I climb out of the tank and stand on the grate above, letting the psy-sensitive liquids run off my Void Skin and back into the tank. Brian and his bleached companions buzz around me, disconnect me from cogitators, then remove the breathing masks from the irritating snakes attached to my back.

The Servo Skulls chant hymns and waft incense around me as they work. I used to find them incredibly creepy and think the incense a waste of time. Now I find the rituals comforting. They are a reminder of a job well done.

By the time they’re done with their minor rituals I am mostly dry. A brief shower washes away the lingering chemicals. A servitor anoints me with sacred oils, or rather douses me in them in what feels more like a massage than an important step in keeping my body free of taint.

The cogitator banks dim, their flickering lights and whooshing fans powering down and I am finally able to get dressed. The black, hyperweave undersuit with its silver collars goes on first. I consider putting on some armour, then decide against it. There are twelve days until we reach Footfall at our current speed and four hours until they can see us. I can afford to be a bit more relaxed and I’m trying to lock myself away less.

I don a crisp red shirt, then my tweed trousers and waistcoat. I tuck my trousers into my dark blue, grox leather boots and wrap the laces around their bronze fittings. The boots are a little chunky, with thick soles as they’re still armoured magboots, even if the mechanisms are hidden.

To top it all, I slip my arms into a Mars red, double breasted, thigh length jacket. A small slit at the back leaves room for the snakes and the jacket flares slightly at the hips.

I swat Brian away as he tries to fuss over me, attempting to do up the gold buttons; I am fond of the jacket’s navy lining and see no reason to hide it. I run a hand through my long red hair and tug at the jacket’s platinum hems to settle it around my shoulders.

Usually, I am not one to primp and preen but my therapist recommended it. The act of taking care of one's appearance creates self worth; if you look good, you’ll feel good, that’s the idea, at least.

I exchange security codes with the adamantium door and it hisses open. Small currents of air disturb tiny motes of dust deposited on the safety lights illuminating the edges of the floor as the pressure and temperature of the two spaces equalises.

My bodyguards are the first into the room, sweeping through the space. Bedwyr quickly follows and we exchange more security codes and I get blessed again, this time by Tech-Priests, rather than Servo Skulls and Servitors.

“Good to see you again, Aldrich,” says Bedwyr.

“Likewise, I am pleased to be out of the tank and freed from gazing at infinity.”

“We all have our duties.”

A team of Tech-Priests from the Techsorcist branch rush into the room clutching tools and dataslates. They hurry over to the cogitators and begin their maintenance work.

“Anything I need to know right this moment?

Bedwyr smirks and steps to the side, “I present to you, Lady Brigid Issengrund, High Purser of Stellar Fleet SOL.”

Brigid strides into the room wearing a floral pattern sundress, work boots, and a real straw hat. In one arm is a huge bouquet of shimmering white and yellow xenoflora. In her other hand is a pint sized mug of Tanna Tea. Brigid pushes the flowers against my chest, pulls me down for a kiss, then hands me the mug.

“There. Something to make you feel better. Alpia and I grew them together with her fancy psyker powers,” says Brigid.

I laugh, “Such beauty!”

“Is that me or the gifts?”

“Oh, are they not one and the same?”

“That will do. I’m glad you like them.”

“I do. This is a wonderful welcome. Thank you, Brigid.”

“Good. I’m glad that worked. It is difficult to do nice things for the man who has everything.”

“That’s why you’re so precious to me, Love.”

Brigid smiles and places one hand on my forearm and her other on my back, “Alright, Mr Charm. Come this way. I have cleared your schedule and everyone Fleet Command has done as much of your administration for you as their authority allows. You have an hour of work a day, tops, until we leave Footfall again.”

“Ah, I have many thank you messages to write.”

“Not right now though.”

“Indeed! I am all yours, Brigid. Let’s go on a grand adventure.”

“Yes, yes you are all mine and I am the adventure to match it.”

I rest my hand on Brigid’s shoulder and give her a light squeeze. I listen to Brigid as she tells me about her days. There is nothing of consequences, yet we haven’t spoken for two weeks so the mundane chatter fills me with great joy.

Brigid leads me to the observation dome. Our guards are all around us. Seeing thirty men and women in power armour protect an ordinary picnic table like it’s some Imperial relic is an odd sight. It never ceases to amaze me how my status requires the smallest of activities to set off a massive chain of events.

A plate of shortbread sits next to a box covered in artwork.

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Brigid taps the box, “This is Datarunner. The latest creation from Fial. It’s a card game for couples. He sent it to me just before we left SR-651 and I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

“That boy is such a worrier, sticking his mechadendrites into his parents’ relationship. Still, this was a thoughtful gift. Is it any good?”

“No idea. I haven’t even read the rules yet. You know I’m not as keen on games as you and the kids are.”

“Then that makes today even more special. Do you want to do the honours?”

“Oh, go on then.” Brigid lifts open the box, revealing stacks upon stacks of plastic cards, filled with microelectronics and each printed with their own artwork and rules. Brigid grabs a small booklet and flicks through it, her implants helping her rapidly process it.

I pick up a few cards and read through them, “This looks very intricate. He was working on this for a while. Way before we had that last day out.”

