Well I imagine that most wargamer will understand the bizzare, yet undeniable, compulsion that afflicts most of us and causes us to go out and buy more models when we have limited need for them.
I know all of the arguments: I want to have variety, I need to reach 1500/1750/1850/whatever points for my games, I need to get the next powerful unit, I want a different model/model set to paint, I feel like trying a new army, I WANT IT I MUST HAVE THE ......... MODEL NOW.
I've used most or all of these at various times. Mostly now I'm driven by wanting to try something new (gaming and painting wise) and so my purchases are lessened somewhat. My marine force is sitting fairly solidly somewhere near 3000 points and so I have no need to add to this and only a few left to paint. My Tau army is closer to 1000 and so will need a fair bit of investment to make it up to the typical 1850 points for games that are generally played around here. I'll get there eventually but at the moment I'm trying to control my spending because I feel bad (my wife is glad of my internal spending guilt-o-meter) and because I hate having unpainted models around.
I will be buying up a big stash of Nuclear Renaissance models as soon as they are out (new rules version in a week or two, can't wait). I'll do a more complete post on them soon but check out http://www.ramshacklegames.co.uk/nucren2/boxcontent.html
After that it's Tau on the shopping list and maybe a few fun units for the marines (land speeder storm anyone).
A little bit of me wants to branch into fantasy but that is way off for now. I've got a stack of dwarf models from when I played in my teenage years but I'm not sure about them. If anyone wants a reasonable sized painted collection, please let me know and we can work something out.
ANYWAY...to the point of the post.
How does model acquisition syndrome spread to writing?
Well basically I got a good idea for a victorian fantasy steampunk novel (I hate genre labels but it gives you the flavour quickly) about 18 months ago and have been working on it ever since. It's gone fast at times and slow at others and I've definitely chopped and changed my way as I went. Characters have been added, other removed, roles shuffled around, challenges introduced and overcome and I'm still not done. It's currently running at around 96,000 words (that's 157 pages in word give or take) and I'm really trying to bring it to a conclusion.
Now my problem is that while I'm rightly proud of all that I've done with it, I am getting creatively tired with these last few chapters. It's not that the story is any less good (it's a LOT better than the first outline I came up with) but just that I've spent so much time with it and not finished yet. I'm sure anyone who has painted a large army for warhammer understands. After a while, no matter how good the army is and how much you like it, you just need a little change.
My problem is that I have three (and a half) ideas competing for my attention. Three novel length pieces (and one short story/novella) is no small amount of work, especially going by my speed record with this current book. I think I'll be faster on my next piece as I've learned a lot but each will require a lot of though and investment of time and effort.
My issue is just that I don't know whether it is better to finish Wind and Steel (the current one, working title) and then start a new piece, or whether it would work for me to branch out and start the next work to give myself a break from my current struggle. I'm a bit torn at the moment and it's tough to find the right way. I feel like it would overall be better to finish typing Wind and Steel, print it so I can read/edit by hand, and then start typing the next. That way I only have one thing on screeen at any one time.
Alternatively I'm thinking of taking a whole day one weekend to shut myself away and push out a huge (5000-10000 word) chunk of the next book idea, not worrying about good writing and just vomiting the story onto the page. That might get my creative juices flowing and let me go back to Wind and Steel with new enthusiasm. In fact, Secrets of the Noctis came out of just such an exploration when I was stalled on my enormous Grey Knights/Inquisition piece for the Black Library Forums.
Anyway, enough rambling. This was partly to put my thoughts in order, partly to discuss the interesting parallel, and partly to ask for any thoughts. Based on your gaming and/or writing experiences, what do you think would be best?
Pete
Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Secrets of the Noctis part 10 of 10. Adeptus Mechanicus Fiction.
Part X – Epilogue
The brassy thing that had once been a man looked over the memory chip his Explorator menials had recovered for him. Delpheus had been an eager young fool and she’d paid the price. Now it came to him to carry out his duty as he had done for centuries already and his mentor before him and his mentor before that.
“Servitor reporting Archmagos.”
“Transfer this item,” He said with a burst of machine code. “To vault 3.45223.435235-A6. Authorisation code follows.” Another squeal of compressed data.
“It shall be done.” Mumbled the servitor.
“Upon entering the vault, deposit the item on shelf seven with the other memory chips. The door will seal behind you, then you will go to the incineration unit at the rear of the vault, activate it and destroy yourself.”
“It shall be done.” The servitor left with the chip.
The Archmagos leaned back and steepled his finely crafted metallic fingers. She had given her life for selfish means but the Cabal knew the value of steady knowledge acquisition. Only when the time was right would the vault be opened and the secrets of the Noctis truly understood.
He nodded in satisfaction and looked at the minute inscription on one knuckle.
Magos Nocta Primus.
The brassy thing that had once been a man looked over the memory chip his Explorator menials had recovered for him. Delpheus had been an eager young fool and she’d paid the price. Now it came to him to carry out his duty as he had done for centuries already and his mentor before him and his mentor before that.
“Servitor reporting Archmagos.”
“Transfer this item,” He said with a burst of machine code. “To vault 3.45223.435235-A6. Authorisation code follows.” Another squeal of compressed data.
“It shall be done.” Mumbled the servitor.
“Upon entering the vault, deposit the item on shelf seven with the other memory chips. The door will seal behind you, then you will go to the incineration unit at the rear of the vault, activate it and destroy yourself.”
“It shall be done.” The servitor left with the chip.
The Archmagos leaned back and steepled his finely crafted metallic fingers. She had given her life for selfish means but the Cabal knew the value of steady knowledge acquisition. Only when the time was right would the vault be opened and the secrets of the Noctis truly understood.
He nodded in satisfaction and looked at the minute inscription on one knuckle.
Magos Nocta Primus.
Secrets of the Noctis part 9 of 10. Adeptus Mechanicus fiction.
Part IX
The scene became a frozen tableau for a microsecond.
The Man of Iron was the first to move. It twitched its head back and forth like it was sniffing at the air. The shocking change in its sophistication and the ease with which it had annihilated the servitors was terrifying to all three humans before it.
As though it were planned, all three of them moved at once. The pilot turned and scurried back the way they had come, the copilot leapt for the shotgun and she went for the shard gripped in the creature’s hand. It wasn’t logical. She knew that the power of the Man of Iron was far beyond her and that the only logical course was to run for the crawler but she couldn’t help herself. Her mechadendrites lashed out to deflect any attacks as she stretched out her hands, one real and one bionic, to wrest the shard away.
The creature ignored the bladed tentacles as they dug scars into its dull metal dermis and caught her around the throat with its hand. She felt herself being lifted up until her feet dangled and was painfully aware of her vulnerability. The Man of Iron did not squeeze though, it reached out with the other hand into her robes. It didn’t make sense, she thought. Why was the creature not destroying her as it had destroyed the servitors and Thaleos’ expedition? The answer became apparent as it withdrew the other metal shard she had held in her pocket.
Two things happened. The first was another huge increase in the coordination of the Man of Iron as now its movements were graceful as well as effective. The second was the interaction of the two shards of metal. They gleamed more brightly than before, as though the whole was greater than the two parts. As soon as the metal hand clasped them together there was a smooth trickling and when the fist opened, there was one shard in place of the two; they had melded together.
Now the Man of Iron looked up at her and she could sense the satisfaction and hunger in its emerald gaze. The fingers around her throat began to close, slowly choking off her air and the blood flow to her brain. She struggled helplessly but she was close to passing out and her mechadendrites seemed unable to do more than leave small scratches. As dark rings closed around her vision, the Man of Iron tilted her head so that she was looking into its glowing green eyes. It smiled at her.
Then the metal face spun to one side with a loud bang and she fell to the dusty ground, coughing and retching.
The copilot looked over the small wisp of smoke trailing up from the shotgun.
“Did I kill it?”
A moaning howl was the response as the Man of Iron stood back up. An ugly furrow had been gouged across its face by the solid slug and as the copilot watched the metal skin flowed across the wound until it was pristine again.
He racked the gun and fired. Then again, and again, and again, and again, and a click. A jam? Of all the Emperor cursed times to jam, what the frak? He looked at the Man of Iron as its skin welled over the bullet craters until there was no mark left.
“Sod this.” He yelled over his shoulder as he dropped the gun and sprinted after the pilot.
The Man of Iron walked over and raised a metal foot. She rolled her head out of line but the leg landed squarely on her bionic shoulder. The entire arm was severed and the shooting pain of the injury was coupled with electrical shocks as her power systems short-circuited. The creature looked at her briefly but it was the other one that had damaged it and now it was hungry for retribution. She wasn’t going anywhere fast. It broke into a loping gait down the trail towards the crawler.
Left in a growing puddle of blood and oil she gathered her wits and tried to formulate a plan.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
“Get it open, Jakos!” The copilot yelled as he scrambled across the rocks.
“I’m trying you frakker,” The pilot yelled. “The cog jammed it.”
“Then cut it, we’ll seal the cockpit with the bulkhead.”
“But what if the seal fails?”
“We’ll wear masks all the way back, just do it now!”
A howl like a bloodthirsty wolf came out of the small ravine they had just left. Jakos needed no more convincing. He turned the plasma torch up, way beyond its rated maximum, and began opening the door.
It would be close.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
This was it, the only plan she could come up with. The necessary procedures had been carried out and it was all in the hands of fate now. Her mind wandered with the pain as her body struggled back along the path to the crawler. Where had it gone wrong? Had she not performed the proper rituals and shown the humility due of a servant of the Machine God? Perhaps it was the drivers who had sullied the area with their blasphemy. Perhaps, the thought galled, perhaps her hidebound seniors were right in thinking the Men of Iron were heretical. Perhaps she’d been doomed to failure since the start. She forced the thought away; it did not have the same logical priority as carrying out her last duties. Onwards she struggled, hearing the sounds of death and destruction ahead of her.
She rounded the final rock and came upon the crawler, or what was left of it. The Man of Iron had pounded through the power lines as it had with the other crawler but that wasn’t enough. A still-glowing hole in the bulkhead marked where the men had cut their way in and the torn metal beside it marked where the creature had expanded the gap and followed them in. Now there was just a limp arm draped out with a trickle of blood running down, stilled by death in a last attempt at escape.
