《Flakk & Titanium》


 Chapter 1: Base of Operations

    The sun here was different, and he hated it. Charr had been to three different worlds now, aside from his home planet of Catachan, and he still wasn¡¯t used to the concept. It threw off his sense of time and just generally irritated him. He could deal with the wicked heat it cast down upon the outpost-bastion, just like he could deal with the planet¡¯s native fauna and flora, but the alien nature of the orange-red star never sat well with him.


    Other things irritated Sergeant Charr Stag into his current hate-filled state, and much like Zyrantiel¡¯s sun they weren¡¯t things that could be easily dealt with by a shouted command, a cuffing to the back of an insubordinate¡¯s head, or the application of his lasgun¡¯s searing vermilion beam of fire. Among the things on his list of grievances were the raised welts and torn skin on his back from the lashes he and his squad received for not having their section of the Motornarium cleared and in presentable order when their commanding officer arrived for inspection. As with any Imperial authority, Warrant Officer Tolm was not a forgiving man, and the excuses given for their equipment¡¯s state of disarray fell upon deaf ears. Stag wasn¡¯t as upset as he would normally have been towards his men, given that they were, up until just before inspection, still awaiting the regiment¡¯s techpriest to oversee the more intricate refitting rituals needed to supplicate their vehicle¡¯s machine spirit.


    The techpriest, yes, he was the most immediate and current source of the guardsman¡¯s ire. The Sergeant hadn¡¯t seen the machine cultist since their detachment of the 54th had shown up at this outpost, only once or twice catching a glimpse of a white-robed apprentice of some sort going about doing throne knew what. As he crossed the interior muster-point of the outpost-bastion, a sun-baked plaza of flat mud, he strode towards the Omnissiac chapel. It was far from the cathedrals of industry that the Adeptus Mechanicus had stationed at most command basilicas and indeed was lesser than any Ecclesiarchal chapel Stag had seen on the planet so far. Beyond its size it was alien to him also in its colouring. The sergeant had come to associate the priesthood of the machine god with rust orange with black trim, and the stylized rune of Ryza prominently displayed or otherwise the ever present crimson of Mars with their cog-encircled skull glyph.


    The Omnissiac chapel before Stag was of a rather different variety than he was used to, and he regarded it with immediate suspicion. Outside of the inverted colour scheme its exterior alcoves, relays, and panels were in different spots entirely, and the emblem upon it, beneath the ever-unchanging symbol of the black and white skull and cog of the Mechanicus, was that of a stylized fist and clenched hammer in crimson paint. On top of this it¡¯s metallic superstructure was made of a bright, shining titanium, indeed a step removed from the usual pseudo-gold or ochre rust the Catachan had oft encountered. In short Charr did not like it and he furrowed his brow in annoyance and strode into the building¡¯s shadow. As he did so he became acutely aware that he was being watched.


    One of the exterior alcoves had some form of graphing array that was being attended and as he made to ascend the chapel¡¯s steps he realized that the figure working the array was not a servitor, as he first assumed, but rather it was the apprentice, who himself seemed quite surprised at Charr¡¯s approach. He glared at the youth for a few moments before approaching him. As the burly, tanned Catachan approached the waifish tech-adept he realized that he may be terrifying someone who did not quite deserve his ire. Charr ran a hand through his sweaty, dark hair, rustling his high and tidy style before exhaling and crouching down to the tech-adept¡¯s height.


    ¡°Please tell me yer not our detachment¡¯s assigned techpriest, kid.¡±


    Whether struck by muteness or being inherently dumb Sergeant Stag couldn¡¯t tell, but, thankfully, the small machine cultist could still communicate. He shook his head, shaking his shoulder length brown locks and accidentally pushing back his white cowl to reveal an exceedingly pale face. The boy¡¯s face was largely hidden by overly messy hair but the guardsman could make out a somewhat gaunt face and purposely blindered, though most likely augmented, eyes. Seemingly the tech-adept saw through the implanted optic mounted to one side of his head, along with the optic mechadendrite that sprouted from the lower end of the spinal powerpack mounted on his back. The mechadendrite seemed focused still on the graphing array while Stag addressed his face.


    Haltingly the young adept found his voice, speaking Low Gothic as though he had little practice in its use. ¡°The techpriest is...quite busy¡­¡±


    Charr sighed in frustration, techpriests were always ¡°busy.¡± Thankfully, over the years, Charr had learned how to focus a techpriest¡¯s ¡°busy¡± mind onto things important to him and his men.


    ¡°Tell him that a machine-spirit is in desperate need of his ministrations, and none of the men in the motornarium are initiated as he is in the mysteries of the engine.¡±


    A mixture of forlorn appeal and admittance of ignorance almost always worked, along with adding a bit of self-flagellation if the need was great enough to require expediting. In truth even the most competent technomat on his crew, Private Andarr, barely understood the inner workings of their Hydra¡¯s mechanisms, but reminding their detachment¡¯s enginseer that that was the case was more often than not enough prodding to remind a techpriest of his duties. It seemed that the tactic worked once more, as the tech-adept turned to look at the graphing array for a moment before speaking to a handheld vox device in the tongue of the machine cult.


    Satisfied, Sergeant Stag stood straight up, stretching before adjusting his flak vest and dusting off his fatigues.


    ¡°Out in a few moments, huh?¡± he asked the adept.


    The boy nodded, probably only half-listening as he typed on the graphing array with the spidery digits of his bionic arm. The Catachan was only half paying attention to him as well, as he internally mulled over how far he could go with chewing out the coghead before it would cross the threshold of sacrilege against the Mechanicus. Ultimately Stag resumed his glowering composure as he heard the door servos engage and watched the titanium slabs of its armoured entrance slide apart.


    A breeze of chill air swept over Charr, making his arm hairs stand on end. Must be nice being the Omnissiah¡¯s chosen, he remarked internally as he looked at his own sweat-stained fatigues. Far from giving him any reprieve from the heat of the tropical world it only ratcheted up the standoffish attitude he was ready to unload onto the techpriest.


    The semi-regular clank of metal on metal roused him from his anger-filled thoughts with a sudden hope that this techpriest was at least slightly less arachniform than the one at the command-basilica his detachment had been deployed from. Sergeant Stag almost shuddered thinking about the thoroughly unnatural movements of Magos Autokrator Seltis¡¯ servo-limbs as he surveyed the faulty motor casings on his comrade¡¯s Hydra. As this techpriest came into view, however, it seemed blessedly human looking, though fairly tall.


    Before Stag could make out more of the techpriest¡¯s looks he caught a strong draft of pungent incense, one he was unfamiliar with but must surely be coming from some form of censer on the priest¡¯s person. The source of the irregularity in the machine cultist¡¯s footsteps became apparent, he was walking with a techpriest¡¯s staff of office held in his delicate, surprisingly non-bionic hand. The staff was a two meter long, metallic pole topped with an axe head and Omnissiac icon, declaring for all to see that the holder was a chosen disciple of the machine god.


    The techpriest approached the entrance of the chapel, seemingly surveying the guardsman as he approached, glowing green optics staring at Charr from under his white and red-hemmed hood. One long, silvery, mechanical tentacle slid over to look the sergeant over more closely with its optics while the other held the techpriests robes to assure that his graceful and slender bionic limbs wouldn¡¯t tread upon them as he moved forth.


    Charr gritted his teeth and glared into the priest¡¯s optical mechadendrite. Aside from invading Stag¡¯s personal space with his surveying device the techpriest seemed to hardly acknowledge him. Turning to the adept still focused on attending the graphing array the techpriest spoke in hushed tones to him for a few moments. Seemingly satisfied the white-robed priest finally approached the guardsman while his apprentice gathered up a few stacks of data-reels and carried them into the shadowy temple¡¯s inner depths.


    ¡°How may this servant of the Omnissiah assist you, Sergeant Stag?¡± the techpriest asked in a disarmingly feminine voice.


    The sergeant kept his glowering expression as rigid as he could. The coghead knew his name and it was female. As he quickly brought his mind back into gear he watched the techpriest stretch from her hunched posture, revealing a much more obviously feminine figure as she stood up straight, no longer leaning heavily on her axe-staff. He didn¡¯t like being disarmed, but this double strike was rapidly making him lose the momentum he was going to use to push himself into a furious tirade. As the techpriest yawned Stag realized that it was well past noon, this layabout had slept in through most of the day!


    Charr growled but covered it as him clearing his throat. ¡°If you would come to the motornarium there are matters that require your presence. Ma¡¯am.¡±


    They descended the titanium steps of the Omnissiac chapel and she followed behind him, out of the shadow of the alabaster and silver building and into the glaring red-orange sun. As the sun more clearly illuminated the techpriest he realized she may be the most human looking techpriest he¡¯d ever seen. While she seemingly only had one fully intact flesh and blood limb, one quarter of her face replaced with optics and titanium plating, a power pack roughly the size of a fully loaded rucksack with an incense burner, extensive data-vault with connecting cranial circuitry, and two mechadendrites extending from it, she was still recognizably human, and at that, obviously a human female.


    After a moment Charr realized that the techpriest had stopped following behind him. He turned about and saw her headed in the opposite direction, back towards the temple.


    ¡°I will attend to the machine-spirits once I have had my ration of recaf.¡± she called back at the disbelieving guardsman.


    Sergeant Stag exhaled loudly before following her back to the chapel, he was finding yet more reasons to hate this planet.


    * * *


    As the last few tech-psalms were chanted by Adept Draykon from the Manual Reparatum the Hydra crewman finished the rhythmic tightening of the screws on the traverse mounting, sealing the inner workings of the machine. The short tech-adept solemnly closed the repair tome carried by the motornarium¡¯s ledger servitor and awaited the final rituals of repair. Having observed an adequate moment of silence the tall techpriest officiating the repairs strode towards the hull of the Hydra, laying her bionic hand on its surface before speaking aloud in Techna Lingua.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°Machine-spirit, we beg forgiveness for our invasive hands, but now you are mended. Awaken and grace us with your furious might once more.¡±


    Rileigh closed her eyes and focused on the noosphere about her, comprehending the realm of the machine-spirits with her mind¡¯s eye. She saw the simple warrior machine-spirit of the Hydra before her, and it¡¯s brethren in the other wards of the motornarium, the tiny, guttering lights of the lasguns of the guardsmen before her, and then, the overarching, ponderous, and spread out aura of the outpost bastion and it¡¯s myriad electrical systems, vox-network, and defense systems. Even on this hideously overgrown world there were still signs of the Machine God¡¯s presence.


    Returning her mind to the task at hand she observed the Hydra¡¯s machine spirit. It¡¯s turret motivation system no longer seemed bothered by the faulty disk that grieved it so before. Satisfied, she raised her head and declared the tech-ritual complete. The Catachans revved up the vehicle¡¯s engine and tested it¡¯s traverse with baited breath. A collective sigh of relief went about as the array of autocannons finally moved smoothly and swiftly along it¡¯s regular vectors.


    The guardsmen began cleaning up their anointed tools and enjoying some lho sticks, and Rileigh noticed each of the soldiers watching her as he lit up, hoping that they weren¡¯t breaking some unknown scripture by celebrating a job well done. For her part she pretended not to notice, it would not affect the Hydra¡¯s machine spirit now that the ritual was complete, and it kept their morale incrementally higher, so it was unimportant.


    Another thing she pretended not to notice was the squad leader staring daggers at her. While the rest of the guardsmen seemed subservient enough to fall in line with her demands to get the repairs done he¡¯d stayed at a distance and was mostly just looking angrily in her direction or otherwise in the general vicinity of the repairs.


    It didn¡¯t bother Rileigh that he didn¡¯t get involved, only 3 or so people could reasonably be expected to work on the Hydra at a time, and as the most senior of their squad she wouldn¡¯t expect him to get involved. But still he loomed by the entryway, leaning against the rockrete walls with his muscular arms crossed and his brow furrowed as though he was trying to stare down a particularly belligerent machine-spirit. She couldn¡¯t conceive of what might be bothering the squad¡¯s Alpha so-


    No that¡¯s not right, she thought to herself, the Astra Militarum calls their infantry squad leaders something else.


    It was going to bother her until she acquired the answer, so the techpriest took it upon herself to get it. She recalled the important points she had memorized within her auxiliary memory vaults, recalling the wisdoms of Archmagos Factor Alexeirius Azmonn as laid out in his treatise On the Retrieval of Data from Organic Vessels. As Rileigh reminisced and accessed the appropriate chapters stored in her digital databanks the scowly squad leader guardsman approached her.


    While accessing such vast sums of lore she was practically unable to do anything else, most of her augmented mental power focused on searching for specific passages. Very slowly Rileigh realized he was already there and was addressing her, and equally slowly she turned to face him, feeling as though she were on a high gravity world. The slow shuffling of her form must have tipped off the guardsman, as he trailed off from whatever he was saying and she tried to break the cycle of intensive mental processes.


    Rileigh partially succeeded in stopping the intensive functions, and instead of sitting idle and finishing the thorough digital search blurted out a jumbled mess of lookup queries and results, saying multiple things at once through her vocal implant, barraging the witless man in front of her with a verbal assault.


