“Geist,” says Thorfinn, “is a highly illegal narcotic that boosts a person’s psy-rating. I came across it when I visited Footfall with Quaani. For someone about as psychic as a plasteel foil hat, it will give them just enough psychic power to get themselves killed and eaten by Warp entities.

“For a skilled psyker or navigator it can be the difference between life and death should you encounter a situation that requires more power than you naturally have. Having some on hand for emergencies is actually a considerable boon, so long as the Inquisition doesn’t know we have it.”

“Are you sure?” says Quaani. “I heard it was highly addictive so I dismissed it.”

Thorfinn says, “It’s not the drug that’s addictive, but the power and confidence it provides. Users have trouble letting go and end up burning themselves out from repeated use, or get turned into a Warp portal. It’s not well studied so for all we know it could erode and weaken the soul. We will have to be careful with it.”

“We will need to find some volunteers,” I grimace. “I’m not keen on using it, but if it is ordered by the ship’s captain and issued by medical personnel, or perhaps the primary machine-spirit if the timing is critical, it would be an acceptable emergency measure. For example, I could see the machine-spirit of our modified Armigers issuing it to prevent a fatal shot to their pilots by squeezing an emergency barrier out of them. All psykers who are willing to use it will need to take one dose as practice too.”

“I disagree,” says Quaani. “No need to poke the Inquisition more than we already have. Better to destroy it all. For all we know it’s tainted, or could help a demon bypass our wards and that just isn’t worth testing. Unless it’s something we’ve created, I’m not using it.”

“I’ll put it in storage for now,” says Brigid. “A rare trade good is worth more than silvered thrones. Annette? What do you want to do? This is technically your stuff.”

“Keep it, test it, learn from it. You never know when it might be needed and we’ll feel real dumb if it could have saved lives and we destroy it. I do agree that we shouldn’t use a batch from an unknown providence though. If you can’t work out how to synthesise it, sell it.”

I say, “That is acceptable. Now, Brigid, what were you going to say about taking House Ortelius’ stuff?”

Brigid nods, “I agree with Annette’s evaluation that House Ortelius has thrown everything they have at us. The list is quite ridiculous. Not only have they provided the latest copy of the Almanac Astrea Divinitus, the most up to date survey of the galaxy, but also their own Navis Prima, which contains all of House Ortelius’ Warp routes. We have our own, but theirs is much better. They effectively gave us everything we need to found a new navigator house.”

“That Master of the Astronomicon title they have assigned you must have some serious clout,” says Thorfinn. “I don’t see what else could have led them to do that.”

Quaani shrugs, “Makes sense. Any navigator who meets Aldrich will recognise his soul powering the Astronomicon. It covers up the screaming mass of resentful spirits rather well. Seeing the person who made that possible walking about and not bound to the Golden Throne must have up-ended everything they know. Considering how their house is on the verge of extinction, they have nothing left to lose and everything to gain from throwing themselves at Aldrich.”

“That’s right,” says Brigid. “To really drive the point home, if Aldrich is willing to restore every House Ortelius navigator that he comes across, up to a limit of two thousand, or until the end of the millennium, whichever comes first, House Ortelius will handover their Avenger-Class Grand Cruiser.”

Annette clears her throat, “They’re taking you for a ride with that offer. The Avenger-Class grand cruiser they have is in poor condition and suffers from unfixable flaws. How much do you all know about the vessel class?”

“Only that they are rare,” says Owen.

Quaani says, “Most of them have been destroyed, right? No one makes them any more either.”

“Indeed,” says Annette. “The Avenger-Class is the largest of the grand cruisers at seven point five kilometres long and one point eight kilometres abeam. The Apocalypse-Class battleship, the largest of the battleships outside of the Glorianna-Class and Ark-Mechanicus, is approximately twenty-six point three percent smaller than the Avenger-Class by volume, even though the Apocalypse-Class is three point one kilometres longer and fields considerably more guns and shields. The Avenger-Class is usually slightly faster and has a bit more armour though, depending on how the vessels are customised.”

