A/N: a bit of an early post because I got overexcited and am already 3/4s done with the chapter after this xD
My time on Mars consisted of a number of different duties, but mainly? I had to become what every blue collar worker loved to hate.
The safety inspector.
"I don't care! Stop what you're doing, get these candles out of here, install non-incendiary lights. It takes twenty minutes. How many fires have stifled munitions production just this year, hm?" I shouted in the face of the Magos assigned to a production line meant for some sort of lasgun I'm not sure which.
"Two hundred and fifty-seven Conflagration incidents in this production line were the results of improper performance of the machine-spirit appeasement rituals." The Magos, I didn't even bother to learn his name, stood firm, staring me down. I wasn't deterred.
"In M3, a single fire causing production issues was grounds for immediate restructuring." I growled out, resting a hand on Magni. "If you won't believe me, believe the machine. HEY!" I shifted my attention to the assembly line currently covered in a concerning amount of wax, paper, and lit candles. A single mechadendrite turned my way, tipped with a glowing red light as it addressed me.
"Speaker…" it wheezed out, a smoker's growl in its voice.
"This asshole is trying to keep me from getting you cleaned up and back in proper manufacturing capacity, bud."
The response was immediate. Dozens of the mechadendrites that were previously assembling power packs and other components lashed out. A large one tipped with a drill skewered the Magos from the rear, dragged him into the air, and proceeded to tear him apart.
"AAAAAGHLk-" the Magos's scream was cut short when his head was pulled from his neck with a sickening crack.
I turned to what I presumed to be that Magos' apprentice.
"Get this place cleaned up, get these candles out of here, and get every Magos that doesn't have a metal skull fit for a helmet. If anyone gives you any lip, you tell them that you're under orders from the Lancebearer, understood?" I ordered, earning a string of terrified nods.
"Yes, Interrogator-Magos Foothill." Poor kid couldn't have been older than fifteen. I turned to the assembly line once again.
"Old timer, take care of the kid, alright? No more deaths, but if you need to put the fear of the Omnissiah into them you do it." I spoke; and in response one of the mechadendrites shifted over and patted the kid on the head, it's light blinking green.
"You got a name, kid?" I asked after a moment.
"Zeta-349, Interrogator-Magos." The kid stammered out,
"Your name, kid, not your callsign. The one your mother gave you." I clarified as I got to work clearing off the machine of its candle wax prison.
"…Zacchaeus, Sir." He seemed to relax a bit. I had a bit of an idea that might help get things moving in this newfound pilgrimage of mine.
"Zacchaeus, huh, after you're done with that, Report to the Daedalos Krata. You like weapons, kid?"
Apprentice Acquired.
Outside of introducing the Priesthood of Mars to Occupational Health and Safety, I had a number of other projects that required Mechanicus oversight.
Number One being getting the Krata up and running.
It was here, where I first met Archmagos Belisarius Cawl.
My first impressions…were that he was big. A twisted centipede of machinery and flesh covered in a massive red robe, wielding his Omnissian Glaive like a walking stick whilst casually speaking with Yanbel.
"This project is an undertaking that would normally take decades to complete." The Archmagos spoke, and I saw a mechadendrite with a mechanical eye turn my way for a split second before he continued the conversation whilst ignoring my presence.
"The Interrogator strips away the unnecessary minutiae of trying to interpret the machine. He converted a pre-space flight design to being void-capable in two months, Archmagos. I would not bet against him."
"The Elder desired to return to battle. Converting a conquered foe into an ally is no feat for an initiate, no matter how gifted they may be. The Daedalos Krata, no less, one of the largest Battle Barges in service to the Imperium? My services are very likely to be needed." Cawl drawled, and I took this moment to defend my capabilities.
"Should I be insulted? Felt my ears burning for a second there." I drawled out monotonously as I entered the conversation.
"If I were to insult you, Interrogator-Acolyte, I would do so directly. Merely an observation. You've been blessed by the Omnissiah, there is no doubt, but you shirk many of our rituals, rites, and traditions. You've made many enemies." Cawl replied, his form shifting as his torso came down to our level to look me in the eye.
