THE ENGINSEER - Part I
They demoted Watt and then - even worse - they took away his augments. After that, he was banished to a far and obscure corner of the Forge. Watt's new job was to inspect and perform simple maintenance in the great conduits that sprawled out from the Forge's massive foundation, carrying power and water to facilities and outposts that ranged across the coastal mountains that flanked the mighty Forge.
Watt's 'home' was a three meter by three meter rockcrete cell that was part of a larger garage-workshop. There was nobody for kilometers in any direction, and it could be months between the rare times when Watt saw another human being. His work-schedule prevented him from going anywhere and he was not allowed any form of leave.
The Adeptus Seniorus, the exalted Lord and Master of the Forge, had sworn that he would see Watt lost and forgotten.
The Adeptus Seniorus had succeeded.
In the cold and lonely cell that was his duty station, Watt's dreams were often nightmares.
The Orks were still firing wildly into the shrinking human perimeter. The enemy was scattered all over the makeshift landing field, but at the moment the Orks were disorganized and pinned down. A half-dozen battle-damaged Skitarri were laying down a blizzard of fire. Two wounded Imperial Guardsman were manning a heavy stubber as best they could. A medic with a laser rifle was with them, taking slow and careful shots. A few scattered civilians had picked up Guard weaponry and were inexpertly adding to the volume of fire. Watt had a hell-pistol in one hand - given to him by a now-dead Skitarri officer. He'd picked off several Orks who'd become too ambitious and tried to rush the shuttles. Watt had already changed the magazine of his weapon twice.
Actually, Watt was overseeing the evacuation. After all, efficiently loading and unloading vehicles was actually what he did in the service of the Omnissiah.
Fortunately, the Orks had little in the way of heavy weaponry - which was why the shuttles were still in one piece. When the Orks first appeared, Watt had ordered the shuttles to spin in place so that the heavy re-entry armor of their prows were facing the Ork weapons. The two shuttles had all taken some damage from small arms, but were still operational. A flow of refugees and wounded were continuing to board, using the sheer bulk of the shuttles for cover as they staggered or were carried up the rear ramps.
Watt was no longer terrified because there was no longer any point in feeling fear. He was sure he was going to die at Research Station BR-117. All he hoped to accomplish was to get his shuttles loaded and in flight before he met his end.
Stacked all over the landing pad was the precious equipment that had brought Watt and his shuttles to the station in the first place. Skitarri and Guardsmen were using the carefully packed and sealed cargo modules as cover. The modules were steadily being shot to pieces by Orkish fire.
The servitor piloting the first shuttle sent a binary-cant signal. Watt commed an order. In a howl of thrusters, as Ork fire rattled from its hull, the shuttle began lifting off...
Two hours before his daily shift was scheduled to begin, Watt jerked awake. The annoying buzz of an emergency alarm was coming from his comm-terminal.
"Dammit... what?" Watt muttered as he tiredly crawled out of his bunk.
Watt was missing his right arm, right eye, and both of his legs below the knees. Once, those empty places had been proudly fitted with the augments of the Adeptus Mechanicus, but they were taken from him as a condition of his demotion and exile. Curvilinear prosthetic blades now completed his legs - the simplest kind of substitute. Watt had been coldly assured that there would never be any kind of replacements for his eye and arm.
Not bothering to strap on his leg-blades, Watt levered himself into the chair in front of the comm-terminal. That wasn't too difficult since it was right next to his bunk. Of course, everything in his tiny cell could be described as being adjacent to the bunk. The comm-terminal was just closer than most.
"Shut up!" Watt growled - he had developed the exile's lonely habit of talking to himself. Then he slapped the control that switched off the buzzer. After that, he read the message flashing on the terminal's pict-screen.
"Huh," Watt grunted thoughtfully. Then he pressed the hot-key that opened a channel to Control.
"Control 191, this is Observator Watt. I have a report of a downed aircraft in the area. Do you have any orders?"
The response was buzzy and mechanical, but clear enough to understand. "Observator Watt, this is Control 191. We just received the same notificaion. Hold as we consult."
Watt was the only person on the planet - perhaps in the Sector - with the rank of "Observator". It was an ancient and unexalted title - implying someone who's only job was to monitor a physical system. Watt had once held the modest but respectable rank of "Enginseer", but that was just a memory.
"Control 191, message acknowledged," Watt replied. Then he yawned mightily and leaned back in his chair.
Several minutes passed before Control got back to Watt. "Observator Watt, search and rescue teams from Aerospace Command are already on their way to the crash site. You are to inspect the nearby length of surface conduit CA-11 for possible damage related to the crash. Avoid the crash site itself."
The pict-screen was now flashing a map that showed the area that Watt was expected to inspect. Watt winced as he looked it over. It was a lot of territory to cover and would disrupt his regular schedule.
However, there was no point in arguing.
"Control 191, message acknowledged," Watt replied as he downloaded the map into a data-slate.
