Chapter 36: Into Hell
Duvette stood against the corridor's metal wall and waited. Time passed in the quiet — only the ventilation system's murmur and the low binary recitation of the servo-skulls filtering through the sealed door.
Eventually the airtight door slid open.
Kairon Saex came out dragging his half-height metal case behind him, four of the mechadendrites from his shoulders working together to manage it. The crimson Mechanicus robes shifted with the movement, and the exposed mechanical components of his frame produced their small precise sounds with each step.
"Praise the Omnissiah." The mechanical voice came from the speaker in his chest. "The machine-spirit has accepted him. He will wake shortly."
Kairon Saex paused. The red mechanical eye turned toward Duvette.
"I will take my leave."
Duvette stepped forward at once, offering a small inclination of his head. "Thank you for your work, Magos."
The Magos Biologis did not respond. He continued down the corridor with his case, the mechanical feet producing a steady metronomic sound on the floor plating, the rhythm becoming quieter as he turned the corner and was gone.
Duvette turned and went straight into the medical bay.
The door closed at his back. The room still carried the compounded smell of sacred unguent, machine oil, and antiseptic from the procedure, the air purification system working against it with limited success.
Finn lay on the central bed in silence. The prosthetic arm had been fitted to his right shoulder.
Silver-grey metal caught the room's light along its surface, running from the shoulder joint down to the palm. Hydraulic rods at each joint were encased in black protective sheaths. Most notably: at the point where the prosthetic met the shoulder, dense bundles of neural cabling had been driven deep into the new flesh, spreading like root systems through the tissue, merged completely with the living material around them.
The other change was more striking.
Finn's eyelids were gone. In their place: a pair of mechanical ocular implants, the precision metal structure fully exposed, the irises cycling through faint flickers of light. They were moving slowly even now, producing a low-frequency hum, adjusting their own focal parameters in what looked like autonomous calibration.
Duvette stepped toward the bed.
As he came close, Finn's fingers moved.
Then the sniper sat upright sharply, and in the same motion the prosthetic hand snapped closed. Metal joints struck each other with a sharp crack that filled the room.
Duvette's attention went directly to the closed mechanical fist. Then to the arm. His expression was not entirely comfortable.
What was that?
Finn appeared to register the same question. He raised the prosthetic slowly until it was level with his face. The mechanical eyes produced a noticeably louder hum, cycling through focal adjustments. The metal fingers opened and closed, opened and closed — several times, deliberate, working through the range of motion of an unfamiliar limb.
After a few seconds, he raised his head.
The ocular implants found Duvette's position. "Commissar." Finn's voice was rough but steady. "By the Throne. I think I can fight again."
Duvette looked at him for a moment. Then he nodded.
"I think you can."
* * *
Four days later.
The Siren's Fury had translated from the Warp at the Mandeville point of the target system. Fourteen hours of sub-light travel remained before they reached their objective.
Duvette assembled everyone on the training deck.
Fifty soldiers in full carapace armour, armed and standing in formation at the front. Deep grey plating covered them from collar to boot, sealed tactical helmets on every head. Meltaguns, plasma guns, and combat shotguns were in hand. Frag grenades and promethium incendiaries hung from their tactical belts.
One item worth noting: Finn had not taken any of the new equipment. From the armory stores he had retrieved the long-barreled lasrifle that had served him without failure for more than a decade, wrapped it in oilcloth, and carried it on his back. Beside it, the kill-mark stock was visible. Nothing else.
Duvette had put on his carapace armour with his commissar's greatcoat over it, the helmet held under his arm. He worked his shoulders through their range once and was satisfied.
He turned to the acting deputy regimental commander and Evan standing beside him.
The deputy was a veteran company commander whose face carried three old scars running from brow to jawline. Evan stood at his shoulder with his hands clasped at his back, his expression composed.
"Greenskin combat doctrine — you've both dealt with them before," Duvette said. "The detailed decisions are yours to make. I won't go through it all."
The deputy nodded. "Understood."
Duvette looked down at Evan.
The young adjutant straightened immediately.
"If I don't come back," Duvette said. His voice was even. "Proceed with the original orders. Deal with the Greenskin threat, then wait for the Departmento Munitorum to issue new deployment orders. A new commissar will be assigned to replace me."
Evan's lips moved. He appeared to start something and then set it aside, and nodded firmly instead.
"Remember," Duvette added, "the 101st has already given enough. No pointless charges."
"I understand, Commissar."
Footsteps came from down the corridor.
Duvette turned.
Juno Karol came along the passage in her black Inquisitor's coat, her pace unhurried. She stopped in front of the assembled formation.
Her gaze moved across the armored soldiers. Across the weapons in their hands. Across the carapace plating. Then it settled on Duvette.
The corner of her mouth lifted slightly.
"Ready, Commissar?"
Duvette met the single red eye across the space between them. Juno's expression was calm. Nothing moved behind that eye. Nothing readable, nothing offered.
After a few seconds, he allowed himself a thin smile in return.
"Of course, Lord Inquisitor."
Juno gave a single nod, turned, and walked toward the main lift at the corridor's far end. The hem of her black coat lifted behind her with the movement.
Duvette watched her back for a moment and let out a quiet internal sigh. He settled the helmet over his head and raised his left hand in a brief signal to the soldiers behind him.
Fifty fully armed soldiers stepped off together. Metal boots met the deck in a single clean sound, then again, then again — two columns forming behind him, moving in step as they followed him along the corridor.
The main lift's doors stood open. Juno was already inside.
Duvette walked in. The soldiers filed in after him. Fifty people with full kit made the space considerably tighter than designed for, but no one spoke. Only the sound of the ventilation and circulation systems.
Juno pressed the button on the control panel.
The lift began to rise.
Duvette looked at the metal door and the reflection it returned to him: deep grey carapace, black commissar's coat, and behind him the silent rows of the people who had chosen to follow him into this.
He glanced at the status display in his field of vision.
[Current Command: Ash Watchers 101st Regiment (Detachment), Ash Watchers 101st Regiment]
[Total Strength: 1,698] [Experience: Veteran (70%)]
[Overall Supply: 100%] [Overall Morale: 100%] [Overall Loyalty: 100%] [Overall Sanity: 90%] [Chaos Corruption: 3%]
[Active Passive Bonuses: Steel Ring (Intermediate), Forced March (Beginner), Indomitable, Threat Sense (Beginner)]
Well then.
Let's see what hell looks like.
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