“How long until we can get moving again?” Veridara sighed as she propped her foot up on the dashboard of the command Chimera. It was a strange little thing: most of its weapons had been removed to make room for cogitators and communications equipment. A dummy gun made of wood was the only thing that disguised it among the rest of the convoy. How the Guard could have the courage to bring this thing to the frontline, let alone have their commanding officers ride in it, she could never understand.

“Orders from the Archmagos leave no room for ambiguity. Advance must be halted until additional insights regarding the nature of the enemy can be arrived at. Additionally…” The Skitarius, Zeta-21, slapped her armoured leg off the control panel with the butt of his rifle. “Proper respect for the machine spirits must be observed. This vehicle is a king amongst its peers. It demands… appropriate veneration.”

Calling it ‘egotistical’ would probably be too heretical for him. A few sparks flew out from behind his bulky form, winking out quickly. A small mechanical drone, assisted by dwarfish servitors, was making changes to his body, grafting on extra arms, weaponry, and augmetics for the battles to come. After their first encounter with the Astartes, the Skitarii had begun upgunning themselves to hilarious levels, no doubt under directives from their masters. Every moment spent not marching was attended by logistical servitors delivering new weapons, bio-adepts testing out mutagens, and chirurgeon drones making improvement after improvement. It was a surreal sight, to see the Mechanicus’ forces adapt on the fly.

“Come on, Zeta. Let her relax a little. These things can get cramped.” Colonel Sand was occupied by a data-slate, skimming through requisition requests and applications. “Sororitas pin-ups for all soldiers, huh? What do you have to say about that, Gramps?”

The commissar huffed from the back seat. “I would say your men ought to spend more time on patrol duty, colonel, and less in the bathroom.”

“Fair enough.” He swiped left. “That’s a denial.”

Veridara could not prevent the slack-jawed expression of unadulterated disbelief from colonizing her face. “You have no respect at all for us, do you?”

“Sure we do, palatine. What better respect than flattery?”

“It seems the Guard has started to forget basic courtesy and respect. Commissar, you support this?”

The man had the gall to shrug. “As long as they’re not pissing on a shrine or sacrificing people, I don’t really give a shit. I have been charged by the Officio Prefectus to keep troop morale and discipline up. Who am I to argue if this is how they choose to do it?”

“This is how you maintain discipline?”

“Look, sister.” Sand sighed and put the slate away. “I know that the environment where you come from is a lot more… formal than this. But these guardsmen and women weren’t raised in a Schola. All of us come from the lowest of the low. From the filthy, smog-choked sea of menials and grunts back on Sanctus Ferrum. It’s not a pleasure world, but it’s still our home. These soldiers haven’t had a chance to go back in years, some decades. We haven’t even had a rest posting in as long as I can remember. It’s warzone to warzone to warzone to war-fucking-zone, day in and night out. We cope in whatever way we can. We’re not like the Skitarii. We can’t fight on without a single thought of breaking and running. We’re not that close to the Omnissiah’s grace, unfortunately. So please, unless you’re here for the sole purpose of stirring up trouble, learn to loosen up a little. And if you’re indeed here for that sole purpose, you’ve had a lovely head start already.”

Veridara huffed and crossed her arms. “Be that as it may, we do not appreciate being turned into objects of carnal desire, Sand.”

“I agree. Hence why I denied that request. But you’re strong, capable women with permanent sneers and bulky power armour. You could understand how some troopers may develop… certain fantasies.”

“That is sound logic.” Zeta-21 nodded in agreement to punctuate the point. “I could forward you some extranet materials for improved comprehension of this fetish if you would prefer, Palatine Veridara.”

“I am no longer enthusiastic about carrying on this conversation.”

“Acknowledged. Then I would suggest that we prevent our joints from locking up by stepping outside these cramped quarters.”

She could do that. Her legs already felt like jelly from sitting in the same position for hours. Outside, the scene was pure chaos. The supply point was in the process of being set up, Enginseers and their servitors working tirelessly to fabricate and install workbenches and caches. Elsewhere, ad-hoc canteens had been set up to shovel foul goop into the hungry maws of guardsman and battle sister alike. She spied Sister Sabrus in the crowd, mercifully still unharmed and intact. However, someone had obviously assigned her a punishment detail, as she was helping some ogryns load a large supplies truck with rations. Help, of course, was a relative term; even with her power armour, she would be crushed by the loads the towering abhumans easily carried. So she was mostly standing and glowering as some of them tried to make small talk with her in their halting Low Gothic.

There were a few sentries and turrets posted around the perimeter, but they were obviously not expecting to be attacked; the elusive Techpriest assassin had returned and confirmed that the tunnels ahead were clear for quite some distance. He was nowhere to be found now; the man appeared to come and go as he was required.

“Palatine.” Sister Superior Karina. She walked up with her practised, poised gait. “I hope you have not faced any inconvenience from the men you travel with.”

