Snowflakes swirled around the vast, open plaza of the newly constructed forward operating base, settling on the shoulders of battle-worn Imperial Troops and the ceramite armour of stoic Space Marines. The air thrummed with the low hum of machinery and the distant rumble of cranes setting up artillery and other weapons emplacements. Turning temporary defences into more permanent ones. Logistics trucks Unloaded their cargo. Combat engineers cleared the rubble, and raced high fortifications, the plaza was a hype of activity.

In the side of this frozen tableau, Pork and Dot knelt beside a partially disassembled Kastillon battle automata, their breath fogging in the frigid air.

Pascal Augustus Porkin—known as Pork many augmentations glinted under the dim light, his spider-like legs and servo arms moving with precision.

The tech-adepts worked with practised efficiency, their arms whirring and clicking as they replaced damaged components. A halo of servo-skulls hovered around them, their glowing eyes scanning for any signs of malfunction. Pork's pale face was etched with concentration, his augmented fingers deftly manipulating delicate wiring. Dot's goggles flashed with data, her young face a mask of focused determination dark auburn hair spilling out from her hood.

A few paces away, two tech-priests from a different forge world stood huddled together, their augmented bodies shivering despite the thick furs they wore. Their faces, a grotesque tapestry of metal and flesh, were contorted in disgust as they watched Pork and Dot work.

"Such heresy!" the taller tech-priest hissed, his voice a rasping echo through his vocoder. "To defile the Omnissiah's sacred machines with such...impropriety!"

His companion, a squat figure with multiple augmetic eyes, nodded in agreement. "They perform their repairs without the proper rituals, without the blessings of the Machine God. This is an abomination!"

The taller priest's voice crackled with anger, his vox unit distorting his words. "You defile the sacred rites of restoration!" he berated, his tone harsh. "You ignore the prayers of conciliation and violate the codex rules with your blasphemous conduct!"

Pork, his brow furrowed in annoyance, straightened up and turned to face them. "We follow the correct procedures as laid out in the Holy Handbook," he retorted, his voice a calm counterpoint to their agitation. "Your rituals are archaic and unnecessary. We must embrace true science if we are to prevail in this war and unite Humanity."

The taller tech-priest sneered. "Science? Bah! Your 'science' is nothing more than blasphemy! You forsake the wisdom of our ancestors for the empty promises of progress. It was the endless pursuit of science that led to the downfall of Humanity. You would repeat their mistakes"

A flicker of sympathy passed through Pork's sunken eyes. He had once believed in the same things that these orthodox priests did, before his revelations.

The shorter tech priest's eyes narrowed, his optical sensors glowing ominously. "Improper! You mock the machine spirit with your irreverence!" He began to recite a scripture by some ancient archmagos, his voice rising in fervour.

Before the situation could escalate further, a tall figure in open, hooded red robes approached. The robes revealed sleek armour of unknown design. Short black hair framed a sun-touched face with light caramel skin with green eyes. Subtle, skin-deep augmentations hinted at hidden power.

At certain angles, Pork swore he almost looked like a younger version of the... He quickly cast the thought away, returning to the present moment.

"What seems to be the issue?" Magos Dominus Victor inquired casually, coming between the two groups with a serene smile.

The two tech-priests redirected their attention towards Victor. Their complaints in binary code halted halfway through as they processed the sight of a higher-ranking member of the Mechanicum. They exchanged signals over an encrypted line before the shorter one spoke.

"Lord Magos Dominus, these tech-adepts have not been following the proper rites. Such indecency will anger the machine spirit."

Before the tech priest could continue, Victor sweetly interjected, "So what?"

There was a pause. The short tech priest said nervously, "Lord Magos, forgive my impertinence, but that's not the way..."

Victor raised a hand, stopping him. He then gestured towards Pork. "Pascal, the handbook, please."

Pork complied, reaching into his bulky robes to retrieve the Kastillon battle automata maintenance handbook. He handed the weathered, oil-stained binder to Victor.

Victor opened it in front of the two tech-priests. "Read through this," he said. "This is a printout copy of the Standard Template Construct, specifically the repair manual for this specific battle automata. Now tell me, brothers in the Machine God, where does it say that we need to smother oil over our tools? Where does it say that we need to pray over every single screw? Where does it say that I need to light a candle every time I turn a page?" His customary smile was gone, Replaced with a gaze that bore through their skulls.

