章 9: Min-maxxing

[MEMORISATION has gone up a level.]

[ACTING has gone up a level.]

[DOGMA: MACHINE CULT has gone up a level.]

I received a pleasant mental ding of three skill increases as I finished reciting a Litany Against Invidious Fragmentation upon the cogitator that I was performing maintenance upon, overseen by the watchful sensors of Tau Alpha-1000. Increasing three skills at once was almost unheard of, but I suppose I was using all of them simultaneously.

The latter skill was an interesting one, and I was kind of curious why I hadn't really gotten an equivalent version from the Ecclesiarchy, but I supposed despite spending a considerable amount of time in the schola, I wasn't really being taught anything that an average, educated noble wasn't expected to know. With the Mechanicum, I was being treated as a member. I thought that must be the distinction that allowed me to pick the skill up.

** Dogma: Machine Cult (LV5): A knowledge-based skill. Every level of this skill provides you with more detailed insights about the dogma of the Mechanicum. If you are a true believer, it will increase your apparent zealousness by external observers by LV*10+(LV*(LV*0.075)) [51.9%]. If you are not a believer, it increases your ability to fool people into believing that you are by the same amount.

I didn't really consider myself a devout believer the way Tau-Alpha 1000 was, so I figured I was getting the second effect. Well, it wasn't like I didn't believe. I mean, I was basically on talking terms with the big guy, but I couldn't match the unrestrained zealousness of all of the members of the Mechanicum I had met thus far.

It wasn't that big of a deal or much of a difference, either way. The first effect that only true believers got was just a better, or rather more intense, version of the one I was probably getting, I thought.

More importantly, every level-up gave me a little bit of knowledge, but it also tied things that I already knew together in ways I hadn't thought of before so that I could give a pretty good summation of basic dogma and the reasons behind it, by now and in my own words, if asked. I never volunteered to do so, though, as my levels in the skill told me that this wouldn't be appreciated at all. Not for a quasi-initiate, anyway.

Tau Alpha-1000 finished observing me for a moment before he nodded, his augmetics chirping something in binaric, which I could not understand before he stopped and shifted to regular speech. He did that to me a lot. I figured it was an intentional slight, as there was no way he couldn't remember I couldn't speak it. I wouldn't be able to understand or speak binaric until I had some augmetics of my own. People who heard it called it a language, but recently, Tau-Alpha 1000 had admitted that this was an z untruth that the Mechanicum allowed to persist.

In reality, it was a heavily encrypted data transmission system that used an audio modulator-demodulator to convey data in short bursts. I had to look some of those words up, but after doing so, I realised that it would be impossible to really learn without the aid of machines. My numbers seemed to agree, as I had never once gotten a level in it despite listening to it a lot lately.

Tau said in a scratchy monotone, "...Adequete, Rho Epsilon-5. Your ability to memorise things is laudable for someone who is still wholly organic."

I wanted to roll my eyes because he had always been kind of an arse these past three months. He oversaw most of my training, where I only saw Genetor Neurosage once a week or so. Tau Alpha wanted to keep everything purely academic, with me learning the dogma of the Mechanicum over a period of years, but they were really short-staffed, so I had begun what my dad might call on-the-job training.

"Now, begin the steps of the Ritual of Restoration to Manufactorium Defaults, all fifty-nine steps," Tau ordered seriously, "When you are done, take the cogitator to the Brothers tending the reactor. After that, you may go home."

After Tau left, I sighed. I wasn't entirely sure all of this was necessary. This wasn't the first cogitator I had performed Holy Maintenance upon by now, and I had received several levels of PROGRAMMING: IMPERIAL COGITATORS for my effort. The knowledge I had received when I levelled up that skill for the first time implied that there wasn't anything mystical about them, but this directly contradicted what I had learned from my Dogma skill, as well as what I had been taught by Tau Alpha.

However, I was unsure what to believe. I had, in secret, skipped most of the seemingly pointless parts of the rituals on one of the cogitators I had performed maintenance on. However, the same machine came back for maintenance again very shortly after that. So, perhaps there was something to placating its machine spirit. According to its user, a secretary in the Duke's office, it seemed almost irritated and wasn't performing as it should have.

Since then, I performed all of the rituals by the book, even trying to utilise my Prayer skill while doing so. I had gotten two levels on that skill since then, but I hadn't noticed any additional effects like the blessing that the God-Emperor-Omnissiah tended to give me that protected me from the Warp. Perhaps it was because the blessing was being applied to the machines, though, that I didn't notice it.

"Well, let's get you ready to go back into service, aye?" I told the cogitator as if its machine spirit could hear me. I wasn't sure it could, but Mom always said it paid to be polite, anyway.

