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Chapter One - Things Break Horribly, and Other Common States of Affairs

Prologue -
In the dark corners of the Galaxy, in those areas governed by Administratum adepts that have died, and never been replaced, there lie many strange and wonderful worlds. As their records molder in long-lost filing cabinets, pinned underneath the decomposed hands of an Adept whose credit total is doomed to forever go up in small increments, his death not noticed by the glacial, hammering force of the Imperial bureaucratic juggernaut.
Such was the fate of the Administratum adepts tasked with maintaining records pertaining to Vall, and the other worlds in its subsector. One small, unimportant flood in their small, unimportant corner of the basement of the Administratum Department of Segmentum Obscurus Planetary Tithe Records, and both the Sub-Department of Vall Sector Tithe Records and the Sub-Department of Regulation of the Sub-Department of Vall Sector Tithe Records simply ceased to exist.
The issue that caused this state of affairs was simple. The sub-department assigned to the Vall sector's cubicles and offices were positioned right next to the sub-department in charge of monitoring the the department assigned to the Vall sector. When the flood occurred, both departments drowned, rendering the Administratum as a whole completely oblivious to the existence of Vall. It was as if both departments had simply ceased to update their reports to their collective superior, the Senior Assistant Undersecretary to the Secretary of Deputy Adept Minoris of the Department of Segmentum Obscurus Planetary Tithe Records.
This state of affairs was not uncommon in such a small department. The tithe grade of the planets in the Vall sector had not changed in five millennia, and the system had remained perfectly compliant for that long, managing to evade the rounding errors and lost records that were responsible for Imperial audits, the disapproval of the Inquisition, and sustained planetary bombardments.
In the eyes of the Imperium, the department's silence simply meant two possible things. Vall had been destroyed without a distress signal, and the Adepts reassigned, or the planet was completely compliant, with no issues at all. A tasking order was sent to the nearest free Imperial Navy vessel, in case the first scenario was true. The order made it all the way to the venerable cruiser Magnificatus Malleus, and was promptly overwritten by an urgent order to go repel a Chaos incursion on the other side of the galaxy. The order to investigate Vall was queued directly under the newer order. Magnificatus Malleus would serve in the Crusade of Fury alongside the 34th Battlegroup for 30 years, after which its pending order queue was promptly wiped. When the Malleus failed to report anything, the Administratum simply noted Vall as officially destroyed, reassigned the Astropaths assigned to recieving the sector's messages, and then forgot about them entirely.
In the Vall Sector, business continued as usual. However, after their tithe-bearing crafts began returning from their destination of Titania in the Diamas sector, citing the reason that nobody could find any evidence that their sector actually existed. Trained not to question, Vall and the worlds it controlled simply ceased to pay its tithes, believing themselves abandoned or forgotten by the Imperium.
However, on Terra, enormous wheels are beginning to spin, blundering into dangerous pseudo-awareness. The leviathan machine of the Imperial bureaucracy has noticed a discrepancy, and has sent a team to deal with the issue.
A standard pattern Administratum team is made up of a variety of adepts, and any given Servitors or Servo-Skulls assigned to them. In the case of the team tasked with investigating the discrepancies in the resources officially assigned to Forge-world of Titania, that meant they had absolutely nothing assigned to them except their wits and a single malfunctioning Servo-skull that had been on notice for almost a decade. It was very much possible that a Servitor, had, in fact, been assigned to them, but the Adeptus Terra has a way of making it so assigned Servitors (and occasionally the Adepts requisitioning them) are often dead of old age before they actually get delivered.
This team, as preferred, was made up of three Adepts of equal rank, meaning at all times, any given Adept is being watched by the other two for any trace of heresy, bad procedure, unprofessional conduct, or original thought. Or so the Administratum wishes. Unfortunately for the organization's ideology, Adepts occasionally have original thoughts, such as the thought that got this team assigned in the first place, or the poor, brave soul who suggested that recaff machines should require disposable cups to function. The team's contents, like it's composition, were hardly unique. It was formed of new Adepts whom the official in charge of the investigation had deemed expendable. In this case, the Adepts were named Patrick, Stirn, and Heiss. They were all Adept Menial Minorii, assigned to the Department of the Regulation of the Department of Segmentum Obscurus Planetary Tithe Records, and their job was to investigate the latter department, and find out if a full audit was necessary.
Needless to say, the Administratum is very good at this job. Heiss' team had a squad of five Administratum Auditors equipped with carapace armor, shotguns, meltas, and various other pieces of heavy-duty gear waiting on standby. They would begin the audit if Heiss faxed them the correct forms, or if the investigation took more than five days. It was the fourth day, now.

Vall
Abraham climbed the stairs to the front door of the Palace of Governance. Waiting in line for the admittance genescan, he breathed in the clean air of Vall and sighed. In the five hundred years since the Imperium had vanished from the Vall sector, life had been getting better and better. Instead of exporting food and raw materials to ravenous forge worlds, and trading in unfair deals with more powerful sectors containing behemoths like Cadia or Agripanaa, the Vall sector could focus on its own affairs. And how! Instead of the dirty hive-towers that had clung to Vall like a fungus clings to an old, wet, abandoned boot, graceful skyscrapers soared into the sky, shimmering in the sunlight. The more liberal Tech-Priests of Indaris, the only forge-world in the Vall sector, had given their blessing to the rest of the sector immediately after the Imperium vanished. The Indaris Cult of the Omnissiah believed that innovation and design were the ultimate ways of worshipping the Machine-God, and many hardline Imperial and Mechanicus officials had given up after their astropathic messages had not been answered. These days, the Vall sector was referred to as the Technocracy of Vall, and the Imperium had been forgotten. Only the very oldest, those kept alive for five hundred years by cybernetics or other means, remembered the Imperium, and Vall's inclusion in it.
