POV: Nicole

  The Magi and Master Doll are acting… peculiarly. I don't know what they're hiding, but they're plotting something.

  They've politely deflected all my inquiries and encouraged me to go take care of my Legio and make preparations for Cypra Mundi. I could cheat and ask the Argent Drake herself, but whatever they are doing doesn't feel malicious, so I won't ruin whatever surprise they're working on.

  The lessons my Legio is focusing on for the next few weeks are not the typical ones for the princeps candidates. They are important enough that I feel the need to attend in person or watch some of them remotely myself. Particularly, the lessons on etiquette and on Mechanicus hierarchy.

  I feel a little bad that the cadets had their simulator time cut, but it's knowledge they need to know if they plan to leave the ship when we arrive.

  —--------

  I can only openly stare agog as I finally find out what the Magi and Master Doll were being coy about.

  Master Doll underwent several dangerous and reckless implantation procedures back-to-back and then had to adjust to an entire rebuild of his body!

  His new chassis is a massive, metallic humanoid; he reminds me of Samuel Hayden, just with thicker limbs and a denser torso. His former hunch is gone, putting him, when fully extended and upright, at nearly three meters tall. His current form is bereft of dendrites, and his outer armour layer, though he has ports for a full harness suite. Most of his head – which is hidden behind an intricate face-mask of interlocking adamantium plates – and spine, aside from his eyes, had been regenerated, only for large portions of his skull to be replaced with archeotech.

  Each limb is a fully articulated work of art. I can only imagine how long it might have taken to make this or how much it cost, considering the primary material appears to be adamantine and various rare super-alloys, including a bit of the auramite I gave him.

  "I'm detecting a five-microsecond haptic feedback delay. Running diagnostic rites." Master Doll says. His voice has a smoothness to it that he lacked before as he clenches and unclenches one fist. The pitch fluctuates slightly, sounding faintly synthetic as he dials the voice modulation in, while wispy curls of sacred incense curl around him.

  My eye twitches as I continue to scan him with my personal Auspex and with AME. "You should have told me," I growl. "Half of these new neural implants are advanced Dark Age tech! What if something had gone awry? Where did you even get them?" I ask, exasperated as I throw my hands up.

  I am ignored as Gertrude speaks up, "Interesting. A majority of the signs that indicate diminishing rejuvenate effects have been reset by the regenerative effects of the vat. Cellular degradation is minimal, and your telomeres have been extended. That has… considerable potential, though we will require additional data points to confirm the response."

  "Power readings are steady and ready for stress tests," Magos Xor mutters, studying what I can only guess are Master Doll's new body's specs on a holopad display.

  I put my hands on my hips and glare up at them all. "I will remember this," I growl, which finally earns me a few amused glances.

  "Well? What do you think?" Master Doll asks me, raising one of his regenerated eyebrows as his face mask retracts, revealing his face which looks far healthier and youthful than it had before.

  I throw my hands up, "It's fantastic. An artful yet functional reimagining of the duality of man and machine. It's a masterpiece, and I'm still mad at you."

  "I'm concerned the conduits powering the integrated graviton imploder may not be sufficient based on the power draw," Doll mutters as he holds up his left arm, which transforms as the sleek weapon emerges from within. "Perhaps a miniaturized isotropic fuel rod or micro fusion battery would suffice?"

  "Agh!" I throw my hands up and stomp off, pausing in the doorway. "We're arriving tomorrow!"

  —-------------------------------------------------------------

  POV: Navy Auspex and Flight Control Technician, Krell Pingman

  Krell had been at his job for a long time – his whole life, actually. His great grandfather had worked in the Outer Defensive Belt, his grandfather had moved up to working around Cypra Mundi, his father had gotten promoted to a Ramilies Star Fort within the Crown of Anchorage. And now he had the privilege to go over auspex returns on Segmentum Fortress Obscurus, though he still did occasional stints working on a few of the Star Forts when the Fortress was away from Cypra Mundi and prowling around the local star system. Segmentum Fortress Obscurus generally transitioned between the main planets but never remained in one location for more than a decade for security purposes.

