Fial says, “Stellar Fleet crews are disciplined because they are well trained and educated. They obey because they know everyone will die, and how, if they are too slow. They are trained when to question, and when to obey. They are confident in their skills and the power of the Fleet. They trust the competence of their fellows because they know that if you are qualified for a task or rank, you most certainly earned it. Even the less charitable and more suspicious fellows are usually willing to at least give people a chance before they write them off as dead weight.”

“A most pleasing answer,” I say. “I can only hope it is actually true. We are both rather biassed.”

“Probably, but having another fleet to compare to does help one be more objective,” says Fial. “I’d argue that the Imperial Navy crews obey because they are terrified of the officers and the officers fear mutiny and betrayal more than anything else. The officers do not want to be under suspicion as that will tank their reputation and careers.

“This, in turn, affects the businesses of their noble families who bought their commission. Failure will potentially have them return home in disgrace, if a Commissar or similar doesn’t get them first that is. The sad thing is, that constant fear, suspicion, and faith is what keeps everyone mostly safe from the Ruinous Powers.

“To conclude, the result is the same, obedience and discipline, but the methods are completely the opposite of each other. I much prefer the Stellar Fleet working environment.”

I say, “I do as well. A little hope and respect goes a long way.”

“Perhaps, Dad. Hope and hard work might have got us where we are, to an extent, but I’ve seen both Brigid’s numbers and the Navy Quartermaster’s and it requires an order of magnitude more resources and expertise to do so. No one, and I’ve looked rather thoroughly, not even Mars, Death Watch, or the Inquisition, can afford to ward every single member of their population. Though always pressed for vessels and trained crews, the Imperial Navy does not lack resources.

“Neither Logis Abbesine Vakul or Thalk von Styrvold have missed that we must have technology unavailable to the rest of the Imperium to get away with our more pleasant rule. It’s really tossed a Sororitas amid the Heretics. I might not know what the meetings are about, but there’s a lot of meetings going on. Lyre makes frequent appearances, as does Calligos and Chapter Master Lir Brackin, according to the gossip. Canoness Ephrine Stern has been leading services in your and Alpia’s name. It’s incredibly embarrassing when I have to attend them!”

I laugh, “Now you know my despair.”

“Hilarious, Dad.”

“Your sarcasm sustains me,” I say in a deep, dramatic voice. Chuckling, I shake my head and school my expression. “Moving on, I appreciate your insights and news. I’ll do what I can to check who’s trying to stab us in the back, and who wants to work with us. If it’s something I can tell you, I will.”

“Dad, I want to help,” says Fial.

“You are helping. All three of you. We need those connections. I don’t want the Imperium’s elite fearing mysterious technologies and unknown faces. Every moment you spend with the Imperial Navy builds that connection between the Imperium and the Stellar Fleet so that they speak first, rather than shoot. Just don’t give too much away, yeah?”

“Bit too late for that,” says Fial. “Our implants and gene mods really make us stand out. The Tech-Priests keep trying to come up with excuses to take samples to figure out how we regenerate, as it’s way above what a Vitae Supplement should be capable of, or grab data from our implants to glean how we can think so fast.

“If we hadn’t shown how easy it is for us to repel Admech data probes and tear through multiple squads of voidsmen in combat exercises, I’m sure one of them would have tried to abduct us by now. I’m betting the moment we leave the system, someone is going to try something. Even if you gave the Tech-Priests some freebies, they’d still try anyway, just to make sure. Greedy little Gretchin. Apparently being Saint Alpia’s brother only counts for so much when there is archeotech to steal.”

I say, “I’ll prepare some extra toys for you. It’s one thing to make you earn your cybernetics and super weapons. It’s quite another to let light fingered cog boys get a free shot at my boys.

“I will ‘donate’ two squads of Heralds, Warforged and a couple of Battle Smiths, to remain aboard while you are present and unharmed. I’ll also see if Force Commander Odhran is willing to put a tactical squad on a long term cross training mission. I know you’re concerned about inappropriate interference and oversight, but I really don’t give a shit if you're at risk and I can make it look like a favour.”

