Steel & Oil: Warhammer 32K

Events would prove that Lin truly understood the Adeptus Mechanicus.

Within a week, a Mechanicus survey vessel bearing the markings of Forge World Cath Maximus had appeared in orbit above Jingang.

The ship was commanded by Magos Biologis Lifar, dispatched under orders from Cath Maximus's presiding Forge Director to investigate the planet that the orks had ravaged.

The survey vessel conducted a cursory orbital scan of Jingang and determined that nothing remained on the planet's surface save greenskins.

Nevertheless, per the Forge Director's instructions, they were still required to make planetfall and retrieve ork specimens along with examples of their technological constructs — and if at all possible, locate two Imperial Fists corpses to bring back for study as well.

"I genuinely cannot fathom what there is worth investigating on this rock."

Magos Lifar, preparing to lead his team to the surface, vented his grievances at the Mechanicus apprentices assembled aboard the ship: "All this, for a pile of greenskin scrap metal — and they have to drag us down to the surface to eat mushrooms?"

"But per our orders, we are required to assess the current technological development level of these greenskins…" the apprentice answered carefully. As a student who had not yet graduated from under his Magos's tutelage, he had the unenviable duty of managing the man's emotions while simultaneously reminding him of the mission.

A thankless assignment like this was barely a step above exile. When Magos Lifar — who had not made a scrap of progress on his own research in over a decade — had been handed this posting, the entirety of the Forge World had understood: the Forge Director had given up on him.

Apprentices followed their Magos wherever he went. If the Magos failed to complete his assignment, the apprentices could likely forget about ever returning to the Forge World for the rest of their lives.

"Technological development level? What does it matter to us if they cobble together a heap of flying scrap metal by tomorrow? We're not on any greenskin transit lane."

Lifar let out a derisive snort. "The way I see it, this is another piece of shoddy busywork that Mars cooked up and our Forge Director was fool enough to volunteer for — and now he's kicked it down to us. Tell me, what future does a Forge Director like that have? I develop an independent research project and he hasn't got a shred of patience to support it, but he'll spend every waking hour kissing the backsides of those academic oligarchs on Mars!"

The apprentice fell into a prudent silence, and Lifar, having bored even himself, waved a dismissive hand and dropped the subject.

"Prepare the landing craft. We are going to the surface."

The apprentice, reprieved, scrambled off to organise the landing craft and their accompanying Skitarii escort. Before long, a small detachment had been mustered, and it carried Lifar and his retinue down to the surface of Jingang.

Molten rock still poured freely across the shattered tectonic plates, and the volcanic ash churning with the fires below stained the entire planet's atmosphere a deep, lurid red. Yet even so, ork spores had stubbornly taken root wherever light reached the surface, and it would not be long before they bloomed.

The greenskins airdropped from the Battle Moon in the earlier assault had also settled their internal power struggle and crowned a new warboss. They no longer wandered the planet's surface in aimless mobs as before, but had begun deliberately clustering around the wreckage of the crashed warships, establishing their own tribe in the ruins.

The tribe was still a chaotic mess of constant brawling, but having consolidated into a unified force, they were clearly far harder to pick off than before.

The largest tribe on the planet now boasted a rabble of orks decked out in mismatched pieces of yellow armour plating. They clutched massive dakka guns and patrolled the tribe's perimeter in loose imitation of the tin-can shrimps they had encountered before, even taking it upon themselves to discipline any greenskin who stepped out of line.

Watching the scene before him, Lifar found that the orks' rate of development had exceeded his expectations somewhat.

"It seems those Imperial Fists must have been wiped out entirely by the greenskins… but this tribe has developed this quickly? Is it because they were a detachment seeded by a much larger WAAAGH?"

Lifar mused privately, but whatever the cause, a greenskin tribe that was already nearly finished cobbling together its own vessel from the ship's wreckage was most certainly not something his modest Skitarii force could afford to tangle with.

The Forge Director's orders were to bring back some ork specimens and technological artefacts — but he hadn't specified what technological tier those artefacts needed to be. There was no reason to go poking the largest ork tribe with a stick.

