Carcharadons: Void Exile, page 6
That meant the refinery would have to serve as their new base of operations. Despite being lower than the neighbouring waste plant, it at least possessed a basement level and had its own power generator, which endeared it more than most structures in the sector. Its walls were flimsy, however, and its main floors were congested with the machines processing the macrothermal extraction, abandoned by their rebellious – and now slaughtered – workers.
‘There is nothing we can do about the bridge, except guard its garrison’s flank,’ Kordi said.
‘For now,’ Neku added.
‘The perimeter is too wide,’ Kordi continued, blinking as he brought up a burst map of the city, complete with runes indicating the new locations of the rest of Third Company. Where once they had been cinched tight around the upper slopes of Mount Antikythera, now they were spread more loosely, in a wide arc marking a circumference through the city’s midriff. The gaps between the squads neighbouring Kordi’s, Third and Eighth, were too large for his liking – too distant to allow reliable, mutual support. The nearest asset was Rangu’s Hammer, the company’s Vindicator siege tank, which had taken position at a crossroads immediately to the north.
‘I will speak to the strike veteran,’ Kordi said eventually, making his mind up.
‘I suspect every strike leader in the company is doing that,’ Neku pointed out. ‘Nuritona would not have consented to these dispositions without external pressure.’
That in itself didn’t bode well, but the Adeptus Mechanicus had been less than gracious hosts since Third Company had made planetfall. An array of tech-priests, dataticians, and overseers had made representations to Kordi almost every day they had been here, agitating over the unasked-for presence of the Space Marines in their facilities. Most refused to even accept that there had been an uprising among their workforce, or that the Carcharodons were in any way required to protect their facilities. Each one had met with the same answer. Kordi had his orders, and any complaint should be taken before his Company Master. In the past, he would have hesitated before burdening the Reaper Prime, but not any more.
‘Are the upper floors secure?’ he demanded into the vox, struggling not to vent his frustrations.
‘Yes, strike leader,’ replied Wiremu, the squad’s heavy-weapons specialist. ‘The last contacts have been eliminated.’
Before Kordi could respond, a marker on his visor blinked with a warning from Neku. It was normally reserved for combat situations, but the veteran tended to use it to indicate any potential problem, thus saving himself the trouble of having to speak. Kordi saw that he had moved to the edge of the refinery’s rooftop, on the side overlooking the approach from the skybridge.
He joined him, and saw what had caused the warning. There was a delegation approaching along one of the walkways between the industrial buildings lining the chasm’s jagged edge, a gaggle of red-and-black-clad figures. Kordi allowed his helm to strip out the haze of ash and pollution hanging in the hot air between them, identifying their visitors.
‘Not just priests this time,’ he noted. ‘Warriors. They bring Kastelans. Perhaps they wish to finally join us in the fight.’
The Mechanicus delegation included a pair of battle-automata, Kastelan-class robots similar in size and dimension to the Chapter’s Dreadnoughts. The two hulking, rust-red war walkers stomped in the wake of their masters, slaved to the will of the priesthood. It seemed as though the Adeptus Mechanicus now intended to back up their demands with the threat of force.
Neku grunted.
Kordi briefly considered sending another member of the squad out to deal with the approaching problem, but knew that was not a response worthy of a strike leader. He switched the pan-squad instruction marker to stand by, and descended alone to the front of the refinery.
The delegation was smaller than he had expected; there were only three figures moving ahead of the Kastelans. One was a scurrying adept, back bent beneath a scrivener’s rig that allowed him to carry and annotate a number of data-slates as he struggled along. The second’s head was a mass of sensor nodes and augur inlays, and he bore what looked like an elaborate electro-runeboard wired to his chest and inserted into ports in his head’s interface plate. Kordi recognised him as a datasmith of the Legio Cybernetica, the one responsible for controlling the lumbering Kastelan maniple walking behind.
