“Nonsense! The Zeta models are far better than anything those idiots at Balakos could come up with!”

Lord-Lachrimallus Auld appeared to physically shudder at the allegation, the numerous goads, prods, and whips set into his hardpoints snapping and jerking with electricity. “Pah! The Classiari manufactured from Uno-class stock outperform all other models by a minimum margin of twenty percent—tolerances adjusted to Minima Maxim—at enhancing menial productivity.”

High Technicus Skorlax chuckled. “Magos Auld, it might be beyond your limited conceptual capabilities, but some of our Skitarii have to contend with hostiles that actually fight back.”

“Besides,” Arch-Pecunius 424242-111 canted in his typically efficient binharic, “what breed of heretek quantifies pattern iterations with numeric identifiers?”

“Agreed,” Magos-Provender Grox grumbled, his numerous auto-scribes, data-quills, and haptic-pads already re-engaged in a cacophony of beeps, pings, and hums as the master of the ship’s supply redirected man and material traffic on the fly. “But we digress. As a broken prism scatters data-light, our purpose is derailed by this pettiness.”

“Grox is correct. Archmagos, why have you gathered us here?” One of Artisan Ouden’s many satellite bodies crossed its arms, staring at him with its beady, empty eyes.

Many others across the table followed its gaze: the leaders of the various Divisios, Collegiates, and Taghma-fiefs that called this fleet their home.

Inquisitorial chamber Alpha-Alpha-1-1 was one of the most expansive and ornate aboard the vessel: a cavernous, dimly lit chamber hewn from ancient stone. Stone that had been dragged from the depths of the Himalazia Mountains before the Emperor had built his golden palace atop it. On top of this ancient and storied rock, fixtures and trinkets of priceless metals and jewels had been affixed: panels on the wall, tiles on the floor, detailed sculptures and carvings. All with no efficient utility visible to the plain eye, except that they told stories. Stories of the weighty past and heritage of the Cult Mechanicum: its schisms, its triumphs, its losses. Repeated and animated over and over in the invisibly shimmering data of the Noosphere.

Orange data-tapestries and hololiths dimly shone along the edges, their unnatural techno-runes and construction sacraments seeming to cast the room into further darkness rather than illuminating it. A raised gallery around the room, supported by intricately crafted pillars, provided room for a much larger audience in case a public trial and denouncement was in order. Today, however, those seats were empty.

The only occupied seats were around the massive table in the centre: perhaps the most expensive object in the room. It was carved from real, Terra-born wood: not the substitute material manufactured painstakingly in boutique synth-shrines for the undiscerning eyes of nobles. Not even the artificial forests seeded in Arboriums across the galaxy. This was old wood: ‘mahogany’, they once called it, according to the lexical archives. A minutely carved fractal design emanated from its centre, placed perfectly below the hololithic image of the solar system floating above it. His most approximate calculations told him it was about twenty feet higher than them.

“Rhetorical: Perhaps the Archmagos deems it best that we discover the answer through our own initiative?” Logis Cythidon tilted his bulky head-module, swivelling and dilating a few optics towards him. If he had eyebrows left, Aldren was sure he would have raised one.

“The ways of the Machine God teach me never to put trust in that which is not real.”

“Admonishment: Ouch.”

Archmagos Aldren Nevis deployed a few mechadendrite stabilizers, adjusting the bulk of his ceremonial form on the seat. It was supposed to be adaptively ergonomic, so as to accommodate the geometric constraints of augmented bodies, but the machine spirit had grown temperamental over the years. “My lords, I have commanded you all here today for a very grave purpose. You are, no doubt, aware of the incident that has occurred a few standard hour-increments prior in the Scientia Purgatus aboard this Ark.”

Fabricata-Veneratus Sanxi gnashed her mechanical mandibles together. “Unacceptable design flaws in containment. Mechanical damage mounting. The Divisio Technicus must take responsibility.”

Skorlax slammed one of his many piston-like arms on the table. “Sanxi, are you implying my Mars-sanctioned designs were flawed? You think you know more than the Omnissiah Himself?”

“I imply nothing, High Technicus. The sacred data speaks for itself. I am certain you have made errors.”

