Chương 179: Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-Nine

"Greetings, Lord Silas Ortellius and Lady Fyona Ortellius. I am delighted to meet you with an open hand, rather than with the quick tongue and swift quill of the negotiating table," says Quaani.

"We look forward to your stay," says Silas, "and are pleased you are willing to take the time to get to know us before we give our daughter away." Quaani gestures towards me, "It was my Uncle's idea. He is big on family values." Fyona says, "We are pleased to hear that. Now, go and greet Annette. I can tell that she is bursting to speak with you." Quanni nods, "Please excuse me." Quaani approaches Annette and she presents her hand. He holds out his palm and Annette places her fingertips upon it.

Quaani bends slightly and lifts her hand to his lips, then kisses the air just above her hand, brushing the back of her hand with his thumb as he does so.

"Good day, Lady Annette. I am pleased to see you are well." Annette says, "Remarkably, this is actually true. It is most gratifying to stand without pain. Magos Issengrund mentioned gifts, yet I see nothing of the sort. You are not some rogue, here to trick me, I hope?"

"Not at all. Uncle was jumping the macro-cannon somewhat. I have persuaded him to gift you and your parents with the most precious commodity of all: good health. His healing touch was a demonstration. Greater rituals of the Biologis will have to wait until we host you next week upon Iron Crane."

"Truely?" Annettes third hand twitches slightly against her chest.

"Such a thing is possible?"

"Yes, I have also undergone this procedure, as have all the other navigators in our service. Even should it fail, Uncle can provide mechanical replacements. His own form is proof of his skills." Raphael clears his throat, "This will require supervision. We cannot risk our navigators in such a haphazard fashion."

"I think not, Inquisitor," says Silas.

"We take you where you are needed, but we are not yours to command."

"Inquisitor Horthstien, a Custodes has watched the process and did not object," I say.

"Will you?" Raphael looks at each of us in turn, then tuts.

"No. Instead, tell me, what did Lady Fyona mean when she said that your light burns in the darkness."

"I will show you this only once." I exchange a dozen souls with the Emperor and draw upon his power, letting His golden flames play over my hands. A great weight presses down upon us all and Imperial chants drone all around us. A moment later, the flames wink out, and the air smells sweet and pure, like a spring breeze.

"You are an Imperial Saint," says Raphael.

"Besides, you've already shown me this trick. The blessing on my new rosette was much more impressive." I shake my head, "I am nothing like an Imperial Saint. The Emperor is my patron. He demands a Tithe for his power and knowledge. The reason my strength partly fuels the Astronomicon is because I prayed for a particularly large favour and had to pay a corresponding price. It was worth it, because it helped my Fleet turn a Necron Tomb World to dust."

"When did this happen?"

"Approximately twenty years ago." Raphael stares at me for a good minute, "So you are the reason the Imperium is in such a mess."

"Not in the slightest. I do not control the thoughts and actions of others. Were you not just complaining that people make stupid decisions all of the time?"

"Then what is the difference between you and a saint?" says Raphael.

"His power cannot be faked."

"It is no different to the miracles that the Adeptus Sororitas can call upon. Not all of them are saints, are they? Just exceptionally devout. Faith is power. That is what they exchange. I give up my own strength for the Emperor to do with as he wishes and am rewarded with aid when it is most needed."

"What am I to do with you, Magos? I would be remiss in my duties were I to let you wander the galaxy unsupervised. Your power is too great, your knowledge too vast, and you could do a lot of damage without meaning to." I shrug, "Then sit on my council and advise me. Travel with me if you must." Raphael raises an eyebrow.

"Typically it is the Magos who joins an Inquisitor's retinue, not the other way around." I scoff, "Do not ask for the impossible."

"I will consider it. Perhaps my presence will encourage you to give me a void ship even faster." I laugh, "A distinct possibility." I turn to Silas and Fyona, "I rather fear my actions have overshadowed the first meeting of our houses. I apologise for interrupting my gracious hosts. I do hope you can forgive me and look forward to whatever you have prepared." Silas glances between Raphael and I then clears his throat, "There is nothing to apologise for.

I am pleased with your explanation and delighted that our daughter will have such stalwart protection." Fyona puts on a smile, revealing dozens of long, needle-like teeth, "I have been told you are fond of tea, biscuits, and cake. We have arranged a tasting session for you with our supplies from Terra. Our servants are rightly proud of their work and eager for your evaluation." I say, "Oh! That is most pleasing. Please, lead on!"