His Skitarii were hard-won resources he had scraped together himself. The Forge Director's monthly research budget was already pitiful enough. Why in the Omnissiah's name would he risk his neck?

"Change course!" Lifar ordered without hesitation. "We find the smallest ork tribe!"

The survey vessel in orbit quickly pinpointed the smallest tribal settlement, and Lifar led his Skitarii toward it at a brisk pace. His plan was simple: grab whatever came to hand, file a passable report, and call it done.

This attitude was commonplace within the Adeptus Mechanicus. Unless a discovery involved some precious fragment of Dark Age knowledge, self-preservation was always the first priority in a Mechanicus member's logic engine.

It was a deeply self-serving choice Lifar had made — but then, Lin knew perfectly well just how self-serving these Mechanicus Magi could be.

That knowledge was precisely why he had set traps calibrated specifically for the Mechanicus around the perimeter of the smallest ork tribe well in advance.

When Lifar arrived at the outskirts of the smallest tribe, his visual processors immediately picked out a collection of traps on the ground — crude constructions woven from leaves and spiderweb, smeared with what appeared to be some manner of biological toxin.

Given that these traps had been found in the vicinity of an ork settlement, Lifar concluded they must have been laid by the orks inhabiting this particular tribe.

For creatures that ordinarily knew nothing beyond brawling, eating mushrooms, and bellowing WAAAGH, the act of setting traps was undeniably a step forward in cognition. But the craftsmanship on display was so appallingly crude that Lifar could tell at a glance this particular tribe was still mired in a primitive, pre-technological age, and he felt nothing but contempt.

"A tribe at this level couldn't punch through the robes on my Skitarii." Lifar gave the order: "Weapons ready. We hit this greenskin tribe."

"Traps generally also function as early-warning systems," the apprentice beside him ventured quietly. "Should we not circumvent them, to avoid alerting the tribe prematurely?"

Lifar's cold gaze swept over the apprentice, his expression one of undisguised irritation.

"Are you questioning me?" he said icily.

The apprentice shrank into his collar and said nothing.

"Why in the Warp would I bother going around a tribe at this level? I have no intention of spending another ten minutes on this worthless rock just to sidestep a pile of leaves! All Skitarii — weapons to full power! I want a few intact greenskins for specimens. The rest of them can die screaming!"

Lifar issued his commands to the assembled Skitarii, then led the way and stepped directly into the trap line.

Crude ork bio-toxins, of course, would have no effect whatsoever on a company of half-mechanical beings.

But was it truly bio-toxin smeared on those traps?

The instant his foot came down, a jolt of electrical current shot up through the sole and gave Lifar a moment's pause. He had not expected to find current rather than toxin waiting for him in this trap.

The current's output was nothing trivial, either. A standard biological organism stepping into it would have had their muscles seized up by the electrical stimulation, leaving them completely immobilised. But he was a Magos Biologis, cybernetically enhanced with anti-interference and anti-radiation modifications — and for that matter, even the partially-augmented Skitarii behind him should not have been troubled by something like this.

"Though a greenskin tribe capable of engineering a trap like this might be worth preserving a few live specimens for study…"

With that thought, a mildly surprised Lifar attempted to press forward.

But when he tried to lift his next foot, he found he could not take a single step further, no matter how he strained.

"…?"

He turned in alarm — and saw that wherever the current had spread, every last Skitarii behind him was equally frozen. These warriors, forged through the Mechanicus's most rigorous augmentation protocols, were at this moment utterly indistinguishable from ordinary flesh-and-blood beings paralysed by an electric shock.

A cold, lurching dread struck Lifar's heart. He immediately activated his internal diagnostic routines, and only then discovered that a miniaturised electronic virus was flowing into his systems in a continuous stream, carried along with the current itself.

His eyes went wide. He stared at the paralysis trap on the ground, disbelief written across every augmetic feature.

It was over.

That was the only thought left in Lifar's mind.

This trap… it really was an actual trap after all.

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