“Enough.” Aldren infused his voice with just enough infrasonic rumble to quiet them. “Perhaps the error was in design, perhaps in fabrication, perhaps in maintenance. The responsibility shall be assigned, at a later date. For now, we have to deal with a more pressing issue.”

“Lord Archmagos, surely you must withdraw this Enginseer… this little girl from the search and destroy operation.” Lachrimalla-Purgatus Ankha leaned her slender form forward. “She has already caused significant damage to the Adsecularis rosters by her oversights. There is barely enough breeding stock left to counteract attrition.”

“Magos Ankha’s concerns are valid, lord.” Auld cracked his whips in a diagnostic routine. “The extensive Purgatus security processes make transplanting breeders from other parts of the ship arduous as well.”

“Unacceptable supply chain disruptions,” Grox’s augmitters blurted, quills still scratching. “No subjects for tests. No porters for materiel. No hands for maintenance. Punish the girl, Archmagos.”

“The drops in efficiency are concerning, Archmagos.” Cythidon dipped his head almost imperceptibly. “Query: What have you decided?”

“I have my ideas. But I have gathered the eminent Magi together to decide on that very issue, Logis. For those who are not yet in the know, and have not managed to marshal the time to read this meeting’s memorandum in detail…”

There were a few binharic titters at that; the fact that most Magi considered documentation and records handling below them was an open secret.

“Almost the entirety of the Purgatus Adsecularis population has recently been liquidated in an effort to prevent an escaped mechano-infestation. Only a few on active duty at the time, as well as some pregnant specimens requisitioned for somato-genetic testing, now survive.”

“Those are numerically significant losses, Archmagos. Would you like me to compile a dataset for predictive analysis?”

“Your proactivity is appreciated, Arch-Pecunius. But the present priority is—”

A loud gong rang through the chamber. A cloud of servo-skulls materialized out of the shadows, flying to hidden alcoves and panels. Within seconds, the room was bathed in harsh light, accentuating every little subtlety and flaw. The revealing light of knowledge, from which nothing could be hidden.

Their private caucus was at an end.

A large security servitor trundled in on six insectoid legs. “Archmagos Aldren Nevis, Master-Designate of the Chamber, the respondent has arrived.”

Aldren rose to his full height, trailing the ceremonial cloak of intricate gold links. Two servitors, artificially stunted to a height of two feet, hobbled out from behind the chair to help it spread out. Intricate designs of circuitry and data-chips trailed along the painstakingly polished metal of his body, punctuated only by esoteric Cult iconography and identi-tag emitters proclaiming the various Mysteries he had Comprehended. An engraved and gold-repoussé taser goad hung at his belt, alongside an archaeotech sidearm: the symbols of his authority to declare judgement on the enemies of the Omnissiah.

The others got to their feet, treads, or levitation modules, mimicking him.

“Do all confirm my status as Master of the Chamber?”

The Noosphere shone with assent identifiers.

“Is there any Adept Majoris who wishes to challenge my claim?”

There was silence.

“Then, as Master of the Chamber, I hereby convene, in this hall of Alpha-Alpha-1-1, a hearing of inquiry against the Enginseer Galiel Tunakha for her actions and lack thereof resulting in the mechano-infestation of the Omnissiah’s Wrath. Knowledge reveals all.”

“Knowledge reveals all,” the Magi echoed, bowing to him and resuming their seats.

“Allow the respondent to stand before the Chamber.” Aldren sank into his seat as well.

“As you command, my lord.” The servitor bowed his head, walking backwards out of the room.

A few minutes, the doors swung slightly open once more, depositing a very nervous Enginseer into the chamber. Aldren could almost feel his Magi taste the fear pheromones in the air as she scurried forward like a mouse. This was suboptimal. They would tear her apart.

Before anyone else could speak, he beckoned with his hand. “Stand within the circle on the ground.”

She complied wordlessly, walking into the intricate mural that indicated the respondent’s position. The symbolic sword hanging over her head by a metallic thread—inspired by the apocryphal tale of Damocles of old Terra, if he recalled accurately—perhaps did not help her agitation.

“You have come to answer alone?” Cythidon asked, shifting his weight forward.

Aldren sent him a feeling of vague assent and gratitude over the private Manifold. One of his optics bobbed slightly in response: a nod.

