“It’s not entirely Alpia’s fault,” I say. “She isn’t responsible for the actions of others, even if they commit their deeds to her name. I really thought she would have learned from the last time we handed out food though.”

Brigid says, “Alpia ran up against an unemployment and census issue of all things, as well as some old fashioned greed. As you know, we’ve been conducting a census and employing as many locals as we can at the Receiving Yards. Once they are in our systems, people get access to the same benefits our crews enjoy: a stipend of twenty-five bytes a day, free soylent viridans, water, and oxygen, free basic accommodation and education, and free comprehensive medical care. Join our labour force and they start getting free cybernetics as well and, after they are up to snuff, go through the Herald program with all the improvements that entails.

“The previous rulers of the SR-651, a collection of gangs and syndicates, were the sort of anarchic polities that one did not want to know one's name, occupation, skills, biometrics, and location. To reduce friction, registration has only been compulsory for those who are employed by the Stellar Fleet.

“Unsurprisingly, almost everyone on the station is highly suspicious of getting so many good services for free as the previous rulers have used such tactics multiple times before, so a lot of people do not register. They would rather starve than trust us.”

Owen grimaces, “That is an unpleasant truth and a reality I have been grappling with constantly since we arrived. It’s hard to even get people to sign up to an after church reading club! They were suspicious of a free cup of recaf for Throne’s sake.”

“That’s even worse than I thought it was,” I say, “but that’s not our focus right now. Brigid?”

Brigid continues, “The unwashed masses were likely waiting for a sign before they committed and Alpia gave them one when she offered food to volunteers willing to fight the zombie hordes. This act of kindness, in the eyes of others, legitimised the rumoured Trial of Faith. Combined with the rumour floating about that Alpia is recruiting for her personal regiment, there were suddenly millions of starving people who believed that, if they fought zombies, they might get employed by a Saint of the Imperium.

“Not only that, there are thousands of reported cases of people who have survived bites and not become infected, though infection is still happening. It is hypothesised that Alpia’s presence is suppressing the Zombie Plague and this has only fueled the zeal with which the Trial of Faith is being conducted to new heights.”

Quaani hums, “How troublesome. Are you going to legitimise any of these fighters, Uncle?”

“No, not directly” I say. “We are going to take the opportunity to register all of these people when they ask to join Alpia, then return them to the station. To make it reasonably legitimate, we will likely form some new regiments of Heralds from the more exceptional individuals, and inform them that Alpia’s Psy-Errants will be pulled from Herald regiments, which is actually true. In some ways, they will get their chance, but few are likely to ever serve my daughter.”

“Then why is this a problem?” says Annette.

Brigid drums her fingers against the table, “Greed, and Inquisitor Lyre. Again. Six of the fifty-five Chartist captains currently in the system, once they realised that blessed supplies were being handed out, decided to steal Alpia’s blessed supplies, then replace them with their own to try and hide their crimes. It wouldn’t do for the menials to feast on sanctified green goop.”

Brigid reins in her sarcasm and continues, “While these captains successfully stole the supplies, it did not go unnoticed because of the obvious packaging differences and the advanced tracking and security systems we use from the Cargo Container STC. Not only that, they broke quarantine, and even though none of these thieves were ever bitten and were surrounded by blessed supplies, they still managed to bring the Zombie Plague to their vessels.

“This forced us to impound the vessels to prevent further spread and made the other captains rather nervous they might also lose their ships. This was exacerbated by Lyre, who marched on to each of these impounded ships and executed the six captains and all of their senior officers, leaving these vessels in anarchy. He’s now in ‘voluntary’ quarantine in his shuttle because we threatened to blow it up if anything, or anyone, left his shuttle within the next thirty days. This is the second time his actions have caused unnecessary unrest in the system. The first was his disclosure of Tau on Charon.

“We now have a small opportunity to implement some policies to undermine his power and discover his motives, but that’s topic two of today’s meeting. As for what we can do for Alpia, Aldrich and I are open to ideas. We need something that will settle the remaining chartist captains and reduce the exodus of under equipped, half starved fools who are sneaking off the Receiving Yards in little more than void suits and home made jetpacks, or broken, unpowered shuttles catapulted from hidden bays.”

“I’ve had my news crews publicise the bodies,” says Thorfinn, “though it never dissuades others from copying them. I’ve been too busy with cleaning up Aldrich’s image and drowning the Trial of Faith rumour to give it my full efforts though.”

