//------------------------------// // Rep'ilogue // Story: Rep'talal // by SFaccountant //------------------------------// Ferrous Dominus – sector 14 sub-level C Laboratorium C-22 : quarantine level Beta “Halt implantation. Thish ishn’t working. The hosht tissue ish rejecting the inshertsh.” +Acknowledged. Withdrawing article 9-731.+ +Analytic: Host cells are highly reactive to core radiation. Immunoresponse unexpected. Flesh complicates progression. Corrective: Render core inert for implantation process.+ “Infeashible. It won’t lasht long enough unpowered. The rishk ish too great.” +Corrective: Replace additional flesh to minimize rejection proxima.+ “Alsho bad. I want to presherve ash much ash posshible.” Crackling static filled the room. “We’re going to have to neutralize the cell mitoshish directly. Prepare precishion particle bombardment to shection V-421.3 with halienshish load. Concentration 9.2, shpread pattern 3. Prepare rad-shcreens.” +Tissue damage will be extensive.+ “Affirmative. But temporary. Asshuming we can get the core inshtalled properly, of courshe. A few extra daysh recovery time ish no great price to pay. Proceed.” Solon loomed over a large, metal operating table. His right augmetic had been replaced by an array of surgical tools at the end of small servo arms and servo winches, while a series of status holoscreens surrounded his head. A half dozen Dark Techpriests ringed the platform with him, each of them either working at cogitators or leaning over the table themselves to better observe their subject. Above the table hung an object securely held by a ceiling-mounted augmetic clamp. It was about the size and shape of a common coconut, with a gleaming gem-like exterior of bright, ruby red. Several tubes hung down from the device, some of them swinging loosely and some of them already attached to the subject of this strange surgery. A clunking noise came from above, and the array of heavy servo arms overhead started to move. Solon scuttled backward a few steps, and then swiped at one of the holoscreens. It turned into a plane of rapidly shifting code, and he paused. “Well that’sh shtrange. There’sh an unushual degree of data traffic right now. What hash Kaelith sho agitated?” the Warsmith wondered aloud. He was about to connect to the noosphere feeds when a vox alert from Sliver interrupted him. It was marked as mid-priority; not enough to describe an emergency, but serious enough to clear the protocols protecting Solon from frivolous contacts while he was busy. Curious, Solon connected the link. “Yesh Shliver, what ish it?” Solon asked, turning away from the table. “I hope I haven’t interrupted you at an inconvenient time, Warssmith,” Sliver began, “but I bring newss.” “Good newsh or bad newsh?” “Good newss… and then better newss… perhapss.” That didn’t sound quite right to Solon, and he turned back to his experiment while he spoke. “All right, sho what ish it? And doesh it have anything to do with why Kaelith ish shcreaming acrossh half the nooshphere right now?” “The good newss, Warssmith, iss that we have recovered the landing ship that the Tau inssurgentss made off with during their gambit to flee thiss world. It hass been given over to Nurgle, incidentally, but with ssome conssecrationss and ssufficent prayer, it shall sserve again.” “Excellent! That wash an important operating asshet!” A projector above the table started humming, and a continuous yellow beam shot down into the middle of the table. “Sho what’sh the other newsh?” Rather than speaking, Sliver linked him to a data feed. A new holoscreen appeared, showing a vid-feed that Solon immediately recognized as coming from the Company’s orbital station. Centaur III itself was visible in the corner of the screen, but the bulk of the view was taken up by a void ship. A rather large void ship, bristling with weapons and painted blue and black. “…… Shliver, why ish a vesshel with a delta-level quarantine docked with the shtar bashe?” Solon asked. “The quarantine hass been… ressolved, Warssmith.” Sliver snorted. “It sseemss your equine minionss decided to do ssomething usseful while you play with your new toy. They sseem quite… proud of their conquesst. I shall leave them to you.” “Leave who to me? What happened? Shliver?!” Despite his questions, the vox link to Sliver terminated, and a new holoscreen