Battletech: The Ork Invasion of 3020 (WH40K/B-TECH Crossover, CYOA Gone Horribly Wrong)

[Titanicmark2]

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February 4, 3020
Atreus HPG
[Classified] Office
Mid-Morning

Stephen Miles glanced at the clock. Only 15 minutes for his break. Well, what passed for one. He couldn't remember Atreus' ROM office ever being so busy. Anton Marik's revolt against his brother was marginally close, but the Order had prepared for it. It was a rushed, but controlled situation. They had plans, contingencies that could be modified for any unseen complications. Millions of C-bills and countless hours had been spent preparing for any outcome, from the collapse of a House to a rising Periphery Star League.

There were no procedures or theoretical considerations for potential alien invasions or super civilizations coming to the Inner Sphere. He had checked with his new heightened clearance. The galaxy seemed so much bigger now.

He took out a simple ration bar from his desk. The only way he could justify a break this long was to focus on other aspects of his work. Information was power, and the blessed order worked tirelessly to embody the phrase. The Mechanicus had changed that. For the first time in memory, Comstar was completely unaware. There was no warning, no way to have predicted this.

If he couldn't focus during his breaks, then he may as well do something else. He reached for a notepad and pen as mechanicus battlerom played.

A handful of surviving cameras watched as aliens charged down damaged hallways, crude weapons in hand. They were so tightly packed that they pushed and fought each other for space, roaring in their unknown language. He still couldn't help but notice how primitive they looked. It was too difficult to reconcile the idea of space-capable aliens with primitive savages. He wondered what they were screaming. The Mechanicus was still unable to translate their language.

["WWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHH!!!!!!!!!!"]

The screaming horde rampaged through the ship, trampling everything in their path. Fallen fighters, alien and Mechanicus, disappeared under their boots, reappearing as almost recognizable flattened lumps of meat and crumpled metal. By Blake, some of them were barefoot. Alarms blared overhead. They seemed to fire randomly ahead. Crude swords and pieces of sharpened metal were swung without any care.

At their head was an even more enormous alien. It was in some sort of primitive power armor. An impaled Mechanicus soldier sat on the alien's back, a spike running through their hips and emerging out the shoulder. The limbless corpse oozed blood and fluids as it shook from the giant's clumsy run. Their head snapped back and forth as the alien ran. Broken defensive emplacements offered no resistance as they passed, defenders dead at their stations.

They finally approached their goal. An open space. They shouted again, weapons raised.

["ERE WE GO! ERE WE GO!"]

The camera switched to the killzone.

Stacks of overturned crates. Sheets of quickly welded metal. Wrecked vehicles. Anything possible was repurposed for ad hoc cover. There were lines of augmented soldiers, wielding strange archaic looking weapons. Men more machine than flesh dominated their number. Red-hooded monsters wielding a dizzying array of weapons and invasive augmentations. At their densest, it was hard to tell where one ended and another started.

Small packs of normal men and women in sealed green armor were scattered through the defenders, holding more conventional looking weapons. A towering tank bearing two rotaries sat at the center of the formation. "Stormlord" superheavy tank, the record claimed. Their leader was a giant in grey armor. An "astartes" super-soldier, a sergeant, by the name of Alcaeus. Ugly black and yellow hazard stripes were painted on their knees and left shoulder. Weapons were strapped over any conceivable point on their armor. It loomed over them, completely still.

["WWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHH!"]

Screaming aliens flooded into the room, wildly firing their weapons. The mechaanicus quickly returned fire.

The flash of so much weapons blinded the camera. As it compensated, he could make out the tank firing in bursts. A withering hail of bright projectiles that buried the horde. The silver giant, an "astartes" fired his sidearm, sending bright blue bolts into the hallway.

Sensors revealed that there were many more. Without any care they threw themselves into the chokepoint. There was a brief moment where they stopped. A click back to the hallway camera. Four large aliens were arguing far from the entrance. The largest of them slammed a clawed fist onto the head of another, killing it instantly. Its corpse collapsed and the other two stopped yelling. It gestured with an arm, yelled to the crowd behind it, and they charged.

Aside from that small reprieve, there was no break. No second wave. Just a continuous stream of enemies. It almost frightened him, how they didn't care for injury or death. A kill counter climbed. Fifty. Three hundred. Six hundred. One thousand. On and on it went.

Over two thousand aliens died before the attack ended.

A mechanicus commander called an all clear, and the weapons fire stopped. They waited for the smoke obscuring the entrance fade away. It took a while. They frantically reloaded the stormlord for the 4th time.

Blood, gore and ash coated the floor. Reduced to so much shredded and cooking meat. The entry had expended from so much weapons fire. It had almost doubled its size. He fast forwarded the battlerrom, as they made frantic repairs to their defenses and tended to the wounded.

Then came the next wave, even bigger than the last.

An alien hefting some sort of ramshackle 6 barreled SRM fired before it was torn apart by accurate laser fire. The missiles all struck along the line. With a cheer the aliens took advantage of the disruption and closed in. Return fire quickly resumed, but the damage was done.

The stormlord continued firing, sacrificing its remaining ammo to hold the entrance. He absently noted the time stamp. Omega would probably want more details on mechanicus weapons and this was wonderful footage of the tank under extreme pressure.

They charged forward, getting closer and closer to the defensive line. The chokepoint had been lost. Now the mechanicus fought to claw back the advantage. More menacing and quite frankly frightening creatures appeared. Brutal and hulking beasts that ignored all but the most devastating wounds. Towering armored aliens became more frequent. Their presence seemed to invigorate their lesser kin.

He skipped forward.

Twenty agonizing minutes passed before their stockpile of ammo for stormlord ran out. They kept coming, still screaming. Casualties started to mount. Even if the aliens seemed to not care in the slightest about accuracy, they were bound to get lucky. Their cover slowly disappeared. Energy shields burst from oversized projectiles. Shots cut down unaugmented soldiers. Even the towered red robed 'magos' began to fall, one by one.

To their credit. The mechanicus didn't break. They held with suicidal stubbornness. Alcaeus moved to the front of the line, carrying a shield as tall as he was. Three men hauled a massive cannon to him. It fired a green stream of lightning, and the aliens seemed to contort and collapse as it passed over them. What was that? He checked the notes. A gravity gun? How do you launch gravity? The second attack ended.

["WAAAAAAAGGGGHH!!!!!!"]

And then came another. Five minutes after the last.

The gap kept closing, until they were almost in melee combat. A flick of the keys, he pulled up the diagram of the immediate battlezone. Were these men even fighting for an objective or were they forgotten?

They were. Their orders had them buying time for the evacuation of agriculture equipment and existing food supplies. Attached comments reported Mechancius command had estimated enough for 30,000 people. Equipment to feed hundreds of thousands with enough time and supplies.

The aliens had tried something else this time. They had…teleported into their positions. In a bright green flash-an entire mob had appeared behind and in the defensive line. A giant brute fully concealed in crude armor bellowed as its crude hammer pulped a man.

["-DA BEEEEEEG JUMMMMP!! WAAGHAHAHAHAHA! YOU'Z IN FOR'A ROIT SMASHIN'!!"]

The mechanicus and aliens engaged in brutal melee. They drew swords, axes, and gauntlets that arced with blue light. One colossal mechanicus soldier began shooting actual lightning out of their hands. Gouts of fire spat from flame throwers from both sides.

[I LOIKEZ YOUR CHOPPA GIT! IT'Z MINE NOW!!]

Sergeant Alcaeus quickly fell, swarmed on all sides. His towering height drew no small amount of attention. The alien leader reached down and crushed his head in a flash for gore. His corpse fell like a tree as it slammed onto the floor. The alien grabbed his sword and promptly used it on a charging mechanicus soldier.

Reinforcements arrived. Soldiers in green power armor, with black shoulder capes and tabards. The mechanicus called it the mk. 3 Sigillite armor. They held massive weapons, taking full advantage of their enhanced strength. Flamethrowers, hulking guns and oversized melee weapons. They were still outnumbered, easily 4 to 1. The grisly carnage ground down sides.

Beyond all odds, the mechanicus defenders won. Bodies carpeted the floor. Green spores littered the air.

A change in objective. Fight. They had lost control of the area behind them. It was only a matter of time before they found the route to the entrance behind them. The supplies had been lost, along with their designated evacuation ship. There were none available close enough for them to escape.

One final attack. Short alien mechs began emerging from behind them. Another horde came through the lost chokepoint. Their reinforcements were exhausted fending off the last attack. It was a massacre.

The wounded and incapacitated were executed, seemingly for no other reason than sport and…consumption. No prisoners were taken. He was almost glad there was no sound attached to this part of the BattleRom. One mechanicus soldier armed a strange metal cylinder as they closed in. A foreign word, [PHOSPHEX] was emblazoned on the side.

He switched to another BattleRom as the green fireball engulfed them all. The beginning of the end for the spacebattle.

The Destiny Ascension's main cannon fired. A beam of pure white cut across the void. Alien ships died by the score, wiped out as the light engulfed them. Shells of melted slag reemerged from the attack. The beam finally stopped as it carved another line into Behemoth's ruined maw. In retaliation, the alien fleet returned fire. Energy and kinetic projectiles raced across the void. The mechanicus fleet shook as their titanic bulk finally caved. Alien vessels hid behind the shattered wrecks of other vessels as they closed in. After 10 long hours, the defensive cordon broke.

The Sigillite's shields finally gave out. A direct strike on its rear blew its engines in a massive explosion, sending the ship into a lethal spin towards Mars' Providence, which had come alongside the Sigillite to aid its evacuation. Secondary thrusters across the Sigillite fired to no avail. Explosions slowly began to trail up and down the doomed vessel. Breaches in the hull spewed debris, short-lived fires and people. Point defenses and weapons emplacements desperately continued fighting, even as the ship came apart. Evacuation craft and escape pods ceased to exist as the ship slowly swung through them, tens of trillions of tons annihilating everything in its wake. A timer appeared on the corner of the screen, sixty seconds until collision. Estimated losses sat below the timer, waiting for him to select it.

