"You sure about this?"
Oramoton looked at Sisus. He was lounging against a wall, in a relaxed pose. Casimir and Valdar were not on board the vessel, both gone to visit their families.
The ship had returned to Hope for maintenance. This was part of the normal schedule… the little scout ships, while very durable, did occasionally need a full checkup and refit to avoid problems. Their ship in particular needed a lot of outside work, since they had exposed it heavily to one particularly acidic world. That planet wasn't even a Death World, it was simply uninhabitable, but it was also rich with precious jewels, diamonds in particular. The necrons might begin mining operations there. They used diamonds exactly as humans did, as a luxury good and ornamentation. Oramoton had rarely seen him wear it, but the Phaeron of the Charnovokh owned a diamond of surpassing size and beauty, a gem that had been cut and shaped into an immense bead and strung with monofilament wire into the centre of the symbol of the Charnovokh dynasty, worked in fine gold. It was hung upon a necklace that was itself studded with more diamonds.
Pulling his mind away from musings about gemstones – why had he suddenly thought of that? – Oramoton answered Sisus question.
"I am s-sure." Oramoton was staying onboard the ship for the refit. It just seemed infinitely simpler to him. Oh, he could have left and introduced himself to the local Crypteks, but why? He had no intention of staying. As his skill began to come back, Oramoton had noticed that manipulating time around the pwi-Necrons was rather difficult, due to their strange combination of old and new, combined with the dislocation they had originated from that still echoed like a great gong. Still, with just Sisus, Casimir and Valdar, he had adapted to it.
Hope, however, was where that gong had originally been rung. The currents of time here were badly distorted, almost unfathomably so. Oramoton knew that staying on Hope was absolutely out of the question if he wanted to re-master his craft. He needed to leave and that meant there was no point in introducing himself.
"Well, I'm not going to complain if you're sure since I'm not allowed to leave." Yes, that was the other thing. Sisus was still a slave. Oramoton was vague on what that meant, but for now it meant he was tied to the ship, unable to leave.
"Sisus, w-will you ever not be a slave?" Oramoton asked, curious. "And what does it mean that you still a-are?"
"Well, normally, when you're a slave, that's that. It's our version of a death sentence," Sisus said and Oramoton nodded. He understood that. "What does it mean that I'm a slave… I have no rights. Killing me is destruction of property, not a crime. Someone killed Valdar or Casimir, that'd be murder, but me? To the courts, I'm like a dog." Sisus didn't sound angry about it, just resigned.
"The thing is, I'm one of the weird ones, the slaves who got used in the biotransference project… normally, a slave can't live long enough to actually be considered for anything else. The asteroid belt and the penal colonies are pretty rough on the body." Sisus looked down at his body for a moment, lifting a hand and examining it. "But I've got this. So I've still got a chance… it's not a formal agreement but the Crypteks said if I serve loyally and well, they might see about getting my sentence commuted. Then, I'd be a commoner again." Sisus dropped his hand with a small shrug. "Honestly, wouldn't make much of a difference to my life that I can see. I love this job and there's always ones like it. Most people don't enjoy it, surveying rocks in the middle of nowhere… always going to be work for me."
"Y-You don't have f-family?" Oramoton knew that Valdar, in particular, had a large and extended family that he was going to meet. He and Casimir were both older men, both recruited from the surveying industry and offered immortality in return for their services. Sisus shook his head.
"Nah, paps drank himself to death and ma was never any good. She's a slave too, last I heard, finally got in shit for the thousandth time and the judge had enough of it." Sisus paused for a moment. "To be fair to my father, I'm told he took to the bottle after his tour in the army. Those drukhari could do that to a man. Not sure what ma's excuse was, probably just bullshit like everything that came out of her mouth. You want my life story?"
"I-If you don't mind." He was curious now. And Sisus already knew Oramoton's story, really, so it seemed fair enough.
"Well, my dad took care of me, sort of. He wasn't a mean drunk, just a sad sack. He died when I was just ten, though, and mom started using me for her thieving," Sisus said, adjusting himself against the wall. "Kids are a good deflection. So I learned all about living on the wrong side of the law. And no one ever knew – bitch managed to hide the body – but she killed a man in front of me once. First time I saw death," Sisus sounded a bit dreamy, remembering. "I got to see plenty of that later."
"Joining the army… I didn't fit in there. I was nothing but a discipline problem. They moved me over to the Death Seekers, hoping they'd hammer it into me, but I even gave them shit! They put up with it because I could fight. Two tours of duty… I got out when I was twenty-six. I sometimes wonder if I should have stayed in the army. If I had, I bet I'd be in the stars now, fighting for Imotekh. I dunno… doesn't seem like an improvement."
