Anders Hailee shifted his weight slightly as he watched the Imperial ship approach one of the Jombsurg Stronghold’s docks. Technically it was an Adeptus Mechanicus ship, built by those who worshipped all machines as if they possessed an actual soul, whilst declaring those that did heretical and abomination, but the difference was marginal. The ship had originated from Imperial space, ergo it was Imperial. 

He turned his thoughts back to how the Adeptus Mechanicus worshipped machines, thinking that even the most basic of engines, even their bolt guns, possessed some form of machine spirit.

Nothing like our IronKin or our Ancestors. They’ve ritualised opening a door, turning every basic into a prayer or chant. 

He glanced to the side as Arvid Branka, a Brôkhyr Iron-Master, one of the esteemed Leagues of Votann engineers stepped up.

‘Well met,’ he greeted her with the respect she not only deserved, but had earned through decades of hard work and servitude to the Leagues.  

‘Ugly,’ she grunted. He respected her brevity. Minimum effort for maximum effect. And the ship was indeed ugly. Weapons jutted out from portholes shaped like creatures. Gold covered most of the surface, and the marks of the Adeptus Mechanicus could be seen everywhere, as if the ship suffered from some kind of pox. 

Maybe it does, he thought. Imperium ships were nothing like those of the Leagues of Votann. Whereas the Leagues used ships that were designed to be practical, efficient, the humans built their ships as icons of their religious devotion. Whether that was to the Emperor, or the Machine God, he didn’t care. Each was as ludicrous as the other. 

It was kloms long, and his mind boggled at the resources which had been used to do nothing more than decorate the ship. Gold was a soft metal, with a low melting point. Therefore it would serve little to no purpose in defending the ship. Any ship-mounted energy weapon would easily burn through the metal. 

‘Costly,’ he replied after a couple of heartbeats of watching the ship dock. ‘We need to be careful.’

His stomach turned at the threat the human ship represented. They were one of the smallest strongholds in the Leagues, and were but a speck compared to the might behind the Adeptus Mechanicus. 

She snorted like an Ambull in heat. ‘Of that you can be most assured.’

‘Are the wards in place?’

‘Aye, we erected them as soon as we had word of their intent to visit,’ she replied. He glanced at her, saw how tense her jaw was, eyes narrowed as she swept the human ship from bow to stern. He knew of no-one from bairn to grandmother, that wasn’t worried about the arrival of the humans. 

Whilst they shared common enemies, the humans had also, at times, been enemies themselves. And when they waged war, they did so with a singular determination that would see planets wiped from the galaxy if it suited their ends. 

‘Was that soon enough?’ he asked. What he didn’t ask was whether the humans had sent forces ahead of their ship, days, weeks or even months before the human ambassador had arrived. 

And are these really human? They are so different from the Rogue Traders, even more so compared to our records, the First Truths. He could barely believe that they were descended from the same stock. Not that such knowledge was common amongst the kin. 

‘The Halvar were deployed even before the Ambassador had opened his, her, or their, vox,’ she said, her discomfort at how the Adeptus Mechanicus mutilated themselves to prove their dedication to their god written across her face. 

Halvars were the defenders of the rock, or defenders of the earth according to some. They were Kin skilled in the arts of subterfuge, stealth, and death from the shadows. Not that they couldn’t also step up and go toe-to-toe with the best warriors the Leagues had to offer. 

Anders felt goosebumps rise on his hardened skin. Something which shouldn’t have been possible, but which millenia of evolution at the hands of the Votann still hadn’t been able to erase. He wouldn’t have traded places with a Halvar, not even if it meant he could see in the dark, move faster than any other kin, or receive any of the other changes the Halvar cloneskin granted. 

I like walking in the light far too much, he thought, honest enough to recognise his own strengths as a leader of warriors. 

‘We have at least an hour before they dock and perform their ridiculous rituals,’ he said as he turned to face her fully. ‘Make sure you are granite before them. We cannot allow them to perceive any insult whether intended or not.’

Her jaw tensed for a moment, before she let out a long breath, face relaxing until it bore no emotion. 

‘They can sniff out our emotions by the pheromones we secrete,’ she said in a monoton. ‘Divine, or at least estimate as to how we feel, whether we are lying, fearful, angry.’

Anders nodded, ‘I know. And they know that we will employ every method we have in order to frustrate their efforts.’ 

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‘I fear they might not be enough. Our stronghold is small. Our resources are limited compared to those of the League of Thor.’ That last was said through gritted teeth. 

He gave a tight smile as she invoked the name of the largest League of all. Over three hundred strongholds made up its strength, and its Votanns were some of the most powerful in all the Leagues. 

‘We might be small, but what we lack in stature we more than make up for in spirit,’ he said as he laid a hand upon her shoulder. 

She snorted at the double meaning, lifting her chin as the the display before them highlighted the departure of a shuttle from the Adeptus Mechanicus ship. Telemetry scrolled across the screen, as did the number of weapons that the Stronghold defences were now aiming directly at the shuttle. 

‘It appears they are impatient. Perhaps the Machine God will not accept further delay.’

