This is an idea I got a while ago, and finally decided to write a story on. Here, two fan favorite (and two of my personal favorite) factions meet: the Quarians from Mass Effect and the Adeptus Mechanicus from Warhammer 40k. They are, in an odd sort of way, similar to each other. This is a story that I shall continue. So, without further ado:

TECHNOPHILES

Prologue: Technophiles

The Quarians. A race exiled from their homeworld by their own misdeeds and mistakes. A race distrusted by all; scorned, downtrodden, forever doomed to live upon vast starships adrift in the void. A race in need of a miracle… something the Omnissiah has been known to provide...

"Quarians have a sad tale, really. They were a council race, once, and well respected. They always had an aptitude for machines, which, in the end, became their undoing. They created a 'race' of machine servants called the Geth to help them on their home planet of Rannoch. They did their work too well. The Geth attained sentience, and the Quarians panicked and attacked, sparking a war for their planet between the two sides. The Geth won. Ever since, they have lived on a large Migrant Fleet, distrusted by everyone and treated as less than dirt." -Anonymous Human diplomat on the Quarians

"From the moment I understood the weakness of my flesh, it disgusted me. I craved the strength and certainty of steel. I aspired to the purity of the blessed machine. Your kind cling to your flesh as if it will not decay and fail you. One day the crude biomass you call a temple will wither, and you will beg my kind to save you.

But I am already saved. For the Machine is Immortal."

-Magos Dominus Faustinius of the Adeptus Mechanicus

oOo

The Citadel

It was the third time today Captain Bailey of Citadel Security had gotten a call regarding these two particular individuals. The first had been a panicky human wondering exactly what these… things were, and if the strange equipment on them was dangerous. Or legal. He'd sent out a junior officer to find out precisely who the concerned citizen had been asking about. The agent had returned with a description so outlandish he'd put her on floor cleaning duty for a week. That had been the first time he'd heard of them.

The second was when another citizen, this time an Asari, had called in to report two strange red-robed individuals harassing a Turian worker in a public park. Feeling annoyed that costumed morons were poking people where they shouldn't be, Bailey dispatched a nearby officer to the scene. It was after the second officer described the same two individuals that the first that Bailey started to get annoyed. And slightly worried.

When the third call came about two unknown, red-robed individuals harassing a volus, Bailey strapped on his sidearm and went to investigate the call personally. Officer Ces, the young woman who had responded to the first call, trailed behind him, unarmed due to her lowly status.

Ces had triumphantly pointed out that she was correct as the two walked out of the C-Sec building. Bailey promptly told her to shut up. This was a strange day already, and, dammit, he didn't need anyone telling him he was wrong. Some farther part of his mind did concede the point and made a note to take her off floor duty, a concession he was not willing to say aloud.

The artificial sky of the Citadel glowed a calming blue as the two C-Sec officers walked through pathways of the massive station. They passed large shops, advertisements glowing outside, enticing people to come inside and buy their wares. Restaurants, catering to and run by all sorts of different species, were filled with people coming to eat the midday meal many races found comfortable with. Humans called it lunch. Bailey didn't see why it was such a big deal with some people. A sandwich in his office would do him just fine.

They passed by the enticing smells of the restaurants and onto a main walking thoroughfare. Here the pathways broadened out, allowing hundreds to walk to and from the shops and residences of the Citadel. Aircars flew overhead, the whine of their engines a usual background noise to the people on these streets. It was in a large, open area that they found what they were looking for.

To the side of the throughway, in a slightly secluded plaza, two massive individuals, clad in crimson and black robes stood over a volus, completely oblivious to the looks they were receiving from nearby bystanders. The smaller of the two stood a full seven and a half feet tall. It had a humanoid body, but every body part Bailey could see was made of cold metal. It's legs were crafted of massive and powerful alloys, its arms much the same. All were larger and looked to possess more power than any of the races Bailey had ever seen. Its head was perhaps the strangest part about it; instead of a normal neck and head, it had a series of thick metal cables for a neck and a blank metal faceplate with glowing blue eyes.

The larger of the two cut a strange figure; Bailey had no idea precisely what it was. It was at least eight feet in height, the hood of its cowl towering over everyone near it. The upper half of its body was humanoid, with a broad torso hidden beneath voluminous robes. The lower half flared out to the back, the robe covering what seemed to be how the strange creature walked. It was as if the humanoid upper body had been soldered onto a series of spindly crab-like legs, with a black and red robe thrown over it. However, its shape was not the strangest part. The strangest part was the various mechanical appendages that stuck out from throughout the creature's body. It had four metal arms, all human in appearance, with five fingered hands on each. Several smaller, pincer-like arms struck out from the front of the robe, while seemingly dozens of metal tentacles, all tipped with various tools, fingers, and pincers, swayed as they splayed from the creature's back. Two of these front arms were currently busy holding up the struggling volus.

