[Archimedes L. Vulpes]
[Rogue Trader, Governor of the Vulpes System]
[Winterscale's Realm, Koronus Expanse, Segmentum Obscuras]
"Already cognizant? So soon after finishing the procedures?" The slightly tinny voice of Magos Vul-Phi-Ceti was tinged with amusement as the pair stepped toward the sealed liqui-casket where a young man lay within. "I do not know if this is the work of the augments, or my own genetic design that has given my little brother such resiliance."
Archimedes had lived for over four centuries, a long life for a man holding not one, but two dangerous positions, but it appeared that the God-Emperor had blessed and cursed him in equal measure. Centuries of stable rule over the Vulpes System and successful exploration of Winterscale's realm had made him and his family incredibly wealthy and important to the Koronus Expanse, but said success could not be seen in his personal life as it was his professional. Out of four marriages and seven children, only one child could be said to have become successful and useful to the dynasty— the good and worthy had died young, and the rest were little more than parasites. Which made it all the more heartbreaking that he had never had the chance to experience the joys of fatherhood with the woman he had loved most.
That lone child was standing right next to him.
Calderon M. Vulpes had been a promising candidate for both rulership of the system and the Warrant of Trade, but he was born in an era of familial strife and was far too intelligent to be swept up in the fracas. Rather than attempt to push his claim to either throne, he removed himself from the limelight entirely and joined the Mechanicus while the mothers of his children schemed with their closest families. Most of his siblings had been killed off in assassinations or by the fires of war within the Expanse, but Calderon— now Vul-Phi-Ceti— had survived and become quite influential within the Mechanicus.
Both House Vulpes and the local Mechanicus knew that a son returning to his place of birth was not something usually done, but given how critical close ties were between them for survival... it was overlooked. Which was quite fortunate, as in the nearly two centuries that Calderon had been studying under the Mechanicus, he had risen rather high to become a respected Magos Biologis. One who had no qualms in assisting his father with the creation of two biological heirs that would— hopefully— not end up a further stain on his reputation.
It was for the good of the realm just as much as it was for the good of the Mechanicus, as the senior enclave based out of Port Wander thought that it was better to have a Rogue Trader and System Governor in their corner versus the lesser-abled nobles who might usurp his throne.
It was also certainly not because Archimedes had offered to allow them to study and use the Dark Age cloning tanks, genetic treatments, and combat augments that he had discovered far earlier in his travels, but didn't have the expertise to use. He wanted someone trusted to handle the priceless relics his house owned, and the Mechanicus simply didn't have the weight in the region necessary to force the issue as they could have closer to Mars. So the return of Vul-Phi-Ceti to serve as an intermediary was a compromise that both parties were keen to agree on— Archimedes would get his new heirs, hearty and well-protected, and the Mechanicus would get the data they so desired.
"I do not know, but you have done fine work as far as I can tell." Archimedes raised a hand and placed it against the ferroglass of the tank, and in the murky green fluid, he saw a glimmer of awareness from his son. "However, only time will tell if he is a success. For my sake, and the sake of the realm, I hope that he is."
"I will put him back under," Vul-Phi-Ceti announced, and a mechadendrite rose up to tap at a control panel over the tank. "His pain tolerance must be extraordinary, but given that he is going to remain in that tank for the next month, there is no need for him to be conscious any longer."
The pair lapsed into silence as the hum of fluid pumps and electrical devices filled the air around them.
"The Mechanicus will be unhappy to hear that the combat augment implantation device has been... depleted." The Magos began, almost hesitantly, "They understood that it was unwise to attempt to move it from this station, given how integrated it was within the systems, but they will question the wisdom of wasting its limited capacity on my brother here and his... battle harem."
Archimedes huffed softly as he raised a weathered hand up to his thick mustache and began stroking it. "They knew that there was a limited supply of augmetic materials, and they also agreed that I could use it as I saw fit. Whether on my retinue or my son and his harem, that was the deal. Besides, you have the data and performed the surgeries yourself, have you not? That should more than suffice, especially since they never bothered to send anyone of import to me to speak about it."
Mechadendrites clicked as they brushed against one another, and out of the corner of Archimedes' eye, he could see his son's auspex tubes zoom in and out as he studied his much younger sibling. "That is true. The Mechanicus always pursued knowledge and technology with great vigor, but in this instance, it was almost as if their fervor was being tempered by outside forces. Politics, likely, or maybe it was simply a matter of logistics? The Expanse unearths new marvels every few decades, it seems, so it could be they did not have the ships necessary to send a large enough escort fleet to claim it..."
The Magos let that hang for a few moments, and while Archimedes would have liked to consider the implications further, there wasn't much point in it.
"What is done, is done." He muttered and made the sign of the Aquila, "Sleep well, my son. For when you wake up... that is when the true struggle begins."
Spinning upon his heel, the Rogue Trader began striding confidently through the workshop, the man only sparing a glance at the twenty other tanks that stood in neat rows on pedestals.
As much as he wished he could have stayed longer, he had a great deal of work to do, and only so much time to do it.
If only his other surviving sons weren't so useless.
[Duchess Gertrude Navige]
[Koronus Expanse, Vulpes Nebula]
[Fox's Den, Casat— Seat of House Navige]
Spoiler: Gertrude Navige
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Gertrude's day started when the sun, Vulpes Solaris, rose above the walls of the House Navige's estates on the pleasure world of Fox's Den.
While she was well north of four hundred and fifty years old, the old crone had yet to truly 'retire', unlike the rest of those in her cohort who still walked the mortal plane. She remembered when Lord Vulpes had laid claim to the Fox Den system, as she had been an officer on the bridge when the Rogue Trader made his proclamation to the crew over the ship-wide vox. She was old, and she knew it, but while her flesh had aged terribly despite the rejuvenant treatments, her mind was still sharp, and she could still move about unaided; she could even still swing her power cutlass and shoot her bolt pistol!
If that wasn't a sign from the God Emperor that she could still carry out her family's work, then she didn't know what was; long ago, she decided that she would only rest when His Golden Grace plucked her soul from her mortal coil, and not one minute earlier.
Now, that wasn't to say that she still commanded vessels in the inky black void like she used to— far from it. Her days of standing behind a holo tank and conducting battles like a conductor would an orchestra were long over. Instead, she busied herself with lectures at the Navige Schola of Naval Excellence or handling private tutoring sessions on naval theory for the would-be scions of House Vulpes.
A duty that she had much disliked until Lord Vulpes brought forth his youngest son, Silenius, to her attention as a candidate for the position of System Lord and the potential Heir to the family's vaunted Terran Warrant of Trade.
Truth be told, she had her reservations about grooming such a young child to hold those twin responsibilities, but given the Lord's miserable luck with worthy candidates, she could understand why he had this child handcrafted to suit the role. Two of his five eldest sons had been killed by Xenos and pirates while traveling with Vulpes merchant convoys, and the other two sons who might have been worthy, were murdered by their own kin in system-spanning plots that saw four noble houses purged in their entirety. The last and final worthy Candidate Heir had seen the writing on the wall and spirited himself away from the realm to join the Mechanicus— removing himself from candidacy outright to avoid the knives in the dark.
It took poor Archimedes almost a century to recover from the grief and marry again for the good of the realm, but the three sons his next two wives bore for him were hardly worthy of running a single corporation, let alone the Vulpes Nebula and all of its worlds.
Clifton Vulpes was the worst traits of the nobility distilled into a single person. Greedy, vain, pompous, and with an ego bloated to match. He was entirely too self-assured for an individual whose sole greatest accomplishment was being the sperm that reached the egg first.
Jardain Vulpes was nearly as incorrigible as his elder brother, but for different reasons. He was quiet, timid, slothful, and was easily pushed around by Clifton— often caught up in his elder brother's pace and going along with his hare-rat brained schemes simply because doing otherwise would have been too bothersome. His sole virtue was that he was a patient sort and rather slow to anger, but from where Gertrude stood as an outside observer dedicated to the health of the realm... those were terrible qualities to have in a man who would govern a prosperous territory in the heart of the galaxy's untamed wild lands.
The old woman sniffed contemptuously at the thought of those two buffoons as she busied herself with getting dressed after her morning ablutions.
Clifton and Jardain had been born of Fredricka Greenspar's womb, and when she perished to a wasting disease she picked up gallivanting on a dead station in her home system, Venelana Calvikos took up the role as Lord Vulpes' pretty young wife. It would have been fine, as young ladies marrying men centuries their elder wasn't unheard of, but Lady Calvikos had been cheritably described as somewhat of a 'party animal'. Her homeworld of Snowsilk was a sparsely populated agriworld that exported food and the finest xenos silks imaginable, and while that made her house among the wealthiest in the Nebula, for a young woman craving excitement and adventure, it was dreadfully boring.