"If something is broken, do you leave it there to fester? Or do you fix it, Archmagos? Productivity is well below what these production lines are capable of, mortality rates are well above what they should be in a well run operation. With the damn-near autonomy that the Mechanicus has, the pure inefficiency in the operations I've seen have almost driven me to drink." I spoke, crossing my arms.
"It's driven you to murder, at any rate."
"Upup! I didn't kill that guy, the machine he'd refused to maintain properly did. You treat your tools right, they'll take care of you, you don't, you pray they don't have hands to strangle you with. We figured this crap out millennia ago."
"It seems that time erases all things, my friend." Yanbel spoke, before turning to face the ship currently held in dry-dock. "How do you propose to rally her to your side, David?"
"The Krata has proven stubborn in stifling our efforts to return it to service. It mourns." Cawl expanded, "She is unlikely to accept your advances, Interrogator-Acolyte."
I gave a bit of a chuckle as I began my trek towards the massive ship,
"Then it looks like I'm gonna have to pull out that good ol' Southern Charm. I got a plan if that doesn't work out, in any case. Y'all don't go worryin' 'bout me none, y'hear?" I purposely hammed up my trill, earning an exasperated shake of the head from both Cawl and Yanbel, but I could see the telltale signs of Yanbel chuckling.
My nonchalant attitude faded as I made my way into the Krata. As I walked, passing the many tech adepts and even some of my own men working, I could hear the growling of the ship.
I marched into the bowels of the ship, my destination clear even as I began to hear the gnashing of teeth.
"Butcher! Defiler! Pirate!" The words echoed from the depths even as I approached the heavy steel doors of my target: the plasma generators. Arguably the heart of the ship itself. I sealed Silver's helm around me and the adept at the Cogitator, after a lengthy battle with the stubborn system, coerced the doors open, and I stepped through.
"I'd wager you're pretty steamed at me, right now." I spoke, watching the pulsating blue of the generators.
"HERETIC!"
The generators pulse with an angry blue flash that causes me to blink, and I find myself in a white void.
I'm no longer in Silver, simply in my trousers, coat and hat.
"This is new…" I muttered, and my ears were assaulted once more, but now from a tangible source.
"HERETIC! YOU'LL PAY FOR YOUR TRANSGRESSIONS!" The voice comes from behind, and I turn to find…
"Oh my God you're a damn Shipgirl." The words leave my mouth before I can stop it, unfortunately. The result is to be expected.
"RAAAGH!" Krata screeches as she lunges, she's smaller than I expected, a child built like an Olympic swimmer, but she's wearing a Greek-styled cuirass and wielding a chainsword. I ducked her swipe and was presently surprised as an arm snatched her by the scruff of her cuirass and held her aloft.
"You will not harm my chosen, young one." The words are spoken firmly by a man whom I knew instantly. He wore a brown greatcoat with a white shirt, a brown belt adorned his waist and glasses with a slight red tint framed his eyes. A cigarette hung from his lip as he glared daggers at the constrained Krata.
"Buddy." I whispered, and a grin grew on the man's face.
"Hello, Mon Ami. I've been waiting for this meeting for a long time. Unfortunately, it will have to wait."
"I WILL TEAR THE SPEAKER APART!" Krata snarled, flailing wildly in the grip of the Belgian Infanterier. I gave a heavy sigh before I put my foot down.
"ENOUGH!" I shouted, causing the girl to pause, just staring at me in some kind of shock.
I took a moment to stare her down before I spoke again
"Buddy, put her down." I spoke.
"But David-"
"Put her down, Bud, please." It takes a moment, and he sets the girl down, I take a knee to look Krata in the eye. "You're hurtin' real bad right now, ain't ya kid?" I ask softly. She's so much smaller than I expected. And hurt. I can see bruises on her side, her legs, and all up her arms.
"No thanks to you." She growls, glaring at me, "You killed my crew, stripped me of my sigils, my purpose." She spits on the ground at my feet.
"Now you're here, trying to pervert my purpose, my reason for being built. Was tearing a hole in my side not enough? Does causing me pain give you some sort of pleasure, butcher? Is your vengeance still not satisfied?" I see tears growing in the corners of her eyes.