"Unless the wisdom of Magos Whoever's rituals is greater than that of the ancient Standard Template Construct that all of our technology is based on, there's a step-by-step guide on how to fix this thing. My subordinates are following these steps. You would have my subordinates violate the STC with your rites."

There was a stream of protest from both of the tech-priests. Victor's face softened and nodded. "You see," he spoke next. "The rites and rituals that you hold onto are important, don't get me wrong. You must remember when to do so, when it is appropriate and practical."

The two tech-priests ruminated between themselves for a few moments before both bowing and thanking Victor for his wisdom. The tall one spoke, "Lord Magos, I am unworthy, but may I have a closer look at the STC?"

Victor closed the weathered binder in his hand, then turned to Pork and asked, "Do you need this?"

Pork shook his head. Victor then carelessly tossed it at the two tech-priests, who scrambled to catch it. "Give it back when you're done," he said.

It only took them about a minute to go through the entire book, their lenses clicking as they took photos of every single page. The two tech priests bowed once more and returned to their clique No doubt to brag and gloat about how they had looked upon a fragment of an STC.

Victor let out a deep sigh. "I hate the orthodox," he muttered under his breath.

Dot chuckled softly, her goggles reflecting the dim light. "You're not the only one."

"Fools," Pork interjected, his mechanical limbs pausing in their work. "They cling to their outdated beliefs like children clinging to a tattered blanket. You handled them well, Magos."

Victor shrugged, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation. "It's a necessary evil. We must tolerate their ignorance if we are to maintain the unity of the Mechanicum. Hopefully, there'll be a time when we don't need them."

"Why do they even exist?" Dot asked curiously, her brow furrowing as she considered the deeply ingrained dogma of their orthodox counterparts.

"Why do they exist?" Victor repeated, his voice contemplative. "Because the Mechanicum, like any ancient institution, is built on tradition. Those traditions, for better or worse, have been the bedrock of our knowledge and our power for millennia. In a way, they're like the machine spirits themselves—fragments of ancient wisdom, preserved and venerated over time. They provide stability, a framework within which our people can operate. But, like any framework, they can become a cage if followed blindly Just look at the way they interact with tech."

Dot tilted her head curiosity in her eyes "Mmm?"

Victor glanced at her, his green eyes thoughtful. "The orthodox Mechanicum interact with technology in much the same way feudal worlders or feral worlders interact with their data-slates. They follow the steps to get the result without truly understanding the underlying principles. They believe that deviating from the steps will break it, and breaking it the wrong way means everyone around dies horribly. You can see how dogma spreads."

Dot nodded, her curiosity piqued. Victor knelt next to the disassembled battle automata, picking up a spanner and beginning to work alongside Pork. The automata's complex inner workings were laid bare, revealing a tangle of cables and circuits that required both skill and knowledge to navigate.

"It's like some sort of twisted Darwinism or Natural selection," Victor continued his hands deftly adjusting a component. "Those who want to advance make experiments and often get killed by the machines they're experimenting with. Or their colleagues, who don't want to get killed by the machine their peers are experimenting with, intervene to prevent it by killing them. The cycle perpetuates their fear and adherence to outdated practices."

Pork grunted in agreement. "The orthodox are a product of their environment, just like us. But unlike them, we choose to push the boundaries, to seek true understanding."

Victor tightened a bolt, his movements precise and efficient. "Progress requires risk," he said. "But it's a risk worth taking. The knowledge we uncover, and the advancements we make, they all serve the Omnissiah in the end. Even if the orthodox can't see it now, they will eventually."

Dot smiled, her youthful enthusiasm undimmed by the seriousness of their conversation. "And until then, we keep pushing forward."

"Exactly," Victor agreed, his green eyes glinting with determination. "We push forward, no matter the obstacles. For the glory of Mankind."

Victor took another tool from a Servo skull "The Orthodox are not to be underestimated despite their odd ways, they have the greatest repository of knowledge outside of the Black Vaults of Terra, And they do have a few good points when it comes to dealing with machine spirits"

Pork nodded, his mechanical limbs resuming their work with renewed vigour. "Back to it, then. There's still much to be done."

As they worked in harmony, the earlier tension faded, replaced by a shared sense of purpose. The servo skulls buzzed around them, holding tools and components as needed. Victor, Pork, and Dot moved with synchronized efficiency, their combined skills transforming the broken automata into a functional war machine once more.

Victor smacked his face "Oh, I got distracted, we're supposed to have an after-action report and debriefing hold on let me call Gamma."

