The banner of the Bronze Cog Clan hung limp from its pole. It depicted a gear suspended against a deep indigo, almost purple background representing the void. From above, a bone-white biological claw reached down, its talons gripping the gear in a tight, possessive hold.
To soone unfamiliar with the Adeptus chanicus, the image might seem innocuous. But to Enkidu, it felt profoundly wrong.
The iconography of Mars featured the Cog and Skull; Ryza had the plasma coil; Agripinaa used dots and gears. Orthodox chanicus symbols were rooted in mathematics, machinery, and the purity of the human cranium. The sigil of the Bronze Cog was, at best, a borderline heresy.
Is this so warped sub-sect of the Machine Cult? A rogue Tech-Priest hiding in the dregs? Or is it sothing much more... chitinous?
The young Astartes suppressed his doubts and followed the guides into the compound.
The scenery was typical of the lower decks. Laborers in tattered coveralls hurried past, their bodies withered and their hair thinning from the toxic atmosphere. Many lacked limbs, replaced by crude, clanking cybernetics of mismatched scrap.
"My Lord, welco to the Bronze Cog!" A smiling attendant led him toward the largest structure in the enclave, where a group of weathered workers stood waiting. "I am Park Aum, Elder of this House and your humble servant. We have prepared a grand banquet to receive you. Conditions in the lower decks are... modest compared to the spires. We have offered our very best; please, do not be angry."
"Save the pleasantries. I have questions."
Inside the receiving room, which had been scrubbed clean with desperate haste, a young maid presented Enkidu with a glass of iridescent liquid. He sniffed it once; the cup was laced with a potent, hallucinogenic cocktail.
Is this how they treat guests? Do they have a collective death wish?
His first instinct was fury, but he paused. Wait. Perhaps... maybe... the Slaaneshi Astartes actually like this stuff? These mortals must have heard rumors of the "Angels'" debauched tastes and offered the drugs as a high-tier tribute.
"Take it away. I don't drink this filth. Bring what the mortals drink."
The Elder and the council mbers froze. The maid turned ash-pale, but she choked back her tears and scurried away with the glass.
A minute later, a bottle of Amasec appeared on the table.
Enkidu took a small sip, savoring the burn of the amber liquid and the rich, oaky aftertaste. He watched the council's expressions, letting the silence stretch until their nerves were raw.
"I heard of you from Paul of House Knott. I am curious. Introduce yourselves, and then tell of the other clans on these decks."
The Elder of the Bronze Cog exchanged glances with his peers before launching into a detailed explanation. His report mirrored Paul's but added several layers of industrial nuance, allowing Enkidu to see the lower deck ecosystem from a technical perspective.
"Enough. I have the gist of it," Enkidu interrupted, deliberately pausing to let the pressure build. "Your descriptions of Knott, Minsk, Heisel, and Sarn are exhaustive. Yet, you barely ntion the Star Children. Do you have sothing to hide from ?"
"No! No, my Lord! We an no deception!" The Elder's hands shook, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. "It's just... we have had certain... conflicts with the Star Children."
"Oh?"
Seeing that Enkidu remained relatively calm—unlike the rcurial monsters of legend—the Elder steadied himself. "As you know, since we ca aboard, we have tended to the Machine Spirits. Naturally, we offer our devotion to the Omnissiah. The Lords never forbade it. But the Star Children... they call us heretics!"
"Explain."
"They tell us the Emperor is the only True God, and our Omnissiah is a false idol! We were outraged. We've fought several skirmishes over it. We've lost over a hundred kin to those zealots..."
A faint, muffled sound reached Enkidu's ears from a corner of the room—the tiny whirr of a cooling fan, the subtle friction of rotating gears. The sensation of being watched pricked at his transhuman senses.
He focused his Lyman's Ear, his brain translating the sounds into a ntal map.
Seven people. They were using high-end vox-recording equipnt in an adjacent room, clustered together to monitor the conversation. Based on the weight of the footsteps, there was one high-ranking individual protected by six guards.
Interesting. If this 'Elder' isn't the one actually in charge, then talking to him is a waste of ti.
"If you wish to speak, then have the courage to show your face," Enkidu said, his voice booming as he stared directly at the hidden cara lens. "If you cannot manage even that, there will be no cooperation between us."
"What?" The Elder stamred, looking around in confusion. "My Lord, what are you saying?"
"As expected, you noticed." The vox-system in the room activated automatically. "As expected of an Angel. Your intuition is peerless."
"Since I've found you, crawl out and make ands for your insolence."
Even the usually even-tempered Enkidu felt a flare of irritation. So bottom-feeder hiding in the shadows of the lower decks had the audacity to spy on an Astartes? Did they forget who owned this ship? He could purge the entire Bronze Cog Clan on a whim.
The vox hissed with static for two seconds. Then, the heavy doors to the receiving room swung open. A line of figures entered.
"My deepest apologies, Lord Astartes. Usually, the Lords only move through the skies. On the rare occasion they descend, it is only to cull the 'vermin.' This is the first ti an Angel has graced the Bronze Cog. I was simply... curious. I offer my apologies, and a gift to seek your favor."
A beautiful woman with long, flowing hair stepped forward. She took a blackened iron casket from an attendant, knelt before the Astartes, and held the gift aloft.
Inside the box lay a shard of transparent crystal, emitting a cold, starlight glow. The mont the Elder saw it, his eyes went vacant. He stood up like a marionette with cut strings and shuffled to the side of the room.
At the sa ti, Enkidu narrowed his eyes. An invisible, ripple-like wave radiated from the crystal, brushing against his mind like a cool current of water.
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