Fial nods slowly, “That would be great, Dad. I’d feel much safer and there’s a good reason why it might work too.” He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, “I’m still not sold on the practicality of making connections. So far, most of our supposed peers resent our superiority, as do some of our trainers. There have been attempts to express their pettiness with both words and actions. The trainee officers are proud of their heritage and we keep showing them it’s worthless.

“I think a lot of these fools were not expecting to have to work for their commission, but with my brothers and I in play it’s really obvious how inadequate some of them are. They do not want to be sent home and now they have to work and learn properly. Most of them hate us for it. Vice-Admiral Styrvold is delighted. He permits the purchasing of officer commissions as the industrial and administrative support that comes with them is vital for the survival of his fleet.”

“How do you know this?”, I say.

“That’s related to the incident. Like most events since we met the Imperials, it all revolves around you trying to be nice, Dad.”

I rub my hand down my face, “Of course it does.”

Fial laughs, “Yeah, I don’t think even the Eclesiarchy would know what charity is if it shot them in the face.” Fial shakes his head, “OK, that’s not actually true. I have met some genuinely nice people. Everyone has their own agenda, and if their will has not been broken, are desperate and determined to improve their circumstances and the lives of their friends and family. Hardly a revelation but it bears saying so that I don’t get blindsided by stereotyping too much.”

“I’m glad some of my lessons have stuck,” I say. “I think I was twenty-five before I learned that lesson.”

“That does not surprise me.”

“Oi!”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Fial smirks, “Right, getting to the point. Finally. You know how you’re currently fighting to free the crews from the trapped vessels right now and have offered the scrap value of the vessels to their crews, right?”

“Yes. I just got the shit kicked out of me and picked up a new mutation because of it. I am not happy.”

“Oh dear,” Fial winces. “I’m sure you can fix it,” says Fial, sounding rather blasé.

I’m delighted he has such confidence in me, but he also just trampled over my breakdown without realising it. I know he doesn’t know. It still angers me though. I don’t want to derail him now, nor talk about this over a call, so I’ll let it pass and explain it when I next see him.

I do, however, dedicate a thought stream to swearing like a voidsman and queue some loud, angry music. My expression remains attentive.

Fial continues, “You won’t be happy to find out then that because of the compensation, all three Captains viewed it as you admitting fault for their ships getting impounded and swarmed with zombies, rather than you following the Stellar Fleet directives Brigid implemented for the purchasing of scrap at the Receiving Yards and using it to help the crews get something out of their misfortune.

“The Vice-Admiral explained to me that had you offered nothing, they’d have seen it as bad luck, not some Admech experiment gone wrong. That you are trying to save them all and are offering money when you didn’t have to means nothing to them. Had you offered a new ship, they’d have been delighted, if still annoyed about losing their original ones, but you didn’t because the Zombie Plague isn’t your fault.

“The Captains even saw your offer as an insult because you offered compensation in Stellar Requisition Credits and Bytes. At twenty-five percent value of their transports, that’s not enough to buy a new Sword-Class frigate, because we don’t split SRC up into denominations smaller than one, with excess being turned into Bytes, and the frigates we’re offering are worth more than one SRC because they’re so good. While all three ended up with at least one SRC, you still accidentally gave them a currency they couldn’t use.”

“Ah, bugger it all,” I say.

“Quite,” says Fial. “The Bytes are fine, but to spend those, they’d have to turn their ships into trade goods then pay someone else to transport them. You and I both know that a few successful trips would easily earn them enough to buy their own ship, but they don’t, because they have no idea of what we can offer and they’re too busy defending their vessels to find out.

“It’s also, technically, not their money, but the money of the byzantine mix of merchant banks, conglomerates, and noble families who are due the cash. If they go back and hand it over, not only will the Captains have nothing, they’ll probably be shot.

“Even if they did start trading, using that money might also catch up with them. Space is big, so that’s less likely, but it takes a lot of backing and political clout to trade between systems and these Captains just lost their ships. They’re employees. Who and how are they going to trade with if they have to back it up with commissioned crews and void ships who might turn on them and their old contacts might rat them out?”

“So I offered cash to the wrong people? They’re the only representatives in the system! It’s not like we can send astropathic messages right now. Ah, but we would have, once we can, then the owners would know who has their cash. That would open a can of whiffy whale meat.”