A few moments later, The slender tech adept approached her bronze breathing mask puffing up vapour in the chilly air. "Must we have the meeting outside?" Pulling her robes closer To her body and gesturing to the cacophony of soldiers and machinery around them. "The temperature is dropping ."

"Hold on, It can't be that" Victor's eyes widen "Oh I just turned on my skin senses again didn't realize how cold it was. My bad, I forgot how 15 minus felt. Alright, let's relocate."

Victor looked around and stroked his chin "Hmm I overheard something about a few guys setting up a cafeteria in the upstairs library Since it's got an open space and a sturdy room."He stood up and brushed snow off his robes "You guys go ahead I'll go secure our lunch."

--- line

The double doors of the dilapidated library swung open, revealing a makeshift food hall and common room for the Imperial soldiers. Desks and tables were arranged haphazardly, with soldiers gathering around them like islands. Judging by their insignia, they were organized at the squad level. As the three Tech-Adepts took their first steps into the room, all eyes turned toward them. The reaction was mixed: some hissed, others stared in curiosity, but most lost interest after quickly assessing that the newcomers were not a threat.

Pork surveyed the room until he found a suitable spot for their meeting, a corner where no one had yet sat. Notifying his two colleagues, they made their way to the seating area. Pork himself did not need to sit, having long since replaced his lower body with eightfold striders in an Arachne augmentation. A small part of him missed sitting at a table rather than simply being next to it, but this was a small sacrifice compared to the ability to match the speed of a land car and jump several feet into the air.

As he settled into a more comfortable crouch, Pork observed his colleagues. He had known them for only about four years, ever since Victor saved him from rotting in that machine-god-forsaken motor pool and recruited him into his cohort. In this short time, he believed he had grasped their characters.

Gamma took her seat first. Like Pork, she had been born into the ways of the Cult Mechanicum, but unlike him, she was not born a menial and hadn't experienced the true hardship of moving up without support or connections. That wasn't to say she wasn't hardworking, but there was a disconnect. Her genetic contributors were Magos, who had used their connections with Victor's mentor to place her in this position. The Byzantine ways of the internal Mechanicum politics—a twisted labyrinth of nepotism and meritocracy blended into a toxic mix that made Pork's internal cogitators whine and groan as they tried to process it. He ended the process before he overloaded his processors. "Prim and proper" were the words that came to mind. Her features were clearly genetically tailored, with a few obvious mechanical implants focusing on bioengineered enhancement. Strange for a trainee biologist to be in the Legio Cybernetica, but she must have had her reasons.

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Next was Dot. Pork wouldn't call her his apprentice, but she might as well have been, given how involved he had been in her induction and training. He remembered that day two years ago when Victor had arrived one morning bloodstained, carrying a noble girl in a dress over his shoulder.

"So this is Dorothy. I just saved her from being sacrificed to a Warp God. She's got no one left, so she's coming with us. I guess I'm going to need your help on this one, buddy," Victor had said. Pork remembered how small she had seemed in his hands. "I gotta get back out there—there are some… things I gotta take care of before stuff gets really really out of hand. See ya!" With that, Victor delivered his "cargo" and vanished in a flash of thunderous light.

Pork had overseen Dot's training, both simulated and traditional. A small part of him felt jealous of the attention and privilege she received, as he had only experienced a fraction of that at her age. But then he would remember that, despite everything, he had his parents and siblings, even if they were menials. Dot, on the other hand, had no one—her own family had tried to kill her. She tried so hard to prove herself worthy. Worthy of his respect? Now that was a strange thought. Maybe he was getting sentimental in his old age. At the very least, he would do his best to live up to her expectations.

Gamma, ever the picture of composure, placed her dataslate on the table with a soft clink. "I just received a communiqué from the Magos," she announced, her voice a modulated blend of organic and synthetic tones. "He's been intercepted and will be delayed. He's asked us to begin the after-action report in his absence."

Pork leaned forward, his multiple servo-arms adjusting his position with a series of precise movements. "Then let's begin," he said, his voice a raspy whisper amplified by his vocoder. "Gamma, if you would, start with the casualty report."

Gamma nodded, her fingers dancing across the dataslate's surface. "As of the last count, we have sustained moderate casualties," she reported, her tone devoid of emotion. "The 77th Armored Regiment lost..." She paused, scanning the data. "Sixteen men, with another thirty-two wounded. The Solar Auxilia suffered heavier losses, with twenty-seven dead and forty-one injured..."

