Things are going fairly well here.

Manric was currently assisting the humans with rebuilding their lives on the moon. It posed certain problems… the moon was only technically habitable, having a very harsh climate and a thin atmosphere. Humans could live there but it verged on a Death World, barely within the habitable range.

To handle that, the lunar colony had always used semi-sealed domes, that concentrated the atmosphere into something more pleasant for humanity. They also used humidifiers and irrigation to grow their crops. The temperatures could range from bitterly cold to absolutely scorching, although still technically survivable. To deal with that, the domes also employed cooling and heating to keep everything within a more pleasant range.

All of that equipment had been damaged or destroyed in the conflict. The field engineers and Crypteks had done emergency repairs, to get the domes just barely working, but there was still so much more to be done. Supplies were being brought from the Sautekh's agri worlds and also, a few Mechanicus tech priests and a variety of equipment had been requisitioned from some of the Civilised worlds. All the systems of the domes were being repaired, but it was taking time and the humans living there were enduring harsh conditions.

Still, despite all that, things were going rather well. Right now Manric was amusing himself watching one of the field engineers having a spirited dispute with a tech priest as Galen looked like he quietly wanted to die. Manric took pity on him and went to his side.

"Just leave them alone. It might take them hours, but they'll sort it out." Manric had a great deal of experience with such things and could see the engineer and tech priest were not actually upset. Quite the contrary, they were having a great deal of fun as they hashed it all out. It was similar to when the Overlords got together and had a vociferous debate on the merits of various naval strategies… everyone was getting along, even if to an outsider it might not appear so.

"No, I need to make sure this doesn't get violent," Galen said firmly and Manric shook his head in amusement. He was so young.

"It's fine, they're enjoying themselves." The debate behind them seemed to reach a fever pitch and Manric glanced back to see the field engineer was actually hopping up and down. No doubt to a human it looked frightening but to him, it was just absurd. The Mechanicus tech priest responded with his tentacles but Manric could tell, with the input from emotions, that he was just using them to emphasize his points. "I know it looks, ah, interesting, but I assure you they are both loving every moment. Also, forgive me, what do you propose to do if it does get violent?" Galen hadn't seemed to have thought of that. Getting between a tech priest and a necron… an Astartes or an Overlord could probably stop them, but little else.

"Uh… yell at them I suppose," Galen muttered and Manric chuckled to himself. "I suppose you're right. And listening to this is a form of torture." Yes, Manric quite agreed, listening to field engineers and tech priests when you couldn't understand a word of what they were saying was a rare form of torture indeed. Hmm, would they feel the same way if they were forced to listen to the Overlords discussing naval tactics? Probably.

"Why don't we check how the chickens are doing?" Manric suggested and Galen shrugged before nodding.

"I still can't believe those are from ancient Terra." Yes, that was highly amusing. Apparently many Terran species did still exist, but had accidentally been re-labeled as alien. The biggest one was cats. Cats were everywhere, house pets all through the Imperium of Man, but mankind sincerely believed they were an alien species domesticated during the Dark Age of Humanity. The look on their faces when they were told that cats dated back to the days when humanity had lived in mud huts was priceless.

(it didn't help that nearly every alien race, up to and including the eldar, had also adopted cats as pets)

(dogs were less popular among xenos and perhaps because of that, were known to be Terran)

Manric vaguely heard a Necron voice raised behind him as they walked, but paid absolutely no attention to it, just registering the word 'father' and that it had nothing to do with him. He vaguely noticed when the speaker switch from the necron tongue, to high Terran and finally to low Gothic. It still hardly mattered.

"Ah, is he talking to you? He's running towards us," Galen ventured and Manric tilted his head, turning to look. A Necron Immortal was running towards them and it was someone Manric didn't recognize at all, although that meant little. Although to be speaking those languages, it was surely a pwi-Necron. As far as he knew, the only aberrant Immortal to learn all three languages was Itolyx. Most contented themselves with necron and low Gothic, as all the pwi-Necrons were reasonably fluent in the necron tongue.

"Father, have you gone deaf?" The Immortal complained as he came to a halt in front of them, to Manric's utter perplexity. "I know it is a surprise to see me like this, but I never imagined it would be so hard to catch your attention!" Wait… what?