Then Watt leaned over, picked up his leg-blades, and began attaching them to the stumps below his knees.
Watt was driving a flat-back four along the service road, scanning for damage and stopping every now and then to consult system-readout boxes. It was a crisp fall day, but not too uncomfortable. He'd stowed some winter clothing in the cab, just in case the weather turned inclement. That happened fairly often at this altitude, even in the warmer months.
Off to the north and east, the Forge was a massive and squat bulk that rivaled the highest peaks of the coastal mountains. Watt had been born and raised in the Forge, and it was there that he'd been elevated into the service of the Omnissiah. Now, from his lonely and distant post in the mountains, Watt avoided looking at the Forge. There were too many memories.
The conduit that snaked upslope was a good five meters in diameter and only partially dug into the rock of the mountain side. A crudely plasma-cut service road paralleled it. Watt's area of responsibility was above the treeline, but local lichens painted the exposed stone with dull greens and blacks. There were occasional clumps of forlorn vegetation in the few places where rock formations created sheltered areas that trapped soil and rainwater. The biggest lifeforms at that altitude were small avians and mammals. The apex predator was a tiny, hawk-like raptor that was no bigger than a clenched fist.
Far across the mountain slope, Watt could see a coil of dark smoke towering into the sky. A pair of silvery dots hung in the sky - VTOL craft engaged in searching the area. To Watt's expert eye, that didn't look like a very big S&R operation. The crashed aircraft must not have been very large.
Driving uphill, Watt spotted the fluttering remains of a shredded parachute. Watt tried to contact the search and rescue team, but had no luck. His simple communicator didn't operate on their frequency. He already knew that wouldn't be able to reach Control from where he was, so he didn't even try.
Stopping the flat-back four, Watt set the primary and backup brakes and got out. The parachute was a splash of white and orange, torn into wind-whipped tatters. It was located a few hundred meters from the service road. The tangled lines of the shredded parachute led to a one-person escape capsule.
Huffing in the cool and thin air, the blades of his lower legs clicking and rasping against jagged rock, Watt hurried over to the capsule. It was a bright orange color, although some paint had been scraped away and silvery metal glinted in the morning light. There were also dents in the capsule that were alarmingly deep.
The external systems-panel was damaged and showed no readings. Steeling himself for the possibility that whoever was inside might be dead, Watt opened the capsule.
There was a woman inside.
The woman opened her eyes - they were big and light brown - blinked up at Watt, and said, "Servitor MST-007 reporting."
So... not really a woman.
"Damage report?" Watt asked as he put his remaining hand on the servitor's face and turned it from side-to-side, looking for a data-port. When he couldn't immediately find it, he ran his fingers through the servitor's short, dark, hair. Perhaps her hair was hiding the port.
"Sir, my systems are undamaged," the servitor said. A part of Watt abstractly noted that whoever had built the servitor had left it with a strikingly human voice - there was no buzzing or clicking. "However, I am trapped in this pod. The auto-release control is inoperative, and the manual backup seems to be jammed."
"Where's your data port?" Watt asked. Normally, on a human-form servitor, it was located on the back or side of the cranium.
"It's in my lower back, sir," the servitor replied. "On the spine, just above my buttocks."
"That's a stupid place to put it," Watt muttered to himself.
"Sir, I can operate without a command login," the servitor added.
Watt nodded to himself. So there was no real need to plug into the servitor quite yet. Odd that the servitor understood why Watt was looking for a port and could provide clarifying information. It was obviously a high-volition model.
Then Watt pulled a large multi-tool from his belt, extended a heavy screwdriver blade, and inserted it into the capsule's emergency release catch. He had to lean on it to get the release to engage, but the catch eventually slid into place with a snapping sound. A seam that flanked the capsule body popped loose. After stowing the multi-tool, Watt grabbed the edge of the seam and gave it a yank.
The capsule body popped opened.
"C'mon. Get out," Watt brusquely told the servitor.
The servitor extricated herself and stood up. She had a slim body that was clad in a simple dark-blue bodyglove. A pair of dark slip-on boots were on her feet. She was rather short - about one point six meters, Watt estimated.
Watt frowned as he looked her up and down. She didn't seem to be damaged, but what in the name of the Omnissiah was she? He'd never seen a servitor like her before. She almost seemed to be designed around the concept of flesh-aesthetics. But why would anyone do that?
Well, that was a question for later. At the moment, Watt thought it would be a good idea to salvage the plasti-silk cables and panels of the shredded parachute. The material might prove useful.
"Help me with this," Watt told the servitor as he grabbed a cable and began hauling on it.
As Watt pulled, a sudden buffet of wind yanked on the remains of the parachute and pulled him off balance. As he tried to stabilize himself, the blade of his right "foot" rasped awkwardly against a canted stone and slipped askew. Watt began to fall, but the servitor, reacting with impressive speed, grabbed Watt's shoulders and steadied him.
Damn, this thing is strong, Watt thought. He held on to the servitor, an arm around her upper body, while carefully repositioning his leg so it would support his weight.