I made sure that my mask-based respirator was seated tightly. In some worlds where the Mechanicum held sway, these were necessary just to breathe at all. Orkney was a paradise, by comparison, but here in one of the workrooms in the bottom layer of what I called the Hive, it was necessary to avoid coughing on all of the incense that burned for many of the rituals of Holy Maintenance. I wouldn't need any of that to perform this next ritual, but it got everywhere, and personally, I was not too fond of the smell.

Also, it made me fit in more. I was the only one down here who was still one hundred per cent human, as far as I could tell, and it helped that in addition to the robes I wore, I had a full-face covering mask. My robes, unlike all of the Tech-Priests working here, were white with red trim instead of red with gold trim, and this made my station obvious—not a menial, but not one of them, either. At least, not yet.

After following all of the steps to restore the cogitator to its default settings, I took it down the hall into the large room that contained the main fusion reactor that powered the entirety of Landing. There were about five Tech-Priests tending to it, and I found one of them that I recognised and said, "Brother, this cogitator is ready to be returned into glorious service of the Omnissiah."

His voice was scratchy, too, like Tau Alpha-1000. It was like their vocoders all needed maintenance, which was ironic, "Praise, little sister Rho Epsilon-5. I shall take this machine from you." He grabbed it out of my hand with one of his metal tentacles, which I was still envious of.

I didn't dawdle and turned around. As I was walking out of the large room, I received the fourth ding of the day, and this one was an entirely new skill!

[Skill Radiation Resistance - Beta gained at LV1.]

** Radiation Resistance - Beta (LV1): Increases your resistance to β-particle based ionising radiation by 25+(LV*0.15)+LV*(LV*0.006)% [25.2%] At maximum resistance, you become mostly immune to the damaging effects of incidental β-particles, except if they are utilised as a weapon (Radiation Gun, etc.)

I barely stopped and continued walking, leaving the reactor room. I didn't know enough to know precisely what this was protecting me from. But I already knew that I only got a skill like this based on exposure, like how I had to be exposed to repeated fatigue before levelling up Fatigue Resistance.

I knew a little bit about radiation and that it could be either good or bad. The heat from the sun was a type of radiation, and Orkney would be a dead world without it. But I knew there were harmful types, too, but not precisely what they were. Perhaps it would be something I could ask the Generator sometime during one of our weekly meetings or try to research on my own.

I used all the logic in my brain, though, and decided to limit my time in the reactor room from then on.

[INTELLIGENCE has gone up a level.]

Five! Wow! And, I guess that was a good idea. I grinned. I returned to the workshop that I used and made sure all of my tools were taken care of and put away. However, instead of going home, I grabbed the short sword that my eldest brother had gifted me and took a long corridor to another lift.

The large corridors down here used conveyor belts on the ground, in both directions, to increase the speed at which people could move around the Hive. I imagine it was necessary when there were actually ten million people living here, although it was all empty now, so only the belts on the bottom and top floors actually worked. I took the fastest belt about a third of the way into the Hive before finding the lift up.

As I stepped out of the elevator on the eighth floor, a familiar notice appeared.

[You have entered the Orkney dungeon, level eight. Clear the dungeon of [RAGING RAT] 162/221 and [VICIOUS VOID VOLE] 190/201 for rewards.]

This was a new aspect of my numbers that I had found a month ago. I didn't understand why part of the Hive was called a dungeon. The actual dungeon was on the first floor, where there were about three dozen null cells where the apprehended witches were kept—I'd be sitting in one of those if I couldn't keep my witchery hidden, and that would be real bad right now.

I had heard both my dad and the Palatine talking, and the holy sister was incensed that the proper procedures had not been followed in the attack a few months ago. Apparently, in the event that any cultists were organised to attack Landing, the first step was to gas all of the witches in the cells! To death! Even if they had turned themselves in voluntarily!

Dad had agreed that this was the correct thing to do but was arguing that nobody could really be blamed in the heat of things that hadn't actually happened. The governor and a fair bit of his staff had perished, after all. Were witches really that dangerous that the bare possibility that they could be freed by cultists meant that they had to die? Sister Jorus would probably agree, but I felt a bit more biased on the subject.

I shook my head to clear it and hummed as I looked around. If I had to look with just my eyes and ears, then I would have never found even half of these rodents. The voles were easy to dispatch, and I don't think they were all that vicious, actually. They were sneaky, though, but as long as I was in this part of the Hive, then I could see if any were nearby. In the corner of my vision, a map would appear, miniaturised—and red dots would indicate either a rat or the voles.

There were something like three hundred thousand rooms on each level of the Hive, so I would never be able to track down even a fraction of the vermin without it. Except... maybe the rats. They attacked me on sight and were slightly dangerous. And why I had started carrying my sword, too.

