Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Warhammer 40K games, books, or movies. They belong to their creators and/or copyright owners. It is not for sale or rent.


Chapter 19: Kronus: Consequences

=ATBS=

Part 7

=ATBS=


field hospital

Victory Bay

Kronus

Detailed sensor sweeps confirmed that there was no human treachery, nor Thief-related shenanigans. Instead, there were thousands upon thousands of meat-bags fallen all over the place, sick and dying.

If he felt anything at all, Cryptek Traval should have experienced only sneering contempt at the weak forms of the primitives. The full hospitals, the organic meatbags laying sick at their homes, or even occasionally on the streets brought back memories that should have been left buried in the past.

They hankered back to days best forgotten.

The Cryptek couldn't forget. If he was a betting being, he would have wagered a lot that any one of his kind who retained a shred of their personality, and memories, wouldn't be able to forget either. The events unfolding outside hit too close to home. They were too personal. And while they didn't cause more than a brief spark of pity aimed at the primitives, all the sick and dying enraged Traval. They reminded him that once before he ascended through Biotransference, before that atrocity, he was made of weak flesh and blood as well.

There was a more personal reason for his fury as well. His test subjects were sick as well, infested by those squishy irritating parasites, and that might just disrupt his work. That simply wouldn't do. Not at all.

Traval focused his sensors on the single meat-bag strapped to a bed within the primitive laboratory. Data flowed through his mind, and he focused on the parasites, feeling little more than spite. He meticulously examined them, then looked at fresh scans of the Thief's Mind-Shackle scarabs. The strain of removing those machines was almost certain to be fatal for a fragile meat-bag, especially when it suffered from infestation. The Cryptek looked between the tiny scarabs and the parasites, and an idea formed in his mind. Traval pulled his consciousness deep within his systems and examined the batch of Mind-Shackle scarabs always carried with him. A self-respecting Cryptek never knew when they might run into a valuable test subject in need of careful handling. In that regard, the Mind-Shackle scarabs were the next best thing to proper stasis devices.

Reprogramming the tiny devices took some time. Too much time in fact, which irritated Traval's sensibilities. However, he was done and, in one smooth motion, unleashed them upon the bound meat-bag. All that was left was to observe their effect and see if they would deal with the infestation as required. Once he achieved that tedious task, the Cryptek could concentrate his undivided attention on the reason why he was stuck among the primitives. And when he completed his task, could be finally rid of them at last!

Especially of all those sick and dying!


=ATBS=

Eventually, they came for Katarinya like she knew they would. After spending what felt like eternity bound within twilight, only with muffled screams and shouts for company, it felt almost like relief.

Of course, it wasn't. One of those metal monsters materialized within Greyfax's cell, lighting it up. It leered at her bound form with a malevolent green gaze. Katarinya didn't see what the metal monster did, however,

she felt it. Something odd and cold flowed over and through her skin, sunk into it, and invaded her veins. She thrashed, gripped by burning agony which soon spread throughout her whole body.

Greyfax would have bitten her cheeks or tongue if she could, so she wouldn't scream and give the monster the satisfaction of hearing her. Instead, the rubber pad keeping her from suiciding that way did the trick.

After an eternity of fire, whatever that thing put into Katarinya flowed out through her skin, making her feel clammy and dirty, violated.

Next, the monster put a clawed paw on her forehead. Green light blinded her, stabbing into her very mind like a burning sword. Then, Katarinya knew pain, and soon, her whole world dissolved in brilliant, unending agony.

Greyfax could feel her mind crack. Her brain did its best to crawl away from her skull, and as if all that wasn't enough, odd images flashed through her pounding head. They were both familiar and foreign, like memories, yet not. Katarinya could briefly glimpse places and faces that were painfully familiar, yet she could swear she had never seen them before. She could hear the familiar and almost soothing sounds of combat, of ancient weapons that the galaxy hadn't seen or heard of for thousands of years.

It was like a waking dream, a hallucination caused by the torture or one adding to it.

After an eternity of agony, the torture ceased as abruptly as it began. All Katarinya could do was plunge into oblivion feeling a sliver of treacherous relief.


=ATBS=

captured Tau manufactorum
Kronus

It was sterile, clean. Like a brand-new operating theater waiting to be baptized by a Magos Biologis. The various alien machines moved smoothly and quietly, without showing even a hint of sacred oil to lubricate and cleanse them. Scipio-Ro-11's sensors couldn't detect even a whiff of incense. There was only the sharp scent of hot metal in the air.