She sighed. “No. No, they’re nice enough. But so brash. The 21st Ferrite Guardians are probably the most irreverent regiment I have ever worked alongside.”

“I know what you mean, sister. It’s that blasted little machine cult of theirs. They do not treat the Emperor’s blessed servants with the proper reverence.” She shook her head. “I know we have a compact with them, but He on the Throne forgive me for wanting to break it about twenty times a day.”

“That would be an unwise move.” Veridara wondered if their forge world specifically taught the art of sneaking up on people without being noticed, because all of them seemed to be experts. Sand removed his cap and tucked it under his arm as his eyes studied the scene before him.

“I don’t need you to tell me that, guardsman. I know my duties.”

“It’s colonel to you, sister. You seem to have a fair bit of resentment towards the Machine Cult. May I ask why?”

Karina removed her helmet to reveal her aged face, pockmarked by years of conflict and stress to make her look ten years older than she actually was. “Your… dichotomy unsettles me, colonel. I know you tell the world that the Omnissiah and the God-Emperor are one and the same, but I don’t buy it. If it were, you would just cut out the middleman and embrace His glory directly. As far as I’m concerned, you’re all heretics we have to tolerate because the Emperor’s unknowable plan deems it so. Don’t expect me to like it, though. Besides, all your superstitious nonsense about machine spirits is such an inconvenience to us. I can see why the Astartes choose to train their own technicians.”

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Sand smiled. “So you don’t believe machine spirits are real?”

“Only the Emperor can bestow life. Machines are built by mortal hands.”

“I see.”

Veridara sighed. “Colonel, please, we’re not looking to start another fight.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not as intolerant as some of my men. I prefer different methods.” He pulled out the laspistol at his belt and removed the power pack before handing it to Karina. “Please, sister. Shoot me.”

“What? The gun has no power.”

“I am aware. Please shoot.”

“It is a las weapon, colonel. The gun cannot shoot without energy.”

“Humour me.”

She sighed and levelled the gun at his head before pulling the trigger. Predictably, nothing happened. The gun only released a sad beep to warn about a depleted or absent power pack.

“See?”

“Yes, so I see.” He held his hand out for the gun.

As soon as Karina handed it back to him, he raised the weapon towards the ceiling and pulled the trigger. A glimmering red line shot into the darkness, followed by a muted blasting sound as it hit the hull.

Both Veridara and Karina jumped at the sound. The Sister Superior frowned. “I… don’t understand. Is the gun gene-coded? Reserve capacitors?”

“It is a standard make.” He held it up for inspection. “The answer is far simpler, sister. The machine spirit helps those who show it the proper respect.”

“That—”

“It is the Omnissiah who bestows machine spirits upon creation. They are, all of them, facets of the Machine God. Infinitely tiny slivers of his supreme power. Before you criticize their beliefs, I would suggest you spend some time with those Techpriests you hate so much, sister.” He clicked the power pack back into the housing and returned the pistol to its holster with a muttered prayer.

“I… I will check on the sisters, palatine. Please excuse me.” Karina gave her a short bow and walked away.

She crossed her arms and faced Sand. “Colonel, I want you to be absolutely honest with me. What is your problem with us? Why do you enjoy showing us up so much?”

“I don’t. But we’ve treated you with at least a modicum of respect, and all you have to give in return is scorn for our beliefs and prejudice for my men. How long can I keep up deference one-sided, Palatine Veridara?”

“Didn’t you say your men weren’t used to us? Can’t I say the same about my sisters? Give them time, Sand. This one-upmanship isn’t helping.”

He sighed. “Very well. But you didn’t know machine spirits could do that, did you?”

She smirked under her helmet, trying to keep her voice level. They certainly had balls, if nothing else. “I did not.”

“Eh, you spend all day around Techpriests, you pick up a thing or two. This is about the extent of my ability though. You should see some of the Magi. When we were deployed to the retaking of Lakressa, the cultists managed to commandeer a civilian transport. They were trying to escape while the Navy was tied up in ground support operations. We were scrambling some heavy artillery to shoot it down, but the Magos just beeped something from his augmitters. And guess what? Next thing I know, the thing is plummeting from the sky. Turns out he turned off its fucking engines.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it. They can be scary sons of bitches when they want to.”

“I’m not sure your Skitarii friends will appreciate that form of address for a Techpriest.”

“Well, good thing none of them are listening, then.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink before wandering off.

Finally, she was alone. Veridara undid the seals on her helmet and removed it, letting her white hair tumble down to her shoulders. Outside the life support bubbles erected by the Mechanicus adepts, they had to remain helmeted all the time. The hulk was incredibly cold; without temperature control, they would freeze to death in minutes, if not seconds. She welcomed these small opportunities to feel less cramped. It would have been even better to be able to change into her robes completely, but they could have to move at any moment.

