Sometimes, it was the most unexpected things that hurt the most.
Manric was expecting his wife Eloise to be upset with him. To remonstrate him, as she had many times before, at his lack of commitment to his family. And he would counter by pointing out that it was his duty, as he had so often before.
But she didn't, and her simple question struck him harder than the most impassioned screed ever could have.
"If you will be legally dead, will I be a widow?" Manric stared at her calm face and felt a ball of ice form in his chest. It almost hurt to breath, to feel the air moving through his chest, but after a moment he managed to speak.
"Yes, I suppose you will," he said and felt even worse as she nodded her head.
"Then I will support your decision with the children." Why did this make him want to die?
"How quickly will you remarry?" Manric asked, feeling like he was probing a broken bone. The look his wife gave him was scathing.
"What business is that of yours?" Manric knew his face would show nothing, but he could not stop a flinch. She saw it, and gentled her tone. "Not that soon. There are the children to consider." Although his eldest was an adult now, and the younger were almost grown.
"Yes, I suppose so," Manric murmured, wondering how the children would take the change. But with Eloise willing to help, it wouldn't be too bad. "I… thank you." Her support stung him more harshly than any criticism ever could, but he had no idea what else to say.
"Manric… go away." Feeling worse than he ever had in his life, Manric left and went to the gardens. The gardens made him feel better, the gardens gave him peace. And meditating over his weapons… yes, that was what he should do. He hadn't done that in some time.
Meditating on his spear was harder than usual. His heart was in too much turmoil, his emotions roiling in ways Manric did not truly understand. But as he knelt before the spear, he felt the soft touch of the wind on his skin and the fresh scents of the clean air. The flowers were in bloom and there was the touch of pollen in the air. Manric breathed deeply and slowly, using the sensations of his body to find peace.
Will I ever find peace this way again? Manric wondered as he gazed at the spear. The runes glittered with soft light, the magic of the warp. That light captured his gaze and helped his heart find ease. Or will I lose this, when I make the transfer from flesh to machine? Would his spear reject him? If it did, his skill would remain and he would take up a Staff of Light. But that would be deeply saddening.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he found the meditative trance. It was the same as always and felt like a balm on his heart, as the dead encouraged him. Even the shades of the ancient aeldari – surely they were the ones who had held the spear before the drukhari? – seemed to have a concerned air, gently urging him along before flowing into the aether. Manric expected to see the vision of the Necron again. It had never stopped, even after he had come to meet them.
Instead, though, he saw something completely unexpected. It was a billow of gold, pure and beautiful and it seemed to form a face. That face reminded him of a comedy mask, leering with good humor or something like good humor. The eyes were so dark and contained sparks… those eyes filled his vision and he could see the sparks were actually stars, endless stars and he could fall into them…
Then it felt like something grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and tossed him away. Manric came back to his body with a start and was surprised to feel himself covered in sweat and his heart pounding. Blinking, he swallowed, still staring at his spear.
What was that, and what did it mean?
In the end, biotransference felt like nothing at all.
Manric was expecting it to hurt. Death normally did. Instead, there was just an odd feeling of pressure and… nothing. Until his eyes snapped back on, oscillating like a faulty computer screen, and he rapidly began the process of adjustment.
"This feels so strange," Manric said as he looked at the ashes of his old body. The aeldari spear was propped against the wall, waiting for him and as he glanced at it he realized he could analyze its composition if he cared to. A very fine mesh of metals, but also something else, something that defeated his sensors. Then something wafted up from the depths of his mind and he… tried to blink, but could not. "What is that? Oh, I see." It was an alert rising through his buffer. Manric quickly deciphered it and ran a diagnostic.
Then a sharp buzz caught his attention and Manric clumsily turned. Nuhkes was there, looking at him a bit impatiently.
"I know this is disorienting, but can you please take your spear and exit the chamber?" Oh, yes. Feeling very clumsy and slow, Manric reached out and picked up the spear. To his relief, the runes in the blade sparked with light. His one real worry had been that the spear would no longer answer to him, when he passed through a kind of death. But it still seemed to recognize his hand, even in this state. Walking felt odd at first, but he very quickly adjusted. The process was designed to make him at home in his new body, as seamlessly as possible, and Manric found it was working well. He would just need a bit of time.
As he walked out of the biotransferance chamber, Manric found other necrons clustered around. They all had the newly designed cartouches on their chests, mostly blank and waiting for a designated unit design. Although, to his amusement, the flaming skull of the Death Seekers was already inscribed. Of course they would, the entire unit had taken biotransference together, embracing death yet again.
Then Manric caught sight of his reflection in silvery necrodermis and stopped dead with a feeling of wonder. He was an Overlord with a three pointed headdress and plaques that mimicked earrings.
"Sir?" The soldier he was staring at inquired and Manric shook himself out of his shock.
"Nothing. My apologies," he replied by rote, his mind still cushioned in shock but slowly comprehending the meaning of the vision of the aeldari spear.
All this time, I was seeing my future. But if that is the case, what does the gold mask mean?
"I regret my life decisions," Manric muttered as he gazed at the list the AI had compiled and displayed for him. Then he almost started in surprise as a voice spoke behind him.
