

It is the very reason I designed the new corvettes with triple shielding. Armor composition doesn't need to be adamantium if you have three void shields.

The grenadier regiment gets replenished to full strength as well, although it comes it a few Imperial Guard officers of dubious provenance and loyalty. Might need to sacrifice them on some glorious mission.

The Eastern Fringe is dangerous enough, without problems caused by insider grumbling and friction.

My new ships also receive some upgrades in meantime, and the torpedoes and missiles are re-stocked, which is always a problem once you leave the logistic train.

The new frigate is named Ode for the Vanquished, to keep the theme and I have to part with another competent relative and send her to become Captain. Lisanna Quinta is either a sister or a cousin, but she is the same age as me and looks much like me.

Pale blond hair, blue eyes and a thin but robust body. She served in gunnery and boarding actions before, and she's as trained as any clan member. Hopefully not a glory hound like my brother, but you never know.

Magos Gyron stays on Antax to await his Manufactory ship being readied for permanent departure from Imperial space. A Forgeship is an amazing gift for me, as it will allow us to produce consumable munitions like shells or missiles, plus the know-how to start a new Forge World for my own domain in the Fringe.

Thus, the trip to Ileviar is strange, without my mentor and his constant lessons. I have Henna and the two concubines, so I'm not bored or lonely, but I still feel I lost something.

Of my 3 kids on board, 2 are Blanks, and Decima has another Blank boy with her. So it's 3 out of 4 so far, a sign of a truly useful mutation.
Henna is aiming to become pregnant again, but the void marine girls decide to wait and get back in shape.

Their training has slacked, and they try to return to peak health and strength. They also rotate as nurses and guards for the nursery, which lets me sleep better.

I train my body as well, with the new grenadiers. It's an old trick, but always works. It binds troops to their commander, if they see him sweat beside them.
Then hours of officer lessons, both as teacher and student.

Wentian and Whitelance teach advance courses in ship boarding, planetary assault and maneuver, and I need to learn it all. Even if I don't intend to practice the stuff in person, sometimes the war comes to you.

Then I go to my lab and tinker with STC designs, struggling to create ever simpler and more rugged patterns for various war machines, as well as common tools like lamps and flashlights and anything powered by electricity.
Except digital computers.

Although I'm almost certain I could reproduce working PC designs, the Immaterium would notice and certainly infect them with ghosts, daemons or other worse stuff.
Keeping everything analog is tedious, but much safer. Not completely safe of course. Nothing is.
Late into the evening I mostly listen to clan stories or amazing feats from Wentian and Whitelance, immersing myself in the culture of humanity.

Then I return to my wife, and make love and babies. Hopefully another Blank, safe from the Warp and psykers.
It will take decades for them to grow up and competent, but I have time. Even my new cruiser will need 90 years to be refit and upgraded.

Doing things by hand is slow. Even if you have twenty metallic tentacles instead, like the tech-priests of the Cult Mechanicus.
But then, if even the Emperor accepted them and signed the Olympus Treaty, so there must have been a good reason for it.

I focus on vox and video transmissions next, as communications are always important in combined arms warfare.
Changing a thing and there, then testing and changing again. After a month of constant improvement I complete a more resilient but clearer vox transmitter pattern.

I will wait to arrive at Ilevar to 'discover' it in some catacomb and then sell it to the Mechanicum in a few distinct variants.
Generally it takes 3 or more variations for a new pattern to be accepted as distinct, especially if it has a different focus, like range or strength or reliability.

The tech-priests are not stupid, and some of them have tried this themselves. But they never had a good cover story like I do, returning from the beyond with ships and weapons and patterns after conquering new planets.
It is exactly the mandate of my Warrant, and nobody can blame me for being successful.

I kinda expect that Antax's Fabricator General knows or suspects something, but I will never admit it, and he will never ask.

He has plausible deniability if he doesn't ask.
New STC patterns, found by a Rogue Trader in barbarian ruins. The Cult sends expeditions out for the exact same reason, after all.

But as this is a Hive world, I can improve other urban machines, like it is expected a Hive world would have. And if they are simpler and more efficient, all the better.

Of course, this is 40k and the good times never last.
We arrive at Ilevar to find it under attack by an Ork Waaagh!

Is not a huge invasion, like the kind able to conquer a forge world, but Orks multiply fast. Like fungi. Because they are fungi, only slightly sentient ones.

And as they gather mass and numbers, they become smarter and more potent in Warp manipulation, from immense luck to simply ignoring the laws of physics or common sense.

A few hours later, as we approach the inhabited world, we regroup with our cruiser and other destroyer and gather for a strategy conference.

"Three Hive cities have fallen and the Orks are looting everything to create more weapons." Decima reports and marks the fallen cities. Perhaps 10 billion people on the planet, and 3 billions are already lost.

This is not a huge Hive with a trillion people like in the Empire. The cities are big, but are still mostly self-sufficient.

A trio of Ork Roks, sort of powered meteorites, that serve as landing craft for their armies have landed on top of the indicated Hives, possibly because the pirates have already looted their void shields and everything that could have helped.

In space, there's a dozen of Ork Kroozers, also of human origin maybe, but refurbished by the greenskins in their usual manner, guns everywhere and rusted steel spikes. Can't tell what they were before.

A Kill_Kroozer should pose no problem if logic applied to Orks. Simply blast it from afar until it falls apart. But these ships are painted black, so they should be way more durable.

They also move quite fast and throw tremendous firepower out. More Dakka than I have, by 100 times.

A squad of these bastard ships can even take on a battleship. And I don't have a battleship anyway.

I open the galactic map and look for a diversion. Larnano was right in the way.

"Oi, you big boss captain! You want a fight?" I send via the vox channel, to the surprise of everyone on the bridge.

"You big hero hummie?" another gruff voice answers.

"You think you're hard and strong killing weakling hummies in cities? The big bugs would eat you all, like they do at Larnano. Big fight there, a thousand Navy ships lost." I explain politely.

As expected, greed and stupidity shouldn't mix. The Navy might have lost some ships, but there's ten thousand Hive bioships why.

The Kroozers receive coordinates for Larnano and depart, leaving their brethren on the ground without support.

Expendable grunts, like expected.

Now it's mop up and training for our armored regiment, the grenadiers and the combat servitors.

We even manage to save one Hive city and half the inhabitants.

If only all our enemies were such morons.

I mean, we still lost like 2 billion people to a bunch of overgrown mushrooms, so it's not all nice.

The Baneblades have a field day, basically immune to anything the Orks can throw at them. Like spears and javelins. Bullets too, but they only make pretty sparks.

We barely lose 100 Chimeras and a thousand grenadiers, due to combined arms attacks, including orbital firepower.

The locals become much friendlier at once, and now we have a recruiting planet for a thousand regiments.

And while I meet the Nobles and Merchants to discuss their new fate, Decima selects a dozen new concubines for me.

This will bind the planet to me even more, and I decide to plant the flag here, and make this world my capital.
The tech-priests and the combat servitors descent into the lower levels of scum and villainy to conscript more human resources, while I begin the long task of rebuilding and civilizing this planet.

