Chapter Two Hundred and Seventy-Eight
Emil’s senior Navigator arrives first and, to everyone’s surprise other than my own, throws himself at my feet in terror while loudly praying for mercy. Unlike Fyona and Silas Ortelius, this one does not mistake me for the Emperor himself, though he clearly recognises my soul and assumes I am a major agent of the Throne and he knows he is guilty by association.
As much as I hate to admit it, he’s not wrong. I’m far more than my titles suggest and collective punishment is a standard procedure.
“Stand tall, Navigator. Save your knees for the Emperor. If you must, a bow or your favoured salute will do. I’d much rather shake your hand though.”
The Navigator stands, “You honour me, Novator Issengrund.” He hesitantly holds out his hand and we exchange a firm shake.
I get a good look at him and he’s obviously a scion. His only mutations are webbed fingers, ashen skin, and golden eyes. Like most Navigators, he is tall and thin, and would not look too out of place among my own crew. His robes are red and gold with voluminous sleeves. A force staff hovers next to him.
“Good day to you, Navigator. Your name?”
“I am Leonis Aleene, Novator Issengrund.”
“Your family named a Navigator after a blind Saint?”
Leonis clears his throat, “No, Novator Issengrund. That is an unfortunate coincidence. Although the origins of my name have been lost, my mother found an obscure reference to courage. She hoped it would keep me safe.”
“Ah, my apologies, that does make more sense. When you return to your quarters, you will find the Terran histories you need related to your name and other famous individuals who carried it in your library’s cogitator.”
“My gratitude, Novator Issengrund. That is most generous.”
“Now, Commodore Astoris. Are you content that, at the very least, Leonis recognises me as a powerful Navigator?”
Emil looks at me wide-eyed, pressing his back into his Throne Mechanicum, hoping that, if he wishes strongly enough, I will disappear. It looks like the weight of my presence, and his fuck up, is finally starting to sink in.
“What? What was all that fuss about? Answer me, Navigator!” says Emil.
“Commodore, it is Novator Issengrund who fuels the Astronomicon, even from here. For over twenty years, his soul has guided our every journey, burning in the light of the Emperor and pushing back the darkness. There is no mistaking his identity up close.”
Leonis fixes Emil with a stern stare, his dictation and pacing is excellent as he speaks, with a hint of awe creeping into his voice as he continues, “I have never met the Paternova, the strongest Navigator whose presence enhances the sight and power of all Navigators throughout the galaxy. I dare say that the gentleman before us is at least as strong. Calling him a Novator is understating it.
“Even while wandering the decks in his sleepwear, he could conquer this vessel alone. There would be no free will, only obedience. That Novator Issengrund is yet to make your brain flow out of your ears is a strong indication of his good manners and unsurpassed breeding. Your authority is worthless before his might and lineage. You will do as he says or I will abandon this ship, no matter the consequences of breaking my contract.”
“You dare?!”
“I have completed my duty and recognised Novator Issengrund’s identity; I declare him free of all Warp taint. Hating the answer will not change it.”
“Thank you, Leonis,” I say. “I was not expecting such praise, especially from a new acquaintance.”
Leonis waves off my words, “Novator Issengrund, I might as well be describing colours to the blind. Still, as a faithful agent of the Throne, it is my duty to at least attempt to do so. I apologise for failing to keep Karrad Vall in the system like did with his Wolfpack. I did not expect such a powerful and quick ritual and was caught unawares.”
“Stopping it would have killed you and achieved nothing,” I say. “Even if all the Navigators in the system banded together, I doubt they could have overpowered such an immense Warp Drive when backed by fierce sorcery and the will of the Ruinous Powers. You made the right call.”
“Your understanding is appreciated, Novator Issengrund.”
Emil says, “Are you two done speaking as if I am air?”
