Every internal problem is an opportunity for the enemy. So despite the problems of individuals, the Great Crusade moved inexorably towards victory, leaving behind scorched fields and mounds of helmets piled into mountains. No matter how many enemies and allies died, the Imperium had set a goal and it would be achieved at any cost, because Mankind itself was at stake.
Or so every citizen of the Imperium had to think, toiling away in factories in three shifts and praying to the icon of the Beloved Lord of Humanity, who came to power through the total destruction of everything he did not like. Yes, it sounds extremely ambiguous and for such words I could be accused of loving Chaos. But I somehow did not like to argue with objective reality. The Emperor was a tyrant and a dictator. It was he who determined the path for Humanity and tried with all his might to adhere to the direction he had chosen. Well, the fact that he is wiser than any of the people ... this is of course also an argument, but for a completely different discussion.
In any case, as for me, it is better this way than giving the right to choose to swineherds who will easily vote for the complete destruction of Humanity. And not even for personal gain, but because they, due to ignorance, simply do not have the strength to understand that they are being deceived.
- You see, Adam, democracy is a bummer. Have you read Plato? - I said, moving the pieces on the board.
"I'm a bit tired, Mordred," the surgeon replied, then stood up from the table. "I'll go check if they gave me a new batch of medicine. Half the crew suffers from migraines because of these flights, and I can't do anything about it. I'm not even sure what it's connected with, but it just so happens that surgeons are now doing this too. Oh, it would have been better if they'd sent therapists instead of chroniclers."
"Okay, next time we'll continue our dialogue," I agreed, even though I saw checkmate in two moves: Adam wasn't a very good regicide player.
And Adam didn't really like my company, precisely because of my monologues. However, I didn't take offense at him, even when I saw that he completely ignored my words. I needed to communicate, I communicated, even if no one answered me. It's better than talking to a wall.
"You can talk to me," Birdie suggested. "Or play regicide. I've already learned the rules."
- Well, come on...
- Sha-a-a-a! - the bird flew up and knocked down the king with its paws. - The one who makes the rules wins!
In general, Birdie was of course a charming and extremely educated companion, and there was no chaos in her soul, but a more... human interlocutor was needed, which is what Adam became. He was forced to become one, because I didn't give him a choice. And it was good for him too, he's always either sitting in books or performing operations. He lives at work and, what's worst, it seems he really likes it. He doesn't even drink beer. A nightmare. But today he doesn't drink beer, and what tomorrow? The Imperium will sell him!
One way or another, time passed, after the victory on Zervan we had gained the advantage we so desired and were now eager to fight, intending to tear the enemy apart. Probably for the first time in a long time, the Imperium set the pace, and not Rangda. And most importantly, our actions on Zervan, or rather the desperate feat of Moiran and his dozen chosen ones, disrupted the enemy's plans. Zervan-4 should have become an impregnable fortress, an endless headache and, like a breakwater, cut through our attacks deep into the Halo stars. But it did not.
"So, what should I do…" Having put the game board and pieces aside, I stood up and thought.
The choice was wide. I could go to the shooting range and shoot. Or I could meet Bedivere's son, who after the events on Zervan treated me kindly and was happy to spar in fencing. Or I could help Adam, because it seemed like something was wrong with my nerves because of the prosthesis. Of course, it was much more likely that the reason was in the warp, but some aspirin wouldn't hurt.
"Oh, right, I need to check the Knight's repairs too," I remembered and went to my Knight.
In general, my control in this matter was not required, the Emperor would rather personally come to play regicide with me than the tech-priests forget about their duty. Moreover, the Knight is not some kind of toaster, he is a strategically important resource that was monitored day and night. There could be no negligence in such a matter.
"Sir Mordred, the machine is already fully prepared for a new battle," said the orderly on duty: posts were located next to each knight, due to which a whole battalion of orderlies was simultaneously in the entire hangar, plus every tenth pilot was nearby, all according to the code of Camelot and the charter of the Imperial Army. "The tech-priests finished three days ago. Ahead of schedule."
- Great.
The Knight changed a little after the battle on Zervan. Now he had a name, which the soldiers gave him for me. I somehow missed that moment, and I didn't care about the name. So I had to give him a name only after everyone else started addressing me as the Crystal Knight. Well, along with that, the skulls became rainbow, while the overall palette remained black and white, like that of the Doomsayers legion.
However, I needed more than just decorative changes, I needed additional guns on my head. I was annoyed by the fact that I was simply helpless in long-range combat. In addition, it was inconvenient to deal with small enemies, with regular infantry. You get tired of crushing everyone, I needed something simpler than a plasma spear. Two bolt guns on the head solved the problem and certainly should not have a strong impact on mobility. I did not ask for a caliber for destroying tanks, just something anti-personnel.
