Festum Gladius Chapter 27

Smyth wasn't sure what he was looking at. The device was an ungainly collection of eldritch arrays and shimmering fibre-optics links, buried in-between crystalline circuit boards. Pulsing fluid links throbbed as crackling arcs of lightning carried between suspended copper rods. Cogitators whirred and mechanical callipers moved within it, repositions data-crystals in ways so arcane they appeared random. Smyth had seen many things in his service to the Imperium, many mechanical marvels and arcane artefacts, but nothing compared to this. It was the most astonishing creation he had ever witnessed.

Techmarine Lytek announced proudly, "The Iron Grail."

"A wonder," Smyth breathed, "Such artifice, such profound understanding of the Omnissiah's gifts. Even on Mars itself this would be held in awe."

Techmarine Tardak stated smugly, "We thought you would see its worth."

Smyth was indeed in awe but Orath didn't sound half as impressed as he tapped his inert Thunder Hammer on a panel and asked, "What's it supposed to do?"

Lytek scowled as he snapped, "Don't do that!"

"What… this?" Orath snorted as he tapped it again.

Tardak barked, "Show reverence for the Omnissiah's boons, this is a holy device and… Would you stop tapping it?!"

Smyth had a distinct impression that Orath was enjoying provoking the pair as he continued to tap it and said, "I will, when you tell me what it does."

Lytek hastily spat, "It is a memno-Recollector, a memory-engram retrieval deceive capable of reading neural connections in dead tissue."

Orath stopped his annoying behaviour as he scoffed, "A what?"

Smyth sighed, "It pulls memories out of dead people's heads."

Orath eyed the machine warily and asked, "You can do that?"

Tardak nodded, "If the brains are properly preserved and stored. We have special chemicals that can pickle a brain in moments, leaving the connections perfectly frozen and ready to read. It is the honour of all Storm Herald Techmarines to be interred so, leaving our sacred knowledge available for future scholars."

Orath stepped back and whispered, "You keep your own heads pickled in jars?"

Lytek affirmed, "An honour, to become data itself. A closer union to the Omnissiah is hard to imagine."

Even Smyth who had been trained on Mars found that macabre and he uttered, "Don't you wish to lie in state with your Brothers, to be honoured among Space Marines and remembered for your deeds in life?"

Lytek snorted, "That is a fleshy point of view. We prefer to ascend forever into the realms informational, to exist in a purer state of being."

Orath snorted, "Turn yourself into a pickle? No thanks, I'd rather die and have my name entered in the Scrolls of Honour. At least it's faster."

Smyth faced him and said, "Orath maybe Lytek would be so good to show you the resting place of the Techmarines. I think you'd find it informative."

"You what…" Orath started but then saw the look in his eye, "Oh… very well. Come on then, show me your pickle collection."

The pair stomped off, leaving Smyth and Tardak alone. Smyth had a second to pause and look around his surroundings. They were deep inside the Techmarines's archives, in the very heart of the Forge. They had been brought here as part of their tour of the Forges, a visitation no soul not pledged to the Cult Technis had ever enjoyed. Smyth had seen many marvels in his brief time but had not forgotten Librarian Wela's urgings to investigate further. There were secrets here that needed unearthing.

Smyth watched as Tardak fussed over the Iron Grail, then said, "You wanted to talk to me."

Tardak's head shot up and he hissed, "I never said that."

"I can read between the lines," Smyth scoffed, "Your protests were too loud."

Tardak's face sneered, skin pulling against various wires embedded in his cheeks as he spat, "I meant every word, you Primaris are Maletek Incarna. You have no right to sully the Emperor's perfect design with your innovation. Yet here you are… walking in our Forges and I find I need your help."

Smyth crossed his arms and remarked, "There's more to your hate than doctrinal precepts. It sounds personal."

Tardak gingerly touched the Iron Grail and said, "This blessed device is technically Heresy. Many parts of it are raw invention yet we cannot bear to reject it... it is wondrous. It was made by Obeck, one of the few artefacts he left that we dare employ."

"Who?" Smyth asked in genuine curiosity.

Tardak sighed, "A name we have worked hard to conceal from history. He was a Forgemaster, the head of our order. Sixteen centuries ago he succumbed to the teachings of the Lazarus Progression, they were a cult within a cult, a faction of Tech-Priests, Inquisitors, Legates and High Lords. They believed that the Imperium in its current format is doomed, that we are not equal to the threats encroaching upon our borders. The Lazarites believed that the only hope to survive was to embrace the darkest rites of Cybermancy and unleash the forbidden arsenals of Technotheurgy. Obeck was seduced by this cult, he came to believe the basic model of Space Marine was inadequate, that only via cybernetic enhancement could the Adeptus Astartes become strong enough to prevail."

Smyth sniffed, "Sounds like the teachings of the Iron Hands and the other successors of Ferrus Manus."

"So we thought at first and initial trials of squads with Augmetic-enhancements proved highly effective in the field. But Obeck's madness knew no bounds. He unleashed such things, such horrors, that we could no longer abide his insane creations. The Sodality rebelled and overthrew him, sealing his Forsworn creations away even as the Lazarites were purged from the galaxy. The Fabricator-General excommunicated the faction from the Adeptus Mechanicus and sealed again the doors they had opened. That is why we dislike Primaris, you remind us of his Heretical attempt to improve the Astartes."

"And now his head rests on a shelf somewhere," Smyth remarked, "What does that matter?"

Tardak shook his head and said, "No, actually his fate was very different. But you're missing the point. Since that day the Sodality has kept a keen watch on its members for similar Heresies. We have our duty divisions, our doctrines and our watchmen. Abdael watches our members but I watch our machines. It is my duty to secure the Forsworn devices and keep alert for signs of tampering and I have found such evidence."

