I pick up another thirty servitors from the hangar, as well as my favourite servo skull, Brian, and depart the Distant Sun. The thunderhawk circles Marwolv a couple of times as I slip into the atmosphere and descend to the enclave.

During the journey I message Quaani, updating him on the mutants and enclave. He doesn’t reply and I don’t expect him to while he’s studying.

The enclave is a rusting fortress of ferrocrete, plasteel, and armourglass. A planetary cannon, unpowered and covered by a battered dome, graces the central spire thrusting from the mountain top.

Multiple walls, bunkers, and other defensive works surround and dot the mountain. I spot the mechanisms for a void shield, though it appears non-functional.

I was expecting a few dormitories, warehouses and factories as well as a couple of laboratories covering less than five square kilometres. After all, how much space do a few exiled mechanicus really need? A self-sufficient fortress capable of repelling a small planetary invasion is a complete surprise.

That planetary cannon is quite capable of obliterating Erudition’s Howl, though probably not before the vessel could hide behind the other side of the moon. When active though, it does make it much harder to drop troops nearby or to bombard the enclave from orbit. The Distant Sun would be fine. Probably. I’d have to examine the cannon to be sure.

None of the anti-air guns track me as I approach and I land by the D-POTs on a series of pads at the bottom of the mountain. Having seen what awaits me, I order the class two to be loaded and ferry servitors and supplies. The class two D-POT can carry sixteen tanks, with extra ammo and fuel as well as three hundred and thirty-six soldiers with their equipment. I order six flights. There’s a lot of ground to explore.

I disembark and stare in wonder. Brian, my servo skull, floats after me, beeping and trilling as he rushes about scanning everything with his red, bionic eye. A humongous gate, decorated with an imposing cog and skull, bars the road into the fortress. My explorator credentials are sufficient to open it and the door rattles open with a resentful groan.

Servitors stream into the gap followed by four chimeras. I approach, gawking at every detail with each step. Vast edifices of ferrocrete dominate the surroundings with techno-gothic architecture. Massive arched windows, flying buttresses and thick pipes, some covered in rime and others hazy with heat, impress a solemn and purposeful presence upon me.

Then, there are the skulls. Hiding beneath arches, embossed on doors, and grinning from the bottom of the drain pipes, skulls infest the fortress. Sure, they’re all shiny brass and speckled granite, but it’s terribly overdone.

For some odd reason, they’re all in pairs.

I ascend the mountain, poking my mechadendrites into abandoned manufactorums, shrines, and dormitories. Everything looks like it was abandoned midway through daily tasks and there’s no battle damage or signs of struggle.

The idea that animals disabled the fortress doesn’t add up, though they have infested the place since. Many of the doors and fittings, and much of the machinery has been chewed on. Wires have been dug from the walls and some supports for the overhead pipes have collapsed.

Rabbits are absolutely everywhere, there’s also signs of boars, birds, deer and their predators, like lynx and foxes.

My servitors find a tunnel into the mountain, like the Distant Sun, the passageway is fifteen metres tall and ten wide, just big enough for a warhound titan, or two tanks travelling side by side.

The tunnel is smooth and circular, lined with ferrocrete and reinforced with plasteel ribs. I really want to see what they used to bore this tunnel. It must be an epic bit of kit. Driving it around would be awesome.

A low level of power is flowing through the conduits overhead. Fans spin up periodically, circulating the damp air while multiple pict-recorders and sensors push data deep within the mountain.

Feeling exposed, I get into a chimera and have it rush along the corridor. After driving for a kilometre, the gentle, downward slope flattens out into a massive square room, held aloft by wide spaced pillars and a plasteel frame. Three other main tunnels lead off the underground space.

Each wall has two large lifts: flat platforms with sharply descending tunnels. The opposite wall, rightside lift, has a bank of machinery obstructing it; blinking lights, switches, and screens surround a purple, sparking aperture that sheds warp energy into the air.

Above the aperture is an eldar warp spider, bound to a cross. Wires and pipes pierce its body. The helmet is missing and crude cybernetics have been fused to its head.

Unsure what to make of the device, I send in the servitors and read the data through their eyes, hopefully keeping sufficient distance between heretek and my data ports.

Through the portal, my servitors see a cavernous room, cluttered with random machines and parts, piled like junk all the way to the ceiling fifteen metres above. Posters are everywhere; lush planets, performing musicians, and hive cities are stuck to random kit. Thousands of tiny models fill display cases: intricate dioramas of Imperial battles, working models of manufactories, and other scenes.

Large, mechanical tracks have rubbed away some of the ferrocrete and crushed stray scrap, revealing the most travelled paths through this tenebrous maze.

I send a single servitor through. My connection remains stable and, thanks to all the relays, I am able to discover the room the aperture opens onto is one point four kilometres below me.

The servitor follows the tracks to the centre. It spots the tracked vehicle parked on a twelve metre wide, circular platform covered in golden runes and seals. The vehicle is the repurposed frame of a space marine rhino, an armoured personnel carrier. Rather than mounting an armoured cabin, the drive train holds two tech priests, joined at their heads.

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Their bodies are massive, cybernetic hulks fused to the bottom half of the rhino. The top half of the rhino is missing. Mechadendrites and servo arms flop over boxes of tools, power packs, and hundreds of machine parts and cogitators.