"Civilian life, though. I had some stupid idea I could use being a veteran to get a real job and actually go straight, but everyone's a veteran in Hope and back then, I couldn't fucking read." Couldn't… read? Oramoton made a glyph of confusion and Sisus laughed. "Yeah. I had a learning disability, kind of got missed in the shuffle, my parents got evicted a lot. Biotransference seemed to make it a bit better, so I only learned to read as a slave."
"Oh, t-that is why you n-never look at our supply of f-fiction," Oramoton remarked and Sisus nodded.
"I still can't read too well, just enough to do my job." That was likely why Sisus could not master glyphs, and why his knowledge of the Necron language was a bit limited. "Anyway, I decided I could be a hit man. Made some contacts and it went pretty well at first, but the police aren't stupid and I was cocky. They caught me and here I am." Sisus shrugged. "There are plenty of stories like mine. What was your story?" What? He'd already told them. "I mean, your childhood, if you can remember." Oh. That was true, he hadn't spoken of that.
"I d-do not remember too m-much." Oramoton tried, without success, to remember his mother. There was nothing there but a void where a person should be. "I d-do remember my f-father was n-not proud of m-me." That sounded absurd to think of, yet Oramoton knew it was true. He could vaguely recall his father, an Overlord who believed that war was the only appropriate occupation for his sons. He'd deeply favored Oramoton's brothers. "I th-think I t-told myself it did not m-matter he was too st-stupid to unders-stand." And that had been true, to be sure, but with the clarity of sixty million years between himself and his childhood, Oramoton thought he'd been lying to himself. He thought his father's disapproval had stung him, cruelly. "But the Ph-Phaeron appreciated me." Oramoton fell silent for a moment. Normally, he would not have said this to anyone but if he could not tell Sisus, then who? Sisus would not judge him. "I th-think the Ph-Phaeron in-indulged me t-too m-much. I th-think his favor w-went to my h-head. A-And the c-court and my s-skills… it was a t-toxic mix." Everything had combined to encourage his vicious, petty behavior. "I am not s-sure I ever want to be in a c-court again." It would be so easy to fall back into those patterns, so easy. Oramoton thought he would never be as bad as he was in the past, but still. It would be so tempting, particularly when he was surrounded by those who genuinely deserved a bit of comeuppance for their own behavior.
"I know what you mean." Really? How could he? "About falling into old patterns, I mean… if I got my freedom, I'd never go back to Hope's Landing. It'd be so easy to start sliding back into my old habits, get in touch with my old contacts… stupid, of course, but oh so easy." Ah. Yes… the ease of it was the worst part.
They fell into a companionable silence then, and Oramoton began practicing his gestures again. Then, to his surprise, Sisus tried to mimic him. It wasn't even close to correct but it was suddenly fascinating.
"D-Do you want to l-learn?" Would teaching someone else help his own recovery? And could Sisus actually learn Chronomancy? He was highly intelligent, in his own way. Sisus tilted his head to one side.
"I'm bored so sure." Not the best motivation to learn that Oramoton had ever heard, but the ship could be very boring, particularly for someone who did not read. He showed Sisus the first gestures, and they practiced together. Oramoton's gestures were quick and fluid while Sisus' were slow and halting. Yet, it gave him a deep feeling of pleasure.
It had been so very, very long since he'd taken an apprentice.
Cryptek Semephren of the Charnovokh Dynasty watched the drama unfolding in front of him with interest.
His current life was as a prisoner to the Uhnashret Dynasty. Until recently, that would have been a laughable concept. The Uhnashret was a virtually unknown Dynasty, notable only for maintaining their independence via clever diplomacy and trade. Incapably weak compared to Charnovokh, they would not dare to take such an action in a million years.
Things had radically changed in a rather short time. Uhnashret belonged to Sautekh now, a vassal dynasty, and was quickly becoming dramatically more powerful. Semephren hadn't seen much as he was taken from the Sautekh vessels to the research facility, but he'd paid keen interest in all of it. He'd spotted orbital shipyards and great defensive emplacements. Semephren had also observed a bit as they'd been taken through the city and had developed a quick impression of a hyper advanced alien species. Was the Crownworld of Uhnashret becoming a manufacturing hub for Sautekh?
Now, though, Semephren was locked in a cell with a rather unfortunate companion. Overlord Tadutep was highly intelligent, in his own way, and extremely competent in his own field of study which was naval tactics and strategy. He had zero interest or appreciation for the arts and did not take boredom well, which made him a rather insufferable cell mate. Semephren wondered why they'd been put together at all. Did the humans not have enough space?
