Maeve laughs at my outburst and says, “Like almost every other problem with the Imperium, this one was triggered by a mix of ambition, greed, corruption, and history.

  “Before our assault on Dying Light, the Receiving Yard, among many other vessels, was host to two Rogue Trader scions. They were potential inheritors of Admiral Dallactarius IV, a Rogue Trader who perished in a conflict around 490.M41 in the Drusus Marches of the Calixis sector.

  “The Navy backed them and was testing them to see who should inherit the Warrant of Trade. They had discovered the two individuals within their ranks during a medical check and were likely hoping to get a Rogue Trader under the Navy’s nominal control.”

  I say, “I can see why the Navy would be interested. Raphael said in his report that the The Koronus Battlefleet is one of the least well funded in the Imperium while also having close to the highest attrition. They are desperate for alternative sources of income and supplies. Sponsoring a Rogue Trader could either get them those supplies, or free them up by cutting Imperial losses.”

  “Raphael didn’t share that with me,” says Maeve. “I’m pleased my speculation has some basis. Now this is where things get a little messy. The two scions each arrived on a heavy frigate, vessels that are owned and crewed by the Imperial Navy, under the command of the scions.

  “When the Receiving Yards were damaged, both of them thought this was the perfect time to seize control of the station and sponsored different gangs and syndicates to fight it out in an attempt to be subtle. It wouldn’t do for the Navy to be seen making a play for a major Rogue Trader port.”

  I say, “Trying to do so in the middle of a conflict, with an Inquisitor and a Magos like myself present, is spectacularly stupid.”

  “Quite,” says Maeve. “I received a request from Logis Banba, the woman in charge of Iron Crane’s shipyard, to quell some riots after they disrupted her emergency repair works on the Receiving Yards. I did not know of the instigators at this time. It took four regiments and three months to get everything back under control and, having gained it, I spoke with Fleet Command, which is when you got involved. We decided to depose the other forces and keep the station, despite the tangle of politics this will create.”

  “That blasted demon, Gibbering Moon we’re calling him now, really did wreck our secret takeover. Eire and I spent ages planning that out.”

  “He did, but we’re running with the new plan now, so there’s no point banging on about it.”

  “I’ll try! Please continue.”

  “Hmm, so suddenly we had a new station and moved on to taking over all the defences, which has also been completed. Most people just want to do their jobs and don’t really care who is in charge and we provide benefits far beyond low pay and crappy rations.

  “We’re already at capacity trying to integrate Torchbearer and Ardent Bane, so the station’s in limbo at the moment. Our main focus is on creating a peace keeping force and repairs. Quality of life will take a decade or two and is something for Eire to worry about.

  “Production has halted for most goods as we have no way of balancing power between the two halves of the station. We’ve reassigned labour to construction and have Distant Sun and Yonder Moon churning out parts. The escorts are easing the burden, producing raw resources with their salvage facilities.

  “Unfortunately, with station manufacturing in limbo, and Eire and Brigid in the middle of an audit and census, we’ve had to lock down trade until it is complete and we can get new logistics personnel trained using our systems. Bear in mind, all of this was happening while we were trying to subdue multiple and frequent riots.

  “This has pissed off all the people who came to trade for parts, so they’ve taken to flying into the Breaking Yards to just nab whatever they like and we decided to let that pass for now until we can get everything back on track.”

  I say, “That’s a terrible precedent to be setting, but we can’t stop them without shooting them all and won’t survive the fallout if we start doing that.” I run a noosphere query. “Ah, Eire is selling salvage licences for incredibly low prices. Good to see she’s way ahead of the problem.”

  “The licence idea came from Force Commander Odhran, before he got his new commission. The licence is tied with scouring all the incoming ships and the yards for recruits. It has the bonus of letting everyone know the Space Marines are in the system and to not cause trouble while offering the chance for honour and better conditions. It’s a rather shrewd bit of diplomacy and likely a strong factor why Balor did not contest your suggestion.”

  “I did think Balor handed control to Odhran a bit too easily. Balor did explain himself, but I’ve no doubt he kept a lot hidden. I’m glad that Odhran finally has a chance to really stretch his skills.”

  “Well, unfortunately the licences have backfired horribly. We started getting requests for assistance from the scavenging ships as a zombie plague has broken out in the Breaking Yards. We don’t have the forces to subdue it because it’s a three thousand kilometre sphere of junk. We do, however, have to enforce a quarantine, so now there are eighteen new ships stuck in the Yards and our forces are preoccupied with keeping them there and the plague contained.

