Epilog, To Tame Iron
The big day was here. Time to unveil the pride and joy of Tinkerin’Un; well…it was time to unveil it anyway.
Standing in the glaring light of the noon day sun, Tinkerin’Un and Snikkit fidgeted as they waited for the signal to proceed. Snikkit had been flogged the night before for not having enough red paint on hand. They had managed to paint only three quarters of the battlewagon before putting it through its paces this afternoon. Skullsmasha and his retinue of nobz and hangers-on had shuffled out of the Kommanda Bunka and taken seats provided for them. FixitGit was there in a place of “honor”, or, more to the point, easy reach if something went wrong.
Skullsmasha waved his powerklaw absently and the testing began in earnest…The battlewagon surged forwards, the engines roaring with guttural anger. It spun around, roared forward, roared backward, and started firing its guns at nothing in particular. Wild shots peppered the Kommanda Bunka, several huts, and destroyed a squig pen located out towards the main gates. To test the ram, the battlewagon hurled through a couple of huts being used by some boyz mobz as barracks; reducing the huts to kindling and any luckless orks into smears on the treads. The boss was rightly impressed…and laughed at the wanton destruction wrought by the tests. Chuckling evilly, he waved the battlewagon back over to the spectators.
As it slewed to a stop, Skullsmasha got up and took a quick looksee around the war machine.
“Oi…dere’s only red paint on the front and sides; how’s dat supposed to work wif only a part paint job?” he asked menacingly. FixitGit gulped hard, and looked pleadingly at Tinkerin’Un. An awkward silence descended.
Swallowing hard and closing his eyes, Snikkit stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Well…Well, yer lordships…it’s like dis…Ifn yer in the battlewagon and speedin’ at the enemy all fast like, yaz really only needs the front half to be going faster ‘n the enemy, coz the back, well…it’ll catch up eventually and all…’sides, we can fix dat really quick next week like, ifn yer grace needs to be all red ‘n all….”
FixitGit placed his only organic hand over his eyes and shook his head. Tinkerin’Un looked skywards, sighed, and sagged slightly as he stood before the big boss. Skullsmasha glanced at both meks and at the battlewagon with an experienced eye…then he chuckled. As his chuckles turned to laughter, the tension broke like a wave on a shore.
“Well, how’s dat fer a tellin’, eh?” Skullsmasha said. “Meks, great job; the wagon is just wot’s I needs fer me cunnin’ plans…It’s shooty enuff to be dead ‘ard, rams through things, and is red in da right places…FixitGit, gives dis mek a great reward fer a job well done…Tinkerin’Un, yaz gots a good ‘un there in a grot. Keep him close and have a closer eye on ‘im, cause ‘e’s too clever by half,” he growled; then he fixed Tinkerin’Un with a beady-eyed, menacing glare, “cause ifn I catches him alone, I’ll either have me a right clever grot for me Kommanda unit, or a quick meal for being impudent…I’ll let yuz decides. Savvy?” Tinkerin’ gulped and nodded quickly. Chuckling evilly, Skullsmasha reached into his great coat and tossed a bag of teef to both meks. “Fer yer hard work ‘n trouble,” he rumbled as he stomped off to the bunker, sycophants in tow.
FixitGit nodded sagely at the weight of the bag and chuckled as well as he turned towards his shops. Tinkerin’Un just stood with his maw slightly agape at the heft of the bag of teef. This was more currency than he’d ever seen, or for that matter held, in his life. A myriad of plans and schematics flew across his mind, possibilities that he’d never dreamed of, and it was all within reach thanks to one project…
“Boss…whatta ya gonna do now? Should we go find us anuver truck to work ons?”