She walked closer to the wreckage.
“Abomination,” Her voice was weak but audible. “Come forth and face thy judgement for sinning against the Omnissiah.”
For a moment there was nothing and then the Man of Iron climbed through the hole, eyes ablaze with power and the combined shard gleaming in its grip. It looked down at her from the top of the boarding ramp for a second then leapt to the ground. As it stalked towards her she felt no panic at her approaching end. It was the will of her god, this was her punishment for consorting with tech-heresy and she knew she deserved it. Now all that remained was to play the final card and undo the damage she had done.
It reached her in a few seconds and, as it lashed out with a lightning blow, she lashed out with three of her own. In the nanoseconds before the connections were distorted she felt her mechadendrites hit home with perfect accuracy. She felt herself flying backwards through the air and the impact on the ground cracked one of her neuro-spinal feeds. Half of her world became dark as the bionic implant failed and she felt the burning drip of harsh chemical fluids from her shattered metal face begin to flow into her throat. As soon as it passed the augmented vocal chords the flesh shrieked in agonised protest but she did not notice. It had worked and by the angry howling of the creature, it realised.
Even as its fist had sundered her face, two of her mechadendrites had knocked the shard from its grip and the third had launched something in an arc to meet the shining fragment. Something brassy and rounded. Something that righted itself, clasped the shard in small pincers and jetted off towards the canyon lip, hundreds of metres above. Her servo skull.
Her hunch was being proved right as the creature lifted its forearms to shoot down the small target and cried out as nothing happened. Something about those gleaming pieces of metal had been the wakening for the Man of Iron. The closer the proximity it had to them, the more effective its systems. And now, with its driving force racing up and away, the creature was stiffening and failing again.
It looked down on her, fading eyes full of furious anger. For the first time in her life she wished she still had a human face so she could give it a mocking smile.
“May the Omnissiah…abandon you, monster.” She burbled through a ruined voicebox and throat.
It roared madly, forced itself over to her and closed its terrible grip on her throat.
The light faded in both of their eyes. Magos Delpheus Arkas of the Adeptus Mechanicus died alongside her prize, content in the fulfilment of her final duty.
The scene became a frozen tableau for a microsecond.
The Man of Iron was the first to move. It twitched its head back and forth like it was sniffing at the air. The shocking change in its sophistication and the ease with which it had annihilated the servitors was terrifying to all three humans before it.
As though it were planned, all three of them moved at once. The pilot turned and scurried back the way they had come, the copilot leapt for the shotgun and she went for the shard gripped in the creature’s hand. It wasn’t logical. She knew that the power of the Man of Iron was far beyond her and that the only logical course was to run for the crawler but she couldn’t help herself. Her mechadendrites lashed out to deflect any attacks as she stretched out her hands, one real and one bionic, to wrest the shard away.
The creature ignored the bladed tentacles as they dug scars into its dull metal dermis and caught her around the throat with its hand. She felt herself being lifted up until her feet dangled and was painfully aware of her vulnerability. The Man of Iron did not squeeze though, it reached out with the other hand into her robes. It didn’t make sense, she thought. Why was the creature not destroying her as it had destroyed the servitors and Thaleos’ expedition? The answer became apparent as it withdrew the other metal shard she had held in her pocket.
Two things happened. The first was another huge increase in the coordination of the Man of Iron as now its movements were graceful as well as effective. The second was the interaction of the two shards of metal. They gleamed more brightly than before, as though the whole was greater than the two parts. As soon as the metal hand clasped them together there was a smooth trickling and when the fist opened, there was one shard in place of the two; they had melded together.
Now the Man of Iron looked up at her and she could sense the satisfaction and hunger in its emerald gaze. The fingers around her throat began to close, slowly choking off her air and the blood flow to her brain. She struggled helplessly but she was close to passing out and her mechadendrites seemed unable to do more than leave small scratches. As dark rings closed around her vision, the Man of Iron tilted her head so that she was looking into its glowing green eyes. It smiled at her.
Then the metal face spun to one side with a loud bang and she fell to the dusty ground, coughing and retching.
The copilot looked over the small wisp of smoke trailing up from the shotgun.
“Did I kill it?”
A moaning howl was the response as the Man of Iron stood back up. An ugly furrow had been gouged across its face by the solid slug and as the copilot watched the metal skin flowed across the wound until it was pristine again.
He racked the gun and fired. Then again, and again, and again, and again, and a click. A jam? Of all the Emperor cursed times to jam, what the frak? He looked at the Man of Iron as its skin welled over the bullet craters until there was no mark left.
“Sod this.” He yelled over his shoulder as he dropped the gun and sprinted after the pilot.
The Man of Iron walked over and raised a metal foot. She rolled her head out of line but the leg landed squarely on her bionic shoulder. The entire arm was severed and the shooting pain of the injury was coupled with electrical shocks as her power systems short-circuited. The creature looked at her briefly but it was the other one that had damaged it and now it was hungry for retribution. She wasn’t going anywhere fast. It broke into a loping gait down the trail towards the crawler.
Left in a growing puddle of blood and oil she gathered her wits and tried to formulate a plan.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
“Get it open, Jakos!” The copilot yelled as he scrambled across the rocks.
“I’m trying you frakker,” The pilot yelled. “The cog jammed it.”
“Then cut it, we’ll seal the cockpit with the bulkhead.”
“But what if the seal fails?”
“We’ll wear masks all the way back, just do it now!”
A howl like a bloodthirsty wolf came out of the small ravine they had just left. Jakos needed no more convincing. He turned the plasma torch up, way beyond its rated maximum, and began opening the door.
It would be close.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
This was it, the only plan she could come up with. The necessary procedures had been carried out and it was all in the hands of fate now. Her mind wandered with the pain as her body struggled back along the path to the crawler. Where had it gone wrong? Had she not performed the proper rituals and shown the humility due of a servant of the Machine God? Perhaps it was the drivers who had sullied the area with their blasphemy. Perhaps, the thought galled, perhaps her hidebound seniors were right in thinking the Men of Iron were heretical. Perhaps she’d been doomed to failure since the start. She forced the thought away; it did not have the same logical priority as carrying out her last duties. Onwards she struggled, hearing the sounds of death and destruction ahead of her.
She rounded the final rock and came upon the crawler, or what was left of it. The Man of Iron had pounded through the power lines as it had with the other crawler but that wasn’t enough. A still-glowing hole in the bulkhead marked where the men had cut their way in and the torn metal beside it marked where the creature had expanded the gap and followed them in. Now there was just a limp arm draped out with a trickle of blood running down, stilled by death in a last attempt at escape.
She walked closer to the wreckage.
“Abomination,” Her voice was weak but audible. “Come forth and face thy judgement for sinning against the Omnissiah.”
For a moment there was nothing and then the Man of Iron climbed through the hole, eyes ablaze with power and the combined shard gleaming in its grip. It looked down at her from the top of the boarding ramp for a second then leapt to the ground. As it stalked towards her she felt no panic at her approaching end. It was the will of her god, this was her punishment for consorting with tech-heresy and she knew she deserved it. Now all that remained was to play the final card and undo the damage she had done.
It reached her in a few seconds and, as it lashed out with a lightning blow, she lashed out with three of her own. In the nanoseconds before the connections were distorted she felt her mechadendrites hit home with perfect accuracy. She felt herself flying backwards through the air and the impact on the ground cracked one of her neuro-spinal feeds. Half of her world became dark as the bionic implant failed and she felt the burning drip of harsh chemical fluids from her shattered metal face begin to flow into her throat. As soon as it passed the augmented vocal chords the flesh shrieked in agonised protest but she did not notice. It had worked and by the angry howling of the creature, it realised.
Even as its fist had sundered her face, two of her mechadendrites had knocked the shard from its grip and the third had launched something in an arc to meet the shining fragment. Something brassy and rounded. Something that righted itself, clasped the shard in small pincers and jetted off towards the canyon lip, hundreds of metres above. Her servo skull.
Her hunch was being proved right as the creature lifted its forearms to shoot down the small target and cried out as nothing happened. Something about those gleaming pieces of metal had been the wakening for the Man of Iron. The closer the proximity it had to them, the more effective its systems. And now, with its driving force racing up and away, the creature was stiffening and failing again.
It looked down on her, fading eyes full of furious anger. For the first time in her life she wished she still had a human face so she could give it a mocking smile.
“May the Omnissiah…abandon you, monster.” She burbled through a ruined voicebox and throat.
It roared madly, forced itself over to her and closed its terrible grip on her throat.
The light faded in both of their eyes. Magos Delpheus Arkas of the Adeptus Mechanicus died alongside her prize, content in the fulfilment of her final duty.
Secrets of the Noctis part 8 of 10. Adeptus Mechanicus Fiction
Part VIII
The Man of Iron looked at her with its skull-like visage and emerald eyes and she stared back with bionic implants that were so crude in comparison. At that moment she felt her impurity more than she ever had before. More even than the time she’d been the presence of the Fabricator General himself during a great ceremony. Even then she’d been in the presence of another human on the way to becoming pure with the machine but this, this was the purest expression of the Machine God she’d could ever imagine.
“Blessed Man of Iron,” She spoke in dual voices; machine code from her mouth and high Gothic (crude though it sounded) from her shoulder speaker. “I come before you as a servant of the Omnissiah whom we both serve.”
The metal figure was silent.
“In His name I claim you and order you to return with us so we may begin the great work.”
The figure was still silent though it tilted its head back and forth, as though trying to understand her.
“Man of Iron,” A trace of impatience entered her tone. “You will obey me. I am your new superior in the Machine God’s name. Do you understand?”
The smooth metal of the thing’s lower face rippled slightly. The emerald eyes looked to the floor, concentrating for a moment, then it looked back at her. Flowing suddenly like liquid mercury the featureless face exposed a hole that shone ghostly green light outwards. Then it groaned, as though trying to activate long atrophied vocal chords.
“I am your master!” She repeated.
It groaned once more, looked down at its forearms, looked back at her then made another noise. This one was a growl.
“You will cease this behaviour!”