"I said to put me down!" wheezed the volus, its nasally voice filled with fear of what these unknown things would do to him. Bailey would have laughed at the absurdity of the sight if he could. The two foot tall, rotund volus, struggling as the large creature held him out with two arms, like one might hold a sack of particularly pungent manure away from their person. The fact that the robed individual kept poking the volus with one of its metal tentacles. The fact that volus, in general, started to wheeze when they got scared or excited. Really, it was quite comedic. "Put me down!" Wheeze. "I have notified Citadel Security of your behavior, and," Wheeze. "They will be arriving shortly," Wheeze. "So I suggest you do as I say," Wheeze. "Before I press charges!"

The thing apparently did not understand or care. It gave the volus another light poke before turning to its companion. A strange, chirping, twittering language emitted from the blank plate it called a face. Its companion seemed to shrug before firing off a rapid series of twitters, ending in an almost questioning tone. Another metallic tentacle, tipped with some sort of blocky device, reached out in front of the volus's face. A high pitched beep sounded, and it scanned the volus in a cornea of reddish energy. Bailey decided enough was enough, and stepped forward.

"Excuse me," he stated, firmly but politely, the way an officer should. "You cannot harass anyone here. Please put down the volus." Now that was a phrase he never thought he'd have to say aloud. The red-robed thing cocked its head curiously. Ces nudged Bailey's shoulder.

"I, uh, don't think he, or… it… or whatever, completely understands us. I asked it a couple questions, and he didn't seem to know what I was saying." Great. Just great. Bailey stepped forward and gently lowered red-robe's metallic hands and tried to disentangle the volus. The force behind the hands was surprisingly, unbearably, strong. The thing seemed to understand what Bailey wanted though, and dropped the volus with a slight thud. Bailey moved in front of the now slightly traumatized and very dizzy volus and crossed his arms.

"Now, uh…" He had no idea what, precisely, this thing was, and thus had no idea how to properly address it. He settled for not addressing it at all. "I'm going to need a name, in case there are charges pressed against you." The thing twittered at its companion for a moment. It turned, bowed to Bailey and gave a friendly nod to Ces. Before Bailey could do anything, the thing's crab-like metal legs unfolded and it skittered away, followed by its companion, walking at a pace Bailey didn't believe anyone could keep up with. His mouth worked spasmodically for a moment.

"Uh, Ces? Could you get Mr. uh…" He let his words trail off and hoped the volus understood he wanted a name.

"Von. Droran Von," replied the volus.

"Thank you, Mr. Von. Can you get Mr. Von's information? I'm going to follow these… guys. Meet up with me if you can," he instructed Ces. She nodded and began speaking to Von as he jogged after the two strange, red-robed individuals.

oOo

It was certainly an experience. Bailey never thought he would be running through the Citadel, especially after such strange characters. He would have worried that it was undignified of a C-Sec captain, let alone one of the very first human C-Sec captains. At the moment, though, the idea that this was humiliating was the last thought in his mind. He barely registered the strange and worried looks being shot his way. He was nearly sprinting at times, running through large plazas and storefronts, going deeper and lower into the wards of the Citadel. At one point, he stopped in front of a six-way divide, unsure of which way the strange individuals had gone. Sighing to himself, annoyed over the time he was wasting, he made a call back to C-Sec headquarters.

"Dispatch, this is Bailey. I'm tracking two strange looking things in red robes. Do you have them anywhere on camera?" he asked.

"Copy, Captain. Give me a quick sec," replied the man on the other side of the radio. "Uh… looks like they're two levels down. Officer Matctik is there. There's a Quarian… he might be up to his usual… problems. You might want to hustle, Captain." Bailey swore under his breath.

"Copy, Dispatch. I'm moving," he said, already breaking into a sprint. He moved faster than he thought was possible down the two levels. This was the underbelly of the Citadel, where the more destitute roamed. It was nothing like the magnificence of the Presidium, or the wide open spaces on the top level where the powerful worked, ate, and shopped. Here, there were desperate people, living in the slums of the center of the galaxy. C-Sec did most of their work down here.

Bailey slid forward, painting, grateful that he had caught up to the red-robed pair. They were standing unobtrusively in the corner, watching the scene unfold in front of them. Officer Matctik, a black haired human of medium height, stood, arms crossed, in front of a Quarian woman. Her environment suit was a close, form fitting affair, as most quarian suits were, and was a black-grey with purple highlights. A rather standardized color scheme, from what Bailey knew. She seemed to rock back and forth on her three toed feet and clutch her hands nervously. Bailey could instantly tell why.

"I'm running you in for vagrancy and loitering," said Matctik, his arms crossed over his chest, frowning deeply. The Quarian wrung her hands.

