Fial says goodbye and hangs up. I sit on the edge of my sleeping pod and stare at my hands, repeatedly clenching and unclenching them. I’ve always known that, objectively, the Imperium of Man is like a cracked jar of poisonous, cannibalistic insects. It is quite another to experience it for myself. I had hoped that my fellow man would show more restraint, that all the obvious hints I left to dissuade them from troubling me would be enough. That I find myself comparing their behaviour to Tau and Eldar is discouraging.

There is no doubt that the Imperial and Adeptus Mechanicus representatives in the system recognise my power. I’m also in a precarious position, however. I am trying to integrate a new system and multiple ships into the Stellar Fleet. There are over ninety vessels in the system that are not under my control compared to twelve warships and thirteen support vessels that I have. Calligos Winterscale’s grand cruiser is particularly dangerous.

Few of the other vessels are united and their power blocks are all smaller than my number of warships. I have control of the two hundred or so gun batteries that defend this system; any victory on either side would be phyric. It’s also uncertain which way the Space Marines would swing, or if they would even engage at all were conflict to break out.

I can’t afford to smack down every ship as rebuilding my fleet after such a conflict impacts my technology tour schedule, which is public knowledge, and I don’t want the Navy to chase me all around the galaxy demanding weregeld. There’s no way I could kill everyone and stop the news from getting out, nor do I want to give everyone cause to flee when there are still zombies to purge.

The moment a fight breaks out, I lose. It might take a century or two for the consequences to catch up with me, but that does not change the equation.

While the other parties may not know about the Great Rift, Lyre, Thalk, and Abbisine are clearly aware of the balance between us and are taking full advantage of it to test me. After all, having power matters little if I use it poorly or not at all.

I absolutely despise starting fights. It is incredibly wasteful and I hate the idea of my own people getting caught up in a pointless pissing match between opposing egos. I’d even feel bad about the grunts on the other side. What’s worse is that all those lost resources could be needed at any moment to repel xenos and chaos forces.

Case in point, I’m fighting Plague Zombies and other horrors and I don’t want to have to do so with my resources alone. There’s dozens of void ships and millions of people who can help me and they will do their part even if I have to threaten, cajole, and inspire them to do so. If that means I have to put up with meddlesome twats, then that is what I will do.

It does not matter how much I want to dispose of these schemers, or wrap my kids in bubble wrap and tuck them in an adamantine vault, I cannot do so without having everything I have achieved blow up in my face.

There is, however, some wiggle room.

Before I take any actions, I go in search of data.

Accessing the noosphere, I pour through Raphael’s reports to check I haven’t gotten the wrong end of the stick. I also double check his information against raw data collected by my Machine-Spirits to ensure that Raphael hasn’t messed up somewhere or is having me on.

Raphael’s work holds up well to my scrutiny and I find nothing to contest his findings. While going through the data, I uncover a couple of key recordings and knowing their source puts a big smile back on my face.

Many months ago I gave Raphael a new inquisitorial rosette, one with a conversion field built into it and a blessing on it. Not only is it a vital trinket for an Inquisitor, I made it into a holy object. Not wearing all the time would offend oh so many people.

A rosette has several features aside from the authority it represents. They’re a multipurpose hacking tool and contain a hidden beacon in case an Inquisitor is misplaced by miscreants. It also, by default, records everything around it so that when an Inquisitor meets an unfortunate end, their replacement can find out why.

Typically, most Inquisitors turn the recording feature off, or have it on a buffer and auto-delete while tied to their vital signs, only keeping the recording if they perish.

The rosette that I helped Taliel-Iota-5 make for Lyre was not trusted at all, even if I also blessed it and added a conversion field as well to match Raphael’s. The microphone was not only disabled, but removed entirely and the recording feature scrapped.

For a conversion field to work, it must monitor every wave around it so that it can intercept any projectiles and turn them into light. It also records the data for diagnostic purposes and uploads the data to the charging cradle when not in use. If the Tech-Priest responsible for the Rite of Repair for such a device, or perhaps its artisan, were to request all those wave recordings, they could, with a little mathmagic and sufficient prayers to the Machine-Spirits, use said data to recreate both audio and visual recordings.