"Thanks," he said, fighting down embarrassment.
And that was strange. Why should he care if a piece of equipment saw him fall? For that matter, why should he thank her?
"You're welcome, sir," the servitor replied. Her voice actually sounded concerned. "Do you want me to assist you to your vehicle?"
Watt shook her arm loose.
"I'm fine," he lied to her.
Actually, Watt hadn't been 'fine' for a long time.
Working together, Watt and the servitor bundled up the remains of the parachute, wrapped it in its own cords, and hauled it back to the flat-back four and tied it into place. Then they continued up the mountain. Watt had to get the emergency inspection done that day. He'd be out late, but he should be able to finish before midnight. If he only took a short nap that night, he'd be able to get back on his usual circuit the next morning. He knew that Control would expect him to keep to his normal schedule, despite the interruption.
The last time Watt fell behind, Control had cut his monthly food rations in half. Watt was in trouble, weak from hunger and beginning to fall even further behind in his schedule, until a passing Skitarri patrol left some of their supplies for him.
"What did you say your designation was?" Watt asked the servitor. She was sitting on the truck bench next to him, properly buckled into place.
"MST-007," the servitor promptly replied. Then she paused before continuing. "My users call me Misty."
Watt couldn't help but smile. "Misty? That's a nice name."
"Thank you, sir," Misty replied. She seemed pleased, although that was obviously just a programmed response.
"What do you know about the plane crash?" Watt asked, turning serious.
"Very little, sir. I was being transported from my last duty station when the pilot suddenly became agitated. He ordered me to disengage from him and get into an escape capsule. As I was getting in, the aircraft jerked several times and there were noises that might have indicated engine problems. Once I was inside the capsule, I felt more lurching, but I couldn't hear anything. Then I was ejected. The pilot must have done that manually."
"Disengage?" Watt repeated with a thoughtful frown. "What do you mean by 'disengage'?"
"I was in the seat next to the pilot and servicing him with my mouth," Misty explained without hesitation.
There was a puzzled look on Watt's face. "What do you mean?"
"I was performing oral sex on him," Misty clarified.
Watt still looked confused. "You can have sex with your mouth? That's not my understanding."
Now it was Misty's turn to look puzzled. "It's one of the services most commonly requested of me. Right after 'get me a cup of caffeine'."
Watt shook his head. "That's odd... I was taught that sex involves an interface between the male and female generative organs. Isn't the mouth on the wrong part of the body?"
Misty cocked her head as she looked at Watt. "Sir, genital-to-genital contact is just one possible sexual activity. There are a range of others."
Watt tried not to be offended by her correction. After all, Misty was just a servitor and speaking the truth as she understood it.
"Well, I have no experience with that sort of thing and it was only briefly covered in Scholam. Perhaps I missed a lecture."
"You've never had sex?" Misty responded. She seemed surprised.
Watt took his eyes off the service road and glanced at Misty. "You know, whoever programmed your personal response module did a fantastic job. Your conversational reactions are really life-like."
"Thank you, sir," Misty said in what certainly sounded like a pleased tone of voice, "but why have you never had sex?"
Watt shrugged. "I was chosen to serve the Omnissiah when I was ten standard years old. By the time my body began to mature, I was already receiving chemgeld treatments. So I've never had an interest in that sort of thing. That's not uncommon among Tech-Priest personnel."
Misty nodded. "I've noticed that you are missing body parts, but have none of the augmentations expected of a servant of the Omnissiah. Are your genitals intact?"
Watt chuckled before answering. "Yes," he replied. "Everything down there is still present and accounted for - just not flesh-functional, thank the Omnissiah!"
Misty fell silent.
It was early morning when they got back to the station. Watt didn't bother garaging the flat-back four. Every minute would count when his next shift began, so he violated procedure and left the vehicle parked outside.
Misty helped Watt carry his gear into the station.
"It's small," she commented as she looked around. There was barely any room for the two of them. It was difficult to move without brushing up against each other.
"This wasn't originally intended to be a permanent station," Watt replied distantly as he sat down at the comm-terminal. "It was supposed to be an emergency stop-over facility in case of bad weather."
"But you live here?" Misty asked. She seemed almost doubtful.
"Yes," Watt said shortly.
Squeezing past Watt, Misty took a long look at the heating plate and the limited amount of cooking gear. Then she opened the tiny pantry and inspected its contents.
"Are you hungry?" she asked.
Watt briefly wondered why she cared, then nodded his head as he checked the message log. After that, he hit the comm-key.
Misty rattled a cooking spoon, a battered pot, and a pair of small cans out of the pantry. She examined the cans carefully.
"Control 191, this is Observator Watt. Come in, please."
"Observator, this is Control 191. What's your status?" came the buzzy reply.
"I've completed the emergency survey," Watt answered. "There's no sign of damage. However, I did recover a servitor that was ejected from the crashed aircraft."
