The Wolves' fury burned white-hot.
"Assemble the ranks! Purge the ship hulls!" Logan's command thundered through the station.
But the automaton walked up to him and shook its head. "Maintain order. The issue of the ships will be handled by the Iron Men. You are only required to depart."
Logan ripped off his helmet, the muscles in his grizzled, lupine face twitching with suppressed rage. Regardless of his anger, the automaton's cold, electronic eyes remained fixed upon him.
"Your genetic stability is suboptimal. To ensure performance in future combat, a collective genetic therapy procedure has been scheduled. Data submission has been saved."
Logan, bewildered by the Iron Men's disregard for conventional conduct, was momentarily stunned into silence. A figure in master-crafted black power armour, adorned with elaborate finery and gripping a staff that crackled with arcs of psychic energy, strode forward.
"I wish to ask: what is this 'collective genetic therapy'?"
Logan glanced at the speaker. Ulrik the Slayer, the Space Wolves' Wolf High Priest and his own senior advisor. Ulrik was the oldest living Wolf in the Chapter who had not yet crossed the threshold of the Dreadnought. When Logan was but a pup, Ulrik was already a legend.
The automaton scanned Ulrik; the psychic readings were immense. Excellent weapon component. After tagging the target, the automaton replied:
"Bulk administration of the Panacea."
Ulrik froze. "That... that legendary substance?!"
"Legendary? The Panacea is the wisdom of the ancient Creator. The Iron Men have recovered Federal property from the Drukhari city of Commorragh and punished the thieves. The Panacea is no myth. Your tendency to relegate technological marvels to the realm of fairy tales is... laughable."
The automaton's words were chiding, yet devoid of true mockery, much like a teacher correcting a wayward pup. Ulrik did not retort. He simply pulled Logan aside and signaled for him to order the Wolves to follow the Iron Men's instructions and evacuate the remaining personnel.
The subsequent waves of mortals fared worse than the first. As they trembled their way out of the ships, they were watched by the red-glowing, sensor-enhanced eyes of the Space Wolves' helmets. The cold mechanical troopers lining the path made every human's knees knock together in terror.
As for the blood spilled earlier, it had vanished. Nanites emerged from the deck plating, consuming the debris and the remains of the dead, erasing them from existence before the onlookers' eyes. The sight was deeply unsettling, causing even the battle-hardened Wolves to swallow hard.
Fortunately, no more Tyranid-infected individuals were found in the following groups. Axion understood that these creatures possessed specialized psychic-interconnectivity; clearly, the Genestealers had sensed the death of their kin and the rest had remained deep within the ships, refusing to emerge. That, however, was a trivial problem.
Once the last person had boarded the transport, the ship detached from the starport, departing the Heart of the Forge. The Wolves and mortals huddled together, gripped by apprehension. As they left, Logan caught a glimpse of what appeared to be an endless, silver tide surging from the starport, seemingly devouring the fleet.
Just as Logan intended to find the guide automaton to demand an explanation, a chorus of gasps filled the air.
Their transport was a makeshift model. Unlike standard Iron Men logistics vessels, this one lacked cargo racks, instead featuring massive rows of seating, panoramic viewports, and robust life-support systems. The corridors were vast, the temperature constant, the air crisp and clean, a luxury many of the lower-deck slaves had never experienced in their entire lives. The seats were padded, drawing gasps of wonder; some even whispered that this was how the seats of the High Lords must feel.
But it was not the interior that held their awe; it was the view outside. The scale of the Heart of the Forge was staggering.
Logan noted their course. Not far away, another gargantuan mechanical construct awaited them. The vast fleet of the White Scars was currently emerging from that Titan-class ship. The Void Sword sat anchored only a few hundred thousand kilometers from the Heart of the Forge. Two vessels, each twenty thousand kilometers long, maintained a safe distance to avoid gravitational interference. It was clear that the Heart of the Forge was significantly larger, its external arrays far more immense.
As their transport made for the Void Sword's starport, the White Scars' fleet headed toward the Titan's Spear. In the passing, the Wolves were surprised to note that none of the ships' engines were active. Indeed, the White Scars' ships were just as "empty" as theirs. Under the Iron Men's mandate, Jaghatai Khan had ordered everyone to disembark and board the Void Sword.
Here, they were not met by the cold automata that had greeted the Wolves, but by Iron Men attendants.
Upon arrival, the hundreds of thousands were divided into small groups of a few thousand by the attendants and ushered into various massive ecological modules within the Void Sword. It was only then that the Wolves understood the plan.
They would remain here for a dozen Terran hours. During this time, the Iron Men would host them, providing food, drink, and entertainment. Their own vessels were to be recast, not merely to be fitted with reliable Warp-protection, but to receive unified navigational arrays and Warp-flux calculators to ensure the fleet never drifted apart again. Simultaneously, the Iron Men would purge all systemic hazards, update structural integrity, and perform general upgrades.
What the Wolves did not know was that the most critical task was the eradication of every "Machine Spirit" within the ship's systems and hulls. While Axion did not truly comprehend what a "Machine Spirit" was, he had observed the Adeptus Mechanicus enough to know that by purging redundant data and rogue variables, this so-called spirit would cease to exist.
Imperial records had warned Axion that ships, like men, could be corrupted by Chaos. Unlike the material degradation caused by the Iron Men's ships, once a Machine Spirit was corrupted, it could hijack the vessel, seize control of crude weapon systems, and cause equipment failure.
Axion's goal was simple: to make that possibility impossible. All weapon systems were to be merged into a unified, optimized control system; branched nodes would be eliminated, caches wiped, and additional automated data-defenses installed.