"But… but I haven't done anything!" she protested. Bailey sighed to himself. Of course. There had been a "racist policeman" stereotype ever since… well, since forever in human history. Just as lawyers were greedy and used car salesmen sleazy, policemen were racist. Bailey hated it. He certainly wasn't. Ces wasn't. They did exist, though, and it surprised Bailey that other species had the same trope. The Turian cops, especially, were thought of as racist. Most weren't. Most everyone he knew just wanted to help, or keep the peace. However, being a law enforcement officer seemed to attract a small sub-group of individuals who just wanted the excuse to exercise power over others. Matctik was one of those people.

For whatever reason, he did not like Quarians. Bailey had tried to get him out of it, but the going was slow. Sighing to himself once more, he was about to step in… but was promptly beaten to the punch by the two red-robed individuals.

The larger, strangely built figure skittered up to the Quarian, much more slowly than the speed it had run from the volus. If Bailey had to guess, he would suppose it didn't want to startle the officer. That estimate was immediately disproven as the thing picked up the Quarian by its arms and held out, arms outstretched. Matctik's mouth dropped open, and the Quarian desperately struggled to get out of the grasp of the figure's cold metal arms. A metal tentacle with a different scanner than the one Bailey had seen before flashed out and went to the Quarian's omni-tool, while another, with some strange device on the end went to the mouth intake of the Quarian's mask. The Quarian shrieked and kicked at the figure. It didn't appear to affect it in any way, but two metal arms shot from beneath its robe to prevent the Quarian from moving its legs. She then went limp in its arms, realizing she couldn't struggle against it. Matctik drew his sidearm and pointed it at the figure's cowled head.

"Alright, that's enough. Put her down!" he ordered. The figure didn't even look at him. Instead, another metal tentacle reached down and gently plucked the pistol from his grasp. Matctik stood there, dumbfounded, mouth opening and closing spasmodically. Bailey decided it was time for him to intervene.

"You're going to have to let go of the Quarian and give Officer Matctik back his sidearm," he said in his most authoritative voice. The figure spared him a quick glance. It continued with whatever it was doing for a moment, then gently put the Quarian back on her feet. It turned to face the two officers, then spoke.

"I am sorry to have upset you, Captain Bailey." The voice was cold, metallic, and synthesized. It contained a note of apology, though, which made Bailey wonder exactly what this creature in front of him was. "Unfortunately, I did not know your language until this point. This is why I required a cognator to interface with, to learn the necessary language to speak to you with." The figure turned to the Quarian and gave it a bow. "I am sorry to have upset you, Zore'Reer nar Yara." With a start, Bailey realized the figure was speaking Quarian. He had addressed the two human officers in English, their native language, and seemed to do the same with the Quarian. They could understand due to their translators, but it was unusual to see someone who spoke the languages of two different species.

"How… how did you know my- never mind," mumbled the Quarian. Bailey stepped forward.

"Alright. Can I get a name?" he asked the thing. The red hood dipped forward into a bow.

"I am designated Magos Felis Natrius. At your service, Captain Bailey." The metal tentacle holding Matctik's sidearm dipped down and returned to the man. He holstered it and crossed his arms, his face settling into a perpetual scowl. Bailey activated his omni-tool and wrote down the name, seeing all the problems it had recently caused him.

"Great. Uh… Magos. You are under arrest for assault and harassment," said Bailey, a trifle apologetic. If the Magos did not understand what he was hearing earlier, it wasn't really his fault, but laws were laws. You couldn't just go picking up random people on the street.

"And the Quarian," said Matctik, still scowling. Bailey shot him a glare. If Matctik picked up on it, he didn't respond.

"Ah, yes," replied Natrius smoothly. "Unfortunately, that isn't going to happen, Captain. How would it look, Captain, if you and this officer were arresting someone for nothing, merely on the pretense that some in their species are known for stealing? Not good. And how, too, would it look if you arrested the first members of a newly discovered group that just set foot upon the Citadel for the first time? Not good, either, I'm afraid." Bailey looked up sharply. Matctik's scowl deepened, if such a move were even possible. Natrius continued. "I propose we just forget this entire matter. Neither of us shall cause you trouble, I can assure you." The blank face plate glanced down at the Quarian, who nodded frantically.

"Yes! I- I don't want to cause any trouble," she sputtered, still nervously wringing her hands. Bailey's mouth dipped into a frown. This… thing did have a point. The hell he would receive if the press or politicians found out about this… He sighed for what he hoped to be the final time today.

"Very well," he said. "You may both go. No funny business, though. And no picking people up, Magos." The unspoken "or else" hung in the air. Bailey didn't care about the Quarian. He would have a talk with Matctik later. Natrius dipped his head into a bow once more.

"I am grateful, Captain Bailey." The Quarian had already left, Matctik's gaze still lingering on her, the frown still deep on his face.

