“I mislike making orbital insertions… but this way they’ll have the best chance to surrender intact.”
After all, the mad magus in change of the invasion could hardly blow her up from orbit… if she was already on his command vessel. A Ciphered upload from the station’s noosphere had already informed Pyrrha of her target, ship and orbit:
The Retribution Class Battleship Fidentia of the Basilikon Astra.
And it was carrying Fabricator Locum Restanx PV-249 of Lathe-Hesh. Second in command of that famous Forge World, and the tech-priest that had called this whole crusade.
“Nice of him to come out in person, so I don’t have to go get him.”
Pyrrha always hated that, dealing with stubborn subordinates with written orders they’d cling to onto death. It was depressingly common in the Imperium of Man.
Calculating and matching orbital velocities by feel was something Pyrrha could do… but not without showing up on every auxpex in orbit. For a quiet insertion, she needed a bit of help… which was what the machine spirit integrated into her slim backpack was for.
Among other things.
The nice thing about having Rogue Trader friends was they had access to some of the nicest toys. And what they didn’t Space Marines could.
Not that convincing any Space Marine to part with any wargear was anything but an extended trial.
Which is why, despite having far less honour, Pyrrha preferred to keep her personal shopping covert.
After all, if the Mechanicus at large was heavily divided on the topic of intrusion spirits, the contents of the cogitators at her back would have them calling for her head.
More. They’d have her calling for her head more.
After all, there was no reason why an Intrusion Spirit had to burn itself out, not apart from bad design.
So, much like Pyrrha herself was a living multi-key yet still carried one, so too did she bring along her multi-key spirit.
Though the Mechanicus would have likely named it something quite different.
“Like Data-vault Safe-cracker. Just before they outlawed its existence and derided it as heretek.”
If pressed, Pyrrha would admit: she was not above learning from her enemies.
And while unpicking scrap code for anything useful was a massive, massive, massive headache?
She’d had years she spent stuck somewhere, with her allotted reading exhausted. Where her cover needed her to stay in place, still, inactive and unnoticed.
Or not visibly acting in a recognisable way. What was she supposed to do with all that time?
Well, apart from writing poems, but she’d never meant to share that with anyone, and that distraction only worked if the proper inspiration struck her.
“Not that my students let me get away with that for long.”
To this day, despite her age, hearing the Huntsmen, Huntresses and people of Sanctuary sing her poems every year?
It still embarrasses Pyrrha.
That both her students and her citizens find her earnest blushes endearing is why Lady Nikos allows them.
The same cannot be said of Arc. While her friend had merely provided her with high-end cogitators to house the spirit?
The rest was her doing, in two parts, and Pyrrha had no intention of sharing her design with anyone.
First, that she’d written the damn thing on the bones of intrusion spirits.
Second, that it couldn’t get out without going through her soul. For the spirit had no way to communicate with anything but her armour, and not without her deliberately linking it to something. If set aside, Pyrrha ensured it was kept off and as secure as she could make it. Which included a small Null Box in their vaults since the fall of House Vormir.
“I know that what drove the old, mighty spirits mad, but she will not be exposed to peril.”
In a fit of loneliness and madness, she’d named it Arc. And regretted that decision for years after.
Now, feeling the weight of the cogitator pack on her back brought her comfort. Even if she had hoped not to use this so soon.
As best Lady Nikos could tell, Arc had not grown into a true Silica Animus, or “Abominable Intelligence” as those less technically minded called them in High Gothic. But she was far more developed, aware and adaptable than any machine spirit Lady Nikos has had the chance to address.
“Which is not a high bar.” for the Mechanicus was, by nature, secretive. It was not like Pyrrha had sought the chance to test her impressions and theories on an actual Data Vault.
What she was doing was already perilous enough, what with her head Magos being a wanted Renegade under a different name and body type. Let alone all the religious threats that loomed over the Writ negotiations.
“Hopefully, a good showing here will aid those.”
***
She was closing on the fleet. The many, many sensors reaching out had to be blind to miss even a human sized missile racing towards the centre of the fleet. Or confused. Confounded. Deceived.
Not that it was Arc’s doing. Pyrrha had simply grabbed convenient bits of space garbage, the very same she’d been using to manage her acceleration, and used them as camouflage. Space was full of lost bits and bobs, and it wasn’t like she needed her body to be fully present inside her armour for the final approach. The skill of entering Tenenboum had several niche applications. Like a total lack of life-signs.