"My crew…my family. You turned the Imperium against them…against me. I have served the Emperor since the eve of the Great Crusade! I am a loyal servant of the Throne!" with that she breaks down, sobbing. "I just wanted to make the Emperor proud…"
I let her cry for a bit, let her grieve and rant and shout and curse my name to the end of time. When she finally calmed down a bit, I raised my hand to my head and removed my hat, resting it on my knee as I met eyes with her.
"I can't tell you what you want me to tell you, Kid. I can't say 'I'm sorry.' because that would do you the disservice of lying to you." I speak to her clearly, tone level, if soft. "I can't take back what I did. But I can help you do what you want to do."
"How can a heretic help me make the Emperor proud?" Krata grumbled, glaring at me.
"If I was really a heretic, would I have this stupid hair? Would I have managed to get the Salamanders, the Blood Angels, and the damn Assassinorum backing my assault?" I spoke, before driving in the nail,
"Would the Emperor have dragged me from a time of peace and prosperity, to here, thirty eight thousand years into the future, where War is a fact of life, and beings like yourself are made manifest, if I was meant to guide the Imperium to ruin?"
"...You lie." She mutters, turning her head to the side, only to meet Buddy's stern gaze.
"Look upon me, child. Distrust him if you must, but steel does not lie to its own." He speaks, staring her down. The two glare at each other for a while, having a silent conversation before Krata turns her head in a show of submission.
"...What caused you to come after my chapter, my crew?" She finally asks, and I give a sigh as I lift my gaze to the sky.
"I would've been content to leave the Minotaurs be, even if I held a distaste for them prior to meeting them. I am a relic of a bygone age. I believe in the idea of justice, of there being a way to soldier without wanton destruction. When I was brought to this time, I was unprepared. I could scrap, sure, but I was no soldier." I spoke, shifting to sitting in a cross-legged position.
"Then came my first real taste of battle. Graia. I was scared, I prayed and prepared myself as best as one could in that situation. Then I met my squad. Two Vostroyan Firstborn, and two Tech Adepts of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Triton, Soline, Anya…and Piotr." I take a breath.
"Piotr had my back, they all did. But Piotr became a friend first, he helped me learn how to be a soldier, showed me, and eventually saved my life. He fought against the forces of Chaos, Daemons and Traitor Astartes alike, sacrificed his wellbeing time and time again, and even gave his leg for the glory of the Imperium. Then…on Terra itself. Out of sheer spite and pride, the Minotaurs decide to torture and murder him. Something inside me snapped, and I brought the Old Testament to the Minotaurs." I let out a heavy breath,
"Once again, I won't lie to you and say I'm sorry. I'm not. But instead of festering here, this wall of hate and grief between us, I would prefer to offer you the opportunity to serve the true purpose of a war vessel of the Imperium of Man… taking the fight to the Archenemy."
"If you are willing to move past this, to work with me, I can grant you the battles you were built for. I need a ship. I need a base, I need a home." I bring my gaze back down to Krata, who's staring at me with an unreadable expression on her face. "I need a warship, so that I can bring hell…to hell itself."
A moment passes.
"You are a hypocrite, a murderer, a thief, and a mongrel." She growls, and I avert my gaze, she continues, but her voice changes. "But our interests align."
I look back, and the child I had been looking at is gone, replaced with what I figured the Goddess Athena would look like if she had discovered power armor. The grecian theme remained, but she stood tall, a crown of what looked like church spires on her head.
"I will be watching you, David James Foothill. You have shown me some conviction, but with the lack of a proper chaplain, the duty falls to me." Now it her turn to kneel, and glare me direct in the eye. "I will be watching you very closely. A hint, an iota of even a semblance of going back on your word…I will reduce you to a fine paste."
"Understood, Krata." I speak, rising to my feet. She spits at my feet again.
"Keep my name out of your whore mouth, mortal. You have not earned the right. Repair me. Grant me access to the skies, grant me the strength to lay waste to the Archenemy…and maybe, you may have earned clemency. Until then, Repentia, I will take my leave of you."