The last time I came here, I got swarmed by about eight of them, each as big as a fat tom cat. Their bites were vicious and drew blood. Their little grabby little rat hands scratched, too. It had been the first time where I got to realise how effective the so-called Gamer's Body skill was, as it only took me a day or two to recover from a vicious bite to my calf that took a chunk out of it. I didn't even have a scar, either.

As the red dot I was approaching darted out of hiding, I took quick aim with my Laspistol and took two shots to put down a large rat.

"God Emperor only knows what they eat down here, but they clearly isnae missing any meals, aye?" I mused out loud, looking at the dead creature. I didn't leave any of these dead animals down here just to decompose, either. After I killed a dozen or so, I would take their bodies up to the top floor and dump them out. A pack of wild dogs that lived on the outskirts of the city seemed to like that, too, even if it caused this task to take a lot longer.

I nodded. I thought I could finish things today. I didn't have to be home until dinner, and if I moved with a purpose, I could perform a verminicide on the eighth floor.

Three and a half hours and two vicious bites later, I hunted down the last creature, a vole and put a laser bolt between its eyes. The voles would hide, mostly, rather than attack. It took me quite a while to find this last sneaker, and I had been considering ending the "dungeon" early. I could have done so ever since I killed more than half of each creature, but it told me my rewards would be commiserate with performance, so I wanted a perfect showing here.

[Orkney dungeon, level eight CLEARED!]

[Rewards: For eliminating 50% of dungeon threats: One (1) free point!]

[Rewards: For eliminating 75% of dungeon threats: One (1) free point!]

[Rewards: For eliminating 90% of dungeon threats: Two (2) free points, interactive map of Orkney Hive unlocked!]

[Rewards: For eliminating 100% of dungeon threats: Two (2) free points, new title unlocked, Verminbane, Equipment upgrade token—muse use now!]

Oooh. Lots of things! Six more "free points," which I could use to increase one of my numbers directly. They could be used to increase anything, but I thought it would be a waste if I didn't use them to increase one of my "statistics." I had noticed that every time one of these increased, it directly affected my body or mind. My strength, dexterity and vitality had all reached level nine now, and I felt a definite difference each time one went up.

My intelligence, with the latest boost earlier today, was at thirteen! I already felt a little brighter, thinking a little quicker. Honestly, I wanted to dump all of my points into intelligence, but I had specifically avoided spending them. My intuition was telling me that doing so would be a waste.

Also, I wasn't sure if I would, in the end, be able to use them on intelligence as I fantasised about. The safest, given my witchery, would be Willpower, without a doubt.

The title was something I had noticed I had, but I didn't know what it did if anything. But now that I had two, I could swap them in or out, and when I did so, I realised they gave me bonuses. The Verminbane title gave me a ten per cent increase in damage done to any rodent. Not exactly the best benefit and it wasn't better than Noble Daughter, which allowed me to learn things like etiquette faster.

The last benefit was something odd. Upgrade token? I had the feeling that I couldn't take another step until I dealt with this... or rather, if I did, then I would lose this opportunity.

Equipment could be considered anything I had with me, right? I had my robes, my flashlight, my LasPistol and my sword. Would picking one of these things really alter them physically? Up until now, this was mainly an "in my head" sort of thing despite the obvious changes to my body.

I didn't know what upgrade meant precisely. I knew what the word meant, but just not in this context—if you got a pawn into the promotion square at the end of the board, that could be considered an upgrade when it turned into a queen. As such, I immediately discarded my robes. There was a chance it might upgrade into full Tech-Priest robes, and I would get into serious trouble if I wore them.

My flashlight... well, it was a tool. And my sword had value that was more than its utility to me, as it was a present from my brother. Nodding, I focused on my LasPistol. The weapon seemed to shimmer as if a rainbow passed over it.

Frowning, I looked at it. It looked... mostly the same, but there were a couple of differences. It had shrunk a little bit, I thought. I used Observe.

[Compact LasPistol, Takara Pattern Limited Edition, an excellent quality Laspistol suitable for concealed uses.]

Hmm, that was different. The weapon itself seemed to fit better in my hand, and it now had a new switch on it. I tested it and discovered that it could fire a shot that had increased power, but it used at least double the charge on the power cell, too. It's not very useful for rats, but it would be good against people. I switched that mode on and returned the pistol to my pocket. This pocket wasn't so much a pocket but a slit that I had carefully made with some thread rippers so that I could pull my pistol out of an actual holster while not actually wearing one on the exterior of my robes.

I noticed when I went up the elevator that the "miniature map" did not disappear, and I had a feeling that I could make it larger now to see the whole Hive, but I left that feeling aside for the moment. It was getting late, and I had to get home. Both Mom and Alicia were still depressed, Dad was gone, and I tended to make much of the dinner arrangements, along with Mrs Robbins, for the past several months.

I was sad that Willy was gone, too. Especially since I thought the last thing I said to him wasn't all that nice. I think I called him a dumb oaf and wished instead I could have told him how much I loved him.