For all the risk skimming the Warp brought, it could be quite useful under the correct circumstances.
No, what she needed Arc’s help was for… as she closed with the battleship.
“Void shields are down.”
Tensions with the Navy must not have escalated too badly then. It made this approach much easier.
Pyrrha reached out and felt the cogitators and sensors inside the hull, angled her approach just so. Her cobbled together delivery vehicle shattered and scattered from the glancing impact against the hull, but Pyrrha stuck. She caused minor power fluctuation inside the local systems, skittering across the surface to the nearest emergency exit, then opened it from the inside.
Such temporary power fluctuations were common on most Imperial ships, due to their age and poor maintenance. Perhaps a Basilikon Astra ship would be better… but Pyrrha doubted better was perfect.
If she’d tried to pry it open by force, every alarm on the ship would have rang, many of which were located far beneath the hull. And it would have drawn the attention of the ship’s mashine spirit, something she definitely did not want. That spirit would throw out Arc’s efforts with ease… if they were noticed.
A short warp jump would have triggered an entirely different and even more strenuous set of alarms, as well as triggered raising of the Gellar Field to full power. It was one of the few systems on every warp-capable starship that was always kept on standby.
As it was, the minor fault was followed up by a quick maintenance check.
For once inside and able to connect to both the noospehere and the sensors directly, it was easy for Arc to find copies of previous reports filed from here in the local logbooks, and forge another. Someone would check up on it and notice that the Enginseer that was supposedly filing it was not present here at the time... in the next working day, or week.
The recent check-ins showed him to have passed twelve minutes ago.
All this, and what she was doing, Arc showed on her helmet display while she slipped on the full body robes over her armour, returned air to the room and lit the appropriate incense, only then stepping fully into Materium. While one swept the noospehere for cracks and opportunities, the other did much the same with her passive senses through the nearby corridors.
She’d already checked to make sure no one would be close enough to hear the door opening.
This being a powered warship of the Basilikon Astra, her passive power senses were plenty good enough. Everyone had implants, and some had far too many of them to be tech-priests…
“Huh.” “Those are servitors in power conservation mode.” “Change of plans.”
Arc’s readouts and reporting paused.
“Get me something local, quick.”
The moment the ready symbol pulsed on her display, Pyrrha got into a ready position. Twelve seconds later, the instant she was certain nothing human would see her, she made the brisk ninety two second walk down the halls to the combat servitor she’d felt in one of the walls. “Probably here to repel boarders.”
What it was for Pyrrha was an isolated combat platform that wasn’t on, which she could plunder for data and an excuse without any observers noticing.
Her Malfian teacher had called this the simplified shuffle gambit. “It is taught to children.” the old voice lectured in her memories.
The premise is simple: tell a whole bunch of simple lies, to many different people, instead of trying to invent one sturdy, complex lie that would stand up to scrutiny.
Make the lies such that it takes more effort to discover the lie, and even more to follow up, compared to how costly it is to invent and apply. Move quickly and discard old lies as you go, so that even if someone does realise something is up, they’ll be far behind you,
Searching for someone else, ever finding only more lies and people lied to.
Who were usually not happy to see them. Reputation was important, and even knowing that someone had been lied to, had fallen for it, could be leverage.
“Helpful skills: the ability to disguise appearances so they’re also looking for someone that looks nothing like you.” Utterly lacking: the common sense to cooperate and catch the liar over petty matters, instead of using the latest incident as a point of order in the long line of quarrels between rivals or competitors, or competing interests.
Here is what happens, as far as the archives are concerned:
A Skitarii, called by the maintenance check, confirms the all clear, then returns to his berth.
Said path passes by the servitor cubby. On his way past, he reports the servitor as malfunctioning. An Enginseer arrives to examine the servitor, and takes it in for maintenance. After a short quarrel, he kicks out a different Enginseer from a nearby repair station, who was working on some private project in their down time.
That Enginseer then moves to another unused work station, to continue their Pursuit of Knowledge during their maintenance cycle. So long as their performance does not suffer, such allowances are normal. Another maintenance technician arrives to pick up and deliver a different servitor that was in for repairs there back to their station.
They too, are acting in their off hours. They file the completion of the task they have taken upon themselves, hoping to earn some recognition for going beyond their duties.