Servo Skulls buzzed and chattered throughout the facility, scanning for unpleasant surprises and mapping the building for the Mechanicus exploration party. While their aid was invaluable, it grated Scipio that he had to be here, dealing with this, instead of taking care of a God-Machine's weapon.

A weapon that was not only profaned and corrupted by the arch-enemy but now lost forever to the servants of the Omnissiah. The captured Tau factories and manufactorums could never be a worthy consolation prize. The very idea was a cruel mockery that made the Magos experience murderous impulses.

Nevertheless, those damned Xeno facilities could be of some use, especially as far as rebuilding Kronus and supplying its PDF forces went. With the Necrons determined to keep a portion of the planet for themselves, every little bit might help. After all, sooner or later this alliance would fall apart. At that point, every single destroyed alien machine would be a boon to the Imperium at large.

Meanwhile, Scipio-Ro-11 had to focus on the tasks at hand and try his best to keep his thoughts from straying in undesirable directions.

Like the loss of the Hellstorm Cannon.

Or the fact that no matter how enticing, studying Necron technology was at best borderline heresy, no matter how vital it was going to be. Naturally, planning how to incorporate it within the Omnissiah's blessed knowledge available to the Mechanicus was much worse.

The Magos glumly shuffled into the empty control center of the manufactorum. He scanned the brand new, mere years old, cogitator, no computer, terminals. There was no flesh spliced with these machines, which to a layperson might have been a good thing. There was no protection against corruption or tech heresy here. Yet, the facility continued to operate on instructions left to it by its departed Tau masters untouched by Chaos.

The whole thing was heretical, and Scipio knew that many of his brothers and sisters serving the Omnissiah would have dismantled this place in pious rage. Instead, he felt the slick tendrils of curiosity spread through his mind.

First things first! Bless and sanctify the facility in the name of the Omnissiah. Bring in enough holy oil and blessed incense to mitigate the odds of corruption, then try to contact the alien Machine Spirit. If there was one.

With a plan in mind, Scipio began issuing orders in Binary, while multiple cameras observed his every action, feeding the images to a very confused rudimentary Artificial Intelligence.


=ATBS=

Part 8

=ATBS=


Gryphon

Dictator class cruiser

high orbit above Kronus

We sat within an opulent guest suite onboard the Gryphon, watching a recording of everything I said or did since coming onboard. At a first glance, I noticed nothing wrong, which was more than a little concerning. It was only after my fellow Inquisitors began tearing apart my performance and pointing out all the blunders that should have been obvious to me, that something clicked in place within my mind.

I leaned back into a velvet-covered armchair. My wings twitched as if amused and shuffled, finding themselves in a more comfortable position.

Everything I said since boarding the Gryphon sounded perfectly logical and consistent to my ears. Yet, now a ball of ice formed in my gut, and chilling dread crawled up my spine. What I suggested, in front of Munitorum representatives no less, was far past the line, where most people would get themselves shot for heresy, or treason.

My wings preened. Yeah, with those two waving behind my back, my words have a weight that most inquisitors could only dream about. That complicated matters. People who otherwise might dismiss my crazy, I twitched, at that thought, feeling a taste of

gold, justified ranting, would now listen and act upon what I might say in a moment of understandable vexation.

"We've got a problem," I reluctantly admitted. Dread and righteousness struggled within me, making for a very weird mixture of emotions. "If I try hard enough, I can see the issue, it's just that, I have trouble comprehending it as a problem, even when it stares me into the face." I waved at the large monitor built into the far wall, showing my greatest hits.

"It's the Emperor's influence," Chandra announced. "It's drowning your judgment and sense of self."

My wings drooped in a display of sorrow as if they understood what the Inquisitor just said. Thinking about it, they probably did.

"Options?" I grumbled. At this rate, I was going to be a liability, and at that point, my allies within the Inquisition would be seriously thinking about dealing with me permanently. That wasn't something I needed, considering how many enemies I likely earned myself with my stunts to date.

"We get you on a ship heading for Kaurava as soon as practical. You try not to create an unmitigated disaster there, and keep your head down as much as possible." Amberley suggested. "That might give you enough time to get a handle of your new abilities, Inquisitor Veil. Meanwhile, we'll try to smooth things over with our colleagues in the local Conclave, and do some research about your situation."