    ¡°Find: On interpersonal relations-


    Find: Negotiating with the gentry-


    Find: On those who serve the Emperor on the field of battle-


    With excessive force in the verbal arena if necessary-


    And thus is the measure of one¡¯s peers determined.¡±


    For once since she had met the Catachan squad leader his face wasn¡¯t taken up by an intense scowl. It was now thoroughly replaced by bafflement and the quizzical raise of an eyebrow. While Techpriest Artisan Rileigh was definitely far more augmented than an average human she was not so far gone as some of her peers were, and was in fact quite capable of feeling the palpable awkwardness of the situation. Adding to this a few of the Catachan Hydra crew were idling around as they were hoping to watch their commanding officer tear a proverbial strip out of someone besides them for once.


    The silence was broken by Draykon tugging at her robe¡¯s sleeve to get her attention.


    ¡°With your permission, ma¡¯am, I will go and check the augur graph.¡± he said, already leaving the motornarium.


    As the young tech-adept left the repair bay the man before Rileigh regained most of his aggressive composure.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I know about any of that¡­¡± Stag trailed off, even more unsure of what to make of the cyborg woman before him. While she had been more than capable of leading the repairs to the Hydra he was starting to get the impression that she was a few bullets short of a magazine.


    ¡°You interrupted my thoughts, guardsman. I was deep in mental reverie.¡± she asserted, failing to impress the guardsman with her bluster. ¡°At any rate what is your name and rank, soldier?¡±


    Charr really wanted to roll his eyes, but he quashed the urge and stood proud. ¡°I am Sergeant Charr Stag of the 54th Catachan Sky Reapers.¡±


    The other Catachans in earshot gave a half-hearted rallying cry before going back to their business.


    ¡°Very well, you shall be my regimental liason for the time being, Sergeant Stag. Ask Tech-Adept Draykon for my presence if it is once more needed.¡±


    With that the techpriest moved past Stag and started for the repair bay door. Rileigh pulled her cowl lower to cover more of her face, not to protect it from the sun but rather to hide her intense blush she had gained in the face of her processing error. As she made her way across the repair bay the sergeant caught up with her, putting a meaty hand on her shoulder to get the techpriest¡¯s attention. Rileigh froze up and her fine manipulation mechadendrite clasped the wrist of the soldier¡¯s arm, gripping it tightly while firmly pulling it off of her robes. She turned about and faced the guardsman, who looked quite ready to lose his temper on her.


    Stag grabbed the mechadendrite back, using it to pull the techpriest in close so that she would understand what he was saying, and make sure that he didn¡¯t need to repeat it. She stumbled closer, her face hidden by the deep cowl, with only her duo of glowing green optics on the right side of her face along with a shock of brunette hair being visible beneath it¡¯s heavy material.


    ¡°Look, lady,¡± he growled through gritted teeth, ¡°I ain¡¯t even the commanding officer of this outfit, and you have some damned nerve sleeping in past morning summons and making me and my men look like groxarses. For the love of Him on Terra we¡¯ve been here for three blasted days and this is the first time anyone¡¯s been able to drag you out of your hole, and as soon as you¡¯ve finished up the repairs you go scurrying back. I don¡¯t even know your name, or if you¡¯re even part of the damned Mechanicus! I¡¯ve never seen a techpriest dressed up like you are, and I¡¯m starting to hope I don¡¯t ever have to again.¡±


    Rileigh pushed the servos on her manipulator mechadendrite to crush the insolent Catachan¡¯s hand, but to her surprise Stag held his own against the mechanism, tensing and flexing while in turn beginning to crush the outer casing of her extra limb. She cried out, more in surprise than pain, and released the guardsman¡¯s arm, withdrawing the mechadendrite into her flowing robes.


    ¡°I...my name is Rileigh. And I¡¯ll have you know that I have business that concerns only the Cult Mechanicus that I must attend to, so I¡¯m sorry that I can¡¯t tend to the every whim of your glorified tractor.¡± To emphasize her point Rileigh activated the power field on her axe, it¡¯s crackling azure tendrils of energy mirroring the dangerous quality apparent in her tone.


    ¡°Now, as the sole representative of Forge World Metalica present,¡± she intoned, tilting the axe sideways so that she could grasp it with her titanium left arm as well, ¡°I am entrusting you, Sergeant, as my main liaison. You will report to me tomorrow morning at 700, and we will discuss the intricacies of your new role. Understood?¡±


    Charr was itching to vent his frustrations on this uppity woman and give a taste of Catachan steel right to her neck. For a brief moment he really considered it, but after realizing how lucky he was that Officer Tolm wasn¡¯t around to observe what had already occurred he decided to cut his losses short. He gave a stiff ¡°Yes ma¡¯am¡± and watched the techpriest leave the motornarium before finally relaxing and leaning against the Hydra and pulling out a lho stick to smoke away the stress. He knew he was lucky that Rileigh only had more delicate mechadendrites and not a proper servo-arm or else he might not have a wrist to speak of anymore.


    He mulled over what exactly being a ¡°Mechanicus liaison¡± would entail. The sergeant only had an entry level of understanding of the machine cult, and he was rather unsure why she had chosen him.


    * * *


    Ultimately, Rileigh had chosen the Sergeant as her liaison because he was the most high ranking authority immediately available to her and she truly did not want to be bothered with the minutiae of such administration. The techpriest had far more important things to do, and simple rites of maintenance would not be allowed to bother her more than necessary.


    She sorted through the stacks of data-reels brought to the hololith chamber by Draykon. The augur sweep was taking forever, and the adept had already had to reset the array a dozen times since they¡¯d arrived three weeks ago. Rileigh had desperately hoped that the presence of the guardsman at the remote station wouldn¡¯t disrupt her research but it seemed more and more likely that they definitely would. She began spooling the first data-reel onto the hololith¡¯s receptor tray, gently pulling it out and looping it around the extractor. With only herself and the tech-adept being stationed here, and servitors being far too clumsy and slow to handle data-reels the process of scanning a grid coordinate with the chapel¡¯s augur array, recording it on a data reel, and reviewing it manually was all that was really available to them. Over the past twenty days they had only been able to scan 15 percent of the array¡¯s maximum range, and they were lucky that most days so far were clear ones. If one of the world¡¯s infamous sudden tropical storms cropped up it could delay the techpriest¡¯s search almost indefinitely.


    Clicking through different layers of material-resonance filtration Rileigh made notes of the differing mineral densities throughout the jungle basins and tall grass plains. Zyrantiel was a bafflingly verdant world, and it made Rileigh¡¯s skin crawl. The idea of biological life covering every surface around her was hideous in the extreme compared to the sterile purity of Metalica. She paused the augur readout and let herself focus on the noise generator in the center of the Omnissiac chapel. The rhythmic clang of the striking hammer and piston pumping brought her mind back to the clamorous industry of her home world. It reminded her of how Metalica was very far away now, and how the Holy Synod of Metalica had invested a great amount of influence in her efforts here.


    She unpaused the hololithic readout and plugged her flesh replenishment array into the nearby power relay with a soft psalm. Recaf could only do so much, and she needed to get through this lot of data-reels before Draykon brought in another load. It was going to be a long evening.

 Chapter 2: Scorched Earth

    The hazy smoke about the clearing was almost overbearing, and unlikely to clear soon. The smog of the incinerated vegetation and fauna blocked out much of the sunlight that would otherwise reach the newly created glade, putting it into a hazy twilight, lit more so by the pockets of still burning promethium than Zyrantiel¡¯s star. Adept Draykon was a bit overwhelmed by the smoke, but had gladly taken a respirator that was gruffly offered to him by one of the Catachan men. It was barely past noon, but he knew that the work required today, far from the comforts of the sensor bastion that himself and Rileigh operated out of, was going to be quite tiring and take some time.


    The rites of activation for sensor arrays, such as the augur relay tower they were in the process of installing, were lengthy, as each possessed an exceedingly sensitive, and at times fickle, machine-spirit that governed its functions. Aside from the physical process of erecting the tower and awakening it¡¯s machine spirit, the connection between the Mechanicum sensors at Outpost-Bastion Eta-181 and this distant relay had to then be created, a ritual in and of itself. Draykon knew little about anything that fell under the purview of Transmechanics, those techpriests who were masters of vox-comms, augur systems, and other invisible waveforms, but he had been gaining a grasp of the concepts over the course of his tutelage under Rileigh, especially given their current task.


    Thankfully the majority of the hard labour of setting up the augur relay was undertaken by a squad of heavy-set labour servitors under Rileigh¡¯s direct command. Draykon offered to guide the servitors as well, but as was often the case he was politely, but firmly, denied by the senior techpriest, as she had a quality of particularity about her that made her largely unhappy with others contributing to a work she intended to perfect. Draykon pondered if it was a trait she¡¯d gained from her time as an Artisan, as those in such a station were often commissioned to singularly construct masterworks of weaponry or other equipment, and would often only be assisted by servitors under their direct control, at a secluded fabrication altar to ensure that the techno-arcane art of manufacturing works of such potency were uninterrupted.


    Draykon fiddled with the rebreather¡¯s straps, the fit of the device designed for a grown man being lacking in the case of his undeveloped frame. All the same he was very grateful for the device, as he would be quite bored if he had to stay in the transport that brought them here to avoid the irritating smoke. While some of the industrial zones on his home world of Metalica could have similarly polluted air he had never tarried in such places when he could help it, but all the same it did make him feel minorly home sick. The young adept and his master had travelled very, very far from their world of origin, halfway across the Ultima Segmentum, if his understanding was correct. Draykon had never even heard of this world ¡°Zyrantiel¡± before, and everything about it was so utterly alien to him.


    The amount and variety of living things on this world was staggering, and quite frightening for the young Mechanicum. The forge world of Metalica was quite the opposite of this, it¡¯s synod having declared and successfully enacted the extinction of all non-human life upon the beautifully pristine world¡¯s surface. The nearly pure-white dunes of titanium oxide, punctuated only by craggy cliffs, outcroppings, and mountains of rock and ore had not been sullied by any creature other than Man in millennia. Draykon himself had never seen any other living creatures aside from humans his whole life, and he wasn¡¯t eager for that to change.


    When the shuttle from the Mechanicus vessel in orbit had first landed at the outpost some months ago Draykon was far from prepared for what he experienced, the bizarre noises that emanated from the depths of the vegetation at night kept him up, the way the wind made the trees shake and shudder seemed unwholesome, and worst of all, the occasional invasive life form that would find itself in the confines of the bastion¡¯s walls. Usually such creatures would scuttle or fly off once they spotted a person close by, but this fauna disappearing around a corner or flying off out of sight only heightened Draykon¡¯s paranoia and dislike of it all. Once the Catachans became garrisoned at the outpost it became commonplace for errant creatures to meet a sudden end from a thrown knife or las shot. Creatures being dispatched like that put the adept¡¯s mind much more at ease, as now there was one less living thing on this planet.


    He had felt rather safe from the flora and fauna in the fastness of the machine cult sensor bastion and within the confines of the armoured transport, but even with charred ground of the clearing beneath his feet he still felt hesitant and wary of what layed beyond. The dark edges of the clearing were ominous, the vine-strewn tangles of branches and thick knots of roots forming unnaturally organic formations made Draykon a bit ill. He¡¯d seen mold before, on an expired ration pack he¡¯d mistakenly been given on the trip to Zyrantiel, and the rotting smell, along with the vulgar concept that something organic could devour another living thing was just wrong to him. Yet, here on this very world, possibly none too far from where he stood, such a thing could well be happening.


    The adept closed his visual feed for a few moments to clear his head. The optics system anchored into the right-hand side of his head was his main visual sensor, and turning it off meant that he could see nothing at all. His natural sense of sight had been lost some years ago in an unfortunate accident in a manufactorum where he¡¯d worked as an apprentice technomat. When his parents and the guildmaster made their case to the Cult Mechanicus the machine priests replaced his sight with the somewhat unorthodox bionic, but also took him into their service, coming to place him under Rileigh¡¯s tutelage.


    That was a while ago, he thought as he re-enabling his bionic sight and focused upon the more solid, purposely constructed forms of the augur relay¡¯s frame and the attendant servitors. The presence of the Catachan platoon was also a great comfort, with the distinct whirr and ratcheting of the quad-gunned turret of the Hydra sweeping back and forth specifically assuaging Draykon¡¯s fear of what lay in wait out there. However, he could not help but keep glancing at the depths of the jungle beyond. Surely the incendiary artillery had scorched and scared off the worst this world had to offer. Surely.


    * * *


    The clearing, as RIleigh had calculated, was ideal for the augur relay. What was less than ideal, however, was the artillery bombardment of incendiary charges to clear it. The placement was sloppy and undisciplined, compared to the precision she rather expected of professional soldiers. Still, incinerating what life had been here was both useful and gave her no small satisfaction. Watching the Catachans blast away any of the surviving organic matter when their convoy arrived, with lasfire and flamers, helped steel her certainty of purpose in being here.


    These are no Skitarii Legionnaires, she admitted to herself, and we¡¯re very far from Metalica. Expecting the proficiency of the machine cult¡¯s soldiers from these men was in itself a miscalculation on her part. She knew her mission was something of a shot in the dark, and the minimal support she¡¯d received was a part of the tenuous nature of it. Rileigh was no logis-prophesier, but she still felt a sting of bitter dissatisfaction as her attention drifted from the task at hand to look at the fallout of the bombardment. Her expectations of these guardsmen here would need to be recalibrated, she was working off of assumptions that they were simply a variation of Skitarii, which was just not true.


