The Imperium Frontier: Shuttle

Electric sparks sprayed in all directions, the welding flare illuminating the surrounding metal surfaces—and, of course, Vito, who was lounging on a salvaged seat to the side, holding a fruit drink with sunglasses perched on his face.

The four Deathwatch Astartes stood behind him, the harsh glare of the sparks hitting their pitch-black armor as if swallowed by a black hole; not a single reflection appeared, leaving them completely submerged in darkness, with only the faces of the four giants illuminated by the light.

Astartes were different from mortals; their retinas could withstand such dazzling light without the need for sunglasses like Vito's.

The Adeptus Mechanicus Magos was cutting through the shuttle's damaged hull with a mechanical arm. When Vito had retrieved the craft from the Adeptus Arbites impound, it had looked like a smashed watermelon at first glance, leading many to doubt it held any value at all, yet they had brought it here regardless, handing it over to Omega to handle.

Servitor units assisted the Magos, the mechanical limbs extending from beneath his robes moving with a dizzying, ethereal grace. Spray guns, cutters, heavy-duty pliers, and rivet guns—countless instruments of the Omnissiah worked in tandem, dismantling, assembling, and slicing with fluid precision under the Magos's direction.

Vito sucked on his straw, watching the myriad mechanical arms—as complex and flexible as octopus tentacles—with keen interest. "Tell me, how much meat do you think is actually left under that robe?"

"I reckon just the brain," Lancelot said, arms crossed as he eyed Omega. Ragnar waved a hand dismissively. "How could someone with a brain be that boring? Look at him, he's as dull as a mindless Servitor every day. Definitely no brain, and probably nothing left down below, either!"

"What makes you say that?" "Ha! A man with guts couldn't be that boring, only getting turned on by machinery." Ragnar chuckled lowly, but Olaf sighed in resignation. "Watch your tongue, brother. You know how the Adeptus Mechanicus reacts."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Those boring oil-heads don't even understand a joke, and even our Caliban boy here gets it." Ragnar laughed, patting Lancelot's shoulder plate with an armored palm, and the latter smiled in return.

"It's not like we do nothing but pray and train back home, though we are indeed... serious. Especially Lord Asmodai, uh."

Lancelot shuddered at the mere mention of the Interrogator-Chaplain. Truth be told, anyone who could make an Astartes feel fear was a top-tier hardcase, and Asmodai was the hardest of the hard. Even within the Dark Angels, a Chapter already prone to eccentricity, he was considered the most neurotic of them all.

Vito had heard many rumors about this "tough guy," and frankly, he had no desire to meet him.

"I don't see any issue with Omega, brothers. Logic and efficiency are exactly what we need," Bell said, but Ragnar waved his hand impatiently. "Are you out of meat too, Bell? You're starting to sound like an oil-head yourself."

"Complete," Omega stated, halting his dazzling display of dexterity. He used a mechanical pincer to toggle a lever on the shuttle's shattered platform, and a set of highly complex circuit interfaces connected directly into his own neural port.

His mechanical right eye flickered as streams of data scrolled across it. Several Servo-skull units flew in from nowhere, beginning to circle the shuttle to conduct a scan.

A dark green beam swept over and covered most of the shuttle. A faint, restless buzzing sound emanated from the Servo-skulls. Vito stood up from his recliner and walked over to Omega, drink in hand.

"Find anything? I had to pull some strings to get this piece of junk back without using my Inquisitor credentials, so I'd better have some good news." "Your premise is highly illogical, Vito. Regardless of the cost you incurred, objective data will not change based on your subjective expectations."

"You've misunderstood the causality; that is merely an illusion generated by your human brain," Omega said in his haunting, synthesized voice. Vito shrugged with a grin. "Don't be such a bore. Tell me, Magos, did you find anything or not?"

Omega lifted his head, the Servo-skulls drifting away. His face, almost entirely covered by cybernetics, turned to fix his cold, unblinking eyes on Vito.

"May the Omnissiah protect you, Inquisitor. I have found useful intelligence within." Omega walked to the holographic projector, a small mechanical arm popping from his shoulder to plug his neural interface cable into the device. The moment the connection was established, complex patterns were projected before them.

The Astartes gathered around, the giants looming over the holographic display, staring in confusion at the incredibly complex, chaotic stream of data.

"Not to be rude, Old Omega, but this looks like a pie I've already eaten. I can't tell what any of this is," Ragnar said, scratching his head in bewilderment before nudging Lancelot with his elbow. "You get it?"

Lancelot looked thoughtful, then poked Olaf on the other side. "You get it?" Olaf passed the inquiry along, poking Bell.

The Apothecary sighed helplessly and looked at Omega. "Magos, could you filter out the accumulated log data and isolate the period after the space station crisis? I believe the Imperium security protocol sub-system should be able to handle that."

"Correct, Bell. You should go to Mars to study and become an excellent Techmarine," Omega said, beginning the operation. The chaotic data began to decay rapidly, becoming clear.

"Yeah, Old Beirut, look at my chainaxe, could you—" Ragnar said with a grin, but Bell gave a simple response.

"Get lost."

The chaotic data became concise and professional, and finally, everyone could understand its meaning.

Vito raised an eyebrow, looking somewhat surprised. "What on earth did those idiots load onto this thing? It's massively overloaded."

Indeed, according to the shuttle logs, after the space station crisis, the traitors had loaded something onto the craft while fleeing, causing it to be severely overloaded. They clearly hadn't been willing to abandon the cargo, forcing a launch that eventually led to a crash on Owen-4 once the fuel ran dry.

"Some kind of machinery? Or a relic?" Lancelot asked, but the elder Old Wolf, Olaf, shook his head. "No, relics wouldn't be stored on a station like that, and as for machinery, the traitors clearly couldn't move it, let alone cram it inside."

Vito was silent for a moment, chin resting on his hand in thought. "Is there any cabin footage left?" "Unfortunately, it was damaged in the crash, but I have another discovery." "What is it?"

One of Omega's mechanical hands handed a fragment to Vito. The latter took it, examined it, and realized what it was. "Bone fragments. Human bone."

"Yes, there are many inside the cabin, along with dried bloodstains," Omega said. Olaf frowned. "Some kind of evil ritual? Or a sacrifice? Is this why the bodies disappeared?"

"Perhaps Chaos cultists? Hoping that through blood sacrifice, they could have their loathsome Chaos Gods guide them to a safe planet?" Olaf suggested, but Vito shook his head. "I've never heard of Khorne followers using blood sacrifice from the dead, and if they were living, they couldn't have been kept locked in a shuttle like that."

Vito stroked his chin, looking at the bone fragments thoughtfully. "This is getting more and more interesting, Omega." "Inquisitor?" "We'll be bringing you more things to analyze soon."

"Cole?" Vito said into his comms. "Received, go ahead." "Have we reached the Capital World?" "Approaching the destination. I'll have the ship park behind the barren world; your shuttle can fly over." "Excellent. Make sure to refuel me."

The Magos nodded, and Vito turned to the four Astartes, offering an apologetic smile. "Gentlemen, I'm afraid that for the next phase of this secret investigation, I'll have to handle things personally."