The Cyber Mastiff and I plod around the deck, grabbing everyone and pushing them into the maintenance room. I am rather irritated that no one has mag-boots. I consider them so essential that neither Alpia nor I thought they would need to be issued as everyone would already have a pair.

I am rather irritated to discover I was wrong and make a note of it. We’re too far into the ship for me to vox anyone and I don’t have access to The Barber’s Blades’ communication systems so I can’t send a message via the vessels systems either to inform Alpia of the oversight.

The maintenance room reminds me of Dying Light with its low ceiling and lacklustre ornamentation. Pillar drills, lathes, and fabricators fill the room. The walls are lined with shelves filled to the brim with metals, electronics, and other feed stocks. There are six work stations for more delicate repairs with their own sets of hand tools. Most importantly, there is a large cogitator station that may have the codes we need to move about the vessel more freely.

It’s rather obvious why the penitents wanted access to this room because everything here is incredibly valuable. Even as I am reducing the others, the first ones in the room immediately begin looting it.

They pull six gravitic manoeuvring harnesses from a set of lockers, which I let them take, as well as six safety harnesses with magnetic grips on spring loaded reels that are spread between the two squads.

“My Lord, what about the rest of these valuables?” says Clovis Pyrestain.

“Leave them. You’ll all be entering quarantine naked and everything you have on you will be burned. Why else would we hand out such cheap gear?”

Clovis splutters, “These are the best void suits anyone here has ever seen! Half the reason these people signed up is because they were told they would not have to return the equipment!”

I tut, “They’re not even proper void suits. Did no one read the briefing?”

Clovis winces, “Only the Tech-Thrall and I can read, my Lord.”

I stare at Clovis for a moment, “I see. Still, the order stands. Do not loot the vessel. We do not want to anger the primary Machine-Spirit more than we already have. It has already cut the gravity. I don’t want to know what else it might do. Round everyone up and practise traversing out in the corridor while I try to pull a map from the cogitator station here.”

“Yes, Lord!” Clovis bows.

The cogitator is unpowered, but some creative wiring with the Cyber Mastiff gets it up and running. It, too, is as stubborn as the door and no matter how much incense, oil, and other appeasement rituals I try to tempt it with, the Machine-Spirit will not budge. No security keys, no maps, not even maintenance logs. I dare not hack it, less it deletes all its data out of sheer spite.

Unfortunately for the Machine-Spirit, it is out of luck, as I actually understand how these machines work, so I turn it off, disassemble it, then pull out all of the data chips. After several hundred rather delicate bypasses with a microscopic soldering tool and other devices at one of the benches I am able to disable the hardware level security, leaving me free to copy and decrypt the data without risking a wipe from brute forcing it. The clean box is particularly helpful.

Half way through the process I hear some angry shouting and a few shots fired, followed by laughter. I pay little attention to the altercation as it only lasts for a moment and I can still hear people outside the maintenance machine-shop.

I read through reams of noosphere messages in moments, then facepalm. I stomp over to a small fuse junction box and rip it open. There, hanging from the hooks within are five, teardrop shaped key fobs. I grab all of them, copy their credentials, then shove them into my pocket just in case.

At this point, I’m feeling rather superstitious, so I fix everything I have tampered with and put the cogitation station back together.

I step out of the room and freeze, “Mr Pyrestain. Why are six people missing?”

“No one was happy to discover that looting was forbidden. The six with the gravity harnesses tried to escape. I shot the deserters, but their void suits protected them, so they laughed and flew off.”

“Why didn’t you call for me?”

“You were busy, Lord, and I thought I could handle it. By the time I realised otherwise they were already gone. Why waste further time on fools and thieves? Chasing them is beneath you, Lord.”

“Mr Pyrestain. You presume far too much about what is and is not worth my time. That was not your judgement to make. We needed those gravitic harnesses and you have lost them. You are correct that those fools are not worth my time. Their gear was.”

Clovis throws himself to the deck, or at least he tries, but he just ends up floating again.

“You look ridiculous. Gather everyone up. We’re heading into the maintenance corridors. At least they have proper safety bars for low gravity manoeuvres.”

“Yes, Lord,” croaks Clovis, sweat pooling on his face.

The penitents gather in threes with one safety harness between them and slowly get back into the workshop, pulling themselves across it to a red and yellow striped door. My new credentials get us through and Clovis takes the lead. The Cyber Mastiff moves between the penitents, occasionally giving one of them a prod with its tail should they start to spin out of control. I bring up the rear so that I can keep a better eye on everyone and occasionally vox Clovis directions and remotely open doors.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

As we progress through the vessel, I am sporadically assailed by further snatches of disjointed memories and I curse Birdbrain each time it happens. A slight hunger persists and I actually hear the whispers of demons prodding at my defences. It’s the first time I’ve had to deal with this as usually they stay well clear. I had thought that being within Alpia’s range would shelter me, much like I have done for her, but her saintly aegis is clearly not as simple as I first assumed.

The next significant room we encounter is an arboretum. Gravity returns and we laboriously cut through extensive undergrowth as false sunlight streams down upon us. Rotten fruit coats the old paths and several penitents slip and fall on their remains. There is no sympathy or camaraderie between the penitents and they do not help each other, only mock each other in their misery.