The third tech-priest appeared to be the leader. They had been so thoroughly stripped of humanity that Kordi realised he was unable to identify a single organic component of their body. While much of it was hidden by the robes hanging from their lank torso, their bottom half consisted not of legs but of a centipede-like bulk, segmented and articulated by a dozen short metal claw-limbs. The sections were plated with gilt plasteel armour, with more protection on the upper body worn over the robes, giving the priest a stooped, hunchbacked appearance. The look was further accentuated by the mechadendrites sprouting from their spinal rig, swaying like snakes – several of the coils of flex-steel bore weapons systems, others what looked like sensory nodes for optics, aural pickups and a vocaliser horn.
In the clamp of one of their upper limbs, the figure clutched an Omnissian axe, embossed with the Adeptus Mechanicus half-skull, while in the other they affected a circuitry-inlaid cane that Kordi suspected doubled as some sort of sensor wand or cyber-interface device. The priest’s red-and-black cowl was drawn up, the rest of their head concealed behind an adamantine faceplate. It was the only concession towards humanity, yet the mask’s features were solid – the eyes, mouth and nose had no slits. It was ornamentation and nothing more. From a glance, it appeared as though the tech-priest was blind, deaf and dumb.
Kordi knew that was not the case. The mechadendrites and their sensors provided it with external stimuli, feeding their findings directly to the tech-priest’s brain via cortex plugs and bio-plastek nodes running through their spinal column. Kordi briefly wondered just how much of the brain itself was still organic.
The thing was utterly inhuman, but that did not distress the Carcharodon. He too had stopped identifying with humanity a long time ago.
The priest paused before Kordi, mechadendrites twitching back and forth as they surveyed him with serpentine curiosity; he noted the weapons systems were offline. The robots and their minder had also halted a short distance away, as had the scribbling adept.
Kordi simply stood, having no intention of initiating conversation. There was a click as the priest’s vox-horn activated.
‘May I inspect your firearm?’
The voice was unlike any Kordi had heard from the Priesthood of Mars since landing on Diamantus. Despite issuing from no visible vocal cords, it was simulated to sound like that of an elderly woman, without a hint of machine interference.
The request it had made was equally unexpected.
‘Why do you wish to inspect my firearm?’ Kordi asked.
‘I am concerned about it.’
‘Why?’
‘I have scanned it, and preliminary findings indicate it may be defective.’
‘I am a warrior. I will not permit you to take my weapon any more than I would permit you to remove my arm or my leg.’
‘Hyperbole, but I understand the logic you employ. I too am a warrior. Magos Dominus Ze-One-Prime. Warden of the Twinfort and one of the Six Remote Seneschals of the Pinnacle.’
‘Your ranks and titles mean little to me.’
‘In simple terms, I command part of Diamantus’ battle congregation, and I am responsible for guarding the skybridge that spans the rift here.’
Kordi hesitated. In truth, Ze-One-Prime’s assessment had been correct. His boltgun had not been operating at optimal efficiency for some time, despite the efforts of his primary serf, Trayn, the armoury artisans and Techmarine Uthulu. Like many of those carried by Third Company, it was an old model, a Phobos-pattern, the twin of the weapon he had lost during the Red Tithe on Zartak. Second Squad possessed a trio of the newer bolt rifles claimed at the last Grey Tithe, but Kordi had ensured they had gone to his three best marksmen.
‘You did not come here to inspect my weaponry,’ he said.
‘Erudite,’ Ze-One-Prime said, the voice conveying a hint of humour. ‘I sensed weapons discharge in my sector, and wished to investigate. There has also been great discordance across the noosphere among those of my kindred less inclined to militaria. Dissatisfaction and dismay. It has been some weeks since your arrival, but my own duties have prevented me from witnessing you for myself. I came here with the intention of rectifying that, as well as ensuring that the unrest reported from up-slope does not spread to my sector.’
‘You have not been sent by your masters?’ Kordi asked.
‘I have no masters upon this world besides the Arch Dominus and the Fabricator General, may-his-uplink-be-ever-strong. I have come here under my own programming. I wished to meet with fellow warriors. May I know you by your preferred designate?’
