Saeva Abyssi Chapter 13
The Engineerium of the Thunderchild was a place of secular power and religious mysticism, the rigid application of logic going hand in hand with dogmatic scriptures laid down in ancient times. Serfs toiled over stuttering coolant systems and sparking power conduits while ordained clergy sang appeasing chants and applied soothing unguents. Prayers to the Omnissiah were laced with the hammering of tools and the hissing of venting steam. Cyber-cherubs flew overhead in mathematically perfect patterns while clergy tended to aching Machine Spirits and performed Sacramental-diagnostics on weary devices.
The forty-first millennium was filled with such paradoxes, to most science and technology were arcane and dark arts, best left to those ordained to deal with such matters. Not only to produce and maintain technology but to keep it shackled and restrained. Humanity had seen first-hand what happened when machines were allowed to run rampant and the race memory ran deep. If humanity was to once more claim the stars then it would be with their own blood, sweat and tears. So matters of technology were left to the Adeptus Mechanicus, to its Magi, Adepts, Enginseers and of course the Techmarines. One such being was currently stood in the Engineerium, Techmarine Hevostan and he was cautiously looking up at the towering bulk of Plasma-Reactor Eight.
Hevostan was clad in his red armour, bedecked with icons of Mars and with eldritch tools hung around his belt while a Servo-claw hung over his shoulder. He stood contemplating the giant device, looking over its round bulk and the profusion of pipes and cables that made it look like a Boabab tree from his homeworld. Like its seven siblings this was a Ryza Mark IVb Genatorum, a pattern not produced in the Imperium for at least four thousand years. It was a most potent device, far more puissant than the inferior models produced in this lesser age, but the price was a most stubborn and cantankerous Spirit. The other seven Plasma-reactors required careful tending and ministrations but they performed beautifully. Number Eight however seemed to be stubborn to the core, a most obdurate and intractable beast that refused to cooperate. Time after time the Rites of Awakening went well but whenever it was asked to perform above the barest minimum it would reject all entreaties and lock itself into safety-modes.
Hevostan had run full diagnostics sweeps and had sent servitors into the maintenance crawl-ways to inspect the interior. He had sung shooting chants and applied appeasing unguents, he had debugged the Holy software and affixed purity seals. He had even hit it with a thrice-blessed silver hammer and intoned the ancient, revered litany of all Enginseers since the dawn of metalwork, 'Work, you bloody stupid thing, why won't you work!'
Hevostan loathed to admit it but he was beginning to suspect that the Serfs were right about this reactor, maybe it was jinked or even cursed. The Techmarine had been taught that all Machines had their own quirks and characteristics, some were proud and haughty, some only worked when primed with odd settings or were thumped in just the right way, and some were just absolute bitches. Number Eight seemed to be fitting into the last category, a wilful and spite filled old monster that spurned any attempt to form a bond with it. Hevostan's musings were interrupted by a cough and a small voice saying, "Master, all is ready."
The Techmarine glanced to the side and saw one of his Lay-adepts cowering next to him, fretfully wringing his hands. Hevostan hadnt bothered to learn his name, organics seemed to wear out so fast these days. He merely nodded and followed the Lay-adept to a large alter that had been set up before Reactor Eight. Upon the altar lay a silver thurible and ewer along with a pair of incense sticks, long vestments and a control panel. Hevostan strode up to the altar and contemplated what he was about to do. The Mass he was about to perform was rare and dangerous, considered a last resort among the Tech-Priests. Hevostan however was out of options, he had tried everything else and frankly he was getting desperate. If this didn't work then he would have to condemn the Reactor as unsound and decommission its Spirit back to the Omnissiah.
The Lay-adept quivered, "Master, is there a problem?"
Hevostan shook off his reluctance and said, "No, let us begin."
The Techmarine shrugged on the long vestment over his armour and lit the sacred incense, giving off a familiar oily scent. Then he took up the ewer and poured a thick lubricant out into the thurible. He took it up into his hands while his lay-adept stood at the console and then he began a binary chant of blessing. The Mass was deceptively simple, once Hevostan was done the Lay-adept would flash-shunt the fuel lines, blasting the reaction chamber and forcing the reactor into activity. Hevostan was about to begin when the Lay-adept frowned and began tapping the console with a knuckle. Hevostan scowled and snapped, "What is it?"
The Lay-adept sounded unsure but said, "Master, I was running final scans and there is an anomaly. Foreign matter appears to be lodged in the mechanism… it reads as organic."
"Organic?" spat Hevostan, "Impossible!"
"Yes, yes of course," cowered the Lay-adept, "I apologise Master."
Hevostan sighed with resignation, and set down the thurible, "Pause the Rite, I will look into it."
"But Master," protested the Lay-adept, "Wouldn't a servitor be more appropriate?"
Hevostan shook his head and said, "No, if I must condemn this Machine's Spirit I want to know I tried everything else first."