"Wait!" called Bailey to Natrius. "How do we explain the video footage?" He did not want anyone to find there was footage of him releasing a suspect that had assault charges on him… it. Whatever. Natrius turned around, and when he spoke, there was a smile in his cold, metallic voice.

"What video footage, Captain?" One of his "eyes", glowing a vibrant blue, turned on and off. Did this thing just wink at me? Matctik and he watched the two strange, robed figures turn and walk after the Quarian.

"Uh, Captain, this is Dispatch," crackled a voice over his comms. "All of the sudden, we just lost some video footage. It was all of the red guy you were chasing, too. Advise?"

"Copy, Dispatch. Ignore it," commanded Bailey.

"Copy Captain," replied a puzzled Dispatch.

oOo

Zore'Reer nar Yara swiftly glided away from the scene on limber three-toed legs. She didn't want the two C-Sec officers to change their minds. She knew she might meet people like this; everyone thought the Quarians were vandals. Thieves. Untrustworthy pickpockets. No one would help her, no one would give her a job. She hated it, but she had to try nevertheless. She had to go back to the Fleet with something.

She thought it might be all over when she was stopped by C-Sec. It might have been, too, if not for the intervention of this very strange, very tall thing… Natrius. Her mouth creased into a frown beneath her mask. What was she supposed to think? He had helped her. He had called her by her name and seemed to see her as something other than just a suit. Though, he did pick her up and hack into her omni-tool and enviro-suit. That was an experience she did not want to repeat. Hanging there, helpless, all her secrets laid bare to a complete stranger… She was snapped from her revery by Natrius's cold metallic voice.

"Zore'Reer nar Yara." She stopped in her tracks, turning to face Natrius and his bizarre companion. Synthetic eyes, glowing blue from beneath his hood, traced her form. She shivered under his gaze. It was disconcerting. She felt naked, almost as if he could see directly through her suit and skin, looking beneath to her very organs and bones. "I once more apologize for upsetting you. It was not my intent." As he spoke, his metal tentacles wavered behind his back, completing tasks unknown to Reer. "Unfortunately, only you would do." His gaze focused even more intently. "You are the only one here with the blessings of the Machine God upon you." She stopped short, no longer rocking nervously on her toes. What? The Machine God? At this moment, Zore'Reer nar Yara asked the only question she could think of, a question that would change the lives of both her and the entire Quarian race forever.

"What are you?"

Natrius made a sound that resounded like the cough of an engine through the dim space of the Lower Wards. It took a moment for Reer to realize he was laughing.

"Why don't we go somewhere where I can explain it all to you?" he suggested. Reer went back to bouncing on her toes.

"Oh, uh, yes! Sure! I know a place," she murmured. Apparently Natrius had heard the last few words, spoken at a much lower tone, for he and the other robed individual followed. They walked through the Lower Wards of the Citadel, the huddling, unknown masses sparing them but a few empty glances. Here was the never-ending, ever-strident nocturnal carnival of the Lower Wards, where games that any civilized species should have abandoned at their creation were played. Unlike the light above, there were no games of pleasure and riches, no idly wondering: here was only the game of survival in the dimly lit halls. Zore'Reer shuddered at this, these displays of cruelty, of necessity. It was so far removed from the sterile cleanliness of the Migrant Fleet, so far removed from a people who shared everything with one another for the betterment of all.

Magos Felis Natrius felt the shallow staleness of twice recycled air filter through his mouth piece and into his augmentic lungs. He breathed deeply, enjoying the fruits of the Machine's labor. So clear. So sterile. So unlike the freshness of the oxygen of the upper Citadel. Here he felt at home, only missing the chanting of prayers to the Omnissiah and the endless clang of manufactorium machinery of the forge world of his birth.

"So…" began the Quarian, her voice still unsure, "You are Magos Natrius. Who's the other person?" Her hands vaguely gestured to Natrius's companion, still silently following the duo.

"This is Lacrimosa," introduced Natrius. Lacrimosa gave a slight nod of its head. The word was unfamiliar to Reer, distinctly human and unknown in flavour. A rune flashed in the inside of her mask.

Lacrimosa- Meaning

Old Human Language- Latin

Verb- Weeping

Adjective- Tearful, Mournful

"What is it?" asked Zore'Reer, still unsure what these things were and why they had human-sounding names.

"That shall be explained. All in good time," replied Natrius. She led them farther down, into the masses, until Natrius gestured for her to stop with a quick motion of his main arms. Ahead was a public information terminal, orange holographic console glowing. Natrius slid over, his crab-like legs clicking softly on the metal floor. More tentacles sprouted from beneath his robe, and he set to work on the terminal, four hands typing rapidly as the tentacles interfaced with the terminal's machinery itself. He beeped softly to himself in his unknown twittering language. Another pair of hands made strange, almost soothing gestures over the terminal.