She looked up, evidently restraining the urge to wring her hands. So much flesh still remaining. He had forgotten how that felt.

“N—No, my lord. I have some companions. But I have asked them to wait outside the chamber.”

“And why did you do that, Enginseer Galiel Tunakha?”

“I… I did not believe their presence in this chamber would be appropriate, Logis.”

“You presume to know what is appropriate for us?” Magos Auld spat in sharp binharic, jolting forward.

Despite the distance, she took a half-step back. “No, Magos. I was—”

“Centre of the circle, Enginseer,” 424242 interrupted. “Why do you step back? Do you feel fear? Do you suggest that Magos Auld’s form and actions are repulsive?”

“No, my lord! That was not my intent at all. Magos Auld is a—”

“Inefficiency. Loss. Incompetence.” Grox seemed to spread out his mechadendrites with each word, like a serpentine bio-form flaring its hood. “Do you have any idea of the damage you have done?”

“Grox, 4242-111, Auld,” Aldren canted into the Manifold, “peace.”

“Lord,” they acknowledged.

“Perhaps…” Artisan Ouden laced his fingers on the table. “It would be best if we treat this as the mistake of naivete it is, rather than some grave tech-heresy.”

“I am in agreement with Ouden,” Magos Hekaton-1 canted, his pitch-black skull floating above his seat, “Enginseer Galiel is otherwise a competent and laudably astute Techpriest. A credit to the Cult. She deserves some license.”

Aldren had heard of the incidents in Laboratorium Alpha-Secundus. Magos Hekaton was apparently actually intent on honouring his promise of support. A useful attribute to keep in mind for the future.

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“Query: What have you discovered in your investigations, Enginseer? Since you come so… highly recommended, we will give you some chance to explain. Warning: Do not waste time. It is most valuable data that deserves respect.”

Galiel bowed slightly. “Yes, my lord. I—”

“Hah! How convenient, Cythidon!” Magos Auld crowed. “Should we merely take Ouden’s word for it? Your proclivity for cavorting with our respondent is not a secret aboard this vessel. Dare I suggest… a more basal connection?”

Ouden affixed the Lord-Lachrimallus with a cold, empty stare, ignoring Galiel’s shocked gasp. “Perhaps spending too much time amongst the menials has made my lord marginally over-liberal with his words.”

“Magos Auld,” Aldren said coolly, “you shall tender an apology on ship-wide Noosphere to Artisan Ouden for your indiscretion, with permanence of a standard Terran week. You shall also show cause as to why I should not initiate censure against you for the same. I expect the representation on my personal server-node by the end of the day.”

“I… Yes, Archmagos.” He slightly bowed his head. “My sincerest apologies for overstepping the decorum of this Chamber.”

“Request: You may continue, Enginseer Galiel,” Cythidon canted.

“Yes, my lord. During my inspections with the help of the Classiari and a representative from the Adsecularis population, we discovered that the xenotech device—”

“Spinehuggers,” Aldren clarified, allowing some humour to seep into his cant to put her at ease.

“Yes, Archmagos. The spinehuggers have incorporated the Cog Obscurus technology and have thus rendered themselves undetectable to most sensors we have access to.”

Skorlax sat forward at this revelation. “Then…”

“Most of our Classiari, sensorium checkpoints, and early warning systems are useless,” Sanxi confirmed.

“Affirmative, lady Fabricata. Only entities with high-level Technicus sensorial clearance have the necessary countermeasures. But we may have a solution.”

“Elaborate,” Aldren said simply. He had already guessed at it.

“The Cog Obscurus technologies do not protect against mechanically unaided vision, my lord. We require organic oversight. Biological systems can freely detect and target spinehuggers.”

“We require Skitarii to forsake their augmetics?”

“At least on the sensory side, yes, my lord.”

“Unacceptable!” The Mistress of Skitarii, Ergona, jumped to her feet, clearly agitated. “Archmagos, the soldiers cannot be deprived of their blessed steel in this manner. They will see it as punishment!”

“Ergona speaks true, Archmagos.” High Magos-Mandati Null-Terribus fingered one of his many sidearms. “It will be disastrous for their morale.”