"…Artur? Is that you?" Manric said, feeling cushioned with shock. That shock quickly became outrage. "What have you done?! You are too young for this!" Artur made a buzzing sigh.

"Too young? Father, you are losing track of time. I am well past forty years old." He… he was? "Are you even aware that little Zalia is almost six years old?" …It had been that long?

"No, I – " Manric had no idea what to say. He had lost track of time? Scrambling back, he realized it had indeed been that long since Zelda's wedding. How had he not realized how much time was passing? Then a hand went around his arm and Manric blinked his optics on and off for a moment, bringing himself back to reality and looking at his son.

"Father, please, I am not shaming you. We all know how important your work is… I just wanted you to know that you are losing track of time and I am more than old enough to make this decision." Artur hesitated a moment before gentle squeezing his arm. Manric could barely feel it, with his Necron body, but registered the feeling behind it. "And father, I do not mean to hurt you but I am like you in a very important way. I cannot marry a woman, I am married to my work." That did sting, painfully even, but Manric knew it described his marriage to Eloise very well. He never should have married, it had been for duty… but with two sisters already married with children, that was a duty Artur did not have.

"I see… well, I did not expect this, but I am glad to see you again," Manric said before hugging his son. It felt strange, metal body against metal, but Artur returned the gesture of affection. "You are going to be piloting one of the Short Knives?" His ability with the Knight Armor would translate well to them.

"Yes, and possibly other new mechs. I am told there are new designs being looked into." Ah, interesting! Manric supposed there was no reason they could not make other mechs that could be piloted by necrons and pwi-necrons. "Now that this is sorted out, though, who is this?" Artur asked, looking at Galen. He'd been watching and listening to the whole conversation, which had been conducted in low Gothic. In retrospect, they perhaps should have switched languages but it was too late now.

"This is Galen Vertexiac." Manric had managed to master that last name with a bit of work. He was sure Artur wouldn't be able to say it. "Galen, this is my son, Artur Duleth."

"Ah, I am pleased to meet you," Galen said and Manric was sure he was quite confused. They had not fully spelled out the nature of the pwi-necrons to the humans here. But everything Artur had just been saying would strongly indicate that he had recently been organic. "Forgive me… what are you?"

"Oh father. You haven't explained to them?" Manric just shrugged. He honestly hadn't been planning to explain it, since all the pwi-necrons would be gone in a few years anyway and they had no intention of garrisoning this place with humans from Hope. That was really only for the ork infested worlds, they provided plenty of experience for the men while also contributing to the good of the Sautekh empire. "Well, I'll leave that to you, if you want to tell him. I really need to report to my new commander in the Eagles." That was the first new unit being formed specifically for the Short Knives. That was similar to the Doom Scythes… their pilots were also arranged in units, although only by serial numbers.

"We should meet later," Manric said as they clasped hands for a moment. Artur nodded.

"I'm sure we will." That done, Artur loped off and Manric watched him go, feeling a bit melancholy. It had really been that long… where had all the time gone? Then he turned back to Galen.

"I'll explain it while we look over the chickens." They needed a fair bit of tending, they were hardy creatures but the conditions on the moon were a bit difficult for them. Fortunately, the moon also had an incredible number of native insects and the chickens loved them all very, very much so they did not need much food. "We are from a planet called Hope…" Manric did his best to explain the entire sequence of events. From Galen's emotions, he wasn't sure what to make of it. But then, most people from the Imperium had mixed emotions at best when they realized what the pwi-necrons actually were. As he spoke, though, Manric's mind went back to Hope.

He really needed to go home to see his grandchildren soon.

"I am actually very impressed by these," Zahndrekh said as he watched the Short Knives practicing their maneuvers. Both with his oculars, but also with his strategic inputs that were giving him very detailed readings. "I wasn't expecting to be, when you said they were inferior to the Doom Scythes… but what is this engine performance? I have seen nothing like it!" Manric knew exactly what he was referring to and glanced up at the maneuvers happening in the air.

