80: Chapter 80 The Great Sage's Fields and Workbench

On the night of Vulcan-IV, the nearby Satellite Power Distribution Station painted streaks of intertwined rust and indigo across the thin atmosphere.

Gluck led the three Battle Sisters to the edge of a field ridge, then stopped and pointed forward with his arm.

"The Archmagos is over there." His electronically synthesized voice sounded exceptionally clear in the open field. "Just head straight over."

Having said this, the veteran Skitarii turned and left, his tracks crushing the soft soil and leaving behind deep and shallow tread marks.

He did not seem worried that the three Battle Sisters would do anything to his Archmagos.

Or perhaps, he trusted more that they could do nothing at all.

Sister Superior Ludmilla, Elena, and Vera, three women clad in black and red power armor, stood at the edge of this greenery that was so incongruous with a "Forge World," feeling momentarily dazed.

The field was small in scale but planned in an orderly fashion.

On racks built from metal scaffolding, lush vines climbed everywhere, their leaves thick and glossy, swaying gently in the breeze.

Even more eye-catching were the fruits hidden among the green leaves—round and plump, some greenish, others already blushing with an enticing red, hanging heavily from the branches.

And in the center of this vitality, the Archmagos of Vulcan-IV, Helmut von Neumann, was bent over.

He wore a muddy, dark red Archmagos robe, his tracked chassis parked steadily on the field ridge.

Four slender mechanical limbs extended from beneath his robe, two of which nimbly manipulated a small pair of shears, carefully pruning excess side branches.

The other two gently cradled a cluster of ripening red fruits, as if admiring a work of art.

His face lacked the coldness and detachment common to the upper echelons of the Adeptus Mechanicus; instead, it bore a focused and gentle smile, his gaze resting on the fruits as if looking at a new machine he had created.

Sister Superior Ludmilla was the first to snap out of it.

She took a deep breath; the air was filled with the pungent scent of soil, the fresh fragrance of plants, and a hint of... an unfamiliar, sweet fruity aroma.

There was no smell of machine oil, no incense of prayer, and no ceaseless roar of the foundry.

This made her feel a strong sense of unease, as if the ground beneath her feet was no longer solid.

She stepped forward, her combat boots making a slight creaking sound as they trod upon the field ridge.

Elena and Vera followed closely behind.

Helmut seemed to have sensed them long ago.

He snipped off the last withered branch, retracted the shears, and maneuvered his tracks to turn his body halfway.

His gaze swept over the three Battle Sisters and finally landed in the direction Gluck had left, nodding slightly as if completing a silent handover.

"Welcome to my 'laboratory,' Sister Superior Ludmilla, Sister Elena, Sister Vera."

His voice was calm and metallic, yet strangely not cold.

"I hope Gluck didn't scare you. He is used to the front lines and accustomed to mingling with civilians; he doesn't quite understand the ways of hospitality."

"Is this... your residence?"

Sister Superior Ludmilla looked around, her gaze sweeping past the simple metal farmhouse and falling back on the red and green fruits.

She tried hard to recall the contents of the Imperial Botanical Compendium or the Battle Sisters' supply lists, but found nothing.

"What are these?"

"These?"

Helmut extended a mechanical hand, his fingertips gently touching a red fruit within arm's reach.

"According to Imperial tradition, they should be called 'tomatoes.' A food that humanity was very familiar with before the Age of Strife. Unfortunately, the Imperium has forgotten both its name and its taste."

He paused, and his other mechanical hand picked up a few items served on large leaves from the simple earthen stove nearby, handing them over.

The leaves were slightly curled from the heat, holding several pieces of food with charred, golden-brown skins that had split open to reveal soft, crimson interiors. The rich, sweet aroma mixed with the scent of smoke instantly overwhelmed the smell of grass in the field.

"But here, after Icarus replanted it from the contaminated soil, we are accustomed to calling it 'tomato' when roasted."

"Would you like to try some?"

The tools were primitive to the extreme—leaves for plates, sharpened wooden skewers for forks.

This was less of a hospitality and more of a casual sharing, or perhaps even a... test.

Sister Superior Ludmilla hesitated for a moment.

As a Commander of the Battle Sisters, she had experienced countless dangers, but when faced with a completely unfamiliar food from "converted" land, vigilance was instinctual.

She glanced at Elena.

Elena was quietly watching the roasted tomatoes, her eyes somewhat unfocused, yet the corners of her mouth curled up unconsciously in a tiny arc, as if recalling something distant and pleasant.

Vera frowned slightly; her Psyker perception did not sense malice in this food, but rather an extremely faint yet stable and orderly... "sense of programming"?

As if their growth and ripening had been precisely calculated.

Sister Superior Ludmilla finally picked up a wooden skewer, poked the smallest piece, and put it into her mouth.

Instantly, warm juices burst on her tongue, rich, sweet, and tart, accompanied by the charred aroma unique to charcoal fire, sliding down her throat.

An unfamiliar yet intense sense of satisfaction rose from her stomach, dispelling the fatigue brought on by the long journey and tense confrontation.

She froze, chewing carefully, trying hard to mobilize her taste buds to discern if there were any traces of psychic residue, genetic contamination, or chemical agents.

There were none.

Only the instinct for delicious food, forgotten by her body, had been activated. It was the purest sweetness of food, that indescribable and reassuring "sense of wholeness."

"...It is delicious."

She put down the wooden skewer, her voice a bit dry.

Admitting this made her feel uncomfortable, as if she had betrayed some precept carved into her bones.

Only what is granted by the Imperium is safe; the unfamiliar is suspicious.

"Does this mean you no longer need supplies from the Imperium?"

"It is more than just self-sufficiency."

Helmut pointed toward the distant horizon, where the city built by Icarus was glowing with the rhythmic blue light of electromagnetic pulses.

"Icarus has rebuilt the entire planetary cycle. Food, water, energy, defense... the Ork threat has been eliminated, but here, the definition of war has been permanently changed. Follow me."

He led the three of them toward the unremarkable metal farmhouse.

The interior was more spacious than it looked from the outside, but the furnishings were simple to the point of being shabby.

Only a large metal workbench occupied the center, scattered with data slates, various models of screwdrivers, half-dismantled Cherub parts, and a thick, open book with the title "Programming: From Getting Started to Getting Buried" written on the cover.

Most eye-catching were the twelve Servo-skulls hovering around the workbench.

They were not hovering motionless like their counterparts common in the Imperium, emitting monotonous hums while waiting for instructions.

They... were active.

One skull was carefully turning the pages of the book with a slender mechanical arm, its optical lens focused on the dense lines of code.

Another was tightening an interface on a circuit board with a micro-screwdriver, its movements precise and steady.

Two more skulls hovered in the corner, the pulse lights in their eye sockets flickering in complex rhythms, sometimes synchronized, sometimes staggered, as if engaging in a silent and efficient conversation.