Still... I didn't think he would want me to wallow in grief, even if I could. I had remained as sad as the rest of the family for about a week, but then I just... got over it. Perhaps Gamer's Mind helped me there, or perhaps I was just naturally resilient... more likely, it was a combination of both, but I couldn't let some dirty cultists keep me down, no matter what they did. That would be doing the Ruinous Powers' work for them, and Willy wouldn't want that.

After I got home, I went upstairs and quickly changed into an everyday dress. I'd have to wash my robes before tomorrow, as that "dungeon" always got them really dirty, and the white fabric definitely didn't help with that.

I found Mom in the kitchen, and she was looking surprisingly energetic. She still had a missing arm, although that would be changing soon. The Genetor offered to replace her arm, either with augmetics or even a cloned version. I figured Mom would pick the latter option, even though it didn't come with retractable claws or nothing.

"Hi, Mom! You're up and about today," I said, pleased. She had been mostly moping. She did enough to make sure the little ones were cared for and then just sat around in torpor for the rest of the day—sometimes not even getting out of bed.

She smiled at me, waving her stub of a missing lower arm at me excitedly, "Your father is back. He'll be able to be here for the service next week, after all."

I brightened immediately despite a reminder of the impending depressing situation. When someone died on Orkney, we buried them right away but without too much fanfare. The immediate family, mainly the men, would be there for the burial, of course, but it was kind of difficult to expect anyone else to show up.

That began the tradition of the dredgy or a kind of party or celebration of the life of the deceased that would generally occur at their next name day or half a year later, whichever came first. I was a little worried Dad wasn't going to make it either, and I was glad that he would be here. His being here would help Mom a lot, too.

I couldn't help but have my lips twist into a smile. Who was I kidding? I wanted to see him a lot too! Who wouldn't worry about their dad when he went into battle?

"When is he coming home?" I asked excitedly. I spared only one glance at the state of the kitchen. I could already guess what dish Mom intended to make by what ingredients were out and what Mrs Robbins was doing. It was one of my dad's favourite dishes, including all of his favourite side dishes as well.

"He should be on his way now! I wanted to get dinner ready for him, but..." she trailed off, and I snorted. There was still a good hour of preparatory work before dinner could be served. None were particularly hard to make, not with my twenty-three levels of Cooking, anyway.

I shooed her out of the kitchen and said, "I'll take care of it, aye? Go meet him at the door." I was sure that they'd want to get reacquainted. You couldn't grow up on a farm and not understand the mechanics of how babies happened, but I was sure that they got up to the really lewd stuff like kissing and handholding, too, in the privacy of the master bedroom here at home.

Wouldn't think about that. Wouldn't think about that!

I first got to talk to Dad again after Mrs Robbins served dinner. Not only was Dad back, but Alicia's suitor was too, which she was gaga over. Alicia had been boy crazy ever since she was my age but in a general sense. Now, she reminded me more of one of those large forest cats, already stalking prey. The young man, who was perhaps a year and a half older than my sister, hadn't yet twinged to how much danger he was in.

Oh well. I wasn't about to warn him. Alicia would never forgive me if she did.

Pete asked the question that I was most interested in, "Dad, did you get those rebels?" His voice had a twinge of emotion behind it, like the answer he really wanted as a blow-by-blow of their deaths. I couldn't really blame him. He and Willy were always as thick as thieves, the closest of our sibling cohort. They weren't twins, but they were close.

He sighed, "Some, but not as many as we'd hoped. The Sisters of Battle had better luck, as they could move faster than an entire Regiment, but even they only got a few stragglers."

I frowned, "How could they escape? They don't have vehicles." At least, I didn't think they did. There was no way that a non-mechanised force could outrun Dad's Regiment, which was blessed by many trucks from the Omnissiah, even if they were of a slower type powered by power cells instead of promethium.

"They have some now. First Regiment didn't exactly cover themselves in glory," he admitted. Both the commander and executive officer had been killed, and their armouries gutted. I guess I didn't realise that this included their vehicles. He continued, "Also, they set up what can only be described as landmines and improvised bombs in the road that slowed our pursuit significantly."

"That doesn't seem right," I said, feeling that this was a big clue that I wasn't quite understanding. Everyone pretty much agreed that the rebels were almost entirely from the population which had been relocated to our continent. Who taught them how to make explosive traps? Muzzle-loading rifles should be their state of the art, as it had been with most of our continent outside of Landing for a thousand years or more.

"So, what is going to happen?" I asked, curious.

He shrugged, "It's getting to be in the deep fall, so not much until the spring on either side. We have to reconstitute the First Regiment, and I've recommended that at least three or four more Regiments be drawn up, but the deputy governor has nixed that plan, at least for now."

