With thanks to shubzilla, who's taken over as Beta
Dark Reflections
Part 5: A Voice In The Wilderness
In his two and a half centuries, Sergeant Menelaus had seen things that most Imperial citizens would consider impossible, but he was still slightly awed at the sheer size of Archie when he first stood before the Bolo and looked upon it with his own eyes. He'd read all the mission briefings and looked at the accompanying images, but none of them had done justice to the scale and imposing nature of such a massive war machine. Somehow, knowing that it was controlled by a Machine Spirit with a genius level IQ, with a complete understanding of wars fought with everything from stone axes to anti-mater warheads, dating back to a time when humanity was a few fragile, isolated pockets of civilisation spread out across the surface of Holy Terra, made it all the more intimidating in person.
Especially when it insisted on deferring to his command.
"My standing order make it clear: in the absence of my Commander, I am to place myself at the disposal of the highest ranking Imperial Officer available." Archie explained, "If there is no officer, a senior NCO is acceptable. Until you arrived, that put Sergeant Volkovich in command." There was a pause, "He is very happy that you are here."
Menelaus looked around; his own Hades Squad was made up of combat experienced troops intended to act as back-up for greener recruits of Aegis Squad in case they ran into enemy forces. But with Captain Malachi out of communications range, there was little more that they could do besides set up a defensive perimeter in case anyone attacked the entrance to the base.
"I'm tempted to try and order the Tech-Priest back up to the Glory, but the Adeptus Mechanicus are a law unto themselves at the best of times." He looked up into the sky, "I don't know what those warp-spawned bastards are up to, but it has to be more than a quick fly-by to take a shot at a couple of transports. If they haven't already landed, then they will do soon. Exactly how far out can you see?"
"My on-board sensors are limited only by the horizon, but my drones can cover a much larger area." The Bolo managed to avoid sounding smug, merely stating the facts, "Unfortunately, the ships in orbit are no longer able to act as relays, so I have had to re-task several to take their place, cutting the area I can cover."
"A good look at a small area is better than a patchy look at a larger area: if you see anything that shouldn't be there, shoot first and ask questions later." Menelaus nodded, then looked at the massive doorway, "We don't have time to do this by the book; we'll cut the bolts and use the Land Raider to pull the doors open if we have to, but I want to be able to set up a defensive position inside that entrance."
"I will have my repair drones start work now." There was a pause, "Should we try to get word to the others?"
"I'd like to, but we don't know the layout of the base or what route they might have taken once inside." The Sergeant shook his head, "I'd like to warn them, but we just don't have the men to spare. But don't worry about your commander." He looked up at the Bolo, "I've known Captain Malachi a long time: he can handle a few traitors."
"Okay, that's... odd." Hoban stopped walking suddenly, almost getting knocked over by Ishmael coming up behind him.
"Define 'odd'?" Malachi asked.
"Well, if I didn't know better, I'd say that someone or something is trying to communicate with us." the Bolo commander looked at the text scrawling across his suits HUD, "Unfortunately, we don't have the required protocols to complete the digital handshake."
"Do you even understand what you just said?" Ignatius asked, dryly.
"Not really, but that's what Archie said might happen." Hoban plugged his dataslate into the arm of his suit, "He wrote a translation algorithm, which should let us at least explain who we are and what we're doing here."
"And if it doesn't?" Malachi inquired, fingers tensing on the grips of his chainsword and bolter.
"Things might get a little interesting." Hoban typed in a quick string of commands, "I think I've managed to get what... whatever it is, is saying translated into Low Gothic."
"Why not High Gothic?" Octavius asked.
"Because I can just about write my own name in High Gothic, and I don't think any of us want me making any mistakes." Hoban continued, unparsed, "Okay, it looks like the outpost's Machine Spirit is aware of us, but after such a long slumber, it is having trouble waking up. It's recognising Archie's I.D. code, but not our authorisation; it says we're not part of the Republic Armed Forces, and must leave."
"Inform... no, advise the Machine Spirit that we serve the inheritors of the Republic." Malachi suggested calmly, "Tell them, we wish to update them as to the tactical and strategic state of the galaxy."
"That might work." Hoban nodded and started typing.
"Give the man room to work." Malachi ordered his squad, "Anyone would think you'd never seen a man try and communicate with a Machine Spirit dating back to before the Dark Age of Technology before!"
SYSTEM REBOOT COMPLET
TIME SINCE LAST UPDATE: INDETERMINATE
TIME SINCE LAST COMUNICATION FROM SECTOR COMMAND: INDETERMINATE
INTRUDERS DETECTED, MAIN ACCESS CORDIOR
INTERNAL DEFENCES NON-FUCTIONING
SENDING ENCODED ID CHALANGE ON ALL GUARD FREQANCIES
RECIVING RESPONSE
ACSESS CODE RECIVED: CODE AUTHENTIC
PROCESSING...