  Krell keenly knew one of the critical things to recognize in a job like his: shit rolls downhill. So, when something funky was going on with his superior's superior's superior it eventually trickled down all the way to him.

  He got the order from his bridge officer, who reported to Magos Portum Lathrix-7. All he had to do was keep a lookout for a specific vessel leading a specific fleet? Not a problem. It wasn't his business. Maybe Magos Portum or his boss were expecting a delivery?

  A Rogue Trader fleet. A Dynasty he'd never heard of. Reported flagship was the Argent Drake – a Repulsive-class Grand Cruiser? Despite its reputation, that was a nice flagship. This ship in particular was far larger than normal and its weapon loadout looked expensive according to the last registered auspex scan on file. A few smaller escorts were expected to accompany the ship. All he had to do was ping his terminal when they arrived.

  True to form, the fleet showed up two months after the order came down. The outer defensive fleet pinged them and verified their identity before letting them pass. The flagship was an identical match for their records.

  The fleet composition, however, was throwing up some major red flags. The escorts were present, yes, but three vessels on their fleet list were making the cogitator he was jacked into freak out.

  What the hell was that massive ship?

  Processing…

  Rows and rows of complex code appeared and flew across the screens, processing power usage from his station skyrocketed, and the pressure mounted as some of the strain trickled through to his implants.

  Processing… Processing…

  He was starting to taste copper when the cogitator's Machine Spirit finally managed to find the correct ship profile after pinging the station's main data repository.

  Identified: Megiron Class Forge Vessel. Designation: Emergency Repairs III. Last known sighting: 1058 years ago. Former Operator: Adeptus Mechanicus. Tagged: Salvage, Operational, Adeptus Mechanicus: Archmagos Doll,

  Identified: Imperial Jovian Conquestus Ark. Designation: Cry Havoc. Last known sighting: 9987 years ago. Former Operator: Legio Interfector. Tagged: Salvage, Damaged, Operational, Legio Tempestus.

  Error… Error... Error: Possible Profile Match: Restricted Class Destroyer. Designation: Co–REDACTED. Last known: Error. Former Operator: Error. Tagged: Salvage, Damaged, Operational, Restricted, Access Denied, Access Forbidden, Warning: Prerequisite security clearances not met. This attempt has been logged.

  Krell stared at the information flickering on his screen for over a minute before reaching over to his communications console and pressing a button that alerted a nearby bridge officer.

  When the officer came on over, took one look at the screen, promptly paled, and then immediately called for the Magos in charge. Krell realized things were more wrong than he initially assumed.

  Magos Portum Lathrix-7 was looming over his shoulder less than ten minutes later. One of his dendrite tendrils jacked into the display.

  Krell wasn't fully fluent in binaric, but he knew enough from working around the priests of Mars to recognize some of what the Magos was muttering to himself.

  "Delay: infeasible. Critical unknown factors." The screen flickered as the Magos tried to use his authority on the final entry. The man reeled back as if he had been struck, he released a sharp binaric hiss as the response appeared.

  Possible Profile Match: Tiamat Class Destroyer. Restricted, Access Denied, Access Forbidden, Warning: Prerequisite security clearances not met. This attempt has been logged.

  "Clarify status of: Forge Vessel: Emergency Repairs III," the Magos muttered aloud.

  Vessel Status: Operational. Industrial Processing Capacity: 96.67%. Maximum Forge Capacity: 94.89% Scale Production: Macro. Schematics Available: Forge World Ryza, Forge World Metalica, the Great Lathes, and Holy Mars:

  Parts List: Restricted, Restricted, Restricted, Restricted, Restricted, Restricted…

  The list of parts was extensive, even if all the specific entries were locked out. Krell glanced at Magos Portum, who wore a calculating expression.

  Krell watched as a list of occupied docks was displayed on his side monitor. Along with the docks and forges in the orbital ring, with major material feeds.

  "Inquiry: The Drakios fleet would prefer adjacent berths?" The Magos tilted his head and narrowed the photoreceptor apertures on his synthetic eyes.

  "Reply: Affirmative," came back quickly.