Ignoring her, the metal figure looked at the servitors. It growled again, frustrated now, and continued the sweep of the blazing emerald eyes. Now the eyes fell on the pilot but did not rest there. They looked back and forth, searching for something unknown. Then the gaze locked onto the copilot and the creature jerked into motion, stiffly staggering towards him.
The man yelped in fear as he staggered backwards. The fragment she’d given him fell from his fingers and he continued moving until his back slammed against a huge boulder. His eyes were wide and through the respirator mask his face had the look of a bloated, terrified frog. The Man of Iron scattered gravel and dust as it moved jerkily towards him.
“Servitors,” She yelled. “Restrain that creation.”
The half-human constructs immediately moved towards the groaning and staggering skeletal figure, their gripper claws sliding open on smooth hydraulic rods. The Skitarii shotgun tumbled to the floor, the previous command overridden by the urgency of the new order. The servitors closed in on the Man of Iron as it came to a halt and looked down at the fragment of metal on the floor. Four heavy grippers clamped onto the figures thin arms and legs. The Man of Iron then looked at the each of the hydraulic clamps in turn, examining them with unhurried intent.
“Man of Iron, you will obey me!” She was almost screaming now.
It grunted once then bent down and picked up the metal fragment. There was a whirring and clicking from the servitors as their systems struggled helplessly to compensate and resist the motion. The moment its metal fingers closed around the fragment, the Man of Iron changed. Where before it had moved clumsily and awkwardly it now was smoother and more controlled as it rose to its feet again. The servitors also came back to standing and were unmoving like before. The struggle of the last few seconds was already erased from their memories as they reverted to the previous order.
“That is not yours! Give it back to me. I am the only one who might understand the truth from such a creation.” She moved to reclaim the shard.
The Man of Iron growled at her. It either could not, or would not, speak but seemed to have no difficulty understanding her intent. She stepped back slightly, surprised at the depth of anger in the tone.
With a complete lack of haste it reached over with its right arm, dragging the servitor with it, grabbed the shoulder of the other servitor and yanked it out of the socket. Sparks and fluids sprayed forth from the construct and it turned crude bionic eyes on the injury, assessing the changed situation. The clatter of cogitation units ceased when the Man of Iron looked at the heavy claw on the end of the servitor limb it held, looked up at the servitor’s head, looked back to the limb, looked up again then swung a lethally arcing blow.
The second servitor, still locked in a programming loop did not respond to the destruction of its fellow. It continued to secure the right arm of the Man of Iron and await further instructions. The metal figure dropped the limb and pointed its now free forearm at the servitor’s skull. The half-human displayed no reaction as the circular lip slid back and a small node poked out. A flash of lightning connected the small nubbin with the servitor’s head and there was a dull bang as every circuit in its body blew with the massive energy discharge.
The Man of Iron stepped free.
The Man of Iron looked at her with its skull-like visage and emerald eyes and she stared back with bionic implants that were so crude in comparison. At that moment she felt her impurity more than she ever had before. More even than the time she’d been the presence of the Fabricator General himself during a great ceremony. Even then she’d been in the presence of another human on the way to becoming pure with the machine but this, this was the purest expression of the Machine God she’d could ever imagine.
“Blessed Man of Iron,” She spoke in dual voices; machine code from her mouth and high Gothic (crude though it sounded) from her shoulder speaker. “I come before you as a servant of the Omnissiah whom we both serve.”
The metal figure was silent.
“In His name I claim you and order you to return with us so we may begin the great work.”
The figure was still silent though it tilted its head back and forth, as though trying to understand her.
“Man of Iron,” A trace of impatience entered her tone. “You will obey me. I am your new superior in the Machine God’s name. Do you understand?”
The smooth metal of the thing’s lower face rippled slightly. The emerald eyes looked to the floor, concentrating for a moment, then it looked back at her. Flowing suddenly like liquid mercury the featureless face exposed a hole that shone ghostly green light outwards. Then it groaned, as though trying to activate long atrophied vocal chords.
“I am your master!” She repeated.
It groaned once more, looked down at its forearms, looked back at her then made another noise. This one was a growl.
“You will cease this behaviour!”
Ignoring her, the metal figure looked at the servitors. It growled again, frustrated now, and continued the sweep of the blazing emerald eyes. Now the eyes fell on the pilot but did not rest there. They looked back and forth, searching for something unknown. Then the gaze locked onto the copilot and the creature jerked into motion, stiffly staggering towards him.
The man yelped in fear as he staggered backwards. The fragment she’d given him fell from his fingers and he continued moving until his back slammed against a huge boulder. His eyes were wide and through the respirator mask his face had the look of a bloated, terrified frog. The Man of Iron scattered gravel and dust as it moved jerkily towards him.
“Servitors,” She yelled. “Restrain that creation.”
The half-human constructs immediately moved towards the groaning and staggering skeletal figure, their gripper claws sliding open on smooth hydraulic rods. The Skitarii shotgun tumbled to the floor, the previous command overridden by the urgency of the new order. The servitors closed in on the Man of Iron as it came to a halt and looked down at the fragment of metal on the floor. Four heavy grippers clamped onto the figures thin arms and legs. The Man of Iron then looked at the each of the hydraulic clamps in turn, examining them with unhurried intent.
“Man of Iron, you will obey me!” She was almost screaming now.
It grunted once then bent down and picked up the metal fragment. There was a whirring and clicking from the servitors as their systems struggled helplessly to compensate and resist the motion. The moment its metal fingers closed around the fragment, the Man of Iron changed. Where before it had moved clumsily and awkwardly it now was smoother and more controlled as it rose to its feet again. The servitors also came back to standing and were unmoving like before. The struggle of the last few seconds was already erased from their memories as they reverted to the previous order.
“That is not yours! Give it back to me. I am the only one who might understand the truth from such a creation.” She moved to reclaim the shard.
The Man of Iron growled at her. It either could not, or would not, speak but seemed to have no difficulty understanding her intent. She stepped back slightly, surprised at the depth of anger in the tone.
With a complete lack of haste it reached over with its right arm, dragging the servitor with it, grabbed the shoulder of the other servitor and yanked it out of the socket. Sparks and fluids sprayed forth from the construct and it turned crude bionic eyes on the injury, assessing the changed situation. The clatter of cogitation units ceased when the Man of Iron looked at the heavy claw on the end of the servitor limb it held, looked up at the servitor’s head, looked back to the limb, looked up again then swung a lethally arcing blow.
The second servitor, still locked in a programming loop did not respond to the destruction of its fellow. It continued to secure the right arm of the Man of Iron and await further instructions. The metal figure dropped the limb and pointed its now free forearm at the servitor’s skull. The half-human displayed no reaction as the circular lip slid back and a small node poked out. A flash of lightning connected the small nubbin with the servitor’s head and there was a dull bang as every circuit in its body blew with the massive energy discharge.
The Man of Iron stepped free.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Secrets of the Noctis part 7 of 10. Adeptus Mechanicus Fiction.
Part VII
For a moment she simply looked at it. What else could one do when such perfection was right there before you? Now with time to study it she noted more details that only became evident in the harsh glare of the men’s lights.
It was different than she would have thought. Somehow, when reading the ancient legends, she’d imagined that the Men of Iron would look like men but for their metal skin. Now she was standing before one and it was thinner than she’d have thought, showing no pseudo musculature or human features. It stood fairly tall, the size of a big man, but was more like an enhanced skeleton of dull metal with stark lines and only a few markings than a human. The forearms were the strangest part; they bulged smoothly on the top and a circular lip was recessed into the end of each. She imagined them as weapon ports, ready to smite the enemies of her god and a smile came to her face. Through her efforts the Mechanicus would uncover the secrets of the Men of Iron and raise legions of them to take the word of the Machine to the entire galaxy.
“Why is it dead?” The pilot said.
She sighed heavily. Could these fools not see that she was not in the mood for interruptions?
“It is not dead,” She said wearily. “It is inactive due to the blasphemies of those around us.”
“So, what are we doing here?”
“We are taking this back to the workshops where it will be manufactured to fight for the Omnissiah.”
“And uh,” The pilot stuttered. “Will it…that is, will we…um…what if we’re blasphemers?”
“If you do not treat it with reverence then I imagine it will destroy you.” She enjoyed the fear in their eyes. “But, since I came with the proper oils and unguents then I imagine you will survive…if you obey me exactly.”
“Right,” The men looked at each other. “What’s first?”
“Now you are eager?” She asked.
“Well, to be honest I don’t know anything about no Men of Iron and war ain’t my business either. But I reckon the sooner we get this thing loaded aboard the crawler, the sooner we can get out of here and the sooner we’ll be safe back home. Would that be…uh, logical?”
“For once, pilot.” She nodded appreciatively. “You are logical. After we perform the proper blessings we will bring it with us and return. Once we get back I will ensure you are handsomely rewarded for your efforts. You have performed well and all the Mechanicus will be grateful.”
“Oh,” Grins began to appear on the men’s faces. “Well, y’know we do our part for the Omnissiah and all that.”
They were fools, she thought, her face still impassive. This was bordering on Tech-Heresy of the highest order and there was no way two humans barely beyond menial status would ever be kept alive. If the Council ever got wind of their involvement, they would have their memories extracted, then blanked and then their bodies vaporised. She would be doing the men a favour by killing them, as she planned to do when they got back. At least for her there would be nothing but tidying up in mind and she would not make them suffer a memory extraction. A bullet to the skull or a blade in the neck would be more than enough.
“Very well. Sigma-Phi-Eleven?”
“Awaiting orders.” The mechanical voice issued from once-human lips.
“Deposit the box and stand by.”
“Confirmed.” The box was placed gently on the floor and the drone machine shuffled backwards slightly.
“Now,” She said to the men. “Follow my instructions exactly.”
At her urging they set up incense braziers that sputtered in the thin atmosphere, waved portable burners around leaving trails of smoky scent and then began to flick blessed oils over the Man of Iron. She intoned holy prayers in the pure language of the machine and the men, clumsily she noted, raised their voices in prayer also.
It did nothing. For five minutes they continued the efforts then her frustration took over.