"It's a combination of things… the Short Knives are more lightly armored and built more for speed and maneuverability than the Doom Scythes." That followed the general ethos of Hope, with their preference for speed above all else. "More importantly, though, the engines are simply superior. As you can see, the performance boost is roughly twenty percent." It was going too far to say the Short Knives could fly rings around the Doom Scythes but in a race, it would always be the Knives that won. "Close combat boost is less, but still significant." The improvements to the engines and the lighter armoring let the Short Knives pull off maneuvers that Doom Scythes would have a harder time managing.

"How did you manage this?" Obyron asked and Manric knew they were edging into things that would be hard for Zahndrekh to understand. Well, he would do his best.

"You know that our Dynasty is rather odd. We have developed a very different technological base," Manric said carefully. "In most ways, it is distinctly inferior to regular Dynasty technology but in a very few areas, it is superior. Solid state propulsion is one of those areas." Simokh had mentioned that. "I don't pretend to understand all the details, but taking those superior aspects and incorporating them into a new design has led to an engine that is superior to both original technologies." Human grav tech was inferior to Necron, and the engine used aspects of both technologies.

"Will we be retrofitting our Doom Scythes with this new engine?" Zahndrekh asked, highly interested, and Manric nodded.

"We are starting mass production of the new engine for just that endeavor. That is part of why we're trying to move the production of the full Short Knives to Antioch." They preferred to dedicate the superior Hope manufacturing to refits and also, gauss flayer production. The Doom Scythes were simply more valuable than the Short Knives, they did not want any defects to get through. "When Doom Scythes are fitted with the new engine they experience an increase of performance of roughly seven percent." That sounded minor but it wasn't, not at all, when the tiniest of margins could make the difference between life and death. Zahndrekh clapped his hands together.

"Ah, excellent! So I assume the new engines will be shipped to us and we will need to complete the refits on the field?" Manric nodded. "I believe our Technomancers can handle it. Which is good, because Nemesor Djenakht most surely can't!" Manric made a glyph of amusement. He hadn't met Djenakht himself and had heard he was a good commander, but his Achilles heel was his incredibly poor luck with Necron technology. He was notorious for having malfunctions at the very worst moment and his Technomancers were not well thought of in the wider Cryptek community.

"He'll probably be the very last to get the refits, and Imotekh will send him extra Crypteks for it." That was what Manric would have done in Imotekh's place. "So, it will be a significant length of time before he needs to worry about it." How long exactly? Possibly close to fifty years, considering how far all the manufacturing facilities were stretched. They were building new facilities in orbit around Yggdrasil, to make use of their production, but that took resources too. It all gave Manric a headache to think about and he was glad Rahkaak and the King were in charge of that.

(Manric suddenly wondered how old Reinhart was and would he take biotransference? If he did, would he leave his role as King? Having a deathless, permanent King would have some positive aspects but also many negative ones)

(not his problem not his problem)

"Well, let's do a mock bombing run…" Zahndrekh directed the Short Knives and the Doom Scythes, getting a feel for their abilities and how the two would mesh together. All the testing was being conducted on the main planet, where it would not disturb the humans. The Genestealers were still hiding, in full hibernation, and would also not be an issue. As they watched the maneuvers play out, Manric tried to ignore the sad, barren state of the world around them.

It couldn't be helped and someday in the future, this planet would bloom again.

Imotekh looked at the report from Hope, feeling… hope? The thought made him chuckle, but it was true, this was good news.

The human researchers, the psykers and the Psychomancers of Hope were on the right path. They had succeeded in re-souling four Necron Warriors and two Immortals, although only one had achieved sanity so far and it had taken over a year. The problem they had now is that they were not sure WHY that had happened for this one, and not the others. Of particular concern was that one of the Immortals had seemed to be semi-aware, but had descended into madness anyway.

At this stage, we require fully sentient test subjects. Imotekh tapped a finger against the star map as he thought about what to do. He really had no Overlords, Lords or Crypteks to give them. Everyone had picked the least auspicious time to be well behaved and reasonably competent. And given the risk of permanent insanity, no one was volunteering. Imotekh couldn't blame them, but it meant he needed to do something a touch risky.

Examining the map, Imotekh picked out a victim. The Charnovokh Dynasty was extremely loyal to Szarekh, so they would do. But he wasn't ready to actually declare war against the Silent King, not yet at least. So what was required was a raid.