A trio of mechanicus "lander" dropships frantically poured more power to their engines to escape, unknowingly entering an alien warship's path. It was a wreck, barely surviving the fire coming from the mechanicus fleet before it finally breached the protective cordon. The doomed dropships exploded as it rammed through them, heading straight towards the Destiny Ascension. Cadia changed course from covering the Will of the Omnissiah to meet the threat. Torpedoes were launched towards the rapidly approaching vessel.

Dozens of mechanicus AFS abandoned the dogfight for dominance and made way for the intruder. The Destiny Ascension began to turn.

Mars' Providence activated its shields. Small explosions sparked across its length as evacuation craft collided with the reactivated barrier. His heart clenched at those death. So close to safety...

Nuclear fire bathed the alien ship. The irradiated hulk continued its course. Mars' Providence's shield flickered in vain as the Sigillitte collided. Solid "adamantium" armor hundreds of meters thick shattered from the force. Alien fighters began shooting down the helpless escapees.

He completely closed the BattleROM and looked down. Very little had been added to his notes beyond cursory insights and timestamps.

…

A nation that could have effortlessly conquered the Inner Sphere died. That most likely could crush the SLDF with ease. He picked up a report, mainly of his own notes and stolen data from the Free Worlds League.

Ark Akasha
Ark Magnus
Cadia
Cradle
Destiny Ascension
Eternal Quest
Forerunner
Invincible Creed
Iron Hand
Mars' Providence
Olympian Covenant
Perennial Harvest
Revelation of Recovery
Sigillite
Silica's Bane
Vulkan's Ambition
Victorious Faith
Vigilant Spark
Will of the Omnissiah

Most of these vessels could have ruined if not ended a House by themselves. Most likely the Blessed Order as well. Malcador's almost casual summary and dismissal of the SLDF had not gone unnoticed. They ended their observations of the greatest military in the Inner Sphere in favor of looking for aliens for over twenty years. It was telling. That they weren't considered a threat. Manageable. And what that implied about their stance towards Comstar.

Now they were gone…so much scrap in the void. Salvage in extraterrestrial hands.

Destroyed. Murdered. An entire civilization dead in a single day. Tens of millions dead. A death toll not seen since the Second Succession War. Anyone that had survived the destruction of their fleet would be drifting in space, abandoned to the aliens or uncaring void of space. So few managed to escape in the end.

Only the Indomitable Spirit survived.

The impaled soldier's head snapped back and forth as the horde charged to their deaths. Astartes Alcaeus died as the claw closed around his head. Helpless as the crowd mauled his body. The last stand of over a thousand men and women, trying to feed their people. Countless battles just like it raging across the fleet.

Forerunner died before the battle could begin, its warp jump seized by Behemoth into its crushing maw. Countless evacuation craft died by the score as the Sigillite swung through the void. Destiny Ascension, the Mechanicus' flagship, drowned under the weight of boarding pods. Eternal Quest, unable to escape, chose to sacrifice itself, blocking 20 ships so the Indomitable Spirit could escape the cordon.

The Ark Akasaha had strained its warp engines from jumping into and out of the cordon. Unable to jump to the rally point at systems edge before the Destiny Ascension self-destructed. Victorious Faith's warp drive malfunctioned, sending almost the entire ship into oblivion. The record stated that the ship was "consigned to the immaterium", and was lost with all hands.

Cradle. A safeguard, the notes had mourned. One final contingency, for the young, old and priceless technologies to escape if the aliens were hostile. Oh how right they were.

Teleported into Behemoth's crushing maw when it attempted to warp jump away, joining the dying Forerunner and Vigilant Spark. Frantic battles to destroy the invaders without damaging their ship. Entire regiments marched into Behemoth in doomed suicide missions in an attempt to release the ships. Hallways of blood and gore. A sanctuary turned charnel house.

The freshly born alien attempted to murder adept Jack, who had taken a step back as the ceiling mounted arms quickly lunged down, grabbing the roaring beast. The hundreds of towering guards in power armor no longer seemed as redundant. He had later handled a standard set of the restraints meant for larger specimens. All four restraints were heavy enough to pin a man with their weight alone. The aliens in their cells didn't seem to notice them. He knew then, Adept Jack would have been torn apart in an instant.

The only reason he had access to footage battlerom of the spacebattle itself was its relevance to his assigned task to learn about the Adeptus Mechanicus. His purpose was to observe them and begin relations. Others in the office were ordered to observe the planetside raids. While ROM practiced compartmentalization, small leaks were inevitable. He could see it. In the growing signs of stress and apprehension amongst his colleagues. What had they seen analyzing the ground battles the Adeptus Mechanicus held to gather information and proof before their arrival?

If the mechanicus was truthful, they were in dire straits. He didn't dare voice it in his report. That mankind was too weak. Divided. The implied solutions required. A great deal of work and time would be needed to mend the ties. Time they may not have. Decisions and judgements of that magnitude fell far beyond his purview. Only the First Circuit could dictate policy on such a scale. His superiors had begun to word it in a far more digestible way, to banish doubts like these.

He knew others in ROM that would not be so accepting of these explanations. The core pillar of their work was threatened. Comstar's faith was a dangerous beast at times and he was unsure how it would respond to this challenge. Precentors Avalon and Tharkad would vehemently oppose doubts, any doubts, to the Order's work. What would the normally neutral Precentor Atreus do, now empowered in light of this crisis? And that was only the near future. No doubt the First Circuit had seen the coming times and begun their games.

What chaotic changes lurked in the decades to come? ROM agent Stephen Miles was reminded of Malcador's prediction of the war.

"I suspect this war will have a horrible habit of surprising us."

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[Titanicmark2]

alcador's troubles. Canon.

Occurs after Malcador's landing on Atreus and before he meets with the Captain-General in chapter 5. I couldn't fit it in.
[-----------------]

February 4th, 3020
Atreus surface
Camp Karpov
Early Afternoon

A brief lull formed as I watched the Mechanicus finish unloading from the Lander's control room. I had been too fast in organizing the landing and unloading. Leaving me with little to do at this stage beyond cursory checks. The ever-capable Archmagos Protonimus and Legionnaire Sidero handled the rest. Unfortunately, I was no master of logistics and my efforts would only slow them down.

A quick check at my schedule revealed no problems that needed handling.

There wasn't anything for me to personally do until it was time to offload the power armor in 5 minutes. Leaving me to sit in silence. And as the scant few minutes dragged on, my mind wandered…

…

…

As always, the men and women of the Mechanicus and Imperium in my care were silent as they offloaded the materials under the oversight of the League forces. There was the clink of armor, shift of cloth, servo-drone humming, clank of containers and whine of machinery, but no speech. I imagined that it didn't take long for the Free Worlds League guards to note the lack of speech in the organized cacophony of noise. That common, instinctive sound.

In contrast, the Noosphere was alive and bursting with orders, status checks and the many minutiae of offloading the needed materials for the demonstration. The observers' were slowly becoming more uncomfortable as the horde seemed to work and move without saying a word. As piles of priceless technology were placed and organized.

I could see it. Through the swarm of servo-drones flying overhead, my cybernetic eye, or even status reports on the guards. The subtle tightness of facial muscles in thought, then realization. Embedded programs traced the line of sight as they shifted from person to person, looking and hearing for any sign of speech, of sound.

For a time, I had considered ordering them to act as if they were still them, when all my attempts to undo my mistake had failed. As if their minds and drives were not gone. As they weren't servitorized in all but name. Perhaps it was for the best that the changes left them unable to properly act for too long without extensive training and modification. I couldn't go through with it. To puppet that kind of lie.

If they weren't declared tech-heresy, I'm sure the Mechancius would have marveled at their state if they could see them. All free will gone. All drive gone. Emotionless. Stripped of wants, desires, pains, fears, and will to live. Their souls and minds were slightly altered. The Dark Mechanicum imprisoned in the holds were unable to determine how. The Inquisitors couldn't make any headway. My gifted knowledge offered no answer. What few psykers that didn't mutate when their minds left them only had vague guesses.

Yet…knowledge remained. Skills, practice, innate talents and somehow varying degrees of innovation were untouched. An Archmagos could still study and learn. Guardsmen and sisters of battle trained and drilled under Astartes watch. Techpriests experimented and climbed the ranks. Menials and laborers became faster, adapting to their new tasks as they "settled in". The few remaining inquisitors could teach what they knew of Ork behavior. Astartes gave combat data and advice.

But never on their own. Not without orders. Not without the cybernetics I had installed to chain them to my will. Not without the boon curse-

{+}Accessing Memory: Warning, subject memories marked as-

There was so much blood on my hands.

Body after body. Surgery after surgery. It didn't matter if I would need to do it over 100 million times. I worked my body to its limits. And when that wasn't enough, I turned to augmentation. After months of study and practice, I had the skill and experience to operate on myself, but I needed aid to get to the first step. To install the systems that would enhance and suppress the strengths and weaknesses of the human body.

The archmagi were ordered to further study my processes, and begin implementing it. I went under the knife as they studied.

I took one final breath before the drugs put me to sleep. My chosen surgeons stood over me with so many tools. The innate knowledge on cybernetics left little to the imagination. First, they would remove-

And it all stemmed from my failure.

The infant stared up at me in the recovery room. Thick bandages were wrapped around her shaved head. Eyes blank. She was only two. Too young to have skills. Too young to have talents, or ability to speak much.

Too young to have much of a personality. Unresponsive.

Gone.

