Day 17


It was only Ellen's monumental restraint that saved the display, one of her most valuable artifacts. Had she been a weaker servant of the God-Emperor, she might have smashed the priceless piece of archaeotech under her armored fists in a rage.

As it was, her hands only tightened into fists. The display held a shimmering green hologram of Monstrum's habitable zone, the ugly, mishappen space hulk a disturbing moon that hung above its dark sky, casting a shadow across the Barren Lands that had known no such relief in millennia.

The initial waves of Orks had been massive, a torrent of drop pods, falling Roks, and landing craft. According to the estimates of the Mechanicus and the augurs, over forty-three percent of those waves had been annihilated by skyfire before they had even broken through the planet's dark clouds. Millions of Orks, slain in a glorious display of the Imperium's power.

Yet, millions more had made it to the surface. And more were still coming. Not quite the torrential rain of the first waves, but these reinforcements were still massive and better aimed. Fewer losses on the way down meant greater numbers of Orks on the surface.

Ellen knew for a fact that over half the hives were under constant threat. As for the rest, she could only assume that was the case, as she'd lost contact with the cities of Ate, Janus, Dolus, and Eris. Limos was obviously unlikely to send her any reports and Enyo… She could only assumed the Imperial forces in Enyo had been annihilated. They'd been struggling with the genestealers, there was little chance they'd survive the Ork assault.

At this point, she would have given the order to blow the tunnels connecting Enyo to Whiro, cutting the genestealers off from any path to the north except through Malum, but the Orks made that impossible. According to the latest reports, the foul xenos were in control of those tunnels.

The Genestealers and the Orks were clearly fighting, at least. A mini-Octarius War was now being waged in Enyo and Ellen was more than willing to let it be for the moment. More concerning was the loss of contact with the other hives. She did not believe they were so incompetent that they'd all fall instantaneously to the Ork assault, but even if they had there should have been some sign or last contact. Instead, there had been nothing. Total silence.

The Noosphere in that area of the planet was also strangely silent according to Vidriov. Not gone, not destroyed or disconnected, just… quiet. Ellen had already sent out a dozen scouting parties, but none had returned. Either they had been slain by the Orks or something else had obstructed their mission.

Of all the hives in the south, only Malum still sent regular reports. Only Malum was unaffected by the Ork attack. Organism-04 at least seemed as deadly to the Orks as it was to Genestealers. That should have been reassuring, but Ellen felt only a growing sense of paranoia.

Such a creation was too effective, too beneficial and she knew from long instruction that when something seemed too good to be true… it often was. While Vidriov might have been chomping at the bit to deploy Organism-04 on a mass scale against the xenos, Ellen was not so foolish. What resided in Malum was nothing of benefit to humanity. It was not a creation of the God-Emperor, of that she was certain, but likely that of foul xenos or a certain dark god.

She needed Vidriov, but the Tech-Priest was not always as… obedient as someone like Purilla, loyal tool that she was. She had not commanded the destruction of the organism, not least because she lacked the forces to currently do so, but also because the tech-priest might refuse. Never openly, of course, but that made it worse, not better. He might remove a portion of the samples he currently possessed for further, secret study. He may already have done so in case Ellen suddenly chose to command the destruction of the organism.

Mechanicus adepts that were truly loyal to the God-Emperor's chosen representatives they had sworn themselves to were rare and she was not so foolish to think Vidriov thought of her as a 'true' inquisitor. She was young and, in his mechanical eyes, likely foolish. Ellen would have shot the tech-priest already if he were not so capable or influential on the sector's local Mechanicus.

Instead, she had let him believe she might slowly come around to his way of thinking. She was certain that, with more data, her beliefs would prove correct and the puppet master behind this scheme would be revealed. Hopefully, Vidriov would accept that, as Purilla would.

If not… Well, Vidriov was not so powerful that he could not be dealt with in a more… discrete manner.

The combat form stalked down the dark corridors, its sensor stalks twitching as it tasted air, light, and sound. Once an Ork, little of its former self was obvious. Its lower legs had fused together and lengthened, becoming a serpentine tail that rippled with incredible strength, gliding across the floor, over piles of debris and scrap.

