Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 356

Aronyx gripped the Lance of Ascalon tight as he alighted the Stormraven's ramp. Into a wide hanger he trod, cold and sterile and silent. Distant walls could have supported a dozen shuttles, but the bay was empty, save for the twin gunships idling on the pads. Rarely had Aronyx seen a facility in such good repair, without a hint of battle-damage or the wear of ages but that could not disguise the fact there was no one there to greet them. There was no crew to be seen, no servitors trundling forward with fuel bowsers or cargo hoists. The bay was barren in all ways, save for the atmo-shield and a large half-metal skull embossed on the wall, the mark of the Tech-priests.

"Nobody's here to greet us," Rovenator muttered as their landing party disembarked. The Centurio had brought half-a-dozen of the Blood and a score of the Host, in tight vac-suits and armed with shotguns. A formidable gathering in most circumstances, but it remained to be seen if this would be equal to the threat that would present itself, and Aronyx was sure a threat would present itself. Past Regnators were adamant on that.

"Remain alert, my Centurio, an attack could come at any moment," Aronyx warned.

"You speak wisely, my Regnator," Rovenator replied, "Past Centurios are yammering in my head, they tell tales of ambushes beyond counting. It is distracting."

"This is your first venture as a Centurio, you must learn to balance your humours. Heed their wisdom, but do not let them rule your hearts. A rash act may trigger a conflict, where none need exist."

"Mostly they're warning me to keep an eye on the Vipers."

Aronyx's eye moved to the other gunship, a Thunderhawk. Burnished umber in hue and bearing the snake and goblet of his supposed allies. They spilled from the ramp and formed a perimeter, pointing a variety of weapons in all directions. Crisp and precise, drilled in exacting protocol, but lacking in flair and individuality. A score of Astartes had they brought, and Aronyx was not blind to the scorn they piled on the idea of mixing their squads with mortals.

Two stood at their head, the brute Ferrac with his axe-rake held in one hand and the other gripping a bulky variant of bolter. His jump pack bulged over his shoulders; ridiculous he should wear it in the interior of a space station but he did so anyway. The other was the Techmarine Kerubim, holding a squared-off rifle of a type Aronyx had never seen. His helm was darting everywhere, as if seeing something the others could not.

"No contact!" Ferrac barked.

"Yet," Aronyx cautioned, "Signs of life are evident."

"I don't see anything," Ferrac grunted.

But Rovenator's mirth under his helm was evident, "Use your eyes, someone's been maintaining this place."

Kerubim spoke up, "There is activity in the realm Binaric. I see streams of Noospheric cant streaming through the air, dialogue tense and complex. They are aware of our arrival, they speak of us, but what they say is hidden from me. Encryptions of fiendish invention seal their conversation."

"Who?" Aronyx asked but then there was motion. From the far side of the bay a wide door split open, revealing a brightly lit corridor beyond. From the opening flew a dozen servo-skulls, bobbing high and low as measuring lasers swept from red orbs in their gaping eye sockets. Each one was tracked by an Astartes' weapon, but no shot was fired, the servo-skulls presented no threat as yet.

In their wake came a pair of figures, in rust-red robes. They walked with arms folded in front of them and their heavy tread betrayed augmetics below the material. The hoods were up but open and in their cowls were surprisingly human faces. A man and a woman, young, still bearing skin and teeth, with human eyes. Most unusual for Tech-Priests.

Bolters tracked them every step of the way but they stopped outside of a chainsword's reach and bowed low. The woman spoke, "Welcome to our sacred commune."

"Your arrival was unexpected but fortuitous, the Omnissiah's hand is clearly at work," the man said.

Kerubim nodded back, "By the treaties of Olympus Mons we bid ye identify yourselves and this facility!"

"You use Martian greetings," the woman said warmly, "Know that I am Adept Mystral, designation Famulous."

"I am Magos Genator Berrum," the man stated, "And know ye that you stand in the enclave of Archmagis Dolder and Nystat."

"Dolder and Nystat?!" Kerubim yelped in surprise.

"You know them?" Ferrac murmured.

"Only by reputation," Kerubim replied, "They were high in the Forge-synod of Mars itself. Legendary for their understanding of the union between man and machine. They disappeared during the Noctis Aeterna. All assumed they were dead."

"Not dead, merely isolated," Mystral corrected.

Kerubim waved a hand, "May I present Battle-Captain Ferrac, of the Amber Vipers. I am Techmarine Kerubim. These are Regnator Aronyx of the Blood Talons, and his Centurio Rovenator. These are our escorts."

Mystral lowered her head, "You have arrived just in time. The Machine God's works are ever mysterious but utterly correct in all ways."

"We must prepare the way for you," Berrum stated, "You shall wait here."

The adept scurried away, leaving the Space Marines bemused. Aronyx was unaccustomed to such a warm welcome, few in his lifetime treated strangers arriving with anything but dread and suspicion. To be hailed as welcome guests was unusual, he didn't trust that which was unusual.

"A moment's privacy, if you will," Aronyx said.

"Of course," Mystral allowed.

The Famulous stepped back as he turned to Kerubim, "These Archmagi, they are well-known?"

Kerubim nodded, "Highly, their research into the hallowed nature of Machine Spirits was the talk of the Mechanicus, before the Great Rift opened. Some said one or the other may sit in the Fabricator General's seat one day. Their loss was a tragedy."

"I've yet to meet an Archmagos I trust," Rovenator grumbled.

"You met some before?" Ferrac blinked.

"The Overlords of Purgatory," Aronyx explained, "Many seek their forges' output but they offer tribute only to the strongest of claimants. The Blood have won thrice in their gladiatorial contests. That's where our jetbikes come from."

