Mechanicum

Many months would need to pass before Mars and Terra would be in alignment once more, but for the next few rotations, the power of the Astronomican was still a vast resource of harvestable psychic energy.

Fresh psykers were already being installed within the coffers, though there had been no sign of another empath for the throne atop the dais, a fact for which Dalia was pathetically grateful.

As the activity in the dome neared completion, Dalia approached the workbench where Zouche and Caxton worked on the helmet assembly. Zouche was plugged into the lathe via extruded dendrites in his wrist, and the hissing of the laser lathe cutting through high-grade steel was a shrieking banshee howl.

Dalia winced as the sound bit into the meat of her brain.

Caxton saw her coming and smiled, lifting his hand in greeting. She smiled and returned the gesture as Zouche looked up from his labours and shut off the lathe.

'Dalia,' said Zouche, withdrawing his mechadendrites from the workbench and flipping up his protective goggles. 'How are you today?'

'I'm fine, Zouche,' she said, her gaze shifting to the dais where the bronze armoured figure of Adept Zeth and Rho-mu 31 supervised the work of Mellicin and Severine. 'Please, can you turn the lathe back on?'

'Back on?' asked Zouche, glancing over at Caxton. 'Why?'

'Please, just do it.'

'What's the matter, Dalia?' asked Caxton. 'You sure you're allright?'

'I'm fine,' repeated Dalia. 'Please, turn the lathe back on, I need to talk to you both, but I don't want anyone to hear.'

Zouche shrugged and reconnected with the workbench to activate the laser. Once again, the hiss of cutting metal filled the air as the manip plate moved the steel around the spitting lathe. Both Zouche and Caxton leaned in as Dalia spoke.

'The damper we used in the reader, the part that blocks external interference from interfacing with the empath's helmet, can you make a portable version of it?'

Zouche frowned. 'A portable one. Why?'

'To block out vox-thieves and disrupt pict-feed,' said Caxton, guessing Dalia's meaning.

'Yes,' agreed Dalia. 'Exactly.'

'I'm not sure about this,' said Zouche. 'I don't like the notion of secrecy. Nothing good can come of it.'

'Look, can you make it or not?' asked Dalia.

'Of course, we can,' said Caxton, his boyish face alight at the prospect of mischief. 'It's simple, isn't it, Zouche?'

'Yes, it's simple, but why would you want such a device?' asked Zouche, 'What's so secret that you need to stop anyone hearing it?'

'I need to talk to you, Mellicin and Severine too, and I need to be sure we're the only one's listening.'

'Talk to us about what?'

'About what Jonas Milus said to me.'

'I thought you said he didn't say anything,' pointed out Caxton.

'I lied,' said Dalia.

They met at the end of shift in the refectoria hall, an echoing space filled with replenishing servitors and hungry labourers, menials and adepts. The hall was rife with rumour, the few information networks that were functional burbling with fragments of frightened talk of catastrophic accidents and unnatural incidents all across Mars.

Gathering like conspirators, they sat as far from any listening ears as it was possible to get, but with each clique muttering their suspicions about what was happening beyond the walls of Adept Zeth's forge, no one was paying them any mind anyway.

As they huddled around the smallest table that could accommodate them all, Dalia took a long, hard look at her friends, judging how they might react to what she was about to tell them.

Caxton seemed to be enjoying himself immensely, while Zouche looked nervous at their conspiratorial gathering. Mellicin's posture spoke of her unease, and Severine looked as expressionless and pale as she had since Jonas Milus's death.

'Zouche?' said Dalia. 'Did you bring it?'

'Aye, girl, I did,' nodded Zouche. 'It's working. No one can hear what we're saying.'

'What's this all about, Dalia?' asked Mellicin. 'Why did we have to meet like this?'

'I'm sorry, but I didn't know how else to do this.'

'Do what?' asked Zouche. 'I don't see why we need to skulk about like this just because the damned empath spoke to you.'

Severine's head snapped up and her eyes flashed. 'Jonas spoke to you?'

Dalia nodded. 'Yes, he did.'

'What did he say?'

'Not much,' admitted Dalia. 'And what he did say didn't make much sense then.'

'And now?' asked Mellicin, the wan light of the refectoria gleaming from the metallic half-mask of her face. 'Your words imply they make more sense now.'

'Well, sort of. I'm not sure, but maybe.'

'Clarity, Dalia,' said Mellicin. 'Remember clarity in all things. First of all, tell us what the empath said.'

'His name was Jonas,' snapped Severine. 'He had a name. All of you, he had a name and it was Jonas.'

'I am well aware of that,' said Mellicin, without pause. 'Dalia, if you please.'

Feeling everyone's eyes upon her, Dalia reddened and took a deep breath before speaking. The words came easily to her, each one seared onto her brain like an acid etching on glass.