A techpriest pulled the gurney away to the stasis chambers. I gave the orders to move the rest of the young to the stasis vaults on Cradle. Datafeeds began to enter the noospshere. Millions would be interred.

The Inquisitor and Magos Biologis to my left calmly went over the results of the surgery, turned into a glorified secretaries.

"I want them to obey me."

'Speak.' I pleaded in my mind, making sure I didn't make it an order. The Iron Warriors only stared ahead, unmoving. As still as statues.

Six words.

Hundreds of cycles were spent trying to bring them back. To have something.

Test after test. Failure after failure. Ancient archmagi. Blanks. Standard humans. Mutants. Even a navigator. Over 30 million people we had operated on. And nothing to show for it. By the end of it, I'd replaced 85% of my body.

Six words, and I damned them to the void.

And when I couldn't take it anymore. I gave the order. The pocket dimension closed. We entered the universe of Battletech. Sensors revealed a colossal Ork fleet. A space hulk sat behind the fleet. We were outnumbered.

"All vessels, prepare to engage." Except Cradle. Cradle would jump out of the engagement zone. The young and technological treasures would be safely sitting in the stasis while I went to work. Just in case this went wrong, I'd still have the data and technology.

{+}Emotion Regulator: Stress Threshold Reached, terminating memory access.{+}

"Ah!" I would gasp if I still had lungs. My body shuddered as it attempted to complete orders it couldn't do with parts it didn't have. I shut down the mimicry programs. Damn it. I can't wipe my eye with metal claws! They were supposed to help me rehumanize my movements and body language, not make me look like I was having a fucking panic attack!

{+}Emotion Regulator: Days since last stress event-43{+}

I-I couldn't do this. Not here. Not when everything hung in the balance.

{+}System Order: Suppress last five minutes of thought! Archive memory access from logs. Increase suppression of memories between Arrival and October 5th, 3020. Purge emotional reaction. Leave note to review planned speech for Dune Strider Perpetual Motion system, Rejuvenate treatment and Compensation Package.{+}

{-}Processing{-}

Fuck. FUCK. I'll deal with it later.

{-}Processing.{-}

Everything was going haazzyyy. Thank goodness I'd-

{-}Thoughts suppressed.{-}

I blinked. Ah, where was I? My mind must have wandered. I was in…my lander. No no no, I can't fall asleep here! A servo-drone levitated to my right and projected my image. My robes were still neat and tidy. No ruffles in my appearance. Good. That was good. What was I doing again?

Looking over my notes…

Speech Review? I thought it was enough, but perhaps the details on XXXXXXX production could be reviewed. And while I was at it I could check the plasma generator blueprints.

I pulled up data files.

[Sidestory 2 End]

 

[Titanicmark2]

Date: Error Wagh
Location: Error Wagh
Time: Error Wagh

The twin roars and laughter cut through the warp. Chaos beset Gork and Mork. A force that could have shattered Terra's defenses a thousand times over descended on them. The pair were surrounded. In the distance, the sky rained blood. The warp had not buckled under such pressure since the War in Heaven.

Neither cared.

There was a fight, and that was all that mattered. Their gazes cowed the mortal followers that accompanied the endless hordes. Their roars blew away the weak and insignificant, casting them into oblivion. Their footsteps destroyed hordes of lesser daemons. And before their blows, Greater Servants fell.

Gork howled with laughter as he hefted another Space Hulk and bowled it.

Bloodthirsters bellowed as they were beaten down, rage and blood faltering in the face of such power. Keepers Of Secrets lied broken and defeated, speed and cruelty unable to meaningfully hurt them. Unclean Ones burst from glancing blows and struggled to reform, their legendary endurance only enough to survive. Lords of Change were shattered and cast to the wind, sorcery and scheme crushed under the weight of propa Ork power.

Enslaved void whales were battered and thrown aside. Space Hulks were obliterated and the debris rained down in fiery hulks. Colossal warp beasts and abominations died in droves. Countless horrors, all attendants and tools of the great game. All defeated and weakened. Many of them would not reform or return to their full strength for millennia.

Nevertheless, the armies of the 4 marched on the Ork Gods. And the prize Mork held.

Mork grabbed a void whale before balling it up. He opened his gaping maw and consumed the screaming beast, before spitting out the Great Unclean One hiding inside. It splattered like gum on the ground.

The silver coin was simple. Large enough to cover Mork's palm. A singular door carved and engraved on its sides, both mockingly closed. It resisted all attempts to breach it. A trio of Keepers of Secrets snuck past the gaze of both gods. Sixty-six of their number sacrificed themselves to distract Gork and Mork. They pushed and pulled, but the gates would not move. It was not long before they were noticed, and Mork's retaliatory smack left them smeared across the coin.

They sensed it. All of them did. What lay behind those doors. A portal. To another place. To another warp. Pure and untouched by their influence. Where they could spread. The infinite depth of the warp and the great game could be doubled.

Tuska Daemonkilla roared in joy as he beat a Lord of Change with a Keeper of Secrets. The ork had to be excised of Khorne's grasp, but even afterwards the Ork was more than a match for the greater daemons surrounding them.

Gork and Mork smiled as the horizon of blood finally arrived. Mork swallowed the silver coin. Gork reached to his side, and pulled. A handle slowly emerged into his grasp. Mork laughed as the daemons ran for safety they would not find.

The Warp twisted as it came.

The few remaining mortals contorted as their minds and souls broke, turning into witless spawn.

An ocean of boiling blood poured out, consuming the gathered armies. Deep enough to sink worlds into its depths. Vast enough to cover the eye of terror. The servants of Slannesh, Tzeentch and Nurgle boiled and drowned as the red tide consumed them. None could escape.

Armies of bloodthirsters rose on towers of brass emerging from the red sea. Titanic bells tolled with the screams of taken skulls, heralding the arrival of their lord. Spiked chains snaked out of the towers, plunging deep into the churning mass below. They returned covered in masses of struggling bodies. Countless daemons screamed as burning chains ensnared them to the towers. Angron soared overhead, silent.

Gork and Mork grew. Until they stood knee deep in the blood and gore.

"You'z lookin kinda red today." Mork remarked, picking bits of blood and gore out of his teef. Gork continued to slowly draw out the handle.

The sea shuddered at its footsteps, colossal tidal waves knocked over towers to close to its approach. Eyes filled with endless rage bore down on them. Everything too close to its passage was set aflame. Its fists were clenched with galaxy shattering anger. The skulls of the dead and defeated slowly floated up, drawn towards the god of blood and skulls.

Khorne had come.

"GORK." His roar echoed. A brass finger accusingly pointed at the ork. Gork looked to Mork before point a finger back to himself. "Me?"

"Ah zog!" Mork shouted in alarm. Gork looked at him, still dramatically drawing his weapon. "Wot? I'z just da red git?"

"Tuska's dead." Mork shouted.

"Oh zog! Dida step on 'im?"

"No ya git, 'e drowned."

The two gods immediately belched, sending the crazy git on his way. "I fink he's my new favorite." Mork remarked.

"Ghaz is betta."

"MY SWORD."

"Nuh uh. I'z my choppa now." Gork finally drew the blade. The once mighty blade of Khorne had changed. Once, to look upon Khorne's sword was to look upon war. Every war waged since his birth. Dyed red in the blood spilled in his name. Anointed with the skulls and bones of countless champions. Such was its aura none but his own could stand to be in its presence. The anathema's light fled when Khorne deigned to draw it.

The aura of malice and mindless violence had disappeared. All heraldry and millennia of worthy champions removed. It resembled a sharpened sword, completely green and covered in crossed out lines of black orkish scrawl. Gork reached his other hand into the space where the blade had emerged. He pulled out a giant paint brush covered in green paint. "No name yet. Need somefing extra choppy."

Khorne opened his gauntlet, reaching out to his lost blade. It shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh, dibz." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green. Gork's sword shook one last time before stilling. "See? Green means its moine now." He scratched his back with it.

Again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

"You'd fink he'd stop by now." Mork commented.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

A Lord of Changed dared to start laughing as the cycle continued.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"Nuh uh." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword. The red glow shined green.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It once again shuddered and shook with a baleful red glow.

"NUH. UH. MY LOOT." SPLAT went the green paint on the sword.

And again, Khorne reached out to his lost blade. It did not change or shudder. There was so much paint on Khorne's Gork's sword it resembled a lumpy green stick.

"YEAH GREEN IS BEST! YOU LOSE!"

Khorne let out a wordless bellow of anger. He raised his hand, and from the sea an axe of bone rose. The gathered armies of Khorne screamed in fervor as their God approached the ork gods.

"SO BE IT!"

The ork gods looked at each other before laughing again.

"Dis was the best deal eva!" Gork exclaimed.

"I wont 'is 'ead for me new boss pole!" Mork marked his dibs.

"I WILL FORGE A NEW THRONE FROM YOUR SKULLS!"

""WAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGH!"" They cheered.

[Sidestory 3 End]

A/N:

• Chaos won't be making an appearance in Battletech or this story. Gork and Mork simply got paid fat stacks of loot for letting their boyz go to another universe.
• The original draft of this was 2 mekboyz arguing if a number on the floor was a 6 or 9 for like 500 words. Only interrupted by another one saying it was a broken 8. It was literally just going to be the same thing over and over again, just copy and paste, but that fell apart when I realized orks probably don't use english numbers. So I swapped it to Gork applying excessive layers of unthinned paint to a sword.

 

[Titanicmark2]

Archmagos POV, Que pronounced like way. "Kwhay"

[-----------------]

February 4, 3020
Atreus Surface
FWL Base, Camp Karpov
Mid Afternoon

Archmagos Quegox surveyed the Chief-Fabricator's ongoing "technology demonstration". Enslaved neurons and altered soul shifted as the work continued. The gravity well, fashioned from spare starship gravplates, was working within acceptable tolerances. Once falling snow hovered in the air, shifting only with the wind. The delegates of the "Free Worlds League" looked on as gravity's pull was stopped and the snow returned to the skies above.

