Do not ask the Omnissiah for a pleasant existence, ask Him for the strength to overcome our tribulations.
-Aphorisms 62
Khepra was standing at attention on the cavernous bridge of the Caestus Metalican. She was flanked on either sides by her fellow Magi: the other advisors to the Magos Dominus on this expedition. Rho, Xerxetes, and the massive bulk of Captrix's tank-like war form filled the space. Dozens of servo-skulls flitted about overhead, performing the rote tasks allowed by their basic logic routines... except for one. Reditus was up there, somewhere, Khepra was sure of it. He was keeping watch like he always did. Hidden in plain sight among the other servo-skulls, until he was needed.
It had been almost two weeks Solar Standard since the fall of the Necron Overlord, Szaregon. The dust had long since settled, the cleanup was finished, and it was finally time for the ancient Mechanicus warship to depart. Nearly everyone of importance to the Silva Tenebris expedition was gathered together for this final briefing. However, both Videx and Scaevola were absent from their respective thrones on either side of Faustinius, and as for Tiresus...
His absence didn't need explaining. They'd all seen what happened.
"Subdominatus Khepra," Faustinius boomed from his spot atop the Prime Command Throne, turning the gaze of his cybernetic eye upon her. "How fares the exfiltration of your Skitarii troops from the surface of Silva Tenebris? My internal cogitators register that the operations should be nearing completion." As he spoke, and his binaric speech issued forth from the vox-caster in his faceplate, raw data seemed to ooze from every facet of the noosphere all around them. Khepra wasn't sure if it was intentional or not, she just knew that he had been like this ever since interfacing with the ship's Machine Spirit.
"The operation is completed, Magos," Khepra answered with a nod. "I personally oversaw the return of the last of our forces and equipment this morning. All that can be recovered from the surface, has been." Khepra was perfectly aware that Faustinius knew this, of course. After all, this last briefing was little more than a formality, dictated by protocol. But protocol is the will of the Omnissiah, and His will is immutable.
"I return satisfaction and relief at this news, Subdominatus," Faustinius nodded. "Your soldiers have done well to serve the Will of the Omnissiah. I choose to act upon the emotions registered within my neuro-vaults. Inform your Skitarii that I will allow them an extra thirty minutes of allotted leisure time for the duration of our trip back to Mars, as a reward well earned."
"Leisure is illogical," Captrix practically snarled, and her entire chassis shuddered. "We must be vigilant. The spears must be sharp. More high-value targets will be revealed to us, in time."
"Thank you, Magos," Kherpra ignored the outburst of the Prime Hermeticon, making the sign of the cogwheel and bowing her head. "I'll be sure to pass on your gratitude."
"Unexpected," Rho spoke up, the harsh wheezing of his voice like sandpaper against Khepra's ears. "Fuel reserves possibly insufficient for warp transit to Mars. May need to re-check stores. Major Forge Worlds on likely predicted path: Accatan, Metalica, Ryza. Suggest diversion to resupply/restock."
"Mars, Magos?" Xerxetes asked, as the Quartermaster trailed off, muttering to himself. "We are to return home, then?"
"Indeed we are, Subtribune," Faustinius boomed again. "Tech-Acquisitor Scaevola was most insistent that her research be taken to Mars at once. This is unsurprising, as her research labs are filled to bursting with looted xeno artefacts and archeotech. More than that, however, I must report the vast quantities of Noctilith still buried on this world to the Archmagi. The Blackstone contained on this world may prove the key to sealing the Cicatrix Maledictum. I suspect many future expeditions will be planned for this world."
"I can't imagine Videx is too happy about that..." Khepra offered up.
"You are correct, Subdominatus," Faustinius let out a grumble, reminsicent of grinding gears, that seemed to echo throughout the bridge. "Lector-Dogmatis Videx has spent much of his time since the defeat of Overlord Szaregon within the Aft Bascilica, deep in prayer and meditation."
More like sulking, Khepra thought to herself while trying to stifle a chuckle.