I frowned, "Why hasn't the Duke's heir taken over?"

"He's a year younger than you are. The Deputy Governor will likely be in charge for at least a handful of years until he reaches his majority," Dad said, amused. "Not everyone is as bright as you are at your age."

"Especially not boys," I nodded, completely understanding.

After that, it was just a normal family dinner, even if one of the places was empty. It was nice.

---xxxxxx---

The day after the dredgy for Willy, I found Pete alone in their room. He was packing some things up, and I offered to help him. It wasn't like any of us had a lot of stuff, anyway, but I paused at a sheet of paper. It caught my eye because it sort of looked like my numbers. Specifically, I noticed "Strength" and "Dexterity" right next to each other. Intelligence was there, too. But instead of Vitality, there was "Endurance", and instead of Willpower, there was "Wisdom."

"What's this, Peter?" I asked, curious.

He glanced at it and sighed, "Willy's character sheet." I asked the obvious question, and Pete explained that it was a game that he and Pete had played. The idea was that you'd pretend you were a "character" and then go through a scenario where you smote the Emperor's enemy. Both Willy and Pete's characters were Space Marines.

"Want to play?" I asked.

He frowned, "It's kind of difficult to play with just two people. Me and Pete were playing with a group of boys... I'm not sure they'll be willing to let a girl play with us... but I can ask. They were going to meet up today, but I wasn't sure I was up to going."

I thought about it. I wanted to because I thought it might give me insights on how my numbers worked. They repeatedly told me it was to live my life as a game; I just didn't realise that there were games like this. Perhaps if I played one of these games, I would have better ideas.

Plus, I didn't like seeing Pete so depressed. Maybe having a play date with his friends would help out. That would be reason enough to go with him, even if I didn't have fey powers.

I nodded, "Yes. The worst they can say is no."

---xxxxxx---

"You can play, I 'spose... but you have to play a Sister of Battle since you're a girl," ruled the slightly pimpled boy that had arranged these games. His name was Liam, and according to Pete, he usually played the role of the "Crusade Master", which basically meant he oversaw the game and made decisions for the enemy and the like.

I frowned, aiming an Observe at the boy.

[Liam Connor, Human Boy, Liam is the son of the Duke's Exchequer. He has a very detailed-oriented mind, although he would like to lead men into battle in the Imperial Guard instead of being an accountant like his father. He's likely to get his wish. Lowest stat, Strength(5)]

I sighed. I specifically changed into my Mechanicum robes to come over here because I thought they would be impressive. I wanted to play either a Magos or Tech-Marine, obviously. While I had the utmost respect for the Sword Sisters... on a one-to-one basis, they'd never match up against the mythical Space Marines. Or a Magos, if you counted all of his support equipment.

When I complained, he explained how things were balanced... because otherwise, I would be correct. For example, one of the boys was playing an Imperial Guardsman, so he got to have a couple of squads of soldiers in addition to his "character." The Sisters of Battle were similar.

"Fine, I'll be a Sister Superior, then... My squad will be armed with bolt pistols, chain swords and Jet Packs," I decided after looking over a list of equipment and their point value that I could select from.

The game itself was kind of interesting. Not surprisingly, the Emperor's side always won. It would be a little bit too heretical for children to play games where the "good guys" lost, even if I thought that possibility would make for a more interesting game. Still, there was uncertainty because you definitely weren't guaranteed to survive through the game.

The Emperor would win, but maybe your character wouldn't make it. That happened almost half the time, too, so nobody was too attached to their characters. Liam had let Pete play Willy's character in addition to his own, and Willy's Space Marine saved the day in the end against green xenos, at the cost of his own life. It was quite moving, I thought.

I patted Pete's shoulder, still in character. I considered what a real Sister would say and settled on a psalm that I hadn't quite understood until now, "Lives are the Emperor's currency. Spend them well."

This caused Pete to sniffle and nod, quite un-Space Marine-like, I would say, but I didn't hold it against him because I wanted just to hug him anyway.

---xxxxxx---

A few days later, I was back in the Orkney Hive. I tested things by returning to the spot where I had conducted a vermin genocide, but nothing changed. I didn't think it would; it would be kind of implausible if all of the rats and voles had returned. It seemed that these "dungeons" were only single-use.

It was kind of a shame because I would have just collected an infinite amount of points here otherwise. But things couldn't be that easy, I guessed.

I sat down in one of the cleaner rooms and pulled up the full map of the Hive. I could zoom in and zoom out and move around, and I was surprised to find everything labelled carefully.

That gave me an idea. I had found that archeotech stunner carbine by luck. Perhaps I could find another or other things through careful exploration? It was almost impossible to consider before I got this map, as there were hundreds of thousands of rooms per floor. It would take me decades to search the Hive if I just went door to door.

