Orcs

After walking through a relatively fresh excavation or cleanup, Samuel and I were in the city. The sky was covered by a dome of gray metal, with clearly visible traces of "express fixing." Apparently, paying attention to my upraised head, the techno-soldier commented.

- The site of the orc asteroid hit, Inquisitor.

- And how many can there be? - I clarified.

- No more than fifty," Samuel confirmed my estimate.

- And the population? Why is there no one in sight? - That question caused me to stop and turn my entire body toward me.

- Working in the factories. An imminent death is no reason to disrupt supplies and work for the Imperium and Mars," Samuel said. - You've never been to a World Forge?

- It's more a question of narrow specialization," I said gracefully, which was followed by an understanding hum.

Yeah, this is really fucked up, I finally decided. Ten million people doomed to a painful death from suffocation, because of the dozens of orcs, which are not even the fact that are alive.

The city itself, though made entirely of the same gray metal, was quite beautiful - a kind of neo-Gothic, decorated with skulls and gears, openwork bridges, cleanliness - on the whole, it's nice and easy to breathe, which is not expected from a factory town. But judging by the hermetic dome, I could see that all charms of production and emissions were felt in full force outside.

At last our journey came to an end-we descended to the very foot of the high-rise buildings, where a hole covered by grated rebar gleamed in the steel smoothness of the floor. Hmm, apparently a piece of orc landing rock had punched through the ceiling, which had been sealed immediately, and fallen into the utility basements, which they didn't immediately fix. And clear as hell, I marveled. Up no less than half a kilometer of housing, bridges, and stuff - and not a speck of dust!

After a welcoming nod from Claudius, I took a clipboard out of my backpack and walked over to the sergeant. He raised his eyebrows in amazement at my ignorance of the mobile of all sorts of Factory Generals, and I squeamishly protruded my lip, after which the spaceguard made me happy with a twenty-four-digit set of numbers.

Having dialed them, I was delighted with the tablet, which said that my call would be answered in... three years, four months, a dozen days and seven hours! As a twist to this mockery, there were minutes and seconds counting down.

As I was trying to absorb this unrelenting boorishness, Claudius' gaze shifted from the tablet screen to my chest, where there was a cross with a winged skull next to the "I" sign. Hmm, maybe, I guessed, unhooking the dangler from my chest and inserting its base into a slit in the side of the tablet. Perhaps that kind of thickness was justified, I thought in passing, watching as the color of the call window changed to red and the mocking countdown disappeared.

A blank white metal mask of a human face beneath a scarlet-gold hood appeared on the screen. In the background all sorts of machinery flickered, the mask made an atonal squeak, some kind of manipulator came out from behind the frame, ducked under the mask, and a few seconds after contact the caller uttered a mechanical voice.

- Why did Tallorum attract the attention of the Inquisition? Try to be quick, production and supplies require my attention," the man blurted out.

- Orcs, infiltration, the details will tell the sergeant of the spacemarine Claudius," I answered, handing a tablet to the named, from which he recoiled, but his face moved closer, leaving me to work the lectern.

- An Orcish landing asteroid that broke away from a transport during the destruction. Fell on the planet, Fabricator-lokum subjected the city sector to observation. The number of them three days ago could not have exceeded half a hundred individuals, the place of fall localized," Claudius spoke in a curt voice.

- Irrational," said the mask after a second. - The lokum-fabricator acted according to instructions and according to orders, but within the declared force majeure it's irrational. Your suggestions, Sergeant?

- Move the quarantine teams to the crash site, decontaminating people and premises. Maintain a cordon while my squad takes out the xenos.

- Partially accepted. You'll have a squad of two dozen Skitarians under your command," the Fabricator General issued again with a second's delay. I recommend waiting for them, it will take thirty-two minutes. Inquisitor?

- Yes, General-Fabricator? - I turned the tablet toward me.

- Do you have more business with me? I recognize the appropriateness of using your powers in the Xenos affair, but the diversion of my attention could be detrimental to delivery times and product quality.