Before I can answer, an ancient Tech-priest on four, spider-like mechanical legs skitters into Emil’s throne room. He pauses when he sees the null box, then scans me and I let him. At that point his body just locks up and he freezes in shock before his body floods with synthetic chemicals and his cybernetic hearts whir fast enough to make his chest vibrate.
A ghostly whisper of a voice, overlaid by static, beeps, and hymns plays from a vox caster hanging on a chain around his neck.
++Query: Designation, Magos Aldrich Issengrund, Stellar Fleet?++
++Confirmation. Greetings Enginseer Prime.++
++Statement: Acknowledged. Welcome, Magos Issengrund. I am Enginseer Threnseus Oserael. Query: Purpose of visit?++
I revert to high gothic so that the other two can understand what is going on, “I require you to identify my Warrant of Trade.” I open my null box and hand him the tome within.
Threnseus extends a mechadendrite and delicately lifts my Warrant from my hands. There is a faint golden glow around it. Within the room, the air becomes clean and light. Peace and purpose brush against my mind. Emil, Leonis, and Threnseus relax.
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++Exclamation: A holy relic! Query: Origins?++
The prayers chanted from his vox caster increase in volume and a mechadendrite dabs fragrant oil on the clasp holding the Warrant closed.
“The Warrant is less than a decade old. It was handed to me by a Custodes from the Aquilan Shields. It bears the signatures of all twelve High Lords of Terra and the Emperor himself.”
Emil slumps into his throne, his face white. He looks more like a limp noodle than an Imperial officer. He grips the arms of his throne like a drowning man clinging to a half empty barrel of rum: his knuckles are white and a slight trickle of blood flows from his palms.
Threnseus scans the tome, “Commodore, this Warrant contains the appropriate authorisations. While they can, and have been faked, few would dare, or manage to acquire all the authorization codes from Olympus Mons and the Omnissiah’s palace.”
With a reverent touch, Threnseus opens the Warrant. The weight of the Emperor’s presence presses on my mind and body and I see the moment when His power hits the other three as well. They immediately fall to their knees, well the two that have them. Threnseus folds his legs beneath himself.
I don’t bother.
++Exultation: Omnissiah! Auto-prayer executable, designation Theta: We praise you for the wonders of the Machine, the majesty of your stars, and the beauty of your creation! Grant us the strength to reflect on your glory and the might to raise idols in your name. May your infinite armies conquer all who would deny you divinity. Blessed be your grand works that shelter all those who worship your name. Praise thee! Honour thee! Glory to the Omnissiah! Program Theta terminated.++
I say, ++Do not falter, Threnseus. Complete your duty. Read the Warrant. Match the signatures with those on record.++
++Submission: I obey, Magos.++
Threnseus scans the first page of the Warrant. He finally switches to High Gothic, his voice is entirely artificial and without inflection. “Confirmation: All signatures match, as do other hidden watermarks such as ink composition made from residue collected from the Golden Throne and the unique radioactive isotope mix found on Terra within the paper. The cogitator tome that contains the Warrant shows no signs of tampering.
“There is a strong psychic presence from the signature of Revelation, the Emperor of Mankind that matches the energy released from Imperial Saints and recorded miracles. Commodore Astoris, there can be no doubt that the bearer of this Warrant is an agent of the Throne.
“Most remarkable however is that the Emperor’s signature is new and it is possible he moved to execute it. The Warrant is tentative proof that the Omnissiah is recovering from the wound he took during the Siege of Terra.”
Threnseus returns my Warrant of Trade to me and reverts to Techna Linguis ++Gratitude: Thank you for the chance to examine such a relic, Magos Issengrund.++
++All dutiful children of Mars and Terra receive their due when I am at the helm, Threnseus. I am pleased with your thorough analysis. I will send you 144 Owl-Class Machine Spirits and the database the Stellar Fleet uses to train its Tech-Apprentices. They will partially free you from training your followers and give you more time for your own studies.++
++Surprise: Duty is its own reward, Magos! Still, I shall accept your gift with joy in my vitae pumps and prayers for you cast from my vox.++
I give Therenseus a small smile. Inwardly I am sweating buckets. He really knew his stuff on identifying a Warrant of Trade! That could have gone really badly for me. I am confident that my ownership of the Warrant would pass without issue, but considering how morally bankrupt Trader Modren was I am not 100% confident how authentic it was in the first place, or the legitimacy and clout of the original ruling body that issued it.