opened over the orbital view. This one featured Princess Luna, standing in the interior of a void ship’s bridge. Her helmet had been withdrawn, and several drones and servitors were working in the background to clean away the collected blood and gore. “Greetings, Warsmith! We return triumphant!” Luna cheered, stamping a hoof on the floor. “I… wash not aware you left,” Solon admitted. “What happened? What ish thish?” “Behold, the Omen!” Luna announced brightly. “’Tis our mighty star chariot, rescued from the throes of ceaseless orbit and its crew of fell beasts! Is it not delightful?” Another series of screens opened up, displaying the scans of the omen’s decks. “You… You boarded the Tau derelict?! Are you mad?!” Solon shouted. “You could have been killed! And not jusht in combat, againsht shome feral monshter, but from a lossh of core containment, or a munitorium fire, or shimply a shtatic Warp diffushion event! Do you have ANY idea how dangeroush a rift derelict ish?!” “Nay!” Luna said firmly, much to Solon’s chagrin. “But ‘tis no matter any longer! We hast recovered a star-sailing vessel in adequate condition! And We hast done so without casualty! Equinought Squadron shalt require further repairs to their wargear, however.” “You took Equinought Shquadron with you?!” Solon shouted, bringing up a new series of screens to check the ID signums within the Omen. “You took GAELA with you?! You absholute fool! And you brought them into the quarantine zone with no shupport jusht sho you could claim the damned ship for yourshelf?!” Luna recoiled, surprised. “But… We art victorious!” A hefty puff of smoke blasted from Solon’s exhaust stacks. “That… That ish quite fortunate, Princessh. But what are we shupposhed to do with thish?!” He jabbed a servo arm at the scan holoscreen, and the pincer clanked shut irritably. Luna furrowed her brow, still confused. “Thou need do nothing. We recovered the vessel. It needs but to be disinfected, and mayhaps given colors more similar to our own.” “Oh, really? Then who’sh going to PILOT your new ship, Princessh? Who will man itsh gunsh? Who will operate itsh augursh? Are you going to flit about the galaxy carrying the entire heap with your pshychic will? Ish there a hosht of pony crew waiting with void craft shtamped on their rearsh?!” Luna had the grace to be embarrassed as Solon leaned in closer to the screen. Her ears flipped down, and a faint blush brightened her cheeks. “We… see thy point, Warsmith. We acted in haste, and without realizing the enormity of the task before us.” Then she straightened. “However, We believe thy assignment of crew shalt bear dividend! Is this not a mighty vessel of war, with which We may excise thine enemies from the stars?” “It’sh quite an impresshive battlecruisher!” Solon volunteered. “If only it had a proper Warp drive rather than a worthless dive engine!” “…… We do not comprehend thy meaning.” “The enginesh won’t work properly, you petulant barn animal!” Solon shouted, slamming a fist on the operation table. The Techpriests flinched back, and the comms holoscreen floated closer to Solon’s face so that his visage loomed in the vid-feed. “That heap of pretentioush shcrap can’t maintain an acceptable shuperluminal shpeed! Itsh enginesh need to be completely overhauled if it’sh to leave thish shyshtem with the fleet! And asshuming that happensh, it can’t even be sheen with the resht of the fleet! Our ship patternsh are bashed on Imperium merchant vesshelsh for a reashon! We can’t fool an Imperial patrol or defenshe network with a damned Tau warship in our formation! And the munitorium! Did you even realize that we don’t have manufactorum capacity for xeno ordnance of that shcale? You can’t fit macro-cannon shellsh and plashma-ionizer coresh in Tau weaponsh batteriesh!” Luna didn’t know what to say, clearly overwhelmed by the litany of technical issues that impeded her new space ship. And before she could muster a response, Fennin leaned in behind her and waved to the vid-screen. “Hi! As long as we’re going over things that need to be fixed before this craft gets to go plundering booty and such, you should know that there’s a roughly 30% chance that the reactor cores are haunted. We’ve experienced two overloads and a minor containment breach that managed to slip by automated protocols. The angry cyborg lady is praying right