There was a pause.
"Say again, Observator? Did you say that you recovered a servitor?"
"Affirmative. It was ejected from the crashed aircraft via escape capsule."
There was another, longer, pause. Minutes passed. "Watt, we have no record that a servitor was on that aircraft. What is its identification?"
"MST-007," Watt replied absently. Then he turned his head and looked at Misty. She was cooking something on the heating plate. It smelled surprisingly good.
"Hey, Misty! Who owns you?"
Misty replied immediately, without bothering to look up from the stove. "A company called Tech-Fantasy Entertainment."
Watt turned back to the comm. "It says it's owned by somebody called Tech-Fantasy Entertainment."
There was another long pause. Then Control said, "Nothing about that company in the cargo manifest. And there's no such listing in the planetary comm directory."
"Maybe it's an off-planet company?" Watt suggested.
"There are no claims being made by the aircraft's owners. Are you sure it's a servitor and not some other piece of equipment?"
Watt rolled his eyes. "Yes, Control, I'm sure."
"Huh... would it be useful for your operation?"
Watt was considering that when a bowl of hot soup and a spoon appeared in front of him. It looked as if some vege-paste had been added to the soup. Watt tried the soup with the spoon. It was actually pretty good.
"Well, I suppose," Watt replied thoughtfully. "It would be another pair of hands."
"Okay, whatever you've found is unclaimed salvage. It's yours for now, Observator Watt."
Watt had a second bowl of soup and some reconstituted starch loaf. Misty drank a cup of the soup and nibbled on a small portion of starch - the part of her that was still flesh required some food. Then Misty cleaned up.
"That was good," Watt commented about dinner. "A lot better than anything I can make."
Misty was obviously pleased by the compliment. "I have some culinary programming. And I noticed you have a few spice packages that haven't been opened. I used some of them."
Watt frowned. "There are spices? Oh, yes, I remember now. They were left behind by a geo-survey team. I found them in their trash. I thought they might be edible in an emergency."
"I noticed that your food supplies are a mix of standard Forge issue and military field rations," Misty commented. "That seems like an odd mix."
Watt nodded his head. "A Skitarri patrol passes through here every few months. They usually leave their remaining supplies with me before they go back to base."
That made Misty raise an eyebrow. "That's generous of them."
"Yes, I suppose it is. The Skitarri seem to have the idea that they owe me a favor. You know, I'm still impressed by your ability to converse."
"Thank you, sir."
"So what's your primary purpose?" Watt said as he opened a drawer and fished out a cable. It was twisted together and Watt began untangling it.
"I was designed for companionship and entertainment, sir."
"Huh. I've never heard of a servitor built for that. I suppose that's why they made you so sociable. Pretty, too."
Misty smiled again at Watt. "Thank you, sir."
Watt finally had the data-cable untangled. "Let's see your data-port. I want to download your specs and documentation."
Misty's bodyglove had a front-mounted fastener. She immediately unseamed it and then wiggled her bodyglove down to mid-thigh.
Misty's form-fitting outfit had already provided Watt with basics of what she would look like if she were unclothed. A slim body, muscular legs, small and firm breasts, and an athletic - yet feminine - bottom. However, actual nudity filled in the details. Small, tight, brown nipples, flawless skin that was a very light shade of tan, and no body hair of any kind. There was a fine and tiny id tattooed just below her right collar-bone that read 'MST-007'. Instead of being inked in the usual block letters, the tattoo appeared as if it had been written in cursively feminine handwriting.
Turning around and bracing her hands against a wall, Misty leaned slightly forward, causing her bottom to jut towards Watt. Her port was indeed located at the base of her spine, just a centimeter above the cleft of her buttocks.
"Nice chassis," Watt noted casually. Then he leaned over to take a closer look at Misty's data-port, putting his hand on one her buttocks to hold her steady. The port looked like a standard model.
Misty seemed to shiver as Watt's thumb brushed across her data-port.
"Is something wrong?" Watt asked.
"No, sir," Misty said, her voice oddly husky. "I'm just a bit sensitive there. Please, stick the jack in."
Watt shrugged and inserted the cable's jack into Misty's port.
"Oh..." Misty whispered. It was almost more a sigh than a word.
Watt frowned. "Okay, something's wrong."
Misty's eyes were blissfully closed. "No, sir. It's all right. That's part of my design."
"That's odd..." Watt said uncertainly.
Misty opened her eyes and peered over her shoulder at Watt. "I'm fine, sir. I've been programmed to enjoy having a big, hard, jack inside of me."
"It's just a standard number two jack," Watt protested.
"If you say so, sir. But shouldn't you also plug in? I'd like that."
Still obviously worried, Watt inserted the jack from his end of the cable into the port built into his right mastoid process.
Misty and Watt let out a simultaneous gasp.
Utterly bewildered, Watt looked around. He wasn't in his tiny cell. Instead, he was standing in an open-air pavilion made of white stone. Carvings, mostly of animal-humanoid figures, were etched into the pavilion columns. Low furniture made of some kind of rich, dark, wood were spaced about. The floor was covered with brightly colored and finely woven carpets.
