Herald of the Stars: Chapter One Hundred and Eight (Patreon)

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Quaani is more savvy than I expected for someone just out of a biotank and yet to adjust to new implants; he queries Sadako for directions and quickly finds my private kitchen and scans the embedded codes on the cupboards to find two mugs, recaf and a tin of shortbread biscuits I baked myself.

We chat for two hours about where we are, what happened to his psy-errant friends, and how my own acquaintances are doing. I save the shock of me finally having a girlfriend for another day as he’s just gone from knowing he’s going to mutate uncontrollably and die to waking up better than ever, to learning all his friends died while he was asleep.

As he digests the news, I quietly cook us grox burgers and chips and put on some quiet music, leaving him to his thoughts. We eat in silence, then retreat to the sitting room and relax on the comfy sofas. I fire up my work and wait for Quaani to decide when he is ready to talk, but he falls asleep and I put a blanket over him then continue to work through the night, happy to leave him be.

Eleven hours later, he finally stirs. I bring him a fresh recaf and some fruit sweetened frumenty: boiled grains in milk. Quaani mumbles his thanks, and eats his food. After he’s finished, he places his empty bowl on the low table in front of him and the spoon rattles with a distinctive clatter.

“Aldrich, I am going to have a shower and refresh my clothes.” He looks directly at my forehead with its cybernetic covering. “Then I have some questions.”

“Of course, Quaani.”

He nods, seemingly satisfied with my reply,  then leaves and returns twenty minutes later, looking much the same as when he left except for a slight flush to his skin as his body sheds heat from the shower. He clearly isn’t used to the more robust Voidskin and turned the shower up really high as his hair is bright white on my thermal sensors as it helps him cool down.

Quaani sits opposite me and taps the centre of his forehead where an identical cover to mine covers his third eye, “Can you show me?”

“Sure.” I turn my head away from Quaani. The covering on my eye retracts and I open my third eye. I have better control than I used to and the paint on the wall blisters slightly, rather than the plasteel beneath becoming pitted and gradually disintegrating.

“How?” says Quaani.

I close my third eye and face Quaani, “I prayed to the Emperor for a way to help you. He granted me a ritual that would allow me to match your genetics to my own, purging unwanted mutations in the process. For you to retain your own gifts, he blessed me with an original navigator’s body. I also gave you a lot of new implants. The manuals are on your MIU.”

“Yeah, I saw them. You really went all out. I’m surprised you didn’t add Aetheric Wave-Spars while you were at it too.”

“They are illegal and as dangerous to the user as they are to the user’s targets.”

“Uh huh, and I bet you don’t have the STC for them either.”

“I do not. Even if I did have one and could construct a master-crafted version, I still wouldn’t experiment with Warp channelling boosters with you, Quaani. Besides, if you want to blow shit up, there are plenty of other ways to do so without cooking your brain inside your skull.”

“I thought the good ones prevented that sort of thing.”

“They can, but if they get over-saturated they can still explode without warning. Even with your newly reinforced skull, the equivalent of a plasma grenade cooking off next to your head would not do you any favours, or for those around you.”

“Ah.”

“‘Ah’, indeed, Quaani. Let’s return to the topic at hand.”

Quaani folds his arms and clasps his chin, “Well, I don’t really know what else to say. You’re a navigator. I’m a navigator. We both know that intense emotions, or reacting in an exaggerated manner is best avoided whenever possible. Yesterday was enough of an exception. I will process this in my own time.”

“I was hoping for a little humour.”

“Happy to disappoint.”

I chuckle, “Alright. We’ll table your ‘I’m so shocked’ reaction for another day. I want to talk about something I consider far more important. How do you feel about being genetically related to me?”

Quaani leans back and closes his eyes, “I’m not sure yet. I haven’t seen my parents for decades. I don’t remember them all that well. Both of them were quite distant and rather strict, but they also did their best to protect me from harm. I feel a little lost, I think.” Quaani frowns and looks back at me, “How related to you am I? Cousin, uncle, clone?”

“You’re my son, Quaani. We’ve always danced about the subject. I never wanted to intrude on how you felt about your parents, but I raised you to the best of my ability in their absence. I hoped to ensure you were happy. At the same time, I wanted to keep my distance somewhat, so that I would not substitute you for the children I left behind, millennia ago.

“Treating you as a substitute would have been cruel to you, for you are your own person and worthy of family and affection. It would have dishonoured the memory of my previous children and become a form of self-torture for myself. At the same time, keeping my distance from the one person on Distant Sun, especially a child, was impossible and would have been irresponsible too.

“I couldn’t talk to you about this before as you were too young, and previously all I had was two machine-spirits to consult with and neither could, or would, help with such matters, so I’ve always kept these thoughts to myself.

“Now though, there are no such restrictions. You are my son by blood and deeds and, if you are willing, I would like to formally adopt you. I do not require an immediate answer and will treat you the same regardless of if you say yes or no.”

Quaani looks shocked, but he quickly smooths his expression, then smirks, “You’ve had far too much practice dropping bombs since I took a long nap.”

I chuckle.

“In all seriousness,” Quaani shakes his head, “I’m not sure why you are telling me all this. It doesn’t matter to me who I am related to and, your struggles, while enlightening, do not change the past nor alter how I feel. Does it really matter if you formally adopt me or not? Can’t we just carry on as before? This is all a bit much.”

“If that’s what you wish, we can do that. While chasing warm, fuzzy feelings is nice and all, there is a more practical reason behind why I want to properly adopt you, Quaani.”

“What is it?”

“Inheritance. Every battle is a coin toss between life and death. I can load the odds in my favour but, with the number of high stakes fights I get into, there is a high chance I will die before you do. Should that happen, I want to leave my fleet to you.