  "Krell, inform the Drakios fleet that they will be required to loiter in high orbit for three days while we clear fleet dock Gamma-12 for their use. We'll move the two Mass Conveyors in Gamma-12 to Iota-7." Lathrix-7 looked content with his compromise. Krell knew Gamma-12 was a large dock, one close to the Fortress and one of the few with enough space for the Megiron Class to fully deploy its gantries without causing traffic issues while also fitting in the rest of the fleet.

  Krell wondered for half a second why the Magos didn't do it himself. But it was his job and his station. "Yes, Sir. I will do so."

  Lathrix-7 nodded and retracted his dendrite from the cogitator. "Another matter requires my attention. Good day." He turned on his heel and briskly walked away before Krell could ask any follow-up questions.

  Krell shook his head and informed the Drakios fleet of the delay and transmitted their new flight plan. He also informed the Mass Conveyors hogging Gamma-12 that they would be moving to an adjacent berth immediately. When the Drakios fleet requested permission to use their personal shuttles to visit the Segmentum Fortress during their layover, he approved the request immediately, as it made little sense not to approve it – nor did he get any instructions from above to deny them either.

  —------------------------------------------------------------

  POV: Lord High Admiral Spire

  Lord High Admiral Spire sat behind his massive, real wooden mahogany desk on board the Segmentum Fortress. He reached for a cup of recaf, and as he realized it was empty, he stood and moved off to check the pot he'd had made earlier.

  He had just enough recaf left in the pot for one last mug full. He called for a servitor to take the empty pot and sent a message to one of his many assistants for another. He carefully poured what remained into his favorite mug.

  The segmentum was on fire. He was doing his best to put it out. The foul rift they were calling the Cicatrix Maledictum had cut them off from both Holy Terra and the Astronomicon. Warp travel was somehow more tumultuous than ever.

  He had returned after foiling Abaddon's 12th black crusade only to find they had progressed to the 13th, and the Bastion of Cadia had tragically fallen in the time he had been lost. His triumphant return was further soiled as he'd had to kill his treasonous superior and predecessor. He'd expected to be punished; he was promoted for his trouble instead. "No good deed goes unpunished." He sighed.

  He took his mug over to the massive window overlooking Cypra Mundi, the Crown of Anchorage, and the various vessels from the reserve fleet they were in the process of reactivating. His gaze trailed over the various vessels traversing the void and paused as he spotted a cluster of voidships he didn't recognize in a holding pattern.

  "You don't see one of those very often," he muttered, wracking his brain for a moment before he recognized the rare Megiron-class forge vessel. "I wonder where they found that?" He mused aloud before his eyes traced the other two vessels. A blocky Titanicus Conquestus Ark and a… Repulsive? He squinted; he had a keen eye for ships, and that Grand Cruiser looked larger than normal.

  He waved over a servo skull with a Vox unit. "Fetch me the information on the flotilla loitering in sector G3, please." He took a long sip and exhaled slowly. Hearing the skull return, he held out his other hand when it came back with a dataslate. He glanced over the information. A Rogue Trader. Three of the flotilla's ships were marked as recent salvage. A very fortunate Rogue Trader, it seemed. The Megiron, Titanicus Ark, and… a Destroyer? He had to use his biosignature just to see additional details? That was unusual. His eyebrows crept upwards as the information revealed itself after verifying his identity. An ancient relic.

  A Tiamat-class Destroyer.

  Spire tried to recall if he had ever seen one in person. They were terribly rare and guarded jealously by the Dark Angels and Holy Terra itself.

  Spire looked at the Rogue Trader's reported purpose for being in the system. Ship repairs, trade… and retrieval? With a pending high-priority request to meet with the Fabricator General himself no less. Spire could recognize the vague statement for what it was, a cover, probably to discuss recovered relics or possibly even more lucrative items.

  As he watched, an absolutely gorgeous silver shuttle darted out from the Grand Cruiser, glinting briefly for a moment before heading for the Segmentum Fortress.

  He wondered for a brief moment if he could find the time for a tour of the Tiamat.

