Phaeron Rahkaak stood in her Great Hall, Simokh by her right and Nuhkes to her left. They were waiting patiently for the human to wake. He was lying on the floor in front of them and beside him was a small table with an ancient goblet, unused since the Time of Flesh, filled with water. Nuhkes was of the opinion that the human would need it, both from the effects of his concoction and their conversation.
Disgusting, is it not? Simokh said via the private interstial link they had set up before this meeting. The three of them would be able to converse at any time, and the human would not hear. Rahkaak considered his words, and came to a rather odd and surprising conclusion.
It really isn't. Simokh's head turned to look at her and she felt the questioning in his gaze. Organics don't bother me. They never have. That was a bit unusual. Many necrons had come through the fires of biotranspherence with a great abhorrence of flesh. Rahkaak searched herself and again, could find no disgust or dismay. At least as long as they are not defecating on my walls. She followed that by a humor glyph. Simokh did not reply, but Nuhkes flashed back his own humorous glyph.
I've always felt the same. And often, I find studying lesser species shines a light on our own origins. It's all so fascinating! Well, she wouldn't go that far, but that was why she employed her crypteks. Rahkaak had no interest in many things, but still knew the value of them.
There was a soft groan and they all turned their attention to the human. Rahkaak examined him for a moment, as he stirred from his drugged slumber. His skin was a warm brown, reminding her of wood, while his hair was pitch black. His eyes, when he opened them, were also very dark, until he blinked a bit and she could see the whiter parts. Rahkaak only vaguely remembered how eyes worked, but she thought this was similar to their ancient bodies.
"Where am I?" The human muttered, the translation scarab doing its job adequately well. He pushed himself to a sitting position before looking at them. Rahkaak wasn't certain what reaction she was expecting. The ordinary human they'd kidnapped earlier had taken it surprisingly well, according to Nuhkes at least. Surely she could expect nothing less from their leader? The human's eyes widened for a moment, but his expression could have been one of their masks, for the lack of change. "Ah, I see," he murmured before standing and Rahkaak decided to get on with things.
"I am Phaeron Rahkaak, keeper of the Uhnashret Dynasty. This is our world, Crownworld Catotep, and you have settled on our land." She proclaimed, attempting to awe the human a bit. He should feel awe, in the presence of a race that had existed before his had managed to descend from trees. "Normally that would be an offense that would lead to us wiping your presence from this world, but we have decided to be merciful in the light of a common foe." The human tilted his head slightly to one side in a wordless question, and Rahkaak was struck by how… calm he was. How accepting. Was this a characteristic of humans? "The dark eldar sniffed out the paths to our tombs, and defiled our resting place. Most of our warriors tasted true death," Rahkaak let the wrath enter her voice. It wasn't hard, necron voices were not expressive but one thing they excelled at was anger.
"You wish an alliance?" The human – no, Manric, she should call him by name – reached for the water and took a quick drink. Rahkaak bridled slightly at the question, although it was logical enough.
"No. We wish your submission to the Uhnashret Dynasty," she said sharply. Nuhkes warnings were in her mind, but she still had no intention of treating the humans as equals. They needed to know their place. "You shall be a slave race, providing the fruits of your labors for the glory of the Dynasty." That was actually an incredible concession for the necrons, who usually simply exterminated organics. There was a long pause as Rahkaak presumed the human was mulling it over.
This human is quite difficult. I have been learning to read their facial expressions, but he simply has none. Yes, she had noticed that. Perhaps it is because he's the son of their ruler.
"Forgive me," Manric said and her attention instantly snapped back to him. "I do not think you mean ill. I think this is mere semantics. But it will have deep meaning to my people, so could you call us slaves instead of slaves?"
What did he just say? Simokh asked as Rahkaak wondered if the human was mad. But then Nuhkes explained.
This is why xenology can be such a challenging profession! It's a fault with the translation. Oh, of course it was! Rahkaak was actually relieved to have such a rational explanation to what had briefly seemed like lunacy. The two words must be so similar in meaning that the scarab can't pick up the difference. May I take over for a moment? Rahkaak flashed her assent and Nuhkes stepped forward.
