NOVEL NEXT Chapter Ninety-Six
I approach the altar in the navigator chapel. It has been cleared of religious icons and, stacked in metal crates around it, are silver balls of precious metals and alloys as well as vats of protein slurry and other essential organics. The servitors have done a good job of stacking everything neatly and within the range of my warp and weft module.
For once, I am not in power armour, but my uniform. I’ve also brought some spare cloth, as I am not quite sure what I will look like after this, and may have to fashion something new.
Amused at my blasphemous actions, I strip, and lie naked on the altar, then grimace: I feel like a sacrifice and it is not pleasant.
Ever since I received the hyperweave musculature upgrade, I lost the roided eighties Street Fighter look and was granted a slimmer build of greater strength. No longer do my muscles have muscles. Instead, I look more like a bulky gym rat. It isn’t quite as obscene, but I am not a fan of the heavily raised veins.
I admit being strong and fit without effort is incredibly useful in everyday life and gives me confidence. I should probably show off a little more often, as looking strong and healthy is important for a leader. I’ve never forgotten I was once a fat bastard though and there’s something about that mentality that makes me cringe at the thought of showing off my body, as if I am a fake poser to be ridiculed, rather than a man of health and mettle. An unusual body confidence issue for a Tech-Priest! Usually we worry that we’re not enough iron, rather than how we look after pumping it.
My height has been two metres ever since the black skeleton upgrade, and I expect to gain more with navigator conversion. My hair remains its usual curly red self, though now it is actually a part of a coolant system, rather than natural hair. The rest of my body is hairless as my voidskin is already highly insulative and tough. Minimal hair makes getting in and out of hyperweave undersuits much easier too. Voidskin is quite capable of preventing a knife stab from a strong man and the hyperweave laced muscles beneath can mitigate the rounds from a stubber or lasgun. Armour piercing phosphor rounds or a longlas would reach my armoured organs though.
I have a couple of armoured, circular ports where I can attach mechadendrites on my shoulder blades, held in place by subdermal bracing called a cyber-mantle. This is an actual mechanicus implant, and not one of E-SIMs. My electoo wards, a lattice of psychoconductive filaments shaped into hexagrammic wards, are hidden within my voidskin. The words they form depict anti-demonic prayers.
Since I first installed them, after desperately scrabbling through the dead and harvesting their knowledge, my research suggests these warding electoos I cobbled together bear similarities to the Grey Knights aegis armour and aegis suits. The Grey Knights likely use different prayers, as mine are to the Machine God, not his prophet, the Omnissiah and Emperor of Mankind.
Nor, with the limited space and lower energy threshold, are my wards likely anywhere near as effective as what the Grey Knights have as I am not a psyker just yet. I am still quite certain that they will try and shoot me if they find out I put similar wards to theirs in servitors though, let alone a bunch of well trained rogue psykers, the Grey Knights favoured prey. Then, because it’s a good idea, they’d try to steal the technology from my corpse afterwards.
Really, I can’t become a Rogue Trader soon enough. I really need the political shielding it brings.
I make a final scan around me, checking I have everything I need and that the warp infused materials contain sufficient power.
“Start the process please, E-SIM.”
++Navigator conversion underway.++
I pass out.
When I come to, there is a cloudless blue sky above me and a massive chalk mountain range lies before me. I am standing on a cobbled path, built with human skulls. On either side of the path are graves, as far as I can see, tended to by translucent ghosts, clad in shrouds of golden flames.
I have nothing but the Emperor’s finest raiments to ward my pride against the strange landscape and its denizens.
The graves are not single tombstones, but mausoleums, constructed from the seemingly limitless chalk. Each mausoleum is unique, with golden plaques, statues and heraldry. Many are done in the gothic style, but I also spot roman, egyptian, and dozens of other styles.
Having nothing better to do, I walk along the path to the base of the mountain then take the path to the top. The vegetation is odd, entirely sculpted from what looks like brass, yet when I touch the grass it is soft, with a refreshing, natural scent. As I ascend, I start to get out of breath and begin to sweat. My exhaustion does not match the exercise compared to my fitness and there is a strange weight pressing on my shoulders, as if with every step I take, gravity increases by a minute amount.
I am uncertain why I labour to the top, only certain that it is something I must do. The last two hundred metres I am forced to crawl, my toughened hands getting cut up upon the nameless skulls. My blood squirms across the path and flows into the gutter, joining the thick vermillion that bubbles up from the mountain and descends to silent plains in small streams, then trickles between the graves.
Between one blink and the next a massive auramite door appears. Prominent reliefs flicker across its surface, endless scenes of human triumph and great sorrows throughout the many ages of mankind.
Placing my hand upon the door, I feel a wave of power revitalise me. I stand, refreshed, my wounds healed and my uniform placed upon me. With great effort I push open the door just enough to slip through and my surroundings shift. No longer am I at the top of a mountain, but in the greatest of halls.
Beams of natural light shine between great pillars, yet whenever I seek for the source of light in this windowless hall the sunbeams disappear. From the pillars hang tapestries. Regimental banners, I believe. I do not recognise them, nor does there seem to be an edge to this great room.