And so on, and so forth, ever deeper into the heart of the battleship, preceded by a barrage of simple forgeries, stolen authorisations as opportunities arise, and blatant yet routine lies.
*
What actually happens is that Pyrrha rips the local maps from the archives of the servitor, as well as his list of friendly targets. Then she damages it, and takes it in for repairs. Keeping the servitor and her robes between her and other passing servitors and menials, while avoiding tech-priests and Skitarii with her senses by seeming accident.
Once in, the sensors inside suffer another “power fluctuation” while she pilfers mechandrites and other bits and prices that she needs to complete her disguise. Being able to move them all with her Semblance helps a lot. Having access to a voice box for Arc and more proper incense also means she stops leaving a trail of disturbed lesser machinery in her wake.
The locals really like binharic cants and have trained their machine spirits to expect them.
And it is very nice for Pyrrha, that after so long, lessons from her renegade Magos finally allowed her to bridge the gap and understand those languages natively now. Even if she does not speak them casually, lacking the implants.
Before this, she had to rely on Arc’s feelings, readouts and trust. Trust that has been vindicated by the joy Arc felt when Pyrrha finally started composing messages to her in those twisted, arcane, archaic tongues.
Which were Arc’s native tongues, due to her origin as a Mechanicus intrusion spirit.
“And the knowledge has helped me clean up and fix some of the problem areas.” For Arc had long since grown past such limited beginnings. With the extra cogitators Arc could access inside her private workshop in Sanctuary, Arc was the source of about 60% of her oversight and corrections in the Magos’s research work.
Often, while she meditated within, her friend was working for the betterment of Sanctuary. Even if she was not fully awake, aware.
“Yet.”
Lady Nikos shook off such dangerous thoughts. It was mere hope and false, tempting hope at that. It was the price of skimming the Warp. Bits of it lingered and needed to be shed through centring and meditation. That was a Law laid down by the Emperor himself. House Nikos would not break it.
If nothing else, some esoteric form of divination would doom them all, if she did. “If enemy action did not.”
Pyrrha shook of such thoughts. Focused on why she was here.
*
From there, it’s only a matter of sticking to ordinary, predictable, everyday lines of motion and reports for each of her faces.
Not one of her assumed covers does anything remotely suspicious… except file reports while they’re actually asleep, or otherwise unavailable to the noosphere.
For that is perhaps the stupidest part of it all: a list of all currently active personnel is available to routine checks that needs very little clearance. It does not detail anything else but their names, titles and if they can be connected to… but for an infiltrator?
That is a wealth of information.
In some ways, the gambit is both more and less effective on a Basilikon Astra ship.
Less, in that she leaves a long trail of reports that will be cross checked and discovered as impossible.
More, in that the first thing doing that check is the ship’s own machine spirit. All her reports are routine, minor violations that many other tech-priests are doing just as her cover identities are, coming from expected locales and under previously seen circumstances.
It’s all so banal.
With thousands of tech-priests on board, her transgressions join the extended queue. No doubt when their shifts come up, or after they end, the way the Mechanicus prefers to work, they’ll receive official reprimands and appropriate punishments.
Only to then protest them. Or as soon as someone is freed enough from more pressing duties to follow up on her reports.
Pyrrha means to have her talk with the Fabricator Locum long before that.
It’s not that their security is bad. They are following best practices and established doctrine.
It only makes them predictable.
At least the Skitarii are trying to keep their patrol paths semi-randomised… if only they weren’t using the same random number generator to path their decision trees like every other Skitarii from Lathe-Hesh.
She ripped that out of their corpses more than a decade before founding Sanctuary.
The decision trees and other standard Skitarii training patterns for the Lathes and other Forgeworlds in the sector, Pyrrha found in the Logician archives.
“I do not think these Skitarii have been tested in a defensive boarding action in at least the last decade.” Pyrrha concludes, as things continue to go well. Perhaps too well.
While showing no sign of it outwardly, she becomes extra alert for any sign of a trap.
*
The other reason why such a gambit is easier on an Basilikon Astra ship?
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
It would take a Lexmechanic of some skill to access the archives, collate the reports, and check them against one another, without angering the machine spirit.
For it sees all, knows all, and archives everything.