Abraham's thoughts slammed to a halt as a palace guard waved him forward. He absentmindedly placed his finger on the scanner, and it turned green, opening the gate in front of him. He entered the palace, greeting guards, advisors, and the odd tour group along his well-travelled way to the High Governor's office.
He knocked on the stately wooden door as a formality, placed his finger on another scanner, and entered the spacious room. The High Governor waited for him behind her desk. As usual, she wore a light grey tunic with the 3-star symbol of Vall slightly below the left shoulder, and a black long-skirt.
"High Governor. I'm here to report some news. A minor issue has arisen."
The Governor tensed up, and braced for the worst. Had the Imperium remembered them and sent an exterminatus fleet? Did one of Indaris' rings explode?
"One of our ships, the Free Electron, suffered a catastrophic warp drive failure while patrolling the borders of the empire."
"Your solution?"
The small stainless-steel neural implant above Abraham's left ear sent the exact details to the Governor, along with potential costs and times.
"I see. Why didn't you order that yourself? Why didn't you simply add that to your monthly report?"
Abraham blinked twice. Why hadn't he simply done that? Surely he didn't just want an excuse to see her, he thought. His professional, logical mind clashed with his emotions.
"I believed that it was enough of an issue that you should be alerted, despite the ability technically being in my capacity as Naval Minister."
The Governor relaxed again, glad that there wasn't a true crisis.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Myrna."
The Governor raised an eyebrow at Abraham. The Naval Minister never used her first name, preferring to remain professional. Neither did he usually say things like that.
"Why, Minister?"
"With the recent death of your husband, I, well, was wondering about your emotional state. Just checking in to make sure that you're coping fine."
The Governor internally rolled her eyes, but carefully kept her face expressionless, except for her usual slight smile.
"I am 'coping' perfectly well, Minister. Death is just a part of life. Don't mistake me for somebody who tears up and ceases functioning because somebody died."
Abraham raised his hands slightly to placate her.
"No, no. I wasn't suggesting-"
At the sight of the visibly panicked Minister, the Governor adopted a less harsh tone.
"I apologize for breaking professional conduct, Minister. I've- it's nothing. I'm perfectly functional. I've been through worse."
As soon as the phrase left her mouth, the Governor cursed to herself. Any sign of confidence that wasn't perfect, and the Naval Minister could use it as ammunition if he decided to run for her position when her term was up. She began to tense up again, but reassured herself. She had plenty of ammunition against Abraham, already. If he decided to run for High Governor against her, she could target all manner of points. She'd defeated former allies before, and she was perfectly willing to do so again.
Abraham's expression changed to worried when her face changed slightly to contemplate the idea of running against him. She noticed this, and quickly switched her expression to all pleasantries again.
"Minister. I do believe we have something else to discuss."
Abraham knew what was coming.
"You want my support for something."
"To put it simply, yes. As you know, Eldar corsairs have launched several probing attacks on us, before."
Abraham nodded gravely. The Eldar of the Thousand-Petalled Roses, as several of their prisoners had named their "kabal", were a nuisance that had claimed more than a few merchant ships.
"I'm launching a formal declaration of war against them. I just got a message over the EnSet that one of the mining domes on Indaris' moon was breached. The population... was used to form a sculpture in the town square."
"Heat Death!" Abraham explained. "When did this occur? Why wasn't I informed? Of course I'll back you! Who wouldn't?"
"The bodies were found approximately five minutes ago. The EnSet message was only relayed to me a few seconds before I told you."
Abraham wished even more for man-portable EnSet units, but knew that those were an impossibility even Technocracy science couldn't solve. The entangled particles needed a perfectly disturbance-free vacuum to function in. They worked in starships or even large vehicles, but never in anything that moved particularly quickly.
"I see. Did you call an emergency meeting of the Cabinet and the Senate?"
The alert-tone that his neural implant relayed to him a millisecond before he finished his sentence answered the question for him.
"We're going down to the chamber now. Come along."
The Governor rose from her desk, and opened the low-profile elevator door masterfully hidden next to two tall potted shrubs. With a grimace, Abraham stepped in and held the door for the Governor. She grinned very slightly. Abraham noticed and allowed himself a good feeling of his own.
The recoil gel quickly filled the elevator, and off they went, faster than a bullet, propelled by a powerful magnetic field. The ride was over in less than a second, the man and woman transported downwards a hundred meters into the underground Core Chamber.
The gel was sucked back into the vents with a wet schlorp, and the rapidly-drying government officials stepped out of it.
"I hate the sensation." Abraham said.
The Governor relaxed slightly. The walk from an elevator still covered in rapidly-evaporating goo was not a time for seriousness.
"I don't know anyone who does, but it's worth it. If we get attacked, the population can be in their shelters in seconds."