"What are your interests, Lord Quaani?" says Annette. Quaani holds out his arm and Annette grasps it tightly, wobbling slightly as she walks. Fyona gently pushes her husband's wheelchair towards a room on her left while the servants scatter. Raphael and I follow behind. The Inquisitor has clearly decided to invite himself as the initial plan was for him to merely show us to the spire. No one has pointed it out, and so long as he remains polite, I doubt our hosts will point out the discrepancy.

"I am fond of Old Earth media," says Quaani.

"Uncle used to share his collection with me while I was growing up under his care. Later my interests changed to replicating what I had seen using Imperial technology, so I suppose you could say that my hobby is to make models. Uncle has only been too happy to aid me, even if much of it had to be done in simulations.

"I have multiple copies of Old Earth that I have recreated in full from different eras, as best I can. Only small parts of them are historically accurate. Most are well simulated guesses and they run from M2 to M15. The best records we have are for M3. After the great migration in M15, the records we have are no longer sufficient to recreate Old Earth, only small portions of it. Everything beyond M23 is lost.

"While it is possible to chat with the Machine-Spirits who emulate the ghosts of our past, we don't really know what the needs and wants of those people really were, so talking to these simulated ancient Humans is more a curiosity than fact. Holovid shows depict fictional lives and exaggerate popular culture for entertainment. They can only give clues as to how our ancestors actually spoke and lived. Still, it lends a certain believability to the simulations that they would otherwise lack."

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"That sounds quite marvellous," says Annette, "I would be pleased to share the records of our house with you so that you can replicate Terra in all its sordid glory. Surely a more modern take could only add to your collection?" Two servants hold open the doors and we enter a somewhat cosy room, filled with sofas and two gold filigree trolleys, laden with snacks. There is an actual marble fireplace with a real fire burning within, with real logs.

Even the scented candles are made from paraffin wax, rather than the fake, fire-safe versions whose use is enforced within Stellar Fleet vessels and vehicles. Quanni says, "Absolutely. It is good to visit one's roots and the data would please the many Tech-Priests who also make use of such simulations. How about you, Annette. How do you spend your time?"

"I read fiction, religious works, and attend service at the family chapel. I have tried my hand at jewellery crafting, music, and painting, but my physical condition has limited these pursuits greatly. However, most of my time is spent practising the navigator arts and channelling my power whenever I can, lest I lose strength and wit over time."

"Practice is a vital part of what we do. It is good that you are diligent. I too, used to practise much and still do, but now, thanks to Uncle, I can do more than one task at once. It is unwise to do such things while actually navigating, but the rest of my time is more flexible."

"Will I be able to do such things?" says Annette Quaani shrugs, "It is the standardised set of implants required for all Captains, Executive Officers, Stellar Fleet Command, and Navigators. Should we marry, you will get them." I detect a slight flash of greed from Raphael as he listens to Quaani and Annette. I am pleased with Quaani slipping out small details as if I can bring an Inquisitor on board it will greatly aid my legitimacy, much like the Space Marines and my Warrant of Trade.

More importantly, if I am already 'under investigation' then it should keep other Inquisitors away from the Stellar Fleet.

"It sounds more like magic to me," says Annette.

"Nothing that cannot be learned, should you have the will and interest to see it through," says Quaani. Annete says, "Will I become a member of the Adeptus Mechanicus?"

"Yes, I doubt Uncle will give you a choice, though how far you rise is up to you. Everyone in the Stellar Fleet has been inducted as Uncle despises ignorance, no matter how blessed a life it can lead to. He prefers truth over convenience and I am much the same, no matter how much I wish it were the other way around at times."

"Navigators do not have the luxury of ignorance," says Annette.

"We see the worst the galaxy has to offer every time we open our eyes."

"I agree," says Quaani. We take our seats and a different servant serves each of us individually, though Raphael gets his last when a fourth servant rushes in with extra ceramics. There is no victoria sponge, or triple chocolate gateau. Instead, each cake is the work of a master sculptor, creating everyday items in miniature with remarkable accuracy, like glossy dataslates, brass cogs, and a ship's wheel decorated with gold leaf.

The most impressive however is a three foot high harp, made from chocolate and marzipan substitutes, then strung with hard sugar. There are thirty different leaf teas, all in plasteel tins and painted in Imperial iconography. Never have I been more weirded out by seeing a female servant bend over in front of me, flashing her underwear, while spooning dried leaves from a tin painted with a skull.

I'm not quite sure what House Ortellius thinks tea time is for, or if they expect me to drink from the skulls of my enemies, but Quaani takes one look at my face and has to bite his knuckles to stop himself from laughing. Our hosts notice my discomfort and Silas says, "Magos, Is the spread not to your liking?"

"Forgive my surprise, Lord Ortellius. I was overwhelmed by the volume of... cakes."

"Do you not indulge often?" says Fyona.