I say, “So it’s a big white whale?”

“I do not understand your reference, but if you mean it is needlessly expensive, somewhat ineffective, and incredibly prestigious, then yes. It is a big white whale.”

“What were they used for?” says Owen. “There has to be something more to them than their base statistics.”

Annette grins, “You’re absolutely right. They were used for their speed and mass. Unlike the other grand cruiser designs, they don’t have the internal layout for a prow or spine weapon, relying entirely on their broadsides. The whole point of the vessel was to lead the charge, taking advantage of their armoured prows back when such additions were rare, rather than standard, in Imperial ship design.

“They’re excellent at ramming enemy vessels as they don’t have to worry about damaging their prow weapon. Once they were close, they would soften the enemy up with torpedoes, shatter the enemy line with their rams, then sweep through opposing formations with their broadsides, which are as devastating as one would find on a battleship.

“As one might expect, used in such a manner, there are not many Avenger-Class grand cruisers remaining and those that do bear the scars of their battles. Most have significant damage done to their super-structures that can’t really be repaired without disassembling the vessels entirely, but that would make little economic sense.

“Current doctrine is to blast the enemy from as far away as possible, by any means, then board them; there are few opportunities for the Avenger-Class to excel in Imperial battle fleets and most were sold off. While they can carry a lot of cargo, their advanced systems require a lot of upkeep and the damage they take in battle means that no matter how much cargo you carry, turning a profit is an unreliable prospect.”

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“What a fascinating void ship,” says Quaani. “It strikes me that their value could be maximised by carrying resources that are harder to quantify. Would such a ship not make an excellent civilian city ship? Aldrich was planning to turn Ardent Bane into an agri, leisure, and diplomatic vessel. We could massively enhance our civilian industrial output or cybernetics manufacturing with an Avenger-Class, freeing up Iron Crane, which isn’t coming with us anyway.”

Annette says, “You could also turn it into a dedicated carrier. It does have more volume than the Nemesis-Class battleship too. That would work well with the amount of traffic a civilian industrial ship would see. It could fit half a million class one D-POTs with ease, even more if it was the Sagitta Pattern variant. Perhaps it isn’t quite the ‘white whale’ I thought it was.”

I laugh, “No one even seems to be considering that we won’t take it.”

“We need every vessel we can get,” Thorfinn shrugs. “It’s not like we have a line breaker vessel either. You never know when a brutish void ship like that might be useful. I know it would be expensive for most fleets, but we have far more expert labour and automated systems available than most.”

I say, “So this is why they’re softening us up with the two Carrack-Class and all those ‘gifts’. I’ll take that deal as it is. It’s actually pretty good one, if we look at it as a whole, and Brigid still has more on her list.”

“It means fewer aborted and abused children too,” mutters Annette. “That’s hard to put a price on, even if we have to be practical about it. Is the ritual expensive?”

“Sort of,” I say. “It requires rare materials, like blackstone, that are hard to source, but we already have a significant reserve and only use blackstone in making phase iron right now. Phase iron is used to further harden our machine-spirits and servitors against corruption in vital systems, so the ritual does consume a strategic resource. A resource that I would love to use to improve our Warp bane hulls, but that’s a different magnitude of consumption. We can afford the rituals.”

“Then I will confirm their offer and compliment them on their social acumen. We recognise a good play when we see it, but that’s little reason not to take it,” says Brigid.

“I agree,” I say. “We can decide what to do with that monster of a ship once we have it on hand.”

Brigid glances at Quaani’s satchel. “The cards first would be best.”

Quaani takes a deep breath, “Alright.” He reaches into the satchel and brings out a deck of cards that, to my third eye, glow with the Emperor’s light. The cards don’t quite seem solid, as if they exist in both the Materium and Immaterium simultaneously.

“The Emperor’s Tarot?” I say. “We’re hardly lacking in attention or guidance.”