But the tech-priests clutched their hearts and almost fainted when I tried to start a dialogue on improving what they considered to be an ideal creation. These mechanics from Mars are very conservative types, and without their help I wouldn't be able to do anything myself. Our engineers mostly stayed on Camelot, and all the resources and tools were again controlled by the tech-priests of Mars.
That is, if I come to an agreement with an engineer from Camelot, having squeezed him out of, for example, Lancelot, then he will first need to make a request to the officer corps of the Imperial Army, go through the quartermaster and separately come to an agreement with the magus who led all these Martians. A real pain in the ass, and if there are no connections, then everything is really sad.
"Maybe I can put some pressure on them through the Astartes," I thought, figuring that I could, in principle, find someone in the lodge to help me resolve the issue of efficiency and put pressure on the tech-priests.
"Pam-param, pam-param, evening to the hut, mister sir-sir knight, Mordred," a tech-priest suddenly emerged from around the corner of the neighboring Knight in his red robe, stained with oil and something else.
What's interesting is that this tech-priest looked... more like a human. Tech-priests were very fond of augmentations and replaced all flesh with metal whenever possible. This one, of course, also replaced his left hand with a multi-tool. Behind his back was a manipulator connected to his spinal cord, essentially a third hand. Also, his entire body was covered in an exoskeleton, parts of which clearly went inside the body, connecting with possibly replaced organs.
But otherwise... his face was almost untouched, except for one augmented eye. His right hand was also quite normal. And his skin color was not painfully pale, but... normal. By Mechanicum standards, all this was considered not just a small, but an extremely small number of upgrades and, in a sense, disrespect for the Machine God. After all, this tech-priest could improve himself, but he did not.
And when he approached me, I realized what else was dirty on his robe.
"Larik at your service," said the tech priest, who was completely wasted and smelled of alcohol, almost without staggering. "What, do I need to pump up this thing? How can I shit on two servos... wait a second... fuck... where's this fucking document..."
And starting to rummage through the inside pockets of his robe, Larik suddenly pulled out a crumpled propaganda poster.
- So, this is for the morning toilet... wait, judging by the clock, it's already morning. What did I wipe my ass with then? - a silent pause and silence, which is interrupted a moment later by another tech-priest. - Oh, Kiral, haven't you seen that contract?
Kiral differed from Larik in that he replaced almost everything he could, leaving a minimum of flesh. In fact, only the head, part of the face, and of course the brain with some of the irreplaceable internal organs remained native, while the rest was metal and wires.
- What? But you were supposed to take it.
"I took this," Larik shrugged and unfolded the crumpled bundle, revealing the Emperor.
- Larik, have you completely lost your mind? This is the Emperor!
- Yes, I see, that's why I'm asking where the document and agreement are?!
- You know better, you idiot! - Kiral replied, after which his servos creaked. - Good thing I made a copy. Let's hurry up, there's not much time. Here, sign.
- What is this? - I didn't understand anything and wasn't going to take the papers that were extended to me.
- What do you need?
- What do I need?
— What we can give.
- What can you give me?
- What you need.
The orderly almost fell off his nightstand from the sight of such a Tarantino-like dialogue, but still showed all his self-control and continued to stand with an unchanging stone face like a statue, looking into the distance. Without laughing, without flinching, overcoming and winning in the name of Humanity. As always.
- I don't understand anything, is this some kind of joke? - I was surprised, to put it mildly, and didn't understand at all what was going on and where these two clowns came from. - Where did you steal the robes?
- Hello, two higher Martian and two more incomplete, - Larik said, spreading his arms and coming closer to me, after which he gave me a friendly hug with one arm, forcing me to continue down the corridor along the Knights. - Fifth rank in servo maintenance and employee of the year by my own version. I am a master of my craft, and so is Kiral. Hundreds of thousands of bolters, millions of lasguns, billions of Knights, what can I say, trillions of titans have passed through us.
- According to your own version? - I was still stunned at this point, not taking in the statement about trillions of titans.
- You want to improve the Knight, right? - meanwhile, understanding the whole situation, Kiral intervened in the dialogue, adding a little more constructiveness to the drunken ravings of his comrade.
- Certainly.
- Yes, because every pilot thinks only about this. This is not only in Camelot, but in all Knightly Houses in general. When receiving such a machine, the heir is obliged to pass on its best version to the hands of the successor. It's a ba-a-a-aza.
"Okay," I nodded. "I could really use two bolter guns to take out the infantry."
