Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 223
Kerubim stepped onto the bridge with a hesitant gait, drinking in the reverent atmosphere with awe. Few places on any ship were so hallowed as the bridge, the nexus of all data and control, a sacred shrine of the Omnissiah's bounty. Imperial ships decked out their bridges with all manner of holy ornamentation, altars, choirs, fonts and cathedral-like architecture. Mechanicus vessels of the Basilika Astra followed suit, save their iconography was Binaric screeds, data-recitals and exposed fibre-optic trunking. Kerubim expected the ancient derelict to have some similar set-up, but the truth was rather disappointing.
The bridge proved to be a circular arena, with rings of consoles surrounding a holopit and command chair. There were no holy icons to be seen, no incense burners or lecterns for edifying psalms to be recited. The space was clean and stark, with orderly rows of chairs at consoles, filled with mummified corpses. Small compared to an Imperial vessel but the far wall was dominated by an open Oculus, showing the gas giant the ship was orbiting, lit by a cold and distant sun. A sole painting marred the plain white walls, a giant surrounded by scores of free-floating eyes, some proto-mythic figure lost to the passing of history. To an Imperial eye it was distressingly stark, lacking any deference to the Machine Spirits, a shrine to the reckless pursuit of knowledge and unfettered science without concern for the inherent dangers.
Kerubim shook off his wariness as he followed Jordig inside. The Primaris Techmarine was examining a mummified corpse at a console and commented, "They died at their posts."
Brontes explained, "Standing orders in the Hegemony were to self-destruct, rather than allow a vessel to fall to hostile forces."
"Perhaps this vessel's Soulbound was corrupted too?" Kerubim mused.
"Idiot meatsack," Brontes scoffed, "The Soulbound commanded fleets and worlds, not surveillance ships. The Eyes of Argus was far too small to justify such an asset. The logic matrix of this ship is advanced, but not sentient."
"Still too advanced for a standard dataprobe," Jordig admonished, "Kerubim, you have the most experience with Proto-gothic, help me interrogate the Machine Spirit. Everyone else, guard the door."
The team split up, Brontes and the Skitarii moving to cover their exit while Kerubim and Jordig moved to the nearest console. They shoved withered corpses out of the seats, their flesh vacuum dried and frozen in the deathly cold of space. Kerubim wondered for a moment if they would smell, but since this chamber had been unheated in millennia void-protocols were in full effect and all he breathed was his own recycled air. Jordig bent over a console and tapped a few runes, producing a faint glow from the pict-screen that soon became sharp letters.
"The ship still has battery power," Jordig observed.
"The ancient's storage medium for the Motive Force had remarkable longevity," Kerubim commented.
"Obviously," Brontes snorted from the door, "How else did would those mutinous kitchen appliances fight us?"
Kerubim ignored the comment as he bent to examine the screen. As suspected the language was Proto-Gothic, the root tongue of High and Low Gothic common across the galaxy. Thankfully his mastery of the dead tongue had grown significantly over the last few years and he was able to translate with ease. Vistas of knowledge lay tantalisingly before him, waiting to be uncovered, but there was a complication.
Kerubim sighed, "It's shielded by a complex Data-Djinn, not Abominable Intelligence but damned close. Without proper access it will fight us. This won't be so easy as whipping up a password, it's going to be rewriting protocols on the fly. One wrong move and it will purge the datacore."
"As expected," Jordig grunted, "I'll handle the data-djinn, you get the files."
Jordig lifted his hands over the runepad and his fingers began to dislocate. Purely augmetic his gauntlets unfolded, fingers splitting in half and extending on metal callipers, then splitting again. Ten digits became forty, all poised over the runepad, then they began to blur. Kerubim watched in awe as Jordig worked the runepad at eyewatering speed, writing infiltrating code-cants and malicious scrapcode praetorians faster than humanly possible. His digits moved at speeds no human hands could possibly match, weaving a web of deception to confuse and distract the protective djinn.
