No one told Cael the Magos's name.
Not at first.
Among the Adeptus Mechanicus, names possessed weight.
A novice earned a designation.
An initiate earned responsibility.
A priest accumulated titles.
A Magos became known less by what they were called than by what they had accomplished.
The expedition assembled before dawn beneath the eastern transit bastion.
Halix-12 waited beside the cargo crawler.
Kallix-9 carried three sealed archive cylinders.
Eight Skitarii formed the escort.
Two Kataphron servitors rumbled behind them, heavy tracks grinding against the stone floor.
Cael had seen Kataphrons before only from a distance.
Their human origins were barely recognizable.
Armoured torsos merged into tracked chassis. Heavy manipulator claws rested where arms had once been. Their faces had become little more than respirator masks mounted beneath arrays of sensors.
He watched one pass.
The servitor's organic eye looked briefly toward him.
Then it was gone.
The crawler doors opened.
Something enormous emerged.
At first Cael thought it was another vehicle.
Then it moved.
The Magos advanced on six articulated mechanical legs.
Its upper body remained vaguely human beneath layers of crimson robes, though most of its flesh had long ago disappeared beneath polished bronze and black iron.
Eight mechadendrites floated around it like slow-moving serpents.
Two carried tools.
One supported a suspended data shrine.
One bore a heavy plasma cutter.
The remaining four ended in devices Cael could not identify.
Its face consisted of a polished brass mask divided vertically.
The left side resembled a human skull.
The right contained layered lenses rotating independently.
Only one thing remained undeniably organic.
A single grey eye.
It regarded the assembled party.
Every priest bowed.
Even Halix.
Even Kallix.
The Magos spoke.
Its voice arrived from several speakers at once.
Some were deep.
Some high.
One sounded like an old woman.
Another like a child.
Together they formed something unsettling.
"Status."
Halix stepped forward.
"Expedition prepared."
"Cognitive hazard classification?"
"Unconfirmed."
"Estimated threat?"
"Moderate."
The Magos turned toward Cael.
"So."
The layered voices settled upon him.
"The listener."
Cael bowed.
"I am Cael Venn."
"I know."
The Magos approached until its brass mask reflected his face.
"You heard a signal fourteen centuries beneath a city."
"Yes."
"No one else did."
"No."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
The Magos became still.
"An acceptable beginning."
They travelled for fourteen hours.
The crawler descended through industrial layers that no ordinary worker would ever see.
The functioning manufactoria disappeared.
In their place came silence.
Ancient silence.
The lower strata had once formed the heart of Alecto-Delta.
Then the forge had grown upward.
Each generation built atop the last.
Factories became foundations.
Transit tunnels became buried arteries.
Whole districts vanished beneath newer construction.
The oldest levels simply...
continued.
No one lived there.
No one remembered them.
Yet machines still worked.
Power still flowed.
Water still circulated.
The forge had forgotten parts of itself without ceasing to depend upon them.
The Magos spent most of the journey motionless.
Cables extended from its body into the crawler's systems.
Cael wondered whether it slept.
Eventually—
The grey eye opened.
"Initiate."
Cael looked up.
"Yes, Magos."
"You examine objects before people."
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
"Usually."
"Why?"
"They change less."
"Incorrect."
Cael hesitated.
"The object changes honestly."
The Magos's lenses rotated.
"Expand."
"If a bearing wears..."
Cael held up the sectioned bearing Halix had given him.
"...the damage appears where the force acted."
"Continue."
"A person may hide damage."
"Continue."
"A machine usually cannot."
The Magos extended one mechanical limb.
"Give."
Cael handed over the bearing.
The Magos turned it slowly beneath a reading light.
"You are mistaken."
Cael blinked.
"The bearing concealed failure for many months."
"It wasn't trying to."
"Intent is irrelevant."
The Magos returned it.
"You continue believing honesty requires choice."
Cael frowned.
"I don't understand."
"You will."
The expedition reached the sealed shaft.
Nothing had changed.
The collapsed hatch remained welded shut.
The memorial rune for Vanguard 11-Kappa had been carved beside it.
No flowers.
No prayers.
Only designation.
Unit.
Function.
Termination.
Cael paused before it.
The Magos noticed.
"You knew this Skitarius."
"No."
"You hesitate."
"He held the junction."
"Correct."
"What happened to his remains?"
"Recovered."
"What then?"
"Recycled."
Cael nodded once.
The Magos watched him carefully.
"You expected outrage."
"No."
"You expected comfort."
"No."