Hevostan set off briskly and strode up to Reactor Eight, opening a service hatch on its side. He poked his head inside and found a small crawl-way, running around the reaction chamber. He forced his armoured shoulders inside and pulled himself in, it was a tight fit for a Space Marine and he had to walk with a stoop. Hevostan awkwardly forced himself along the narrow tunnel, his long vestments catching on protruding points and causing him to mutter curses about the unreliability of organics and the stupidity of Lay-adepts. It was hot inside the crawl-way, the heat bleeding off from the reaction chamber being shunted through here as part of the coolant systems. Even his armour was registering dangerous levels of heat, the Ceramite plates would be safe but the flexible fibre-bundle musculature between them was a different story. Hevostan checked his seals and found them to be at the limit, but holding their integrity for now.
Hevostan was about a third of the way around the bulk of the reactor when he spotted something odd. He was approaching a large ion-flow regulator, a part of the coolant system that would deliver a stream of frozen particles into the reaction chamber. It should be glowing with energy but it was in fact dead and silent. Hevostan was aghast; no wonder the old monster had refused to run at full capacity, without this regulator operational it would overheat catastrophically. Had Hevostan forced through the Mass he would have blown up most of the ship.
Hevostan didn't understand how this could have happened; the regulator was fool-proof and thrice blessed. Then he looked underneath and he found his answer. Nestled among the pipes and cables was a nest of dead vermin, small furry rodent bodies laid out in a pile of burnt flesh. They were surrounded by chewed cables, thermal insulation having being gnawed away by large teeth. Hevostan realised that the vermin must have set up a nest here while the Thunderchild was in its long storage, then been roasted to death when the ship was recommissioned and the reactor awoken. The rodents had chewed away essential cables, rendering the regulator useless and crippling Reactor Eight, but why hadn't it shown up on the diagnostics?
He glanced to one side and saw that the vermin had also chewed at the sensor cables. Not enough to sever them and trigger an alert but just enough to make them malfunction and report false All-clear readings. Hevostan cursed the idiocy of the Servitors who had inspected this section and missed this. He also swore to find the serf overseeing them and have him clean every inch of the old monster with a toothbrush as penance. It should only take him a year or two but that would give Hevostan time to come up with something really nasty to follow it up with.
With a mutter Hevostan leaned in and began soldering the cables back together, then spraying them with a quick setting thermal insulation foam. It was only the work of a few minutes to repair the fault and get the regulator working again. He sat back in satisfaction and watched the regulator power up, chilled-ions flowing freely. His congratulations were short lived however when an alarm began to ring and an alert flashed up in his helm. Number Eight was engaging a flash-purge of the reaction chamber, it was about to flood the crawl-way with temperatures that even he couldn't survive: the old monster was trying to kill him!
Hevostan swore loudly and hurried back the way he had come, dashing along awkwardly in a crouch. The Temperatures were soaring already and even with his enhanced physiology sweat broke out over his whole body. The crawl-way was narrow, low and filled with obstacles, slowing him down as he attempted to escape. The walls started to glow cherry-red and Hevostan swore as the long vestments over his armour burst into flames, incinerated by sheer heat. He tore the robe from his body and redoubled his efforts but kept being blocked by odd protuberances and tripping over pipes. He had known that the reactor was a cantankerous bitch but now he was certain that the old monster really hated him.
Hevostan's armour was shimmering with heat now and his seals were on the verge of breaching, he was seconds away from being burnt to death. He checked the distance to the hatch and saw it was still fifty metres away, he wasn't going to make it. Suddenly Hevostan lurched as the floor beneath him fell away, a panel opening under his feet and dropping him into darkness. Hevostan fell helplessly for a second then was startled when he hit a pool of liquid, submerged entirely in its embrace. Hevostan trashed for a moment but ceased when he detected that the temperature was dropping around him, encasing him in freezing liquid. The Techmarine realised that he was in a sump of emergency coolant, a pool of super-chilled liquid.
The pool vibrated as Number Eight powered up and Hevostan ducked back under the surface, sheltering from the furious heat above. He stayed submerged for long minutes and as he did so he had time to review what had happened. He had known the sump was there but the panel shouldn't have opened when it did, this seemed almost deliberate. Could it be he wondered, could the Old Monster have actually chosen to save his life?
Hevostan was left with his thoughts for long minutes as the reactor roared around him and then it died back to normal levels. The Techmarine cautiously emerged and stuck his head out of the hole, finding the crawl-way to be hot but not unbearably so. He climbed out of the sump, dripping thick coolant and he made his way back to the exterior, finding the serfs milling about in confusion.
The Lay-adept saw him emerge, covered in slimy muck and cried, "Master, we thought you were dead!"
Hevostan shook off their concerns and said, "I am fine, what are you doing standing about, get back to work!"
As the serfs dashed back to their posts, Hevostan turned about and looked at the soaring bulk of Plasma-Reactor Eight. It sat there quietly purring to itself and running smoothly. Perhaps it was all in Hevostan's mind, but to him it was looking slightly smug and self-satisfied, like a lion that had just had a thorn pulled from its paw.
The Techmarine laid a hand upon its flank and whispered, "Well, well not such an old monster after all. Maybe you and I can find an understanding, eh?" and then he smiled as the reactor engaged fully and began its labours.