Watching over twenty-nine thousand bombs explode is rather dramatic. Dareaca, Luan, and Fial, at least seem to be enjoying themselves. Laughing and chatting with little care even though most of the people in the dome are almost speaking in whispers. For the boys, these bombs are another brief episode of their Dad doing something crazy. I don’t think they’ve noticed that, or perhaps even care, that dozens of people just died in front of them. To them, that’s normal. They’ve yet to connect their own trials within Dying Light to the utter despair of the crews and families that have been ripped apart from my orders, or the orders that they might one day give. It’s not like one of their friends just got spaced as they’re crap at making them. My boys are far too tightly knit in their little trio and isolated by my shadow to make genuine friends. To Dareaca and Luan, the dead are faceless numbers on one of Brigid’s spreadsheets, along with the twelve thousand Penitents who died for their faith in the boys’ sister and the God Emperor of Mankind. Some died for a hot meal and a kind word. Fial is more self aware, but either too timid, or swept up in his brothers’ paces, to point out that now is the time to be serious. Alpia is shaking slightly as she hugs Brigid a little tighter. Brigid gently squeezes Alpia’s hand with two of her own. I suspect that Alpia can see the souls of the dead departing the Materium. Even with Alpia’s presence, some souls still get snatched by demons before the Emperor whisks them away. I doubt the dead will enjoy His hospitality much either. The foundation of His bone white realm was not built from rainbows. A few canapes and expensive drinks get passed around by Servitors though no one is talking much yet apart from my sons. Brigid frowns at the boys and it is with great shame that I suddenly realise that she is too busy with Alpia and that I should do some parenting. Clearly being out from under my eye for a few months and under the care of Imperials has impacted their behaviour in a negative fashion. In what galaxy am I more strict than Imperial officer school? I slip through the crowds and loom over the three boys. They turn around and look up at me and freeze. Although I am standing right next to them, I chose to vox all three of them, “Stop fooling around! This is a memorial as well as a celebration.” “It’s not like we’re missing much,” voxes Dareaca, “nor did we really contribute. Dad, why did we even have to attend this party? We’re only here because of you.” I resist shouting at Dareaca. Barely. I forward all three of them the current augur data, highlighting the ongoing casualties, and a brief summary of the costs of the whole operation. “Look at the behaviour of everyone here. Their serious faces and quiet voices. See how your sister struggles. We are here to celebrate our success, yes, but it is not without its scars.” I direct my snakes into the faces of all three boys. The snakes’ heads have been replaced with metal, sharp sensors and menacing tools. Red, cybernetic eyes stare vacantly from within new plasteel skulls, their intelligence stripped away and reduced to the unblinking loyalty of a half-dead machine. There is a brief pause as they read the data that I have sent them. “How were we supposed to know?” says Luan. “We don’t have clearance for this stuff. Aren’t you the one who is always telling us to look for happiness wherever we can? We just want to have a bit of fun at home before we go back to being yelled at by the training officers for no reason.” “Do not pick fights with me, Luan! You are more than smart enough to know why I am so angry with you right now. All three of you are to attend a group confession immediately and discuss this incident before then return to your duties. Go give your mother and sister a hug before you go.” Fial says, “What, me too? Isn’t that a bit harsh. I’m not my brothers’ keeper.” “You are not,” I say, “neither did you read the room yourself or attempt to discourage them. Soon we will be split for longer than you have lived. Do not let my last memory of you all be one of disappointment.” “Dad, that’s way too far,” says Dareaca. Luan says, “Seriously, Dad. What’s up?” “If we were on the Vice-Admiral’s vessel right now this little display of yours would have ruined your chances of promotion for over a decade. What’s the point of me sending you all away if you don’t benefit from it? I nearly died because I had to be seen making up for a careless remark of my own.” I give them a small smile, “Do not do as I do, but do as I say. You’ll live much longer.” All three boys’ shoulders sag having, at the very least, recognised the truth of my words. They hand their drinks off to a Servitor, briefly visit Brigid and Alpia and leave the observation dome. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. As Luan leaves, I vox him a final message, “Congratulations on getting your first girlfriend. I’m proud of you.” “Bye, Dad,” voxes Luan. I sigh. They are not the only ones without fault. I could have handled that better. The explosions finally subside and the D-POTs succeed in bringing the groaning, tumbling debris back under control. A light, celebratory mood seeps through the misery though the serious atmosphere remains. There’s been a lot of work going on behind the scenes supporting the offensive and dealing with the quarantine. It is pleasant to put all of that behind us. The low murmur of quiet conversation fills the observation dome. I stand alone. None dare approach me, my dour mood and scaled mutations deterring even the most curious or socially inept. I watch the void operations for several