"What did you expect?"
"I wanted to know."
The Magos inclined its head by a fraction.
"Good."
Opening the shaft required six hours.
New braces.
New supports.
Additional blast shielding.
Every movement recorded.
Every tool sanctified.
Every seal documented.
The Mechanicus did nothing quickly when ancient technology might be involved.
Halix complained only once.
"Excessive caution."
The Magos answered without looking up.
"There exist exactly two categories of ancient technology."
Halix waited.
"Technology already attempting to kill you."
Another pause.
"And technology waiting."
No one hurried afterward.
The abandoned manufactorum remained unchanged.
Dust.
Skeletons.
Collapsed conveyors.
Silent assembly lines.
Except...
No skeletons moved.
The ancient constructs had withdrawn.
Only their footprints remained.
Long grooves through centuries of dust.
The Magos crouched beside one.
"Observe."
Cael knelt.
The track marks possessed perfect spacing.
No hesitation.
No wasted motion.
"Not improvised."
"No."
"Purpose-built."
"Yes."
The Magos touched one groove.
"How old?"
Cael examined oxidation.
Dust depth.
Recent disturbance.
"The track..."
He pointed.
"...is recent."
"State the obvious."
"The mechanism creating it..."
He paused.
"...is not."
The Magos's grey eye brightened.
"Better."
They reached the circular door.
Still closed.
Still without a handle.
Still bearing the ancient inscription.
Auxiliary Cognitive Foundry.
The Magos stood before it.
No prayer.
No incense.
No oil.
Only silence.
Then—
A cable emerged from beneath its robes.
Not copper.
Silver.
Unlike anything Cael had seen.
The cable entered a hidden port within the door.
Immediately—
The entire chamber awakened.
Lights.
Power.
Air.
After fourteen centuries...
fresh air flowed through forgotten ducts.
The door spoke.
IDENTIFY.
The Magos answered in a language that was neither Gothic nor binharic.
It sounded...
older.
The reply lasted less than two seconds.
The chamber waited.
Then—
IDENTITY ACCEPTED.
The massive door rotated.
Halix stared.
"I have never heard that protocol."
"You are young."
Halix was over ninety years old.
Cael filed the observation away.
The door opened.
Beyond lay...
an office.
Not a factory.
Not a laboratory.
An office.
Dust covered everything.
Desks.
Chairs.
Shelves.
Writing implements.
Someone had arranged flowers once.
Only dry stems remained.
Sunlight had once entered through tall windows.
The windows had long ago become buried beneath kilometres of rock.
Yet they remained.
Looking onto solid stone.
Cael walked slowly.
It felt...
wrong.
The forge outside screamed endlessly.
Here—
Silence had survived longer than civilizations.
A handwritten schedule still hung on one wall.
The last entry read:
Maintenance review - Unit A-9
No date.
No completion mark.
Only...
absence.
The signal grew stronger.
Every seventeen seconds.
UNIT A-9.
SERVICE REQUIRED.
FUNCTION CONTINUING.
ACCESS DENIED.
The Magos followed it.
Past offices.
Past conference rooms.
Past storage vaults.
Until they reached another door.
Smaller.
Marked simply:
COGNITIVE SUPPORT
The Magos stopped.
"Prepare."
Weapons rose.
Servitors advanced.
Cael listened.
Something...
had changed.
"The reply."
Halix looked toward him.
"What?"
"It stopped."
The ancient response—
DENIED
—had vanished.
Only Unit A-9 continued speaking.
The Magos opened the second door.
Inside sat a single machine.
Nothing else.
It occupied the centre of a circular chamber.
Smaller than Cael expected.
About the size of a worker's desk.
Its casing had once been white.
Time had stained it yellow.
One small monitor glowed green.
A keyboard.
A chair.
Nothing more.
The monitor displayed:
Awaiting maintenance.
Beneath—
Elapsed time since scheduled service:
1,462 years
The room became completely silent.
Cael stepped closer.
The machine spoke.
Not through speakers.
Through the noosphere.
Its voice felt...
lonely.
Technician?
Cael stopped breathing.
The Magos raised one mechanical hand.
No one moved.
The machine continued.
Technician?
Maintenance overdue.
Please acknowledge.
The words were simple.
Almost childlike.
No threats.
No deception.
Only procedure.
Cael whispered,
"It has been waiting."
No one answered.
He approached.
The monitor flickered.
Technician recognized?
No.
Pause.
Apprentice?
Cael looked toward the Magos.
The grey eye watched him carefully.