Cleaning the pollution and the warfare scars will take decades, but overall the planet is in better shape than Retribution. They even have some factories and electrical generators, so I don't start from scratch like I feared.

Training sadly falls to the side, merely one hour every morning. Then it's politics and administration, which is no fun without computers.

Luckily I have implants and a hundred tech-priests in my staff to help keep up with everything.

Then Gyron arrives with his Manufactory ship a year later, and everything is well.

The Orks do not return, not that I expected them to defeat a Hive splinter, no matter what Dakka they had.

"The Quest for Knowledge drives the Mechanicus to the stars" Gyron says as his greeting.

I blink and consider his words. "You were named an Explorator for the Mechanicus?" I wonder and pat his mechadendrite that he holds out.

"See! You can learn. One day you will discard this silly flesh body and turn to the machine for salvation." he proclaims in a confident tone.

I shudder and shake my head. "Not for many years, mentor."

The Magos laughs out loud, seeming amused.

 

[Pef]

Every year, Decima holds another huge ball, and invites the socialites to preen themselves in front their new Governor.

By the fifth year, I am swimming among 50 concubines and even gain a third wife, from a Noble house with roots going to the Age of Strife and beyond.

Serena Rinne-Dolean is red-headed and kinda plump. Now a Lancefire by marriage. She is also about 80 years old, though due to anti-aging treatments she looks about 25. And she will keep looking that age for a millennium or two.

Her family has founded the twin Hive city with same name. One twin is called Rinne and the other Dolean, probably after the original founders. Now the cities are united into a large metropolis with over 1 billion people, although most of those are lower caste workers and servants.

Even outside the Empire, the hierarchies and the mode of operation remains largely similar, due to inertia.

You might change the Governor for a King or Prince, but the pyramidal structure of a Hive city will not change.

And below the factory levels, there's the underhive, a maze of pipes and conduits and sewage plants, all infested by gangs and criminals.

Not as numerous now, due to the Mechanicus tech-priests forcefully recruiting them for other purposes, like agriculture and mining and war.

But, they did find a few Blanks and where there is one there will be more.

A special compound is created for those with the blessing, and a dozen astropaths now scour the Hives for more Blanks.

The original Blanks are not very important by themselves, but they are sent to a remote mountain valley for training and breeding and schooling and other eugenic purposes.

My own kids will join the compound, to reduce the pressure on the Navigator and his astropath choir.
But only when I have to travel. I want to enjoy loving my kids, and nobody is allowed to interfere.

In real space Blanks are mostly harmless, not that Navigators are allowed in my nursery.

I am tempted to create a similar compound for Navigators, but they refuse. Either way, they do come to mingle at the Governor balls and eventually will spread their seed.

Decima has promised large rewards for any woman that manages to seduce a Navigator. Even bridge positions for her kids or similar boons. For a small merchant house it would be huge.

There is also a Navigator lady, but she never leaves her quarters on the Iconoclast destroyer. I suspect she has mutated beyond what's acceptable in society. The Warp just works that way, and flesh is weak.

An even better reason to want Blanks for officers, as many as possible.

Also, a reason to post armed guards around that Navigator quarters, most of them combat servitors. And a squad of void marines for every other Navigator. Just in case.

By the tenth year, we finally manage to unlock an Atomantic arc-reactor from the Fellblade, and copy the original design. Upgrading the thing will be even harder, as the tech is so advanced and complicated it might as well be magic.

Gyron heads that task, while I focus on the plasma guns from the Stormblade. Again, copying the schematic in original format is possible, but not useful.

Forge world Ryza holds the 'patent' for the original Stormblade, and thus I need something significantly different for my own STC.

A tri-barrel project is possible and will even increase the rate of fire, but it would be unwieldy and cumbersome, as the twin guns are big even so. A single barrel plasma blastgun is better, as I could adapt that for Leman Russ tanks and perhaps even ship-to-ship combat.

Perhaps even for a small Titan...or maybe a Knight. I don't have any of those yet, so it's all theoretical.

But for tanks...it could be similar to the Macharius_Omega, only with much fewer problems.

Time flies, and 8 years later I am finished with this project, the Ilevar plasma gun pattern. Gyron is also finished with a slightly larger but easier to manufacture and maintain arc reactor,

I also have 200 children, and about 30 of them Blanks and ready for service. Not as many as I hoped, but much better than nothing.

The Blank valley has produced 100 more kids, and half of them are Blanks, possibly due to having both parents with the special gene.

All their girls are set aside to become my concubines in the future, while the boys are sent to my new naval officer school.
As officers, they will be given a generous stipend to form their own harems and produce more Blanks for the clan. Like a minor house. It's not exactly eugenics, but works much the same. I know of dog races that have been created using the same methods.

A last Governor ball marks my departure, and luck has it a Navigator finds himself a darling to warm his nights. Navigator genes acquired!

Gyron sets a Magos Biologis on the task of disseminating those genes to willing donors, by surgical implantation.

My eldest son, Primus Victor, accompanies Magos Yulinaz, to maintain a protective anti-psyker field for the security of the surgeries.

Victor also is tasked with finding himself a hundred concubines, with his mother's help. Decima seems rather happy with that task. It will mean grandkids and she can barely wait.

Most of my forces remain home, as defense against another possible invasion, and only the Rainment escorts my cruiser back to Imperial space.

Gyron sends a crew of his tech-priests on board the Lament as it departs for Antax as well.

Then we leave and hope for the best. With 2 frigates and 5 destroyers as a fleet in being, my personal empire should be mostly safe. There are a hundred new PDF regiments guarding the cities now, beside our armor and grenadiers. A thousand more regiments will be trained and equipped over the next decades, but manufacturing laser weapons is slow.

A dozen transport ships loaded with minerals and organics follow my cruiser in a big convoy, with a regiment loaded as protection against boarders of any type.
A couple of weeks later we arrive at Antax.

Did I mention this is the damn Warhammer 40 thousand universe?

A large Ork Waaaagh is assaulting Forge Antax, called Whaaagh! Gutstompa.

The Blood Angels space marines are fighting beside the Mechanicus war engines, tanks and skitarii and Titans.

Luckily, Forge Antax had just produced 100 new corvettes designed by myself, and they help maintain a protective umbrella over the shipyards and Titan manufactoriums.

There is no need for desperate pleas for help. Without Antax I am screwed anyway.

I launch everything I can, fighters and torpedoes, lance batteries fire until their barrels glow red.

I deplete all the missiles and the Rainment get badly damaged by a lucky Ork Kroozer before its luck runs own and eats a salvo of servitor piloted torpedoes.

On the ground I cannot help as much, since my armor is back home, but I use the guards and the void marines to safeguard the orbitals, tech priests leading swarms of combat servitors to cleanse the greenskin infestation from the shipyards and mass elevators.

The multilasers fire rapidly to blow up Ork fighter-bombers, which shouldn't even be able to fly in vacuum with propellers and chemical rockets.

But logic is joke for a big Waaagh, and the Orks don't care anyway. Their contraptions are red, so they fly fast.