The door I entered by disappears the moment it is out of sight and, no matter how far or long I wander, I do not see a repeated banner or find an obvious direction to walk in.
Winged humans in golden armour begin to flicker in and out of my vision, never staying long enough for me to be certain of what I have seen. I try to follow them and notice that my surroundings are taking on a golden hue from the gentle light permeating the endless hall. I feel heat upon my skin and, with careful thought, use my face to track closer to the light and warmth.
Were I not positive this was the right direction I would turn back, for it swiftly becomes uncomfortably warm, then dangerous. My skin blisters in the heat as I endure terrible sunburn. It is not as painful as it should be, though it is a trial nonetheless.
At last I reach my destination, a golden throne without equal upon a dais of great size, both seemingly stretching beyond my sight, yet I am able to see their entirety without trouble.
Upon the throne lies an infant, skyclad and forged from gold. He sleeps upon a purple, velvet cushion. As I look upon him, the infant opens a single eye and stares at me for the briefest of moments.
A shiver passes through me and his eye closes. Squinting through the bright light I catch a glimpse of a faint, silver cord between us. He smirks, I think, and then I wake.
I sit up and swing my legs off the altar, then stand. The crates and vats around me are empty.
Immediately I notice I am taller and my implants inform me I am now two point five metres tall. My fingers are longer and thinner, with an additional joint. My toes and proportions remain the same as before.
Carefully, I probe my forehead. I can feel a small lump in the centre, but there is no break in the skin, nor do I detect new muscles I can control. I guess my eye still needs to grow.
Stretching and testing my limbs, I take slow, deliberate steps around the chapel, adjusting to my new size. I feel incredibly energetic, and significantly stronger and tougher, but there is something false about it that leaves me uneasy. After several circuits of the chapel and much thought, I finally recall the sensation. I feel like I’ve drunk too much tea after a night at the pub in a poorly thought attempt to sober up. Oh, I haven’t felt this in forty years! Wow this is weird.
I go through my messages. My arranged absence is going as planned and nothing has happened that my officers cannot deal with. My many minds spin into action and I rush through the administrative backlog while I converse with E-SIM.
“Was the conversion a success?”
++Yes. Though I will not know until your eye develops fully.++
“How do I use my powers?”
++Any navigator powers will have to wait. Psyker powers must be learned like anyone else and, without proper preparation and knowledge, leave you vulnerable to predation. As for curing Quaani, that is a navigator power, though it would be wise to have some measure of skill in basic psyker powers and protections so that you have the requisite control required to use your eye correctly.++
“At least I can’t hear any whispers.”
++Your personal gellar field will protect you from most intrusive thoughts, as do your electoos. They also hobble your powers while activated.++
“I don’t have a problem with that. If I want to hurl fire or lightning, I have guns that can do it for me. I will learn, because having a dangerous tool and not preparing everything I can to mitigate major risks is foolish. I may not always have the tools and protections I need to hand either. There is nothing pushing me to use this power if I don’t want to, though I admit to a childish glee at the thought of learning magic.”
++That and claiming you were blessed by the Emperor. It should give the eldar warlock a good scare.++
“Yes, the vision I had was rather trippy. Creepy, scary, and tough too. I believe I witnessed the Emperor’s realm in the warp. He looked rather different to how he does in paintings and statues.”
++There is an old terran phrase that might appeal: ‘Never meet your heroes.’++
“Good job he’s not my hero then. Never been a fan of meeting the boss though, no matter the Age. It always means there’s a berg on the horizon and I won’t like what’s in it.” I rub my temples. “I feel like I’m forgetting something important too. I saw more than just the Emperor, but I cannot remember what.”
++Could you do anything about what you saw, should you remember?++
“I do not remember all I saw, so how would I know? You know that was a dumb question. Were you attempting to comfort me?”
++Did it work?++
“No. One more worry to add to my bones will make little difference though. I reserve the right to swear like a sailor when my porous memory is restored.”
++You are a sailor, Aldrich.++
“Ah. Good point.”
I program a litany of commands into my implants and nantites pour from my skin, flowing over my uniform and the spare cloth I brought. Within ten minutes I have a new set to fit my taller frame. I will have to build a new set of power armour too, though that will be the work of months, and likely years. The highly compressed materials take a long time to form properly.
Power armour plating cannot be cut from a block or built up layer by layer, but poured and forged at great pressure. They are custom made for each wearer too, which is why space marines are almost all the same size, making their armour benefit from replaceable parts as well as mix and match from different patterns. I will not be so lucky.
This is why mechanicus usually use scale mail for their armour plates, as it allows for an adjustable fit over a large range of body sizes and shapes, as well as easy replacement parts, like space marine armour. The downside is that it is not as strong as the hefty, uniform plates used for space marine armour.
However, this time I want armour closer to humanity’s finest. There will be no adding spare scales and reweaving mechanical muscles to form a new armour from the old. I am going to stand out with my height and need all the protection I can forge.