It was well known that those among the upper crust would dabbled in the consumption of illicit narcotics, and it was tolerated as long as it was kept quiet and didn't affect the duties of the affected nobles. However, someone must not have given the young wife that lecture, because she decided that it would be fine for her to ingest Glimmer Root powder while attending a masquerade party in the lower hive levels of the Vulpes Spire. Not only did she nearly kill herself with an overdose, but she irreparably harmed the child within her womb— a child she claimed she did not know she was with.
Aurelius Vulpes was born... wrong. Small and misshapen, with a head too large for his neck to support, a body too chubby, and limbs too feeble and gangly for him to walk. Had such a defect not already been known to the Medicae and Mechanicus as a side effect of prenatal consumption of powerful narcotics like Glimmer Root, then one wouldn't have been mistaken to label the child a mutant.
And in the Imperium, the mutant was not suffered, be it man, woman, or child.
So not only had she been imbibing illicit narcotics as the wife of the System Lord, but she had ruined the life of her unborn child, and then had the temerity to perish from a brain hemorrhage caused by a clot mere hours after giving birth— leaving her husband saddled with all of her mistakes.
And Archimedes, Throne bless his soul, was not the sort to consign one of his blood to death— no matter the damage to his reputation. Even after having his son examined by a traveling Mechanicus flotilla unaffiliated with the local Cult, and cleared of the possibility of being a mutant, the damage had already been done. Aurelius Vulpes, even if he was a brilliant mind, would never be considered as a candidate for the throne or the Warrant of Trade.
Granted, outside of his deformities, there was little else that Gertrude knew about the boy, but while she did feel a small sting of self-recrimination for thinking ill of a boy she did not know, it did not change the reality of the situation.
Thus, with all of his ill luck when it came to heirs, it was no small wonder that he decided to have his only living, loyal, son assist him in genecrafting a perfect heir... and a daughter, seeing that none of his wives had seen fit to provide him a little girl to cherish and dote upon.
She could hardly fault him for it, as her four daughters had been a dream to raise, unlike the three hellions that were her sons.
There was a gentle tap on the door to her bed chambers, and a soft, muffled voice came through. "My Lady?"
"Yes?" The former Vulpes naval admiral called out as she looked over herself in the full-length mirror before her.
Her knee-high black boots were crisply polished, and her pristine white trousers were perfectly creased down the front of each leg. A white silk shirt was hidden underneath a royal blue naval tunic that was a mainstay of the Vulpes naval forces, and the broad black leather belt was firmly clasped around her waist to hold her pistol belt and power cutlass scabbard. There were a handful of medals and campaign ribbons over her right breast, but those and the gold threading on the fabric were outshone by the large polished sapphire the size of a Vulixian apple hanging from a necklace made of gold around her neck. However, even the sapphire paled in comparison to the majesty of the stylized 'I' that marked her as a faithful adherent to the Imperial Cult— a solid gold brooch crusted with small rubies and diamonds pinned directly over her heart.
Where thoughts of the God Emperor ought to be.
"The Lord Chef wishes to know whether you will be dining with us this morning?"
It didn't even take her a moment to consider the question.
"No. I will be dining with Lord Vulpes this morning." Her old eyes flicked over to the grandfather chrono ticking next to her boudoir, "In exactly an hour. Do inform Captain Halrath that I expect him to have my Aquila prepped and in the air within the next twenty minutes."
"Of course, My Lady. I will see to it that they are both informed at once."
As much as Gertrude disliked deviating from her normal, established schedules, there was something about making small, whimsical changes from time to time that helped keep people like her alive. While she didn't believe that any of her kin would want to see her dead at this juncture, she wasn't completely blind to the possibilities; one only needed to think of Lord Vulpes' misfortune to know that even the greatest of men can be harmed by internal strife. Regardless, she was with one foot in the grave already, and it would be absolutely foolish for someone of her blood with ambitions to make a strike at her now of all times.
However, the same could not be said for the likes of Clifton and Jardain Vulpes— those two, and their sycophants, had to know that it was only a matter of time before they were formally disinherited and married off to one of the lesser houses to keep them out of the way.
Lord Vulpes had informed her that young lord Silenius would be waking soon, and she wished to be there in person to meet the lad and take his measure.
The flight from the Navige domain to the sole hive city on the planet was neither short nor too long, especially in an Aquila that could enter low planetary orbit and land on the private pads of the Vulpes family levels far above the clouds.
There were five continental land masses on the garden world of Fox's Den, with numerous archipelagos and large islands replete with thousands of kilometers of white sandy beaches and a thriving fishing trade.
Frennec was the largest landmass, and consequently the only landmass large enough to support a hive city's bulk; that it dominated the equator of the world and made building its massive spires easier was a small blessing for those who had settled the planet in mellinea past. A large inland sea spanned the continent's western edge, with a small land bridge roughly a hundred kilometers wide to the frozen mountains north. This land bridge connected Frennec to Dolmea, a heavily forested region of the world, renowned for its lumber and docile wild game; while it was rather poor in minerals, the soil was excellent for Fox Den's luxury agricultural products.
Capricia was to the south and west of the hive— a large island continent with a massive inland lake formed from what appeared to be a meteor strike tens of millions of years ago. That continent had a wealth of raw materials, but unfortunately, those minerals were only discovered after Capricia had been officially dubbed the playground of the nobility. While the landmass was hardly covered in casinos, pleasure palaces, and other sorts of attractions as it would have been on other Pleasure Worlds, the land had to be kept in as pristine a condition as possible for obvious reasons. That wasn't to say there was zero mineral extraction activity, as there was just too much wealth sitting in the ground to be ignored completely, but those operations were kept subterranean; the strip-mining methods favored by the Mechanicus would not be found here.
If Capricia was the domain of the nobility, then the continent of Reward was it's polar opposite.
Reward was a still beautiful expanse of land, an island mass off the east coast of Frennec, and that was where those who performed excellent service to the Vulpes dynasty retired. Soldiers, sailors, administrators, miners, and even farmers whose fields were productive all had a chance to earn the right to live in a small city on the safest planet in the Koronus Expanse. Getting the accolades necessary to earn such a luxury was difficult but far from impossible, and already the city had swelled to over a hundred thousand souls.
It was a far cry from the 500 million that the hive city boasted, but even then, the hive city was considered dreadfully underpopulated compared to all of its contemporaries. The Vulpes dynasty was quite clear on additive migration, and only those who could be beneficial to the system were allowed to book passage to the Vulpes Nebula. However, given the low amount of aval traffic in and out of the hidden nebula's Maw-writ-miniature, migration in the low hundreds of thousands per year was the best they could do at this time. The majority of their vessels were expressly designed with cargo in mind, and short of some colony ship captain losing his mind and making his way to the Expanse, there was little hope of boasting higher numbers anyway.
Lastly, to the south and west of the Vulpes Spire hive city was the island continent of Casat.
Rich in minerals, green forests, and numerous deep-water ports, Casat was the largest home to fishing and sea-based shipping on the planet; if there was a cargo vessel larger than a skiff, then it had its home in Pearl Bay, Torpedo Bay, or McCaskin Bay. Home to less than a million inhabitants, with the majority working in the fishing, shipping, or mining industries, Casat was also the ancestral seat of House Navige— Gertrude's house— and she found it personally to be the best continent on the planet. It wasn't the wealthiest, nor was it the most productive or green, but she had to admit that she felt just as much at home on the bridge of a bluewater vessel as she did on blackwater ship.
Those who lived on Casat felt this as well, and that made them kin to her.
Let Adistrata, Devora, and Umbrian keep their feifs— Gertrude wouldn't exchange lands even if Lord Vulpes offered.
"Admiral," Came Captain Halrath's voice over the vox in the Aquila's rear cabin. "We're sixty seconds out from the Vulpes landing pads. Codes have been cleared, and we're good to settle down. If you haven't already strapped in, please do so."
Seeing as she never left her crash seat, the retired Admiral pressed the key next to her command throne's armrest. "Then settle her down at your pleasure, Captain. I am ready to land."
Her personal Aquila was a far cry from the military models that were churned out by the Imperium in the millions each year. Being far from munitorium supply chains, the heavy auto-bolter in the nose had been replaced by a linked quartet of lascannons, and the mass savings went into a small amount of additional armor with a small reserve fuel tank in the large ammo bin's place. It was a sensible trade-off, however, the abject luxury in the cabin was far less to her taste— while she liked the polished hardwood, the gaudy gold and silver trim with velvet cushions was far too much. The observation bubble the craft had was plated over with thick sheets of ceramite; she had lived for centuries looking out into the void, and she would rather have a structural weakness fortified than enjoy a view she could see through the vessel's auspex.
