The northern scrapyard was even noisier than the rest of the camp.
The clang of metal, the roar of welding torches, and the sound of engines idling all mixed together, accompanied by the occasional small explosion.
When Gragoth arrived with One-Eye and Stikk, several Meks who were hammering sheets of metal looked up at him, then lowered their heads and went back to work.
Order in an Ork camp was simple.
The Boss only needed to keep the fighters in line.
As long as the Meks turned out weapons and vehicles on time, nobody cared what they did while squatting around in their scrap heaps.
“Where’s Big Rivet?” Gragoth asked.
A Mek wearing goggles raised a hand and pointed deeper into the scrapyard.
“All da way in.
He’s working on that vehicle today.” Gragoth headed in that direction.
After passing between two piles of scrap iron and steel stacked three metres high, the view suddenly opened up.
A war vehicle with its side armour plates removed stood in the middle of the clearing.
Its body was nearly twice the size of an ordinary Ork vehicle, its chassis supported by six massive tracks, with at least four layers of additional armour welded onto the hull.
The front had been dismantled, exposing the engine compartment inside.
An exceptionally stocky Ork was sprawled over the engine compartment, almost his entire upper body buried inside the metal shell, leaving only two thick legs and a constantly shifting backside sticking out.
His skin was darker than that of an ordinary Ork, a deep green.
Everything below the elbow of his left arm had been replaced by a metal hydraulic claw that was constantly fumbling around inside the engine compartment.
Another Mek squatted beside the vehicle, passing him wrenches.
Big Rivet’s voice came from inside the engine compartment.
“Engine installed?” “Installed.” “Does it run?” “Blew up.” Big Rivet backed out of the engine compartment and sat down on the ground, his face covered in black grease.
He looked at the Mek handing him wrenches, then at the vehicle beside them.
“Blew up?” Big Rivet scratched the back of his head.
“Yeah.
I fink it’ll run if we add another driveshaft.” “Where?” Big Rivet thought for a moment.
“Haven’t figured that out yet.” He stood up, wiped the grease off his hands, and prepared to crawl back into the engine compartment.
Then he noticed Gragoth.
Big Rivet stopped.
Gragoth stood in front of the vehicle, nearly a head and a half taller than Big Rivet.
Big Rivet stared up at him for several seconds and blinked.
“Gragoth?
How’d you get so big?” “I’m a Primarch now.” Big Rivet tilted his head and thought for a second.
“What’s a Primarch?” “A bigger and stronger Warboss.” “Oh.” Big Rivet nodded, apparently accepting the explanation.
“So what do you want with me?” Gragoth walked over to the side of the vehicle and patted one of its armour plates.
“I want power armour,” Gragoth said.
Big Rivet looked down at the wrench in his hand, then up at the iron armour Gragoth was wearing.
“Ain’t you already wearing armour?” “This is iron armour,” Gragoth said.
“I want power armour.” “What’s the difference between power armour and iron armour?” Gragoth thought for a moment.
“Power armour’s got an engine inside.” Big Rivet’s eyes lit up slightly.
“An engine?” “Yeah.
It makes da armour move on its own.
Makes you stronger than ordinary iron armour does.” Big Rivet put down the wrench, wiped both hands on his trousers, then walked over to Gragoth and stared up at his iron armour for several seconds.
“Your iron armour’s already pretty thick,” Big Rivet said.
“It’s good enough.
It’ll take hits just fine.” Gragoth looked down at him.
This Ork Mek was large even by the standards of other Meks.
His shoulders were broad, his arms exceptionally thick, and the hydraulic claw replacing his left forearm looked capable of bending a sheet of metal outright.
“Big Rivet,” Gragoth said.
“Yeah?” “Starting today, you’re not a Mek anymore.” Big Rivet tilted his head.
“Huh?
Then what am I?” “You are da Primarch’s personal Techmarine.” Big Rivet didn’t react for a moment.
Gragoth put it another way.
“Techmarine.
You handle da best weapons, da biggest vehicles, and all da best scrap in da Primarch’s Legion.” Big Rivet’s eyes slowly lit up.
“Da best scrap?” “All da best scrap.
You get first pick.” “Da biggest vehicles?” “Da vehicles you build get issued first.” “Da best weapons?” “Da weapons you build go to da Astartes first.” Big Rivet stood there in silence for several seconds.
His hydraulic claw unconsciously clenched once.
“So what do I do now?” he asked.
“Build power armour,” Gragoth said.
“Build power armour for all da battle-brothers.” “Battle-brothers?” “Astartes.
Da official warriors of da Primarch’s Legion.” Big Rivet turned to look at the vehicle beside him, which had four layers of additional armour, three engines, and zero brakes, then turned back to Gragoth.
“What does power armour look like?” Big Rivet asked.
Gragoth opened his mouth, then stopped.
His mind contained plenty of knowledge about Astartes power armour.
Mk VII, Mk VIII, tactical armour, Terminator armour, backpacks, backplates, breastplates, pauldrons, greaves, power packs.
He knew the purpose, structure, and materials of every part.
But if he had to describe all of that using words a greenskin could understand…
“I’ll draw it for you,” Gragoth said.
Big Rivet nodded, turned around, picked a flat sheet of metal out of the scrap heap, then pulled out a piece of charred charcoal from nearby.
“Draw.” He held the sheet upright in front of Gragoth.
Gragoth took the charcoal and raised his hand.
The charcoal stopped three centimetres from the surface of the metal.
He stared at the sheet while the outline of Mk VII power armour appeared in his mind.
Then he looked down at the length of the charcoal and the size of the metal sheet.
Two minutes later, an outline had appeared on the metal.
He had drawn enormous shoulder pads, a thick breastplate, a heavy black line around the waist, and leg armour that looked like two upside-down buckets.
Big Rivet leaned closer and stared at it for several seconds.
“What’s this?” He pointed at the crooked outline on the sheet.
“Power armour.” “And this?” Big Rivet pointed at an obviously lopsided circle where the head should be.
“Helmet.” “And this?” He pointed at an indistinguishable black smear in the middle of the body.
“…Da double-headed eagle on da chest.” Big Rivet took the metal sheet from Gragoth and turned it around several times, examining it from every angle.
Then he looked up at Gragoth.
“Lemme try.”
It really helps the fic grow!