(the truth, that solitary confinement was considered inhumane, would have made him roll his oculars and call them all stupid organics)
"How can you stand to watch that?" Tadutep said as he stared balefully at the screen. They had been allowed certain things to amuse themselves with… there were datapads, extremely limited but loaded with a selection of fiction they could read. Some of it was the great classics of the necrontyr, that had managed to survive, but much of it was human fiction translated to necron runes. They also had a screen set in the wall that would display the human version of plays. They were really quite impressive in their creativity and made Semephren feel a bit melancholy. The necrons had nothing like them, but that was entirely due to their lack of any creativity. They certainly had the technology to make such realistic plays and broadcast them, and they also enjoyed them, so why didn't they? Because they couldn't find that artistic spark. Ah, it was tragic.
"It's really quite good and also informative. I'm learning a great deal from this," Semephren replied, still watching the show. "This is the story of a very religious army veteran turned demon hunter, rooting out Chaos cults in the city of New Hope." Semephren suspected the setting and much of what he was seeing were completely fanciful. Still, there was valuable information about the culture that had created it to be found, little nuggets of gold. "Honestly, you should try it, you might enjoy the fighting." It was probably unrealistic as such things usually were, but perhaps Tadutep would find it amusing.
"What are you learning from this tripe?" Semephren sighed internally. Couldn't he just enjoy it? Well, if he explained perhaps Tadutep would stop annoying him.
"Let me show you…" Semephren took control of the broadcast with a mental commend and reversed it to a particular moment. "Do you see what is happening in the background?" This had caught his eye.
"What the hell do you…" Tadutep stopped as he noticed what Semephren had spotted. "Are there a couple necrons there?" Semephren nodded.
"They appear to be acting as extras. I've noticed them in a few other scenes." They were likely actual actors. Acting had been a profession of the lowest ranks of nobility, quite respected and they enjoyed plying their craft. "I suspect they'll have a bigger role later in the show, but they're just filling out the cast for now."
"That doesn't make any sense! Why would our kind be wandering around all these damned organics?" Semephren sighed softly. Tadutep was one of the kind who hated all flesh and found it repulsive. He understood the feeling, he truly did, Semephren found it a bit nauseating as well but he also had that feeling well under control.
"Not all of our kind actually mind organics. Leaving that aside, look at this." Semephren changed the view to another scene, where the main character had chosen to wear a cloak and was facing away from the screen, giving the audience a short but full view of the back of the cloak.
"…What is THAT?" Tadutep asked after a moment.
"It is a bilingual poem, picked out with cheap stones." Those were not anything expensive, not that you should use real diamonds for something like this. "It's actually quite clever. If you say it in high Gothic or Necron, it is not a true poem. However, if you are fully bilingual and say it in BOTH languages…" Semephren intoned the poem, which was a rather simple couplet about courage against all odds. "You see that it rhymes? A clever little wordplay." The first line high Gothic, the second Necron, followed by high Gothic again and the final line in Necron.
"Who made that? And why?" That was actually a decent question.
"Well, this kind of facile wordplay is not truly creative so it could have been made by a necron, but I would think it was probably done by whoever created the entire show, so a human," Semephren said as he regarded the poem. "As for why, likely to amuse himself. It's highly doubtful that most of the audience will notice." It was only on the screen for a few moments. "It's more important to note that whoever did this is fluent in both languages and extremely comfortable with them. There are other things…" Semephren moved the show back and forth a bit, pointing out some necron architecture, some necron runes. "These are all just casually part of the setting."
"Hm," Tadutep was actually becoming thoughtful. "Are you saying these humans are adopting necron culture?"
"Yes, and possibly also some cultural exchange in the other direction. The two necron actors would support it." Tadutep made a choking sound but Semephren sailed on with his conclusions. "This likely indicates a partnership of sorts. I wonder if the humans have sworn loyalty to the Uhnashret Dynasty?"
"Oh, they have." Wait what? Semephren suddenly turned to Tadutep. "We'd heard of it… you probably missed it because you were caught up in your work. Apparently the Uhnashret have humans as serfs. It's a word that means slave, but with the connotation of willing subservience and loyalty." Tadutep shook his head in disgust. "No idea why they'd even want them." Semephren's mind went back to the extremely technologically advanced planet he'd glimpsed on the way to captivity. He could think of a reason. "That's interesting but do you know why we're being kept here, like this? With things to amuse us? It's the most bizarre prisoner treatment I've ever seen."