As planned, a guardsman leapt from a raised platform into the field. Quickly, the man ascended into the air, clad in only his winter gear. Large metal crates were carefully maneuvered into the field, before slowly rising into the air. The man began engaging in zero-g maneuvers, using the rising materials to push himself back towards the ground. Before long, the man had reached the ground, where a magos' pulled him out of the field.

Quegox's role in this display had ended, and thus control was handed to the quartet of techpriests responsible for the simpler remainder of the demonstration. The gravplate pulsed. The metal crates and snow rose and fell as gravity changed.

If the Archmagos still possessed their mind, it would have wrung its hands and mechandendrites in anticipation. Then promptly address the flesh impulse by adjusting its clearly malfunctioning cybernetics. Never before had it pushed the boundaries of discovery. Of innovation. Of daring to challenge the ancients.

The Chief-Fabricator proposed a data core of "First Principles" would be retrieved in exchange for transfer of technological data. An extensive exchange. Anti-gravity, stasis, adamantium, power armor, energy weapons, plasma, manufactorum plans, warship designs and many more.

Secrets the mechanicus shared with none. Not even the Imperium. And then there were the true relics and treasures.

An STC. Dune-strider engine plans. All potentially offered to secure the "cores".

The Chief-Fabricator's data and hypothesis were faulty. No such cores had survived the Dark Age of technology. For countless years, the survivors of the fall, the Mechanicum and Mechanicus had searched for such prizes. The data and precedent were clear. Their leader pursued a clearly false prize. A trap laid by an enemy and most certainly touched by Chaos.

Optimism was at times acceptable, but this was beyond all restraint. Had it been still whole, Quegox would have personally seen to the False Malcador's punishment. Over the noosphere, a techpriest sent the confirmation that the demonstration was proceeding as planned.

In mere 20 minutes, Quegox would personally display the combat applications of grav-weapons, a task he had never performed before. Things had changed for the once mediocre plasma expert. Time once spent in prayer and righteous obedience of the Omnissiah's teachings were now spent building. Now, there was no time for prayer. There was work to be done, at all times, for all hands.

Their cohorts' orders while onboard the Indomitable Spirit were to rebuild and rediscover the secrets of jetbikes, grav-weaponry and related gravity technology. Ancient samples were carefully selected and taken apart and studied. Their discoveries were fed into the Votanan node and secreted away to the data banks of the Indomitable Spirit. Experimentation was demanded if they could not make progress studying.

If not working on "research", Quegox would be maintaining the grav lifts of the Indomitable Spirit, and give advice on how to change and improve the designs when his shift was concluded.

Twice, Quegox had exceeded expectations and was thus granted a small amount of time to rest. Then, to teach outsiders the beginnings of the Machine Cults secrets.

{+}Chief-Fabricator: Grav-chute demonstration to begin. Complete mandated maintenance operations and prepare for grav-weaponry demonstrations.{+}

{+}Compliance.{+} They answered, the once proud magi of Mars.

Parts were maintained. Minds and cybernetics were allowed rest. Inside one of the landers, Quegox mindlessly stared into space next to a pair of menials who mechanically consumed foul tasting nutrient rations and small doses of Panacea. Normally, Quegox sported too many mechadendrites to actually sit next to others, but was permitted only one while on Atreus. Many others were limited in this fashion.

Chief-Fabricator Malcador, Captain-General Janos Marik and his observers clapped as the cadians successfully landed from their drop. Legionnaire Sidero easily landed after them, before departing to his post guarding the Landers.

The break ended, and their orders beckoned. Grav-weapons were retrieved from their secure containers and presented to the Free Worlds League technicians and soldiers to scan and observe before he would could enter the demonstration field. Quegox explained portions of the inner workings and answered questions within the timeframe available. He deflected and avoided direct answers when they asked for the exact science behind the machine.

As ordered, they presented the benefits and uses of grav-weaponry, as target dummies and blocks of metal were warped and twisted for outsiders' benefit and entertainment.

Quegox would have rebelled against this perversion of all he had known. Quegox would have unleased dangers from the vaults sealed below his forges than engage in such tekheresy. Even delve into the Noctis Labyrinth and drag back horros of Old Night. And he would not have been alone.

But Quegox was no more. Merely a puppet. Obedient. Shackles deeper than the hold of chaos. More ingrained than the dragon lurking below mars. Perhaps even stronger than He on Terra.

Quegox obeyed. For now and forever.

[Sidestory 4 End]

 

[Titanicmark2]

[-----------------]

February 5, 3020
Atreus Surface
Camp Karpov
Very Morning

Doctor Alissa Ackerman sat down. "How was the procedure?" Asked the Minister of Human Services, David Rothchild. She gave the question some thought before answering. "Completely revolutionary sir." His brow furrowed. She avoided looking at the bandage covering his right eye.

"So it was a success then." The Minister turned his monitor towards her. "I must admit I still find it hard to believe. Reversing aging in only a day." The difference between the before and after pictures of one of the volunteers was stark. Aside from some minor changes in facial features, it was if she hadn't aged a day compared to old pictures.

"Not entirely Minister." She answered, deciding to keep to truth over supporting her superior. With how political things were going to get, lying would get her sucked in. And she had no intention of getting between the Captain-General or Parliament. At his nod she continued. "The 'rejuvanant' formula will allegedly take a few more days before fully taking effect. With the results we're receiving, I'm inclined to believe them."

The mystery solution flowing through the volunteer's veins was working. Fast. Almost her entire body was changing. It was a borderline metamorphosis of the body.

"I know its only been a day, but how much progress has their been in analyzing the samples the," Rothchild's slowly growing blackeye slightly twitched, "Adeptus Mechanicus have left us?"

"Incredibly slow sir. Truth be told, we have almost no idea what we're looking at. We can identify parts of what rejuvanent does, but not how. The cursory notes Themul passed during the surgery barely scape the surface." She'd have killed for the data the cyborg had alluded to during their post-operation discussion.

And Themul wasn't even a true specialist. The lead surgeon, Aurumux P-79 was quiet for most of the day. She recalled it well. Three mechanical tentacles moved from place to place in the incisions that threatened to split the volunteer from neck to groin. It never rushed. No. They and their owner operated at an almost casual pace. But there were no pauses, no breaks, no surprises. Every part of the operation was planned and accounted for. A developing tumor was removed with barely a twitch of the scalpel and application of some strange fluid that Themul wouldn't name. Worn down cartilage was replaced using strange attachments that effortlessly worked the muscle and bone apart with minimal damage. The spine was straightened and reinforced in only half an hour. Full functionality guaranteed, it boasted.

"I see." Rothchild replied, a small frown on his face. She dearly hoped that this wasn't going to be the end of her career. That fistfight her superior had gotten into yesterday was doing his mood no small favors. "And they declined from sharing anything beyond the most basic details?" She nodded carefully.

She didn't like the way the question was worded, but she'd already corrected him once. A second might not be taken well. Not on a simple question like this.

It deflected almost any attempt to ask about the actual biology and production details regarding rejuvanent. Themul I-59 was more amicable to explain the methodology and parts of the surgery, but it only led to more questions than answers.

And what questions they were. In all her years of study she had never considered these kinds of procedures as possible let alone combined into one operation. The depth of knowledge was awe inspiring. A whole new field of medicine. It made her head spin with the possibilities. It would change everything they knew of medicine. Everything she knew about medicine.

"How many times can this operation be repeated?" She asked, as Aurumux P-79 cleaned its tools for the final operation. The cyborg had uploaded its direct point of view to a set of data sticks that were handed to a slim SAFE agent that clearly didn't fit in.

"Multiple times. With frequent applications and proper care, a human lifespan can theoretically reach 800 years in perfect conditions. Potentially a thousand if there are no complications in the brain. It will likely increase as we further refine the process."

[-----------------]

Cuts off here as I realized I should just go back to the real meat and potatoes. I'd love to keep expanding the bits and bobs of everything going on, but I should save that for the summit when everyone meets on Terra. If I keep at this pace, I won't be writing the actual ork invasion until like 2028.

I'll revisit rejuvanent when production really gets going and the implications of the aging population returning to the work force start to really build. That'll be fun. Retired nobles and old Clanners wanting their original positions back,

End notes:

• Aurum is the latin word for gold. 79 is the number of protons in gold. I spent like a day trying to work in gold description of her, but couldn't settle on one. I want to keep to a other weird science references when naming mechanicus characters alongside the usual 40k conventions.
• Rothchild: I was originally going to add mentions of nobles with names like Disney or Pinkerton, showing in Battletech they still live on to the 3000's, but it wasn't worth the effort of keep checking the history books for more ancient families that have persisted until the modern day,
• I don't believe many of the Ministers in the Free Worlds League are named, so I'll just make them up if they need a name.

 

[Titanicmark2]

1 am brain go brrrrrrrr. Third time writing orks.

Trying to garble the English just enough, but still remain legible is fun. My spell check is screaming at me. There are red error lines all over this. I almost wanted to open a dictionary to find more words to mangle. Truth be told I'm not sure I'll be able to read this in the future. Maybe that should be a goal, If I can truly understand the entire thing I didn't do it right.

Chapter 5 part 2 at 4,306 words after partial rewrites.

[-------]

Noight time, Zog if I know
Krusha-ando
Ol'Squig Caves

"'Ey boss." A nob spoke up as the massive hunk of meat squigoth cooked. "Why we gotta krump da little not-tinny boyz first?"