My arrival breaks the back of the orbital deadlock, and I manage to destroy three Ork Kroozers before they turn towards me. The Lament cruiser helps as well and cripples a dozen smaller Ork escorts.

The Mechanicus fleet takes advantage and blasts the exposed backside and engines of the Ork ships, then begin launching boarders.

I fly away and wait, since I'm fresh out of boarding units. Out of torpedoes and missiles as well.

In a week, the Waaagh loses most of their naval forces, and a few Kroozers retreat, while a dozen more hulks drift in space, with Mechanicus servitors and tech-priests going over everything for salvage.
A hundred shattered escorts as well, both human and not.

There is enough adamantium and other rare components in these prizes to craft a thousand new ships. Even if the Ork weapons are worthless, they can be studied and then melted and re-forged again.

On the ground, the fighting continues for two more months, as there were a hundred million Orks if not more. Orbital bombardments help, but they have to be restricted in close proximity to forges and factories.

Sadly, 60 corvettes and 20 destroyers have been lost by Antax, about a decade of hard work lost to yet another batch of green mushrooms.

The space marines got away easy, only losing a lander and a dozen brothers. I suspect they were lost to the Black_Rage, more than the Ork weapons.

Still, I will not ask and respect their dead. Without them, the Orks might have gained access to Titans and Titan making facilities. And then things would have been really bad.

Thus, I land for a meeting with the Fabricator General and the Space Marine Captain Donatos_Aphael and offer my support. And then share a dozen gifts equally with both, since we fought together and thus we are bound by blood honor.

The Marine almost refuses, before the Fabricator explains.
"Lord Donatos, such is the way of this Captain Pef Lancefire. Everything he finds out in the wilderness he gives away to the Imperium, mostly to Forge Worlds. We help him in turn with ships and tanks and tech-priests. But as we have fought together..."

The Space Marine towers over me and shakes my hand in thanks. "We cannot produce these STC designs anyway, Lord Pef. Might as well give them to the Tech-priest so that they increase the arsenal of humanity."

I nod slowly. In truth, I don't have anything that could help a Space Marine Chapter. They have the best equipment and priority to replacements.

Still, I do have a wild card. "I understand, Captain. But there is something you do need. The same thing the Fabricator has tasked me with. Blank genes, immune to the Immaterium." I hold my hand out to the tech-priest and he blurs into action, draining me of a litter of blood and packing it into a dozen vials for the Space Marine.

Captain Aphael loses composure for a second, before receiving the gift of blood with reverence. "Our gene-seers and Librarians will need to test it, of course. But...if it does work."

"Yes, I have a hundred children out in the Fringe. And their children sometimes receive the same gift. It will take time to spread out the genes to an entire Hive world, but not that much. Perhaps 10 generations. It is exponential growth after all. With no mutations." I explain softly.

The Space Marine blinks in surprise and hope. "The Emperor protects! Even the mere hope is enough to sustain me now. Thank you, Lord Pef!" he proclaims and bows a millimeter.

This is unexpected. But then, fortune favors the bold.

"Inform the Fabricator General should the gene-seed be compatible. In two decades I will assemble a hundred potential Blank recruits and bring them here at Antax. If they work, I will consider a permanent solution." I reply politely.

This might not work at all. Or it might backfire somehow.

All three of us hold hands and tentacles as a new pact if forged over my blood, and the blood shared in battle.

 

[Pef]

The Iconclast remains at Antax for repairs and refit, since the damage is too great for it to travel safely through Warp.

Gellar fields need the hull to be intact and impermeable, else demons could insert themselves inside the ship. And the Rainment is definitely not intact.

The Lament crusier stays as well, as a gift and extra protection for the Antax Forge world while it recovers from the Ork attack.

And I receive a Space Marine bodyguard, because my blood is now really important. Blood Angels value blood very much, for some reason.

Not sure if I should feel pleased or under arrest, with the power armored giant following me everywhere.

"Lord Ludvaius, is there a need to guard my bedroom from inside?" I wonder out loud.

"It is my duty. What if a demon warps right in here?" the Veteran Marine replies with a smirk, and rolls his only eye. The other eye is a bionic one, which does offer some advantages in low visibility fighting.

I sigh in defeat and jump in my bed, and begin my own duty, as the concubines will not become pregnant without arduous effort.

If I am to obtain a thousand sons for the space marines, I need to step up and work hard.

Decima sits on a large pillow and gives me helpful advice, tempo and breathing and pacing myself. She then pats her own inflated belly and smiles sweetly at the Space Marine.

A few hours later, I crash into sleep, spent and drained dry.

"Your body of flesh is utilitarian, crudely functional."
1001111000000

The implant mocks my weak flesh, but I'm too tired to care.

Soon we will reach Forge Metalica and begin a new barter process, with the new discoveries I bring.

I refrain from working on STC designs for now, until I know the Marine Sergeant better. I don't want a bolter round to ruin my pretty head for heresy.

Perhaps misfortune mingles with luck for the Blanks, as I find another Navy Admiral at Metalica, trying to confiscate my Grand Cruiser and my Cobra destroyers.

I don't doubt the Navy needs ships badly. But that's also because they use them badly.

They spend them like torpedoes and just ask for more.

I personally been in command of five fleet actions and haven't lost a single ship of our own, and instead captured quite a few.
So, when I land on Forge Metalica I am rather glad for the big and menacing marine that demands respect as the Emperor's own son....if thrice removed.

With a simple link to the Fabricator's cogitator, I unload my gifts and then load up my combat missions and how I have captured the prizes in orbit.

"See, Lord Admiral. I fought overwhelming odds out in the Eastern fringe, defeated a multiplanetary pirate empire and captured their big ships. Then I returned to the Empire and gave everything to the Mechanicus forges, including a dozen STC new patterns.
I even defended Forge Antax from a large Ork Waaagh, just a year ago, with the big marine behind me as a witness. Haven't lost a single ship. " I explain with a cold voice.

The Fabricator General nods as well. "I can attest that. Lord Pef has helped humanity with huge efforts and results. But you refused to include the new corvettes in your battlefleet. They did work wonders for Antax."

"I was there." Ludvaius says curtly.

The Admiral looks around for support, but even his loyal retinue won't speak against a space marine.

"Then...how many of these corvettes could you produce in a decade?" he asks the tech-priest.

The Fabricator almost smiles. I never seen a happy tech-priest, but it seems I made his day.

"With proper minerals and organic supplies, Forge Metalica can provide the Imperial Navy with 100 ships per decade. But if they prove themselves, and the Navy orders more, we will open more dockyards. At maximum output 500 ships per decade." the Fabricator announces proudly, and plots a graph on the holoscreen with the required mineral tonnage.

It's still megatonnes of iron and iridium and tungsten, but for a galactic sized empire, this is nothing.

The corvettes are really cheap in comparison with bigger vessels like frigates or cruisers.

The Admiral tugs his beard and powers up his own implant. "Well then. I need ships, and 500 ships will help immensely even if they are weaker. Make it so."

"Please send the request through the Administratum, Lord Admiral. It is the law as per the Olympus treaty. But don't worry. It may take a decade for your requisition order to be approved, but the ships will be ready." the tech priest answers with a metallic grin.