But now, I could go directly to security offices. They weren't labelled outside the door, but they were labelled on this map. It might be possible to find more treasures.

"Hmmm..." I said, noticing something. There were multiple security offices on each floor, but I noticed that one of them was different and larger. It was in the very centre of each floor and also had an attached room that was labelled "armoury." Jackpot!

Well, perhaps not. It was very likely that these had all been looted tens of thousands of years ago when my ancestors spread out about the continent and started a more agrarian lifestyle.

But I'd check these first, and then each individual smaller security office.

I turned on my trusty flashlight, set the brightness to borderline blinding, and started walking to the nearest lift.

I appreciated the games I played with Pete, Liam and their friends. I had also asked Liam for advice in a hypothetical sense. For example, I asked him what the optimal choices would be in a hypothetical game that just happened to resemble my actual circumstances.

I was glad that I listened to my intuition about not spending my free points because he told me how valuable they would be in a "game" like mine. If mundane practice could increase your stats, then you would get more value per point if you waited until it was very difficult to increase your stats naturally before utilising them. I pretty much knew this intuitively already, but it was nice to get told this by an "expert."

He told me that such a character would have to be careful and not get trapped in that mentality, though, as many games were designed to force you to use these types of resources. You'd want to save them for later, but doing so might cause a Game Over, depending on how the Crusade Master balanced the adventure.

I didn't think I had one of those. At least, I hoped I didn't. But it was a good point, and I decided to spend at least half of my points the next time my Willpower gained a level. That would get me to either nineteen or twenty points in that stat, depending on how I split my free points.

Willpower was harder to level up than most, but I had been following the Sister's advice. I never ate until I was fully satisfied, I never slept until I just woke up on my own... and uhh... the other things, too. I think it was a slow but sure progress, as I had gotten a level up in it two months ago, so I thought I was getting "due" for one.

Rather than take a lift down to the tenth floor in order to use the express belts where they still worked, I just ran the whole way to the centre of the Hive. It took a while, but I was a really fast runner these days, and I could do it for quite a long time.

Finding the correct door took a little longer, as they weren't labelled at all. But I just followed the miniature map until I was sure I was outside the correct place.

This one was cleaned out despite my carefully searching it. It took me three more floors before I found something. On the fifth floor, the door to the armoury was stuck closed and obscured with several stacks of drop-ceiling panels, which sort of hid the door, at least from casual inspection.

I popped open the service hatch for the door and hummed as I saw that the power connector for the door servo was carefully removed. The whole cable, which wasn't normal. Sometimes, they could jiggle free, but the cable would just be dangling.

I could probably repair it by cannibalising a cord from a working door, but I just reached in and yanked the manual release, which popped the door off of its motorised guides. I pulled out a can of sanctified penetrating oil, held under pressure and applied a goodly spray to the rail guides on the door, speaking a quiet prayer for the holy lubricant to protect the door from unnecessary friction.

Testing the door, I nodded as I was able to push it into the wall fairly easily. I pushed it all the way in and stepped back instead of in. I'd noticed that sometimes the air could get rather stale in some of these rooms. My respirator didn't have a supply of oxygen, just being a filter, so I just waited a couple of minutes to be safe.

"This looks different," I immediately said as I stepped in, changing the flashlight settings to the widest possible beam and increasing the brightness to compensate.

All of the armouries looked pretty much the same. It was a fairly large room with about half of it behind a cage. In the three examples I had looked at before the cage had been opened and emptied. Here, it was closed and... only partly emptied.

I had found a set of keys in the first cage, but none of the keys on the ring opened this cage. I sighed, very much put upon. Three months ago, I would have just shot the lock with my LasPistol, but that wouldn't have been very respectful to the poor mechanism that was just doing its job.

As such, I spent the time to backtrack all the way down to the tenth floor, got tools from my work area, and returned. I didn't really know how to pick a lock, although I was quite interested in learning, but I wouldn't really need to. Locks weren't really designed to stop a motivated person with a toolbox from getting through them, especially one this old.

I just used a mallet and a screwdriver to pop the lock's core out without damaging it and opened the cage.

If it was full, I imagine hundreds of weapons could be stored back here, but only a fraction were still there. Still, it was a lot more than I thought to find. A dozen of the stunner carbines that I had recognised with its unusual bell-end, and maybe a gross of each of a type of weapon I had never seen before.

I aimed an Observe at each type.

[Mark 4 Thermal Ray Rifle, poor condition, the design for this rifle was licensed from the Royal Small Arms Factory and produced on Mars. Purchased by the Orkney Enterprise LLC for its colonial security forces, this weapon fires a highly coherent ray of thermal energy, capable of immense destruction despite its size.]