‘Omekra-five-one-Kordi,’ he answered, unwilling to engage further. Seemingly sensing his reticence, Ze-One-Prime continued.
‘I take great interest in martial matters, Omekra-five-one-Kordi. Upon Diamantus you will find many of my tech-brethren whose only concerns are for production quotas and the equations of exportation. Such computations are natural, given the glorious and eternal labours of a forge world. But my coding is not concerned with such things. As I told you, I am a warrior. I have fought as part of the explorator fleets. When the data choirs informed me of the arrival of the Adeptus Astartes I became what you might call… curious.’
‘Is curiosity not akin to blasphemy among your kind?’
The serpent-like vox-horn chuckled.
‘Oh, indeed! Nothing must be permitted to upset the holy form and function of the venerated machine, certainly not the possibility of progress that so often arises from curious thoughts! But in you, I see not new forms, but old. Granted, you bear upon you evidence of the work of the Dominatus Dominus, for good or for ill. But what lies beneath, and what you carry with you into battle, are old forms indeed. Gene-wrought constructions and organic augmentations older than the Imperium, bestowed by the hand of the blessed Omnissiah. The warrior-form of humanity perfected!’
‘We did not come here to be venerated,’ Kordi said, feeling somewhat unsettled. He was accustomed to fear and awe when dealing with other servants of the Imperium. He had never found himself being assessed with clinical, scientific delight.
‘Ah, but that is the way with you Adeptus Astartes, is it not?’ Ze-One-Prime said. ‘You have your own codes of worship. Your own beliefs. No God-Emperor for you, no Omnissiah. You are born of the flesh of the divine, and thus to you they are as family. Now, will you permit me?’
The magos dominus scuttled a little closer, mechadendrite optic stalks leering in as they inspected Kordi with unblinking intensity. Ze-One-Prime raised the sensor wand and, after a polite pause, tapped it lightly against Kordi’s grey breastplate. He had to maintain a rigid grip on his thoughts so he did not react instinctively to the foreign contact.
‘A Mark X Tacticus-pattern power armour panoply,’ Ze-One-Prime declared aloud, like an animal-keeper giving an authoritative display of the various parts of their prized beast to an awed crowd. ‘It shows evidence of being newly donned, or at the very least it did not become combat-active any more than… between six point one and seven point seven years ago, standard. Minimal outstanding combat damage, well maintained. Without interface, I do not know the details of servo function or power supply, but I will not burden you with such invasiveness. However, there are numerous deviations from the standard model. The suit is incomplete.’
The sensor shifted to tap Kordi’s left pauldron.
‘This is non-standard. A plasteel-ceramite composite, likely produced in exigency by a Chapter forge. It possesses molecular bonding studs designed to help maintain integrity. It is suboptimal. And this–’
Another tap, this time against Kordi’s right vambrace, making his hand twitch fractionally.
‘Both vambrace and rerebrace belong to an older suit. I compute a seventy-eight point eight per cent chance they were formerly part of a Mark V. That matches the attempted design of the left pauldron. I would be surprised if the servos are not fractionally out of sync with the rest of the suit. And lastly, this–’
The magos dominus raised the cane towards Kordi’s helm, though wisely stopped short of actually tapping it.
‘Yet again, Mark V, not Mark X. Moderate likelihood of auto-sense lag due to mark incompatibilities. In summary, the panoply is suboptimal due to unusual, and what I would normally classify as unacceptable, divergence between different marks. I imagine these changes are not by willing design, however, but rather are an operational necessity.’
Kordi said nothing.
‘As for your armaments, you bear a combat blade of no discernible pattern and two bolt weapons. The pistol appears to be in good working order, at least according to preliminary scans. But I must repeat my request to handle your boltgun. I shall retain it for only a moment, and I can assure you I am thoroughly versed in all the proper rites of maintenance.’
