by Rob Sanders
‘This is Magos Aethyricus Third-Class Dornelis Trask,’ the tech-priest reported. ‘Tech-priest Captain Oblonox is dead. The bridge is lost and the Nissiah no longer has steerage way. Fields have become overwhelmed and have collapsed. We have been boarded.’ The pict capture suddenly plunged deckwards as the vessel suffered another impact. When it returned to Magos Trask he was pointing the toolage of a long finger beyond. ‘Kill it… kill it,’ the tech-priest called, prompting the flash and stream of weapons fire. ‘I repeat, we have been boarded. Most of the commanding priesthood are dead. The skitarii armsmen cannot hold the ship. I undertake as my last duty the historic activation and test detonation of the Nissiah’s payload: the Geller Device.’
The vessel shook as Trask moved through the hangar, sending the tech-priest crashing through itinerant console-podia and instrumentation. Haldron-44 Stroika watched the magos aethyricus mumble prayers and rites of ignition as he worked at the side of a large, baroque construction. It looked like an orbital mine – all accretions, crackling nodes and trailing cables.
Stroika’s meme-coils and the flashing outline of his identification overlays told the skitarii officer that he was looking at the Geller Device. This was the empyreal bomb that Myrmidex, Omnid Torquora and a small legion of artisans had toiled to create on Satzica Secundus from the details provided on the recovered STC template. Stroika watched as Magos Trask calibrated the Geller Device, throwing switches and hauling down on the robust sequence of handles that armed the device. The magos aethyricus stumbled back as overlapping fields that fluxed and crackled from the nodes suddenly enveloped the device and grew in brightness and intensity.
‘I have armed the empyreal bomb for detonation,’ Trask said, speaking straight into the shaky capture. ‘Without access to the bridge, I do not know if we are on top of our target coordinates. Tech-priest Captain Oblonox reported that augur arrays and instrumentation are highly unreliable within the storm. It is my estimation that we are some way short of the Velchanos system. I am launching the mission-log aboard this servo-probe as arranged. Machine-God willing, it should survive the proximity of the detonation and ride the shock wave, accelerating towards the rendezvous. I cannot speak for the environmental corruptions or time-space dilations it might encounter.’
The pictolith shook violently and the searing flash of galvanic streams intensified. Stroika could hear fresh alarms and the excruciating sound of bulkheads being rent and beaten to mauled scrap.
‘Commend me to my forge temple,’ Magos Trask announced, ‘to my Lord Fabricators and the Great Maker – to whom my workings shall return.’
With those final words, the recording fizzled to nothing and the tech-priests found themselves looking at each other over the altar.
‘The servo-probe, Lord Fabricator?’ Tech-priest Captain Spontik asked from his command throne.
‘Magos catharc?’ the Fabricator Locum asked.
‘Polluted, my lord.’
‘Destroy it,’ Engra Myrmidex commanded.
‘Turrets,’ Spontik droned. ‘You have your target.’
Haldon Stroika advanced to the rail where the Fabricator Locum hovered on his angled duct fans. The skitarius watched as the servo-probe was blasted to fragments by the Ark Mechanicus’s supercharged forward turrets.
‘Where is it?’ Myrmidex demanded, his bank of optics and augurs directed at the bridge lancet screens. The tri-sentience of his conjoined brains pulsed with agitation, while the cogitator banks to which they were connected within the shell of his chassis chuntered away. ‘Data – we must have data.’
The Fabricator Locum stared into the madness of the raging warp storm. The smear of unreality that besmirched the void. The flashing fury of immaterial tempests. The raging static that arced and sizzled as two planes of existence fought to establish themselves.
‘Something!’ Myrmidex vox-blasted across the command deck. It was strange for Stroika to see a holy tech-priest of the Machine-God indulge his passion in such a way. The skitarii officer could only imagine that as Fabricator Locum of all of Satzica Secundus, Engra Myrmidex was used to controlling the events around him. Out in the cold blackness, at the mercy of the void and the unnatural disasters that intruded upon it, events were often beyond such control.
Myrmidex turned on his priestly advisors. ‘Well?’
Logos Voygann couldn’t help himself.
‘My lord,’ the walking cipher engine offered. ‘There is a 69.345 per cent chance that the Geller Device failed to realise its purpose.’