“It’s not the most reliable tool,” says Annette, “but anything that can help us guide the Stellar Fleet in a safer manner is worth considering.”

Owen says, “Don’t the Runes of Witnessing make the Tarot redundant?”

Annette shakes her head, “Not quite. The Runes let one avoid an immediate fate, like a backfiring spell or a sudden squall. The Tarot is a further looking form of divination. They are less about diverting fate and more about warning the user about what is to come. A master of the Emperor’s Tarot can mimic the talents of an Eldar Farseer, to a lesser degree, but also with less risk to their sanity. Obsession is a risk either way.”

Quanni says, “You look like you’ve already made your mind up.”

“I have,” says Annette. “Everyone here has a specialised role, apart from me. I want to master the skills that only a psyker and navigator can. Aldrich might be the Novator of House Issengrund and trained in the psychic arts by an Eldar Warlock, but it isn’t his speciality. He doesn’t have the time to dedicate to becoming a master when he has so many other duties.

“Quaani is Aldrich’s heir and a scion. He shares many of Aldrich’s tasks, Quaani’s primary one being the face of House Issengrund when dealing with other Navigator Houses. The Stellar Fleet does not have a Master Psyker. The role was last held by Ailean Nan Sop.

“Alpia would be a contender for the role in twenty years or so, but that is unlikely to happen now. The Psy-Erants operate on a master and apprentice system for their psykers, but there isn’t an official teacher. Their commanding officer isn’t a psyker because of the time sink training psychic powers requires.

“I am one of the few people in the Fleet who have the time to dedicate to mastering multiple psychic disciplines, as well as teach the following generations. I’ll even be birthing many of them.

“I intend to learn the Emperor’s Tarot and become a Master Psyker and steer us to a safer and more prosperous future.”

I fold my arms, “We’re doing fine without a Master Psyker, but I acknowledge it is a role worth filling. If you can master one discipline within the next decade, and get a majority vote from all the other psykers and navigators in the Fleet, I will appoint you to the position. If you fail, someone else will get it. None of the Fleet Command positions are permanent, so you’ll get a chance each century to apply for the position. You’ll have a better chance than most if you can persuade Quaani to impart the skills he learned from Warlock Ylien.”

“Thank you, Aldrich. I am pleased you approve of my plan,” Annette smiles, then looks over to Quaani.

Quaani grins, “Sure, I’ll help you.”

“Wonderful!” says Annette.

Quaani’s smile quickly fades, “The last gift of House Ortelius handed out was this.” From his messenger satchel, Quaani pulls out a book and places it on the table. Frost slowly spreads across the table and it begins to warp, the material changing into different woods and metals.

The book is bound in leather, stamped with a chaotic pattern of feathers surrounding an eight pointed star. A stylized flame wafting off a burning eye dominates the centre of the star.

Everyone immediately makes the sign of the cog and Owen starts chanting prayers. He pulls some incense from his pocket and lights it. The smoke is drawn to the spreading change and encircles it. Silver and white flames form along the inner edge of the unnatural smoke ring and clash with the spreading corruption with a spitting hiss.

“That’s not me,” says Owen. “What the hell is happening?”

“The book is messing with you,” says Quaani. “It’s trying to show a fake miracle. Do not be deceived.”

Brigid stares at the book, then snaps out of it, “When you said there was a toxic gift we had to deal with, I was not expecting this. What is it and where does it come from?”

“If you’re not a navigator, avert your eyes for a moment.” The others look away and Quaani’s third eye snaps open. He bathes the table in a golden flame, turning the corruption to ash. The book then floats towards him and he puts it back in his satchel. The inside is covered with runes.

“You can look again. I’ve tracked this book as best I can, but I couldn’t go around showing it to all and sundry to find a guilty party. There’s no record of it in the gift list. As one might expect, it did not look like that when I picked it up either. The book is one of nine copies, a fact it takes great delight in; the Liber Heresius.” A moment of reverence passes across Quaani’s face. “It’s so much more than the inevitable rumours of its contents.”