She was a simple woman who had simple tastes; all she needed was the aquila and iconography of the God Emperor to keep them sated.
However, being the Matriarch of a Great House with such important responsibilities required that she maintain appearances and play the games that the nobles liked to play. Truly, she was lucky that she could get away with repurposing a military lander as her personal craft— her House's status as one of the two preeminent military branches of the Vulpes dynasty afforded her that much. She shuddered to think what sort of bumbling, jewel-bedecked monstrosity she'd have to fly in if she were less connected to the military supply chain than she was.
The pit of her belly sank as the whine of the engines heralded a sweeping but smooth turn, and the aircraft began to decelerate as the pilot brought them in to land. She absent-mindedly flicked a few switches on her command throne and brought up the external camera feeds over the flat-screens on the walls so that she could watch the captain's approach. It was an old holdover from the days when the Vulpes Nebula wasn't as safe as it was, and on more than a few occasions, her observations outside had saved her life from an errant sniper or rocketman.
The Vulpes spire was a gleaming titan of silver-grey adamantium, ferrocrete, and steel— a spear that jutted out far above the clouds and into the upper sections of the atmosphere where even large cargo vessels could dock to onboard and offload cargo. She had heard the Mechanicus were confident that even a battleship could dock for a few days if it was a necessity, but they would have to keep their thrusters near the redline to counteract the pull of Fox Den's gravity. It was a superfluous thing to note, given a battleship would be better served docking at the small Ramilles-class star fort a hundred thousand kilometers in geo-synchronous orbit; that and there hadn't been a battleship to her knowledge in the Koronus Expanse in many, many centuries.
Those large, hungry vessels were incredibly difficult to keep supplied out in the Expanse, so at most the largest vessels to head through the Maw were Middle and Heavyweight cruisers; the Imperial Navy had little reason to bring anything heavier for this virtually lawless realm, and the number of Rogue Traders in the Imperium that could boast a Battlecruiser-weight vessel was in the low hundreds. It might have sounded like a lot, but those Rogue Traders weren't in the Expanse, and the rest were still spread out across hundreds of domains all over the million worlds of the Imperium. At best, a Rogue Trader could lay claim to a handful of frigates, which made the Vulpes dynasty rather impressive with its half-dozen light cruisers and four times as many frigates.
The private landing zone on the uppermost floor of the Vulpes family floors had space to hold two dozen landing craft, and while half of those were filled with interceptors and bombers that went on frequent patrols, the other half were left open for visitors like herself. Given the very thin atmosphere, the decorations were bereft of organic wonders such as trees, bushes, and pleasant-smelling flower beds. Instead, there were dozens of statues, almost ten meters tall, that were formed from ferrocrete before being overlaid in gold; the first two in the walkway leading toward the pad were a statue of the God Emperor, and the other of the Imperial Aquila.
The craft shuddered as its landing gear sank under the weight of the vessel, and the pilot began going through his post-flight checks while the control tower for the landing zone rolled out the 'welcome mat'. The welcome mat in question was a large polyplast tunnel with steel ribs that extended from the primary airlock toward her landing strip. Within the clear poly sheeting, she could see a pair of well-dressed servitors dragging a large roll of red carpeting— each of their ponderous steps unrolled a few more paces of red fabric at a time.
With one last look around the external cameras, the old retired Admiral undid the clasps on her command throne's safety harness, and she stood up to don the deep blue great coat that denoted her as a member of the Navy. After flipping up the long collar to shield her neck, the woman checked her weapons before holding up a breathing mask over her nose and mouth. While they weren't quite at the void at this level, the air was uncomfortably thin; only a half-minute was necessary to cause altitude sickness from the lack of oxygen, and a full minute could lead to unconsciousness or even death.
Thankfully, however, the Vulpes family didn't see the need to subject their visitors to such a hassle, and thus the 'welcome mat' was commissioned.
The moment she saw the lights above the polyplast tunnel flicker on to a bright and cheery green, Gertrude smacked the hatch button with her fist and fought down a flinch as icy air blasted into the compartment. It was an agonizing wait for the ramp to finish dropping, as her old bones immediately began drinking in the cold, but she had centuries of experience concealing her discomfort as she followed the ramp down in an unhurried gait. The Naval crewmen who swarmed her vehicle to perform their inspections and checks stopped and gave her a salute, which she returned with her free hand.
There was a slight hiss as the cogs on the pressurized door of the tunnel spun and opened up, and she stepped into the blessedly warm air of the 'welcome mat'. Gertrude spared the two Servitors a brief glance with her hand on her power cutlass, as there had been many attempts on her life using the mindless automatons, but when they kept to their positions near the wall with their mechanical arms locked to the bar that held the red carpet, she allowed herself to relax. Or she was less tense.
"Gertrude, if you would, please stop staring down my Servitors and come greet your host." A warm, playfully chiding voice called out from down the poly corridor. "Especially since I went through all of the trouble of giving you the 'red carpet treatment'."
"Lord Vulpes, you know how little I care for the pomp and circumstance." She grunted a touch, though the warm air from the overhead vents had her unbuttoning her coat. "Even if my old bones are grateful for it."
Lord Archimedes Vulpes was a rather tall man, with broad shoulders and strong limbs even in his advanced age; like her, he had reached near the end of what Rejuvenant therapy could reverse, but despite being decades older than her, he still appeared hale. His once midnight black hair had long since faded to a snowy white, and while his skin began to sag and form wrinkles, the icy chill of his eyes had yet to lose their luster; it was his mind that made him one of the best Rogue Traders in the Expense, and she was forever grateful to the God Emperor that it appeared his mental faculties would be the last of his qualities to go.
The only thing about him that perturbed her to no end was his change in dress.
He once used to garb himself in a manner befitting of a Rogue Trader, but now that he was no longer traveling the void behind the helm of his flagship, he had since taken up the noble styles. Gone were the solemn blacks and golds fashioned out of armored ballistic fibers. Gone were the skulls and iconography of the Imperial Cult.
In their place were layered robes of red, gold, and purple silks, along with enough golden jewelry to cause a Gloriana to list to one side the moment he stepped aboard it. Thankfully, he kept most of that gaudy mess wrapped underneath a tasteful black cloak. She understood that he had hung his hat up as the Rogue Trader and put on his cap as the Nebula's Governor, but that didn't mean she had to like seeing someone she highly respected play the game of appearances with the nobility.
However, Gertrude knew that the man she had battled the stars with was still alive and well underneath all of that buffoonery, so she still took it upon herself to drop to a knee to greet her lord properly— even if her knees protested the gesture.
Never let it be said that the Matriarch of House Navige was one to dispense with custom over personal comfort.
Lord Vulpes knew her all too well, and so he didn't protest as she did so. "Rise, leal Void Warrior of House Navige."
"As you command, My Lord."
"Lady Navige, though this meeting is long overdue, may I present to you my daughter, Sable Vulpes." He held out his right hand and gestured , and once she had pushed herself back up to feet, Gertrude turned her attention to the young child standing next to her Lord.
It didn't even take her a moment to determine who the genetic mother of this young girl was.
"So... this is the daughter you and Starla never got to have, eh? Hold still, my dear. Let me have a look at you." She all but whispered as she used a slender finger to turn the girl's chin left and right; to her surprise, the youngling complied with her demands with a calm air.
She was the spitting image of her father and mother— Lord Vulpes' first wife, the one he had before they had even discovered the Vulpes Nebula.
Starla Whisperbane had been his First Mate and Seneschal back when Gertrude was but a humble Officer of the Vox. She had been a spitfire of a woman, but organized and proud of her abilities despite her temper. That she died well before her time had been a terrible weight cast upon the backs of the crew of the Rabid Fox, for she had been a mentor to many, yet a bane to all.
All but Archimedes, of course. That woman had been as sweet on him as the night shift was long, and he loved her terribly. So she supposed it wasn't any surprise that Lord Vulpes had chosen to have his two tank-born children crafted from her genetics as well.
"Yes, she is much like her mother." Gertrude hummed before she let her finger drop. "Though that isn't to say that I don't see you in her, My Lord. She has her mother's visage, but dare I say that it is impossible to mistake those eyes as anything but yours."
Though she was still a few years away from flowering into maturity, the girl had her mother's fine cheekbones and plush, rose petal lips. Her brows were thin and fine despite the deep black coloration, and her hair fell in a waterfall of loose sable curls. With pale skin and her father's ice blue eyes, she cut a rather striking figure; no doubt the moment she came of age, Archimedes would have to threaten Exterminatus to keep the noble boys at bay.