"That sounds like a plan, I suppose," I muttered. My wings perked up. If I didn't get a good handle on them, people would be able to read me like an open book.

"That will have to do," Chandra agreed. "Until you leave, one of us should stick by your side to ensure you don't start a crusade by accident," he grimaced, "or intentionally, for that matter. I don't think it would be a great idea to send you along with many of our new Munitorum friends. Who knows what you'll convince them to do before you get to Kaurava."

"Some of General Alexander's troops should go. You might pick up a few Blood Ravens for your retinue as well. Librarian Anteas for example. Some of the remaining Techpriests as well, otherwise they might get purged depending on what faction of their kind arrives here next." Amberley suggested.

"We should test and see if you have better control with that blank kid hanging around. If so, it might be for the best that she accompany you as well, instead of shipping her to Holly Terra for training." Chandra added.

"Head back to Kronus, pick up a proper retinue and reinforcements for Kaurava, then figure out transport arrangements?" I summarized the plan.

"Without starting a Crusade or a civil war," Amberley added in a dry tone, though her eyes sparkled in amusement at my expense.

"I'll do my best, for what's worth it." I stood up and headed for the door, looking for the nearby hole in my awareness.


=ATBS=

Spaceport
Victory Bay
Kronus

Commissar Weber waited for the Inquisitors to return. He sat in the closed and heated troop compartment of a Chimera, enjoying the warmth. Even if he was free from those cursed parasites, he was far from fully recovered and still suffered the side effects of severe blood loss. The surgery scars still itched something fierce, which was supposed to be a good sign, and a side effect of the antiseptics liberally splashed all over his chest.

By all means, Charles should have been in the hospital still. However, the Emperor's work needed doing, and it wasn't like many soldiers were available, who were in any better shape. That trice-cursed daemon did a number on them all.

Weber glanced around, briefly examining the squad huddling in the compartment with him. They all looked worse to wear, even if their uniforms and gear were spotless. Drawn pale faces, sunken eyes, a heavy aura of exhaustion… When all was said and done, it was a good thing that Kronus was now as secure as it could get without a full-blown Crusade to remove the Necrons. Otherwise, any competent enemy would have a field day with them.

Engines kept roaring outside, announcing either transport lifting to the ships in orbit, or dropping down, carrying fresh troops, and more importantly, medical supplies.

"Commissar Weber," the vox caster built into the vehicle cracked to life. "Your party is on the way down. ETA five minutes. The Emperor Protects."

"You heard the woman. Let's get ourselves presentable for the Saint's party." Charles ordered. He noted in satisfaction how everyone perked up and brightened.

He opened the ramp and got out first. The squad pilled out after him, many of them stumbling on not entirely steady legs. The same picture repeated itself with the rest of the security platoon getting out of their vehicles. The right drugs and stimulants could have had them all on their feet and sharp, however, those were a very limited precious commodity that went for officers and specialists who had critical jobs in need of doing primary medicae and logistics personnel. Under the circumstances, Charles didn't consider himself of vital importance and declined the offered stimulants so they could go to someone whose job was more critical.

"Get one last sweep for unpleasant surprises, then gather in front of the ramp," Weber ordered. The LT in charge of the platoon saluted and began issuing orders, followed by the NCOs. Soon, half the platoon split in fire-teams carrying auspexes and began scanning for trouble. They found that nothing had gone wrong since the sweep they did on arrival and soon, everyone was in a parade formation, watching three craft quickly descend towards their part of the spaceport. A large transport, flanked by two fighters came down screaming through the air. The smaller craft broke off, and the transport landed on shrieking jets of fire. It rotated, so its loading ramp faced the waiting party and finally cut off its roaring engines. The ramp lowered, revealing a solid wall of armored figures.

Anteas walked out first, his armored feet causing small booms with each step. A squad of white armored Sisters of Battle followed him before the Saint finally got out. Veil paused for a bit and stretched his wings, which shone under the rays of the setting sun.

"Charles!" One of the Sisters of Battle exclaimed happily. "It's good to see you all right, my son!"

"Mother!?" Weber blurted out and stared at the tall figure leading the Sisters of Battle contingent.


=ATBS=

If you want to support my writing or discuss this story, see the following links:

Pat re on: Delkatar's writing corner

the space battles forums - this is where most discussion over my stories takes place

the sufficient velocity forums

the alternative history forums