"He wished to see this planet vaporized, down to the last atom," Faustinius continued, adjusting in his throne as several of his mechadendrites twitched. "I admit, the thought of xenocide on such a scale was... tempting. But the loss of one of the few verified sources of Blackstone in the galaxy would have been incalculable. I tried to explain to the Lector-Dogmatis my reasoning, but he refused to listen to the logic of calculation. I return frustration at the Lector-Dogmatis' stubbornness, but I choose to quarantine these emotions. Regardless, you have all performed your duties admirably. By the Omnissiah's grace, may we rest and recover our strength during the return to Mars, until the next time we are called to act. Dismissed."
After the briefing with the Magos Dominus, Khepra had assembled the surviving Skitarii forces from the expedition in one of the open areas near the dorsal enginarium decks, and addressed them as their commander. She wanted to believe that morale was good after her speech. She certainly hoped it was, but... she wasn't certain. She couldn't even really remember what she'd said...
She absentmindedly stared out of the window of her tram car, watching as machinery and bulkheads sailed past her at breakneck speeds. Her only company was an Enginseer and a pair of menial servitors at the other end of the car, all hunched over an open panel. The Caestus Metalican was one of the legendary Ark Mechanicus vessels: unfathomably massive, even when compared to other vessels of the Imperium. It would take well over a year to scour the ship from stem to stern on foot, so the only practical means of traversing the ship in any kind of decent time was the internal rail system. And most of the time, getting from one part of the ship to the other still took quite a while.
A side effect of the rail trips was that it allowed Khepra plenty of time to become lost in her own mind. Thoughts seemed to swim around her, none of them coming into focus, but present enough in her mind's eye that they were impossible to ignore.
How many men and women had died to the Necrons of Silva Tenebris, she wondered. Khepra didn't know. She was certain a definite answer existed, and it was recorded somewhere on the vessel; the names of the dead cataloged and recorded by some lexmechanic or other, surely to be venerated in the halls of martyrs who died in service to the Omnissiah... but no one besides the Machine God would remember them. She was their commander, and even she couldn't remember.
It wasn't just the deaths on this planet that were plaguing her, scratching at her mind like an errant splinter of metal digging into her flesh. As the tram sped along the electrified rail, she tried her best to recall just how many troops she had lost over the years. How many soldiers had perished on distant worlds and long forgotten battlefields? How many of her friends – her comrades – had perished? She didn't know. She couldn't know. Even the battles themselves – which had all seemed just so important at the time – bled together in her memory, virtually indistinguishable from one another.
If she couldn't even remember the battles... if she couldn't remember what they had even fought for... then... did any of their deaths truly mean anything? Would the soldiers who breathed their last on this wretched alien rock suffer the same fate? Fading into obscurity and anonymity?
This was a problem with an easy solution, she thought to herself, just as she had so many times before. It was possible to augment the parts of her brain that might aid in recollection. She could get the procedure done, and emerge with a photographic memory, capable of recalling the names and faces of every soldier who had ever served under her with exacting detail. Whats more, that would bring her one step closer to the Omnissiah, wouldn't it? It was possible...
But she knew what the kind of augment would bring. She'd seen it too many times, in so many other Magi she'd had the unfortunate pleasure of working alongside. So many devotees of the Cult Mechanicus craved that purity – the cold calculating nature of the machine – above all else, and would abandon every last shred of their humanity to attain it. But Khepra had always held a slightly different interpretation of the teachings. One need only look at the Cog Mechanicum, the sigil of the Omnissiah, to understand her point of view: a skull inside a cogwheel, half replaced with machinery, and half kept whole and un-augmented. It was meant to be about balance, as far as she was concerned. Too little, and you'd lack the strength to truly serve the Omnissiah. Too much... and you might lose what makes you human in the first place.
That kind of procedure inevitably and irrevocably changed a magi, like Scaevola, or Captrix. After all, Captrix had been like her, once; a commander of soldiers. But that was centuries ago, at least. Now, all she cared about was The Hunt, and preparing the next kill. All soldiers were expendable, if they died in pursuit of glory. And as for Scaevola? Literally everything was expendable in the pursuit of her trinkets and baubles. Her single-minded quest for greater knowledge left her willing to sacrifice anything – or anyone – without hesitation or a second thought. It was almost as if...