“There is only so much time in a day,” says Owen, “Even with the ancient technologies that Aldrich has granted us all. What would you say is the most urgent issue?”

Brigid says, “The Chartist captains. If they all run at the same time we won’t be able to stop them all. The Imperial navy would likely assist us in corralling them. Neither of us can afford the fallout from firing at Calligos Winterscale though, let alone take on his battleship. I doubt Calligos will run however, and he’d probably join in the free-for-all with a few stray shots coming our way. Our second issue is the constant smuggling of people from the Receiving Yards to the Breaking Yards.

“We are not worried about them going, but what they might bring back if they return the same way without going through quarantine. Our strike craft are patrolling, but they can’t be everywhere at once. It is not always easy to tell who is coming and who is going, so we have to imprison them, rather than shoot them, as we don’t want to kill people who are going to the so-called Trial of Faith. It would look bad and we are trying to get people to think we are not like the gangs.”

“That is a pickle,” says Annette. “Perhaps if Aldrich were willing to perform public penance for his ill-thought remarks, that would free up some propaganda resources?”

“What do you have in mind, dear?” says Brigid.

Annette says, “Aldrich, I’ve been told that you are near indestructible?”

“To most weaponry, yes. Near indestructible comes with more caveats than one might think.”

“Well,” Annette smiles, “How about you harken back to your old days, as Quaani has told me of, and fight the Zombie hordes with a pipe or two in some threadbare robes, much like the Flagellants and Repentia do. Thorfinn can have someone record the footage and when people see you come out unscathed, they will know that the Imperial Gods favour you.”

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on NovelBin.

“Are you telling me I should fight barefoot in booty shorts and a rebreather while mowing down the Enemies of Man like a maddened holovid hero with a crowbar?”

Brigid bursts out laughing and Annette recoils and tries to make herself look small.

“No, no,” says Brigid, “We’re not laughing at you dear. I think it’s an excellent idea.”

I grimace, “It’s not that simple. My body is a sanctified and warded machine and I can call on the miracles of the Emperor, but the Zombie Plague is one of the few things that can actually kill me. Despite their favour, I am too jaded and aware of the demands of the Emperor and Machine-God to follow them blindly and thus I am vulnerable to a faith vectored virus.

“It is unlikely in the extreme that I would suffer such an ignoble end, yet chance, when directed by the Ruinous Powers, has a disfavorable range. I may practise what I preach, but in my heart I cannot bring myself to place my fate in the hands of another, divinity or not.”

Annette gasps and trembles at my confession. No one else looks surprised.

I continue, “I have no doubt in the purity and might of the Emperor or the Machine-God, and I trust that they want Humanity to thrive as their strength comes from our worship. I am incapable of blind worship, however. They, by necessity, must prioritise the good of many, and I am but one Herald of their might in a galaxy of Stars.”

“You taught us of the God Emperor,” says Thorfinn, his voice warm, “but you’ve always been the practical type. Hell, Owen earned his place at Fleet Command to soften your challenging stance on the Imperial Gods. You married Brigid because you admire her efficiency and focus, no matter how it might inconvenience your relationship on occasion. No one here doubts your faith in Humanity, and the sacrifices you have made to keep your friends and family safe.”

I look around and see a table of smiles, though Annette looks horribly confused.

Thorfinn continues, his conviction building with every word, “You accepted the burden of the Navigator Gene to save Quaani and guide us through the Warp. You’ve faced down Tyranids and Tau, butchered Orks and Demons by the millions, duelled a Warboss and a Chaos Marine, and brought noise and motion to silent Necron tombs.

“You even led us to safety from the machinations of a C’Tan shard, a fragment of a God that brought the Old Ones low. You’ve gifted the Emperor the means to revive his sons. You’ve fathered a daughter who bears the blessings of the Machine-God and Omnissiah.

“It is in our actions that we show the greatest faith, not mindless devotion, snorting incense and banging our heads against marble floors. You have nothing to fear from Zombie Plagues and jealous gods. Your will alone is all you need to stave off a predatory sniffle.”

I blush and wipe a touch of lubricant from my eye, “Thorfinn, thank you. I needed to hear that.”

Brigid gives me a cheer and caresses my hair with a mechadendrite. Quaani and Owen provide brief applause.

Annette looks from face to face, “You’re all OK with this? Is doubt not a sin, Father Owen?”

“Nay, Lady Annette. To doubt is Human and to be Human is divine. Failure to act is death, and our lives are not ours to spend. Lives are the Emperor’s currency, no one else's. Complacency is a sin, hesitancy a crime. To doubt? To question? We are a species of tool users and worship machines. Double checking if it’s the red or the blue wire that disables an exterminatus torpedo is just common sense.”

