Manric fought hard, driving his opponent back. His spear thrusts came and went quick as lightning and he knew in a real battle, he would have injured his opponent severely by now. He evaded a blow with easy grace, and the battle continued to rage, moving them back and forth. Manric felt tireless, even invigorated by the sparring match.
An opening! Manric seized it with both hands and his spear lashed out, directly into the chest cartouch of his opponent. And there was a buzzing, as the AI signalled the end of the match.
"Damn you! How does a human move like that?" Ahmakeph complained as Manric concentrated on catching his breath. Even when he won, sparring against a Necron took him to the very edges of his skill and endurance.
"I sometimes wonder if the spear taught me," Manric said, glancing at his aeldari spear. It was leaned against the wall, looking like mere metal, the runes inscribed in the blade cold and dead. That would change the instant he touched it, he knew.
"Hmph, sorcery. But that would explain a great deal. You fight far too much like an aeldari, for a human." Yes, Itolyx had mentioned that too. And speaking of Itolyx… Manric exited the field, taking a spot on the sidelines, so Itolyx could take his turn against Ahmakeph. After his long captivity, and then the rebuilding of his body, the Sautekh noble needed to refresh his engrams against real opponents. Not to mention, he just enjoyed it.
Manric enjoyed watching the two Overlords practicing. They both moved with terrifying speed and power and it made him marvel, that he was able to sometimes win against them, if not very often. Manric found himself leaning forward, watching intently as the practice staves clashed, trying to isolate the movements and tactics they were using. This time Ahmakeph won, but it was a very near thing. Manric applauded as they finished.
"I still feel too slow," Ahmakeph complained, running his hands up and down the practice spear. "My body is not quite right." Manric nodded sympathetically, although he suspected the real problem was that Ahmakeph had not yet re-adjusted to having his body under his command. They didn't know how long he'd suffered under the dark eldar, just that it had been years.
"It will come," Itolyx said, which was true enough. Then he gave Manric a gaze that seemed curious. Manric sometimes wondered how he could tell… maybe it was just familiarity, but he usually had an idea of what the necrons were feeling. "What have you and Simokh done to anger the Phaeron?" Manric winced internally at the question.
"I would rather not say," Manric said, avoiding Itolyx gaze. He wasn't sure how his friend would take it.
"Come, tell us. I am curious as well," Ahmakeph said and Manric hesitated. They were both staring at him now and he didn't think he was getting out of this.
"Please don't kill me," he said and the Overlord and Lord exchanged a baffled glance. "I… pointed out a strategic resource that is not being used. I also advised that we have the template available to use it." He just couldn't bring himself to say it. Itolyx would surely be just as angry as the Phaeron. He wasn't sure about Ahmakeph, perhaps Sautekh did things differently.
"Just spit it out!" Ahmakeph said impatiently and Manric sighed softly before doing just that.
"Our STC contains research into a human form of biotransference," Manric said and saw Itolyx go rigid, his eyes glowing brightly. Oh dear. "And there are… I mean…" Manric ground to a halt, sensing Itolyx's temper was very close to the surface. "It is my duty as a nemesor to bring such things to the Phaeron."
"Calm down. He's right, Imotekh would want to at least KNOW about such a possibility, even if he summarily rejected it." Ahmakeph's support made the light in Itolyx's die back down to normal levels. "I can see why the Phaeron is upset. What a suggestion to make!" He sounded more admiring than anything, though, and Manric dared a question.
"What would Imotekh the Stormlord make of it?" He asked and that set Ahmakeph back on his heels. He considered the question carefully.
"Well, let me put it this way… if you took an army of humans to him, he'd tell you what you could do with them before banning you from Mandragora." Ahmakeph rubbed a hand along his staff before continuing. "If you brought him a bunch of Necrons though, and told him they used to be human… I don't know. He might reject you outright, or he might give you a chance to prove yourselves to him. If he did, it would be harsh trials in the gladiatorial pits. But if you passed… he might be willing to take you into his army. Actual humans? Never." Manric glanced at Itolyx, who met his gaze. He knew they were thinking the same thing. Some chance is better than none. And Rahkaak needed more necron warriors. A paltry six thousand would never impress the Phaeron of the Sautekh dynasty. Even a hundred thousand might not, but it at least wouldn't be utterly laughable. "Are you volunteering for this then?" Ahmakeph sounded like he was mocking, to Manric's surprise.
"Of course I am," Manric said instantly and could tell the two Necrons were taken aback. "I am forty-eight. I know I don't move like I should… a man my age shouldn't be able to spar with you at all, let alone sometimes win… but that means I have fifty years left at most. Probably closer to twenty." And that was beyond distressing because – "It's going to take ten years to build an appropriate fleet to go to Imotekh, possibly longer."
"Sixteen years," Ahmakeph corrected and Manric and Itolyx both looked at him questioningly. "That's when the Sautekh will meet for the great convocation, which lasts ten years. It may be inconvenient for me, but I have advised the Phaeron she should time her visit for that." Manric accepted the correction, but that just made his point more poignant.
"Sixteen years… and then Rahkaak might have to stay at the Sautekh court for ten years. Itolyx, I could be dead of old age before you get back." Manric glanced down at his hands, the dark skin and flesh. He flexed them, seeing the superficially youthful appearance. But had the spear stopped his aging, or merely the appearance of it? "I don't have enough time. I need more time." That was selfish though. "And it's not just about me… it's about my skill, my knowledge. No one can really take over for me anymore." Yes, he had his chosen successors, but they had been picked purely to run the battle against the drukhari. Things were more complicated now. "And my men… right now, we have hardened combat veterans, men who have been fighting all their lives. In just twenty years, they will be aging out. Are we just to let them go?" Manric couldn't help it. He reached up and actually pulled on his hair, expressing his frustration. "Some of them are irreplaceable. The Death Seekers, the Lion Hearts… even if they try to take new recruits, it just won't be the same."
