Well, you have some time and if you fail, we just both waste some effort.
The church bells begin ringing in fourth shift, helped by rebroadcasts across the station. The children are rounded up and three guard platoons move out onto the square, patrolling and making other rounds. Two are dressed in proper uniforms, red and green respectively, while the third is composed of only half attentive warriors with clubs, furs and colorful plastic hats. The lights begin changing hue to night blue.
These people will never understand the compromises that need to be made to preserve the borders and expand them. The are not people of vision, who can keep their heart in the empire while their head and hands do the work.
Then Hereton realizes she is gone, although the suitcase remains. He is all alone on this long balcony.
Blightfang leaps backwards, turning in the air and slamming into the surprised man who slams to the ground. His arm flashes out to slash at the beast but hits only air. Bron runs and leaps onto the knocked down cultist, grabbing his knife arm, locking a leg around the other and gripping his neck with his other arm. (7vs82) The target struggles to break free but Bron smashes his head against the ground (2 degrees of success strength test) which is not well protected by the now dented thin metal helmet under his hood (Righteous fury [5+4-3+4=10 damage, 5 damage mitigated, 1 level of fatigue). The man shifts his weight to try and get out from under the attacker but fails when a clawed hand smashes down on a now bruised shoulder.
(Still in grapple, Blightfang is assisting)
As the elder works, asking for tools and referencing his notes you see what he is trying to do. (very hard technomat check 9v23) There are similarities between the plans but differences as well, he is combining multiple different designs. This is greatly against orthodoxy and almost runs into experimental heresy.
Yes, there are many things in the dark which have been lost. Not only to war and decay but to time. The plans we build on, how many of them are really copies of copies, flaws present which we are blind to see.
Servitors, an interesting task you set yourself for. Or perhaps your master sets it for you. Either way, they must only be constructed in a proper hall, surrounded by those who have been trained a lifetime in ancient ways. But I suppose a small talk on principles can not hurt.
He makes a note on a copy he is working on, minor circuitry changes in the firing mechanism.
A servitor is composed of three parts, well four if you count the subject itself but we know they are not that important.
First comes the common cybernetics or so one would think. But the parts for the automatic men must be custom made to allow a more range of free action, a small, dedicated spirit lacking in other bionics. Needed due to the lack of a whole spirit in the flesh. Such parts must be replaced and repaired regularly, one might even find something in the archives here.
That is what a servitor is, cutting out parts of the spirit that reside in the mind and replacing it. Understanding where to cut, what to cut and the skill in how to accomplish that is the second task. Cut out too much and you have a doorstop, cut out too little and you have a madman. One will need to speak with a skilled churgeon who does this work, or a heretek, or experiment. He pauses. Damning in any way.
The last, and most secret, part is the cogitators themselves. To take control and yet be subservient, to meld mind and machine. The systems must be able to adapt to the host, then lock themselves so further learning is impossible. Only a forge world would have the archives you need. Or perhaps they could be found elsewhere?
He gently sets down the tools he is using, saying a prayer to each as he does so, the looks up with red eyes into Sierra's.
I seek servants as well, and partners. Those who can bring new designs and samples for my students to dissect. One with many faces, or one with a face others have like yourself, will find rewards here that would end with execution elsewhere. Such pretty bionics, unlike the other who shared your eyes.
Before you ask, a year. Sought passage off the station, I know not where she went.
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Topic: Rogue Trader: Through the Looking Glass (Read 11109 times)