My boys and I finish our goodbyes and log off. I spend several minutes in the darkness of my overengineered sleeping pod, going over our conversations, wondering if I did the right thing while simultaneously pretending none of the last few simulated hours actually happened.

After repeated sighs I realise that I am a ridiculous bundle of tangled emotions and throw myself into my work. During the final week I have similar conversations about my past with Alpia, Quaani, and Brigid. I speak with my therapist. I negotiate with Machine-Spirits. Most of all, I practice with the Novis Coven Link, preparing to pool the collective sight and will of our Navigators to bring us safely through the Warp.

On the last day, I pull Alpia and her retainers out of their simulations and put Alpia in control of Torchbearer for some live command practice, leaving me with little to do. After watching for thirty minutes ensuring she has everything under control, Alpia, much to my amusement, ‘orders’ me to take a walk.

I head to the closest airlock, and step into the void.

A squad of bodyguards join me in their hexagon covered Rogue Pattern power armour without a word and my sensors catalogue their movement as they skate around me, my much longer stride forcing them to use their grav skates to keep up.

Drawing on the Warp I gently fly to the top of the navigator spire. I observe Stellar Fleet Sol as it undocks from the Receiving Yards and begins a gentle burn away from the station at zero point one gravities.

As the distance increases, my enhanced eyes let me pick out the vast structure, now in two pieces. The damage has been completely capped and the two halves joined by cables and sealed, flexible tubes. Charon hovers several thousand kilometres away; the frame of the new station is already twice the size it was when we first deployed it, matching the smaller half of the Receiving Yards. The new section is still being filled out internally though.

A third facility, the skeleton of an open platform, is under construction in the centre of the Breaking Yards. It is the first of multiple automated facilities for securing and properly dismantling scrapped vessels.

I don’t want anyone going aboard the Breaking Yards’ ancient hulks, no matter what treasures they might hold. I know there will be no stopping the greedy, desperate, and terminally curious though, like every Tech-Priest in the system. There is too much debris for the patrols careening around the system to catch every illegal shuttle that flits between the Receiving and Breaking Yards.

Tiny black dots against the red sun are the beginnings of a constellation of solar refineries, great mirrors and gravity arrays that will purify metals and other elements pulled from the hulks before they are returned to Charon via shuttles dragging massive trains of cargo containers.

The anomalous gravity in SR-651 is far too dynamic to risk using mass drivers to transport material around the system like Marwolv has, or rather, will have in two hundred years or so.

Four of the two hundred gun batteries floating around the Receiving Yards across three dozen barely functional defensive platforms have been refurbished. The old Macro-Cannons have had their barrels replaced and new auto-loaders added to their munitorums and other vital mechanisms. New microlaser grids periodically fire into the void, vaporising incoming debris, causing the void shields to flare and ripple like the northern sky as stray plasma brushes against their surface.

From Eire’s reports I know that she plans to scrap half of the defensive platforms once the other half are refurbished, then begin a complete rebuilding of all the defensive satellites with a similar system of hangars and gun batteries that we planned for Marwolv.

By the time Eire is done, everything will be new. If it wasn’t for our proximity to the ‘Undred ‘Undred Teef she would have skipped the refurbishment of the most functional platforms. Stellar Fleet MANI is far too small to defend the system from a Waaagh! without them and industrial capacity is mostly tasked elsewhere; everything has to be done piecemeal. Eventually, everything will snowball as systems and staff come online.

All around me, my fleet rockets towards the Mandeville Point like small comets, barely a thousand kilometres between us. With our better understanding of the system, we’ll be able to transition to the Immaterium within ten days, unlike the longer trip when we first arrived and the pilot we paid for freaked out at the sight of plants of all things.

Bedwyr reaches up and places his hand on my shoulder, “Aldrich, it’s time to go back inside. The Fleet is clear of the Receiving Yards and acceleration is going to pick up.” He points at all the people driving and running around the hull. “Look, all the patrols are packing up.”

I stare at the Yards for a moment, where I’m leaving so many of my friends and colleagues behind, then over at Thalk’s flagship. My shoulders slump a little.

“Very well, Bedwyr.”

I reach out with my power and touch the minds of Ròsìn, Maeve, Owen, and Eire, then wave enthusiastically at the station.

“Goodbye my friends.”

I receive a chorus of warm replies and the smile returns to my face.

I fly back to the airlock and Bedwyr follows me, propelled by small puffs of gas.

I step into the airlock. As it fills back up I square my shoulders, straighten my back, and school my expression. From one moment to the next, I cease to be Aldrich, and Magos Issengrund takes his place.

Machine-God save us all.

I return to the Bridge. The room is far, far bigger than it needs to be with vaulted ceilings fifteen metres high and huge windows that overlook most of the vessel. Statues, murals, and mosaics are so abundant that they interfere with the flow of people around the room. It is unclear what each station does at a glance, a ‘safety feature’ that is far more likely to kill people from the delays it causes with commands than provide anonymity should the Bridge be breached.

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The location is an utterly ridiculous place to put your command staff and I can’t wait until the new one is complete, buried deep within the vessel. I do admit the view is spectacular though and its airy construction does much to improve morale.

I stride to the Command Throne. Alpia stands in front of the massive golden chair, six armoured cables running from the collar around her neck, back to the top of the throne. Her huge wings brush against the floor, shimmering with golden light. By her side are Annette Issengrund and Reina Benetek, my new Master Psyker. While these two are allowed on the bridge, the baby being held in Alpia’s palm is not. Neither is now the right moment for Alpia to be socialising with her friends.