Several artisans piped up, refuting such a possibility. They were in the middle of assuring their Fabricator Locum that they had followed the specification detail in the recovered STC template precisely when Myrmidex interrupted them.
‘Logos Voygann,’ the Fabricator Locum said, ‘you are relieved.’
‘But, my Lord Fabricator…’
‘You may leave,’ Myrmidex hissed through his vox-hailers.
‘Sir,’ a deck tech-priest trumpeted up from below.
‘What?’ Myrmidex roared, his frustration echoing about the cavernous command deck.
‘Augur arrays show a disturbance in the immaterial cloud formations, my lord.’
The Fabricator Locum drifted back to the rail, up to where Haldron-
44 Stroika had forced himself to stare once again into the Great Gyre.
It was imperceptible at first. The briefest dot of an afterglow. Gradually, as the skitarii officer’s optics focused and filters cycled, he began to appreciate an opening in the swirling maelstrom. As the black of the void beyond the warp storm showed through, it became clear that an area within the galactic south-west quadrant of the monstrous storm was returning to reality.
‘Data, data, data,’ Engra Myrmidex called, his magi and artisans returning to their runebanks and instruments.
‘Readings suggest the re-establishment of dimensional equilibrium.’
‘A rimward area of the storm is suffering instability.’
‘Area expanding, Fabricator Locum.’
‘Geller field signatures confirmed, my lord. We are observing the effects of the empyreal bomb.’
Stroika and the Fabricator Locum watched as a rolling front of erupting reality coursed through the warp storm. Like a drop of ink on parchment, soaking and spreading outwards, the blast wave of the empyreal bomb pulsed powerful Geller waves out through the storm. The same life-preserving fields that encapsulated warp capable vessels during immaterial travel now expanded, establishing a bubble of reality in the south-west corner of the Great Gyre. Through the lancet screens it appeared as though some colossal, void-cruising creature had taken a huge bite out of the storm.
‘Tech-priest Captain,’ a helm servitor droned from the command deck. ‘Warning. Shockwave approaching.’
Haldron-44 Stroika looked at the smeared disturbance of the Great Gyre. The field pulse of the detonating Geller Device was now spreading unseen through the void, detected only by the Ark Mechanicus’s augur arrays and instrumentation. The skitarii commander instinctively reached out for the mezzanine rail.
‘To port!’ Tech-priest Captain Udexl Spontik called from his throne. ‘Helm answer.’
‘What are you doing?’ the Fabricator Locum countered. ‘Enact evasive manoeuvres.’
For a moment, confusion swept through the bridge of the Ark Mechanicus. It was an unusual phenomenon among the command deck crew, and all the more disorientating for it.
‘Emergency override 7690-8832,’ the tech-priest captain said, the modulations of his voice urgent and vox-hailed across the chamber. This the deck tech-priests and bridge servitors understood. Protocol. Contingency. ‘To port. Helm answer. We must ride out the wave prow-on.’
Stroika could almost hear the workings of the Fabricator Locum’s cogitators within his armoured shell. For the moment, Engra Myrmidex remained silent.
‘Advise e
ngineering to engage Geller field protections,’ Udexl Spontik commanded.
‘Tech-priest captain,’ Haldron-44 Stroika said. ‘The carriers. The fleet.’
Spontik nodded, stabbing at the studs of a vox-system set in the arm of his throne. ‘Transmechanics, pass the word.’
With his bionic gauntlets fixed like anchors to the rail, Stroika felt the Opus Machina tremble beneath him. The Ark Mechanicus was huge and not used to such treatment. The bridge consoles erupted with a cacophonous din. As the invisible shockwave reached the mighty Mechanicus vessel, sparks fountained from runebanks and the command deck lamps flashed to an emergency red.
Stroika leaned to see through the side lancet windows. Enhancing his optics he could make out the shape of the Basilika and other skitarii carriers riding out the Geller shockwave, prow-on like the flagship.
‘Damage report,’ Udexl Spontik demanded. Stroika listened as deck tech-priests and servitors listed the minor malfunctions and disruptions suffered by the mighty Ark Mechanicus. Although the skitarii commander was no expert in the workings of such a vast vessel, the damage seemed light. Spontik ordered, ‘Have the fleet tech-priest captains report in.’