Clovis tries to keep control, but now that everyone knows he can’t kill them with his Civitas Pattern laspistol they don’t give him any face. They’re only still here because they’re smart enough to know that numbers matter. It makes me wonder about how successful all the other missions are. No doubt most are just adding to the zombie count. I’m starting to believe that using these penitents costs more resources that we save.

Arm sized rats flitter in and out of the underbrush, startling the penitents who take snap shots at them, killing a few and sending the rest into a feeding frenzy as they rip into their dead kin with little thought for the growing pile of dead. The blood in the air draws more of them and they quickly become a real threat. There are so many that the penitents’ power packs run empty within minutes.

I order the Cyber Mastiff to the front and have it cut through the undergrowth far faster than the penitents are able, getting us to the other side of the arboretum before we can be overwhelmed.

“At least we know what happened to all the zombies we’re supposed to fight,” says a penitent, wiping the blood off his axe with a handful of leaves.

“I bet those other six are already dead,” says another.

“Doubt it. They could fly.”

“Not in this mess. Madness is what it is. Trees in a void ship?”

“Dunno, the trees feed the rats, right? Rats are way better than rations. Seems pretty smart to me.”

I tune the chatter out and direct Clovis to the tram station. We arrive without further trouble and the decor of the vessel takes a sudden change as the low corridor opens out into a huge, vaulted room heavy in gold and rubies. The cog mechanicum is plastered absolutely everywhere. Baby, humanoid skeletons, chipped wings, and black stains lie upon the deck, several statues, and the tops of cogitator banks; the remains of cherubim, most likely.

I access a cogitator connected to a reception desk and call up a tram.

“What now, Lord?” says Clovis.

“Set a watch, find some charge points for your powerpacks, then rest for an hour. It will take some time before our transportation is restored to full function.”

“Yes, Lord.”

A young woman approaches me. “May I speak with you, Lord?”

“Go ahead, Miss Alis Riccahl.”

The woman startles when I speak her name, then clasps her hands and says, “Do you have any words from the Saint for us? Perhaps a prayer for the dead? The fellow who took a tumble was a friend of mine you see. We can’t give him a proper send off, but I’m sure if the Holy Father were to say a word or two to speed him on his way to the Emperor he’d be right pleased.”

I slowly nod, trying to get my head around the idea of offering a prayer up for a man whose soul I just ate. Really, I should be going through those meditative exercises, but it would be rather stingy of me not to offer my thanks at this point.

“Very well. I will lead you in prayer. Balphus Yorn, correct?”

“Yes, that was him, my Lord.”

“Kneel or sit, whatever you’re most comfortable with,” I point to a dusty shrine. All its candles have burnt to stubs and its vox caster is silent. I brush away the dust and pull fresh candles from a greasy box I spot tucked behind the altar. I light the candles with a spark from a mechadendrite and pass one to Alis.

Alis kneels on the cold deck before the altar. I put another candle on the altar and hold the other to my chest, then kneel next to Alis. Alis gasps and trembles slightly, likely shocked that someone of my rank would bother to kneel next to her.

“Follow my words as best you can and we will recite a short prayer together. I will speak slowly.”

Alis nods rapidly and repeatedly, the candle in her hands flickering wildly.

“Balphus Yorn, may you go to the Emperor with his name upon your lips and his image in your heart.

“Cast off the chains that bound you to this life; both those you chose, and those that you did not.

“Go now to Him; for He will know your heart and judge you by it, however ill-used you may have been.

“Ave Imperator; great is your grace and great your mercy.

“Receive this soul with kindness, and accept him as Your own.”

Alis’s shoulders shake slightly as we speak our prayer and her eyes glisten with unshed tears. Balphus’s memories settle a little, a cease their intermittent prodding at my psyche. There is no mention in E-SIM’s guide in the effectiveness of prayer calming stolen memories and struggling souls and I am greatly surprised and relieved at this unexpected boon.

I say, “Do you have any words you would like to say out loud or in your mind?”

“No, Lord. Your words are plenty good enough for the likes of him and me.”

“How about goodbye? There’s no harm in that.”

Alis clears her throat, “Bye, Balphus, you clumsy fool. I’ll hand out your secret stash of lho-sticks to all your friends when we get back from this mess and we’ll remember your life how you lived it: choking on fumes an’ polishing nobs with a mouthful of rotgut. May you depart with a pocket of thrones and a cry of ecstasy on your lips.”

“That’s quite the obituary,” I say. “Who was Balphus Yorn to you?”

“The cheapest ass an’ narco dispenser on the hab-block.”

I raise an eyebrow, “Perhaps I should have changed the prayer to ‘well used’ rather than ‘ill used’.”

Alis sniggers, then blinks rapidly, clearing the tears from her eyes, “You’re an odd duck, Lord. Not many would bother with the likes of him. Still, Balpus was good for a laugh and that’s more than most manage. He brought a little of the Emperor’s light to us all at the end of a shift. His rapturous cries might not have been the most orthodox form of worship, but he said the words and he meant ‘em. Died for ‘em too. Can’t ask for more than that.”

“Keep your prayers up until we are ready to leave. Our minds and hearts must be firm for whatever awaits us in the dark. I must return to work.” I pat Alis on the shoulder and stand.

“Thank you, Lord, for your grace.”

“You’re most welcome.”

I rush off to find a room away from everyone so that I can meditate properly and purge those memories before I see something I will regret!