- My friend may be drunk, but he can handle such a trifle even in worse shape. Believe me, you can't drink away your skills, this walking disaster is proof of that. Well, I'll keep an eye on him, if anything. We have a team and resources.
- And you won't nag me about every little thing that isn't sanctioned by Mars?
- Spot on, Mordred, spot on! Just sign the contract.
Having quickly glanced over the papers, having made sure of the authenticity of the document, I came to the conclusion that these two were indeed tech-priests, and licensed and with a very good education. The contract itself was generally simple, nothing was required of me except honest and conscientious communication with the tech-priests, which, this was written down separately, consisted of a ban on hiding obvious and hidden defects of the car, so as not to complicate the repair and blah-blah-blah. That's all in that spirit. I did not rewrite the apartment to anyone, I did not give my soul into slavery.
- Why do you need this? - I just couldn't understand this and therefore was in no hurry to sign.
- Mordred, friend... - Larik addressed me not in a friendly manner, but in a brotherly manner. - There is a hell of a lot of humanity in us, we are ready to do anything for the sake of Humanity. We love the Emperor, we support the Crusade, and you must give your best. Therefore... come on, sign already, we will smash these bolters into your eyes in two or three, maximum five hours.
- Well, more like days, not hours. Although if you don't need an exclusive development, we can weld on regular bolters. We'll get them from somewhere, then it'll really only take a couple of hours. So, are you interested? We're just pressed for time.
Kiral kept looking back as if someone was chasing him, which really made it seem like he was running out of time. I was holding back for a while, feeling the catch with my ass. However, thinking about how to add smoke screens to the titan in addition to bolters... hmm... my Knight could become much better if I had specialists who might not be the best, but who were ready to bring my every idea to life.
And each Knight must have his own personal engineering squad. All the families of Camelot have been collecting the best craftsmen for centuries, valuing them more than any fortresses. I didn't have that, but here is the opportunity, I just need to take it.
"Okay, the Emperor is with you," I waved my hand and signed. "Bolters on the head, smoke bombs on the back to cover everything within a hundred meters with smoke."
"Let's…let's…put laser guns in your eyes…" suggested Larik, happily taking a bottle of amasec out of his inside pocket to celebrate the successful deal.
"Oh, look, it looks like the Crystal Knight's pilot is communicating with the tech-priests!" Herald's voice suddenly rang out, as she, accompanied by guards, including one Space Marine, walked around the ship and collected data for her chronicle.
- THERE THEY ARE!!! WHERE ARE YOU GOING, TECHNO-MORONS?! - the metallic and clanking voice of the Magos was heard, ahead of whom the Skitarii, warriors of the Adeptus Mechanicus, who obeyed first and foremost Mars, were already running. - ALL OF YOU WILL BE SENT TO THE CYBER-RIGGLE FOR TECHNOHERESY!!!
"We won't go," Larik whispered quietly to me, taking the contract from my hands. "We are an honest working proletariat! We work for a famous Knight for the good of the Crusade! You won't send us anywhere now without the consent of the Knight's House of Camelot!"
- Oh, it seems like something interesting is brewing, - rubbing her hands, Heraldry had already broken into a run so as not to miss anything. - Is there really a misunderstanding between Terra and Mars? However, the Imperium has always been famous for its diplomacy, how will they get out of this situation?
Heraldry spoke everything out loud, causing the magus's gears to begin to spin nervously.
— Secret affairs of Mars and state secrets. There is no place for a chronicler here.
"I am following the orders of the ship's captain and my primarch. Remembrancers have the right to visit a public place," the Astartes, who had been created for war but for some reason was forced to accompany the Herald, answered without much interest, which depressed him.
The soldiers of the Imperial Army were of the same opinion. In turn, the Skitarii, although they did not raise their weapons, but with the amount of their augmentations… the warriors of the Adeptus Mechanicus were extremely dangerous and could harm even a Space Marine with their plasma weapons.
Their reaction was extremely high and the first shot, although it would belong to the Space Marine, would then start shooting the Skitarii and only after that the surviving soldiers would respond. It was also worth understanding that the Magos himself had long ago turned his body into a deadly weapon, using all his accumulated knowledge for this. It was quite possible that the Space Marine would die even before his weapon flew off the magnetic mounts.
"Okay, let's do without this," I asked, not wanting to start another fight. "Let's calm down and talk."
- But it was too late, Sir Mordred did not notice that the time for talking had passed. The misunderstanding that had arisen could only be resolved by force, and now the hand of the unknown Skitarii began to slowly rise to fire a shot... - Heraldry meanwhile continued to write everything down, making everyone horrified at what would happen to the history of the Imperium because of such chroniclers.
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