Go Soo-Hee was in the open cabin of the Aquila Lander with Jakada. The maintenance crew and pilots were still preparing and the rest of the passengers had not arrived yet.
She still had to process what the Legatine told her. A rat that defied a daemon’s direct attention. A rat had the makings of a Zephyrim. A rat who was certainly from a bloodline so polluted it was barely human. A rat that probably could not trace her blood due to her orphanhood. A rat that likely had more drugs and disease than blood in her veins. A rat that had no understanding or appreciation of their history, their teachings, their hymnals.
Go Soo-Hee thought back to when she learned to sing before she could speak. When the Dialogus scholars taught her the multi-millenia history of the God-Emperor’s holy Imperium that uplifted mankind from the Old Night and saved them from the terror of xenos and technology. She was inscribed with stories of the saints who founded the Adepta Sororitas to safeguard the soul of humanity where the impious had failed and false prophets had led them to ruin; of Saint Arabella whose purity she must match, for anything less was failure in the eyes of the Emperor. She looked at the caning scars in her palms, countless more across her body, each one signifying failure and weakness that had to be beaten and bled out of her.
That rat was chosen by Han Nyeo, herself undeniably chosen by the Emperor. She was not Zephyrim by choice: she chose to remain Superior to guide the novices. Now she bore fruit that shone with His light. If the Emperor’s will is to be done through a rat then so be it. Let it be one and no other. Let her martyrdom be a lesson of their place.
Jakada looked at her blankly. The Legatine would be watching every twitch and grunt made here just as intently as she would the rest of the mission in the recording. The Legatine was long an ally of Han Nyeo and was surely gauging reactions on her behalf. The back dealing of the Famulous was bad enough, but this conspiring between the Legatine and the Superior had the most potential of damning the whole order. Their story may very well be a lie to plant their tainted seeds that would supplant the noble born in time. Emperor forbid these suspicions come true.
Go Soo-Hee commanded Jakada to play her favorite song to distract her wandering mind: a recording of Ospreys Over Oceans sung by her son. It was about angels of the Emperor that swooped upon worlds across the galaxy like ospreys hunting fish in an ocean. The vastness of the ocean was no deterrence to diligent osprey, just as the endless heretics and xenos horrors would never tire the blade arms of the righteous. Hopefully this mission would see her reaping the wicked like an osprey.
The other Zephyrim began to board with their servo skulls in tow. Each one of them a noble woman who served the Emperor from birth. Scars that were not hidden under the habits were each a testament to decades of duty. Each Zephyrim earned their place with displays of unparalleled martial skill and faithful dedication. The image of track-marked hive rats polluting the sanctum infuriated Go Soo-Hee all over again such that not even the tune of smitten heretics could calm her.
“I see you’ve heard the ‘good’ news,” said Whang Ae-cha through her vox grille. She was more metal than flesh, but one needed no augmented pictlenses to read Go Soo-Hee at the moment.
“I have been informed against my will, yes.”
“That this concerns you should be all the proof you need to be more proactive in the Order’s affairs.”
“My duty is to kill, not to question. I entrust our future to my betters,” said Go Soo-Hee, “my duty takes me south, to your province, sister. I will purge vileness there on your behalf.” She closed her eyes. Jakada would wake her when they landed at her destination.
“Ah, well, thank you, sister,” said Whang Ae-cha.
Go Soo-Hee was alone with him. Well, not really. Even in this run down church, the rusty servitors still did its duty cleaning windows and watching the youngsters that loitered around. His singing was just so enchanting that it felt like they were the only two people in the universe. Most of the time, she wished they were.
After an eternity, he took her hand. He drew close to her. Every feature unforgettable: his brow, his ridge, his breathe, his lips. His lips drew close to hers, and then-
Jakada got one toll out before he was punched into another servoskull. The cabin bay opened. She unfastened herself from her seat and stepped down the ramp onto the landing pad. She hardly lifted her heel off the ramp before it raised back up. Jakada darted out just in time for the cabin to seal. The thrusters blew her habit as the Aquila lifted off for flight to its next destination.
Go Soo-Hee stepped down the stairs of the landing pad. They were high on a mountain such that again she could not see past the clouds. The busy staff bowed to her presence before continuing on to their work. The servitors strained to pay their respect but their servos were not meant for such flexibility. She had Jakada let them know that their respect was appreciated but better displayed by continuing their assigned tasks.