"Oh, that's because you're not a Cryptek," Semephren said absently. He'd realized what THAT was about within a day. "Not that I ever experimented with organics, but if you want to experiment on them for a long period, you have to keep them in a good state. The proper temperatures, decent food, waste management facilities and social contact. If your experiment is something involving the mind it can also help to provide stimulation, amusements. Necrons are much easier to keep, we don't require most of those things, but mental stimulation is required." At least, if you didn't want the smaller minded subjects to go mad with boredom. Semephren could have just quietly ran through theories in his mind for several decades at least, but Tadutep was incapable of such things.
"Ugh, stupid! I could spend decades thinking about new naval strategies!" Well, he stood corrected. "Is that why we're here together? 'social contact'?" …
"Oh how ridiculous," Semephren muttered as he realized Tadutep was right. "While we do require that, it takes decades for true deprivation to set in." And that was only for social butterflies. For the naturally introverted, it would take centuries, possibly even longer for any kind of lack to be felt. Of course, it WOULD eventually become a very real issue… Semephren distinctly remembered meeting a Cryptek once who had been isolated for almost fifty thousand years. It had not been pretty. "In any case, we are clearly being held for experimentation. I would advise you to enjoy this holding period… it will probably be infinitely more pleasant than the actual experiments." Tadutep muttered a few curses but Semephren ignored him, going back to his play. After a moment, the Overlord started mumbling to himself about naval tactics. Well, that was fine.
They could both keep themselves amused in their own ways.
For Overlord Kallathsek, things improved surprisingly quickly.
He honestly fully expected to be tortured into complete insanity. The agonizing pain was beyond anything he'd felt in his life and it was quickly making his mind creak as he struggled to hold on, just a bit longer. What he hadn't reckoned on, though, was the human psykers. One particular female with a very wet face had somewhat eased his pain, turning it from horrifyingly painful to merely very bad.
"What have you done to me…" Kallathsek asked, feeling a kind of bone deep fatigue that he hadn't experienced in… well, forever. Necrons weren't supposed to feel like this. Zivok was frowning as he watched that woman pressing her hands against his chest, deep in concentration.
"Oh, I haven't spelled that out, have I? Although you should certainly be clever enough to guess. You now have a soul." Where the hell had it come from? Had he been given a HUMAN soul? "Harvested from a clone." Why did he have to be right? Kallathsek supposed it didn't really matter though, it wasn't like they could get necrontyr clones, their genetic code had been completely lost. "We believe the pain you are experiencing is due to incompatibility with your soul. Curious that Ahmakeph did not experience it…" Who? "Of course, that was only a soul fragment and General Duleth himself experienced a pain quite similar to yours, when he broke apart his soul to make it." What was he TALKING about? "This must require some kind of personal touch from a psyker, to 'customize' the soul to the host. Ugh, we really need General Duleth! He might be able to figure this out and then I could translate it into something we can replicate." Zivok tapped his pen against his lips.
"…" Kallathsek stopped listening to the mad human as he felt the pain he was experiencing ease again. He looked down at the female and couldn't understand her expression, except the intensity of her focus. Her face was wet again. What did that mean, that liquid dripping out of her eyes? Was it to keep her moist?
(if he'd known she was deeply compassionate for his suffering, Kallathsek wouldn't have known if he should laugh or scream)
"It's getting better… we do need daddy. You should ask Zahndrekh," the human female muttered and Kallathsek wondered if he'd misheard. Nemesor Zahndrekh? The completely insane, bizarre, yet brilliant nemesor of the Sautekh?
"Yes, I've already requested his presence. From the looks of things, he'll probably arrive within the year. Zelda, take a break and wash your face." The human female – Zelda? – stopped what she was doing, to Kallathsek's disappointment. That really had helped a bit, if they kept it up soon he would be able to label it discomfort rather than pain. The woman stepped back and fished a little square of some soft material out of her pockets before putting it to her face and clearing her nasal passages. Kallathsek felt utterly revolted.
(if he'd known her nose was like that because of her emotional reaction to his pain, Kallathsek would definitely have screamed)
She stuffed the soiled tissue back into her pocket, to his further disgust, before switching her collar to red and leaving the experimental chamber. Zivok took a moment to critically examine him, looking at his 'soul', he presumed.
"It does seem better… more spread out, more diffused with your body. I've noticed the non-sentients souls do naturally seem to do that over time. Is that the answer? So difficult, so much trial and error… well, we'll take this up tomorrow, everyone needs a rest."
"I wish I could rest," Kallathsek muttered, still feeling that strange fatigue. He was feeling odd in general, and memories seemed to be bubbling up in the back of his mind, half-formed thoughts that seemed to recall the Flesh Times. This all had to be due to the soul, it had to be. Zivok ignored him, also leaving the experimental chamber and Kallathsek noticed the pain was ebbing even further.
He still hated them, but he could not deny that the humans were making solid progress.