With a gruff nod, the Admiral leaves and I can return to my favorite past time in the Empire. Favors.

"Is the space marine your guard, Lord Pef?" the Fabricator wonders a bit worried. Some of our deals weren't quite legal, now that I think on this.

"Well, Lord Ludvaius? Can I trade with the cogheads or should I just shoot myself before the tyranids arrive?" I wonder out loud.

The Fabricator snickers like a child.

"I will wait outside, Lord Pef. Your blood must not be spilled yet." the marine quips and leaves me alone with the tech-priest.
"I never thought I could have fun with meatbags, but today everything seems amazing. Atomantic reactors, plasma cannons, and even the corvettes got ordered. Your Emperor must be watching over you, Captain." he says in a pleased voice.

I cough politely. "Yes, he has his son watching over me right now. And I expect to receive a whole company soon. In a few decades, I mean."

The Fabricator nods as if he expected this. Then he powers up the cogitator and loads the Antax recordings. "Those corvettes...they are amazingly suitable for long range operations, with nearly no consumables. And the schematics you gifted me are bound tightly into the Imperial logistics, for macrocannon shells and torpedoes."

"They are also easy to operate by illiterate serfs and armsmen. And yes, the Imperium has billions of factories, they can produce shells in any numbers. I don't have such luxury." I explain without any regret.

It is true, after all.

Uneducated people impressed into the Navy can be trained to push shells around and unload them by the thousands. Plasma guns need a bit more finesse and care.

"Yes, yes. We agree on how incompetent humans are. Or at least the unwashed masses. What do you want for all these patterns, Lord Pef?" he asks me directly.

"Anything you can spare. You know I will return again, perhaps with even nicer gifts." I quip in a small voice.

Again with the want. I don't want things for my pleasure.

A larger list opens up, now including rare machines and weapons that I don't even know which side is up.

"I admit, I don't know what these are. Rare relics, maybe?" I say in a meek voice.

"Volkite_Weapons, Arc_Weapons, Hellguns, Inferno pistols and all the good stuff the marines may use. The last thing is a teleporter, though it needs a potent psyker to operate." the Fabricator explains in a teasing tone.

"Titans too?" I ask in a hopeful voice.

"Tiny titans, for a tiny captain. Knights. But we will need to test your pilots first." He explains with a wave of tentacles.

Maximum limit reached, noted. No Titans. I shouldn't have asked. Not even the marines have Titans, silly Pef.

"I have read about something called a Macharius tank. I wonder if it could be equipped with these reactors and guns, like baby Baneblades. But without needing ammo for weapons, or promethium for fuel." I propose in a curious voice.

The Fabricators freezes in deep thought. "Normally I would kick you out for trying to impose on my gratitude, but it seems it could work. But I don't have Macharius STC templates..."

"Yes, I have been told by other Fabricators...Forges don't share templates. But they might share with me...for something of great value. If only I knew where to go." I propose in a level tone.

He probably wanted me to ask, as he would receive the benefit for free.

"Forge world Lucius holds the original. But Graia also has it. And Anvilus Nine as well. I heard you have visited Graia some time ago." the Fabricator says in a flat voice.

"I did. But their location was compromised by Hive fleet Kraken, and they have moved elsewhere. Anvilus_Nine it is. If I die out there, I will blame you." I quip in a joking voice.

The tech-priest just nods. "It is possible, Lord Pef. But you have proven resourceful, and always survived and prospered. However, even if you die the Grand Cruiser will be remitted to your clan. I am not trying to renege on my promise."

With that, we return to bitter bartering and choosing the destroyers I need, then upgrading their sensors for deep exploration.
More re-supplies like torpedoes and missiles, a new fighter squadron and a squad of Vulture gunships for ground support.

Whitelance tests a few Knights and picks a melee variant with a Power Sword, and a multi-melta sidegun.

Sergeant Ludvaius receives a Power Maul taller than him, and an Inferno pistol, which seems tiny in his hand. Makes a big boom though and can pierce tank armor.

I get a light power armor, because the space marine insists on keeping my blood safe.

I remember my father having something just like this and didn't help him much, except give him a false sense of security. Then again, in this galaxy it's better to have and not need.

Then I pick an artificer quality hellpistol, the kind without a huge pack on my back.

Since lasers have no recoil, it suits me better than a bolter or something more powerful.

Then I also take a small Power Dagger, because some things might get too close.

And since I lack natural weapons like claws or flexible tail, a dagger will be useful. It can also cut through power armor, so it's nice.

More time passes till my squadron is ready to depart, as the 6 Cobra-destroyers are brand-new and their captains too. The Mechanicus provides me an auxiliary guard regiment and a thousand more Tech-priests for maintenance and repairs, as well as an armor battalion should I need to debark on Anvilus in force.

With this, I am now out of worthy clansmen officers to promote to Captain rank. I shouldn't complain though. I have quite a few ships now, even if I lack a heavy warship as a fleet core.

The Grand Cruiser is barely going through initial repairs now, and I can only hope it will be ready in 70 years.

Then again, building one takes at least 500 years, not that anyone still builds them anymore.

They are relics for a reason. The STC patterns were lost to war and mutiny, so it's possible Metalica will try to reverse-engineer the design by comparing the two working models they have.

"Engage!" I command from my Captain bridge.

Of course, the bridge windows are now closed and armored since staring into the Immaterium isn't healthy.

The Warp opens and swallows my 7 ships with a hungry violet mouth. We travel through Hell.

 

[Pef]

Simply training and teaching officers is boring.

I need to work on more STC designs, and Gyron isn't very inventive. Good head for math and science, of course. But the Mechanicus have stagnated for a reason.

When they invent new things, they tend to overcomplicate and go for broke, usually with disastrous results. Many Forge worlds have been lost to genius scientists that open the jar and peek inside nasty things.

What I do is rather the opposite, most of the time. Simplify the machine and make it easier to construct, repair and maintain.

And so far, this has worked great, with improved results going from a few percents to 300 percent in a few cases.

"What are you doing?" the big Astartes asks as I sit at my cogitator and play with a couple Hydra and Manticore STC templates.

"Trying to save the universe. Imagine this, my friend. There are about 5 billion armored vehicles in the Imperium. Half of them are based on the Chimera template, This ugly thing here." I begin my explanation, going from the far to the close.

"So it is. We have techmarines in our chapter." the veteran Astartes confirms amused.

"Of those Chimera variants, 1 billion sit unused in various Munitorum depots, for various reasons like strategic reserve or replacements in case of invasion. But about 10 percent are simply broken. For example, the tracks wear out and nobody can repair 100 million tanks, because only tech-priests know how." I explain further, and zoom in on the tracks.

"I know, Lord Pef. Knowledge is dangerous and all that. I hear the same from our tech-marines, very often." Lord Ludvaius says softly.

"But now imagine these tracks were more resilient and very simple to repair. Just the tracks. Broken machines in the field would be fewer. The Munitorum could repair and release the damaged tanks back to their regiments. The Imperium would gain 100 million tanks right now, and would lose millions less every year. The Forge Worlds could produce them faster and free a few forges to craft more fighters or gunships." I announce proudly, and produce the simpler track design.

