Fial says, “Seriously?”

“I have the pics, so it totally happened,” I say.

“What are we even supposed to say to a story like that?” says Dareaca. “You were dead? Like dead dead? How did your soul not disperse?”

“The Emperor, I would assume,” I say. “Why he took my body in the first place I will never know.”

That’s obviously a lie, it’s because I’m a Soulphage and thus a convenient battery for him to drain whenever he decides he wants a midnight snack, or light up the galaxy with my soul so he can do some maintenance on his own. Maybe unleash an apocalypse or two while he’s at it. My kids don’t need to know that though.

“Seems like a lot of effort for a random bloke,” says Dareaca. “You must have some idea.”

I laugh, “I know! Maybe he just wanted a source of experimental bodies for something? There were a lot of dead people in stasis when I woke up. The few records I was able to find suggested that it was because the dead have no rights. You can wake up the dead and see what happens and they’ve no legal right to object. They might have been trying to crack the Eldar resurrection process. They might have even managed it, given that I am still alive. The Hulk was torn apart by demons the moment its Gellar Field failed so we will never know as all the project data was lost along with an unknown AI that safeguarded it.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right for a Magos Biologis project,” say Dareaca. “I suppose we should be grateful, eh? Means we get to exist. Still, I can see why you didn’t spread this around. Now that Inquisitor Hamiz wants to chop you up either way it makes sense that you’d tell us.

Luan huffs, “Whatever. Dad, what was it like? You must have known nothing, right? How did you ever know what to do? Like, do even doors work the same? All the labels would be in a strange language.”

“The Machine-Spirit I was implanted with translates everything for me flawlessly, though now I can speak all of the Imperial languages just fine. The scientists did, at least, leave me with an MIU and a few bionic organs. I assume my original organs had degraded too much from the sepsis that killed me and had to be replaced. The healing nanties were likely also part of the process. Many of our medical advancements, especially the Herald and Fleet Command implants are based off the ones I have.”

“To survive, all I had to do was follow the signs to the cafeteria. The rest followed from there. The Machine-Spirit taught me to fight, it helped me access records. It saved my life multiple times on the Hulk: Four fatal injuries, a Warp borne infection, an arm lost to Tyranids. I even duelled a Warboss as mere flesh and without Navigator powers. I am proud of my achievements. I did not have a good time.”

“So that’s who you are. A survivor lost to time. No wonder you emphasize self sufficiency and knowledge so much,” says Fial. “Self-defence too.”

“Maybe? I’ve always been keen on knowing how to do everything myself. Self-defence is just common sense.”

Fial smirks, “Not to the level you insist on, Dad.”

“Wait, doesn’t this contrast with your public history,” says Dareaca. “How did you become a Tech-Priest?”

“Aruna inducted me into the cult. Distant Sun could only be commanded by a Magos Explorator. Not only was I the only living Human on the vessel, my Dark Age of Technology Mind Impulse Unit qualified me for the position, as did the STC I discovered. Do keep that to yourselves. My unorthodox anointing could undermine my authority and affect your safety.”

Once again I give my boys a curated version of the truth. I’ve updated Aruna’s records to ensure my story matches, even its hidden data stashes the Machine-Spirit doesn’t think I know about.

Luan says, “You’ve more than earned your mechadendrites by now, Dad.”

“Thank you, Luan. Better safe than dead though. Perhaps I should not have told you any of this. It is a great burden.”

“Nah,” says Dareaca. “We already knew you were a badass Dad. This is just another cog to your coat. It’s reassuring, you know? To know that you have our backs and have the chops to follow through. It’s especially important for Alipa. She needed the extra help when she was just a psyker. It has only gotten worse from there.

“Our path is different. We’re not supernaturally smart, wise, or strong. We don’t have special powers or Federation implants. That’s...that’s why you’re sending us away. To earn our common sense. Then we can defend ourselves like you do. It’s a super power all of its own.”

I laugh, “Did you forget the regeneration and rejuvenat I gave you? The Herald implants? The Fleet Command cybernetics? You’re plenty special. You’re my kids.”

“Oh yeah,” says Dareaca. “I did forget about those. Maybe because they feel like me? Like I’ve always had them? Weird.”