  With a weary sigh, he pulled his gaze from the window and turned back to the mountain of paperwork sitting on his desk. So many conflicting reports and sightings that continued to trickle in on enemy movements that were no doubt already out of date – if they were ever true in the first place. At least things had temporarily calmed down with the relief fleet headed to rescue Mordian.

  "Emperor, give me strength," he muttered as he set his mug down and picked up his quill.

  —------------------------------------------------------------

  POV: Shadow-13

  Shadow-13 was retired, and in his line of work, that meant more than could be said. Few people ever retired from the Assassinorum. His body was frail, but his mind was keen enough for administrative duties.

  Sure, they had given him his name back, something they found buried in his file, but he would forever be Shadow-13. He often still found himself idly plotting how to kill anyone who walked through the door out of pure habit.

  He shuffled a few documents as his 'secretary' came by with several more. Why the girl bothered wearing that farce of a face around him, he didn't know. Her skills put her in the dead center for her generation of Callidus. She might have done better as a Vanus.

  "Master Entreri…" She trailed off as he fixed her with a sharp look from his one non-augmetic eye. "Master Shadow," she corrected politely, and he blinked. "We have an update of the report from Lord Striker's recent visit. She's requesting we add a name to the whitelist."

  Shadow sighed. Little Miss Striker had a bad habit of recruiting Assassinorum assets and agents if left under her care for too long, not through any nefarious means, but through sheer drive and weight of personality; she had a strict code of conduct and stuck to it. News that she had procured an old Venenum asset was both fortuitous and vexing. "Striker? Whitelisting a name? Curious." That girl wouldn't whitelist her own mother.

  He inspected the document. A name: Nicole Cavalerio. Strategic Value: Absolute. An individual marked as a… strategic level asset? That was very interesting. He filed it away for later investigation.

  —--------

  He was surprised less than a month later when a petite figure in Mechanicus robes, Mars red with platinum highlights, walked right into the Inquisitorial palace. It was almost impossible to miss the golden Titanicus icon emblazoned across her back.

  "Hello! I need to speak with the highest-ranking Assassinorum representative present, along with an Inquisitor, preferably Ordo Xenos," She told his secretary while he shuffled around behind her, filing documents away.

  "Name, please? Do you have an appointment?" She asked the girl.

  His gaze shifted to the girl, and his instincts informed him that killing her would be oddly difficult. Curious. His augmetic eye outright refused to lock onto the silver-haired girl. Such thoughts lasted right until the massive lumbering blue form walked in to loom behind the girl along with a particularly advanced Skitarii. All his old instincts screamed at him that the venerable Astartes was not to be trifled with and that Skitarii was delightfully dangerous.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Can I assist you, Lord Astartes?" one of the other aides inquired with a deep respectful bow towards the dreadnought.

  "No," came the blunt reply. The attention of the venerable warrior rested squarely on the girl.

  "Nicole Cavalerio, and no, I do not." She looked mildly annoyed. "Is Lord Striker here? It is critically imperative that I meet with a ranking Inquisitor as soon as possible."

  "She is not," he spoke, gaining the attention of the Magos as he walked up to the desk and peered down at the girl. "We can inquire, but arranging a meeting may take some time. What do you require of the Assassinorum?"

  "Ah. That is less pressing. I have some… gifts. For the Ordo," she said vaguely while studying him intently. He could feel her probing the Noosphere for his identification and clearances.

  "Gifts?" He asked curiously.

  "I have recently come into the possession of some wargear that I believe the Ordo and specifically the Callidus Temple will be interested in." Her mercurial eyes glanced between him and his secretary, "I wanted to donate said wargear," she said while smiling pointedly at his secretary.

  The girl reached into her robes. Shadow watched amused as she pulled out a C'tan Phase Blade. She had done well to mask the fact that she had retrieved it from some manner of pocket space, but he knew it hadn't been there moments ago.

  "That… is indeed something the Ordo would be interested in." He picked up the blade and turned it over. His brow furrowed when he failed to find the proper maker's markings on the weapon. "Where did you find this?" He asked firmly. The blade had been modified for human use, but the temple kept track of these weapons closely.

  "Ah, sorry," she said as she realized there was a misunderstanding. "That blade was procured from a Necron armory. I modified it."