    Aside from being soldiery they shared practically nothing with any Metalican Skitarius she had ever met. She watched the Catachan men patrol the perimeter of the clearing, noting that not many of them bore cybernetics, and from what she overheard from them they seemed to be rueful of being so blessed. Their outlook bothered her greatly, but the social friction they already experienced hardly needed exacerbation, so she held her tongue on the manner. Still, the fact that their Alpha- no, their Sergeant- was unaugmented somewhat perplexed Rileigh. Stag had a goodly amount of scars from various sources on his form, but had seemingly never suffered an injury that would require a cybernetic replacement of a limb or sensory organ. She was unsure as to whether this was a matter of competency or luck, as Rileigh had yet to survey any vis-feeds or post-action reports of the sergeant in particular.


    RIleigh gazed surreptitiously over at the sergeant with her optical mechadendrite, making use of the limb¡¯s telescopic functions to survey the man more thoroughly, as he was about thirty paces across the glade from her. Sergeant Stag was leaning against the side of the platoon¡¯s main Hydra, his powerful arms crossed as his gaze swept the edge of the smouldering clearing and looked over his men. Stag was a broad man, and he carried himself confidently. Rileigh was somewhat bothered by how this often manifested as him being rather assertive with her, and over the past week she had ran through her usual repertoire of excuses and handwaving that she usually used to placate impertinent Imperials who impeded her progress. However this attitude did carry with it little laxity, a fact Rileigh appreciated greatly. He always seemed restless to her, like an ever-eager cyber-hound waiting to be given the command to pursue a target. Like now, as he got up from leaning against the armoured vehicle and stalked over to another side of the defoliated area to survey things there, all the while keeping his head on a swivel.


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    Stag did a double take and Rileigh froze. The sergeant had realized that the mechadendrite was tracking him, no doubt detecting its subtle but unwavering gaze on him, an instinct of his that was likely honed to a razor¡¯s edge by his survival training on Catachan. The techpriest felt her all too unaugmented heart skip a beat as she pulled the hood of her robes further over her head to hide her expression of surprise. The guardsman stared down the offending machine-limb, with the usual stolid, if threatening, look he kept about himself. The eye-to-optic contact remained for a few seconds, and then a few more, as Stag crossed his arms once more and stared it down, practically daring the techpriest to cringe before his unwavering gaze.


    The tense moment was broken, thankfully, as a labour-servitor clumsily fumbled with a bundle of support beams, dropping the lot of them at its feet, halting the progress of the augur relay in its tracks with a loud clattering. Both Rileigh and Stag¡¯s attention went to the noise, and soon thereafter he stalked off to check on the squads at the clearing¡¯s perimeter. Rileigh gave a sigh of mixed relief and frustration, her vocal emitter releasing a burst of static instead of her usual, obviously augmented voice. She swept back her long brown bangs and tucked them behind the unaugmented ear on the left side of her head. The smoke, the heat, and the generally unnerving nature of her environment were getting to her, and making her behaviour, and lack of decorum, much worse than normal.


    Before helping the wayward servitor she clenched her hands into fists and pressed the titanium knuckles of her left hand against the pale flesh of her right, and bestilled her ever-busy thought sub-processes, praying for the serenity and clarity of mind found in the blessed machine, praying to the Machine God to provide her with purity of thought, removing from her mind the haranguing image of Charr Stag¡¯s powerful gaze and form, and letting her simply focus on the work at hand. Rileigh swept away her immediate short term memory, sequestering it in her secondary databanks for further contemplation.


    Releasing a second loud, static-y sigh on the completion of her prayer and mental processes, Techpriest Rileigh beckoned her apprentice over to the stuttering servitor and the mostly-constructed sensor tower. Now would be an ideal time to teach the young adept the proper form and application of the Rite of Percussive Maintenance.


    * * *


    The techpriests were hitting the servitor that dropped the beams over it¡¯s skull plating with a ritual implement and Charr wasn¡¯t exactly sure why. He knew that if he asked the techpriest he¡¯d be met with the usual excuse of ¡°the mysteries of the machine not being meant for the laity¡± or some other form of deflection that desperately made him want to roll his eyes. While he knew little in the way of machine-lore, he wasn¡¯t a stranger to the concept of cuffing an insubordinate on the back of the head for not paying attention or messing up a perfectly simple task through incompetence.


    It was getting to be early evening, and Charr wasn¡¯t exactly relishing the opportunity to spend the night in the middle of an open clearing while cogheads battered a servitor over the head for its lack of competency. Charr, or indeed any Catachan, couldn¡¯t rightly admit to anything like being ¡°afraid¡± of the wildlife of a foreign planet, as their home world was among one of the worst in the galaxy. Rather, the mindset bred by a world so fraught with death and peril at every turn was one of wary mindfulness. Minding every footstep, minding every tree one walked under, minding every movement aside from your own in the jungle around you, and most importantly keeping yourself from focusing too much on any one of those things. As soon as someone forgot that mindfulness on Catachan they were dead.


    As the sun began lowering in the sky it bothered Charr further. Less so the glare of its light, and more so that he was having to witness it out here. He¡¯d offered the help of some of the more technologically attuned guardsmen in the platoon, a few times, but the techpriest had denied the help each time. The sergeant simply wasn¡¯t sure what her deal was, in a similar position he¡¯d have gladly accepted the help of some Mechanicum if it meant getting a laborious task done sooner. Ultimately it didn¡¯t surprise him that she was so stuck up, given his previous interactions with her. She wouldn¡¯t even allow her apprentice to help until a few moments ago, seemingly.


    At the least the task of escorting the machine cultists while they set up their extension to the outpost¡¯s augur network had been uneventful enough, so far. Still, the alien jungle had him on edge, and burning down a section of it, then standing around all day in this open terrain mad him even more so. The main warfronts of Zyrantiel were on the opposite side of a far off mountain range but that wouldn¡¯t stop him from being on his toes. The native wildlife could prove to be far more dangerous than any of the vermin that managed to sneak into the outpost would ever be, and he somewhat relished the thought of driving cold steel into some alien monster¡¯s neck, or watching something get blown apart by the Hydra¡¯s guns. The stragglers and injured creatures weren¡¯t really worthy prey, most of the shots the platoon loosed when first arriving were to mercy kill those left behind. Charr hoped something like a carno-rachnid would show up. He¡¯d been told about them by guardsmen at the main planetary voidport, and he wanted to see if the stories about their size and ferocity were true or if it was facetious exaggeration.


    All things considered Charr was happy to be out of the barracks and get out into the field. He took a deep breath of the smoky air and almost coughed from it tickling his throat, the potent, chemical smell of promethium smoke, mixed with the burnt plant matter and flesh, was still a bit strong. The opportunity to make the God Emperor proud, and satisfy his own violent urges, had him in higher spirits than he¡¯d been while milling around the outpost bastion. Aside from the smoke, which was clearing out even more as the wind picked up, and the lack of dense cover, the main thing that was bothering Charr was the techpriest.


    The staring contest he¡¯d held with her optic was only partially serious on his end. While he did feel like he was asserting his authority on some level, it was more so him testing his own ability to stare down something that wouldn¡¯t blink, and a gut reaction to something staring at him. He hoped it was just the techpriest¡¯s mechanical gaze, at any rate, and not something more sinister lurking in the depths of the forest beyond her.


    Charr could always feel when he was being looked at intensely, and it was an instinct that had saved his life more than once. As he made his way over to the second squad he ran a finger along one of the more impressive scars on his forearm. The sabre-beast that had caused that would have been a worthy trophy if the body hadn¡¯t been so mangled by the time he and his squad were finished with it. Some creatures couldn¡¯t tell when they were already dead, and required some excessively brutal mutilating to make them realize it.


    ¡°Anything of note, boys?¡±, Stag asked briskly, giving the leader of the squad an acknowledgement via a brief upwards nod which was returned with a respectful downwards nod. It was a rare Catachan who had much respect or want for the ceremony more widely observed in the Imperial Guard.


    ¡°Some spooked or hurt critters lookin¡¯ ¡®round but that¡¯s really it. Just small stuff, mostly.¡±, Corporeal Vengur gave a dismissive point of his thumb towards a foot long, centipedal creature that had had its front half crushed by the boot of the guardsman holding a gently pinging auspex in his hands. The sound indicating a reoccurring ¡°all clear¡± result.


    ¡°Well make sure you use your eyes more than the scanner¡­¡±, he trailed off, wanting to make a point about trusting instinct and strength of arms far more than any technology. It was a lesson that he hardly needed to drill into his own men, but one he found himself reminiscing on more frequently as of late.


    The sergeant looked at the miniscule, mangled insectoid carcass before turning his eyes to the dense jungle that he was scant yards away from. The bombardment had scared off much of the wildlife, and it seemed their activity, along with the smell of smoke in the air, had made anything that was not quite sapient reticent to approach the smouldering site, but by the same token probably made their position all too obvious to anything with half a brain. Stag wished that they could have set up in the thick of the jungle, but the techpriest called the shots on setting up the augur array and apparently a proper clearing was needed to set it up in, and if they strayed too far into the surrounding vegetation they¡¯d be leaving the machine cultists exceedingly exposed and alone. Apparently the techpriest had also somehow roped in an artillery battery from another outpost that was nearby enough to defoliate the area they were now standing in.


    Beyond the ashen, burned out glade the dense forest seemed to go on forever, and that, along with the vivacity of life on Zyrantiel, made Stag feel a bit more at home. Being ¡°at home¡±, however, put him in the mindset of surviving out in the death world wilderness of Catachan, telling his survival instincts to function at the highest readiness possible.


    If it weren¡¯t for this state of complete readiness it is doubtful that Stag would have seen the forms moving furtively among the far undergrowth, just outside of the range of the scanner the squad¡¯s guardsman held in his hand. Their movements were measured, and they had even gone so far as to cover themselves in the native soil and attach sprigs of the local flora to their garb, but the hulking size of their figures belied their true nature. With a single, well-practiced, swift move Charr¡¯s Ryza-pattern lasgun was already in his hands, firing beams of crimson light into the deep forest, after the shadowed figures, startling the other guardsmen before him into similar action. Having fired a good volley, and trusting the squad before him to continue the outpour of lasfire, he inhaled and bellowed a single word to stir the rest of the platoon into readiness:


    ¡°ORKS!!¡±

 Chapter 3: Xenocide

    ¡°Fall back to the Hydra, we¡¯re gonna blast ¡®em!¡±, commanded Stag as he lightly shoved Corporal Vengur, to gesture him towards the vehicle and the relay tower in the middle of the clearing. The other men in the squad began to pull back, the sergeant fired a quick burst of suppressing fire before starting away with them. Three of the squad¡¯s men had already taken wounds, and were being hauled over to the relative cover of the relay by their comrades. Corporal Vengur himself took three shots from the Ork weapons, two of which squarely hit his flak vest, averting some of the damage, though it knocked the wind out of him and sent him flying into the ashen dirt of the clearing. The third was a particularly well-placed shot that flew through Vengur¡¯s upper right arm. The shot penetrated the arm¡¯s flesh, smashed through the bone, and ripped out the other side, leaving the limb dangling by strands of mangled flesh as Vengur slammed into the dirt before Charr¡¯s eyes.


    Charr grabbed the injured corporal and slung him over his shoulders and sprinted towards the Hydra, barking at the other guardsmen to pick up the pace. Vengur¡¯s wound was bleeding profusely across Charr¡¯s back, he could feel the hot blood trickling down his own spine. Between the running and the Ork firepower a good amount of ash had been kicked into the air, and as Charr reached the rest of the squad another volley of slugga fired ripped out from the dense forest, hitting the ground, the Hydra, and the relay tower around them, but thankfully causing no other casualties. Charr signalled one of the second squad privates to staunch Corporal Vengur¡¯s arm wound until the squad¡¯s medicae could seal up his arm wound. Four of the second squad¡¯s twelve men were badly wounded, and one had died during the retreat, an alarming ratio for what Ork accuracy usually was.


    Charr circled to the Hydra¡¯s gunner platform and banged on the floor plating to get the crew¡¯s attention, ¡°We¡¯re all clear! Sweep left to right across the treeline in front of us, set the det range to minimum, and blow the greenskins to hell!¡±


    The sergeant surveyed the situation briefly before running off to meet up with the third squad, and noticed the techpriests cowering behind their servitors, which were heedless of the incoming hail of lead. At the very least they had gathered up the servitors to form something of a human wall and they were making as effective of cover as they could from the oblivious constructs.


    ¡°...and make sure that the techpriests don¡¯t get offed, will yah?¡±, he said haltingly, to Lance Corporal Callum. The lance corporal almost looked at him quizzically for a moment before deciding better of it.


    With the sound of the Hydra¡¯s turret whirring into action Charr sprinted across the clearing to the third squad on the far side of the clearing as the heavy, rhythmic thud of the Hydra¡¯s guns shook the air with each shot. As he breached the eastern part of the clearing¡¯s treeline he found the third squad¡¯s men right where he knew they¡¯d be. Corporal Killman wasn¡¯t one to wait out in the open when the shots started flying.


