Entranced, horrified, Cawl watched the corrupt adept burn.

He had killed his first man. Suddenly, the weapon felt more natural in his hand.

Cawl remained staring at the corpse for some time, until the plaintive psalm of a distress cant intruded itself onto his consciousness. The fallen myrmidon was still alive. He had work to do.

He went back up the corridor to the myrmidon's aid. His companions had brought him down from the companionway. When Cawl appeared, their mechadendrites and other subsidiary limbs laid the injured cyborg down and they stepped back.

Cawl knelt to attend the injured man, if man he could claim to be. He set about his work eagerly. He was well versed in the secrets of mechanics and biologies, and healed the warrior's wounds efficiently.

Soon he was immersed in the hallowed mysteries of nerve shunts and biologic emulator organ repair. When he was done, the myrmidons departed with a meaningful nod, and chittered binaric speed prayers. More thanks pulsed from their augmented minds into his, along with a token of gratitude, a promise of future help.

The myrmidons were holy avatars of the Machine-God's wrath. Cawl had earned their respect. The moment should have been precious, but Cawl could not put the dead adept's disfigurements from his mind.

Sixteen

Sixteen

A Calculated Betrayal

Battle continued in Trisolian A-4's cavern farms for the remainder of the day. Cawl went where he was needed, using his arts to mend the fallen, until fate found him within one of the giant agrifields.

Lines of blue-green foliage marched away to vanishing point under yellow lumens suspended from cold, weeping rock. Long troughs of hydroponic liquid fed bare roots. He supposed it must normally be a quiet place. No more.

Half the cavern was ablaze. The troughs had been broken somewhere down the line, and a lake of thin yellow water had filled the perfectly flat space. Missile fire and the roar of bolters boomed, amplified by the stone. Agri-machines, oblivious to the chaos, raced towards the damaged troughs to repair, only to be shot down.

Between the rows of food plants, thallaxii marched, their line staggered to increase the spread of their gunfire. Energy weapons made musical sounds with their discharge. Legionary weapons fired back, smashing the cyborgs from their feet. Undaunted, the survivors pressed on. The traitors had set up a wide front in the field. Rather than destroying the crops and moving on, they seemed to be attempting to take the facility. That made them vulnerable.

Cawl's own fear had diminished now. Taking a life had made him careless of his own, and he walked in a half-crouch behind a thallax trooper, using its heavily armoured war body to shield his far more delicate own.