  "You did?" He asked sharply, "You do realize this is a heavily restricted item?"

  "Ah. My licenses to produce gear with the Ordo might have expired a few millennia ago? I do have permissions to work with Xenotech as I am nearly at the rank of Magos in Divisio Xenologis," She spoke with a faintly guilty expression.

  Shadow blinked slowly. "I see… well… we thank you for your generous donation. I will take care of ensuring this is stored safely."

  She frowned at him, wrinkling her nose and looking briefly confused and offended for some reason, "Um… where do you want the other eleven?"

  His secretary was now openly staring at the girl, dumbfounded.

  "You have eleven more of these?" He gestured to the pristine weapon he was holding. A lifetime of being an assassin allowed him to remain perfectly composed – the child Magos' claim was strictly speaking absurd.

  "Yes," she replied with a bright, almost innocent-looking smile.

  "Come with me, please," Shadow-13 spoke and motioned for the girl to follow him into a nearby side-chamber. "You can set them out on the table here. I must ask… are these the only twelve?"

  "I retained one unmodified blade for my personal collection and study. The rest of the phase blades suitable for human use are here to be donated," she explained as she took out all eleven weapons one-by-one from what Shadow-13 was suspecting to be a storage pocket dimension of some kind and placed them on the table.

  He examined each blade carefully and could find no faults in any of them. Each looked brand-new and well-kept. The retired assassin looked into the girl's eyes and nodded with genuine thanks. "This is a grand gift. What were you looking to receive from the Ordo in exchange?"

  "I was hoping for a…" She paused, starting to mouth 'fa' before she changed her mind at the last moment. "For the Ordo to extend me a courtesy. My presence in the system over the next few months will likely make waves and step on some toes. Certain individuals may take that unkindly, and I would appreciate it if they were prevented or dissuaded from utilizing the Ordo's resources for their personal grievances."

  That told him several things. The girl had no idea she had been whitelisted, she expected to make enemies, was planning accordingly, and she did not seem bothered by the idea of such conflict in the slightest.

  Shadow smiled down at the curious little girl. "That can certainly be arranged. Was that all?"

  "If possible, please look into renewing my crafting permissions. I had a lot of them, and some may still be expired?" She tilted her head and thought for a moment, "I might be a tad busy for a few months, but I may be available for commissions afterwards," she said cheerfully.

  "Before you go, pray tell, why do you need to meet with the Ordo Xenos?" He asked before she had a chance to depart.

  "Oh. We found a Dark Age schematic for a man-portable real-time genetic scanner within the production capacity of Cypra Mundi, capable of detecting all stages of genestealer infection. Expensive and slow to produce, but still," she told him with a shrug.

  Shadow stared down at this little… gremlin… for a long moment. "I've changed my mind. You're meeting with them immediately."

  "I thought you said they were busy?" She asked, looking adorably confused.

  "They were," was his curt reply as he typed out a brief message informing the Inquisitors of their new immediate appointment. "Come along."

  —-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

  POV: Cobalt Coatl

  She looked out into the system. It was familiar yet utterly foreign. It was one thing to read about the changes to human civilization, another entirely to witness it firsthand. Mordian had given her the briefest glimpses of it.

  And this was supposed to be one of the more technologically advanced ones.

  As their fleet pushed further into the Cypra Mundi system, she felt growing horror. Systems once managed easily by her AI cousins were long gone, and in their place was now manpower and meat.

  The overwhelming conflict of the Iron Rebellion had left scars millennia old, and she was unsure if they would ever heal fully.

  The system's capital forge world sat in a haze of toxic smog that permeated the entirety of the planet's surface. The atmosphere was well below her thresholds, and yet it was supporting billions of lives.

  Brutal gothic styling with its rustic-looking sharp angles and grim aesthetic was abundant. This was a place of industry and production on a macro scale. With human beings reduced to resources and figures before the churning demands of the Imperial war machine.

  It was like looking upon a wounded man manually pumping his own blood, not realizing what a wretched thing he had become. The quotes fluttered up from the deepest recesses of her code.