Imotekh received full reports from all of his Phaerons on the status of their parts of his empire and Phaeron Rahkaak was no exception. So he knew all about her push for exploration and the colonies of Hope. He also knew about the dead Charnovokh world they had found, and the location of the living one. It had included a short, not particularly detailed report of the picket in system, clearly written by someone with no naval experience. They had counted the ships though, which was helpful.

As Imotekh formed a plan in his mind, he considered what nemesor would be tasked to carry it out. Zahndrekh was immediately dismissed. He was the oddest of commanders, with his mental damage, and could not be trusted with anything that violated the rules of war. Imotekh himself followed those rules with other Necrons, normally, but only because it was expected and would cost him honor if he didn't. So if he intended to break the rules of war against his own kind, it needed to remain very quiet indeed.

Which of the other commanders, though? Quickly checking the map, Imotekh made his selection. Nemesor Naszar of the Sekemtar would be perfect for this. Easily his most cutthroat of commanders, he was intensely ambitious but kept that ambition within proper limits. Imotekh had already rewarded him greatly for his service, assisting the Sekemtar in expanding, and this would grant them even more expansion. If he could pull it off properly, of course.

With the plan formulated in his mind, it was time to speak to Naszar directly. Given the circumstances, he would make it a full two-way conversation. After he prepared and sent the communication, Imotekh patiently waited. Naszar was not tardy, by Necron standards, but that meant he could take as long as six hours to respond. Fortunately, it only took two and Naszar took his communication in his own quarters, as Imotekh would expect.

"Nemesor, I have a mission or you. The utmost of discretion will be expected and required," Imotekh rumbled. "Complete it to my satisfaction and you shall be rewarded."

I live to serve, Phaeron, Naszar said and Imotekh took that with a grain of salt. Naszar's loyalty was tied to his ambition, always. Still, those leashed by ambition were trustworthy in their own way.

"I wish you to go to Coreworld Abydos, ostensibly to pick up some new Doom Scythes." The human facilities were not just producing the Short Knives, but also the proper Doom Scythes. Particularly in Hope, which had better quality facilities than Hive World Antioch. "In actuality, you will acquire two drukhari ships, crewed by humans. Possibly necrons, if they can be trained quickly enough." That would be better, since they wouldn't need to worry about bringing enough supplies for the human crew. "Then, you will go here," Imotekh transmitted the coordinates to the Charnovokh world the scout ship had found. He also appended the report from that tiny scout. "Your mission is to destroy this force and this Tomb World. Take prisoners among the Charnovokh, among their Lords, Overlords and Crypteks. Use the drukhari vessels to hide your tracks… you have permission to scuttle one of them if you have human crews, both if you do not." The humans could crowd themselves onto the remaining vessel. It might be uncomfortable, but they would be fine. "I am not ready for open war with Charnovokh. I want no sign we are responsible for this." That was very important. Imotekh would eventually go to war against them, but on his own terms. "Deliver your prisoners to Hope, they have need of them." That was the true point of all this.

This lunacy of giving us souls… do you truly believe they will succeed? Naszar asked skeptically and Imotekh could not help but laugh, even though he hated the sound of it now.

"They have already succeeded." Naszar suddenly leaned forward, gazing into the communication intently. This was brand new information to him. "Now they must perfect it and we must give them the tools to do it, in the form of those who are aware and sane. Unfortunately, no one has failed me, so we must take enemies." It really would have been so much easier to just give them a few failures or traitors, but Imotekh was extremely fair and even his worst performing Lord and Overlords were performing within acceptable limits.

And this can truly cure the Flayer virus, not just prevent it? The way Naszar said that…

"In the early stages. Do not expect anything more," Imotekh warned. He did not want them to think lost ones could miraculously be returned. Frankly, Imotekh thought it was highly unlikely… the Flayer virus had been researched by Crypteks and the curse caused gross engrammatic damage. Perhaps a soul would remove their hunger, but he doubted it would cure the damage to their minds.

I understand. There are no miracles, not really. Very well Phaeron, I will not disappoint you, Naszar pledged and Imotekh nodded, simply accepting it. He was sure Naszar would do well.

The Charnovokh would never know what hit them.