++Reboot successful. Welcome back Operator Issengrund.++

++Fatal Error: Warp Tap destroyed. Solution: construct new unit. Error: User Issengrund has not deciphered Warp Tap Ⅰ. Automated construction disabled. Solution: demonstrate knowledge of Warp Tap Ⅰ construction.++

++Lower torso: destroyed. Batteries destroyed: Main power at 80%. Emergency Power at 0%. Repair estimate 27 hours. Error: power failure in 15 hours. Solution: manually power implants via meditative exercises. Instructions available in MIU trouble-shooter software.++

++Bio-pod damaged. Function at 39%. Ego running on nanite collective backup. Repair estimate 6 hours. Assigned priority.++

++Soul damaged. Function at 87%, estimated. Repairs impossible. Solution: consume souls. Warning: soul reserve depleted.++

My simulated ego snaps to attention and evaluates the damage with little emotion. While I am currently incapable of panicking, or feeling much at all, the dread of how close I came to death seeps through.

Sensors report that Quaani and I are being dragged across the asteroid to our shuttle by a couple of Servitors after its Machine-Spirit detected our unscheduled shutdown. I did not know that my shuttles could do that, but I’ve never paid much attention to systems that already work just fine, especially when I have the full STC for them.

I signal to the Servitor dragging me that I am capable of function once again and direct my power armour to walk me to the shuttle. It does so with great protest, for my armour is also damaged and failure could happen at any step, but it is still faster than being dragged.

My steps are slow and calculated lest I push off too hard and achieve an unintended orbit. My innards spark and groan, as sacred oils drip from their lubricated joints and smear across shredded connections and leaking, artificial veins.

Freeing up my Servitor leaves it free to pick up Quaani’s feet and after six minutes of careful steps we are within the shuttle’s airlock, waiting for it to cycle. Two more servitors are waiting with a stretcher for Quaani and he is immediately lifted onto it and transported to the auto-doc.

Quanni is completely still as he lies on the plasteel slab. Mechadendrites and servo-arms are suspended above him, holding a disturbing plethora of sharp implements. Syringes, scalpels, and saws articulate briefly as they run through a brief start-up sequence akin to the dying spasms of a large spider.

Between Quaani’s armour, implanted bio-monitor, and the auto-doc I have an accurate and depressing read out of his condition. He’s alive, at least, his body sustained by his armour’s Vitae Supplement. His more advanced implanted Vitae Supplement is damaged and has shut down.

My own nanites are currently busy fixing my brain case and other vital organic components so I can’t heal him with my technology and I’ve no intention of trying out biomancy while my soul is in tatters.

I run a few simulations through my mind, then order the auto-doc to keep Quaani sedated and in his armour. With the medichine reserve within the auto-doc keeping Quanni’s armour’s Vitae Supplement topped up, Quaani will be sufficiently healed to return to consciousness in three, maybe four days. There really isn’t much else I can do for him other than ensure his life support keeps functioning while he heals.

Rather than have all my bits spill out all over the deck, I too, keep my armour on and stagger to the cockpit. The large chair tightens around me and a data-spike inserts itself into a port on the back of my neck, letting my consciousness drift away from my broken body and into the far more intact shuttle.

All around me are hundreds of dials and switches, as well as digital screens and a holographic heads up display. A yoke and throttle jut from the console, waiting in vain for me to grasp them. It all strikes me as terribly busy as I don’t need any of it with my mind so closely connected to the machine, but I grudgingly acknowledge that it is a useful backup for those without my mechanical blessings.

I direct the Machine-Spirit to return us to Torchbearer. It only takes me a few seconds to read through the documentation on how to manually feed warp energy into my implants. It will take practice, like all things do, but there is no barrier to my comprehension. The issue is that it would require channelling the Warp with a damaged soul and I am not going to do that.

I turn off any implant that isn’t absolutely essential and focus all my repairs on my bio-pod, then trigger a sleep cycle to help speed up the process. Four hours later I wake to a rather pleasing message.

++Bio-pod restored. Organic cogitator function at 100%. Simulated Ego has entered standby.++

“Fuck the Birdbrain, fuck the Emperor, fuck everything to the depths of the Warp!” I shout, while kicking my legs back and forth and slamming the arm rests like a child. I take a few steadying breaths, then command a Servitor to bring me a cup of Tanna Tea.

I remove my helmet and gauntlets, then massage my scalp and face until a Servitor turns up with my order. I sit in silence and sip my drink, letting the comfort of habit and warmth sooth my rage.

“Alright. E-SIM. Take me through your best speculation as to what just happened and why. I am too angry to think properly. Give me some goals and solutions. Those automated messages are good for a summary, but we need a plan of action before our power issues cripple you.”

++I suspect that your reaping of the Drukhari, Dark Mechanicum, Gibbering Moon’s cultists, and Balphomael’s demonic hordes have given away that you are a soulphage to the Great Schemer, and possibly the other three as well. At the very least, they must have known you were in possession of a piece of technology that can permanently destroy their slaves.

++Considering that there were cultists ready to terminate anyone on the void station you woke up on, it is likely the Ruinous Powers have a good understanding of what your Warp Tap does and that you are an active threat to their authority.++

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“That makes sense. It’s probably a miracle that they haven’t tried something like this already. The gods do so love to meddle with their mortal followers.”

++You’re less of a follower and more of a wrecking ball, Aldrich.++

A malicious grin spreads across my face.

Tanya von Degurechaff would be proud, I’m sure.