The combat form perceived everything surrounding it with inhuman clarity, but it did not stop to pick up the myriad treasures and trinkets it saw. It was meant to scout, to spread, to kill. Scavenging materials was a task left to the smaller forms that followed in its wake as it noted various items of possible interest.

It had yet to encounter an Ork since the engagement where it had been created, one of those corpses infected by a Rogue after being dispatched by a Ranger. It had been left behind by the Ranger's group, a portion of its biomass taken to refill the ammunition of the MOA's that accompanied the larger Tech-Form. Left to mutate and strike out on its own.

Orks were not the stealthiest of creatures, but such was not the case for combat forms made of them. The serpentine form of the mutated Ork was silent, creeping in the dark like a predator. It was alone and Orks rarely attacked alone. Larger forms, like the Barbarian, or those with other advantages like the Ranger and its weapons may have been able to take on so many in a straight fight, but this combat form had neither size nor technological advantage over the Orks.

Instead, the combat form kept to the shadows. A group of Orks were strong and could overwhelm a lone combat form with numbers, but their night vision was subpar compared to humans and dark places were ample in the hulk. Tide had learned they had begun to detect his approach via the smell of his forms, so he was experimenting with different scents, searching for one undetectable to the greenskins. Even just altering the smell had proven rather effective, as the Orks would not associate the newer scents with the 'Rotters'.

None of these thoughts were passing through the combat form's stolen mind, of course. Its attention was entirely upon the corridors, on staying hidden in the dark, always on alert for even the slightest sign of an enemy. So, when the security camera on the wall of one of the countless halls that made up the space hulk's maze-like interior turned and tracked the combat form as it moved forward… it noticed.

The combat form froze, but the camera continued turning, pointing to the end of the hall. Then, after precisely three seconds had passed, it turned back until it pointed towards the other end of the hall. Another three seconds and the cycle repeated. Again and again, the camera turned, paused, and then repeated. It passed dozens of times over the combat form, the Flood creature's only movement the slight twitches of its sensor stalks.

The combat form lunged backwards, the spring-like leg it had freshly mutated hidden from the camera's sight by its biomass kicking off the ground with enough force to send it through the air and slamming into the wall, an ear piercing wail emitted by the combat form as it latched onto the wall, just in front of the camera, screaming into it while displaying the mutilated jaws of the Ork.

However, the camera continued to turn back and forth, back and forth. Always precisely three seconds, with no breaks in the pattern.

The scream subsided, its echoes travelling along the corridors, the jaws closed, and Tide wondered if it was simple paranoia or something more. The camera's soft whirring was a noise his combat form would have noticed in the background far sooner than it had, leading him to believe the camera had been remotely activated.

His attempt to scare whoever was controlling the camera into making a mistake had failed to bear results it seemed. Were the Ork's using the myriad security networks of various vessels now? They had not done such things in any other section he had visited, but he had never been in this area of the hulk, which was close to its core. Perhaps the Ork presence there was greater?

If it wasn't the doing of the Orks, perhaps there were still some subsystems in place? Perhaps a proximity sensor or something similar that had noticed his movement? Or even just a random power fluctuation. There were enough ships fused inside of one another that plenty had likely linked together in some manner, forming a lattice of wires that would make an electrical engineer reconsider their career. It would not surprise him if he found the generator of one ship was producing power for an airlock somewhere on the other side of the hulk or something similar.

The ship was Imperial technology from what he could tell. Something like a light cruiser. Old and powerful, but not so ancient or mighty that it was made with anything particularly valuable, technology-wise. It wasn't impossible that it had some quirky machine spirits or something still around after so long.

