The small astromech, of a horribly outdated but still working model, was backing away uncertainly.
Of all the people he had worked with, this particular one evoked in the droid a feeling closest to what humans would call fear.
A two-meter figure of a hunched man in a scarlet robe, with mechanical appendages protruding from his body and a grimace of righteous anger on his face, was inexorably approaching the little mechanic.
That day, the natives living on the godforsaken planet and the proud representatives of the new Imperial authority heard a loud, panicked trill, which soon drowned in the roar of explosions.
* * * The provincial spaceport of a world recently conquered by the servants of the Golden Throne this time served as a base for an undeservedly exiled servant of the Omnissiah.
With the highest permission of Inquisitor Bloodmoor, the once-respected Magos Sokert-46 from the forge world of Athena IV, and now simply a “despised apostate,” was allowed access to a rusty bucket of bolts that the local natives dared to call a ship.
Minimum armament, monstrous appearance… A Abominable Intelligence on board!
A surge of emotions, muffled by augmentations, forced the Magos to squeak binary psalms filled with anger.
The captured former crew of this vessel (their captain, as punishment for such heresy, had already been turned into a servitor after the Lord Inquisitor’s psyker extracted all useful knowledge from his head) unanimously assured that this “corvette” was one of the fastest smuggling vessels in the entire “Outer Rim.” A bold claim… Now, three freshly assembled repair servitors were helping Sokert in overhauling the entire ship, thereby increasing the efficiency of the work performed by 24.7% Cursing filthily in binary, Sokert repeated all sixteen rules of the Omnissiah to himself.
Oh, if it weren’t for the direct order of the servant of the Throne on Holy Terra, the Machine God knows that His servant would burn this galosh without delay.
However, he was tasked with bringing this heretek to a usable condition.
If only those narrow-minded cogs who accused him of “corrupting young adepts and deviating from dogma” could see this outrage against the Machine God, born of human thought!
Connecting a Abominable Intelligence to the ship’s systems for navigation and control over most of the vital systems!
Madmen!
Heretics!
May scrap-code devour them all… Nevertheless, amidst all this heresy and godless xeno-tech, the rejected son of Athena IV found something potentially useful for the future of the Imperium as a whole and the Mechanicus Cult in particular.
A technology for moving faster than light, the so-called “hyperdrive.” A compact device that could be easily mounted even on single-seat craft, could accelerate space vessels to speeds unthinkable for a classic Warp drive, and moreover, used a certain “hyperspace” for travel instead of the dangerous Immaterium.
Sokert-46 caught himself just in time when he noticed drool running from his mouth — the legacy of frail flesh.
The potential of this technology was practically limitless.
A couple of rituals were needed so that the Omnissiah would recognize this technology as sacred, endowing it with a machine spirit.
Humanity was certainly on the verge of a powerful leap forward.
For such a discovery, those mossy frackheads would not only take him back, but would also appoint him Fabricator-General of Athena IV.
* * * “I’m telling you, nothing good will come of this,” said the son of a shattered world absently.
“Flying into the unknown in this tin can, and with a xeno on board?
Pah!” Kurt Garrick, once a Kasrkin, the best among the Cadians, and now an Acolyte of Inquisitor Orestes Bloodmoor, spat on the ground in frustration.
The agent of the Golden Throne needed a man who could lead his personal small squad of Tempestus Scions, and he found him in Garrick.
The Cadian, along with the remnants of his squad, had managed to hold out for three months against the superior forces of the Aeldari from the craftworld of Saim-Hann until the arrival of Imperial reinforcements led by Inquisitor Bloodmoor.
He couldn’t stand the pointy-eared xenos since then, and only discipline firmly drilled into his head, coupled with immense willpower, allowed him to restrain himself in the presence of the Eldar witch.
“Tell me something I don’t already know, Kurt,” the Interrogator, clad in the armour of the defenders of the Lex Imperialis, said darkly.
