Chapter 1: Sign: Cluster Stars +01:00:00 // Mission Debrief //
Chapter Text
<Chaptermaster's Log, Sign ???, Addendum: The crew is still performing diagnostic rites on the systems of the Tepidus Tempestus. The damage sustained during our most recent mission has rendered multiple systems faulty or unstable, among them all chronometers. To ensure proper protocol-keeping procedures as stated in the Codex Astartes, further log entries shall be noted down with a timestamp relating to the end of this mission until the ship is once again fully in sync with Imperial Time and the fleets of our battle brothers. End of Addendum>
Time since the Mission in the Cluster Stars: +1 Day
The large table usually reserved for meetings of the ship's high command was almost breaking under the number of documents, dataslates, and whatever else the crew managed to use to write their reports as traditional bookkeeping resources had been depleted halfway through the mission. At the wall someone had placed several sheets of metal that had signs and numbers welded into them. Originally spare armor plates for a battletank, the honorable Maximus had never been someone to skip his post-mission duties when he was still alive, and he definitely would not start now even after getting entombed in a construct of war.
Usually such use of highly expensive spare parts was forbidden and as the rules declared there should be an public trial and punishment for such offense, but for now Chaptermaster decided to make an exception – it's not like they had any tanks left to use these parts for at this point. In general, the losses sustained in the recent mission were unlike anything the chapter had ever faced: every single tank, gone. Airborne vehicles? Gone. Drop Pods? Dropped. All of them – and then over the course of the mission they had to find a way to recover them as quickly as possible, only to drop them somewhere else within the same day. While the material and gear was made for rough conditions, not even the sturdiest designs could handle such a permanent deployment and redeployment without proper maintenance – and the same could be said for the crew, regular humans, Astartes, and Navigators alike.
Especially that last group had at the end only consisted out of re-caf and nutrient injections. If the reports were true, the last few jumps through the Great Ocean had been less of a coordinated affair and more of a dozen Psykers taking a worrisome amount of drugs and mentally just beating the absolute hell out very single demon between the ship and its destination – one could not entirely sure if that was true, especially since the Chaptermaster himself was not gifted with such abilities and unable to verify the records, but the medical reports made it clear that it was a small miracle that any of those individuals were still alive. The fact that none of them had died was so unusual that a special quarantine had been declared – much to the joy of the Astropaths, who definitely needed the break after all of this.
To be honest, everyone was in dire need of a break right now – even the Astartes. Physically enhanced and trained for decades if not centuries, they are masters of combat and and star actors in the theater of war. There was just one problem: there had been no war. In fact, not a single Bolter shot had been fired, not a single energy magazine had been depleted, and the only time the melee weaponry had been used it was for woodworking procedures. The last weeks had been physically and psychically demanding, but not in a way that any of them had been training for.
About a terran standard month ago the Tepidus Tempestus had caught desperate distress calls from the Cluster Stars, a small collection of star systems far off anything relevant or important and not under direct control of the Imperium, situated somewhere beyond Ultramar in an otherwise truly empty region of space. There had been diplomatic relationships forming with some success, but the area just had been too far off and too irrelevant to even bother sending a single warship. The few worlds around the Cluster-Stars used primitive versions of warp-drives, small and fragile versions that barely managed to trade with each other, but had no hope of overcoming the vast area between them and the rest of the universe.
This very remote corner of the sky should however be struck what one could only call a statistically unlikely tragedy: a massive sudden solar flare combined with an unusually strong Warpstorm. Their systems would have been able to deal with one of the two, but not with both – the planets were hit by the natural disaster while every single one of their ships had their warp engines short out. Barely able to provide relief during the disaster, the Cluster-Stars' economy, which was heavily dependent on the individuals worlds sending and receiving goods, with production chains sometimes being spread over five or more planets, was beginning to collapse in on itself.
It was sheer coincidence that the Tepidus Tempestus had even been in the area, the astropathic distress-call arriving just in the moment the Chaptermaster was about to reach a verdict regarding disciplinary action against certain Astropaths and Navgiators who apparently had found it very funny to do their work heavily inebriated. Given that this could have risked both the ship and the entire Space Marine Chapter on it, some of the crew even called for a public execution. Fortunately, thanks to the good work in the recent mission, this incident has been forgotten.
With the economy of entire systems crumbling - such a hotspot of instability this close to Ultramar was unacceptable. However, it would take several weeks for the Ultramar high-command to organize and send out a proper relief force – until then, they were on their own. For almost four terran standard weeks, 27 days to be exact, the Tepidus Tempestus as a lone ship took on the work usually reserved for an entire armada of skippers, haulers, and other trade vehicles.
Complex routes regarding the economies of several planets had to be accounted for, all with very different goods that also had to be checked rigorously as to not bring an insect from one planet to the other, were it would spell disaster for the local biomes and populace. From grain to minerals, from livestock to hazardous chemicals, there was a lot to account for. To increase cargo space, the crew quarters were consolidated, with regular humans now sharing the deck with the Astartes, with shifts being assigned so one bed could be used by three parties in one day. Due to physiological differences, often two or three crew members could sleep in a Marine's spot – in one specific case a single Marine's bed could hold a family of five without it being cramped. Studying this specific report, the Chaptermaster made himself a mental note to inform battle brother Swolarius to change his bodybuilding regimen, lest he would no longer fit into his power armor in the near future.
Luckily, they were not entirely unprepared for it. Other Space Marine chapters might make fun of the Codex Astartes for its author being not as versed in the arts of combat as his brothers, but if they'd actually bother reading the second half of the book that came after the combat-and-warfare chapters instead of falling asleep four pages in, they would learn a whole lot about supply chains, governance, and of course: logistics. Especially logistics during times of crisis. However, having a plan and being able to execute it were to very different things.
They teleported wares from and to planets until the technology burned out on itself.
They used Stormbirds as cargo landers, until even the last vehicle broke down.
They used drop-pods full with sturdy goods such as grain as cargo-drops.
When they ran out of drop pods, they used the ship's escape pods until even those were of no use.
Eventually they had to resort to just filling their tanks to the brim with cargo and parachuting them out of orbit - and when even that was no longer an option, the honorable Maximus proposed to just grab as many things as he could and just jump from orbit, hoping his dreadnought armor and a modified jump pack would be enough to offset the terminal velocity. Luckily reinforcements from Ultramar arrived before this theory could be tested, much to the disappointment of their ship's tech priest.
Daimos-5 was however very content with his successful concept of transporting small livestock by re-purposing the chapter's entire supply of servo-skulls. Evidently, a single servo-skull had the capacity to carry about four small avian lifeforms assuming they were affixed in a proper harness. Unfortunately, most of the “Chicken Carriers” were lost, and presumably obliterated, in sudden high-energy thunderstorm. Both the Chaptermaster and the tech priest considered it a mercy all things considered.
But there had been such much more to do besides just delivering the cargo. Aside from the security and bio-hazard checks, some of the products had to be kept at a certain temperature, animals had to be fed, fragile objects had to be secured – and all that while performing an absolute record number of warp jumps. Their ship might be somewhat unusual, in that several modifications to the engine – that by some could be called extreme tech-heresy if it was not for the fact that the modifications were older than any of them could remember – allowed jumps somewhat closer to the gravity of a sun, eliminating the need to travel from and to a system's outer edge, but every jump still required an untold amount of labor and preparation, none of which could be cut short in any way, unless they all wanted to turn into food for whatever horrors lurked beyond the night sky of the Void.
But alas, the mission had been a success – even with increasing distress calls from their medical facilities. They knew how to mend broken bones, bullet wounds, cuts and bruises, and even had ways to treat injuries to mind and spirit. But how does one deal with an Astartes who was simply... overworked? And there were many like that, and about twice as many from the regular crew – and that was not even accounting for any workplace accidents that eventually had to happen. So far the number of deaths was in the acceptable range – which for the Chaptermaster personally was “below one” which he knew was an impossible standard to maintain but still tried to - but there were still sections of the ships that had yet to report.
“Youngling Vellanus!”, he called without turning his head, “Fetch me the damage reports for sections 14 to 22, as well as our most recent communications log with Ultramar.”
Behind him a young human, probably not even twelve terran years old, appears in the door to a room that with some imagination underneath the mountains of reports, charts, and protocols one could see as a Chaptermaster's quarter. As quickly as the boy had appeared, he had once again vanished between piles upon piles of documents and dataslates. Any regular person would have long lost their way in this mess, and a regular Astartes could at this point barely enter the room without toppling one of the stacks, but thanks to his new “assistant” he could keep his workflow going. How unusual it was for him to have an assistant. When there were younglings growing up on the ship, either born to the crew or picked up as stowaways, it was not unusual to have them work and learn from different areas, but the Chaptermaster's office was none of those. This boy however was brought to him by his parents, regular crew from engineering claiming he had a rather unusual talent. With a single glance he could count all the stars and constellations in any image, or the amounts of bolts and screws visible from any given point near the warp-drive. The child might not talk much, but he could read, had phenomenal eyes, and was quick on his feet – exactly what the Chaptermaster needed right now.
Moments later the boy returned with a pile of documents about as tall as he was tall. Both he and the Astartes had been working like this for hours now, and while he was trying to hide his exhaustion, it was clearly visible to someone who has spent the last four hundred years working with humans, modified or not.
“Good work. Take this and deliver it to the mess hall.”, he points at a small dataslate in front of him, “They will know what to do with it. After that you are dismissed. Go grab a meal in the kitchens, they should be almost done by now. You have authorization for a double portion.”
Invigorated by the promise of a feast the boy grabs the dataslate and bolts out of the room, only to run into a vaguely humanoid figure clad in carmine robes. Instead of a face there was just a blank metal plate, with one large visual sensor in the center of it. Six smaller “eyes” were arranged around the main sensor. In theory it would have the vague shape of a human head, if it would not end abruptly where on a normal face one would expect a nose. His entire lower jaw appeared to be missing, as there was just a mess of tubes and metallic links connecting the head to the body.
[[Greetings – third offspring / engineering section delta]], a mechanical voice exclaims with no clear point of origin from the body of the tech priest.
The boy did not respond, except for a stare filled with abject terror, frozen on the spot for a few seconds before bolting away. If the child's behavior evoked any sort of reaction from the tech priest was impossible to tell. It was not an unusual reaction of a young human to a heavily augmented martian, even when the extent of it was rather surprising.
[[Chaptermaster Auris, >polite speech> requesting audience]]
“Is it urgent?”
[[Classification: unclear. Personal evaluation required.]]
Another problem. Great.
“Enter”, Auris said while pinching the bridge of his nose.
Tech priest Daimos-5 scuttled into the room on what one could only assume must have been a weird mix of way too many legs and wheels. So far no one had any idea what was actually going on under that robe of his that allowed such movement. While it was subject of speculation among the crew, they all were agreeing that some secrets you probably do not want to know.
[[System Data: Recovery Process – Acceptable. New systems: operational. New Data within acceptable parameters for inspection]]
The inspection. Yes. The last thing standing between them and their reward. Officially there would be a great ceremony on Ultramar, and according to rumors even the Primarch would attend personally – although Auris was not so naive as to get his hopes up. Sure, what they had done was a great deed that Ultramar would greatly profit from, but the Lord Primarch of the Ultramarines would surely have a lot more important things to do as to pay attention to a random chapter saving and securing a backwater corner of space. Unofficially however, they would receive a special sort of reward: vacation. There were a few planets within Ultramar that were entirely untouched. Some of the were Deathworlds, some of them were just useless piles of rocks, and then there were others that supported regular life and nature, but various factors made colonizing the planet impossible in the long term. Occasionally such planets were used to give people a moment to rest, sometimes they were used for tactical exercises. Necrall IV was maybe not a perfect Paradise World, the nigh-unpredictable high-energy storms occasionally building up in the atmosphere and rendering technologies useless made sure of that, and the gravity distortions resulting from the orbits of its two moons were troublesome, but aside from such details: lush plains, dense forests, long beaches and an ocean the color of emeralds. Some of the Astartes on the ship had never seen an ocean before, and some of the crew had never even set foot on a planet, so of course there was much excitement brewing in the lower decks and even among the transhumans - their lifes were usually fully occupied with their duties or their training, the mere idea of “vacation” was something that came up maybe once every few decades.
However, they had to pass the inspection first, as to not contaminate the planet and render it potentially useless for future use by the Imperium. While this was not one of Auris' concerns, their vacation would also be cut short if they found anything unusual on the ship – especially anything heretic- or xenos-related was certain to ruin their plans. Be it technology or a stowaway, if anything like that was found, their reward would go up in smoke – that's why they had the duty to search the ship from stem to stern and purge whatever might be standing between them and their hard earned vacation.
“If your data is acceptable, then what brings you here?”
[[99.9% of results = predictions. Internal sensors detecting lifeforms: perfectly functional. Number of Astartes on Board: <497>. Number of human crew: <772> Number of sufficiently augmented lifeforms: <1>. Total number according to crew manifest: <1252>]]
“I know how many people we got on our ship, what's the issue?”
[[Number of detected lifeforms <1253>]]
Daimos-5 gave the Chaptermaster a moment to fully let the realization sink in – internally he had calculated how long that moment should be for maximal conversational efficiency, and he was pleased that Auris reacted exactly within the predicted time-frame.
“A stowaway? Maybe it is one of the animals that we lost track off during transport?”
[[Thesis: Tested. Result: Negative. Life sign size and type: Humanoid. Number of crew before last warp jump: <1252>. Number now: <1253>]]
“Are you saying we picked up someone from THE WARP out of all places? With our Gellar fields up? That's impossible!”
[[Logic: only possible option. Furthermore, life sign tracking: difficult. Possible cloaking technology. Humanoid – possibly intelligent – Immaterium. Conclusion: …]] The tech priest did not need to finish this sentence, the Chaptermaster had connected the dots as well.
With the wave of his hand the Vox-receiver in the room sprang to life. Moments later a message was sent to all high ranking members of the Tepidus Tempestus: “Barricade all sensitive systems, shut down the warpcore, and tell all the crew to gather in the mess hall. We have a saboteur on board.”
Chapter 2: Sign: Cluster Stars +1:12:00 // Coordinated Effort //
Chapter Text
<Chief Apothecarius Log, Sign: Cluster-Stars +01:05:37, Our supply in medical goods is in a desolate state. Before we take on our vacation I shall implore our leader to take a detour to a deep space station to restock, but I doubt the crew would have any of it. We are at the point where I have to give people a piece of cloth to bite on as opposed to painkillers or narcotics. I do see the necessity of having donated a large section of our medical reserves as disaster relief recently, but what good are we supposed to do if all I can work with is some Mjold and a bonesaw? I pray to the Emperor that nothing happens until we've had a chance to resupply.>
Much to Chief Apothecarius Timidus' dismay, something had happened. They had been in the middle of surgery when the Chaptermaster's message reached him over the Vox, and he and his assistants had been scrambling to get all the patients into the mess hall, all while not disrupting the ongoing operation. A minor explosion had occurred in a subsection of engineering earlier that day just after returning to Realspace. Evacuation protocols had been followed perfectly, which was not surprising given the number of drills the average crewman down there went through a year, but the shock wave had still tossed some of the crew like dolls against the walls. Dozends of broken bones had to be treated, and in one unfortunate case splintered ribs had turned his current patient's insides into a pin-cushion. Fortunately the poor sod had passed out by now – their lack of anesthetics had filled the operation theater with a permanent backdrop of whimpers and screams for the last day.
At first they had assumed a regular accident, but if there was a hostile invader on board... Timidius was not sure on what he would do when combat broke out, given they were already at the absolute limit of their capacities. He did, however, try to not show these thoughts as he commanded his gaggle of subordinates and assistants around, a wild mix of Astartes and regular mortals. Going by the size of the medical bay when compared to other sections of the ship, there were way too many people. However, the Chief Apothecarius was of the firm belief that while it might be an issue to have too many people manning the guns, running around in engineering, or even blocking the ways in the kitchens, it was never a bad thing to have too many people trained in the arts of first aid and medical procedures.
The mechadendrites emerging from the contraption on his back made a lot of noise, as together with his hands he could do the work of three people alone, removing bone-splinters, quelling blood, and patching up damaged organs as quickly as possible. Since they were now in the mess hall, the commotion had attracted a crowd of morbid onlookers and some genuinely worried friends and family. Slowly the 1252 members of the crew poured in, making the room more and more cramped. It was truly a gigantic room, with a ceiling so high even a Warhound Titan would be able to walk around without issues – but while in theory it could hold the entire crew and then some more, it was far beyond its ideal capacities.
“There is nothing to see here”, he grunted without looking up from his work, “Now hush before I send Narcosis after you!”. Hearing his name an Ogryn, wearing an over-sized version of the medical assistants' uniform – although calling it a uniform might be an overstatement given it was just a bunch of lab coats crudely sown together – moved closer. The Ogryn had essentially two jobs which he fulfilled without question: one was carrying patients or sometimes even entire beds and equipment, the other was exactly this: standing between the doctor and any onlookers while giving them his best grim stare. At least he thought that it was grim, but given the typical Ogryn physiology it only looked a bit bored and somewhat dumb. That was sufficient however, as no matter the expression, a giant twice one's size who could easily tear a man in half was deterrent enough for most people.
“Many people, boss. What happen?”, Narcosis grumbled while looking around, “Is it BigBoss cele... cel...big food day yet?”
“No, the chapter's anniversary feast was last month.”, the Chief Apothecarius explained while beginning to stitch up the wounds, “You should know. You ate enough to feed an entire platoon that day.”
“Ah. Yes. Good Time. We should do that more time.”
Before Timidus could come up with an answer to that, the room's Vox system activated with a familiar static crackle. Looking up from his work, he could see Chaptermaster Auris standing on a podium checking the connection of his armor to the room's Vox. The fact that he and his personal guard had shown up in in full armor while there were other Marines in the crowd that were entirely unarmed and in some cases still in their sleepwear was concerning to say the least. Within moments all conversations and murmuring in the room died down.
“Battle Brothers and crew. This gathering was supposed to happen once we were in the orbit of Necrall IV, to congratulate you to a mission well done and wish you all the best for the brief shore leave the forces of Ultramar have granted us. And yet, there has been a change of plans.”
Worried whispers spread through the crowd, but were hushed by their peers when the Chaptermaster raised his hand.
“Rest assured, for we shall still receive our reward, but for that one last thing has to be taken care off: we have an intruder on the ship. We know neither their nature nor his plans, but the fact that they boarded us through the Immaterium is reason for utmost concern. The explosion in engineering early today damaged technology directly connected to our Gellar Field. I'd like you all to imagine what would have happened if that explosion would have occurred only a few minutes earlier...”
If the general mood spreading through the crowd had been concern and to some degree curiosity before, now it was sheer horror as the realization kicked in: there was someone – or something – on the ship that not even a few moments after entering the vessel was ready to deliver them all to a fate worse than death. No one had seen it, and yet it had managed to reach one of the most vital systems in the entire ship. Whoever, or whatever, that intruder was, for their safety it had to be purged immediately, that much was certain. But before panic and speculation could take over the crowd, Auris raised his voice once again:
“The common way of action would be to give each and every one of you a weapon and send you out hunting, but given we know neither nature nor capabilities of our foe, that would just amount in senseless death and destruction without achieving our goal. It stands to suspect that this is exactly what the enemy's prediction of our behavior is. Instead, I have devised a different plan: The moment the last of you as entered this hall, the doors were to be sealed except for the one behind me. Afterwards we shall scan the ship using the systems for signs of life. If there are none it can be assumed they are in here with us, either cloaked or disguised. You will all leave this room one by one through this gateway, and you will get screened by our medical personnel.”
He gestured towards Timidus, who in turn saluted and instructed some of his assistants to follow him to the door behind Auris – it was not easy to proceed with the room being absolutely packed with crewmen and Astartes, but thanks to Narcosis, who at some point simply picked up an Astartes standing in the way and set him down gently behind the group, their movements went on mostly unhindered.
“Afterwards we shall drain all oxygen from the room. Even if we cannot fight this enemy hiding among us, we can easily contain them with minimal risk. Should the intruder be outside, we shall remotely seal off areas and eventually get rid of them. Either by venting them directly into the Void or by sending an extermination force. There shall be no risks, for we WILL arrive victorious at Necrall IV – until then I ask for your patience to spend the next hours here. Eat your fill, rest, talk, - this last trial shall pass, with some luck without a single weapon being fired. You have your orders. Dismissed.”
The mood in the room instantly lifted as both the crew and even the Astartes were quite content with such orders, that just required them wait and rest. The kitchens, which were situated in a sub-section of the hall, started giving out rations. They were initially not planning to feed all these people at once, but luckily the head chef, a small round man with head so red it would put a Blood Angel's armor to shame, took it as a challenge. Under his iron regiment his subordinates and assistants supplied the crowd with a seemingly never ending stream of food. Given their current lack of resources it was mostly “mystery ingredient stew”, but by imperial standards that could almost count as gourmet.
Meanwhile Timidus and his group had arrived at the Chaptermaster's position. The officer's section of the hall was a lot less cramped, even with Daimos-5 and his small army of cogitators and engineers taking on more and more of his space as they set up what appeared to be a command center close to the wall, directly tapping into the ship's systems. The door meanwhile was heavily guarded, as the Chaptermaster's personal guard had at least six Bolters pointed at it at all times.
“Timidus, good to have you here.”, Auris greeted him, “I apologize for not informing you sooner, but time was of the essence.”
“Understandable. I was in the middle of operating anyways.”, the apopthecarius replied, “Where should I set up? This might as well be a chance. I know quite a lot of the crew who were tardy on their regular checkups...”
“Now, now, let's not overdo it. If you were to deeply examine every single person as opposed to just checking for biological disguises we might be here for days and not just hours. You will have plenty of opportunity at Necrall IV.”
Auris was not wrong with that. It was common procedure that all personnel, being crew or Astartes, were to report at medical after returning from a trip outside the ship. The danger of importing a pandemic or parasites was just too great to risk – something that happened far too often in the Imperium when travel from and too planets was too unregulated. Bacteria, viruses, insects, and even small animals could spread into biomes and immune-systems that were entirely unprepared for them. Even the Codex Astartes had dedicated an entire chapter to proper isolation- and sanitation-protocols when managing supply chains spanning multiple systems. Yet another one of those chapters a lot of Astartes did not read, but that was more vital to the Imperium's stability than any weapon or ship.
[[System Reroute: Success. Spatial Segment Classified C-003.1 “Mess Hall”: all systems functional. Initiate Operations: Y/N]]
It was undoubtedly Daimos-5 who has said that, but it was not his body where the voice had originated from, but instead one of the Cogitators he was currently connected to him. It was a bizarre sight, an incomprehensible network of cables and bodies and brains connected to them, with the tech priest at its center. The noospheric communication was so rapid and dense that some of the armored Astartes who were standing too close had to turn off the communication arrays of their suits as they would pick up some of it as incomprehensible gibberish and static.
“As Chaptermaster I authorize this procedure. You may begin.”
[[ Applying Sensorium to Spatial Segment C-003.1 // … // … // … // Humanoid life forms detected <1252>. Matching data with previous anomaly // … // No Matches Found.]]
Some of the nearby warriors relaxed visibly. It was one thing to have an enemy onboard, it was another to have it in the same room without being able to identify it.
“Stay vigilant.”, ordered Auris, “They might have found a way to evade us. Daimos-5, proceed with scanning the outer rooms for our guest.”
[[Order Recieved. Developing search pattern. Deploying Sensorium in spatial segment D-078 //… //… // negative; Deploying Sensorium in spatial segment D-079//... //… // negative; Deploying...]]
For a moment Timidus tried to recall just how many rooms and chambers on this ship might qualify as their own spatial segment. While he did not come up with exact number, he was certain that at this pace they'd be here for quite a while.
Sign: Cluster-Stars: 1 Day 21 Hours
Slowly the crew was getting restless. The first hours of food, conversations, card games, and general relaxation had been nice, but over a thousand people stuck with each other in the same room for so many hours was just a disaster waiting to happen. The Astartes, disciplined and steadfast as they were, fared slightly better, but some of them were definitely not warming up to the thought of not being allowed to get their weapons with an enemy on board. Timidus was by far no expert in psychology – his field of expertise was the body after all – but even an absolute amateur could see that some of the crew were developing a severe case of cabin fever. Luckily, other Marines had noticed as well, and one of them decided to take matters into their own hands.
A loud crash caused conversations to die down and focused the crowd's attention towards the middle of the room. Someone had thrown over one of the massive tables that even an Astartes would have trouble moving. Then another table was thrown over and dragged across the floor. Heads were turned and confused whispers spread through the room, as an especially large Space Marine arranged the tables into a circular barricade with him as the center.
“I, SWOLARIUS, CAPTAIN OF THE SECOND COMPANY, CLAIM THE TITLE OF THE STRONGEST WARRIOR!”, he exclaimed with utmost pathos, ripping the shirt of his body and striking one absurd bodybuilding-pose after another, “WHO DARES TO CHALLENGE ME?”
It took a while for the confused crowd to catch on what's going on, but before they could have made up their mind about this truly ridiculous display, another Astartes had taken off his shirt and jumped into the makeshift arena. With almost even more vigor in his voice than Swolarius he bellowed:
“I, RERREN WOLFSBLOOD, CAPTAIN OF THE FOURTH COMPANY, SHALL ACCEPT THIS CHALLENGE!”
Cheers erupted from the Astartes of the 4th Company as their captain entered the stage. It was not unusual for Marines from far distant regions of space to eventually end up in their Chapter, although it was uncommon to have them rise this high in the ranks. Captain Rerren Wolfsblood was, as his unusual name might suggest, truly a son of Leman Russ. Swolarius might have the power of his trained body on his side, but there were not many who could hold their own in a sparring match against the wild and unpredictable fighting style of Fenris.
Immediately wild speculations and betting spread through the crowd, everyone eager to see such a fight. Some Astartes moved away to let the mortals come closer, and in some cases they took one or two of them onto their shoulders so they could see. The honorable Maximus, still active since their recent mission, had a whole group of younglings perched on top of his dreadnought-chassis, giving them the best view in the hall.
“Oh just what are these fools up to again...”, grumbled Timidus, certain that patching up the losers of such a fight would be another thing on his never ending list of duties. While he understood the logic behind this absurd exhibition match to keep the crew entertained, he was not sure those two could keep this at the level of a friendly spar. Especially Captain Rerren was not known to admit defeat easily.
“Chaptermaster Auris, requesting permission to oversee this... thing.”
“Permission granted”, replied Auris, while also giving Narcosis a nod, “Make sure they play nice. There's no need for bad blood to arise from this.”
“Yes, BigBoss”, the Ogryn replied while saluting. The movement's wild swing created a gust of wind that almost knocked over one of Daimos-5's cogitators, “We make sure they behave!”
Sometimes Timidus was glad that Narcosis was a lot stronger than he was dumb – because if those warriors were letting the heat of battle get to their heads, only an Ogryn might enter the ring without risking his life. As he made his way towards the ring, he could hear a single artificial voice behind him, spoken from several mouths at once:
[[Abnormal life sign localized: Spatial Segment: A-002 // Initating Lockdown procedures // Chances of Evasion: NIL // Opening theatricals folder > “THERE SHALL BE NO ESCAPE!”]]
Chapter 3: Sign: Cluster Stars +1:22:00 // Hunt //
Chapter Text
<Techpriest's Log, Sign Cluster-Stars +01:21:45 Intruding subject behavior = Illogical. Systems most susceptible to sabotage: untouched. Attempts to breach established security measures: zero. Movement pattern match: not found. Subject appears aimless and unknowing of environment, yet evades containment procedures to 100%. Thesis: knowledge of Mechanicum Search Patterns? Tested with randomized procedures. Result: Negative. Thesis: Connection of subject to ship systems? Tested by deactivating external interfaces. Result: Negative. Thesis: Subject significantly – inserting unscientific concept – lucky? Test: Method unclear. Proceeding containment attempts>
Slowly but surely Daimos-5 was feeling an emotion rising up in the dedicated quarantined section of his neural systems. Could it be that he was... enjoying this? Impossible. The ship and chapter were in danger, and a new enemy was skilled enough to evade even the most complex attempts at capture. This was no matter to be feeling joy about and yet, the sensation was slowly leaking out of its neural containment zone. It had been a long time since he had been challenged like this, and now he started to no longer treat his target like a pest and more like a worthy opponent – an opponent who's actions seemingly made zero sense. As if they had only come onto this ship to test him and his patience in a silent mockery of his intellect.
He dived deeper into the systems of the Tepidus Tempestus, entirely shutting out the perception-signals of his material body. The ship's systems were all perfectly functional. He had made sure off that while scanning each nook and cranny. This had increased the time needed for the process by three hours, fifty-eight minutes, and seven seconds; but it was a chance too valuable to pass up, for he would not known when for the next time he would get the chance of nearly all systems being shut down or on standby. The un-augmented could handle some sitting on their meaty behinds for some time, what were the sensitivities of minor unenlightened beings compared to the needs of a machine as great as a star ship?
And what a machine it was, one unlike any other he had worked with before. Other tech priests had tried to commune with its machine spirit before, only to be either rejected or failing to make any sense of it. The ship had been deemed faulty, in some case even heretic, but they were just blind fools following their dogmatist procedures without understanding the wisdom behind it. They had been trying to connect to “the” machine spirit when that did not exist. There were multiple, over a dozen of varying shapes and sizes to be exact. One could not be sure of the exact number, for there still were systems that had never been active since the Astartes had taken over the ship.
The Tepidus Tempestus was an old vessel – not quite as old to date back to the mythical dark age of technology, but it had been around for several millennia. The exact age was something Daimos-5 had always hoped to uncover, but there were still archives and datacores that had been entirely out of his reach. Eventually, the machine would reveal its secrets, he would just have to be patient. Until then, it was his task to manage a diverse mix of occasionally directly opposing subsystems.
Given the ship's age it had gone through many owners, with about eleven of them being noted in the archives- although given the number of incompatible subsystems, the tech priest's prognosis was about twice that number. Under each of these owners it had been used for a different purpose, and each time extensive modifications had been made. Over its long history the ship had been an exploration vessel, a deep space mining rig, a racing vehicle, a trader, an orbital defense platform, a cargo hauler, a pleasure cruiser, a religious commune of hermits, a smuggler's livelihood, a prison ship, a wandering circus including a menagerie, and according some some data fragments even a “nightclub” - Daimos-5 was not entirely sure what a blunt weapon had to do with the absence of daylight, he assumed it had been used as an ambush vehicle in military operations, even if there were no cloaking or stealth systems to be found yet.
Each time a new owner had taken over, they had added to the preexisting system while only removing what directly interfered with the new intended purpose. In a way it was a miracle this ship still existed. Such a hazardous practice was not too uncommon, often as a method of reducing the costs of the retrofit. However, most ships designed that way tended to encounter a critical malfunction sooner or later. And yet, the Tepidus Tempestus had reached a level of complexity that had been previously unheard off, with some of its more destructive systems keeping each other in check. One would not have to worry about the ship's weaponry to randomly overcharge and explode, when excess energy was directly consumed by at least five other systems; or worry about the warp drive overheating when the coolant system was in a permanent state of overcharge - and those were just two examples out of many. It was complexity that until now had maintained itself, a glorious machine created by a dozen minds and pure coincidence, creating something that no mind of Mars would have ever come up with, yet more fascinating than most of their creations. It was technology emerging from nothing, not from one singular mind that molded it in a shape, limited so much by the imagination of a singular brain. It was the purest form of the godly machine in a sense, truly divine without the stain of flesh tainting its creation.
He was getting off-track. This contemplation of the ship's systems had bound his attention by seven point four seconds. The situation truly had him emotionally disturbed, so the tech priest made a note to renew his neural containment procedures and then returned to the task at hand. Despite most of them being offline or on reduced power, there were still quite a number of systems at various levels of activity, and some of them had peculiar idiosyncrasies that had to be accounted for. But fortunately, most of those were currently inactive, so he could devote most of his energy to tracking the intruder, while leaving the monitoring and active control of the subsystems to the cogitators. The most recent trap Daimos-5 had set, a direct route to what anyone would have easily identified was the ship's life support systems, had been completely ignored. Either the intruder had seen through the ruse, or – and that was the most confusing alternative – their saboteur had little interest in doing any actual sabotage.
[[Containment procedures insufficient]], he sent out as a message to the Chaptermaster, [[Escalation required > Extermination Procedures]]
As much as he had hoped to catch this elusive interloper alive, his pride would have to deal with the fact that it might be beyond his capabilities. Rooms were flooded with toxic gas. Temperatures reached extremes in both heat and cold where no life could possibly persist for longer than mere moments. Entire sections of the ship were opened to the Void, hoping to simply vent the intruder out into the infinite nothingness. None of it seemed to have any effect as the intruder evaded every single one of these traps as if they knew the ship better than its own tech priest. If there as a maintenance hatch to be used, a vent to crawl through, or door to slip through at the very last moment, it would be used. Just what sort of madness were they dealing with here?
In a fit of frustration Daimos-5 escalated things even further and rigged noncritical systems in the foe's proximity to overcharge and explode at random timers. Minor damage to the ship could be repaired, but with every second this entity, – he was not sure how to describe it otherwise as its behavioral pattern fit with not a single database be it human or xenos – that had such a terrifying understanding of a complex system it just entered, would remain on their ship, the risk to all their lives was rising exponentially. But even as explosions rocked the vessel, the abnormal life sign did not vanish from the sensors. For a moment he wished to have access to his servo-skulls, as that would have been a way to gain at least a glimpse of his enemy, but sadly their resources were limited.
“Daimos! What in Terra's name are you doing?!” came a message from the outside, brought to him from one of the cogitators. Of course that was not all the noosphereric transmission contained. Within the same second he received twenty-seven status reports, a result to the fight that had broken out in spatial segment C-003.1 as well as the four rounds that followed as new challengers had risen up to entertain the crowd. What a profane spectacle of primitive brutality. While he could not find anything worthwhile in watching it, the performance data recovered might prove helpful in future operations. Furthermore he received a potentially humorous pict-image of the Chaptermaster with the lingual data “lower scripture” added to the bottom of it. Probably a joke among the cogitators that had been sent by accident, but given the current circ*mstances he would overlook it. They all, however, would be in for harsh reminder lessons on data-stream-purity and the dangers of scrap code accumulations, but now was not the time for it.
Dislodging his mind from the ship's system he returned to the confines of his physical vessel. It took about five point three seconds for the expected feeling of claustrophobia to subside, about twice as long as usual. This hunt had taken a toll on him, and the idea of standing before the Chaptermaster without any results... if his pride had already been wounded by having to admit a live capture being impossible, now it has been certainly kicked into a garbage chute.