“You are not properly blessing the creation,” She snapped. “The oil must be spread with a sequence of six angled motions of the wrist, representing the pure hexagon of the Omnissiah. Then you must wave a circle with the incense to represent the total sum of knowledge the Mechanicus seek.”
“I’m doing my best.” The hapless copilot said.
“Stand aside, I will show you,” She stomped forwards. “Hold this,” She passed on the metal fragment, they wouldn’t know its worth. “Give me those.” She took the oil and burner.
The copilot stepped back happily, silvery fragment idly clasped in one hand. Let her do the work around this creepy thing.
She flowed into the blessings with an expertise born of decades of practise and each spray of oil that landed perfectly left a warm satisfaction inside. The circling burner was also perfect and the smoky trail became the true representation of the faith. After a minute her frustration began to increase again. She stepped closer to the creation that it might better hear her pure machine blessings.
Her robes shifted slightly, she didn’t notice, and then it happened.
A green speck grew within each emerald eye until they shone like fire, the Man of Iron turned its head slowly, as though stiff, and looked upon her.
She cried out a machine code squeal of triumph, it was alive.
For a moment she simply looked at it. What else could one do when such perfection was right there before you? Now with time to study it she noted more details that only became evident in the harsh glare of the men’s lights.
It was different than she would have thought. Somehow, when reading the ancient legends, she’d imagined that the Men of Iron would look like men but for their metal skin. Now she was standing before one and it was thinner than she’d have thought, showing no pseudo musculature or human features. It stood fairly tall, the size of a big man, but was more like an enhanced skeleton of dull metal with stark lines and only a few markings than a human. The forearms were the strangest part; they bulged smoothly on the top and a circular lip was recessed into the end of each. She imagined them as weapon ports, ready to smite the enemies of her god and a smile came to her face. Through her efforts the Mechanicus would uncover the secrets of the Men of Iron and raise legions of them to take the word of the Machine to the entire galaxy.
“Why is it dead?” The pilot said.
She sighed heavily. Could these fools not see that she was not in the mood for interruptions?
“It is not dead,” She said wearily. “It is inactive due to the blasphemies of those around us.”
“So, what are we doing here?”
“We are taking this back to the workshops where it will be manufactured to fight for the Omnissiah.”
“And uh,” The pilot stuttered. “Will it…that is, will we…um…what if we’re blasphemers?”
“If you do not treat it with reverence then I imagine it will destroy you.” She enjoyed the fear in their eyes. “But, since I came with the proper oils and unguents then I imagine you will survive…if you obey me exactly.”
“Right,” The men looked at each other. “What’s first?”
“Now you are eager?” She asked.
“Well, to be honest I don’t know anything about no Men of Iron and war ain’t my business either. But I reckon the sooner we get this thing loaded aboard the crawler, the sooner we can get out of here and the sooner we’ll be safe back home. Would that be…uh, logical?”
“For once, pilot.” She nodded appreciatively. “You are logical. After we perform the proper blessings we will bring it with us and return. Once we get back I will ensure you are handsomely rewarded for your efforts. You have performed well and all the Mechanicus will be grateful.”
“Oh,” Grins began to appear on the men’s faces. “Well, y’know we do our part for the Omnissiah and all that.”
They were fools, she thought, her face still impassive. This was bordering on Tech-Heresy of the highest order and there was no way two humans barely beyond menial status would ever be kept alive. If the Council ever got wind of their involvement, they would have their memories extracted, then blanked and then their bodies vaporised. She would be doing the men a favour by killing them, as she planned to do when they got back. At least for her there would be nothing but tidying up in mind and she would not make them suffer a memory extraction. A bullet to the skull or a blade in the neck would be more than enough.
“Very well. Sigma-Phi-Eleven?”
“Awaiting orders.” The mechanical voice issued from once-human lips.
“Deposit the box and stand by.”
“Confirmed.” The box was placed gently on the floor and the drone machine shuffled backwards slightly.
“Now,” She said to the men. “Follow my instructions exactly.”
At her urging they set up incense braziers that sputtered in the thin atmosphere, waved portable burners around leaving trails of smoky scent and then began to flick blessed oils over the Man of Iron. She intoned holy prayers in the pure language of the machine and the men, clumsily she noted, raised their voices in prayer also.
It did nothing. For five minutes they continued the efforts then her frustration took over.
“You are not properly blessing the creation,” She snapped. “The oil must be spread with a sequence of six angled motions of the wrist, representing the pure hexagon of the Omnissiah. Then you must wave a circle with the incense to represent the total sum of knowledge the Mechanicus seek.”
“I’m doing my best.” The hapless copilot said.
“Stand aside, I will show you,” She stomped forwards. “Hold this,” She passed on the metal fragment, they wouldn’t know its worth. “Give me those.” She took the oil and burner.
The copilot stepped back happily, silvery fragment idly clasped in one hand. Let her do the work around this creepy thing.
She flowed into the blessings with an expertise born of decades of practise and each spray of oil that landed perfectly left a warm satisfaction inside. The circling burner was also perfect and the smoky trail became the true representation of the faith. After a minute her frustration began to increase again. She stepped closer to the creation that it might better hear her pure machine blessings.
Her robes shifted slightly, she didn’t notice, and then it happened.
A green speck grew within each emerald eye until they shone like fire, the Man of Iron turned its head slowly, as though stiff, and looked upon her.
She cried out a machine code squeal of triumph, it was alive.
Secrets of the Noctis part 6 of 10. Adeptus mechanicus fiction.
Part VI
She’d forced them to come, almost at knifepoint. With her mechadendrites in plain sight and bladed tools festooning the ends she was a more frightening sight than the dead bodies outside.
But only just.
The two men huddled close together in the darkness. The copilot’s gloves were clamped around the shotgun and the pilot held one of the plasma cutting torches ready, the tip gently glowing. Powerful torchbeams stabbed out from the shoulders of their suits and the rapid back and forth sweep betrayed the emotions of the wielders.
She walked calmly behind them and the two servitors came behind her. They were cargo models, equipped with heavy lifting claws and reinforced frames that would let them lift huge weights. One now held the crate full of consecrating paraphernalia but that would only be needed for a short while. As the two men stopped near the crawler and looked at one another she quickly stepped up her pace.
“No way, let’s get out of here.”
“Right. I’m not ending up like them.”
The men turned and found their throats caught in the lightning fast, thoroughly immovable grip of mechadendrite claws. Bladed tools were poised by the glass of their mask lenses.
“We are here for an item. When, and only when, we find it we shall leave. Is that clear?”
The men nodded, slowly. She reached out and took the shotgun from the copilot, handing it to the unencumbered servitor.
“Unit Sigma-Phi-Twelve. Retain this weapon until further orders. Should any but myself attempt to take it back, crush it.”
The servitor squeeled and clicked a machine code response and clumsily held the gun in the grip of its huge claws.
“Now I hope I can trust you not to try and obtain the Skitarii weapons. If they even work it did not do them any good,” She glanced between them at the dead soldiers. “I point out that they were professionals and something still killed them. If you are unarmed then you will be seen as less of a threat to whatever killed them. And if that plasma cutter gives you any foolish ideas, remember how fast these augmentations of mine are.”
“Right.”
“Fine, let us go.”
She nodded and released them. Neither man made a move until she moved towards the dead crawler and then they scurried after her. Surprisingly, they were being logical. Unarmed they could not defeat her and it would be safer to be around her than alone.
“This machine did not run out of power.” She stated.
“What? There’s no lights, even the status runes are out, so there’s no power, it ran out.” The pilot looked confused.
“No,” She replied. “It was stopped.”
She pointed a metal tentacle up at the belly of the vehicle, several feet taller than any of them. The men moved past the huge rubber tire and directed their lights upwards. A deep crushing dent had splintered through the plates of metal and severed the main power conduit from the generator systems. Looking towards the rear of the vehicle they saw the strange ground texture of smooth, glassy rock below two scorched openings in the hull. Unable to vent the plasma power buildup, the failsafes must have taken hold and opened the emergency vents. The plasma had bled out onto the ground until the fuel reserves were exhausted or the engines deactivated.
That still left two questions, what had done it and did it happen before or after the Skitarii died?
“They must have fired by accident,” Stammered the copilot. “It’s the most likely. A shot in the wrong place and the backups took over.”
“No,” She stated. “Their bodies are slightly scorched therefore they were already dead when the damage was done. And that impact was no weapon discharge. It would take a tank cannon to deliver that kind of force.”
“Then what did it?”
She ignored them and knelt down to the rocky floor. The men watched her as she gathered up a small fragment of metal. It must have come from the damaged crawler, must have. But, the thought nagged, why did it seem to glow in her hand? Logically it must be the lights of the men…it was the only explanation.
“What did this is exactly what I’m looking for.” A note of desire crept into her voice. “It must be nearby.”
The two men looked at each other as she walked around the area, the same impulse in their eyes. If only the cog hadn’t sealed the crawler doors then they’d be out of here. Damn her and damn her prize.
“This way.” She snapped.
Reluctantly they moved forwards to follow her, playing their lights on the ground. There was a mechadendrite, like hers but bigger, and then a trail in the red gravel. Smaller trails skipped either side of the main one, the marks of hands pulling something along. They followed it around an outcrop, then between two great boulders where they almost bumped into her.
There were two figures before them. One looked like her except that she was standing up and still fully intact. Red robes, metal face, mechadendrites, a bloody cog head in other words. He was sprawled on the ground, dried blood and oil spattered on his robes and limbs.
It was the second figure that sent the chills of fear through them. It was big, but skeletally made. The eyes gleamed like dulled emeralds and the grey metallic form was full of terrifying promise. It took them only a second to see the blood on its fists and the shards of paint staining the knuckles of one hand.
“That…thing punched through a crawler’s hull?” The pilot’s voice almost squeaked.
“Yes.” She breathed, eyes wide in rapture.
“It killed the Skitarii and that other cog?” The copilot sounded like he was barely holding onto his bladder.
“Yes.” She was too happy to notice the insult.
“What…is it?”
“It is my prize. It is the creation of my god and with it, we shall rout the enemies of him.”
“What?” The men spoke as one, shuffling backwards slightly.