Aldren turned back to Galiel. “The concerns of Mistress Ergona are valid in my eyes as well, Enginseer. The Path of the Machine, once walked, cannot be retraced. It is an affront to the Omnissiah and an insult to the devotee.”

“Litany of Archmagos Halixis, 42:3. He who incites the forsaking of the Omnissiah’s path is reviled even amongst hereteks!” Dogmata-Maximus Alava jangled her chains for maximum effect, talismans and metal plates with engraved scriptures banging into each other. “Brand the girl!”

“Duly acknowledged, Lady Alava,” Aldren hastily interrupted, before anyone could cant anything pejorative into the Manifold. “But perhaps Enginseer Galiel has a solution?”

“My lord…” Galiel finally gave into the desire, wringing her hands together in a gesture he knew to be self-soothing. “We may try pushing the null-codes to all Skitarii, but…”

“The risk of intelligence failure goes up exponentially,” Aldren finished.

“We may attempt to use the menial armsmen,” Voidwright-Maximus C’karta suggested.

Null-Terribus waved his hand. “Too difficult to vet, too stupid to work.”

“Do we have another choice, Lord Mandati?”

“I don’t, but I know there has to be a better way.”

“The Omnissiah delivers no problem without a perfect solution. Such is the beauty of his creation,” Alava crooned.

“In the name of the Motive Spirit, Alava,” Skorlax hissed, switching to more advanced binharic so as to keep Galiel out, “if you have nothing useful to say, stick to your shrine prayers and let us handle this.”

“My lexicon of over thirty million seminal works of the Cult Mechanicum is the driving force behind this fleet’s Quest for Knowledge, brother Skorlax, and I would encourage you not to forget it,” she snapped back, switching to the same cant-style.

“Silence. I will not ask again.” Aldren tapped a delicately clawed hand against the wood of the chair. “Well, Enginseer?”

“I—I’m not certain of another solution, Archmagos, but I will—”

“Hey, guys!” The doors were unceremoniously pushed open as a thin, lithe figure wearing a carved actor’s mask squeezed through the gap. “Sorry, bit of a tight fit…”

“Harlequin!” Dogma-Xenologia Fareek shouted in a rare use of flesh-voice, leaping to his feet. “Guards!”

In an instant, everything was in motion. Every Magos around the table scrambled up, drawing whatever weapons they had. The doors slammed open completely as a seemingly endless tide of Skitarii retainers and combat servitors trooped into the room, positioning themselves between the xeno and them.

But she was already on the move, leaping over the twenty-deep mass of soldiers in a single, gravity-defying leap. A vague indistinct blur darted down, exploding into fractals that would dizzy any organic. Null-Terribus struck first, sending a rippling pulse of energy through his luminen conduits that threw her back like a toy. She twisted in midair, dropping to the ground like a stone using her xenotech flip belt.

“I see the rumours about your war-priests weren’t exaggerated, Archie.”

Alava slammed the butt of her staff of office into the ground, sending a surge of purifying energy through the air that tore through the delicate circuitry of her equipment. “Xeno witch! You have committed your final error! Teachings of Mech-Deacon Axelis, 34:44. The path of the warrior is forever closed to him who cannot choose battles.”

“Everyone, calm!” Aldren flared with command identi-tags and compliance subsonics. “Resume your seats!”

Besides him, Cythidon was the only one who had not moved from his chair. “Query: Was the arrival of our guest scheduled?”

“I do not recall it being so… Yvranuel.”

She took off her mask, revealing a sharp, aristocratic face that would win over many a discerning noble if he took it for use on a hospitality servitor. “Sorry, Archie. Bit urgent.”

“Skitarii, leave us.” Aldren pulled himself back into his seat. “Let no one speak of this beyond this Chamber, Mistress.”

“I…” Whatever she was going to say, Ergona thought better of it. “Yes, lord. All of you, dismissed. Close the door behind you.”

There was some concern and trepidation, but the Skitarii obeyed, marching out of the room in lockstep. Galiel left the circle again and ran up to the harlequin, grabbing her arm roughly from behind. Their advanced auditory sensors could easily pick up her panicked questions, but he elected to let them have their privacy, instead establishing a private Manifold tunnel to Ouden.