[General Service Thermal Ray Pistol, poor condition, the design for this pistol was licensed from the Royal Small Arms Factory and produced on Mars. Purchased by the Orkney Enterprise LLC for its colonial security forces, this weapon fires a highly coherent ray of thermal energy, capable of immense destruction despite its size.]

I giggled with glee. Who knows? Perhaps these machines were as rare as the stunner carbine. If so, I was about to be in real good odour with the Genetor.

The condition of the weapons was not good, but I thought they all might still function, which meant that they were in better condition than the original stunner I had found.

I cleaned off a large table in the cage and sorted each of the weapons into rough piles of condition. There were several that were in "fair" condition, but most were in poor condition.

As I was about to leave, I searched the armourer's desk on a lark and found a thick plastic binder. The front cover was eaten away, but the pages within were still legible. The table of contents read, "Axon-Glock AirTaser Carbine Maintenance Manual."

Ooh. I kind of wanted to flip through it right now. In fact, I sat down and did so. I didn't have anywhere to be until dinner. The book was full of exploded diagrams of the weapon, showing each individual part and subassembly, as well as detailed instructions on how to perform routine maintenance and repair. It was all written in Tech, so I wasn't completely following everything, but it was still quite illuminating.

[LANGUAGE: HIGH GOTHIC has gone up a level.]

Nice. Finally, I sat the binder aside and left. I pushed the door closed and mused as I walked to the lift for what seemed like the hundredth time today. How would I report this? I didn't want to tell Tau Alpha-1000. Not only was he kind of a dick, but I thought it was likely he would take the credit.

---xxxxxx---

A couple of days later, I found my opportunity. Mom was coming to meet the Genetor to have the first consultation for the regrowing of her arm. She already declined an augmetic prosthesis unless that was the only option, so I would go with her. Otherwise, I'd have to wait maybe a week for the next time the Genetor checked in on me.

Or perhaps even longer—he had been in a most wroth mood, as apparently some of the supplies he needed for the continued operation of his atmospheric processor were damaged when the rebels attacked the spaceport next to Landing.

"I still can't get used to you looking like that," Mom said as I walked next to her. I wanted to chirp at her in binaric, but I was unable to so I just huffed. I thought I looked quite fetching.

Instead, I turned my head away and said quietly, "It's quite important to me."

She surprised me by reaching over into my hood and rubbing my head, and I flinched, complaining, "Mom! Don't do that! The brothers won't take me seriously if they see my mom patting my head! Most of them were cloned and don't even have mothers!"

She laughed, "I'll never stop."

Still, I found myself smiling.

The Genetor's office was in what I called the Wizard's Tower, which was situated right on top of the Hive but was nowhere near its size. It was a building that was, perhaps, only five times larger than our residence, but it had ten stories to it. I assumed it was centred on one of the express elevators so that the Genetor could use the lift to go down to the tenth floor or wherever else when he wanted.

Mom seemed unnerved by the Skiitari that guarded the front entrance to the Wizard Tower and asked in a hushed voice, "You're not going to end up like that, are you?"

"They can hear you. Their cranial audio transducers can definitely make a whisper audible, Mom. And no, probably not. But there isn't anything wrong with them, except we don't have enough," I said, amused. The Genetor only had one maniple of Skiitari to guard himself, and that was barely any at all. Still, they were all equipped with their traditional Galvanic rifles, which marked them as elite.

It was clear that the Genetor had not followed the letter of his restriction on only having one maniple of Skiitari, as they were all Rangers. It might have been my imagination, but one of the Skiitari seemed to glance at me and wink its optical sensor at me.

Tau Alpha wasn't assisting the Genetor today; it was someone else, and we didn't have to wait long before being ushered into an exam room.

Genetor Neurosage walked in with a flourish but seemed a little surprised to see me. He chirped and said, "Initiate Rho Epsilon-5. Unexpected. This is your genetic contributor?"

"Yes, Genetor. This is my mother. She was injured in the attack," I told him, "I'd like to speak with you alone after we're done here. I have found more of that thing I found before."

The Genetor swung to face me and rasped, "Query: is it secret? Is it safe?"

"Affirmative, Genetor," I said formally.

I could see him tapping one of his mechadendrites on the floor like an impatient man might tap his foot. It was obvious he wanted to just leave my Mom right away, but he quieted after a moment and nodded. I tuned out his consultation with my mother, which only took about twenty minutes.

However, I turned when he said, "May as well begin rejuvinat treatment for both of you while you are here." He then gave Mom a shot with a hypodermic needle attachment on one of his mechadendrites, which she was clearly quite afraid of.

I tried to dodge the same mechadendrite when it came my direction and said, "Negative, Genetor, sir! I am already... juvenated! I do not need to be rejuvenated!" God-Emperor-Omnissiah, help me if I got younger! People would never take me seriously!