Head-Stompa drank 'is ten one fungus beer. "Cause dey's stoopid. Dey like der grots and get real mad whenya krump dem. So if we krump da little gitz-"

"Dey fight hahda! Youz a brainy one boss!" Head-stompa almost crushed the git's head for stoppin 'im, but was gonna be eatin time soon. The boyz would give a betta fight when the fooud was cooked and could smell it. He had 'is double choppa-hamma roight nexta 'im to.

The Mek walked over wiff another two fungus beers. He grabbed one. "Is dat why you makin me make more dummies boss?" Thud-dakka asked, only givin' the boss a little stare.

Gulp. Gulp. Ova boyz beer was more tastier than 'is own. Head-Stompa belched, and frew da ting away. It krumped a grot in da head. Ha! "Yeah. Der's no more of the grots. Dey's all on there ship. Killin 'em in those whoite tent fings with der pain boyz is good, but that only makes 'im foight a little hahda."

Head-Stompa frowned at dat. No good foight dere. Only a little betta. If dey got to da tent fing, dey's only weak gitz in dere. And dey stopped paintin dem whoite and red +'s on dem too!

"I sawa nob krumpa fake tinny git before dey left. Dey deedn't know it wasa fake. Got'em all mad, for ten five dayz."

"Oh, was dat when dey brought the shiny stompas out?" Dose fings were all big and got lottsa lasa dakka. Some of dem had supa choppas!

"Yeah. We got some noice loot to." Stoopid 'ol Iron-Head went da wrong way and got krumped, so der huned battle wagons was 'is now. AND 4 ov da beeg tanks dey was tryin to bring back.

"I'll make 'em betta boss!" Thud-dakka said. Stoopid git, shooda been makin dem good from da start. 'E needed anova fungus beer. Whack. The 'eadless git fell down twitchin'.

Wait a Gorkin and Morkin second. "Where's Git-Snatcha?" Thud-dakka looked up from 'is shoota.

"He and 'is pain boyz is lookin at da dead gitz we got in back. Says he moight figgah out why some of dem got dose dangly bits on der chests. Finks if you krump dem and the little gitz, dey get supa mad." Like a eldie gitz?

Dat sounded good. "Oi!" 'E threw some boyz' plate at dat stoopid nob. "Get somuva those loive tinny gitz in chains to the pain-boyz. Dey's experimentin'." Da Nob shook. To bad, if Git-Snatcha looted 'im for bitz, dat was 'is fault. "Dew it!" 'E raised 'is hammuh.

"Ok boss, we goin!" Da Nob grabbed eight boys and ran to the back back, where dey keept the tinny boyz for foights.

Da big one was gonna krump some of dem, but dat's why he had ten ten boyz watchin five gitz each. E' wasn't worried tho, dat beeg git could krump three nobs and walk away.

Squeak. Squeak. Da squiggoth stopped turnin. All the boyz stopped mucking about. "Meats up!" Da couk-boy screamed, grabbing a chunk and walkin way as the gitz started foightin.

""WAAAAAGHHHH!"" Cups o' fungus beer and grots started flyin'. Some git was usin' a flama to keep da boyz away.

Head-Stompa stood up with 'is double-choppa hamma. "You gitz! I get the legs!" Two nobs came swingin at 'im. 'E roared at dem and dey roared back.

It was lunch time.

+++[Sidestory End]+++

Strangely enough, writing like this is almost harder than trying to figure out compelling complex dialogue between 2 heads of state. Have to be much more creative in my word choice. Ork vocab is limited, but at the same time using the same 20 words over and over again will make them boring.

Some of the Ork """numbers""" and vocab.

• Ten one = 11
• Huned = 100
• Ten ten = twenty
• 'E = He
• 'Is = His
• Hahda = harder
• couk-boy = cook boy

 

[Titanicmark2]

February 6, 3020
Tharkad
The Triad
Late Evening


…

Psychological profiles indicate Alien forces would not hesitate to immediately initiate a complete and total invasion of human space if in possession of navigational data. The current lack of alien vessels appearing within the Periphery and Inner Sphere confirms Operation Alexandria's success.

The aliens do not know the location of mankind's worlds. Currently, opposing alien super-capital warships is not possible. It is imperative to maintain this strategic advantage.

It is the recommendation of the Adeptus Mechanicus that all nations and peoples immediately secure any and all navigational data related to the locations, positions and borders of human worlds for the benefit and safety of all. Protocols must be established to ensure these objectives are met in full.

Furthermore…

Katrina Steiner, Archon of the Lyran Commonwealth put down the heavy packet down back onto her desk. One of many, many reports forwarded by her ambassador on Atreus. They covered a variety of topics, from fungal growth tables to invasion protocols. Heavily so.

So much that she planned on adopting several of them. More worryingly, many of them resembled existing legislation and protocol during the First and Second Succession Wars. Protections to prevent terrible things.

Concealing medical centers, medics, the elderly, and children, because the Aliens understood attacking them will provoke humans to fight harder.

Destroying navigation data at all costs, to buy as much time as possible. Concealment when resistance was futile.

Making an example of the fiercest fighters, but not to show the price of resistance. No, they would become trophies. On walls, armor, and vehicles when they attacked again.

Biohazard warnings for spores and whatever contagions the aliens may bring with them.

Not immediately destroying enemy food stores to prevent the attackers from considering people as an alternative food source. To her horror the Adeptus Mechanicus claimed they had made that mistake and were developing solutions to foul the taste of the dead before the aliens made it a norm.

Her ambassador was invited to come aboard and see it for herself. Live and dead samples were gathered and ready for her inspection. They would even surrender them to the Commonwealth upon its request, so long as it was on its own territory. The Chief-Fabricator emphasized his willingness to immediately share their evidence.

Someone knocked at her door. Followed by three evenly spaced knocks at just the right parts of the door... She knew who it was. "Come in." She immediately answered.

Nondi almost stalked into her office. Despite the ongoing crisis, she looked as well kept as ever. Long years in office and insight only a sibling would know told her another story. Her sister was very tired, and irritated. Concealing it with a zeal she normally only spared for staying out of politics.

Her irate sister almost plopped down in her chair, almost sighing in relief. She spoke up when Nondi seemed content to sit there in silence.

"Have you read through the proposed Black Coast Protocol?" She asked, handing her the admittedly thick (in comparison to the rest) report.

"Yes. And I completely agree with it. If," she ventured, quickly flicking through the pages. "-that's what's out there." That page. One she dearly hoped against all odds was blown out of proportion.

The Alien Flagship. Behemoth. Killer of 4 Adeptus Mechanicus ships. Each apparently a peer to the overbearing Indomitable Spirit in orbit around Atreus. An impossible mountain sized heap of metal and violence. And potentially FTL capable and energy shielded if the report was to be believed.

"I'm not a naval commander by any means, but I can't think of any way to fight it." Nondi admitted, face scrunching up at the admission of failure. Truth be told, some of the best naval strategists in her staff couldn't think of an answer either. Initial threat assessments ranged from total orbital dominance to invasion armies in the tens of millions. Her sister lightly scanned the pages, rereading what she already undoubtedly knew.

She suppressed her surprise as best she could. Even for all her avoidance of politics, Nondi knew what a statement like that would do if it was heard by the public. And…likely why she admitted it here.

Nondi blinked at her, studying her. "What did the mechanicus send?" She must be more tired than she thought if Nondi could read her like this.

"The Chief-Fabricator received the Peace Proposal from the Ambassador 2 days ago." She reached for a printed letter on the side of her desk. "He appears to be receptive to the idea and has promised to have a response in 2 weeks."

Nondi silently read through it. "He wants a ceasefire?" She questioned when she finished.

"Yes. Between all 5 Houses and the Periphery. And is offering to give the Commonwealth substantial technology if we agree. He plans to meet on Terra to show us their evidence." Nondi cautiously perked up at the mention of technology.

"Is there a date?"

"None so far, but Comstar has already agreed to serve as hosts. Their confirmation came this morning. First, a summit to verify their findings and evidence, and then to discuss terms."

Nondi paused in thought. "Do we know what he offered the Free Worlds League?" The other question that was playing havoc on Tharkad.

"He wouldn't say. Ambassador Henrietta decided not to push the matter after the first refusal." While he had phrased it very politely, the Chief-Fabricator had deflected from answering the question.

Nondi tsked at that. Likely from her own difficulties tackling the question.

A small faction in the Estates General had tried to approach her in the mad dash to assume a narrative. There was a growing fear their ancestral enemy had made a powerful ally. One with overbearing technology and military might. The Indomitable Spirit seemed to sport little if any meaningful damage. The limited combat footage shared indicated its weapons were frighteningly real, and still operational.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Come in." A messenger quickly passed through the door, carrying a file. There was an angry red Urgent emblazoned on the side with the seal of the LIC.

The woman bowed to them before depositing the file. She dismissed them with a gesture before opening it. Two separate documents. 'Indomitable Spirit in Terra System' and 'Free Wolds League Instability'. Instability? The Indomitable Spirit was by Terra? Ignoring the horrifying reveal of how far 16 kilometers of warship could jump, she detected an opportunity. Perhaps negotiations had broken down? She picked up the report on the FWL first. Nondi waited for the door to completely close before leaning forward to grab the other.

She would have thanked Nondi for the help, if her mind wasn't preoccupied with the wonderful opening Janos Marik and Parliament had just given her.

++++

"Primus, the Adeptus Mechanicus has forwarded the 'Black Coast Proposal' to all 5 House Lords and multiple Periphery states. Initial reports indicate that all House Lords are receptive to the concept. The Free Worlds League will have a committee formed by the end of the month to begin formatting legislation. Coordinator Kurita has authorized Subhash Indrahar to begin work securing information on Luthien and their coreworlds. We are currently unable to find any record on Chancellor Liao's activities or thoughts regarding it..."
-Precentor ROM, in direct conversation with Primus Tiepolo, before the First Circuit. February 10th, 3020.

