*This,' she announced, *is one of the last great unrealised designs of Adept Ulterimus, developer of the Sigma-Phi Desolator Engine. Data appellations name it as a theta-wave enhancer designed to stimulate long-term potentiation in humans.'

Ignoring their blank looks, Zeth continued. *It has been transcribed faithfully by the tech-archivists of Ipluvien Maximal from the data fragments recovered from Adept Ulterimus' tomb below the Zephyria Tholus, and you are going to build it. You will have access to works.p.a.ce, tools, materials and servitors to perform the manual labour. Within seven rotations you will demonstrate a working prototype.'

With that, Adept Zeth had departed with a swirl of her bronze cape, leaving the five of them alone in the works.p.a.ce.

The first day had been spent in working out what the device was intended to do, no small feat in itself, given that the transcribers had been literal in copying out Ulterimus' spelling mistakes, corrections and the exact shape and texture of his many crossed-out workings. Sketched images and rough diagrams scattered throughout the plans gave some clues to the device's function, but it was a painstaking process just to divine what requirement this unrealised device was intended to fulfil.

A pecking order had quickly established itself within their group, with Zouche and Caxton deferring to Severing who in turn took her lead from Mellicin. Dalia found her place within that hierarchy when she alone was able to decipher the notes and diagrams enough to understand the device's purpose.

*It's a machine for enhancing the communication between neurons in the brain,' said Dalia after a frustrating hour of unravelling a thread of randomly scrawled notes. *According to these notes, Ulterimus seemed to believe that a process known as long-term potentiation was what lay at the heart of the formation of memory and learning. It seems to be a cellular mechanism of learning, where the body is induced to synthesise new proteins that a.s.sist in high-level cognition.'

*How does it do that?' asked Severine, looking up from redrawing the circuit diagrams and synaptic flow maps.

*By the looks of this molecular formula, it achieves its function by enhancing synaptic transmission,' said Dalia, her eyes darting rapidly over the drawings. *This wave generator vastly improves the ability of two neurons, one presynaptic and the other postsynaptic, to communicate with one another across a synapse.'

Dalia's fingers spiralled over the drawing, her eyes flitting back and forth across the paper and her own notations, oblivious to the looks she was receiving from her fellows as she spoke, the words sounding as though they came from the deepest recesses of her brain.

*Neurotransmitter molecules are received by receptors on the surface of the postsynaptic cell. When it's active, the device improves the postsynaptic cell's sensitivity to neurotransmitters by increasing the activity of existing receptors and vastly increasing the number of receptors on the postsynaptic cell surface.'

*Yes, but what does that actually mean?' asked Caxton.

*Isn't it obvious?' asked Dalia, looking up from the plan.

The silence of her fellows told her it was not. She tapped the plans with her fingertips and said. *The device is designed to enormously enhance a person's ability to tap into areas of the brain that we almost never use, increasing their ability to learn and store information at a rate way beyond anything human beings have ever been able to achieve before.'

*But it doesn't work,' pointed out Caxton.

*Not yet,' agreed Dalia. *But I think I know how we can make it work.'

*DO YOU THINK she is right?' asked Ipluvien Maximal, watching Dalia explaining the function of Ulterimus' device on a flickering holo-screen. *Can she get it to work? No one else has succeeded in a thousand years and you think she can do it in seven rotations?'

Koriel Zeth didn't answer her fellow adept for a moment, letting the chilled gusts of air that wafted from his permanently cooled data frame tease the few organic portions of her flesh that still faced the world.

Maximal's words were artificially rendered, but Adept Lundquist had crafted his vox-unit and the sound of his voice was virtually indistinguishable from an organically created one. Such an affectation seemed ridiculous to Zeth, given the artificiality of the rest of Ipluvien Maximal, but every adept had his own particular idiosyncrasies, and she supposed hers might seem no less ridiculous to others.

*I believe she can,' said Zeth. Her voice was still created by human vocal chords, but rendered hollow and metallic by the studded face mask she wore. She wasn't used to employing her flesh-voice, but indulged Maximal's peccadillo without complaint. *You saw the schema of the device she altered on Terra. How could she have done that without some unconscious connection to the Akasha?'