"You cannot return to flesh," Itolyx said and Manric's vocalizer mimicked a sigh very convincingly.
"Not that, just this idiocy," he waved at the screen and Itolyx looked at it, tilting his head to one side as he tried to decipher the written Terran. "Just let them pick their own unit names, I thought. It will be good for their morale I thought. Sure, a few of them will be awful jokes but most of them will actually be names I can USE is what I THOUGHT." Manric shook his head in disgust, looking at the list again. "Instead they gave me nothing but toaster jokes."
"What is a toaster?" Itolyx asked and Manric had to think for a moment. How to explain?
"Well, technically, it's a little device that heats up a food item. But in our culture, it's also a default term for any mechanical object we don't recognize or understand… for example, if one of my men found an unknown piece of drukhari technology he would say "I found a drukhari toaster" and everyone would know he doesn't mean a literal toaster, just something he doesn't recognize." Manric glanced at the list again. "So I suppose it makes sense that they would refer to themselves as toasters. But damned if I will let a unit be named the Malignant Toasters. Or the Overloaded Toasters. Or the Malfunctioning Toaster… ugh." Manric scrolled through the list, trying to find any serious entries. "Oh thank god, the Death Seekers want to remain the Death Seekers. Approved." They were one of the few units that had joined as a group. Not a single one of them had backed out. "The Lion Hearts want to remain the Lion Hearts, approved." They weren't as intact as the Death Seekers, but they still were basically the same unit. "Hah! This one is funny," Manric pointed to a particular line. "It translates to 'Immortals'. They don't know the Necron language well enough yet to know that's also a rank… denied, but send it back with a note that Immortal can't be used. Actually, make that a general notice to all the units." More than one would make that mistake. "Itolyx, what do you think about this one? The Indominable Cabbits."
"What is a Cabbit?" Itolyx asked. Manric would have smiled a little if he was still capable of it.
"It's a mythical creature. In fiction, it's normally a companion animal that is fuzzy and sweet, but also extremely lethal in a very unexpected way. It can range from laser eyes to razor sharp teeth. In one show I watched, the cabbit actually turned into a spaceship. It's a bit of a joke name, though… cabbits are not exactly taken seriously. What do you think?"
"To us, a lion is also an unknown thing, as much as a cabbit," Itolyx observed and that was a good point.
"You're right. Excellent, the Indominable Cabbits are approved. AI, please send everything back with a note that we will have to introduce ourselves to Imotekh rather soon, so get serious." That was Manric's most pressing concern. There was absolutely no way he was going to explain toaster jokes to Imotekh the Stormlord. From the few things Ahmakeph had dropped about his personality, he would NOT be amused.
"Ah, that is why you are upset. Yes, that is a great concern," Itolyx said before resting a hand on his shoulder. Manric looked at him in surprise. "But you are my greatest concern. Do you wish to spar?" He had a lot to do – "As the commander of these new necrons, Imotekh will surely try you himself." …Ah.
"Good point. I'll trust my subordinates to get things together." He had some very capable subordinates. Old men, with decades of experience under the belt, had come out of retirement and many of them were heading his new units. They were a bit rusty perhaps, but they would get things done. And Itolyx was right. If Imotekh decided to give them a chance at all, testing him personally in combat was the logical thing to do.
It behooved him to be ready for it.
Phaeron Rahkaak was, in her own way, regretting her life decisions.
What she had never known about common warriors, or perhaps had just forgotten, was that when they had their minds fully functional they were relentlessly chatty. There were exceptions of course, certain warriors who were blessedly silent, but that still left an absolutely overwhelming amount of chatter in the air. Both vocally, as they tried to master the Necron language (completely understandable and encouraged, but still annoying) and flying around as interstitial messages. The level of trash communication she was being subjected to was actually giving her an ache in her neural spools. She could have shut it out, but that would also shut her out from her Crypteks, which was not acceptable. Something else was needed. So she summoned Simokh.
"Simokh, can you please create a dedicated interstitial network for our new necrons?" They should probably come up with some kind of special name for them, as they had never been necrontyr. Or perhaps a suffix. "Something I can access if I wish, but that I will not be assaulted with?"
"Yes, that would be possible. I would also recommend breaking down the network into smaller nodes, so units can communicate only with other members of their unit, if they so choose." Oh? "I have been observing the communications and they are sometimes actively complaining about hearing things they do not care about. That is significantly adding to the interstitial clutter." Ugh, what children! "You must remember, Phaeron, that common warriors are not selected for their intellectual abilities." How true!
"Please carry that out," she requested and Simokh bowed.
He had it done within an hour, and blessed silence erupted. Just to test her access, Rahkaak accessed one of the new interstitial nodes. What she listened to, for just a moment, was a discussion about how family was reacting to their new appearances. It was conducted in the necron language, which was pleasing. They were taking their duty to master the new language seriously. Closing them out again, she enjoyed the perfect silence. Well, except for the distant sound of voices, but that was fine.
Despite the inconvenience, Rahkaak vastly preferred this to the brain damaged silence that had been forced onto most of the Necrons.