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WE WERE ON it almost before we were ready。 A massive tube of machined metal； thirty metres in diameter and seventy long； with a
huge plasma cutting…screw at the front end and rows of claw…like impellers that cycled down its flanks like the active teeth of a
gigantic chainsword。 It had cut its way from the tube and was grumbling across the clastic silt of the chamber floor away from us；
pumping thick clouds of vapourised rock and steam out behind it。
'Emperor protect me！ It's huge！' Aemos exclaimed。
'What in the name of the Golden Throne is that？' gasped Medea。
'Slow down！ Slow down！' I cried； but she was already braking us back behind the leviathan。
'Oh crap！' said Medea。 Recessed hardpoints along the giant's flank had swivelled and opened； and multi…laser batteries had popped out
to target us。
I grabbed the vox…set's hand…mic。
'Vade elquum alatoratha semptus！' I yelled into the mic。 'Vade elquum alatoratha semptus！'
The weapons … which could have obliterated us in a single salvo … did not fire。 They remained trained on us； however。 Then heavy
shutter doors on the back end of the enormous machine opened slowly； revealing a small； well…lit hangar space。
'We won't get another invitation！' I told Medea。
With a worried shrug； she steered us inside。
I LED THE pair of them out of the pod into the arched dock…bay。 The shutters had locked shut behind us； and pungent sulphurous fog
pooled around our feet as it was pulled out of the bay by chugging air processors。
The bay was of a grand design； fluted with brass fittings and brushed steel。 There was a brand new prospector pod； painted oxide…red；
in the docking cradle next to the one that had received our singed specimen。 Three other cradles； new and black with oil； lay vacant。
All the light came from phosphorescent gas filaments in caged glass hoods around the room； and the effect was a flickering； lambent
glow。 An iron screwstair with padded leather rails led up to a boarding platform above us。
'That's a good sign；' I said。 The bas…relief roundel of the Adeptus Mechanicus was visible above the inner door lock on the platform。
We all started as long servitor arms whirred out from compartments in the walls。 In a second； six were trained on us： two with auspex
sensors； sniffing us； and four with weapon mounts。
'I suggest we don't move；' I whispered。
The inner lock clanked and opened。 A hooded figure in long orange robes seemed to hover out onto the platform。 It grasped the
handrail with both hands and looked down at us。
'Vade smeritus valsara esm；' it growled。
'Vade elquum alatoratha semptus；' I replied。 'Valsarum esoque quonda tasabae。'
The figure pulled back its hood； revealing a mechanical skull finished in oil…smudged chrome。 Its lens…like eyes glowed bright green。
Fat black cables under its jaw pulsed and the vox…caster screwed into its throat spoke。
'Gregor… Liber… It's been a long time。'
NINETEEN
WALKING THROUGH STONE。
LITH。
THE INMATE。
'THIS IS MEDEA Betancore；' I said； once Geard Bure's strong mechanical grip had finally released my hand。
'Miss Betancore。' Bure bowed slightly。 'The Adeptus Mechanicus of Mars； holy servants of the God…Machine； bids you take sanctuary
in this； its worthy device。'
I was about to hiss at Medea and explain that she had been greeted formally； but； typically； she needed no prompting。
She deftly made the machine…fist salute of the Mechanicus and bowed in return。 'May your devices and desires serve the God…Emperor
until time runs its course； magos。'
Bure chuckled … an eerie sound when it came from a prosthetic voice…box … and turned his unblinking green eye…lights to me。
'You've trained this one well； Eisenhorn。'
I—
'He has； magos；' said Medea quickly。 'But that response I learned from study of the Divine Primer。'
'You've read the Primer？' Bure asked。
'It was basic study in air school on my home world；' she replied。
'Medea has a… considerable aptitude for machines；' Aemos said。 'She is our pilot。'
'Indeed…' Bure walked around her and uninhibitedly caressed her body with his metal fingers。 Medea temporarily humoured him。
'She is machine…wise； yet she has no augmentation？' Bure questioned me。
Medea stripped off her gloves and showed him the intricate circuits inlaid into her hands。
'I beg to differ； magos。'
He took her hands in his and gazed in hungry wonder。 Drool…like ropes of clear lubricant oil trickled out between his chrome teeth like
spittle。
'A Glavian！ Your enhancements are… so… beautiful…'
'Thank you； sir。'
'You've never thought to permit any other augmentation？ Limbs？ Organs？ It is quite liberating。'