Either of those could have called my trouble, especially if someone cared to spend a few decades in the archives of Scintilla to look for discrepancies. Someone discovering that the identification code for the Warrant failing to match the records of the family it was issued to, for example, would have called everything I do into question. It may have sparked an investigation on Belecane too, which could result in similar troubles for me as my Magos Explorator authentication was stolen from them. With my technical prowess and discoveries, everyone will believe I am Magos Explorator no matter what, but it still does me no good to have my status questioned.
For once, I can’t help but feel some gratitude towards the Emperor for not only fixing my Warrant’s deficiencies, but massively enhancing its legitimacy, even if He did use residue from the Golden Throne, or rather His skin flakes, to do so. Man, getting cleaned by tiny brushes instead of a bath or even a flannel must be infuriating! Ha!
I always assumed the Emperor used Sorcery to create my Warrant, but Threneseus raises an interesting point. Did he move his withered digits and sign it, or maybe exercise his psychic might with enough delicacy to sign a document without incinerating everything in the Throne Room by accident? Either would be impressive and have sent the entire palace in the Himalayas and the Custodes into a tizzy.
My small gift to Therenseus should go a long way into securing the support of the most senior Enginseer in the combined Imperial Fleets. It will also oil any grinding cogs between us after I usurped his authority on the cruiser and disrupted his work. I am powerful enough that I don’t have to play these small games, but choosing to do so makes my minor gestures all the more meaningful to those who receive them. It’s rather handy when dealing with a social class who can spread gossip faster than light!
I secure my Warrant and the null box back inside my body, “Stand at ease, all of you.”
Emil, Leonis, and Therenseus scramble upright.
“I will be staying on this vessel until it returns to Footfall. I do not require quarters or rest. The Throne Mechanicum will do. Before you all return to your duties, or in Emil’s case, the Captain’s suite, do any of you have further questions relevant to the ongoing Battle of Footfall?”
Swaying on his feet, Emil clears his throat and says, “What will happen to myself and my crew?”
I shake my head, “I cannot predict the future, at least, not reliably.”
Leonis chuckles slightly but the other two barely breath.
“Commodore Astoris, the Warrant of Trade is the one document in the galaxy that can raise a Human from slave to God. Beyond the borders of the Imperium, like Footfall, I can command and requisition Imperial forces and resources as I please. We both know it is more complicated than that though.
“A Rogue Trader must be accountable for their actions when they return to the Imperium, thin though their justifications might be, lest they find their Forge World acquisitions delayed indefinitely, the ministorum turn the population against them, or the Administratum repeatedly loses a Rogue Trader’s requests. To whit, they must be successful with the resources they acquire or they won’t get any more until they can prove they can use what they already have effectively.
“This is why I phrased my orders as a suggestion. A gentleman’s agreement, if you will, that I would not stomp all over the authority of the Imperial Navy, saving me trouble and favours. In return, the Imperial Navy saves face and has a chance at fame, honour, and victory.
“You did not see it that way at all. I cannot execute you, your officers, or your crew for failing to obey my orders as I did not issue any.”
Emil exhales a long held breath. His shoulders relax slightly.
I continue, “Your initial blunder with my identity was understandable. Compounding it was unacceptable. The discipline and capabilities of your crews, for which you are responsible, was shameful. I could execute you and your officers for incompetence. I have the authority and justification to do so. I am furious enough to go through with it. The favours, the cost that would come in the aftermath?
“Rejoice, Emil. You aren’t worth the fyceline.”