Astartes are very smart. Lord Ludvaius immediately notes the simpler design, that even himself can understand now.

"Is this for real? I saw you gave Metalica a lot of advanced designs with fancy names. Nothing this simple." he wonders out loud.

"Yes. It is a real design. My best invention so far. Taking a complicated machine and making it simpler." I say in a meek voice.

If there's a bolter round coming...

To my surprise, the Astartes chuckles and pats my head. "So this is your big secret, huh? Making crazy complicated machines into easy ones. More durable too, I assume?"

I sigh in relief. "Well...only by 10 percent. The ancients were very smart and didn't make huge mistakes in picking the right materials or such. They just had better forges and technology, so complicated mechanisms were easier to do. But now, they are relics and can't be made anymore. Only if they were simplified."

"I understand. If your tracks are 10 percent more durable, humanity will lose 10 percent fewer tanks during maneuvers, perhaps even during combat." Lord Ludvaius comments in a friendly tone.

I close the schematic and open the Atomantic reactor. "This is a Forge Tigrus made tank reactor. They install them in Fellblades. Very small and expensive to make. Enormous energy output though. Enough to support shields, in fact beside energy weapons."

"Cogheads are smart, everyone knows that. They make wondrous artifacts. Just like the armor I wear. Weapons too."

I hold my hands up. "Not the point. It's complicated, expensive and very hard to produce. A whole planet makes one such reactor per year. Now look at this. My own variant."
The holoscreen splits up, to produce the larger but cheaper Retribution pattern reactor.

"It's bigger and uglier." the marine says dismissively.

"But a Forge world can make 100 of them per year. And they are cheaper and easier to repair. This other variant is even bigger, but can be installed on space fighters and bombers. Maybe even water based navy, like submarines." I reply turning to observe his reaction.

He understands, I realize in surprise. Eyes wide and thinking deeply.

"And they are cheaper too?" he asks to make sure.

"At least 10 times. No need for adamantium binders. Osmium plated with gold on the outside." Gyron speaks for the first time.

Osmium can be mined from asteroids. It's difficult...but incomparably easier than forging adamantium. Especially if you want delicate stuff, not big beams of metal.

"In a decade, you could produce a thousand heavy tanks...enough to push back a Chaos invasion." Lord Ludvaius mutters to himself.

I decide to ignore his ramblings and start working. If he didn't blow up my brains by now, he won't do it.

Gyron opens up the krak missile STC and starts taking apart every component, while I measure them for reliability and damage range.

We mark two parts as improvable, one a tiny silver pin that is prone to rupture or melting prematurely. We replace that with gold-plated steel.

The other is the proximity sensor, which was simply awful. This will take more work, but I have experience with other auspex sensors. Late in the morning, we finish upgrading the sensor to the Retribution standard.

Now we have to build a hundred such new missiles and test them.

"Going to bed..." I mutter and fall asleep.

Luckily nobody makes fun of me now. I am only human, and these two are not.

The trip to Anvilus continues in much the same pattern, but my concubines end up pregnant and Decima gives birth to another Blank, this time a girl.

Well...she can become an officer without problem. Even a Captain.

The Empire doesn't discriminate on sex, not much. There are jobs reserved for a certain sex, like Astartes or Battle Sisters.

They discriminate on everything else though. The Mutant, the Heretic and the Xeno. Flesh, belief and race make up like 99 percent of the actual discrimination.

Blanks and psykers are also considered mutants, which is a good reason to spend time away from the Empire.

Now, there are some things out there which does make sense to discriminate against, with any and every level of firepower available.

Demons, Tyranids, Dark Eldar...and many others.

As it happens they would gladly kill mutants, heretics and xeno without prejudice. For biomass, for souls or for pain. They all just want to consume your essence.
And the best defense against such predators? The Blank gene!

Offense as well, for those with dominant Pariah genes, whose mere presence can banish demons or chase away Tyranid Bio-titans.

Pariahs would make a great weapon against these enemies, and some groups out there already use them for this purpose. The Culexus assassin clade, the Sisters of Silence, even the Necrons or the Harlequins.

Rogue Psykers or Traitor Librarians can simply be shut off by sending a Pariah in their vicinity. And without their powers...they can be killed with normal weapons.

It is my hope some of my descendants will gain this dominant gene, and be able to fight back effectively.

Tanks are useless against a Greater Demon or a Hive Queen. Not to mention the Traitor Primarchs or corrupted Farseers and Saints which can tear apart planets with their minds.

Finally, by the time we arrive at Anvilus Nine, the new krak missile is ready, in three different patterns.

One is a small shoulder-launched weapon, useful versus power armor or light tanks. The classic version, mounted on vehicles, will damage nearly any tank, as well as gunships and fighters.

The heavy missile can damage heavy tanks, bombers and small Titans. It is also very expensive and slow to make, but not as hard as a Titan would be.

It also needs a dedicated carrier, like the Manticore tank, a missile gunship or a Space fighter.

As we arrive at Anvilus, we immediately discover signs of heavy fighting, damaged ship hulls and drifting hulks.

All are of Mechanicus origin, which doesn't bode well. "Every auspex station, sever links and go autistic." I demand in a few seconds.

If there's Scrap Code flying around...things might get ugly.

I send out a dozen Mechanicus servitor pilots in their fighters, to collect scans and observe the Forge world with a close flyby.

Meanwhile, I turn my squadron around and prepare for emergency Warp to the nearest star.

If there is a Dark Mechanicus planet here...I don't know of anything I could do.

And then we wait, tensely for more data to be collected and analyzed by the sensors and then filtered by tech-priests.

Even looking directly at an auspex sensor could infect your eyes with Ruin Code.

The stuff is evil, working on memetic principles instead of machine logic.

Imagine a viral video, that you can't ever forget. Slowly drilling into your mind until you go insane. And then you eat your fingers, or the nearby person.

Damn 40k universe.
My Astartes guard pats my shoulder. "The Emperor protects." he advises me in a calm voice.
I sigh inward. I wanted to protect him!

 

[Pef]

By the next day, after the fighters return to the cruiser, we hold a conference to decide what to do.

It seems the Forge World is dead and deserted, nothing moving or shooting back. This could be the prize of the millennium, should we find anything intact.

The risks are proportional, as it seems the local Mechanicus Cult has split into religious factions and battled each other to death.

Gyron believes it our duty to survey and explore the remains, like any tech-priest would. The Quest for Knowledge isn't just words, but a way of life.

The Astartes is more cautious, since infected machines could still be awake deep underground, and just bait us to land...and then eat us.

The clan crew is split up, because the rewards could make each of them richer than a Noble. But only if they survive.

In the end I chose both major options. My cruiser will depart for Forge Tigrus with any minimal loot that we can grab from deep space, while a single destroyer and most of the tech-priests and servitors will be sent to the planet to start the investigation.

The other destroyers are sent back to my capital, Ilevar, to bring our transport fleet and mining barges here to carry the loot, under escort.