It was a scene of barbaric opulence.
The pavilion was situated on some sort of prominence that overlooked its surroundings. To one side, there was a striking view of a wide river. Boat traffic, driven by sails or oars, moved slowly up and down the river. Net-casting fishermen in small-craft were also present. Farmers were working in surprisingly lush, irrigated, fields that paralleled the river.
On the other side of the pavilion was an endless desert wasteland. It was close to sundown, and yellow-orange light was flooding the river valley.
A breeze, warm and scented with sand, loam, and the river, rustled down the length of the valley. Watt felt it stir his hair and clothing.
Looking down, Watt could see that he was bare-chested, but otherwise clad in some kind of white kilt.
Watt had two intact legs. His feet were in leather sandals. He also had both arms and there was something about his vision that suggested he had two eyes.
Watt held up his right arm and formed a fist. Then he wiggled his toes. Everything felt intact.
A nude woman was with him in the pavilion, reclining on a nearby couch. She gracefully rose from the couch and approached Watt. Then she sat on a divan next to him.
She was Misty... but not quite. She had Misty's form and facial features, but her skin was darker and her eyes were a penetrating green. Dark and exotic makeup highlighted her eyes, her lips were stained blood red, and her hair was arranged in complex braids. She had a neatly trimmed dark triangle of pubic hair, and breasts that were fuller then before. Tattoos of colorful birds flocked up and down one side of her bare body. There were piercings in her ears, nose, lips, and nipples. A hint of gold between her legs suggested she also had pierced labia.
"This is a virtual sensorium," Watt said slowly, looking around in amazement.
"Yes, master," Misty said. Her now green eyes contained an almost feral invitation. She was still sitting next to Watt. Leaning over, she kissed him on his bare stomach - her lips were startlingly warm. Then her hands were on his knees and began sliding up and inside his kilt...
"End this now," Watt ordered.
Misty blinked in what seemed like surprise.
And then they were back in the station.
Everything was back to normal. Watt and Misty were in the station cell. Misty still had her bodyglove down around her thighs and was leaning against a wall. Watt was standing behind her, balanced on his leg-blades, with his hand on the smooth skin of Misty's hip. The data-cable still connected them.
Watt yanked the cable out of his head and it clattered to the floor.
"Don't move," he told Misty. Then he more-or-less collapsed into his chair.
"Damn," Watt said softly to himself.
"Sir, is everything all right?" Misty asked tensely. She seemed honestly worried.
"I'm fine - just a little surprised. Misty, how much did it cost to build you?"
"According to my specifications, I'm valued at approximately twenty-seven point eight three nine million thrones, sir."
Watt whistled. "Yeah, that sounds about right. That sensorium implant alone..."
Misty slipped off her boots and then adroitly worked herself the rest of the way out of her bodyglove. She was very quick and efficient at undressing. Able to move more freely, she crouched next to Watt and peered into his eyes. Then she unbuttoned his work shirt and put the palm of her hand on his chest, directly over his heart. Watt realized that she was taking a biometric reading. Just a minute ago he would have assumed Misty wasn't capable of that, but she was apparently a quite sophisticated design.
"You read as healthy, but emotionally agitated," Misty reported.
Watt gently removed Misty's hand from his chest. "I'm fine, Misty. That sensorium contact just surprised me."
Misty's eyes met Watt's. They were obviously worried. "I'm so sorry, sir. What did I do wrong?"
Shaking his head, Watt said, "In the sensorium, I had both legs, arms, and eyes."
"What's wrong with that, sir? I thought you would like it!"
Misty sounded so upset that Watt smiled comfortingly and took her hand in his. Their fingers ended up intertwined.
"I'm a devotee of the Omnissiah, Misty," Watt told her softly. "Once, my missing human parts were replaced with augments, a thing that brought me closer to the Machine God. But I failed a mission and as a part of my punishment my augments were removed. In your sensorium, my old flesh was fully returned, and that took me even further from the Omnissiah than now. I know it was all just an illusion, but it was still a... a... surprise."
Misty nodded as if she understood.
"I really need to get some sleep," Watt added tiredly. "It's going to be a long day tomorrow."
Carefully getting to his feet - that was the tricky part of establishing an upright balance when you had leg blades - Watt pulled off his shirt. Misty took the shirt out of his hands and carefully began folding it.
"Why are you still naked?" Watt asked suddenly.
"I usually sleep nude," Misty replied as she put the neatly folded shirt on a nearby shelf. She'd already hung up Watt's jacket. "My users generally enjoy that."
"At night, it can get cold in here," Watt warned her. Then he immediately felt foolish. That really wouldn't be a problem for a servitor.
"I can adjust my body temperature," Misty told Watt. "With me next to you, you will be more comfortable."
Then she began unbuckling his pants.