That handy base station and rosette could let all that wave data trickle out into the noosphere via routine pings and identity checks. Everytime Inquisitor Lyre wanted to open a door, sit in on a throne mechanicum, or drive a vehicle, he’d be announcing his location and exactly what’s going on around him. Even asking the Machine-Spirits to turn the lights on and off would be enough.

How marvellous is that? A device that tells me where both Inquisitors in my domain are, and what they are doing, that they have to wear to all official business? There’s no way I wouldn’t take advantage of that.

There are some limitations. I can’t react to any of the information I glean in an obvious manner otherwise it would give the game away. There’s also a delay of, on average, three days to acquire recordings, depending on how much Lyre or Raphael use their rosette and what they use it for.

After many months of them both testing their rosettes with petty schemes and me doing nothing about whatever they say, both Raphael and Lyre are far more confident about taking their rosettes to more clandestine meetings and I’ve finally, finally struck auramite.

Four days ago, Inquisitor Lyre met with Thalk, Abbisine, and Calligos. Smirking, I lie down in the sleeping pod and rest my hands behind my head, and trigger the recording.

I find myself looking over Inquisitor Lyre’s shoulder as he sits at a round table on a wood and gold, high backed chair. The chair is topped with a steeple, like a reliquary, and houses a human skull. On my left is Abbisine in her red robes. To my right is Calligos, wearing a mix of armour and navy uniform. Opposite is Thalk, dressed with the weight of his office, loaded down with tassels, medals, and a thick blue coat. A portrait of Saint Yuri, Patron Saint of Voidsmen is affixed to the wall just behind Thalk, positioned perfectly so that wherever the others sit, it looks like the Saint is glaring at them from behind Thalk.

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Hardly the most subtle display and just open enough to interpretation that each viewer comes to their own damning conclusion.

The head and torso of a withered Servitor is built into the table, surrounded by stacks of paper reports in grox leather folders and tied with silver thread. When I focus on the Servitor, the recording pauses and reveals the abomination of filing cabinets and mechanical retrieval systems that sink into the floor and beyond.

I have no idea what archaic, paranoid thinking decided that this was a good way to keep and use records. The disconnect between the humanity I knew and the one before slams me with a wave of loneliness. Yes, I know I have no shortage of family and friends, but they’re not here and I’m stuck in a box, floating in the vacuum of space.

Resuming the recording, I listen to the four schemers exchange small talk while Thalk’s staff pour drinks into platinum ringed, grox horn goblets and trim cigars with their clawed, three pronged hands.

Thalk makes several gestures to a servant and I realise that not only have these people had their hands replaced, but they are deaf too. There are surgical scars around their throats and I suspect they can’t talk either. No doubt they’re illiterate as well.

This strikes me as both cruel and stupid. Even if they cannot speak with their hands or voice, read, write, or hear what others speak, surely they can read lips? What point is there in having a servant who cannot communicate properly with their overseer and employer? Far easier to either use Servitors or trust in the loyalty of your people. Hell, if there is such a need for confidentiality, just serve your own damn drinks!

Maybe this is another of those strange ways that Imperials like to show off?

Thalk takes a sip of his drink and puffs on his cigar. From my scans, I know that Thalk has artificial lungs, so his cigar won’t actually be doing anything for him. He leans forward and says, “Thank you all for coming. Logis Vakul has completed her assessment of the Stellar Fleet and has agreed to share her findings. I hope that, by the end of this meeting, we will have a thorough understanding of Magos Explorator Aldrich Issengrund and can present a uniform front on how to deal with this new player.”

“Your statement of purpose requires correction, Vice-Admiral Styrvold,” says Abbisine, her digital voice pitched at the exact frequency to cut through the hymns sung by the cherubim flying overhead. “Magos Issengrund is drastically underplaying his abilities. The only public pict-recordings of him fighting are of him duelling, and besting a Warboss in single combat. This footage is from over fifty years ago and he was mostly meat at that point. Now his body is clothed fully in the true flesh.

“Extrapolating from Inquisitor Raphael’s terms of employment and his promised enhancement to the point of slaying greater Warp entities, I hypothesise that, while he may be a Magos Explorator, he is also a lot of other things as well, more akin to an Archmagos Dominus among other impressive titles, such as Rogue Trader. His offer to Champion Verlin of the Space Marines is further proof of my theory.