"I am sorry, I believe we have a translation problem. I have been learning your language, but I am not an expert. Can you repeat both the words you used, and explain how they differ?" Nuhkes asked and the human – Manric, she needed to stop that – obliged.
"Slave is the word we use for criminals who are thought to be irredeemable. They are punished with the loss of all freedom, and their lives have no more value than a ****" The translation scarab substituted in a companion animal from the ancient necrontyr. "To kill one is to damage property, nothing more. A slave has no loyalty to their master, and is expected to require whipping to work." That was definitely not the relationship Rahkaak desired with the humans.
"Serf is a similar, but different position in our society," Manric took another sip of the water as they listened patiently. "Serf is a position many are born into, among the country Noble houses. They are the descendants of those who traded their freedom for protection. A serf is not free, he is in some ways property, but he has value. His work contributes to the good of the whole and in return, his Noble protects him." That sounded much better. "For all our suffering, we are still proud. I know it is perhaps silly, but to call us serfs would… sit better, with our pride."
I am feeling very grateful for this human, Nuhkes said and Rahkaak privately agreed. How easy it would have been for him to simply take offense! This is exactly the kind of thing that can happen, a single poorly chosen word leading to war. Can we perhaps make this "serf" term a new rank, above slave but below commoner? That was well within her power as Phaeron. She could not make serf an actual word, the Silent King had codified their language, but the Phaerons had retained the right to dictate ranks. It mostly resulted in flowery idiocy, but not this time.
"Very well. I declare "serf" to be a new rank, above slave but below commoner," Rahkaak declared before sending the information to the crownworld AI. It would distribute the information to everyone and have it coded into their engrams. "Does that mean you accept?" Manric hadn't actually assented. The human rubbed a thumb along his jaw for a moment and Rahkaak wondered what that gesture could mean.
"I have but one question. Do you have adamantium?" There was a curious intensity to the question that baffled Rahkaak. Adamantium wasn't rare… oh. Wait, it would be wouldn't it? Hadn't they mined out anything remotely nearby, and had been getting supplies from elsewhere, traded for other goods, before the Great Sleep?
"Yes, we have adamantium, along with many other precious metals," Rahkaak replied. "And we will share that bounty with our loyal… serfs." Provided they didn't waste it, of course. Manric closed his eyes for a moment, breathing out slowly. Then he opened them and spoke and while his expression never changed, it was as though he had poured all the emotion into his voice. For Rahkaak, that was more powerful than mere expressions that she might not understand.
"For adamantium, we will do anything. For adamantium, we will swear our loyalty, forever. It is all we need, all we desire." This had to be what was missing from the "Knight armor" Nuhkes had mentioned. And if the humans didn't have adamantium, while the eldar did… what a mismatch that would be! Then Manric bowed to her, low and respectful. "As the nemesor of my House, I swear it." The word he used wasn't nemesor, Rahkaak was sure, but a close equivalent.
"Excellent!" This was all she'd wanted. But she wasn't ready to send him back to his people just yet. "Before you return, you should see my domain, and the glories that have been sitting beneath your feet." A corner of Manric's mouth quirked up, the first expression Rahkaak had seen from him. What did that mean?
It is amusement, Phaeron. Nuhkes supplied and Rahkaak wondered what the human thought was funny. But then he was bowing his head.
"I would be honored," Manric said respectfully and Rahkaak decided to take it at face value. It was a great honor to be shown the domain of a Dynasty by the Phaeron herself, after all. Even if it was largely dead.
And Rahkaak found she would enjoy showing it to someone new, after so long.
When the visions from his spear came true, Manric found he was not remotely surprised.
The only thing that surprised him, and troubled him, was that the Necrons – their term for themselves – were not precisely the one from his vision. Phaeron Rahkaak was surprisingly slight and small, shorter than himself by almost a head. Her elaborate headdress, adorned with plaques, almost made up the height difference. Her entire body was plated in gold, which was beautiful but also did not match his visions. Nuhkes was the least human of the three, with a singular ocular orb and an odd, hunched posture. Simokh was the closest to his vision, tall and slender and silver, with touches of gold. There was a metal cowl covering the back of his head and a cloak of plaques clinked pleasantly as he walked. Yet, he was also not the Necron from his vision. The one from his vision had possessed a three pointed headdress, and two plaques that seemed to mimic earrings. Manric wondered if perhaps that vision had just represented the Necron people in general but it somehow seemed unlikely, although he knew nothing of witchery.