Tide was… unsure about machine spirits. The Mechanicus adepts had obviously believed in such things and there were plenty of memories they had possessed that at least provided evidence towards the existence of something like that…

His issue was not a lack of faith or something like a disbelief in the supernatural. This universe had literal daemons after all, machine spirits were not exactly that far fetched in comparison, he'd have to be insane to deny that. However, with daemons, he at least had a solid understanding of what they were. Psychic entities, predators of the Warp, shards of the chaos gods who were, themselves, also manifestations of a variety of emotions and beliefs. Machine spirits, however… In his previous life, there had never been a clear answer as far as he knew. Even whether they were real was a matter of some debate, though it had been generally accepted by the community that they were from what he understood.

Artificial intelligences, virtual intelligences, psychic manifestations of the faith of the Tech-Priests, or just the result of the religious explaining why taking good care of machinery made it work better and longer. Tide wasn't sure which was the case, if they were all true to some degree, or even none of them and something else was happening.

Fucking Games Workshop and their 'everything and nothing is true' approach to 40k, Tide thought with some bitterness as the combat form dropped down and leaving behind the camera, which continued on its constant back-and-forth.

After a few minutes, the corridor was again empty in both directions and the device finally came to a stop.

Purilla stepped through the door to the laboratory, her eyes quickly alighting on the form of Vidriov. The Genetor was different than normal, his normal arm augmetics, quite human in design, had been replaced by a series of whirring mechadendrites, almost like tentacles, each tipped by a surgical knife or some other tool. His robes were missing and any scrap of flesh he'd once had was covered by magnetically sealed plates of metal, specially molded to protect him but not hamper movement.

The tech-priest stood within a large, transparent box, made of a transparent material of some kind like glass which had been erected recently, working over the half-dissected corpse of an Ork, parts of his arm occasionally lowering down to make some cut or remove an organ. Several such pieces were contained within four jars near him, each labelled with numbers marking them. The numbers were '04'.

"Are whole Orks not in ample enough supply for your tests, that you must carve them apart?" Purilla said, half in jest. Vidriov did not look away from his work, likely having been aware of her arrival even before the door had opened. She knew he could hear her, even through the material that kept him secluded.

"Inquisitor Ellen requested further experiments be conducted utilizing deceased specimens," Vidriov replied evenly. "This barrier is insufficient to contain the spores of multiple Ork specimens. I have modified the experiments to accommodate this."

"I see," Purilla said simply, coming to a stop just outside the box. Nearby, she could see a separate section, similar to an airlock. While she was no tech-priest, she recognized the sterilization section for what it was and gave it a wide berth. Such things were rated for tech-priests, not nonaugmented humans like herself. "And what results will these experiments bring?"

"That data is not yet known," Vidriov said, looking up at her for the first time since she had arrived. "They are yet to be conducted."

"If you had to guess, I mean," Purilla drawled. Vidriov was silent. Normally, she would have been able to see his one remaining eye and guessed what he was feeling, as much as the tech-priest liked to deny having any such things within him, but it was now covered by a sort of specially crafted set of protective goggles.

"I have no data to suggest that the new experiments will differ from the previous ones," Vidriov finally stated, almost reluctantly. Purilla knew Vidriov did not like her all that much. Or, rather, the Genetor did not like psykers all that much. It was not the burning hatred of someone like the local Canoness, who Purilla knew would have her burned at the stake in less than a heartbeat if she ever got the opportunity, but the frustration of someone who was used to learning everything with ease being presented an unsolvable mystery. The Warp was not easily understood by those without the Sight and Purilla had always known that such ignorance often led to fear.

Vidriov was not afraid of her, he just couldn't understand how she worked. How her mutation worked. When they had first met, the Genetor had poked and prodded her with all manner of devices and questions and tests, trying to measure that which could not be measured. Purilla's opinion of the tech-priest had been sour after that, though she'd come to tolerate and even respect the cultist of the Omnissiah over the years. But recent events had given her new clarity in some matters.

Vidriov, as far as most of her fellow humans went, was not a bad sort. He was mostly just curious, self-assured, and lacked the common sense of most people. Once, she'd thought that last part a mark against him. Now that Purilla had had her eyes opened to just how twisted that common sense was, she had revised her views on the tech-priest.

