The Dark Mechanicum

The Dark Mechanicum was the faction that defected from the Adeptus Mechanicus during the Horus Heresy. Some of its magi claimed the Imperium had broken the Olympia Accords, and that the present-day Adeptus Mechanicus were the true traitors to the Omnissiah.

But that hardly mattered. History had proved that the losing side was the one branded traitors.

Defeated and hunted by the Imperium and the Adeptus Mechanicus, the Dark Mechanicum scattered into hiding. Some entered the Eye of Terror, some hid in the Material Universe, and some even fled beyond the galaxy.

The biggest difference between the two was that the Adeptus Mechanicus at least had the Forge General of Mars as its nominal supreme leader. What the Fabricator-General of Mars said still carried some weight. The Dark Mechanicum, meanwhile, had almost no unified command. A few dark Forge Worlds might form an alliance or serve a Chaos legion, but on the whole they were scattered and ruled themselves.

Now, aboard the Blackrock, Peter, Anthony, and Filon stood waiting for the Dark Mechanicum in the reception room.

Calling it a reception room was generous. It was more like a vast steel cell. None of its four walls had windows. The chairs and table were made of Fine Steel; the chairs had no cushions or leather, and the table held no food or drink. The only thing that could be called decoration was a wool tapestry bearing the Crimson Iris Shield on the wall. Everything was cold and hard, but this truly was the War Band's reception room.

They were Astartes, after all. Anyone beneath their station did not qualify for an audience, and anyone who did was unlikely to care about such trifles.

At last, the door opened into the silence, followed by heavy footsteps. The first to enter was an Astartes clad in silver-gray MK4 Terminator Pattern Power Armour.

There was nothing unusual about this Space Marine's Power Armour, but a massive device was mounted on his right gauntlet. It bore a conspicuous short chainsaw and an Adamantium drill, and even incorporated a laser cutter. The device marked this battle-brother as an Apothecary.

The Apothecary stepped forward and extended his arm. Peter met it, their Adamantium armor striking together with a dull clang. They clasped each other's forearms in a brotherly greeting.

"Welcome home, Brother Dioscorides." Peter did not show it, but he was delighted. The last of the Forged Steel Brethren had returned.

The Apothecary said to his Leader:

"It feels good to be back among my brothers. My lord, I've brought Magos Morok. He is also my mentor."

Then came the piercing scrape of metal against the floor as a huge being crawled into the room. Draped in a rust-red cloak, he was nearly four meters long. Fourteen auxiliary limbs moved in orderly alternation like a centipede's legs, propelling him forward.

Mechanical arms jutted from his body alongside writhing steel tentacles. His head had been rebuilt into a complex machine. Eight pairs of spiderlike red optical eyes surveyed the room, while a metallic faceplate covered most of his face, leaving only its severe contours visible.

Peter stepped forward politely to show his respect:

"Greetings, Biologus Sage Morok. Welcome, and thank you for teaching my brother."

The magos's head quivered slightly. His eight pairs of eyes repeatedly clicked as they refocused, and his voice rasped like metal grinding against metal:

"Lord of the Forged Steel Brethren, as the representative of Daedalus Forge World, I have delivered the surgical equipment for the modifications. This apprentice has also completed his training, and the advance payment has arrived."

Magos Morok worked his emotion-simulation circuits, trying to improve the odds of a successful transaction:

"We have demonstrated our sincerity. I would like to see the goods first."

Morok stood alone, surrounded by four Astartes, yet he felt no fear. The logic circuits in his abdomen told him the transaction had a 66.36% chance of success. Even if it failed, the probability of the other side turning hostile was only 0.043%. Of course, if they did attack, his chance of survival would be 0%.

"Our agreement is with the Forge General. Do you have the authority, Magos Morok?"

Peter knew he did, but he asked anyway, hoping to gain an advantage in the negotiation.

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

The magos extended a mechanical tentacle from his body and opened its connection port, inviting them to verify his authorization key.