As the laborious drone of listed repairs and the observed protocols of vessels calling in their status went on, Haldon-44 Stroika’s whirring optics were drawn once again to the warp storm. It was the Great Gyre no more. With a quarter of its dread maelstrom cleansed from the void, the cyclonic nightmare of its form had been disrupted. It was truly a wonder to behold and the skitarius offered thanks to the Omnissiah. Once again, an example of His great works had driven back the forces of ignorance and superstition – blasting the corruptions of the warp storm back to the beyond. Stroika thought of Omnid Torquora. When the magos explorator arrived he would be secretly furious that he had missed the successful test detonation of the Geller Device.
‘Have the augurs and magnascopes begin an audit of the region uncovered by the device,’ the Fabricator Locum ordered.
‘Known effects already being catalogued, my lord,’ one of Myrmidex’s magi reported.
‘The region uncovered by the blast seems to be holding its integrity,’ another told him.
‘Dimensional matrix established and empyreal instabilities fixed,’ the magos catharc said, slithering back and forth between runebanks on the mezzanine deck. ‘For now. There is no data to establish how long that will last, whether it will last at all or whether the Geller effect is now a permanent phenomenon in the region.’
‘Then we should not waste any time,’ Engra Myrmidex said, drifting back and forth on his duct fans. His nest of optic-arrays and augurs cycled, extending and focusing on the devastation he had created in the void beyond.
‘You aim to proceed into the warp storm, my lord?’ Haldron-44 Stroika said. ‘Without waiting for Magos Torquora and the rest of the fleet?’
‘I want an audit of all the worlds uncovered by the Geller Device,’ Myrmidex ordered, ignoring Stroika. ‘Check them against historical charts for the region, pre-dating the emergence of the storm.’
‘Cataloguing, Fabricator Locum,’ the tech-priest captain of the Opus Machina said. ‘However, the Primus has made a valid point. Any exploration of the worlds within the revealed region would be extremely hazardous. The area could return to its previous instability about the fleet.’
‘And you command but half of that fleet,’ Haldron-44 Stroika cautioned. ‘My lord, would it not be better to wait for Magos Torquora? The god-machines of our Titan battle groups? The blessed war machines of the Centurio Ordinatus?’
‘By then we will have more data, Fabricator Locum,’ Udexl Spontik said. ‘The region might have settled.’
Engra Myrdidex remained silent. Haldron-44 Stroika, 10-Victro Tiberiax and the tech-priest captain of the Ark Mechanicus exchanged grim glances.
‘Have you found it?’ the Fabricator Locum seethed, his modulated voice shot through with static. His magi knew exactly what he was referring to. The real reason Engra Myrmidex had desired the honour of test detonating the Geller Device. The real reason he had come to the Great Gyre equipped for war.
‘Quadrant Beta~Phi/Gamma, my lord,’ a magos reported.
‘Sector 17-52,’ a second tech-priest clarified.
‘The Nissiah detonated her payload prematurely,’ the magos catharc told his Mechanicus master.
‘Have such failure added to the service records of Tech-priest Captain Oblonox and Magos Aethyricus Trask,’ the Fabricator Locum said.
‘Very good, my lord,’ the magos catharc replied. ‘Velchanos Magna located.’
‘Where?’
‘On the detonation perimeter, Fabricator Locum,’ the magos catharc said. ‘The Nissiah fell somewhat short of her target.’
‘You’re sure it’s the forge world?’ Engra Myrmidex said.
‘Historical charts match position and pattern of satellite distribution, my lord,’ the magos catharc confirmed.
‘Fabricator Locum,’ Haldron-44 Stroika said. ‘Please, listen to your tech-priests. The forge world is beyond our reach.’
‘I never said that,’ the magos catharc hissed. ‘It is located on the Geller pulse perimeter – on the storm front.’ He looked to his Fabricator Locum. ‘Nothing, however, is beyond the Machine-God’s reach – as we have just proven.’
‘My lord…’ Udexl Spontik began.
‘Yes, tech-priest captain,’ the Fabricator Locum shot back. ‘I know, extremely hazardous. Bring the magnascope capture up on the screens.’