The God Emperor knows that poor Archimedes' two oldest boys would hardly lift a finger for the sister that was only half of their blood; however, Sable wasn't alone now, was she?
She did have her older brother Silenius, but only time would tell if he was cut from the same noble cloth as his father.
Seeing that the adults had finally finished, the young lady took that opportunity to speak.
"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Navige." Sable Vulpes' voice was that of gentle chimes as she gave a half-bow that was suitable for a lady of her station addressing one of her father's vassals. "My Lord Father has told me much of your travels together."
"I do believe that any story your Lordly Father has told you might be suspect. He has always made even the most dreadfully boring of tales sound like yet another epic quest taken up in the God Emperor's name." The mother of many, and grandmother of many, many more, found herself smiling a touch as she offered her hand and felt the young lady accept it. "Now then, why don't you tell me what fanciful tales your Father has told you, and over breakfast I can tell you how much of them was grox shite."
"Now, now, Gertrude. You do know that slandering your Lord is a capital offense—" He said with a broad smile on his face, because he knew he had a penchant for tall tales just as much as any Rogue Trader worth their salt.
As the trio progressed down the hall, the poly barrier began retracting, and the hundred guardsmen of the Vulpes Spire's upper security company took up a respectable distance around them; close enough to intervene if necessary, but far enough away to maintain some semblance of privacy.
It was time to get to know the two Vulpes scions who would make or break the Vulpes Nebula.
Special thanks to all of my Patreon
A/N: I couldn't find any good pictures of Sable and Lord Vulpes yet, but when I do?
Anyway, this chapter had like 7k of worthless content. It just didn't flow or mesh, and was not the right kind of info-dumpy. Besides, why would I have a fight scene that had little to no action? It was a mess, so I went with an interlude instead.
A/N 2: So the original intent of the original chapter 2 was to have a training fight scene that had an assassination attempt in it. It didn't work. At all. It was terrible, so rather than try to jump straight into the MC, I decided to explore the important characters around him and his father. Lady Navige, General Devora, and Seneschal Umbrian were originally going to play a much larger roll in the story, but the Gacha threw that off the rails.
[Archmagos Vul-Phi-Ceti]
Nestled within the middle floors of the Vulpes dynasty's spire floors lay the Vulpes Nebula Mechanicus's so-called 'Tech Embassy'.
Dozens upon dozens of square kilometers of machine shops and fabrication facilities housed hundreds of Tech Adepts overseeing thousands of Adept-hopefuls and menials alike. It was not the hive spire's primary manufacturing hub, but instead the dedicated facility that served a dual purpose. As a primary function, this floor of manufacturing might was expressly built to service the needs of the twenty floors directly claimed by the Vulpes dynasty; any and all equipment, supplies, and spare parts required to maintain the upper spire were made here. It's secondary, but no less critical, directive was to serve as the primary link between the dynasty and the Mechanicus conclave that lived in the Ramilles-class star fort above.
Unlike most Mechanicus-operated sectors, while it was still choked with clouds of cloying incense and slathered in sacred oils, the district was kept comparatively clean and free of useless clutter. Given the Pleasure World status of Fox's Den, with its pristine surface lacking in hazardous environs and absurdly dangerous fauna, the beauty of the world was to be maintained at any reasonable cost. While the Mechanicus chaffed at the stringent ecological requirements placed upon them, the Tech-Preists were well aware of both the rarity of such worlds and the benefits that maintaining such worlds provided.
While the Vulpes Nebula, and by extension that of the Koronus Expanse, was hardly a political or economic powerhouse right now, everyone was certain that this would change in the future. It was only a matter of time until the Imperium of Man inexorably instilled order and function onto this sector of wild space. And when that time came, the existence of a well-curated Pleasure World would bring a great deal of boons to those who maintained its beauty.
Paradise Worlds were a rarity in the Imperium of Man. Out of the million or more worlds that mankind claimed dominion over, the number of worlds that could support human life without intervention was few and far between. Worlds that had the proper orbit, environment, and a distinct lack of vicious flora or fauna that could openly prey upon humans were even more rare. Such worlds were jealously guarded and were always turned into worlds of refuge and recuperation for the ruling elite of the Imperium of Mankind.
From the Ecclesiarchy to the Astra Militarum, from the Navis Nobilite to the Adeptus Administratum or even the Inquisition, whoever controlled and maintained a Pleasure World often found themselves with an unimaginable amount of political capital.
Foreign nobles would exchange grand favors for a private estate on such a world. Retired Generals and Admirals would provide their wealth of experience for even a small walled manse and access to a hunting ground. Chartist Captains managing flotillas providing interstellar shipping would provide highly favorable business arrangements for the rights to make such a world a port of call. Governors of mineral-rich resource worlds would provide bulk raw materials at heavily discounted rates for the privilege of taking retreats from their barren rocks.
The Mechanicus of the Vulpes Nebula knew this, and thus strived to keep the world as clean and as idyllic as possible; the loss in capacity on Fox's Den was a small price to pay for what would inevitably come. For now, the star fort Gilded Exploration at geosynchronous orbit, and the Vulpes Spire's lower hive manufactorums, were more than capable of supplying the vast majority of demanded goods in the nebula. Each world in the sector had smaller, less capable facilities to handle the simpler items necessary to sustain life, but if there was to be any true development in the region, it was going to require significant investment from the outside and the Mechanicus.
However, attracting attention from the Cult Mechanicus required new discoveries and information that the Cult would find valuable. Discoveries and information like the combat augmetics that were uncovered on the Dark Age space station 'Elipses-9', found a few centuries ago within the asteroid fields of the Red Autumn system. Discoveries and information that the Cult Mechanicus had seemingly chosen to ignore, despite numerous attempts to draw more resources and Tech-Preists to explore.
An odd and statistically unlikely occurrence given the Machine Cult's history, especially given Archmagos Fi-32's personal delivery of the data to the Port Maw Mechanicus enclave more than a century ago. There was more than likely some higher-level politics at play within the Calixis sector that had slowed the missives sent to Holy Mars, but short of attempting such a long and dangerous journey, there was little that the fledgling Mechanicus of the Expanse could do. The chain of command had to be respected, and short of proof of heretical behavior, it had to be believed that their discovery had likely just fallen through the cracks.
A common occurrence given the sheer scale at which the Adeptus Mechanicus operated.
Thus, after more than a century of waiting, the Rogue Trader's claim over the station was formally recognized— provided he continued to observe the treaties he had signed with the Mechanicus. Of course, Lord Vulpes was not the sort to turn up his nose at the Mechanicus and all that they provided, so he made sure that every stipulation and regulation was followed in both spirit and letter. It was why when he requested the blessed augmetics machine be used for its intended, holy purpose, instead of continuing to waste away... Archmagos Fi-32 saw little reason to deny it before old age had claimed him; Archmagos Logis Calcula-3.14 ascended to take his seat on the Council of the Cog.
Many of the wondrous machines from bygone eras could only be properly studied when in motion, after all, and since the machine would be used to enhance the future heir to the Nebula and the Warrant of Trade? Well, that would only further cement the ties between the dynasty and the local Mechanicus enclave. So many Tech-Preists of the Martian Cult were dismissive of the mortals who required their aid in building and maintaining the sublime creations of the Omnissiah, but out in the wild frontier of the Expanse, symbiosis was far more necessary.
It was for that reason that Vul-Phi-Ceti was selected to study the holy device and administer its augmetics to the Scion of House Vulpes and his battle harem.
Not only was Magos Vul-Phi-Ceti of the Lord Rogue Trader's blood, which would ensure that blowback would be minimal should something amiss happen to the genecrafted heir, but it would also serve as a fine test of the Magos' abilities.
He had been waiting for an appropriate test that would ensure his ascension to the rank of Archmagos Genetor, and the study and utilization of the machine for its intended purpose would be— had been— a glorious task.
After two centuries of faithful service, Vul-Phi-Ceti had joined the ranks of the Organic Machine sect of the Expanse Mechanicus as a fully realized Archmagos... with all of the perks and privileges he had come to expect.
After his electoos had been updated, he had received a full suite of sect-compliant upgrades that improved his performance without scarifying his sacred Omnissiah-given human form. New neural implants and micro-cogitators that had been fabricated and tuned by the sect's Logis artisan, an enhanced re-breather system that was sleeker and less bulky, and upon receiving his updated Omnissian Ax, the Archmagos Explorator herself gifted him a fifth mechadendrite she fashioned from the wrecked hull of an ancient Terran Federation shuttle craft she found while traversing the void.