Reactivating his visual sensors he could see both the captains of the second and fourth company lying on tables next to him with an exhausted Timidus holding a lenghty litany about health and the proper behavior of company leaders. They both were beaten black and blue, and while they at least pretended to listen, Daimos-5 could not fail to notice the childish grin on their faces which they were trying their best to hide. Next to them were several other marines lower than them in rank, which were in even worse shape than the two leaders and definitely unconscious. However, the occasional stupidity of the Astartes was none of his business, and he turned his attention, which had been wandering for an entirety of four point one seconds, back to the Chaptermaster.
[[> Respectful Speech > Humble Apologies]], he began, [[Hostile Element = highly elusive. Recommendation: further escalation. Threat category: immeasurable. Maxi...]]
“We will not risk our ship – our HOME – for this wild grox chase!”, bellowed the Chaptermaster in an unusual outburst of emotion, “At this point we will do more damage to ourselves than this intruder ever hoped to achieve. It appears we have to do it the old-fashioned way. During your hunt, what have you discerned regarding the nature of this foe?”
[[Subject Behavior: Highly illogical. Attempted to match behavioral and movement patterns to database entires: connections: 0. Intellect suggestion: Ork. Subject moving through ventilation system D-092 confirms size smaller than all data entries regarding species. Movement suggestion: Eldar. Subject's aimless movement pattern in direct opposition to collected combat data. Additional Thesis: Agent of heretic forces. Warp-Induced anomalies on Sensorium: 0. Damages to be expected by heretic agent extrapolated from established data: Nonexistent.]]
“Are you trying to tell me that our saboteur is as fast as a knife-ear, as dumb as a green-skin, and not doing any actual sabotage since the explosion earlier today?”
[[Reiterating statement: subject behavior highly illogical. Assuming perfect knowledge of systems, number of potential sabotage options within the last 8 hours: 192. Performed actions with such a result: 0. Damage reports received since operation start: 13. Damage category: minor. Source of damages: uncertain. Link to intruding subject: not confirmed. Possibility: damages entirely unrelated to su...]]
Daimos-5 immediately cut off the power to his Vox-systems as the realization hit him with the full force of a galvanic cannon. His entire operating procedure had been standing on the wrong base assumption: that what they were dealing with was an intelligent actor with immaculate knowledge of all their systems and procedures. Instead, he reversed that statement: what if the intruder knew absolutely nothing? Nothing of them, nothing of the systems, and especially nothing of the ship they were in. What if one were to assume cognitive capabilities barely above an animalistic life form? Then how did they manage to evade them for so long? Intelligent evasion required knowledge, but if all environment was foreign and incomprehensible, then the only knowledge they would have was data regarding themselves...
[[>Polite Speech> Chaptermaster Auris, requesting permission to present >highly unscientific concept<]]
“Permission granted. I assume you have good reason to entertain such concept?”
[[Thesis: Intruder knowledge of ship, system, and crew: 0. Presumed Intruder knowledge limit: themselves. Expanding category: knowledge of subject including knowledge of own end of existence. Thesis: Knowing Future = perfect evasive capabilities. Potential asset for Chapter. Requesting permission for nonlethal capture. Subject must be studied. Priority: Maximal]]
It took a few moments for the surrounding Astartes to grasp the meaning of these words. Some of them had heard stories of Psykers capable of seeing into the future, but such abilities were deemed highly heretical – especially since most stories of such visions were about tragedy and destruction. The Warp was not known to be friendly or helpful, and the knowledge someone could gain peering into it might as well be the path to one's undoing. Such arcane arts were not a force one should take lightly, and the imperial procedures in such a case were clear: an immediate purge of the individual and all people it had been in contact with. To demand a live-capture was... problematic, to put it lightly.
After a moment of consideration Auris shared his thoughts: “Even if we – how do they put it – abhor the witch, our enemies lurking beyond the Eye of Terror surely will not. This might be our way to learn how to interfere with such powers – even without risking to exposing ourselves to the taint of the Warp. If it should prove dangerous, we can still kill it while in capture. You have permission to proceed, Daimos.”
Not all Astartes around them shared such a sentiment, and Daimos-5 noticed some of them gripping their weapons more tightly. Armed enemies, saboteurs, war machines – these were all enemies they knew. Conventional enemies that one could fight using conventional means. But how would one go about fighting something empowered by something almost entirely outside of human comprehension? The foe neither Melter, Bolter, Flamer, nor brute physical force could kill was something straight out of the nightmares of any Astartes. For the techpriest this was also a worrisome factor, but the creeds of the Mechanicum were clear about it: knowledge equals power, and the more data he could gather, the less they had to fear.
[[Order Confirmed. Resuming Operation.]]
Working with the data derived from this new assumption, the tech priest could barely believe how easy it was, having the intruder walk along the route he had planned for them. The subject followed the path of least resistance, while actively evading areas that were rigged to be deadly. Given the ship's size it would still take almost thirty minutes to guide the target into a potential capture position, but the behavior was exactly within Daimos-5's predictions.
[[Subject Position: Access Point C003.1-A. Recommendation: lower weapons. Prepare for live capture in: 5 // 4 // 3 // 2 // 1 // Opening Gateway]]
It was uncertain to say what they had expected. A master infiltrator of the Eldar, clad in black? An absurdity of the warp, mocking all of reality through its impossible existence? A soldier in uniform? A very tiny Ork? Instead in front of them was just a human, so meager they were barely a pile of skin and bones, wearing tattered rags and some pieces of crew uniform they had found along the way. Apparently the intruder had no clue on how to actually wear them given the fact they were using the pants of a crewman as a headpiece. The intruder stared, their eyes displaying a state of general confusion and an expression that somehow reminded Daimos-5 of the trivial musical recordings some imperial nobles played in the vertical transportation systems of their housing spires.
Chaptermaster Auris was the first to break the awkward silence with one short yet absolute order:
“Get'em!”
No amount of theoretically assumed future vision could allow the escape from several Astartes just throwing themselves at a regular sized person. Within seconds the intruder was buried under bodies in power armor and augmented musculature. While they managed to dodge the first three using confusing movements and seemingly inhuman reflexes, they had no way of evading the massive bulk that was half-naked battle brother Swolarius – or the five others that followed him. For about two point two seconds Daimos-5 was worried that his future research project had been maimed to death under the pile of Astartes, but if his calculations were correct, the damages should at most amount to several bruises and about twelve separate broken bones. Acceptable parameters – even if that meant the Chief Apothecarius would get his hands on the subject first.
A small price to pay for scientific acquisition.
Chapter 4: Sign: Cluster Stars +02:14:28 // Analysis //
Chapter Text
<Chaptermaster's Log, Sign: Cluster-Stars + 02:13:02: With the intruder in custody normalcy has returned to the ship. The crew is busy preparing for the inspection which is scheduled within the next 24 hours. Travel to the requested rendezvous location has been uneventful and without interruption aside from the events yesterday. Any time now I expect word from medical regarding the prisoner – we definitely need to know what we are dealing with here.>
Slowly but steadily the mountain of documents and dataslates in the ship's Strategium was decreasing, to the point where the Chaptermaster could finally return to doing his work in his personal chamber adjacent to this central conference room. He had barely slept since the commotion, making sure that absolutely everything was in order for the inspection – their hard earned reward, the first vacation in several decades, should not be ruined by imperial bureaucracy.
However, this also meant that their latest guest had to remain hidden at all cost. Their communication logs of the last day had been purged in such a way one could only assume a very specific yet possible technical error, and all conversation over the Vox regarding the subject had been forbidden. Obviously that was all very illegal and a course of action not approved by the Codex Astartes, but then again a lot of things were illegal in the Imperium. In fact one could probably not take three steps on Terra without breaking any of the billions upon billions of laws and regulations that in themselves were about as a consistent as a fart in a Warpstorm. They were neither acting in bad faith, nor endangering others in any way, so it could be tolerated – at least for now.
Without knocking a young boy rushed into the room. Vellanus saluted, before reaching into the bag he wore over his shoulder and placed a dataslate on the desk. He then saluted again and left as quick as he came. Auris wondered if there was a way to make the boy talk, but until now this had not been necessary and therefore no priority. With his own workload subsiding, he had lent out his assistant to medical. That way information about the prisoner could be shared without appearing in any communication protocols, and the dataslates themselves had been encrypted by their tech priest. The fact that their newly employed messenger was almost entirely mute was just adding to the secrecy of this operation.
Once he finished the document he was currently working on, the Chaptermaster took the dataslate and read the data regarding the prisoner. At least, he tried to. He was by far no expert in medical things, but he was not sure if even someone educated in the field would be able to make any sense of it. Apparently there was even confusion if the subject was even human in the first place, with various arguments for both possibilities. None of it made any amount of sense whatsoever, so Auris decided to head down to medical and see for himself just how big the mess was they had burdened themselves with.
Sign: Cluster-Stars +2Days 17 Hours
Reaching the medical bay took a lot longer than he had expected – everywhere on the ship people were busy, asking for his attention and occasionally his approval. Crew and Astartes alike were swarming through the metal hallways, both equally involved in getting the ship ready for inspection. Given how utterly low they were on total personnel, it was truly admirable what the crew managed to accomplish. A ship of the Cruiser-class could, depending on variant and size, hold a working crew of 5.000 to 10.000 people, and that was usually accounting just the regular people, the trans-human warriors riding with them were counted separately. Even with their ship not belonging to the larger variants of their class, it was obvious just how few they were.
Of course the numbers of people on regular imperial vessels were bloated like that for reasons beyond regular functionality. It was a redundancy to prevent issues even if half of them were trampled to death because of the cramped conditions, or if a Commissar deemed it necessary to execute a whole lot of them to prevent mutiny. While logical, the Chaptermaster could only shake his head over such procedures – there never had been a mutiny once on the Tepidus Tempestus, mostly thanks to proper management and actually hiring people who wanted to make the ship their home. The Imperium of Man ran on slave-labor, conscripts, and indentured servitude. While this might be the only way to stem the insane galaxy-spanning logistics of its domain, to solve issues by throwing pure quantities of literal human resources at them meant it was no surprise the quality of such crew to be more than lacking.
In the past things had been different. In days long gone there was an entire fleet, grandiose ships armed and manned to the absolute maximum defending mankind and bringing glory to the Emperor, but today the Tepidus Tempestus was all that remained. Auris did not like to think much of the Years of Names Lost, for even when they had won, the price had been higher than anyone would have suspected. They no longer used the Chapter’s original name, that once had been one of honor and great deeds, was now one of misfortune and tragedy. Instead they operated under the name of their vessel, but the galaxy had not forgotten – in some stations it had become almost impossible to hire good crew while simultaneously competing with the wealth of rogue traders or the prestige of some of the larger Chapters. At their last station a whole group of specialists had chosen to rather travel with the Lamenters than to even come close to their vessel.
Annoyed how he had ruined his own mood by dwelling on the past, Auris entered the medical bay, his thoughts immediately replaced by the utter absurdity he found himself looking at.
“Is that not somewhat excessive?”
The Chaptermaster was no stranger to medical restraining procedures – sometimes to save an Astartes’ life, radical measures had to be taken. Situations where the patient was hallucinating vividly while his augmented biology just flushed the sedatives and anesthetics out of the body were not as rare as one might assume, and obviously the measures taken needed to be strong enough to hold back even the most fierce of warrior. To see such measures to applied in the most extreme way possible to a person of regular size that was barely skin and bones was a sight so absurd to behold, one could not help but laugh at it.
Of course Chief Apothecarius Timidus did not laugh. In fact, in the last sixty years he supposedly only laughed once while heavily inebriated with Mjold, and even that was a highly contentious subject of debate. The fact that Daimos-5 had started turning half of his sanctum into an improvised research lab full of obscure equipment barely suited for
“It most certainly is not.”, he began to explain, exhaustion clearly audible in every single one of his words, “I had expected many things, but never that a weak and literally brain-dead patient could be this emperor-damned slippery. If there is a flaw in the locks, a weakness in the materials, a possible chain of circ*mstances less unlikely than a Necron smiling, it will get exploited.”
[[Subject Evasive Potential: Theoretically Infinite]], added a mechanical voice from somewhere in the pile of non-medical equipment, [[Knowledge of infinite possible futures = transformation: Chance → Certainty]]
“Wait, they are LITERALLY braindead?”, the Chaptermaster inquired while observing their captured target. He was not sure if the intruder was looking at or right through him, as there was no response in these eyes focused on nothing at all. There was life in these eyes, but he was not sure if he saw any will or agency behind it. It was staring into the eyes of a Grox and seeing nothing but one’s one reflection staring back, “Then how are they even able to walk, or capable of movements we saw before?”
“That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out for the entire last day. Doesn’t help that the little rat is even more slippery than Captain Rerren when it’s time for his shots.”
Auris had read the archive data on the Space Wolf's past, so he knew this statement was almost impossible, but Timidus' tone implied that there was no joke here. Rerren's previous chapter had had a nasty encounter with the Tyrranids, and the survivors, they were never quite the same. Not that there was many of them left, the bugs had made sure of that. Given the attached picter data, an intense dislike for injection-needles was probably the most logical result from such an experience. Auris had made the mistake of viewing it unprepared – he had not been able to eat a single thing for three days straight after that. Generally when it was time for the 4th companies regular injections, it took several men as well as all the restraining measures he could see in use right now on the intruder to deal with him. To think that this small individual could break free from bonds that could even hold an Astartes of the power of the 4th Company Captain in a state of frenzy... it was impossible to measure the potential threat they were under just by having them onboard.
[[Thesis: neural activity = consciousness -> separated from body]], Daimos-5 chimed in, still working on having his equipment take over more and more space of the medical bay, [[Thesis: Spatial Separation. Tested by isolating subject with various methods: // Results inconclusive // Thesis: Neural activity outsourced to Immaterium. Tested by observing subject during Gellar Field deployment: // Results inconclusive // Thesis: Temporal Separation. Testing Method: // Unclear // Theory: target does not posses >accessing nonscientific vocabulary> Future Sight. Neural Activity exists in different time than body.]]
“So it's not seeing the future, but being already there and just dragging the body along?”, Auris asked, trying to wrap his head around the whole thing, “But how does that even work to begin with?!”
“It doesn't.”, Timidus stated while digging through a pile of handwritten notes and various dataslates, “Neither of us are specialists in temporal mechanics. He fixes our ship and I fix our crew, that's where our expertise ends for the most part. However, it stands to assume that the human brain – or the neural activity based on its pattern, is not capable of monitoring an near infinite amount of futures simultaneously. Finite capacity stretched over an infinite space – it is a miracle in of itself that the basic survival instincts are still working, but aside from that there's not much going on.”
[[Theory: multiple occasions of death in near future reduce number of potential futures observed, freeing resources, Conclusion: Subject danger = directly proportional = Subject Elusiveness. Thesis can be observed using 99.9% lethal experimental procedures]]
“Which we will definitely NOT do!”
Both the tech priest and the Chaptermaster fell silent, surprised at the sudden outburst.
“There are several factors working against this”, the Chief Apothecarius explained, regaining his composure, “For one we do not know what causing a scenario of certain death would create. For all we know it might suck them back into the Warp, where soon another ship might end up with them. We almost destroyed vital systems during the hunt, and not all of them will connect the dots as fast as we did. Containing them here is the best course of action for now. Also, you might want to take a look at this...”
It was hard to decipher the medic's handwriting. The paper was densely covered in what one could only assume were segments of DNA as well as the names of several crewmen and even one or two Astartes.
“When our... guest here, came into material existence, they exclusively used matter from the ship. However, as they took on a human form, they had to incorporate DNA somehow. I have not yet mapped out the details, but technically this person is now a living relative of multiple crewmen and potentially even Astartes, a genetically related individual born onto this ship. I doubt I have to remind you of the regulations, Auris?”
Of course he did not. The Chaptermaster himself had put these regulations into place, all those years ago. Being forced to work with a crew this small over an extended period of time had made certain changes necessary, as the life of a single crewman was no longer an expendable resource that did in the most cases barely show up in a causality report unless the number was in the triple digits, and even then only as a footnote. The crew of the Tepidus Tempestus enjoyed something that was entirely unheard off in the entire Imperium of Man: absolute basic human rights – at least some of them. Generally the rights of an regular human in this galaxy were the right to labor for the God-Emperor, or to die for the God-Emperor, preferably in that order, but given Servitor-technology the entire thing was a rather flexible affair. On this ship however, they could not just be shot without reason, used as active cannon fodder, or be randomly made to suffer without a proper trial and evidence of a crime against ship and chapter. In some circles of Terra's high society this would probably be called heresy of the highest order, but for Chaptermaster Auris this was exactly what the Codex Astartes recommended when operating under such conditions: minor administrative applications that, while they might prove inconvenient sometimes to individuals in high command, would raise operative stability by a multitude. Using this basic idea, Auris had worked out an entire catalog of regulations to increase both the well-being of the crew and to decrease the risk of fatal workplace injury.
This did obviously not mean that a life on this ship was easy going – the crew and even the Astartes underwent countless drills for any situation, from a reactor explosion to a coolant leak. Systems were inspected and maintained far more frequently, increasing the workload of all personnel involved. Even a standard of general fitness was introduced that required regular training and effort. It was a stressful life, and there had been complaints at first, but after going for over a week without a single accident-related death, a thing normally deemed statistically impossible by imperial captains, people had accepted the changes. One couldn't argue against being alive and having something better to eat – the kitchen's “mystery ingredient stew” might not be for everyone, but it was definitely a step up from regular corpse starch. The ingredients even had some variation depending on whatever the cook had found in storage that day, which was more luxury than any regular worker on an imperial ship could ever have hoped to get.
“I am well aware of the rules - I have written myself.”, Auris replied, still trying to figure out the implications of their intruder suddenly being a part of the crew, ”However, those are rules that strictly apply to humans. Are you sure this is not some Xenos or Warp-Spawn trying to worm its way into our ranks?”
Daimos-5 was trying to make a remark, probably on how the biological nature of their prisoner was entirely irrelevant, but the Chief Apothecarius just cut him off: “Given the abilities displayed, it would have been possible to murder, replicate, and replace a very specific crewman, which would have ensured maximal potential for sabotage or further infiltration. In addition, while the abilities in of themselves are exceptional, their application has been... shoddy, to say the least.”
[[Thesis: Materialization / Infiltration = entirely accidental]], the tech priest exclaimed, having slightly increased the volume of his communication systems, [[Classification as crew = Irrelevant. Theorized abilities = strategic resource. Acquisition at all cost. Acquisition methods: experimentation / disassembly / structural analysis]]
“You forgot a method.”, Timidus said in a tone that might let one suspect that he took great joy in telling the tech priest he was wrong for once, “A more efficient one. One that will cause the least risk of losing the resource forever.”
[[Impossible. Calculations = Clear. >Inquiry Mode> Explain yourself]]
“We could just ask them and have them tell us all on their own.”, the Chief Apothecarius elaborated with the faintest hint of a smug grin, “Given the lack of hostile intent, it is certainly possible, potentially even without resorting to interrogation protocols. Fascinating, how your calculations could miss something this elementary...”
Daimos-5 wanted to reply, but immediately turned as his sensors detected movement. The prisoners head suddenly moved, eyes fixing the door with an amount of clarity and lucidity they had never seen them display before. Auris' modified mind immediately shifted into combat mode, as his subconscious had already taken the information provided and explained the behavior: the amount of futures in which their prisoner – or rather, newfound crew – was alive had suddenly been decreased. Something had changed on the ship. There had been no sign of a malfunction or explosion, which meant that there was now a new element on the ship. One that had no qualm or rule preventing killing this individual on the spot.
Going by logic and probability there was only one possibility: The inspection had begun.
“I will deal with this.”, Chaptermaster Auris stated calmly, “You stay here and try to find out more. Officially the medical bay is under lock down due to an ongoing drill.”
He turned around and left, almost running into youngling Vellanus who had just arrived to inform them about the inspection.
“And whatever you do”, he added without turning his head, “Do NOT let this... individual out before our battle brothers from Ultramar have left. Our reward depends on it!”
Chapter 5: Sign: Cluster-Stars +02:20:17 // Identification //
Chapter Text
<Chief Apothecarius Log, Sign: Cluster-Stars +02:20:00: Communication process with the patient has been nearly nonexistent, but steady increase in neural activity makes us assume we are doing something right. Both turbulence and quarantine protocols have been established, both isolating the medical facilities from the rest of the ship and fixing almost every possible moving part in place. With ventilation being cut off it means we have a limited amount of air, but it is more than sufficient for the time of the inspection. By reducing the amount of moving parts we hoped to reduce the amount of possible futures, but if it had an effect or if the increase in neural activity is purely incidental is hard to tell. For now, ascertaining the identity of our patient should be the next step.”
“Marnenus? Perseus? Severus? ”
No response. At first it might seem unusual for a medical station to have a dataslate specifically listing all the popular names in the recent centuries – but in a ship as old as this, people were not just dying. Granted, the number of deaths was significantly higher than the number of births per year, and they still relied almost exclusively on hiring crew from stations and other ships, but occasionally the Chief Apothecarius had to take on the role of a midwife. Not that he thought much about it - it was just another thing on the never ending list of medical issues to take care off, except that it was nothing he'd just trust his assistants with. Mending bones and stitching wounds was one thing, but some things were for the head of the station to do. However, this duty also included helping to give the child a proper name, and with that the lists had proven quite useful.
“Cassius? Learchus? Aloysius?
As their patient was getting increasingly lucid he had hoped that maybe they would react to a specific name. At first he had been uncertain if he was supposed to use the male or female list. The patient's genetic makeup was too confusing to get the answer to that question, so Timidus took the most direct approach and removed a part of the containment pieces to get a good look at the exposed lower body. Immediately he regretted his decision as he now felt even less informed than before. Either this body had formed with quite some errors that would have to be corrected, or their patient was just the weirdest human to ever have existed. It was on a whim that he started with the male list.
“Sullus? Selenus? Gaius?”
[[Communication Process = Null]], commented Daimos-5 who had just finished the setup of his machinery by waving an incense burner around, [[Analytic Workstation Status = Operational. Initial Data suggests potential compatibility with noospheric communication augmentation.]]
“We barely know how a brain with neural activity displaced across timelines is even capable of living, and you want to start adding machines to it? What would even be the success rate for such a procedure?”
[[Calculating: chance of specimen survival: up to 27%. Within acceptable parameters for initiate augmentation. Suggestion: begin surgery immediately]]
“Sometimes I wonder how you Martians have not long died out when you take such chances with augmentation...”, the Chief Apothecarius pondered aloud. Daimos-5 was trying to argue against such an almost insulting statement, but he was cut off by Timidus: “Your approach might allow proper communication in the future, but we need better chances than this. Also, were you not always an avid opponent to involuntary augmentation?”
[[Personal philosophical position = irrelevant. Potential trans-temporal strategic resource. Acquisition Level = Absolute]], the tech priest stated. One could not be sure if he just had to think about his next sentence or if he just cut off Timidus reply on purpose as some sort of petty revenge: [[Addendum: specimen presently unable to achieve partial divinity of the Blessed Machine. Restoring communicative function increases individual agency, allowing further pursuit of divine augmentation on individual terms. Conflict of philosophies = Null]]
“Just gather more data, and we might figure out how to anchor their mind in the present – I have no doubt that we will need neural augmentation for it. Until then, I'm trying to figure out who we are dealing with here. You think they look like a Sicarius? Or an Ollonius?”
“-us.”
Both of them turned to see their captive looking at them directly for the first time. Before their eyes had been darting around the room, focussing random spots, or staring directly through their eyes with no semblance of any thought whatsoever in that stare. Now, there was definitely someone home in that skull, and they were quite keen on making their acquaintance it seems.
“ -us. -us. Us? Us. Su? Us! Su.”
To Timidus this rather unintelligent babbling reminded him of two things: at first of how tiny children approached the concept of speech. At some point in their life they do become aware that they have a mouth and vocal chords, and from that point on there's not much stopping them from testing those bits out. It also reminded him of times when their Navigators and Astropaths had been lost in the Immaterium too long and required medical attention until their minds had properly acclimated to having a body again.
“Uuuuuuuuuuus. Su? Us! Sususususususu...”
[[Urgent Request: block vocal apparatus immediately]], came the almost painful sounding comment from Daimos-5, and the Chief Apothecarius had a suspicion as to why. This incoherent blabber was definitely a form of expression or communication and could be computed as such, but with zero frame of reference the cogitative augments in the tech priests head were almost overheating trying to make sense of it.
“Quiet!”, he tried to order with as much authority in his voice as possible.
“Sus?”
It was impossible to say if their patient understood them, but they became a bit calmer, now intensely observing them. Curiously it had the same response to the Astartes as to the Martian, something that was quite confusing – unless of course their sight was something completely normal for them. A worrisome thought. An entity from the warp that was used to the sight of augmented humans, both mechanical and biological alike, suggested a certain history. Given the nature of the warp, such histories rarely did not end in death and destruction.
Alternatively they were just dumb as a pile of Bolter shells and simply had no frame of reference for anything. After taking a long look at their patient in their until now most lucid state, Timidus suspected that truly the latter was the case.
“Us. Ussssss. KshKshKshKsh. Us. Su?”
Their captive was definitely communicating, and clearly they were not of the tight-lipped sort. They'd probably tell them absolutely everything they wanted to know without the need for interrogation or intimidation – there was just the issue that there was absolutely no clue what this random barrage of sounds meant, or what language they were even trying to communicate in.
[[Specific Lingual Expertise Required. Suggestion: Bridge Communications Officer Liberta]]
“We definitely need an expert for this”, Timidus agreed, “Although I was thinking more of Battlebrother Julianus – but even both of them at once would without a doubt have a hard time with this.”
Indeed, those two were the ship's leading expertise in all things lingual. Bridge Communications Officer Liberta spoke about 78 variants of lower and higher Gothic fluently on top of several Rouge Trader dialects and even some bits of Xenos-speak. A lingual genius at not even 35 Terran standard years she had been crucial in coordinating their mission in the Cluster Stars – at the end it was rumored that she had taken the same caffeine-and-stimulant-mixture as their Navigators to keep up her work. If that was true it was truly a miracle that she was still alive, yet it might be an explanation to why she had fallen asleep on her station right at the end of the mission and not awakened since. Even during their most recent event they had carried her to the mess hall, where she had slept through the entire thing. If Timidus’ calculations were correct it would take at least 30 hours more for her to awaken, and about a week before she was fit for duty again.
Battlebrother Julianus meanwhile had taken the study of antique and dead languages as his hobby in the limited free time the Astartes had between their constant training and their deployments. His process at first had been glacial given the temporal constraints, but the determination of an augmented mind chipping away at the challenge for over three centuries now had made him an expert in the field. Technically his current interest specifically in ancient Eldar scripture might be considered highly heretical, but having someone able to decipher intercepted communications in the midst of a war zone was too valuable of a skill to have.
Julianus was, however, even harder to reach than Liberta – in an attempt to fulfill his physical training quota before their vacation he and several others had taken the nearly suicidal route of joining Captain Swolarius in his training routine. They surely would come out of the experience stronger than before, but the exhaustion and muscle pain would make them unable to do any mental work for about a week. Astartes were meant to be the zenith of human endurance and strength, but just as Julianus had ancient languages as his interest, Captain Swolarius studied the trans-human physiology to truly bring it to its limits and possibly beyond. Such progress however came with a price, one that even beings engineered to withstand hardship and pain were not very keen on paying.
“Us? Su. Us. Uuuus?”
Clearly, without an expert they would not be getting anywhere with this. Nevertheless, Timidus tried the most simple form of communication: name introductions. He made sure he had their patient's full attention, before saluting with his full name and rank. A simple salute with the fist over his heart, yet clearly indicating that the name he just said referred to himself. There was a moment of silence, with their patient clearly observing him, before a single sound came as a reply in a similar tone that Timidus had used to introduce himself.
“Su'us!”
“I guess we have a name now...”, the Chief Apothecarius said with a sigh of relief. While he was certain this time that his intention had been understood, there was always the possibility of this having been just another random noise. He did prefer his patients to have an actual name – naming a human just “patient”, “specimen”, or a number just did not sit well with him, but then again it might just be his own sentimentality. For now this would suffice.
[[Specimen Identification: Su'us // Requesting further information for identification registry: Specimen Gender based on Ultramar naming convention = Male?]]
“I am not sure what confuses me more”, Timidus wondered, “Whatever they got between their legs or that our tech priest out of all people would care for such a detail.”
[[Clarification: biological aspects = irrelevant. Existence to be erased by the Blessed Machine. Abstract psychological and sociological aspects = relevant. Number of different concepts of gender in Noospheric Transmission Code to be expressed in a singular non-referential concept = 8 // Multiplied by Number of Socio-Functional Indicators = 16 // Multiplied by Number of Honorifics = 8 // Total number of different lingual units functioning as pronouns in Noospheric Transmission Code = 1024 ]]
What he did not mention was that about half of those genders were specifically created as a joke to to mess with the Imperium of Man trying to decipher their secret language. However over the course of the centuries it had become somewhat of a debate of how much of it had actually been a joke and what had been established in earnest. In a limited capacity that applied to the honorifics and social indicators as well, but so far no one on Mars had even bothered starting a reform on these. Their augmented minds had no issue of dealing with it, and if it confused the barbaric Earthlings all the better.
[[Modification of statement regarding augmentation]], Daimos-5 said suddenly, as if the thought had just occurred to him, [[Neural Implantation = insufficient data. Physical augmentation = lower complexity, less risk. Specimen highly elusive. Countermeasure: Implantation of tracking technology]]
“So that's what you have been planning all along – you are still mad that they made you look like a fool in front of the whole crew for hours.”
[[Standing in perception of non-augmented = irrelevant. Specimen's elusive nature requires countermeasures to allow further study. Tracking technology must remain out of reach of individual // therefore: external technology = unsuited. Conclusion = multiple insertions into living tissue.]]
The Chief Apothecarius was certain that Daimos-5 was just stubborn about his wounded ego, but the logic behind that argument was sound. Given their patient's specific nature, them getting loose on the ship was an inevitability. Instead of planning for a perfect containment that would eventually fail, taking preparations for a swift and efficient capture was indeed the more intelligent choice. The technology presented by the tech priest was a set of seven metal pieces of various sizes, but none of them larger than a finger, some even the size of a coin. Timidus identified most of it as technology used to locate specific Servitors in a busy manufactorum or a warzone. Considering the fact that their ship's last Servitor had ceased to function several decades ago it, and that Daimos-5 seemed to have a personal distaste for them and never tried to acquire new ones, it was no surprise that there was an overabundance in specific spare parts.
Under normal circ*mstances Timidus would oppose implanting a member of the crew technology with a radioactive power source – which there was no doubt about given the common Mechanicum designs – but in this case he would have to make an exception. If all went well it would never be an issue and in case of a leak... given how he had seen and tried to make sense of Su'us genetic code it was a legitimate question if some radiation could do any harm at this point, or if it would cause the opposite and lead to an improvement even. There was just one issue: to reach some of the areas those bits had to go into, they would have to loosen the restraints holding their patient in place.
The following operation went on a lot smoother than they had expected, with their patient showing little to no interest in escaping – even with loudly complaining every time an implant was embedded into their body. One in each earlobe, one in each leg, one in each arm, and finally one at the back of the neck. One could only assume that this rather harmless but nevertheless painful procedure took less effort to endure than to bother breaking out of those restraints. Also, the regenerative ability of the body was astounding. Definitely not on the level of an Astartes, but far above a regular human body's capabilities. Timidus made a mental note, one of a good dozen he had made so far in the last hour alone, to look further into it. If Su'us was a weird mix of genetic material found on the ship, that would make them an unprecedented hybrid of human and Astartes.
Assuming this was true he was not even sure how many levels of Heresy they'd be on right now. The laws of Terra were nonsensical sometimes, but in a few cases they were very clear. Entire planets had been purged and turned into barren wastelands of glass and dust for far less. One one hand the individual in front of him was – even if only by technicality – a member of the crew and he was bound by oath to care for them, on the other they could be the very reason this ship and all people on it could be shot into a nearby sun or a black hole. A potential strategic resource that could turn the tides of war against the treacherous legions, but also one that could have their own allies turn against them.
Unexpectedly their patient turned their head towards the door and immediately slipped out of the just minimally loosened restraints as if they were not even there, all in one fluid yet near unpredictable motion. Su'us might have been remarkably slippery and elusive to the point of it being a supernatural quality, but this time both the tech priest and the Chief Apothecarius were prepared. Countless limbs, mechanical and biological alike, had them pinned to the floor, while the last tracker was injected and the wound sealed. As to what had triggered this sudden burst of activity, Timidus could only make assumptions. The focus on the door could only mean that in the near future something would happen there. Was it already time for the inspection to reach this part of the ship?
A loud knock on the door that reverberated in the room like a sudden thunder made them lose their concentration, if only for half a second. Narcosis was stationed outside to warn them when their visitors came close, and he had fulfilled his duty as diligent as always. This one moment his signal distracted them however was enough for Su'us to slip out of their grasp – which was quite an achievement given between the medical gear, the techpriest's mechadendrites, and their own arms they had over half a dozen arms and hands at their disposal. None of those were fast enough however to prevent Su'us from climbing up a cabinet, ripping out a grate in a display of strength surprising for their meager body, and vanishing into the ventilation system - all that while knocking over the cabinet they just climbed, sending it crashing down into the arrangement of Daimos-5's machinery. The noise of malfunctions and small incense-smelling explosions filled the room, only to get complimented by the medical bay's fire alert and flame suppression system. In the middle of that cacophony there were an Astartes and a tech priest, loudly cussing. Timidus might not understand the complexities of binary speech, but he knew a series of wild cusses and curses when he heard one. It might be a rare occasion, but this time both he and the tech priest were in absolute agreement.
“By the Emperor what is happening in there?”, came an unfamiliar voice from the outside.
“A code 45-E drill.”, replied voice of their Chaptermaster.
“A code 45-E drill? At this time? During an inspection? At this deck? Localized entirely within your medical facilities?”
“Correct.”
“What an admirable diligence your Chapter shows, to even prepare for such an unlikely event. May we observe your process?”
“Preferably not as to not disturb the exercise.”
“Big Boss!”, exclaimed a new voice, definitely belonging to an Ogryn, “There's something in the vents! Me hears it!”
“No Narcosis, that's just part of the drill.”
Their visitors also said something, but it was impossible to perceive as they were moving away from the door. Exhausted, yet relieved the storm had passed, Timidus allowed himself to relax a little. The medical bay's ventilation system had been isolated, so Su'us was not going anywhere anytime soon, and knowing their specific quirks made a potential re-capture more than certain. Eventually they would have to figure out a use for this new member of the crew, but for now gathering enough medical data had priority – and even after that they had a whole vacation to figure out something. While he would not admit it openly, he too had been looking quite forward to it. It had been 370 years since he had last seen an ocean, and the one on Necrall IV was supposed to be quite a sight. Pondering the potential sights to behold once they arrived in orbit, the Chief Apothecarius came to a worrisome realization.