"Stop," Watt said, forcing himself not to grab her wrists.
Misty immediately stopped.
"Turn around. Don't look at me," Watt ordered tensely.
Misty obeyed. Watt sat back down in the chair and pulled off his trousers. Then he carefully removed his leg-blades. The chair had wheels. He rolled the meter or so to his bunk, clambered into it, and pulled the blanket over his lower body.
As Watt moved, Misty shifted her position so her back stayed turned to him.
"I don't want you in my bunk," Watt told Misty.
Misty still had her back to Watt. "Yes, sir. Where do you want me to sleep?"
There was no reason he couldn't just tell Misty to sit in the chair. Or simply lie down on the floor. No reason except...
Except...
It seemed like it would be rude to treat her like that.
Feeling completely foolish, Watt smiled and shook his head. "You're right. Get in here with me."
Misty slid under the blanket and snuggled her back up against Watt's body. Experimentally running his hand along her flank, Watt had to admit that she was quite warm. And her skin was incredibly soft. It felt good.
She felt good.
Then Watt yawned enormously.
"You are a problem," the Adeptus Seniorus said quietly.
Enginseer Watt took a long, deep, breath. Then he let it out carefully.
"Yes, my Adept," he replied tensely. "I'm sorry for any difficulties I've caused."
You couldn't exactly say that the Adeptus was staring at Watt, since the Adeptus Seniorus' biological eyes had long since been replaced by artificial systems. In fact, where his right-eye had once been, there was a triangle of three different-sized, red-colored ovals. Meanwhile, his single left slit-lens had a greenish-blue cast. The brightly mixed colors of those lenses seemed to remorselessly transfix Watt. And that made the Enginseer uneasily recall ancient tales about serpents and avians.
Watt was in trouble. Big trouble. He'd been assured of that by a long line of superiors - some sternly, some mournfully, and some perhaps even gleefully.
And now the Adeptus Seniorus was telling Watt the same thing in person. The rest of Watt's life depended on what happened in the next few minutes. And the odds didn't really favor a positive outcome.
The Adeptus Seniorus seemed to be waiting for Watt to continue, but Watt couldn't think of anything to say.
A sound something like a sigh came out of the Adeptus Seniorus' chest respirator.
"I really should have you salvaged for parts," the Adeptus Seniorus said quietly. "And then have whatever remains of your flesh slowly incinerated."
Watt still had enough of his born biology that he was able to gulp.
"But there are other interests in play here, Enginseer," the Adeptus Seniorus continued with a slow nod of his head. "The Skitari Legion commander has personally thanked me for your actions. An Imperial Guard general also expressed his gratitude. Also, several Imperial dignitaries - including the matriarch of a high noble family and a senior member of the Ecclesiarchy - have sent me similar messages. And I even had a gruff exchange with the senior officer of the Iron Breakers chapter. He indicated that your actions were adequate and showed signs of quick thinking and determination that were surprising for what he called a "cog-jockey". That's the most pleasant conversation I've ever had with the man."
"Enginseer Watt, those are powerful people whose opinions even I must consider. And they are pleased with you."
"Yes, my Adept," Watt said cautiously. Maybe things weren't as bad as he thought...
"But I am not pleased with you," the Adeptus Seniorus continued.
And so much for that. "Yes, my Adept," Watt whispered.
"Tell me, how many people did you save?" the Adeptus Seniorus asked. Watt could hear a dangerous edge in those seemingly casual words.
"According to my final report..." Watt began as he pulled out a data-slate.
The until-then completely serene Adeptus Seniorus raised his arm and then slammed a metal fist onto the surface of his supervisory pulpit. A considerable dent appeared on the surface of the pulpit and a variety of small items jumped from it, clattering to the floor and scattering across the room.
"JUST! TELL! ME!" the Adeptus Seniorus roared.
Fighting down a wave of panic, Watt immediately responded. "Two hundred and thirty-six Imperial Guard, my Adept! One hundred and seven Skitarri! Two marines of the Iron Breakers chapter! Eleven Mechanicus operations personnel! And seventy hundred and twenty-two civilians, including a half-dozen members of the Ecclesiarchy and the Lady Irene Solanna and her children!"
"And what did you leave behind in order to accomplish that feat?" the Adeptus Seniorus asked in a quieter yet somehow even more deadly tone.
"I abandoned the cogitator banks and data-stores from research station BR-117," Watt whispered.
"Remind me, Enginseer, why you were sent to station BR-117 in the first place?"
"My Adept, I was ordered to recover those cogitator banks and data-stores," Watt answered.
"But..." Watt started to add.
The Adeptus Seniorus held up a large, metal hand with fingers that were more like claws than anything else. Watt very wisely shut up.
"I understand your reasoning," the Adeptus Seniorus said calmly. "When you were assigned that mission, your data was incomplete. An enemy breakthrough occurred just before your shuttles took flight. We didn't know that the enemy was so close to BR-117. We didn't know that an emergency camp - packed with wounded soldiers and civilian refugees - had been established there."