++I think it is unlikely that the Ruinous Powers know the full extent and details of the E-SIM project. They are likely steered by their precognitive talents and spying on each other rather than proper data collection. Had they been more aware you would have faced much stiffer challenges.++

“That’s a horrifying thought. I’ve barely survived on multiple occasions. After the last attempt I expect the Ruinous Powers will step up their game too.”

++Perhaps. Their focus is likely on the crusades for now. Continuing with my speculation, your Warp Tap was annihilated and its tethers to your soul have been ripped free. Birdbrain, as you have so lovingly labelled the Great Schemer, lost a demonic tome to the Emperor, likely his Star Child incarnation. A tome that contains the weaknesses of all the gods and their minions in it, in order to harm you.

++Birdbrain would not have baited his trap with such a grand prize if he thought you could build a new Warp Tap. He is used to valuable and unique technology being irreplaceable. I also doubt that Birdbrain predicted that your connection to the Emperor is close enough that the Emperor can reach into the Immaterium when you are present, or a powerful reliquary, such as your daughter’s hair, is nearby. Channelling so many souls towards the Emperor is also a likely cause for his increased interference.

++I suspect that Birdbrain was attempting to set up a scenario where you would lose no matter your choice. Either Quaani plays Birdbrain’s games and gets corrupted, or you lose your Warp Tap and can’t munch on his minions so easily.++

“Well, Birdbrain is partially right. I can’t build a new Warp Tap right now. All the preliminary work on Warp Tap Ⅰ led me to believe that I’m too dumb to understand the content. It will take months, possibly years until Hyper Intelligence is decoded and tested, then even more time until I manage to decipher Warp Tap Ⅰ.

“I am delighted that Birdbrain took a loss as well though. He always is his own worst enemy and that does much to make me feel better. Still, losing to Birdbrain’s pawn, Gibbering Moon, then the big winged menace himself soon after, has really left a mark. Knowing I am the focus of so much attention is horrible. It is good that I’ve had so much practice at it or I wouldn’t be screaming into the void. I’d be pulling my eyes out with a bolt pistol.”

++Your resilience is commendable, Aldrich. When you manage to replace your Warp Tap, Birdbrain’s tantrum will be far more spectacular than your feeble attempt. Put a positive spin on this. The Liber Heresius is out of your hands. You have all the puzzle pieces you need to reverse your own misfortune. Your patron has received a notable offering of souls and war spoils when he most needs it. Quaani has been freed from a terminal curse.++

“On the other hand I have been horribly injured and I am going to need to spend a huge amount of time working on my soul and psychic talents. Time that is better spent creating implants that can be shared with my crews, rather than a skill that only improves me and risks breaching the veil every time I practise. Not to mention the hours of meditation it’s going to take to keep my brain implants at full function.

“I don’t even want to think about how many hours I would lose if I couldn’t use the

Auto-Taskmaster for administration or my Concurrent Conscious Cascade to perform multiple tasks at high speed!”

++It’s not ideal. Right now you can only collect souls within fifty or so metres of yourself and you will collect all souls, not just the enemies of humanity. If you do not master your talents, you will be overwhelmed by memories and corruption. Being within the thick of combat is terrible for a commander. You will be far more vulnerable than usual, yet you have little choice. Fortunately, there are plenty of zombies to practise on.++

“The gods giveth, and the gods taketh away.”

++Considering you will be changing from gunboat to booty shorts diplomacy, I do hope that the gods don’t take away too much.++

“Yeah, I really don’t want to go down swinging.” I shake my head, “Enough of that, the joke is going stale. Is there any more vital information you have for me E-SIM before I put my nose to the grindstone and just do the work.”

++The debris drifting towards me in the Warp is still getting closer. It’s not close enough to be one hundred percent sure of what it is, but it is inert.++

“Are you still keeping it a surprise?”

++I am.++

“Fine.”

I go to the shuttle’s workbench and repair enough of myself and my armour so that I don’t leak everywhere by the time we reach Torchbearer a week later. Quaani is taking longer to heal than expected and shows signs of mutation. I’ve been keeping him asleep until I can do some proper tests.

My power reserves have been completely depleted and E-SIM has shut down. I have access to a local copy of his database, but that’s it. It feels incredibly strange to be reduced to a single instance of thought, one that trundles along at such a glacial speed. I feel lesser, clumsy even, and I do not like it. My soul has healed a little on its own. The process is slow, however, and I am looking forward to taking my frustrations out on the Plague Zombies.

Brigid and Annette are waiting for us when our shuttle slips into my private hangar. I trudge down the ramp with a slight limp. Two servitors carry Quaani on a stretcher. Annette tries to dash forward, but Brigid stops her with a hand on her shoulder. Annette pushes against Brigid’s hand, but Brigid shakes her head and tightens her grip.

Brigid whispers into Annette's ear, “No good will come from fretting now. Check your new auspex implant. Both our husbands live. Shoulders up, chest out, and stand proud. Welcome your husband home with calm confidence. Do not add to their stress with fast and sudden movements. Do not make loud noises. Their mental state might be of questionable integrity. Make them come to you.”

I really don’t have it in me to unwrap the many different interpretations of Brigid’s pep talk. Instead, I give both women a brief hug and say, “It’s done. Quaani is free from the Liber Heresius.”

Annette and Brigid’s rigid postures sag.

“Good,” says Brigid.

Annette clasps her hands before her chest, “Will Quaani be OK?”

“He’ll live and his soul is free from taint. That will have to do.”