Kerubim sounded dismayed, "They demand you fight for their blessed devices?"

"They claim it ensures the strong thrive and the weak perish," Rovenator sniffed.

Ferrac grunted, "And I'd wager it keeps anyone who thinks of raiding their Forges at each other's throats, instead of uniting against them."

Aronyx ignored that crass remark as Mystral indicated they should move into the station. Left with no alternative the boarding party followed, walking from the bay into a corridor lined with pipes and metal mesh for a floor. Aronyx marvelled at how well-maintained the station was, and could not help but wonder how long the bounty of its parts could have kept Lamentantor going. But that was not required this day. As they walked he saw scores of Servo-skulls working on exposed devices and bulkier constructs lumbering along, moving crates with arms made of pistons and gears.

"No servitors," Kerubim mused.

"So?" Ferrac snorted.

"These constructs are of the Legio Cybernetica, machines with neural-net tissue for a cortex, but otherwise mechanical. You can grow brain tissue in a vat, but a servitor is easier to make from condemned criminals. Adept, have you no such devices?"

Mystral sighed, "Alas we lost all our servitors some time ago, and we have no means to replace them. Our constructs more than make up for the short-fall though."

Aronyx thought it odd but was surprised when they turned a corner and found a man standing in the way. It was the same adept from the hanger, Aronyx would swear upon it, and yet Mystral hissed, "Adept Gertom, you were warned!"

"They shouldn't be here!" the man snapped.

"This doesn't concern you!"

"Wait, aren't you..." Ferrac began to say.

Mystral interrupted, "Ignore him, a lowly Magos of no import. He knows better than to interfere."

"They will ruin everything!"

"Go!" Mystral barked.

"You should leave now," Gertom hissed as he darted away.

Mystral seemed abashed, "Forgive us, we have been alone a long time, and interacting with fleshy outsiders never came easily."

"You are remarkably conversant," Kerubim noted.

"I am a Famulous, it is my role," Mystral demurred.

She led them on, heading towards the hub of the station. On approach Aronyx had noted it a wheel-shaped structure, with a central spoke acting as the nexus. By his reckoning they were nearing the heart of the station, but surely a facility of this size should have had more warm bodies than the two he had seen.

Ferrac trailed behind but muttered, "Call me crazy or do Berrum and Gertom look identical?"

"A familial relationship?" Aronyx mused.

Rovenator scoffed, "More like mirror images of each other."

"Replicae-tissue?" Kerubim mused, "Organic parts replaced with vat-grown meat, stranger things have happened."

Mystral took them to the top-most levels and here they found a thick barrier, sealed tight by heavy locks and guarded. A pair of heavy Battle-automata stood to either side, weapons looming on metal shoulders and between them a Dominus. Aronyx was anything but surprised when he saw the man wore the same face as the last two, identical in every way. He peered closer and saw they weren't just similar; they were the same man. Their stance, a slight droop to the right shoulder, a tiny scar on the chin, even the stubble on the cheeks. Genics couldn't create such patterns, life alone could mark a person so.

"Halt and identify!" the man boomed.

Mystral stopped and declared, "Dominus Secus, I greet thee. Our guests have arrived, and I bring them to the observatory, as requested."

"They bear arms!"

"As is their right," Mystral countered, "The ties of Mechanicus and Astartes hold firm."

"This is in accord with the ancient protocol," Secus intoned, "I shall permit them to pass, but know violence upon my lords will bring swift retribution!"

Mystral turned to the Astartes, "This is where I leave you. Archmagi Dolder and Nystat will answer all your questions. Please be respectful of their ancient wisdom."

"We shall," Kerubim promised as the Famulous skipped away.

Secus turned to the door and began a Binaric chant. As the harsh screeching carried on locks began to open, with ponderous inevitability. As the droning stretched out Aronyx had time to examine the adept and more than ever was convinced he had only met one man since setting foot on the station. Was he mad or were stranger destinies at play.

The doors opened with a grind of metal on metal, parting to reveal a large dome. Under the open stars an observatory lay, filled with strange machines and bulbous telescopes. Instruments to measure x-rays and microwaves and stellar emissions lay in orderly clusters, and those were just the ones he could identify. More odd instruments lay alongside them, performing tasks he could not guess.

At the heart of the space a woman waited, and his hearts sank as he saw it was the same woman who escorted them from the hanger bay. No replicae, everything about her was identical, every hair in its set place. Secus stepped back as the Astartes entered, hands never far from weapons.

"Welcome!" the woman cried, "I am Archmagos Nystat, and the Holy Cog turns in our favour!"

Ferrac's grip was tight on his axe-rake as he growled, "Enough games, what the Frak is going on here?!"

"You are confused," Nystat allowed, "Understandable, your comprehension is limited."

"That's it, I'm going to start breaking things until someone explains this farce!"

A male voice rang forth, "Stay your wrath Space Marine, all will be explained." A man stepped forward, the same man as before but walking with his head held high, "I am Archmagos Dolder, and I shall explain all your questions."

Aronyx stated, "You can start by telling us where you truly are, and stop puppeteering these bodies."

Nystat cocked her head, "You assume we are remote-piloting blank slates clones. An intelligent guess, you display superior reasoning, while being utterly wrong in your conclusions."

"He will serve," Dolder proposed.

"They all will," Nystat agreed.

Ferrac growled, "I'm going to count to five, and then I'll start smashing things."

"No need for threats," Nystat chided, "To explain, we are the Techno-Singularity, and you have come to save us."

"Save us!" Dolder cried.

"Save us!" they cried together.