"Yes, my Adept," Watt said wearily.
"So you landed at the station, saw those injured and frightened people, and made a decision. You felt that your orders were obsolete and that you needed to improvise."
"Yes, my Adept," Watt repeated, a last spark of hope appearing within him.
"So you disobeyed your orders," the Adeptus Seniorus said almost amiably. "And you left utterly priceless equipment and data piled up on that landing pad as you loaded the shuttles with... with... people."
The Adeptus Seniorus said 'people' as if he was referring to a splash of particularly runny fecal matter.
"Yes, my Adept," Watt replied miserably.
The Adeptus Seniorus didn't reply. And for long, terrifying, moment he just looked at Watt.
"I give you your life, Watt," the Adeptus Seniorus eventually said. "Having the Captain of the Iron Breakers chapter almost... almost... actually be polite when he spoke to me is worth that."
Watt dizzily wondered if it was allowable for him to drop to his knees and kiss the floor at the Adeptus' feet. There were rules about that sort of thing. He might not have enough seniority.
But the Adeptus Seniorus wasn't done. "However, you are demoted. I can't tell you to what rank, because I have historians scanning the records to find the absolutely lowest one that has ever existed. You will be stripped of all augmentics. A task of endless drudgery will be found for you. You will be isolated and forgotten, never to be heard from again. There is no hope of forgiveness or promotion or restoration. You will vanish forever, but if anyone asks about you, I will be able to say that you are still alive, a member of this Forge, and have a useful task that you perform."
"Yes, my Adept," Watt said softly.
"Get out."
Watt blinked awake, with the last words of the Adeptus Seniorus seeming to echo around him. For a brief, alarmed, moment, Watt wondered why the blazes someone was in his bunk next to him. Then he remembered.
Misty, her eyes peacefully closed, was breathing slowly and steadily. Servitors actually did require some sleep, although the process more resembled the limited-power mode of a cogitator than anything else.
His only arm was comfortably wrapped around Misty's body. And somehow, in his sleep, he'd cupped one of her breasts with his hand. A nipple was between two of his fingers. Misty really was quite warm. It was the most comfortable sleep Watt had experienced since fall began edging into winter. It would only be a week or two until the long snows began. The cell heaters were barely adequate for winter.
If Watt were to become sick, and then his rations were cut because he wasn't keeping to his maintenance schedule, he'd probably die.
Having Misty in his bunk would be more than comfortable, it might be a life-saver.
But something was still wrong...
"Oh," Watt whispered.
His body was doing something it had never done before. It was a completely new experience for Watt, although he understood it intellectually.
His penis, nestled in the cleft of Misty's bare buttocks, was quite erect.
Obeying some instinct he didn't quite understand, Watt slowly rubbed against Misty.
That felt quite good.
Seemingly still asleep, Misty made a pleased sound, pressed her bottom against Watt, and performed a rotational movement.
That felt good, too.
Watt put his hand on Misty's hip to stop her. Her eyes opened and she peered over her shoulder at Watt. Her lips were curved into a sly and graceful smile. Looking into Misty's deep brown eyes, Watt became aware that he was in one of those anomalous moments of remarkable beauty. After he had been dropped off at his punishment station, his first sunset had been much like that.
"Do you want some help with that?" Misty asked as she reached around her back and took Watt's penis in her hand. She gave it an experimental squeeze that felt wonderful.
"No!" Watt almost shouted. Then he shook his head, took Misty by the wrist, and detached her hand from his body.
He did that with some regret. This was all so strange, but...
"I'm going to shower," Watt told Misty. "I want you to stay in bed, with your eyes closed, until I'm dressed."
"Yes, sir," Misty said as she immediately closed her eyes and lay her head back down on their pillow.
Watt scrambled over Misty - trying to ignore all of the skin-to-skin contact that entailed. The shower was a small, step-in pod with a door that sealed tight to prevent water leakage. It was a less-rigorous variant of a type used in spacecraft. Stumping his way to the shower door, Watt opened it and crawled inside. He cleaned up quickly, then used the built-in fan to dry off.
After he got his clothes on, and his leg-blades attached, Watt said, "Misty, you can open your eyes."
Misty rolled to her feet, stretched, and produced an accurate-looking yawn. Watt found himself staring at her bare body. He'd seen her naked before, but this time she somehow looked different.
"May I take a shower, sir?" Misty asked.
"Go ahead. We're tapped into the conduit network, so there should be plenty of hot water left."
And that made Watt feel foolish yet again. A servitor wouldn't care about hot or cold water. It seemed as if Misty's design encouraged anthropomorphism.
Misty vanished into the shower.
Watt thought for a moment, sat down in front of the comm-terminal, and established a connection.
After he was disgraced and demoted, Watt found out how many friends he really had. The answer was 'one'. And he needed to talk to her.