“Dad, you’re back!”

“Seneschal Alpia, why is there an infant on the command deck?”

Alpia gently holds young George Issengrund towards me and I hold the well wrapped baby to my chest.

“Baby therapy,” says Alpia.

“Come again?”

“I knew you’d be all sad and mopey, so I asked Annette to bring George over to cheer you up!”

I try, and fail, to keep my lips from twitching into a lopsided grin. Apparently overriding my expressions all the time is bad for me.

“Seriously?”

Reina clears her throat, “Seeing young George is good for the morale of the crew, My Lord. There has been some discontent with the sudden withdrawal of Quaani as your heir. Seeing the next generation paraded about restores faith in the stability of your dynasty. Many are of the opinion that Saint Alpia’s heirship is temporary, much to the irritation of her faithful.”

That’s a ridiculous excuse, and just good enough that I really don’t see the point of bringing anyone to task over this during routine operations. I should really insist on Alpia calling me ‘Magos’ or ‘My Lord’ right now as she’s on duty, but by bringing a baby on deck I can’t insist on formality while letting her off for this literal ‘minor’ security breach. Well played, daughter of mine. Not that I’m going to tell her that.

“Just don’t do it again, alright?”

“Sure, Dad. It worked though, right?”

“Yes, it worked. I appreciate the effort. Do you have any decisions for me to make before I return to my quarters? I still have two more hours until my shift.”

Alpia has a giant grin on her face. “You’re welcome, Dad. Not me. Reina has something to say though.”

“Go ahead, Reina.”

“You’ve yet to reward House Lafiel with marriages as you promised. You have given them senior navigator positions on your vessels, but compared to the favour you have shown House Ortelius and House Benetek, their status is limited. This is not a good look when you're using their cruiser as your flagship.”

I say, “Ah, with so much going on that slipped my mind.”

“Then you showed much prescience with my appointment, My Lord. As Master Psyker, I have had an official complaint. Beyond their status as Navigators, they have little power, but it looks like you're snubbing the adopted members of your house for ‘foreigners’ such as myself, and your Ortelius allies, who were able to provide many more resources for favour. Until you make good on your promise, they will likely order their staff to make minor nuisances of themselves and other petty problems.

“The issue has been further complicated by your assimilation of their House as their promised marriages are potential links to new Houses for House Issengrund. There are six female Navigators from House Ortelius available and seven Lafiel Navigators. It might look like a convenient solution is staring you in the face, but the reality is that, because of the assimilation, this would bind House Ortelius to you even further and give House Ortelius an opportunity to try and subsume House Issengrund without continuing to pay you for the privilege of your miracles.”

I say, “Thank you for the astute analysis, Reina. I am pleased to see that you are taking well to your new role. I will give this issue some serious thought. However, you are the master of the subject matter. Do you have a recommendation?”

“I do. My suggestion is that you use the high traffic of the Lathe Worlds to acquire brides and allies. We will be there for several months, if not years, while you negotiate the sale of STCs. You can use these marriages to spread your gene samples as well. This could be done at the cost of the Navigator Houses, by making them come to you with potential matches in exchange for gifts that you were planning to distribute for free.

“This will let you double dip as, like House Ortelius, they will give generous gifts to marry into your House and as thanks for the gene samples when you show off your skill at minimising Navigator mutations.

“To summarise, you will be paid for purification, paid to keep your promises to House Lafiel, be paid for your gene samples, and dilute any pressure that House Ortelius might bring on House Issengrund for increasing ties too rapidly.”

I nod, “That’s an excellent recommendation. Message House Lafiel that we will remain at the Lathes until my promise to them is fulfilled. That should put a halt in any petty behavior. Submit your agenda to the next Fleet Command meeting for further discussion. I see no reason not to go with your suggestion, but there is no harm in letting everyone weigh in on the matter.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

Annette holds her hands against her stomach, “Magos, I assure that House Ortelius would not attempt such skulduggery.”

I wave Annette off, “I’m not interested in platitudes, Annette. You should have a good handle on how I do things by now. Whether House Ortelius will try to reach beyond their means is irrelevant. It is foolish to provide the opening either way. Reina has raised issues I wasn’t aware of alongside their solutions. I really am delighted by her performance and would never hold the actions of House Ortelius against my own daughter-in-law.”

“Dad’s right, Annette. You can stop wringing your hands like this is some court drama. He isn’t going to get upset at you. Look at the silly smile on his face as he holds his grand nephew, grandson. Whatever.”

I chuckle, “Navigator family relations do get rather tangled. Here, take young George back and get off the Bridge. This really isn’t the right place for a chinwag.”

“Yes, Magos.”

“You too, Reina.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

Reina and Annette give me small bows and depart.

“Alpia, I have changed my mind. For this little stunt I am going to loom over your metaphorical shoulders while you work until it is my shift. Don’t screw up.”

“Aww, really?”

“Yes, now hop to it, Seneschal Alpia. I can hear chatter over the vox about flight operations. Our strike craft are ranging out ahead and have discovered some substantial debris. You need to get the details and decide what to do with it.”

“Aye, Aye, Captain!” Alpia gives me a jaunty salute and goes still as her mind dives into the noosphere.