“I hope you won’t cause me any problems?” His interlocutor, Artoria Dotis, generally shared the opinion of her long-time comrade-in-arms, with one ti-ii-ny exception.
Unlike the Scion, Dotis had access to all the scattered pieces of information among the Acolytes, thanks to which she could see the whole picture.
The Emperor was clearly on their side that day.
Not only had most of the fleet survived the raging fury of the empyrean, but by some miracle the artifact itself had been dragged into the Warp as well.
For a brief moment, the witch had felt its presence in this galaxy.
The xenos’ words were later confirmed by Feranor, the Chief Librarian of the Sons of the Anathema chapter, and several epistolaries from other chapters.
What lay before the Emperor’s servants next was a simple calculation.
If they did not get their hands on the xenos artifact, the entire undertaking that had spawned the Great Crusade would go up in smoke.
Without the xenos’ help, the artifact would lose all value for the Imperium of Man.
The mad bitch Del Shin, with the Eldar witch’s head in her sights, would not stop until she got what she wanted.
Who would have thought that the faithful servants of the Golden Throne would tear each other’s throats out over a filthy xenos.
The situation… By sending an assassin onto a Space Marine barge, the Mad Bitch had made it perfectly clear that you couldn’t just hide from her.
The Puritan’s long arms stretched far and could close around your throat at any moment.
The decision to include the Seer in the expedition to find the artifact that had miraculously survived in the empyrean had not come easily.
Like a woman in labor, Lord Bloodmord had to drag consent out of the Chapter Master of the Sons of the Anathema, who was in no hurry to let the witch out of his supervision.
The argument about the Death Cult assassin who had managed to slip right under the nose of his Honour Guard had proven convincing.
“Me?!” Garrick’s innocent face, which the Kasrkin had cobbled together in a hurry, stood in sharp contrast to the jagged scars that ran diagonally across his face.
A pleasant souvenir from an overly lucky Genestealer.
“I’ll be a good boy, you know me, Dotis.” The Cadian pointed a finger at the rest of the retinue.
“But I can’t vouch for them.” The moment she followed Garrick’s gaze, the interrogator’s heart skipped a beat.
Nils, a boy-psyker rated “Delta” by Imperial classification, whom Lord Bloodmord had until recently kept secret from most of his own retinue as a sort of “super weapon,” was now standing opposite the Eldar witch.
Artoria Dotis felt, for a second, the blood in her veins thicken and crust over with ice.
A brief moment, and then the illusion melted away without a trace.
The boy’s mentor on the difficult, thorny path of mastering his abilities, Varris Marg-Griff, an astropath and the oldest member of Inquisitor Orestes Bloodmord’s retinue, forcibly dragged the curious teenager away — whose mind contained the power of a vortex bomb — thereby defusing the situation in time.
It was terrifying to imagine what that witch might have done if not for… The silent assassin of the Death Cult, 051, who had been left alive after the failed attempt on the Seer.
Dotis didn’t know what sorcery the witch had used, but now the killer followed her everywhere, as if trying to protect his new mistress.
Like a silent shadow, with a quiet, barely perceptible movement, 051 lowered his phase blade, which moments ago had been ready to slit Nils’ throat.
Yes, this assignment from the Lord Inquisitor was clearly not going to let her get bored.
Emperor protect… Ahsoka couldn’t sleep.
The girl tossed and turned as if in a fever, constantly drifting into a restless, light sleep, but the Force had other plans for her.
* * * After tossing and turning in a daze for half the night, the young Togruta found herself surrounded by a light gray haze.
“A vision…” Ahsoka thought, stepping boldly into the depths of the mist, which, like a heavy woolen blanket, muffled all sounds.
Beneath her bare feet, the springy, glass-like surface of the dream gave way to the painfully familiar feel of stone, whose very essence radiated peace.
“The Temple!
Home…” Her knuckles clenched involuntarily, and her sharp nails dug into her palm.