It almost reminded her of what the Necrons had done to themselves. Almost.
An electric shiver ran up her spine, and she quickly made the sign of the cogwheel without thinking. No, she said to herself as she purged these borderline heretical thoughts from her mind. In the end, she came to the same conclusion she always did when she considered the procedure: the risk of losing her humanity was too great. She would be able to remember, certainly... but then she would also no longer care.
Before she knew it, Khepra was back at her quarters. Her name was engraved in a brass plate affixed to the bulkhead next to the door; she could just make out her distorted reflection in the smudged and grimy metal. She was so distracted by her own thoughts, the time seemed to be slipping past her. She couldn't even remember the trip from the rail car to the Skitarii barracks. Had she passed by any of her troops on the way here? Any of the Tech-Priests? Or... was truly alone as she...
Didn't matter.
She grabbed the hatch wheel on the heavy metal door and turned. A hiss of displaced air sounded as the seal around the door popped, accompanied by a loud clunk of metal levers and grinding gears reverberating through the bulkheads. The door swung open with a screech of rusty hinges.
The room was small and spartan, especially when compared to the quarters of her peers on the ship. But she'd chosen this because of its proximity to the macroclade barracks and officers quarters... and because she honestly didn't need much. A single bed. A chair. A storage unit for her gear, weapons, and what few personal affects she possessed. Recharge ports for her augments. And a small cogwheel shrine built into the wall. A single window afforded a view of the interior of the ship, as the barracks were buried deep within the bowels of the vessel, near the manufactoria. She watched as a pair of servo-skulls buzzed through the air just outside.
Khepra stepped over the threshold, pulling the metal door shut behind her. The metal latch clunked again as the mechanism reset, and the seal around the door reasserted itself. Immediately, she let out a heavy sigh, and her whole body seemed to deflate. There was a muffled thud as she leaned against the door. She suddenly became acutely aware that every single part of her felt sore. Even her augmetic parts felt run down. Clearly, the war against the Necrons had taken its toll.
With a surprising amount of effort, she pushed herself off the door and slowly staggered over to the mirror mounted to the wall above her storage, right next to her small shrine. Out of habit, she reached out and touched the cogwheel sigil on the shrine; the metal was well worn and polished in the exact spot under her fingers. The mirror, on the other hand, was not well polished. The edges were grimy, and a conspicuous crack ran along the right edge.
She looked up, and a single hazel eye stared back at her from the mirror. The blue lens of her bionic right eye shimmered, automatically compensating for the errant strands of brown hair that fell into her face without warning. She reached up with a metal hand, brushing the hair away and absentmindedly dragging her bionic fingers against scars only mostly hidden by the augmetic. The hand came to rest against the latch near where her right ear used to be before it had been replaced, and reached up with her other hand to grasp the other latch on the opposite side.
With a click and a hiss of displaced gas, Khepra pulled the respirator covering the lower half of her face free for the first time in weeks, and set it on top of the storage crate. She gasped, gratefully breathing in air that hadn't been pushed through ancient filters. Granted, starship air wasn't a huge improvement, having been cycled through the same air scrubbers for the last 10,000 years, at least. It was stale and tasted heavily of engine grease, as if it was thick enough to leave a film against her throat with every breath. Still, it was better than the feeling of being fitted to a muzzle.
And with that, she began the long and arduous process of removing all her gear, starting with the cables plugged into the top of her scalp. They were connected to the cogitators in her tactical backpack, meant to speed up tactical decisions, and helping her interface with the local noosphere in combat. She reached up with trepidation, knowing what was about to happen, and grabbed each of the cables one by one all the same; a painful electric tug pulled at her mind as the Machine Spirit resisted each disconnection. Once all the cables along the top of her skull were hanging loose, she reached back behind her head for the main conduit plugged into the base of her skull, and grit her teeth against what she knew was coming next..