“Once we reach Necrall IV, how will we get down?”, he thought aloud, hoping their tech priest might have an answer, “We have neither functional Stormbirds, shuttles, drop pods, or even enough antigrav-gear for even half the crew. How will we get down there?”
[[Concerns: inexistent. Recreational expedition will resume as planned]]
“How are you that confident?”
While there was no visible change in the martian's face-mask and visual sensors, Timidus had the feeling that for a moment the tech priest stared at him as if he'd just asked the dumbest question a one could possibly formulate in any variant of Gothic.
[[Landing process difficulty = low // when planetary gravity = true ]]
Chapter 6: Sign: Cluster-Stars +04:07:24 // Negotiation //
Chapter Text
<Techpriest's Log, Sign Cluster-Stars +04:00:00 – Captured specimen behavior = highly irrational. Preferred habitat = ship ventilation systems. Thesis: cramped space reduces number of potential futures → lessening of neural load? Further observation required. Precautions have been taken to avoid intruding on sensitive systems through ventilation. Studies of trans-temporal asset = delayed. New priority: execute landing process to ensure success of recreational expedition.>
Carrying a considerable amount of scrolls, blueprints, and schematics in his mechadendrites, Daimos-5 made his way through the ship. The recent events had been a curious, albeit chaotic, distraction; but now that the specimen “Su'us” was properly tracked and monitored through their implants, it was time to return to his other duties. Among them a singular task held the highest priority: to allow the recreational expedition, also known as “vacation” to commence.
Generally with their lack of resources there was only one viable option: the ship itself had to perform a landing maneuver. Generally most spacecraft of this size or larger were not meant to even consider suborbital flight, much less a landing. However, the Tepidus Tempestus has several features that set it apart from imperial standards – sadly a planetary landing-system was not among them. There was, however, a module for suborbital flight as well as several others that when used correctly in combination could achieve such a goal. In theory there was no need for a dedicated system - all they had to do was to bring the ship close enough to the ground to just let gravitational forces do the rest. As long as their speed before that last step could be sufficiently reduced, this maneuver would even have sufficient chances of not killing them all in a brutal crash landing.
There were multiple ways to achieve this, but for all of them the multiple Machine Spirits of the ships sub-systems had to be coordinated and occasionally distracted. To made this possible, preparations had to be made at the very heart of the ship. Sadly, this sacred place of engine and machinery was also the realm of someone who had declared themselves his natural enemy. This animosity was entirely one-sided, but it had dragged on for several years now, and with this time his “adversary's” stubbornness had only gotten worse. Their paths had not crossed often even despite being on this ship for years now, but often their respective tasks involved fixing the problems the other created, which led to some animosity – especially since according to the tech priest his designs were flawless. The stubbornness of the crewmen in engineering to non-augmented themselves into a form less reliant on mundane things as an oxygen atmosphere or low radiation levels should be no reason to hinder the workings of the great machine that was this spacecraft. His designs were only partially implemented, leading to all sorts of issues that were thrown back and forth between engineering and the tech priest. Generally it is said there are few things more enduring than martian steel that has put its mind to something, but sadly the iron wall that was the Engine-Master's obstinacy was one of them. Generally for the recent years he had avoided direct confrontation, mostly relying on messengers, but today's task was too important, and more importantly too complex, for anything less than personal intervention.
He could hear the greatest obstacle to his plans long before he could see it.
“Venerable elder, we implore you”, the voice of an Astartes carried through the hallway, “At least consider leaving this task to...”
“DO NOT CALL ME ELDER YOU ARE TWICE MY AGE!”, came a female voice that betrayed an overabundance of years, “I don't care what that old hoot Auris says, there won't be a pipehead running around my sanctum while I'm not here to keep eye on him!”
“Please do not talk of our Chaptermaster like this”, replied a deeper voice than the first, also trying to reason, “He requested your personal report as he trusts your expertise and opinion.”
“He could have requested it any other time”, came the swift reply, not even trying to give the argument some thought, “Literally any other time, and now he calls on me when it is time for that tech priest to rummage through our systems? Do you know how long it took to get rid of the incense stink last time?”
Pretending to have not heard that, Daimos-5 decided to attempt a diplomatic approach: [[>polite speech> Greetings, Engine-Master Angela Kirrspatt]]
“GWA?!”
Madame Kirrspatt had been standing with her back to the door and was evidently surprised when the tech priest had made his presence known. In fact she had been so surprised, that she threw whatever she had in her hand at him. Daimos-5 made zero attempts to dodge the incoming wrench. As his calculations predicted, one of the Astartes assisting the Engine-Master caught it just before it could reach him. Both of the warriors were completely used to the eccentricities of the Engine-Master, as could be expected of those of the 3rd company. Originally tasked with the care and maintenance of armor and vehicles, the scope of the 3rd company's tasks had gradually increased to compensate for a lack of crewmen in engineering. This had led to a somewhat curious command structure that was not entirely compromised of Astartes – Angela Kirrspatt's position for example was unofficially somewhere close to that of a vice captain, even as a non-augmented human. Given how the 3rd's actual captain barely ever showed up unless it was either time to fight or to test a piece of weaponry, ever the grumpy hermit that he was, she might as well hold supreme command over the company in all things concerning engineering.
It might seem unusual for a regular human to issue commands to the mighty Astartes, but when one reached the age of Angela Kirrspatt, an age where one was sometimes older than some of the augmented warriors who joined their ranks, that barely mattered. In fact, barely anything mattered to her unless it was necessary to protect engineering and keep the machines running. Her absolute devotion to protecting the ship and with it the chapter were probably the only thing keeping her aging body together, and it was also a reason their leaders overlooked some of her more extraordinary eccentricities – including some that would have caused other people to be shot on the spot. There had been attempts to keep her somewhat grounded mostly by assigning her Astartes as personal assistants, but even with the experience of several years with that task, the warriors Leos and Karlus could do barely more than try to keep up with the old woman.
Both Astartes saluted politely to the tech priest, who returned the greeting with a specific sort of light bow while his mechadendrites adjusted behind his back to compliment the motion in a specific way. None on this ship would know the meaning of the gesture, ignorant of martian culture as they were, but such was the politeness that one had to show to a high ranking engineer. Just because one was a superior form of existence exalted through the Blessed Machine that with every passing year manifested more and more through his corporal form, that was no reason to not have standards. Contempt for the non-augmented was perhaps natural, but such behavior would rarely convince the foolish to let go of their prison that was their flesh. Those already blessed through wires and steel should go on as shining examples of a new world, even if the poor fools were unable to know what they were looking at.
“Oh, a real fancy-pants now, are we? Well, if you are already acting like you're entering a Magos' forge, at least play the part properly!”, the engine-master commanded while performing a seemingly weird sequence of motions with her arms. It took Daimos-5 a moment to realize that she was striking the sign of the two moons above Olympus Mons, the motions making up for her lack of mechadendrites. The meaning of the sign was complex, as social interaction on Mars could be, but this meeting had just turned into an absurdly serious affair. By using the sign Angela Kirrspatt had established her position as the master of this realm, while also reprimanding a supposed lack of respect on the other's part. On Mars such a sign was either the peak of arrogance and/or a clear symbol that someone was about to get executed soon. For am moment panic swelled up in Daimos-5's mind, before his neural augments isolated the feeling, purging it from his system. The fact that the Engine-Master was knowledgeable of the complex communication practices of Mars might have been outside his calculations, but that would not stop him from completing the task he was sent here to complete. However, it was also not his nature to let such an insult let go unanswered.
[[General Politeness = Basic Routine]], he said as all four of his mechadendrites unfurled to form the sign of the vast red desert, followed by the gesture of the passing moons. A callout to the other's arrogance followed by a challenge to their ego. The engine master said nothing and instead formed the sign of the westward crater, a symbol that in some circles was clear to start a formal duel to the death given what it implied about the other's academic future.
The Astartes in the room observed the situation somewhat confused, as both their elder and the techpriest seemed to be stuck in an unusual conversation of sign language involving way too many arms – or the old woman's rapid movements to emulate such a number of limbs. Leos, formerly of the Iron Hands, knew some martian signs, but this “conversation” went on too fast for him to follow properly. Both signs only used in the highest society and those only seen among the lowest workshop grunts were used in rapid succession, and while he was not sure what they exactly meant, it was definitely not polite.
Their “conversation” proceeded for a while, the rapid movements slowly but surely tiring them out. Martian signs were, despite their information density, not intended for a complex conversations. Nowadays they existed primarily to compliment noospheric transmissions, for the people conversing to add commentary that would not immediately show up in the data-streams. Knowledge of such signs was a symbol of a cultured and educated individual – which made it even more unusual that an outsider to the Cult Mechanicus would know of them in such depth. Daimos-5 made himself a mental note to examine the Engine-Master's past should the opportunity arise. The concept of a random old woman on a ship where the average crewman has not even done as much as even set foot on a planet in their lifetime being as cultured and educated as an Arch-Magos was concerning to say the least.
“Ugh, all right, FINE.”, Kirrspatt groaned, obviously tiring of this method of conversation, “But NO INCENSE this time!”
[[Request impossible. Machine Spirit evocation efficiency without proper material: <20%]]
The two Astartes looked at each other, but said nothing. From what they had seen the two had mostly insulted each other, but apparently underneath there had been difficult negotiations that had finally come to a close. Somehow the warriors felt reminded to their combat-signs they used when their Vox was down or disturbed, except those were more of the simpler sort of “wait”, “go there”, and “shoot this” - often in this exact order. Comparing those gestures to the ones they had just witnessed was like placing a caveman's grunt next to an entire book worth of information.
“You will make due without. That stench lasts for at least seven shifts and it it atrocious to work in.”
Daimos-5 wanted to remark that this was only an annoyance to them due to their primitive biological perception-systems, but going by his calculations saying that out loud would severely lessen the chance of this encounter ending in his favor. Instead, he simply bowed his head in compliance. Of course the rituals of the Mechanicum were not just about throwing incense around. After all they were not just some superstitious barbarians – for such cases specifically they had candles scented in what a Machine Spirit would aesthetically approve. Common scents were industrial exhaust, titan-engine oil, and the ever popular plasma leak. Given the scope of the current operation he was not sure if they had enough of those in storage.
“You may begin your preparations, but do not start anything without me.”, she continuted, “I'll join you once I have given that old blockhead Auris some piece of mind. Put your schematics on my station, we will go over those in depth later – and if I find a single bowl of incense... let's just say, you would not be the first pipehead I've strapped to the engine with his mechanical limbs while running a stress test.”
Without another word she rushed off, the two Astartes trying to keep up with the old woman leaving as well. Daimos-5 was considering the validity of the threat. While it has been true that there have been numerous tech priests before him that quit under unclear circ*mstances, he had never bothered to investigate any of them in depth. They were mostly fools, incompetent buffoons who thought that if they could fix a lasgun they could understand the glorious machine that was this spacecraft. As he made his way to the Engine Master's workstation he calculated the probabilities of multiple possibilities. Assuming that Angela Kirrspatt's devotion to the ship has in the past been the same as it was now, and assuming at least one of his predecessors was even more of an absolute imbecile that he could have ever imagined, it would not be unexpected to have the engine crew directly rebel against their tech priest to protect the ship. This might have happened multiple times, given by her absolute dislike for what he as a tech priest represented. Given how much of a disgrace his incompetent colleagues could be, he was not sure if he could blame her for it. If this was true, then her position must be directly supported from the highest level. Only someone of the Chaptermaster's authority could save her from an instantaneous execution after leading such a rebellion – and even then only if there was definite proof that it had been necessary to protect the ship and chapter.
As much as working with her would be an annoyance, at least he could be certain that they shared a common goal: the preservation of the glorious machine they lived in. If only she was not so primitive in her approach. The idiosyncrasies of the biological form only posed an hindrance, for only a mechanical life form could truly understand a mechanical system. Having to forgo the holy incense for the coming rituals was only one of many issues this created.
He placed the schematics on what he only could assume was her workbench buried somewhere underneath blueprints, calculations, and spare parts. It was uncertain how long her conversation with the Chaptermaster would take, but there was plenty that required preparation. Communing with a single machine spirit was already a complex endeavor, and this ship harbored a whole bunch of them. Various subsystems fighting over energy while some had to get roused from their slumber and others had to be calmed as they might risk tearing the ship in two. The procedure he had in mind was already putting the ship at considerable risk, there was no reason to have any additional factors interfere.
To put it in simple terms: the problem was stopping the ship in time before it crashed onto the planet's surface. Traditionally this was achieved by having surface facing engines break the ship's descent. The Tepidus Tempestus did not posses such technology, and it was sadly too large to consider the other traditional alternative such as using cloth and air resistance to break the fall. There was, however, a certain peculiarity regarding the ship's velocity when entering or exiting the Immaterium. Assuming one could shift the ship into the Warp and then immediately reverse the process, given the right conditions, one could set the ship's velocity to zero. The closer to the surface they could pull it off, the lower the damage from the impact would be. The last portion of the trip would have to be left up to gravity, but that was a gamble he was willing to take. The main issue was the activation of the warpdrive while under the influence of planetary gravity.
There was a lot to do, and only hours until they reached the target system. He better made haste, or else he would have to explain several hundred people on why they could not take their first vacation in decades despite the planet being right underneath them.
Chapter 7: Sign: Cluster-Stars +05:11:24 // Approach //
Chapter Text
<Chaptermaster's Log, Sign Cluster-Stars +05:03:56 - Engine Master Kirrspatt has voiced her discontent. Yet again. If only there was a way to get her and our tech priest to cooperate properly. Aside from this, all is in order and the crew is preparing as we approach Necrall IV. I do not know how I feel about our recent “guest” now apparently living in our ventilation system, but as long as neither the ship or crew is in danger, the matter shall be overlooked for the time being. However, I do feel guilty for keeping the matter from our battle brothers from Ultramar. Let's hope that our future findings will make up for this almost treasonous act.>
“Chaptermaster, the first reports are in!”, a voice called from the room's Vox system that Auris identified as that of communication officer Liberta's, “Do you wish to send them to you?”
“Negative, I will join you on the bridge. I want to have a look at this world with my own eyes.”
While that statement was definitely true he was curious to see how the woman was in any shape to work again since her absurd performance during the mission at the Cluster-Stars. Such short recovery times might be expected from an Astartes, but from a regular mortal? He had seen her medical file, as well as those of all the others who were unable to work since the end of the mission. The stimulant co*cktail the Navigators and Astropaths had consumed was already enough to bring an augmented human's system to its limits, and even they only managed thanks to their unique disposition – which was in equal parts them being mutants and also substance-abusing freaks with a built-up immunity. Having a regular human survive that was already a small miracle in of itself, not even talking about having them back up and working after only a few days of rest. This level of resilience that came as close to an Astartes as a mortal could get, might make her a prime candidate for the combat support company – if it was not for the fact that there was no one to replace her lingual expertise as a communications officer.
Pondering this and other issues of crew-workflow-optimisation, Auris made his way to the bridge. Unlike his recent trip to the medical facilities, this route barely took ten minutes - it was a small ship after all. He couldn't imagine how they handled that on the truly gigantic warships, where sometimes over a hundred thousand souls served at once. Having the Strategium or other important locations be half a terran day's march removed from the bridge... even the sound of that was just absurd. The entire command structure was one Vox-distortion way from absolute chaos, not to mention the inefficiencies that came with such a design.
Somehow he had the feeling that the few ships they had of such tremendous sizes were never intended for warfare. It would explain a lot of the idiosyncrasies these gigantic vessels suffered from. Designs and plans formulated in in the distant past, hopefully looking towards the future in colony ships and centerpieces of deep space settlements, now crudely commandeered for war and war alone. The potential of these technological wonders had been squandered, only to add more firepower and troop capacities. One could only wonder what made them so different from the greenskins and their makeshift weaponry, when at the very core they were doing the same things.
Before he could sink deeper into thoughts that would only make him more depressed, he reached the bridge, only to find it utterly overcrowded. Apparently every single mid-to-high ranking person on this ship had found an excuse to come here as they approached the planet, trying to catch a glimpse. While he had an understanding for such behavior from the human crew, he made could only shake his head about the numerous Astartes in the room. They were supposed to be above such childish impulses, and yet here they were. Officially he was certain that they all had a very good reason or excuse to be here - none of them would be as blatantly defy the order on the ship like that. Unofficially however, there would have to be consequences. But before he could identify all the Astartes in the room not belonging here to volunteer them all for extra training sessions under company captain Swolarius and additional combat exercises under company captain Rerren, someone else demanded his attention.
“Ah, Chaptermaster, finally. We dropped out of Warp without issues, and are now on a slow approach through the system.”, reported an elderly man in what one could only assume was a washed out outdated uniform of the Astra Militarum, “Do you have new orders for us or should we proceed as we are now?”
“We shall proceed as planned, Castellan”, Auris replied, relieved that for once there had been no complications. To go doubly sure, he had ordered to drop out of warp at the edge of the system as it was normal, even with their ship having the unique technology to enter and exit the Immaterium significantly closer to a stellar body's gravity than was normal. But just because it was possible did not mean it was a perfectly safe affair. Mid-System jumps were a turbulent affair even on the best of days, and now was definitely not the time to take risks. There was just one thing that concerned him when looking at this situation.
“Just tell me, how can we have proper sensor reports already when we have barely entered the planet's visual range yet?”
“Oh, that's the most curious bit”, Castellan Dunst said with a hearty chuckle that immediately turned into a coughing fit. Being exposed to faulty artillery that shot barrage upon barrage could do that to someone's lungs – that, and several deployments on volcanic worlds during his youth. One of these would even have been his grave as his platoon was left for dead in the midst of battle. If it had not been for the Astartes coming across his signal by pure accident weeks after the war front had moved by several systems, he'd be another tiny name engraved on a symbolic mass grave. Several weeks on a volcanic deathworld, exposed to fire, ash, and smoke had decimated most of what was left of his unit, and the few they had extracted with him died shortly after. To say that the incident has left him a changed man was a major understatement. The old man rummaged through his coat to produce a pipe, and moments later the smell of burnt medical herbs filled the air around him.
“Apologies, Chaptermaster”, he said between puffs, “I had been holding back since we are so... overcrowded right now, but sadly these lungs only work with the proper air inside them. I mean no disrespect.”
Of course he did not. Out of the regular crew maybe only the Engine Master herself was more devoted to the ship and the chapter than Castellan Dunst, the highest ranking regular human on board.
“Your consideration for the crew is remarkable, but it should not come at the cost of your health. Now what were you trying to say?”
“Ah yes, you know how for when we deploy the long range Sensorium at full power, we require an extra cogitator? But having them on the bridge all the time is a waste of resources, so we just give the honorable tech priest a call to send us one of his kids should the need arise. Well, and here you can see how that went.”
Auris looked around the room to find not one, or two, or even three, but at least seven cogitators integrated into an chaotic web of cables and neural connections. The workstation was not made for such a number, but from the looks of it they had made their own adjustments, making it appear like some of them had straight-up merged with the console.
“Turns out they were all busy on the same task, something about data-stream-purity or whatever – apparently they had screwed up and that was their punishment. From what I gathered it was about as worthwhile as having to scrub the platoon's latrine clean with a toothbrush. I sure remember that from my time as a recruit. No surprise they all came the moment we sent the request.”
There was not much the Chaptermaster knew about neuro-mechanical interfaces, but usually when there were that many in a network, Daimos-5 was usually in the middle of it, managing and orchestrating the whole affair. The tech priest however was nowhere to be seen, obviously busy in the engine room preparing for their descent. None of the cogitators looked like they were fulfilling that role right now, at least as far as he as an outsider to the Mechanicum's processes could tell. The mystery was solved when the workstation itself raised an arm to salute to him. Of course it was not the actual workstation, but rather the chassis of a dreadnought that had a lot of the heavy armor plating and weapons removed, and was sitting next to the real thing. Countless cables went out and into his system, obviously giving him the role the tech priest usually took on.
“GREETINGS CHAPTERMASTER!”, the honorable Maximus' voice boomed through the room, “WE WILL HAVE NEW REPORTS SOON!”
“I did not know you were educated in the ways of the Mechanicum – you were not even a tech-marine back then.”, Auris pondered while approaching the sitting giant, “How are you able to do this?”
“THE CLEVER METALLIC YOUNGLINGS TAUGHT ME!”, Maximus replied with what one could consider a bit of pride for the Cogitators in his voice. It was hard to tell given it was a Vox transmission from inside his chassis.
“When did you even find the time to learn that during your activation times? “
Indeed a legitimate question, as a dreadnought was generally only activated during missions and maybe a short time beyond that. They were not meant to operate an indefinite amount of time, both the metallic body and the sarcophagus containing the mortal remains requiring constant maintenance. During that time a the man inside the machine was entirely unconscious, even unable to awaken by himself until he was activated again from the outside.
“I DID NOT. THE YOUNG ONES AWAKENED ME BY ACCIDENT ONCE. WE HAVE BEEN IN CONTACT EVER SINCE. THEY VISIT AND BRING NEWS FOR WHEN I CANNOT MOVE. ”
“They awakened you during maintenance to... converse? Is that even allowed?”
“PLEASE KEEP IT A SECRET FROM TIMIDUS AND OUR TECH PRIEST.”, the honorable Maximus pleaded, “I DISLIKE THE DARKNESS I AM LOST IN DURING MY SLUMBER”
A secret now everyone in the room knew. For a moment Auris felt about 140 years younger, for this was exactly how the big oaf did act back then. Except, he was not stuck in a war machine at that time. Time had not been kind to them in general, but to some of them it had been downright malicious. He could feel the eyes of the room resting on him, as they did not know what to do with this information. As the highest authority on board, it was his task to judge this breach of the rules, made worse by the fact that he was asked to help with it.
“I appreciate your honesty, but I cannot promise that. This matter shall be discussed in the Chapter's Council.”, Auris stated, very much aware that at his position he could not overlook this, no matter his personal connection to the warrior, “But I shall advocate for your range of missions to be expanded to include work with our tech priest if you prove your worth today. Your new abilities might come in handy in the future.”
“YOU HAVE MY THANKS. I TH- OY GATUS! STOP DISTRACTING THE OTHERS AND FOCUS ON YOUR CALCULATIONS! WE ARE IN PRESENCE OF THE CHAPTERMASTER!”
The Cogitators blinked in confusion as they returned their attention from their noospheric transmission to the reality they could see with their own eyes. He could almost feel the volume of nervous transmissions increasing, so he made his way back to Castellan Dunst as to not disturb them unnecessarily. At least he tried to, until someone waved at him.
To say Communications Officer Liberta was looking like a pile of grox-manure personified was probably an understatement. She might be up and running, but clearly she should not be. As he would later hear several people close to her were of the exact same opinion, but neither of them had been able to stop her from returning to her duties. They just hoped she would collapse all on her own, and that Chief Apothecarius Timidus would prescribe mandatory bed rest - but so far the man had been too busy dealing with their newly found crewman as to notice such reckless behavior in the crew. Right now she looked anywhere between twenty and two-hundred years of age, with a mood as foul as if it had been rotting for twice that long.
“This must truly be the LAMEST region of space we have EVER been”, she grumbled, while shoving a stack of papers aside. Compared to the cogitators this was quite a contrast – although one could not be sure if it was the exhaustion or her own personality that made her just not care if she was talking to was a lower crewman or the highest possible authority on the ship. However, given how she was like that to everyone, technically this would not be considered insubordination, as that would imply a specific intentional behavior.
“What do you mean by that, Officer?”, Auris asked, trying to counter her foul mood with utmost politeness.
“I've been digging through the archives, past communications, log entries, all of that. Whatever I could find for the system.”, she explains while pointing at a stack of parchments and some data slates on her workstation, “Turns out if Ultramar is good at one thing, it's bookkeeping – and Emperor be damned if they did not write down every little bit of minutia that happened here in the last centuries. Which is surprisingly much given how absolutely nothing of it was of any value.”
That did not come as a surprise. The Necrall System was just like the Cluster Stars a region of space utterly devoid of any relevance to the Imperium or even Ultramar at large. While the latter actually had a simple yet thriving economy when it was not ravaged by cosmic disasters, Necrall IV was just... there. Some rock planets too close to their star to consider resource extraction, one worthless gas giant, and a planet that for its peculiarities was just not worth colonizing. Not a single trade route or supply line went through the sector mostly because it would be a waste of time and fuel.
“So you have found nothing?”, he inquired further.
“Nothing would at least be interesting!”, she grumbled, “There is never nothing, if there is then someone is trying hard to hide something. You know what I found? A bloody speeding ticket and a fine for interstellar littering from about 300 years ago to a random rogue trader – among about a million routine transmissions before Ultramar shut down their guard station in this system.”
“I do not remember giving the order for such an extensive research.”, Auris stated while giving the accumulated data another glance, “While impressive, I wonder: What exactly were you looking for?”
“I don't know, maybe some signs that Necrall IV – our vacation destination - was actually a Necron Tomb World colonized by heretic demon-freaks currently engaging a rebellion of bug-worshippers and some greenskins at the same time? Better safe than sorry and all that...”
“While your dedication to support the mission is admirable, you do have to admit that the scenario you have listed sounds remarkably implausible. Surely, there's no planet in this or any other sector that would be this fu- doomed”
While another word describing a planet's status in such a scenario had been on the tip of his tongue, the Chaptermaster instead chose a word more befitting his station, even if that meant being slightly less accurate in his communications. Such were the burdens of having to set an example as a leader.
“Well there are, but they sure don't last long, that's for certain. And if they did, I'm still not going to visit my homeworld ever again.”, Liberta explained as her expressions sours even more than usual for a moment ,“But anyways, the planet is clean. The bit of sensor data we got by now pretty much confirms it.”
“That's a relief to know, Officer. However, once you finish this, you are to report to medical without delay.”
“If this is about me looking like sh*t I can assure you it won't-”, she tried to argue but Auris just cut her off.
“Aside from the obvious medical concerns, your presence was actually requested by the Chief Apothecarius himself. Apparently your skills are required. Report to him to receive further orders. Understood?”
Before she could answer, the mechanical voice of the honorable Maxmimus blasted through the room: “CHAPTERMASTER, WE HAVE OBTAINED VISUAL DATA! BEHOLD: OUR DESTINATION!”
Chapter 8: Sign: Cluster-Stars +05:14:30 // Preparations to Insanity //
Chapter Text
<Chief Apothecarius Log, Sign: Cluster-Stars +05:13:07 – We are running out of Mjold. Turns out it is the only effective cure for this sudden illness that's been striking down our warriors left and right. But calling it an illness might be inaccurate, even if it sure spreads like one. I'll get Narcosis to deal with this, for now I have to capture our new crew member living the vents. Daimos-5 needs them for some reason, although I can't figure out why. I do have some suspicions given his additional requests, but I hope they are not true. Daimos-5 might be a bit eccentric in his approach, but even he would not consider such an insanity...>
A plague was sweeping through the ship, and Chief Apothecarius Timidus had finally found the source of it. It was a strange phenomenon, mostly because the regular mortal crew was barely affected, but it hit the Astartes especially hard. At first he was worried that it might be a flaw in the geneseed, but as even those who were not originally from the Ultramar Chapters showed symptoms, he had to dismiss that theory. Generally flaws in the additional genetic information matrix that separated them from regular humans were limited to one specific version of it – if there was a flaw appearing at a level so elementary that it affected all Astartes equally no matter their origin, they would all be dead by now, or wishing they were dead.
It was only moments after they entered the Necrall system and set course for their destination that the first wave of patients rushed in, all with the same symptoms: a deep melancholia, paired with absent-mindedness and a serious lethargy that kept them from fulfilling their duties on the ship. Luckily such symptoms could be alleviated by a sudden shower of ice cold water combined with some Mjold, but the fact that it affected the Astartes exclusively was concerning. The source of all this was not a virus or a bacterium, but rather an information spreading among the warriors that triggered something deep inside their biologically augmented neurology. The information itself was entirely harmless even, proven by the fact that the regular crew showed few if almost none of the symptoms. The problem lied in how their augmented brain reacted to it – a thesis Timidus could most certainly confirm by exposing himself to said information: an image of the planet they were currently approaching.
A single blue and green orb seemingly accompanied by a single moon. Obviously it was common knowledge that Necrall IV had two moons and the other was just behind the planet by the time this image had been recorded, but even knowing this it did not change the fact that a small yet significant part of his augmented neurology connected this image to ancient Terra. He knew that in the distant mythical past the planet once had been described as “blue” – but most of the oceans had been lost even before the Emperor unified mankind and led them to the stars once more. No one knew what happened to the water. Some say it evaporated during some sort of war, but that argument barely held weight given how water that evaporated had to come back down eventually. Perhaps it was stolen? There were reports of the Dark Eldar stealing entire suns to fuel their hidden empire of depravity, so it might be within their capabilities. Of course it could also have been a random warp-rift swallowing it all. While this would be very unlikely given a rift of this size would have devoured the planet as well, the mere idea that somewhere in the immaterial realm there was an entire planet's worth of water just floating and waiting for an unsuspecting ship to just blindly fly into it was not a fun one to entertain. There were other theories as well, such as early humanity simply taking some of their water with them during their first leaps into the great expanse of the Void.
Whatever the reason may be, the fact remained that for countless generations and millennia, images of “the green and blue planet” were found only in the oldest of archives, and even then in deteriorating quality. And yet, he was not connecting this to an image or a description, but to a memory. A vision tainted by nostalgia and loss, a deep personal connection that Timidus was sure it was not in any way related to him at all. It was a stranger's memory taking over the minds of the Astartes on the ship.
As to who that memory belonged to, there were not many possibilities. His first suspicion would have been Su'us, their new crew member dwelling in their vents, but even with his genetics being more of a mess than the average traffic above Calth, there had been no evidence of supernatural potential aside from the obvious temporal anomaly. In fact, against something like that the Astartes were resistant by design, so with the regular crew being entirely unfazed by this information, this possibility could be discarded. A hostile encounter was also highly unlikely this deep within the realm of Ultramar, especially in a system populated as sparsely as this one. So if the source was not external, logic dictated that it had to be internal. It had to be something deep inside their gene-seed, on a level even more elemental than the individual variation of a singular primarch. However, there was only one singular being that could come in question as the origin of that phenomenon, and that one had been sitting lightyears away on a golden throne for over 10 millennia now.
The box Timidus had been pushing through the corridors while he was lost in thought began to rattle, shifting his focus from the Holy Emperor of Mankind on Terra back to the world around him. Just as he had done the previous times this had happened, he threw another ration bar through a small opening at the top, which caused the rattling to subside within moments. Given the amount of high-density rations he had thrown into the box since he had captured its current inhabitant, one could assume that there was an entire battalion in there that had not eaten in weeks. However, it was just Su'us. The implanted markers had made locating them remarkably easy, and by knowing their specific perks one could execute a capture within a few minutes. Compared to their very first encounter, it was laughably easy: involving a blow of fresh mystery-stew, a small ventilation unit pointed towards the vents, and a box on a rope hanging over the scene. In the end all it took was for them to rapidly turn the box upside down and then close it before their “prey” could escape.
However, one had to be fair enough to admit that it was not just any old box. It was an old transport unit for ballistic payloads, specifically designed to be sturdy and to make sure whatever was inside was entirely unaffected by whatever happened outside of it. After all, what good was an explosive if it went off before it reached the front lines? This specific unit had been riddled with holes from past battles on one side, and while that had made it unsafe to use in battle, the fact that it was still remarkably sturdy despite the obvious damages made sure it found future use in Medical for the transport of fragile goods. In fact, the copious amount of bullet holes now made sure its current contents did not suffocate – even if Timidus was not entirely sure if Su'us was even capable of suffocating over the duration of the transport.
From what he could gather from the data he had the chance of working with so far, the being in the box was a weird mix of regular mortal and Astartes, seemingly normal on the fist glance, but the internal mechanisms of his organs and metabolism were a lot closer to that of an augmented human. There were some things that were commonly known, such as the regenerative coma they could fall into, or the additional parts on heart and lungs – but that's far from where the differences ended. Every living thing would consume external sources and convert them into specific chemicals through biological synthesis, as a way to store energy in the body. Either this energy would be used immediately, or it would be stored in another form, such as fat. The substances an Astartes' body synthesized during this process however differed fundamentally from those of a regular mortal, especially in their energetic density. Such were the necessities to keep such a massive system running far above the capabilities of a regular mortal body.
But just what would happen if a regular human would create such a substance in their body? Assuming they could use it, they would display unexpected feats of strength and speed – but the rest of their biology would barely be able to keep up with it. An Astartes was more than just a regular man with an extra dose of genetics tacked on. Over several years their bodies had been gradually altered and molded to operate the way they did now. Almost a decade of alterations, surgery, and constant training to shape them, and even then the mortality rates were concerning. As far as Timidus could tell, Su'us had not been subjected to any of these procedures. Their metabolism was burning like the furnaces of a forge world, but without a way to preserve the energy. From what the Apothecarius had gathered, their new crew member had essentially two modes: one resembling the Astartes' regenerative coma where all energy-expenses were reduced to a minimum, and an active state in which one could only assume that it was driven by an truly unimaginable hunger.
As he dropped his last ration bar into the box, Timidus wondered what would happen should Su'us eventually run out of energy. Should their theory about the trans-temporal displacement of their consciousness be correct, they would always follow the possibilities that would ensure their survival – simply because of the fact that in any other timeline, their consciousness no longer existed to call the shots. Even the smallest probabilities would turn into certainties – such as, for example, the potential development of explosive psykic abilities. Given how they had entered the ship from the Immaterium, this was certainly within the range of possibilities, even if Su'us had not shown any abilities of that sort so far. The Apothecarius made a mental note to make sure to keep their new vent-dweller as properly fed as possible as he shoved the box into Engineering.
What he noticed instantly was how crowded this section of the ship was. Given how in theory a spacecraft was little more than a habitable box strapped to an engine it was no surprise that said engine would require the absolute majority of manpower and resources, but he could not remember when he had last seen this section of the ship this busy. As this was the place where the most injuries and accidents happened, he as Apothecarius was quite familiar with it. Several people he passed were only alive today due to his interventions, and others he recognized from past visits. There were other familiar faces as well, but none of which he would have expected in this part of the ship. If there was one area that was almost as prone to dangerous accidents as Engineering, it was the Munitorum and the weapon's decks in general. Over half of the total regular crew was running around this section now, and if it was not for the human need for rest and recovery, there would probably be many more.
The crowd made way to let him pass, some trying to do a proper salute before returning to their duties. Most of them were busy with the machinery, exchanging parts or running tests on isolates segments, but there were also some that were definitely engaged in activities not typically found in Engineering. Especially the crew from the weapons deck was busy handing out gear, sharpening knives and... turning scrap metal into spears while carving symbols into them? All this happened in an effective and organized fashion, leaving no doubt that they were all following orders. Just what was their tech priest planning?