now to try to solve the issue. I do not expect this to help.” Solon backed away from the screen. “That’sh fine, actually. If the reactor were not daemonically posshesshed, we’d probably have to corrupt it anyway to meet the extra power requirementsh of the Warp drivesh.” “Lovely,” Fennin deadpanned. “Also, we’ll need to fix all the bridge equipment. The horse Princess of Really Loud Shouting broke nearly all of it while purging the daemons. I had to jury-rig the comms just to keep your ships from shooting us on approach.” Solon groaned. “Fantashtic. Anything elshe?” Fennin laughed mirthlessly. “Of course there is. The atmospheric cycl-“ He was interrupted when a black gauntlet suddenly flicked him in the shoulder, knocking him away and out of sight. The engineer screamed in pain and shock, and then a crash came from off-screen. “Warsmith, We confess We art quite benighted as to the myriad complications of managing a void ship!” Luna said, her voice pleading. “But We desired only to empower thy flotilla! This endeavor hath delivered a mighty boon to thine army, has it not? Dost thou not WANT the Omen to serve thy fleet?” “I’m sure we can find a ushe for it, Princessh,” Solon said, sounding much calmer than before. “Perhapsh it can be refashioned into a defenshe orbital, or a bombardment fixture for asshailing the Orksh. But it will not sherve as your flagship. Ish that clear? The cosht ish too great and impractical.” A long pause settled over the vox link, broken only by the loud humming of the radiation beamer. Then Luna sniffled. “What? You have shomething to shay?” Solon demanded. Luna squeezed her eyes shut, and her lips trembled. “We… We were but trying to ASSIST thee!” she said as the first tears rolled down her dark blue fur. “No you weren’t! You came to me to demand a void ship of your own BEFORE you embarked on thish damned errand!” Solon shouted back, causing the alicorn to flinch and whimper. “Shtop that! Shtop weeping!” Luna did not stop, instead hanging her head and sobbing louder. Solon started sputtering blasts of angry Binaric Cant in response, trying to think of a means to calm the mare. Then another voice came from off-screen. “Princess Luna! What’s the matter?! What’s going on in here?!” Solon’s smokestacks blasted out another jet of smoke at the sound of Twilight’s voice. “All right! All right! I’ll fix it! You can have the ship! Jusht shtop!” Luna snapped her head up immediately, blinking away her tears. “Truly? Thou shalt grant us a crew and the necessary accommodations?” Fennin stepped in behind Luna again, giving the vid-screen an incredulous look. “You can’t be serio-“ The Iron Gage immediately clamped onto his head and shoved him away. “Luna! Stop! What are you doing? You could kill him if you’re not careful!” Twilight complained, still out of view. “I’ll work shomething out! Jusht don’t expect me to put everything elshe on hold to prepare it for you!” Solon fumed. Luna released a happy squeal, rearing up and kicking her forelegs. “Huzzah! Thank thee, Father! Thou shalt not regret this!” “I highly doubt that. Goodbye.” Solon swiped his hand in front of the screen like he was swatting away an insect, and the holoscreen vanished. Solon finally moved back to the operation table and began a deep-tissue scan of the subject. The Dark Techpriests across from him did not join him, staring silently at the Iron Warrior through rows of bright green optic sensors. +Interrogative – Notation: Polite – How do you intend to address the previously mentioned discrepancy in hull pattern?+ asked one of the black-robed cyborgs. A disgusted noise emerged from Solon’s vox grille. “I’ll probably jusht inshtall a shtealth field and modify the engine block. It should be able to keep formation with the fleet without being detected, and shneak off when it needsh to.” +A stealth field on a vessel with battlecruiser-scale mass displacement?+ “Yesh. Although I shtill don’t know where I’m going to find enough crew for shomething that shize. Now shut up.” The isotope projector shut off, and a heavy grinding noise came from above as the machinery mounted to the ceiling shifted to bring more servo arms to bear. The ruby-red core remained in place, a gentle clicking coming from within. “Cell responshe should be mitigated. All shcansh optimal. We proceed with implantation. One thing at a time…”