The convent built into the mountain bore not the aquila—the two headed osprey that symbolized the Imperium’s dominion. Instead, what marked the province of Ulsa was the Opus Machina—an augmented skull within a cog that symbolized their reverence for the God Emperor’s holy machines.
While Gyeo had been founded by the Adeptus Terra as a hive city, Ulsa had been founded by the Adeptus Mechanicus as a Manufactorum province. Though the tech priest order died out during the cataclysm, their legacy lived. Where Gyeo was the blood of Incheo, Ulsa was its oil, just as Terra was the heart of the Imperium and Mars its lungs. Where the ecclesiarchy saw humanity as a choir in His Righteous Symphony, the mechanicus saw humanity as cogs and fuel in the great work of His Imperium. Where lesser factories could mass produce necessities and commodities, these manufactorums crafted works of art. It was here that loyal armies of Incheo were forged. Here were born the tanks that supported the defense force. Here was born the fleet of aircraft that crossed Incheo’s skies. Only here did artisans craft the bolters and power armor that imbued the battle sisters with the Emperor’s wrath and protection. Only here were metal and meat assembled into missiles that smote His foes with divine precision.
The convent door slid open to reveal—
“Greetings my honored Zephyrim!” said the Dogmata through a vox grill. Her yellow vestments were trimmed with a red cog pattern. She gestured the Sign of the Cogwheel—she splayed the fingers of both hands wide and interlaced them together, like two gears grinding together. “Is this your first time in Ulsa? I can tell you everything you need to know about our wondrous province.”
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“Greetings sister,” returned Go Soo-Hee, “I have been here before and am familiar enough.”
“Ah, well, I will not regale you with the nuts and bolts then. Come, come, your arms and armor have been prepared for you. My sisters are just as eager to be in your presence as I am.”
Go Soo-Hee followed her beckoning. The dogmata pet Jakada on the cranium and scritched under his maxilla. He was more popular here than anywhere else and he would let all of it go to his head while it lasts.
The plascrete floors reflected the dim green light of the electro-candles that lined these halls. The music timbre was just as electronic as its people, with a high tempo, repetitive rhythms, and metallic texture that the Ulsans found energizing. Here, sisters and tech-adepts alike had some sort of augmetic to them out of culture rather than necessity, even just for aesthetic if not for purpose. The vox grill was a common sight for it synthesized their voices to a form they deemed to be perfection and rid them of the distraction of eating when nutrient tubes allowed them to work more efficiently. Those who took up the art of the engineseer were assisted by mechadendrites, mechanical tendrils that acted as limbs that could be equipped with tools for construction, destruction, or just to reach for an object that one was of insufficient verticality to attain.
Just as at the landing pad, everyone in these halls bowed to the Zephyrim as if she were Kim Min-ji herself. There were differences in how they expressed their devotion, but any Emperor worshiper would kneel when His wrath made manifest walked among them. Woe and scorn be upon the wicked who gained the attention of His Zephyrim, be they alien or worse. Blessing and honor be upon the devoted who assist her in her tasks, be they warrior or servant.
The corridor briefly opened up to a balcony. A glance over the balustrade revealed the full breadth of a hollowed out mountain. Glowing veins far below painted the walls red up to the peak if only in shades. At that bottom were the thermal generators that powered the mountain complex. Above that was the lattice work of roads and catwalks that connected and ferried material to the chambers of the convent, whether that material were persons or metals.
They finally arrived at the armoring chamber lit by electro-sconces. Their choristers played their grafting song, Wire and Sinew. They saw little difference between the augmetics inside the body and the metal carapace and tools outside the body. That distinction, to them, was made by the ignorant, the denialist, the luddite.
Flesh bears Steel. This is the way.
Go-Soo Hee took the stand. She handed off her habit to an adept, the scars and neural ports that marked her corded muscle laid bare. Their gaze lingered upon her sanctified physique, each scar a story of her dedication in training and in battle, all together a saga of devotion; if they still had jaws, they would be slacked in awe. While they revered the certainty of steel, the splendor of the human form chiselled to its peak was an irreplicable wonder of the galaxy, the majesty proof of mankind’s right to rule the stars. Her piercing glare made them shutter their eye lenses and refocus upon the armoring.
Steel Strengthens Flesh. This is the way.