He proceeded deeper into the section towards the core. As he progressed the people around him changed – regular mortals were becoming less and less of a common sight, as he was mostly surrounded by the tech-marines of the 3rd company. Seeing them in Engineering was barely a surprise, as this part of the ship was clearly their domain, but seeing them in full power-armor while preparing weapons was definitely unusual. One misfired Bolter next to the warp-engine might send half the ship into next week, and the other half into last week, all simultaneously. Should that event occur, one could only pray to the Golden Throne that it would kill them all instantly, for it would be a mercy as what the alternatives would be. The Astrates seemed to be aware of this scenario as well, as they only had melee weaponry on them. Chain Swords occasionally sprang to live with a bloodthirsty howl as mechanisms were tested, and Power Hammers hummed, charged with enough energy to tear a warrior's torso right off his legs in a single swing. Everywhere around him warriors were gearing up as if they expected to be boarded by an enemy powerful enough to take on an entire Chapter; and right in between them there was Timidus moving around a box of truly dubious – but currently well-fed - contents around. Again he wondered just what Daimos-5 was thinking, why he had called for all these warriors, and most importantly: why no one had informed him of whatever was going on here?
As he progressed Timidus soon entered an area that was entirely devoid of regular mortals. Even more warriors preparing for a fight passed by. By their insignia he could make out the melee combat specialists of the 4th, the weapons experts of the 6th, and even the elusive markings of the 5th company. By the looks of it Daimos-5 had involved half the Chapter in that plan of his, and he even requested those who usually dealt with matters not native to this reality. Without his power-armor and especially without his weapon the Apothecarius suddenly felt exposed, a feeling not that unlikely to that of a man improperly dressed for the weather looking up to storm clouds closing in. He still had the medical equipment on his back, but what use could some mechanical arms and scalpels even be in the face of what apparently was waiting for them in the very near future?
He found the tech priest at the very heart of engineering, the primary interface station for the warp engines and their generators. This large circular hall was probably the most important room on the entire vessel. If the Strategium and the bridge could be described with the biological metaphor of a brain, this right here would be the heart. If this section was to be breached or destroyed, the ship would be “dead in the water” as the old saying went - aimlessly drifting through the Void as nearly every single system regarding life support would be eventually running out of juice. Timidus was not sure if he should be relieved that so many warriors were part of this operation, or if he should worry even more given that Daimos-5 expected this room to be breached by hostile forces. Several units of various companies were stationed at the entrances making adjustments to their armor and weaponry. Of those one company caught his eye: the warrior's of the 5th standing together in small groups at the walls, equal distances apart from each other. Adepts at the arts of manipulating otherworldly forces arranged in a circle in equal distance to each other... within moments his augmented mind put together the pieces, especially when comparing this to their past experiences with heretical forces. This just reeked of heretical sorcery and reviled rituals. The Chief Apothecarius did not like this one bit.
“DAIMOS! EXPLAIN YOURSELF! What is going on here, and why was I not informed?”
The tech priest had been engaging in a conversation with the Engine-Master that involved some complicated sort of sign-language. He turned his body towards the voice's origin, but his mechadendrites still gestured towards the old woman as his mechanical voice reactivated itself to give an answer.
[[*krzzt* Preparations for landing process on Necrall IV: nearing completion. Information regarding process = not required for function of Element:Timidus. Datastreams of implanted technology received. Conclusion: trans-temporal asset reached primary site of operations. Final preparations can begin]]
He tried to move towards the transport box containing Su'us, but the Chief Apothecarius moved between them.
“I will not hand them over until you explain yourself.”, he exclaimed, his voice hinting , “You've involved four companies, the crew outside is preparing for combat, and you even involved the Scriptorum. The fact that I, as member of the Concilium Caelum, was not informed, makes this operation highly suspicious. Again: Explain yourself, or I will personally throw you into the brig on accounts of treachery!”
The atmosphere in the room changed when he invoked the name of their Chapter's highest commanding authority. The Concilium Caelum had been established by the Chapermaster after the Years of Names Lost, and it's authority was in theory second to that of Auris himself. Practically even the Chaptermaster would do well to abide the council's will, as to not risk a rift within the Chapter, so by all means and purposes it was the highest authority on the ship. All company Captains were part of it, and so was the Chief Apothecarius. However, the institution was not exclusive to Astartes. Several regular humans working in essential sectors were also part of it, and that included both the Engine-Master and the tech priest. Formally there was no clear hierarchy on the council, but a rift between Astartes and mortal members in the institution had the potential to be devastating.
“Ha, told you he'd be mad!”, Angela Kirrspatt cackled with the obvious delight of a person proven right, “Rest assured doctor, there is no treason here. He did not inform you because...?”
She made a gesture towards Daimos-5, who took the hint to complete the sentence.
[[… several key attributes of Element:Timidus would hinder or delay the operation when informed. Attributes in question are: ancient terran morality, a dated version of ethics requiring augmentation, a -]]
“... because he's an arrogant rust bucket who thinks you are too much of a softie to go along with his plan.”, she exclaimed, cutting off the tech priest before he could make his situation even worse, “Especially when it comes to this... thing, you got here.”
She gestured towards the transport box.
“Doctor”, she proceeded while still using the rank he had held when they had first met almost a century ago, “I trust you and your work. In fact, many of my boys and girls are still living and breathing with most of their limbs functional thanks to you. But I do not trust whatever that thing is that breached our Gellar Field, no matter how human it appears. However, tin-skull here insists on using it for this truly ridiculous plan of his - and since I couldn't come up with anything else, it's what we'll do.”
“And that plan is...?”, Timidus inquired, “I can't think of many ways Su'us could be useful – we've not even managed to communicate yet.”
Indeed, there had been no progress whatsoever. Before there had been a short visit by Communications Officer Liberta, but even their linguistic genius had no luck with whatever they were dealing with here. About five minutes into their attempted conversation, she had started bleeding from the nose and ears, and lost consciousness. While there could be a link between this and Su'us, the Chief Apothecarius' diagnosis was insufficient rest and overwork, as well as a concerning traces of stimulants in her system, of which some of them suggested chemicals that were forbidden to even bring on the ship outside the context of a delivery to the Apothecarium. He would have to check his supplies, but nevertheless he would have to hold a serious talk with the young woman eventually - and probably with their Navigators as well, but that was an entirely different can of worms.
[[Communication with subject = unnecessary]], Daimos-5 explained, [[Observation and protection of asset sufficient for operations]]
“I still do not get how this barely sentient anomaly can help with landing a ship. Unless you plan to...”, Timidus' voice trailed off as the realization hit him. There were still some uncertainty, but there was only one possibility in how Su'us could be useful to the ship, aside from possibly being the centerpiece of a distraction maneuver, “You plan use them as mining canary.”
[[Statement = Correct]]
“A what?”, Engine-Master Kirrspatt asked, apparently not familiar with the term. Timidus could not blame her for it. Most of the crew had not even seen a bird in their lives, much less were they familiar with how humans had used them in the past. Especially those born to the ship in the past decades had not set a single foot on a planet yet.
“A warning animal.”, he explained, recalling information from his lessons as a neophyte, “In ancient times humans took it down to the mines with them. When the air would become poisonous, it would suffer and die before the miners would even notice the effects on themselves, giving them a chance to escape. Using a member of crew for such morbid purpose does violate the statutes of the Chapter.”
N
[[Assuming current theory being correct: Heightened activity in subject = potential demise imminent. Low activity = operation succesful in near future. Potential harm to asset = Null. Increased security in section = sufficient. Furthermore asset is accompanied by highest medical authority available.]]
“So you just fiddle with the engines and the only thing that prevents it from blowing up and killing us all is Su'us trying to break out telling us when you are making mistakes? That is... absolutely insane. No amount of security, no matter how many companies, could do something against that. Did you just order them here to make a mockery of the rules our Chaptermaster has set?”
[[Inaccurate. Astartes presence not connected to sacred rites on blessed machinery. For this operation, the vessel will spend approximately five-point-six-eight-three seconds outside of material dimensions. Incoming hostiles = expected.]]
“Hostiles? What sort of hostilities are you expecting to happen within six seconds?”, he wondered, “The horrors beyond might be a danger, but we'd be gone before they even noticed us. Not to mention our Gellar Fields...”
[[Five-point-six-eight-three seconds in material dimensions does not equal to time elapsing on vessel during dimensional shift. Effect of close planetary gravity = disturbance of common protective measures. Gellar Field strength = unreliable. Brief yet intense hostile contact with unpredictable entities will happen with a chance of ninety-eight-point-eight percent]]
“Let me get this straight.”, Timidus said while still contemplating if this was a viable plan or utter madness, “You concocted a strategy that relies on an entirely hypothetical property of a trans-temporal anomaly to not blow us into pieces, and an elementary inevitability of said strategy is the ship getting invaded by horrors of the beyond? Does the rest of the Concilum Caelum approve of this plan? Why has there not been a call to discuss this?”
“Well, we can discuss this for weeks, but then what becomes of our vacation?”, the Engine-Master replied, “It's the first one I've had in fifty years, and I will not waste it sitting around when our reward is this close. Not all of us live forever and can afford wasting their time like that.”
Hearing this statement from the probably oldest living member of the crew sure was something Timidus had not expected. Unable to come up with a proper reply he remained silent.
“We did not consult all of them”, she proceeded, “The Captains of the 3rd to the 6th have agreed, with Rerren of the 4th being... remarkably enthusiastic about it. Captain Swolarius of the 2nd has voiced objections. The Captain of the 1st remained neutral, as always. Auris obviously knows of the plan, so if there was a debate and a vote, we would still pull through with it. We accelerated the process. Sometimes there's no time to start an engine properly - then you just have to give it a good kick.”
Hearing this the Chief Apothecarius knew that the plan, which by his opinion was absolute insanity, was now inevitable. The seat of the 10th Captain had been empty for quite some time, and even if all the others refused, which not guaranteed, the ones objecting would be in the minority. Especially since all the regular mortals on the council would most certainly vote in favor for the plan. Certainly, the statutes regarding the Concilium Caelum would ensure the debate would be led vigorously for what could be days, but in the end it would not change the result. What he actually hated the most about all of this however was that they were right. He most certainly would have objected, have called for a gathering, and delayed the plan to the point where half the ship would potentially go crazy with their exceptional reward being so close and yet delayed. Begrudgingly the Chief Apothecarius had to admit that he would not have informed himself either in that situation. Defeated he went out of the way to allow Daimos-5 access to their most recent member of crew.
“So, assuming your plan fails and all goes to hell...”, he pondered, “What are our options?”
[[Compiling list of options in case of failure. Number of options: 2. > Death >Insanity followed by death with insanity potentially lasting beyond that point]]
“How exactly did you get anyone to agree to this?”
For a moment the tech priest was silent, his body shaking, while one could hear the faint noise of air hissing through a valve and metal grinding on bone in a rythmic pattern. A terrifying and disturbing display, even for those who knew what it was: Daimos-5 was laughing.
[[Compliance created through one simple fact: We will not fail.]]
Chapter 9: Sign: ?=:%&:3! //CHRMTR-ERROR // “Five-point-six-eight-three seconds”
Chapter Text
<Techpriest's Log, Sign Cluster-Stars +05:23:48 – Trans-temporal asset has been secured at site of operations. If calculations = correct: subject now in position that, in case of operation failure, will experience immediate annihilation, 0,039 seconds before tech priest unit suffers the same fate. Delay acceptable for noospheric transmission of neurological data from implanted technology, for assuming proper evaluation of data will be sufficient to avoid fatal outcomes. Limiting factor: personal computing power. Chances of success: lower than publicly admitted. Significant risk: annihilation of Chapter. Significant reward: practical use of trans-temporal asset. Opening Phrase Database> “there's no testing like field testing”. Risk of total annihilation < potential knowledge gained. Addendum: Command/Encrypt Log>.
(0)
“Attention. Preparations for Maelstrom Protocols have neared completion. Report to your respective positions and await further orders. Combat units are to obey Astartes command without question. I repeat, Maelstrom Protocol preparations have neared completion. Report to your stations! Hostile Contact imminent! Attention -”
Chaptermaster Auris' voice echoed through the ship, blasting through every single Vox speaker and almost drowning out the sound of thousand of armored footsteps on metallic group rushing to follow his orders. Daimos-5 could only be astounded with the speed and efficiency the preparations had been completed. Astartes and regular mortals combined they were over a thousand people operating in vastly different sections on numerous duties. On a regular vessel, preparations this throughout and complete would have taken several days – and even then it was usually a sloppy and inefficient affair, with a minimum number of mortal causalities being expected, commonly ranging in the mid-to-high three digit amount. On this ship however, their Chaptermaster had made protocols for absolutely every conceivable event. Several of them were modified variants of cases described in the Codex Astartes, others were taken from the experience gathered in the bridge personal logs, and a large number was established after digging through the Chapter's own historic logs and combat reports.
Of course even the best plans were of no use when no one knew how to execute them. Knowing it would be difficult to drill all those various combat plans and protocols into heads of their augmented warriors, and especially into the heads of the mortal crew, Auris had written it all down to paper in a handbook for everyone on the ship to memorize titled - calling it a handbook might be an inaccurate description however, given how this absolute brick of a manual also found good use as a melee weapon should the need arise. When reading through this absolute monstrosity Daimos-5 found that there was no doubt that their Chaptermaster was of Ultramarine origin: never before had he read a more boring work of literature – and that was despite Auris' best efforts to spice the potentially boring parts up with anecdotes, curious historical facts, and plenty of practical examples. Nevertheless the memorization of all the various protocols was a chore about as exciting as for watching a new layer of visual machine customization dry. How one could make a text of such information density to be this boring, Daimos-5 never figured out. The literary arts were never his strength - in his younger years he had rather found interest in theatrical performances - but maybe they had special classes for that on Ultramar. Wouldn't be the weirdest thing he had ever seen an group of Astartes do when training their acolytes.
The Maelstrom Protocols were a set of plans the tech priest was quite familiar with – after all, half of it was his creation. The Scriptorum and the Navigators often considered themselves the highest authority when it came to hostile forces of the beyond, but if there was someone specializing in warp-drive and Gellar Field technology, assuming that person could survive through the statistically probable events that most certainly would happened in that line of work, one could amass quite an amount of experience – especially when one approached the topic with proper scientific professionalism. It was said that the horrors lurking just underneath the fabric of reality were entirely beyond human comprehension. What a vacuous statement. If one would compile all the things seemingly beyond the comprehension of the average imperial meat bag, one could fill an archive the size of a sector – and that was the optimistic assumption. As far as the tech priest was concerned, whatever lurked beyond was far too familiar to be something truly “other”. He had conducted interviews with Navigators and Astropaths, and even the one or other psykically talented individual, all of them fielding stories of wonder and awe, but also horror and madness – but there was something about these stories that were so... bland, for the lack of a better word. All the beings and situations they encountered were out of myths and legends, but in the end, it was always human myth and human legends that found themselves mirrored in the Immaterium. One could not deny that there was a link between the entities attacking them and themselves – and if there was a connection, that meant there was a weakness.
Eventually this specific focus of his studies, which had started as a way to find proper technological rites to conduct in case of a dimensional tear or a malfunction of the Gellar field, brought him into conflict with the Imperium, where the study of such subjects was considered heresy. Ridiculous. Every single one of their ships required the Warp to travel, and yet they forbade the study of it? For some time his old mentor had shielded him from their wrath, but after he passed away, not much was stopping the academic circles he frequented to shun and cast him out. Barely avoiding getting branded as a Heretek, Daimos-5 became a low-ranked agent working for anything and everyone who would pay for his studies. They thought this to be a punishment, but since offering his service to the Tepidus Tempestus, his studies had progressed by light years. This event right now would be crucial in confirming or denying multiple of his hypothesis regarding the Immaterium, a chance many acolytes would have to wait for an entire lifetime. He might have left out some details regarding the actual risks of this operation when suggesting it to Chapter Command, but that was an issue he would deal with later – assuming they ever found out that is. Should they fail they'd all be dead anyways, if not, he would be a genius pulling off a truly impossible plan.
If his theories were correct, the beings lesser minds called “evil spirits” or “demons” had one fatal flaw: while they themselves were not of this reality, they were born from the thoughts of, molded by the fear of, and thriving on the emotions of weak flesh and mortal weakness. Compared to the holy inevitability of the consecrated steel, this accumulation of abjection as a product of antiquated mortality was no danger, but just another obstacle to be annihilated in the he Blessed Machine's relentless advance. This connection to human sentience might be the key aspect to understanding them: if one assumed that the Immaterium, as the name would suggest, was truly a form of existence devoid of matter, there should be no difference between thought, action, and existence. To recall a metaphor he had used to explain his findings to Chaptermaster Auris: The thought of striking with a blade was the same as actively performing that action. In theory one could kill such an entity with a single thought – if it was not for the issue of translation. An entity formed of thoughts and fears could not die a natural death, because there was nothing natural about it. However, if the entity in question could be properly convinced that it was killed, that thought would reflect in its manifestation and become reality, even if it was against the explicit will of such entity.
Countless combat reports and archive findings indicated that any hostile force from the Warp was unnaturally resistant to ranged weaponry, but melee attacks being highly effective. On first glance, was absurd, but it correlated with his theories: apparently a direct strike was more “convincing” than a bullet flying faster than any human eyes could follow it. It was not enough to “kill” these things, one had to make an entire performance out of it. A stage play with a murderous finale, or how others would call it: a ritual. The crew was armed with melee weaponry exactly for this purpose: weapons inscribed with symbols and seemingly “blessed” with random pointless actions done to them with an audience present. Of course none of that was arcane superstition or any other supernatural nonsense – the blessings were simple equipment maintenance, and the symbols were writings directly taking from the one book they all knew even better than the Lectitio Divinatus, after it was drilled into their heads for weeks and even months: the aforementioned operational handbook of their Chaptermaster. It could be assumed that their enemies would barely care about the details of the performance – as long as it was seemingly blessed script of an important text, it would fulfill its function. Such was the reality of the performing arts – and their enemies, as active players of the charade themselves, would definitely not go out of their way to call out the nature of this charade, which would be akin to an actor breaking character on stage. Unless carefully prepared and orchestrated, such an actor would be promptly removed from the performance
With an almost inaudible hum the Vox unit in the back of his metallic cranium sprang to life. The last step of the Maelstrom Protocols had been completed: all public frequencies were vacated, and instead the various squads and groups would use reserved secured lines from now on.
“Dunst here. Bridge has finished preparations. Beginning operation on your order, metal boy.”
[[Objective 1: Assume Emergency Landing Protocols 2-6-1 until target point is reached]], the tech priest declared, habitually ignoring the unprofessional way the Castellan had addressed him, [[Objective 2: activate maximal counter thrust and prepare for close combat // Objective 3: Survive]]
A sound of distortions crackled through the Vox. It took the tech priest a while that Castellan Dunst was laughing – or at least was trying to, before he had fallen into a coughing fit. The old man's stubborn rejection of proper augmentation in the face of his medical condition was enough to drive the tech priest insane on any other day, but for now there were more important things to do.
“Thanks for worrying about us, kid”, Dunst transmitted, “You better make it out alive too! ”
[[Human emotion category “worry”= Null]], Daimos-5 lied, [[Mission Success= inevitable. Logic dictates bridge crew being vital for efficiency of future operations, survival therefore = requested. Prepare to send distance data.]]
“Alright, whatever you say.”, came the somewhat amused response, “Potential landing zone clear. Beginning descent from high orbit. You might want to hold on to something.”
The warning was unnecessary as the tech priest could compensate for any loss of balance with his mechadendrites, but he could see the necessity of it – the atmospheric entry violently shook the ship, and several of the Astartes had some trouble adjusting to it. He could only imagine how the rest of the crew fared with this. One could only hope that
“Distance to surface 40.000”, the old man's voice rang through his skull, “35.000 - - 30.000 - - 25.000 - - 20.000 - - 15.000 - - 9000 We're picking up speed – 8.000 – 7.000 – 6.000 - ...”
If the man was worried or afraid of the fact that he just had set his ship on a collision course with a planet, his voice was not showing it. The emergency landing protocols were a last resort that expected causality reports above 76% even in the most fortunate events.
“4.500, 3.000, 2.500,...”
They were getting dangerously close to the surface, but it was not enough. Rapidly he calculated the reaction time it would take for his order to be executed on the bridge to reach the optimal point.
“1.500,1.000,500...”
[[Command Phrase> NOW!]]
Only a few dozen meters above the surface, the Tepidus Tempestus vanished. There was not a single sound, except for the one of air rushing back to where just now the ship had been.
(Seconds passed in Realspace: 1)
It took just about eight seconds after the crossing of the dimensional threshold for their foes to materialize. Swirls of color and smoke coalescing through the cacophonous backdrop of an orchestra of screams and wails. Before they even attained a corporeal form, their invaders lashed out at them, with throwing themselves at them with half-formed claws and teeth, while wielding half-molten axes and blades – or at least they tried to, until the collective action of the 5th company blasted them out of the room. The tech priest was far from being a person talented with otherworldly abilities, but in this environment even he could feel the Scriptorum's presences expanding as they imposed their will on the space around them. Each of them had an unmistakable signature, flooding his neurology with memories and information he never experienced in his life before. The bitter cold of Fenrisian winter that made every breath an act of defiance; the dark claustrophobic depths of Calth where life stubbornly endured to spite a murdered sun; the fiery heat-winds of Nocturne bringing the promise of destruction and glory; a beautiful city of glass, gold, and marble crumbling before his eyes into nothingness, imparting on him the knowledge of something irreplaceable being lost...
The tech priest tried to focus on the last bit, but was immediately overwhelmed by the avalanche of impressions coming down on him: the meditation cells on the Phalanx. An isolated park in Ultramar. A forge burning underneath a mountain spewing fire. A claustrophobic hallway leading into open plains, morphing into a dense forest, crumbling away to have him floating in the Void looking down on a planet he knew he just left and would never see again...
When the neurological augmentations finally took over to bring order to this mess, Daimos-5 had no feeling for how much time had passed. Lost in the experiences it had felt like hours, yet his internal chronometers assured him only moments had passed. He tried to preserve some of those visions to his neural storage extensions, but the moment he attempted to do so, the information just crumbled away, leaving only the distorted echo of a vague memory. His mechadendrites made a grinding sound, a subconscious reaction expressing his frustration as he turned his attention back to the world around him.
The half-formed entities were shoved out of their immediate vicinity, but that did not mean they were destroyed: all the psykers had done was to create a space that forbade their enemies to manifest by establishing their presence in this space, crowding out any unformed invaders – once they were materialized however, there was nothing stopping them from entering this zone. It might be a painful decision for them to do so, but even if they did, it would not matter for the entrances were guarded by Astartes, eagerly cutting down any invaders foolish or suicidal enough to try their luck. Engines howled as chain blades ate through forsaken flesh and their foes screeched in response, throwing themselves at the warriors with no regard to their own survival. Limbs were torn of, heads went flying - some removed by weapons, some by the brute force of armored hands - and burning blood painted the room in a hellish red. The noise of battle and the performative nature of slaughter set the stage for a display of brutality unlike any other. Brutality was not about strength – it was about simplicity. The greatest violence achieved with the least complicated action possible, and both their foes and the marines were masters at their craft, turning the entire place into an exhibition showcasing the frailty of corporal existence.
How pathetically mundane. Utterly pedestrian. How anyone could find themselves enraptured in such a primitive scene, the tech priest could not understand.
In the midst of this pandemonium, Daimos-5 began his work on the interface before him. The neural activity in the box next to him had slightly increased when a manically laughing horned head had bounced off it and then splattered against a nearby pillar, but so far data indicated their potential demise was not imminent. This was expected, given how the most difficult aspect of this operation was yet to come. It was one thing to get a vessel into the Immaterium – the Great Ocean swallowed daring vessels all too willingly. The challenging part was was getting out of it in one piece. Generally it was considered impossible to navigate the realm beyond this deep in a system, and even with its specific modifications, the Tepidus Tempestus was no exception when it came to being this close to the gravity a planet. There were, however, two reasons their maneuver would be successful: one of them was that they were not trying to navigate anywhere. All they did was to use their jump into the warp to essentially remove their material momentum, so any navigational issues were irrelevant. The second one was sitting in the box next to him. Just because it was practically impossible to jump back into real-space properly, did not mean it was actually impossible – the chances for such an maneuver were just abysmally low they might as well not exist. How lucky then, that there was an entity capable of even turning even the lowest probability into certainty – and all he needed to do for that was to remove all possible developments that would include the mission failing and them not all being annihilated instantly.
Gleefully Daimos-5 got to work, rigging their warp drive to be an exceptionally lethal doomsday machine that would instantly kill them with a 99,99999999% chance, but making sure to never turn that possibility into a certainty.
(2)
Chief Apothecary Timidus was not sure about the joyful way their tech priest went about his work. Daimos-5's iron visage might be a perfect mask, but his mechadendrites surely were not. The way they wiggled while he worked told him that he was actually humming a melody to himself right now. It was rare to see him this motivated, and every time he was, it usually ended with someone having to visit the Apothecarium for an extended period of time. Usually it involved multiple “someones”, Astartes, crew, and sometimes even Navigators and Astropaths alike. While he knew they were happy to have a tech priest so motivated and dedicated to their warp engines, he could not shake the feeling that the tech priest was treating this ship a like his personal laboratory or workshop.
Thinking of the Apothecarium, Timidus relaxed visibly when he reminded himself who was on duty there right now. The demonic freaks' most dangerous power what that they could get into one's head, messing with emotions and rational judgment. A fatal power in the heat of battle. However, none of that could harm his most valued assistant – the Ogryn's skull was, literally and figuratively, so thick that even the most malicious demon would need years to get through. Plenty of time to just turn the foe's material form into fine paste due to creative application of physical therapy. With Narcosis standing guard, there was nothing to worry about.
They were about six minutes into the carnage when the atmosphere shifted. The first indication for this was his helmet giving out seemingly nonsensical information. As Apothecarius his armor was different from those of his companions in many ways, but the most complex feature included was a sophisticated Sensorium that could detect the vital signs of those around him in great detail and display that information right into his eyes as an overlay to his vision – and right now that system detected, among other things, a rise of heart rates in the entire room. Something was coming. He charged the lightening claw in his right hand, not one moment too early before the first enemy breached their defenses and rushed right at him. A combination of his reflexes and the demon's disregard for its own life resulted in the assailant to be impaled right through the chest.
Timidus lifted up the demon, only to realize that this one was different from the devils that had formed the main forces of the invasion until now. This one was almost feminine in appearance, and what it lacked in strength it seemingly made up more than for it in speed. The weird part however, was that the monster's gaze was fixed to a point behind him. He did not have to turn his head to figure out what. His augmented mind had already made a mental map of the battlefield. Allied lines, hostile incursion points, relevant cover, volatile surroundings, or protection targets – and he knew exactly where its maddened gaze was locked to. Probably not the best time to realize that their most important asset to ever get out of this mess was apparently a massive demon-magnet. Hopefully that meant the rest of the ship did not have to deal with this.
The demon finally realized that it was stuck and fixed its gaze on him. It took in a breath, as if to prepare for something, but whatever sonic weapon it was about to unleash, it would never get that far as it larynx had just been surgically removed. The Chirugicum on his back got to work, and within moments the foe was not just killed, but rather surgically disassembled. The system was only meant for medical applications and normally pointless in battle, but against a foe that was essentially naked, it was an machination of meticulous murder. Bone saws whirred, plasma scalpels fired up, and mechanical clamps engaged. As it had started with the demon's vocal chords, it followed up by working its way down to its thorax, removing every bone, every cartilage, and every piece of unnatural organ one after another in the most efficient order, until eventually there was nothing left that would keep the body stuck on his claw. The various pieces of his assailant were now properly sorted on the floor in neat little piles depending on the presumed material. Luckily it all evaporated as quickly as the monstrosity had manifested.
However much to his disturbance, going by the expression of the demon's face, it was rather... enjoying the process. It was a relief to see the rest of the body dissolve into purple smoke at the end. Even when they should survive this, this expression would probably haunt him in his meditations for quite a while. He decided that for every future kill, he would go for the face first.
Observing the entries to the room, he was relieved to see that their lines were still holding. The few that got through did so by jumping over or through the warriors, not by slaughtering his companions. Much to his confusion, the two kinds of demons, were as eager to slaughter each other as they were eager to attack them. Sadly this led not to the two forces wiping each other out, it just made one side more angrier and the other more excited, resulting in even more strain on their defenses. At the edge of his eye hew saw an Astartes lose an arm an attack had hit right between the gaps of the armor, but he could do nothing to get to the man as more and more demons slipped through the cracks in their defense.
He threw himself into battle, slashing and tearing apart whatever dared to get into his range. A perk of being a medical professional was that one did not necessarily need tools to remove a head from its body effectively when one had extensive knowledge of the structures involved – and the power of an Astartes of course. The moment he had an opportunity to catch his breath, he barked some orders into his Vox.
“Consolidate outward defenses – we need more power in the back! They're slipping through!”
Mere moments later a clicking sound came as a response to inform him that his request for backup had been received. It would only be a minute later when horde of demons came crashing through one of the hallways, their sheer number overwhelming the guards trying to stand their ground, resulting in them getting quite literally trampled over. However, there was something unusual about their movements. They were not charging through them in a sort of coordinated affair, but rather storming the room in a panic, as if fleeing from something.
That something was following them close on their heels, wielding lightening claws on each hand and crashing into the crowd with a guttural howl. With his momentum the warrior knocked over a demon, landed on top of him, and immediately put his claws to work to disembowel his foe. To say that the Captain of the 4th Company might be enjoying this might be a mild understatement.
(3)
Meanwhile on the bridge the atmosphere was absurdly calm. They all had feared for the worst, and yet, as outside their windows the warp fluctuated and crashed against their weakly flickering Gellar Field, there had barely been any hostiles trying to reach the bridge. The Chaptermaster, his honor guard, and the entire bridge crew had grouped up in the middle of the room in a circular defensive formation around the Captain's chair, which since it was established under the direct supervision of their Chaptermaster had no blind spots whatsoever. In their midst was the Honorable Maximus, now linked to every possible console in the room with heavily reinforced cables along with the group of cogitator's huddled together in the dreadnaught's shadow. That way they still had full control over the systems even when the room should be flooded with hostiles – except that just did not happen.
As reports came in from the company captains about smaller incursions on the civilian holdout in the mess hall guarded by the 1st and 2nd companies, or the absolute mayhem that happened on the other end of the ship in Engineering, they grew more and more anxious, as they all learned one the only thing worse to being in combat was knowing your comrades were fighting for their lives, while you were sitting on your ass, doing absolutely nothing. So when the first demon found its way into the room, seemingly at random, it was a moment of relief. The collective emotion was so strong that the monster just stopped whatever it was trying to do, and just stared at them in confusion. In the untold eternities it had existed, that definitely was a first.
The feeling did not last long, however, as the demon was promptly riddled with holes from the bridge crew's lasgun weaponry. If Castellan Dunst knew one thing from his time as a simple soldier, it was that it did not matter how resistant the enemy was to lasgun fire – in the worst case that just meant you needed more lasguns. That's why on his bridge, there were about four guns for every single member of crew hidden in the workstations and consoles. Given how surprised the Chaptermaster had been upon learning this, the old soldier decided that maybe it was not the right time to also tell him about the grenades until it was absolutely necessary. Or the ration packs. Or the shovels and other tools that might be required to easily clear debris and use it to build a barricade. There was no harm in being prepared, even if some might call it an “excessive waste of resources at best, a security risk at worst, and most certainly something that would warrant a lengthy discussion about raiding the Chapter's supply without going through the proper channels”.
Of course there were also attempts of their foes to materialize directly in their vicinity, but unlike what they had expected, the process was slow, and the ones that did manage to manifest a corporal form were in no condition to fight as they gasped for air as if they were suffocating. It was a curious sight that none of them could explain, until eventually one of their foes popped into existence right next to the Castellan, who due to the surprise had a brief coughing fit. Upon touching the smoke that occupied the old man's lungs at all times, the being literally melted, screeching in unholy pain and wailing in agony until the Chaptermaster put it out of its misery by stomping it into the ground.
Auris had heard of ancient rites and traditions involving the burning of specific herbs to ward off evil in times long past, and remembering the theories their tech priest had once shared with him he wondered if the old man was right now counting as a priest in this accidental parody of a ritual, or if he was taking on the role of a human sacrifice given his health. They all agreed for the first time in their lives that maybe it was better for the old man to not stop smoking – in fact, they wanted him to smoke more, a request a somewhat confused Dunst happily obliged.
Not everyone was approving of this plan however. Somewhere out there in the depths of the Great Ocean, a specific intelligence took quite an affront to this turn of events. It reached out, countless thoughts and ideas coalescing into fetid bodies and rotting shapes slowly shoving themselves forward towards the source of this utter insult to its divine domain that was the sanctified air. Putrid humanoid shapes, mockeries of human bodies covered in fungal growths shambled forwards, as seven voices laughed from countless mouths. The wings of a billion flies hummed an aria of rot and decay, as the maggots infesting these bodes wriggled happily to their melody. The noise was followed by the smell that reminded everyone that decay in here was an extant form of life, and that today, especially today, it was feeling quite sociable.
Their techpriest's ideas about how a demon had to be convinced of its own death for it to truly die might be correct, but would that help against a breed of horrors too obtuse to even know what death was? Auris in his centuries of experience did not have much of an experience fighting demons, even when it occasionally happened when engaging heretical forces. Few fight the Death Guard in close quarters and live, but those that do slip away from the infected claws and infested winds will never forget the smell. At first it was just their enemies, but even after the battle death would cast a long shadow of plagues, infections, parasites, and curses over them as those killed of most that got away. The smell the latter caused were almost worse than the actual battle. There was no flawless victory when fighting the Death Guard, for even survival came at a steep price.
This development was both a blessing and a curse for their mission. With an enemy this powerful at their front, it meant it was not focusing at the other side of the ship where all their fates were yet to be decided. However, that also meant they had to keep that enemy engaged here for as long as possible. Auris already plotted out ways to fortify their position, but he would soon be pleasantly surprised as to how prepared this section of a ship was to a potential siege – even if that meant he would have to ask Castellan Dunst a lot of questions later. But even with that, it wouldn't be easy. With no idea how things were looking outside, Reinforcements from the 7th, 8th, and 9th company might not even have a chance to come to their aid, unless they got their orders immedeatly.
Just as he activated the Vox-reciever in his armor to rally his forces, an unearthly bell tolled seven times, the sound resonating through every bone and fiber of their bodies. With the sound there came realization: there would be no winners in this fight.
Only survivors.
(4)
At the other end of the ship, the tide of battle was slowly turning. Once a wave of demons had tried to breach the room, it would take a short while for the next horde for manifest. Those pauses were brief, not even a full minute at times, but it was enough to reorganize a well trained and disciplined force. Now suspecting to know their foe's primary target, they retreated from outer sections and bolstered their defenses around the tech-priest and the entrances to that room. Regular humans armed with ornate makeshift spears stood behind armored warriors. The Astartes formed a chain blade wielding wall of carnage, a meat grinder given human flesh and clad in ceramite on which wave upon wave of otherworldly invaders broke upon. There was no way to fight them easily, and with their formation no way around them – so the only way for their foes to get past was to jump – right into rows of spears waiting for them. This strategy, while effective, was reliant on two key factors regarding their enemies: their current inability to materialize behind them, and their current inability to manifest inexplicable otherworldly powers. Little did they know that this was about to change soon.