‘Damn them, they said they would be disembarking three hours from now,’ Anders snarled. Already the humans, or whatever these creatures truly were, were playing their mind games. Although it could be said that the ship upon which they arrived was also part of their psychological warfare. No being looking at such a thing could fail to feel intimidated at some level. 

‘Then it is fortunate that the Theyns deployed three companies of War Brethren as an honour guard,’ she chuckled. ‘They have been on parade since the ship reached the one hundred thousands kloms marker. They won’t have us scrambling to meet them.’

Anders gave a tight smile. He was of the H’Leen kin, protectors and experts in fortification. Adjunct to the Hearthkyn, his cloneskin was dedicated to the defence of their stronghold. If necessary, it would be his defences and fortifications against which the Adeptus Mechanicus would spill their blood. 

Do they even still bleed? He wondered. Spitting, he tried to clear the foul taste the thought had brought to his mouth. 

‘Aye, brother, I ken what you feel. They are tainted by their beliefs. Slaves to machines which bear no resemblance to our Iron Kin, and which care not how they’re used or by whom.’

Anders schooled his face to hide his shock at how it seemed she had read his earlier thoughts. It was coincidence. Surely. He gave himself a mental shake. She wasn’t a psychic, and his feelings towards the Adeptus Mechanicus were bound to be shared by many.

‘They draw near. All guns have reported readiness, and are locked on,’ he said as he read the reports scrolling across the screens implanted in his eyes. ‘We’re as ready as we’ll ever be.’

The thought that their defences might actually be used made his mouth turn dry. The Kin were a proud people, and rightfully so. Never afraid to stand up for what they felt was right, and never backing down when it came to putting bullies in their place. But the Imperials were extremists, completely inflexible in their beliefs and utterly assured that their way was the only way and all those who naysayed that worthy only of subjugation or extermination. And subjugation by the Adeptus Mechanicus was a fate worse than death.

‘Then I best go and greet our guests,’ Branka said, clapping a hand on his shoulder with enough power that he grunted. ‘Stand true.’

‘Stand fast,’ he replied, completing the Jomsburg Stronghold’s motto and traditional way of both greeting someone and bidding them farewell. 

*

Branka thought she had prepared herself for meeting the Adeptus Mechanicus. Their ambassador had clearly been modified, but had retained much of their outward semblance of humanity, of shared bonds. 

Still, she had scoured the archives for recordings of previous visits. Jomsburg had had but one, nearly a thousand years ago, and by a much smaller ship than the one docked now. And it had been horrific to say the least. 

As an engineer herself, she understood the motivations behind the Adeptus Mechanicus, but the descent of humanity into techno-barbarism was something beyond her ken. It was utterly alien to her, although morbid fascination had compelled her to search out further records from the other strongholds. 

But not even immersive holograms could have prepared her for how she would feel when she watched the things which hovered, glided, and even jerked forward on tracks, approaching her and the other dignitaries assembled to meet them. 

A unit of Skitarri protectors led the main party, weapons held low but still managing to project a threat. Once-humans reduced to little more than slaves with as much free will as a dumb terminal. She knew that even the slightest wrong move would result in death. 

‘And they call us abominations,’ muttered a grizzled Hersir, battle honours and medals covering his armour in a show of extravagance not normally seen amongst the kin. ‘How can they claim that our Ancestors are …’

‘Enough!’ Hissed Olaf Haaken, their Mjotuor, ruler of the Stronghold. ‘Don’t fool yourselves into thinking that they can’t read our lips, hear our words, sense our emotions even when so far away. Be on your guard at all times.’

The Hersir inclined his head slightly, lips tightening. She felt his embarrassment, and keenly understood how he felt. What these people had done to themselves was horrific. To deliberately remove one’s humanity, whilst becoming more and more of what they would consider to be a thinking machine, something which they deemed to be against their laws and beliefs was a paradox she couldn’t wrap her head around. 

‘Are those … babies?’ Gasped Haaken despite his previous warning. And she couldn’t blame him for his disquiet. There was a shifting of feet as the assembled dignitaries moved to get a better view, quickly followed by muttered curses. 

‘Not as such,’ she sent the message over their comms net, subvocalising so that her lips barely moved. ‘They’re vat-grown constructs. Not real children. They are servitors. And usually accompany members of their clergy or … inquisitors.’

More low curses followed this and she smiled at the creativity of some. Whilst the Adeptus Mechanicus were dangerous, inquisitors were on a wholly different threat scale.

‘I was not informed that an inquisitor would be present,’ growled her Lord.

‘I believe that they tend not to advertise their arrival,’ muttered Theyn Ven Quist, Captain of the Halvar. ‘I fear that whilst the Adeptus might be here for knowledge, perhaps even trade, the inquisitor will be here for darker reasons.’

Branka glanced over at him as he subvocalised on a different channel, no doubt issuing orders to his people. No matter how hard she tried however, she was unable to spot the inquisitor. There was no doubt in her mind however that when the inquisitor wanted to be seen, they would be. 

‘Branka,’ her Lord’s voice brought her back to the moment. ‘Please take your kin and greet the Adeptus. I will speak with them once you have exchanged … pleasantries.’

Straightening her spine, Branka stepped forward with her kin to meet the Adeptus retinue, each step taking every ounce of willpower she possessed.