Abraham nodded, and the pair finally stepped through the door into the Core Chamber. Most of the Senate had already assembled, the vast majority of Senators living in towers with an emergency elevator just for them.
The rest of the Cabinet had already taken their seats to the right and left of the Governor's podium. Abraham sat in his, marked NAVAL MINISTER in golden letters.
The Governor mentally rung the attention bell, sending a pulse to everybody's implants. The session had begun.
"My friends and allies. Today, we face our second war in thirty years. The Eldar have made an overt action against us, and we can no longer tolerate only firing at their ships on sight. We must locate the root of their perfidy, and destroy it. On the third world orbiting the star of Armistice, there is a cancer. A malignant growth that seeks to destroy our union and way of life. This threat must be swept away, lest more of our men, women, and children be kidnapped by the Eldar scourge. We have detected Eldar signals coming from this world, screeching out messages to sell slaves and plundered goods. We must act, and destroy this threat immediately, before it can grow any stronger. Therefore, I am launching a vote. All in favor or opposed to a formal declaration of war on the Eldar of Armistice III, cast your votes."
The Governor sat down, and, as tradition, pressed the button on her podium to vote. The "for" bar on the screens surrounding the Chamber turned completely green, stating "For - 100% (1 vote)".
When the Governor's vote registered, the rest of the Senate began to vote. Several more bars appeared below, tallying the vote count for each individual world as senators on other planets voted.
Quickly and efficiently, every vote was cast within the next five minutes. The outcome was as expected, with the largest gap in votes being 75% FOR, and 25% AGAINST, from the small agri-world of Shario. The Governor groaned. Party lines, it seemed, would even prevent people from voting for a war against vicious pirates like the Eldar.
As it were, FOR easily won, sweeping every planet. In orbit over fifteen worlds and seventy-two moons, receiving the declaration over EnSet, the Technocracy fleets began amassing to sail the void against the Eldar.

Terra, Administratum Department of Segmentum Obscurus Planetary Tithe Records
The three Administratum adepts plodded along the puddle-filled hallway towards the Department of Segmentum Obscurus Planetary Tithe Records. Their thin shoes made sad "plunk" noises as they sloshed along, almost overloaded with boxes full of dataslates, papers, and digital wafers containing records pertaining to the recent (to the Administratum) discrepancy in Titania's yearly resource allocation. So far, they had managed to nail down the exact time that the resources had begun disappearing, which was 498 years in the past.
Heiss grunted in exertion, and placed his heavy mallea-board box full of information gently on the table that had been designated for them. Patrick and Stirn followed suit, and began to dig the contents out of the boxes, placing them in neat, organized piles using a hyper-precise method only known to certain highly-trained Administratum adepts of a certain order. They were not members of that order. Instead, Patrick had got the secret out of an adept over a game of Heretic.
"Team token 89B-42-gamma-5, report", said Heiss, with robotic tone.
"Nothing of note", said all three voices in the team, in a monotone chorus. Heiss carefully wrote down "Nothing of note" three times on a spare sheet of paper, under the headline "Report 5".
"List the subject, please."
"Five-thousand barrels of oil, two hundred thousand tons of steel, ten-thousand tons of aluminum..."
Stirn droned on for a minute, detailing a relatively small amount of resources.
"Does the Administratum have records of any planets with that exact tithe grade?", Heiss said.
"Yes. Exactly one-hundred-thirty-eight. Primarily agri-worlds. Notable exceptions are a single civilized world and an industrial world."
"How many of them are close to Titania?"
"Forty. The furthest being Chiron Beta and the closest being... what?"
Patrick quickly wrote that down as an issue.
"Error 404: Data not found. No name whatsoever. It's marked as a dead world and completely expunged from the database."
"Send in a request to the DoSEPTR- ow!
Heiss' shock collar sent a pulse of electricity through him as a punishment for using an unauthorized acronym.
"Send in a request, asking the sector and name of that dead world. We need to know the name of every tithe-bearing planet for the audit evidence sheet."
Patrick groaned. The information would be useless, seeing as it was a dead world. The DoSEPTR must have forgotten to update the tithe mark in that specific document. It was most likely just a glitch. Work had to stop until they recieved the information from the Department of Data Recovery - Segmentum Obscurus Tithe Record Division.
The three adepts walked back into the long hallway, heading towards their beloved cafeteria.
"What a waste. Leaving a tithe grade in the database with nothing assigned to it? Stupid bastards. If they hadn't done that, we could have made some progress."
Patrick and Heiss mentally noted the unprofessional remark.
With that, they continued on, their grey robes trailing behind them.

Great work Verviedi. I always did like your works on Dakka.

Quite the enjoyable read, well done! Your work is always a delight to read

Chapter Two - Asking for Directions

Orbit around Runar IV
Like a swarm of ocean-borne leviathans, the smooth shapes of the Technocracy fleet filled the sky of Runar IV. The gas giant that the small moon orbited provided a stunning violet background, sending harsh purple reflected light into the meter-thick shielded armaglass viewports on the Technocracy vessels.
The fleet was amassing here for the assault on Armistice III. Every minute, it seemed, new ships exited their warp-bubbles, adding to the enormous armada. There were at least a thousand ships above the small, barren moon. Cruisers, battleships, carriers, destroyers, small transport vessels, repair craft, munition carriers, and frigates all performed the complex orbital ballet designed by the computer systems aboard the enormous Battlegroup Command Craft Pale Blue Dot.