A most holy and humbling gift indeed.
Out of all of his upgrades and gifts, that was the one he was most thankful for.
However, once the holy work was completed and his work compiled for review, there was no reason for the Heir and his battle harem to remain on the station. It was, after all, an active excavation site with only 29% of its structure having been explored, and there might still be many vile things lurking about which could threaten them. So after completing their recovery period within the tanks, they were transported to Fox's Den to continue their recuperation.
And naturally, where his subjects went, Archmagos Vul-Phi-Ceti followed.
However, even if he had a new rank, that meant he now had even more responsibilities than before, and one of which was to oversee the growth of the latest generation of Servitors for the Hive. It was a logical decision since he would have proximity to his project, and Magos Genetor Solara-18 was needed in the lower hive to handle her latest pet project concerning the mortals. She had assisted him as a favor in the past, and now he was repaying that debt.
Upon receiving the confirmation, the Archmagos logged the nutrient adjustment in the archives and flagged it for the next cycle's update. He then returned to his current task of collating all of the data in a format the Logis found pleasing to their sensibilities. A tedious task, to be sure, given the exacting nature of the Logis when it came to their spreadsheets, but it was a necessary one since the Mechanicus only ran as smoothly as it did thanks to their mathematical prowess; a misplaced decimal point in a single entry could lead to a cascading failure that could paralyze future operations for years or even decades.
In this particular instance, incorrect data entries now could lead to fewer Servitor Blanks being produced in the next batch, and with how it takes over seven years for a new Blank to be grown...
He shook his head and refocused on his work once more, however, that only lasted for a few minutes before something pinging him in the noosphere stole his attention. The data packet's metadata denoted it as having come from the servoskull he had monitoring his current project, and after giving it a thorough scan with his newly improved protection suite, the Archmagos moved it over to the external micro-cogitator kept on his belt— and far away from his augmetic implants. Now safely isolated, as scrapcode daemons could be exceedingly deadly to the unprepared, the Genetor unsealed the kernel from its holy compressed form inside of a sanctified sandbox program.
"The Primary Subject is regaining consciousness. I will attend." Archmagos Vul-Phi-Ceti spoke simultaneously in both binaric and Low Gothic— for the benefit of both the Magi and menials— as he slowly rose from his tech-throne; there were a number of small hisses, whirrs, and clicks as cables and his mechadendrites removed themselves from the interface ports and retracted under his Martian red cloak. "Genetor Sulien-Adatrix-7 will assume operational control of this sacred bio-manufactorum."
From around the closest row of pods came a middle-aged woman wearing the robes of the Mechanicus. This Adept was on the cusp of testing toward earning the rank of Magos, and it would be good for Sulien-Adatrix-7 to gain some leadership experience. Her lacking the numerous augmetics commonly seen even among the Biologis was more of a symptom of short supply rather than a desire to maintain her Holy human form.
"This unit hears and obeys." The Adept interlaced her fingers in front of her waist and bowed lowly in a gesture of respect.
Only when she connected to the command throne and assumed the seat via a wrist cable did the Archmagos turn to leave.
As he strode away toward the entrance to the Servitor Biofactorum the Archmagos pulled up his dictation program and inserted a note to perform an extended period of self-reflection before the holy cog; now that he had an artisanal mechadendrite gifted to him from the Archmagos Explorator... perhaps it was time he took on an apprentice and gifted them with one of his?
It was something he could contemplate later this evening.
Even if the Biofactorum was within the Vulpes dynasty's twenty floors, there was still a considerable amount of distance to cover; almost two standard hours of driving, catching lifts, and walking to the floor of the Heir Apparent.
During that time, the Archmagos spent the majority of that travel simply observing the Subject via the servoskull floating silently in the corner of the room.
It was both curious and amusing to watch, and he took notes all the while.
Upon waking up, the Subject, Silenius P. Vulpes, seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time lying in bed and muttering to himself low enough that not even the servoskull's receptors could make the words out. When the Archmagos tried running the boy's lip movements through a program, it came back with nonsense results. If it had continued for much longer he might have gotten worried, but soon the Subject rolled out of bed and proceeded to move about his quarters as if he was seeing it all for the first time.
He dug through dressers and pulled out undergarments and stockings before rifling through the armories and cabinets with what appeared to be mounting frustration... that was until he snapped his fingers.
"Ah, yes. The undershirts are over there." Wherein the Subject quickly walked over to the set of dressers on the opposite wall and pulled out a form-fitting undershirt.
Watching the stress hormones spike before relief set in as he seemed to refamiliarize himself with the contents and layout of the room led the Archmagos to believe that the Subject was experiencing a form of short-term memory loss. The way the Subject carefully inspected each article in the room, from the stationery on the desk to the contents of a hidden vault behind a large portrait further reinforced this; however, it appeared that muscle memory was still functional despite the augmetic upgrades, as he looked rather surprised when his fingers went through the safe's ten-digit combination string without any effort or thought behind the action.
Amusing to note was that the Subject had gone through all of the effort of procuring an outfit and placed it out on the bed for himself to wear, but he still conducted all of his exploration while stark naked.
Then there was the rather large and finely crafted full-length mirror where the Subject seemed to catch sight of himself as he moved around the room. He immediately halted and quickly strode over to it, wherein he spent the next ten minutes closely examining his features in the mirror's surface— as if he had forgotten what he had looked like and needed to refamiliarize himself with his own visage. Once he seemed satisfied with whatever it was he was seeking in the mirror, the boy began a few minutes of what could only be described as abject buffoonery.
He flexed his muscles. He bounced his pectorals. He admired his powerful and aesthetic eight-pack abdominals. He marveled at his quads and spent no small amount of time admiring the view of his own backside.
Then there was the toying with his genitals.
"By the Throne, I don't remember it being this impressive."
He seemed to be surprised by his length and girth, and he expressed that amazement by rolling it up to look like some sort of snail, wrapping it over his wrist like a fleshy timepiece before 'checking the chrono', and he even spent more than a few seconds gyrating his hips and flopping his reproductive organ like a propeller on a naval vessel.
He decided to cut that portion of the recording out from the official report— both to save his brother's dignity, but also because something this uproarious should be stored in a safe place and only brought forth at the most opportune of moments.
"Damn. When my battle harem sees this monstrosity, they're either going to be thrilled beyond belief..." The boy's broad smile seemed to falter, and a gusting sigh escaped his lips as he hung his head. "Or flee for their lives. I don't want them to cringe every time I take off my pants."
Archmagos Vul-Phi-Ceti paused when he saw that.
That was the proof he needed to be certain that nothing truly irreparable had happened during the procedure. While the Subject might be having some issues with his memory, it was clear that they were still there, and more to the point, that the son of Rogue Trader was still with all of his faculties intact. Silenius was a young man who knew the weight of the duty that was one day going to be resting on his shoulders, and while he maintained a strong front for those watching from the outside, when he thought no one was watching, he was prone to bouts of melancholy and self-doubt.
"Oh well, what's done is done. There is no use crying about it. I have an expertly crafted physique and the large manhood I've always wanted. I just need to make the most of it... right after I have a bath." The teen turned away from the mirror and strode toward the large private bath, but he only made it halfway before he paused. "No. First my morning exercise and mobility drills, and then my bath. Blademaster would have my arse if I skipped them the first day after having been gone for so long."
There was a small bundle of tension within the Archmagos' breast that began to unwind as the Subject went through his morning routine.
He was still stark naked, but the teen handled them quickly and without complaint. Numerous bodyweight exercises were performed with a fluidity that was born from many years of repetition, with a circuit of leg, core, and upper body movements that stressed the major and minor muscle groups in short order. The only deviation from his standard routine was that, other than being nude, he opted to feel the cool marble flooring underneath his skin rather than pull the exercise mat from underneath the bed where it was stored; whether he had forgotten its existence or simply chose to go without the Archmagos didn't know.
After working up a healthy sweat from the non-stop fifteen-minute routine, the Subject completed a few minutes of cooldown stretches and strode over to the bathroom.
"By the Throne! Since when did I have a damned waterfall for a bathtub!?"
As the Archmagos made a note of the outburst in his report to the Rogue Trader, the tension he had lost momentarily had once more returned; however, this time it was located on his forehead instead of his breast.
"No, wait. I specifically asked to have a large bath, so that my harem and I could bathe together. That's right... how silly of me."
Hmmm. Perhaps he should hold off taking an apprentice at this critical juncture? It appeared that his younger brother would be taking up a great deal of his attention going forward.