‘Strike leader, are you in need of assistance?’ Neku’s voice clicked in Kordi’s ear. He was aware of the other Carcharodon still observing the encounter from the rooftop behind him.
He re-highlighted the stand by marker on the shared display, then, after a moment more, he unclamped his boltgun and proffered it, two-handed, to the tech-priest.
The inscrutable adamantine mask showed no sign of excitement, but a shudder seemed to run through Ze-One-Prime, causing the insectoid limbs to skitter. The robes parted to reveal two more rows of mechanical limbs, similar to the claws of the lower body, but smaller and more articulated. They took hold of the boltgun and began to work on it, turning it over.
‘A Phobos-pattern R/017 boltgun, forge world of origin, unknown. I would not presume to estimate its age after so short an inspection, but I would posit that it has served the Omnissiah for many centuries, at least. A hallowed artefact indeed.’
The little limbs set to work. One anointed it with a slick of purifying oils from a beaker it clasped, while two others began to unfasten the backplate and a fourth latched on to the auto-sense sighting calibrator. Seeing his weapon being handled by any being besides his own artificer serfs disturbed Kordi, but he had committed to humouring the tech-priest. There certainly could be no claim that one such as the magos dominus was unqualified for such work.
‘Ah yes, as I computed, the tecnos self-repair circuits are worn out,’ Ze-One-Prime said, seemingly to themself, as the backplate was removed to expose the wiring within. ‘From hence stem the issues. Fortunately, I have a sanctified replacement.’
The limbs focused their efforts on the exposed part of the firearm, unpicking wires and replacing them with more drawn from within Ze-One-Prime’s robes.
‘I must return to my brethren soon,’ Kordi said, hoping to bring the strange encounter to an end. ‘There is much work to be done if this sector is to be prepared for the coming invasion.’
‘I concur,’ Ze-One-Prime said, leaning on their cane as their lower limbs continued to work, seemingly independent of the rest of the tech-priest’s body. ‘In fact, I bring a proposal that relates to your efforts. The Fabricator General, may-his-cogitation-remain-flawless, has commanded that no effort be made to assist you or your kindred. My fellow Remote Seneschals have reached different conclusions. We align more with the statement you have just made–’
The vox-voice cut off, replaced by a recording of the words Kordi had just spoken, repeated back to him: ‘There is much work to be done if this sector is to be prepared for the coming invasion.’
‘The same is true throughout Megafactorum Primus,’ Ze-One-Prime carried on in their own voice. ‘The Fabricator General’s order-inloads have prevented my garrison from taking an active part in suppressing the unrest further up-slope, and I will not deny that such imperatives have left me disappointed. However, I am of the belief that in order to reach optimum defensive parameters, your squadron should join my garrison within the Twinfort, the Trace Mechanicus of the skybridge.’
‘You are proposing that we be housed within your defensive structures?’ Kordi asked cautiously. ‘You understand that this would not subordinate me or my brethren to your command, in any way?’
‘I understand this in totality. My intention is only to offer you and your kindred a less exposed base of operations.’
Kordi considered the proposal. It was certainly the first he had heard of the Adeptus Mechanicus doing anything that might be described as cooperative or welcoming. The mention of the other magi dominus was likely significant. Though Fabricator General Horrum ruled Diamantus, Kordi knew the six magi, of which Ze-One-Prime was one, commanded its armed forces. Did this represent unilateral movement by them? An attempt to enlist the Space Marines in undermining the Fabricator General’s authority for their own ends? Ze-One-Prime’s apparent fascination with Kordi’s wargear, while probably at least partly genuine, could also be an awkward attempt at building a rapport.
The Carcharodon Astra had not come to Diamantus to interfere with its leadership or become ensnared in its politics, but Kordi was bound to ensure Second Squad were as well prepared as possible for what was coming. Disputes among the Martian priesthood were a distant, secondary concern compared to how suboptimal the refinery was as a defensive base. Besides, he doubted the new dispositions would stand for long once the Company Master returned.