“It is a Man of Iron,” She gloated. “It is my Man of Iron.”
She’d forced them to come, almost at knifepoint. With her mechadendrites in plain sight and bladed tools festooning the ends she was a more frightening sight than the dead bodies outside.
But only just.
The two men huddled close together in the darkness. The copilot’s gloves were clamped around the shotgun and the pilot held one of the plasma cutting torches ready, the tip gently glowing. Powerful torchbeams stabbed out from the shoulders of their suits and the rapid back and forth sweep betrayed the emotions of the wielders.
She walked calmly behind them and the two servitors came behind her. They were cargo models, equipped with heavy lifting claws and reinforced frames that would let them lift huge weights. One now held the crate full of consecrating paraphernalia but that would only be needed for a short while. As the two men stopped near the crawler and looked at one another she quickly stepped up her pace.
“No way, let’s get out of here.”
“Right. I’m not ending up like them.”
The men turned and found their throats caught in the lightning fast, thoroughly immovable grip of mechadendrite claws. Bladed tools were poised by the glass of their mask lenses.
“We are here for an item. When, and only when, we find it we shall leave. Is that clear?”
The men nodded, slowly. She reached out and took the shotgun from the copilot, handing it to the unencumbered servitor.
“Unit Sigma-Phi-Twelve. Retain this weapon until further orders. Should any but myself attempt to take it back, crush it.”
The servitor squeeled and clicked a machine code response and clumsily held the gun in the grip of its huge claws.
“Now I hope I can trust you not to try and obtain the Skitarii weapons. If they even work it did not do them any good,” She glanced between them at the dead soldiers. “I point out that they were professionals and something still killed them. If you are unarmed then you will be seen as less of a threat to whatever killed them. And if that plasma cutter gives you any foolish ideas, remember how fast these augmentations of mine are.”
“Right.”
“Fine, let us go.”
She nodded and released them. Neither man made a move until she moved towards the dead crawler and then they scurried after her. Surprisingly, they were being logical. Unarmed they could not defeat her and it would be safer to be around her than alone.
“This machine did not run out of power.” She stated.
“What? There’s no lights, even the status runes are out, so there’s no power, it ran out.” The pilot looked confused.
“No,” She replied. “It was stopped.”
She pointed a metal tentacle up at the belly of the vehicle, several feet taller than any of them. The men moved past the huge rubber tire and directed their lights upwards. A deep crushing dent had splintered through the plates of metal and severed the main power conduit from the generator systems. Looking towards the rear of the vehicle they saw the strange ground texture of smooth, glassy rock below two scorched openings in the hull. Unable to vent the plasma power buildup, the failsafes must have taken hold and opened the emergency vents. The plasma had bled out onto the ground until the fuel reserves were exhausted or the engines deactivated.
That still left two questions, what had done it and did it happen before or after the Skitarii died?
“They must have fired by accident,” Stammered the copilot. “It’s the most likely. A shot in the wrong place and the backups took over.”
“No,” She stated. “Their bodies are slightly scorched therefore they were already dead when the damage was done. And that impact was no weapon discharge. It would take a tank cannon to deliver that kind of force.”
“Then what did it?”
She ignored them and knelt down to the rocky floor. The men watched her as she gathered up a small fragment of metal. It must have come from the damaged crawler, must have. But, the thought nagged, why did it seem to glow in her hand? Logically it must be the lights of the men…it was the only explanation.
“What did this is exactly what I’m looking for.” A note of desire crept into her voice. “It must be nearby.”
The two men looked at each other as she walked around the area, the same impulse in their eyes. If only the cog hadn’t sealed the crawler doors then they’d be out of here. Damn her and damn her prize.
“This way.” She snapped.
Reluctantly they moved forwards to follow her, playing their lights on the ground. There was a mechadendrite, like hers but bigger, and then a trail in the red gravel. Smaller trails skipped either side of the main one, the marks of hands pulling something along. They followed it around an outcrop, then between two great boulders where they almost bumped into her.
There were two figures before them. One looked like her except that she was standing up and still fully intact. Red robes, metal face, mechadendrites, a bloody cog head in other words. He was sprawled on the ground, dried blood and oil spattered on his robes and limbs.
It was the second figure that sent the chills of fear through them. It was big, but skeletally made. The eyes gleamed like dulled emeralds and the grey metallic form was full of terrifying promise. It took them only a second to see the blood on its fists and the shards of paint staining the knuckles of one hand.
“That…thing punched through a crawler’s hull?” The pilot’s voice almost squeaked.
“Yes.” She breathed, eyes wide in rapture.
“It killed the Skitarii and that other cog?” The copilot sounded like he was barely holding onto his bladder.
“Yes.” She was too happy to notice the insult.
“What…is it?”
“It is my prize. It is the creation of my god and with it, we shall rout the enemies of him.”
“What?” The men spoke as one, shuffling backwards slightly.
“It is a Man of Iron,” She gloated. “It is my Man of Iron.”
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Secrets of the Noctis. Adeptus Mechanicus fiction part 5 of 10
Part V
“We’re getting something on auspex. Suggest you come up here.”
Her eyes glared at the intercom as it buzzed out the man’s voice then clicked off. The bulkhead remained closed on her order; not that the pilots were complaining. She’d only had a few minutes alone with it so far and already there was something else needing her attention. The shard was just so perfect and it would have to wait.
“Patience is the virtue that is rewarded at the forge.” She intoned. “The gears turn, the gears move the shaft, the shaft drives the wheel, the wheel tips the crucible, the crucible pours the metal, the metal fills the mould, the mould forms the item and we worship Him as He gives His blessing on the new creation.”
It was an old chant that she’d spoken since her earliest childhood days in the Scholam of the forge. Normally the comforting chant of her youth was enough to calm her but this was not a normal time. They were so close and now this auspex reading. The servo skull had taken the map she’d compiled from the servitor memory fragment and made an aerial survey of the canyons. It had to be it. The coiled shape of the rocky fissures was just as Thaleos had written. She uncoiled one mechadendrite and glanced at the data screen it held up like the preening mirror of a court lady.
And the blessed artefacts of the great Omnissiah shalt be made obscure unto the faithless. Into the depths of the snaking dragon’s womb we have concealed them and only with belief and diligence shall any after us find them. We entrust this script unto the Cabal of the Noctis that it may remain a warning against the unbelievers and if the true plan of the Machine-God be revealed, then the artefacts can be retrieved and presented in proper humility to the holy Omnissiah. Faith in the purity of the machine.
- Magos Noctis Primus, First among the Cabal.
Now she would be very interested to find out where Thaleos had obtained this writing. His notes were marked below the text and they were disjointed, as though he had scrawled whenever a thought struck him. It was distressingly illogical. She frowned, as she had every other time reading this. One such as Thaleos should have respected the purity of order.
- The writing is cryptic but I know the Omnissiah will guide me to the end.
- The snaking dragon? This could be a metaphor for an artefact. Perhaps the other artefacts are in the belly of a greater one. A limbless titan perhaps? Some great tunnelling creation?
- Could it be a location?
Here was where the notes diverged into showing hundreds of maps, aerial pictographs of the planet and a mess of poor interpretations. She scanned forwards to the point Thaleos had had his revelation.
- The Labyrinth of the Noctis!
- It is perfect, who would think to look there? Who can even get there? I must find a reason to explore. It must be plausible, I cannot risk any getting wind of the prizes.
Then there was some more useless text about his activities. She had wondered numerous times if his mental faculties had been in decline. The amount of wasted information and disjointed writing was not what one expected from one as esteemed as Thaleos.
- I have it! The snaking dragon is a section of the Noctis canyons. Twenty three servitor fliers were expended but the twenty fourth one retrieved the location.
- It is closer than expected. If I take a crawler from the Explorator Fringe Dome and pass the trench (I must ensure there are no firings and as little activity as possible.) it is barely a cycle from the dome. How can it be that such a prize was so close and none found it? It must be the metal hand of fate on me. I am the one chosen to find the prize.
Some more details followed about his preparation. Much as she despised the waste, it had been useful to have Thaleos’ entire records to hand when she’d planned her expedition. She scrolled through the maps and picto surveys. They’d been useful in plotting the route but now the servo skull had confirmed they were on track she had no further use for them. Finally it came to the end, the end she’d read so many times and still been unable to understand
- I have found something. It is beautiful, beyond human creation, it must be the work of the Omnissiah.
- We are in the belly of the dragon canyon. It is dark and the Skitarii are uncertain. The tangle with the rogue servitor earlier in the journey sapped their confidence. It was only an arm their comrade lost and he will be moved closer to the purity of the machine when we return. They are illogical.
- I have found it! I dare not even write of it but the purity of form, the graceful lines, the quiet power in those dimmed eyes. I believe I would even weep if I still had such wasteful human traits.
Then came the fragmented last record. It was a vocal record that had been scribed by a neuro quill directly into the slate.
- It awoke. Not much time. Skitarii cannot hold it off for long. Curses, I’m losing power, reserves down to twelve percent.
- It’s coming for me. All was well until we brought it within the crawler. The artefact I found glowed, then the eyes lit up and it began the killing.
- Mechadendrite feedback is blowing circuits. I will not be able to escape. I am attaching this memory slate to my servo skull. I calculate a thirty two percent chance the grav motor power supplies will last the journey and it will reach the Fringe Dome. Omnissiah, welcome your servant.
It was hardly the most detailed of descriptions but she knew what the prize would be and she knew what Thaleos’ failing must had been. He was a fool who had snatched for the artefact without the proper humility and no wonder he had been punished. Their deity would not suffer improper treatment of its creations without retribution, especially when the creations were so powerful and important enough to be hidden.
“Something is coming into view,” The intercom cut through her thoughts. “Suggest you get a move on.” There was no hiding the sarcasm in the tone.
She stooped by a crate as she moved to the cockpit, yes the oils and incenses were still packed and in good condition. Satisfied she stepped through the door, ignoring the glare from the two men.
“What is it?”
“Don’t know yet but the auspex,” The copilot nodded at the screen poised over his lap by a mounting arm fixed to the console. “Says it’s pretty big.”
“Hold on,” The pilot interrupted. “Something’s there.”