“The girl should not speak so familiarly with the xeno, Ouden. It sends a bad message to the Chamber.”

“Yes, Archmagos. I will be sure to reprimand her at a later time.”

“The girl is not forsaking her flesh properly. Are you sure you are providing the correct mentorship? If you would like, I can have Alava or her priests…”

“With all due respect to the Dogmata-Maximus, Archmagos, I would advise against it.”

He appended a few humour tags with the message. “Good man.”

“So…” Ankha rose to her feet, her Logis-aesthetic form towering over Yvranuel. “You are the one. The witch in the shadows.”

“Excuse me?” She raised an eyebrow at the Lachrimalla-Purgatus. “I don’t know who’s giving you this information, but shadows suck. I’m more of a spotlight girl, you know?”

“The overseers have told me that the menials kept talking about some thin, tall woman, watching them in the darkness, stealing their tools, sneaking into their homes. Fits the description of an alien trickster like you. A demon. Affront to the Omnissiah.”

“Wow, you guys really lean into this xenophobia thing, huh? Anyway, I’m here to help with your little bug situation. Let me guess. Your idea so far is to use Skitarii with biological aids.”

“Yes, but—” Galiel started.

“Yeah, yeah, religious stuff. Look, I get it. All this god stuff can be beautiful. But it’s mostly a pain in the ass.”

Fareek scoffed. “You harlequins serve a god. Some… entertainer.”

“Hey, he prefers clown. But ours is different.” She tapped at her belt absently. “Yup, completely ruined. You know these things don’t have insurance, right?”

“Speak what you came here to speak.” Aldren clenched his fists slightly. For him to be seeing guarding a xeno was politically dangerous. That much was obvious even to someone as obtuse as him. The faster he could get this over with, the more time for damage control.

“Right, so… remember how we thought the infection was confined to the Purga-whatever? Well, I was crawling through the servo-skull ducts—”

Sanxi’s eyes telescoped out a few inches. “Crawling? Through the—The potential for damage—The maintenance costs—”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s the only unguarded way into the kitchens, okay? Anyway, I found one of these up there.” She pulled out a half-smashed spinehugger device from an unseen pocket.

Null-Terribus leaned forward, suddenly more interested than wary. “The main kitchens? Not Purgatus?”

“Main kitchens, pretty boy.”

“You are certain of this?”

She batted her eyelashes at the entire Chamber. “Do I look like the lying sort?”

“Truism: Yes.” Cythidon focused all his optics on her, presumably trying to read body language.

“Ugh. Well, not lying this time, alright?”

The Logis turned to him. “Archmagos, if this is true…”

“We cannot rely on spotters anymore. We need more… scalable solutions. Arch-Genetor Xani!”

There was silence.

He sighed. “Where is she?”

“Insincere: Perhaps she has not received the memorandum?”

“In the Omnissiah’s name, I will—Someone, go find her. We need to continue this investigation. In the meantime, this vessel is on quarantine. No individual shall travel to any other ship, nor shall any individual travel to the Omnissiah’s Wrath. All sections of the ship will be cordoned immediately, with checkpoints manned by both Classiari and recruited menial spotters. At least until we have a more optimal solution.”

“This is a threat to the expedition’s security, Archmagos.” The High Magos-Mandati rose to his feet. “Allow me to assign an investigative team, and we will have the problem solved within twenty-four Terran hours, on pain of penalty.”

Artisan Ouden turned to Aldren. “My lord, Enginseer Galiel has been engaged with this operation since the beginning. No one possesses the experience that she does. Besides, I have credible information that the Divisio Mandati has already assigned a liaison for this matter. One young adept by the name of Valacon. He has a strong… working relationship with the respondent. Perhaps if they worked together…”

“What do you think?” Aldren canted privately to Cythidon.

“I think both are looking after their own interests. But there is nothing wrong, in principle, with either argument.”

“A Mandati diagnostic coven will no doubt be an effective solution.”

“Yes, but will it be an artistic one?”

“What do you mean?

“Aldren, look at the girl.”

Galiel was shrinking further and further into the background, even as the Chamber erupted in heated debate.

“She is hurting,” Cythidon canted. “She has worked hard on this project, and just purged an entire community of Adsecularis.”

