When the green tide of the Orks surged back into their former encampment, the sight of the ruins left them in a state of collective shock.
Crude, intersecting trenches scarred the periphery. Even the half-melted walls of metallic refuse had been largely carved away and spirited off. The "War-Factory," which had originally resembled little more than a pile of junk stitched together, was now nothing but literal trash; anything of value had been stripped to the bone.
"Where's da enemies?! I fink dey's nuffin' but cowards!"
The leader, an Ork Nob standing some six or seven meters tall, bellowed in fury at the empty camp.
The greenskin boyz soon discovered the Gorkanaut standing motionless in the rear. Having found no enemies to fight, the Nob had been venting his frustration by throttling several Gretchin. When a boy reported that a massive war machine remained, he nearly leaped with predatory excitement, especially when the Gorkanaut came into full view.
"I fink dis fing looks just like me! It's gonna be a propa WAAAAGH-beast!" the Nob roared, delighted by the metal titan's sculpted visage.
Aboard the cruiser in high orbit, the bridge crew monitored the surface through optical arrays. A Tech-Priest stood on the command deck, clutching a data-slate.
"Analysis complete. The xenos leader is the large specimen currently roaring atop the war machine. Confidence level: 93%. I calculate that this is the optimal moment for detonation."
Beside him, the Captain gave a silent nod.
On the surface, the Ork Nob and his hundreds of surrounding boyz were mid-roar when a world-shattering explosion reduced them to a cloud of incinerated debris. Further off, the surviving Orks stared wide-eyed as they watched their leader get "blasted to da sky."
"Oi... our Boss was real Waaaagh," one muttered in awe.
Aboard the cruiser, the Tech-Priests, servitors, and lower-deck indentured workers were consumed by frantic industry.
The vessel lacked heavy industrial foundries and grand smelting pits. To repair the structural damage, they were forced to emulate the Orks, cautiously "patching" the hull breaches on the lower decks with salvaged metal. To ensure no Orks managed to launch a boarding craft mid-repair, the Captain ordered the ship to accelerate away from the planet, using a nearby asteroid belt as concealment.
Unlike the greenskins, however, the Priests meticulously tested the metallic composition of the scrap, sorting it by density and alloy type. Using handheld tools, they filled the gaps layer by layer. Though the final repair on the lower hull looked eccentric, marked by a significant inward depression, the ship's structural integrity was restored.
As for the prow? There simply wasn't enough material.
Almost immediately upon returning via Thunderhawk, Axion reclaimed the massive multi-barreled rotary cannon. To facilitate reprocessing, he used his particle vibration blade to dice the weapon into fine segments.
He then improvised a plasma-vortex heater. After hijacking the power cables from three or four repair-bay workstations, he began the process of re-casting the fragments.
During the transit, a significant quantity of raw materials and finished metal ingots vanished from the ship's storehouses. The Tech-Priests assumed their colleagues were simply drawing supplies for the hull repairs.
But when Axion emerged accompanied by a two-meter-tall, heavy-armored automaton, the entire deck went still.
Axion misinterpreted their silence, wondering if his craftsmanship was subpar. Granted, it isn't as refined as a standard factory-printed unit, but it should be functional. Perhaps the material purity is lacking, but surely it isn't "trash."
In truth, the crew was paralyzed by the realization that Axion possessed independent manufacturing capabilities.
Calanthus was especially shaken. When he received his orders from the Primarch, no one had mentioned that this ancient relic possessed the ability to "procreate." He no longer wanted to ask questions; he simply wanted to reach their destination.
He immediately inquired if the ship was ready for warp-translation. Axion had to be delivered to the Primarch as soon as possible. If they stayed out here any longer, Calanthus feared he'd have to force the Captain to ram a star just to fulfill his duty to the Imperium. The threat of an Iron Man was proving far greater than any unreliable archive had suggested.
After the Tech-Priests performed exhaustive rites of blessing to soothe the ship's machine spirit, the Warp-engines roared to life, plunging the vessel back into the Empyrean.
When they finally tore back into realspace, a collective sigh of relief swept through the ship. The sight of busy shipping lanes and crisscrossing Imperial Navy vessels signaled their return to the heart of civilization.
The Navigator, having cross-referenced the celestial markers, announced their location with a shout:
"Calixis Sector! The Golgenna Reach!"
The bustling hive world nearby was Scintilla.
Cheers erupted from the mortals on board. Though many didn't know their exact coordinates, the sight of hundreds of ships forming threads of light in the void meant their tribulations were over. The Navy ratings began to smile, anticipating a long shore leave while the cruiser underwent formal repairs in a proper drydock.
The local orbital defense fleet hailed them immediately. In the Segmentum Obscurus, things emerging from the Warp were rarely a surprise, but a cruiser as battered as this was a rare sight. If the crew was sane, they had been guided by the Emperor's light. If not, the defense fleet's lances and macro-cannons were already primed to turn them into a funeral pyre.
After identity verification, the Imperial Navy ships retracted their firing solutions. Several tug-ships drifted toward the mangled cruiser to guide it to a docking berth.
However, as the ship approached the orbital spires, a massive cruiser with unique, baroque ornamentation appeared. The stylized "I" of the Inquisition was emblazoned prominently across its hull.
The Navy officers took little notice; this was Scintilla. Inquisitorial agents were as common here as the arrogant nobles and famed Astra Militarum regiments the planet produced. Inquisitors often came here to "harvest" prideful aristocrats to bolster their tallies. Even with the Great Rift, the Cicatrix Maledictum, tearing across the galaxy, these agents of the Throne remained diligent.
But then, the cruiser's Captain received a high-priority, forced-override transmission:
"Power down engines. Open all docking ports. Deactivate all weapon systems. Stand by for boarding and Inquisition inspection."
Calanthus stood on the bridge, momentarily stunned. He had filed a report regarding the Captain's potential instability, but even for the Inquisition, this was unsettlingly fast.
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