*Blind luck?' suggested Maximal. *A million servitors working on a million plans might eventually hit upon something that works by accident.'

*That old truism?' smiled Zeth. *You know that's impossible.'

*Is it? I've seen a few of my servitors perform tasks that weren't included in their doctrina wafers. Though, admittedly, my servitors do not function as ably as I would prefer.'

*Only because Lukas Chrom outbid you for the services of Adept Ravachol, but that's beside the point,' said Zeth, irritated by Maximal's digression. *Dalia Cythera made intuitive leaps of logic, and where she found gaps in the technology, she filled them with working subst.i.tutes.'

*And you believe that is because the organic architecture of her brain is attuned to the Akasha?'

*Given that I have eliminated various other factors that might account for her innate understanding of technology, it is the only explanation that fits,' replied Zeth. *Though she does not know it, she unconsciously accesses the wellspring of all knowledge and experience contained within the Akasha, encoded in the substance of the aether.'

*By aether, you mean the warp?'

*Yes.'

*So why not call it that?'

*You know why not,' cautioned Zeth. *There is danger in such a.s.sociation, and I do not want prying eyes misunderstanding the concept of what we are trying to do here, not before we fully understand the processes by which we can access the Akashic records and learn that which our ancient forebears understood without the need for dogma and superst.i.tion.'

*The source of all knowledge,' sighed Maximal, and Zeth smiled beneath her mask. Appealing to Maximal's obsessive hunger for knowledge was a surefire means of quashing any concerns he had regarding their work.

*Indeed,' said Zeth, baiting the hook some more. *The history of the cosmos and every morsel of information that has ever existed or ever will exist.'

*If she can build this device then we will be able to unlock the full potential of the Great Reader.'

*That is my hope,' agreed Zeth, running a golden hand across the icy surface of Maximal's chill body. She could feel the subtle vibration of the data wheels churning within the mechanisms of his body, as though in antic.i.p.ation of learning the innermost workings of the universe. *If she can build Ulterimus' device then we can enhance the empath's mind to the degree where it will be fully receptive to the knowledge impressed upon the aether. Then we will know everything.'

*Yes... the empath,' said Maximal. *The use of a psyker disturbs me. If Dalia Cythera already has a connection to the aether, why not simply use her as the conduit?'

Zeth shook her head. *Prolonged exposure to the aether eventually burns the conduit out. There are plenty of psykers to be had, but Dalia is one of a kind. I would not be so careless with such a valuable resource as to squander her.'

Her answer seemed to satisfy Maximal and he said, *It is great work we do here, but there will be those who seek to stop us if they should learn of it.'

*Then we must ensure that they do not.'

*Of course,' nodded Maximal. *But already I detect the interest of the Fabricator General and his cronies in the work carried out in your forge. Info-feeds gossip on the air and data packets are like bodies, they do not stay buried forever. You are a brilliant technologist, but you make few allies with your open scorn for Kelbor-Hal. Be careful you do not make too many enemies and attract undue attention. Such things may cost us dearly.'

*You speak of the attack on your reactor?'

*Amongst other things,' replied Maximal, watching the holographic image of Dalia as she organised her fellow workers in their tasks. *At the Council of Tharsis, Princeps Camulos denied involvement in the attack, and, much as it surprises me, I believe him.'

*Really? From what I gather, Mortis are agitating for open warfare between the factions.'

*True, and the destruction of my prime reactor would be a logical first step in weakening their strongest opponent, Legio Tempestus, for they greatly depended on its output.'

*The Magma City will cover their shortfall.'

*I told Princeps Cavalerio that very thing,' said Maximal, *but you and I both know that is only a temporary solution. Mortis and Tempestus are rivals of old, and with the reactor gone, the strength of those friendly to our cause grows weaker.'

*So why do you not suspect Legio Mortis involvement?'

Maximal sighed, another affectation since he had no lungs to speak of, and a mist of cold air billowed around him. *Camulos' bl.u.s.ter was too confident. He knew we couldn't prove anything because there was nothing to prove. He may have helped plan the attack, but I do not believe any engines from Mortis took part.'