"I would have thought a man of your stature had plenty of time for vices."

"My spare time is spent raising my children and maintaining my relationships with my wife and my friends. Most, unfortunately, is lost to administration. It is rare for me to take the time to indulge in research or crafting. I also miss teaching. I do not do as much as I used to." This is a total lie. I have plenty of time to do all these things all of the time, but they don't need to know that and I've already given Raphael plenty to chew on.

"Do you not set aside the burden of command to others?" says Annette.

"What use is having help if they cannot aid you?"

"One who sets aside their burdens sets a poor example and does not remain in charge for long," I say.

"I expect Inquisitor Horthstien has much to speak of on that matter." Raphael nods, "It is a grim job and not a suitable subject while enjoying such a fine repast. Magos Issengrund is correct though. Leadership is much like riding an intemperate grox. Once you are up there, you'd best hang on tight, lest you be trampled upon during your fall from grace."

"This is not something House Ortellius need worry about," says Annette.

"Navigators are not replaceable. I would have thought the same applied for a Novator, let alone one who is a Magos as well. A curious addendum. I do not know of any navigators who have ever taken up with the Mechanicus." I laugh, "Who do you think tests a navigator throne before a ship is sold? It is not enough to pray to the Machine-Spirits and activate them.

To test a throne, one must know how it works so that they can explain what is wrong, should an error occur, and if you are going that far, you might as well learn how the whole vessel works. A throne does not work without a vessel, after all."

"I had not thought of it that way," says Fyona, "neither have I ever tested a navigation throne, only placed my life in the hands of our House's Tech-Priests. Have they been remiss in their duties or am I unaware of my own ignorance? This is most disconcerting, Magos. Would you free us from our doubts?" I look down at Raphael, "You don't expect me to guess how you run your vessel do you? Never mind, Petitor Veritas is yelling at me again.

Your navigator throne was verified during the vessel's trials, before it was fully commissioned. It has not been officially tested after maintenance. Currently the next voyage after maintenance counts as the test, while the user remains unaware they were an unwitting test dummy. While this likely saved time and resources, it is rude and unprofessional. It isn't quite against the repair rituals of the Mechanicus, but it is merrily skipping along the line.

"I can understand why your Tech-Priests did not bother to inform you as you are not trained members of the Mechanicus, and thus cannot tell them much more than the data they would have read directly from the navigation throne. They likely believe their machines can tell them far more than any vague impressions of performance that a navigator might speak of. For most devices, this would be true, yet for such a vital and esoteric device as a navigator throne, impressions are an important part of configuration.

"One cannot put any navigator on any throne, it has settings, and works best when it is configured for a specific user. These performance profiles are easy to swap between once they are set up, but they do require the input from the navigator for an optimum result.

A generic profile is adequate and perfectly safe, but when navigating the Warp I would advocate that every percent of performance is worth fighting for, no matter the difficulties of learning the intricate details of the tools a navigator uses for weeks at a time."

"Excuse me," says Raphael.

"I find myself with a sudden and urgent task. Thank you for the refreshments, Silas, Fyona, and Annette. Good day to you, Magos Issengrund and Navigator Quaani."

"Farewell, Inquisitor," I say.

"Please do not drop my name should something be amiss. I do not wish to accidentally denigrate my fellow priests when I have only the vaguest picture of what is occurring." Raphael sighs, "Magos, apparently you do not need to infiltrate our systems because the Machine-Spirits are happy to tell you whatever you might want to know. If you do not know the entire outlook of this vessel by now I will make a genuine attempt to eat my armoured hat." I chuckle, "As amusing as that would be to see.

I do not want to have to heal you afterwards. Your people are good, excellent even, but their way of doing things is not mine, nor are our circumstances the same. I will not judge them, nor should you be hasty. They likely have very good, very technical reasons for their choices and are likely playing it as safe as they can with what they know. If they were not, you would all be dead."

"I will keep that in mind," says Raphael. He stands, gives us a shallow bow, and hurries from the room.

"You just can't help yourself, can you Uncle," Quaani smirks, "must you poke at everything wherever you go? What will Brigid say if she knows you've been running your mechadendrites over all those cakes?" Fyona clears her throat, "How's the tea?"

"Well, after all this fuss, and the efforts of your staff, I think I should try them all," I say.

"It would be a shame to see any of this go to waste. It will give us plenty of time to chat."

"We're here all week, Uncle! Don't be so greedy."

"I never said I was going to try everything in one sitting now did I?"

"Now you're just messing with me." Annette laughs, "It is good to see you both finally show us a touch of who you are when you are comfortable. I hope that this can continue."

"We'll give it a try, eh?" says Silas.