[Sidestory 7 End]

 

[Titanicmark2]

February 6, 3020
Terra Orbit, South Pole
Indomitable Spirit
Late Evening

Ambassador Thomas Cole had been warned by his predecessor, Stephen Miles, of the scale. How the primary loading bay they would take him to was the largest.

It did not help. He watched though a reinforced window. This hanger was over 5 kilometers long, 700 meters tall, and 500 meters deep. Five thousand meters of open space, separated from the void by a large permeable energy field that somehow maintained atmospheric pressure.

The notes from both the order's agents and even the Adeptus Mechanicus' military reports noted how this was a strategic weakness. Should all four sets of shields fail, everyone in the hanger would be blown into the void.

[They could hold warships in here. No, a fleet.]

Dozens of dropship sized landers and thousands of military vehicles crowded the space. It was easy for his entire dropship to land. There wasn't any need for complex maneuvers where they had to clear hanger space for the backblast from the fusion torches. No need to carefully hover inside. All they had to do was turn off the grav-plates in a straight line and slowly tick it back on. A smallcraft simply pushed the dropship in the right direction.

His suitcase lightly clattered on his lap as gravity returned to the standard 9.81. This was power. Few words would match the display. The ship itself was too large to believe. A scale too much for the mind to wrap around. For Blake's sake, there was a small city located on the rear of the ship. Two square kilometers of metal towers in some parody of a civilization.

With a brief exhale, he stood up and left his private cabin. He counted the time until he was at the airlock. [40 odd seconds to reach the exit door.] It felt much longer. His footsteps echoed as he made his way.

The biologists and agents, previously consumed by reports and diagrams were also silent as they took in the ship's scale. The doors opened with a hiss. He let the others make their way down the ramp first.

It was quiet. That was the first thing he noted. It was too quiet. Where was the sound, the people? If it was a calculated maneuver to remind them of the war, it was as subtle as the ship. And just as eye catching.

Hovercraft made their way across the floor, bearing materials. Idle battlemechs sat in the far distance. Empty ASF were strewn throughout the hanger. There were only scattered groups of workers or personnel dotting the hanger. A hanger this size should be teeming with life, with activity even if the ships were at rest. He knew crowds, and could gauge density rather well.

Mere hundreds were in the space. He knew the casualties from Operation Alexandria were high. The battleroms showed the brutality of both the Adeptus Mechanicus and the aliens. Battles with tens of thousands at war. Often escalating to hundreds of thousands. Sometimes millions. This ship could easily carry them.

And this was the aftermath. For a moment he considered a similar fate. Of a city-no, Worlds, safe, but empty. Its people gone. Sacrificed on the terrible altar of war or soon to be. He dared not consider the darker outcome. He pushed down the memories of Cradle or Forerunner before it could unsettle him.

This was it. The cold calm of duty came over him. Resolve, clear and true. This was when he truly internalized the stakes.

The Chief-Fabricator welcomed him and his staff personally. Everyone was gifted a servo-drone. A large, metal drone that hovered above the ground. Pamphlets were handed out, covered in voice commands. The ship was simply too big for maps to help with navigating inside. Combined with security concerns, it was simpler to have drones accompany them and display maps when asked.

They were given free reign to roam the ship. No curfew and few restrictions aside from ship critical areas.

There was a piece of parchment on his, almost a foot long.

Testing and observing the aliens would come tomorrow morning, after everyone was settled and their equipment. There was a charging port for the drone, one inside and one outside of the room. How kind of them to indicate they were under surveillance. With his things away and his schedule clear until tomorrow, he went on a walk.

He was assigned a guide. A woman by the name of Erene Lamda-1000. She had 2 mechanical tentacles protruding out of her robes. If it weren't for the literal breast plate, he might not have realized it was a woman. The mechanical voice was barely feminine.

There were trains on the ship. Trains. Four of them ran along the ship, two for each direction. The top train was for more local stops, and the bottom was express. He rode the local to the other side of the ship. It took fifteen minutes. How odd, that in a few days, this would be simply another part of his day. Of no concern as he practiced the art of diplomacy.

He decided to ride in one of the general cars. There were private train cars, but he declined. Again, to few people for a ship this size. More cybernetic monsters in red robes and calm, subdued people. A few came up to him and asked questions in their two languages, standard 1 and 2. He asked some in return. His guide translated for him.

They asked of his order, and if they would forge an alliance. He gave the plants neutral answers. A pair of children. Two girls, ran aboard the train, bearing toolboxes. Followed by a large servo-drone. They couldn't have been older than 13. Their work clothes were covered in oil and grime. One of them dropped a wrench. While he was no mechanic, he could tell the wrench was somehow beyond the millennia old tool he would find on Terra.

They stayed away from him, and sat at the other end of the train. In minutes, the pair quickly fell asleep. The very picture of exhaustion. Peacefully slumbering.

The guide said nothing and neither did he. Whatever guided conversation was there would be handled another time.

He saw much. Regular men and women hard at work keeping their home alive. Silent and enduring. More cybermen, working on tasks he had no inkling of. Hulking Giants and power armored soldiers manning security stations. He decided not to ask them questions. Even to his untrained eye, their labor was difficult. And to his discomfort, not an act.

He encountered a shrine, devoted to unknown members of the Adeptus Mechanicus. The first of many he would find.

A painting, depicting a collection of soldiers, 'techpriests', and a 'archmagos'. They stood tall, weapons bared before a dark hallway. Squinting his eyes, he could make out subtle differences in the dark paint, forming hulking shapes. 'For those we cherish.' It read. Candles burned at the base of the painting.

His aid took notes. Encoded and obscured behind phrases. And after 3 hours, he returned. It was 9pm, and he would spend the rest of the night planning.

There were unlit candles on the nightstand, with accompanying matches. A strange contrast to the simple electric lamp above them.

He personally translated the parchment message. Messages of support and friendship. Of alliance against the threat. There was a hint of literal xenophobia. He charged the servo-drone inside his room. If they wanted to observe him, then fine. His task was to maintain relations, and observe the aliens. That was enough work already.

His work for today concluded, Thomas Cole slept, head filled with intrigue and concern.

+++++++++++

 

[Titanicmark2]

February 8, 3020
Terra Orbit
Indomitable Spirit Testing Range 91
Early Afternoon

SAFE strike team captain John Doe looked up from the uneven block of metal he just chopped up. With a power sword. It had taken a few swings, but that was mostly his unfamiliarity with using one. There were Draconis Combine fanatics that would kill (even more people than usual) for a sword that could cut through steel like butter. And there were hundreds of them.

Not just swords. Hammers, claws, axes, halberds, spears, even gauntlets and whatever else you could think of. It was ridiculous.

He didn't know what to truly expect when he boarded the Indomitable Spirit. When the call came for reliable SAFE agents to join the delegation to Terra, he was on standby. Using his emergency powers, the Captain-General selected a handful of reliable agents with as few political connections as possible to continue surveying the Adeptus Mechanicus' technology with their blessing.

Most of the delegation left to survey the more exotic weapons. Grav-weaponry, Plasma and Melta were the sought after. None of them wanted to go near the secured rad-carbines.

When he looked over at the assembled technologies, the armory was massive, some 400 meters long. Each section contained a great deal of weapons, overseen by a group of red-robed cybernetic men(?). He concealed his unease as best he could, but he knew the protests and easily suppressed riots in the streets would have left a very negative impression.

That the Adeptus Mechanicus had allowed them to still come aboard spoke of the Captain-General's skill in diplomacy. They were very kind, almost wastefully generous in their perusal. Lasguns? Take them. Plasma? Limited to pistols and lesser models, but still available. The real killers: Grav, volkite, and extremely rare weapons? They could hold and test fire, and if efforts in production are fruitful, they could be convinced to part with them in the future.

He had received a briefing on the aliens. They were large, dense and if the scientists' tests were correct, incredibly hard to kill without heavy weapons. So, personal and infantry weapons it was.

The rest of his associates were crowded around the only 4 grav-guns available in the entire armory. If they were waiting, they test fired the plasma cannons. When those were cooling down, they pretended they weren't roaming the selection.

And that was how he was holding a powersword. Again, quite ridiculous. And yet he wouldn't want to infiltrate an alien stronghold or repel intruders in close quarters without something like this. He looked up at the mechancius officer nearby. It was somewhat easy to ignore the incredibly invasive cybernetics when discussing weapons technology.

The portions of metal the sword had passed through were slightly glowing red with heat.

He thumbed the power switch. The arcing blue 'power-field' disappeared. Over the course of his career, he had picked up many skills, and among them a limited use of swordsmanship. It would take months to become proficient with it. And years to master.

The Adeptus Mechanicus had granted them limited access to forms on swordsmanship, allegedly penned by one of the astartes for regular human use. Combat footage was also included. Battleroms. He had seen the heights of mastery available.

"Will the Adeptus Mechanicus be selling these power weapons in the near future?" He asked when the nearby infantry commander practically living in the here gave up to go fire "melta guns" at the target dummies. SAFE had made a report on how the Mechanicus were no doubt low on supplies and seemed to have no money beyond precious metals. He was high enough in command to take a look. John Doe had a few million he could spare.

Their four blue eyes clicked.

"I would like to put down a reservation for 600,000 C-bills should they become available for sale. If possible, could I buy 4 for 2.3 million?" That should be well above the production price and manpower time. He wouldn't even ask for a warranty or repair manual, cementing him as a permanent customer.

He would need a spare, oh and two to dole out for favors. Best to get in before the rest of Parliament or the League started to open its wallets. Someone else had already attempted to buy a high quality long-las and after some fast talking with the Captain-General's representative, made it happen. Ambassador Chel had managed to persuade the mechanicus representative to send a small shipment of weapons as a 'gift'.

The mechanicus undoubtedly knew supply and demand, right?