“What?....Naw…I thinks we be done wif vehicles fer a while, Snikkit, me good lad…Naw…de future is in electricy know-whats…I ‘eard someone sayin’ dat the big boss wants a teleporta or two or ten, toot sweets…or maybe it was a force fieldy thing…I dunno…” tucking the bag of teef into kit, he signaled Snikkit to follow. “Come on, den…we’ve gots some drawings to do before night and some paint cans to ditch…dat shop looks a mess and ya know I’m not the one to clean it up…sides, I’m a bit hungry and we needs to go over to the kitchens and scrounge up some grub…”
While Tinkerin’Un kept talking about nothing in particular, Snikkit fell into step beside him and nodded sagely and offered up the occasional “Yep boss” as a way of indicating that he was still listening. He smiled, belying his cunning, as he thought of their next big build…And if it didn’t work out, well, they could always go back to vehicles, especially the scrap from humies…After all, he could always use more experience at tamin’ iron…
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Deep space picket…frigate Wolf’s Claw…stationed on long-range sensory duty over the Theta VIIe systems…primary duties: Observe and report on ork infestations of the system and offer coordinates for possible containment exercises by Adeptes Astartes, Space Wolf Chapter.
…
Servitor A32b, long range specialists and auger recorder, shuddered. A blip in the sensory arrays charged through his systems and set into motion one of a handful of protocols. “Officer of the Watch…Officer of the Watch…Contact…contact…initiating recording protocols…” The servitor rotated his head 45 degrees to the right and relooped the sequence of announcements. He would keep up the announcements until either the Officer of the Watch or an adept came over and soothed the machine spirit.
As it was, both converged on the noisy servitor at the same time.
Deck Officer Hjarl, bondsman to the Space Wolves, scowled at the machine/man and the adept as he approached. Just what he didn’t need more blips that would cause delays in their mission to plot the approaches to Theta VIIe. “Adept…what is the matter with that servitor? Is it malfunctioning? Do I need to order a replacement?” growled Hjarl.
The adept turned his red cowl to the Deck Officer as he performed certain rites to calm the spirit of the machine. Plugging in to several feeds on the console, the adept cocked his head in mimicry of the way he’d seen the organics on deck scan data slates or try to solve problems that arose.
“Negative…servitor is functioning well within parameters established for the sifting of data and recording/announcing of finds of significance to the ship’s data banks…This information may be of use to the Astartes masters…”
Continuing to scowl, Hjarl moved closer to see for himself, “What signals?”
“A priority data identity signal burst from Theta VIIe approximately 3 standard Terran days past. The identity signal corresponds with the identity signifier of a lost machine spirit, presumed captured/destroyed several months ago during the first incursion to the identified plant by the expeditionary forces…”
“What machine spirit is it supposed to be?”
“Identifiers indicate the machine spirit belonging to the venerable Land Raider, Skarl’s Hammer…presumed lost…identifiers grant a reevaluation of current status…”
“Hmmm….Skarl’s Hammer…my lord’s vehicle…he almost died when the vehicle was ambushed by the foul xenos on that planet…Recommendations?”
“Protocols indicate recording in the logs as to the signals origins…It remains the deference of the Watch Officer to bring the information to the attention of the commanders of the expedition…”
“What are the odds that this is an anomaly? A ghost signal or blip, now being picked up due to our distance from Theta VIIe?” asked Hjarl.
“An anomalous signal would be within the parameters of our scanners range…65% possibility of being nothing more than a blip or old identifier markers…”
Hjarl thought hard…he didn’t want to disturb the Masters with a less than sure piece of information. With only a 35% chance that the signal was genuine, his mind was made up rather quickly.
“Catalog the signal/anomaly in the ship’s logs…I’ll let the Iron Priests of the expedition know of the signal when we rendezvous with the fleet at the end of our picket sweep. Mark the decision as mine in the logs for clarification purposes and see that protocols are met. Return the servitor to scanning duties as soon as you can, adept…” Hjarl had instructed.
“As you indicate, Watch Officer…” the adept responded, working to get the servitor back on line with the sensory arrays.
And with a stroke of a key, the blip was logged. The ship went back to picket/sweep duties. The incident regarding the identifier became just another entrance into the ship’s logs.
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