Domus Discordia Chapter 4

The primus-Apothecarion was a cold and sterile place, a sanctum against infection and microbes. It was filled with mysterious machinery and vials filled with bubbling acid or alkaline substances. Serf-medicaes went to and fro on esoteric tasks, tending to duties that had long since descended into ritual. Strange tanks stood in long rows, filled with growth mediums. Within those tanks gestated the sacred Gene-seeds, the implants necessary to create Transhuman warriors.

The space was not only a clinical facility; it was also a shrine to the arcane mysteries of the sacred Gene-seed. Shrines dotted the walls and in a raised pulpit a venerable serf-medicae read aloud night and day from crumbling medical textbooks. Meanwhile passing serfs would genuflect before icons of Him on Terra, whose genius was the fountainhead of all that occurred here.

In ancillary chambers Neophytes sweated and screamed upon the cold hard floors, their bodies being broken and reworked by their newly implanted organs. They had been left there for hours and even days in some cases, wailing as their bones snapped and muscles swelled at an obscene rate. None of the passing serfs paid them any mind and neither did they offer anaesthetics or antibiotics. The forging of a Space Marine was an arduous and painful process, one designed to winnow out the weak and flawed. If these youths could not overcome pain and infection on their own then the Chapter had no use for them.

Into that space came a Space Marine in white armour, his Narthecium proclaiming him to be an Apothecary. It was Memnos and he had come home. Memnos paused at the dual doorway as clouds of caustic fumes swept over him, sterilising his amour and killing any germs that may linger. His helm was off and the fumes blistered the skin on his tonsured head, but he dismissed it without flinching. After a minute the fumes ceased and Memnos stepped through the second set of doors, followed by a blank-faced servitor carrying a large cryo-chest. A serf came to meet the Apothecary and bowed low as he said in a ritual chant, "Welcome Master, we are prepared to receive the Chapter's Due."

Memnos made the sign of the Aquilla and repeated the ritual response, "By the grace of the Primarch I return this sacred Gene-seed to the care of the Chapter. May it bring strength and vitality to our ranks, so that we may serve the Emperor better."

The serf bowed again and led the servitor away, taking the casket with them. Within that chest were the progenoids of all those who had recently died in Third Company, their genetic legacy being taken to the deepest vaults to be harvested. With bounty such as this were new gene-implants forged and so the circle of life for Astartes could be renewed.

Memnos stepped back as his burden was returned to its rest and he looked about, taking in the Apothecarion. He had been away for some time but he was reassured by how little had changed. This facility had operated unchanged for millennia, not even the Chaos invasion had reached this deep, five years was nothing compared to that.

Memnos had been planet-side for a few days now, waiting until Third Company was cleared to come down from orbit and bring the gene-seed with them. Memnos had spent that time making reports and being repeatedly cross-examined. For some reason his every word had been doubted and queried, over and over, until he was utterly sick of the barrage of questions.

Finally he had been freed and he had come to check upon a most secret and audacious work. Quietly Memnos made his way to the back of the Apothecarion, where a plain blank door was positioned, completely ignored by all. Memnos looked over his shoulder but the serfs were pointedly not looking so he opened the door and stepped within. Beyond he found a small ante-chamber, where two gun servitors waited, with Heavy Bolters. Memnos paused as they swept him with biometric auspexs and was satisfied when they lowered their muzzles to let him pass. He stepped past them and found himself in a smaller Apothecarion, one with significantly less personnel within.

Within this small chamber were ten beds, each bearing a neophyte in a comatose state. They were bound down with leather restraints and look febrile and ashen-faced. They were sweating and groaning, rolling their heads in agony and muttering all the while. Memnos only had to glance at them to tell that the majority were dead and the rest looked ready to expire at the merest breath of wind. This was not what drew his eye however, for walking along the row were two Adepts. The first was a serf, pale and gaunt, like he never saw the sun or even left this chamber. The other wore white power armour, like his own and boasted an absent-minded but familiar face.

"Korios!" Memnos called in greeting.

"Hush," the other said, "I'm not finished. Now where was I, ah yes: Subject VP-372-e, no signs of brain activity, specimen non-viable. Schedule for disposal."

The serf made a note then the Apothecary stepped back and said, "Memnos, so you're not dead then?"

Memnos smirked for they were old friends and he had missed his comrade. Memnos replied, "You wish Korios."

Korios smiled in return and said, "It is good to see you, any interesting finds?"

Memnos shook his head and laughed, "Honestly a whole galaxy to explore and all you ever inquire after are more specimens for your laboratories."

Korios grinned and jested, "Well we can't all be lucky enough to get a chance to cure bio-weapons. Your work on curing that Phage was spectacular."

Memnos waved off the compliment and said, "What of your own work, have we made any headway on the visionary project?"

Now Korios sighed and said, "See for yourself."

Memnos did indeed turn to examine the line of beds, each with a blinking hololith set before it. This was the secret work of the Apothecary order, an attempt to improve the Gene-seed itself. It was not commonly known but the Storm Heralds hid a flaw, namely a defective catalepsean node. For a few select Brothers this flaw could produce astounding feats of deductive reasoning and intuitive leaps that bordered on prescience. The flaw was rare, striking perhaps only one or two neophytes in a generation but the strategic value of them was immeasurable, a tremendous asset. The Apothecaries sought to improve that asset, not only in number but in consistency too. The ability to make such predictions on command would be a priceless boon but that was easier said than done.