++++++++++++++

Hmmmmm, graft and lying to foreign representatives. Classic Star League Free Worlds League

 

[Titanicmark2]

February 9, 3020
Terran Surface
Hilton Hotel
Afternoon


Year ago, Caroline Singh of ROM had been recruited to join the ranks of ROM, serving Blake's mission across the stars. Her family was raised from the poverty stricken slums adorning her homeworld. Little Eric was allowed to get an education. And in only two years, he would finally finish his residency. Her parents were safe and their worn bodies seen to. They enjoyed a simple life on Terra, protected from the foul House Lords. In exchange, she pledged her life to the cause.

When it called, she answered. There was no task she would shy from. Eventually, her loyalty had seen her inducted into the critical office of ROM. When asked if she was willing to spill blood, hers and others, to guide mankind to a better path she agreed without hesitation.

Comstar had invested a fortune in ensuring she would be among their best. She in turn gave them everything she had. While she was not the fastest or the deadliest among the Order, she was far, far closer than most.

And yet…she was useless here. It was an unfamiliar feeling. They waited in hidden hallway, only 80 meters away from the chambers where the Primus and Chief-Fabricator would meet again. It was an emergency posting, just in case the meetings ever turned violent. Ten of the Orders finest. For all the good it would do.

Her beloved Tornado, almost on the cutting edge of Star League technology was now the inferior platform. Its defenses would be found wanting before the Adeptus Mechanicus' weapons. Any weapon in her arsenal would fail to pierce the unseen energy shields adorning the Chief-Fabricator and his guards. Was this how her mentors felt, as time creeped in? The new replacing the old? As they watched her get closer and closer to their records and achievements.

A Giant was a lumbering behemoth. Nearly 3 meters tall, and probably 3 times her Tornado's weight. According to the mission briefing, they were armed with squad level heavy weapons. As standard.

The astartes were smaller, but that little to diminish the sheer power and grace they exuded. Her Tornado was a work of art, but even she couldn't make it look that easy to use. They didn't pilot it. They didn't wear it. They were it. Seamless integration of suit and wearer.

Even the rank and file had access to battlearmor. The Sigillite power armor was a mass produced, high-quality, piece of equipment.

Apparently the Adeptus Mechanicus had a tradition when meeting with equals where they would visibly put their weapons aside after arriving. To their minor credit, the actual Diplomatic Party came with their very few weapons, and all unloaded. They were quickly placed aside, at the entrance of the Hilton Hotel.

That was cold comfort when one of the Giants waiting outside had a hammer the size of her fucking torso. She eyed an astartes speaking with a red-robed mechanicus official. The ejection port on the astartes' 'bolter' was almost as long her foot. The cur had the gall to bring 3 drum magazines.

She idly studied the live feed of a soldier in Sigillite armor. Giants and Astartes were bioengineered monsters, but this was a regular human being. It didn't look like a standard set of armor. A spiked ring jutted out of the armor's power supply. The white-haired woman piloting the suit had taken her helmet off. She seemed totally at ease. Features almost inhumanly blank as she guarded the lander.

[The Primus will humor them for now.] Until they understood how they work. Until they have those very same weapons in their hands. And when, not if, the time came, they would be ready.

She was still young, and would easily be eligible for these new tools.

What could she do with that kind of armor? There was a power sword on the woman's hip. A weapon capable of carving armor apart. Rumors abound of 'grav-weapons', foreign tools that turned the very forces of gravity on its targets. One of the deposited weapons was a 'plasma pistol'. Could her squad kill a Giant if they had access to new weapons? Could they kill a 'space marine'?

Could she kill a Chief-Fabricator?

+++[Sidestory End]+++

I do enjoy writing these pieces, even though they don't show advance the plot. The unnamed or unseen, but still present characters and people that don't need a part in the main story.

 

[Titanicmark2]

December 25, 3019
Xenos World 7, "Tempera"
Afternoon


It towered above the battlefield. Banners hung from its shoulders. The horns mounted on its back blared a deafening challenge to all who could hear it.

The circling cloud of servo-drones it looked like specks of dirt. Men seemed no more than ants as they defended its base. Tanks resembled toys as they protected its flanks. And battlemechs only mere infants.

Entire columns of alien tanks fired at the towering battlemech, only to be blocked by a shimmering barrier. Enough force to shatter lances was diverted with laughable ease.

Its guns returned death. One, bright lances of red light. The other, blue plasma. Two massive anti-air arrays sat on its shoulders, clearing the sky of almost anything in a 6 kilometers radius.

Rows of vehicles turned into vaporized mist. Thousands of aliens were annihilated from existence.

Its footsteps carved trenches through the hills. Stray alien buildings collapsed before its stride. Tanks turned into flattened disks. The camera shook with every step.

A Titan walked the earth.



Classified: First Circuit's Eyes Only:

Threat Profile: Titan Superheavy Battlemech

Parameters:
Height: Approximately 65 meters
Weight: N/A
Piloting Requirements: N/A
Crew: N/A
Heat Production: N/A
Deployment Time: N/A
Production Cost/Time Estimate: N/A


Executive Summary:

It is the direct conclusion of this body that conventional means are insufficient to effectively disable or destroy a single Titan.

Battlerom analysis indicates the Adeptus Mechanicus only deploy Titans alongside significant numbers of supporting elements. The Chief-Fabricator has confirmed to Free Worlds League observers there are multiple weapons options available to both titans, for multiple mission profiles.

The presence of the Indomitable Spirit further complicates any attempt to engage a Titan. Any attempt to destroy or disable a Titan Class battlemech via conventional means will likely require the near total sacrifice of the Comguards and standing Comstar Fleet.

It is unlikely supporting elements from Mercenary or House forces will be able to significantly change the outcome of a conventional engagement.

The only effective methods available to the Order are local nuclear saturation or orbital bombardment.



Description:

The Adeptus Mechanucs Titan Class battlemech is the largest battlemech ever produced in history. Armed with 4 primary weapons systems, of which 2 are always capital class weapons.

The shoulder mounted weapons appear interchangeable, and can be changed between deployments. Both arms of a Titan end in weapon mounts, and possess no hands.

Files forwarded by the Adeptus Mechanicus allege there are only 2 remaining titans. The Indomitable Spirit is capable of deploying both Titans with space capable drop pods.

…

 

[Titanicmark2]

February 10, 3020
Terra
Hilton Hotel
Late Evening

Precentor ROM silently watched as Precentor Sian and Avalon continued their 'discussion'. The Primus seemed content to allow them to continue as they awaited connection from Precentor Tharkad. Precentor Dieron wouldn't be available for the next 10 hours and Precentor Atreus was busy.

"Four super-capital ships Precentor! Leviathan! Goliath! Locust! Behemoth! Hundreds of vessels accompanying them. There is no military force that can stand against a threat of that level." Precentor Sian declared. The man was near red in the face as Precentor Avalon remained impassive.

"And you would drag the Blessed Order into such a conflict? It has been 3 days. We cannot give into panic. The Adeptus Mechanicus claim they are violent savages, with no room for peace or mercy. They will naturally exaggerate their claims. We cannot take their word blindly. I agree, preparations must be made, but not immediate military action." Precentor Avalon harshly rebutted, as if admonishing a child.

"And what will we do when we declare neutrality? The Adeptus Mechanicus won't stand for it. The Houses won't either. You assume reasonability from the Successor Lords. We will be committed. By Blake, we hold the home world, manage banking, control telecommunications across the Inner Sphere, and seem defenseless. The Order is a strategic target. We will be attacked!" Precentor Sian hissed.

He suppressed his nod at that. And the desire to rebuke him for implying Holy Shroud had weakened humanity. That discussion was going to tear its way across ROM. Even some of his own hand-picked analysts were going to pick sides. It was going to get worse as the office at the MRB began to investigate the official BattleROM's.

At that, Precentor Avalon had no immediate reply.

The Primus did not intervene in the silence and that was all the permission Precentor Sian needed. "Well?"

"And what would you recommend then? Miraculously mend the ties between Successor states? Hire a permanent mercenary army? Reveal the Comguards and the fleet?" Precentor Avalon challenged. He leaned forward. They were toeing the line now.

"Consider the following: The Adeptus Mechanicus could be lying to us. The aliens may only have grievances with them. We side with them, not knowing this. The Order comes under unnecessary threat." Avalon continued, pointing at Sian.

Precentor Sian's face contorted, eyes quickly darting to both himself and the Primus. He let his face convey his thoughts. Not here. Not now.

[-]

The Primus departed for a break, leaving Precentor Avalon to subtly gloat over Sian. His presence would keep the two from going too far. They would be ordered to make repairs and maintenance to their HPG's after some time.

Precentor Sian was choosing to take the long road. Believing he could ride out the storm and the new order. Precentor Avalon chose to follow the path laid before them, waiting for an answer or maybe favorable terms. They weren't fools, but the First Circuit behaved as it always did.

Let them waste their time arguing with one another.

 

[Titanicmark2]

February 12, 3020
Atreus Surface
Atreus City, Gallagher Hospital
Afternoon

Captain-General Janos Marik stepped into the hospital room. It had taken more time than he thought to set time aside in his schedule. He ignored the sounds of his security detail filing behind him.

The woman and man sitting in their beds sat up as he approached. "You're both still recovering." He said when they made to get out their beds. "Stay in bed."

"My thanks, my lord." The now young Kyle stammered. Incredible. Simply incredible.

"How do you both feel?" He asked, inwardly marveling at the sight. Words and images did so little compared to the genuine article. He could see it, in the healthy flush in their faces. The removal of wrinkles and smoothed skin.

Just 7 days ago, Kyle Marchess was a 62-year-old man, with a stooped back and rasping voice. He had lived a modest life in service to the Free Worlds League, first in a militia, then moving to logistics as time took its tool. By the doctors' reports, he had another 20 years of moderate health.

