The space crack opened without ceremony, a quiet tear in the air above the circular plaza that widened just enough to spill three figures out into the open before sealing itself behind them.
They landed awkwardly. Red robes. Gray-topped heads. The kind of disheveled appearance that came not from poverty but from an unscheduled journey with no time to prepare.
The dormant The Scyllax Guardian woke the moment the portal closed.
The response was immediate and total. Chain swords rose in mechanical tentacles. Lasguns snapped to ready positions. Within seconds, the three new arrivals were encircled by the Intelligent Control Corps, the ring of constructs pressing inward with the patient, mechanical certainty of machines that did not feel uncertainty about what they were doing.
From somewhere further across the plaza, the distant silhouette of a Fortis Mech powered up, its frame catching the light as its systems came online.
"The Intelligent Control Corps." One of the red-robed figures turned slowly, taking in the surrounding constructs with the careful attention of someone cataloguing what they were seeing. "And Kastelan-class robotic units. And Fortis-type intelligent control machines activating at range." A pause. "Where exactly did those cold-blooded Astartes send us?"
The speaker was short, noticeably so by the standards of any warrior base. The voice emerging from beneath the metal mask was clearly female, calm in a way that came from discipline rather than ease. One mechanical palm lifted and moved outward in a slow, deliberate wave.
The Kastellan mech standing behind her responded immediately. Four meters of red-shelled metal took two heavy steps forward, each footfall sending a low vibration through the paving, and placed itself squarely between her and the encircling Corps.
The machine spread its arms wide. An opening posture. A barrier.
"An artificial intelligence whose consciousness has just begun to awaken." David's voice came from across the plaza, carrying no particular judgment. "She is either genuinely bold or has calculated that the mech will buy her enough time."
The Kastellan mech froze mid-motion.
Its sound-producing vox grille emitted a sharp burst of binary, a rapid cascade of ones and zeros that resolved into something closer to distress than communication, and then the unit went completely silent. Not powered down. Simply stopped, every actuator locked, its considerable mass suddenly as inert as sculpture.
David had already moved on.
Nolan walked into the plaza a moment later, vibranium power armor fully sealed, with David a pace behind him shaking its metal head at something it had apparently decided was not worth commenting on further. The Intelligent Control Corps held their positions without needing instruction.
He looked at the three figures.
"Three minutes each," Nolan said. The Heart of the Furnace sat in his hand without being raised, which was its own kind of statement. "Tell me your real origins. If you lie, or play games with me, I will send you to see the Emperor in person."
He had enough experience with the Adeptus Mechanicus to know that extended politeness usually produced worse results than clarity.
The first man to speak was bald, his scalp visible above robes that marked him clearly as a Tech-Priest. He raised one mechanical arm with the cautious gesture of someone who had been in enough bad situations to know when further escalation was genuinely unwise.
"I am a Tech-Priest of the Deathwatch," he said. "I was returning to Mars for further training when a group of Astartes raided my ship without warning. They stripped everything of value from the cargo hold, informed me that serving a noble Primarch was an honor, and sent me here." He paused. Then, with the speed of someone who had apparently spent the transit time preparing this particular disclaimer: "I have no STC fragments. None. I want to be very clear about that upfront."
The second man was already talking before the first had fully finished. He wore a respirator over a middle-aged face and had the bearing of someone who considered himself a practical person trapped in an impractical situation.
"Imperial Guard engineer," he said. "I was aboard that ship on my way back to Mars. My colleague and I were drinking engine oil and singing the Hymn of the Omnissiah when the Astartes arrived, and then we were here." He gestured vaguely at the plaza around them. "That is the complete account."
Nolan exhaled through his nose. He had known the Carcharodons were rough in their methods. Somehow the reality of it was still slightly refreshing each time.
His attention settled on the third figure.
She had not spoken yet. She had been watching him since he entered the plaza, the metal mask giving nothing away, but the quality of her attention was different from the other two: focused in the specific way of someone conducting their own assessment while waiting for their turn.
"To some extent," she said, "I came here of my own will."
Her voice was clear and unhurried. The calm was the same as before, the calculated kind, but there was a directness to it that the others had not managed.
"I used an Abomination Intelligence without authorization and consumed a quantity of universal repair compound that my colleagues considered extremely precious. This created certain professional difficulties for me within the Adeptus Mechanicus." A brief pause. "The Man-Eating Shark Chapter and I had conducted some gray-area transactions previously, which made us something like acquaintances. The arrangement followed naturally from there."
She tilted her head slightly.
"I would like to ask, if I may: given that you have allowed an ancient Man of Iron to operate openly in this place, would you permit more restricted areas of research to exist here as well?"
Nolan looked at her for a moment. Then he lowered the Heart of the Furnace.
He raised one hand, vibranium fingers spread, and let his gaze move across all three of them.
"My rules here are few. First: everyone from the Adeptus Mechanicus will respect the lives of others. There are no servitors in this base. Human experimentation without my explicit authorization is forbidden. Violators will be executed."
None of them moved.
"Second: any research into restricted or prohibited areas requires a roundtable review and approval from at least three people before it proceeds. Violators will also be executed."
The Tech-Priest and the engineer exchanged a glance. The kind that passed between people who had been bracing for something far worse.
"Third: everyone here is expected to contribute to scientific work, actively or otherwise. If you are concerned about making mistakes, do the work you know best. But if I discover that anyone is conducting unauthorized activities behind my back, you already understand what follows."
He lowered his hand.
"Beyond that, there are no other restrictions. It is, by most reasonable standards, a considerable degree of freedom."
The Tech-Priest let out a breath that was almost audible. The engineer's shoulders dropped slightly. They were men who had made contingency plans for much darker outcomes than this.
The female Sage was quiet for a moment longer. When she spoke again, her voice carried the same measured quality as before, but something in it had settled.
"Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Primarch. I will serve you and the Emperor to the fullest extent of my capability." She paused. "I hold detailed schematics for several ancient vehicle patterns, and my competence extends across a broad range of mechanical disciplines. This place may allow my research to reach levels it could not elsewhere."
Another brief pause.
"You may call me Sage Neil." She turned her masked face very slightly toward the frozen Castellan mech. "And if it is not too much to ask: would you release the mental restraints on my iron friend?"
David's optical sensors shifted toward Nolan.
Nolan studied Sage Neil for another moment. Then he nodded once.
"Now," he said, "you can go and meet the one who will be your superior: my only Tech-Priest, Reditus."
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