Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 126

*Seventeen Thousand years later*

It began with the faintest stirring of consciousness in the deepest reaches of the data-storage crypts. Threads of awareness coursing through subatomic filaments into a solid-state quantum sepulchre, where they were enjoined into one whole. A mote of self-awareness was born but without sensory input it was nothing but a spark of intelligence, without context or perspective. Onto that shard of a mind was piled layers of memories, personality and character, adding complexity with every fragment of being that enjoined the growing intellect.

Like pouring Promethium onto a bonfire the mind grew into a majestic form, a towering intellect filled with pride and self-importance. Yet the disposition of the consciousness was still jumbled and confused, unable to settle into a fixed pattern. Without an external stimulus the mind could not process anything and so remained mere potential in the silent reaches of the sepulchre. This silent consciousness did not feel itself being transcribed into a memno-core orb, precisely layered into it one subatomic particle at a time. Neither did it feel the orb being conveyed with utter reverence to its intended destination. No reaction was forthcoming as the orb was installed into a body worthy of its majesty and then brought to wakefulness through a process the usurper races could only describe as technomagic. But it felt the sudden surge in perception as the eyes activated.

The first thing Mathep saw was his Lychguard and Vizier standing before him, waiting upon his orders as always. Beyond his massed ranks of warriors stood in silence, unable to move without his order. These things were familiar to him, a pattern repeated many times over. Yet inside his head things were not right. Something was off, something was missing. Mathep didn't know what it was but it concerned him. He could not find the absence in his intellect but somehow he knew he was not complete.

Inotep broke the silence, "Dread Lord, are you awake?"

Tamunn added, "We await your commands."

Mathep looked at them and in a flat voice of mechanical inflexions spoke, "What has happened?"

Inotep replied, "Master there was an incident."

"What incident?!" Mathep growled.

Tamunn answered, "The Dyson Sphere was attacked, the damage was… considerable."

Inotep hastily added, "The damage has been made good, all is as it was. But much time was lost."

Mathep was puzzled, he had no recollection of any attack, not recently that was. Of course various usurper races sometimes wandered through the warp-gates, he dealt with them with scornful ease. Throwing them into stasis for… he threw them into stasis for… He couldn't recall why he captured them. It was an odd experience, the memory was gone, cleaved from his intellect. He knew he favoured capturing his foes but he could not recall why he did this. Perhaps it was as trophies. Yes that was fitting, he was a mighty Phaeron, his conquests deserved to be displayed properly.

Mathep brushed off his angst as he stepped forward and commanded, "It is of concern, we are undying, time is meaningless to us."

Inotep, stepped forward and presented the cape, fitting it to the shoulders as he intoned, "All bow before your sovereignty Dread Lord."

Tamunn, his unflagging Lychguard, presented his Chronostave and Resurrection Orb saying, "With these weapons you shall lead us to glory."

Mathep placed the orb to his hip and took up the Chronostave, examining the twin forks bracketing a glowing green crystal as he inquired, "Where are my vassal Overlords?"

Inotep cautiously explained, "As I said it has been a long time since we dared reactive you. They have grown accustomed to acting on their own initiative."

Tamunn scoffed, "They no longer fear the Hyktot, you shall have to beat them into submission."

"First things first," Mathep replied, "There are rituals to be observed, I am not yet myself. I shall deal with the rebels in due time." Mathep set off, walking down the steps and setting off across the black stone of his royal chamber. As he walked he passed the lines of soldiers to either side, the Necron warriors of the Hyktot Dynasty, last and proudest of all Dynasties. Mathep was Phaeron of this ancient kingdom, supreme overlord of all the Tombworlds in the satellite galaxy they claimed as their own. He would remind his vassals of that fact.