They strained their eyes, bionic and real, and slowly a shape swam from the darkness into the glow of the crawler’s lights. It was like a ghostly mirror. Before them was another crawler. Except for the cold darkness that marked the depletion of its power cells there was nothing out of the ordinary. It could almost be a vehicle waiting in its hangar to be refuelled and recharged.
Except for the scattered bodies of a dozen Skitarii on the ground around it.
“We’re getting something on auspex. Suggest you come up here.”
Her eyes glared at the intercom as it buzzed out the man’s voice then clicked off. The bulkhead remained closed on her order; not that the pilots were complaining. She’d only had a few minutes alone with it so far and already there was something else needing her attention. The shard was just so perfect and it would have to wait.
“Patience is the virtue that is rewarded at the forge.” She intoned. “The gears turn, the gears move the shaft, the shaft drives the wheel, the wheel tips the crucible, the crucible pours the metal, the metal fills the mould, the mould forms the item and we worship Him as He gives His blessing on the new creation.”
It was an old chant that she’d spoken since her earliest childhood days in the Scholam of the forge. Normally the comforting chant of her youth was enough to calm her but this was not a normal time. They were so close and now this auspex reading. The servo skull had taken the map she’d compiled from the servitor memory fragment and made an aerial survey of the canyons. It had to be it. The coiled shape of the rocky fissures was just as Thaleos had written. She uncoiled one mechadendrite and glanced at the data screen it held up like the preening mirror of a court lady.
And the blessed artefacts of the great Omnissiah shalt be made obscure unto the faithless. Into the depths of the snaking dragon’s womb we have concealed them and only with belief and diligence shall any after us find them. We entrust this script unto the Cabal of the Noctis that it may remain a warning against the unbelievers and if the true plan of the Machine-God be revealed, then the artefacts can be retrieved and presented in proper humility to the holy Omnissiah. Faith in the purity of the machine.
- Magos Noctis Primus, First among the Cabal.
Now she would be very interested to find out where Thaleos had obtained this writing. His notes were marked below the text and they were disjointed, as though he had scrawled whenever a thought struck him. It was distressingly illogical. She frowned, as she had every other time reading this. One such as Thaleos should have respected the purity of order.
- The writing is cryptic but I know the Omnissiah will guide me to the end.
- The snaking dragon? This could be a metaphor for an artefact. Perhaps the other artefacts are in the belly of a greater one. A limbless titan perhaps? Some great tunnelling creation?
- Could it be a location?
Here was where the notes diverged into showing hundreds of maps, aerial pictographs of the planet and a mess of poor interpretations. She scanned forwards to the point Thaleos had had his revelation.
- The Labyrinth of the Noctis!
- It is perfect, who would think to look there? Who can even get there? I must find a reason to explore. It must be plausible, I cannot risk any getting wind of the prizes.
Then there was some more useless text about his activities. She had wondered numerous times if his mental faculties had been in decline. The amount of wasted information and disjointed writing was not what one expected from one as esteemed as Thaleos.
- I have it! The snaking dragon is a section of the Noctis canyons. Twenty three servitor fliers were expended but the twenty fourth one retrieved the location.
- It is closer than expected. If I take a crawler from the Explorator Fringe Dome and pass the trench (I must ensure there are no firings and as little activity as possible.) it is barely a cycle from the dome. How can it be that such a prize was so close and none found it? It must be the metal hand of fate on me. I am the one chosen to find the prize.
Some more details followed about his preparation. Much as she despised the waste, it had been useful to have Thaleos’ entire records to hand when she’d planned her expedition. She scrolled through the maps and picto surveys. They’d been useful in plotting the route but now the servo skull had confirmed they were on track she had no further use for them. Finally it came to the end, the end she’d read so many times and still been unable to understand
- I have found something. It is beautiful, beyond human creation, it must be the work of the Omnissiah.
- We are in the belly of the dragon canyon. It is dark and the Skitarii are uncertain. The tangle with the rogue servitor earlier in the journey sapped their confidence. It was only an arm their comrade lost and he will be moved closer to the purity of the machine when we return. They are illogical.
- I have found it! I dare not even write of it but the purity of form, the graceful lines, the quiet power in those dimmed eyes. I believe I would even weep if I still had such wasteful human traits.
Then came the fragmented last record. It was a vocal record that had been scribed by a neuro quill directly into the slate.
- It awoke. Not much time. Skitarii cannot hold it off for long. Curses, I’m losing power, reserves down to twelve percent.
- It’s coming for me. All was well until we brought it within the crawler. The artefact I found glowed, then the eyes lit up and it began the killing.
- Mechadendrite feedback is blowing circuits. I will not be able to escape. I am attaching this memory slate to my servo skull. I calculate a thirty two percent chance the grav motor power supplies will last the journey and it will reach the Fringe Dome. Omnissiah, welcome your servant.
It was hardly the most detailed of descriptions but she knew what the prize would be and she knew what Thaleos’ failing must had been. He was a fool who had snatched for the artefact without the proper humility and no wonder he had been punished. Their deity would not suffer improper treatment of its creations without retribution, especially when the creations were so powerful and important enough to be hidden.
“Something is coming into view,” The intercom cut through her thoughts. “Suggest you get a move on.” There was no hiding the sarcasm in the tone.
She stooped by a crate as she moved to the cockpit, yes the oils and incenses were still packed and in good condition. Satisfied she stepped through the door, ignoring the glare from the two men.
“What is it?”
“Don’t know yet but the auspex,” The copilot nodded at the screen poised over his lap by a mounting arm fixed to the console. “Says it’s pretty big.”
“Hold on,” The pilot interrupted. “Something’s there.”
They strained their eyes, bionic and real, and slowly a shape swam from the darkness into the glow of the crawler’s lights. It was like a ghostly mirror. Before them was another crawler. Except for the cold darkness that marked the depletion of its power cells there was nothing out of the ordinary. It could almost be a vehicle waiting in its hangar to be refuelled and recharged.
Except for the scattered bodies of a dozen Skitarii on the ground around it.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Secrets of the Noctis Part 4 of 10. Adeptus Mechanicus Fiction
Part IV
“We’re hooked on something.” The pilot was straining at the control sticks.
The crawler yawed on its axis, the left side was caught, then a horrid grinding was transmitted through the floor as the gears slipped and fought one another.
“Disengaging the shaft.”
“No I can recover it.”
The words came too late as the gears disengaged and the terrible noise of metal on metal ceased. With a snort the pilot slapped a large switch and the engine rumble cut off into a decaying whine like a huge departing insect. He pulled his headset off and slammed it onto the holding rack.
“I could have got her off it, what’s your damn problem?”
“This place is,” The copilot waved at the heavily shadowed gorge around them. “I know you’re good but you’ve never driven in a place like this and I’m not letting you get us stuck out here. I don’t fancy my life in the hands of some cog-head’s magic beacon.”
The pilot took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. He slapped his cheeks a few times with sweaty hands and, after a pause, nodded.
“You’re right. I didn’t mean to shout but…this place.”
He looked out into the dimness. They were a small pool of light rolling on six wheels and the crawler, normally so massive and reassuring, looked like a child’s toy compared to these massive rifts in the planet’s crust.
“Yeah, this place,” The copilot agreed. “So how about a shot of caffeine then we’ll get out there and get rid of that rock or whatever it is.”
“Sounds good, I’ll go and tell the cog.”
They’d begun using the nickname whenever she was out of earshot in the cargo bay. There was just something about the way she was driven. The pilot couldn’t help but think, as he walked to the bulkhead, that they were completely expendable to her, even if she ended up stranded. It was enough to make a man shiver when he was this far from home or anything even approaching safety. He was glad of that shotgun, that’s for sure.
The door hummed open.
“Why have we stopped, pilot?”
“Hung up on something. We’re going out there with plasma cutters to free her.”
“I shall accompany you,” She stated. “The Machine Spirit may need my calming influence. Also I wish to examine the area.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugged.
Ten minutes later and they were outside. The two men were cursing as they worked in the bright flare of the cutting torches while she walked into the centre of the ravine. Away from the yellow bubble of the crawler’s lights and the blue-white fountain from the cutters she felt the essence of this place.
The ravine was at least fifty metres wide with a rough floor in the centre from block lava flows. Presumably that’s why the pilot was keeping them on the sloping fringes. She strained her eyes upwards but even with the ocular shutters fully open there was no way to make out the details of the upper walls. It was as though the rocks near her rose into black emptiness, snapped into sudden rust red for a few metres where the sunlight caught the lip of the ravine and then we’re swallowed again by the blackness. No, not complete blackness. She could see the glint of stars, or ships, who knew which? Sol was probably the most crowded system in the Imperium.
But that was irrelevant. She shook herself away from the sight. Of course there would be ships, Terra was the heart of the Imperium therefore, logically, there would be ship traffic. Why was she so jumpy and distracted? It had taken her fifteen minutes to fashion the transmitters when she should have finished it three. They were close, that had to be it. Whether it was the Omnissiah’s hand on her or just her own intuition she knew, just knew.
A cry floated across the canyon, sounding like a lost child in the night. It did not echo, as she would have expected, but was swallowed up as though wrapped in heavy felt. They were done clearing the rock, good, it was time to make the last step. She fished out the memory chip and activated it. It was making more and more sense; this was definitely the route Thaleos had taken. She reached to her belt and pulled an ornate skull free. One mechadendrite went to her temple, unplugged a cable and connected it to a receptacle in the skull’s temple. Its feeble servitor brain struggled, cogitation units clicking and whirring, then it emitted a brief chime. She nodded in satisfaction as her mechadendrite withdrew the cable. Thumbing a brass switch she cast the skull aloft as though it were a hunting bird. It tumbled gracelessly end over end until, at the apex of the flight, the grav motors activated.
For a second she watched the small speck climbing upwards then turned to walk back to the crawler. She had taken only a few steps when something caught her eye. A glint of silver, or so it seemed. No, she’d lost it, wait, there it was. She ran over to it and knelt down.