In one of those small transport craft, the Abominable Intelligence, Elia Rathmann performed maintenance on a small group of SABRs. The Semi Autonomous Battle Robots were the Technocracy's bleeding-edge experimental drone-warriors, designed to supplement their old NeLCoP (Neural Linked Combat Platform) robots and human forces.
Elia stripped the polymer armor off one the SABRs with practiced ease, and began tightening the screws holding a microshield generator to the arm underneath it. Her magdriver whined as its rotating magnetic field tightened the screw exactly to operational standard.
With that, she reinstalled the arm's armor and put her magdriver down to wipe the machine oil off her hands. However, before she could do that, she was interrupted by her colleague, Pvt. Ourasi, bearing the sleek HFL-07 laser rifle that was so common in the Technocracy.
"All repairs proceeding as ordered, what's up?"
"Sergeant told me to get a report from you, then return to my duty."
"Working on the orders of Lt. Teresa. I'm installing the microshields on the... lower left arms of these SABRs."
Ourasi nodded and winced, and then launched into the age-old tradition of private soldiers.
"Terrible Teresa making you do bot work? Again? What did you do to piss her off this time?"
"Exist, I suppose. If there's a single person with less than three stripes that she actually likes, I'll eat my hat."
"Still more edible than the lunch trays."
With that, Rathmann laughed. Technocracy cafeteria meals were designed to be completely consumed, even the little lunch trays were made out of a stiff flatbread.
"Aye, I agree. How's the fleet moving?"
"Slowly and steadily. Last elements arrived a minute ago, they'll be rearming soon."
Elia nodded. With luck, she'd have the SABRs finished before the fleet jumped to warp.
"Excellent. What's your current duty?"
"Sentry duty around the bot holding bays. Arnie's holding my spot until I get back."
Bizarrely enough, Technocracy private soldiers generally didn't complain when their often-loved sergeant assigned them "bot work", but all gods have mercy on noncoms or officers that assign the same.
"Light duty. Shouldn't be too hard."
"That's the truth right there, Eli. Shift's over in forty. If you see Rhinehart, remind him that he's next."
Ourasi gave her a mock bow and travelled off to the restroom, carrying his rifle over his shoulder.
Elia started work on her fifth SABR of the day, removing the armor, installing the microshield, and reinstalling the armor. She moved onto the sixth, and continued working down the line after each bot was complete.
Her estimation was correct. She managed to install the last microshield thirty seconds before the warp-alarm sounded.
She quickly squished into an elevator with some other engineers, shot upwards, and emerged into her platoon's quarters.
The augmented voice of the ship's captain echoed around the ship over the loudspeaker system.
"This is your captain speaking. The fleet is jumping to warp imminently. Please keep your fingers away from the viewport blast-shutters, to allow them to close safely. Expect an eight-hour journey. End message."
Elia quickly ducked into the connected locker room to change out of her mechanic's coveralls and into her standard shipboard grey uniform. She, and the rest of her platoon, had a rest period for the next eight hours. She would wake up just in time for the assault on Armistice III.
The captain of the Abominable Intelligence watched approvingly as his bridge crew finished up the preparations to jump to warp. The bridge, buried in the armored core of the ship, four hundred meters from the void in any direction, received visual input from the series of cameras mounted on the hull. He watched as his two escorts jumped to warp, their outlines blurring and then vanishing as their stardrives formed the warp bubbles that allowed them to travel through bent space, instead of the hellish Warp.
"Navigator, plot course."
"Done, Captain", the ship's computer core reported. Ships weren't equipped with true AIs, not yet. They were too susceptible to the corruption of Chaos. The Technocracy simply used highly advanced "dumb" programs instead.
"Import course."
"Done, Captain", the computer said again. The Captain's neural implant received the course and double-checked it.
"Initiate warp in three seconds."
"Acknowledged, Captain."
The final procedures for warp jumping occurred all over the ship. Armored shutters over all of the ship's viewports slammed down, to protect the crew from viewing the maddening, five-dimensional warp bubble. The cameras winked off, and the lights flickered as the ship's capacitor array discharged into the stardrive.
There was no sensation of acceleration. Instead, the ship smoothly shifted dimensions like an alligator descending underwater.

Terra, Department of Segmentum Obscurus Planetary Tithe Records
The day opened with an unprecedented surprise amongst low-level Administratum adepts. The Department of Data Recovery had taken only two days to recover the data pertaining to the lost planetary tithe, and a full report was sitting on Heiss' desk when he came back from sipping gruel from a tin bowl in the Administratum Cafeteria.
When the team was out of view in the room designated for them, Patrick and Stirn high-fived each other, and Heiss dutifully wrote that down on his report as unprofessional behavior.
The three looked over the records of the planet that they had found again. The 500-year-old backup dataslate was cracked in several places, and a small spider had taken residence in its charging port, but turned on perfectly fine.
Patrick wrote on the report the exact information that Heiss read aloud, and Stirn monitored them. In a few minutes, they had the information clearly marked on the final report paper.
CHARIOT - Agri-World - Tithe Grade MINORIS
INDARIS SYSTEM - VALL SECTOR
SEGMENTUM OBSCURUS
Heiss frowned. He'd never heard of the Vall Sector, and nor had anybody else.