    ¡°We¡¯re gonna circle ¡®round the clearing edge towards the Orks, and once the Hydra¡¯s dry we¡¯re gonna flank ¡®em and finish off the stragglers, ¡± Charr ordered as he was clearing the terrain to catch up with the squad. ¡°You, and you,¡± he said, pointing at two random guardsmen, ¡°Go and get the Chimeras, tell one of ¡®em to set up on the west side of the clearing, and get one on the east side for backup for us. GO!¡±


    Killman smirked, scratching some of the stubble on his face, ¡°We had the same idea, I was gonna run up and get ¡®em in the side when the Hydra was reloadin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s hurry then, I don¡¯t wanna be late.¡± Charr took off through the underbrush of the thick jungle, with the rest of the third squad, less the two men sent to summon the vehicle crews, falling in behind him.


    ***


    The two Catachans hurtled through the thick underbrush and over the raised roots of the gnarled trees that separated the trio of Chimeras and their crews from the incinerated area that was cleared for the relay. The bulky armoured vehicles soon came into view, and Private Andarr, just ahead of Adil, started waving his arms and yelling at the crewmen to begin the process of moving the Chimeras into place. The two vehicles belonging to the Imperial Guard were sat side by side, with a third one, used by the Mechanicum and their attendant servants, behind them. As Private Adil caught up with Andarr she circled around the side of the left most of the Chimeras, banging on the armoured vehicle to get attention. The driver¡¯s hatch had been left open and no one was in the vehicle.


    Adil rounded the corner of the vehicle¡¯s hull to come to its right side and gave a breathless curse at the sight that awaited her. The crew of the Chimera were present after all, but quite dead. As Adil looked them over, they each seemed to have been murdered efficiently, and then strewn on the ground out of immediate sight. Two of them had had their necks crumpled into a ruin of bruised, broken flesh, while the other, presumably the driver, no longer had a head left to his corpse, with only a ragged, torn stump left atop his shoulders. Having seen enough, Adil fell back around the way she came, regrouping with Andarr.


    ¡°Them too?¡±


    Andarr nodded grimly, his eyes fixed on the corner around which another group of bodies surely lay, ¡°Let¡¯s get the Chimeras up to the clearing, we can deal with the dead later.¡±


    Before they could set about the Rites of Activation the guardsmen jumped at a heavy thump behind them, each readying their lasgun and looking wild-eyed towards the rear of the vehicles. The rear-most vehicle, a Chimera adorned in the livery of forge world Metalica, was moving out, around the two inactive ones, towards the clearing.


    Adil readily hopped into the driver¡¯s hatch of the Chimera she had inspected and was activating the machine, ¡°Don¡¯t let the cogheads show us up!¡±


    ***


    The second squad of the Catachans had congregated about the Hydra as the heavy autocannons blew the forest in front of it to flinders and ruin. However, even with the relentless outpour of cannon fire, the enemy was still present, either having maneuvered out of the Hydra¡¯s field of fire, or else having had much greater numbers than expected. The Orks were being unusually evasive, with what seemed to be only a few stragglers and grots making suicidal charges at the guardsmen before being easily gunned down by massed lasbolts.


    The rest of their numbers seemed to be content with lurking and hurling slugga and shoota fire at the position around the relay, in a rather un-Ork-like manner of engagement. The source of alien weapon fire had now spread out from the northern copse in the midst of the clearing¡¯s upwards-facing crescent shape to now also be coming from just beyond the northwest part of the glade. This was not a particularly advantageous maneuver, but could easily become a flanking enfilade of fire if not mitigated soon.


    The Hydra made one final sweep with its weapons as the autocannons ran dry, the weapon¡¯s empty maws clacking angrily. As if on queue a dull thud followed by a piercing scream erupted from the treeline where the Hydra¡¯s now useless weapons pointed. A crude projectile, followed by a greasy trail of smoke, corkscrewed its way towards the relay, deflecting off a support strut and summarily flying directly into the ground behind Rileigh. The warhead erupted, with most of its explosive force absorbed by the blackened soil. This spared further casualties, thankfully, but threw up a cloud of dirt, smoke, and rocky shrapnel, obscuring the position from within and without.


    Rileigh was panicking, and desperately trying to regain control of her nerves. Everywhere she looked there were wounded men, flying projectiles, explosions, and constant gunfire, from both the Orks and the guardsmen at her side. One projectile had grazed her bionic arm, denting the previously pristine titanium. This brush with death had been the final straw and she was still reeling from that when the rokkit blew up behind her. She fell to the ground and her vocal implant gave a piercing shriek, not unlike that of a tortured brake system. Rileigh crawled back behind the relative safety of the labour servitors, using her lengthy power axe to lift herself up to a standing position. A few of the labour servitors had taken stray shots, and one had had its cranium destroyed beyond repair, but more pressingly the relay was taking fire, with fire from the Ork¡¯s weapons chipping away at its exterior plating and structure. Thankfully, the more sensitive parts of the relay had not yet been placed upon its structure, and were safe in armoured cases behind the augur relay¡¯s bulky form.


    The labour servitors were useless in this firefight as much else besides cover. Even then, shots were ricocheting off them, and they had little ability to protect their masters. Draykon was just as nervous as RIleigh was, but he was able to hide more effectively behind the bulky cyber-constructs with his diminutive size. The young tech-adept looked up at Rileigh, seeking some form of reassurance from the senior techpriest. Rileigh¡¯s optic sensors met Draykon¡¯s and the panic she had felt was overwhelmed by a sense of responsibility as she looked upon the young Mechanicum from her home world.


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    With the sound of splintering wood the forest to the south of the relay broke apart, with the heraldry of the Mechanicus parting the greenery as their Chimera trundled forwards, followed directly by the Guard¡¯s two Chimeras, piloted by Private Andar and Adil. The Metalican Chimera stopped beside the congregated servitors, while the others came to rest behind the guardsmen. The guardsmen soon swarmed over the vehicle, hauling injured men inside, manning the vehicles weapons, and using them as cover. The Imperial Guard Chimeras then rolled over to the spots designated by Sergeant Stag, readying themselves to vanquish the Orks that lay in wait.


    Rileigh watched for but a moment before ushering the servitors towards the rear door of their Chimera. Speaking swiftly in the tongue of the Machine God she organized the labour servitors and began equipping them with weapons that had been stowed in the vehicle for such an occasion. Draykon and the vehicle¡¯s crewmen, three tech-thralls, assisted with the arming, obediently following each step intoned by the techpriest as the eight still-functioning servitors were provided with Metalica-pattern shotguns. The weapons fit clumsily in the servitors hands, and without direct control they would be entirely useless. After this Rileigh marched the group of servitors in lock-step, two ranks deep, around the side of the Chimera, commanding the vehicle¡¯s tech-thrall crew to use the heavy bolter mounted on the front of the vehicle to support them.


    The hull-mounted flamer on the Hydra roared as it shot wide gouts of flame into the devastated treeline, the broken timber and ruined greenery taking light quite quickly. The battle was going better with the armoured support provided by the Imperial Guard¡¯s Chimeras, and the third squad, led by a frenzied Sergeant Stag, charged into the newly aflame forest before the Hydra. As Rileigh watched Charr charge into the emerging mass of flaming Orks she hoped it wouldn¡¯t be the last time she would see him. Rileigh paused, she didn¡¯t know exactly why she had thought something as irrational as that.


    Returning her focus to the command of her ¡°troops¡± she ordered them into a rough firing line, four of the armed servitors kneeling before the other four who stayed standing. They were rallied to the vehicle¡¯s right hand side, with the unfinished relay to their immediate right, with the two Chimeras beyond that, flanking either side of the Hydra. The few guardsmen still capable of fighting, and not manning the vehicle¡¯s weapons, were taking cover beside the armoured vehicles, keeping their heads down and only making opportune shots at Orks that fled or charged out from the conflagration before them.


    It looked like the fight was dying down to Rileigh, with Stag and the third squad most likely finishing off the stragglers within the depths of the conflagrated jungle. This hypothesis was proven incorrect quite immediately as, from deeper in the jungle¡¯s depths a cry went up, echoed by dozens of alien throats, which screamed a single word in unison.


    ¡°WAAAAAGH!!!¡±


    Greenskins erupted from the treeline before the Mechanicus transport, some 50 meters northwest of the relay. Each one was running full tilt towards the position, a crude weapon clutched in hand and a wild scream erupting from a maw lined with fangs and great tusks. Some even had the presence of mind to fire their slugga pistols while running, though most of them were fired wildly into the air instead of at any visible target. The fierce display terrified Rileigh, and she rapidly began giving the order to fire to her servitors and the tech-thrall manning the heavy bolter. The guardsmen manning the Chimeras similarly opened fire, the vehicle¡¯s multi-lasers and heavy bolters opening up a stream of fire that scythed through the Ork ranks. For their part, the guardsmen were far more accurate than the Mechanicum, with the systems of the tech-thralls and servitors being ill-suited for fighting.


    This wave of firepower would have blunted the Ork charge but for their momentum and numbers. Many scores of Orks were in the throng that was charging, and the numbers that were taken down by bolter shells and lasbolts were quickly trod over in the onslaught of the frenzied xenos. As they closed the murderous intent of the Orks became unfocused as they spread out to encircle the Mechanicum and guardsmen alike. When the red of the alien¡¯s eyes was visible a few of the smarter ones threw stikkbombs at the vehicles and infantry. Most of these were unaimed and exploded on the side of the vehicles or off the augur relay harmlessly, but one exploded in front of a Chimera, throwing back, and likely maiming, two of the guardsmen taking cover beside it.


    Even worse, though, was the horrendously well-placed stikkbomb that exploded upon the front of the Hydra. By some terrible stroke of misfortune the detonation threw shrapnel in such a way that the hull gunner took a faceful of flying metal through his vision slit, and the heavy flamer mounted there was blown apart, its fuel instantly igniting and exploding, making the hull gunner very dead, and the driver along with the cockpit of the Hydra itself now very much so on fire. The driver hurtled out of the vehicle, aflame, into the eager arms of the bloodthristy Orks, who gladly cut him down as he unknowingly threw himself upon them.


    Rileigh barely noticed the grim spectacle that was recorded by her optic mechadendrite as the Orks were pressing in on their position. The servitor¡¯s shotguns were keeping the Orks back, somewhat, but the more heedless of their number were getting braver, and their shells (too many expended earlier when the Orks first revealed themselves), were running out. Draykon was making a valiant attempt at keeping the servitor¡¯s weapons loaded, but at a certain point he had given it up and was doing his best to support their fire with a shotgun he had procured for himself when the servitors were being armed. This was helping, but it would not be enough. One servitor had jammed its shotgun, and another was brought low by a particularly motivated Ork, its upper torso obliterated by a powerful choppa strike.


    As the servitors ran out of ammo Rileigh and Draykon were getting desperate. The fire of the heavy bolter soon died out as well. Whether it would reload or not the techpriest did not know, and she was unwilling to tempt fate by waiting.


    ¡°Keep them back!¡±, she yelled at Draykon, as the tech-adept desperately shoved shells into a magazine.


    Rileigh quickly sidestepped her formation of servitors, taking a steadying stance as she raised her power axe aloft before the mass of Orks. The Orks hadn¡¯t quite realized that the servitors were lacking ammunition, and with Draykon firing upon them rapidly, they were mildly cowed back, and most of them seemed to be focused on fighting the Catachans and their Chimeras. Holding the power axe high in both hands like a standard she began chanting invocations of electromantic congregation.


    The holy words voiced in Techna Lingua called upon the power of the Motive Force, and the bulky potentia coil upon her back was quickly brought to overheating as her internal reservoir could not possibly keep up with the amount of energy she was calling upon. Arcs of electric power began sparking off of the techpriest¡¯s form, jumping to the relay¡¯s structure, the servitors about her, and the spent casings and dropped weapons on the ground around her. Rileigh continued chanting, and the electrical charge within her grew with each verse. Black smoke billowed out of her exhaust stack from the strain put upon it, and the smell of burning wiring filled the air about her. This growing disturbance became unignorable to both the Orks and guardsmen as Rileigh continued shouting the mantra over the loud cracks of the electricity wreathing her.


    With grand finality the techpriest levelled the head of her power axe towards the foremost Orks that menaced the Mechanicum and screamed the final invocations of the rite, her voice heavily distorted by the localized electrical disturbance affecting her vocal implant. A still moment occurred, as though the eye of the storm had passed overhead before an enormous thundercrack erupted around Rileigh, an immeasurably bright strike of lightning coursing forth from her power axe as the bolt struck the closest Ork, and spread through him to Orks close to him, and from there into yet more of their nearby allies.


    Those first hit by the blast of electricity were burned to a crisp instantly, their hides and extremities split and crisped, while their eyes were melted to bloody slime. Leaping from these first victims to the next nearest Orks the electrical current stopped hearts instantly, stunned the aliens senseless, or merely scorched them horrendously. Aside from simple bodily harm, Rileigh¡¯s bolt of luminen energy also struck the crude armour and weapons wielded by the Orks, causing powder-blackened casings and entire magazines to detonate. Subsequently, those unfortunate enough to be struck while bearing explosives suffered an even more dire fate as these too exploded.


    Unsurprisingly this violent series of explosions immediately threw the Ork horde into disarray, allowing the third squad, with a blood and soot-covered Sergeant Stag at their fore, to leap forward in a wave of violence. Their fighting spirit broken, the Orks became quite helpless before the bloodthirsty frenzy of Catachan steel. Cries of alien pain and fear wrang out from the opposite side of the Ork mob, as they were cut down in their attempt to flee back into the treeline. No small number of the greenskins managed to get out of reach of the guardsmen, but many who did were cut down by lasweapon fire. Draykon managed to pepper a few Orks with enough shot to aid in bringing them down, even scoring himself a killing blow upon an Ork limping away with a mangled leg. All told, only about a dozen of the xenos escaped into the depths of the forest. Too many, by any reckoning, but the platoon was hardly in any shape to pursue them further.