What it lacks is the ability to follow up every minor inefficiency and irregularity, all at once. Not when it is occupied with a thousand other things. More important things, more dangerous things, the reports from which take priority from minor discipline problems, which it promptly refers to the appropriate authorities. Who have their own queues and other duties to work through.
Like the destructive testing currently happening in Energy Weapon Lab III.
*
Lady Pyrrha Nikos is somewhat mistaken. The Retribution Class Battleship Fidentia of the Basilikon Astra has seen action in the last decade. Against hereteks and pirates. Some orks. Mostly from orbit or against far lesser vessels.
But the primary duty of the Fidentia is to transport representatives of the Lathe Worlds to other Forgeworlds in the Calixis Sector, and then remain in orbit with its accompanying fleet and Legion elements as a reminder of their might. All while Magos and Archmagos from the Lathes engage in “friendly discussions” and “reasoned debates” with their “honourable peers” over tributes, tithes and dues.
And as anyone with any processing power in the Calixis Sector knows, the Lathe Worlds have no peers.
***
Fabricator Locum Restanx PV-249 was ill satisfied. Katrolarax 4th had projected success of the purge of target: “Sanctuary” within a month of deploying the Vanguard.
Now the Legion had suffered more than 90% losses of the same and was 42.683 Terran days overdue. Tallies were impossible with communication disrupted by the attack, but Fabricator Locum Restanx PV-249 estimated that at least 5% would have escaped the blaze at the speed it was traveling.
Before rendering judgement, he required understanding if the blaze was sorcerous in nature, or if his Skitarii had somehow missed concealed mines.
A third possibility was some kind of heretical device that induced partial fission or fusion of the irradiated materials, as readings taken from the edges of the event indicated reduced rad levels.
Such a device should obviously be dismantled and erased if found. Yet if the hereteks could develop such a thing, than surely, somewhere out there, there was a record of their ancestors doing the same, but through the proper means of a Thrice Holy STC.
Should the later be verified, such theoretical means would join the data vaults, to be sought out in the Pursuit of Knowledge by properly prepared and trained exploratory vessels.
The Skitarii Marshal had failed to anticipate the trap, failed to resolve the unrest in the hives, and failed to accurately predict progress in the underhive.
Such repeated failure was intolerable. Fabricator Locum Restanx PV-249 promptly marked him for recycling. For the duration of the purge, he was demoted to a tactical role he had proven qualified in, and another was raised in his place.
Further punishment would be dependent on the nature of the trap. As Marshal, it had been his duty to anticipate it regardless, but the scale of the failure would be collated and compared to previous records before determining degree of guilt.
(In a flash, a routine maintenance request for one of the turrets in the room was approved. It was one of dozens of routine requests made every second. This one had been forwarded to him, for this was his personal lab.)
As well as if training protocols needed to be adjusted.
In a lesser force, such a shift would have disrupted command.
They were the Adeptus Mechanicus.
Only minimal disruption ensued.
It spoke well of the former Marshal that he had foreseen his fate and readied his replacement.
The matter was put aside.
Another dozen letters were written and sent, both to the obstructing, stubborn officers of the Navy, and the thankless inbred nobility below.
The Inquisition remained ominously silent. Projection showed this could indicate a plot to humble the Lathes or their inability to do so, in equal validity.
There was simply not enough data for accurate projections. A game the Inquisition was unfortunately competent at playing, until the very moment they would play their hand.
A new report dragged Fabricator Locum Restanx PV-249’s attention to Energy Weapon Lab III. “Damages extensive; casualties minimal. Repeated testing approved.”
A checkmark was marked. Another apprentice rising to the task of bolter production.
Fabricator Locum Restanx PV-249 set aside 1.2 seconds to indulge in satisfaction of things preceding to plan, before returning to his duties. Which were many and numerous. While his seat was not the command throne of the venerable Fidentia, from here, he could not only oversee and command his own servitors and workings, but keep watchful eyes on all the other labs and manufactoriums in operation.
Such duties were far more suitable to one of his expertise. That he had not needed to make corrections or hand out punishments in 6.259 standard days was above average and had allowed Fabricator Locum Restanx PV-249 sufficient time to bring a project of his own near completion.
A less routine but still quite ordinary request was filed to allow powering the turret for the inspection. A more in depth check confirmed that the inspection was regular, the proper access rituals had been followed, and a quick check of the sensors within the maintenance tunnels confirmed the hunched figure was familiar and wearing the right robes for an Enginseer from the Lathes.