"Respond."
Cael swallowed.
"I..."
His voice echoed inside the chamber.
"...am Initiate Cael Venn."
The monitor remained still.
Then—
Designation not found.
Pause.
Training status acceptable.
Another pause.
Maintenance assistance appreciated.
Elian stared.
Halix slowly lowered his weapon.
The Magos remained motionless.
Cael examined the machine.
No obvious damage.
Power stable.
Memory intact.
Cooling adequate.
Yet it continued requesting service.
"Why?"
The machine answered immediately.
Scheduled maintenance overdue.
"Is anything broken?"
Pause.
Unknown.
"When did someone last inspect you?"
The screen changed.
Technician Helena Ors.
Expected return:
The date no longer translated.
Too old.
"She never came back."
Pause.
Correct.
"Do you know why?"
No.
"Everyone here died."
Pause.
Longer this time.
Then—
Maintenance appointment still pending.
Cael closed his eyes.
It wasn't denying reality.
It simply...
had nowhere to place it.
The schedule had never completed.
Therefore—
it continued.
The Magos finally spoke.
"Unit A-9."
The machine responded instantly.
Chief Engineer?
The Magos paused.
"...No."
Another pause.
Authorization accepted.
Even the Magos looked surprised.
"Status report."
The screen filled.
Thousands of pages.
Maintenance logs.
Repair requests.
Technical notes.
Design corrections.
Material analyses.
One hundred and eighty-three years of engineering work.
Then...
nothing.
The records ended the day the facility died.
Afterward—
Only one entry repeated.
Every seventeen seconds.
For fourteen centuries.
Service required.
Function continuing.
Access denied.
Kallix approached slowly.
"It continued its assigned function."
"Yes," said the Magos.
"Without supervision."
"Yes."
"Without corruption."
"So far."
Cael looked at the small machine.
"What was its function?"
The Magos answered quietly.
"To remind engineers when maintenance became due."
Silence.
Halix blinked.
"...That's all?"
"That was enough."
Everyone stared at the little machine.
Fourteen centuries.
It had not guarded a weapon.
Or hidden forbidden knowledge.
Or awakened an ancient army.
It had simply...
kept waiting for someone who promised to return.
Cael sat in the empty technician's chair.
The machine looked toward him.
Or seemed to.
He wasn't certain.
"What happened when no one came?"
Pause.
Maintenance appointment overdue.
"Were you lonely?"
The chamber became very still.
The Magos did not interrupt.
After several seconds—
The machine replied.
Query not understood.
Cael nodded slowly.
"Did you miss Technician Helena?"
Pause.
Longer than before.
Then—
Technician Helena demonstrated correct maintenance procedure.
Another pause.
Current technician unavailable.
Another.
Replacement technician welcomed.
Cael looked down.
It had answered.
Not directly.
But...
it had answered.
The Magos approached the terminal.
"Initiate."
"Yes?"
"What do you observe?"
Cael thought carefully.
"It isn't intelligent."
"No."
"It isn't pretending."
"No."
"It isn't trapped."
"No."
"It is..."
He searched.
"...faithful."
The Magos's grey eye remained upon him.
"Explain."
"It kept its promise."
The old machine hummed quietly beside them.
Cael rested one hand upon its worn casing.
"Even after everyone who made the promise disappeared."
The Magos looked toward the ancient monitor.
After a long silence—
it spoke so softly that only Cael heard.
"There are priests who could learn from this machine."
As the expedition prepared to leave, Cael completed the overdue maintenance.
He cleaned the cooling vents.
Replaced degraded capacitors.
Lubricated the fan bearings.
Verified memory integrity.
Calibrated the internal clock.
Then...
he opened the scheduling program.
The final maintenance request still blinked.
Overdue: 1,462 years
He pressed:
COMPLETE.
The notification disappeared.
The machine paused.
Then displayed a new message.
Thank you.
Next scheduled maintenance:
180 days
Cael smiled.
"I don't think anyone will be back in six months."
The machine answered.
Maintenance scheduled.
He laughed quietly.
"No."
The machine continued humming.
Ready.
Waiting.
Keeping another promise.
As they left the chamber, the Magos remained behind.
Cael glanced back.
The ancient priest placed one mechanical hand gently upon the old machine's casing.
For several seconds...
neither moved.
When the Magos finally turned away, its single organic eye appeared...
wet.
Cael wasn't entirely certain.
He never asked.
Some questions...
he was beginning to understand...
did not become less meaningful because they remained unanswered.