Compared to raw minerals from asteroids, scraped hulks made of adamantium and possibly full of rare and ancient technologies are less worthy than dirt. Mining can hold for now, since every planet in my empire has been given a small forge and its tech-priests from Metallurgicus and Technicus clades. They can search for planet-side minerals and be fine for a while.

Also, I am almost certain that Metalica's Fabricator has lied to me, since news about this internal conflict must have been known to the Mechanicus leaders.

He just didn't want to risk it himself. Plus he knew I would give everything away, hopefully the template designs already cleaned up and upgraded.

We collect a dozen different turrets and batteries, many so exotic that I can't really identify them. Perhaps gravity shear or warp or neutron beams. A few broken space fighters with odd design choices, even a few automata. Kept under quarantine and strict security, that hangar bay is locked and depressurized for transport.

I can barely wait to receive the Grand Cruiser, which will have 20 times more internal space. Volume grows fast which each elongated dimension.

Although the reactor and generators will also be bigger, the extra space will allow for 30 fighter squadrons instead of the current 3.

The same with stockpiles of torpedoes and other consumables, like missiles, bolter rounds and autocannon bullets.

And if I install a few forges, I can even replenish some consumables or spare parts...even construct armor and power armor for my troops.

Nothing like the artificier-made power armor I wear right now, but even something 10 times simpler would increase the strength and durability of my troops at least ten times.

So, on the way to Forge Tigrus I dissect more STC templates, this time aided by another tech-priest from the Cogitatrices clade, called Fabricator Minoris Yota-7099. Gyron detached him especially for me, and said the guy had a good brain and a knack for mathematics.

I am almost tempted to call him Yoda, but they are nothing alike. Minoris is 3 meters tall with a dozen pairs of mechanical arms, each holding a different obscure device that are always flashing or beeping and murmuring prayers.

Still, he is a good scientist despite all that.

We change the Manticore template to allow an enclosed box with 10 missiles to be loaded and unloaded fast on a gimbal mount, which in turn will allow field reloads with a crane or some tall automata from Mechanicus.
This also protects the missiles from any atmospheric trouble, like rain or acid gas, also arrows, bullets and other low caliber damage. A few more upgrades to the auspex sensors and I'm finished. Minoris keeps working to upgrade the targeting cogitators, something I will sell separately, if they work.

Then I load the Hydra template and upgrade it as well, even adding a hunter-killer launcher in the design. With 2 tri-barrel multi-lasers, and the krak missile launcher, my Hydras will be 50 percent better. In range, firepower and rate of fire, along with better sensors and tracks.

If I could, I would promote this simple tank as standard composition to every Imperial Guard regiment. 100 per regiment if not double.

Then again...that would mean at least 200 million such tanks...and nobody will likely make them. Still, I try.

If I don't try, the tyranids will eat everyone. They probably will anyway. I suspect all these Hive fleets are mere the advance tendrils of a much larger Tyranid Swarm.

The scouts, so to say. And if their scouts are nearly unstoppable...damn it.

What can I do? Try to direct some more Orks at these Hives? But mushrooms, even green ones, are also biomass. The Tyranids do eat Orks just as they eat anything else.

Then I do remember something. The second Warp beacon directed at Ultramar.

"Have you ever wondered why the Navigator can still chart the course, outside the Astronomicon range?" I ask, turning toward my Astartes guard.

Then I save, the file and close the screen, since a big hand holds my head in a vice.

"Careful what you say, Rogue Trader. The Emperor sees all." he growls and his good eye turns red.

I draw a deep breath, and poke his hand. After he releases me, I wave Minoris out from my lab. The Mechanicus would do something stupid once they find out the truth.

"I was talking about the Navigator, my friend. He locks on Ultramar, which shines in the Warp so strongly he can choose the right currents without error. Macragge the Ultramarines' capital, in fact." I explain in a sterner voice.

Damn Astartes and their devotion. Even a veteran lost his cool, from a mere question.

"I don't know why. Perhaps Primarch Guilliman guides them." he answers after some thought.

I shake my head. " I know why, I just asked if you do. I ask because the Tyranids too are drawn to psychic beacons. And the Ultramarines are projecting a powerful beacon. Very similar to the Astronomicon, although it doesn't need to burn a thousand psykers every day."

The Blood Angel shrugs in dismissal, rage calming down now that it doesn't have a target.

"Seems a good thing to me, if ships can travel safer through the Warp." he adds in a softer voice.

I nod and smile. "Indeed, it is very useful. Remember, the tyranids also follow this beacon. But, if I would change the light to illuminate say Charadon ? The largest Ork empire nearby. The Tyranids would change course...and the Orks will have to fight them. And then...a thousand more enemies, even demon worlds." I whisper in a secretive tone.

The marine hugs me to his armored chest, almost crushing me. "We will do this. Directing the bugs to eat the Emperor's enemies? This is even bigger than your blood possibly curing the curse, or struggling to unlock some old weapons. And as the tyranids fight, they will become weaker too, and we would have some hope to defeat them."

I cough and pound his pauldron to get set down. "Control your emotions, Astartes. This is something that might get me killed. By the Ultramarines, then everyone else trying to control the beacon." I muter in a grumble, and sit in my armchair.

Not that gaining access and control over the xeno artifact on Sotha is even feasible right now. I'd need an Inquisitor on my side.
And a large fleet to fend off Chaos or Eldar or whoever catches wind of what I'll be doing. This blasted galaxies have plenty gods, and most of them are enemies.

The friendlier ones or their worshipers might still kill me simply on principle.

However, if the Blood Angels rally behind me, maybe the Mechanicus too...then I have a small chance.

A small chance in hell.

"Look what they've made of our dream"
000000100000

Damn it. Even my implant thinks I'm doomed.

 

[Pef]

Decades have passed since I last visited Forge Tigrus, so when I appear in the system I don't get a warm welcome.

Hah. Warm welcome...like laser hot.

There are a dozen of my cheap corvettes patrolling the system outer edge, and they show signs of repair. Melted holes barely patched and missing the normal ornaments of the Imperial Navy.

Even my cruiser has a cathedral on top, because it's the fashion.

A pair of space fighters come about and escort me into dock, refusing to discuss the cold treatment.

Could it be they figured it out? That I stole their atomantic reactor design?

If Gyron was here he would know.

"Lord Ludvaius, what are our chances if the Mechanicus are hostile?" I ask in private.

He just stares at me. For a minute.

That bad, huh?

We land to meet the Fabricator, but are received by a Fabricator_Locum instead. And she's a lady...even has a human face.

"Lord Pef...I heard you have risen in rank, even an Astartes bodyguard." she begins with a wave of tentacles.

"We fought the Orks at the Battle of Antax. Now we're good friends." I explain nothing.

Blood Angels have a single friend: Duty.

The marine chuckles amused and waves a hand back at the robot lady.

"Nice powers weapons...from Metalica I'd say." she continues with a glacial voice.

Shit! She knows...somehow. Or something.