- No," I answered briefly.

- Adeptus Mechanicus expresses its gratitude to you, Inquisitor. Goodbye," with these words the mask moved away and clearly went about his business.

Hmm, apparently my "access" prevents him from "hanging up," I appreciated the beauty of my cross, disconnecting the connection. And after the stipulated time, a centurion of cyborgs marched to our company. They were all at least half cybernated, wearing scarlet capes with hoods, except for a dozen two-and-a-half-meter robots or armor, but I still assume robots (or even cyborgs, but what, given the degrees of freedom of these things, is so cybernized, except the brain - even hard to guess).

A group of a couple dozen cyborgs approached Claudius, excessively skinny, if there was any flesh under the armor, armed with some kind of long-barreled sniper weapon.

- By order of the Fabricator General, I come at your command, as do two dozen Rangers," the cyborg issued to the spaceman. - My call sign is Ypsilon thirty-six bis, for those unfamiliar with the lingua techno acceptable Ypsilon or thirty-six.

- Rangers," Claudius muttered thoughtfully. - Communications floors, though, makes sense, although with us..." he pondered.

- Perhaps it makes sense for them to keep to the rear, supporting fire? - I muttered, for otherwise using skinny sharpshooters would be stupid.

- Not according to the code," the sergeant grimaced as if I'd asked him to dishonor a junior high school, regardless of gender or age. - Well," he continued, wrinkling his nose like a toothache, "the situation goes beyond that, so if you insist, Inquisitor," Claudius stared at me with obvious hope, to which I nodded. - Well, then," he concluded with carefully concealed contentment.

- Confirmed," Ypsilon bowed his head briefly and whistled something to his warband mates.

The other cyborgs took up positions around the hole, the techno-marine unscrewed the latticework, and then I saw the unforgettable picture again. Claudius took his helmet off his head, and his forehead turned pink; he didn't do much to scratch the floor with the toe of his foot.

- Inquisitor..." he forced his way out, paused for half a minute, and then continued, "the Order doesn't have many bibliars...

- And he's not with you. The Orcish Shaman must be strong to have opened warp-crossing," I paused for another sentence. - I'm no authority, but I'd rather have a demon hunter than none.

- That's right! - So he said. - There's no question about us, we're as ready to die as one of us...

- Which is silly, let the enemy die," I interrupted. - I understand, sergeant, and will keep you company, but you must bear in mind that my physical condition is not quite equal to yours or the huntsmen's.

- Certainly ,Brother Mark will be with you. He'll help you in a difficult situation," Claudius said, and the two-meter tall armored body slid gracefully (really, smoothly and gracefully!) behind my back.

The spacemen poured into the hole like peas, and the huntsmen followed them. But a glance into the hole showed the depth and torn and the pipes, and the bottom is not visible ... Somehow I did not want to jump in there, although previously I was not fervent with enthusiasm. Mark, however, admired my sour face for a few seconds and then said:

- "Would you accept help, Inquisitor?

- I will," I said.

And almost squealed, which was saved by my courage, a cold mind, and a lump in my throat. The bastard picked me up in his arms, like a princess, and jumped into the abyss! I was just thinking, not enough of the villain's cackle, before we hit the bottom. Well, it shook, but it was bearable, I thought, but I was carried further. At least fifty kilometers an hour Mark rushed to the side, dumped me against the wall and pulled out his gun, looking around.

- There are no orcs! - Claudius' voice rumbled. - Gustav, Secundos, sterilize the asteroid. Ypsilon, block off the approaches!

Surroundings bustled, Skitarians rushed to the aisles, a couple of spacemarines created some crap from the extracted pouches and threw it into the hole in the rock, almost completely gone into the floor. The aftermath of the throwing was a pop of air and a flash from the bowels of the asteroid.