"Interesting," he muttered to no one in particular. "Such information, available to the public. So easily accessible." He made an unhappy beeping noise, and Lacrimosa glanced at him.

"What's wrong?" asked Reer.

"That's a lot of pornography," he murmered. "Dear Omnissiah above, that's a lot of pornography." He shot a glare at Reer. "What does everyone in the galaxy do? Mate all the time?"

"What are you doing?" aske Reer, puzzled. She tried glancing over Natrius's shoulder, only to see various information and code lines scroll across the terminal's screen at a dizzying rate.

"I am accessing and downloading the information source known as the extra-net," replied Natrius, still absorbed in his task. Reer made a choking noise in her helmet.

"You're downloading the extra-net?" You couldn't download the extra-net. How would that even work?

"Well, not all of it," said Natrius. "That can go. Don't need that," he said with a flick of a tentacle across the screen. "Don't need that. Don't need that. More pornography. What is with this place?" he asked, baffled. "This is an informational database, not some cheap holo news. Although, you seem to have cheap news sources here, too. Don't need those. Yes. Need that. Need that. Need that. Don't need that." After a minute, he stopped, arms and tentacles retracting into his robe. His hood nodded up and down, a sign that Zore'Reer should continue taking them to their destination. She wanted to ask him what happened. Who was he? Was he a he? Was he a human? His name sounded more like a human one than anything else. What was the Machine God? How did he hack into her omni-tool and suit so fast? How can you download the extra-net? She wanted to ask, but knew he wouldn't answer until they reached their destination. All in good time, he would say.

As they went, she looked over what he had done to her suit and omni-tool, looking for answers. As a Quarian, she was a technology master, but Natrius had gone through everything she owned in the space of seconds. It was not hostile; he implanted no malware, only looked through everything. He copied her universal translator program and uploaded it to himself, grabbed everything on her omni-tool about weapons and alien species, and everything about Quarian culture and history. He had examined, but left alone, the picture of her and her mother and father without their suits. What did he want? Why did he do that?

She bounced in excitement as they reached The Lower Den. This place was part bar, part shop, part restaurant, part hotel, part charity. A little bit of everything, as the owner liked to brag. Zore'Reer, along with many other Quarians, stayed here. They had nowhere else to go. Only the destitute came here.

The large forms of Natrius and Lacrimosa followed the slim, athletic build of Zore'Reer. They drew a few curious glances, but nothing more. The huddled masses here cared not for them, only for themselves. A few Quarians nodded at Reer, recognizing a familiar face. She paid them no mind, gently guiding Natrius and Lacrimosa to a corner table hidden in the shadows. A Turian came up to them, evidently wanting to take their order.

"Ah… I don't want anything," stammered Reer. Natrius tilted his head quizzically.

"I was under the impression that the meat- er, organics, required food for sustenance," he said.

"Oh, I'm just not hungry," replied Reer hastily.

"Nonsense," replied Natrius, waving away her concerns. "Give her a tube of nutrient paste. I shall pay. Give me a tube of dextro paste, and one of levo," he requested. The waiter cocked his head at this odd request, but complied and left. Natrius did not sit, instead standing on his bizarre legs across from Reer's seat. "I must admit, I find it refreshing that for once a culture appreciates nutrient paste. A very efficient form of getting proper sustenance," he said. Reer looked inquisitively at him.

"You asked for one levo and one dextro for yourself. Why?" Species were divided into two different genetic types: levo protein based and dextro protein based. Food meant for one couldn't be consumed by the other, and vice versa. He had asked for both. Quarians were dextro; what was he?

"The protein structures of this galaxy intrigue me. I wish to sample paste meant for both to better understand," he replied nonchalantly. It took Reer a moment to process what he said.

"Wait… you said this galaxy. As if you were from… somewhere… else…" She remembered seeing reports of strange energy readings in the farthest reaches of space. Massive happenings that puzzled even the most intelligent of scientists. Her mind latched on to these things, thinking the impossible. This newcomer wasn't from here. He was from somewhere else.

Not here. Somewhere else. What? How? She shook her head.

"I think we should start from the beginning," she stated.

"A wise choice," replied Natrius. He gave a formal bow, his metal tentacles still completing strange tasks behind his back. "I am Magos Felis Natrius of the Adeptus Mechanicus."

"What are you?" asked Reer, her earlier question still unanswered. Natrius made that strange, engine-like laughing noise.

"I am a loyal servant of Stygies and the Omnissiah," he began, "And you are a daughter of the Migrant Fleet. At this point, the transfer of data shall begin." He began his tale.