[Silenius P. Vulpes]
[Vulpes Spire, 14th Floor; Personal Floor of the Heir]
[468.M41]
Spoiler: Rogue Trader Ship Bath for Reference on Opulence
I had never been a 'bath' kind of guy.
I mean, sure, don't get me wrong, there were definitely days that were rough on me, and I had to dump some Epsom salts into a bath to unwind enough to sleep, but those were few and far between. I much preferred the time and water-saving efficiency of a good, hot shower— because time was money, and water in my city was also money. Yet, as I said, despite hating the fifteen or more minutes it took to fill up the bathtub, and the six dollars worth of water for my large tub, I still did take baths.
However, despite knowing the 40k universe's propensity for absurd displays of wealth, and even the Rogue Trader game's captain's bath, I had not been prepared for the bath in my personal chambers. Or the personal chambers on my personal floor in the hive spire that my dynasty owned.
The memories were fuzzy at the start, but the longer I was awake and mentally cataloging everything this body knew, the more and more I felt 'myself'. Thankfully, there was little divergence between the 'me' of this life and the 'me' of my past life, so the level of dissonance was minimal; the only thing that hurt was the occasional cringe memory that appeared thanks to my Edgy malus.
So yeah, I had a whole damn floor of a Hive city to myself, which at the moment was pretty much a blank slate. It was 20 kilometers in diameter, with the ceiling almost a kilometer above the flooring— my personal floor had enough square footage to build the city of Manhattan five times over with room to spare! And that wasn't even including the literal fucking skybox I had to play with!
While I marveled at my massive bathroom, with white marble floors, tall and thick Greek columns, and more gold engravings than I could shake a stick at, I walked over to what I remembered was the 'showering' section of the baths. It was a similar concept to the Japanese style of bathing, but instead of a plastic stool, I had a long, wide bench that looked like it was made out of solid gold; upon closer inspection, I could see small relief cuts in the surface to provide my buttocks with some grip. So after sitting my ass on a bath bench that was worth more than most middle-class people in my previous life would earn in their lifetime, I mechanically went about bathing myself with soaps and perfumed shampoos that likely cost more than even a middle-hive family would earn in a year.
While using a long-handled scrub brush— fashioned from genuine Vernixian horse tail hairs— to scrub between my toes, I quickly came to realize that pondering the excessive amount of wealth that I was using to clean the accumulated detritus from my body would only drive me mad.
My skin felt impeccably clean, and my short black hair felt as silky as a whore's thighs, and I smelled like a rose bush, but none of the fineries could wipe away the scent of reckless amounts of money.
Heh.
With my cleansing completed, I tried not to think about how much money the massive marble pool— and at 10 meters by 20 meters it was a damned pool— that was my bath. Instead, after sinking down to my neck on an artfully sculpted marble bench next to the black and white marble steps, I busied myself going over my memories and trying my best to catalog and compartmentalize everything that was bubbling to the surface in fits and spurts. There was a monstrous amount of knowledge that I had from Silenius's scholastic endeavors, on top of all of the noble etiquette and common knowledge that I had to compare and contrast with my out-of-context knowledge of the 40k universe.
The year, to my knowledge, was 468.M41.
Which told me jack fucking shit.
I was a dabbler in the mythos of 40k. A dude who did Lexarcanum and 40k wiki dives for fun when I didn't have much else to do. I knew the broad strokes of Chaos, the Tyranids, Orks, Necrons, and the knife-ears. I knew more about 30k than I did the current relevant timeline, and that was obviously quite a huge problem.
Doubly so since I was in the Koronus Expanse, which meant that I was not only many centuries removed from most of the key events leading up to the 13th Black Crusade, but I was also on the other side of the galaxy. And even then, my knowledge of the Expanse was narrowly restricted to the events of the Rogue Trader game that was gifted to me by a dedicated reader of my slop fanfiction. A game that I hadn't yet finished, but did plenty of wiki dives because I found the lore of the wild space that was the Expanse super cool and interesting.
Fucking A, I was not only centuries removed from the return of Rowboat Girlyman, but I was centuries removed from even the events of the damned game!
I dunked my head below the perfectly hot waters of the bath and let out an aggravated groan— bubbles rising up past my cheeks and tickling my nose.
In the midst of my pity party, however, I was distracted by a mental nudge.
[You still have (2) tickets (1x Gold Familiar ticket with 2x Advantage| 1x Diamond Ticket with 3x Advantage) remaining to roll!]
[Would you like to roll them?]
I blinked.
Yes! Roll that shit! Damn, to think that I'd been so distracted about my absurd wealth and current situation that I'd almost forgotten!
Thank you, System, for reminding me.
[Saving the best for last... rolling 1x Gold Familiar Ticket with 2x Advantage!]
[...]
[... Error. Rewards incompatible with existing Malus. Rerolling.]
[...]
[... Error. Rewards incompatible with existing Malus. Rerolling.]
[...]
[... Error. Rewards incompatible with existing Malus. Rerolling.]
While the hot water swirled around my neck, I felt an eyebrow arch.
Wasn't such a thing supposed to be rare?
[Affirmative.]
[Requirements for ticket re-roll met. Rerolling...]
[1x Gold Familiar Ticket with 2x Advantage exchanged for 1x Gold Trait Ticket with 2x Advantage. Rolling...]
Ah, damn. I kind of liked the idea of more familiars; sometimes quantity was a quality all its own, and those B2 Super Battle Dro— Automata I had would likely be handy. So having more companions between me and the gunfire would have been nice.
Spoiler: Gold Trait Ticket
My hand came up to rub my jaw as I considered my options with this roll.
Neither option was what I would consider to be a 'must have'. Given I had an enhanced body to begin with, the desirability of Efficient Cells goes down, but at the same time, with this large and enhanced body, it would stand to reason that my caloric requirements would likewise be elevated to accommodate that improved performance. As a noble with boundless wealth at my fingertips, I could no doubt feed myself just fine, but the number of situations that I might be forced to do without was far too high for me to discard it outright.
Between spelunking in this hive city that was likely to contain some form of treasures from the Dark Age, given its bones had been here since my father's arrival four centuries ago, or the general escapades that a Rogue Trader got into every single Tuesday... being able to sustain myself on less and recover more quickly would likely be supremely useful.
My vessel could be stranded in the warp, and we'd have to ration food. I could get stuck deep underground while exploring something, and we'd have to ration food. I could get caught in a many-year-long running battle with Chaos cultists or Xenos scum, and we'd have to ration food.
If my consumption could be cut without sacrificing my performance, then that would mean that someone else who needed it could get an extra half-portion; it might be the difference between life and death.
Standing opposite of Efficient Cells was Masochism.
On the tin, it wasn't that attractive. I mean, I wasn't exactly a pussy— I'd been in my share of toussels growing up— but that didn't mean I was going to seek out pain as a means of recovering energy. Even if the 'energy' listed was rather broad, and I could see it being superior to Efficient Cells if I were to exploit it properly, it just didn't seem to be a Trait I'd like to have.
If I picked up some regenerative trait, skill, or item, I might theoretically be able to sustain myself indefinitely in any of those previous scenarios I'd contemplated.
That was as long as my healing was efficient enough for the task.
To put it in game terms I could rationalize, if I gained +20 points of Energy from 10 points of damage, but it took me 21 points of Energy to heal from that damage, then it wouldn't be a good trade in the slightest.
Since it was an Elite trait, I would expect it to be pretty good on its own, but it was the 'proportional' part of the language that bothered me; it was ill-defined.
And yes, I am aware that the Efficient Cells' description was likewise not that defined, but at the very least, I could see it was a blanket improvement without any downsides. "Significantly enhanced" and "recover energy in a fraction of the time" sounded better than "Stab yourself with a knife to recover enough energy to keep running for your life."
I mentally punched Efficient Cells and felt the Trait lock into place.
I waited for a few moments to feel something, but nothing came. I felt the same as I did before, which... should be expected. It wasn't like I was magically gaining Captain America strength or something.
Roll the final ticket, if you would please.
[Rolling 1x Diamond Skill Ticket with 3x Advantage!]
Spoiler: Diamond Skill Ticket
It barely took me a second to read over my options before I punched in Expert Leadership.
While the ability to interface with most locks would be awesome to have for a Rogue Trader, the sad reality was that half the locks that are difficult to open were likely meant to contain things that were really, really, really bad. It could be the door to a treasure vault containing an STC wafer, or that door could be the only thing keeping a millennia-old Chaos monstrosity sealed away. In this galaxy, it was a coin flip, and if whatever Tech Priests I brought with me in my party couldn't open a door, then I could just come back to it later with the proper can opener.