She wondered if the Tide would open his eyes as it had hers. Was she special? Chosen? Or simply the first? Was she even the first? So many questions and, for the first time in her life, Purilla would be free to ask them… Once she had let the Tide in.

"I would imagine, if the Inquisitor really wanted to see the results of dead Orks being infected by Organism-04, all she would need to do is go to Malum and see for herself," Purilla said, almost offhandedly while she pretended to study the grisly display of an Ork's intestines. She had no idea what she was looking at, not specifically in any case. She knew some psykers, both sanctioned and not, worked at times with the organs of living beings, using them as focuses for their rituals, but she had never heard of an Ork being used in such a manner. She did not utilize such methods, nor did she have any interest of doing so or testing why Orks weren't more common sacrifices.

"Your speech indicates a desire to lead me to certain conclusions," Vidriov said, as blunt and overly complicated as ever even as he turned back to his work.

"You could just say I'm leading you somewhere," Purilla pointed out while eyeing the greenish-pink tubing of the Ork's stomach. Even their insides were green, it seemed.

"What do you want, Psyker Purilla?" Vidriov asked, just as a soft buzzing sound was emitted from the Ork's guts, swiftly followed by the noise of a saw slicing through tough bone.

"Orks assail the entire planet," Purilla stated, turning her head to look directly at the Genetor. "Genestealers seek to subvert us. And we've lost all contact with every city south of the burning lands except the one hive where the bulk of Organism-04 exists. The same city that none of our xenos enemies can take because the air itself is poison to them and utterly harmless to us."

"I have read the reports, Psyker Purilla."

"An army of Orks, tens of thousands strong, simply perished. Even their spores, the very reason you confine yourself in this… box, were utterly destroyed. There will never be Orks in or around Malum. Ever. How many other worlds can say that?"

"I have read the reports, Psyker Purilla," Vidriov repeated, an underlying note of frustration in his voice, barely peeking through the modulators. "Your arguments are wasted upon me. I have made my opinions on unleashing Organism-04 quite clear, to both you and the Inquisitor. It is not my decision to make."

It could be, Purilla almost said, but she stopped herself. No, it was too soon to say something like that. Far too soon. Vidriov, as frustrated as he might be about having his advice ignored, was nowhere near angry or scared enough to go against the command of an Inquisitor. The attack of the Orks upon the capital and several of the northern hives had been repelled, not as easily as it had at Malum, but without any major losses. The southern hives' status were a mystery, but even if every one of them except Malum had fallen to the greentide, Purilla thought it more likely that the Inquisitor would be pleased with the destruction of the bulk of the genestealer forces and, less openly, the loss of those cities closest to outright defiance of the Imperium. Never mind the civilian casualties. Such things were 'acceptable losses' in the view of people like Ellen.

Purilla was having a harder and harder time containing her growing frustration with the Inquisitor. Every day, countless innocents died. Citizens of the Imperium Ellen claimed to protect that had committed no crimes, left to be slaughtered when a solution, a golden solution, rested within the palm of her hand, if she would just use it. Ellen seemed as though she were searching for a reason, any reason, that Organism-04 might be corrupt or a scheme of one of their enemies.

Purilla knew it was not. The Tide was not wicked or hateful. It wanted to help. Purilla did not know what the Tide was, what it truly was, but she knew that it was good. Or, at least, the best chance the universe had. If only Ellen would see that.

A thought popped into her mind. She was reminded of the soul she had cradled in her psychic embrace, brought with her into the realm of the Tide. Could she… do something similar with Ellen?

"-yker Purilla? Are you alright?" Purilla was drawn out of her thoughts by the voice of Vidriov, who had turned to fully face her and come right up to the edge of the glass. His mechadendrite-covered arm was lowered, stained with dark blood and other viscera.

"I just was… lost in thought," Purilla admitted, shaking her head. "I believe I should go. I apologize for interrupting your work."

With that, she turned and departed, leaving a confused tech-priest behind her, mechadendrites clicking. She went to her room and kneeled down in front of her altar, as if in silent prayer, but no thoughts of the God-Emperor entered her mind. Instead, a plan was slowly beginning to take shape.