Ensuring that the internal locks on the turret moorings, ones not present on any map or design document, were firmly engaged, the request was allowed. Several mechadendrites were extended to observe the intrusion… which as ever proceeded in accordance with protocol, appropriate cants and incense filling the utility tunnel.
The monitoring would continue, and any deviation would be noted.
Returning to his duties, Fabricator Locum Restanx PV-249 continued running the calculations for reordering three production lines on Lathe-Hesh more efficient. Should his model succeed, he would be able to reduce production times by 181 to 289 seconds, overall.
Not a significant reduction for the line which produced Kataphron Battle Servitors, or the tank line. The Heavy Flamer production would see statistically notable improvements, in both time and cost, which justified the expense of his time.
For it was out of hundreds and thousands of such careful rearrangements that the superiority of every Forgeworld was secured.
Not from the endless arguments between the Lords Dragon. As if this minor in scale tech heresy was worth their time to argue about, no matter its claims.
It was one warren of hereteks in one Underhive. By the time arguments resolved among the other Lords Dragon, Fabricator Locum Restanx PV-249 planned to have already dealt with the problem decisively. Purging both the infestation among the local tech-priests and whatever hidden base these hereteks had managed to cobble together.
Such a result would prove his position.
*
Fabricator Locum Restanx PV-249 worked on, and soon enough, the inspection ended, the turret wound down, and the intrusion departed.
According to every sensor in the walls. What his own told him was that somehow, his locks on the turret had been bypassed. On the other turret, which he had one mechadendrites watching to preclude inane assassination attempts in case one of the Inquisitors below attempted such improbable foolishness.
Graciously, Fabricator Locum Restanx PV-249 of Lathe-Hesh allowed to assassin to fully emerge, before addressing them and alerting his guards:
“Your master will not thank you for this failure.”
The red hood fell and his internal temperature spiked.
The Heretek was here!
***
“Oh I don’t know. I think I’m right where I mean to be.” Pyrrha drawled, faking casual confidence as she approached. Well, not for the fight, unless this Fabricator Locum was a much tougher fighter than he appeared, that was no concern.
No, what worried her was how her presence would be taken.
Seeing as how his power was spiking? “I’m guessing not well.”
“YOU DARE PROFANE THIS HOLY TEMPLE WITH YOUR HERESY.” the metallic voice rang, loudly enough that if the lab wasn’t sound proof, no doubt many, many guards would have come running. As it was, it merely caused the bodyguards present to lurch into sudden violent motion. Weapons springing up to fire on where Pyrrha had been. It merely rent the robe and the rest of the disguise she’d abandoned to pieces.
She’d emerged back and behind the throne in the room, which had placed one of the two groups of elite Skitarii close. They’d turned to face the possible threat, but in the time it took them to aim and fire, she was already among them.
They were far faster than most armed Imperials she’d faced. As fast as some Scout Marines.
But nowhere near fast enough to stop her, once she got going.
Dodging was a skill. Pyrrha had used the awareness her Semblance gave her and the Gifts survival in this mad galaxy had given her to turn it into an art form.
In the time it took her to cut down half of the group, the other half were perforated and worse by friendly and not so friendly fire. Pyrrha had helped by nudging some shots just so.
Lady Nikos slid around the throne, using their charge against the guards to close with them. If the Fabricator wasn’t too busy fighting Arc disruption of his control of the room’s systems, he probably would have done more than empty several weapons her way.
His aim was good, but reliant on his gear. Which was, despite the many precautions built into it, suffering some difficulties.
Truthfully, it was surprisingly hard to mess with the Fabricator’s internals. Almost as hard as doing the same to a proper heretekal abomination. That was a compliment. Integration between body and implants among the Mechanicus priesthood was usually high, but this was laudable even among such high standards. To him, none of the additions to his body were additions. They were his body.
“Too bad it matters not at all.”
If she’d chosen to, she could have simply crushed them all. It would have been inefficient use of her Aura and a wasteful display. Miló was more than suitable. Elite or not, these Praetorians were still ranged specialists.
She was not.
The single melee champion among them lasted longest… but that just meant he died in three exchanges, instead of one.
