The Dark Mechanicus

The Dark Mechanicus, the faction that defected from the Adeptus Mechanicus during the Horus Heresy. Some Dark Mechanicus magi claim the Imperium violated the Olympia Accords, and that the current Mechanicus are the true traitors to the Omnissiah.

But that doesn't matter. History proves the loser is always the traitor.

The defeated Dark Mechanicus fled the purges of the Imperium and the Mechanicus, some into the Eye of Terror, others hiding in realspace, and a few even beyond the galactic rim.

The biggest difference between the two is that the Adeptus Mechanicus at least has the Forge General of Mars as a nominal supreme leader—his words still carry some weight. The Dark Mechanicus, on the other hand, has no real chain of command. A few dark forge worlds might form alliances or serve some Chaos warband, but overall, they're scattered, each ruling their own domain.

Now, in the reception hall aboard the Blackrock, Peter, Anthony, and Filon stood waiting for the Dark Mechanicus emissary.

This place was less a reception hall and more a massive steel cell. No windows on any wall. The chairs and tables were forged from fine steel, with no cushions or leather on the seats, not even food or drink on the table. The only thing that could be called decoration was a wool tapestry on the wall, embroidered with the Crimson Iris Shield. Everything was cold and hard, but this was indeed the warband's reception hall.

After all, they were Astartes. Those beneath them had no right to be received, and those worthy of reception wouldn't care about such trivialities.

In the silence, the reception hall's door finally opened, followed by the dull thud of footsteps. The first to enter was an Astartes in silver-grey MK4 Terminator Pattern Power Armour.

This Space Marine's armour was unremarkable, but on his right vambrace was mounted a bulky device, featuring a prominent short chainblade and adamantium drill, even integrating a laser cutter. This device marked the battle-brother as an Apothecary.

The Apothecary stepped forward, extending his arm. Peter responded in kind, their adamantium gauntlets clashing with a dull ring as they gripped each other's forearms in brotherly greeting.

"Welcome home, Brother Dioscorides." His face showed nothing, but Peter was glad. The last of the Forged Steel Brethren had returned.

The Apothecary spoke to the Lord:

"It feels good to be back among my brothers. Lord, I have brought Magos Morok, who is also my mentor."

Immediately after, a harsh scraping noise of metal against the floor echoed through the room. A massive creature crawled into the chamber. It was draped in a rust-red robe, nearly four meters long, with fourteen limbs moving in orderly succession like a centipede's legs, propelling its body forward.

Mechanical arms and writhing steel tentacles emerged from its torso. Its head had been rebuilt into a complex mechanical apparatus, eight pairs of spider-like red optical augmetic eyes scanning the surroundings. A metallic faceplate covered most of its features, leaving only cold, hard lines exposed.

Peter stepped forward politely, showing respect:

"Greetings, Magos Morok, Biologus Sage. Welcome. And thank you for your guidance to my brother."

The Magos's head twitched slightly, the eight pairs of eyes clicking as they refocused. A voice like grinding metal spoke:

"Lord of the Forged Steel Brethren. As the representative of Daedalus Forge World, I have delivered the surgical modification equipment. This apprentice has completed his training. The advance payment has been sent."

Magos Morok strained his emotional simulation circuits, trying to increase the chance of a successful deal:

"We have shown our sincerity. I wish to inspect the goods first."

Morok stood alone, surrounded by four Astartes, but he showed no fear. His internal logic circuits told him the success rate of this transaction was 66.36%. Even if it failed, the probability of them turning hostile was only 0.043%. Of course, if they did attack, his survival rate would be 0%.

"We are dealing with the Forge Master. Do you have the authority, Magos Morok?"

Peter knew he did, but he asked anyway, trying to gain leverage in the negotiation.

"Lord of the Forged Steel, I come on the orders of the Daedalus Forge Master. I have delivered the deposit and hold full authority to conduct this transaction on behalf of the Forge World. I have the right to inspect the goods."

The Magos extended a mechanical tentacle from his body, opening a connection port, indicating that Peter could verify his authorization key.