The short tour of the underground world, though, left him in awe.
"How could this have been beneath our feet all this time?" Manric murmured as he beheld a great pyramid, surrounded by a plaza with walkways and alien ornamentation. That did not particularly awe him, though. Creating such a structure was well within Hope's capabilities, had they desired to do so. What awed him was the ceiling. Gazing upwards, Manric beheld the seamless, mechanical slope above them. That was beyond Hope's current level of technology, although it was likely the STC had the patterns to accomplish such. Without thinking, he made the sign of the cross.
"What did you just do there?" Nuhkes asked, pulling him from his thoughts and Manric hesitated. How to explain?
"It is an old religious gesture, the symbol of the cross." This was mildly embarrassing. Manric was not remotely religious, it had just been a reflex. "We follow an ancient religion called Christianity… it was strong when we arrived, then waned in popularity until the Drukhari came upon us. It has become more popular since." That was something that saddened him, not because of the religion, but the reason people flocked to it. They needed some reassurance that their loved ones were in a better place and pain did come to an end. Manric himself could not find comfort in it, but he would never begrudge that support to someone else. Nuhkes cocked his head to one side and the green light of his ocular flared, which Manric interpreted as interest.
"Could you tell me more – " he started but then Rahkaak interrupted.
"Nuhkes, enough! You can discuss that with him later," she said and Manric winced internally at the thought.
"Preferably, you should discuss it with someone else," he corrected before lifting the corner of his lip in the only expression he allowed himself. That was an old habit, something he'd developed in childhood, and he only relaxed it among his family. Even then, Eloise had sometimes told him he was cold and remote, despite his best efforts. "I know so little about our religion that I might give you misinformation."
"But what did that gesture mean?" Nuhkes persisted and Rahkaak made a buzz Manric interpreted as exasperation. But that was actually a good question.
"Ah, my apologies, that is actually something you should know. The gesture of the cross is deeply engrained in our society, beyond religion. It denotes powerful emotions, so strong they defy words. Shock, awe, or horror, mostly."
"Ah. So you find this awe inspiring?" Nuhkes asked and Manric nodded, returning his gaze to the ceiling. How incredible it was.
"It is amazing, incredible beyond words," he said sincerely and though it was hard to tell, he thought that pleased Rahkaak. They continued the tour and Manric noticed the beetles, like the one that had bitten him. They were everywhere and he soon realized that they were engaging in cleaning and repairs, like the primitive cleaning units his people had begun making, but more advanced.
Then they showed him one thing, and for the first time in a long time, Manric could almost not hide his emotion.
"This is our treasure vault. Normally I would not show this to anyone, as it is the riches of our dynasty, but I think you deserve proof of what we have to offer." Rahkaak announced with the air of a great Queen, dignifying a commoner with a mere glimpse of her royal riches. Manric bowed his head respectfully as hope filled him.
The treasure room inside was indeed filled with riches. The glitter of gold, the softer glow of silver and even racks of jewels, glittering with captive fire. But Manric's gaze was immediately draw to the more plebian things… the great ingots that he recognized, the ones that they forged every day. And the one they didn't but that he could still recognize from images of the STC, the unique purplish silver of raw adamantium.
Manric wasn't even aware of himself moving. But then his hand was resting on one of the ingots and he could almost cry, as he felt the solidity of it. It is real. And there is so much! Enough for more Knight armor than he could even comprehend. They didn't require a great deal of adamantium, as even in normal circumstances it was precious, so this would go so far!
Taking a deep breath and calming his emotions, Manric turned back to the waiting Necrons. They were watching him, seeing his slight breakdown, but he felt no shame. Anyone on Hope would understand.
"For this, all our Nobles will swear ourselves as your loyal serfs." There was no doubt at all. And if anyone did try to defy this, out of some misplaced lunacy, Manric would kill them himself.
For the first time in forever, he saw true hope for the planet named Hope. Nothing would be allowed to take it away.