more minutes, combining my own eyes with the sensors of my fleet to build up a detailed image. Clasping my hands in the Sign of the Cog, I bow to the dead, then straighten my spine and firm my expression. A quick calculation guides me around the dome in the most efficient route, visiting each Captain, thanking them for their good work, and mentioning a task of note in which they excelled above others. I also make sure to speak about whomever it was that they delegated the task to that I thought went well. Despite the many years we have all worked together, I still manage to surprise my captains and their senior officers every time with how much I know about the internal workings of their vessels. I have found that making the smallest of efforts in this area really keeps my officers on their toes. It seems silly to me, but my people are so used to Machine-Spirits that they forget, upon occasion, that not only are the Machine-Spirits always watching, but they are unrepentant gossips as well. This has given me a reputation for omniscience, one that I constantly exploit to maximise my control over the Stellar Fleet. I do wonder what the crews of Iron Crane, Yonder Moon, and my minor vessels will get up to while I am gone. The rıghtful source is 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵⚑𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮⚑𝓷𝓮𝓽 How long will their discipline remain? Will High Factotum Eire Lobhdain maintain control? Will my apprentice, Ròsìn Paorach, go off the deep end and wipe the system with a stampede of homebrew knights and questionable research, or will she keep focus on Macro-Ferry Charon as she is supposed to and build an Imperial Wonder? I admit to some apprehension at splitting my Fleet and putting my trust in others to the test. They have never given me reason to doubt, yet doubt remains. Even if I can bring myself to trust in my people, the Ruinous Powers, Imperial factions, and cruel Xenos are forever scheming. Will my friends and children be OK without me to watch over them? I hate this uncertainty, this sense that everything I have is about to fall apart. Will it be Lyre’s death that unravels me? Perhaps it will be the machinations of the demon, Gibbering Moon, or the greed and desperation of the God Emperor. The future is uncertain and I can feel myself cracking underneath the weight of my duties, duties that I assigned to myself because I could not bear to stand aside and watch the galaxy slide into darkness, to toss aside the legacy of Sasha, Jamie, and Gemma, my family from a life long past. I am the founder and future of a legacy that has run for over thirty-eight thousand years and I am finding it increasingly difficult to care about whom I have to kill to keep my star burning brightly against the demons in the void. Lost in a haze of thoughts, I let one of my artificial minds move my body around the room and engage in the tedium of maintaining my relationships, never missing a smile, pleasant word, or letting anyone know that I am not well. It’s not like I can go to confession about assassinating an Inquisitor, or even confide in my family lest I put them at risk. My artificial mind drags me back to the present and I find myself face to face with Thalk. He has separated himself from his retinue, and positioned himself right at the edge of the armourglass, far from anyone else. A quick check of my pathfinding shows that he’s in just the right spot so that I would visit him last. I blink several times and my eyes open wider as I fail to contain my surprise. Thalk really does know exactly how Tech-Priests behave and how to exploit their behaviour to his benefit. I am faintly impressed. “Good day, Vice-Admiral,” I gesture towards the Breaking Yard, “Hardly the grandest display of destructive pyrotechnics that you’ve witnessed, I am sure, yet a pleasing one nonetheless, would you agree?” “Emperor’s blessings upon you, Magos Issengrund. This is fine work indeed. I have found that there is great joy to be found in the completion of the simplest of duties. One never knows when one’s opposition, or plain incompetence, will foul the most noble of works.” “Oh, I quite agree. There is much beauty in the execution of an efficient plan. Thank you for your support in cleaning up SR-651, especially your adoption of the stranded crews and keeping the Merchant Navy captains in line.” “Nonsense, Magos. We both know I couldn’t have pulled that off without your generous supply of food. The fury of faith did the rest. Your daughter is a remarkable woman to have united the masses with such finesse. She must take after her Father, eh?” Thalk nudges my side with his elbow and an exaggerated wink. “My children’s achievements are their own,” I say. “I do hope my boys haven’t been up to too much mischief.” “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Another month or so and they’ll be performing light duties alongside their education. I still plan to have them work with my quartermaster. It is a position of great trust, I hope you understand.” “Handy for making connections too,” I say. I say, “My boys tell me that you’re giving them private lessons in fleet politics. What drove you to take this extra step?” “Ah, that! Yes, a small apology on my part for letting them get wrapped up in a scheme of mine. Fial’s dedication to truth let me catch out a few corrupt officers.” “I did not expect you to come out and admit that to my face.” “Come now, Magos. Don’t be ridiculous. Your boys have communication privileges, slim though they are. There is no way they would not have informed you. Hiding a small scuffle like that is beneath us.”