'I… get by with what I've got；' smiled Medea。
'I'm sure you do；' Bure said； suddenly swinging round to face me。 'Welcome to my translithopede； Eisenhorn。 You too； Aemos； my old
friend。 I must admit I can't conceive what brought you here。 Is it the Lith？ Has the Inquisition sent you to deal with the Lith？'
News of my disgrace clearly hadn't reached him； and for that； I was thankful。
'No； magos；' I said。 'A stranger quirk has brought us here。'
'Has it？ How odd。 When I first detected your signal … in dear Hapshant's old private code … I couldn't believe it。 I nearly shot you
down。'
'I took a chance；' I said。
'Well； that chance has led you to me and I'm glad。 Come； this way。'
His skeletal silver hands ushered us towards the door lock。
Bure had no lower limbs。 He floated on anti…gravity suspensors； the hem of his orange robe hanging a few centimetres above the
plated deck。 We fell in step behind him and walked the length of a long； oval companion…way lined with brass bulkheads and more gas
filament lamps。
'This burrowing machine is a wonder；' Aemos said。
'All machines are wonders；' Bure replied。 'This is a necessity； the primary tool of my work here on Cinchare。 There were； of course； a
number of lesser prototypes before I made the necessary refinements。 This translithopede was engineered from my designs by the
Adeptus fabricatory on Rysa and shipped here for my use three standard years ago。 With it； I can go where I please in this rock； and
unlock the secret lore of Cinchare's metals。'
Magos Bure had been a metallurgy specialist for two hundred years； his knowledge and discoveries almost worshipped by his brethren
in the tech…priesthood。 Before that； he had been a fabricator…architect in the titan forges of Triplex Phall。 To my certain knowledge； he
was almost seven hundred years old。 Hapshant had occasionally hinted that Bure was far older than that。
Not a shred of the magos's flesh remained。 The vestigial organic parts of Geard Bure the human being … his brain and neural systems …
were sealed inside his gleaming mechanoid body。 I had never learned if this was a matter of design or necessity。 Perhaps； as is the case
with so many； disease or grievous injury had forced such extreme augmentation upon him。 Or perhaps； like Tobias Maxilla； he had
deliberately discarded the weakness of flesh in favour of machine perfection。 Knowing the technophiliac disposition of the
Mechanicus priesthood； the latter seemed more likely to me。
My late mentor； Inquisitor Hapshant； had encountered Magos Bure in the early part of his career； during the celebrated mission to
secure the STC Lectionary from the ashrams of Ullidor the Techsmith。 As I have remarked； the Inquisition … indeed most august
bodies of the Imperium … find dealings with the Cult Mechanicus problematic at best。 Its power is legendary and its insularity
notorious。 The cult is a closed order which guards the secrets of its technologies jealously。 But Bure and Hapshant developed a
beneficial working relationship based on mutual esteem。 On several occasions； Bure's specialist wisdom assisted my mentor in the
prosecution of important cases； and on several others； the favour was returned。
That is why； a century before； I entrusted an item of particular importance to his expert custody。
THE CONTROL CHAMBER of the wheezing translithopede was a split…level chapel where a raised command podium； like a giant brass
pulpit； overlooked two semi…circular rows of busy control stations。 The rivetted iron walls were painted matt red and etched with the
various aspects and runes of the Machine God。 The forward wall was shrouded in long drapes of red velvet。
Six oil…streaked servitors worked at the chattering control stations； their hands and faces plugged directly into the systems via thick；
metal…sleeved cables or striped flexes marked with purity seals and parchment labels。 Glass valves and dials flickered and glowed； and
the air was heady with the scent of oils and sacred unguents。
Two relatively human tech…adepts in orange robes were overseeing the activity。 One was linked directly into the vehicle's mindimpulse
unit through a trio of neural plugs； and he murmured aloud the rites and scriptures of the Adeptus。 The other turned and
bowed as we came onto the podium。
He had a wire…mesh speaker where his mouth should have been。 When he spoke； it was in a pulse of binary machine code。
Bure responded in kind； and for a few moments they exchanged tight bursts of condensed data。 Then Bure floated over to a brass
lectern built into the podium's rail and opened his robe。 Two probing neural cables extended from his chrome ste