Afterwards Timidus would scold himself for not having seen the signs, all those small portents of the danger that was about to befall them. As Chief Apothecarius he should have noticed the vital signs of the 5th company showing abnormalities, and as Astartes he should have noticed the change of behavior in their enemies. His only excuse was that he got distracted by an even greater danger: 4th company captain Rerren was running out of prey.
Even by the standards applied to Astartes, the Fenrisian was a monster. Wielding lightening claws on both hands he tore through the otherworldly hordes as if they were made of brittle parchment. His ferocity combined with the most reckless fighting style Timidus had ever witnessed ensured that no foe could last for longer than six heartbeats. He took hits as well, but even when they could damage his armor, he just ripped off the damaged parts and used the lack of weight to his advantage. Eventually Rerren was forced to take of his helmet. He threw it with such force that the impact tore a demon's head right from its shoulders – right before using his teeth to rip another foe's throat out.
As impressive as this performance of savagery was, the data that got displayed in Timidus' helmet was concerning to say the least. According to this, Rerren's biology was working as if he had severely overdosed on experimental combat stimulants, but without the Sensorium detecting any of the elements associated with such substances. Generally as time went on, the 4th company captain became harder and harder to detect for the system, as if the warp itself was shrouding the warrior in a veil of interference.
Frustrated from the increasing amount of nonsensical medical data clouding his sight, Timidus deactivated his visual overlay – and with his vision now fully attuned to reality, he noticed the true change that had occurred in Rerren. At first glance, nothing had changed, but at the same time there was a presence surrounding the warrior powerful enough to trick his eyes into projecting a very specific image onto the man: a ferocious beast of grey fur, tooth, and claw; a monstrosity standing on two legs when it was supposed to run on all fours. But the most concerning part were the eyes, that showed no sign of sanity, glowing in a red not quite unlike the hide of the monsters that had began the assault on their ship.
Once the last enemy in their vicinity had been torn apart with utmost brutality, Rerren just stood there for a moment, before rapidly turning his head towards the members of the 5th company. Even when one was not a specialist in Space Wolves and/or weird warp phenomena, Timidus knew exactly what was about to happen: the savage being Rerren had become was here to fight, to murder, and to hunt – and he had just found his next target.
Timidus knew that in a direct confrontation he would barely stand a chance, and in the few scenarios that he would come out victorious, there was no way he could end this without killing the 4th Captain. He was only armed with a claw as well, and those were no proper dueling tools. There was no such thing as a nonlethal hit with such weapon. He had to use his head to get out of this.
And so he did.
Violently.
It took nine hits. Nine times his helmet smashed into captain Rerren's unguarded face until the warrior lost consciousness. The moment he fell, the monstrous image surrounding him dispersed. How much of it was reality, Timidus could not say, but unusual patches of grey hair on the face and what could be an deformity in the jaw were visible. Just what had happened? Was it the Warp? Or something else entirely?
+ENOUGH!+
The command spoken by two mouths at once resonated through the room, freezing all combatants in place, friend and foe alike. The origin was in the center of the room, right behind their last line of defense. A truly monstrous figure had found its way into material space, surrounded by the fallen bodies of the Scriptorum. Blood leaked from under their helmets, indicating that they had given their all to stop this being from appearing, but it had not been enough. The demon was a confusing mix of humanoid and avian features, but the most disturbing part was the fact that it had two heads that sometimes spoke at once or in turn.
+YOU LESSER NEVERBORN HAVE FAILED – CHANGE INTO SOMETHING MORE USEFUL+
A shock wave of chaotic energy raced through the room, tearing their invaders apart on an elementary level, turning them into swirling masses of pure energy that then promptly reformed into an enemy that was certainly equal in power to the defenders: themselves. Every man and Astartes was now confronted with an almost perfect image of themselves that blocked their way, mimicking their weapons and skills down to the last detail, and determined to not let them come closer.
+KEEP THEM OCCUPIED – WE SHALL PERCIEVE WHAT THE MASTER DEMANDS+
The monstrosity was certain of its superiority, as could be seen in how it approached the center of the room without hurry. There, both the tech priest and his demonic double were both frozen in place, and seemingly randomly waving their mechadendrites at each other. If there was any hostility in this interaction was impossible to tell. Timidus could not observe it any further as he had to dodge the swipe of a lightening claw from his demonic double. From the edge of his eyes he saw another figure on the ground lying next to Rerren, equally unconscious as the warrior, making one wonder just how perfect this duplication even was. These doppelgangers were not overly aggressive in their behavior but they demanded their full attention.
The only exception to this stalemate occurring all over the battlefield was Daimos-5. He and his double politely bowed to each other, as one of them returned to whatever work they had been busy with, and the other approached the monster while loudly reciting something in binary speech. Even with Timidus understanding nothing of it, it was unmistakably a Canticle of the Omnissiah. Its effect on their enemy however was entirely nonexistent.
+HOW CURIOUS – YET IRRELEVANT+, the monster remarked while erasing the tech priest's doppelganger from existence with just a thought, +NONE OF YOU MATTER FOR IT IS THE TRULY UNTHINKABLE THE ARCHITECT OF FATE DESIRES+
It slowly approached the transport box that contained their plan's central element.
+READING ALL STRANDS OF FATE – YET NOT DEFINING ANY – A POWER MOST WONDERFUL – SUCH ACCURACY – SUCH POTENTIAL+, the demon spoke and opened the box with one swift motion that transformed the lid into colorful bubbles, each reflecting another landscape none of them had ever seen. Little did they know that this would seal its doom, as its target inside had no desire whatsoever to getting captured.
+YOU WILL SERVE THE LORD OF CHANGE – YOU WILL ARGHHhh-+
Whatever it had to say, it would never come to finish that sentence with Su'us teeth embedded in one of its long necks. It tried to shake them off, but their latest member of crew proved to be as slippery and evasive as always, even with arcane energies swirling around him and blasts of impossible colors missing them by a hair's width every time.
According to their theories with so many people around them and countless possible futures arising from that number, there should be no way Su'us should be showing any neurological ability above that of a lobotomized Grox, as their consciousness should be shattered across infinity. However, if for instance, a significant number of those possibilities were in synchronicity, in theory that should have an effect to the material existence in the present. There had to be a motivation however, an internal desire, that could be realized with a neurology even this barren. There were not many things that could qualify. A desire for survival could be possible, but that would not result in behavior this proactive. It took a moment until Timidus realized it: hunger. Whatever neurological load Daimos-5 had been putting them under, apparently the mountain of high-density ration bars Su'us had devoured before was insufficient. Their body required energy. The demons were formed out of energy. The result was only natural: predator and prey.
Still focused on this mirror image of himself that was copying his every move, he heard the all-too familiar sound of a skull cracking behind him, followed by what one could only identify as slurping and chewing noises. Never once the demon stopped screaming, the echoes of the sound ripping the doppelgangers it had summoned apart.
Timidus did not turn around. Some things one should not be witness off.
(5)
The Tepidus Tempestus was thrown around as if it was the plaything of an enraged god, the tremors being synchronized to the dying screams of the giant monstrosity that still resonated through the room despite their source having long perished. They could feel the grasp of the Immaterium on their existence, and faint explosions in the distance suggested that the failsafe-systems of their Gellar Fields were shorting out. The otherworldly pressure intensified with every moment, and until it was unbearable even for the Astartes. Blood gushed from eyes, noses, and mouths, as one after another they succumbed to forces far greater than them. The sudden change caused most of the demons to destabilize for a moment, but it did not matter for if this kept on, they'd all perish anyways, maimed by forces powerful yet entirely impersonal. Getting killed by another entity, demonic or not, was a personal matter. Being maimed by the pressure of an ocean was something else entirely. Eventually there were only two beings capable of movement left in the room.
In the midst of all that, Daimos-5 finally had achieved his goal: their warp drive would now have to be started in one very specific configuration to bring them back into realspace in one piece. All this work he had put in would now make sure that any other input would lead to their imminent demise, and for good measure he had also added a timer that would enter a false configuration. Generally it would be an impossibility to calculate that one specific configuration out of trillions, even when one was to assume superior calculating power and plenty of time, things they both lacked right now.
There was only one thing left to do. His metallic body, unaffected by the otherworldly forces wreaking havoc on mortal flesh, skittered through the room. All his mechadendrites wrapped themselves around Su'us, who was still eagerly devouring the aetherical remains of whatever this gigantic bird-thing had been, entirely oblivious to what happened around them, and used all the power in his mechanical body to lift them up into the air. As expected from previously collected data, they were considerably lighter than their size would make one expect.
[[Activating Ancient Phrase Folder > “This neurology empty - Yeetus!”]], he exclaimes quoting an obscure ancient theatrical classic, right before throwing Su'us onto the console. With the delight of a scientist seeing his theory proven right, he received the data of neural activity skyrocketing far beyond the capabilities of a regular person, just before the still-mortal sub-systems of his body succumbed to the pressure of the Immaterium.
(5,683)
About five meters above the originally designated landing location the Tepidus Tempestus crashed back into existence, with about the grace of someone rushing through a locked gate with a Baneblade driving backwards on accident while somehow firing all of the guns at once. The localized Warpstorm this caused would have driven every single living and sentient being on the whole planet and both moons surrounding it to the brink of sanity.
How fortunate then that there were none that fit both of these categories within range.
The last bit of its voyage the ship completed with utmost efficiency and no expenditure of energy, as planetary gravity could always be trusted to complete a landing process one way or another.
Chapter 10: Sign: Necrall IV Incident Aftermath Reports
Chapter Text
<Techpriest's Log, Report NECRALL IV INCIDENT: SUCCESS. Preliminary hypothesis = true. Path for further exploration of trans-temporal capabilities of asset = opened. Current use = crude, unrefined. Next step = increase information gained from asset outside of extreme situations. Damage to vessel concerning but within calculations. Losses among the unaugmented = within parameters. Chance that more will see how flawed their weak flesh bodies are and therefore will seek out the certainty and strength of sanctified steel = high. Operation in total: absolute victory.
Hypothesized trans-temporal capabilities strategic value = absolute. Potential impact on war efforts = absolute. Potential glory and fame to tech-priest unit = absolute. Genius of tech priest unit = absolute. Celebrations in honor of tech-priest unit = likely. Preparation of ceremonial address to chapter = necessary?>
<Chaptermaster's Log, Sign: REPORT NECRALL IV INCIDENT: I do not know how or why, but we have made it. However, it is uncertain if we should thank Daimos-5 or throw him right into the brig for lying about the risks involved. Causalities have been minimal thanks to proper execution of established protocols, but that does not mean the damage has not been extensive. It is uncertain if some of the survivors will be able to fight or work in the coming weeks, or ever again for that matter. Especially among those stationed near and on the bridge, it is uncertain if they will survive the coming days. Luckily the airs of rot and decay outside the bridge could be contained by activating the fire suppression measures. Cleaning out the contaminated liquid will take some time, but I have confidence that the crew will adhere to proper protective measures when doing so. Furthermore the structural damage to unusual corrosive properties has been extensive. Even with Daimos-5 being a member of the leading council, such a thing cannot go unanswered. A trial will have to be held – or else this will tear a rift right through the Concilium Caelum. He will get a chance to defend himself, but there will be consequences.
Addendum: I do fear that if we do not capture him swiftly, that Engine Master Kirrspatt might get to him first. Youngling Vellenus, when you are done recording this, inform the Captain of the 1st Company to report to my office. We might have to act fast or else we might have to find a new tech priest. We can only hope that she is not too disturbed regarding this incident.>
<Engine Master's Log, REPORT NECRALL IV INCIDENT: This lying pile of rust! Minor modifications he said, just interface adjustment he said. Do you know how long it will take to un-[[expletive]] the engines now? This [[expletive]] little [[expletive]] [[expletive]] martian [[expletive]]! Are you writing that down Leos? I want all of that EXACTLY as I said it in the report! This [[expletive]] [[expletive]] [[expletive]] [[expletive]] [[expletive]] [[expletive]] [[expletive]] [[expletive]] tin-head! I will personally hang him off the realspace engines and roast whatever mortal meat that is left of him. The audacity! To do such a [[expletive]] thing to our sacred vessel! [[expletive]] [[expletive]]! I will melt his limbs into a [[expletive]] drainage pipe! [[expletive]] [[expletive]] (…) >
<Log of the 2nd Company Captain Swolarius, REPORT NECRALL IV INCIDENT: Hostile activity at the central holdout was lower than expected. The few who showed up were easily dispatched by our Navigators and Astropaths. While commonly a non-factor in most situation, against this enemy they might provide a powerful combat unit in the future, and the Maelstrom Protocol should be adjusted accordingly – even when fighting next to them feels like one's brain is pulled out through one's stomach. However, there is one thing that is unacceptable: what are these scrawny bodies? Those fragile limbs? This absolute lack of stamina? As a potential vital part of future combat operations, this sorry physical state is, as stated, ABSOLUTELY UNACCEPTABLE. Just because they rely on powers that lie behind the physical body it is no excuse to be tardy with one's training – it is every man's DUTY to keep their physical form in perfect shape, both to themselves and to the Emperor, who's will we are but mere vessels to. Starting immediately the otherworldly gifted members of the mortal crew will join a RIGOROUS training regimen. Tardiness will not be tolerated! They shall be molded into a shape worthy of serving alongside Astartes!>
<Castellan's Log, Report NECRALL IV INCIDENT: We need more guns. Maybe if we could hide stationary turrets in the seats to unfold in a case of emergency, that would have helped more. At least half my unit is unfit to work, and half of those are on death's door – and even they don't look half, nay, a quarter as bad as the Chaptermaster's Honor Guard. Let's hope that grump Timidus can patch them up – would be a shame to start to first shore leave in decades with a bunch of funerals.>
<Chief Apothecarius Log, Report NECRALL IV INCIDENT: BY THE THRONE WE ARE ALIVE. Now that I know the full extent of this plan, I can say with certainty: this was madness. Endangering the entire Chapter for a gamble purely based on hypothetical assumptions, and worst of all, lying to us all about it... the audacity! We might be where we want to be, but now the Apothecarium is overcrowded, and we are STILL low on supplies. Astartes I can patch up easily given how tough we are; but just what in all saints' names happened on the bridge? Whatever is afflicting them is rotting through my tools! I can barely clean one wound before my scalpel has gathered an inexplicable amount of rust. Slowly but surely I am running out of options – eventually the only thing left to do is pray. Since these are demons, who knows? Maybe it might work. On that note, maybe if we got some of the Navigators for that, that could make a difference.
Addendum: I wonder if Narcosis has hit his head. He told me that Communications Officer Liberta woke up from the ruckus, and simply... debated the demons out of the room. It was probably more violent than it sounds, most likely including a lot a screaming. Usually I'd say it was utter nonsense, but that big guy probably couldn't make a convincing lie even if his life depended on it. Once this entire mess is over we might have to contact the 5th company for it – which is strange given how all bridge personnel had been checked before and there are no hints of otherworldly energies or powers in her file. I'd love to run a few checks myself, but we do not have the time nor the manpower for that. I shall instruct the council to keep an eye on her, preferably without her noticing. Maybe there is something in her file that could explain such a thing, but as stated, this has to wait until no one is in danger of greeting the emperor anymore.>
<Declaration of the Concilium Caelum: the council now decrees that for the duration of our stay on Necrall IV the following is to count as law:
the wearing of armor and weaponry is now forbidden unless this council declares otherwise in the face of danger. The use of weaponry for competitions or contests is allowed but has to be sanctioned by the highest authority of the 6th company.
The recreational use of jet bikes for both scouting and competitive use has been permitted. Please consult with the 7th company command regarding the proper use of such machinery.
Swimming in the ocean – the big mass of water next to the ship – is forbidden for non-Astartes unless they join a course provided by a 2nd company teaching the navigation of such element.
The consumption of local wild- and plant-life is forbidden until further notice. The kitchen staff, the 8th company, and the Apothecarium are in the progress of determining edible and poisonous elements. It shall be noted here that volunteering as a test subject will make up for potential disciplinary measures a member of crew might still be facing, such as additional cleaning shifts and similar punishments.
Venturing from the ship is allowed to the point where one can still see our vessel. Any further expeditions must be accompanied by at least one Astartes and all members of said party must be equipped in accordance to the list provided in the Chaptermaster's Operations Manual, chapter “Planetary Protocols”, sub-chapter 24 §4 Section 9.
Tech priest Daimos-5 is stripped of his rank and authority until the end of the coming trial. All Cogitators and assistants under his commend are now temporarily under the command of The Honorable Maximus. Daimos-5 is to be confined in his cell and under guard by the 1st company. The trial will be lead by the Captain of the 1st Company, supported by the Chaptermaster and the Castellan, as it is tradition. While an audience is allowed, everyone shall be reminded that any disturbance to this sacred ceremony will be answered with the most efficient means to remove said disturbance. In accordance to our customs this trial will take place in the mess hall.
Failure to comply with these rules will result in disciplinary action.
Signed, the members of the Concilium Caelum >
Chapter 11: Sign: Necrall IV +00:04:23 // Trial //
Chapter Text
<Chaptermaster's Log, Necrall IV +00:01:51 - To say the damage has been extensive is an understatement. Aside from the many wounded, mortal and Astartes alike that we do not even know if they will make it through the night, the damage to our vessel has been catastrophic. Almost every single subsystem was about to explode, which could only be avoided by most of them shutting down on impact. Shields, weapons, gravity, most of our life-support, gone until further notice. If this had happened in space and not on a planet in possession of a breathable atmosphere, we'd all have suffocated by now. Our only solace is that the isolated systems were not affected. I hope that Daimos-5 has plans to repair the damages his plan has caused far beyond the given estimations. If he does not, I fear the results of the coming trial might be reason for concern. It would not be the first time we executed a member of the Mechanicum - there has been a precedent. The circ*mstances, however, could not be any more different.
On a less urgent side of things: every single chronometer in our possession has become defective once again. In accordance to established protocols a new point of reference has been chosen. Until further notice all logs are to be signed with the time passed since our landing. >
As all important events concerning the entire chapter, the trial was held in the mess hall, the most central cathedral-sized room at the very core of their sacred vessel which right now had been demoted to being a coastline-situated rain-shelter. Most of the crew barely knew what rain was, and ever fewer had ever experienced it, so the faint noise of water rushing down the sides of the ship and occasionally forming small waterfalls from the spires and complicated forms that was so iconic to imperial vessels made them quite nervous. Meanwhile Engine-Master Kirrspatt and her assistants of the 3rd used this chance to track down any cracks in the ship's structure by tracing any intruding water to its point of entry. Maybe it was for the best that she was occupied, or this trial would take a turn for the tumultuous should the old engineer not be in agreement to the final verdict.
From the heightened position of the officer's table Auris observed the people in the room. A significant number of curious crewmen had gathered, much more than was common for a public trial. Usually it was only the relatives and friends of the people involved, even if the trials were usually held in public. The captain of the 1st company had a habit of being efficient when taking the position of speaking law, so once the main trial was over, anyone in the audience could be called out the moment he had evidence that this person violated the laws of either Imperium or Chapter. Iudex Argus was fastidious, even by Ultramarine standards, and he would tolerate neither tardiness nor an unkempt appearance. Of course the punishments for such minor offenses were on the soft side, but nevertheless a punishment. A crewman caught not maintaining his uniform was forced to patch up the undergarments of his whole section. Another who was known for stealing food was sent to the kitchens in addition to his regular shifts. Of course, harsher crimes required a harsher response, but Arugus had found that the common imperial methodology which included a potentially lethal lashing as the lowest form of punishment left little to no room for escalation should the situation require it. In his eyes a verdict resulting in execution must remain a rarity, as to retain the shocking effect to those observing.
Even Astartes - in fact especially Astartes - were not save from Argus' harsh judgment. Failing to maintain the cleanness of one's weapon for example could lead to having to scrub Bolter barrels for a week. It was rare for a being transcending the petty follies of mortal life to fall out of line like this, but it was not unheard of. In a way the Chaptermaster was very content with the behavior of his 1st captain, as like this even in times where they were not rushing from one battlefield to another, those fleeting slow and peaceful days when every there was a certain level of discipline enforced on their ship.
“It seems our master of ceremony is running late, and so is our accused”, a familiar voice stated behind him. In fact Auris augmented senses had already detected Castellan Dunst, but he had pretended not to notice. In fact even a regular nose would have detected him, given ever-present coud of pipesmoke that surrounded Dunst. The old man, who's duty was to represent the highest mortal authority in the following trial, was studying a chronometer he had pulled from his jacket. It was ancient, the metal chain binding it to him being scorched black in its entirety. Even without the recent events it was very unlikely that this thing, which looked older than the Chaptermaster even, would display anything correctly – but the old man swore on it, and given how he had never been late to anything before, he might be on to something.
“If Argus of all people was late to a ceremony, he is certainly not doing it willingly.”, Auris replied, letting his eyes wander over the hall's entrances, “Perhaps there have been complications?”
“Complications? With the metal lad?”, the Castellan asked in disbelief, “You'd think he'd be stupid enough to pick a fight with the Iudical Guard?”
“Such recklessness certainly would be in character for a child of Mars”, Auris pondered, before discarding the thought,”But unlike his predecessors who once almost brought this Chapter to ruin, his motives are pure. To the Mechanicus knowledge is the greatest treasure there is, and he is certainly willing to share with us whatever marvels he has unveiled with this stunt. He is no hostile force to us, and he is trying his best to be helpful, it just that he is, well... how should we put it...”
“... an arrogant brat with the personality of a Grox-arse?”, Dunst completed the sentence.
“Harsh words, but sadly I am in no position to argue against such judgment”, Auris agreed, surprised at this profane choice of words, “However I did not expect you of all people to point it out like this.”
“Look, I like the metal lad more than most on this ship, really do, and he really tries his best. We gave him the order to land this bird on this forsaken wet rock with no functional landing systems and behold: he did. I also like that Angela has someone to get mad at. Keeps the old madame on her toes, and at her age it's important to remain active”, the Castellan paused to take a long breath from his pipe and the smell of incense around him intensified, “But throne be damned if he is not the most insufferable bastard I ever had the pleasure of serving with.”
“By the standards of the Mechanicus, he's downright pleasant to work with”
“Can that even be possible?”, the Castellan inquired, “Is the lot of them really that bad?”
“It's the nice ones you need to be especially careful with.”, the Chaptermaster elaborated, “Those are the ones with... ambitions – and also the ones most susceptible to infighting. Hidden agendas and delusions of grandeur rarely go well together when the lives of thousands, if not millions, are to suffer from the consequences of it. Our past is a prime example of su-”
Auris fell silent as his augmented hearing picked up a rather unusual sound. The Astartes in the audience had noticed as well, and sounds ranging from confusion to disbelief to quickly hushed laughter spread through the hall.
“Oh by the throne”, he exclaimed as his augmented mind had identified the noise, “I fear I know why they are running late.”
Before Dunst could even begin to formulate a question, the main doors at the far end of the room were slammed open and an avalanche of noise washed over the audience. The first was a herald of the 1st company in a parade uniform that no one had worn in several decades. He held a brass instrument of ancient Terran origin. It's massive shape made Auris recognize it as a variant of Tubae – a group of instruments that had proven too cumbersome to serve their purpose of communication tools on the battlefield of ancient times and instead found use as a ceremonial piece.
The Astartes herald took a deep breath, filling all of his three augmented lungs with the absolute maximum of air to produce a sound which shook the entire ship. Somewhere in the Eye of Terror a Noise Marine woke up, feeling like somehow somewhere he had lost a competition. The audience had no time to gather itself, when a second figure showed up, a Cogitator in a similar outdated looking parade uniform marking him as a representative of the Cult Mechanicus, adorned with countless Vox speakers. Not to be outdone by his colleague of the 1st company, the mechanical herald flooded the room with a melody of static noise just as intense as the instrumental sound had been. It was an agonizing sound, absolutely horrifying, and essentially everything one would expect from what a tech priest would consider to be music.
Between the two a regular member of a crew stepped up, unrolling a scroll of vellum that was most certainly made with the hands of an Astartes in mind, for the poor woman could barely lift it properly.
“BEHOLD HIS AUTHORITY OF THE FIRST COMPANY, THE STEWARD OF LAW, THE HIGHEST CHAPLAIN, THE HONORABLE IUDEX ARGUS!”, she proclaimed from the scroll, then took a moment to catch her breath before she announced the second part of it, “AND HIS ESTEEMED GUEST AND ACCUSED, THE SCHOLAR OF AMALGAN, CHILD OF THE RED DESERT, THE RESPECTED TECH PRIEST DAIMOS-5!”
She then promptly made way so the ceremonial procession could enter the room – and what a procession it was! Standard carriers, choir marchers, musicians – all appearing twice, half of them for the Astartes, the other half were dressed in the festive garbs of the Mechanicus. Apparently there had been some trouble filling the ranks for the procession, as Auris recognized several crewmen under what from a distance could be considered a Skitari uniform – and finally on the end of the procession, standing on the massive dreadnought shoulders of a remarkably gaudy looking ornate Maximus, there were the announced.
“By the Emperor, he even dug out the ceremonial wig.”, Dunst exclaimed in disbelief, “I thought we had torched all of them thirty years ago! I get the itches even looking at it!”
Auris said nothing, uncertain what astounded him more: that Argus had apparently kept every single bit of ceremonial nonsense the Chaptermaster had spent decades cutting down to keep the process of speaking law in the chapter efficient, or that in the few hours after the landing they had managed to organize all of this. He could already imagine how it had come to this. The legal position of the Cult Mechanicus within the Imperium was subject of heated debate for over ten millennia now, and around this issue a whole mountain of rules, traditions, exceptions, and ceremonial customs had sprung up - and by the looks of it Daimos-5 had, in what could only be assumed a move of utmost pettiness, invoked all of it. As it was part of the law, Argus would never deny such a request no matter how ridiculous, and the tech priest most certainly knew that. What he did not expect however was that for every ridiculous legal demand for this ceremony, Iudex Argus would add one of his own so that the presentation of the accused would not outshine that of the institution.
Eventually, after a time Auris had deemed too long to even come close to the concept of efficiency, the procession ended and everyone had taken their positions. The first captain had taken his seat between Chaptermaster and Castellan, and Daimos-5 was now standing before them at the center of the space cleared for the trial, perfectly visible to both the audience and the authority that was about to decide his fate. There was no need for the first captain to address the crowd, his presence and stern gaze were sufficient in silencing the still somewhat confused audience.
As unbearable as the cacophony of the procession had been, so was the silence that followed. Everyone stared at Daimos-5 with a certain expectation, while he just stood there motionless. As bombastically unusual as the start of this trial had been, it would still follow the same rules the people had by now seen countless times.
“Is this all a fleeting charade to you, Child of Mars?”, the voice of Argus broke the silence, “A silly joke to keep you entertained? Are you looking down upon this institution, the holy ceremony that brings order and righteousness to our halls?”
[[Negative]], came the reply of the accused who was still motionless, although Auris couldn't help but notice unusual movements under his robe. Daimos-5's arms were completely still, as were the two larger mechadendrites emerging from the bottom of his cloak, yet something in the area of his chest and torso was moving, [[Definition “Joke” = “Humorous Statement/Situation”. Attribute “Humorous” based on established data not found in “Subject: Argus”. Logical conclusion: Answer Negative]]
“You have proven great knowledge of the law, down to the most obscure letter”, Argus proceeded, ignoring the obvious jab at this personality. It would take more than this to make the chapter's arbiter of law lose his temper, “Yet now you pretend to not know the most common procedures this trial adheres to. You are under the eyes of the law, and you will act as such.”
[[Objection: “Subject Mechanicum” is not part of data-complex“Imperial Legality”]], the tech priest replies, [[Conclusion: expected procedures deemed = Irrelevant]]
“If you were beholden to the laws of common men, you'd not be standing here”, the Iudex remarked, “You would have been executed before our vessel would have touched the ground. In fact, if we were strictly adhering to the law of Terra I you would have been executed for failing to address me with the appropriate title. However, we are not here to speak the law of Terra, the law of Mars, or even the law of Ultramar. This institution, while honoring the three great pillars our justice stands upon, speaks the laws of Chapter and Ship, as is appropriate for member of the Concilium Caelum. So now, accused, present yourself to this court of be deemed in contempt of this institution.”
Auris tried to remember when it was the last time one of the accused had to actually be reminded of it. This act of defiance, while certainly to be expected of Daimos-5, was unheard off for decades. In ancient times the accused would have to stand naked in front of the court judging his misdeeds, but in the recent years that was deemed unnecessary. The same symbolism and psychological effect could be achieved by the accused just revealing their upper body. Aside from maintaining a certain level of decency within the institution, it also had the advantage of giving the court of level of escalation. There had been few were forced stand truly naked before the Iudex; a clear sign that no one on this vessel trusted them with anything, not even with the faint possibility of bringing a concealed weapon in their undergarments. Of course, there had been several cases where people voluntarily removed their clothes to make a point of having nothing to hide, but even that was an event of the distant past. The temper of a certain youth over a century ago who should go on to become their Engine-Master had surely been a force to be reckoned with.
[[Information received – compliance status = inconclusive]], Daimos-5 stated while still remaining motionless, [[Requirement for Compliance = Information. Requesting information regarding documentation of event. Documentation method = inclusion of visual data?]]
“As the regulations state, this trial will be documented by three scribes”, Argus said, somewhat surprised at this question while pointing at the front row of the audience. There the Astartes Julianus of the 7th and Sextus of the 5th were taking notes, and between them, looking remarkably out of place due to his juvenile size, was the youngling Vellanus, diligently doing the same.
“Do you wish for this event to be documented through a picter?”, Argus asked, uncertain of what to make of the tech priest's question, “Although it would be hard to find a functional one given the circ*mstances.”
[[Negative. Condition “absence of visual documentation” met, Compliance status = positive.]], the tech priest answered, [[Conclusion = Executing Compliance]].
With his arms still absolutely motionless, Daimos-5 removed the carmine robe that was so common for his kind. Auris realized now that the motions he had seen before had obviously been preparations for that moment. He was uncertain if this was the tech priest just being efficient of dramatic for the sake of it. A shocked gasp spread through the crowd, and even the Astartes looked astounded at what they were seeing. It was not sure what they were expecting, for almost none of them had seen a tech priest in their fully augmented glory. While it was common knowledge that the Mechancium modified their bodies, many had probably expected a regular body with some metal bits bolted to it. This could not be any further from the truth.
There was nothing human about the metallic form that was unfolding before their eyes.
On a basis that was whatever Daimos-5 used to move around that was still hidden by cloth, a connection the shape of a metallic spinal chord connected to a vaguely human-shaped torso that appeared like it was wrapped in something that could pass as a metallic replication of bones. A series of clicking noises emerged from those metallic and osseous coils as they began to move one after another, revealing their true nature. They were robotic arms, each ending in a delicately crafted metallic replica human hand. Much different from the clamps or grabbers commonly found on the end of mechadandrites, these were clearly designed after the bones of a human hand. Numerous of these arms moved and stretched out to the sides in a display of asymmetry, revealing an object that had before been cradled by their hands: an ornate metallic cylinder the size of a tank shell, every bit of its surface covered with carvings of the Mechanicum's holy scriptures. One did not need to be a member of the Apothecarium to see its significance: this cylinder contained whatever organs and biological parts there were still left of the biological human Daimos-5 once had been. In compliance to the trial, he was literally revealing his heart to them.
From said cylinder a series of pipes, cables, and metal bits connected to the tech priest's head, which when viewed without the hood shared even less similarity to a human's skull than one would previously assume. The most unsettling part for those looking closely were Daimos-5's eyes. Green lenses, staring without a hint of emotion or humanity. Previously people had thought that he only had seven of them, the large one at the front, surrounded by the six smaller versions of it. However, now one could see that within a regular distance such smaller lenses formed a ring around his entire skull. It was commonly said that members of the Cult Mechanicum were so paranoid about their cult's secrets that they had eyes on the back of their heads, but little did anyone know how literal such a statement could be.
But the most unusual part about all of it was yet to come as the carmine cloth fell from his “regular” arms. The right arm was just as the ones previously hidden by his clothes, but the other was, to everyone's surprise, still entirely biological. Sickly pale skin that had not seen light in decades clinging to fragile bone was not a thing anyone had suspected, much less the symbols that had been tattooed onto it that looked like nothing one would know from the Mechanicum. Auris tried to remember where he had seen such symbols before, until he came across the memory of a lesson from when he had been a neophyte. The XIIIth legion might not put as much focus on history and culture as others when it came to training their recruits, but it still had been a sizable part of his education. It was music. An ancient terran sign-system to tell what notes should be played and when, and by the looks of in in a tightly wound script there was an entire symphony painted under skin of Daimos-5's left arm. Once again he realized just how little they actually knew about their tech priest.
Murmurs went through the crowd, and people stretched their heads to see better. Further in the back some were carried on the shoulders of others so they could get a better view. But before the atmosphere in the crowd could transition into actual disorder, Argus raised his hand.
“The court sees you, Child of Mars“, he declared with absolute authority, “This trial will now continue.“
And so it did. Despite the unusual beginning, the rest of it was remarkably boring. Daimos-5 did not even try to lie or hide anything. It could have been easy for him to claim the prognosis he had given them before the landing had been a mistake in his calculations, but the Auris assumed that the tech priest was too proud of his skills to ever consider making such a lie.
Auris function in this was merely representative, and to confirm the things Daimos-5 had told him. Everything said in this trial was the truth, except that he found the tech priest to be remarkable evasive when it came to the matter of their “unusual new member of crew” that had been the center of the recent events.
[[Potential knowledge gained from Subject Su'us = immeasurable. Potential strategic value to Chapter = absolute. However, compilation of data = incomplete. Findings will be presented in <Insert Nonprecise Temporal Descriptor> “Near Future”]]
“So you are telling me it's of impossible value but you cannot tell us a thing about it?”, Iudex Argus asked, “That sounds not very convincing. What immediate proof can you present to show that your experiment was even worth half the suffering it caused?”
[[Information gained from imperial record regarding Immaterium = highly redacted]], Daimos-5 elaborated, [[Information indication = invasive immaterial life forms display signs of long-term-infestation. Infestation persists when returning to real-space.]]
“And what does our new friend have to do with all of it?”
[[Population of invasive species now according to Sensorium and crew reports = culled. Assumed reason = presence of predator. Thesis supported by: movement data from subject]]
“THAT THING EATS DEMONS?”, Dunst blurted out before immediately succumbing to a coughing fit. He had just taken a long breath from his pipe when he had truly understood what Daimos-5 had just said, and the surprise had not been kind to his old lungs.
