A servitor MAY seem like an odd choice for what is meant to be a pin up calendar, but whatever - I'm filling in for your usual guy and I'm not getting paid for it, so you'll have to take what I give. I'm sure there are some people around the galaxy who, whether they admit it or not have an appreciation for the harmonious fusion of the admech and the emperors best work. I think YOU probably would if you didn't have some sort of weird Westermack syndrome going on with this one. I don't know.

What was I doing in the Med-Bay?
Well, your pet archivist has come back from wherever he and Ms Giant-blue-looka-my-butt have been all this time. He's fine, medically speaking but he's completely exhausted physically and mentally. I couldn't even get any real conversation from him he just kept smiling dreamily and assuring me that "she brought it back".

So, I see this familiar looking servitor doting over him, stroking his hair and singing to him, I figure I'll grab a few snap shots of her. She asks if she can detach her servo skull first because apparently it doesn't like having its pict taken. That's stupid, but adorable so I let it slide. She doesn't really know how to pose so I demonstrate a few of my favourties. As I lift my arms, though, I knock an apparatus off the cabinet above me. Big one. Glass and metal.

With agility I have scarcely seen in a servitor, and certainly not in a medical model, she has swept me off my feet and has twisted her body so that vast majority of the shattering glass ricochets off her. For just a few seconds, she actually looks alert, and intelligent, and she asks me if I'm okay. I am, I say. She straightens me up, gentle as you like. I have a few surface cuts that she begins tending to, as she does, she pauses and keeps staring at the my blood on her finger tips. Like someone trying to pick out someone they recognise from an old photo. She eventually stands back, back to being wide eyed and smiley.

"The fruit has fallen very close, but this one's a little riper. Less worms. More juice."

I nodded politely. She had said stranger things, I'm sure.

"Horsythe, yes?"

I dismissively reminded her that my name was 'Wierzbowski'.

She looked even happier.

"Your mother." She said almost dreamily, clasping her hands (?) together.

It was one of those occasions where I was very glad that I had my ability to lose my composure electronically inhibited. I blinked a few times, swallowed and asked Dietrich what she knew about my mother. Anything. Anything at all.

Dietrich kissed me on the forehead and went back to her work " She was one of two. Sharper. Less sweet."


When I approached her to ask more, she had forgotten the conversation entirely.

O. Wierzbowski


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AAAAAGH.