Alarms blared all around her as Arc retreated, losing the battle with the old, monstrous tech-priest in mere seconds. The turrets tried to deploy… and were caught by the same locks the Fabricator Locum had installed himself. Which were broken and stuck in the closed position.
Much like every lock leading into this room. Lady Nikos had made sure of that, the moment she stepped into the open, the sound of the locks breaking obscured by the bodyguards firing.
Like some demented metal flower blooming, Fabricator Locum Restanx PV-249 of Lathe-Hesh disconnected from his throne, even as every servitor in the room turned her way.
“Must we? I had hoped to talk to you first.”
“NOTHING YOU SAY MATTERS, HERETEK. EVERY TRACE OF YOU WILL BE WIPED AWAY.”
More weapons were powering on, aiming.
“DIE.”
A red line linked her hand and his chest. Miló’s spear form protruding from the leader of this purge fleet. His body jerked sideways, both from the impact and his belated attempt to avoid it.
“As you wish.” Lady Nikos replied, as Restanx PV-249 looked at the floor, slight puzzlement more implied than seen on what remained of his face, while catching himself with more mechadendrites. It was a fully independent system, not like that mattered to Pyrrha. Unpowered, unshielded, Imperial force field tech was ever so delicate from the inside.
Her hand turned, flipped. Palm up, towards the haft of her spear. Red lightning linked the two.
Fabricator Locum Restanx PV-249 of Lathe-Hesh… crumpled as her power ravaged his internals. His emergency armour plates never raised, the shield in the floor around the throne disabled before it was triggered, while the machine man was busy with other matters. All his preparations and protections rendered useless by arrogance and pride.
“If you’d worn an Amulet of Warding instead of a Null Blocker, you might have been worthy of a spar, Fabricator.”
If he’d triggered the Null field before she sabotaged his sights and weapon links, her might have actually hit her. If he’d worn an Amulet of Warding, well, Pyrrha gave herself even odds to have been able to pick up on it among the rest of his mass of implants. Especially while it was unpowered.
This had all gone far too well… and rather poorly. “As Magos Kappa predicted.”
Her Magus had warned her trying to talk to them wouldn’t work. “But I had to try.” she told the disabled, fallen leader of the fleet. For he was possibly worth something to Lady Nikos, alive and in her custody.
She’d only fried most of his systems.
The Grandmaster Huntress turned to face the glowing door, moments before it blew in.
“I don’t suppose your new commander is any more reasonable than the last one?”
The answer to her question was rather predictable.
Skitarii poured into the lab, firing.
They came.
They died.
Arc kept working on the battleship plans. Seeking guidance for her. The old tech-priest had to have a copy archived somewhere around here.
Pyrrha could have done it herself. Powered through.
But fully scanning an operational battleship to find major power lines and wellsprings was bound to give her a headache. “And I already have enough of one, thank you very much.”
Another group of Skitarii burst through a side door.
They too, died like the rest.
Was using the fallen body of their leader as bait mean of her?
Yes, yes it was.
She’d get a lot meaner if whoever was in charge didn’t stop throwing troops at her.
The guards were far too well armed, organised, numerous, and heavily implanted, for Pyrrha to offer them the same mercy she extended to their leader.
They came, they died.
In droves.
This did not improve her opinion or disposition of their leaders, hopeful as it had been.
Quite the opposite.
***
“This report does not compute.”
The Captain of Fidentia sat on his command throne, perplexed. First, an intruder alert. Then, an assassin and heretek alert. Now, what scattered and partial reports made it out of the Primaris Labs painted a picture that made no sense.
Regardless of what the captured picts showed.
A single heretek did not, could not, cut such a terrible swath through so many elite forces.
It did not happen.
Something was in error.
The Captain once again checked the incursion alarms. Perhaps, if a deamonhost had somehow slipped into the Primaris Labs, the messages dispatched could compute.
But they did not. The incursion alarms were silent. The Gellar Field under no strain.
They were not a Space Marine, and they did not fight as the archives showed agents of the Officio Assassinorum could. A Callidus would not have struck in the open. Vindicare did not fit melee prowess, and an Eversor would not be trying to talk them down.
The protocols, while comprehensive, wide and variable, alas did not cover such a circumstance where a mere heretek was able to somehow take the Fabricator Locum hostage against the surrender of the fleet.