    Rileigh watched the purgation of the Orks wearily. She was leaning heavily on her power axe, breathing heavily as her ears, organic and bionic, rung and the visual feed of her bionic eyes faltered. Spots played about her natural vision, and the after-image of the electromantic surge was seared into her eye, making it even harder for her to stay vigilant. Rileigh could only smell the powerful ozone reek left behind by the luminen strike, and, as much as she tried to blink to clear it, her vision was unwilling to become any clearer. Still, there is much to do in the name of the Omnissiah, I must¡­ she trailed off as she watched Draykon drop his weapon and run towards her, and caught what she swore was a look of concern from Sergeant Stag as he looked up from his bloody work of finishing off the injured Orks. The whole world tumbled before her and she got a close up view of the charred earth she had stood upon a moment ago that suddenly became darkness.

 Chapter 4: Reload

    Draykon sighed wearily. Without Techpriest Rileigh¡¯s mentorship he was reaching the limits of his ability. More than that, he was missing her immensely. While they had met with a few other techpriests while in orbit of Zyrantiel, and spoken to a few over Mechanicus vox-channels, he had not seen a single other techpriest in their time at Outpost-Bastion Eta-181, and was unlikely to for the rest of his stay.


    It was all so much easier having the matronly Metalican in charge. While Rileigh was often reserved to the point of being anti-social, even for a Mechanicum, Draykon followed her lead and applied himself with quiet diligence to assisting in her labours. Without her, however, it was very difficult for Draykon to know what exactly to do when faced with a problem.


    He¡¯d managed well enough in the aftermath of the battle in the clearing, recovering Rileigh¡¯s unconscious body, performing the Rite of Aid upon her, and arranging for the remaining servitors to finish the construction work that remained to erect the augur relay. After returning to the Outpost-Bastion and ensuring that Rileigh would be looked after by the chapel¡¯s medical servitor he¡¯d headed out at first light to finish the necessary ministrations upon the relay that he could perform himself.


    After setting the last pieces of the structure in place and giving it what benedictions he could, Draykon had then returned to Omnissiac chapel to help repair Rileigh¡¯s broken form. The techpriest was still alive, but the medical servitor had insisted that she would stay sedated for some time, at least until her broken cybernetics were restored to a proper level of function. The damage that had impaired Rileigh was significant enough that Draykon agreed with the servitor.


    Rileigh lay on the table that the Mechanicum had used for repairing servitors and performing other repair rituals on smaller machines. She lay on her side, with the medical servitor occasionally prodding her to make intermittent observations. Much more of the female Mechanicum¡¯s form was obvious with the stark white robes having been removed to better tend to her. While her body definitely had a motherly plumpness to it, the facade of her relative lack of cybernetics was quite broken when Rileigh was observed in her less clothed state, as if the appearance of a less-augmented, maternal techpriest was a carefully cultivated image kept up for the sake of uninitiated Imperials. While it would appear that most of Rileigh¡¯s soft face was unaugmented, with only the upper, left-hand quarter of her face being taken up by bionic eyes and plating, her head was in truth far more augmented than that. Beneath the hood she bore numerous cables and cords sprouting from the back of her head, a bionic ear, and a goodly amount of fleshbonded metal along the length of her spine, constituting her divine techno-communion device, ran along her neck until the extensive data cores and potentia coil upon her back came to meet it. A good number of the present cables that came from the back of her head also merged together into a third mechadendrite (apart from her back-mounted optical and grasping mechadendrites) that ended in a conical dataspike, which, for the most part, sat inactive upon her shoulder, looking like a decoration upon the end of a hair braid.


    The titanium cybernetic arm on the techpriest¡¯s left side had had a number of its servos blown out by the power of the luminen charge, and the most Draykon could do was remove the damaged portions, leaving the useless limb as it was, sitting limply at her side. Aside from the broken limb, Rileigh had a short litany of other injuries; parts of the cabling from her head to her datacores had been fried, her main cybernetic eye had burned out, and she had sustained numerous burns caused by her potentia coil overheating and burning the fleshbonded skin, leaving all of the flesh around her augmetics red and scalded.


    It could have been a lot worse, Draykon thought. At least those horrible aliens were all dead. The scene of the desperate battle had haunted what few hours of sleep Draykon had stolen away in between the ritual repairs he was making to restore his mentor over the past few days. The red eyes and snarling maws of the xenos, along with the brutal dispatch of men and servitors alike had woken the young Mechanicum with a start more times than he would ever admit. At least when his senses returned to him he was in the solid embrace of the command-basilica, with the quiet prayers to the Omnissiah being intoned by servitors, alongside the calming, rhythmic clang of the temple¡¯s noise generator.


    When his visual sensors awakened he would sometimes sit rigidly still, listening to the temple¡¯s sounds and staring directly upwards. The chapel was fairly tall, about ten meters in height, with the eves of the ceiling being covered in power cables and data-wires. Sometimes he would magnify in on the individual bundles of wires, letting his cybernetic sight idly trace the conduit¡¯s path. The responsibilities of a techpriest had always seemed so enormous to the young tech-adept. Even before he had joined the Cult Mechanicus his parents had spoken to him of techpriests with reverence always on their lips. Having assumed a fraction of Techpriest Rileigh¡¯s responsibilities and feeling subsequently overwhelmed with the work on the augur relay and repairing his mentor¡¯s wounds he felt he had been sufficiently humbled.


    At the very least he hoped that his ministrations upon his fellow Mechanicum were sufficient. Draykon knew now, more than ever, that there really was only so much he could do. A low, insistent chime ended up pulling the tech-adept¡¯s sight away from the dim buzz of an overhanging lumen lamp. Dragging himself out of bed, Draykon slowly shuffled over to the central chamber of the chapel, ready to do what he could to aid the beleaguered machine awaiting him. He hoped that the machine had not been waiting too long.


    The medical servitor was displaying an ¡°empty¡± warning-glyph on the display built into its back-mounted interface. The reservoir of the machine¡¯s anaesthetics were depleted, and Draykon was not sure where he would exactly find more. Requisitions for the base were far and few between, unless they were for proprietary equipment. Draykon quickly searched about the laboratorium, hoping to find a previously ignored bottle of anaesthetic. The medical servitor¡¯s ability was moderate, but certainly more skilled than he was, and for the most part Draykon was referring to its programmed advice. He had applied ointments and performed replacement rites for what he could, but the young adept¡¯s pace of repairing the techpriest¡¯s body was slow, and his every application of his ability felt unsure.


    Rileigh stirred very slightly. Draykon, having given up on his ultimately fruitless search, looked over the medical servitor¡¯s display, seeing what it recommended. The green text on the slate black screen recommended that he ¡°sedate the patient¡±. This was not an option. The servitor¡¯s cortex shuddered as it interpreted the response and calculated a second opinion; ¡°console patient with a benediction, praying for them to overcome the weakness of their flesh¡±. Draykon looked at the cybernetic-laden form of his mentor and thought better of it.


    The tech-adept had tried to make sure that the artisan was comfortable in her repose, and for now he would simply sit at her side, allowing consciousness to return to her form as the anaesthesia wore off. While he had been fairly confident in his replacement of Rileigh¡¯s burned data-conduits going from her head to her data vaults, Draykon was not so sure of his ability to replace and properly calibrate her cybernetic eye. He knew how fiddly such work could be, and even he had to calibrate and re-calibrate his visual sensors at least once a day to get them to display in a manner that he found optimal.


    Draykon leaned against the table that Techpriest Rileigh lay upon, hoping to assuage any disorientation that she would suffer, and to hear any of her orders upon waking. After a half hour he was greeted by a familiar click-hum, as the techpriest¡¯s cybernetic eyes came to life with their familiar green glow. She twisted a bit and moved her limbs slightly, waking ever so slightly over the course of the next hour. Occasionally she grunted in pain or let a low hiss out from between her teeth as the all too human parts of her body made the pain they were in apparent. Slowly, Rileigh tilted her head over to look at Draykon, with her one, bleary organic eye and her main and secondary cybernetic eyes.


    ¡°You have calibrated my eye lenses incorrectly.¡±


    ***


    A few days after awakening from her drug-induced slumber, Rileigh was still in pain. She cursed her weak flesh every waking moment that the tissue around her blessed bionics ached and stung from their burns, and the headaches from her cybernetic eyes¡¯ unwillingness to focus properly at times was just the absolute last rivet on the hull for her frustration.


    All the same, her bionics were one of the few things keeping her moving. That and her motivation to serve the Omnissiah¡¯s great works. The form that such great works were taking this day was the installation of cybernetics upon guardsmen of the 5th Company of the Catachan 54th, her main allies in arms on this horrible green hell of a planet. Indeed there were other techpriests on Zyrantiel, but as ever the techpriesthood was spread thin, as much for the sake of practicality as it was for the sake of preventing unnecessary internecine conflicts.


    And so in the name of Omnissiah Techpriest Artisan Rileigh found herself in the midst of the bloody work of delivering His beneficence unto those who were found deserving among the Catachan¡¯s masses.The dispassion for the flesh that came with her religion was enough to see her through the operations needed to install bionic limbs and cybernetic senses, but Draykon¡¯s devoutness to see through the gore and necessities of surgery was not so developed. Rileigh mentally noted that she would yet rectify such weakness. Many of the cybernetics she installed on the Catachans were ¡°servitor-grade¡± bionics, as she had little in the way of higher quality stock, and would hold onto such finery to look after herself and Draykon, in the event of further harm coming to them.


    While taking a break to meditate between surgeries Rileigh watched the Catachans that she had aided on the prior days. She winced while sitting down on the steps of the Mechanicum chapel, cursing the weakness of her flesh with a mental subroutine. The burned flesh around the potentia coil mounted to her back was healing, slowly. As she took a deep breath to concentrate and embrace the clarity of thought gifted to her by the Cult Mechanicus, Rileigh took notice of two of the Catachans making use of their bionics. One, she believed to be identified as Corporal Vengur, had received a replacement for his destroyed right arm, while the other, some private she had not bothered to learn the name of, had the lower part of his leg, below the knee, replaced with a suitable bionic. The private with the bionic leg seemed none too happy about the affair, while the corporal seemed to be embracing the strength provided by the new arm.


    The techpriest pulled her hood over her face with her manipulator mechadendrite to hide the annoyed sneer on her face. The ungrateful wretch should have been ecstatic to continue his service with the durability afforded to him by his bionic leg, and all the more grateful that he could at least partially overcome his body¡¯s biological nature. Rileigh thought that she had done a particularly decent job of replacing the guardsman¡¯s leg stump with something functional.


    The techpriest sat fuming for some time, doing little meditating during her break between surgeries. The illogical nature of the guardsmen, combined with her own pain was putting her into a bad mood. This bad mood, of course, was itself illogical and only betrayed the Mechanicum¡¯s own nature as an imperfect cyborg, rather than one possessing the clarity of thought exhibited by Arch-Magi and others so far beyond the mere flesh of Humanity.


    The corporal and the private took off, and a little later Sergeant Stag came out of the barracks to drill his fresh replacements he had been allotted to replace those that had been lost to the augur relay fiasco. Rileigh was again fascinated by the sergeant¡¯s form. The scars on his body were still impressive, and the fact that he of all people did not require any cybernetic replacements, from this conflict or any of the previous ones he had obviously been involved in seemed a nearly impossible feat to Rileigh. Doubly so, given how he tended to put himself at the forefront of danger. She had learned her lesson the other day and avoided staring, instead only stealing glances here and there when circumstance allowed her to do so.


    The sergeant was like some sort of well-wrought machine, sure in his movements and precise in his actions. He was maybe a bit loud, but the disposition of the soldiery to be particularly loud about their affairs was something the techpriest was getting used to. This was not something she was particularly fond of, but rather a fact that she had divined from her time in proximity to both the Legiones Skitarii and the Imperial Guard. In Techna Lingua or Low Gothic, they had a certain propensity for volume, and she would always be sure to observe that from afar. In the midst of battle, with unaugmented voices, it made perfect sense to yell, as gunfire and explosions did tend to be quite loud. However, somewhere steeped in relative peace, like the barracks complex, it simply seemed disruptive.


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    Soon enough the yelling-engagement with the new guardsmen was finished, and they began to disperse to various duties. Some returned to the barracks, others to the motornarium, and a few stood together to have a leisurely discourse. Sergeant Stag spoke with the malingerers for a few moments, seemingly having an easy rapport with the men. Rileigh tugged her robe¡¯s hood forth once more. Even when she was much younger she had never been one to socialize. Perhaps it was natural that such a recluse child would be found by the Adeptus Mechanicus. Even when she was in lower stations within the priesthood she had always shied away from roles where she would be directing others, excepting tech-thralls and servitors. Her true place had always been in the heart of a forge, surrounded by the clamorous industry therein, embraced by the dense layers of the noosphere, and at work, creating works according to the laws of the Omnissiah.