"Do any of you know the Department that controls Vall Sector's tithes?"
Stirn volunteered to locate it, as the Department of Segmentum Obscurus Planetary Tithe Records had a somewhat sane organization system. This broke the ancient unspoken Administratum rule of "Never volunteer for anything", but thankfully Stirn didn't particularly care, or know about that rule.
"Emperor's speed, Adept. Be back soon."
As fortune had it, Stirn only took six hours to come back, waking up Heiss and Patrick, who had fallen asleep in the corner. Stirn was absolutely soaking wet, and had a strand of seaweed sticking out of his collar.
"It's flooded", was all he said.
Heiss knew what that meant.
"Get the fax machine operational, and fill out the Auditor Requisition Form. By the Emperor's Light, we must descend into the Greater Archives."
Stirn and Patrick gasped in horror. Even highly-trained squads of Ordo Redactus stormtroopers got lost in there on the regular. Resigned to their fates, they began filling out forms while Heiss talked on the vox to the rapid response Auditor team currently on duty.
"Holy Emperor's Administratum Auditor team, 45th squad."
"Hello, my name is, well, Heiss, and... um... my team needs to descend into the Greater Archives to find some records on the Vall Sector. Whatever that is."
"The Vall sector? We don't think that sector exists."
"I know... I'm sorry, but the report the Department of Data Recovery got me had that name on it. I'm with the... Titania investigation."
The Auditor on the line sighed. "Do you have the required forms filled out?"
"Yes! Er, n- I mean STIRN! ARE THE FORMS READY?."
The Auditor waited patiently.
"YES!! FAXING THEM NOW! Yes... They're ready, faxing them now. How many men can you spare?"
"For an expedition into the Greater Archives? Let me see."
The line went silent for a few seconds.
"Two men. Auditor Jenkins and Auditor Clovis."
Heiss bit back a curse. Just two men? He responded, sounding quite faint.
"Sounds perfect. Meet us soon in our investigation room ASAP. Um... Room 243A in the Department of the Regulation of the Department of Segmentum Obscurus Planetary Tithe Records."
Heiss' shock collar tazed him again, for violating precise speech regulations and saying "um" too many times.
"OW!"
"What was that?"
"Nothing, um- OW! Bye! Thank you!"
Heiss put down the wall-mounted vox, the remains of his hair standing on end, and told Adepts Stirn and Patrick the good news. The other two Adepts nodded gravely, taking some spare paper from the large roll Patrick kept in his pocket. Patrick handed Heiss a piece, and they begun the ancient tradition of Administratum adepts who were about to descend into the Greater Archives, writing their wills.
As is custom, each Adept evenly split their meager belongings evenly to the other two. None of them had much (Stirn's prized possession was his collection of interesting letterheads), but the gesture was important nevertheless.
They all calmly waited in their chairs in the investigation room for fifteen minutes, sipping recaff and playing a quick game of Heretic, until there was a knock on the door. Heiss rose to answer and opened the door, revealing two armed Administratum Auditors in full armor. One carried a short combat shotgun, and the other carried a chemical sanctioner. Heiss shivered at the sight of the brutal weapon. It was the ultimate in Administratum "efficiency". It sprayed quick-decaying toxins designed to kill living things without damaging inanimate objects such as dataslates or servitor implants.
The one carrying the chemical sanctioner nodded towards him.
"Auditor Jenkins, 45th Administratum Auditor squad. My partner is Auditor Clovis."
"Hello, Auditors. My name is Adept Heiss, and my partners are Adept Stirn and Adept Patrick."
The formalities were stifling, although thankfully, Jenkins got to the point quickly.
"We are tasked with escorting you through the Greater Archives."
"Yes. We're looking for... records pertaining to the Vall sector. In the Segmentum Obscurus."
"Obscurus sector records? Should be available directly under the Department of Planetary Tithe Records. I assume you know where their Archives entry is."
Heiss nodded an affirmative, and the three Adepts followed the Auditors through the halls and cubicles of the Department of Segmentum Obscurus Planetary Tithe Records, until they reached a solid steel door that simply read "ARCHIVES".
Clovis distributed small stub pistols to the Adepts, and quickly showed them how to fire and reload, before opening the door to Archives.
The large concrete staircase was immediately revealed, spiralling down one kilometer, all the way to the bottom floor of the Archives. Thankfully, the entrance to sector of the Archived the team needed to visit was on level 30, only 700 meters downwards. They began to climb, bearing weapons, a sophisticated transfer device for plugging into dataslates, and sandwiches for a well-balanced lunch on one of the staircase's many landings.

Chapter Three - Lost in the Bureaucracy

Armistice III-
Archon Yrakathian smiled a predatory smile as he paced on the captain's platform of his ship. A group of slaves, bound sideways to a black metal frame, served as a staircase for the Archon to ascend and descend to and from his red-lit command platform.
The Archon slowly walked down the staircase, the small whimpers and cries of pain from the slaves that made up the steps invigorating him. Yrakathian stepped over to the First Hunter, who was diligently staring at the hunting screen, and occasionally adjusting a knob or dial.
"Our sstatuss?" The Archon said highly and coldly, his surgically forked tongue giving him a slight hiss.
"The Mon-Keigh are angered by our sport... Reading pathetic human vessels."