“Navigators are treated best aboard their dynasty’s fleet. On other vessels they are often little better than prisoners. By adopting you, I hope to remove that obstacle for you. It would be even better if I could become a Rogue Trader, but for some reason, that never seems to happen. Doing anything or getting anywhere of significance takes forever on a galactic scale.”

“You want to adopt me, just so I can continue to live free and happy if, or when, you die?”

“Yes.” I clear my throat. “Also, it would be nice to be called, Dad. Even if it’s only once.”

Quaani’s face scrunches up and he slowly shakes his head, “I don’t think I can do that. I don’t want to forget what little I have left of my parents. Uncle, maybe? Yeah. I could do that. Or old dude.”

I snort, hiding my disappointment behind a brief laugh, “Sure, that will do.”

“I still get all your stuff though, right?”

“Yes, you do. Young rascal.”

“Nice, uncle old dude!”

I shake my head and smile.

“Aldrich?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s OK. Apologies for presuming.”

“No. I don’t mind. It makes me happy. Thanks for looking out for me.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m going to take a walk around Iron Crane. Check out all the shiny new stuff.”

“Alright.”

“Can I come back or do I need to stay in the navigator spire?”

“This is the navigator spire. These are my quarters and there is a room for you here if you want it. You also have your own quarters here as well, with your own private elevator and guards. No one will disturb you, if you don’t want to see anyone.” I smirk, “Or if you are seeing someone.”

“Deal with your own love life before you tease me about my own.”

“Ah, well, if you're up for one more bomb?”

“Wait, no! Seriously? Who?”

“Brigid.”

“The purser lady? Divorcee with two adult kids?”

“She’s the one.”

“You chose the one woman who can squeeze both your coin purses? That’s pretty dumb.”

“Cheeky brat. Go for your walk and leave me in peace. Maybe check out the beach, yeah?”

“The what now?”

I shrug, “It’s a big vessel. There are more amenities here than Distant Sun. The beach is a sophisticated swimming pool, or a vivarium you can swim in, depending on how you look at it.”

“Next you're going to tell me there is a forest somewhere in here.”

“Yes, we have an arboretum. It is combined with the observation dome. There are multiple gardens in the habitation district too.”

“Wow.”

“You will have an escort when you leave. They are discrete and you might not notice them. The ship is pretty safe, but no point taking chances.”

Quanni shrugs, “You need to give your minions something to do, I suppose.”

“Don’t disparage the people who have to take a plasma round for you. They might trip on their well tied shoe laces before they can make the jump.”

“Fine,” Quaani laughs. “Do they even have shoe laces?”

“Only half of the time. Depends if they're in uniform or void armour.”

“Way to hammer in the point.”

“I am an Adeptus Mechanicus Magos Explorator. All I see is nails. All I hear is prayers and the begging of the ignorant.”

Quaani raises an eyebrow, “All you taste is your own self importance too, I bet.”

“I refuse to think about how I might achieve that.”

“Alright, I really am going this time. Before I accidentally scar myself for life.”

“See you later, Quaani.”

Quaani leaves, then pops his head back around the door, “Uncle Aldrich?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for giving me my own space and not being an asshole.”

I laugh, “You’re quite welcome.”

Finally, Quaani leaves, the sensors in my quarters, and the messages from my heralds as they acknowledge their new assignment and keep me updated of Quaani’s location, but not what he is doing.

I lie on the sofa, put my feet up, and suspend all my extra instances. Closing my eyes, I go over my interactions with Quaani trying to decide if I’ve fucked up or not. I think he took the information and discussion well, but I definitely pushed too far when I asked him to call me Dad.

I really wanted to get everything sorted in one conversation as I hate having emotional conversations hang over me like the Sword of Damocles. I am pleased that I was able to express my thoughts clearly though, even if not everything went exactly how I’d like it.

I won’t be discussing this with Brigid either as I don’t want to come across as keen to have more kids. It’s been three years since we started dating, but she hasn’t moved in and we keep our lives quite separate. This stops our personal and professional lives from bleeding into each other as, when we do spend time together, it can be purely about each other, or our personal projects.

If we lived together, we’d inevitably end up discussing work, but as I am her boss, there is a chance that power dynamic would seep into our relationship. Neither of us want that and we have discussed the issue. I have life or death privileges over everyone in the Stellar Fleet, not just hire or fire privileges like a boss on Old Earth. The dynamic is both the same while being completely different.

I am hoping that once we are more comfortable with each other, our roles, and how they relate to each other, she will be willing to move into the navigator spire with me, rather than keep her own quarters.  There is still plenty of space for her to have her private rooms here too, but Brigid is a little leery of committing after messing up her marriage.

Like most things, I believe our relationship is a matter of practice and we both have centuries to try and get it right. There is no need to rush, but I can never shake that niggle that if I’m not doing something to change, or improve, a situation I am doing something wrong.

That’s rubbish, as the old motto, ‘If it ain't broke, don’t fix it’ is a good one to live by. As an engineer though, I just can’t help myself. There is almost always a better way to complete a task. The problem is finding it without destroying what you already have along the way.

That’s fine when all you're dealing with is prototypes, but treating a relationship as one is not a sensible path, unless you plan to rapidly swap models, as it were, until you find one that works. That’s not my style, and while I may look like I’m twenty-five, living like a twenty-five year old, or abusing my position to get epic amounts of hot chicks is nothing but an exotic fantasy.

To engage in such recklessness would give me an unprofessional reputation and that is not a risk I can take when piloting city size vessels through hellscapes and xenos fleets. While navigators are encouraged to have a harem, I’m not a lonely fan of tentacles, or of screwing my relatives. There will be no songs of ice and fire performed aboard my void ship!