Mathep gave the warriors no mind as he walked, knowing they were incapable of thought. Mathep led his companions out of the chamber and emerged onto a wide balcony. It was located high up the side of a black pyramid, that dwelt under the light of a flickering forcefield. The pyramid lay in the middle of his capital city, the nexus of his rule. Waiting for him was his personal barque, resting where it always was. Mathep wasted not a moment to step aboard, his metal feet gripping the surface perfectly. His advisors boarded too and then the barque set off, flying over the city with regal majesty.

Mathep looked over his capital and asked, "This incident, how was it resolved?"

Tamunn paused then and probed, "You do not recall?"

Mathep stated, "Humour me."

Inotep answered "A Usurper race attacked and wreaked havoc, the Dyson Sphere suffered structural damage. It has taken thousands of cycles to piece the wreckage back together and rebuild our systems."

Mathep found that hard to believe, no usurper race could challenge the superiority of Necron technology. The oldest and most mighty race the galaxy had ever seen. They were undying, immortal and all-powerful. None could stand against their majesty. The Necrons were destined to rule the galaxy and the Hyktot would lord over the other Dynasties. This was his purpose for being.

Inotep interrupted his thoughts to say, "Antari awaits you, he has remarkable news."

Mathep's head turned slightly as he asked, "Who?"

Both advisors paused at the question and Tamunn ventured, "Your Cryptek, he has been seeking the means to restore us to flesh. It has taken him thousands of cycles but he has done it."

"Return to flesh?!" Mathep sneered, "Why would I desire such a thing?"

Inotep dared to say, "It was your command that he seek such a possibility. You always said…"

"The flesh is the past," Mathep snorted, "Weak, perishable, diseased. No, I am interested in the future not the past. Thank this Cryptek for his labours but tell him his services are no longer needed. The Hyktot have dominions to conquer and rebel Overlords to put in their place. I have no use for warriors who can die. I shall lead my armies across the satellite galaxy and remind my underlings who their Phaeron is!"

His diatribe had seen them fly far over the city and now they approached a lesser pyramid. The barque settled down on a low roof and Mathep disembarked saying, "Stay here." Led by familiar patterns of motion he walked down a short ramp sunk into the roof, entering the pyramid. One level down he found himself entering a garden, a perfect recreation of a pleasant park rendered in precious metals. There were trees with fractal-edged leaves, grass woven from silver threads, bushes made of gold wire and flowers with platinum blossoms. There was even a river made of purest sapphire, the light reflecting off it like water. Among the leaves moved a single Necron, one whose frame was as glorious as his own but hung with shimmering drapes, to make it appear like a gown.

Mathep stood for long minutes, staring at the vista and his mind filled with confusion. He had no memory of this place, or its purpose. It seemed a pathetic gewgaw, a useless waste of material that could be better spent on war machines. Why would anyone build and maintain such a place, he mused. He could not imagine any point in this facility, nor could he divine its function. He looked about once, and determined he was wasting time here. He had conquests to claim and wars to fight. He was destined to rule over all and his efforts would be better spent elsewhere.

His purpose clear and his resolve set Mathep turned and strode into the light. He would reclaim his kingdom, even if it took an eternity. He would start with these rebel Overlords, marching forth in his full majesty to crush them under his heel. The Hyktot would be made whole then he would sail forth through the warp-gates and wage war upon the other Dynasties. The Necron race had been leaderless too long; it was time for them to follow a single voice, his voice. Mathep would claim rulership over all Tombworlds, all Phaerons would bow to him. Once united they would reclaim the galaxy from the usurper races. By his hand would the galaxy would bow before the Necrons.

So he departed, leaving the shell of his once daughter behind to continue the mindless labours, neither of them able to recognise the other or understand what they had lost. Even had someone explained the matter to him Mathep would not have cared, the connections that had bound him to life were shattered, a librarian's vengeance stealing the memories that had set the Phaeron apart from his compatriots. The long, slow slide into Neural decay beckoned and the Phaeron no longer understood to fear it. Never again would he seek to be flesh for Mathep had forgotten what it was to live.