After that, the spacemarines lined up in columns of three and moved down one of the corridors. Mark and I followed them, and the skitarians moved... along the walls and ceiling, judging by the clanking of some kind of magnetic hooks. Indeed, such huntsmen would be good in a dungeon, I thought. Ten minutes later I wondered if we were going the right way. In five minutes, however, the knocking I heard confirmed that this way. Not necessarily the right way, but definitely that way.

- Sounds from the switchyard, the quarantine gate," commented one of the skitters, apparently Ypsilon, unemotionally, hanging from the ceiling.

After another five minutes, the rumbling of metal became very loud. And our company entered a sort of workshop hall, where numerous pipes acted as conveyor belts. In one wall was a metal slab blocking the passage, into which green-skinned humanoids were breaking with axes. It would have been ridiculous if there hadn't been quite tangible holes in the metal, though not through.

The Xenos themselves were fairly uniform, a parody of the Space Marines, a bit smaller than them but very similar in proportions to their armor. Which, given that the orcs wore rags, leather, and at most a couple of steel plates, made them uncommonly large and muscular. Only one of them stood out: he was less than a couple of meters tall, rather gaunt even by human standards. This orc leaned on a stubby snag like a "staff," with a kind of... I don't know, a crown or a crown, a metal hedgehog or a hedgehog on its head. He had a spiked headband, and the tips of it glowed blue, like corona discharges. The same light illuminated the orc's eyes as he turned toward us, and at the same time there was a shriek of "Oomans!!!"

Immediately a bluish, translucent dome began to spread from the wyrdboy . But the space marines and Skitarians, who had opened fire and stunned me, had managed to pulverize a good half of the orcs.

The rest of the orcs were obviously not good enough. As demonstrated by the shaman himself, his crooked club whipped a couple of tribesmen, bursting with the cry of "WAAAGH!!!" to the edge of the dome. Then the huddled remnants of the orcs began shouting obvious insults that I couldn't quite understand. And a couple of especially aesthetes began to demonstrate the naked aphedrons of our company. Hmm, no primary sexual characteristics, I noted in passing. However, with their way of reproduction is trivial it is not necessary.

Meanwhile, after shooting into the dome, the marines and skitarians stopped burning ammunition. And Claudius, holding his banner in his left hand and not letting it out (though more of an aquila, given the two-headed eagle at the top), lowered his cannon, securing it to his belt. He unclipped a mace of some kind, covered in static discharges, and moved toward the dome.

The shaman twisted his face with asymmetrical fangs and chuckled nastily, which was audible in spite of the deafness of the volleys in the enclosed room.

- Boys, canned food came, now we're going to open them up! - at last, the shaman cried out, supported by the shouts of "lads".

- Courage and honor! - roared Claudius so pathetically, that I could hardly keep from facepalm.

After this meaningful dialogue the sergeant swung his sparking baton into the dome, which, to my surprise, made it ripple. Just as I began to stare into the "beams and wind," the frowning shaman poked Claudius with his crooked stick and yelled "die man!", flashing his eyes and the spikes on his hat much brighter.

And Claudius was just suspended in mid-air, and there was a creak from the armor. The sergeant, though, didn't let go of his banner or his baton, except that it couldn't help him. The beams and wind from the orc's yank wove a sort of half-blurred band that encircled the spaceguard's neck, smothering him visibly. Except, despite the drama of the situation, I almost laughed. Is this witchcraft? I wouldn't have even noticed such a pale and unformed manifestation while I was in warp. Okay, I'll go then, for what I was called to do, I hummed.

After the first step a palm in a metal glove appeared over my shoulder, obviously Mark, obviously in concern for my carcass, but my raised palm was interpreted by him correctly. The shaman, meanwhile, was grinning wickedly, twitching his staff and waving Claudius around, not paying much attention to the commotion in our ranks. I, on the other hand, walked a few yards and tried to change the direction of the "beams and wind". Which turned out with frightening simplicity - the sergeant fell heavily on his knee, however, without releasing the banner, threw back his cudgel and fiddled with the obviously damaged armor in the throat area. And the shaman... the shaman was shredded into a bloody fog in one second, I was a little confused.