  “We can’t shoot everything, because we need those resources and scattering plague-filled debris around the system is a horrible idea, but we will if we have to, and the trapped ships know that. We can’t even send them supplies as everything is locked down and our manufacturing is completing more vital tasks. They will just have to make do with what they have on-board. They are city-sized ships, with millions of crew. It’s not like they’re defenceless or unprepared.”

  I grimace, without assistance, those crews will probably all die, alongside millions of workers that we have no way of replacing in a respectable time frame.

  Maeve continues, “With both Lonceta and I busy with security, we asked Raphael to track down what sparked the riots off because they were far more ferocious than expected for random looting and fear mongering after the station was split. Especially when many people paid little attention to the damage done to the station as they had no way of finding out what happened and the station kept functioning. No one likes to fall behind on their quotas. Especially those living in a subsistence manner, so it was only the gangs and syndicates who were rioting.

  “To absolutely no one's surprise, Raphael quickly tracked the problem down, discovering the two navy vessels’ perfidy. The gangs and syndicates don’t have much loyalty within their ranks and neither scion thought to cover their tracks. Raphael put a search in for the serial numbers on the new lasguns and shotguns the rioters were suddenly using and got an immediate match from the quartermasters on two docked heavy frigates.

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  “Raphael took the remains of his Tempestus Scions and borrowed four Warforged, and a Psy-Errant, then bullied his way onto the two vessels with his badge. The Psy-Errant immediately detected that one of the scions was a cultist, for the titty bitch I think, and Raphael imprisoned the whole crew in their ship.”

  “What about the other scion?”

  “He’d let his new status go to his head and was poorly educated. He honestly thought he was doing the Emperor’s work and had no idea he was wasting Imperial resources. He just wanted to prove himself to get the commission and that meant countering his rival scion without thinking the consequences through or actually investigating the situation. His advisors were too greedy to stop him, hoping to skim a little wealth for themselves.”

  I nod, “No doubt the non-cultist scion has completely blown his chance at the Warrant.”

  “Maybe,” Maeve shrugs, “I doubt the Navy will give up their scheme that easily. It’s not like he has any competition now, so I bet he’s actually pretty happy about how everything is going.”

  “True,” I say. “So that’s when Raphael locked down the cultist’s frigate and sent it into the sun, then bailed via a D-POT, killing everyone on board without consulting anyone. I was displeased with his actions and scheduled his implants and gave him a massive reading list, including our procedures for scanning crews for corruption. The twit literally had a Psy-Errant who could have scanned most of the crew in a few hours.

  “At the same time, I just can’t bring myself to criticise him,” I continue. “We don’t have the resources to purify another void ship and its crew right now. The Nova Cannon is far more critical. Raphael couldn’t leave it hanging around as a potential source of trouble, it couldn’t go back to the Navy, and we just can’t risk having more trouble in the system with a zombie outbreak. Seriously, fuck Gibbering Moon.”

  “I doubt that demon is responsible for everything,” says Maeve. “So far, three Ruinous Powers have made a play for system SR-651. We’re only missing the berserker, but mentioning that is tempting fate.”

  “I agree, it’s not like a zombie plague is a natural occurrence, even in this benighted galaxy,” I say. “I don’t know if the Ruinous Powers are trying to stop me from touring the Imperium selling STCs or if this was just an opportunity to sow chaos and they took it. Probably both. Still, I’m now stuck here waiting for the Navy to send a representative. Eire and Raphael can deal with it, but things will go much smoother if I show them a little face by being present and introducing my own representatives to the navy. At least the damaged sections of Receiving Yards have been capped off already.”

  “Maybe the Navy will send some reinforcements?”

  “Possibly,” I say. “This system is vital to them as well. However, Raphael destroyed one of their ships. He might be an Inquisitor and have the authority, and had good cause, but they will absolutely take it out on him, and us, by association. If they do bring help, we will have to cough up something valuable before they authorise it.”

  “No point arguing that it was their scheme that went wrong, huh.”

  “Oh, I absolutely will shove their faces in it. Those two scions played a significant part in ruining my plans, but I can’t admit to those plans now, can I? Once I have completed my catharsis, I’ll have to stop throwing blame about and actually get something done, which means paying for it. Hopefully I can get some concessions out of them for it, like commissions for my kids. It wouldn’t do to let them walk all over us.”

  “Good. I don’t like the thought of that either.”

  Our conversation peters out and we enjoy the remainder of Lonceta’s concert, then part ways.