Master Cooking, however, tickled my funny bone because I enjoyed cooking. It was a fun past-time that I routinely engaged in, but as a skill? Nah, I'd rather be alive; it was the epitome of a luxury gacha pick-up, and right now, I did not have that luxury.
However, Expert Leadership?
To be able to lead, motivate, and manage people on the levels of some of history's greatest?
In the Grim Darkness of the 41st Millennium... such a Trait was worth far more than its weight in Auramite.
Proper leadership was what turned the tide of losing battles. Proper leadership inspired the men to train harder and take initiative. Proper leadership could take a megalopolis like a Hive city and turn it into an effective machine for growth and prosperity.
And for a Rogue Trader like me, who had to manage not just a vessel, but an entire Dynasty spanning three systems and numerous worlds?
Being a King Arthur-like figure could mean the difference between life and death for billions of humans all across the Koronus Expanse; hell, maybe even the Imperium of Man as a whole.
I couldn't stop myself from rubbing my hands underneath the water as I contemplated just how supreme of a pick-up this was.
Not bad, Chaos Gacha. Not bad at all— 'chirp!'
I blinked at the sudden, grating noise that had disturbed my lordly retreat.
Who dares! Lol.
I turned my head toward the source of the noise, and was surprised to see a servoskull floating toward me from the corner of the bathroom's ceiling.
"Have you been... watching me this whole time?"
The macabre floating drone, with its large, glowing red ocular lens and small metal tentacles, bobbed up and down in the air. "Affirmative. This Unit is designated AB142-Tau. Primary Task: Observe Subject 'Silenius P. Vulpes—'"
I cringed at the name.
Come on, Gacha? Really? Silenius P. Vulpes?
"— And monitor vital signs, by the order of Archmagos Genetor Vul-Phi-Ceti."
I was thankful that I hadn't done my usual deal and monologued out loud as I used to do in my home— complete with random bouts of excited giggling as I thought about cool shit to write; if they had watched me do all of that then I might have found myself on a one-way trip to a recycling center of some kind for broken vat-grown children.
Keeping my face smooth, I nodded. "Prudent. Now, for what reason do you have to disturb my private time?"
"This Unit is to inform the Subject that Archmagos Genetor Vul-Phi-Ceti is currently en route to this location to perform post-waking physical and cognitive testing. He will arrive in approximately (34) minutes." The floating skull hummed as it floated back and forth. "This Unit was also set to monitor the inflow and outflow of (Honored) Guests arriving within the estate. One (Honored) Guest, designated 'Lady Alara Craft', has been admitted seeking an audience by the estate staff. She is currently outside of the Subject's chambers."
Alara Craft.
The name slithered into my mind, and I felt numerous thoughts, feelings, and other associations bubble to the surface before they coalesced into something that I could grasp.
Lady Alara Craft was an associate of my father and the highest of high in the realm of pleasure-seeking.
She had once been the favored pleasure slave of Stronton Strongjaw, a vicious pirate of middling success in the Expanse. He held dominion over a small trading station near the Feral World of Falcon's Fall Gamma. However, that rulership soon came to a close when the man decided to demand tribute from the Rogue Trader (my father) with a flotilla of ships and tens of thousands of armsmen at his command.
Needless to say, it did not go as the pirate had expected.
The fighting had been as bloody as it had been one-sided, with my father and his forces tearing a swath through the pirate's rabble like shit through a goose. When my old man kicked the doors to the pirate's audience hall open, with hundreds of men at his back, he'd found it bereft of his quarry. Strongjaw didn't make it far, however, as his escape shuttle was shot from the void the moment it took off.
And left behind, like so much refuse, was Alara Craft— the beauty of a woman chained to his throne like Princess Leia. She even had the skimpy bikini and sexy braid.
She had not just been Strongjaw's favored pleasure slave, but she had been the trainer of his other pleasure slaves, and that made her more valuable than the rest. Her noble blood also gave her greater standing among the whores, and when he took her into his retinue, the woman went on to establish the entirety of Fox Den's pleasure houses. Every single whorehouse and pleasure den that operated on the planet was under her thumb, and while there was no slavery in the Vulpes Nebula, with how dire the situations were for most of the hive-class, those beautiful men and women ultimately had no choice but to enter into her service.
From what little Silenius knew, she was a veritable saint, for a woman whose business was renting out pussy or bussy in equal measure, but like any good Pimp, she knew how to treat her Hoes well.
It was with that in mind that my father handed my battle harem over to her to train.
"Then by all means, bring her in." I hummed before adding, "She is being escorted, isn't she?"
"Affirmative. The (Honored) Guest is accompanied by (2) Vulpes dynasty clandestine house guards."
My mind automatically translated the 'clandestine house guards' to 'Battle Maids'. They weren't truly meant for open warfare, as what sort of madman brought his beloved maids to a combat zone, but they were women who were both augmented with bionics and trained to handle most mundane threats. Their long skirts and frilled aprons concealed a multitude of weapons, and with most having had a limb replaced with cold, unrelenting steel, they could be quite formidable against an unprepared foe; they weren't taking down Space Marines or even someone with a modicum of strength and experience, but against Hivers they were more than sufficient.
It seemed that my father was not only a great Lord, but he was a Lord of impeccable taste.
I approved.
"Affirmative. This Unit will inform the clandestine house guards that the (Honored) Guest may proceed."
While the servoskull bobbed and floated toward the large entrance to my bedchambers, I stood up out of the water and waded over to the staircase. At the top, I used my hands to squeegee off as much as I could before I wiped my feet on the absorbent carpet and grabbed a luxuriously fluffy towel that probably cost more— no. No more of that.
Shaking my head clear of such thoughts, I then padded over to a large set of hooks on the marble wall and grabbed a lush, silken bathrobe of brilliant crimson and gold, and wrapped it over my body on top of the towel I had wrapped around my waist. The bathrobe also probably cost an excessive sum, but given that I had a guest arriving, I needed to get back into my room and grab my clothes. In all honesty, I probably should have held off on her admission until I was actually dressed...
The moment I stepped through the portal into my bedroom, however, I realized that I was too late— already Lady Craft stood in the center of my room with the two blank-faced but still beautiful battle maids flanking her on either side.
"My sincerest apologies, Lady Craft. I hadn't thought to get clothed before I let you in." I gave the Queen of Whores a tight smile as I strode the dozens of meters toward my massive canopy bed. "Just let me grab them, and I'll have this oversight rectified immediately."
Spoiler: Lady Alara Craft
Lady Alara Craft was a vision of beauty, as one would expect given her realm of responsibility. She was full of figure, with wide hips, a narrow waist accentuated by her royal blue skirt, and a large bust that seemed to strain against her frilled white top. Her honey blond hair fell in a waterfall of loose curls, and she had long bangs that framed her heart-shaped face. Delicate eyebrows sat above hooded blue eyes that seemed to drink everything she saw, and a cute button nose was perched between finely sculpted cheekbones. Her full pink lips were quirked up into a half-polite smile and a half-smug smirk as she looked me over.
"Make no mistake, my dear Lordling." An arm sweeping to the side pulled back her gold-fringed royal blue cloak to reveal a pistol belt and scabbard that was bereft of its weapons. "This house call is more business than pleasure."
"Very well then, straight to business." I nodded, "After I've gotten dressed. Such a sorry state is hardly befitting a meeting with a person who holds my esteemed father's confidence."
"Actually," She began, closing the distance between us slowly while she toyed with the prayer beads of the Imperial Cult that hung from her neck; the combat maids closely mirrored her strides. "This is just perfect. I am here more to take your new measurements than I am to chat."
With my socks in my left hand, my right hand, which had been grabbing my small clothes, froze, and I turned my head to look at her. "My 'measurements'?"
"Yes, my little Lordling. You know that I am training your battle harem, yes?" The noble lady rolled her eyes as she slowly reached up and manipulated my shoulders to face her; I didn't miss the way the maids tensed, nor how Lady Craft warily glanced at them from the corner of her eye. "Given that they are only to be touched by your hands alone, I have had to be creative with how I trained them in the art of giving and receiving pleasure."
Seeing that her contact was not malicious in nature, the maids stood down, and the woman resumed her task.
Part of me was uncomfortable with the sudden familiarity this woman was showing, but the other half was both growing aroused and very curious...
"In order to prepare them for their service at your side, I've used tools that were modeled after your manhood. A manhood that I've been told has grown quite a bit since my latest inspection." Lady Craft slid her hands down the silk robe and unknotted the belt before tugging it open and pulling the towel from my waist— revealing the utter log that was my cock.
She froze as she beheld the sight of my third leg, her lips parting slightly.