“You’re starting to see these captains’ dilemma right?”, says Fial. “Their other option would be to live indefinitely in a system full of zombies. Sure, if they stayed they’d have a lot of money, but it would eventually run out. With them stuck in the system they’d have to share it with their officers and crew or risk getting murdered. The only person who’s likely to hire a captain and crew who lost their ship and get them out of this predicament is you and you’re the one they believe is responsible for it. They’re not feeling a lot of good will towards you right now.

I snort, “I can imagine.”

Fial says, “For sure. Captain to beggar, for something they believe you started, is a real slap in the face. Not only that, if they’re stuck in this system, the owners of the vessels would visit and start asking questions about all that money and who it belongs to.

“Even if it takes them decades to get out here, retribution would come, but they have to spend that money if they don’t want to work for the Stellar Fleet and find something to do with their lives.

“I suppose the Captains and officers could load up on cybernetics, armour, and jewellery, then buy passage and flee, abandoning everything they can’t carry. Maybe they could set up a mercenary group.” Fial shrugs, “These are incredibly prideful people who are dedicated to a role they may have inherited or worked towards for a lifetime. It’s not easy to let go of. I doubt running even crossed their minds. Their faith and discipline is too ingrained into them.

“Even if they did have enough SRC to buy one of our void ships, their crews would be long gone by then and they wouldn’t have enough money left over to get a new crew and fill their vessel with supplies and trade goods. You’re certainly not going to give a loan to them.”

I nod, “You’re right, I wouldn’t risk a single Byte on them. I doubt you care much about these people, but they’ve obviously upset you if you’re putting this much effort into explaining what they’ve done. Any reason why I shouldn’t seize those funds and accidentally leave them permanently in quarantine?”

“Sufficient proof? Vice-Admiral Thalk von Styrvold? I only know about this because of him. He’s taken to tutoring Luan, Dareaca, and I in politics and Navy culture so that no further ‘miscommunications’ take place. He specifically said it’s a favour, which is why loaning Heralds and Space Marines to him would work well. It’s not that clear cut though because Styrvold is playing games too.

“As for why I’m upset, during one of our theatre group exercises, my training lasgun was sabotaged so that it would fire on full power, rather than give a nasty burn. I noticed immediately because the Machine-Spirit was unusually rabid and ran a diagnostic.

“When I pointed this out to the officer in charge that my gun was sabotaged, he didn’t believe me, refused to check, and told me to use it anyway. I refused. As we’ve discussed, refusing a direct order, even during training, is a pretty big deal. I ended up in the brig for thirty-six hours without food or water before the Vice-Admiral got me out of it.

“It turns out that the three captains had bribed several people, including the training officer, to make one of us lose our commision through killing a trainee during an exercise. This, in turn, would indirectly impact your reputation, Dad.

“Vice-Admiral Styrvold found out about the plot in advance, then let it happen, so that he would have an excuse to purge a whole swathe of troublemakers. He then blackmailed the captains, agreeing to shelter them from you and the owners of their vessels, so long as he gets all the compensation that you offered them.

“I’m not supposed to know about the Vice-Admiral blackmailing the captains, or the captains’ plot, but Raphael sent me a coded message informing me about it.”

Absolute fury rushes through me. How dare they pull this shit while I’m in quarantine!

I say, “I’m so mad, I don’t even know where to begin. Those ignorant, ungrateful assholes! I’m really, really tempted to pull all three of you out immediately. We can’t fight the whole Imperium though. They have millions of vessels and trillions of troops and that’s before we take the rest of the Adeptus Mechanicus into account. We need those connections. May the Warp take them all for making me put my three sons at risk for cooperation and peace.”

Fial gives me a wan smile, “You can’t make a grox drink, even with a shock collar and a lobotomy.”

“Alright, Fial. I’ll get to the bottom of this. Thank you for telling me straight up. I know you're hurting and I’m sorry I can’t be there right now. I’m stuck in a box and I still have to do more fighting. How about we just talk, eh? Unleash your complaints and regale me with your latest game ideas. I can’t give you a hug, but I can still listen.”

“It’s OK, Dad. I don’t need to talk.”

“You might not, but I need you to talk to me, or I am going to do something dumb and destructive. Save your old man from himself, eh?”

“That’s a lost cause!” says Fial, relaxing a little.

We talk for a whole hour.