The Gene-seed was the work of the Emperor's genius and no lesser being could equal that depth of understanding. Interfering with those genetic wonders, even in the slightest way, produced catastrophic failures, rampant mutations and insanity. Even selecting the most promising of recruits was barely making a difference in the fatality rates. The rate of lost subjects was staggering, perhaps ninety-nine in a hundred and by the looks of things the process had not improved in the time Memnos had been away.

Memnos read aloud, "Subject VP-372-a, ischemic stroke, specimen non-viable. VP-372-c, pulmonary embolism, specimen non-viable. VP-372-d, implant rejection, specimen non-viable. Are none of these going to make it?"

Korios shook his head and said, "Doesn't look like it, I just lost two more, which reminds me. Serf make a note, subject VP-372-b, shows unacceptable ventricular fibrillation, specimen non-viable. Schedule for disposal."

The serf bowed and Memnos shook his head saying, "I had hoped for some improvement while I was away. The attrition rates remain staggering, so much work wasted."

Suddenly a new voice spat, "I am sorry you are disappointed!"

Both Apothecaries spun about in surprise and were shocked to see Chief Apothecary Lessall standing in the doorway, a fierce scowl on his face. Memnos bowed low, he had not expected to see Lessall here, in fact he had not seen the Chief Apothecary since his return.

Lessall strode in and snarled at the serf, "What are you standing around for, go and fetch a servitor to dispose of these specimens."

As the Serf hurried away Memnos inquired, "My lord, how may I be of assistance to you?"

Lessall loomed over him and said, "You can start by explaining this sham of a report you made."

Memnos frowned and said, "I was very clear and concise, the facts are right there."

"I am not talking about the mission," Lessall snarled, "I sent you to the Third to report on the Marines, especially that Toran."

Memnos was confused now and said, "I have filed regular reports, their health remains within acceptable parameters. Except for that Phage scare a few years back there are no issues to raise."

"I did not send you to them to check they are all eating their nutri-gruel like good little neophytes," Lessall barked, "I sent you among them to tell me what they think, where their hearts and minds lie."

Memnos was aggrieved by the insinuation that he was a spy and barked, "Surely that is a matter for the Chaplains, what's it got to do with us?"

"Memnos!" spat Korios in shock at the backtalk but Memnos was tired of being questioned and he refused to back down. He stared at Lessall who glowered back at him angrily.

The Chief Apothecary stared at him and growled, "For years now you have been ducking your extra responsibilities, your role in leading this Chapter. I let it slide because you are perhaps the finest medical mind among us, two visionaries produced under your care, two! But no more, I will have your report on Third Company."

Memnos stared at him and said, "I stand by my words, Third Company is sound."

"And what of this Primarch's Own," Lessall hissed, "They invoked that name in battle, against express orders."

Memnos knew it to be true but he had been there, Lessall had not, he couldn't possibly understand how desperate that battle had been. The Apothecary stated, "It was necessary, we stood on the brink, a rallying cry had to be made. We would not have made it back otherwise."

"And what of the Emperor?" Lessall growled, "Do they accept His divinity?"

Memnos didn't like the tone this was taking and spat. "Why do you care?"

"Brother!" barked Korios in shock and horror, "Watch your tongue!"

Lessall leaned in and said, "You had better explain that remark."

Memnos didn't know where his Master's anger had come from but he had been questioned and doubted to his wit's end and he refused to be browbeaten anymore. Memnos drew in a breath and exclaimed, "For years now we've been pressing this issue and I have never understood why. So what if Brothers worship the Emperor or not, they all fight the same. Our order was tasked with temporal concerns; we should leave spirituality to the Chaplains. Our role is to keep the Brothers strong, theology and politics shouldn't be allowed to interfere with that!"

Lessall's eyes narrowed and he shouted, "You dare lecture me upon our role!"

Memnos was actually shocked by his own outburst; he hadn't meant to say so much. He lowered his head and said, "I… I have offended you, I offer apologies."

"Apologies…" Lessall slowly uttered then he said, "That will not suffice, you have raised your voice to your Master and shamed yourself. Assign yourself two days of self-flagellation in the penance cells, to commence immediately. That should teach you to keep a civil tongue in your head."

Memnos was shamed by his own words and bowed low to hide the flush in his cheeks. He had erred and must pay for his presumption. He humbly said, "Of course my Lord, it shall not happen again."

Lessall growled angrily, "Leave now, before my forbearance runs out."

Memnos lowered his head and walked out, leaving the pair behind. Korios made to say something but was stopped by an upheld hand. Lessall waited until he was sure they were alone then said, "As I suspected, Memnos lacks the resolve we need."

Korios gulped and said, "My Lord, he had been away for a time, perhaps a spell back in the bosom of the Apothecarion would…"

"No," Lessall said, "He has spent too long listening to Gorgall's ilk."

The Chief Apothecary's face was grim as he considered the matter then he made a decision. He turned to Korios and said, "Make a note: Subject Memnos, moral dissolution, specimen non-viable. Schedule for disposal."