“Common sense is the greatest super power though, or maybe caution. Perhaps efficiency? They’re kinda similar,” I say. “The Stellar Fleet is a bit of a bubble, still, there are plenty of experiences here if common sense was all I was hoping for. We’ve already gone over why you have to go multiple times. There’s no need to repeat it again.”

“Right,” says Dareaca.

Fial clears his throat, “So, Dad. Did the STC come from the Space Hulk?”

“Eh, so, so,” I wobble my hand from side to side. “Distant Sun, while on its Quest for Knowledge,had crashed into the STC library turning the whole place to ash. I spent ages searching it looking for salvation. Later I checked the data on the lanyard I woke up with. The STC was around my neck the whole time. I was not pleased when I saw it was labelled Cargo Container when I was desperate for a miracle. I didn’t look at it until after I had secured Distant Sun. Yet another moment of foolishness on my part.”

“Throne! The irony!” says Luan. “No wonder you dare not talk of this. The blame game would be catastrophic.”

“Quite,” I say. “Of course the incredibly valuable data would be hidden behind an innocuous name to protect it, or so I thought at first. Then I realised that to the people who made it, the STC was a passion project. One filled with animal shaped machines and other toys. A joke based on the idea that you can use a Cargo Container for anything. It’s just a box, right?”

Fial says, “I mean, yeah? Technically it is just a box.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“That’s totally underselling it though,” says Luan.

I nod, “To the people from the Dark Age of Technology, they could do a lot with a box. It didn’t matter to them whether they thought within or without it. It was a framework for their ideas, a thought experiment on how to move a box from one side of the galaxy to the other. Megatonne for Megatonne, we likely have one of, if not the most powerful Imperial aligned Fleet in the galaxy because a bunch of nerds wanted to troll their iced up, techno-illiterate grandpa with a mystery box. I dare say the stars and the Warp have turned the galaxy mad.”

Fial says, “You? Techno-illiterate? Actually, I suppose you were when you first woke up.”

“The learning curve was a cliff,” I say, my tone dry.

“Our technology base does sound rather absurd when you put it like that,” says Luan. “It’s a fun story and I’m glad that you told us. It’s fun to have a secret that no one else does. One we can laugh at as a family.”

“Yeah!” says Fial.

Dareaca says, “Dad, What’s the weirdest thing you’ve found on the Cargo Container STC?”

“Oh boy, that’s a tough one. That’s like asking, ‘In all of history, what’s the dumbest thing anyone has ever put inside a cargo container’, or maybe, ‘What’s the most bizarre biomimicry form of transport a bunch of people with too much time on their hands and infinite computing power would prompt an AI to generate’. You’ve seen the nuttiness people get up to on Noosphere forums, HiveSim, and other simulators. It’s like a curated version of that.”

“Yeah,” says Fial. “I’ve spent ages looking through the STC too. There’s a mechanical lagomorph-like Knight with a top hat and pocket watch that can make in-system micro-warps and run through the void or sky. It has no gellar field, cargo space, or even crew. It’s supposed to be a way to teleport between celestial bodies in a system to transport data securely. Micro-warps are horribly inaccurate though, so there’s no guarantee you’ll save any journey time. For all you know, they might not reappear for centuries, or accidentally blow up the planet it’s travelling to when both try to fuse on the atomic level.”

“Why would anyone design such a thing?!” says Dareca.

“For fun,” I say, “and because they could.”

“Is there nothing useful about it at all? Surely some of the science is helpful? A flying knight sounds amazing,” says Luan.

“All the power goes into moving it about,” says Fial. “There’s nothing left for weapons, pilots, anything at all. It’s an over-tuned version of the repulsor system that spreads out the ground pressure big walkers exert, supplemented with the gravity array used on tug boats and big shuttles. If we really wanted a Knight to fly, we’d give it a jump pack. The science behind it is already part of the STC. It’s not Engineering Grade for nothing.”

“Good point,” says Dareaca.

“That would be awesome,” says Luan. “I bet Alpia or Rósín would love a jump pack for their dream knight.”

I scratch my cheek, “It might be possible. Not much need for it on a voidship, or most of a Hive City. It would mess with the balance though. Perhaps make them too easy to push over. Same problem with hover skates. A jump pack would be more appropriate with Vanguard Armour. They have proper arms and hands and can push themselves upright without ruining their weapons.”