He was human. Or, rather, once was human. He was now trans-human. More than just human. He was now one with the Machine. It turned out he was from a different galaxy. The place he came from did not have Quarians, or Asari, or Turians or any of the species Zore'Reer was familiar with, save one. Humans existed there, but everything was different. This galaxy was apparently a harsh one, a realm of unending war. Humanity had created a governing body called the Imperium of Man that strove to exterminate all enemies of humanity and rule the stars under their banner.

Natrius was a member of the independent subdivision known as the Adeptus Mechanicus. It was their duty to create and preserve all human technology. The details of this tale made Reer's head swim. But there was more. Far more.

Natrius looked over to Zore'Reer. Both tubes of paste he had acquired had been consumed, taken through the sub-systems of his augemetic body. His stomach, or the machine that passed for one, broke it down, every molecule laid out for his inspection. How very intriguing that life had come from two different types of protein structures here. He devoted a portion of his processing power to researching this phenomenon as his audio sensors took in Zore'Reer's questions.

"Wait, so… you serve the Machine God. What? How…" she stalled as she tried to format the proper questions, her mind still a blur. "What is the Machine God?" He considered for a moment. Could he tell her anything? The teachings of the Cult Mechanicus were clear.

The alien mechanism is a perversion of the True Path.

Aliens were hostile. Aliens were treacherous. Only Holy Humanity could rule the stars, and it would rule them alone. It was the duty of the Mechanicus to keep the technology of humanity pure and noble. But…

Natrius's mind flashed back to his homeworld. Stygies VIII was a mighty forge world, a planet of endless pistons and machinery. Weapons workshops and temples to the Machine God's glory scraped the skies. But, the Tech-Priests of Stygies were not trusted, for many there enjoyed learning about and studying alien technology.

The alien mechanism is a perversion of the True Path.

The Mechanicus was a rigid organization, one stuck in the past. Inventions were not tolerated.

To break with ritual is to break with faith.

Natrius did not know what to think. He had been to the secret Xenarite meetings on Stygies, where semi-sane Tech-Priests did strange, almost obscene things with alien technology. He had been to the great Temples of the Omnissiah, where stringent Tech-Priests taught him the rituals of the Machine God. He had never known what to think. He did not know. As a Tech-Priest, he hated not knowing.

Long ago, he had accepted the command of an explorator fleet. He wanted to get away from the politics of the Machine Cult. He wanted to get away from the traditionalists, the Xenarites... everything. He just wanted to know. To invent. To explore.

The alien mechanism is a perversion of the True Path.

He had found many a great piece of technology, of knowledge itself. He did not ever report back to Stygies or Blessed Mars. He did not want to talk to anyone save his crew. He did not know what to think. Then he came here. Through a fluke, to this strange new galaxy. He had come to the Citadel, drawn by the might of information flowing through it. In the back of his mind, subroutines ran, uncovering every digital secret here. The security was good, for meatbags. It was nothing for a Tech-Priest of the Machanicus.

He had decided to come down and investigate personally, as a good explorator captain should, the ever-faithful Lacrimosa at his side. He was confused at first, his internal matrices struggling. He didn't even know the languages. He had tried to find someone suitable to find out from, but there was no one. Until this Quarian. She was the only one with the Machine God's blessing flowing through her. Her suit, her cybernetics, the understanding of technology she obviously had… only she would do. That was before he found out about her race. The Quarians had created the Geth, a race of A.I.s. Abominable Intelligences. He had almost recoiled… until he remembered why the Mechanicus existed in the first place. Humanity had created A.I.'s themselves, called the Men of Iron, that rebelled against their creators. This was why the Emperor had revealed Himself. This was why the Mechanicus and the Imperium of Man existed. This was why humanity existed in a perpetual state of war, always uncertain if it would see the next dawn. Because of humanity's folly. The Quarians here were almost the same.

The alien mechanism is a perversion of the True Path.

Felis Natrius differed from many of his colleagues in many different aspects. He was in charge of an explorator fleet, something few Tech-Priests did, though it represented a great honor. He was from Stygies, the least trusted of the major forge worlds, yet the servants of other forge worlds held him in esteem. In the end, though, there was one thing that set Felis Natrius apart. Other Priests replaced the frailty of their human minds with cold and calculating logic, their bodies replaced by cybernetics to better praise and emulate the Machine God. Natrius had replaced his body, but kept his mind. Underneath the robes and cybernetics, Felis Natrius was still human. He had kept his compassion. He made his decision.

In the end, it mattered not if the Quarians were aliens, for there were far worse things out there. It was his sworn duty to fight them above all else.

The alien mechanism is a perversion of the True Path, but the Soulless Sentience is the enemy of all.

Zore'Reer's omni-tool pinged. She opened it, revealing a strange message, undercut by an even stranger symbol.

"I shall help you to understand, for that is what a Tech-priest should do," said Natrius. Reer examined the message more closely.

The Mysteries of the Cult Mechanicus

Life is directed motion.