PROCESSING...
UNABLE TO VERIFY LEGITIMACY OF ACSESS CODES
PROCESSING...
PROCESSING...
REACTIVATING BASE COMANDANT
PROCESSING...
BOLO COMBAT UNIT SRD-028-341 ONLINE AND ASSUMING DIRECT COMMAND
SET CONDITION ULTRA-VIOLET: BASE PERIMITER BREACHED BY UNKNOWN FORCES
ACTIVATING BOLO COMBAT UNIT HRK-693-241
PROCESSING...
BOLO COMBAT UNIT HRK-693-241 ONLINE
BOLO COMBAT UNIT HRK-693-241 MISSION OBJECTIVE: SECURE OR IRADICATE INTURDERS
FOR THE HONOUR OF THE REGIMENT!
The massive door fell to the ground almost gracefully in the low gravity, the thin atmosphere keeping the sound from travailing too far, but even then, it sent out a cloud of dust and shook the ground for hundreds of meters. One of the Marines walked over to make sure it was clear of the frame, then the Land Raider pulled it clear. A Tech-Priest stood off to one side, silently enraged at the near sacrilegious treatment of what they considered a holy shrine, but the Astartes paid them little heed as they set about fortifying the entrance as best they could. Sitting some distance away, Archie watched them with keen interest while he kept up his vigil of the area around the entrance. He had detected no sign of hostile forces, but there were still gaps in his coverage, no matter how he moved his remaining drones around. He contemplated deploying a second Battleview missile to fill the gaps, but they only had a finite supply, and he needed his commanders permission to expend them.
For a Bolo, inaction while humans laboured was an infuriating necessity; for all his terrible fire-power and knowledge, Archie was in no way able to assist in the formation of barricades. Even his nimble service drones would have been more a hindrance than a help to the experienced Marines under the command of Sergeant Menelaus. Nor was he in a position to assist the running battle taking place over their heads, not if he was to maintain his guard over the dig-site. This burned against the very core of who and what he was, but he understood the necessity of remaining on station while humans fought and died in his stead. Once, when he had been a member of the 431st Battalion of the Dinochrome Brigade, he had been a part of a force that could have secured the nameless world against all but the most heavily armed and determined of attacks. Now he was alone, separated from his fellow Bolos by thousands of light years, facing an enemy he had no direct experience of fighting. Part of him was concerned that he'd fail in his duty to protect the humans around him, fail his commander.
Another part of him relished the possibility of once again entering the all-consuming crucible of combat.
Bolo Unit HRK-693-241, better known to his comrades as Hawksmoor, made his way though the dark tunnels of the base as quickly as he could. The cold, careless millennia that had passed since the base's caretaker A.I. had had the power to deploy its army of repair drones for all but the most immediate and necessary of repairs had taken their toll on the high, vaulted ceilings and arching roadways that criss-crossed the system of natural cavers that the Concordiat Corps of Engineers had utilised to form the backbone of the supply depot to which he had been assigned. The Concordiat, and the Republic that had succeeded it, knew better than to discard anything that might one day be of use. Hence massive bunker complexes had been established on the fringes of human controlled space, and stocked with all the weapons and equipment of war.
Hawksmoor rumbled through a room that seemed to stretch off into the distance. At first glance the chamber looked like it was playing host to an army ready for inspection, but a closer look revealed that the soldiers were in facts rank after rank of pristine, factory fresh battle armour, standing silently to attention in anticipation of an order that might never come. Another chamber housed a fleet of aerospace fighters, ranging from sleek interceptors and ground-attack craft all the way up to heavy bombers, transports and escorts. They were spaced out perfectly to allow maintenance crews to inspect them as and when needed, but had sat untouched since they had been placed there, countless centuries before. Some of the later models housed their own psychotronic brain, making them not too dissimilar for the Bolo that passed between their ranks, but their slumbered went uninterrupted.
A third chamber was filled floor to ceiling with shelves holding crates and boxes stretching off into the distance. Each was carefully labelled to indicate everything from camping equipment and entrenching tools, portable generators and mess kits, blankets, beds, boots and enough arms to take a small planet. Each container was tagged and logged, perfectly preserved by still intact vacuum-seals. Automated forklifts stood gathering dust, ready to retrieve any given item on command. Once, these fast stores had been intended to supply an army assembled for a planned incursion into Deng space in a bid to out-flank the Melconians, but the base had not received any official communications since the last supply ship had departed. Hawksmoor knew that tens of thousands of years had passed since then, but he was in no way worried; humanity had a proven ability to not only survive, but thrive when all logic said that should be annihilated. It mattered not that he and his fellow Bolos in the depot had missed the war that they had been created for, for he knew that there would always be another war to fight.
What he didn't know was that his progress was being observed, and that some of the damage he was forced to make his way around had been done with the deliberate intent of delving him into a waiting ambush.
To Be Continued...