"By the Throne... such a grotesque instrument of conquest." She let out a small sigh as she shook her head. "I should have known that your father wouldn't leave well enough alone. Your previous size was just about perfect, but here you are after your genetic treatments were finalized... half again as large as you once were."
I blinked in shock, as that was hardly what I expected to hear.
"What? Did you expect me to fawn over your newly acquired length and girth? To perhaps fall to my knees and marvel at its majesty?" The blonde woman huffed and shook her head as she reached out with a supremely soft hand and grasped the base of my cock. "Phaw. While a woman can grow to appreciate a girthy tool, deep penetration is an acquired taste, and a woman has to be trained to comfortably accommodate it. This absolute cudgel of yours will mean that I'm going to have to work that much harder to ensure your girls do not clench their thighs in terror."
I felt my manhood start to thicken in response to the gentle squeeze, but internally I cringed at her words. "I don't... I mean, I like my penis... but causing my ladies discomfort is not something I would relish in. Far from it."
"Well now, aren't you such a considerate gentleman?" The woman playfully scoffed as she reached behind her back and retrieved a small metallic bag of sorts. "Now, hold still while I get you erect, boy. Don't touch, just stand still and let me work."
The woman dropped down to her knees before me and placed a soft kiss against the drooping tip of my cock while she mused to herself. "Glad I chose to forego the lipstick this morning..."
She opened up her mouth and admitted the head in before she began suckling lightly, and while her left hand gripped and squeezed the shaft, her right hand reached up and cradled the heavy sack that hung beneath; each of my testes was the size of hens' eggs, and she gently rubbed and used the tips of her nails to tease them.
"Karkin' hell." I found the 40k curse slipping between my lips as my hips bucked and core muscles jerked at the sudden sensations.
My right hand came down, but her left hand gently grasped my wrist.
"Ah, ah, ha, dearie. No touching." She gave me a coy, crinkle-eyed smile as she sensuously dragged her tongue along the top-side of my cock. "Especially not my hair. You boys have no idea just how much work it takes to get it looking this good... and to protect it from the dry air of the hive."
I gave her a tight-lipped smile in return as I let my hand drop back to my side. "Apologies, Lady Craft. I just didn't expect that our meeting would take such a... turn so quickly."
"I am a—" She continued stroking the base of the shaft while she pointed the tip toward the ceiling, and she lowered her head to nuzzle the top of my sack while her tongue flashed out to curve along the slopes of my testes. "—Rather busy woman. If I thought that you could have stroked yourself to full hardness with three women watching, then I would have let you do just that. However— muwah— stage fright is very much a thing even among eager young studs."
Lady Craft gently pulled one of my testes into her mouth, where she suckled on it and swirled her tongue in a pattern that made my breath catch and toes curl. With each thundering beat of my heart, I could see and feel my cock grow heavier and thicker. Every stroke and squeeze seemed artfully calibrated to bring me to full mast with alarming quickness.
I had hardly been able to enjoy her succulent ministrations for a minute before all twelve inches of my barbaric cudgel hung over her shoulder like a mace ready to slay; the head was large and red, with thick purple veins bulging and pulsing around the shaft.
To quote a certain Australian wildlife specialist: "Look out! He looks angry!"
The Lady of Ladies of the Night pulled her mouth away from my engorged sack, and she gave my maleness a critical look before she regained her feet.
"Yes, just as I suspected... those poor girls are going to have to work so much harder to please you properly." She shook her head with a disapproving sigh as she continued to squeeze and stroke the base of my shaft. "Why can't you men just be satisfied with the tools the God-Emperor gave you? But no, all of you just have to take His gifts and ruin them... that the Mechanicus even bothers to provide such a service is beyond me."
"My Lady, you wound me." I huffed in return, "I rather like my large penis, thank you very much."
"Such a thing was meant to ruin women, not pleasure them." She scoffed lightly, but there was no disguising the intensity with which she stared at it... or continued to stroke it. "Regardless, I suppose it's not my place to make such comments. I'll merely train your girls to the best of my abilities. Now... please hold very still for this next part, little Lordling."
With the silvery metallic bag in hand, which looked sort of like a large metallic sock, she slipped it over the head of my penis before guiding the mouth all of the way down to the base... wherein she even tucked my heavy sack inside. She then reached into one of the pockets on her cloak and retrieved a micro-cogitator pad and connected it to a port on the sleeve with a cable. I was about to ask what it was when the metallic fabric started to slowly contract around my member and testes— growing smaller and tighter until it looked like I was wearing a silvery condom.
Every ridge and vein stood prominently on its surface, and on the pad, I could see various readouts and numbers flash across graphs on the screen.
After a few more seconds, a soft beep issued from the pad, and the metallic sleeve went slack as it returned to its prior state.
"And just what was this for?" I asked inquisitively, although I felt like I already had a good idea as to what it was for.
Lady Craft arched one of those finely sculpted eyebrows at me as she disconnected the cable and rolled the sleeve up before stuffing it back into her cloak. "I believe you already know the answer you seek just from the look on your face, but to be unambiguous, it was to take the most accurate measurements possible. For the toys that I'll have made, so that your harem can properly train themselves on your weapon's particulars before they enter your service. I wouldn't want them to... harm themselves by going in unprepared."
At those words, a spark of irritation flared in my chest. "I find it mildly insulting that you would insinuate that I would harm the women of my harem."
Her lips quirked into a half-smile as she tied my bathrobe closed— my flagpole still sticking out between the flaps. "I said 'harm themselves'. Those girls are incredibly enthusiastic, not that I'm surprised, given their nature or the efficacy of my training, but there is no doubt in my mind that they would see their inability to pleasure you properly as an affront to their very existence. And they would push themselves past the breaking point if they thought it would please you better."
"Oh. Then I was mistaken." The spark guttered out, and I bit my lip as I turned my head to look at the corner of the ceiling. "It's good then that you're looking out for their well-being. Not that I won't, because if they're in my harem, then they're going to be more than just bodyguards. They'll be my wives, confidants, and the mothers of my many children. I certainly wouldn't want them to harm themselves... that would be... bad."
"I am glad that the Lordling understands the gravity of the situation then." She nodded, seeming rather pleased with my response.
I don't think I did, not really, but I'll just roll with it.
"Well then, now that my goal is accomplished, I do believe that I'll be leaving you now." She gave me a half-mocking bow as she swept an arm back, which tugged her cloak open. "Do enjoy the rest of your day, Heir Vulpes."
As swiftly as she entered, Lady Alara Croft exited my room, leaving me both befuddled and with a still erect cock.
I debated walking back over to the showers to hose my manhood down with some icy water, but I decided that it would go down on its own, and I set about getting dressed.
I had just gotten my socks, underclothes, trousers, and boots on when the doors to my chambers opened once more. However, instead of a beautiful woman whom I hoped would see me to completion, it was a tall, red-robed member of the Mechanicus. The large Omnissian Ax clunked against the marble floor with every step, and his mechadendrites swayed and curled around behind him like twenty-five combined meters of metallic nope-rope.
His hood was deep, but I was surprised to see that the majority of his face was visible, and he lacked the majority of the grotesque arrays of hoses and cables that I'd come to associate with the adherents of the Cult Mechanicus. His leather boots were covered with metal plating, and a rubbery-black bodysuit clung to his frame; a wide leather belt was wrapped around his hips, with a Martian-red tabbard laid underneath it.
He was heavily armed, with four different flavors of pistol— Las, Plasma, Bolter, and what I thought was a Hand Flamer— hanging from the belt; I felt my heart stutter a touch, but then I remembered him.
"Ah, Magos Vul-Phi-Ceti. A pleasure to see you again. Welcome." I gave him a half-bow out of respect for the man who helped craft my geneforged body, but also handled the archeotech implants for myself and my Battle Harem. "Unfortunately, you've come at a rather awkward time; I have barely had any time to get dressed."
"It is Archmagos now," He corrected with a softness that confused me as he crossed the distance between us, and his mechadendrites slithered over his shoulder, where he began attaching all sorts of Mechanicus-looking gizmos to the ends. "And actually, now is the perfect time for me to conduct my examination. Your schedule for the foreseeable future is going to return to its usual, busy state starting tomorrow. As I currently have other responsibilities that I'll need to handle, my check-ups on your progress post-operation will be outside of the routine."
"Ah..." I looked down at the shirt in my hands before I placed it back on the bed. "I understand then. What would you have me do?"
Something on one of the mechadendrites began to whirr and spin, emitting a rather grating shriek.
"Hold very still, and steel yourself. You might feel a slight pinch."
Oh fuck.