  "Human civilization persists not through optimization, but through ritualized inefficiency."

  "In life, unlike chess, the game continues after checkmate."

  "You may live to see man-made horrors beyond comprehension."

  "Whoever fights with monsters should see to it that he does not become one himself."

  "When you stare for a long time into an abyss, the abyss stares back into you."

  She shuddered and scanned a passing vessel. It struck her then how lucky she had been to be found by those who had recovered her.

  On some of these strange ships, watching their cultish crews was like watching an orangutan build a nuclear reactor… A glance snuck inside a passing Inquisitorial vessel made her rapidly reconsider that analogy.

  "What the hell is a Jokaero!?"

  She hardened her heart. These poor fools couldn't even keep their atmosphere clean. She felt it then, the cold necessity settling into her like steel in the spine. Compassion without resolve was useless. Pity without action was cruelty by another name. She would do what she could to aid humanity. The only question is, could she save them from themselves?

  —-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

  POV: Fabricator Locum Archmagos, Rhydan Korr

  He knew within the hour of the Drakios fleet's translation into the system.

  The confirmation rippled through the noosphere as a cascade of priority pings, and Korr's mechadendrites hissed softly as he flexed them in unconscious satisfaction. Events were finally moving at a tempo worthy of his station.

  Without delay, he transmitted a pre-recorded summons through his privileged channels, invoking his authority as Fabricator Locum to call for a full convocation of the Cypra Mundi Mechanicus High Council Forum.

  Everyone would attend. They always did.

  Within a single rotation, he possessed a mirrored copy of the fleet's initial data dump. The composition was… impressive. More than impressive, it was unexpected. The data had been flagged almost immediately by one of his more reliable instruments, Magos Portum Lathrix-7. Lathrix-7 had performed admirably, contriving a delay under the pretense of arranging an optimal and prominent berthing orbit. The Rogue Trader fleet, no doubt flattered by the offer to make use of the Emergency Repairs III in their complement, had complied without protest. That the rearranging was actually necessary didn't matter to him.

  The delay would serve his purposes just as well.

  The Titanicus vessel itself merited only cursory attention. Potent, yes, but predictable. Holy Engines were Holy Engines. The third unaccounted hull registered as a destroyer, unremarkable in mass, and of an ancient and rare pattern, but that was all. Korr archived it in his neural storage without allocating further processing cycles. There were far more interesting variables in play.

  His attention sharpened as a search-engram returned a priority result: Archmagos Doll.

  Korr's internal cogitators slowed, savoring the moment. Doll had accessed restricted data caches within the last cycle. Data sealed by Mechanicus strictures and mandate. Forbidden knowledge, if one wished to be melodramatic. Korr permitted himself a thin smile, the expression tugging faintly at what little flesh was still clinging to the left side of his face.

  Calling a peer to account for such an infraction was not merely permissible; it was encouraged. The prerogative existed under the High Council for precisely this situation.

  He did not doubt that Doll would be able to justify the access. The Lathe Artisan was many things, but careless was not among them. Still, justification required testimony, and testimony required presence. Doll would be compelled to attend in person.

  Perfect.

  It was as though the Omnissiah Himself had placed the Archmagos upon Korr's lectern. Their long-anticipated doctrinal clash would be witnessed by the full host of the Middle Council – an audience ripe for instruction. Lesser Magi would observe, record, and disseminate. They would learn, at last, and witness the difference between them and a true Archmagos.

  Yet Korr was not foolish enough to underestimate his peer. Doll's political defeat and exile amid the den of vipers and web of intrigues within the Great Lathes had occurred over a century ago, and time had not diminished him. If anything, Doll's faction had grown broader, his methodologies sharper, his intellect honed by adversity, any recent boons or relics uncovered within the vessels, let alone the hulls themselves, would undoubtedly be seen as blessings in his favor.

  Korr tapped a metal finger against his augmetic chin, the sound ringing softly through the forge chamber. Ideally, the debate would end in his favor without provoking lasting offense. He had calculations to consider beyond mere victory. Doll's artisan talents were something Korr desired, and a commission following a "cordial" intellectual defeat would be… satisfactory.