Peter turned his head and signaled Filon. The Voidsmith took a sealed metal case from his waist, unlocked it with his DNA code, and removed a transparent wafer as thin as a cicada's wing: a standard construction template.

At the sight of his target, Morok lunged forward with speed that belied his size and reached out with a mechanical claw. Filon easily moved the wafer out of reach.

Peter raised a hand to stop the magos as well, then spoke without haste:

"This STC Template has been fully decoded. It records the IPX-676 Incredibly Delicious Baking Machine. Add flour, water, sugar, salt, and other ingredients, and in about twenty minutes it produces delicious baked food."

He knew his description was like the smell of roasting meat to the hungry magos.

"May I ask where you found the STC?"

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

Peter made no attempt to hide it.

The magos's lie detector put the probability that the statement was true at 92.72%. The figure was only a guide, of course. The device had been designed for ordinary humans, and the man before him was a Space Marine.

"You should have turned it in at the time."

The magos's voice ground like gears as he returned to the old dispute.

"But it's in my hands now."

"Then what do you want? We can provide warships or Power Armour, even Terminator Armor. Other weapons and equipment are negotiable too."

"I don't want any of those."

"What?"

The magos's logic circuits paused briefly. A nanosecond later, they reached a reasonable conclusion.

"You mean your Homeworld?"

"Yes. My terms are that Daedalus Forge World support the development of this world's agriculture, industry, and mining, turning it into a basic civilized world. It must also have a supporting medium-sized Starport capable of repairing and building small to mid-sized starships."

Creak, creak. Strange noises came from the magos's body.

"Transforming a planet and developing its industry is a lengthy undertaking. It will take at least fifty years, though your payment is certainly generous. But the Starport is impossible. One of the size you describe usually requires a Space Elevator, and building its shipyards would be harder still. It would take a century at minimum, and expansion could take several more. Your payment cannot cover both projects."

Peter knew the magos would refuse. The remaining value of this STC was nowhere near enough to build such a vast Starport. He had started with an outrageous demand so he could concede ground:

"Then build a small one first, but lay a solid foundation. We may ask Daedalus to handle the Space Elevator and Starport shipyards later. Eventually, this Starport will have orbital defenses and the capacity to build merchant ships and warships."

Creak, creak. Magos Morok's body kept making noises, as though he were thinking. About two minutes later, he answered:

"Agreed."

"A pleasure doing business with you."

Peter nodded, and Filon finally handed the STC to the magos.

Peter felt he had made a killing. He had traded an STC of little use for fifty years of planetary development and industrialization from a Forge World, plus a small Starport.

In time, his Homeworld would be able to produce its own food, weapons, armor, even armored vehicles, artillery, and fighter craft. Once its industry got started, everything that followed would be much easier.

Meanwhile, the creaking grind of gears sounded again inside Magos Morok. He was not thinking or calculating. He was laughing with delight.

Developing a planet would be labor-intensive, but it was not difficult. Besides, that was work for the lower-ranking tech-priests, not magi like him. It would be a good chance to send some of the less capable ones here for experience.

As for the Starport, he had satisfied this Astartes with a basic facility. He had practically managed to sell him a free extra.

This Astartes had no understanding of what it took to turn a feudal planet into a civilized world. For starters, how else would they transport the materials, equipment, and energy brought by the Forge World? How would they store them? How would they solve the problem of communications across the planet?

They would have to establish a rudimentary Starport first regardless, just as builders needed scaffolding to put up a house. If this War Band Leader wanted the scaffolding, Morok would sell it to him. Building another would be cheaper than dismantling this one and taking it away.

They would spend some resources developing a planet and toss its people a few low-grade production facilities. They could even send lower-ranking tech-priests there for practical training, with a band of Astartes protecting them throughout. And for all that, they would receive an STC Template of incalculable value.

Creak, creak, creak, creak. How could a deal this good exist? These Astartes were complete idiots.

Magos Morok felt he had made a killing.