[[Unscientific statement. Accurate suggestion = “Consumption of Ethereal Energies” Reinterating statement // Strategic value to Chapter = absolute]]
The silence that was now filling the room was telling to how massive that reveal had been. The hordes of unspeakable horrors lurking behind the veil of reality were truly the one foe they could rarely hope to defeat. Even procedures as the Maelstrom Protocol were only temporary solutions to hold out, and would prove useless in any engagement longer than a few minutes – and everyone was quite aware of that fact. The common man living on a random imperial hive-city might not know a thing about demons, but the crew of a warp-vessel, especially one with experience, knew quite a lot of the horrors that just waited to devour them every single time they ventured beyond reality. Hushed whispers spread through the crowd, unsure if this potential antidemon weapon was a reason for celebration, or a sign of utmost heresy.
Even Iudex Argus had fallen silent, his augmented mind going through all the options the law would give him in such a situation. Never before had coming to a verdict been this difficult.
“Daimos-5, for now you are demoted to the position of a nurse in the Apothecarium.”, the 1st Captain finally decreed, “You will work under Chief Apothecarius Timidus and do all you can do to save those still fighting for their lives due to your plans. Your final punishment will be determined by how many will die as the result of your actions, as well as your findings regarding the individual named Su'us. Do the highest authorities of Astartes and crew agree on this judgment?”
Both the Chaptermaster and Dunst stated their agreement. Giving Daimos-5 the chance to right his wrongs might be unusual under imperial law, but it was not entirely unheard off – especially when at the end he might still be put before a firing squad, depending on his ability to fix the damage he caused. Even the accused seemed to be accepting of the verdict, although as he observed Daimos-5's body folding back together into the vaguely humanoid shape that could fit into his robes, Auris was an uncertain how much of it the tech priest had already expected.
“This concludes the matter for the time being”, Iudex Argus stated, but did nothing to indicate that the ceremony in general was over. Auris knew what would happen, for he had seen it countless times. Using the opportunity, the 1st Captain would pick out those he saw in the audience who had been guilty of one thing or the other.
“As you all know, the law is equal to all who are gathered here – and as always I will bring order even to matters which were not why I was called. These are clear and obvious things that require no further discussion, and where evidence has been more than sufficient. Neither tardiness nor laziness shall be tolerated on my watch, for only our diligence and lawfulness is what ensures our survival in hostile realm that is the Void between the stars.”
Several people, crewmen and Astartes alike, suddenly tried to blend into the background as inconspicuously as trans-humanly possible. Everyone knew that while none of them meant harm, they all might have done something that could not live up to the 1st captain's standards.
“However”, he continued, “Despite having plenty opportunity, today has been truly extraordinary, so I shall show lenience on those in attendance who clearly know what they did. You are all free to go, except for one single person.”
The mood shifted from fear to confusion to relief and finally to curiosity. The 1st Captain being lenient was a rare event as it was, but just who was this one individual who even under the most extreme circ*mstances could not be granted any mercy whatsoever? Just what had they done to incur the Iudex' anger? Auris was just as curious to find out as they were, for this was certainly unusual. How could something like this have happened without him being informed first?
“As you all know, the higher one stands, the higher are the standards they must adhere to, as to be a an example of excellence to those ranked below.”, Argus proceeded, “Therefore for the highest rank, there can be no leniency or mercy, for they must be flawless in their work and life. As much as it saddens me, I must turn the full power of this court against those among us who stands the highest, against someone who has been found on gross violations of our regulations despite knowing better. With evidence provided by the Apothecarium, I hereby accuse our Chaptermaster Auris for failing to appear to several of his mandatory medical checkups as well as ignoring the set guidelines for work procedures concerning resting and recovery as started within our regulations.”
Before the crowd could even process what was going on, he proceeded.
“With the power vested in me by this institution that outranks every other member or organization of this ship, in accordance to our Chapter's regulations, by invoking §18 Section 3 I hereby declare the accused temporarily unfit for duty.”, Iudex Argus declared with utmost authority, “For the duration of our stay on Necrall IV he is forbidden to do any work regarding his position, and is to get his medical evaluation done immediately. The organizational work necessary for this time will be split among the members of the Concilium Caellum for the duration of our stay, as further specified in our regulations.”
Auris could barely believe the words, shocked that suddenly the might of the rules he had crafted himself all those decades ago were used against him. His augmented mind however was already over the shock, the tactical intelligence crafted into his genetics was already looking for a way out of this – and there was one, right in the same rules they tried to throw at him.
“Your authority in the role of Iudex might be great, but even you cannot make a call like this, Argus, we both know that.”, he said remembering all the legal subtleties and details that made up §18, a part of the regulations that had never been invoked since the Chapter's Refounding.
“Yes, you speak truth”, Argus agreed, “Declaring such judgment is above my station, but only when it is me alone making the call. However, you will find I do not stand alone on this.”
He made a gesture to his side towards Castellan Dunst, resuting in all eyes in the room being turned to the old man, who until then had been silently smoking his pipe.
“I am sorry, old friend, but this is for your own good”, he said before taking a piece of vellum from his mantle. It bore the seals and insignia of nearly all members of the ruling council. A member of the bridge crew came closer with a small bowl of hot sealing wax, and the old man used it and his ring to add his seal to the bottom of the list in the most official way possible.
“Don't take it personally”, he said with a genuine smile on his wrinkly face, “After all, we can't be the only ones enjoying this vacation.”
Chapter 12: Sign: Necrall IV +00:06:47 // Rest //
Chapter Text
<Chief Apothecarius Log, Sign: Necrall IV +00:05:02 – Going by the noise the trial has already started. It is uncanny how much one can hear echoing through the ship when the engines and all the other stuff is out We got accustomed to the noise to the point of not even noticing it anymore – some of the crew have probably never witnessed it in their entire life. As unusual as it is to hear the distant sound of rain from inside a spacecraft, the change is a pleasant one.
As regulations would have it, I should have attended the trial, but I cannot leave, not while there are still battle brothers and crew fighting for their lives. Narcosis has done a wonderful job patching up the crew, but whatever malady has infected us, it seems to wreck havoc on Astartes in specific. I do realize that humanizing a disease or poison like that is unprofessional, but it almost appears like this sickness has more experience when infesting us over regular people. So far all we could do is delay the inevitable, but I have not given up. Reports show that our isolated systems have not taken any damage. When it comes to the worst, we might be able to rely on stasis cells – we do not have many of them, much less unoccupied ones, but if it is to save a life we might have to get a little creative.>
“You turncoat!”
“Hmm”
“You treasonous snake!”
“Yeah”
“You... you... ALPHARIUS!”
“Now now, Auris, no need to get emotional.”
“How could you sell me out like this?”
“With absolute ease and a clear conscience. Now turn around I still need to check the other side.”
The recently demoted Chaptermaster did as told, allowing Timidus to proceed. A medical check on an Astartes was always a complicated affair, especially when the one in question had not showed up for one in years. Given the numerous additional organs and their augmented metabolism build into their originally human form, the complexity of the organism was drastically above that of a regular mortal – and yet every component and their interactions had to be checked. Commonly these were done not all at once, but in a rotating fashion during the regular inspections – but given the fact that Auris had not managed to make time for it in his busy schedule as Chaptermaster in several decades, he would not be done with it anytime soon.
Around them activity buzzed, with Narcosis orchestrating the entire affair. The common conception of Ogryn being stupid was severely mistaken. There was a difference between stupidity and a certain degree of slowness. While it took a considerable amount of time and patience to teach the big guy, once the information had actually broken through his impossibly thick skull, it was very likely to remain there. If anything, Timidus had found that the Ogryn's memory was in fact better than that of the average human, which might be caused by exactly the same neural properties that made him a slow learner. To see the look of surprise on Auris's face as he observed Narcosis knowing the exact cures and remedies for the presented issues, as well as where they were stored and in what dosage they should be applied – it did certainly fill him with pride. It had taken years, but given his assistant's eagerness to learn, in the end it had been worth it.
Timidus wondered if this was maybe catching a glimpse of what an Ogryn was supposed to be: less pure muscle for the Imperium to exploit, but rather a specifically artificially evolved variant of the human species in the face of lethal conditions. One could only wonder what Ogryn life in the Imperium would look like if they were not used as brainless muscle and deemed mentally defect form the moment of their birth – but given the typical imperial culture, especially within the military or the manufacturing districts of Hive Cities, no one would ever have the time and patience to teach them anything to lay the foundation. Even he had been skeptical at first, only having found use for Narcosis to carry heavy things, equipment and patients alike. Only with time he had found that having an assistant who would follow any order or procedure he could understand instantly without question or deviation was too valuable an asset for medical emergencies to not bother developing. They had started on the simple parts, on how to put on or swap a bandage, or how to stabilize a broken bone – countless decades and an infinite amount of small steps later, Narcosis was qualified to even perform surgery, assuming it was a problem he knew how to approach.
Right now he has busy conducting experiment regarding the planet's flora and fauna. Despite the storm raging outside, the protocols for planetary landings had been adhered to, albeit with some delay, and several squads of Astartes had left the vessel to scout out their surroundings and bring back whatever looks remotely edible. Given the weather it was exclusively plants, mushrooms, and fruit.
The first level of testing was checking for obvious corrosive properties. The second level was Narcosis's idea: he just ate one of each and had the rest of the medical staff monitor his vitals, while talking about the taste – or in one specific case, about the funny colors he started seeing. Everything that did not manage to disturb the Ogryn's body too much was cut into a significantly smaller portion and served to the volunteers as well as several outstandingly brave kitchen workers. About half of them were by now either knocked out or delirious, a whole bunch was currently in progress of emptying their digestive system on both ends simultaneously, about three were screaming as if they were being burned alive, and one unfortunate soul had to be gagged for he would not stop screaming about “the skeletal hands tearing the moon from the heavens”, “the hunger of the void for entertainment” and, most of all, about “THESE METAL CRAWLERS IN MY HEAD!!”. Timidus made a mental note to keep the specific mushroom that caused it away from their Navigators and Astropaths at all cost.
“OI, YOU ONES!”, Narcosis barked towards a group of Astartes at the other end of the room, “You is not going to get any more healthy! Get out! You in the way!”
“What's with them?”, Auris asked, surprised to see members of the 5th company still under treatment, “Didn't you say the damage we sustained in Engineering was significantly lower than at both the bridge and the mess hall?”
“Oh this is not about the hostile incursion.”, the Apothecarius explained, still busy gathering data from his patient, “We patched them up in the first hour, these only came in after we landed.”
“So, what happened to them then? Is it something in the air? I thought we checked the planet's atmosphere before?”
“Absolutely nothing. If anything, they are healthier than before. You know how the 5th often struggles due to their... unique gifts? Headaches, migraines, and the like?”
“Of course.”
“Well, turns out the atmosphere here acts like a very mild dampening field. One hypothesis is that the planetary climate steadily absorbs such energies and discharges them as the high altitude energy storms, but we will have to run further tests on that.”
“So they can't use their abilities?”, Auris inquired further, “How does that make them healthier? Shouldn't they feel crippled?”
“The effect is not strong enough to be more than a minor hindrance.”, Timidus elaborated, “It does, however, calm the Warp. It's like they were submerged in water – no real hindrance to an Astartes, but you know how the sounds are dampened while you are under? You do remember our mission on Altus III, right? Lots of water, lots of bloated bodies?”
“That was four decades ago”, Auris remarked, his mind wandering back to mission debriefings long past, “It took almost a year to get the stench out of our armor. When it came to the undergarments we just gave up and burned all of it. Getting replacements almost went beyond our budget, and we were in luck that many among the crew were capable of sewing.”
“The 5th company right now is essentially underwater metaphorically speaking”, Timidus proceeded while noting his current findings on Auris' health on his dataslate, “Some of their members have trouble dealing with such calm. Understandable to a degree - if I was carrying around a headache for centuries and one day it suddenly vanished, any degree of suspicion should be appropriate.”
“So they came here because they were feeling... suspiciously healthy?”
“Indeed - and while I should be happy that unlike a certain someone they take their health seriously, I'd rather they'd be gone for the Apothecarium is no place for people even more healthy than usual.”
The last part was spoken in a louder tone, one that made it unmistakably clear on who the highest authority was in these halls. The few Astartes of the 5th that still tried to argue with the Ogryn finally got up and left. With that matter taken care of, Timidus returned his attention to his current patient.
“While given the superficial checks your health is in seemingly acceptable condition save for the concerning amount of re-caf in your system that could probably kill a mere mortal”, he stated while glancing on his current findings, “There is still the matter of your mental health...”
“By the throne and all saints!”, Auris cut him off, “If you try to diagnose me with this Ultradepression-theory of yours, demotion or not, I will take you to the sparring cages over it!”
“Don't call it that, such description is highly unprofessional. However, you cannot deny that there is a pattern within the medical data provided by our brothers at Ultramar!”, Timidus proceeded, “You even wrote it into our operations manual to pursue productive non-combative activities during the rare and valuable times of rest and respite. So, old friend, what do you do in your time off?”
“We both know that there has not been such time for several decades. My duty to our ship and our chap-”, Auris tried to explain, but now it was Timidus' turn to cut him off.
“Your duty is shared with an entire council who could easily make room in their schedules to allow you the one or other day of recreation. Answer the question, Auris.”
There was a moment of awkward silence, as the currently demoted Chaptermaster was trying to think of something, but both of them knew that after decades of work without a single break the man probably would not even know what to do in his free time even if the opportunity did present itself to him – which might have been another reason for Auris to bury himself even more into his work. It was to suspect that the man had not taken a single break in 80 or even more years of service.
“I got nothing”, Auris mumbled more to himself than to Timidus, as if realizing that fact by speaking it out into the world revealing to him just how shocking the whole matter truly was. Underneath the layers upon layers of duty, honor, obligation, and training there was still a human being, one that just realize that outside these external elements it had not had room to breathe for almost a century.
“You better find something to do then.”, the Chief Apothecarius advised, “But I'm sure that'll be the easy part. Even that guy.”, he gestured towards a certain Space Wolf occupying a bed at the far end of the room still completely knocked out, “The one who spends every minute in the sparring cages, has something to do while he rests – and he's developing quite an artistic talent from what I have heard.”
“Rerren? He didn't strike me as the artistic type really...”
“The Space Wolves rarely do, and yet he brought with him from Fenris his love for carving wood and bone – oh, and he loves telling stories to the crew. I've been told he's quite the narrator, even if half of his tales are probably just void-yarn spun over one too many Mjolds.”
For a moment the demoted Chaptermaster appeared like he wanted to say something, but then just remained silent. Timidus had a suspicion as to why, as he had seen it several times already, albeit not by such extent. The next days and weeks were completely unknown territory for the man commonly so obsessed with work. Now that this was taken away from him, he was faced with a great unknown. The augmented part of his neurology must by now be in overdrive, demanding strategic plans, risk evaluations, and countless other things a proper Astartes, especially one of Ultramar - would require in combat. But alas, there was no war to fight on this peaceful planet, so while the conscious mind did not jump into combat gear, the subconscious was still rumbling along under the surface. The results were mostly absent-mindedness, a heightened degree of irritability, and potential effects based on the patients personality, but commonly this was nothing the passage of time couldn't repair.
“Alright, we only scratched the surface, but there's little to do until I got the data evaluated.”, Timidus broke the silence while gesturing at the pile of dataslates before him, “Just return within the next six hours, but not before four, and if it needs another court-order for you to care about your health...”
“Then...?”, Auris asked, curious as to how Timidus might possibly threaten him, even if only in jest.
“... I will allow Daimos-5 to reorganize your paperwor.k”
“By Terra and all 500 worlds, you wouldn't dare!”
“Oh yes I would. In fact he has even made suggestions already as to how to increase efficiency by transcribing everything into machine code...”
There was no doubt that their tech-priest do his utmost best and create the most organized system in the entire Imperium of Man. It would be so perfectly organized that no one would ever be able to find a single darn thing, ever. The two stared at each other for a moment with utmost seriousness and disbelief, before breaking into laughter.
“Oh no, you won't need to worry”, Auris finally said as he got up to leave, “Now that we actually started it would be a waste not to get over with it. Want me to fetch you something from the kitchens when I come back?”
“No need,”, Timidus declined, “I'll just send Narcosis or some of the other kids later – or sooner, depending how fast we burn through volunteer testers...”
As if on cue just as he said that one of the kitchen workers splattered his current meal all over the floor. Timidus made a mental note that given the intensity of this effect, whatever caused it might be a formidable emetic to compliment his arsenal of cures and remedies. Auris meanwhile tried his best not to step into anything too disgusting while making his way to the exit.
Just Timidus' primary patient had left the Apothecarium, the decontamination unit towards the quarantine ward sprang into activity, and the aggressive smell of purging chemicals could be perceived in the entire room. Generally this would be considered overdoing it, but given their current patients this might not even be enough. Daimos-5, currently demoted to being the head nurse of the quarantine ward, had no issue with it – which could most likely be explained by his obvious lack of a nose.
[[Status of Patients = Critical. Tendency in 65% of subjects = Highly-Critical]], the tech priest reported, [[Common treatment procedures = failing. Preferred Option // extensive augmentation and removal of infected parts = impossible. Reason = hostile interference on non-organic matter.]]
As if to pronounce just how aggressive whatever that thing was that was killing their men, he presented his primary mechadendrites – or rather, what was left of them. Several of them had been crudely cut off at various lengths. It seems like Daimos-5 had no qualms cutting off a limb the moment it showed signs of infection. His only remaining exposed biological piece, his left arm, was once again wrapped up under countless layers of carmine cloth.
[[Number of Options = two. Option One = Delay process indefinitely by use of stasis technology. Status of Stasis Technology on ship = unclear. Following step = consult archives regarding equipment.]]
“You won't find any in the official lists, don't bother.”, Timidus replied somewhat too loud for a matter this confidential. Realizing this he tried to change the direction of the conversation, “You mentioned another option, what is it?”
The tech priest drew closer, his lowered voice being the mechanical equivalent of a whisper.
[[Hostile influence = abnormal. Adaptive. Potentially sentient. Characterization of illness in ancient texts uses descriptor = “demonic”. Lack of medical knowledge = imagination of patient being possessed by hostile forces. Origin of illness = scenario plausible]]
“So the problem is a literal demons in their bodies?”, the Chief Apothecarius asked with slight disbelief, not yet in the right head space for yet another problem medicine alone could not solve, “Not the vague metaphor to describe an illness, but actual hostiles?”
[[Hostile Entities origin Warp = described as predatory. Assumption: Following hierarchical rule-structure = “predator and prey”. Solution = add respective predator element to patient systems]]
Timidus' first impulse would have been to ask just where Daimos-5 would go and try to find such element, one that by nature actively consumed demonic energies, but both of them had been present during the battle in Engineering. They had seen what their abnormal passenger was capable off. An entity usually essentially brain-dead springing to live when presented with a certain type of energy only made sense if this followed the basic concepts of life: consumption and metabolic utilization of said energy. If one were to take cells of such abnormal organism, and implant them into the bodies of those struck low by such energies...
[[Procedure within context of imperial dogma = highly problematic. Requesting permission to proceed.]]
The fact that Daimos-5 even bothered to ask for permission as opposed to just doing whatever he deemed best anyways should have been a clear sign of just how insane this thing was that they were considering now. However, they were out of options - and they both were painfully aware of that.
“Just keep it off the records – whatever it takes to keep our men alive. Also call in the 5th company, we might need someone of their talents to stand guard. We're not going to take any risks on that!”
Chapter 13: Sign: Necrall IV +00:08:15 // Cure //
Chapter Text
<Techpriest's Log, Sign Necral IV +00:06:04 – Reaction of Chapter Command = Unexpected. Damage to structures and personnel on bridge = outside of calculations. Hostile movement pattern not fitting archived encounters. Axiom regarding hostile behavior: Primary target: warp core. Secondary target: largest concentration of individuals in Mess Hall. Design of Maelstrom Protocols = based on stated axiom. Deviation from common hostile behavior requires further investigation, once matters of higher priority have been terminated.
Result of previous ceremony: change of priority order. Preservation of Life = Preservation of Project Funding. Opening theatrics folder// FOR THE OMNISSIAH!>
Faint metallic sounds of an uneven number of mechanical limbs echoed through the hallways as Daimos-5 made his way through the ship. The recent hours had been far from his calculations. According to all parameters he should have been hailed as genius, and yet here was, degraded to a nurse. At first he had been furious, but after seeing the suffering of the Astartes that had been on the bridge, he was determined to find a cure. Not out of any sort of emotional philanthropy obviously, but rather because this was exactly the kind of impossible challenge one coruld use to showcase his superior intellect and genius.
While he was by far no Magos Biologis, having extensive knowledge in the field of augmentation - as a tech priest should have as opposed to being a fraud who paid others for one's ascension into the Omnissiah's likeliness – supplied him with a certain basic knowledge of medicine and the human physiology, most of it being the obvious insight that the design was certainly flawed. Two legs? Absolutely barbaric. What was next, two arms? Utterly impractical, not to mention uninspired. Meanwhile the entire system was so absurdly fragile, one could only stop and wonder if the designers of this physiology had wanted it to crumble and die at the faintest interference. Who would create a form only to have it succumb to entropy that easily? Even if one wanted to assume an intelligent design, with the intelligence aspect of it being more than questionable, it would be one born from cruelty and degenerate sadism. How fortunate then that there was an escape in the sacred machinations of the blessed machine.
However Daimos-5 had to admit that even his metallic form was in danger. Whatever sickness was in the progress of killing these men, it did not halt from his mechadendrites, resulting in a rather dramatic action to prevent further infection. The resulting detour to his abode to replace them had been an annoyance, but did not throw off his plans given how he always had plenty of spare parts at the ready. Whatever this sickness was, it did not play by the rules of common biology or medicine. If it could infest inorganic matter, than the beds and the cloth in the quarantine ward should have crumbled to dust by now, and yet no such thing had happened. He had several theories, but sadly no proof yet to formulate a proper cure, but given how much reality and abstract conception were blurred in the realm beyond, they might be dealing with the concept of an illness as opposed to the actual thing - a concept that operated by the simple rules of infecting and infesting humanoid bodies, no matter if these bodies were mundane organics or sanctified steel.
If this was indeed what they were facing, then he had no answer on how to defeat it. A howling monstrosity swinging a blade could be properly convinced of its death by just impaling it with something that looked convincingly sacred. But how should one go about fighting an illness, with no heart to pierce or head to remove? All attempts of conventional treatment failed and if anything managed to make things worse. Their only relief right now was that unless prompted by attempts to remove it from their patients system, their decline was slow. It's almost like this unnatural curse was more interested in trapping its victims in a stagnant hell of eternal suffering, with their eventual deaths being more accidental than anything else.
But if this illness was unwilling to play by the rules of conventional medicine that was fine with him, for the conventional had never been sufficient for Daimos-5. Of course they could have researched healing techniques of bygone occult ages, morsels of wisdom buried under mountains of superstition and quackery, and maybe by tapping into the very same powers as their enemies they might have found a cure. Daimos-5 however had neither the time nor the patience to dabble in pointless sorcery and ritualism, and personally he considered such an approach a capitulation before the powers of the enemy. No, he would defeat this enemy as a tech priest should: he would gather and evaluate data, calculate the solution, and execute it with utmost efficiency. Such was the way of the blessed machine, and those in opposing it shall by ground to dust between the relentless turning of its sacred gears.
If his calculations were correct, the solution was hiding right in their ventilation system, gorging itself on materialized energies of the beyond. While attempting to stabilize the suffering Astartes, a part of his neurology had been busy evaluating the data and theories their Chief Apothecarius had hastily compiled at his request before the start of the landing maneuver. While there had been no further insights into the trans-temporal abilities of the subject, the compiled information regarding Su'us metabolism could work as a basis for a preliminary hypothesis for the changes that had occurred. In a way their subject, which was assumed to be neurologically dead due to the fact of it's consciousness being shattered across an infinite number of temporal lines, had found a way to be functional. At first they had assumed that such thing was only possible of the number of potential futures was cut down, but now one could come to the assumption that it was sufficient when a significant number of them was in synchronicity to ensure to long-term survival of the subject. Given the data on the subject's metabolism, it was eventually bound to burn itself out, their body oscillating between phases of comatose inactivity and impressive feats of speed and power. As the energy running out could imply the end of a timeline, it was only natural that their subject would act against that.
If one were to assume the very basic principles of biological life, of which their subject was at least a crude parody off, that could only mean one thing: the anomalous entity living in their walls was still utterly incomprehensible, but certainly food-motivated. Luckily their appetite included all forms of highly compressed energy and made little difference between a ration bar and a horror from beyond reality. If he could only get a sample of blood, one could use the cells inside, which were clearly capable of metabolizing whatever they were fighting against, he would have a cure at his hands. The side effects of injecting Astartes with it might be impossible to calculate in advance, but they were already on death's door, it's not like they could get any worse no matter what they did. If anything, there would be a considerable amount of data to collect, which certainly was a positive from the tech priest's point of view.
Now to get such a sample, he would have to find the subject first. Going by the facts that Daimos-5 had the entire vessel's schematics memorized combined with the tracking technology implanted into their subject, this should have been a matter of minutes – if not for the very unexpected situation that he was now standing in front of a wall where according to his plans there wasn't supposed to be one. He consulted the data banks integrated into his neurology, even going through past versions of the schematics he had preserved, but none could explain the wall that was blocking his path towards his subject. How frustratingly unusual.
Perhaps the schematics were wrong? This was a seldom visited and barely populated part of the ship after all. Even if the ship would be at its full crew capacity, of which it was far removed from right now, it would be rare for anyone to be here, as his charts showed not a single relevant system in this segment. No cargo rooms, no crew quarters, not even dedicated exercise rooms for live fire practice, as was the common practice for completely unused rooms for Astartes to train in. It was a pure transitory space with no relevance whatsoever.
Daimos-5 paused and went over the data once more. A transitory space with not a single relevant route going through it? The whole point of such an area was to efficiently direct the traffic between other sections, yet when he consulted the operation plans also saved in his augmented neurology all relevant routes for cargo and personnel were routed around it. The area has been purposefully made useless, something unheard of for a spacecraft. Their vessel was a tiny speck of metal in an infinite ocean of blackness, where every bit of resources and capacities had to be used to their full extent. There was no reason for such a dedicated useless section to exist in the first place, it just made no sense to anyone traveling the stars to entertain such a wasteful practice.
This required further investigation. He took off the hood of his robe and activated his additional ocular sensors. Increasing one's field of vision to a full circle was not without strain to one's neurology, but he had no time to waste. Simultaneously he increased the sensitivity of the vox-recievers that served as his ears. Under normal circ*mstances such an increase of perceptive abilities would have been painful, but the ship was unnaturally quiet. Most systems had been forcibly shut down during the landing maneuver, and while the hours after their landing had been chaotic, there was little to do once the damages had been repaired, and so there was only the distant sound of the planetary water cycle and occasionally the voice of a distant crewman echoing through the corridors. There were distant footsteps, the echo of a cargo container being moved on squeaking wheels, the steady gurgling of pipes, and the humming of the illumination units.
All sounds one would expect in a situation like this, except for the fact that the typical hum of illumination units was also coming from inside the wall. Evaluating the information his numerous eyes had gathered, he also came to the conclusion that the number of pipes and wiring channels on the wall was also suspicious for an area seemingly devoid of all function. Slowly, as to not overload his enhanced senses with the noise of his steps, he followed this cables and the noise until he reached a inconspicuous looking section of the wall. Normally he would not have given it a second glance, but now his enhanced senses picked up a slight deviation, one that could only be explained if this segment of the wall was meant to be moved.
Someone had gone to great lengths to hide something. Now he would uncover it and, given by the tracking data that was still being transmitted to him, even fulfill his original mission at the same time. There were several possibilities to what was lying beyond the hidden door, but chances for a hostile encounter were considerably low. Perhaps it was unwise to enter such territory unarmed, but he had left the majority of his offensive augmentations at his abode, as to not set off his quarry's unique temporal perception. With every weapon he could have brought with him it would have increased the chances of this encounter ending lethally, even if only by the most improbable accident, which would make the capture exponentially more difficult. Also, he was far from being defenseless – Daimos-5 had good faith into his mechadendrites, given their clamps could bend and break an iron pipe. Such power was sufficient for a humanoid spine should the need arise, although the tech priest hoped it would not. Such close combat was a messy prospect, and getting the biological remains out of his mechanisms would take a significant time he could have spent on more interesting matters.
Still with all his ocular sensors exposed Daimos-5 entered the hidden pathway, although he made sure to decrease the sensibilities of his perceptive systems back to a normal level. It was not unusual for an augmented being to be lured into a situation just like this, only to be hit by sudden noise and lights. Amplified tenfold, those commonly harmless aspects could cause the neurology to overload and shut down, effectively disabling the augmented unit on the spot.
Following the winding path that more than once deviated from the schematics he had been provided with, he was once again reminded of the true complexity of even the smallest space faring vessels. The typical imperial battleship was considered a flying metropolis. A structure so massive that different corners of the weapon decks alone could develop divergent lingual traits if left alone for too long. Compared to such behemoths of technology, smaller vessels like their battle cruiser were jokingly called “flying villages”. However, that description's implications were deceptive. A village implied simplicity, when in reality their ship was just as complex on the interior as its larger contemporaries - if not even more complex as critical technology had to be installed in a much more compressed space. If one added the countless modifications this ship had gone through, it created a fascinating web of decisions and moments of genius that must have transpired during the last centuries that Daimos-5 adored so much about his current home. It might be smaller than most vessels of the Navis Imperialis, but it was so much more interesting. What was the point of a gargantuan vessel, if its size did nothing but chain together more and more of the same with an inefficiency one could almost deem a sacrilege to the Omnissiah?
The more he delved into this hidden sector, the more questions popped up in his augmented neurology, only to be sorted by his established priority algorithm for a review in the near future as a significant part of his mind was busy mapping out the path and correcting the schematics he had previously been provided with. At first there had been the suspicion that he was walking in circles, but even that was a trick build into this place. Some segments looked suspiciously familiar while guiding those unfamiliar with the place back outwards, while there was an utter lack of indicators or signs anywhere. At the same time the design was suspiciously defensible. One should expect a certain degree of militaristic design on a vessel harboring Astartes, especially when it held an entire Chapter of them, but this place was remarkably easy to defend with - if his calculations were correct - remarkably little manpower. There was just one thing that confused the tech priest. All these defensive positions could have been even more powerful, if it was not for the seemingly conscious decision to keep them equally operable in both directions. It was one thing to have a secure position to defend, but what could be hidden here that one would consider raising arms against it at the same time?
A prison perhaps? Hidden catacombs where dangerous elements were thrown to rot for all eternity? But that was unlikely, for the common punishments in the Imperium of Man were forced labor and death, commonly but not always in that exact order. There was no need for a hidden prison most of the time. What about a laboratory then? Dangerous research on dangerous biological specimen that if the containment measures failed would kill them all? Also very unlikely, given how such a place of research would require an extensive supply chain of exotic materials and waste management that would have been impossible to get by his routine surveys and inspections. The third option would be a den of heresy, where treasonous warriors who had fallen from the Empire's light were mingling with entities from beyond reality.
Given his current quarry's recently discovered appetite it would make sense for some otherworldly concentration of energy was attracting them as opposed to the supernatural instincts of prolonging their existence and synchronizing the timelines as to reduce infinite possibilities to a still infinite by more defined spectrum – although calling those instincts might be false, as they were more results of his target's physical existence, and therefore much more consistent than any unreliable biological concept could ever be. However, the state of the ship argued against a hidden trove of demonic entities waiting to devour him. In his field of study Daimos-5 had seen plenty of times the aftermath of faulty Gellar fields or damaged warp engines. The taint of the warp could be subtle at times, but it was inevitable, and - most of all -, adamantly refused containment once inside. This stain upon reality would spread throughout the vessel, devour it from within, and condemn all souls it ferried to eternal suffering in the tides of the Immaterium.
However, no such corruption could be found here – mostly because he could not imagine anyone on this ship even having the time to sink into heretical ritualism and ceremonies. Their number of crew not even a tenth from what was common on other vessels this size, so even Astartes who heavily specialized in combat, such as the 2nd and 4th companies, were expected to do their part. In a way their augmented physiology made them ideal for dangerous tasks of manual labor that often led to lethal accidents among crew. Something that could behead a regular mortal would only leave a bump on an Astartes' skull, and while for the warrior involved it was probably not a pleasant experience, it was most certainly preferable to death.
To conclude: they were just too few – so few in fact that some conventional tactics of Void warfare were entirely impossible to them for the simple fact that they did not have the manpower to operate the weapon systems efficiently. In a society this small, it was hard to keep secrets, no matter how heretical, and therefore the hypothesis of a horde of murderous demons and occult zealots waiting for him at the core of this mystery had to be discarded.
With all those theories falling short one way or another, Daimos-5 could not come up with another idea to what might suspect waiting for him at the center of this mystery – although, if asked later, he would obviously claim to have suspected it from the very start. Little would he mention the embarrassingly long time his neurology was requiring to process what he would find.
At the end of this curiously designed labyrinth there was a chorus greeting him. A delightful harmony of electric currents and faint rumbling of a generator forming the base. This sensation was only enhanced by its visuals, countless cylinders of metal and glass being the only light source in the room, as if the regular lighting system had taken its leave in the name of mechanical aestheticism. They were placed in a perfect even distance to each other, and filled the room in perfect symmetry – a symmetry even the cabling was abiding to as to not disturb the overall image. An image so grand, so beautiful, that it took the tech priest almost fifteen-point-three seconds to get his neurology back in order.
Just in time to dodge the ambush of whoever inhabited such a curious place. Given the average weight and width of an Astartes one could not imagine them moving quietly, much less attacking from above, but once again Daimos-5 was reminded of the genuine craftsmanship that went into their forms. Still inferior biologics devoid of any aestheticism, but a pinnacle of lethality nonetheless. A regular human, augmented or not, would have found it impossible to dodge this sudden assault – but those were stuck to using a limited number of legs equipped with an even more limited number of function. Also, they did not have eyes on the literal back of their heads.
The falling Astartes let out grunt of surprise as the intruder's body tilted almost a perfect ninety degrees to the side at a point where one would suspect the knees. He flew right past his target, caught his fall in a roll that betrayed centuries of training, and turned back around. It was only then that both parties recognized each other, resulting in an uncomfortably long silence. Daimos-5 was the first one to break it.
[[Behavior = Assault of fellow member of governing council = Unacceptable]]
“You've been demoted”, the Astartes growled, “You don't belong here.”
[[Demotion status = temporary.]], the tech priest snapped, [[Inquiry: method of acquisition for that information. Last known attendance of 3rd Company Captain Hephaton to council meetings = 291 days, 13 hours, 14 minutes. Lowest attendance rating of all members.]]