Gah, the hypodermic got me in the arm and the Genetor looked at me quizzically, and said, "Negative, Rho Epsilon-5. Basic life extension technologies have effects on slowing ageing. The utilisation of this therapy at the onset of puberty is the most effective. You have begun menses, aff?"

Oh, god. I did not want to talk about this, but I croaked out, "Aff."

He bobbed several of his tentacles in a nod, "Good. You will simply age slower after your physical maturation is complete, then."

He then turned to Mom and said, "I have some business with Rho Epsilon-5. Please excuse us. Your appointment is scheduled for the next first day."

She seemed a bit confused but nodded and left without me. As soon as she left, I had the full attention of the great man, which made me a bit nervous. He said tersely, "Where?"

"Uh, follow me. Can we use your elevator?" I asked nervously.

"Affirmative," he said.

As we walked, I asked something that had me curious, "If the materials for life extension therapies are so valuable, then why is the therapy available for free for anyone in Landing?"

He chirped and answered matter-of-factly, "Informative: Materials have a flora origin. The refinement process of native flora creates several grades of materials. The lowest-grade materials have a very short shelf-life and can not be shipped. Will be wasted if not used within several weeks."

Oh. That made sense, I supposed. I mused, "It would be nice if it was available to every person on Orkney, then. More efficient, too."

"Elaborate," he asked, and I didn't know if he was curious or just humouring me.

I shrugged, "Everything tells me that activity in this world will be increasing by orders of magnitude if the harvesting increases by the same amount. There aren't actually that many people on the planet. It would be more efficient if there were more of us. Is there something wrong with that logic?"

"Negative," he said, but didn't say anything more.

I pushed the door to the armoury open and led him in. He swept through into the cage and started scanning each of the weapons with some attachment on one of his mechadendrites.

"Volkite weapons. Curious," he said.

I asked, excited, "Are they archeotech?"

"Negative. They are produced in small numbers on several Forge worlds. They are very rare, though," he said, although he had already stopped looking at them and was scanning each of the stunner carbines carefully.

Oh. Well, I suppose I couldn't get thrice-times lucky, and discover three types of archeotech. Remembering the maintenance manual, I walked over and pulled it out of the desk drawer, "I also found this. It is a maintenance manual for the stunners."

The Genetor froze and carefully turned to face me. He reached out with one of his mechadendrites, paused, and then decided to take it from me with his hands.

He sat it, very gingerly, on the table and opened it carefully, as if he was afraid it was going to fall apart in his hands. Perhaps I shouldn't tell him that I accidentally tore one of the pages when I was looking through it earlier?

The Genetor started randomly chuckling, then laughing, which sounded quite unsettling. I asked, "Uhh.. Genetor, sir, are your functions nominal?"

"Affirmative, child," he said, calming down. "I realised that I wasted decades of my life here. If I had found this when I first arrived, then I would have been welcomed back with open arms. Although this is not an STC printout, it is almost as valuable. We will likely be able to begin production of these ... AirTasers... once again with both the examples and this manual."

"Well... that's nice, I suppose. At least you've used the time to improve Orkney as well," I said, realising that he might be a bit annoyed with himself. This Hive was his responsibility, but it really was too large to search through systematically, especially when it had been here for thousands and thousands of years and was assumed to be empty by everyone.

The Genetor shook his head, "My success has trapped me. Now, there are high expectations for the increased output at Orkney, so I will be trapped here for years. It is just... funny."

Ah. He was being sarcastic. I didn't think he was capable of it.

"I will have to think of some way to compensate you, Rho Epsilon-5," he said thoughtfully. But instead, he made me stand there for an hour while he arranged for some servitors to come and collect all of the loot.

Figures.

---

** Name: Piper Eversly (aka Rho Epsilon-5) ** Title: Noble Daughter ** Strength: 9 ** Dexterity: 9 ** Vitality: 9 ** Intelligence: 13 ** Willpower: 14 ** Psi Capability: 29 (Zeta)

** Unspent Points: 9

** Skills: Gamer's Body (MAX), Gamer's Mind (MAX), Reading (40), Pain Tolerance (36), Athletics (35), Fatigue Resistance (35), Running (28), Cooking (23), Memorisation (21), Housework (17), Hiding (16), Electronics Repair (16), Language: High Gothic (15), Observe (15), Marksmanship - Light (15), Acting (14), Dissembling (13), Sword Mastery (11), Calculation (11), Self-Discipline (10), Prayer (9), Mechanical Repair (9), Embroidery (6), Sewing (6), Marksmanship - Ballistic (5), Teaching (5), Horse Riding (5), Jury-Rigging (5), Telekinesis (5), Warp Resistance (5), Dogma: Machine Cult (5), Etiquette (4), Lying (4), Programming: Imperial Cogitators (4), Archery (3), Eavesdropping (3), Detection (2), and Radiation Resistance - Beta (1)