The Archon laughed. There were thirty Commorite vessels above Armistice III, more than enough to defeat the average Imperial fleet.
"How many of the Imperial lambss?"
"Reading three. No, four. Just appearing over multiple different sites."
"Only four? Pathetic Mon'Keigh, they must believe we are some weak-"
The hunting screen flashed, and turned almost completely blue.
"Reading... a hundred contacts, Archon!" The First Hunter yowled.
Yrakathian smiled. This would be entertaining.
Alarmed shouts echoed across the bridge.
"Archon, multiple target locks!"
"Archon, enemy has launched fighter craft!"
Without warning, the hunting screen flashed again, revealing a wall of craft warping in in all directions.
"Two hundred!"
"They're firing!"
The Corsair ships activated engines and scattered. Ykrathian's face went slightly red.
"How many of them are on the other sside of the planet?"
"Half of them, Archon. They're... launching drop pods!"
The Archon swore. The situation was escalating out of control.
"Spread the fleet out and engage flickerfieldss! Ssoulssplitter, Dragonsssbane, and Sun'ss Unbending Glare, escort us!"
The Dark Eldar ship vanished from view, engaged its primary weapons, and locked on to an unlucky Technocracy destroyer. Three evil-looking torpedoes launched from its front tubes, and flamed towards the doomed enemy ship.
Ykrathian watched as lasers, railgun projectiles, and plasma blasts arced from the Technocracy ships to any Comirrite ship that didn't cloak fast enough. Half of the Eldar force was gone within minutes, blasted apart by the massive firepower of the Technocracy vessels.
The Exalted Ykrathian performed what atmospheric pilots call an aileron roll, and charged ahead into the midst of the enemy vessels, spewing dark lances and building-sized shells every which way. The gunnery officer quickly locked on to a Technocracy ship, and fired a salvo that would kill any Imperial cruiser.
"Deflection! Enemy shields not breached! Recharging..."
In return, the sleek cruiser locked on to the source of the lances, compensated for target lead, and fired its own salvo. A barrage of lasers streaked out from its massive prow turret.
"Incoming!"
Ykrathian's ship jolted and bucked as the barrage sliced into it. A chorus of damage reports begun.
"Aethersail down!"
"We've lost the webway portal projector, Archon!"
"Reactor one overload!"
"Life support down in the slave holding pens!"
Ykrathian swore again, more profusely. If he survived this, there would be no sport to be had.
"All ahead full, target enemy cruisser, get those flickerfieldss back online, you fool!"
Another, larger salvo hit the ship, knocking a dancer off the command platform and onto a spiked console. She convulsed and wailed in pain.
The Technocracy ship that had hit them suffered a volley of lance shots that left a series of gaping holes in its polished white prow and knocked its RCS systems and reactor offline. With a hiss, Ykrathian finished it, blowing it apart.
"Kill! Deploy electromagnetic netss!"
The nets would catch survivors, feeding them just enough oxygen to keep them alive, before dragging them in.
"Negative, Archon! Nets have been destroyed!"
Ykrathian leapt on top of the console of the unfortunate officer that said that, and stabbed her in the throat.
"More power to the enginess! More power! You foolss! You traitorss!"
The Exalted Ykrathian fired one final volley of lances, hitting a transport vessel dead on, before turning to escape the battle.
As the ship turned to escape, yet more Technocracy ships warped in, close enough to Ykrathian to see with his bare eyes. Their sophisticated computers targeted the Exalted Ykrathian instantly.
The first MAC shot hit the bridge, vaporizing it and freeing the slaves from their misery. The second shot detonated the core artificial sun, and the third hit the prow dead-on. It was enough to shatter the vicious-looking cruiser into shards, none larger than a house.
The Technocracy ships moved on through the expanding cloud of plasma, intent on securing the planet itself.

The ground fell out from under Elia as the Eldar ship's lances hit. The artificial gravity failed, turning the barracks into an unholy whirlwind of people, blankets, and footlockers. The sight of the notorious Lt. Teresa floating upside down in her standard pattern Technocracy Army underwear was enough to make several soldiers chuckle. Elia managed to hold her amusement, valuing not having a schedule full of bot work for the next year too much to laugh at the Lieutenant.
Screams and smoke begin rising from the upper levels of the ship, as the extent of the damage became apparent. The artificial gravity snapped back on, but with horror, Elia realized she no longer felt the engine vibrations.
The high, continuous noise of every starship traveler's worst nightmare begin to wail. "Abandon ship!" It seemed to screech, the noise waking something primal within each soldier and crewman.
Elia and several fellow engineers rushed downwards, taking the stairs to bypass the collapsed elevators. After a minute of urgent running, they reached the chaos of the hanger deck. Each of them placed their fingerprint on a scanner, which opened the glass doors that lead to the bot holding racks. With practiced ease, Elia quickly used her control-wand to emergency-activate every SABR on the racks and directed them to rush into the enormous, gaping maws of the waiting landing craft.
SABRs, NeLC Platforms, and human soldiers streamed into the landers, taking their designated positions. The crew had their own escape pods.
Elia's neural implant received a message. All landers were to launch within two minutes. She scowled. The regiment she was a part of was to hit the largest enemy camp that HQ had identified from orbit. How were they supposed to do that with half of their forces landing late?