The tech priests are draped in red, oil stained robes and they are chattering away in lingua-technis in front of a massive holoprojector. They poke each other and laugh, insulting each other's skills.

It takes me a moment to put the scene together. These two muppets are playing an air car racing game.

I watch for a couple minutes as the yellow and red race cars flash through the skies and rivers, through loops and over mountains.

The red driver messes up and I mutter, “Ah, you missed a boost.”

Their audio sensors must be spectacular because they pause the game and the two tech priests turn around, their bodies moved by a rotating platform.

“Omnisiah bless my circuits, is that a guest?” says the left tech priest in low gothic.

“Well, that’s not one of our servitors, so it must be!”

“I’ve got it, they’re in the mustering under-yard.”

The pair wave at the servitor.

“Hello guest!” says the right tech priest. “I am Engineseer Jund Ronrer.”

“And I’m Lexmechanic Psi-Xi Twenty-Two.”

“Hello Jund Ronrer and Psi-Xi Twenty-Two. I am Magos Explorator Aldrich Issengrund. It is a pleasant surprise to discover that the Omnisiah’s spark still lingers in this part of the galaxy.”

“Does the Imperium still stand, Magos Issengrund?” says Psi-Xi.

“It does, though the great rift has divided it and our enemies are relentless.”

“We don’t care how bad it is,” says Jund Ronrer, “so long as you can take us away from Marwolv.”

I shake my head. “I will not be leaving for some time and there is the matter of false data on the satellite. What was your mission here and how did the enclave end up in such a state? Where are the other tech priests? The use of xeno-servitors and open portals is illegal too. What have you been up to here?”

“That’s a lot of questions, Magos,” says Psi-Xi. “We do not know each other well enough to share such secrets.”

“Much like I do not know you well enough to let you on my ship either.”

Psi-Xi shrugs. “Well, you just waltzed into our base and are unloading troops and hardware!”

“My apologies. I did not know what I would find. The satellite told me the site was dead yet my servitors detected power and data flows. For all I knew there could have been an abominable intelligence here.”

Jund sighs, “He has a point Psi-Xi. We are responsible for the false data.”

“Ugh, fine.”

“All things require knowledge, including friendship. Why don’t you start with what the purpose of this fortress is.”

“It's a supply point for imperial forces,” says Psi-Xi.

“Pretty sure the Munitorum has forgotten about it though, or lost the map. We’ve never had anyone drop by to pick up the gear. There’s almost seven millenia of materiel squirrelled away.”

“That’s misleading. It’s more like one millenia, recycled seven times.”

I laugh, “What an irritating endeavour!”

“Oh yes, we are quite fed up with it and shut everything down in X196.795.M40.”

“The date of the animal attack,” I say.

“Well, if you want to call eldar animals, then yes. That’s what happened,” says Jund.

“We’re the only survivors, or survivor, depending on how you count it.”

“Are you conjoined twins? Why did you not get separated?”

“The last metasurgeon died before we were born and the other genetor did not feel confident in performing the operation without killing us, though he was able to give us our cybernetics.”

“It is all we have known and have only found our state to be an advantage. Two minds, two brains, one will.”

“A commendable attitude. Let’s focus on the portal. You need to shut it down. I will also require the experimental data. I need to ensure there will not be a warp breach, or that the tau can get at the data.”

“Who are you to tell us what to do in our home, Magos!” says Psi-Xi.

“The captain of the ship you wish to board.”

Jund laughs, “We do not require your permission for that.” The platform they’re on flashes with viridescent lightning arcs and the pair disappear.

Aruna contacts me, “Magos, the Distant Sun has been boarded. They are on #M1Q1, portside munitorum.”

“How the hell did they teleport through our void shields?”

“Unknown, Magos. Aruna notes void shields are maintained at fifty percent while at green alert.”

“What are they doing?”

“They are frying the sensors with a galvanic carbine, a weapon that fires armour piercing bullets containing a significant electric discharge. Their vehicle also has a heavy arc rifle, a long range gun that fires triple helices of lightning. It can short circuit cogitators, execute machine-spirits, and banish demons from possessed machines.”

“Those assholes! They’re hiding something. Why else would they do the equivalent of assaulting airport security, let alone fire guns inside an ammo depot containing van sized shells?”

“Orders, Magos?”

“The munitorum has an emergency blowout, right?”

“Yes. Activating it will cause significant hull damage. Aruna does not recommend spacing the boarders.”

“Fine. I’m returning to the thunderhawk. No way I’m taking their teleporter. Tell Quaani to armour up and grab the two chunkiest ballistic shields he can find and meet me in the hangar bay. Have the servitors prepare to repel boarders.”

I sprint the chimera and tell it to drive to the surface. Its engine revs at a thunderous volume, accelerating the chimera to fifty kilometres per hour. As I race to the surface, my servitors flood the tech priests’ workshop and swarm the portal machinery, looking for the emergency power switch.

Against all odds, these fools have not installed one on the portal and I am reluctant to execute the warp spider until I know exactly what these hereteks were up to. The teleporter is an ancient device and following the proper rituals lets me depower it. Meanwhile, several servitors hook into their databases and I set eight of my thought streams to max speed and start looking for research notes and other records.

As the Thunderhawk lifts off, the last munitorum sensor is destroyed.