The ancient forge-palace was dim and steady while the world outside it was neither.
Fabricator General Wesley Phall processed the incoming data streams from every sensor network on Triplex Phall simultaneously, and relayed the composite picture to the Armiger standing below in the measured delivery of someone accustomed to managing catastrophe through information.
"The first Skitarii Pioneer brigade has been destroyed in full. The second and third are en route to reinforce. Fourth and fifth on standby." The vast mechanical head oriented toward the Armiger without shifting the rest of its chassis. "A number of the Leman Russ tanks maintained in storage for research and collection purposes have been released and are being delivered to the Pioneer Corps. They will reach the front within minutes."
The data continued.
"Several senior Magi have submitted a mobilization proposal to the Forge Council. The Ironstrider combat formation and the Sydonian Dragoon cavalry formation are on standby and will be committed according to battlefield requirements."
"The mortal auxiliary formation designated the Devourers, under Carcharodons Astra authorization, has entered the conflict. All members are equipped with power weapons and lasguns outside standard supply-chain classification. Projected effect: overall combat morale increase of approximately twenty percent, battlefield loss reduction of approximately forty percent."
"Raven Guard Astartes are emerging from foundry districts and hive sectors across the Forge World and boarding Thunderhawk transport to the front line. The intelligence concerning their infiltration positions and the orders under which they operated falls within the Primarch's authority and has been removed from the Forge World's accessible command chain records accordingly."
"Five Valkyrie gunship formations have completed maintenance. Cogitator crews are at station. Fifteen engineering automata equipped with heavy weapons are being transported to the outer battlefield perimeter, to be committed under the direction of the Knight house command."
"A Questoris-class Knight running low on ammunition is under sustained attack from Chaos forces. Projected time to loss: three minutes." A brief pause. "Loss alarm suspended. The Lord Primarch has arrived at that sector and is currently engaged."
"The auspex networks on the outer watchtower positions have rescanned. Additional wreckage fragments are inbound across multiple vectors. The current deployment of Hydra flak tanks and Hunter missile vehicles is insufficient for the projected volume. Additional anti-aircraft vehicle formations are being released from storage. Cyclone missile launchers are being distributed to Skitarii Vanguard units at the battlefield perimeter."
"The Forge Council has authorized a standing readiness order for the Volcano Cannons and Hellfire missile stores against deterioration of the battlefield situation. Use of these strategic assets against targets within the Forge World itself remains prohibited unless no alternative exists."
The data streams paused briefly, then continued their circulation through Reditus's vision in red-lit columns.
Reditus processed all of it, and came to the same place it always came to when confronted with problems involving numbers of combatants on the one hand and available non-combatant assets on the other.
"Wesley," it said, spreading both mechadendrite-arms. "How many servo-robots are currently active and not yet committed to the battle? Arm them remotely and integrate them into the automata cohorts. It would reduce combatant losses significantly."
"Your request is rejected."
The response came without delay.
"The total number of active servo-robots not yet committed is approaching half a million. The loss reduction you describe is accurate. However, under the Crimson Accord, all members of the Adeptus Mechanicus are explicitly prohibited from researching, developing, or deploying Abominable Intelligence and any technology related to it. The integration you propose falls within that prohibition."
The red light in Reditus's eye-lenses cycled faster.
"I have explained this distinction more times than I care to count," Reditus said, the mechadendrite-arms moving with the emphasis of restrained frustration. "Weak artificial intelligence is not Abominable Intelligence. It is one-way logical processing: the same category of function as a cogitator array, operating on fixed conditional parameters. There is no self-modification. There is no recursive goal-expansion. There is no risk of machine uprising."
"Your request remains rejected." Wesley's voice carried no defensiveness, only certainty. "Beyond the prohibition itself: the methods Vashtorr's forces have demonstrated in this engagement indicate a specific capability to subvert and corrupt mechanical systems at close range. If a large number of additional servo-robots were committed to active battlefield positions under any form of centralized coordination, the probability of their conversion into enemy assets is estimated at sixty percent. When the first Chimera-derived daemon engine appeared on the surface, I withdrew all battle automata from active engagement positions for this reason. Adding more assets of that category to the battlefield would compound the problem."
The eye-lenses held their elevated cycling rate.
"Furthermore, Reditus." Wesley's vast head turned slightly. "If you intend to continue developing your thinking in the direction of Abominable Intelligence research, I would suggest you consider the limits carefully. The Crimson Accord exists for specific historical reasons. Even with a Primarch as your patron, research that crosses the threshold of what Mars considers tolerable will not be addressed by anyone's intervention after the fact. The Machine God of Mars cares nothing for the patronage of flesh."
Reditus was quiet for a moment.
When it spoke, its tone had shifted.
"Wesley." The word came out careful and deliberate. "What do you mean? I have never been to Mars. The question of being exiled from Mars does not apply to me."
The vast mechanical head turned to face the Armiger more directly.
"My memories are entirely intact," Reditus continued, the mechadendrite-arms lowering. "I remember being resurrected by the Emperor. I remember studying under Archmagos Fastinius. I remember the specific details of my time as his student, including things of no significance whatsoever. Stealing mechanical components from his workshop when I was small. The order in which I learned particular disciplines. None of that has gaps."
"Are you certain," Reditus said slowly, "that you are not confusing me with someone else? Because this appears to be a conversation about a person who has done things I have no memory of doing."
Wesley's processing systems produced their characteristic hum.
"Reditus." The voice carried the specific weight of someone choosing how much to say rather than whether to say anything. "When I was elevated to Fabricator General, all the students under my master's line had already become masters themselves in turn. You were the most capable inheritor of Fastinius's thinking that I ever saw. The idea that you exist as a Tech-Priest in a servo-skull is not something that follows from anything I knew of you."
A pause.
"But this is not the moment for this conversation. The Primarch's mobilization order applies to you. Based on current battlefield projections, there is an eighty percent probability that your presence will be required to assist with boarding operations against the primary enemy vessel. That is where you are needed."
"Wesley."
"Go, Reditus."
The eye-lenses held their position for another two seconds. Then Reditus turned, without the argument it had been assembling, and drove the anti-grav engine back toward the Armiger's open chassis. The silver vibranium skull faceplate of the Armiger swung down as Reditus completed integration with the war machine, locking into position.
From inside, Reditus spoke one final time.
"When I return from this. I want the truth from you. Whatever it is. Even if it disrupts every memory I currently hold as accurate. That history belongs to me."
The Armiger's lower chassis converted to its tracked configuration and drove forward without waiting for an answer. The engine sound rose and then moved away through the forge-palace's interior corridors, diminishing as it reached the outer passages, and then disappeared entirely as the Armiger cleared the building.
The forge-palace held the particular silence of a very large enclosed space with one very large occupant and nothing else moving.
Fabricator General Wesley Phall processed fourteen thousand concurrent data threads from across the Forge World, and did not transmit any of them anywhere.
After a long moment, a sound that the vast mechanical body was not designed to produce came from somewhere inside the chest housing. Low. Brief. The computational analogue of something heavier than data.
"The initiator of the Martian civil war. The Lord of the Ten Thousand Changes. The founder of the Crimson Accord." Wesley's voice, addressed to the empty room, had dropped to a register below its normal operational volume.
"Old friend. Do not let the old ones on Mars learn that you are still alive."
The processing hum continued.
"Even a Primarch could not protect you from that."