She noted Lt. Teresa, fully armored again, standing near an empty lander, waving the rest of her platoon into it. Slipping on her helmet and rushing to the lander, she quickly grabbed her rifle and sat in the grav-restraint.
"Private Rathmann! Why were you late!?" Lt. Teresa barked at her.
"I was tasked with loading the SABRs, sir!"
Teresa's blunt face seemed to tighten, as if trying to decipher the exact meaning of each word.
"Excused, Private."
Elia nodded, and reclined as much as the grav-restraint allowed. The lander rocked, the telltale sign of entering a planet's atmosphere. Shields went up to protect the vulnerable hull. There was a low rumbling of flames licking the shield-bubble, and another violent jolt as the lander activated retro-thrusters. The soldiers inside could hear the thrumming of lance beams, gunfire, and screams outside.
The red light above the hatch flickered on, casting an ominous glow throughout the troop-compartment. Various Technocracy soldiers began their pre-landing rituals. Counting down until the light turned green and the hatch opened, whispering prayers to a whole variety of gods, or snapping their fingers to some old song.
The light flashed green, the lander jolted for the final time as it landed, the grav-restraints released...
And the hatch slammed open.
Purple, glowing Eldar splinters flew across the battlefield, opposing the harsh blue shots of Technocracy lasers and plasma. Elia watched in seemingly slow motion as three Eldar fliers zoomed across the battlefield, firing their rapid-firing cannons into an exfiltrating lander. The lander's shields popped, and the craft tipped over in midair and hit the ground with a massive explosion.
Sergeant Ocralli sent an order to every soldier in her squad, to take cover behind the wrecked lander. The other two squads in the platoon followed. The thirty Technocracy soldiers rushed across the micro-cratered landscape as tracers whickered above.
A group of SABRs rushed by, firing their shoulder-mounted plasma cannons and atomizing a ridge. The volume of splinters flying through the air abruptly decreased.
Elia cheered as the SABRs kept moving forward, splinters bouncing off their hard metal-and-ceramic frames. They cleared the ridge, turned their weapons on the source of another barrage of splinters, and were suddenly completely annihilated. A bizarre-looking skimmer-craft flew above, firing pulse after pulse of black energy, each shot hitting and melting a SABR or unlucky soldier into a carbonized puddle.
"Target enemy tank! Fire at will!", Ocralli yelled.
Elia's HFL-07 snapped to her shoulder, but her helmet-mounted target lock refused to lock on.
"Error. Nonexistent target."
"Enemy tank's shielded!", another soldier cried out.
Elia resorted to firing without target lock. Each laser missed, the enemy tank's flickering, jumping outline seemed to be in the right place to avoid every shot. Elia wondered for one insane second if the tank was actually dodging lasers.
The tank's prow turned to face Elia's squad, and she hit the dirt. A black pulse of energy flew over her head and hit Lt. Teresa, turning her to goo before she could scream. Three more soldiers melted as well, causing Elia to gasp in horror. Another squad attempted to fire at the enemy tank with their support weapon, but the skimmer had already smoothly floated behind a rock formation.
"Fire support! We need fire support at point 4A!", Ocralli broadcast over the neural-net, sounding panicked. To Elia, the battle was moving in slow-motion. She saw a discarded Lancer SSW on the ground, next to a black puddle that used to be one of her squad members.
Moving slowly, as to not alert the Eldar tank, she reached for the Lancer, pulled it into her lap, and turned the safety off. The support weapon's hum reassured her, causing her to replace her sick, disturbed expression with a look of grim resolve.
The tank jetted out again, unleashing a wild volley of fire into another squad of scattering Technocracy infantry. A Lancer shot from its would-be victims hit its poorly-defined prow, blowing off its front weapon.
"Cover me!", Elia yelled to her surviving squadmates.
Elia rolled out from the wreckage of the lander, and fired the Lancer. The continuous beam carved a incandescent path through the tank's armor, destroying its engines, and detonating its fuel tank. The tank exploded in a brilliant fireball that caused fragments to rattle off Elia's armor.
"Armor kill, point 4A", she broadcast.
Another lander touched down, and three hovering Technocracy tanks glided out of it and over the burning wreck of the Eldar vehicle.
Behind her, even more landing craft touched down, carrying fresh ammunition and troops. A column of SABRs streamed by, and Ocralli ordered the platoon to follow them.
Crouching to minimize their profiles, the remnants of the platoon moved up, attempting to stay behind the marching robots. A NeLCoP strode alongside them, the neural-linked pilot in its cockpit directing the machine to send laser after laser into the remaining Eldar positions.
"Where the hell are the flyers?!" Ocralli shouted, to nobody in particular.
"Unknown, Sergeant!"
"They better- Down!"
Like magic, a group of Eldar appeared, disembarking from a fast, light skimmer. These new Eldar wore skin-tight outfits which revealed amounts of skin unsafe for any battlefield.
"What the-"
They began to charge the Technocracy troops, carrying vicious-looking close combat weapons.
"Fire! Target enemy assault troops!"
The SABRs turned around and begin firing, but with supernatural grace, the Eldar seemed to flow around each shot. Only one of their number fell, shrieking as if their deaths brought them great pleasure. Several of the wyches hurled twinkling grenades that landed amongst the SABRs and the NeLCoP. The electrical discharges they released causing SABRs to shut down, and the large combat platform to slump as its pilot's brain was fried.
