Mechanicum

Zeth placed a hand on the shoulder of the unconscious man on the throne. 'A great deal of energy, both physical and psychic, must be expended to tear open the gates of the aether and link an empath with the Akashic records. Even then, the human mind can only stare into the aether for the briefest time before overloading.'

'Overloading?' asked Severine, looking up from her contemplation of the man. 'Does that mean it kills them?'

'Many die, Severine, but most simply shut down, their brains reduced to fused masses of pulpy organic matter,' said Zeth, 'but in the fleeting moments when they are connected to the Akasha, we learn such wonders as you would not believe.'

Dalia glanced up at the psykers embedded in the walls of the chamber, understanding that they were the mortal fuel used to power this device. The thought was unpleasant, but as Adept Zeth had said, great power and knowledge did not come without sacrifice.

She saw the connections in her mind, working the logic of what she and the others had built with what Adept Zeth was telling them.

'The theta-wave enhancer will support the mind of the empath and allow him to remain linked with the aether for much longer.'

'That is what I hope, yes,' said Zeth. 'I believe you already possess a natural connection to the aether, Dalia, which is why you are able to make leaps of technological advancement beyond even the most gifted adept of Mars. Together we can unlock the secrets of the universe! Tell me that does not sound like a goal worth pursuing.'

Dalia was about to answer when an alarming thought suddenly occurred to her and she took a step back from the golden throne. 'You're not planning on strapping me into that thing are you?'

'No, Dalia, set your mind at ease on that,' said Zeth. 'You are far too valuable to me to expend your gift in so thoughtless a manner.'

The words were no doubt intended to be reassuring, but Dalia felt a chill that had nothing to do with the proximity of the psykers travel the length of her spine. It was a stark reminder that she was not a free agent; she was the property of the Mechanicum and her fate lay in the hands of Adept Koriel Zeth.

For all her apparent humanity, Zeth was a race apart from Dalia.

Two individuals born to the same race, but divided by a gulf of belief and ambition.

For all that, Dalia still wanted to be part of Zeth's designs. She looked around at her colleagues and saw that same desire.

'When do we begin?' she asked.

'Now,' said Zeth.

Tech-priests and enginseers filled the cavern set into the sheer walls of the Arsia Chasmata with the sounds and flickering lights of their efforts. Sparks flew from angle grinders and welders, hoists lifted great panels of armour, and the droning chants of the Sanctifiers Mettalus echoed from the walls of the repair facility.

Reclining in the repair bay, the war-scarred form of Equitos Bellum lay dormant as the artificers of the Knights of Taranis restored it to its former glory. Fortis Metallum and Pax Mortis had already been repaired and resanctified, the damage they had suffered in the reactor's fireball nowhere near as severe as that done to Maven's mount.

Raf Maven watched the labours from a gantry above, his thin lips pressed tightly together as he watched the work below. He watched a team of enginseers directing a servitor-manned hoist as it swung a fresh armaglass canopy over the wounded machine.

Maven winced, lifting his hand to his eye as he remembered the sympathetic pain of impact when his canopy had cracked.

His mount had been wounded badly by the enemy machine, and Maven with it. When Old Stator had found him unconscious in the wreckage of the destroyed reactor, Maven had been blind, his senses withdrawn in perceived pain. Psychostigmatic bruises and lesions covered his torso, which had nothing to do with the wounds he had suffered when Equitos Bellum had fallen in the wake of the explosion.

Only the transient protection of the building he had taken shelter behind had saved him from the blast, and healers of both flesh and steel proclaimed it a miracle that he and his mount lived at all.

Protectors and bulk transporters despatched from Ulysses Patera had brought them back to their order's chapter house in the Arsia Chasmata, the plunging canyon on the north-eastern flank of Arsia Mons.

Here, the work to restore man and machine had begun.

Maven's superficial wounds had responded quickly to treatment, his broken ribs set and his burns repaired with synth-skin. The stigmatic wounds took longer, seeming to heal in time with the repairs effected on Equitos Bellum.

His mount was without its colours, naked in its steel, its bodywork exposed to those who worked to restore its machine-spirit. Only the firedrake carving on the skull-cockpit had survived the molten heat of the explosion intact.