Before the first drop of blood could fall to the floor — paved with an intricate mosaic of different types of stone — the haze, thick and murky as milk, parted, unleashing a waterfall of sounds and smells upon the girl.
As happens in dreams, the sensations were indistinct, but the smell of burnt flesh made the Togruta want to cough.
Ahsoka found herself in the Temple’s vestibule.
The main Gate, the pride of the Temple custodians, was now a pitiful sight.
The right door hung on a single hinge.
The other was simply gone.
The vestibule itself was pockmarked with craters, as if a war had rolled through it.
Statues of renowned Jedi of the past were shattered, and their pedestals were defiled with bloody symbols that made her eyes sting.
Bodies lay everywhere, most of them Rodians, but there were also easily recognizable Jedi robes and the white armor of clones bearing the markings of the 501st Legion.
An unknown force pulled Lady Tano toward the gate.
And now she stood on the main staircase.
In front of the gate, the remains of a bunker smoldered, littered with the mangled bodies of clones who had remained forever at their battle stations.
One was burning, lying on a heavy repeater.
The weapon’s barrel had been torn out by the roots, as if something had bitten through the plastoid like straw, and now this pathetic stump stared sadly up at the skyscrapers of Galactic City.
However, besides the dead, slowly burning bodies, there was something else in the depths of the Temple.
From there, hidden behind a veil of soot, the strangest B-1 Ahsoka had ever seen in her nearly two years of bloody war as an ex-Commander of the Grand Army of the Republic stared back at her.
The droid’s chassis differed from standard models and was made of a material with a reddish-purple sheen.
From head to toe, the droid was covered in spikes and chains.
Its “head” was crowned with long horns — ribbed, jagged, and yet sharp, as if growing from within.
For a second, the Togruta wondered what this unusual machine had been up to, but by the Force, the girl soon regretted her curiosity!
The droid was babbling incoherently, rummaging through the ripped-open belly of a clone.
Finding a piece of flesh with its manipulator, the droid tore it from the fallen soldier’s body, brought it to its head, where a furnace-like maw, blazing with fire, had opened.
With a sharp motion, the bleeding piece was thrown into the flames.
The machine seemed to be hit by an ion charge.
The droid’s chassis arched, its outlines blurring and twisting in places not intended by its design.
The whole scene felt otherworldly and unnatural.
As if the machine were possessed by a nightmare.
The Togruta cringed in fear.
“I need more living…” the B-1 scraped out, and picking up its jagged two-handed sword, it headed into the depths of the ruined Temple.
The mad machine had barely taken two steps when Ahsoka found herself at the bottom of the stairs, on the plaza in front of the Temple, where she had once seen a beautiful dance of lightsabers.
The girl cried out in surprise when she saw herself from the outside, as if watching a news broadcast.
The face of her double in the vision was filled with determination.
The blades blurred in motion, cutting down parodies of clones clad in distorted imitations of Phase II armor, sloppily daubed with bloody-red paint.
At a short distance lay a fat caricature of a brave Republic soldier in armor the color of a Hutt that had died several days ago.
His body was smoldering and decomposing right before her eyes.
The blades traced another arc and, like scissors, cut off the head of the last impostor.
Ahsoka saw her double wipe the sweat from her brow with a tired hand, trying to catch her breath, but… A massive, three-meter shadow, rumbling with every step, loomed over the frail body of the young Togruta.
The Ahsoka in the vision was not afraid, did not flinch.
Giving the shadow a contemptuous look, calming her breathing, the girl said: “I’m not afraid of you!
Even if I’m no longer a Jedi, I will fight for my home and what I hold dear until the end of my life, as long as my hands can hold my blades!
For the Order!” A blurry shadow, the girl’s double, full of calm, rushed into an unequal battle.
A LAAT was flying from the Senate building.
In the gunship were her teacher and friend.
He would help her, he always helped and protected her!
At least, he did everything he could!
* * * The girl woke up gasping for air.
She was shivering, and the Force seemed to be watching her expectantly.