Thump, thump.
The automaton, its chassis mangled and sparking, ascended back onto the bridge's high dais.
Vormay gestured for her house guards to escort the terrified Ogryn, Grong, and the trembling lizardman out of the chamber. She turned toward the broken machine, her voice thick with indignant rage.
"Why did you initiate an unprovoked assault upon my property?!"
The automaton's damaged optical sensors flickered with a rhythmic, erratic light, as if struggling with a loose connection. It reached up, manually forcing its warped neck-joint back into a forward-facing position to regard Vormay.
"Target: Unsanctioned xenos civilization entity. Directive: Eradication. Status: No anomalies detected in logic. Execution: Failed."
"I do not care what your 'directives' say! This is sacred Imperial property!" Vormay snarled at the machine.
While her claim was tenuous at best, a Rogue Trader technically operated as an extension of the Golden Throne's will; thus, her assets could be legally argued as Imperial property. To the Iron Man, the logic held: the Imperium was an ally, and Imperial property was, therefore, allied property. The logic-gate cleared.
"Understood. This unit will cease hostilities against said xenos classification. Given the tactical outcome, this unit will not seek restitution for structural damages."
Though the automaton's shell was shattered, Axion remained singularly focused on his objective.
"Now. Inform me: where is the navigational organism?"
Vormay, her frustration simmering at how casually the machine bypassed the violence it had just wrought, pointed a trembling finger toward the open bridge doors.
"That lizardman was the navigational organism!"
The automaton's face, a ruin of cracked plating and exposed wiring, somehow managed to look even more grotesque as it processed this information.
"Query?"
Vormay sensed Axion's skepticism. "That creature is an aboriginal inhabitant of a nearby system. His planet has been brought into the light of the Imperial Truth under our tutelage. He is a Navigator-Covenant sub-contractor! That ring of spotted membranes around their necks can perceive a unique frequency. It allows them to sense planetary bearings even within the deep eclipse of the Lightless Realm."
Axion did not respond with words. Instead, he began a rapid diagnostic sweep of his fleet's sensor arrays.
After testing several scanning modalities, the automaton looked back at Vormay. "Does the homeworld of this species possess a high-gravity environment?"
Startled by the non-sequitur, Vormay blinked and nodded slowly after a moment's thought.
Axion immediately processed the correlation. "It is gravity-wave detection."
A planet is a high-mass entity; it broadcasts gravity waves as a natural byproduct of its existence. Typically, gravity waves are useless for stellar navigation because their effective range is vanishingly small on a galactic scale; they dissipate rapidly once one exits a star system.
However, within the Lightless Realm, these waves were not only amplified but appeared to reflect back like an echo hitting a solid bulkhead. This meant that by triangulating gravity-wave resonance, Axion no longer required a biological crutch for navigation.
Within milliseconds, he constructed a simple, elegant algorithm. The "blind zone" on his star-charts, the region that had defied comparison with Imperial data, began to light up with precise vectors.
Having solved the navigational puzzle, Axion prepared to recall his proxies. To be frank, this had been a substandard trade negotiation.
Vormay, however, was a merchant to her core. She saw the machine preparing to leave without further word and felt a phantom pain in her coffers as she glanced at the destroyed consoles and the dead servitor. She could not let this end in a net loss.
"Lord Axion, do you intend to abandon our transaction and depart?"
The automaton paused, its metal frame creaking audibly as it turned its broken torso toward her.
"Beyond the xenos crewmen, I perceive nothing in your possession of value to my mission. Now that a viable navigational vector has been established, I must depart immediately to fulfill my compact with the Lord Regent of the Imperium."
Due to the nature of his tactical withdrawal from his previous engagement, Axion was unaware of the "terror" his massive explosive parting gift had left for both the Imperium and the Tyranid Swarm. However, given the number of Imperial hulls present, he trusted Lord Solar Leontus would not embezzle his achievements. If fate allowed, his next destination would be Holy Terra itself.
Vormay froze at the mention of the title.
"The Lord Regent?!"
Her dynasty had been on the fringes of the Segmentum for a millennium. Their information was fragmented and archaic; the last time she had heard that title was in reference to Roboute Guilliman's resurrection decades prior. Though her family archives held records of the Imperium's history, the thirty-something Vormay was hearing the term spoken in the present tense for the first time.
She shook her head. The history of the Primarchs was for scholars; she needed to close a deal. She strode forward, matching the machine's pace as it navigated back toward the hangar.
"At least inform me of the nature of your cargo. I can provide a trade manifesto for your consideration."
The heavy rhythm of metal on deck plates ceased. The automaton pivoted, its deformed skeletal frame emitting a piercing screech.
"Cargo classification: Imperial-pattern Lasguns. Quantity: 10,000. Supplementary power packs: 40,000 units."
If a structured manifesto was available for review rather than a manual inspection of every hold, Axion was willing to spare a fraction of time to see what she offered.
Vormay's eyes widened. She masked her hunger behind a professional veneer.
"Ten thousand rifles and forty thousand cells... that is a significant haul. If the quality is verified, it could be exchanged for a great many things."
"I require a formal inspection of the goods first. Simultaneously, I will have my staff compile a catalog of our available trade-assets, complete with valuation markers. Once the inspection is concluded, we can begin the exchange in earnest. Does this satisfy you?"
Axion had no experience with such mercantile rituals and thus, no grounds for objection.
"As you wish. However, define the necessity of this 'inspection'?"
The two walked together through the ribbed corridors of the battlecruiser. The house guards followed at a distance, watching the automaton with a mixture of awe and suspicion. It was the first thing they had ever seen survive a direct hit from Grong, and they wondered if their own weapons would even scratch it if it turned on their Matriarch.
"Inspection is simply verifying the quality of the manufacture," Vormay explained, simplifying the concept as one might for a child or a servitor. "I must ensure the weapons and batteries are in prime condition. We won't test every piece, of course, only a few random selections from the crates."
Axion's response was cold and immediate.
"You appear to be questioning my manufacturing tolerances. Even in the absence of a dedicated production line, any construct of my design far exceeds the output of any Forge World."