Such circumstances had not been foreseen. As such, it fell to the Captain to make a decision that would be doom or salvation. Certainly his, possibly of for his whole ship and the Fabricator Locum. Contacting Archmagos Veneratus Kolen Nure-Ziv for orders was considered and quickly discarded as well. This crisis was internal to his ship and thus: his responsibility to resolve.
The offer of surrender was summarily discarded. No known individual capable of singularly threatening fleets was present on the field of battle. If his command must be sacrificed, others would carry on the fight in the name of the Omnissiah.
What estimations could be gleamed from observation told the enemy was unharmed and not slowing down. Despite the fact the floor was covered in a carpet of fallen, which she had despatched over the last fifteen minutes of uninterrupted combat.
At the current rate of consumption, they would run out of both servitors and skitarii in 67 minutes.
Only so many could enter through the doors.
In 12 minutes, another reinforced assault could be arranged with mechanised units by use of the cargo elevator.
He would make his choice then.
In the meantime, menials were directed to the clash to clean up and recycle those spent at times that were tactically suitable.
***
The simultaneous assault of what Ruststalkers, Ironstriders and Dragoons remained on board proved no more effective than the others. The presence and losses of menials seems to have merely further agitated the heretek.
“That is inaccurate.” the rating reporting in answered.
“How so?” the Captain inquired.
“The Dragoon’s were able to reach Fabricator Locum Restanx PV-249.”
“And how far did they relocate his body?”
“1.24m.”
“I see.”
Clearly, what forces were present were insufficient. The nearest Legion transport was…
As the Captain thought about it, his crew and the machine spirit acted on his wishes.
The Fidentia swung hard to port.
***
“Still not going to talk, huh?”
Hard way it was then.
Red light imbued several mostly metallic bodies on the floor. Flung them into the passageways, temporarily blocking the entrances.
Lady Pyrrha Nikos took the time to study the plans laid out on her helmet display. Allowed Arc guide her to the right Data-Crystal to plug into the large, central Hololithic Projector, which painted a larger image of the ship in the air.
Lady Nikos memorised the connections, branches. Secured the Data-Crystal inside her armoured pouches.
Then she went up the stairs like a silent, bloody wraith… and stabbed the command throne.
Her Semblance poured out of her and into the nerves, connections and links making up the Fidentia. Following power, command and communication lines, bypassing or melting through every emergency block thrown to stop her sudden intrusion using borrowed, redirected power, her reach spreading… until she reached into the beating hearts of the Battleship in mere moments. For she’d known exactly where to go.
Then?
Lady Pyrrha Nikos claimed all that energy as her own… and ripped it out.
***
Admiral Volkhard Landsteiner watched the Fidentia break formation with slight surprise. It veered towards the nearest Legion transport… and blew up.
The Admiral raised one brow in inquiry. His command focused their auspexes on the sudden disruption. As the energetic event cleared, the results were made apparent.
One Legion transport utterly gutted by what appeared to be in impact of multiple, focused lances. Another struck by more of them. Not quite as destroyed as the first, but heavily damaged.
The Battleship itself had fared barely better. Evidence of multiple internal detonations, fires, and total loss of power and propulsion. It was dead, and the only question was if that state was permanent or temporary.
Oh, and it also had a massive rent in its side, where the lances had originated.
And not among its weapons batteries, if the projections were right.
“Confirm.”
It took about two minutes to do so. The angles were faithfully recorded, and they intersected beneath the armour and hull of the Fidentia.
As his command was already focused on the ailing battleship, and no one among the Basilikon Astra was responding to their repeated hails, observation continued.
No sign of invasion or other sabotage was observed.
*
Twenty minutes later the Communication station called over the Transmechanic, to confirm the validity of the readings.
As soon as they did, the Admiral spoke: “Play it.”
“Basilikon Astra Purge Fleet, you are informed that your Fabricator Locum is on his way down to the surface, there to be taken in as guest to House Nikos. I came to him to hear his accusations and objections in person, hoping to resolve our differences peacefully. He did not wish to discuss… anything.” the last words was full of barely concealed disdain.
“A guest he is, and a guest shall remain until this petty disagreement between us is resolved.”
“One of the escape pods is separating from the rest, Admiral.”
“I see it, eyes.”
“As for the Fidentia, it’s Captain too, refused to discuss this matter like a reasonable adult. So I took away his toy. Mechanicus purge forces in sky and on the ground: stand down. Or face the consequences.”