Then, the Eldar hit the Technocracy soldiers head on. Elia fired her Lancer in a desperate arc, trying to hit as many of the assault troops as they could. Only two went down, bisected by the powerful laser. She dropped the SSW as the capering daemons (for what else could they be?) entered melee, slashing and stabbing at such speeds that the unfortunate Technocracy soldiers couldn't fight back. Arterial spray filled the air as weak points in the sophisticated armor were located with the greatest of ease.
One of the three remaining wyches looked into Elia's eyes, and stabbed at her with a gladiatorial trident. The trident smoothly hit Elia's curved shoulder plate, denting the material and leaving a deep cut in the skin underneath it. The wound begin to burn, as Elia realized with horror that the weapon was poisoned. The Eldar danced out of weapon's reach, licking her lips and preparing to strike again.
There was a shrieking noise and the world seemed to slow down. The world turned to fire as a hail of lasers, targeted to hit the capering Eldar, erupted from the nosegun of a Technocracy ground strike craft. Two of the wyches perished instantly, their bodies completely annihilated by the high-frequency energy. The last one turned and fled, after blowing a kiss to the wounded and dead of Elia's squad.
Elia's eyesight began to blur. The wound burned even more. She collapsed heavily, on top of the corpse of one of her squadmates. The last thing she heard before shock took her was the voice of a Technocracy soldier, shouting something she didn't understand.

Terra, the Greater Archives
Heiss checked the map again. They were almost a mile into the Archives, and had no indication of hitting the right section of the mammoth archives that Vall's records were stored in. Auditor Jenkins was in the lead, with Auditor Clovis in the rear.
The mood had got a lot lighter after they hit a mile inside. Clovis told them to curb their enthusiasm. Outside the main "road", the Archives were a maze of disused cubicles, enormous filing cabinets, broken cataloguing Servitors, and tribes of lost adepts.
Patrick began to speak to Stirn.
"This place is nowhere near as bad as I expected. When I saw the auditors freaking out, I panicked a little, but it's not too too bad."
"Clovis said it gets worse. A lot worse. I wouldn't speak too soon."
The group took another turn.
"Eh, with how it is now, I'm sure I can handle it."
Clovis shot Patrick a dirty look, but said nothing. The group continued on, taking turns that complied with their map, until they hit their first obstacle. A filing cabinet had fallen over, forming a four-meter high barrier. Heiss picked up a paper at random.
"Shipping logs from the governor of Styx Beta."
"How old?", inquired Stirn.
Heiss checked the name on the paper.
"Governor... Alexander Whitterman. M39?"
"We're getting close, then. That's about the right time period. Where's Styx Beta?"
"Northern Segmentum Obscurus. Should be the right place."
The team began searching for a way around the obstacle.
"Found something, over here. There's an entrance", Auditor Jenkins said, waving Clovis over to him.
"Should be large enough to fit." The other Auditor replied.
"Now all we need to make sure of is that it isn't a bookworm's nest... I see firelight at the end."
If this frightened Clovis, he didn't show it.
"I'll take the lead. Guard the rear?"
Clovis ducked into the hole, keeping his weapon unholstered, and begin to crawl. Thankfully, the tunnel was only ten meters long, so he quickly emerged at the end, into a clearing that was free of filing cabinets.
"Can I help you with something, sir?"
A strange voice sounded, revealing an old man in tattered Administratum robes, sitting near a fire and cooking some meat.
Clovis immediately raised his shotgun.
"Who are you? Answer now."
The old man spoke softly and calmly.
"Winston Himbleton."
"Armed?"
"Of course I am, friends. It's a dangerous world in here."
Winston's hand swept to encompass the whole chamber.
"Would you like some meat, friend? It's fresh bookworm, fresh killed."
Clovis made a quick judgement, and waved the rest of the group through. Heiss stepped forward to introduce himself.
"Adept Heiss, Imperial Administratum. These are my partners, Adept Stirn and Adept Patrick. The two armored fellows are Administratum Auditors, Jenkins and Clovis."
"Well, well, well. Make yourself at home, friends, there's plenty for everyone."
And there was! Winston put slab after slab of bookworm meat on the fire, and cooked it perfectly.
Through a mouthful of juicy steak, Heiss began speaking to the old man.
"So how long have you been down here?"
"Forty years. Back in the day, this place was way more dangerous. I almost miss it sometimes, but it's better for new visitors this way."
"Which Department did you work in, back when you were an Adept, sir?"
"Hmm... It gets fuzzy. Let me remember..."
"Where's Vall, Winston? Do you know anything about it?"
"No, can't say I have... Are you looking for it, Adept?"
"Yes, we are. The Imperium needs some information on it."
"I'm afraid all I can do is wish you good luck, young man. I'm needed here."
The old man made a bizarre shape with his hands, much like a follower of the Machine-God makes the sign of the cog. The team began packing their gear and getting ready to continue moving. When they finally got assembled and moving towards the hall on the opposite end of the clearing, Winston called after them with a kind smile.
"Good travels, good luck, off you go! May the spirit of Saint Horus and the Four be with you!"
When the words finally registered with Heiss, Winston was long gone, faded into the shadows of the archives.

A question-
Do you prefer the current system of two viewpoint characters per chapter and longer viewpoint portions, or would you prefer a different system, eg... one long viewpoint per chapter, many short ones?