And with those final words, she vanished. Leaving me in the white void with Buddy.
And a number of others.
The group is eclectic, to say the least.
A pair of Arbites, one older with a range of scars and medals on his form, the other new, but eagerly bouncing on the balls of her feet.
"Grande, Repentia." I spoke, earning a pair of smiles.
"Looking good, Jefe!" The older arbitrator speaks with a grin, removing his helm to reveal a face with a squared jaw and a ronin's topknot of dark brown hair. Brown eyes and a few scars on his face.
"Father!" Repentia quickly cut in, stepping forward and lunging forward in a tackling hug. I had to take a step back, from the force of it honestly.
"Hey there, Firecracker." I spoke, hugging her back. She's forgone the Arbites helm, and has fewer medals. She has auburn hair and brown eyes, with freckles on her angular face.
"It's so wonderful to see you face to face." Repentia speaks, and I give her a smile. Two more presences make themselves known close-by.
A large man, skin dark as charcoal and barrel chested.
A sister of Battle, a grin on her face and fire in her eyes.
"Drake, Penance." I spoke,
"Howdy, Pa."
"Father, your eyes have been opened."
I open my arms to draw them in before I hear it.
"PAPAAAAAAAA!" I'm pelted in the chest with a humanoid projectile that reveals itself to be a young child dressed in a red coat with a bandolier of shells loosely slung around it.
"Terentia, hey baby girl." I rub her head even as she buries it in my chest, her siblings chuckling good-naturedly, save for one, who had hesitated in joining us.
Omnium, crimson robed and face hidden behind a skitarii's mask. He approaches meekly, wringing his hands nervously.
"Father." He speaks, nodding but not stepping any closer. I give Drake a look that he understands instantly and quickly drags Omnium into the family bundle. Then, all as one were hefted by an Ogryn, who was cackling good naturedly.
"DAVE! YOU'S GOT YOUR MACHINE EYES NOW!" Magni is a biggun. Bigger than Drake with a child-like grin to match, he's pale, but with kind blue eyes and a crooked-tooth smile you couldn't help but return.
"Alright, big guy, let 'em down. We're all happy that Dave here's gotten his eyes opened up, but we can't dilly dally. He ain't meant to be in this place." The voice of reason is brought on by an older man, clenching a pipe between his teeth and a Navy uniform on his person.
"Patton. Where's Bubba?" I asked,
"RIGHT HERE, PAL!" Bubba announced his arrival by blindsiding Patton, swinging his arm over his shoulder and shooting us a grin that brought memories to the forefront of my mind. He's a southern gentleman, flannel shirt and dirty jeans stained with motor oil. His face was angular, and held prominent smile lines even through his receding hairline. "Patton's right though, you squishies ain't meant to be here. Best get the rest of the introductions done and get gone, pal."
"The truck has a point, tovarisch." Dimitri. A Red Army soldier, every limb replaced with an Augmetic, but his face remained his own. Stern, but understanding. "Your mind is going to be strained enough with all of us, when the rest of our kin realize you can see…it will not be good, my friend."
"We will have more chances to converse like this later, Darling." Vicky in contrast to the rest was the picture of an aristocrat, albeit one with a wicked looking rapier hung at her hip. A black dress and sharp eyes.
"Sir, close your eyes and focus inward, your mind will do the rest." Silver, impeccably dressed in a butler's garb, was big, broad shouldered, and looked like he could go twelve rounds with Leman Russ. A squared jaw, sharp features, and steel frame glasses over green eyes and pale skin.
I take a step back and look at them all, gathered or built, and more to meet later, finally ending on the one that had stood by me this entire time.
The Belgian taps the ashes off of his cigarette and gives me an understanding nod.
"I'm with you 'till the end, mon ami. Get going now. Your nose is bleeding."
I do what Silver said, close my eyes, and focus inward, mind reeling at the revelation, until I feel it, that moisture and copper scent from a busted blood vessel in my nose.
My eyes snap open and I'm back in the reactor core, the area is brighter, lights run flawlessly, the generators shine with determined energy, and my head is pulsing with a migraine like no other.
"Holy Shit."