Chapter Six - Delve

Alexis took a deep inhale, then let it out. “I don’t know about that last one,” she said. “I suppose there are some things that need to die, but... I’m not a person to do that? I like... this.”

She gestured at the room, still a mess, and at her servitor friends, many of whom were still trying to get back to their feet. She frowned, then walked over and helped 054-648 back onto his feet. The servitor paused, then moved over to another, helping them up in turn. 

“I understand. If it helps, there are only a limited number of targets aboard this vessel that would be deemed... acceptable for the purpose of gaining points.”

“Oh... good,” Alexis said before she cleared her throat and tried to remember to subvocalize. “I mean, yeah, good. What sort of things, exactly?”

“There is a large group of what the ship’s officers are calling ‘genestealers’ pushing up from the lower decks near the keel. These seem to be a form of parasitic alien life, birthed from humans, but with a genetic makeup that differs greatly.”

“Oh,” Alexis said, then she shivered. She had only been taught about them a little, often in hushed tones. They were abominations of the human genome. Often they purposefully misused technology, destroyed things, and even sabotaged machines. There were even warnings that some of them were outright tech heretics, beyond even their abnormality.

She licked her lips, then shook her head. The room needed cleaning first. As much as she disliked it, it needed to be done. So she set about it with some gusto. She felt fantastic, still. 

“How long will that rejuvenat you gave me last for?” she asked.

“It will continue to function for approximately forty-two standard Terran hours. The majority of the healing it could provide has been done. Now the remaining nanomachines are encouraging reconstruction, cell-growth, and pruning contaminated or malfunctioning cells. You may want to consider improving your diet.”

That sounded like... a lot, actually. She didn’t know much about rejuvenats, only that they existed and were the privilege of Rogue Traders, the nobility, bridge officers and Magos. This ship probably had more knowledge in that regard than most, seeing as how The Broken Scale’s crew was made up of a much larger than average number of medicae, but that didn’t make her, personally, more knowledgeable.

It took her an hour to tidy up, and by the end, she had her servitor friends lined up against one wall, back to a modest state of repair. Her tools had been regathered and stowed away, and if anything, her repurposed closet was neater now than it had been at the start of her last watch.

“Okay,” she said. “I make... ten points a day, you said?”

“Indeed.”

“And... how much would it cost to improve me?” 

“That depends on the improvement you desire. Using levels of cyberware comparable to the people you are familiar with, the suite currently used by the Servitor Overseer would require three catalogues, and approximately eight hundred points. The suit of upgrades used by the Techseer you encountered would require six catalogues, and nine thousand points. Depending on the specialization of the augmentations you desire, and their relative complexity, the cost varies wildly.”

That was a lot of points.

It was also very, very little.

Techseer Prime Thale-66 Mirr was old. She wasn’t sure how old, but he must have been a Techseer onboard The Broken Scale for at least a century. 

Assuming that Vyper was telling the truth... she pulled out the little box, with the archeotech breathing device that had cured her and turned it around. It was made of an unfamiliar material. Tough, and yet flexible. There were no joints, no place for tools to slip into it. It felt different to anything she had ever used. 

“Can you make things that look normal?” she asked. 

“To me, your technology is the one which seems bizarre. But yes. Anything I make can be tailored to suit and size and shape, form or function.”

“Oh, okay,” she said.

She grabbed her stool and sat down.

Two things were going on in her head. The first, was that Vyper was either a liar, a machine spirit of incredible power... or something old, like a fully functional STC. 

To be able to make anything, or nearly anything, was the dream of every forge world. For that to be real, would mean knowledge and crafting ability that was... a lot. An ancient STC could do it, maybe. 

So, she had an STC yapping at her in her head. 

Neat?

No, it was more than that, it was so much that it was bordering on the heretical! “Can you make, ah, blueprints and stuff?”

“To allow you to fabricate your own equipment? Yes. I can also tailor them to the items and tools you have easy access to. Though the point cost won’t necessarily make that investment worthwhile, compared to simply purchasing the item for points.”

“Can you make an STC?” Alexis asked.

“Yes.”

Alexis nodded, then grabbed the thought and tossed it aside, like a cogitator dismissing scrapcode. She could think about that later.

For now, the points. She grabbed her dataslate and opened its cogitator, a part of the machine that allowed her to enter simple mathematical equations and obtain results with fair reliability.

9000 points to gain the augmentics of a techseer prime.

10 points a day.

900 days.

That was a long time.

It was also no time at all. Techseer Prime Thale-66 Mirr was ancient. He certainly hadn’t gained his current suit of augmentations in just under three standard years! It had likely taken him decades, many, many decades. “Are you sure you can make augments like a... like a magos?”

“No. Having observed the few individuals within your hierarchy near that rank, the augmentations and cyberware they have is... of significantly worse quality than what I could produce. If you want to have cyberware of the same quality, you would have to specifically demand that I produce sub-par equipment.”

“Oh, okay,” she said.

She jumped to her feet. “I can make more points by fighting, right?”

“By eliminating threats to humanity. At the moment, there are two groups onboard that I would consider such threats. The aforementioned genestealers, and a group of non-biological entities of some intelligence that are being summoned in the lower-middle decks by what seem to be cultists.”

“D-daemons?” she asked.

“That seems to be the local terminology for them.”

She took a deep breath, then let it out. “Okay... do you think I can, uh, win against the genestealers?” Those were scary, but nowhere near as scary as daemons!

“You have 87 Points.”

“Huh? Wasn’t I at ninety-seven?”

“You were at seventy-nine. You gained eight for saving that many lives through your direct actions.”

“Neat!” She looked around her room. That was a good amount of points, maybe, but she didn’t exactly have weapons, or training, or anything else, and fighting wasn’t something she had ever really thought much about.

Then one of her servitors, 054-648, stepped forwards a little. 

She had an idea.

Technically, as a Tech Adept--something which she still hadn’t yet parsed, that would be a big change for her! It was a great step forwards in her career--she had the obligation to work hard and grow. That could be an opportunity.

After all, her station was here, in the Servitorium, helping and repairing the ship’s servitors.

But sometimes Tech Adepts were sent out to effectuate repairs in other parts of the ship. Sometimes with some assistant servitors.

She stepped up before her gaggle of friends, took a deep breath, then placed her hands on her hips. “A-attention!” she barked, only for her voice to break.

She cleared her throat.

“Attention! I... I plan on leaving the Servitorium to repair other damaged servitors across the ship. Especially in areas where there might be a little wee bit of fighting against awful no-good xenos and non-human mutants. I can’t do that alone.” Because it would be scary! “So I need some brave volunteers to assist me. Please?”

Surprisingly, she got those. She wasn’t sure if 054-648 and K84-321 really meant to help, but both stepped (well, 054-648 rolled) forwards. 

Medicae servitor KYS raised all three limbs on her left side, clearly volunteering. 

She swallowed, felt tears in her eyes, then sniffled them away. “Okay, then! I promise, I’ll do my best to take care of you!”

Their emotionless eyes stared back. K84-321 drooled down the front of his metallic head and onto his bare chest.

Not quite the best army, but it would do... she hoped.

“If I, uh, help my friends here, and they help me, does that count for points?” she asked.

“Yes. Though beware of too many degrees of separation. If you sent them out with orders to find and eliminate genestealers, even were they successful, you’d earn nothing. Being there in person, however, bridges the gap. Assisting more so.”

“Right. But I wouldn’t just send them out like that.” She took a deep breath. “You said I had eighty points? Let’s spend them.”

“Gladly!”

***