"This time I returned to the Empire directly here to Forge Tigrus, Fabricator. I have a few STC templates as a gift, and a few relics on board the cruiser. No idea what they are, but they bear the cog sign, so they are obviously Mechanicus weapons of some kind. The hangar has been sealed and quarantined." I say and hold out a physical data storage for my templates.

Interfacing directly with a dubious cogitator that might be hostile would be ill-advised. See, I can learn.

The Magos scans the device with a dozen instruments, before plugging into it directly. A few second later, she smiles a little, perhaps satisfied with my meager gift.

"More low quality designs, though perhaps useful for the Astra Militarum. Clever fix for the Manticore re-loading problem." she adds with a knowing look.

So...the game is up, I guess. They figured out what I do...after dozens of simple templates spread out among Forge Worlds from a single source...the generous Rogue Trader with a state-of-the-art cruiser.

I can never admit to it though, not to some unknown tech-priest. They will never find my body, and probably my Astartes friend's as well.
"Well then. Should I go, or do you want those other gifts?" I ask in a meeker voice.

The Fabricator stares at me for a long minute, although she's most likely relaying my offer to other people.

"She will join the inventory team in an hour. Until then...you drink tea?" the Magos asks politely and starts a complicated tea ritual with too many tentacles.

The tea is nice though. I doubt the Cult would bother to poison me, not when I'm at their mercy anyway.

Even Ludvaius drinks some tea, and holds his thumb up to assure me it's not radioactive or such.

"This woman...happens to be an Inquisitor?" I wonder out loud, after straining my implant for a few minutes.

I might be lucky...but I just wished for an Inquisitor of my own.

The Magos lady glances at the implant ports visible on my skull. "So you have brains after all. Don't worry, she wasn't hunting you. But as you're here and have a ship available..."

The Astartes pats my head like someone would a cat. "Lord Pef is rather important for my Chapter. I will decide where and when he goes."

Now, this is something strange. Even Blood Angels wouldn't...of course they would. They just need a big enough reason, like I have just provided with my beacon plan.

The metal door opens to reveal a fabulous black-haired woman in Inquisitor garb, followed by two other Astartes, in black armor.

Deathwatch marines. Damn it.

"Please, Sergeant Ludvaius. Tell me more about this important Rogue Trader. Is it the Blank genes, that might cure your curse? I have another Blank in my retinue." she proclaims in a proud tone, holding her Rosetta out for a millisecond.

I feel something mighty trying to reach my mind, then it fades. Damn it. The Blank protection is not perfect then. It's kinda worrisome, since a Rosetta is...sanctified on Terra.

A young platinum-haired woman with piercing green eyes, steps out from behind the space marines. And I know her. I've seen her pics. And she knows me too.

"Pef Lancefire. I heard your father died, out in the fringe." she says in a slightly warm voice.

"Melta guns are harsh on the skin. Such are the dangers beyond the borders." I answer more kindly.

I never expected to meet my mother this way.

"See? Nothing to worry about, Sergeant. We're all a big happy family here." the Inquisitor quips and grins warmly.

Is she the true Inquisitor? A rosetta can be held by a trainee as well. Then again, does it matter? Only another Inquisitor can investigate her.

My Astartes sighs and stands straighter. "Your command, Lord Pef?" he asks me in a resigned voice.

Hell, we're about to die?

Not on my watch! I still have a mission.
"Fabricator, let's go and finish our negotiation protocols on the Litany. The Lady Inquisitor may join us, and we'll talk in private." I say in a flat tone, like I was surrounded by a meter of adamantium.

The Blank wouldn't help much, but they can't read my thoughts or future anyway. It will make them a bit wary.

Amazingly, my gambit works, as the Inquisitor raises an eyebrow with curiosity, and gestures silently at her enforcers.

Soon enough, we arrive on the Litany and I open the sealed hangar for the Tigrus tech-priests, and the Inquisitor.

Then I wait on the launch rails, while a hundred Magi dart from artifact to artifact spewing prayers and blessing, gushing holy oil everywhere, as well as incense smoke and datasphere engrams.

"I think they like my gifts." I announce a bit amused. These things might be really valuable.

"Aren't the cogheads always the same, around machines and weapons?" the space marine asks rhetorically.

Well they do like machines, but we never seen them like this, not this agitated, not even for new spaceship templates or tank reactors.

Wait, it's a joke. "Who knew you still had a sense of humor, Astartes. I thought they removed it surgically during implantation." I mutter in a small voice.

"They tried, but my will was stronger." he quips and pats my head again.

Damn it, I'm not a child to be praised with head pats...even if I like look much smaller in comparison.

The Lady Inquisitor records everything and performs scans on every item, sometime conferring with a small guy with weasel eyes, from her retinue.

By next day, a Mechanicus cruiser comes about and begins loading the relics at speed.

The Fabricator points at her Forge world with a cyborg arm, then nods and departs without a word. Well, I don't need words anyway. This is a capital letter Favor.

I still won't get Titans, so I'll have to pick everything else.

"Don't worry, Lord Pef. Forge Tigrus won't forget this debt. But if they do, I have records. They will pay you, somehow." the Inquisitor remarks in a softer voice, and sits down to sip her own tea.

It seems I need to supply my ship with higher quality stuff, because she just snorts at everything I have as food or drinks.

Lidvaius and everyone else wait outside, as it is time for the fated talk.

I gulp some wine to fortify my courage.

"You intend to travel outside the Empire, Inquisitor?" I ask after a minute of polite silence.
She nods gracefully. Ordo Xenos then, if her Deathwatch guards didn't clue me enough.

I freeze a second, loading the sector map and considering probable destinations.

"The Eldar?" I ask curious.

"Ha! Always fun to watch a savant at work. Perhaps we should implant all the Imperium officers. We might lose fewer people and ships that way, going by your exploits alone." the woman replies in slight praise.

I nod in agreement. The implants aren't without problems, but they outweigh that with sheer utility.

"We do not hate the alien because he is different, we hate the alien because he had naught but hate in his heart for us."
1111100011110

This quote makes me smile a little. "They would be useful to reduce Hive fleet Kraken a bit. Orks and Necrons would work better. Maybe the Barghesi too" I muse out loud.

"Oh? And how would you direct the Tyranids from course, to strike at Mandragora, for example?" she asks dismissively.

Glad you asked, dear lady.
Mandragora is the capital of a large Necron dynasty, with prodigious levels of firepower.

"I would take an Inquisitor with me, and visit Sotha. Then I would shift the Warp beacon from Ultramar on Mandragora. Perhaps Chandron or Grendl after that. Lead them on a merry chase around the sector, and vanquish the nastiest enemies with no loses for humanity." I comment with a shrug.
She did ask, after all. Grendl is the center of a huge Barghesi empire called Grendl_Stars

Her hand trembles a little, spilling the tea.

"No wonder that Blood Angel was ready to die for you...really important, it would seem." she murmurs to herself, wiping away the tea with a telekinetic wave.

"But then, where would I find an Ordo Xeno Inquisitor that might listen to me? Alas, I'm out of luck!" I complain and sip some wine in victory.

She grins at me with eyes only. "You weren't spanked enough as a child, Pef Lancefire."