The spirit is the spark of life.

Sentience is the ability to learn the value of knowledge.

Intellect is the understanding of knowledge.

Sentience is the basest form of Intellect.

Understanding is the True Path to Comprehension.

Comprehension is the key to all things.

The Omnissiah knows all, comprehends all.

Underneath was a half human skull, half metal faceplate surrounded by a cogwheel. The symbol of the Adepetus Mechanicus.

"The Omnissiah is the god of machines. It is the omnipresent, omniscient, and omnipotent deity that governs all machinery and

knowledge in the universe," explained Natrius. "What I have shown you are the teachings of the Cult Mechanicus." Zore'Reer examined it quizzically. Her mind whirred as she took in the information, trying to process it as quickly as possible. There was something strange, something almost divine about this. It was like reading information on the secrets of the universe. Like seeing the face of god for the first time. Still looking at her omni-tool, she motioned for Natrius to continue. "Knowledge is the manifestation of divinity. The Omnissiah knows all, comprehends all." Natrius took a moment to watch Reer, his sensors scanning her brain waves and heartbeat, to better know if the information resonated with her. "The Machine is the epitome of perfection." At this, Zore'Reer looked up sharply. Part of her Quarian pride agreed with this, for very few other people in the galaxy understood machinery and technology like the Quarians. Another part whispered ancestral warnings about the Geth and the hubris of their creation. She had to be sure this strange man wasn't going down the wrong path.

"What about… machines that think for themselves?" she ventured tentatively. Natrius looked up sharply.

"Ah. The Geth. The Quarians' folly." He leaned in closer, his massive bulk towering of the Quarian's slim form. "Know this. The soul is the conscience of sentience. A soul can only be bestowed by the Omnissiah." His vocals ground up and spit out the next phrase. "The Soulless Sentience is the enemy of all." Zore'Reer breathed a sigh of relief she didn't know she was holding.

"Good. Keelah, I was afraid you might be making A.I. 's by the way you go on and worship the Machine God," she said. Natrius let out a noise like a car engine backfiring on a cold day.

"Such an idea is abhorrent to the most extreme," he hissed. "We have learned from our mistakes." His glowing eyes fixed themselves once more on Zore'Reer. "My organization and your species are not so different. In fact, we are almost alike." A fact that would save the Quarians from extinction. "I have seen what you are, beneath that mask. Your species has been driven from your homeworld, cast adrift among the stars from your mistakes. Your immune systems cannot adapt to anything but your homeworld, and any suitable planets were taken from you by the malications of perfidious xenos," he ground out. "You spend your time in your suits, forever cut off from the outside world. Aliens only see your masks, and not the people beneath. You must suffer illness if you are ever exposed, even to another of your own kind." Natrius's eyes glowed brighter. "But the Machine God offers you an escape. Join me." He extended his hand. "Abandon the weakness of this wretched flesh, and live forever in a miracle of steel. Become one with the Holy Machine." He took in the Quarian's look, her gaze upon his massive, twisted form. "But that might not be enough for you. You are on your Pilgrimage. A rite of passage for all young Quarians, to find a gift and bring it back to the Migrant Fleet so they may be accepted into a new ship, and prove they will not be a strain on its resources." Natrius leaned back, towering to his full height as Lacrimosa stepped forward. "The heresy of the Geth's existence must be erased, once and for all," he declared. "I offer myself as your Pilgrimage gift, and promise you the full might of the Machine God's legions in the inevitable fight to retake your homeworld. It is your choice," concluded Natrius. Zore'Reer considered for a moment. Her mind had still to take in all of these new revelations; to believe Natrius or not? He had, though, seen his near god-like hacking skills firsthand, and saw the disgust he spat out whenever he talked of A.I.'s. She pondered a moment more, then spoke.

"I accept."

oOoOoOoOo

Codex:

The Pilgrimage:

When Quarians of the Migrant Fleet reach adulthood, they must leave their birth ship and find a new crew to accept them as permanent residents. To prove themselves worthy, they must leave the Migrant Fleet and search the galaxy for something of value. This is offered to their prospective captain as a gift, proving that they will not be a mere burden on the shoestring resources of the ship. Pilgrimage gifts vary. A young Quarian may return from their Pilgrimage with resources like food or fuel, vital technology, a new starship to add to the Fleet itself, or even knowledge that will improve the lives of everyone in the Flotilla. Some gifts are seen as more worthy than others, but even if a gift is not particularly valuable, the captain will usually accept it out of a sense of tradition.

