As the crowded hangar emptied, Axion turned to Calanthus.
"Fascinating. I recorded over a hundred visual scans directed at me, but the moment they saw these two sigils on my chassis, their curiosity evaporated."
"Why is that?" Axion asked. Previously, the gazes of both Space Marines and mortals would linger on him for an eternity. How could two simple icons quell the suspicion of these fresh Primaris Ultramarines?
Calanthus found the question unsurprising. "Though you applied those marks yourself, their meaning is absolute. One represents the Imperium, the other the Adeptus Mechanicus. While you are the first Iron Man I have encountered, by my reckoning, you are a machine-construct. The Mechanicus produces all manner of bizarre automata and cybernetic engines; so long as they are sanctioned by the Imperium, there is no cause for doubt."
He paused, his voice turning grim. "Those 'cog-heads' may have eccentric and often rebellious ways of thinking, but their loyalty to the throne is ironclad. However, if you ever see a Mechanicus cog with a black gear and red eyes, waste no time, use every weapon at your disposal to dismantle them."
With that, Calanthus led Axion toward the cruiser's Armarium. The hall was filled with stacks of munitions and wargear, with numerous red-robed Tech-priests scurrying about. Along the way, mortal serfs and Ultramarines paused to observe the towering machine following their commander.
When the mortals saw the prominent Aquila on Axion's chest, some even crossed their arms over their chests in the Sign of the Aquila.
Axion watched the naval ratings with curiosity. Calanthus noted the movement, a hint of pride in his voice.
"The Imperial salute. The warriors of Ultramar, mortal and Astartes alike, do not lack for loyalty or faith." As he explained, he gave a slight, respectful nod to the saluting soldiers.
Axion curiously mimicked Calanthus's gesture. So, it's just a nod?
What? You say even an Astartes should keep his spine straight while returning a salute? I am Axion! Iron Man! Metallic alloy spine! Unless I am damaged or in a combat stance, why would there be any curvature?
Still, Axion was beginning to grasp the nuances of this society's culture. The ritualistic bowing to Imperial iconography remained baffling to him. After all, he was a proud product of the Federation! "Imperium"? A dusty word from the archives of history—archaic, feudal, and crumbling. History taught that all empires eventually collapsed. Nothing good ever came from the word "Empire."
In the Armarium, Quartermasters were organizing inventory. Much of this gear would eventually follow the unassigned Primaris neophytes to their respective companies: bolter variants, power weapons, melta and plasma weaponry, along with grav-chutes, jump packs, and a myriad of other specialized kits.
Axion observed with keen interest. The Indomitable was not a dedicated Astartes vessel; the Black Templars had merely been passengers. Their quarters had been makeshift, and their armory lacked the specialized design of this Ultramarines cruiser. Axion hadn't seen anything particularly impressive in the Indomitable's stores, mostly low-output energy cells and flimsy projectile weapons, paired with "toy" armor as thin as paper.
But as his scanning arrays processed the data, Axion fell silent.
It is too primitive.
The designs were abysmal. After so many eons, even a standard-issue EVA suit from his era would outperform the gear these "common" soldiers wore. Even the Space Marine equipment was woefully inefficient. The armor was brittle, the structures overly complex.
There was an old adage: If a piece of equipment is powerful, it should look the part. These lacked streamlined forms, relying on heavy, fragile ceramite, and used archaic neural-link interfaces instead of direct Brain-Machine Interfaces (BMI).
The silence broke when Calanthus excitedly presented a fresh suit of Mk X Tacticus power armor.
Axion reached out. With a subtle application of brute force, his mechanical fingers squeezed the breastplate, leaving five distinct grooves several millimeters deep. He turned his mechanical palm over, inspecting it. Undamaged.
Calanthus stared at the breastplate, now featuring a convenient "handgrip," and went momentarily speechless.
This was Axion's first time physically handling these materials. On the Indomitable, the Black Templars had removed their plate, but he had never touched it. As for the Iron Warriors he had encountered… Axion's blades had gone through them like a hot knife through grox-butter; his fingers had never actually made contact.
Seeing the abundance of new gear and Calanthus's eager "tour," Axion figured a quick stress test wouldn't hurt. If it broke, surely it wasn't a big deal?
He was genuinely shocked by the fragility. He looked at the busy soldiers around him with disbelief.
"Do you truly wear such fragile things into battle?"
Calanthus, still wondering how he would explain the "mysterious" damage to the Tech-priests, looked at Axion with a bewildered expression. "Fragile? Are you serious?"
"This ceramite plate is the shield of every Astartes. It is gear to be trusted and relied upon."
Axion silently raised a finger. A faint golden glow emanated from the tip. Under Calanthus's horrified gaze, he pressed the finger into the breastplate as if it were soft clay, then gave a slight flick.
Clang!
The weight in Calanthus's hands vanished. A large chunk of the heavy ceramite breastplate snapped off and slammed into the deck.
The noise drew immediate attention. A red-robed Tech-priest scurried over, emitting a sharp, staccato burst of binary cant upon seeing the shattered relic in Calanthus's hands. The sound was shrill and irritating to the ears.
Just as Calanthus opened his mouth to apologize to the Magos, Axion spoke up.
"While I am unaware of your personal history with him, I do not believe you have the right to insult others so brazenly."
Both the Tech-priest and Calanthus turned in confusion toward the culprit.
"This Tech-priest just used high-speed binary to insult you, your lineage, and the preceding ten generations of your family, all in the span of two seconds."
Insulting an Astartes was one thing; getting caught was another. Space Marines generally didn't comprehend the "Holy Binary." This led some ill-tempered or less-than-human members of the Mechanicus to vent their frustrations right to a warrior's face, knowing they wouldn't be understood.
But Axion was an Iron Man. Whether it was binary or hexadecimal, there was nothing he didn't understand. He usually had to translate his thoughts into spoken words just to communicate; using a machine language in front of him was a grave mistake.
The accused Tech-priest froze, completely choked by the sudden revelation. Seeing the situation turn south, the Magos threw down his tools in a fit of feigned indignation and beat a hasty retreat.
He had to move fast. Before Calanthus processed the insult, he needed to be gone. Even a mid-ranking Magos knew that insulting an Angel of the Emperor to his face was a quick way to get turned into a Servitor, or at the very least, catch a backhand that their frail, augmented bodies couldn't possibly survive.
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