  The months tick by as we get SR-651 back in order, though the zombie plague remains an ongoing threat that we are unable to deal with. After further discussion, we keep Dying Light around as scrap, rather than send it into the sun, as it has become painfully clear we are going to need specialist facilities to clear up the approximately twenty-nine thousand scrapped vessels in the Breaking Yards; we can’t risk the zombie plague spreading by any means.

  The only good thing that has come of this disaster is our rapidly expanding ship production capacity. We will be able to churn out new Origami-Class mobile shipyards far sooner than we initially planned and Charon, the Macro-Ferry now has a reasonable chance of being completed before the Cicatrix Maledictum returns.

  All of my children complete their conscription in the Heralds. My three boys begin their apprenticeships under Fleet Command, starting with Eire as she needs the most help right now. Alpia throws herself into training with the Psy-Erants, determined to earn herself a commission as a Knight pilot.

  Rather than continue with half hearted research, I assist JK-404 with the Space Marines, finally learning some of the intricacies of their complex biology and the secrets of their creation. It also helps me to establish a proper working relationship with JK-404.

  Working with JK-404 is an unusual experience for me because it’s the first time I’ve had a peer on a technical project that isn’t deferent to me. If anything, I’m the student.

  All the Tech-Priests in the Stellar Fleet have been taught by me to some degree, be it seeing my face on the Owl-Class Machine-Spirits that gave them their basic, and some advanced education, or as direct students in lectures, leading sermons and services, and many other appearances.

  Not only that, I’m their ultimate boss, pay their wages, and own the vessels their homes are built on. There is no escaping my influence, for good or ill, and there are few who dare to tell me what they think, only what they think I would want to hear. Even the weekly celebratory lunches I hold as a reward for excellence do little to help me understand my people as I intended them too.

  Instead, I must read reports, or spy on the people through the Machine-Spirits to understand their moods and thoughts, or read their emotions and intentions from their minds. In that, the lunches still serve a purpose, for I must see people face to face to really get a grip on their minds. It’s horribly intrusive, but also catches a lot of trouble before it happens.

  This is why I appreciate Róisín so much. For all her misplaced worship, she’s so lost in her passions that she tells me everything as she gushes about her discoveries and achievements without worrying about my status. Fleet Command are similar, but they have their compartmentalised roles that I try not to interfere with. We rarely work on projects together, just decide what those projects will be and trust each other to see it through.

  With the Warp still volatile after Gibbering Moon’s (Marabas’) ritual, word is slow to spread and many void ships visit us, but do not leave, unwilling to risk the poor conditions. Four months on, and seven since the assault on Dying Light, tensions are getting rather high between my own fleet of twenty-three vessels, the quarantined eighteen vessels who took salvaging licences, and the thirty-seven vessels who are stuck at the damaged Receiving Yards.

  None of these vessels are as self sufficient as mine, and while they do carry a decade or two of supplies, getting stuck with little end in sight, and their only way to replenish them under lock and key by the Stellar Fleet, is making them rather nervous.

  Most of them are chartist vessels for the Imperial Navy, these merchant vessels are separate to the Battlefleets, and make up over ninety percent Imperial Navy. They’re carrying vital supplies and have a schedule they’re supposed to stick to, with a captain’s commission often dependent on being able to complete their orders.

  There’s also a pilgrimage vessel that needs repairs before it can brave the Maw to visit the shrine worlds of the Calixis Sector, as well as a Black Ship of the Inquisition making the rounds, staffed with Silent Sisters and a company from the Sisters of Battle.

  None of these vessels have significant manufacturing capacity, but they are willing to lend labour and troops to keep the peace and assist in construction. What they won’t do is send their voidsmen and security forces against the plague zombies, even if I paid them to do it.

  Restoration of the Receiving Yards continues at a rapid pace and new food production is coming online, but it isn’t happening fast enough to keep the other captains happy, no matter how many times they visit the ongoing work or look at Eire’s predictions that show they’ll be just fine.

  That’s when Calligos Winterscale turns up with a Fleet of eight vessels, including two cruisers and a Mass Conveyor, a strike group of five vessels from Battlefleet Koronus, Inquisitor Lyre and his three vessels, and Chapter Master Lir Brackin in the Battle Barge Grave’s Bite, with two escorts.

  I think Lir might hold a grudge when I laughed about him being robbed.

  Warhammer 40k Lexicanum, , and . I've also enjoyed opinion pieces such as: , The via Gamespot, and . While not strictly 40k, they are good for inspiration and IRL explanations.