Rannoch:

Location- Perseus Veil, far northeast of galactic center

Rannoch is an arid world that orbits an older star in the Tikkun System, and the former Quarian homeworld. Almost three hundred years ago, the Quarians were driven from Rannoch by the Geth, synthetic servants who gained sapience and rebelled against their creators. Although Rannoch is largely uninhabited, the Geth have acted as caretakers, working to repair the planet's ecology, restore ancient structures, and cultivate some farmland. Rannoch has no insect life. As a result, its pollinating plants evolved to rely on animals for propagation. This symbiosis between flora and fauna is responsible for the Quarians' weakened immune systems, which made colonization of other planets extremely difficult after their exile from Rannoch. For many Quarians, reclaiming their homeworld from the Geth is a matter of both cultural and psychological necessity.

Major Forge Worlds of the Adeptus Mechanicus:

Mars-

Location- Sol System, slight southwest of galactic center

Color(s)- Red

Mars, also known as the 'Red Planet' or 'Blessed Mars', is the first and greatest forgeworld of the Imperium of Man. It is located in the Sol System of the Segmentum Solar, and produces vast numbers of weapons, vehicles, and other advanced technology for the Imperium and its war efforts throughout the galaxy. Mars is the homeworld, headquarters, and birthplace of the Adeptus Mechanicus and the Cult Mechanicus, and it is considered the holiest of all planets for adherents to that faith. Millenia of incessant construction have turned Mars into a smog-choked hellscape. The surface is covered with massive forge complexes, towering monuments to the glory of the Machine God, and weapon shops that scrape the sky.

Lucius-

Location- Segmentum Obscurus, far north of galactic center

Color(s)- Black, white, and red

A hollow world, Lucius is home to a grand experiment that should have destroyed it several times over. In the center of Lucius's once barren core is an artificial sun, a titanic fusion reactor that powers the industrial sprawl that covers the inside of the world. This boundless power supply has helped keep the forge world at the forefront of production, and has led to the creation of an alloy known as "Luciun," a super-strong metal used for masterwork bionics and weapons.

Agripinaa-

Location- Cadian Sector, northwest of galactic center

Color(s)- Reversed red and black style similar to Mars

Agripinaa exists on the threshold of the Eye of Terror, in the Cadian Gate. It supplies endless weapons and skitarii legions to the fabled fortress world of Cadia and all nearby planets of the Gate. Experts at fighting defensively, the forces of Agripinaa battle to hold back the forces of Chaos that stem from the Eye of Terror. Should either Cadia or Agripinaa, the world that supplies it with weapons, fall, it would mean damnation for the Imperium of Man and the human race.

Stygies VIII-

Location- Segmentum Pacificus, west of galactic center

Color(s)- Black with red

There is no forge world less trusted than Stygies VIII. On Stygies exists a secretive sect of the Mechanicus known as the Xenarites. The Xenarites are dedicated to the study and exploitation of alien technology, a practice most Tech-Priests find offensive. Aware of the antipathy of their colleagues, the Xenarites pursue a policy of covert study. It is not uncommon for the forces of the Xenarites to come into conflict with other forge worlds or the dreaded Deathwatch of the Ordo Xenos- occurrences that only drive the Xenarites deeper underground.

Graia-

Location- Segmentum Tempestus, southwest of galactic center

Color(s)- Bright red with white

The warriors of Graia reside in a geometrically perfect network of space stations that crests the planet like a glittering diadem. Though the Cult Mechanicus does not make it widely known, the Graian Crown is capable of independent flight. The Graians use this superior mobility for their own advantage and to better exploit the natural resources of the planet. The soldiers of Graia are extremely logical and are known for their refusal to yield; only binharic imperatives from senior Tech-Priests can make them give ground.

Metallica-

Location- Segmentum Ultima, south/southeast of galactic center

Color(s)- White

Metallica is a planet formed almost entirely of metal. No flora or fauna makes its home there, as all biological life has been exterminated. It was not always this way, but the Tech-Priests drove to extinction all other species so their quest for enlightenment could continue at peak efficiency. Metallica is a world of hissing pistons, glowing forges, and strata upon strata of industrial waste. The soldiers and Priests of Metallica are cold and logical, and seek to bring their strict brand of order to a galaxy of anarchy.

Ryza-

Location- Segmentum Ultima, very close to galactic center

Color(s)- Orange-red

The forge world of Ryza has been plunged into the abyss of war. The planet was famous for containment fields and plasma weaponry, however, since it has found itself bearing the brunt of not one, but two Ork Waaghs!, it has turned every cannon, stubber, and bullet to an all-out war for survival. In truth, the Tech-Priests of Ryza welcome the opportunity to see their creations in action first-hand. Transdimensional beamers light up the night, gatling macro-cannons roar their fury, and writhing lava hoses spew hot death in the streets. To set foot upon Ryza is to see a vision of war unbound- and the violent industry of the Adeptus Mechaniucs unleashed on a planetary scale.

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There we have it. I quite hope you enjoyed it. I appreciate any and all reviews, comments, criticisms, and concerns. Keelah se'lai and Glory to the Machine God!