The Illustrious Vexation drifted through the void, towards another ship. Onboard, the odor of rusted metal and promethium fuel permeated the vessel’s shuttle bay. Deck crew worked double-time to fuel the old shuttle, aware of their Lord Captain patiently waiting. 

This was an important mission – the Rogue Trader would collect the Inquisitor from mercenaries, a Warsphere full of Kroot. While the Inquisitor’s work was mysterious and important to the Imperium, having an Inquisitor in her debt was even more valuable – as it would lend her an imperium-metric-ton of street cred and resources.

Rogue Trader Emberlyn Driftwood practiced spinning her archeotech laspistol in front of her personal entourage as she waited for the shuttle. Her medic pointed towards the acutely obvious non-humans standing nearby while avoiding being on the receiving end of the pistol. Emebrlyn shut him down immediately.

“Might be heresy, you say? That’s just factually incorrect. It’s not heresy. You can’t just fling the word heresy at everything you don’t understand,” Rogue Trader Emberlyn replied, as she successfully spun the pistol around her finger a third time. She was getting good at this. “Besides, the Aeldari assassin has sworn an oath to protect me while our paths are entwined. Xeno or not, she’s far from a heretic.”

Blim, the Rogue Trader’s personal medic, looked warily at Hethellana, the Aeldari wielding a sword almost as tall as herself. A xeno assassin. The Aeldari mostly kept to herself, other than when she rambled on about how savage and primitive Mon-Keighs were. Exactly how Emberlyn had recruited Hethellana’s loyalty remained a mystery.

“I understand, your ladyship,” Blim replied. ”However, it is not the crimson-haired xeno assassin that I was pertaining to.”

“Oh,” Emberlyn nodded, accidentally turning off her pistol safety as she executed another finger spin. “Ohhhhh. You’re referring to GR-36-1-DNN-DTA-002? That’s just Greg. If the Inquisitor asks, he’s an old quirky servitor.”

The metal skeleton in question chose that moment to clanker over towards them, the eyes in its skull glowing an eerie chartreuse. “The lord controller is in- zzzzzzz // [data-retcon engaged] // zzzzz – is correct. This unit is of ‘imperium origin’ quote//un-quote,” Greg said in a broken robotic voice.

No wonder the crew had their reservations. The ‘quirky servitor’ in question was brought online after the previous Lectro‐Maester perished at the hands of a Genestealer. Greg was something from deep within the vaults of Her Ladyship, an ancient servitor who wielded an extra large voltaic blaster. Certainly not Adeptus Mechanicus approved.

“Works for me, Greg. Are you ready to deploy?” Emberlyn replied, hostering her pistol. “I’ll let you ride shotgun in the shuttle if you bring me some coffee before they finish fuelling the shuttle. As dark and bitter as you can get it.”

“Order received, lord controller. Retrieve coffee extra dead – zzzzzzz // [data-retcon engaged] // zzzzz – extra bitter,” Greg replied, before clanking towards the door.

Blim sighed again. He didn’t know what manner of servitor it was, but it was unsettling. He wondered what would be the death of him first – the Rogue Trader… or Greg. 

At that moment, Greg turned around and stared right at Blim, its soulless eyes penetrating the medic’s confidence. Blim sighed in relief as Greg clanked away again. Perhaps he shouldn’t bring it up again. If it wasn’t heresy, and her ladyship said so, that was good enough for him.