Annette frowns while the rest of us laugh. Quaani leans over and whispers in Annette’s ear.

“Oh!” says Annette, “that makes sense.” She turns to me, “You would teach me the secrets of the Mechanicus?”

I stare at Quaani for a moment, then turn back to Annette. “It’s the family trade. I’m surprised Quaani hasn’t started teaching you already. Did I not already insist on this?”

“We have learned a few things from each other,” says Annette, “but never get too far. We find each other’s company too distracting.”

Brigid says, “Fun as it is to see Quaani blush like he’s fresh out the Exo-Womb, we’re getting off topic. Aldrich, are you willing to do an underwear commercial or not?”

“I will face the hordes if I must,” I say. I run my hand down my face, then square my shoulders, “Once I leave I will have to stay though. For the following months you will have to look, not touch.” I wink at Brigid. “Hopefully people seeing me take a more active role will quell the growing unrest. We really could have put those dead captains to better use if they could have joined me. Perhaps their crews will be up for a fight, rather than lounge around causing trouble.”

Brigid pinches my bum with a mechadendrite. Quaani snickers and Annette gives me a wide-eyed, shocked stare. Thorfinn just laughs.

Owen rests his arms on the table and leans forward, “How about a crew exchange program? There is always work to do on a voidship, but with so many vessels stuck in port for such a long time, the officers must have burned through a lot of mindless, minor tasks by now.

“Experiencing how the other half live will help us exchange knowledge and culture, as well as do a fine job of showing why we are the best. It wouldn’t do for our crews and officers to be lured away with overly generous offers. It’s also harder to hate people you know. Usually. Thorfinn could make a live drama out of it either way. As for how to stop the militant migration, I am at a loss.”

I lean back in my chair and close my eyes for a brief moment as I run several simulations and debate the issue with my artificial minds.

“We’ll do a trial run,” I say. “Everyone will be delighted to get a chance to spy on us, but we can do the same in turn and it should keep most people out of mischief for a while.”

Quaani raises his hand slightly, “I have an idea. Make the Trial of Faith official and provide proper transport. Shoot everything else. Send some servitors through the Receiving Yards to announce the details as well as through the vox shows and the like that are played in the factories. There’s no need to be sneaky here.

“Thorfinn can also get Alpia in on some talk shows and have her endorse the official response and express her distress about all these people who feel like they need to hide their faith, rather than shout it. They should not need to feel ashamed by wanting to fight. Instead they should take the official shuttles and wear a proper undersuit so that they can return to their families having proved their worth in the eyes of the Emperor. Alpia could say she has no desire to be served by the dead.”

“I can promote a message like that,” says Thorfinn, nodding.

Brigid sighs, “I’m sure I can find something in the coffers. Perhaps I will issue an undersuit replacement program ahead of time and hand out the old ones to the suicidal idiots, rather than recycle them like we usually do. A basic blade wouldn’t go amiss either. I know this is a waste of resources, but so is a mob and we have to deal with one of those problems either way.”

“Good idea Quaani,” I say. “I don’t like having my hand forced by rumours, but setting aside my pride here will save us a lot of grief.”

“So long as you don’t accidentally reveal ‘your pride’ on pict, it should be fine,” says Thorfinn with a smirk.

I groan, “Because when is a dick joke not too premature before I get to the action?”

“Just stop there boys,” says Brigid. “I don’t want to listen to you trying to one up each other for the rest of the meeting. To summarise, Aldrich is going to flog corpses with his thick rod to distract the zealots. We’re starting a ‘student’ exchange program to give emotions to the faceless masses. Last, we’re bowing to popular opinion to avoid a mass plague outbreak and potential mutiny. It wouldn’t do to give Lyre any more ammo.” Brigid taps her chin, “Usually it is collective intelligence that causes the problem, not solves it, but we do live in strange times. All agreed?”

“Aye,” I say. Everyone else follows with their affirmations.

“Great!” says Brigid. “Time to move on to the gifts from House Ortelius. Really dear, your family has thrown up such a fuss. I hope you can steer us through this mess.”

Annette glances at Quaani and he gives her leg a squeeze under the table and she puts on the most adorable determined face.

“I’ll do my best!” says Annette.

I laugh in my mind as I wonder if I could revive the cinnamon tree from Annette’s innocent enthusiasm and a pinch of the Empyrean.