Peter turned his head and nodded to Filon. The Voidsmith took a sealed metal case from his waist, opened it with his own DNA code, and retrieved a transparent crystalline wafer, thin as a cicada's wing—a Standard Template Construct.

Seeing the target appear, Morok lunged forward with a speed that belied his bulk, extending a mechanical claw, but the Voidsmith Filon easily dodged.

Peter also reached out to block the Magos, speaking unhurriedly:

"This STC template has been fully decoded. It records an IPX-676 model 'Delicious to Explosion' baking machine. Simply add flour, water, sugar, salt, and other raw materials, and it will produce delicious baked goods in about twenty minutes."

He knew his description was like the scent of meat, baiting the Magos's hunger.

"May I ask the source of this STC?"

"Of course. I found it on a Dominus Sage I killed in the Sol System."

Peter spoke bluntly.

The Magos's lie detection module indicated a 92.72% probability of truth. Of course, that data was only for reference—the device was designed for mortals, and this was a Space Marine.

"You should have surrendered it at the time."

The Magos's voice ground out, bringing up old matters.

"But it's in my hands now."

"And what do you want in return? We can offer warships or power armour, even Terminator Armour. Other weapons or equipment are negotiable."

"I want none of that."

"What?"

The Magos's logic circuits paused for a nanosecond before producing a reasonable inference:

"You mean... your homeworld?"

"Yes. My condition is this: the support of Daedalus Forge World to develop this world's agriculture, industry, and mining, transforming it into a basic civilized world. And a medium-sized orbital port, capable of repairing and constructing small to medium starships."

Clank, clank. The Magos's body emitted strange noises:

"Rebuilding a planet and developing its industry is a long-term project, taking at least fifty years. Fortunately, your payment is substantial enough. But an orbital port is impossible. The kind you describe usually requires a space elevator, and constructing the port's drydocks is even more difficult. That alone would take at least a century, and expansion would require centuries more. Your payment is insufficient to support both."

Peter knew he wouldn't agree. The residual value of this STC wasn't enough for such a massive port. He had just aimed high, planning to concede:

"Then build a small one first, but lay the groundwork. In the future, Daedalus might handle the space elevator and port drydocks. Eventually, this port should have orbital defense capabilities and the ability to manufacture merchant ships and warships."

Clank, clank. Magos Morok's body continued to emit sounds, as if in deep thought. After about two minutes, he replied:

"Deal."

"Pleasure doing business."

Peter nodded. Filon had finally handed over the STC to the Magos.

Peter felt he had come out on top—trading a useless STC for a fifty-year commitment to terraform and industrialize a Forge World, plus a small starport.

In the future, the Homeworld could produce its own food, weapons, armor, and even armored vehicles, artillery, and fighter jets. As long as industry got off the ground, everything would go much smoother from there.

On the other side, the grinding sound of gears came from within Magos Morok once again. This wasn't the noise of thought or calculation—it was the Magos laughing in delight.

Helping develop a planet was a heavy workload, sure, but not difficult. Besides, that was work for the low-ranking tech-priests, not something for Magi like him. It was the perfect excuse to send some underperforming tech-priests over for training.

As for the starport, he had fobbed off this Astartes with nothing more than a basic one—practically selling a freebie at a premium.

This Astartes had no understanding of the process required to transform a feudal world into a civilized one. For starters, how would the materials, equipment, and energy brought from the Forge World be transported? How would they be stored? How would planetary communication issues be resolved?

No matter what, they would have to build a simple starport first—like scaffolding for a house. Since this warband's Lord wanted scaffolding, sell it to him. After all, building a new one would still be cheaper than dismantling and hauling it away.

Spend a few resources to remodel a planet, toss them some low-end production gear, send low-ranking tech-priests for internships—and during those internships, they'd have a bunch of Astartes protecting them. And on top of all that, he'd get a priceless STC Template.

Grind, grind, grind, grind. How could things be this good? These Astartes were practically brain-dead.

Magos Morok had come out on top.