    ¡°Hey. Hope I¡¯m not interrupting a machine ritual or whatever.¡±


    The techpriest snapped back to the present moment, returning from her reminiscing with a start. Rileigh looked up to find Sergeant Stag before her, tentatively getting her attention. In truth ¡°tentative¡± was a poor descriptor, as tenderness was a quality largely unheard of among Catachans. All the same, as she surveyed the guardsman with her mechadendrite¡¯s lense he was standing a polite distance away, with what she had to assume he thought of as a non-threatening posture.


    ¡°Nothing of the sort. I simply needed a few moments to collect myself after the consecutive surgeries necessary to return your men to a satisfactory level of function.¡± She cut herself short of making a rude remark about their lack of gratitude. While the techpriest had little care for social graces the sergeant had ensured the survival of herself and her adept, and aside from that there was an unidentifiable quality to how she regarded the man. Respect was not quite the right word, but she seemed to have strong deference for him, regardless of how short their working relationship had been up to this point.


    The sergeant scratched his neck idly, meeting the gaze of her mechadendrite hesitantly. ¡°So I know yer busy and all, but could you come with me to the armourium vault? I wanted to make sure everything¡¯s in order, especially after the skirmish. If you could sanctify it yerself I¡¯d really appreciate it.¡±


    Rileigh was all too glad to perform familiar priestly duties, and to postpone further surgeries, if only for a short while.


    ¡°Very well, I shall attend to the needs of the machine-spirits.¡±


    She began to stand, and the soreness of her burned flesh suddenly kicked in again. She hissed, a bassy static burst crackled from her neck¡¯s vocal implant. Rileigh pulled herself up with her cybernetic arm, anchoring it with her weighty power axe and forcing her cybernetic legs to do most of the heavy lifting. As she stood she found a warmth in her right hand. It was unfamiliar and strange but it helped her up. Once she had stood Rileigh found that the sergeant had helped her up, and she found herself staring at the Catachan¡¯s rough, warm hand holding her much more slender, and pale one. Almost reflexively she reached out with her grasping mechadendrite and lightly grabbed Sergeant Stag¡¯s wrist, tugging it away from her hand.


    ¡°Er, sorry¡­ It just seemed like you needed help standin¡¯?,¡± Stag said quizzically.


    Rileigh looked up suddenly, most of her features obscured by the shadow¡¯s of her robe¡¯s hood, but for her primary and secondary visual sensors. She was glad for it too, as the moment had caused a thoroughly embarrassing blush to come to her round features, but the depths of the stark white cloth hid her red face well enough.


    ¡°The assistance was¡­ understandable.¡± she said coolly. ¡°Let us attend to the matters of which you spoke.¡±


    The techpriest started off in the incorrect direction, only realizing that she was doing so after a few moments. She stopped, looked back to see the guardsman, now more confused than before, watching her from the foot of the chapel. Rileigh took a moment to clear her obviously flustered mental subroutines and then turned about and began walking in the correct direction, gathering a still perplexed Sergeant Stag in her wake.


    ***


    The armourium was quite different from the constant activity that the outpost¡¯s barracks and parade grounds saw. The quiet hum of charging lasgun charge packs, the smell of gunpowder, and the very occasional buzz of a servo-skull or slow footsteps of a servitor had a wonderfully calming effect upon Techpriest Rileigh. As her head cleared from the aberrant warmth she had felt from the embarrassing scene that she¡¯d partaken in at the foot of the Omnissiac chapel, Rileigh was realizing that it was likely the guardsman had brought her here as a pretext, rather than being overtly direct.


    Stag is nothing if not a competent hunter, she remarked internally, he does seem to favour a certain combination of misdirection and ambush. It must be a tactic that had served him well upon Catachan, and wherever else he has fought.


    Sergeant Stag was going through a dataslate he had taken from the front of the armourium, leaning back on a large row of shelving that held ammunition boxes for autocannons. He didn¡¯t seem to have any particular goal in his analysis of the information upon the dataslate, he was most likely flipping idly through the consecutive reports of ammo counts. At least that was Rileigh¡¯s best guess that she could divine from her somewhat damaged ability to sense the noosphere. It was no discredit to Draykon¡¯s repair rites that Rileigh¡¯s sensitivity to the realm of machine data was so disabled, rather it was likely that the damage she had sustained while channeling the monumental amounts of energy had permanently dulled some of her senses. She was, ultimately, no electropriest.


    At the very least the air filtering and the roofed nature of the armourium made it quite pleasant to tarry in. The techpriest was by all means a patient person, but when it came to people she was also an expectant one. Ever expectant of people to finish their business with her and then soon leave her alone, that is. And so, standing in the aisle of the armourium, waiting for the sergeant to more fully state their purpose for being here, she could feel her reserves of patience ticking down, bit by bit.


    ¡°Well¡­?,¡± she started, hoping to goad the guardsman into speaking.


    Stag set down the dataslate gently, and began, ¡°So¡­ thanks for coming with me here. I needed to talk to you, and I felt it would be best if this was said away from pryin¡¯ ears and eyes.¡±


    The techpriest turned to look upon Sergeant Stag more directly. What was he trying to say? Rileigh accessed her supplementary data-vaults, and mulled over the contents pertaining to Imperial Guard conduct. The main, salient points that came to her immediately were regarding the emphasis on obeisance towards superior officers, avoiding fraternization between those of differing ranks, and how to properly approach and enlist the aid of a regiment¡¯s techpriests. She surmised that this was her liason¡¯s attempt at doing just that.


    ¡°What further would you have me do?¡± she asked, presuming Stag¡¯s intentions. Rileigh did not relish the idea of further distractions, or being entangled in matters primarily concerning the Munitorum.


    He was a bit taken aback, ¡°Huh? Nah, it ain¡¯t like that. I wanted to speak with you privately because as your liaison, I wanted to give my thanks to you for savin¡¯ our hides back there when you were settin¡¯ up the augur. Not to mention how many of the men you¡¯ve been outfitting with bionics. It¡¯s good to see ¡®em on their feet and able to fight again.¡±


    It was the techpriest¡¯s turn to be taken aback. The sergeant¡¯s kind words were invoking a strong, but muddled emotion in her, which made her direly uncomfortable. She had done little to help the guardsmen in truth, and had only really fought against the Orks to protect the augur relay and the lives of herself and her adept. Rileigh was, however, a bit pleased to hear praise for her actions that day and her process of augmenting the wounded. She fondled the various charms wrapped around the wrist of her right, unaugmented arm, feeling the distinct ridges of the hexagonal nut before slipping her fingers around the familiar brass of the stub casing charm. She was glad the nervous habit was hidden by the voluminousness of her robe¡¯s sleeves.


    ¡°I¡­see¡­,¡± she muttered eventually. The techpriest did not really know how to address such direct praise, it was not something she had a large amount of experience in. Compared to this, the lofty praise given to her by a magos for her perfectly constructed works felt glacial.


    ¡°I just wanted to make sure that you were thanked properly for it. Since you picked me to be your liaison it just felt right to foster some communication between us,¡± Stag continued. ¡°Most don¡¯t take too kindly to Machine Cult types, but you¡¯ve done us a fair turn, and I respect that.¡±


    The praise was too overt. Aside from the bothersome return of the unidentifiable internal warmth that she¡¯d felt when the guardsman had held her hand before, her mind was also racing, trying to interpret the meaning of this heaping on of thanks. She had made the unconscious decision to not have much interest in the Imperial Guard¡¯s internal politics, but if they were anything like those of the Mechanicus then Sergeant Stag was no doubt hoping to enlist her in his further attempts to increase his rank. The techpriest hoped that this assumption was in error, and that the Imperial Guard were indeed more like the Legiones Skitarii, where, generally, simple veterancy and valour were the deciding factor for promotion. I do not need further involvement in politicking, she thought harassedly, it¡¯s how I ended up on this Omnissiah forsaken rock to begin with.


    Techpriest Rileigh nodded, before realizing that the gesture was probably lost in the depths of her hood. She wanted to ensure that she was being clear, so before she continued she pulled back the robe¡¯s hood with one of her mechadendrites as she took a few steps forwards. This seemed to grab the sergeant¡¯s attention to an appropriate degree. Rileigh watched him trace the details of her face with his eyes, as they now stood barely two meters apart. The techpriest was far from an expert in reading the expressions of the unaugmented, but the intensity of his gaze hinted at his wonder and apprehension of her face and her cybernetics.


    Given the opportunity by the pause in the conversation she observed the Catachan in turn. He had a noticeable tan line where his neck met his body, and where his arms met his shoulders, as the sun of a few worlds had likely left him with his current, darker shade of skin, while his flak vest and other garments had kept the rest of his body largely untouched. Up close Stag¡¯s musculature was even more impressive, and so were his scars. Similarly obvious was his body heat and the well worn-in smell of himself upon his gear.


    Finally, she looked back upon the guardsman¡¯s face. His normally severe expression had softened somewhat, but his strong jaw and high cheekbones still kept their harsh angularity. His short, bristly, and thick black hair matched that of his eyebrows and the burgeoning stubble upon his chin. His deep brown eyes came to meet her own mix of visual sensors and eye. Everything, from the buzz of a nearby servo-skull and the armourium¡¯s lumens, to the yells of drilling squads outside, to their own breathing seemed to become silent. Rileigh was usually so reticent to meet the eyes of another Human, Mechanicum or otherwise, that she avoided it entirely, but now, she couldn¡¯t break the lock the two of them had established. Despite her internal chrono noting this interaction as only taking a few seconds it felt like they beheld each other¡¯s eyes for the better part of an hour.


    Rileigh blinked and quickly looked away, turning her head away and looking at Stag with her optical mechadendrite instead. With her grasping mechadendrite she pulled up the hood of her robes once more. While she still wanted to make her point about not wishing to be pulled into politicking between guardsmen, finding the words had now become annoyingly difficult.


    Eventually she found her voice, clearing her throat with a rumble of vox-static before saying, ¡°Yes. Well. I comprehend your gratitude, and while I think that it is important for the servants of the Omnissiah to work together, I do not think any closer of a relationship between us is appropriate.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± Stag breathed in and sighed heavily. ¡°You¡¯re right.¡±


    Rileigh¡¯s heart was beating outside of its standard parameters, and that feeling of warmth within her had turned to an anxious, burning feeling. In her numerous years of service as priest of Forge World Metalica she had not felt whatever this noisome emotion was and she resolved to squash it, or at the very least learn to throttle it before it overcame her ability to think logically.


    ¡°At any rate,¡± Rileigh said in a much more techpriestly tone, ¡°I shall begin a cursory sanctification of the stored munitions here. While the servitors likely do a suitable job, I believe they are Mark VII Josian-pattern ammunition handlers. The pattern is decent enough at basic sorting of weapons and loading of magazines, but I know for a fact that they do little to ease restless machine-spirits. I would not have further conflicts falter due to such a preventable factor while these machines are under my stewardship.¡±


    For the next two hours Rileigh spoke more to a non-Mechanicum than she had over the duration of the rest of her life. With the sergeant¡¯s assistance the techpriest sanctified most of the arms and munitions present in the armourium, and told the sergeant useful information about each of the weapons and ammunition before beginning the rites. The sergeant seemed receptive to the lore she proffered, though it seemed that his comprehension was ultimately lacking.


    Before the last batch of munitions for the Hydra autocannon, nearer to the front of the armourium, could be sanctified the process was interrupted. Adept Draykon had tracked down his mentor, after some running around the outpost, and was quite glad to finally tell her that the shipment containing the equipment and components needed for the next augur relay¡¯s construction had arrived. Rileigh sighed and excused herself, as she had to attend to the delivery. On her way to the hauler she reviewed the visual data of her close encounter with sergeant. She found her reaction to that situation disconcerting, and she quietly swore that she would prevent such a misstep from reoccurring.

 Chapter 5: Fire In The Sky

    The sergeant did another quick visual sweep of the perimeter. He hadn¡¯t seen anything worrisome yet, but he knew that could change quite instantly, especially after the ¡°sneaky Orks¡± fiasco. Charr could scarcely believe the entire pretence of that fight in retrospect, it made him question everything he knew about fighting greenskins, and it was still keeping him on his toes two weeks later.


    Charr practically refused to take a seat for the whole process of installing the last augur relay, and it seemed like he would remain similarly unseated throughout this one. Still, he thought, better to be out in the thick of it than stuck in the base. While the endless greenery about him was making him wary, it was a familiar feeling of readiness, one which kept the survival senses in the back of his head on and ready.


    That focus got dragged away momentarily as he listened in on Corporal Mikael and the lady techpriest going over the repair rites for a damaged sight on the guardsman¡¯s weapon.


    ¡°Well like I said, I already did every standard benediction that came to mind. Tried them all twice, even,¡± the corporal said, with a twinge of exasperation showing through his generally upbeat disposition.


    ¡°The orthodox must be invoked before the esoteric is employed,¡± returned the techpriest, cold as ever.


    The sergeant didn¡¯t need to look over to know that his comrade was stifling a sigh at the Mechanicum¡¯s rigid mantra of logic. While the white-robed techpriest¡¯s machine-lore was more than welcome to the men of the regiment, her inflexibility about procedures was grating to the more rough and tumble members of the 3rd Platoon. Still, anything that broke down was soon fixed, those who had suffered lost limbs had had cybernetic replacements fitted to them in only a few day¡¯s time, and equipment was breaking down a lot less in general. Though none would admit to it the techpriest¡¯s presence was a definite boon, even if few could stand to be in extended contact with her.