*Then who did?'

*I believe Chrom was behind the execution.'

*Chrom? Because you do not like him?'

*I find his manner insufferable, that is true, but there is more to it than that,' said Maximal with a precisely modulated conspiratorial tone of voice. *There are rumours of the work he is pursuing in his forge, experiments on engines designed with artificial sentience.'

*Rumours? What rumours? I have heard nothing of this,' said Zeth.

*Few have,' said Maximal slyly, *but few things escape my data miners. It is whispered that Chrom has even built such an engine. Supposedly, it matches the description given by the Knight pilot who saw the machine that attacked my reactor.'

Zeth shook her head. *If Chrom has built an engine with artificial sentience, he would be a fool to let it be destroyed.'

*Perhaps it wasn't destroyed,' said Maximal. *If it escaped into the pallidus we could search for a hundred years and not find it.'

Zeth sensed hesitancy in Maximal's manner, as though there were other facts he was aware of, but was unsure about sharing.

*Is there something else?' she asked.

Maximal nodded slowly. *Perhaps. Each time a rumour of this machine surfaces, the data conduits whisper a name... Kaban.'

Zeth ran the name through her internal memory coils, but found no match for it.

Maximal read her lack of information in the streams of data floating in her infosphere and said, *Even I can find only the most cryptic reference to Kaban in the vaults. Supposedly, he was an ancient potentate of the Gyptus who built the lost pyramid of Zawyet el'Aryan. Though in the few hieratic records that remain, his name is transliterated as Khaba, which may either imply dynastic problems or simply that the scribe was unable to fully decipher his name from a more ancient record.'

*And the relevance of this?'

*Purely academic,' admitted Maximal, *but, interestingly, the records hint that Khaba may be the king's Horus name.'

*A Horus name? What is that?' asked Zeth, knowing that Maximal loved to show off the vast expanse of his archives in his knowledge of ancient times.

*The kings of Gyptus often chose names that symbolised their worldly power and spiritual might to act as a kind of mission statement for their rule,' said Maximal, and Zeth could hear the whir of data wheels as he called up more information. *Usually the king's name was carved upon a representation of his palace with an image of the G.o.d Horus perched beside it.'

*The *G.o.d' Horus?'

*Indeed, the name is an ancient one,' said Maximal. *A G.o.d of the sky, of the sun and, of course, war. The ancient Gyptians so enjoyed their war.'

*And what did this Horus name symbolise?' asked Zeth, intrigued despite herself.

*No one knows for sure, but it seems likely that it was to imply that Khaba was an earthly embodiment of Horus, an enactor of his will if you like.'

*So you are suggesting that this machine, whatever it is, was built for Horus Lupercal.'

*That would be a logical conclusion, especially as Chrom enjoys the favour of the Fabricator General, and we all know whose voice he listens to.'

*I have heard this before, but I cannot believe Kelbor-Hal values the counsel of the Warmaster over the Emperor.'

*No? I hear that Regulus has recently arrived in the solar system with missives from the 63rd Expedition. And his first port of call is Mars, not Terra.'

*That doesn't prove anything,' pointed out Zeth. *Regulus is an adept of the Mechanic.u.m, there is no reason to suspect any ulterior motive behind his coming to Mars first.'

*Perhaps not,' agreed Maximal, *but when was the last time an emissary from the fleets reported to Mars before the Sigillite of Terra?'

1.04.

IF ANY OF the tissue that caused the chemical and neurological reactions a.s.sociated with awe were still part of what little organics remained of the Fabricator General's brain, he would no doubt have found the view through the polarised gla.s.s that topped the peak of his forge awesome.

But Kelbor-Hal a as his human name had once been a was capable of little in the way of emotional response these days save bitter anger and frustration.

Far below him, the vast forge complex of Olympus Mons stretched away beyond sight, the towering manufactorum, refineries, worker-habs, machine shops and a.s.sembly hangars covering thousands of square kilometres of Mars' surface.

The vast hive of manufacture was home to billions of faithful tech-priests of the Machine-G.o.d, the great and powerful deity that governed every aspect of life on Mars, from the lowliest tertiary reserve unit of the PDF to the mightiest forge master.