"Amazing my Lord." Kyle answered, with a nod from his roommate.

Former Countess Erica Rossi was 89, having retired to Atreus for its medical services after her son had stepped forward to assume her station. While her homeworld was by no means poor, it was far better for her to simply move to Atreus City for easier access to care, compared to hiring doctors to move all the way to her family home. She was battling several medical conditions over the last several years. More notably, a very severe case of cataracts.

"I feel stronger every day." Erica continued, eyes sparkling with life. A rare unguarded smile came over her face. "If my health continues to improve, the doctors will approve my request to go on a run." She stated with pride.

He turned to one of their doctors, waiting patiently by the wall. The doctor pulled out a clipboard, leafing through it as he stepped forward. "That is correct Captain-General. After numerous tests, she should be able to perform the same activities as a 20-year-old."

A part of him wanted to observe it, but now that the Former Countess was a much younger woman (and objectively, regained her former beauty), it would be far to inappropriate now.

Secretary Johnson leaned forward. "Captain-General, its 3:00pm." And that was his time for this visit.

He wished them the best of luck, and humbly accepted their thanks. The other two volunteers collaborated Erica and Kyle's statements. It was a wise decision to empty the hospital floor. The outcry when the news eventually comes out will be significant.

The drive back to Parliament was silent.

The Chief-Fabricator has promised the volunteers would receive the highest possible rejuvenate treatment available. And he had delivered.

"Twenty" He whispered to the empty car. Rossi was 89 years old, and now she was 20. Sixty-nine years gone. The surgery was 3 hours. The rejuvanant would take 18 days to fully de-age her. De-age.

What a time to be alive. In a way he couldn't believe it. His political instincts protested the sheer audacity of the claim. It was just sitting in the documents, right above adamantium and power armor. No fanfare or special mention. Rejuvanent was just expected in the Adeptus Mechanicus. Its citizens just got to live that long.

How old was the Chief-Fabricator?

Some of the finest doctors on Atreus attended the surgeries. They couldn't make heads or tails or it. The Adeptus Mechanicus claimed the only negative effect was that depending on the grade, it would gradually fade, returning the patient to their original age.

Those 4 volunteers wouldn't have to deal with it. His people wouldn't need to deal it either. The Free Worlds League was given primarily high-grade recipes. They would only need to have treatment once every 10 years. Every 5 for the lesser formula and procedure.

And just as Malcador probably planned, he considered getting a dose himself.

He saw how alive they were. It was so tempting. All the experience of your twilight years, backed with youthful vigor.

Doctor Ackerman reported that technician's quote on the maximum effectiveness. A millennia. One thousand years. A little over one thousand revolutions around Atreus' sun. Over some fifteen times his age, if the process worked perfectly. Two hundred years of life if the doctors were reckless or the patient didn't take it at the ideal times.

"Dammit." He had total control over the supply and the materials. This kind of leverage only cemented his imminent victory over Parliament. The majority of votes he held were going to turn into a supermajority.

When was the last time he'd enjoyed such high support? God, it must have been decades ago. What was that old Terran quote? He was riding the leopard now. Jaguar? Some kind of large Terran cat. They'd be holding their hands out. The current Parliament was going to mostly stay the Parliament.

[Sidestory End]

Janos Marik realizes he'll be stuck with Humprhey's and the rest of Parliament for the rest of his (now much longer) life.

 

[Titanicmark2]

MIIO Agent Micheal Henderson's personal notes
Extracted by ROM, dated February 19, 3020

Personal File: Chief-Fabricator of the Adeptus Mechanicus

Full Name: Malcador-47864307-RoR-TTSTR

Age: Unknown
Codex notes indicate Malcador is at least 200 years old, having reached the rank of archmagos
Sex: Male


Ship of Origin: Revelation of Recovery

• According to the Codex, the Chief-Fabricator was born on the Revelation of Recovery (Now referred to as the Revelation). The Revelation was noted to be the most liberal of the Adeptus Mechanicus Fleet.
• The Chief-Fabricator has displayed activities that contradict cultural norms presented in the Codex. Including a willingness to share technology, and more importantly the soft dissolution of the Adeptus Mechanicus' religion

Prior Ship Posting: The Sigillite

• The Sigillite is noted to have been a moderate politically
• Further analysis indicates that the Sigillite was beginning to lean more conservatively, valuing the continuation of the Adeptus Mechanicus' norms
• The Chief-Fabricator's rank before promotion was Archmagos-Cybernetica. A role responsible for installation and maintenance of cybernetics. The Chief-Fabricator has boasted that he is among the foremost cybernetics experts in the Adeptus Mechanicus
• The Chief-Fabricator was allegedly onboard the Destiny Ascension as part of the diplomatic party's staff before being evacuated to the Indomitable Spirit as the battle turned for the worst

Current Ship: Indomitable Spirit

• Reports by Ambassador Jacobs collaborate lack of internal strife above Indomitable Spirit. Warns approval rating among Indomitable Spirit possible approaches 95%
• How exactly the Chief-Fabricator, a cybernetics expert, ascended to the rank of Commander-In-Chief of the Mechanicus is not completely clear

Combat Capabilities:

• Combat footage of the Chief-Fabricator is low, with only one engagement on alien world "Tempera". Chief-Fabricator
• War-Chassis of the Chief-Fabricator was noted to be over 3 meters tall, possessing 4 arms and 1 mechadendrite cybernetic
• War-Chassis appears to be a complete body, and not a suit of power-armor
• War-Chassis appears to be close to a Giant in strength
• Weapons observed: Two rotary lasguns, 1 heavy melta cannon, 1 heavy grav-weapon, and modified staff of office
• Chief-Fabricator is to be considered highly dangerous, heavy weapons will be required in order to protect First Prince if needed
• Defenses observed: Unknown type of shield generator. Possible Rosarius placed on chest piece

...

 

[Titanicmark2]

February 10, 3020
Terra Surface
Classified
Early Morning

Precentor ROM, Tojo Jarlath, put down the report.

The all-night work shifts in ROM reduced the number of personnel during the morning. Perfect for him to minimize scrutiny on his personal activities. When the analysts had marked a priority 1 item in the Panacea files, he was admittingly skeptical. They had a cure for almost all human diseases, what could be just as important?

He silently removed his glasses, glad that he had decided to come in early. Gently massaging the bridge of nose did nothing to alleviate his stress.

It turns out, quite important. The Theseus Procedure. Named after an ancient terran thought experiment on the nature of time and how parts relate to a whole.

Absently, he flicked a button on his desk. No visitors. No disruptions short of Blake rising from the Earth or the end of the world. Now he could have a breakdown in peace. He ran hands through his hair, trying to straighten it.

Of the many procedures inside the Adeptus Mechanicus' Panacea files, he didn't believe he would find something like this.

The final logical conclusion when you can simply heal essentially any medical condition with a strong enough dose. It was honestly the most straightforward procedure in the database after just injecting someone with Panacea. Organ rejection rates were effectively 0%. Fully reconnecting nerves? Realigning bones? Balancing hormone production? Resettling the skin? No, they just sorted themselves out as long as the surgeon put the corresponding organs in correctly.

And if there was a failure, stasis the patient and vat grow new organs. Restart the surgery when ready.

He absently thumbed through his desk. Where were his-ah there. The white bottle rattled as he withdrew it. He took three extra strength Dura-Tylenol for his impending headache. It was over his doctor's recommended dosage. Well, not anymore, he just take a draught of Panacea and undo any liver or kidney damage.

This would change the course of history, just as much as the Panacea itself, probably even more so. Humanity had sought this prize for as long as it lived. From the first primitive civilizations to even the height of the Star League.

Eternal Youth.

And it was here. This procedure wasn't a rejuvanant treatment, fading away in a few short years. No, it was a reset of life. Your entire natural lifespan returned to you, and infinitely repeatable, with no negative consequences physically. If the subject didn't go insane from living forever, you could comfortably live past-well, everything.

The two procedures were almost barbaric. One by one, strip out every organ system except the brain. Install fresh, new, Panacea treated organs. Rebuild the patient. Keep applying Panacea. Ensure the patient was assembled correctly, enough so that the Panacea would finish the job. Apply more Panacea.

Done.

The Adeptus Mechanicus could start and finish the procedure in 20 hours. They boasted Panacea would be done in around 2 weeks. To the patient, you would go under and wake up, revitalized without any concerns.

The new, alternative version was just taking someone's brain out and putting it in a perfected, cloned body. Approximately 1.5 weeks for treatment to finish. The process was technically longer since the body had to be cloned, built or assembled before the procedure. [Not that it mattered since they just planned on stasis'ing the bodies.]

That wasn't even the beginning of it. He could read between the lines. The body was a plaything now. Just clone and mold whatever body you wanted. Be taller, be smaller. Graft an additional set of arms if you wanted to. Change your race, change your face, change your height, change your age, change your gender, change your everything. Transhumanism at its core.

Primus Teipolo would be furious if he didn't send the file today. He could delay for a few short hours, under the excuse of it being lower on his work desk or needing to reconfirm it.

But he felt it. The Adeptus Mechanicus were not lying. They used this. They did this. That explained how their men fought in such horrible conditions. This was how they survived such horrible cybernetics. Oh no. Another rush of goosebumps in realization.

In just a few days, the Primus was going to have the Chief-Fabricator personally demonstrate Panacea, just as he promised. It was a desperate time saving measure, at the cost of giving them more political leverage.

He idly considered the wider political ramifications beyond heads of state living forever. Perhaps the Adeptus Mechanicus really did believe they mankind might go extinct. That was the only logical conclusion why someone would willingly hand this out. Why worry about the future if you don't have one? Malcador admitted that if he could build a new Star League in all but name, the technology would be gifted to member states.

If this spread…

Tojo Jarlath sat in silence.