She was as stone when a shower of water rained down to cleanse her. Her wet hair clung to her as rivers ran down her musculature on their way to the drainage. Her hair fluttered about as dryers blew scorching heat to evaporate excess moisture. Assured a clean slate now, an adept stepped up to the stand with a lotionized gambeson in hand. Everything besides Go Soo-Hee’s face was sealed tight as a second skin by the gambeson’s servo muscles and impact resistant fibres. This alone was as tough as flak armor and empowered her with the strength and vigor of two women. Her neural ports connected to the gambeson which would in turn be connected to the power armor pieces soon to come.
Hide covered skin. This is the way.
They brought forth the ivory armor of the Righteous Symphony. They began bottom up.
Her feet stepped onto heel-backed soles. then were covered in lames and a toe cap that all latched together to form the sabaton. She bent her ankle to test the gambeson’s connection to the armor’s fibre bundle. The lames complied with her flexibility. With a thought, an armor piece could be unlatched and disconnected more easily than it came on. They were disassembled like this so that tech-adepts could look over them carefully, but could be pre-assembled if the situation required expediency.
The shin and calf plates of the greaves were latched together and mag-fastened to the gambeson’s port. The cuisse came to cover her thighs in the same manner. Attached to the top of the shin plates were poleyns that covered the knees.
She spread her arms out to full wingspan. The rerebrace, vambrance, and counter were assembled upon her arms. Her gauntlets slid on. She wiggled her fingers and clenched her fist and curled her triceps and biceps to again test the connection. The gambeson was her second skin and the armor her carapace; any piece out of tune would be like a crippled limb or an anchor that weighed her down
The gorget was brought to her front and back to seal over her neck and clavicle. The backplate and breastplate were sealed together to form a cuirass over her torso that clung to her like a corset. The bottom trailed down into faulds and tassets that covered her hips and a yellow cloth panel, emblazoned with a pink rose, trailed further down to her knees. The top raised into a bevor in front of her chin and collar behind her nape. She lowered her arms to let the pauldrons land on her shoulders. The pauldrons were sealed onto her cuirass and their cloth covered the rerebraces.
Her helmet lowered. The ivory helmet held a pair of red lenses. Draped over it was a chainmail coif, her family’s signature addition.
At last, the powerpack was planted on the backplate. Without it, the cumbersome ceramite would nearly be a tomb. When the powerpack drummed to life, the energy coursed across the fibre bundles and servo muscles and through the nueroports that connected the armor and gambeson to her body. Go Soo-Hee was inflamed with the vitality of a dozen women. Vents at the top corners hummed out the powerpack’s heat. The red lenses lit up with smoldering hate.
Next would come her armaments.
Flakes birthed Man. This is the way.
A bolt pistol. Her bolt pistol. The average bolt weapon was already a hammer blow compared to the pinpricks of auto guns. Diamantine tipped bolt shells pierced thin armor and detonated their warhead once dug into its target. A man in a flak vest would be bloody vapor when shot center mass. Flamewing squadrons could cripple light tank battalions by blowing the treads off their tracks. Go Soo-Hee’s pistol was a mastercraft gifted from the artisans of Whang Ae-Cha’s House. The purity seal stamped upon its breech was a promise that its craftsmanship would remain pure no matter the distress. The seal was made of vellum that was grafted from the original artisan’s flesh as a testament to that promise. A promise that under sludge and sleet, in fire and tremors, through web and witchcraft, this gun would never jam and never fail to follow her aim. That promise has rung true to the misfortune of all this gun has struck down and to the dread of all others with reason to fear it.
A plasma pistol. A relic left behind by the fallen mechanicus. The beast within a mimicry of His holy retribution. A flask on her lumbar connected to the pistol by cable tube to feed the hungry beast hydrogen. Once it had its fill, the beast would alite with heat ready to spit explosive magma. If not properly tempered, the beast would slip its leash to become as dangerous to its owner as it was to its enemies. Smaller flasks of coolants could be attached to help soothe it.
She stepped down from the stand and all around could not help but bow once more. What was before them was not another sister but more alike a titan that furnaced hate and spat death. The sealed battle suit and destructive armaments would make any a walking tank, but it was the achievements of skill and tenacity that made the Zephyrim famous among their people and infamous among their enemies. The foolish that thought themselves beyond His sight would soon regret earning His attention.
Flesh and Steel. Steel and Flesh. This is the way.
The way of Man.