“Auris keeps me informed, and it is by his orders I remain at my post”, Hephaton grumbled while taking on a combative stance once more, “You don't belong here. Unauthorized intruders will be removed.”
Daimos-5 had almost forgotten just how much of a pain the elusive captain of the 3rd company could be to deal with. Engine Master Kirrspat's obstinacy was already infuriating at times, but her mentor was even worse. There was no mistaking on where she got it from. Unless he had a legitimate reason to be here - besides the noble quest for knowledge of course – this brute would stop at nothing to perform his orders to the letter. In a way he was similar to the captain of the 1st , but much more focused on the exact words of the order regardless of context.
[[Current order of tech-priest unit: capture of biological specimen on orders of member of council: Apothecarius Timidus. Subject tracked into sector deviating from provided schematics]]
It was not like Timidus actually ordered him to go here, that would be preposterous. This was a cooperative request of the Apothecarium relying on his obvious genius, not a simple and profane order to fetch something. But, with some imagination - and a sufficient lack of dignity - one could view it as such.
For a moment the Astartes stared at him, his expressions unreadable behind the protective goggles Hephaton was usually wearing. Two black circles of mirrored glass staring at the tech priests for a while, before turning around. With his stance relaxing he gestured Daimos-5 to follow him.
[[Requesting information // this room = project of 3rd company?]], he asked while skittering behind the warrior, his mechanics having no trouble matching the giant's stride, [[Secondary question: purpose?]]
“No, it's a more personal project”, the 3rd captain replied after a slight pause, only to then entirely ignore the second question, “You will need light. That thing is slippery. Came in when I maimed the monsters that came in from the jump. Ate the smaller ones that tried to hide. Useful, but I don't like it.”
[[Subject nature indeed elusive – requesting information for capture: special patterns in subject behavior?]]
“Nah.”, Hephaton grumbled, “It ate the beasts, ate half the rations I had out, then went to sleep. A wild animal – but wakes up every time I try to catch it. Never seen a thing like it.”
He led them to the center of the room, where he proceeded to pull a weighty lever causing the illuminating units to flare up. Only then Daimos-5 could view the 3rd captain properly – and see the truth of what he had just walked into. The captain himself looked almost the same as the last time he had seen him almost a terran standard year ago. The black protective goggles that covered light-sensitive eyes contrasted with the bright red piece of cloth he wore on his head much like a Catachan. Below that came the beard of someone who haphazardly shaved once every few weeks, followed by an exposed bulk of muscle formed by both training and daily manual labor. A tool belt that was – even by techmarine standards – remarkably well equipped, had been thrown around his waist. At first one could be surprised about the lack of protective gear, given how the simple cloth his pants were made as well as his exposed skin and feet would seem like a safety hazard – but what was the point of clothes when an Astartes skin was so much more durable anyways?
But Daimos-5 could not stop to bother with the 3rd Captains' appearance, as the room demanded his attention. At first he had suspected some sort of power generation facility, but now in the light the gigantic cylinders they had passed revealed their true nature: stasis units. Each and every one of them. Each of them build in a way even the largest tremor would barely shake them, and each of them large enough to house an Astartes in combat armor with ease. On the ones he could examine more closely, he could spot the high-gothic numeral marker of “X”.
“The 10th company”, Hephaton expained, “Your little animal does not belong here – it will disturb their rest.”
Daimos-5 knowledge of Astartes command structures was mostly limited to general knowledge. It was not unusual for different companies to specialize in different fields, but commonly the 10th was used for scouting and training neophytes. Given that their chapter did not bother creating new Astartes, and mostly recruited itself from drifters or remnants of destroyed chapters that were neither insane enough for the Black Templars nor obsessive in their grudges like the Deathwatch, he had always assumed that the 10th company just did not exist, with the empty seat at the council being more a formality than anything else to achieve codex compliance.
But without neophytes and with scouting mostly being a specialty of the 9th company, then what was the purpose of this place? Who were the warriors held in stasis? Why were they put there? Why were they in their full combat gear? Within seconds his augmented neurology had mapped out the available information and gone through the possibilities. As a punishment a stasis cell made little sense, as the 1st company commonly threw those who broke the laws into the brig and assigned extra shifts in both work and training. For medical purposes it was very unlikely as well – a wounded Astartes would either recover from his wounds entirely, or die where he was struck. The endurance of their enhanced biology made sure of that, and in the exceedingly rare cases where recovery was impossible, they were entombed into a Dreadnought like the honorable Maximus. But what if the entombing process was impossible? What if it was not the body that was critically damaged, but the mind? There were tales of other Chapters that had suffered from these issues and who had found a solution to this, but not one that was commonly talked about publicly.
The true nature of the 10th was that of a Death Company: the last resting place of those deemed irredeemably lost; who's only purpose was to be thrown into combat and perish with honor.
But if this truly was a Death Company, then why could he see in the distance stasis units that clearly were too small for an Astartes to fit in? Sadly Daimos-5 did not have much time for further investigation, as Hephaton gestured him to follow to the place he had last seen Su'us. It was clear that the warrior would not explain a single thing – in addition to being not being the most talkative sort.
The actual capture of their target was simple to the point of it just being a formality, mostly including a trail of rations, a transport box, and a load bearing element that could be removed with the pull of a mechadendrite. If one knew about Su'us unique nature, the calculations required for the capture were remarkably simple – it was just that one had to make the process as harmless as possible. As an Astartes could probably just rip them in two without much tought, they would obviously be avoided, even if they had little intention to do so – here it was the mere probability that counted.
His exit of this hidden sector was much less spectacular and much shorter than his entrance – Hephaton carried the transport box and led the tech priest through the labyrinth with the certainty of someone who had created the place, and then shoved them both out without another word. Daimos-5 could only turn around to see a door closing and seamlessly merge with the wall around it.
As much as he would like to investigate the matter further, the mysteries of the 10th could wait, for now he had a miracle of medicine to create and prove his superior intellect once again to those on this ship. The casualties of the landing would get their cure, and they would allow his genius to shine even brighter. For the glory of the Omnissiah!
Chapter 14: Sign: Necrall IV +00:13:37 // Recreation //
Chapter Text
<Chapterma- Astartes Auris, Personal Log, Sign: Necral IV +00:10:13: As this demotion is only a temporary affair, there is no point in skipping the proper recording of reports. There is not much to note except for the silence. It is... unusual. Commonly on a vessel such as ours, there's always work to be done – something as night or day does not exist in in the Void, there's work shifts and meal plans, but that is the extent of it. But now, for the first time, dusk had fallen upon our home. Most systems are shut down and require no oversight and the most urgent damages have been repaired. As there is nothing but darkness and bad weather outside, the crew has gone to rest, save for the few who await our returning scouts of the 8th - but even they will probably have fallen asleep on their posts by now. A behavior usually punished harshly, but given the circ*mstances it can be overlooked.
It is strange to have one's flow of time dictated by the concepts day and night. For decades it has been an endless stream of tasks and shift rotations, a motion that has now come to a grinding halt. In this pause, this nothingness beyond our time the mind can't help but wonder. About yesterday, about tomorrow, concepts so basic feeling yet so foreign now. When the storm passes and dawn rises upon us, what will this new day bring?>
The first thing that this new day brought was an uncomfortable feeling of not knowing what to do. There were a few things Auris had done since his temporary demotion, but now that his armor has been properly polished and checked three times, and his volumes of the Codex Astartes had been properly sorted on his shelf again together with the book containing his favorite topic – trans-warp-supply-chain-management and -optimization – being turned so one could see the front cover, there was not much to do in his quarters.
On any regular day he would head up to his station, review the reports that had come during his time of rest, schedule a briefing with the Castellan and any members of the Concilium Caelum he required that day, and from that point and it was just one task after another, until eventually he'd find conditions calm and stable enough to leave his post, do the daily hours of physical training that were expected of an Astartes, and then return to rest until either an emergency occurred or his chronometer marked the end of his efficiently planned resting schedule. Between his duty, his training, and resting, the passage of time was barely noticeable, and so months, years, and even decades passed by without Auris even noticing. Now that for the first time in almost a century he had a free day, he just did not know what to do with it.
Of course he could have just spend it working. Coming up with concepts, running simulations, inspecting parts of the ship, in theory there was plenty he could do – and yet he actively refused to. This mandatory rest, as infuriating as it was, was put on him by almost the entire ruling council and the system of law that governed the life on this ship. Mocking such verdict would mean spitting into the face of the very institutions he helped build and shape for decades. It would be a childish and undignified act of stubborn defiance, unworthy of an Astartes and especially not of a person in a commanding position.
While Auris therefore had a very clear list of things he would explicitly not be doing for the next time, that did nothing to help him figure out on what he was actually supposed to be doing. Maybe by observing the rest of the crew and chapter he could gain some inspiration on how to spend the time, and there was no better place for this than the most frequented room on the entire ship: the mess hall. It's been a while since he had a meal in public, as the way from his office down to the hall was quite a bit, and all that time he would have rather spent working sustaining himself, much to Timidus' disapproval, on ration bars and recaf alone. Perhaps the kitchen staff already had made use of the new ingredients the scouts had brought in – there had to be some that should have passed the checks regarding edibility by now. Not that he would be opposed to their kitchen's unique mystery stew, which would always be superior to corpse starch, but it could get dull after a while even with all the variations it could be served as.
Theoretically while he was on the way down, he considered stopping by the Apothecarium to see how the members of his Honor Guard that had been with him on the bridge were faring – but while he was concerned and worried about these warriors, there was little he could do there aside from getting in the way of the work – and right now he did not have the authority to take up such an ineffective position, not that he ever would do so. His only options were to wait and hope, but since an Astartes dying would have been a event he would have been notified about, demotion or not, and there had been no such message the entire night, perhaps one could err on the side of optimism. An almost decadent luxury under regular conditions, but their current situation was far from regular.
Despite his clear goal in mind, it was only a few minutes of walking through the hallways of the slowly waking vessel until he got distracted. The all to familiar sound of an enhanced fist meeting an equally sturdy face, followed by a bunch of primitive cheers. Just who could be this rowdy first thing in the morning? Following the primitive clamor it only took a minute to reach an officially vacant storage room, where warriors of various companies sat around a was clearing a sparring circle.
“Ah, Chapterma- Uh...”, one of them greeted him as he was recognized, somewhat confused as to how to address him given his current suspension, half-frozen in a bowing movement. After a short pause the warrior Auris recognized as a Squad-Captain of the 2nd company, had given up on the problem and simply defaulted to “Good Morning Sir”.
“Good Morning to you too, Squad-Captain Galateon”, Auris replied, “Care to explain what is going on here? Have the sparring cages become too dull for your liking?”
“Oh, nothing off the sorts,”, the Son of Sanguinius stated, “We are not here to fight or spar.”
“A questionable statement given how I see two men unconscious and another about to become the third.”, Auris remarked expressing his doubts.
“Oh this is but a simple method of conflict resolution.”, Galateon attempted to explain, “The first in-person meeting of the reading circle in over a year was bound to get a little heated, lots of opinions and all...”
“Reading?”, Auris asked, somewhat baffled, “What could you all have been reading that would warrant such outbursts of violence?”
“Nothing unusual”, the squad-captain explained, “Mostly just going through our archives of terran and ultramarian classics. Currently we are done with Superbia et Obium by Austae if you are familiar. ”
“Isn't that from the early merikan period?”
“It's a later Albion publication actually, but one could see how one could think that. As much as I would have loved reading it in the Anglican original, we agreed on taking a Gothic translation from M32. Ease of access and all.”
“Weren't Austae's works about nobility, and the politics of marriage?”, a still baffled Auris inquired, “What's in there for a bunch of warriors to beat each other up over?”
“Well, you see, battle brother Nautes over there,”, he pointed towards one of the combatants, ”Has some... opinions about the character Darcius, one of the suitors to the protagonist. Commonly we discuss such things during shift-changes over an unused vox-frequency, but given such restraints there is only so much one could do to resolve a discussion that has found a gridlock build from blockheads. Luckily when we have time to meet in person, such conflicts are resolved swiftly.”
As if on cue the audience cheered as Nautes was sent to the ground by a swift sequence of punches. Auris' augmented neurology was fascinated by the unusual movements of Nautes' opponent, a style he had rarely seen before preferred by the Ravenguard. The Sons of the Raven were not known for their brawn like others, but that might be all the more reason to be wary of their technique. Realizing the specifically augmented parts of his brain were about to go off on a tangent, Auris forced his mind back to the topic at hand. There was little he could say to oppose something as harmless and cultured as a reading circle of humanity's classic literature, if they got a little rowdy while being at it, that was just the awkward byproduct of their creation. Perhaps their engagement in literary culture might even work to counteract such uncivilized impulses.
“Just make sure to keep your discussion civil.”, he stated, indicating that he had seen enough and that he was taking his leave now, “Because even when I see nothing wrong with it, Timidus will see things very differently. If you come to the Apothecarium because of differences in opinion over a book, he will have you scrubbing the entire ward for weeks.”
“There's no reason for concern”, Galateon proclaimed with a smile that could only barely hide the concern he was feeling now. Everyone knew that on this ship Timidus's dedication to the Chapter was only surpassed by a mood most foul when someone was wasting his time, “The men will just take any excuse to spar when bored, they will grow tired of it the moment we start our next book. It's The Post-Modern Prometheus if you are interested...?”
“Another time, perhaps”, Auris politely declined, “But if you could send me a list of the works you have read so far, that'd be appreciated. I am curious to see what you all have been up to over the years.”
“As you wish Cha- Battlebrother Auris.”, Galateon corrected himself yet again, before bidding him goodbye with a polite bow, “May the Angel's light guide your ways.”
“And may his shadow bring you solace”, Auris completed the phrase before moving on, his destination still being the mess hall. He was not entirely sure what he had expected, but a reading circle occupying unused storage spaces and vox-frequencies had not been part of his expectations. A surprise, certainly, but a welcome one. As much as some chapters might cultivate an image of brutality and barbarism, an ever ongoing education in the fields of history and the arts had always been a central part of an Astartes training. While the motivations for this might differ depending on a chapter's origin, it was certainly just as common as those wallowing in coarse brutality. In his case, the Ultramarines had mostly approached the subject with a certain sense of practicality: they were not just made to slaughter and conquer, but also to protect and rule – a task made significantly easier and more efficient if one could understand what one was actually ruling over. As it turns out, actively engaging in the culture one way to gain such understanding.
Auris' venture into literature therefore had mostly consisted of culturally and historically relevant texts that had inspired political and philosophical movements. He could not remember when he had last read something that was not a mission briefing or a cargo manifest, much less when it was the last time he had read something for purely recreational purposes – aside from the Codex Astartes of course, but that was mostly in service to his position. While the lecture of the Codex could be highly informative and surely educational even for seasoned readers, given its absurd density of information it was rarely an recreational affair.
The currently-demoted-chaptermaster proceeded, taking notice of the ship slowly waking around him. Normally there would be a constant backdrop of business flowing through these corridors, ebbing and flowing with the maneuvers and shift changes. But now it was just regular people waking up and starting their day. Some bowed as he walked by, others kept the greeting as an informal salute which was probably the most fitting for his current rank, and there were several who were still sleeping despite standing up, not even noticing him as he passed by. Under any under other circ*mstance he would have to punish such blatant tardiness, but without the duties and authority of a commanding position there was no incentive to do so, and so he could be as lenient as he desired without it being a violation of protocols.
Entering the still considerably empty central hall Auris immediately spotted the one person he had not expected to be there, much less actively waving at him. Hieronymus Laskin, leader of the astropathic choir and representative of their navigators, was not exactly known to be sociable. The uniquely gifted members of the crew that steered the vessel through the warp and communicated through it lived their own lives in a separate part of the vessel, rarely leaving to mingle with the rest of the crew even when that was explicitly not forbidden. Laskin meanwhile was unsociable even by the standards of his compatriots. Curiously not due a nasty personality or a very strict way of leadership, but simply due to the fact that he on the regular forgot that other people existed and in general made little effort in interacting with them. The man's age had always been a mystery, mostly due to the fact that his hair had been turning white since his early thirties. In fact he was often just seen as a walking mass of beard, mane, and whatever hair there was in between spawning from his ears and nose. Countless trinkets had been woven into his hairdo, mostly prayer beads and other effigies to the God Emperor. Others bits appeared like random junk he might have found somewhere on the ship, with Auris having little knowledge and what their meaning might be.
“May the Golden Light bless you, Chaptermaster.”
“And may it guide our way, Master of the Choir”, Auris replied, “Although I am not in that position right now if you have heard...?”
“Excellent”, Laskin exclaimed, his fogged eyes focussing a point in the air somewhere behind the Astartes, “There is a matter of urgency that one could call almost... heretical. If this were to reach the ears of high command, we all might be in serious trouble, but like this...”
“What is it?”, he inquired, but he already knew what was coming. This was always a risk with the Maelstrom Protocols. As efficient and optimized as they might be, there were always some side effects when one was staring into the abyss.
“Oh it is just that... some have awoken”, Laskin explained, cryptic as ever, “Three, to be exact.”
“Are we talking about blessings or curses?”, Auris inquired, looking around to make sure no one could accidentally overhear them. It was not that he did not trust the crew, but some things did require a certain level of secrecy.
“Oh is that not a matter of perspective?”, the Psyker replied with a faint giggle.
“You know what I am getting at.”
“Indeed I do”, Laskin admitted, then reached into his pockets to lay three pieces of paper on the table, each being the file of a very specific member of the crew “Alas, those are the three: a young man from from the service of the 6th who sees the echoes lingering in all things. A mother of two, of a family from engineering, has found the ability to scream into the void, rattling souls and shattering demons like glass; and finally we have an older fellow from the kitchens who found the fire burning in his soul and directed it outwards, burning the foe and almost all of us including himself in the process.“
“Hm, one blessing and two curses then.”, Auris remarked, more to himself than to the other, “Can you work with that?”
“Why yes, three is within our capacities.”, the Psyker confirmed before turning his attention back to the files, “For the young man I recommend death by a weapon misfiring while maintaining it. The woman can die of sickness. The old guy should get summarily executed for insubordination.”
“You know I hate putting that last one on the documents.”, Auris remarked, “It is an insult to our crew, even if it is all a charade.”
“You definitely should use it once in a while, otherwise it looks suspicious. I suppose you will take care of the paperwork?”
“Once I have access to my office again”, the Astartes promised while taking the files, folding them neatly, and putting them into his pocket, “They are in your hands now. If you need additional resources just let the Concilium know, they will most certainly support you.”
“Ah, no need for haste. This world we came to has a curious effect, dampening all abilities deemed supernatural. Makes it possible to sit here without having to hear every inane thought in the room. Oh, and Theophania died. In the fight, you know?”, Laskin explained, with the last part being said completely unemotionally.
“What? Why was I not informed?”, a baffled Auris asked, barely believing what he was hearing, “I was told there were no deaths!”
“Oh, it's complicated.”, Laskin tried to explain, “First of all our little group does not exist. Most of them are dead on paper. Can't put them in an incident report now can I?”
“You could have come to report it directly! Why have you not done so?”, he asked, utterly confused by the man's decision not to immediately inform him.
“As I said, it's complicated. Oh, but it's not the first time she died. In fact it happened quite a number of times in the recent years...”, Laskin made a short pause, as if he expected a question, but one look from the Astartes was enough to make him continue, “She was a dream walker, a wandering soul, and occasionally she would leave the confines of her flesh a bit too long. Or she would overdo it and burst a vessel in her brain. Once the body got fixed up it's not much of an issue, but this time we... lost it.”
“You... lost... a whole body?”, Auris asked, still baffled but now for different reasons, “Within minutes of stationary hostile contact on familiar ground?”
“Our defensive line was on the verge of breaking, she jumped out and became a lure. They came over her like a swarm of rats. Not even bones remained. Gave us time to close the ranks and protect the people. By the time we sent those monstrosities back to hell, there was nothing left.”
Something in the way Laskin told the story was confusing. One would expect at least some grief or another emotion, but the Psyker might as well have reported on the color of a specific storage room, or technical details of a piece of vox-gear.
“So... should we hold a funeral?”, he asked, unsure what to do with this information, “Did she have family we must inform?”
“Oh no need, she already did that.”, came the answer, still entirely emotionally uninvolved.
“Did she leave a message in advance or something like-”, Auris tried to ask but was immediately cut off.
“Oh no, she told them just a few hours ago. Theophania is still around, just without a body and dead by all legal definitions – just in addition to that she also is in a very foul mood because of it.”
“You are telling me we have become a literal ghost ship now?”
“She is not haunting our ship rather than our dreams.”, the Master of the Choir corrected him,“If you come across her in your slumber, do not be surprised. Usually I would recommend to always have someone asleep on this vessel, but we both know that this is not an issue...”
“Let's not talk about this here.”, Auris said with a tone that signaled how he did not like where this conversation was going. He offered a change of topic instead: “Say, what is the Master of the Choir planning to do in the next weeks? There will neither be travel nor communications down here...”
“Oh, Captain Swolarius of the 2nd has been with us, requesting physical training sessions for the entire group. Turns out we will all be quite busy the next days.”, Laskin said as his eyes drifted through the room, only to then focus a random spot on the floor. He had reported everything he wanted to report, and now he was once again losing touch with reality. If it was not for the fact that he was the best Astropath Auris had ever worked with, one would consider the man a worthless lunatic who would spend half the day gazing into the nothingness, barely responding to anything. The fact that he had been lucid for a conversation of this length was already unusual. Perhaps there was really something about this planet.
“Oh Chaptermaster, if you would excuse me, this hall is getting rather crowded, and the thoughts, they become too dense.”, he suddenly exclaimed, suddenly rising from his seat. His expression was unusually concentrated, as if this simple act required all of his focus,“If you would excuse me, I wish to return to my chambers and ponder the intricacies of the transparent sphere.”
He did not wait for a response and walked off, not caring that his last words must have been utterly incomprehensible to the Astartes. Perhaps he was referring to some sort of meditation technique? But Laskin had been right in how the mess hall was filling up more and more. Perhaps he should get in line for some breakfast fast, or else he would be waiting for quite a bit. Of course in theory he could use his authority to skip the queue, but what barbaric oaf could be this disrespectful towards the rules? What a preposterous preposition!
At the same time he no longer had to think about what to do on this day too much. Even when demoted, there was still work that only he could do. The files of the three crewmen in his pocket were not much, but they were a wonderful reason to drop by the Apothecarium and inquire about the status of his men while he was already there.
Of course this would annoy Timidus to no end, but for some reason the thought just made the currently-not-chaptermaster smile a little.
Chapter 15: Sign: Necrall IV: +00:16:34 // Interrogation //
Chapter Text
<Chief Apothecarius Log, Sign: Necrall IV Landing +00:12:15 – Whatever Daimos-5 is doing, it seems to be working. Slowly we are getting things back under control – the lack of common workplace injuries among the crew is also helping. Hard to get any of those when there's little to no work to be done. Since Daimos-5 has taken over in the quarantine ward, with Narcosis outside to support him with whatever he requests, I have finally found time to review the floral data we have gathered so far. A surprising amount of plant life brought in has been proven non-toxic. Among those, several appear to be usable as a basis for primitive cures and remedies. It's not proper medicine, but a herbal anti-inflammatory remedy or laxative is better than nothing and a crude narcotic is still superior to having people bite on a piece of cloth.
With some luck we can use this planet's resources to restock on our supplies – and if its not useful, we might as well take it along for trade among the stations in our patrol route. Trade negotiations are hard enough as it is, and it would be a welcome change not have to haggle for every bandage.>
“You have been relieved of all duties and responsibilities by most formal decree, and somehow you still found work to do? Despite everyone's most honest intentions that you would rest and recuperate for the duration of our stay for your own good?”
“Your statement is entirely correct.”
“'Ris, I am not sure if you should be mad or genuinely enraged. Just put the files on my desk, I'll get to it. Just the usual, three deaths of the most common sort I assume?”
“Laskin suggested noting one as insurrectionist”, Auris remarked, ”But we both know we can't do that.”
“Certainly not, that would be an insult to their service”, Timidus agreed, “I will have them be deceased to a particularly troublesome case of coolant lung. There's not been a case in several decades, that'd be least suspicious. Anything else?”
“Theophania of the choir has died and simultaneously been promoted to the 10th company support staff, where she will serve to the best of her abilities”, Auris added, fully aware of how utterly nonsensical that statement was.
“It's never simple with the choir, no?”, the Chief Apothecarius noted, going through his mental archive of medical data regarding their uniquely talented crewmen. Luckily even before his mental augmentations that were part of the process to become an Astartes his memory had been almost eidetic in nature, and the blessings of their gene-father turned that gift into something even greater. The medical files for most members of the choir did not exist outside of his head. In fact, harboring that many uniquely gifted individuals was a danger of its own – there was no point in risking the entire vessel and chapter to some imperial bureaucrat going over their regular reports and sending the Inquisition after them just because something slipped through. He knew that this procedure could be deemed heretical by some, but there was no doubt about the chapter's or the crew's loyalties, so as long as everyone kept quiet about it, there should be no issue. If anything, they right now had a lot more serious cases of potential heresy at hand, one of those sleeping in a transport box at the far end of the room surrounded by the wrappings of ration bars, some of which looking like they were not opened normally but gnawed open.
“I remember her.”, he said after the few moments it took to sort through his memories, “Isn't the first time she died, and probably won't be the last. It stands to assume the choir took care of it? I remember giving them extensive lessons in resuscitation back in the day. But why the 10th?”
“According to Laskin they lacked a body to resuscitate”, Auris elaborated. “Torn apart and devoured during the incursion. I was informed that she is quite disgruntled by said circ*mstance.”
“As much can be expected”, Timidus agreed, “Although I did not expect her ability to be strong enough to let her persist like that. I know little about such talents aside from the strain they put on the body and mind, but even for the uninitiated the realm of dreams does not sound like a stable place to be.”
“Unless there are some who are eternally dreaming...”
“Of course. May they rest well until the day they claim their honor.”
“This might as well be a chance. With Theophania and some support of the choir we would have a connection to our resting brothers. Perhaps an opportunity to do some psychological evaluations? Or a way to brief them on events and have them be more efficient in case of deployment? Just think about the possibilities, you could make this a routine procedure even, keeping them on maxim- ”
He did not get far in explaining his ideas before he was cut off.
“'Ris?”
“Yes?”
“Are you trying to redesign and optimize the workflow-efficiency of my station? Despite being specifically forbidden to engage in all matters regarding organization and leadership?”
“... Perhaps?”
Timidus pinched the bridge of his nose, not entirely able to deal with his decade-long friend's workaholic tendencies right now. Everything Auris just implied made perfect sense, and indeed, it would truly be helpful to have a link towards the 10th, even if rehabilitation might be completely out of the picture for most of them. However, agreeing here would undermine their collective effort to force this stubborn Grox to take the first vacation in almost a century. Somewhat defeated he tried to change the topic.
“Our tech priest is making quite the progress”, he stated, gesturing towards the quarantined ward, “Truth be told, I didn't except him to be this useful in anything medical...”
“Well, he did augment himself entirely on his own, from what I heard. Given his current body, he must know a thing or two about medicine and biology. How are they faring?” There was legitimate concern in his friend's voice, one that the Apothecarius could understand just too well. After all, those warriors currently fighting for their lives had been under his direct command, and in a way one could see their current fate as Auris' responsibility – even if the man in question could do little to nothing about it now.
“So far they are stable”, Timidus replied, going over his notes, “But that doesn't mean much. You remember our encounters with the Death Guard?”
Auris just nodded. They both knew what terrors made of plague and disease their enemies could unleash, a curse that would haunt a vessel for weeks after the fight was over, casting the shadow of death over them all. One did not win against the Death Guard - one survived.
“As fortune will have it, the situation is not as dire- If you wish you can wait here until Daimos-5 takes a break, he submits his reports when he does that.”
“It is uncommon for him to take breaks at all, don't you think?”
“It's not because he's exhausted, it just means he has run out of metallic limbs to cut off and goes off to get spare parts. Whatever this blight is, it's sure not stopping at metal.”
“That is... concerning. How can one even contain such a thing? Shouldn't it eat itself through the walls, trying to kill us all?”
That was a legitimate question; one that Timidus could not really answer himself. Even the idea of trying to consolidate his medical knowledge with the conceptual nature of the warp was already causing a headache of gargantuan proportions. Daimos-5 had provided some theories, but they brought up more questions than they actually answered, and given how some of these questions were severely intertwined with the intricacies of martian theology, the Apothecarius felt less informed than how he was before asking the question. Nevertheless, he tried to provide an explanation.
“That's the unusual part, it simply does not. Whatever this thing is, it behaves like an illness, and, well, things cannot get sick – only living beings can. That's how the concept is defined. The moment that thing is part of a person however...”
“... it can get afflicted.”
“Correct. Daimos-5 has some theories on the specifics, but unless you wish to partake in several hours of elaborating the philosophical aspects of augmentation, I'd recommend you do not inquire about it.”
Indeed, Timidus had made the mistake of inquiring about it, and it was one of the very few occasions he cursed his near perfect memory for. Just because he could retain an information provided in his head with ease, did not mean he did automatically understand it. In fact, not understanding it made it a constant focus in the back of his head, for the brain was clearly made to learn and understand things – although one should not fault the thinking organ for being adamant about the one thing it was capable of, even if thoughts piled upon thoughts only formed a circle leading nowhere, which is exactly where he saw himself in the field of omnissiahn medical philosophy. He had spent several centuries accumulating his medical knowledge and skills, and yet that was nothing compared to the philosophical beast the Mechanicum had spent millenia building up. He would probably need another lifetime just as long as this one to grasp it, and somehow he had the suspicion that it might all turn out to be utter nonsense. Given Daimos-5's current amount of accomplishments he might be on to something, but to an outside observer it was hard to tell the difference between what could be called an objectively correct approach or just the result of a hyper-competent maniac dancing to a tune silent to the world.
“So... is there anything I could do while I wait?”, Auris asked, taking him back to the situation in front of him, “It feels certainly wrong to just... loiter in such a place.”
There it was. He should have seen it coming. Auris was a man that defined himself through his work, much so to a level detrimental to his health. Of course he would jump at the first opportunity to subvert his court-mandated order to rest. For a moment he considered to start a lengthy monologue about proper rest and recovery, but he also knew that it would not amount too much. In his own way Auris was stubborn, a quality definitely necessary when dealing with imperial bureaucracy, but absolutely useless when it came to matters of one's own health. He was almost as bad as...
“Actually, there is a matter you could assist me with”, Timidus said, realizing something. He reached down and grabbed something he was careful to not let Auris see from one of the lower drawers of his desk, “If you would follow me.”
Seeing no apparent influx of patients that his assistants couldn't handle and without Daimos-5 giving any notice of having encountered complications he led them away from his desk located in the central room of the Apothecarium and off through a door on the sides. By original design this part of the ship adjacent to his station contained a number of highly secure prison cells, the location being purposefully chosen so potential prisoners wouldn't die during interrogation – at least not until they confessed. Given the nature at which their chapter waged war, they were utterly redundant. As a singular ship the Tepidus Tempestus was in no way suited for any prolonged conflict that involved taking prisoners. Their operations had be swift and decisive, a focused assault of the entire chapter against the commanding structure, either to cut off the head of the beast or at least leave them in confusion for long enough to retreat and rally allied forces. The cells were, however, by design isolated from the rest of the ship and the general noise that came with it, so they were popular among those Astartes who had trouble meditating or focusing on their prayers. Occasionally some of the choir used them as well, but it was unusual to see them outside of their assigned section. Right now not a single Astartes or Astropath was occupying them, as they were all busy with the last preparation before the vessel's entire population would spill out onto the planet before them, breathing unfiltered air for the first time in decades. Instead, they were empty but for a single guest and the one guarding them. They could hear the two of them before they even opened the door, apparently due the fact that they were busy arguing.
“Medical observation my ass”, he heard the familiar voice of his current patient, ”How am I supposed to do my work while I am stuck here?”
“Because boss said so. But: Explain.”, replied a deeper voice, unmistakably belonging to an Ogryn “What is your work?”
“I am this ship's leading communications officer, I ne-”
“Then you have problem.”
“How so?”
“We are not in ship now. Ship goes through sky and moves. Now we on ground. No moving. So now is not ship, but house – and you is not house officer. There is no work for you.”
The door was not locked, not even closed – if it was, they would not have heard much of it. A small gesture to signal that Communications Officer Liberta was not a prisoner. At least not yet. However, she might as well be given the massive figure of Narcosis blocking the only entry to the room. The young woman looked like she wanted to say something, but her brain still had to process the very particular brand of Ogryn logic that she was just exposed to. There was something in the way Narcosis expressed himself, as if he just declared the most basic thing in the world and genuinely could not understand how his conversational partner had failed to notice it. Upon noticing them the Ogryn saluted and made way, squeezing himself through the door and into the hallway.
“Good job keeping her company”, Timidus praised the big guy, “Anything unusual?”
“No boss. She only speak normal speak”, Narcosis reported, “Not speak that goes into head and then sticks. But I learned something: Little woman know many bad words. Like workers in ports. Will try to remember them 'coz they sound really funny.”
“Please don't.”, Timidus replied, not too keen of having his favorite assistant start cursing like a starport dockhand, “Go and see if our tech priest needs anything, I'll be back at my station soon.”
“Yes boss! Will do!”, Narcosis confirmed before turning towards the room again, “Goodbye angry little woman! Thank you for the new words!”, he exclaimed cheerfully before moving on to fulfill the orders he was given.
“Why is Officer Liberta here?”, Auris asked, somewhat bewildered, “I remember her being at your station when we entered the Maelstrom protocols, but why have you moved her into the isolated cells?”
“I'd like to ask the same thing.”, Liberta added, finally having found her wits again, “I remember falling asleep on my way to this station, next thing I knew I was in here with the big guy blocking the door. He wouldn't even tell me why I was here!”
“So you do not remember purging the entire section of demonic invaders with what can only be described as a furious tirade in a language no mortal tongue should be capable of speaking?”, Timidus inquired, adding some context for Auris, he then proceeded, not waiting for them to react, “However, while peculiar, this alone is not why you are here. I wouldn't care if you'd turn out to be an imperial saint or whatever the preachers call it, but the incident made me review your basic medical files. Since I mostly focus on Astartes, I leave the treatment of the cure to assistants and colleges, in your case it was the old Biovolo who performed your initial screenings. Auris, you remember the man, right?”
“Indeed, it is hard to forget the smell. To this day I am uncertain if he was a genius in his field or a perpetually drunk charlatan consistently making lucky guesses. What about him?”
There was a certain nervousness about the reply that confirmed Timidus' suspicions. He had known his friend for centuries now, and even if the signs were barely noticeable to a regular human observer, he found Auris to be an absolutely horrible liar. Perhaps this was common for those who spent more than several mortal lifetimes in service together.
“He was already entombed with the 10th for years by the time Miss Liberta here joined us.”