Jen answered Watt's comm-query immediately. Her position allowed her an actual video communication system, and it was good to see her face again. Jen had an admirable number of lovely augments - a shoulder, part of her neck, and half of her face was covered with smooth, polished, steel. One of her eyes consisted of a complex series of overlaid lens. There were other augments that weren't immediately visible and in happier days, Watt had enjoyed helping Jen maintain them.
Watt had told Jen more than once that her career would go farther than his. It turned out that he was right. He just didn't know at the time that part of the reason for that would be because he was doomed to fall so far.
"Watt? How are you doing?" Jen asked. There was a smile on the part of her face that remained human.
Jen was a full tech-priest medicae. And after Watt's fall from grace, she'd somehow arranged to be listed as Watt's medicae contact. That made it possible for them to talk.
"I had a physical condition called an 'erection' this morning," Watt announced without preamble. "How do I make that stop?"
Jen pursed her lips. "Actually, there's nothing wrong with that. Your chemgeld treatments have been stopped, so your body is reacting normally."
"Normal?! It was disgusting! And... and... huge!"
"Probably not as big as you think," Jen said. For some reason, her voice sounded oddly dry. "I'm sorry, Watt, but this is just going to be a part of your life from now on."
"Oh, for the love the Omnissiah," Watt moaned as he shook his head in despair. "It just appeared out of nowhere. It was scary."
Jen nodded sympathetically. "Did you... uhm... do something about it?" she asked.
Watt shrugged helplessly. "What would I do about it? It just went away when I showered. But there's been an aching feeling... is that natural?"
"Probably," Jen said. "Did you touch it? Your erection, I mean."
"Touch it? Why would I do that? I mean, I was scared something would burst!"
For a moment, Jen seemed to be struggling not to laugh.
"Damn it, Jen. It's not funny," Watt told her mournfully.
Jen composed herself. "You're right. I'm sorry, Watt."
Watt waved away her apology. "So what should I do?"
"There's a simple procedure," Jen replied in a practical tone. "It's called masturbation."
Watt shook his head. "Is that a medication? I don't think I've heard of it. Is it in a standard med-kit?"
"It's not medication. It's a simple physical procedure that provides sexual release. You might find it awkward and a little strange at first, but you'll probably end up enjoying it."
Watt took a deep breath. "Okay, what do I do? Uh... wait, I don't have a lot of time. I have to get to work."
"I'll send you a file with a description of the procedure and some support material. Take a look at it after your work-cycle, then call me."
Watt closed the connection to Jen just before Misty got out of the shower.
Watt got into the flat-bed four and quickly closed the door. Misty climbed into the other side.
Misty took a long look at the side of Watt's face as he started the engine. She had a dataslate in her hand. It displayed the map for the day's survey.
"Sir, is everything all right?" Misty asked suddenly.
"Yes," Watt replied shortly as he pulled the flat-bed four away from the station.
Misty continued to stare at Watt.
"How are you feeling?" she asked carefully. Her anti-nagging protocol was clashing with her caregiver programming.
"I have a minor health condition. I talked with a Medicae while you were showering and she said she can help. It's nothing to be concerned about."
Misty nodded in sudden understanding.
"Tomorrow, perhaps we should shower together," Misty added. "We would save resources and get us on the road several minutes earlier."
Watt considered that. "That's an admirably efficient idea, but I don't think the two of us would fit in the shower."
"I'm sure we can, sir. I've taken a lot of showers with my owners and supervisors."
"Perhaps," Watt said with a shrug. "but I don't find the idea comfortable."
"Is it because of your concerns about being naked around me?"
There was no point to being evasive with Misty. "Yes."
"I have an internal echo-location system. I can navigate and operate quite well with my eyes closed."
"I'll consider that. Can we talk about something else?"
"Yes, sir. You mentioned that you are being punished. Do you want to discuss why?"
"No."
"Yes, sir."
Misty allowed the conversation to lapse. Her psychological programming suggested that she should just wait. Given the profile she'd assembled about Watt, she estimated that it would take less than three standard minutes for him to return to the subject.
At two minutes and forty-seven seconds, Watt shook his head and let out a sigh.
"I had a mission," he said. "I altered the mission because the situation had changed. People's lives were at risk and I did what I could to save them, but I abandoned an important cargo that I was supposed to retrieve. That was not acceptable to the Adeptus Seniorus and he personally saw to my discipline. That's why I'm here. And that's why my augments are gone."
Then Watt went silent.
"I've had users who were missing limbs or who were badly scarred," Misty said quietly. "All of them had at least some level of hesitancy in allowing others to see their injuries. Some were very adamant and it took time for them to develop the level of intimacy that made such contact acceptable. But in your case..."
Watt released the wheel and slammed the heel of his hand against it. The vehicle jerked in response.
"They took my augments! They took me from the Omnissiah! I have a few cranial implants and a data-jack - the bare minimum to do my job - and that's it! I'm almost nothing but flesh!"
Then Watt fell silent for a long while.
"Nothing but flesh," he eventually repeated.