“That would be so cool!” says Fial. “You should make one, Dad.”

“Ask Rósín, I bet she already has multiple prototypes,” I say.

Fial looks out the window, his face slackens, and his fingers start twitching as he immediately starts messaging Rósín.

I tap my finger against my knee, “Dareaca, I’d say the oddest container in the STC is the one that can fold itself into twelve different animals. There are remarkable mathematics behind it. I believe that the container was the proof of concept for the Origami Pattern Mobile Shipyard, the maths behind the folding mechanisms, that is, not the self-healing memory alloy the container is built from.

“We use this memory alloy for high security locks, fastenings, those tyres used on our hull buggies that are made from thousands of tiny links. The micro-factories make use of it as well to reconfigure themselves, as do our nanites. It’s one of our most important alloys. It’s also why our ships are quiet. It’s an excellent vibration dampener.”

“Twelve animals?” says Dareaca, “One of them is a simian, isn’t it. Is that why you call it monkey metal?”

“Yes, that, and to tweak the noses of the Eldar. I do so love to own my mockery.”

“I should have guessed,” says Luan. “You really don’t like them. Ylien is the only one who wasn’t a total dick and it took centuries of torture to change his personality.”

“They are a species that would deserve great pity, were they not such unapologetic assholes. It is only divine intervention that has let them persist so long.”

Fial’s focus returns to us, “Let’s not spoil the day by talking further of xenos.”

“I agree,” says Dareaca. “I want to see pictures of the Federation station. We can’t let Dad of so easy with such an outrageous story.”

The train pulls up at the first station, Waterfall. It’s a long yellow building with a slate roof.

“Hold that thought,” I say, “Do you want to get off here? There’s a spectacular waterfall a short walk from here.”

“Might as well,” says Luan. “It’s not like we’re short of time in a simulation.”

Our journey continues in much the same fashion, getting out at each station, walking about a bit, and enjoying the view. The boys liked the waterfall, more for the chance to do something new than any particular appreciation of the great British outdoors. I count it as a win though.

We continue to talk as we ascend, the boys occasionally asking questions about what life was like back in the twenty-first century. I stay clear of any mention of my previous family. Today is about my boys and I, not the dead. I also bring up edited moments of my time on the station, altering the simulation and projecting them at the end of the carriage like a play.

They’re a big fan of Bola and amazed that we owe the fidelity of our noosphere simulations to a trade I made with the egotistical Gretchin.

After four hours, we reach the summit and take some picts around the bronze plate atop a stone plinth that marks the highest point on the mountain.

“This was a pretty cool day out, Dad,” says Fial. “I know we just took the train up and didn’t walk, but I still feel like we achieved something great.”

“I’m glad. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about today.”

“You did drop a MOAB on us today, for sure,” says Dareaca. “I still can’t believe your living fossil. You’re like a horseshoe crab or maybe a shark. Maybe a grox? You sure you’re not having us on?”

“What would be the point? That would be mean.”

“Like you don’t lie your ass off all the time,” says Dareaca.

“I prefer to take refuge in audacity. I can tell the most outrageous stories and claim them as truth, yet most will remain blind to it.”

Luan smiles, “That is something you would do.”

I materialise four thermos flasks. “Here. I made something special for you all.”

“Is it hot chocolate?” says Fial.

“Some would say this is better.”

“What is it?” says Luan.

“Just try it. This is the best imitation I could simulate.”

Luan shakes the flask and eyes it with suspicion. The liquid inside sloshes about. He eyes the flask, then unscrews the top, twists the plug halfway, and pours the hot, pale liquid into the top.

Dareaca peers at the contents of Luan’s cup, “What is that milky abomination?”

“Builders tea, two sugars; extra milk so it is cool enough to drink it fast, and an extra strong blend for more caffeine,” I say. “You barely have to dunk the teabag in and out of your mug to put hairs on your chest, it's so strong.”

“This is the drink you are obsessed about?” says Luan. “Also your analogy is weird. No one in the Fleet has real hair on their chest.”

I shrug, trying to hide my excitement, “I was raised on tea, of course I am obsessed with it. Well, go on. Give it a try.”