It was a shard of metal. Just a flake, a hand’s length long, but it shone like polished steel. It shone in the darkness, it shone out in the shadow and she knew it was something greater than she’d ever seen. The double pattering of her bionic heart became a metallic drumbeat. This was it, she could feel the hand of the Omnissiah. Quickly she pocketed the shard. It wouldn’t do to show the drivers, they wouldn’t understand and she was too excited to fabricate another lie. But in just a few minutes she would be able to seal the cargo bulkhead and fully examine the fragment. There was no doubt the prize was nearby, perhaps only a few hundred metres from where she knelt.
As she rose and walked back to the crawler the fragment wriggled in her robes. She must have knocked it when she stood. It was the only logical cause. Anyway, it would only be a few moments and she’d be contentedly holding it. Excitement pushed out her other thoughts like a rushing wave.
In her pocket, its new owner blissfully ignorant, the shard twitched. It had been a long time since the presence of a being had awoken it.
“We’re hooked on something.” The pilot was straining at the control sticks.
The crawler yawed on its axis, the left side was caught, then a horrid grinding was transmitted through the floor as the gears slipped and fought one another.
“Disengaging the shaft.”
“No I can recover it.”
The words came too late as the gears disengaged and the terrible noise of metal on metal ceased. With a snort the pilot slapped a large switch and the engine rumble cut off into a decaying whine like a huge departing insect. He pulled his headset off and slammed it onto the holding rack.
“I could have got her off it, what’s your damn problem?”
“This place is,” The copilot waved at the heavily shadowed gorge around them. “I know you’re good but you’ve never driven in a place like this and I’m not letting you get us stuck out here. I don’t fancy my life in the hands of some cog-head’s magic beacon.”
The pilot took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. He slapped his cheeks a few times with sweaty hands and, after a pause, nodded.
“You’re right. I didn’t mean to shout but…this place.”
He looked out into the dimness. They were a small pool of light rolling on six wheels and the crawler, normally so massive and reassuring, looked like a child’s toy compared to these massive rifts in the planet’s crust.
“Yeah, this place,” The copilot agreed. “So how about a shot of caffeine then we’ll get out there and get rid of that rock or whatever it is.”
“Sounds good, I’ll go and tell the cog.”
They’d begun using the nickname whenever she was out of earshot in the cargo bay. There was just something about the way she was driven. The pilot couldn’t help but think, as he walked to the bulkhead, that they were completely expendable to her, even if she ended up stranded. It was enough to make a man shiver when he was this far from home or anything even approaching safety. He was glad of that shotgun, that’s for sure.
The door hummed open.
“Why have we stopped, pilot?”
“Hung up on something. We’re going out there with plasma cutters to free her.”
“I shall accompany you,” She stated. “The Machine Spirit may need my calming influence. Also I wish to examine the area.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugged.
Ten minutes later and they were outside. The two men were cursing as they worked in the bright flare of the cutting torches while she walked into the centre of the ravine. Away from the yellow bubble of the crawler’s lights and the blue-white fountain from the cutters she felt the essence of this place.
The ravine was at least fifty metres wide with a rough floor in the centre from block lava flows. Presumably that’s why the pilot was keeping them on the sloping fringes. She strained her eyes upwards but even with the ocular shutters fully open there was no way to make out the details of the upper walls. It was as though the rocks near her rose into black emptiness, snapped into sudden rust red for a few metres where the sunlight caught the lip of the ravine and then we’re swallowed again by the blackness. No, not complete blackness. She could see the glint of stars, or ships, who knew which? Sol was probably the most crowded system in the Imperium.
But that was irrelevant. She shook herself away from the sight. Of course there would be ships, Terra was the heart of the Imperium therefore, logically, there would be ship traffic. Why was she so jumpy and distracted? It had taken her fifteen minutes to fashion the transmitters when she should have finished it three. They were close, that had to be it. Whether it was the Omnissiah’s hand on her or just her own intuition she knew, just knew.
A cry floated across the canyon, sounding like a lost child in the night. It did not echo, as she would have expected, but was swallowed up as though wrapped in heavy felt. They were done clearing the rock, good, it was time to make the last step. She fished out the memory chip and activated it. It was making more and more sense; this was definitely the route Thaleos had taken. She reached to her belt and pulled an ornate skull free. One mechadendrite went to her temple, unplugged a cable and connected it to a receptacle in the skull’s temple. Its feeble servitor brain struggled, cogitation units clicking and whirring, then it emitted a brief chime. She nodded in satisfaction as her mechadendrite withdrew the cable. Thumbing a brass switch she cast the skull aloft as though it were a hunting bird. It tumbled gracelessly end over end until, at the apex of the flight, the grav motors activated.
For a second she watched the small speck climbing upwards then turned to walk back to the crawler. She had taken only a few steps when something caught her eye. A glint of silver, or so it seemed. No, she’d lost it, wait, there it was. She ran over to it and knelt down.
It was a shard of metal. Just a flake, a hand’s length long, but it shone like polished steel. It shone in the darkness, it shone out in the shadow and she knew it was something greater than she’d ever seen. The double pattering of her bionic heart became a metallic drumbeat. This was it, she could feel the hand of the Omnissiah. Quickly she pocketed the shard. It wouldn’t do to show the drivers, they wouldn’t understand and she was too excited to fabricate another lie. But in just a few minutes she would be able to seal the cargo bulkhead and fully examine the fragment. There was no doubt the prize was nearby, perhaps only a few hundred metres from where she knelt.
As she rose and walked back to the crawler the fragment wriggled in her robes. She must have knocked it when she stood. It was the only logical cause. Anyway, it would only be a few moments and she’d be contentedly holding it. Excitement pushed out her other thoughts like a rushing wave.
In her pocket, its new owner blissfully ignorant, the shard twitched. It had been a long time since the presence of a being had awoken it.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Secrets of the Noctis. Adeptus Mechanicus Fiction part 2 of 10
Part II
“This is a Skitarii weapon?”
The copilot of the crawler, tugging with a finger at the heavy rubber straps of his respirator, did not respond. Either he did not hear or, more likely, was doing it to annoy her.
“Answer me. Is it Skitarii?”
He used one heavy boot to kick away the desiccated arm that was draped on the weapon. The limb ended just above the elbow with a ragged edge that had been softened by time and exposure. Idly, he gave the item a perfunctory glance then turned it over with his toe and nodded.
“Aye. See the markings on the magazine rim.” He jabbed a gloved finger. “That’s the insignia of the Menshus sector, Skitarii sub-armoury 4-B. Can’t you read the glyphs?”
“Continue your impudence and I’ll have you assigned to menial status for a cycle.” She glared at him; he went back to adjusting his straps. “I’ll need you to examine it to determine how long it has been out here”
“You want me to pick it up?” His eyes boggled in the bug-like sockets of the mask. “The propellant sealant will have degraded. I’m not losing my hand to a dodgy weapon.” He crossed his arms firmly.
The same damn stubborn streak as that driver, she thought. If only there were two others she could have recruited who weren’t so completely exasperating. Still, they were making good time and there’d been no chance to get anyone else.
“Very well, I will ensure the Machine Spirit is content.”
Ignoring his vaguely interested, vaguely disgusted look she extended her mechadendrites. As the uncoiling metal snakes reached close she willed the sensor probe into activation. A rounded nubbin on the foremost dendrite split and a ball of metallic fibres slid out. They uncoiled like a dust flower blooming then slowly the hair-like wires caressed the weapon. It took only a second until she was connected but there was nothing there. The Machine Spirit had departed and only a metal shell was left.
“Omnissiah, bless and welcome the humble spirit of your creation. In the almighty machine find a place for it.” The prayer, whispered under her breath, was automatic.
Sacred duty carried out she resumed the study of the Skitarii weapon. There! Her filament sensors found the ident flek of the unit and a small speaker grille on her shoulder burst to life.
“Unit 63355572-18365 identified. Personnel-level-area-suppression-rotary-fed multiple-projectile-launcher.”
“It’s an automatic shotgun,” The copilot interrupted. “Don’t need all them words to describe it. So, the spirit happy?”
This blasphemy and disregard for proper manners was beginning to grate heavily. She was glad to have left behind her impure flesh face; holy metal saved the unconscious reactions to bothersome stimuli like witless drivers.
“It is a creation blessed in the Omnissiah’s eyes and should be referred to as such.” She snapped.
Thankfully her augmetic eyes could, quite literally, glow with irritation. She made sure the copilot could see them as she continued.
“The Spirit is placated, now examine the weapon.” A small lie but after all, he was only a driver, barely above a menial in he eyes.
“Just a damn shotgun.” He muttered rebelliously, gingerly bending to pick it up.
Once it was in his hands and failed to explode straightaway he looked a little calmer. Betraying knowledge (that he shouldn’t have, she noted) the copilot detached the drum magazine and racked the chamber. A brass cartridge, gleaming only slightly in the dim light, soared out to slide down the slope next to the trail. A small puff of red dust marked its landing, a small trickle of sand showed its path and then it became one with the landscape. She smiled internally at the sight. It was most…proper when something of the Omnissiah’s became one with the natural world. It marked one step taken towards the Promised Land.
“The seal’s been broken, it was fired,” He said, weighing the drum in one hand. “About a third full.”
“How old is the seal?”
“Can’t see all the markings but it looks like the armoury issued it maybe fifteen cycles ago. Could be a few more or less, some marks are worn off.” He shrugged. “Them shells that’s left are still good though.”
About fifteen cycles…Thaleos had departed sixteen point four cycles ago according to his encrypted file’s she’d broken into. It had to be his expedition; they must have gone this way. She sent a prayer of thanks to the Omnissiah and turned to the crawler.
“We are on course, prepare to leave.” She saw the driver nod through the dusty viewing glass.
“Get back on board,” She said to the copilot. “And bring the weapon. It must be returned to the forges and its spirit soothed.”
“Right.” The man said, a grin visible under his mask as he hefted the gun.
She took a small satisfaction in the faint patchy rash visible on his neck. He’d fiddled with the straps too much and bared some skin to the harsh atmosphere. A short exposure like this wouldn’t kill him but he’d be itchy for days. It was just one more thing that made her eternally glad she had moved beyond the confines of the weak flesh.
She was satisfied the Omnissiah was with them. The witless man would suffer slightly for his improper respect and, more importantly, they were on course.