“Pel…teen?”

She turned to see one of the ogryns standing over her, wringing his hands nervously. With some effort, she gave him a smile. “Yes, I am the palatine. Nug, was it?”

He nodded, refusing to make eye contact. “The… Komiser said I have to say sorry for what I did. I’z try to say sorry to her.” He pointed at Sabrus. “But she tell me to… go away. Then the kernel told me you are her kernel, so to say sorry to you.”

“I see. No apologies are necessary, Nug. Her behaviour was unacceptable.”

“Un… Un…”

“She treated you badly.”

“Oh! I’z feel sad when people shout.” He frowned, shaking his head slightly. “Reminds me of… of the hive. Bad men. Whips. Mot… Motive force. Pain.” He shifted slightly to show her the scars and old burns covering his bare arm. “They… hurt me. But the Emprah sent the kernel, and the komiser, and they kill them good! I’z happy now!”

“Are… Are you still scared?”

“Yes. Darkness. Chains. Small… small boxes. But not you! No, the Komiser says the Emprah is yer father! I’z never scared of the Emprah! And when I’m with Hurk, and Deg, and all my other friends, I don’t feel scared either!”

“I see.” She touched his armour, where one of his many sticker medals was attached. “Don’t worry, Nug. I’ll pass on your apology. No one will hurt you anymore. The Emperor protects the faithful.”

“Yes, pelteen. Thank you, pelteen. Oh, uh…” He brought his hand up in the best salute he could muster, his face scrunched up as he tried to remember what to say. “The… The Emprah protects!”

“The Emperor protects.” She made the aquila across her chest, being sure to keep her smile up.

The ogryn giggled sheepishly and lumbered off, back to work. He could speak remarkably well. Probably on the path to becoming a bonehead someday.

“But those scars… I need to clear my head.”

She began walking, pretending to inspect some of the preparations. How someone could do that, she could not fathom. Probably chaos cultists, feeding his agony as a sacrifice to their dark masters. Or maybe people like Sister Sabrus, who saw them as little better than animals. Either way, it was despicable. Servants of the Emperor were expected to work hard. Their life belonged to the Throne. Many lived, worked, and died in the bottomless pits of hive cities in squalor, never seeing the light of day. She knew this. But the gall to deliberately inflict unnecessary cruelty upon a fellow servant of the Emperor’s light… that was a travesty. It was treason against His benevolence. She could only hope Colonel Sand had seen fit to inflict a suitable punishment. Death often came far too quickly for heretics.

“Palatine? Palatine?”

The voice brought her out of her mental rant. One of her sisters was waving her over, surrounded by a small knot of guardsmen seated around her, staring intently at something on her arm. She had taken off her armour and had her arm held out to someone obscured by the crowd. She walked over, pushing through the men. Most respectfully made way for her.

“Look!” The sister jumped up and showed her the new fleur de lys on her arm. Looking closer, she noticed that it was made from a complex array of subdermal circuitry. “It glows in the dark too!”

Despite her dark thoughts, she could not help a small smile. “Really?”

“Really!” She cupped her hand over it. Indeed, the pathways lit up in the darkness, letting off a surprisingly strong golden glow.

Her simple glee was infectious. “That’s interesting! But where is your armour, sister?”

“Oh, the Enginseers took it for repairs. Some of the guardswomen gave me this to wear instead.” She swished her simple white robes.

“Electoo for you, ma’am?” The tattoo artist, a woman, waved her applicator. “I was the best in ten hab-blocks back home.”

“I’ll have to pass, but thank you for the offer.” She gave the guardswoman a small smile.

She shrugged. “More time for the others, then! Come on in!”

The crowd parted to reveal an entire line of waiting sisters. Some of them squeaked out a faint excuse when they saw her. She even saw a Sister Superior hastily slink away in the background.

Veridara sighed. “Go on, don’t be shy.”

At least they were not brawling anymore. Once they were sure she had no intention of flogging them, a few of them began to inch forward.

“Alright, come on, tell me what you want! I don’t have all day!” The woman brandished her tool again, leaning in to hear their shy mutterings.

Her vox squawked. She put the helmet back on and interfaced with the channel.

“Here.”

“This is Sand, Veridara. Get to the perimeter now. Inquisitor Loran’s convoy is inbound.”

“She’s here?”

“Apparently. She held up our heavy support to land first, so this had better be worth it.”

“Dammit. I’m on my way.”

A self-important Inquisitor. Great. Just great. They needed those vehicles far more than they need her and her snooty little retinue. By the Throne, if that woman bitched about the living arrangements next, she was going to space her, consequences be damned. Veridara switched to the private channels.

“Karina, prepare an honour guard and meet me at the perimeter. The Inquisitor’s on her way.”

“Understood, sister.”

With another whispered prayer for peace of mind, she began the long march to the rear of the camp.