"I feel like I am watching a necrontyr lord, lamenting our brief lives," Itolyx said, his voice very subdued. "I understand Nuhkes better now."
"So you will repeat our mistakes? Do you not understand what you will be giving up?" Ahmakeph asked, an edge to his voice. Manric shook his head.
"Of course I don't really understand. How can I, when this body is all I know? But I also know this…" Manric moved then, snatching up his spear and walked into the arena. Then, he began to dance.
It wasn't a dance of course, but watchers might have been forgiven for thinking so, as Manric moved with graceful elegance against imaginary opponents. His spear lashed out in a beautiful dance of death and he deliberately increased the tempo, driving himself to the very limits of his speed. Even as his heart and muscles strained, he felt uplifted, exalted, and the spear reacted with cold fire, running up and down the blade and onto his arms. Gathering the cold fire was easy as breathing and he blasted it out in sharp rivults that careened into the shielding. That shielding was meant to protect spectators from actual death duels between Overlords, though, and it held easily. Manric paid no attention to it as he continued to dodge and strike at the shadows of dead dark eldar.
At what felt like just the right moment, Manric leapt into the air. It was a leap that was near-impossible for a human, yet typical for the aeldari, and he gathered the force of his spear. The tip of the spear hit the ground with a near-explosion, sending a force wave through the floor of the arena. Blackstone heaved and buckled, protesting, and Manric slightly regretted the damage he was doing. (the scarabs could easily repair it) Cold fire washed against the shields again and this time they whined in protest, struggling a bit to contain the power he had unleashed.
Then the momentary madness was over, and Manric breathed harshly for a moment, crouched where he had landed. Then he straightened, holding his spear loosely in one hand, and turned to look at the two Necrons who were silently watching.
"Even if I give my spear to someone else when I'm gone, will they be able to do that?" Manric asked and knew there could be no real answer. Because maybe, perhaps, someone else on Hope could equal his skill with the spear and he would magically find that person and give it to them. But it was extremely unlikely. When his skill was gone, it would be gone forever, and that just wasn't enough.
I need more time.
Phaeron Rahkaak patiently listened to Simokh's presentation on the human form of Biotransference. What came first were the technical details, which she did not pretend to understand. But then, fortunately, Simokh translated it into terms suitable for those who were not Technomancers.
"This field of study was advanced, but not perfected when the humans abandoned it," Simokh said as Rahkaak regarded the diagrams. She could see what appeared to be an organic brain on one side, and a neural network on the other. "That was due to confirmation of what they refer to as the 'ghost in the shell' effect." What? "STC informs us that 'ghost in the shell' refers to an old work of fiction, where the protagonist was a biotransfered human who questioned if she was truly alive, or merely a ghost haunting a mechanical shell."
"And they confirmed this effect?" Rahkaak asked, a swell of negative emotion surging through her neural spools. She struggled with it as Simokh continued.
"Yes. While the soul is elusive, careful testing on biotransfered humans confirmed to them that something vital was lost. Because of this, further advancement in the technology was dropped. It does not appear to have been outlawed, but was considered highly unethical and stigmatized." For a moment, Rahkaak hated the humans. Hated them for seeing the problem her kind had missed, hated them for creating this technology on their own, hated them for being so wise. But then she mastered the emotion. We are different people, living in different circumstances. Humans were not constrained by such short life. The King that had been removed had been almost ninety years old. That was unthinkably ancient for a necrontyr. And they did not have this technology waved in front of them like a poisoned candy, coated in lies. Curse the Deceiver. Hating the C'Tan eased her mind, and Rahkaak was able to listen calmly as Simokh continued with his presentation.
"In most ways this technology is inferior to what the Star Gods employed. However, due to the difference in ethos, it is in some ways superior." Certain parts of the organic brain were highlighted. "The C'Tan did not care about our well being, so they transferred our entire consciousness, including the animal hindbrain governing our flesh and blood bodies." Yes, she knew that. "Humans discarded this portion of the mind as a useless hindrance to the well being of the transferred individual." That was extremely sensible. "There are some other refinements as well, that we can incorporate if we wish to pursue this option. They are all in regards to quality of life." Hmm.
"I am guessing the answer is no, or it would have been done already. But can any of this be incorporated into our current bodies?" Rahkaak asked and was not surprised when Simokh flashed a glyph of negation. "Simokh… do you think we should do this?" Simokh cocked his head to one side.
"I cannot make such a judgement. But I will observe that this process is not unethical if we only accept volunteers, and do not lie to them about the consequences." Yes… yes, that was true. The necrontyr were lied to and often forced. Sometimes, Rahkaak wondered what her own decision would have been, if she'd had the full truth of the matter. "However, even with the information provided by the STC, this process is imperfect. If we are seriously considering this option I would suggest procuring human slaves to act as test subjects." Ah, that was true, they would never want to risk someone like Manric until the process was completely perfected.
"…" Rahkaak looked at her hands. Could she truly do this? But she had Ahmakeph's opinion on the matter, and the Stormlord's likely reaction. What would her decision be?
Finally, she made it, although it was the hardest decision of her life.
"Simokh, speak to Manric about procuring slaves." That step was acceptance. Rahkaak would not pretend otherwise, would not lie to herself that she was merely investigating. It would not take a great deal to refine the STC template and combine it with the ancient technology of biotransference. Simokh bowed.
"A wise decision, Phaeron." Was it? Rahkaak only hoped it was, and that the spirits of the dead would forgive her.
But in these hard times, they needed to concentrate on the living.