Gamma suddenly stopped and placed her hands on the table. "This is redundant and inefficient. We could have finished this meeting in seconds if we'd done it in Lingua-technis."

Pork nodded in agreement. "Yes, but Magos Victor wishes to retain the human connection and bolster camaraderie. It's meant to boost unit cohesion. There's a method to the madness. Continue with the report, Gamma."

He sensed a hint of annoyance in her gaze before she resumed, speaking more briefly and quickly. "Apart from the combat servitors, our own forces sustained minimal losses: five dead Skitarii and a dozen wounded with varying severity. Several of our automata were damaged, but repairs are already underway. Done. Feel any boost in unit cohesion yet?" she asked sarcastically.

"But... what about the Space Marines?" Dot asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Gamma's lips tightened. "I do not have sufficient clearance for that information however by visual observation, The Lunar Wolves reported no casualties in our sector," she replied, her tone clipped.

Sensing the growing tension, Pork cleared his throat. "Let's move on to the tactical analysis," he suggested, cutting through the silence. "Dot, if you would, share your observations on the Ork tactics."

Before Dot could speak, the double doors of the library swung open again, revealing a group of soldiers entering. Among the throng of winter-camouflaged troops was a red-robed figure carrying a few containers. More curiously, a soldier was practically dangling from the neck of Magos Victor, his face a mask of visible annoyance. Victor scanned the room before spotting Pork and his colleagues, then made his way toward them, the dangling soldier and a few others following.

"Please, please," came the voice of the woman hanging on Victor's neck. "I haven't had a proper meal in three months!" she sobbed.

"Then you can wait three more months. Begone with you, bitch," Victor retorted, pushing her away. "Dammit, Kim, you have your own food. Get away from me."

The Magos slammed four plate-sized containers onto the table. "I'll give you a little bit, nothing more than a taste. This is a treat for my subordinates, not for your grubby hands."

"Come on, Vicky, don't be so mean," one of the soldiers accompanying Victor chimed in.

"Yeah, I might die tomorrow, so it's only fair that my last meal be this. Come on, man, don't be an asshole" another voice, presumably from the 77th, added.

"Yeah, Victor, don't be an asshole" the woman, apparently a major judging by her rank tags, echoed. "Screw it, we're stealing it. Hand it over, asshole."

"What the hell is this? How am I the asshole? This is practically a mugging. I'm being mugged. I'm the victim. Me." Victor exclaimed, exasperated. "Hold on, let me give my cute subordinates their share first, then we can carry on with our business."

Victor placed three plates in front of Pork, Dot, and Gamma. He removed the covers to reveal freshly made gourmet meals. Pork could easily see and smell the seasoned meat, vegetables, and rice. The square plates were segmented with an array of different selections, even including dessert. Pork, never much of a foodie, could still tell this was quality.

"Magos, where did you acquire this?" Pork asked curiosity in his voice.

"I got this about three months ago on the high decks of the Vengeful Spirit when I was part of the war council there," Victor replied.

Pork's curiosity tripled. "Magos, that was three months ago. How is this meal still hot and fresh?" he asked, prodding the succulent meat with his fork as steam flowed around the utensil.

"Oh, yeah, I placed it in my fridge," Victor replied.

"Your fridge?" Pork echoed, incredulous.

"Yeah, the fridge doubles as a mini-stasis unit. But yes, it's a fridge," Victor confirmed. "Anyway, I've got to feed these snow goblins. Come here, you lot. You want food? I'll give you some. Get your plates ready."

"Yes, thank you, Major," the two soldiers exclaimed.

"No problem, boys," said Major Kim, a smug grin on her bandaged face. She crossed her arms.

Victor pointed to himself, feigning offence. "Why are you thanking her? Thank me."

"Why would they do that? Your ass belongs to the 77th, which means your ass belongs to me. So they're thanking me," Kim said, a grin on her face. "You should know this. Despite everything, you're our cog boy, and nothing will change that—even if you become Fabricator General, your ass is still 77th."

"Whatever," Victor muttered as he shared his portion of food onto three mess plates. He started to introduce Kim, "Oh, I've got to introduce you guys—so this bitch is—" but was cut off by an elbow to his abdomen. The attacker, Major Kim, rubbed her elbow in pain. "What are you made of?" she asked, wincing.

"Pure skill, with a side of ship-grade metallic alloy," Victor replied with a smirk.

"How is your fat ass not breaking the chair you're sitting in?" Kim slumped down in a seat at their table.