With enough of a hesitation to communicate his disagreement, Udexl Spontik ordered a deck servitor to process the Fabricator Locum’s command. The lancet screens crackled from the crispness of the void to the pixellation of extreme magnification. There, before the gathered magi of Satzica Secundus, was the blurry, misshapen smear of a planet. Their sister forge world, Velchanos Magna.
As the magos catharc had informed them, the mighty forge world was located on the detonation perimeter. About the planet, the cold cleanliness of the void met the sizzling pollution of the warp storm. The fluxspace was stained a mind-aching magenta by the immateriality of the Great Gyre that raged beyond.
Engra Myrmidex glided about on his duct fans, the tech-priests and crew of the mezzanine deck falling under the searing gaze of his optics.
‘That is Velchanos Magna,’ the Fabricator Locum said, his attention settling on Haldron-44 Stroika. ‘Its secrets – like those of the Stella-Xenithica – wait to be reclaimed by the servants of the Omnissiah. We shall cleanse its surface of the unreal, the unbeliever and those that would pervert the purity of the Machine-God’s purpose. Primus Stroika, Tech-priest Captain Spontik. I charge you with such a hallowed responsibility. You will use the forces and materiel in your possession and retake that forge world. You will do this for Satzica Secundus and to the greater glory of us all. I demand this of you as you will demand of your subordinates. As the Omnissiah demands of me. This is the Covenant of the Machine, and as such, cannot be broken.’
Once more Haldron-44 Stroika felt the phylactic intrusion of Engra Myrmidex. The Mechanicus overlord was in his mind, his cogitator coils and the Omnissiah-appeasing designation of his purpose. His very being became one with the Fabricator Locum’s cold requirements.
Staring at Myrmidex and the storm-wracked forge world beyond, he felt his objections and calculations melt away. He became the unquestioning weapon wielded. No more caring of consequence than the machine-spirit of a rifle whose trigger had been pulled.
‘Yes?’ Engra Myrmidex put to the magi on the deck.
‘Yes, Fabricator Locum,’ they answered back, filling the command deck with the boom of their obedience.
0100
SELECTED: DENTRICA I OF I
ENGAGE NEURAL CONGRESS – WIRELESS AUTOSHUNT ACQUIRED
UPLOADING… +PURGE+
The flight deck was in chaos. As Haldr
on-44 Stroika strode across the open space, he tucked his officer’s baton under one arm. The skitarii commander’s coils burned with the traffic being relayed through them. Stroika had been rewarded for his part in the discovery of the Perborea STC template with greater responsibilities. Every skitarii soldier and support construct aboard the fleet’s carriers and arkships was under his authority. Legions were his to command. Deploying so many cybernetic soldiers, their associated crawlers and Ironstrider engines was no easy task, even for one of the Machine-God’s favoured servants. The slick choreography and unison with which the skitarii deployed and carried out their deadly duties required drill, communication and absolute obedience.
The helter-skelter dispersal of forces such as the Astra Militarum lacked the precision and fearless commitment of the skitarii. It was lax, improvident and Stroika suspected cost as many lives in getting down to the surface as the Adeptus Mechanicus spent securing a landing site in enemy hands. Stroika almost felt sorry for the machine-spirits forced to operate alongside such soldiers.
Every skitarius knew his place in the wider scheme of battle. Each was a cog set within the teeth of another, turning in silent synchronicity. The banter and fearful smiles of Guardsmen had no place aboard a skitarii drop-ship. Emotional engagements were dialled back by the fleet’s priestly overlords, meaning that even in the midst of an assault, with havoc unfolding about them, skitarii reviewed their protocols, calibrated targeters and uploaded strategic overlays.
The Primus stepped forward as a column of towering ballisterii engines walked past, followed by an Onager Dunecrawler, chewing up the deck with its crustacean-like legs. An alpha jogged by, offering Stroika the blurt of a salute, his metal footfalls in rhythm with the skitarii vanguard that ran behind him. With radium carbines leant against one armoured shoulder and trench-cloaks flapping behind, the gleaming soldiers were an impressive sight. Beneath their crackling pack generators, battleware and war-plate, their poisoned flesh told a different story. Missing teeth. Bleeding ports. Radioactive burns like a camouflage pattern across pallid flesh.