A small thought routine niggled at her though. What had Thaleos and his expedition met that left a weapon two thirds depleted and ripped off a Skitarii’s arm?
“This is a Skitarii weapon?”
The copilot of the crawler, tugging with a finger at the heavy rubber straps of his respirator, did not respond. Either he did not hear or, more likely, was doing it to annoy her.
“Answer me. Is it Skitarii?”
He used one heavy boot to kick away the desiccated arm that was draped on the weapon. The limb ended just above the elbow with a ragged edge that had been softened by time and exposure. Idly, he gave the item a perfunctory glance then turned it over with his toe and nodded.
“Aye. See the markings on the magazine rim.” He jabbed a gloved finger. “That’s the insignia of the Menshus sector, Skitarii sub-armoury 4-B. Can’t you read the glyphs?”
“Continue your impudence and I’ll have you assigned to menial status for a cycle.” She glared at him; he went back to adjusting his straps. “I’ll need you to examine it to determine how long it has been out here”
“You want me to pick it up?” His eyes boggled in the bug-like sockets of the mask. “The propellant sealant will have degraded. I’m not losing my hand to a dodgy weapon.” He crossed his arms firmly.
The same damn stubborn streak as that driver, she thought. If only there were two others she could have recruited who weren’t so completely exasperating. Still, they were making good time and there’d been no chance to get anyone else.
“Very well, I will ensure the Machine Spirit is content.”
Ignoring his vaguely interested, vaguely disgusted look she extended her mechadendrites. As the uncoiling metal snakes reached close she willed the sensor probe into activation. A rounded nubbin on the foremost dendrite split and a ball of metallic fibres slid out. They uncoiled like a dust flower blooming then slowly the hair-like wires caressed the weapon. It took only a second until she was connected but there was nothing there. The Machine Spirit had departed and only a metal shell was left.
“Omnissiah, bless and welcome the humble spirit of your creation. In the almighty machine find a place for it.” The prayer, whispered under her breath, was automatic.
Sacred duty carried out she resumed the study of the Skitarii weapon. There! Her filament sensors found the ident flek of the unit and a small speaker grille on her shoulder burst to life.
“Unit 63355572-18365 identified. Personnel-level-area-suppression-rotary-fed multiple-projectile-launcher.”
“It’s an automatic shotgun,” The copilot interrupted. “Don’t need all them words to describe it. So, the spirit happy?”
This blasphemy and disregard for proper manners was beginning to grate heavily. She was glad to have left behind her impure flesh face; holy metal saved the unconscious reactions to bothersome stimuli like witless drivers.
“It is a creation blessed in the Omnissiah’s eyes and should be referred to as such.” She snapped.
Thankfully her augmetic eyes could, quite literally, glow with irritation. She made sure the copilot could see them as she continued.
“The Spirit is placated, now examine the weapon.” A small lie but after all, he was only a driver, barely above a menial in he eyes.
“Just a damn shotgun.” He muttered rebelliously, gingerly bending to pick it up.
Once it was in his hands and failed to explode straightaway he looked a little calmer. Betraying knowledge (that he shouldn’t have, she noted) the copilot detached the drum magazine and racked the chamber. A brass cartridge, gleaming only slightly in the dim light, soared out to slide down the slope next to the trail. A small puff of red dust marked its landing, a small trickle of sand showed its path and then it became one with the landscape. She smiled internally at the sight. It was most…proper when something of the Omnissiah’s became one with the natural world. It marked one step taken towards the Promised Land.
“The seal’s been broken, it was fired,” He said, weighing the drum in one hand. “About a third full.”
“How old is the seal?”
“Can’t see all the markings but it looks like the armoury issued it maybe fifteen cycles ago. Could be a few more or less, some marks are worn off.” He shrugged. “Them shells that’s left are still good though.”
About fifteen cycles…Thaleos had departed sixteen point four cycles ago according to his encrypted file’s she’d broken into. It had to be his expedition; they must have gone this way. She sent a prayer of thanks to the Omnissiah and turned to the crawler.
“We are on course, prepare to leave.” She saw the driver nod through the dusty viewing glass.
“Get back on board,” She said to the copilot. “And bring the weapon. It must be returned to the forges and its spirit soothed.”
“Right.” The man said, a grin visible under his mask as he hefted the gun.
She took a small satisfaction in the faint patchy rash visible on his neck. He’d fiddled with the straps too much and bared some skin to the harsh atmosphere. A short exposure like this wouldn’t kill him but he’d be itchy for days. It was just one more thing that made her eternally glad she had moved beyond the confines of the weak flesh.
She was satisfied the Omnissiah was with them. The witless man would suffer slightly for his improper respect and, more importantly, they were on course.
A small thought routine niggled at her though. What had Thaleos and his expedition met that left a weapon two thirds depleted and ripped off a Skitarii’s arm?
Secrets of the Noctis. Adeptus Mechanicus fiction. Part 1 of 10
Okay, a break from 40k modelling for a while. I've decided to post up some of my 40k fiction that used to be on the Black Library Publishing forums. This first piece is fairly short and went down well with the forumites when I posted it so hopefully people enjoy it here too.
Any comments or thoughts are welcome. If there are spelling errors and the like, please excuse them. I haven't been through the work to weed them out for a long time.
Part I
For the seventh time since leaving the Explorator Fringe Dome she examined the servitor’s memory chip fragment.
For the seventh time, there was nothing new to be seen.
For the seventh time the frustration was invisible on her face. Something was out there and she would find it. An iris coiled inwards as she looked towards the lit cab.
“Report.”
“We are approaching canyon seven zeta. Still reading the navigation beacons.”
“Any degradation in signal?”
“Intermittent. Five point five percent loss on the high ground, maximum of twelve percent during our passage through the trench.”
A moment’s pause. “Did you contact trench control?”
“Of course, eighteen minutes ago. Did you not hear us?”
“No, I was aligning the central navigation cogitator to our destination. Why did you make contact?”
“It is protocol. We must ensure no testing is underway. ”
“I informed you there was no testing.” She snapped. “And I ordered complete vox silence for this expedition.”
“It is protocol.” Repeated the man sullenly.
Had she been able, she would have rolled her eyes. Of course it was protocol, of course they were supposed to stay in contact, of course there could have been an unscheduled testing that would have vaporised them. There were a dozen normal things that she was omitting but it was necessary. If the information were accurate, the prize would be worth far more than every risk and broken rule.
“Very well,” It was too late to change anything. “Continue onwards. Inform me when we reach the first waypoint.”
Settling down in the overlarge seat she glanced at her two servitors. At least they could be counted on to obey her commands and not make their own interpretations.
She allowed herself a moment to dream of the wealth and advancement she would gain if, no, when the return journey was complete and it was in her hands. Her superiors had failed to notice her brilliance thus far but that would change. The punishments and censures she had received after showing her last work to the Council still stung. After this she would be welcomed into their ranks with open arms.
No. The more she considered the potential on offer the more it became clear that the Council were impediments to her rise. If the prize was what she thought, or hoped, then those conservative fools would welcome her in only to steal it away for their own advancement. Knowing them, they would never realise the potential and it would be locked into a study vault for centuries. In order to be tested; She could just hear the words coming from them, knowing that they would simply hide it as a heresy to be forgotten. That could not be allowed to pass, there was so much potential that needed to be tapped.
Still, it would take several hours before the real work would begin. She allowed her eyes to close and listened to the grinding sound of the land crawler’s six wheels churning over the rocky, dusty landscape. A particularly jarring impact disturbed her half-rest. A frown, invisible just like every other emotion, creased her thoughts (if not her face).
They would be a long few hours.
Any comments or thoughts are welcome. If there are spelling errors and the like, please excuse them. I haven't been through the work to weed them out for a long time.
Part I
For the seventh time since leaving the Explorator Fringe Dome she examined the servitor’s memory chip fragment.
For the seventh time, there was nothing new to be seen.
For the seventh time the frustration was invisible on her face. Something was out there and she would find it. An iris coiled inwards as she looked towards the lit cab.
“Report.”
“We are approaching canyon seven zeta. Still reading the navigation beacons.”
“Any degradation in signal?”
“Intermittent. Five point five percent loss on the high ground, maximum of twelve percent during our passage through the trench.”
A moment’s pause. “Did you contact trench control?”
“Of course, eighteen minutes ago. Did you not hear us?”
“No, I was aligning the central navigation cogitator to our destination. Why did you make contact?”
“It is protocol. We must ensure no testing is underway. ”
“I informed you there was no testing.” She snapped. “And I ordered complete vox silence for this expedition.”
“It is protocol.” Repeated the man sullenly.
Had she been able, she would have rolled her eyes. Of course it was protocol, of course they were supposed to stay in contact, of course there could have been an unscheduled testing that would have vaporised them. There were a dozen normal things that she was omitting but it was necessary. If the information were accurate, the prize would be worth far more than every risk and broken rule.
“Very well,” It was too late to change anything. “Continue onwards. Inform me when we reach the first waypoint.”
Settling down in the overlarge seat she glanced at her two servitors. At least they could be counted on to obey her commands and not make their own interpretations.
She allowed herself a moment to dream of the wealth and advancement she would gain if, no, when the return journey was complete and it was in her hands. Her superiors had failed to notice her brilliance thus far but that would change. The punishments and censures she had received after showing her last work to the Council still stung. After this she would be welcomed into their ranks with open arms.
No. The more she considered the potential on offer the more it became clear that the Council were impediments to her rise. If the prize was what she thought, or hoped, then those conservative fools would welcome her in only to steal it away for their own advancement. Knowing them, they would never realise the potential and it would be locked into a study vault for centuries. In order to be tested; She could just hear the words coming from them, knowing that they would simply hide it as a heresy to be forgotten. That could not be allowed to pass, there was so much potential that needed to be tapped.
Still, it would take several hours before the real work would begin. She allowed her eyes to close and listened to the grinding sound of the land crawler’s six wheels churning over the rocky, dusty landscape. A particularly jarring impact disturbed her half-rest. A frown, invisible just like every other emotion, creased her thoughts (if not her face).
They would be a long few hours.
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