"Gyah!" she yelped, as the disconnected conduit let out an enraged jolt of electricity that caused her whole body to spasm. She braced herself against the mirror with her free hand, and the crack along the edge grew slightly under the strain of her metal palm. But she still wasn't done. She grabbed the large circular disk lit in blue resting just above her sternum – the last interface connection – and twisted with an audible click. The jolt wasn't nearly as violent this time, and the light dimmed into nothingness; the metal backpack with so many cogitators, tactical auspexes, and refractor field generators suddenly became much heavier, the lack of connections to her nervous system meaning she could no longer automatically compensate. She shrugged, gently lowering it off her back, taking her red robe with the white cogwheel trim with it. She rested the pack into the bottom of the recharge alcove, plugging it into the power socket.
The Machine Spirit within seemed to be appeased by that, letting out a satisfied hum.
Removing the rest of her gear was far less involved. She picked up her discarded Skitarii robe, and placed it on its hook on the wall. She unbuttoned the holster on her hip, and pulled out her sidearm: a volkite serpenta. With well practiced precision, she performed a full purge of the weapon, muttering the Rites of Disarming as she did so. She twisted the cylinder lock to pop out the energy cell, opened the armored weapon safe on the side of the container, and stored both the pistol and all her spare ammunition in their respective slots. Once secure, she set about removing her auto-cuirass, one buckle at a time. She stored the heavy carapace plates on the armour rack
Eventually, all that was left standing there in front of the mirror was just... her. Scars crisscrossed in uneven patterns along nearly every square inch of her exposed skin, her body battered and abused from a lifetime of war. Her black cotton tunic and trousers were stiff and heavily wrinkled, stained with almost a month's worth of dried sweat, blood, and grease. She leaned against the counter with a left hand made of flesh, and a right hand of metal.
Khepra silently stared at her own reflection for several moments, and her one hazel eye stared back. She obviously knew that it was her own reflection staring back at her, but... it was like she couldn't even recognize herself, if she wasn't armed and ready for war. She let out a heavy sigh, and moved away from the mirror. With a slow, staggering stumble, she collapsed into the small chair next to her bed.
She tried her best to get comfortable, but for some reason, she just couldn't. There was something else tugging at her mind. Something else that was a part of her, but... still foreign. She looked down, and turned over her cybernetic arm, flexing the hand several times.
Her hazel eye twitched.
She said nothing, and instead merely grabbed at her cybernetic and started disconnecting the metal limb. The metal hand briefly jerked before going limp as she pulled the cables free. She twisted the forearm, and yanked it free from the socket connecting it to her flesh with a subtle electric jerk. Without even thinking, she tossed the metal arm onto her bed, where it landed with a soft thud.
She raised up the stump of her arm, and inspected the metal socket growing out of the stump, just above her elbow. Almost out of habit, she instinctively tried to flex a hand that was no longer there. Solenoids and actuators within the metal ring twitched and flexed at the input, trying to activate an augment that was no longer there.
She could still feel it. Not the artificial limb, but her actual arm, somehow, even though it had been blown off in combat decades ago. It was just empty space above a metal socket, but... the sensations still existed for her, like a phantom in the noosphere. The pain of a wound that no longer existed, and yet refused to go away.
Even if she couldn't remember the details, she could still feel the pain of every wound that had long since closed, as if they were all brand new. The body she'd lost... the comrades she'd lost... they all still hurt, so much, and refused to stop. The aches never went away, and likely never would.
How long could she maintain, she wondered? She'd lost so much of herself, and knew... the inevitable was only a matter of time. She'd keep losing more and more of herself, until there was nothing left to lose. She'd either end up like Reditus, and become nothing more than a skull, forced to endure the agonizing pain of this nightmare existence until even the skull crumbled to dust... or she'd meet her end on some distant battlefield, martyred in service to the Omnissiah, and forgotten within a month.
The more she pondered on her inevitable fate, the more she came to realize: that second option really seemed preferable, didn't it? It wasn't even the promise of anything better. There was never anything better to hope for in this galaxy. No, it was just the promise of... nothing. No more pain. No more responsibilities. She wouldn't have to do anything anymore. She wouldn't have to feel anything anymore. She'd finally get the chance to rest, more deeply and more soundly than she could ever hope to rest...
Khepra let out one last extremely heavy sigh, and sank deeper into her chair. The only sound left was the subtle, low frequency rumble of the ship's generatoria, reverberating through every single deck of the warship.
"I am so tired."