"Magic. Anyway, this is Major Kim of the 77th and the bitch queen of terror. These two goons are Sgt. Ray and Sgt. Lan," Victor continued, gesturing to the soldiers, who were too busy eating to pay attention to their introductions.

"So, this is my cohort—or at least the half that's actually here. The other half is lost in the warp, literally."

Pork was about to introduce himself, but Gamma beat him to it. "Greetings, Major Kim. I am Gamma, Cybernetica Datasmith Alpha of the fourth cohort under Archmagos Prime Catalina." She extended her hand in a traditional Terran handshake.

Kim eyed Gamma's hand with visible disdain. "I ain't no noble girl," she said, but then softened. "But I'll take the gesture as a sign of respect since you don't know any better. Here, let me teach you a proper way to greet somebody." She began instructing Gamma in what was essentially a series of hiver gang signs, which amused Pork to no end as he watched Gamma try to emulate Kim's moves with a look of intense concentration.

Kim then looked at Pork, recognition dawning on her face. "I think I recognize you, big guy. Didn't you used to be an Enginseer?" She pointed her fork at him.

"I would not be surprised if we have encountered each other before. Nevertheless, good afternoon. My designation is Pascal Augustus Porkins, but most shorten it to just Pork. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Pork responded.

Kim snapped her fingers as if recalling something. "Ah, you used to work in the garages," she said. Pork nodded, remembering those dark days of endless toil with no hope of advancement. "Yes, I was the senior Enginseer there for a number of years."

"Small universe. You seem like a solid sort. Take care of Vicky, will you?" she added, placing a hand on his shoulder. "This guy's a wimp."

"Ah, yo! Don't undermine me in front of my own guys," Victor protested.

That was the absolute opposite of what Pork thought of Magos Victor. The man sparred with several murder-servitors for fun, daily. He purposely sought out enemy warlords to engage. If anything, Victor should be taking care of him.

Lastly, Dot introduced herself with a wave and a quiet hello. Kim looked at Dot as if seeing her for the first time, then covered her mouth and stood up. She made her way around the table and embraced the younger woman in a large hug.

"Throne on Terra, you're mine now. I'm taking you home. You belong to me now; I'm stealing you away. You are so cute," she said as she all but smothered Dot, who returned the hug with a confused smile.

"Hey, stop stealing my share!" Kim shouted, pointing her finger at Victor.

"What do you mean, 'your share'? It's my food," Victor replied, shaking his head. "Anyway, we were supposed to have an after-action report until we were interrupted by this foolishness."

"Magos Victor, regarding the after-action report—I have a complaint," Gamma stated, her voice a flat, emotionless blend of organic and synthetic tones. "Verbal after-action reports are inefficient. The data can be transmitted over binary in milliseconds. I propose we switch back to binary for such debriefings. I understand that your experiences in the Imperial Army have shaped your expectations, but the Mechanicum must operate differently. We should utilize the tools at our disposal to maintain optimal efficiency."

Victor paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "You make a fair point, Gamma," he said, his voice carrying a touch of resignation. "But let's not go entirely binary. We'll try a hybrid approach for now. Maybe it's just my personal preference, but having everything transmitted in binary just... irks me a little. I don't want our social skills to atrophy like those of other sects who can't hold a proper conversation outside of binary."

Pork felt his internal cogitators hum to life as several packets of data were exchanged between the four of them in an instant, a condensed status report that summarized their performance during the battle. The efficiency was undeniable, but there was something comforting about the sound of Victor's voice, something that data streams couldn't replicate.

Victor clapped his hands together, snapping them back to the present. "Alright, that's settled. We've got a few hours before we need to mobilize again, so you're all free to do as you please. About five hours until we need to prep. I'm probably going to take a nap in my crawler. Call me if you need anything. Oh, and help yourselves to the rest of the food."

He let out a wide yawn, his cybernetic eyes momentarily dimming as he stretched. "Good meeting, good afternoon, goodbye. And seriously, make sure they don't steal Dot."

Pork watched as Victor turned to leave, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Despite the immense responsibilities he bore, Victor carried an air of levity that few Magi possessed. It was a rare quality, one that made Pork feel a strange sense of gratitude. There were many leaders within the Mechanicum, but few like Victor—someone who balanced the cold precision of the Machine God's teachings with a human touch that kept their cohort grounded.

As Victor departed, Pork's thoughts lingered on the upcoming mission. He thanked and prayed to the Machine God silently who he hoped existed. That they would all survive the coming tribulations.