With his comrade holding the door open Kerubim was able to slip past with ease, using another console as his interface. The system was beguiled by Jordig's efforts and Kerubim had free access to everything. He bent down as he sorted through files and archives, pulling up scraps of data from the data cores. So much information, such wondrous lore, there was data in here that could elevate the Quest for Knowledge to new heights, marvels that put the labours of Mars to shame. With this information humanity could ascend new heights of technological prowess, claiming dominance of the galaxy at last.
Surely many Tech-Priests would demand that this ship must be salvaged, its data recovered at any cost, yet far more would scream that it must be destroyed and erased from history. The data Kerubim was skimming over was beyond radical, much of it in direct contradiction of the Universal Laws of the Cult Technis. Such revelations would overturn accepted doctrine and cast doubt on unquestionable creeds. A civil war among Tech-priests barely covered the calamity that would unfold if this data was to be brought back to Mars, the implosion of the Adeptus Mechanicus would be the only start. But internal strife wasn't the real danger.
The ancients had revelled in their plunging of dangerous lore, scoffing at the idea that there was anything they could not master. It had been an article of faith that there was no question that science could not answer, that the universe was fundamentally understandable. Humanity had learned the hard way how perilous that line of thought was. Silica Animus rebelling, the emergence of Chaos, the Dark Age of Strife. Perhaps these could have been avoided had the ancients treated knowledge with more reverence. The proscriptions against such wanton invention were the bedrock of the Holy Credos of Mars, dictates Kerubim dared not break.
Like a midnight thief in an occupied house Kerubim crept through the data archives, bypassing vistas of lore in his pursuit of a select target. Soon he declared, "Ship's log, final report. The crew were on a long-range scouting mission against the Khrave when the automatons mutinied. The crew didn't understand what was happening, they were overrun before they could fight back. The Captain sealed the bridge and tried to overload the reactors, but the Men of Iron were in the Noosphere and blocked him. The only thing he could do was flush plasma from the cores and drain the ship of power. They were left to drift without any means of signalling for help, or life support. The surviving crew froze to death, trying to understand what was happening."
"That explains how the Eyes of Argus was lost," Jordig stated, "The Men of Iron went into slumber to converse battery power, millennia awaiting rescue would be no concern for them. But what of the nav-logs?"
"Working on it," Kerubim replied as he backtracked through logs, "They were headed straight away from the target location… which means if I reverse their jump-sequence… Got it! I have the coordinates!"
A small data-crystal glowed in the side of the cogitator and Kerubim snatched it up eagerly but as he did so the deck trembled under his feet. He frowned as he looked up, expecting a wave of automatons at the hatch, but to his surprise there was nothing, only that curious vibration. Yet Brontes snapped, "What did you do?!"
"Nothing," Kerubim protested, "I downloaded the coordinates, that's all."
"Did you disable the security protocol?" Brontes hissed.
"I kept it occupied," Jordig stated as he lifted his hands and reformed them into normal gauntlets.
"What about the kill-switch?!"
"What kill-switch?" Kerubim started.
"Oh you rusting glitches," Brontes growled, "The system has an in-built failsafe, a self-termination order all machine minds possess. It causes complete destruction of self, whether by mean Binaric or physical. If the system has triggered its kill-switch it will take the whole ship with it."
"But the reactors are cold!" Kerubim protested, "The Captain's log showed the Rite of Self-immolation was blocked."
But Brontes snarled, "Cretinous fleshbags, the ship still has chemical thrusters!"
Kerubim's eyes turned to the Oculus, where the great sweep of the gas giant was creeping ever higher. The ship was orientating herself towards the planet, bringing her prow towards those crushing depths. Kerubim knew chemical thrusters over the hull would be degrading their orbit, sending the ship hurtling towards that lethal atmosphere. A final dive that would end her this very day, including anyone who happened to be on board.
"Back to the Sharkboats!" Jordig shouted as he ran for the hatch, "Extraction protocols!"
"Move it meatsacks!" Brontes snarled as he followed after, "I'm not dying because of your idiocy!"
Kerubim was a step behind, running alongside the Skitarii. He moved as fast as Space Marine could, leaping over the piled dead they had left on their way in. The Skitarii kept pace on bounding piston-legs, mechanical limbs matching Transhuman velocity. Brontes surprisingly had no trouble keeping up, his legs moved far slower than theirs but covered more ground, his every step equal to two of theirs. Down the passages and corridors they raced, retracing their steps back to the boarding craft. Kerubim had no idea how long they had left, but suspected it wasn't long. The Eyes of Argus had been in a perilously low orbit when they entered, the time it would take her to plunge into the atmosphere couldn't be long.