"What?!" Smyth exclaimed, "How, when?"

"I do not know," Tardak lamented, "After Ajax went mad I examined the data-records, sifting the noosphere and I found discrepancies. Buried in the records were signs of tampering, someone had been manipulating the info-feeds, polluting the Dreadnought's input-output sensoria with corrupted data."

Smyth gasped, "Then Ajax's madness…"

"Was provoked," Tardak asserted, "Don't get me wrong, his dementia was always there but it is no coincidence that he blew his top at the moment he did. His madness was real but someone goaded it, someone fed him corrupted data and broke his sanity. There can be no doubt: someone was attacking Ajax's mind. His insanity was engineered."

Smyth swallowed nervously, "Any idea who?"

Tardak muttered, "There was a fingerprint left in the data… an access code belonging to Techmarine Vorgal."

"Well bring him in for questioning, find this Vorgal and rip answers out of him!"

"Hard to do since he's dead," Tardak explained, "Vorgal's brain had lain among our honoured forebearers for years."

Smyth's eyes fell to the Iron Grail and he said, "I understand why you wanted to show me this. Vorgal's memories could have yielded up the code. Tell me, who has access to this device."

"Only two souls can use it," Tardak sighed, "Sigas the Historitor and Forgemaster Angmatan."

"I see…" Smyth pondered, "No wonder you came to me. If your Forgemaster was involved…"

"A Forgemaster fell once," Tardak hissed, "Who is to say another could not. All I know is these events started when the Primaris entered the Forges, but they have not the access to pull this off. Someone took it as a sign to act, someone provoked Ajax and unleashed calamity. To what end I cannot say, but a conspiracy is afoot in the Forges and I do not know who to trust anymore."

Smyth was about to ask another question but then Orath returned, stomping back into the chamber as he called, "Abdael needs you, he going mad in there. Seems a bit upset I knocked some jars over and spilt the contents on the floor."

"You did what?!" Tardak yelped as he sprinted from the chamber and vanished towards the storage vault.

Orath waited a moment then scoffed, "That will keep them busy for ten minutes. What did you find out?"

Smyth was surprised by Orath's ingenuity and informed him, "Conspiracy, treachery and sedition. Something provoked Ajax's attack, somebody stoked his insanity and set him loose."

Orath growled, "I knew it, Ajax would never…."

Smyth however didn't hear the rest. His vision swam and his ears pounded as the room blurred. Once more he was elsewhere, surrounded by strange faces who whispered lies into his ears. He didn't know what they were saying but he knew they were lying, he knew it in his bones. Only Orath remained firm and unwavering, his image constant in a sea of uncertainty. His head ringing Smyth stumbled and said, "I can't…"

"What?" Orath asked.

"You…" Smyth gasped, "I see you, surrounded by shadows. I, I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm seeing things I never saw, places I've never been and faces I don't recognise."

Orath was silent a moment then asked, "Is your head spinning and your fists tightening of their own accord? Do your instincts tell you one thing and your memories another?"

"Yes!" Smyth gasped in surprise, "How did you know?!"

"Because I'm experiencing it too," Orath stated bluntly, "We've been mind-wiped."

"Mind-wiped?!" Smyth spluttered, "How, why?!"

Orath sniffed, "We must have seen something we weren't supposed to and had our memories erased. Probably by our Librarians, if not the Inquisition."

Smyth's jaw fell as he exclaimed, "But we're Space Marines! They wouldn't, they couldn't! We face horrors on a daily basis and they don't mind-wipe us. We face Daemons... Deamons in the flesh and we keep those memories. What could be worse than that?!"

Orath snorted, "There's always something worse. Things that should never be known, things that would bring the Imperium down in flames were they to be told. If the Librarians judge we cannot be allowed to remember something, then it must be terrible indeed."

Smyth looked him up and down and stated, "You're awfully calm about this."

"It's not my first mind-wipe. I told you I've served this Chapter for two centuries but I only remember about seventy years of it. My oldest memory is waking up on a medslab, fully ascended and covered in scars. No idea how I got them, couldn't even recall my own name, but I retained all my reflexes and skills. Who was I before that moment is lost to me, my training, my squad-brothers, even my former rank is a mystery. I don't know if I was serious or merry, proud or humble, a Captain or a pilot. My mind was a blank slate, whoever I was before is obliterated. I could pass a friend of a hundred years in a corridor and not recognise his face."

Smyth's jaw fell as he uttered, "You remember nothing?!"

Orath sniffed, "If all we've lost is a moment then count yourself blessed."

"No wonder you're always pissed off," Smyth breathed, "How can you not rail against this injustice?"

"I told you, there are always worse things," Orath uttered, "If this is the price of service then so be it. The Chapter's needs surpass ours. You Primaris have yet to learn this lesson: war demands all we are. Blood and bone, heart and soul and memory, all are forfeit to the Chapter. You cannot deny this fact, whatever was taken from us needs to remain buried. Whatever you've forgotten, let it stay lost."

"I'm… I'm not sure I can let this go," Smyth whispered, "I don't know how."

"You'd better learn," Orath growled, "If the Librarians find out you've uncovered their work they'll wipe everything you are and start over… or put a bolt-round in your head. Secrets are meant to stay secret. We've got work to do, concentrate on that."

"But…"

"Listen," Orath snarled, "There's a scab in your mind and it's started bleeding. Leave it alone and it will heal, pick at it and you will expose the wound. Do the galaxy a favour: Do not pick at the scab."

Smyth's reply was lost as the Techmarines returned. He fell silent as Orath addressed them but inside his head he was reeling. His mind had been tampered with and his memories erased. He didn't know how to let that go. Yet outside his head a conspiracy was unfolding, threatening to consume all. For the life of him Smyth didn't know which was the more harrowing prospect.