“They were infected. Defective. Dangerous.”

“Did that make our first liquidations any easier?”

“No. But can we afford to play with the expedition’s security for the sake of one Enginseer’s validation?”

“No. Interrogative: But if we let her feel undervalued and overworked today, what is the guarantee that it will not spread further tomorrow? To keep people like her at full effectiveness, Archmagos, their work, their efforts, must matter. This is the mathematical principle of loyalty: value the resources you have.”

“Do you think Alava has a verse for it?”

“Comment: More than likely she has ten.”

Aldren switched to his flesh-voice, letting it boom from his augmitters to silence the room. “Enginseer Galiel!”

She jerked in fear, almost as if she had forgotten where she was. “My lord?”

“I am sympathetic to Artisan Ouden’s concern for you and the arguments raised by him and by others, in the public proceedings of this Chamber and otherwise, in your favour. I also believe, after due perusal of the evidence submitted and transmitted to all members of this Chamber, that you bore no active and malicious part in the escape of these xenotech specimens, and that you have taken all steps, within your competence and experience, to redress your wrongs. Therefore, it is my view that this Chamber take no punitive action against you. And as its Master, if there are no objections, my view shall be deemed to be the formal order of this Chamber as well.”

Most of the members nodded their assent. Some, including Auld, stayed neutral, but none opposed him.

“Very well. But responsibility must also be assigned. As the one responsible, even unwillingly, you are the one who must provide a solution to this issue. I am issuing both you and the one known as Valacon, as recommended in name and in fact by High Magos-Mandati Null-Terribus and Artisan Ouden, a commission to inquire into, investigate, and halt this… ‘spinehugger menace’. You may requisition such help from the menial population as is necessary and reasonable. For armed support, the Skitarius known as Theta-4-0, with whom you were involved during the liquidation incident, will be at your disposal along with his forces for the duration of this commission. You will also be joined by a third member, whose expertise and experience in serving aboard this ship is likely to be of aid to you.”

For a moment, the Enginseer merely gaped up at him, eyes emptier than a novice guardsman after his first mission. Then she bowed, low enough that for a moment he could entertain the notion of her toppling over. “Yes, Archmagos. I will not disappoint you.”

“You already have,” he said simply. “Now, let us see if you can find your way back. I have assigned your Noospheric profile an absolute clearance identi-tag. You may enter and examine any part of the ship at your desire. For your first assignment, however, go to the Divisio Biologis Machine-Temple. The Arch-Genetor will know to expect you. She may have some solution on counteracting the camouflage patterns of the xenotech. You will also meet your third member there.”

“Uh… Yes! Yes, Archmagos. I will set out immediately.” She hurriedly bowed again and skittered out, almost as if she was afraid he would change his mind and shoot her in the back.

“No other business remains for discussion. If all are agreed, as the Master of the Chamber, I hereby dissolve this meeting for want of further cause.” Aldren hurried through the formalities, already heading for Yvranuel as the other broke up and began streaming out of the chamber without protest.

There would be gossip in a few minutes. He knew it.

“What the hell were you thinking, coming here?” Aldren snapped as soon as the room was empty. “I only let you on this ship because you swore to stay out of sight!”

“Will you relax, Archie?”

He rounded on her, towering to his full height.

“Aldren! Aldren. Listen, Aldren, baby, I’m sorry but this was actually urgent. Besides…” She pushed a few strands of hair out of her face with a smirk. “They couldn’t kill me if they tried.”

“You are not wandering the halls with some Skitarii buffoons here, Yvranuel! You might think you are invincible, but keep this up, and I fear you will quickly make discoveries to the contrary. Null-Terribus has torn Solitaires apart with his bare hands! And you strut around in front of him like this is an Omnissiah-damned craftworld!”

“Sheesh, middle management really is where the fun is here, huh? Anyway…” Her expression grew serious for once. “There is more serious news too. News I couldn’t say before.”

Aldren frowned. “What is it?”

“Your away team.”

“They have beaten back the orkoids, have they not?”

“Yes. But there’s a new complication.”

He sighed and took another step towards her, forcing her to lean back a little to stare into his optics. “Cease your riddling, and speak!”

“You may have a bit of a… mutiny on your hands.”