In general the story of Biovolo fa*gus was a tragic one. The man had spent years trying to find a cure for those they had already deemed lost, and yet in a twist of fate he could not cure his own malady which led to him be laid to rest next to those he had worked tirelessly to save. It had been a sorrowful day when they had to decide that his condition and those in the crew with similar issues were incurable, resulting in their removal from active duty.
“Perhaps there is a flaw with the records?”, Auris suggested somewhat helplessly, “A simple case of the wrong name in the wrong field?”
“No. If anything, there's a suspicious lack of flaws. In fact, every related document has been filled out in such a flawless way that it makes it an outlier even among my records. It is an absolute masterpiece of bureaucracy that would be impossible to recreate unless by those who have spent an entire human lifetime wrangling terran-standard forms and paperwork. On this ship I can count the number of people capable of it on one hand... Look, I don't know what you are hiding, but I neither have the time nor the nerves to deal with this when there's still people on my station fighting for their lives. You will sort this out, hold a proper interrogation interview in my stead, and then we can mark this all down to an error in the documents and forget it all happened – but only if you, young lady, report to a proper medical screening afterwards.”
Liberta looked remarkably uncomfortable, and there was something in her eyes that Timidus knew too well. It was the expression of someone who was about to make a horribly stupid decision. The way her eyes darted between them and the door, the way she viewed the pipes and cables and attempting to guess how much damage was necessary to create a smokescreen or at least a diversion to slip away. He had seen it plenty of times among crewmen who hailed from starport- or under-city gangs, and the amount of collateral damage they could cause in an attempted getaway should never be underestimated. It was a pleasant surprise to see that logic and common sense won over her flight-impulse and instead of making this entire situation more complicated she just nodded.
“Timidus believe me when I say that there were circ*mst-”, Auris tried to muster a defense, but the chief apothecarius just cut him off while placing a dataslate on his hand: “Save it for the report. I know you don't consider such things without reason, so I expect every single detail. Also...”
He now showed a grin, an expression rarely seen on a man of his position. Revealing the object he had taken from his desk, he hands Auris a box. It was a folded regicide field with the figures inside that they both knew well. Carved from the teeth of foul Xenos that had once tried to breach Ultramar in a wave of flesh, spikes, and acidic blood, these were the only trophies left from their time as regular members of the same combat squad. The game pieces were not exactly a marvel of craftsmanship, but at least one could tell the pieces apart from each other.
“... once you are done with the report you will spend some time here doing absolutely nothing productive but play some rounds. I'd say ten is a good start. The winner will have to face me later. You will, under no circ*mstances, talk about work-related matters. Is that clear?”
Both of them just nodded, apparently somewhat confused by the second order he had given them but in no position to argue against it. Content with his handling of the situation he left the two of them to their own devices. After all there was still plenty to do if he wished to join the festivities this evening – there would be a feast served under the stars, and for that everything on his station needed to be taken care off. Then he would pack a little bag for first aid, just in case.
Even on the best of days the human ability to sustain potentially life-threatening injuries out of nowhere was remarkable. Perhaps his perspective was somewhat biased due to working on a spaceship, which was not exactly the safest of places, but so far there has not been a precedent to having the entire chapter and crew out at the same time on a planet none of them had been on before. Being prepared couldn't hurt, and in the worst case he'd have some luggage to drag around.
Despite the turbulent start of their vacation, things were looking good. Daimos-5 managed the impossible to stabilize the infected, the injuries within the crew were minimal, merely some broken bones and burns, and now he even managed to make the two most reckless workaholics of the ship stop working. If all went as planned, even the medical staff might be able to take a breather this evening.
At least that's what he thought to himself before he entered the door to the Apothecarium and stood within a scene of mayhem and carnage.
Chapter 16: Sign: Necrall IV: +00:16:47 // Operation //
Chapter Text
<Techpriest's Log, Sign Necrall +00:16:58 Projected Treatment outcome: positive, tendency rising. Serum generated from captured subject's blood does not trigger adverse reaction. Result within prediction following testing on non-astartes subject. Monitoring of subject (myself) = no deviation from expected functionality.
Dominant problem: delivery of medical substance into patient. Attempted oral insertion = sample destroyed by unusually acidic saliva. Attempted injection = rampant growths on dermal tissue increase durability levels beyond expectations. Injection impossible without harming patient. Insertion of medication through respiratory system = impossible due to extreme congestion of system. Note: if not for enhanced biology, patients would have suffocated several hours ago.
Problem solved through application of serum as suppository. Mechadendrites lost in procedures as for movement of patients as (physical contact = necessary): 14. Remaining high-load limbs due to affliction to sacred steel: 1 active, 3 in storage. Note: if: matter concluded, craft: replacements.
Potential serum side-effects currently incalculable, primary observable effect = stabilization of patients. Formal education as Magos Biologis = nonexistent. Application of knowledge gained from own blessed ascendance to the likeliness of the Omnissiah = difficult, reason = deviation of Astartes structure from human baseline. Observation = not final. Careful hypothesis = serum does not cure illness, instead removes supernatural elements (resilience, virality, mutative rate). Result = Astartes immune system capable o-
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[connection failed] >
Out of all the things that could have gone wrong during Daimos-5's highly improvised medical procedure, getting spontaneously beheaded by one of his patients had not been part of his calculations. In hindsight, he should have noted the spike in neurological activity moment before the attack, as his experimental subject's vital signs had proven to be an excellent warning system – by the time the tech priest's headless body came smashing through the vitreous barrier separating the quarantine ward from the rest of the Apothecarium, Su'us had already broken free of their containment and vanished into the vents. Daimos-5 perceived his head falling to the ground and cringed at the sound of countless handcrafted optical lenses shattering. This had been one the best cranial units he had ever fashioned and it being disconnected from its neurology made his mind feel sluggish and numb. Numerous systems had been crammed into that metallic skull, made significantly easier by the fact that it did not contain any biological elements. But even without a direct hit to the conveniently displaced brain, the shock was great enough that he could not break his fall, or do anything about his assailant.
Without his augmentations bringing order to his neurology, the almost forgotten sensation of pain was only a small fragment, a grain of sand in the storm of information consisting of environmental scans, not executed combat protocols, several memories of his past there were usually conveniently suppressed by choice, and of course the medical data regarding the current procedure. From that data he gathered that is was patient #7 that had assaulted him – he had never bothered to learn the names of his patients, as that knowledge was no requirement for the execution of his intellectual excellence. Fr a moment he was confused as to why he subconsciously chose to linger on the question why it was exactly this patient that had turned against him. If it was #7 or #9 what would it matter?
And yet a part of him felt compelled to follow this thought, but was promptly thrown off by the moment his flying body finally hit the ground, and the pain returned strong enough to hinder all his efforts to get his backup perception-systems functioning. It must have been a strange sight, a mass of cloth and torn metal with a golden cylinder at its center cradled by mechanical arms masterfully crafted into the shape of bones – one could have mistaken it for a simple shrine to the Omnissiah or a presentation of a relic, if it was not for the one weakly twitching human arm that grew out of its right side.
A series of tremors rushing past him indicated that Narcosis has joined the fray. It was always a surprise to see how unusually fast their kind could be when it came to situations of survival – yet another distracting tangent his disorganized mind tried to follow as he tried to access the very few sensory systems that still remained on his torn and tattered body. There was still an ancient vox-module integrated into the containment cylinder, but he rarely used it as it would constantly catch up noise from the biological processes of his system. Human bodies were just so horrendously designed, how could people even have room to think when their systems were always this loud?
Acquiring visual data was luckily somewhat easier. The arms usually protecting the core of his being were not purely decorative in their design. Serving their use in operations requiring a certain degree of precision and delicacy, there were a number of small tools integrated into each individual hand and among the tiniest scalpels, drills, and tweezers there was also an optical sensor, originally designed for peering into the cramped innards of damaged technology. From the pile of scrap Daimos-5 currently presented, a singular skeletal hand rose presenting a lens in the middle of its palm.
The visual sensor was activated just in time to observe Narcosis unifying the assailant with the existential fabric of the room's wall. The Ogryn was surprisingly silent as his fists came down with a speed those unfamiliar with trans-human combat might deem unnatural - purely focused on the task at hand requiring his full concentration, which was turning the attacker into paste. Daimos-5 was not even sure if even a regular Astartes could withstand such an onslaught. This was not a matter of survival, as the thundering fists created a scenario in which biology, enhanced or not, was irrelevant in the overwhelming force of physics. Truly, an Ogryn trained by decades of sparring with Astartes was a force to be reckoned with.
And yet, despite being beaten into a dent now forming in a solid metal wall, their attacker did not lose their structural integrity. Instead, they just... laughed. Laughed as if a being larger and heavier than him was not trying its best to merge his biology with a solid steel wall. Laughing as if the whole matter of a high ranking Astartes giving themselves to forces most foul was not a matter most sacrilegious and shameful. A laughter completely disregarding the fact that he just ruined Daimos-5 perfect chance of a flawless execution of his brilliance.
The techpriest felt an unusual wave of irrationality building up inside him, one so massive it was impossible to control without his now missing augmentations. For the first time in decades, Daimos-5 felt pure, unbridled rage. In addition to all the dishonor and damage this spawn of blight and disease brought up them, how dare he interfere with his plan? How dare he laugh at the potential loss of incalculable sums of future project funding? How dare he ruin the chances of a perfect score in his experimental treatment? And most of all: HOW DARE HE MAKE HIM LOOK LIKE A HEADLESS AND INCOMPETENT BUFFOON?!
If he still had teeth to grit, if he still would have had muscles to clench, if he would still have a mouth to scream in anger, he would have done all that. But alas, the result of the ocean of rage boiling within the golden cylinder resulted in nothing more but a sickly pale tattooed human arm irrationally flailing about from a mess of cloth and steel. Their assailant meanwhile had managed to free themselves of the wall by spitting a disgusting something consisting of mucus, bile, and what appeared like bits of tongue right into Narcosis' eyes, causing the Ogryn to recoil, howling in pain and disgust. Fortunately for his next course of action Daimos-5 did not need to Ogryn to see, only to act.
[ORDER: RESTRAIN!], bellowed his distorted voice from an ancient vox-speaker, and Narcosis threw himself blindly onto their assailant without any question or hesitation. He sure liked working with the big man – from the perspective of the Mechanicum there was not much of a difference between the average imperial and the average Ogryn when it came to intelligence. However, the latter was exceptional at following orders without question – assuming you made the order simple enough to understand. With their attacker temporarily restrained with the bulk of Narcosis he could finally fight back – even if only for a short time, for he would not know how long they could hold him.
Indeed, the flesh might be weak; but his body was not, and the rage animating it was infinite. Where one arm of skin and bones might fail, a dozen others crafted from sanctified steel would suffice. Like an over-sized insect the techpriest used his numerous mechanical hands to drag the cylindrical body over the floor until he arrived at their restrained assailant, and then proceeded to climb this festering and putrid mockery of a body until he reached the head. Astartes might be deemed invincible, especially when enhanced by powers beyond comprehension, but in the end all they all were just crude biological machines that could be disabled by removing a sufficient amount of critical parts, most of all the brain. Countless metallic arms set out to the task, intruding into the assailants skull through ears, nose, and eyes. Tools capable of slicing through steel in the innards of machinery shredded bone and grey matter in equal parts. Minuscule claws and precise lasers were instruments of the Omnissiah’s wrath, all while the raw power of the Ogryn rendered all resistance futile. As tough as an Astartes could be, their physiology was designed to withstand external forces, and not the power of a dozen metallic hands breaking through their skull from the inside while consigning the inhabiting the treacherous essence to inevitable entropy.
By the time Chief Apothecarius Timidus had returned from whatever business he had left to conduct with the Chaptermaster, the situation had been resolved – that is if having an uncooperative patient’s neural tissue spread all over the room could count as a proper resolution. All those events that conspired in such a short time, that the security force of the 1st company who broke through the door could only be tasked with mopping up the pungent remains of their assailant.
With the target of his righteous wrath spread over several walls and the ceiling, Daimos-5’s could feel the energy evaporating from his body and mind. All he wanted to do now was to leave. This had been a quest to prove his intellectual excellence, and yet it had devolved into a profane fistfight. They had won, but now he was a headless mockery of the intellectual figure he was supposed to represent. Maybe they had not won at all, and just avoided defeat.
Timidus said something, but his words did not register in the tech priest’s mind. Absentmindedly he wrote the final treatment steps for the remaining patients onto a dataslate, shoved it into the Chief Apothecarius’ hands, and then began to salvage whatever was left of his motion-devices. It was not a graceful exit, shambling out of the medical ward on what was the bent remnants of two crawler-legs, a wheel, and the stump of a heavy-duty mechadendrite, while holding his decapitated head to where on a regular person one would suggest the chest; but it was preferable to staying here in this temple to his failure and also preferable to crawling on the floor like an insignificant worm. A small portion of his mind tried to argue that he was feeling unusually irrational and emotional about the whole affair, but without his neural augmentations it was rapidly silenced without finding much notice.
Rest. Yes, that was the most logical course of action. He would return to his abode, rest, and then set out to restore his battered physical form. The legal implications of killing an Astartes with his bare hands might be troublesome, but the number of witnesses as well as the ability to plead self defense might work in his favor. There might not even be a ceremony, depending on how chapter-command wished to handle this entire incident – an outcome he would much prefer, for he had not the mental energy to argue with the first captain again, or any person for that matter. In fact, the ideal course of events would be meeting not a single soul on his way home, and then being left alone for several days so he could work and restore the shameful display that was his physical form, uninterrupted by noisy and irrational individuals. Among those, there was one person in specific he would rather not see him like this, for his reputation as a professional was entirely dependent on their interactions being functional and efficient.
“AHA!”, exclaimed the voice of the person he least wanted to encounter, “Finally, I found you! Do you have any idea what your modifications have done to our eng- BY THE THRONE WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU!?”
He did not even bother to adjust his visual sensors to confirm Engine Master Kirrspatts identity. For a moment he considered engaging in this social interaction, but found no worthwhile outcome to gain from it, so he shambled further down the hallways without another comment – or at least he tried to, when he was suddenly, yet very carefully, lifted up by a pair of techmarines. Leos and Karlus had most likely reacted to a gesture, following the Engine-Master’s unspoken order without question and causing him to almost drop his severed head.
“Oy, don’t you go ignoring me!”, the old woman grumbled, “Answer my question!”
[Medical Treatment of Astartes Personnel has concluded], he replied, not even trying to break free of the Astartes’ grasp who tried their best to not damage his beaten physical form even further, [Minor differences were had over the nature of treatment.]
“And minor differences led to… this?”, she asked, trying to reconstruct the fight based of the mechanical damage, “Timidus will probably give them hell for attacking someone on his station…”
[Negative. Patient #7 no longer capable of being reprimanded by Chief Apothecarius. All signs of life of patient #7 have been forcibly extinguished. Method: purge of neural connectivity by manual means]
“You… ripped an Astartes’ brain out?”
Kirrspatt was baffled. She was no stranger to Daimos-5’s way of speech, and knew he was almost incapable of speaking a lie on a fundamental ideological level. Looking at his broken form one could indeed see traces of a brawl, but even with the copious amount of blood and other biological matter she could not identify dripping of his many intricate arms it was hard to believe that what could account for the most scrawny and also most likely least educated member of the crew in all things combat took on a transhuman warrior and lived to tell the tale. Meanwhile Daimos-5 could feel the grasp of her assistants tighten around his battered body. It might have been instinct for them to tear him limb from limb for killing one of their brothers, but they were still professional enough that they waited for Kirrspat to give the order.
[Statement = Crude, but true. Alternative option = death of everyone in spatial segment until 1st company arrival. Positive result of ongoing treatment = endangered]
“And you sacrificed yourself heroically to protect them all?”
Somehow he did not like the implications of that doubtful tone in her voice.
[Personal behavior followed pattern of preservation. Survival of everyone includes survival of self. Accusations of idealistic heroism therefore = false. Scenario: simple defense of self]
“He’s not lying”, Leos suddenly stated as if he had just noticed something, taking the tech-priest’s decapitated heads from Daimos-5’s hands and placing it in his own, “Look at those dents and holes. Then the connection... It was grabbed from behind and torn off…”
“So he killed one of us… without his head even?”, Karlus inquired, unsure if he should be doubtful or impressed. Leos handed him the head and he placed his hand on it, as if to confirm that observation. Of course the two could reconstruct the fight based of such meager evidence – if there was one thing an Astartes’ mind could do, it was to be weirdly focused on all things violence.
“No, he had help, most likely that big child Narcosis”, Kirrspatt answered the question, seemingly having figured out what had conspired, “Either him or Timidus – we’ll leave judgment of that situation to Argus and the 1st. The more important question… you still DO have your brain in there, right? Just not in your head?”
It was seemingly a weird question, but for those familiar with the intricacies of martian theology it was almost an affront. The concept of multi-corporal presence was not exactly tech-heresy by the letter of the law, but it was a shunned and widely disliked practice. To leave one’s body somewhere to command an army of mechanical dolls went against his concept of true ascension to the likeliness of the Omnissiah. The thing to be improved had to be the individual body, everything else was just a distraction – and in this case, a distraction with considerable political baggage: those who moved as an army of bodies, soon acted like one. The Marionette Wars might not even be a simple footnote in imperial history, for it was a purely martian conflict, but they were still widely known among the Mechanicum, even when people did not like talking about it. One does not go around bragging about the failings of one’s culture after all. On any other day, he would have answered with a passionate monologue about his ideals of augmentation, but in his weakened state he just took three of his arms and pointed towards a very specific spot on the cylindrical core that formed his body.
Content with such an answer, Kirrspatt gestured towards her assistants.
“Let’s get him fixed up. There’s plenty of work for him after that stunt he pulled with our engines, and I’d rather have him at it yesterday.”
Having become another point of the engine-master’s endless repair list, Daimos-5 realized that any sort of resistance was futile. He folded his arms and the remnants of his motion-devices around his cylindrical core, while wrapping the tattered remnants of his robe around himself to preserve at least some semblance of dignity as he was carried towards his workshop. The last thing he would want now is to have his acolytes see him like this. If there was one group of individuals on this vessel he would have his image held in the highest esteem, it should be his students. What sort of example would he be, all damaged like this? Aside from the authority necessary for such a position, his function as a guide to the development of these students would be severely compromised. It was an obvious imperative that his physical recovery was to be executed in absolute secret.
Unfortunately, this imperative had to be discarded not even a few minutes later, when he was carried into the workshop only to find almost all tech-adepts and cogitators assembled in the presence of a familiar looking dreadnaught. Given that even in this reduced form he was capable of analyzing the noospheric chatter around the room, their presence and activity was no mystery to him, even if it might appear like a chaotic mess to any outsider. Technological components, tools, and mechanical body parts were scattered across the room as his students were trying to modify their augmentations for the conditions of the planet they had just landed on, the primary concerns being water, salt, and sand apparently. Each of the three could be a concern, but in their mix those could be devastating to some of the more heavily modified bodies, especially when it came to the cogitators that were also present. In some instances the only option to avoid damage to integral parts was the temporary removal of sensitive components, but that came with additional complications, such as a potential inability to move, requiring makeshift improvisation of locomotive designs. Of course he found it a waste of time to even leave the ship just to witness some naturally occurring water and dust, but with the entire crew being allowed to leave for this vacation, there was little he could argue to deny his underlings this experience.
Overseeing this unit-wide retrofit of their bodies was their current commanding officer, the Honorable Maximus who himself had gotten a quite… peculiar modification to his dreadnaught chassis. Still devoid of most weaponry, some of his students had managed to overcome the mechanical vessel’s lack of hands by integrating what were most certainly their master’s last remaining spares of high-load mechadendrites. Under regular circ*mstances such unauthorized usage of his own personal supplies would warrant severe punishment, but given the observable quality of the systemic integration as well as his current state of mind not having the capacities to care much, perhaps this could be overlooked, at least for today.
Naturally all activity in the room came to a tumultuous halt as they entered. The Engine Master’s presence was not unusual in this area of the ship, even when her duties required Kirrspatt’s presence elsewhere most of the time, what was most unusual was that her assistants were carrying the apparent corpse of the workshop’s master while her attendant carried its severed head. The noospheric atmosphere immediately changed as countless combat protocols were initialized – even among those of his adepts, who should be no means have access to such functions. Most of them had little to no integrated weaponry, but apparently that had not stopped them from weaponizing the tools they had far beyond their initial parameters. Luckily any further complications could be avoided by barking a single noospheric command into the aether. It was little more than a singular noise in the datastream, the lingual equivalent of a two letter word, but it was a command they knew far too well, usually translating to “Shut up I’m fine stop gawking and get back to word”. This was not the first time he had used this command, and it would most likely not be the last.
The only one not immediately reacting to the command was the dreadnaught, who was probably not familiar with it. The mechadendrites attached to his sides were frozen in a particular pose: as if each was an arm and he was holding a bolter in it, aimed at the group which just entered the room. Perhaps muscle-memory from when he was still alive? Truly fascinating. The flesh might be long gone but its memory still remained.
“BROTHERS OF THE 3RD, EXPLAIN YOURSELF!”, the honorable Maximus’ vox bellowed, still not having caught
“Oh calm down, he’s fine”, Kirrspat replied before her transhuman attendants could say a word.
“OUR TECHPRIEST IS IN LITERAL PIECES, THIS DOES NOT LOOK FINE. ARE WE UNDER ATTACK?”
“Just a little scuffle in the Apothecarium, go ask Timidus about it.”
“I WILL. YOU SHALL NOT MOVE UNTIL THEN.”
They could have also just asked him, but then again Daimos-5 did not feel like conversing right now. Instead he just observed the dreadnaught’s conversation with the Apothecarium through the noospheric echoes of his communication systems. It was a short exchange, resulting in the dreadnaught visibly changing his stance. If he was still of flesh and blood, one would view it as someone relaxing his posture, like this however it was impossible to interpret. Then a series of mechanical groans and vox-distortions washed over them, and it took a moment for everyone to realize that the honorable Maximus was laughing.
“YOU MAY PROCEED – HONORARY BATTLEBROTHER DAIMOS-5, IF WE CAN ASSIST IN YOUR RESTORATION, CALL UPON US.”
Leos and Karlus shared a glance, as confused as the crowd of tech-adepts by the use of this rather unusual title. “Battlebrother” is what the Astartes usually called each other, and tech priest was apparently just elevated to that rank, a situation that in the culture of their chapter only occurred when a lone human performed a deed in combat that was usually deemed impossible for anyone who was not a transhuman warrior.
[Descriptor–Error detected], he stated through his last remaining vox-speaker, [Designation Astartes: False. Descriptor “Battebrother” = False]
“ACCORDING TO THE REPORT YOU SLAUGHTERED A TRAITOR ASTARTES WITH YOUR BARE HANDS – AND THAT DESPITE BEING GRIEVOUSLY WOUNDED BY AN AMBUSH WHILE BEING UNARMED. YOU HAVE PROVEN WORTHY OF THE TITLE.”
Just how had Narcosis reported the events? Daimos-5 suddenly regretted leaving with Apothecarium as hastily as he did, for now it appears like their Ogryn-Nurse had not exactly reported the events as they had actually transpired, and put their tech priest at the center of a tremendous misunderstanding. Without the Ogryn’s raw physical might, he would not even have survived, and yet the events were now seen as a heroic duel with no outside interference? Something was certainly not right here, but he was uncertain if he still had the mental capacity to argue.
“CHILDREN OF THE OMNISSIAH, GATHER YE TOOLS AND PARTS, FOR WE SHALL MAKE THIS HEROIC FIGHTER PRESENTABLE FOR THE GATHERING THIS EVENING!”
[Desire to attend event titled “Arrival Celebration" = Null]
Words could barely describe just how little he wanted to be part of this. He was beaten, halfway dismantled, and utterly exhausted. He might not even have attended the event the chapter had planned to celebrate the beginning of their vacation and their relatively safe landing if he was at full physical and mental capacity, and now the very thought of having to take part in this caused him nothing but dread.
“YOUR PRESENCE WAS FORMALLY REQUESTED TO HONOR YOUR DEEDS – PARTICIPATION IS NOW MANDATORY”
Chapter 17: Sign: Necrall IV: +00:18:13 // Rumination//
Chapter Text
<Chapte- Astartes Auris Personal Log, Sign Necrall +00:18:10: It shall be noted here that, unless absolutely necessary and without questioning the competence displayed in her current position, Communications Officer Liberta is to be kept from all sorts of combat, especially any sort of position that might imply command or leadership. If she treats those under her and herself like her regicide game pieces, they might win any war, but none would be left to savor the victory. I have never seen a person this explicitly reckless. Commonly, such recklessness stems from either stupidity or a lack of self-preservation, but she displays neither of these negative qualities. In fact, she calmly ponders the situation to find an even more rash strategy than the one she is currently using. She cares about her survival, but she does not care about what she has to lose for it. This explicitly chosen recklessness is both motivated by ideology and personality, and while some in the Imperium might call it a virtue, I view such a self-destructive strategy as incompatible with the way our chapter operates. I am uncertain what can be done about it, but at least I managed to get her to agree to Timidus monitoring her for the time being.>
Those might have been the hardest rounds of Regicide he had ever had the pleasure of playing. Once the young girl had told her story and seen that she would not be immediately executed for telling the truth—something he realized in retrospect was certainly not a given on the average imperial vessel—she would try to rush him down in the most aggressive sequences of turns and strategies he had ever seen. It was as if an Ork had managed to pick up the rules of the game. Certainly Auris’ strategies, augmented mind, and the experience gained over the centuries were superior, but all of that could be quickly endangered by an enemy that overflowed with speed, aggression, and a total disregard for everything but the most daring gambits. As promised, he played a full ten rounds, but afterwards he was more than happy to unleash this monstrous method of play upon Timidus, who had claimed he would play against whoever was victorious in this little contest. Perhaps his friend has come to regret this decision by now. Auris made a mental note to ask him later in the evening. At that opportunity, he would also inquire about the Astartes-shaped hole that had appeared in the Apothecarium’s solid steel walls during his interview with Liberta. Narcosis’ report, while certainly honest, was most likely not to be taken literally.
“I swear on the Emprah!” the big man had dutifully reported. “When I remove gunk from my eyes, the attacker was dead. Metal-Man did that, and he did it without weapons! And without legs! And without head! Very strong! I could fight without legs, but not without head. I know medicine, and medicine says head is important!”
When asked about the identity of their assailant, at least that mystery could be solved.
“We fight people like that once. It’s when they go smelly and laughing. But laughing is false. Someone else is laughing behind them. It’s not them doing the laughing, and it don’t stop when I hit them. Don’t like that. But he’s gone now. Dai-Man crushed his head with bare hands!”
Sadly, this was not the first time this had happened, and Auris could speculate on what transpired during his interview with Libera. One of the infected had succumbed to the rot of the soul and given himself to powers most abhorrent, and then Narcosis and Daimos-5 had neutralized the empowered Astartes in close combat just before the security force of the 1st company could arrive. Auris could imagine the Ogryn holding his own in a fight, but their tech priest? He was not even sure if Daimos-5 even possessed close-range weaponry as part of his augmentation. He would have to ask the tech priest about it later today, for he had a suspicion that Daimos-5’s perspective on the matter might be very different from what Narcosis had just told him.
He had his own experiences of fighting those who had just fallen to heretical powers, and none of these were positive. They had engaged remnants of the Death Guard in the aftermath of the Plague Wars a few years ago. It was right after their glorious chapter and fleet had been reduced to a single ship. Barely having found their footing again, they were thrust into combat. That in and of itself was nothing special; war was what they were created to endure, but the losses were substantial as they encountered this specific plague for the first time. Initially, he had speculated that it was some sort of virus or parasite that affected the brain, causing irrational behavior such as allies turning their weapons on their friends, but it turned out to be something much more sinister: it was a sickness not of the body or mind but of the soul. All the protocols or countermeasures he could have devised against it with his knowledge at the time were insufficient to halt the corruption for long; in the end, all the infected were left to the mercy of the 1st company. To think that they were apparently now in possession of a cure... That was something he had never dared to hope for. Of course, this cure was technically highly experimental and borderline heretical, but if it could be proven safe, it would open a significant number of options. If they could create a stockpile of this medicine, several protocols could be adjusted in their favor.
In general, their specific protocols for all things supernatural, such as the Maelstrom Protocols, were lacking. The Codex Astartes did not cover foul warp magics or heretical sorcery as a specific threat category, so most of their methods and plans had been devised purely on guesswork and practical experience. Daimos-5 had been quite helpful in that regard, but that should be expected from someone specializing in Geller Fields. If anyone had a grasp of what lurked in the warp, it would be those specializing in keeping whatever it was out of the ship.
Of course, keeping the unnatural out was one thing, but what if it was already inside? And with that, his mind wandered back to their communications officer. Liberta’s story was indeed unbelievable, to the point that under other circ*mstances protocol would have demanded she be executed on the spot: someone had tried to create the heretical equivalent of a living saint through countless rituals over countless generations, until the “blessed child” – she had scoffed at the title—would lead them towards glory. Whatever such “glory” would entail, they would never know, for their creation had a mind of her own, ditched her heretical heritage at the first opportune moment, and jumped onto a cargo freighter, never to be seen again—but not without hijacking several secure imperial vox frequencies. The resulting cascade of security alerts caused the appearance of several Ordos of the Inquisition on the planet she was leaving. She did not look back or try to learn what happened to the maniacal cult that created her and made her living as a dockhand at imperial starports, hitching rides as a stowaway until she crossed paths with him at transit station Vadum Tempus 6. From there on, he knew the story of how he went on a short shore leave to investigate something on behalf of the station’s command and unexpectedly returned with a mortally wounded girl looking like she’d been dragged straight out of the gutter. He was able to patch her back together with basic first aid and without getting anyone else to notice, even if she was cussing during the entire process in over 13 different languages.
At the time, they just thought she was a lingual genius and not a person blessed by dark forces to communicate by any means possible. She needed a quick way off the station, and Auris at the time felt like he owed her one—in addition to having thrown an eye at her unique linguistic abilities, of course. Exceptionally gifted individuals were hard to find, much less those that would willingly hire on an Astartes vessel. Heretical origins or not, the chapter could simply not afford to lose her. There was just one issue: they needed to figure out the exact nature of her talents to minimize all the risks that would come with utilizing them.
However, he was not equipped for such a task. Protocol would demand making an inquiry to the 5th company for it, but Auris did not like the idea of putting an issue involving mortal crew into the hands of Astartes. Not only was the potential issue of the psykic might of a transhuman warrior to wreak accidental havoc in her brain, but it was also a matter of jurisdiction. The mortal crew of the Tepidus Tempestus had its fate deeply intertwined with the Astartes chapter of the same name by now, but they were not mere serfs as was often common in other chapters, and instead all were classified as Navis Imperialis personnel. The hierarchies between different imperial institutions were always a mess to navigate, which was one of the reasons that, when taking command, Auris had moved all mortal personnel on the vessel into that one group. What before had been a wild mixture of Imperial Navy, Astra Militarum, servants, and naturalized stowaways, he condensed into a single category for the ship’s captain to manage. Castellan Dunst’s predecessor surely had not been happy about that, especially since finalizing the paperwork for all these transfers took several years, but just like that, the processes on the ship had been streamlined due to the removal of points of institutional friction. Now the only distinction on the ship was made between Astartes and regular mortals, but even that was often only on paper. This, however, was a situation where the difference mattered, and so he would have to inquire with the Master of the Choir about this situation.
It was quite fortunate that Hieronymus Laskin could be found on one of the auxiliary cargo ramps, gazing onto the planet outside. They had opened the central cargo hold, and it opened onto the warm sands of Necrall IV, with the emerald waves of its oceans only a grenade’s throw away. Between the ship and the water, people were at work. Mortal crew and Astartes alike prepared for the evening’s festivities, as sand was brought into shape to form a moderate barrier against the wind and metal bars and tarpaulins were brought out of the cargo holds to offer shade. The crew had spent most of their lives traveling the void; their skin was certainly not used to standing under the sun. A bunch of them had turned red within mere minutes and had to be treated by Timidus’ assistants.
“Is such a test necessary?” the man of indeterminable age asked before Auris could even say a word. “Has she not proven loyal enough?”
“How…?”
“Her brash presence still lingers on you, and in your eyes I see a man still at work when he’s supposed to rest. My head might be underwater on this world, but I am neither blind nor deaf.”
“It would be proper. What can you tell me about her gifts?”
“Not much, for I have preferred to keep my distance. Not because her talents might be vile or rotten, but because her soul is… intense.”
“Intense?”
“For the lack of a better word, It is not a bad thing to have a flame of passion burn brightly in one’s heart. But her soul is… different. It is comparing a matchstick to a flamer. The very form of her soul produces a flame so much brighter than what one would expect—or what should be healthy for a mortal body.”
“That does sound… concerning.”
“It is not, at least not for anyone but herself. The flame is but a metaphor; she will not torch her station anytime soon. But if you wish, I shall meet with her.”
“That’d be much appreciated. It is not urgent; as long as it is during our stay, it should suffice. Perhaps you can arrange something with Timidus? She is currently in his care.”
“Certainly. Will he attend the celebrations tonight?”
“He did not say anything about abstaining.”
“It would be most unusual, given that almost everyone is here already. Look, even the hermit craftsman has left his abode of cables and dreams.”
The old psyker gestured vaguely towards the center of the area chosen for the festivities, where 3rd Company Captain Hephaton coordinated a group of Astartes and regular mortals as they were busy setting up some sort of stage. On closer inspection, the construction consisted of empty cargo containers halfway buried in the sand. But this was by far not the only activity they could see, as all around them people were busy. Benches and tables were carried from the mess hall, and as it seems, the kitchen workers had set up shop outside as well. Their setup was a mix of several Militarum field kitchens as well as bits and pieces they had found in storage or leftovers from other such equipment sets. Auris had always been fascinated by the Astra Militarum’s ability to not just deploy such infrastructure in record time but to also use it to feed a seemingly impossible amount of soldiers on the front lines. Supply lines and food were important to Astartes as well, but they could endure for days with just some ration bars and keep fighting, as they were designed to do. Regular humans had some more demanding dietary needs, and being able to meet them, at least somewhat, in the middle of an active war zone was an achievement that often went by unnoticed. Going by the amounts of pots and pans, some of which were as wide as an Astartes, reassured Auris that no one would go hungry tonight.
Letting his eyes wander over the steadily growing crowd, he could spot a suspicious amount of high-ranking members of the chapter gathering next to the makeshift stage. The Concilium Caelum would definitely make a part of this evening very formal; an event such as this demanded a formal address from the commanding officers to the chapter and crew. It was something that was universally expected. Auris just sincerely hoped that his current demotion would save him from having to give a speech.
That hope was vaporized almost instantly when Castellan Dunst waved at him from the center of the crowd of officers and commanders, gesturing for him to come closer. Apparently, some things truly were inevitable.
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