    Ripping his vision from the treeline again, the Catachan looked over the techpriest¡¯s ministrations. She had partially disassembled the corporal''s optic device, and was carefully inspecting the components using her hands and mechadendrites both. She seemed in her element as she silently looked over the mechanisms, and judged their efficacy with a critical cybernetic eye. This concentration only erred when a loud clang of dropped girders came from the building site of the augur relay, as a labour servitor fumbled a heavy length of metal. The noise was loud enough to make some of the flightier xeno wildlife take off, and also certainly enough to break the techpriest¡¯s concentration. Having nearly dropped the component she was inspecting in shock, Rileigh set it down gently with her manipulator mechadendrite and stood up to reprimand her charge.


    The techpriest never yelled, Stagg had noticed. He kept an ear out for her synthetic voice while he continued watching the edge of the clearing. The crackle in her voice and dulcet smoothness of her speaking tone was easy on the ears, it reminded him nothing so much as of one of the more favourable pre-recorded Administratum announcements he had heard on occasion at voidstations and Munitorum depot worlds. While he couldn¡¯t make out the individual words she was saying now, her voice was evident among the noises of servitors and the idle chatter of the other guardsmen even now.


    Her nature too, of course, held her apart from the guardsman, and the rest of the Imperium for that matter, but at the same time her demeanour were somehow intriguing to the sergeant. Charr recalled all of the Ministorum catechisms and Administratum Thoughts for the Day that reviled curiosity, but he rationalised his interest in the techpriest as something more akin to his observations on the wildlife and flora of any new planet he arrived unto. The techpriest was simply a new feature in his current environment, and he wanted to learn more about her, that he might navigate that environment better.


    Charr thought all of this over for the third time that day. Keeping on lookout all day was letting his mind wander, and led to him thinking about the white-robed techpriest more than he would ever admit aloud. More prominent than any thoughts about her, however, was the ever-looming threat of Orks, and worse yet, corporal punishment being meted out if his superiors deemed his relationship with Techpriest Rileigh to be going beyond that of a liaison into the territory of ¡°fraternisation¡±. He still had a scar or two from the punishment he¡¯d received for his last transgression of ¡°borrowing¡± another regiment¡¯s supplies. Charr had been lucky that his warrant officer was able to produce an impressive record of action, and reduced his sentence from an execution down to a long series of public lashes.


    All the same, Charr¡¯s thoughts lingered on the techpriest, regardless of how much he tried to focus on his assigned duties.


    ***


    Once more Rileigh was annoyed and distraught with the uninitiated soldiers of the Imperial Guard. While she had been focused on assuaging the perniciously stubborn machine-spirit of the corporal¡¯s lasgun sight, she hadn¡¯t noticed the guardsmen aiding Draykon in setting up the augur relay. She had known this sort of thing would arise with the presence of the Catachans and their well-attested lack of care for protocol, ritual, and general cleanliness. She could only hope that this terrible mindset wouldn¡¯t rub off on her tech-adept.


    The dropped girder had, this time, been from a simple servitor error, but she knew that it was only a matter of time before the guardsmen would cause a far more serious disaster, if they were allowed to ¡°assist¡± any further.


    ¡°The mysteries of the Omnissiah are not for the common laity, Draykon,¡± she admonished in Techna Lingua.


    Draykon sighed and hung his head, ¡°I simply calculated that the less time we were exposed out here in all of this,¡± he gestured to the greenery all about them, ¡°the less vulnerable we would be to further attacks, and the more likely our works would be left untouched.¡±


    The techpriest sighed. She was disappointed, but understood the error of her apprentice¡¯s ways. She was very able to tell that Draykon was quite wary of leaving the compound, and his fear of another Ork attack was leading him to illogical conclusions. She thought for a few seconds on how to assuage his fears and deviate the adept from his flawed route of logic. With her enhanced social calculations these few seconds allowed her to arrive at a proper solution after only two dozen simulations.


    Haltingly, Rileigh kneeled in front of the tech adept, to address him at his eye level. Her body had mostly healed from the discharge of her lumen blast, but her soft flesh was still tender in places. She gazed at his optic sensor with her own, ensuring that he understood her seriousness.


    ¡°Tech-adept. These soldiers of the God-Emperor are here to protect us and our works. Diverting their attentions from that mission endangers us more greatly than allowing their watch to go unabated. Your attempt at integrating your efforts with theirs was doomed from the start, as its conclusion was, ultimately, nonoptimal. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ comprehend, ma¡¯am. And I will obey, but¡­ why must we be apart from them, if they too serve the Omnissiah in the guise they see him as?¡± Draykon asked, seeming almost lost.


    The techpriest stood once more, using her power axe to haul herself up, and explained, ¡°They are the laity, and we the priesthood. Their lot is to die for their God-Emperor, and ours is to serve the Omnissiah until we expire. Those may indeed sound like the same thing, but they are quite separate, as we must be. The Quest for Knowledge is not for non-Mechanicum to know of, and their glorious end is not for us to strive for. As such we must perform our duties, and not let our purposes be clouded.¡±


    Draykon nodded slowly. Rileigh knew he was still young, and she remembered having some troubles of her own understanding the philosophies of the priesthood at his age. Though she had always had enormous technomatic aptitude, the mysteries of the Omnissiah had always eluded her young mind. She feared the same would be true of her apprentice as well. All the same it would be best if she helped dispel the wrong thoughts from the young tech-adept, that only the correct ones might linger in his mind.


    ¡°Now, what thoughts gave you the idea of entreating the Catachans to ¡°assist¡± you and the servitors in the task I alloted you? This was to be something of a test to prove yourself, you know.¡±


    The tech-adept fidgeted for a moment before coming clean, ¡°Well¡­ I was commanding the servitors myself, as you ordered. But the guardsmen asked to help, I attempted to decline their offer, but then they sort of barged in and forced past my protests.¡±


    Rileigh¡¯s hold on her power axe tightened. If the haft hadn¡¯t been made of titanium with an adamantium core it would have warped under the pressure from her cybernetic arm¡¯s constricting grip. The techpriest took a few seething, ragged breaths before inhaling deeply.


    ***


    ¡°SERGEANT!!!¡±


    The craggy clearing reverberated with a tinny, furious screech, blasted at a volume well past the capability of an unaugmented human¡¯s lungs. The head of every guardsman turned to see the source of the outraged yell, and a hush fell over the clearing as the various creatures on the dense, green, periphery fell silent. Stag froze for a half a moment before his hunter¡¯s instincts asserted themselves, and he wheeled around to meet the challenge.


    The white-robed techpriest was already on her way over to the guardsman, stepping heavily into the overgrown, burnt soil of the plant-carpeted glade. Her measured, automatic pace, combined with the thick cloud of incense pouring out of her incense chimney gave Rileigh the appearance of a furious locomotive, speeding down a mag-rail line which Stag was standing in the way of. As she descended the bluff that the augur relay was being built upon she began a tirade in machine-tongue, hissing and spitting what Charr assumed were insults, demands, and colourful commentary from her vocal implant.


    Charr stood his ground, awaiting the predator¡¯s approach as he¡¯d done numerous times before when charged. While RIleigh approached he took stock of her armaments. She was loud, but her soft body was unlikely to do any real damage to him, but her cybernetics were another story. He had yet to see the techpriest use her power axe as a weapon, she seemed to just carry it about as a staff of office, but she had used it to conduct that electrical pulse that had fried a dozen Orks. Charr wasn¡¯t sure she could do that again, but he most certainly didn¡¯t want to be on the receiving end of such an attack, given how little had been left of the Orks that had been hit by it.


    All in all, the sergeant honestly wasn¡¯t that afraid of the techpriest. She lacked a killer¡¯s instincts and was more suited to labouring over a machine¡¯s internals. However, she did seem quite furious at the moment over¡­ something. Charr hoped that she would stop ranting in her machine language so that he could disarm the situation, but she seemed to have gained a bit of furious momentum that had yet to disperse. Still, if he just stood there, glaring at her with his hand on the handle of his longknife, he doubted that she would stop any time soon. Adding on to this, his men were watching, and he wanted to prove that he was worthy of his rank.


    Sergeant Stag cleared his throat, before saying evenly, but forcefully, ¡°Lissen lady, I can¡¯t understand a damn thing you say in your Mechanicus language, alright?¡±


    While this initially had the intended effect of halting her tirade in the Mechanicus holy tongue, it also had the secondary effect of further frustrating the techpriest greatly. Rileigh growled out of her vocal implant, creating a garbled, low fidelity snarl. She then lashed out, attacking a nearby rock with her cybernetic foot, sending it flying across the clearing before bringing down her power axe on nearby shrub repeatedly, reducing it to disintegrated cinders after a few chops.


    Charr grabbed the haft of the power axe as she brought it down again on the quite destroyed plant. Rileigh snarled once more, attempting, fruitlessly, to wrench back control of the weapon from the much more powerful guardsman. He held the weapon firmly, letting the techpriest tire herself out as she struggled vainly.


    ¡°You ungrateful- you ungrateful defiler!! How dare you put your hands upon my holy implements!¡±


    Rileigh lashed out with her mechadendrites, attempting to encircle the guardsman¡¯s throat. Charr had fought many tentacled creatures before, and he raised his arm that wasn¡¯t holding the power axe to stop his throat from being encircled by the metallic tendrils.


    ¡°KNOCK IT OFF, MISS RILEIGH!¡± roared Charr. His own yell had the desired effect, as it caused her to be taken aback for a moment, letting him take the advantage. The techpriest¡¯s grip lightened for a second and he pulled the power axe away with his right hand while grabbing both of her mechadendrites in the left.


    ¡°Now, what the hell is your problem?¡±


    Not missing a beat Rileigh began her rant anew, this time in Low Gothic.


    ¡°Sergeant, you must have a better handle on your men! They have overrun my adept¡¯s work, and fail to observe numerous, exceedingly important tech-rituals! How could you allow them to simply trod all over the Omnissiah¡¯s work in this fashion? It reflects poorly on your leadership as well as the whole of the Imperial Guard. I expected far greater professionalism from the Munitorum, and were it not for my duties assigned by Metalica¡¯s synod I would be leaving this pitiful, Machine God-forsaken world as soon as I could. Further-¡±


    She looked at her mechadendrites that were now holding the sergeant¡¯s arm. Stag watched a curious expression come over the Mechanicum as she slowly, almost reluctantly, withdrew her serpentine auxiliary limbs from the guardsman¡¯s arm, moving them to wrap around the handle of the power axe, gently. Her biological eye met his, and he stared back, trying to decipher her expression, only prompting her to look away in what he assumed was shame?


    ¡°My¡­ emotions took hold of me,¡± she said, in a way that conveyed her utter disgust with the concept. ¡°If you would unhand my axe, sergeant.¡±


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Charr let go of the cold rod of metal, allowing her mechadendrites to retract and bring it back to her cybernetic hand. He watched further as she tugged the red-rimmed white hood of her robes over her face, presumably to hide the flushed expression of what he assumed was embarrassment that had come over her face. Stagg was flushed too, but much more so with anger at the bodily assault than any kind of embarrassment.


    ¡°Now then,¡± he raised his voice unintentionally, stopping just short of yelling at the techpriest. ¡°What do you want me to do about that?¡±


    ¡°Well, I would appreciate it if you would tell your men not to interfere with my adept¡¯s work. I had assigned him this task as a trial to improve his adherence to the doctrines of assembly, and with their interference it only halts and recitation of the procedure on his part.¡±


    ¡°Alright, fine, " Charr turned away from the techpriest to holler at his men, ¡°Boys! Let the small fry techpriest do the work hisself! He¡¯s gotta learn how¡¯ta do the tech-thing on his own!¡±


    He turned back to Rileigh, annoyance written plainly on his face, to assure that she was satisfied with his orders. Instead he was met with what he assumed was cold disapproval leaking out from the shadows of her hood.


    ¡°Tech-Adept Draykon is not small, he is simply young. He is of a perfectly average height for his age.¡±


    ¡°Right, of course,¡± Sergeant Stag said, trying to hide his exasperation. ¡°Do you want me to correct the record on that one?¡± Charr remembered when he was a young teenager, he was definitely not that small himself.


    The techpriest shook her head, making the robe¡¯s hood flutter a little.


    ¡°That will not be necessary.¡±


    She started to make back towards her labours on the corporal¡¯s lasgun sight, but paused after a single step. Rileigh spoke without turning to face Stag, but did look upon the guardsman with her optic mechadendrite.


    ¡°I suppose a thanks is in order. So thank you.¡±


    Charr felt a twinge of gratefulness. He was becoming ever more convinced that the techpriest was, in some part, still human.


    ***


    Zyrantiel¡¯s orange-red sun sunk lower into the sky, bathing the surface of the world in all the colours of an inferno. The men from the second squad that Sergeant Stag had sent out to scout the glade¡¯s perimeter had slain some greenskin stragglers, but no actual Orks had been spotted by the reconnaissance team. Corporal Vengur¡¯s men had encountered and slain a half dozen gretchins, and later, taken out a small number of squigs in a nearby basin. They had hauled a number of the squig carcasses back to the clearing, and had proceeded to gut and butcher the creatures before cooking them. Despite Rileigh¡¯s protests the men all enjoyed a hearty dinner of xeno flesh.