They were halfway to the boarding boats when a noise from a side passage intruded. Kerubim heard the clank of metal feet coming their way and knew what it meant. "The Men of Iron, they've found us!"
"Looks like the rest of the boarding teams are toast," Brontes snarled as he lifted his Fission-blasters.
But Jordig barked, "Skitarii, hold this position and buy us time to withdraw. Martyrdom protocols are in effect!"
For the first time since Kerubim met them the Skitarii spoke, "Martyrdom confirmed. For the glory of the Omnissiah and His most devoted servant, Belisarius Cawl, divine conduit of All Knowledge."
The few surviving tech-guard took up positions to block the side passage as Jordig, Brontes and Kerubim raced off. They left the augmented men behind to die, without once looking back. The Skitarii had not hesitated to sacrifice themselves, showing remarkable courage and devotion to duty. Kerubim would admire such valour, save that he knew they didn't have a choice in the matter. Their will was bound to preset combat protocols, any thoughts of self-preservation suppressed by implanted doctrines. The technical side of Kerubim admired such ruthless efficiency but the part of him that was a Space Marine found such soulless obedience to be lacking in honour. And that last epithet, they hadn't chosen to say that.
"Cawl programmed them to say that last bit," Kerubim muttered as they ran.
"Cawl's ego is so big it generates its own gravity field," Brontes grumbled.
"Shut up and run!" Jordig snarled.
Kerubim put his head down and sprinted for all he was worth. His arms and legs pumped and corridors blurred past as they closed on their destination. From behind a wave of high-energy fire echoed, the Skitarii meeting the pursuing forces in a brief encounter, very brief indeed. After a short burst of fire nothing more came, yet Kerubim was more concerned by the increasing vibration in the deck. The floor was juddering, tremors resonating his bones. He swore he could see the walls shaking and a faint scream of metal sheering sounded in the superstructure.
"We're brushing atmosphere!" he cried.
But Jordig shouted, "Here, the sharkboats! Get inside!"
Kerubim saw the blessedly welcome sight of a prow sticking through a wall, surrounded by instant-forming vac-foam. A Shark-pattern boarding craft, burrowed into the hull of the ship. The front hatch was invitingly open and he didn't hesitate to dive inside, pulling himself into a cramped crew section. Scores of empty seats awaited them, but there was no time to count the lost as the deck jerked violently. Kerubim slammed his back into a seat and pulled a restraint cage down as Brontes simply fixed his hands to the roof and braced in an X-position.
Jordig was securing himself as he shouted, "Servitor: disengage now!"
"Compliance," echoed the monotone voice of the servitor pilot.
"This is going to be rough," Kerubim muttered as the hatch whined closed.
There was a sharp roar of thrusters firing and melta-cutters searing the surrounding metal away from the boat, then an almighty kick of a god slammed into the sharkboat. Kerubim's head snapped to the side and hit the bars of his restraint cage, making vision turn an unhealthy purple. Even with a Ceramite helm and Transhuman skull that had hurt and he bit down on a curse as the tiny craft juddered and shook. It sounded like the engines were trying to lift a Mastodon, the hull squealing as it pulled against metal. For a heart-stopping moment Kerubim thought they were truly stuck and he readied a prayer to the Omnissiah to look upon them with favour in death. But then with a screech of parting metal the Sharkboat pulled free of the ship, ripping itself clear. The room spun as the prow came up, then one last burst of thrust pushed them away, flying clear of the dying ship.
Kerubim sank back and breathed, "That was too close."
"I've had closer," Jordig scoffed, "But at least we got the data."
"Yes, we have the coordinates. The mission can proceed," Kerubim agreed.
"Cawl will be delighted," Jordig added, "I will deliver it straight to him when we return."
Kerubim's hearts sank and he groaned, "I almost forgot about him. I should have stayed behind and gone down with the ship, it would have been less aggravating than dealing with Cawl."