Brigid puts down the booklet, “It’s dramatic: In the grim darkness of the 41st millennium, the Tech-Priests of Mars forge wonders beyond counting, yet their mighty works are failing to bitter feuds and the xenos menace. In Datarunner, each player must attempt to build a device to seek out and destroy the Genestealers infesting their Forge World. The first to complete their device wins.

“To build your super weapon you must raid the data vaults for lost lore or steal it from the competing player. You will gather resources from tight fisted magi and defend your grand work from your envious peers. Take too long and the Tyranids will consume your world and everyone loses. Trigger your device too soon and it may not work as intended, delaying its completion further.

“To the winner, eternal glory. For the loser, a new career as a Servitor awaits you.

“May the Machine-God watch over you.”

I hum, “Well, that certainly got my attention. It looks like you have to thread a fine line between sabotaging each other enough so that you can complete your Mcguffin first, but not so much that you both lose.”

“It’s all pretty random,” says Brigid. “You pick a mechanicus faction, build a deck of cards around it, and play a limited selection of them based on your resources. There’s no way to know what the other side has, so you can’t count cards or predict the contents of their deck as they can change it each time.” Brigid laughs, “He really went to a lot of effort to make something a cyborg can’t cheat at. There’s even an alternative way to play it on a datapad with set specifications, then try and hack each other using the pre-prepared programs. Each card has its own code you can tweak so long as you stay within the memory processing limits of its value and the function of the card.”

I scan the cards and the box, then accept the noosphere connection and process the data. “This is a good educational tool. There is a custom programming language filled with puzzles and novel systems. I’m confident that it is complicated enough to capture your interest, Love. He was thinking of both of us. Maybe even hoping for some more siblings to learn his skills.”

Brigid raises an eyebrow at me, “Is that so? Let me take a look.” Two bronze and steel blue mechadendrite unwrap from Brigid’s waist and pick apart the box, pulling out a data slate hidden underneath the huge piles of cards. Her mechadendrites hand it to her and she starts flicking through the programs on the screen.

Over the next few minutes, Brigid’s face goes through a variety of expressions from scowls to smiles, and vague interest to absolute concentration.

“You’re right, Aldrich. Fial has outdone himself this time. I can see Luan and Dareaca’s influence all over this too, especially in the factions. One is sly, the other is brash with its rulesets. I can’t even complain they’d have been better off spending time on their skills, this really is a good educational tool. Lots of fun exploits for both Tech-Apprentices and experienced Techseers alike.”

I pick up the rulebook and flick through it as well, then select one of the pre-built decks at random. “Care to gamble?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“How about who has to read the Navigator kids a story tonight?”

“The youngest are a bit too dangerous for me to be around. I’m willing to risk it for George when Annette is right there, but not for some random sprogs.”

“Right, good point. I’m pretty scary to them so they are well behaved.”

Brigid snorts, “Sure you are. We have Servitors, so there’s no point betting chores. How about who has to bake Alpia’s Birthday cake?”

“You mean put up with the stares of our irate and prideful Rattling chef while denying him a chance to possibly be the first Abhuman to bake a birthday cake for a Saint in Imperial history? Those are some high stakes!”

“That’s the point of a bet, yes?”

“Alright, I’m game.”

Over the next three and a half hours, Brigid and I manage four games. We’re nearing the end of our fifth and final game and Brigid is about to win. She refuses to play the more advanced version as she knows I’m better at cyber security than her but there’s just enough luck involved in the ‘basic’ card version she can eke out a win.

Our games are pretty heated with us constantly trash talking each other as Brigid’s competitive nature is drawn out of her. I enjoy the chance to be silly and my looming guards do a reasonable job of being unobtrusive. They can’t hide the vox signals flying around them or the occasional zoom of their optics as they peek at our cards. Standing around looking stoic, trying to pretend they’re not invested in the competition, is fooling no one.

Right before Brigid can sentence me to culinary hell, Bedwyr clears his throat, “Magos, you are required on the Bridge. We have contact with Footfall and Trader Winterscale is on the vox.”

“Trouble?” I say.

Brigid gives Bedwyr a dirty look, “He’s baking that cake with you.”

I put my cards down on the table, “I surrender.”

“Somehow I feel like I lost, even when I was so close to winning,” Brigid huffs. “So much for some time off together.”

“Well, whatever it is, we’re still twelve days out. We still have plenty of time together, then there’s the journey back. It’s practically a whole month off!”

“Not if we leave that wretched Jericho-Class behind. The Adder’s could be there in five and a half days and Distant Sun in six point three. Even Torchbearer could make it in under nine days. If the Bridge is calling you after the list of instructions I left them, every minute will count, for only the most colossal of fuckups would make them dare challenge me on this.”

“Then we’d best hurry.” I point at the table, “Bedwyr, get one of your people to take Fial’s game back to the Spire and store it carefully, or call Annette’s servants to do it. Notify the Bridge of my arrival. I’m going to teleport to the security station in sixty seconds. Your quick reaction team can meet me there.”

“Yes, Magos. Complying.” There is a five second pause. “Orders acknowledged. Bridge security is ready for your immediate teleportation.”

I sweep Brigid up in a big hug and whisper in her ear, “Thank you for a wonderful afternoon. I’ll message you the moment I know what’s going on.”

“You’d better,” mumbles Brigid. “I love you, Aldrich.”

“I love you too, Brigid.”

I step away from Brigid and disappear in a flash of green light.