Greatest of the structures arrayed before him was the Temple of All Knowledge, a towering pyramid of pink and black marble, crowned with a dome of glittering blue stone and a forest of iron spires that pierced the sky and pumped toxic clouds into the atmosphere.

Vast pilasters framed a yawning gateway at its base, the marble inscribed with millions of mathematical formulae and proofs, many of which had been developed by Kelbor-Hal himself. Mightier, and home to more workers, priests and servitors than the Mondus Gamma complex of Urtzi Malevolus a where untold thousands of suits of battle plate and weapons were produced to supply the Astartes Legions of the Crusade a the Olympus Mons forge was less a building and more of a region.

The Fabricator General knew he should be proud of his accomplishments, for he had uncovered more technology than any before him and had overseen the longest reign of increasing production quotas in the Mechanic.u.m's long history.

But pride, like many other emotional responses, had all but vanished as the organic cogitator once housed in his skull had been gradually replaced with synthetic synapses and efficient conduits for logical thought. The Fabricator General was over eighty per cent augmetic, barely anything that could be called human remaining of his birth-flesh, a fact of which he was supremely glad.

While the fleshy organ remained in his head, he could feel every biological portion decaying with each pa.s.sing moment, each relentless tick of the clock a moment closer to the grave and the loss of everything he had learned over the centuries.

No, it was better to be free of flesh and the doubts it fostered.

Far below, thousands of workers filed along the stone-flagged roadway of the Via Omnissiah, its surface worn into grooves by the sandalled feet of a billion supplicants. A score of Battle t.i.tans lined the wide road, their majesty and power reminding the inhabitants of his city, though they needed no reminding, of their place in the equation that was the workings of Mars.

Monolithic buildings flanked the roadways a factories, machine temples, tech-shrines and engine-reliquaries a all dedicated to the worship and glorification of the Omnissiah. Vast prayer ships filled the sky above the volcano, gold-skinned zeppelins broadcasting endless streams of binaric machine language from bra.s.s megaphones. Bobbing drone-skulls trailing long streams of code on yellowed parchment swarmed behind the zeppelins like shoals of small fish.

The people below would be hoping their prayers would cause the Machine-G.o.d to turn his face towards them and grant a boon. To many of those below, the Omnissiah was a tangible being, a golden figure that had last trod the surface of Mars two centuries ago...

The False G.o.d who had enslaved the Martian priesthood to his will with his lies.

The Fabricator General turned from the vista spread before him, his own fiefdom, as he heard a chiming blurt of binary from the ebony-skinned automaton a robot was too crude a word for a work of such genius a standing behind him.

Its form was smooth, athletic and featureless, a gift from Lukas Chrom some years ago that sealed the compact between them. Had the automaton worn a suit of skin, its form would have been indistinguishable from that of a human. Such was Chrom's genius with automata that he could craft designs in metal and plastic so perfectly that they would have shamed the Creator of Humanity himself had he existed.

Though its form appeared unarmed, it was equipped with a mult.i.tude of digital weapons worked into the lengths of its fingers, and energised blades could spring from its extremities at a moment's notice.

The automaton was warning him of approaching life forms, and the Fabricator General turned his attention to the bra.s.s-rimmed shaft in the floor behind him. The pale, rubberised mask of humanity he wore when meeting those who served him slipped over his mechanised face, a face that had been unrecognisable as human for many years.

A wide disc of silver metal, ringed with bra.s.s and steel guard rails, rose up through the floor with a pneumatic hiss. Borne upon the disc were four individuals, three swathed in the robes of adepts of the Mechanic.u.m, one in the dark, fur-collared robes of an amba.s.sador.

The circuitry on the back of the mask meshed with the machine parts of Kelbor-Hal's face, the features of his false visage manipulated into the approximation of the human expression of welcome.

he canted with a binary blurt precisely modulated to convey his authority and wealth of knowledge.The dark-robed figure, Amba.s.sador Melgator, stepped from the transit disc and inclined his head towards the Fabricator General. Melgator was no stranger to this place, his political duties taking him all across Mars a but always bringing him back to report on the machinations and tempers of the Martian adepts.