"My mother left me. Then my father died. I had to improvise." I quip in return.

She nods solemnly. "We will need a big fleet."
I don't have a fleet, but I know who does.

 

[Pef]

"I will leave you to catch up with Justine. Just...well. You'll see for yourself." the Inquisitor says and walks out.

A minute later my mother enters along with my Astartes. In a second, her eyes dart around the room and then lock to my elbows. I was trained in melee combat too, so I know a dangerous person when I see her.

"She's an Assassin, Lord Pef." he explains and hovers a hand over his Inferno pistol. He saw it as well, no doubt about it.

"Hello mother." I say softly and offer her a hug.

Justine approaches me hesitantly and stops a step away. "You've grown up. And quite a successful man, from what I hear." she comments in a colder voice.

So, that's her real self. Always on guard. Not that I blame her. Makes sense to be always cautious, when you live in Hell.

"Mostly harmless, for nearly every power in the galaxy. But I suppose I live better than a laborer in a Hive." I allow with humility.

She flinches and scowls in a painful memory. Damn it. I nailed her weak spot, with perfect accuracy.

"Your Astartes will take care of you, so I feel less worried now. And even the Mechanicus has a soft spot, in their metal hearts. Your aura is weak...but made your life easier." Justine says with a glance at Ludvaius.

"Want some wine or tea? I want to hear about your life and father." I offer and start pouring wine.

"The mission to Antax is sealed. But...I met your father and travelled on the Litany. Then I got off for another sealed mission. If you feel abandoned..." she explains and drinks the Inquisitor's tea, possibly by smell memory.

I point at her cup. "Need to watch for those habits. One day there will be something else in that tea."

Justine blinks and stares at her cup, her face going from confusion to fear and then acceptance. "I should be the one teaching you to survive. And I will...if she lets me."

"The art of war is a matter of life and death." I quote from memory.

The Astartes tilts his head curious. Probably not in the Codex.

But Justine only nods with regret. "So Gyron did teach you, like he promised. And now you have a son of the Emperor to teach you even more."

"Lord Pef is smarter than me, Lady Justine. I feel that I am the one learning from him instead." Ludvaius replies instead, pistol back in the holster. No immediate threat then.

I shrug and sip more wine. "Anyway, we'll be flying together for some time. Decades at least. We should go to the nursery and see my kids." I conclude with a smile.

No point in forcing anything, not for a long time. She will come around in time.

"Grandchildren...time does fly." mother murmurs softly as I lead the way to the nursery.

Two of the kids are Blanks as well, and don't recoil from Justine, merely watching her curious. A dozen normal kids start crying in fear.

Henna and Decima recognize Justine from my old pics. "Lady Lancefire." Decima says politely, while gesturing to the nearby void marines to quiet down the kids.

The women nod at Justine then begin hugging and kissing the scared kids, to calm their fears.
"A whole harem, and even two weak auras. They ignore my curse." Justine comments, seeming impressed.

"Come, mother. It is your best gift after all. This big guy is the one with a curse." I explain pointing at my Astartes friend with a smile.

"Blood Angel. Very easy to drive into frenzy." she muses with a knowing look. She probably has a mental database on how to kill anything.

"The soldier works out his victory in relation with his foe." I quote again, and accept another head pat from the veteran marine.

We leave the nursery before my kids are crying again. It would be hard living with a Pariah gene.

A few minutes later, we meet with the Inquisitor again, this time on the bridge.

The weasel guy is riffling through the ship logs, while my crew is almost paralyzed with fear.

"Make yourself comfortable everyone. We're working together now, the Throne's Agent, his sons and his Voice. Just ignore any words they speak from now on. I'm your Captain." I demand in a loud voice and hug the Inquisitor with one hand.

She slaps my hand away and sits in the Captain chair like she owns the place. "Very cute. You're lucky I know your mother, Captain." the Inquisitor says with a tiny laugh.

The officers look at me confused and I point at Justine. "Justine. Mother. Happy family." I explain and turn away, heading back to my lab.

I have tons of work to do, and playing status games with an Inquisitor isn't high on my list.

Minoris is waiting for me with news. "Cracked the logis-engine, Lord Pef. Want to peek inside and work your magic?" he asks reverently.

Damn idiot-savant. It's not called magic. It's common sense, for Emperor's sake!

But I suppose I can take a peek. As I expected, the cogitator coding is rather buggy and cluttered by thousands of years of cants, prayers and patchwork repair.

I leave the prayers alone, because demons. But everything else should be organized into logic trees and priority targeting decisions.

I lose myself into work, with Minoris adding helpful advice every minute. Even powering up my savant implant, cogitator code is absurdly complicated.

No wonder big machines like Titans or Land Raiders can still fight even without crew. If a mere missile launcher is this complex, I shudder at what a Titan code would be.

Still, I sneakily insert a control code that needs a working Warrant to unlock. Since I plan to mass produce these missiles in my empire, I need to make sure they won't be fired at me.

Something that can pierce the side of a Baneblade would ruin my power armor, and my life.

"Captain. The Inquisitor is using the astropaths." I receive on my vox bead.
"Don't worry, Wentian. I let her sit in my chair, didn't I? Anyway, get some tech-priests to build her another chair beside mine. And some plasteel blocks for the Astartes. A few rooms and beds too, I guess." I order with a tired mind.

A bed sounds great. So tired...flesh is weak indeed.

I awake at once, as the Inquisitor teleports in my bedroom. The damned Inquisitorial_Rosette blares like an alarm clock in my soul.

"No hugs in public." she demands as she undresses then climbs in bed beside me.

Ludvaius blinks in confusion, then shrugs. I guess he has become a little jaded with my love life.

I'm too tired right now. I hug her nice body beside me and fall asleep again.

"It is a modest thing, relatively plain, adorned with a single motif and a simple motto. Yet with this little object I can sign the death warrant of an entire world and consign a billion souls to Oblivion."
1111110

I wake up with my face stuffed into a nice pair of breasts, while the woman softly caresses my head. My hair has begun growing again, since no tech-priest has drilled into my brain for some time.

"You could tell me the name that goes with these breasts." I murmur and gently suckle each of them.

"Death and Duty." she quips lifting each in turn.

"Duty. It should be much heavier." I muse softly and juggle her boob in my palm. If only duty was so easy.

"Unlike your mother, your presence doesn't hurt much, if at all. I never heard of such a mild Blank." she says climbing on top of me and starting to ride.

Well, my Blank is not a convergence of Immaterium currents that annihilate each other inside a soul. It's just a word on a screen. It works because I paid 30 points for it.

"You'll like my kids then." I say out loud and turn her over.

I wonder what kind of children would a psyker have with me?

Don't worry, we have some time to find out.

I guess I'll call her Rossete. No, too corny.

Rose.

The name of the rose. For a magic girl, it fits quite well.

 

[PsihoKekec]

He fucked Callidus who is double for his mother?! Talk about mother issues.

 

[The Whispering Monk]

He fucked Callidus who is double for his mother?! Talk about mother issues.

Umm...no...pretty sure it was the Inquisitor he spent time with.