“The most important of these is his position as novator of a new navigator house that, rumour would have it, was recently founded by the Emperor himself. There is no direct evidence of such sponsorship. However, the miracles surrounding him, miracles that we ourselves have witnessed, suggest that such rumours have merit. To conclude my corrections, Magos Issengrund, as he subtly styles himself, is exceedingly dangerous on his own and his Explorator title is an inadequate and deceptive descriptor.”

Calligos takes a noisy sip of his amasec. “You’ve rather changed your tune since the ‘Canonization party’, Vakul. Besides, who cares if he is strong? I have a grand cruiser. It is far mightier than any battleship.”

Abbisine hisses, “Is the Emperor’s Vow hardened against teleportation?”

“Who knows?” says Calligos, a small smirk on his lips. “Why is that even relevant?”

“Every single vessel in the Stellar Fleet, except for the two new cruisers and transports, contains a teleporter,” says Lyre. “There’s a barracks and stock of atomics next to each one.”

“Troublesome, but not insurmountable,” says Thalk. “A standing order to keep void shields at full, even in port, when the Stellar Fleet is nearby, will be required.”

“Again, I must issue corrections. It is not the teleporters that are the real threat,” says Abbisine. “I have been exploring the noosphere. Magos Issengrund’s crew engage in competitive simulations and I was able to gain an invitation to witness a competition and propose a few scenarios of my own to be tested. I am uncertain exactly how accurate these simulations are. Neither was I able to discover how precisely the Stellar Fleet’s performance matches the simulations. I am confident in my extrapolations, however.” Even with a digitised voice, Abbisine sounds incredibly smug.

Thalk says, “Logis Vakul, please do not keep us in suspense any longer.”

“Once again, I would like to point out how much Magos Issengrund underplays his abilities. He loves to hide his power in the most unexpected of places. It takes a keen mind to put all the pieces together and arrive at the correct conclusion.”

“You don’t say,” drawls Calligos.

Abbisine sniffs, picks up her cup, drinks, and puts it back down again. Each movement is slow and deliberate, her arm moving through set animations like servo-arm.

“Like Magos Issengrund, his vessels are dangerous, particularly his focus on strike craft and torpedoes. His most powerful strike craft, this Vitrum Class torpedo bomber, is the size of an Imperator Class titan with weapons to match. Titans have been known to shoot down incautious voidships in orbit around a planet. Magos Issengrund places five of these on each of his Adder Class escort carriers, a modified combination of the Sword and Cobra class escorts, likely of his own design.

“This strike craft is a new discovery, as are the other two designs used in his fleet and all of his shuttles: various patterns of the so-called Delta Pattern Orbital Transport, or D-POT. We can conclude that Magos Issengrund was successful on his quest for knowledge.”

Thalk pales slightly and Calligos leans forward with a predatory grin.

Lyre says, “Before you ask, Trader Calligos, these strike craft and void ships will all be for sale.” He looks at Thalk, “You might even outbid the Navy for them.”

“Irrelevant,” says Abbisine. “Against a prepared force, this Adder Class is dangerous, but not insurmountable. I will note that their shields are typically as strong as a light cruiser and that they’re faster and more robust than the Cobra and Sword. Their prow lance and spine mounted plasma macro cannon are also equal to those on a light cruiser. Still, none of this matters. The Imperium has triumphed over fast and powerful raiders before. It is their independence that makes them so dangerous. This is a theme throughout all of the Stellar Fleet configurations.” Latest content published on NoveI-Fire.ɴet

“A Logis focusing on logistics rather than weaponry?” says Lyre. “Not an unexpected outcome. However, are you sure you are not letting your speciality colour your evaluation?”

“No,” says Abbisine. “I will talk you through the scenario I witnessed. Once I am done, even the basest of intellects will acknowledge the truth of my words.”

“Peace, Logis Vakul,” says Thalk. “What use is a theory if it cannot stand up to criticism?”

“The Omnissiah lights the way, but it is his faithful who must carry the lantern, their steps firm on the path to enlightenment. Vice-Admiral, you requested an evaluation, not a thesis defence. I cannot force you to follow me on the path to knowledge, only lead the way.”

Calligos bursts out laughing and Abbisine glares at him from beneath the hood of her robes.

“Oh, don’t mind me, Logis Vakul. I am far too easily distracted by the mundane to follow your allegory. Please. Do continue,” says Calliogs, gesturing towards Abbisine with an open palm.