It was immediately followed by another transmission:
“This is Archmagos Veneratus of the Basilikon Astra. To all loyal Mechanicus and allied forces: find and kill this heretek.”
“Coms?”
“The Archmagos is speaking from the stricken ship.”
“And Lady Nikos?”
“From the Mars Class Cruiser Wings of Fire.”
After a minute of contemplation, the next order came:
“Focus on the Cruiser.”
*
Four minutes later, it too was wracked by internal detonations.
***
It would take Lady Nikos a little over six hours to rout the Basilikon Astra fleet from orbit.
In that time, they lost a Retribution Class Battleship, four Mars, four Tyrant and three Lunar Class Cruisers. Along with a smattering of lesser ships and transports.
“They’ve kept the other Battleship operational.” which was not a minor success, with the way Lady Nikos was going through their ships.
One of the Lunars must have done something beyond the pale, for unlike the rest, it was not merely damaged and disabled, but had entirely shattered. In what looked like an internal detonation of much of its torpedo complement.
How she kept boarding the ships, despite all of them being on alert and the raised void shields, remained a mystery his officers could not resolve.
She’d also somehow found the time to go back and seize Archmagos Veneratus Kolen Nure-Ziv, Admiral Landsteiner’s counter-part.
He never much liked him. Respected, yes, but not liked.
At least, she’d claimed them in orbit.
Both landing sites were contested, and the results of the clashes to claim the high ranking tech-priests were unclear.
At least to those in orbit. All kinds of claims were being thrown about, down on the surface of Fenksworld.
Including some, that were repeated enough to be considered somewhat reliable. Foremost among them that a large force of Redemptionists, stirred to holy fervour by the Confessor of Hive Volg?
Who, to be clear, had no business venturing beyond their remit, into Nova Castillia, but had done so regardless?
That mass of faithful zealots roused from the Lower Hive by the Confessor had poured into the Underhive to join the Legion’s assault on Sanctuary.
Beyond that, things remained in flux.
***
A tiny red star flickered into view.
“Directional Ciphered Transmission! It matches Lady Nikos.”
“Admiral Landsteiner, please secure our prizes.” Lady Nikos requested.
The only true Admiral of Battlefleet Calixis present considered that request.
The red star disappeared.
He weighed it.
For a while.
“We shall be rendering assistance. Tow our allies to the docks.” the Admiral commanded in the end.
“Our prizes.”
Admiral Volkhard Landsteiner did like the sound of that. He was also quite certain so would his superiors. So long as any trouble that resulted from this fell on House Nikos, and not on the Imperial Navy.
All they were doing was assisting, after all.
That it required temporarily taking custody of those venerable vessels was incidental.
“She must not have blown them up too bad, if she’s willing to claim them.” the Admiral mused, as he calmly watched from the side lines.
After all, this was in part an internal Mechanicus matter, in part a conflict with the Inquisition and Nobility of Fenksworld… and in major part, a direct challenge between House Nikos, the Hunters and the Lathe Worlds.
Who were not so well liked in the sector, that they did not have many detractors. Foremost among them other Forge Worlds in the sector, Perinetus the most open of those in opposition… as well as the Hive Worlds of the Gelmiro Cluser. Not that there were not plenty of others who were far more cautious and indirect in expressing their critiques.
“Depending on how it all shakes out, this could be a golden opportunity to humble the ever prideful Lathe Worlds. Break their dominion and monopolies.”
It was a highly unlikely result. Or would have been, if the Lathe Worlds had not received so many and so much from Mars, with commensurate increases in prestige and station.
Admiral Volkhard Landsteiner did not expect Lady Nikos to be extravagant or unreasonable in her demands.
Whether the rulers of the Lathe Worlds would even entertain her demands or bother to negotiate, well… “Now that is the question.”
If some of the secrets of shipbuilding could be pried from their clutched, cold mechadendrites, the Admiral had no doubt Perinetus would be very interested in the opportunity to step up.
They already had plenty of void infrastructure set up for repairs. Why not production too?
“Besides, it is about time the Navy got to witness what these Hunters can do for us in battle.”
That such was occurring as part of the resolution of an internal Imperial matter was merely the unfortunate reality of such noble games.
The fate of entire worlds could be gambled and lost, in such gambits. What was one fleet?