    Charr wasn¡¯t sure whether to be relieved that the xenos were dead, or to be wary from their presence. Orks were on Zyrantiel, of course, but the mountain range separating the frontlines from this flank would almost rule out any of the greenskins arriving here in force. However, the sneaking Orks, as well as the gretchin and squigs, were making the Catachan start to feel paranoid.


    The paranoia was not rooted in fear, though. Charr¡¯s only fear was that the Orks would get the drop on him again. He did not fear dying in the Emperor¡¯s name, rather, he worried that he would suffer a dishonourable death that would prevent him from taking down the enemies of Mankind. If these lesser xenos, and the marauding Orks, were anything to go by, though, he would soon be given the chance to die, in one way or another.


    To some degree Charr was glad to have the Mechanicus priests installing this series of augur relays. Hopefully the Munitorum had given them decent models, he wanted to know when the Ork¡¯s war machines were coming en masse, and he wanted to be there when the scrapheaps they called vehicles were reduced to metal splinters by the Hydra¡¯s guns. He wanted to sink his knife into the green flesh of the Orks and hear them squeal in pain once more. The sergeant lived for those moments when he and his men broke the fighting spirit of the xenos and had them flee before him, cutting them down with Catachan warknives and slicing them apart with bolts of las-fire.


    The fiery colours of the vegetation around him must have been turning his thoughts to similarly sanguine matters. He didn¡¯t often reminisce about his combat experiences like this. Charr could only assume that the fight with the Orks a few weeks ago had fired up his blood, as an appetiser before a banquet would only make one more eager to satiate their awakened hunger. He had been fiddling with his knife and lasgun more often, and bouncing his leg when he sat down at the barracks.


    All the same, he¡¯d held back from harming the lady techpriest. As much as he may have wanted to unleash his pent up bloodlust, he simply couldn¡¯t do it towards her. Charr was glad that his respect for the clergy had stayed his hand, but he wasn¡¯t entirely sure that it was just that. At the very least he felt an intense gratitude toward the Metalican, her aid was well-appreciated by him and the whole of the platoon. What worried the sergeant, however, was a feeling beneath the gratitude, one of a more personal nature, that he felt towards her. Charr traced a finger along the scar on the rear of his arm from his last lashing. He wasn¡¯t eager to receive more.


    Still, he allowed his eyes to wander over to this newest augur relay tower, and the techpriests attending it. The short tower began humming with function as the rites of the white-robed Mechanicum breathed life into it. Their small ritual was based around an armoured control-triptych that was connected directly into the internals of the tower, and Techpriest Rileigh hovered over the shoulder of her apprentice¡¯s ministrations like a worried mother. At this point Charr wasn¡¯t really surprised, the lady techpriest seemed to have a need to be in charge of machine-related operations. Still she hadn¡¯t wrenched control away from the younger one yet, and in fact it seemed like she was backing off from the tech-adept.


    Quick to anger, quick to cool. He was much happier with that being her temperament, rather than her taking to letting frustration fester and grow unseen. Charr knew that most techpriests had long memories, and oft times even more patience. As strange as the lady techpriest often was, this upfront attitude suited Charr, and it made her slightly less of a complete mystery. Rileigh being a known quality comforted the sergeant somehow, but he wouldn¡¯t let it show. The men had all watched the confrontation, and being soft on someone who had just threatened to throttle him would be unbecoming of any red-blooded Catachan. Besides, the thought of backing down like that was nearly an impossibility to him.


    As it turned out the techpriest was actually getting the attention of the guardsman, with some urgency.  She shouted ¡°sergeant!¡± in a much less aggressive tone that, while still loud, was not earsplitting. Charr broke out into a quick jog, escaping the long shadows of the treeline and making it to the raised, sun-drenched crag that the relay tower was set up on. The red-hot sunset reflected off of the white robes of Rileigh, making her look alight with the bloody twilight¡¯s hue. While shadowed, Charr could see the concern etched on the organic portion of her face, despite how much she wished not to show it.


    ¡°I was going over Draykon¡¯s work, to ensure that he had configured the augur relay¡¯s systems appropriately, and that he had activated the machine-spirit¡¯s awareness circuitry correctly.¡±


    The sergeant nodded. He knew by now that interrupting her usually just made her get flustered and take longer. It was best to let the techpriest get to her point on the path of logic that she had laid out for herself. Charr crossed his arms over his chest and prepared for the rest of the preamble to her point.


    ¡°Now, his activation psalm was commendable, but I assumed that he had made an error when we detected a signal immediately. I have now triple-checked the calculations of the machine-spirit, and it seems that there is indeed some form of incoming, unknown aeronautica that are about 80.2 kilometres out, give or take a standard deviation of about 10 metres. I apologise for the inaccuracy, the aug-¡±


    Charr¡¯s eyes widened immediately.


    ¡°Show me, now.¡±


    Rileigh brought him over to the control-triptych, and showed him the errant reading. The green display showed the outline of a pair of aircraft. Charr inspected them closely, observing their silhouette carefully. They were no Imperial craft. Clapping the diminutive techpriest on the back and thanking him gruffly, Charr bolted off before either of the Mechanicum could react.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got two fast-mover Ork aeronautica, headed East towards our position! Kel, Hult, let¡¯s wake up the Hydra. Callum, Mikael, get flakk missiles out to some nearby clearings on the double. Let¡¯s get moving or those xenos are gonna rip us to shreds!¡±


    With a strong, unified rallying cry the twilit clearing exploded into action as the guardsmen all around it leapt to action at the sergeant¡¯s command.


    Before long the platoon¡¯s voxman, Yult, reported the situation to the regiment¡¯s command, but as the 3rd Platoon were so far out from the the rest of the regiment, and indeed all of the Imperium¡¯s forces on Zyrantiel, they wouldn¡¯t be receiving any support for at least a few hours. That was a few hours against the few minutes that the platoon had until the Orks were overhead. They needed anti-air fire if they were going to survive the onslaught of the alien aircraft, and their best shot was going to be providing it themselves.


    Charr looked over the men busying themselves. He watched the crewmen of the Hydra prepare the vehicle, the machine awakening with a roar. A loud, guttural clunk followed by a powerful electrical buzz signified that the scanning system¡¯s cogitator was beginning to engage its auto-sanctification protocols.


    ¡°Sir I don¡¯t know if the cogitator¡¯s going to be online in time, it usually takes a couple minutes.¡±


    Stag spat out a curse. They could fire blind but he¡¯d need more specific information to do so with any efficacy. He glanced over at the relay tower. Its signal had likely caught the Ork¡¯s attention, but it could also be his trump card in stopping them. If he could get the information off of the augur system he could probably fire on the Orks at maximum effective range and swat them down before they could be a problem. He called out to Rileigh, but much to his surprise she was already at his side. She must have followed him down from the bluff while he was issuing orders, and now she was staring at him in mild, expectant surprise.


    ¡°Techpriest, we¡¯ll need the data on those aircraft, I need to know their distance, elevation, azimuth, and velocity to line up this shot. We don¡¯t have the time for the cogitator to warm up so we¡¯ll have to do it by hand.¡±


    With that he began climbing the side of the Hydra, and ordering Kel and Hult to check the ammo feeds for the turret¡¯s quad autocannons. Charr gave a quick look towards the augur relay to check on the techpriest¡¯s progress. To his immediate shock she had not moved, and was seemingly just staring at the tower.


    Right before he yelled at her to get a move on, the techpriest spoke, ¡°The aeronautica are now 48.3 kilometres out, their elevation is 22.45 metres and 24.6 metres respectively, they are approaching from 272.3 degrees, and their respective velocities are 971.1 and 974.6 kilometres per hour. I will attempt to calculate a firing solution for you, one moment.¡±


    The sergeant paused for a minute, going over the numbers in his head.


    ¡°Alright, set fuses to 33 seconds and put our gun¡¯s elevation at 12 degrees. They¡¯re skimming the trees and I want these shots hitting them in the face. We¡¯ll readjust after we run through these mags, we might get to squeeze off another volley if we reload quick.¡±


    In the rush of readying the weapon array the sergeant managed to glance at the techpriest. She seemed to have been a bit perturbed by the guardsman¡¯s ability to calculate a firing solution. Charr let himself feel a small bit of satisfaction for having one over the coghead¡¯s mental faculties.


    Far off, beyond the treeline to the West, a low buzz was becoming audible, and as the anti-air autocannons were awakened the sound became louder and louder, evolving into a heavy rumble. The Hydra prepared to fire, the feeds of the weapon array rattled as munitions were readied for the barrage of explosive shells.


    ¡°FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!¡±


    A veritable storm of cannonfire erupted from the Hydra¡¯s quad guns. Each shot flew out low across the tops of the jungle¡¯s trees, before exploding off in the far distance with a heavy thud that promised death and shrapnel. A part of that promise was fulfilled, as a huge explosion went off in the distance, followed by some subsequent, smaller detonations.


    Still, despite this explosive storm of flakk, the remaining Ork aeronautica could be heard approaching, and before long shots came back from the alien aircraft. These shots were not aimed at anything in particular, Stag knew, the alien¡¯s tiny brains simply couldn¡¯t think of another response to being shot at besides returning fire at the explosions.


    ¡°They¡¯re coming in for a pass, get down! Everyone get to cover!¡±


    Sergeant Stagg grabbed the techpriest and hunkered her down behind the platoon¡¯s Hydra along with himself. As the scream of the alien machines¡¯ engines grew to a roaring crescendo, a series of explosions rang out before the aeronautica passed overhead, with a pair of flakk missile blasts starting off the choir of explosions. One went off just beyond the treeline, and another happened well beyond that point, as a flaming, red blur careened into the deeper jungle before exploding with a great fireball.


    The nearby explosion left unprotected ears ringing, as it was likely a bomb from the Ork aeronautica that had been knocked loose or else had been dropped with timing that was just a split-second off. Charr looked to his side, seeing the faces of the first squad who had taken cover behind the nearby Chimera. They were rattled, and covered in debris, but otherwise fine.


    ¡°Alright, quite the snivelling. Vengur, gather up a demi-squad and go scout the crash, I want to make sure that the damn greenskin we lit up is dead for good.¡±


    ¡°Sir,¡± came the unsure voice of Lance Corporal Callum. ¡°Corporal Vengur went back out to scout for further greenskins, at your command, about an hour ago, I think he was going to report in soon.¡±


    The sergeant nodded, ¡°Fine, we¡¯ll wait for him to get back, then you and the rest of second squad can go check out the crash site.¡±


    The lance corporal acknowledged the order quickly, and Stag climbed back up the Hydra to order the crewmen to be ready for further aircraft. Keeping the active scanning array on the Hydra would guzzle the vehicle¡¯s promethium supply, but right now it was very necessary. The sergeant continued putting the guardsmen into order, until he noticed something staggering at the edge of the treeline into the glade. He sprinted over, ready to cut a wounded greenskin¡¯s throat.


    The person at the edge of the glade was no greenskin. Rather it was Private Alqin, who was barely stumbling forward, and, judging by the blood all over his uniform, barely hanging on. Stag yelled for a medic to attend him as he sat the young man down, assuring him that the team¡¯s medics were approaching even now. Alqin was in a bad way, and only capable of mumbling incomplete words. As he handed the wounded guardsmen over to the platoon¡¯s medical specialists, Charr called over Callum. He charged the lance corporal with finding Vengur¡¯s demi-squad.


    The sergeant had barely turned away from the lance corporal for a few moments before Callum emerged from the trees once more, bidding his commanding officer to follow. A scant dozen metres from the treeline, where the bomb had fallen, were the remains of the corporal¡¯s demi-squad. Private Alqin had gotten off the easiest, as the remaining four men were nearly unrecognisable. Vengur, Reki, Treyaht, and Germin were all dead, with their remains strewn about the crater and surrounding forest. The lance corporal seemed queasy as he took in the gory sight, but Sergeant Stag only released a deep sigh.


    ¡°Make a pyre in the clearing, use some of the promethium from the Chimeras¡¯ supplies. Also try to gather up their knives, and a head or two if you can find ¡®em. I want at least one of their skulls to be treated right. The techpriests are done with their damned tower, so we can head back to base after we put them to rest and say a benediction for ¡®em. Don¡¯t worry about the crashed Ork, I¡¯ll go make sure that the bastard is nothin¡¯ more than a burned out crisp.¡±


    ***


    In the end Sergeant Stag came back to the clearing with nothing more than a grim attitude and the clinging smell of oily smoke about him. He¡¯d seen the smouldering remains of the Ork pilot with his own eyes, there was nothing that made it out of the crash alive. While he was gone the remains of the dead had been burned, and despite some minor clash with the techpriest over incinerating the dead with their cybernetics, the rest of the evening was quiet, with no further attacks.


    As strict as he was, Stag took little joy in commanding his men to burn the dead. He had had to immolate his own share of mangled bodies, and he couldn¡¯t let any of his men be too soft. Seeing what the alien would do to your fellow man hardened you, and prepared you for the end you would one day meet. That¡¯s what Stag¡¯s first sergeant, Sergeant Elta had told him, and he took it to heart, ever since he had laid the sergeant¡¯s remains on a funeral pyre himself.


    The lance corporal was promoted, and took the place of Corporal Vengur. The platoon had lost more men to the greenskins, and Sergeant Stag was getting quite eager to shed the alien¡¯s blood in return.