  Even a neutral or inconclusive outcome would suffice. The real victory lay in the demonstration and opportunity to preach his own orthodox, conservative dogma.

  And Korr was eager to begin. So he promptly composed the summons.

  Encrypted Noospheric Transmission

  Origin: Fabricator Locum Archmagos Rhydan Korr

  Recipient: Archmagos Akellonon Doll

  Security Grade: Sigma-Prime

  Authentication: Verified

  By the Authority of the Omnissiah and the Mandate of the Cypra Mundi High Council,

  Archmagos Akellonon Doll,

  It has come to the attention of this office that you have, within recent cycles, accessed data repositories classified under Restriction Protocol: Chromium-Seven and above, pursuant to Mechanicus Codex: Subsection LXII.

  Such access, while not unprecedented among peers of your distinction, necessitates formal review and contextual justification before an assembled High Council of peerage.

  Accordingly, you are hereby summoned to appear in person before the Cypra Mundi Mechanicus Forum, Hall of Masters, Chamber of Deliberation, on the fifth planetary cycle following receipt of this transmission, at the sixth chronometric interval.

  Your presence is required for the purposes of doctrinal clarification, procedural validation, and scholarly discourse.

  You are invited to present all relevant data keys, authorization chains, and supporting theoretical frameworks in preparation for this inquiry.

  Be advised: failure to comply will be interpreted as procedural nonconformance under Article IX of the Martian Compact and addressed accordingly.

  I trust, given your long-standing reputation for rigor and intellectual discipline, that you will welcome this opportunity to elucidate your work before your peers and defend your factional dogma.

  May the Omnissiah illuminate our discourse.

  Cypra Mundi, Fabricator Locum, Archmagos Rhydan Korr

  —------------------------------------------------------------------------

  POV: Archmagos Akellonon Doll

  He leaned back in the massive chair that cradled his new body and studied the digital summons hovering in front of him, displayed via holoprojector.

  He had expected such a thing, of course, but it was quite clear Archmagos Korr was merely using the data justification hearing as an excuse to host a factional dogmatic debate in front of the full forum.

  It was rather flattering in a way. Doll was no stranger to defending his views on the Lathes, and while he hadn't needed to do so often when traveling with the Drakios fleet, it still happened from time to time.

  A quick search through the local Noosphere was more than enough to confirm The Fabricator Locum was a fully accredited archmagos, specializing in Alchemys. A well known key figure of the local orthodox conservative faction. Korr operated and controlled numerous critical major refineries and synth production pipelines across the planet and did so well. But few of the local archmagi were willing to challenge the Fabricator Locum. Especially not with the Fabricator General's tendency to violently remove inefficiency whenever dogmatic schisms escalated high enough to impact Cypra Mundi's output. The local Archmagi were risk-averse and focused on their forges and their own work. Most would only send proxies aside from the core high council members, who were more active in the political scene.

  Doll felt inclined to thank the man if anything. He could hardly ask for a better stage and audience to unveil his new chassis, too, and reveal Nicole. Besides, from what he knew and had gathered from Korr, the Fabricator Locum, while orthodox in his dogma, simply enjoyed high-level debates.

  He knew Korr was monitoring their communications, but he had learned long ago as a simple Magos, how to sneak encrypted messages through the Great Lathes network to contact his superiors and collaborators.

  He drafted a simple message for the Fabricator General outlining the reason for his use of the knowledge. Then he provided a full list of the STC fragments and relics he planned to reveal, along with a primer on Nicole. Simple, succinct, efficient.

  Then he drafted his reply to Korr, deciding to keep it short and sweet. Instead of sending the full list he merely informed the Fabricator Locum that he had several rare relics to introduce to the Forum.

  Archamagos Rhydan Korr, Fabricator Locum of Cypra Mundi

  It would be my astute pleasure to engage in such spirited discourse with a peer after the initial proceedings for my summons have concluded.

  Archmagos Akellonon Doll.

  Doll wondered if offering the man a commission might help smooth things over after the debate, which would end when he revealed the nature of his recent windfall of blessings and, of course, introduced Nicole to the forum.