Even among the brutalities of the Imperium, Tisiphone was a cold, brutal world.
It hadn't been that way when humans first settled on it. Back then it had been stern and rough, but not unwelcoming. Similar to Hope in some ways, the humans had been required to coax life from Tisiphone, assisting the planet in awakening from a long slumber. Fortunately, the ancient STC of that original colony had been more than up to the task.
The STC was long gone, but it wouldn't have mattered if it still existed. What was happening now was not a failure of the terraforming, but a long, drawn-out climactic shift. Naszar was right to think it partly depended on the rather vast transpositanium deposits on the world… they were drawing the planet sideways in reality, almost poisoning it. That manifested as a protracted, ever expanding ice age.
That ice age had begun almost five hundred years ago, nearly undetectable at first. The crops were a bit less abundant, some lands needed to be abandoned. But it just continued to get worse, more and more lands succumbing to permafrost, more agricultural production lost. At this point, the planet was only habitable in the equatorial band and even that was cold. Tisiphone had few seas and, in their desperation, the population had almost fished them out. They had finally resorted to painful and ugly measures.
Tisiphone had no patience for those who were unfit for survival. Deformed and sickly infants were exposed on a rock, left to die in the cold air. The weak, lazy and drug addicted all came to gruesome ends, some as servitors, others as Corpse Starch. The legal code was tight and brutal, encouraging conformity to the extreme. There was no room for dissent on Tisiphone.
Yet even in that darkness, there was light. Tisiphone was structured by family clans, deeply connected and working together. There was little trust outside the clan, but within the clan, there was support. Clans would not carry dead weight – they could not afford to – but if someone took injury or was sick, they would be nursed back to health. They took care of their own.
The discovery that the waste product of the mines held great value to the xenos was a wonder and a source of hope for them. The Planetary Governor, in particular, had been beyond shocked to suddenly have wealth dropped on his head. A miser at heart, he'd reacted in a fairly sensible manner… by putting most of it aside for a rainy day. The rest, he'd used to buy food so they wouldn't need to eat Corpse Starch. He was also looking into hiring a very specific kind of terraforming company, that could revitalize the seas of Tisiphone. Right now they were just ugly, algae soups, unfit for any kind of fishing.
The xenos wanted the Planetary Governor to expand the mines, but he simply couldn't. The problem was population… over the past five hundred years, Tisiphone had been undergoing a slow and protracted decline. It was largely due to the increase in infant mortality, but also a strange spike in infertility. Contraceptives and abortions had been banned, but that seemed to make no difference. The Governor couldn't know, but it was the transpositanium again… deposits of the kind that Tisiphone had abruptly acquired, five hundred years ago, were very inimical to organic life.
All of this meant that while Tisiphone desperately needed the over a million workers Sautekh intended to give them, it was also ill suited to accept them. Charity was not considered a virtue on Tisiphone, more a fool's dream, and the Governor was left a little speechless. He tried to get the necrons to provide some free food, but they rejected that, reminding him that his planet was quite wealthy and they could purchase it. They did sell it to him at a fairly good price, and he was forced to accept that. The same with a great load of medicines and equipment, to take care of the newcomers.
Incompetent Governors did not last long on Tisiphone, where life and death had such a narrow margin. So to take in the newcomers, the Governor had quickly set his people to work rebuilding old, abandoned homes and putting up temporary shelters. He also got them working on expanding the mines so as soon as these people were well, they could be put to work. As Manric had foreseen, their lives would not be exactly pleasant, but there would be plenty of food.
Tisiphone did not coddle the weak, but it did reward hard work. And after their slavery at the hands of the orks, one thing all these people knew how to do was work.
Inquisitor Bergheim was not having the best of times on the planet of Tisiphone.
He'd been investigating the odd aura of Tisiphone and the properties of the strange, waste material that the mines here generated. The Inquisition knew of transpositanium and how the necrons used it. The name for it in low Gothic was in fact taken from the necrons, who referred to it with a word and glyph that essentially meant transposed metal. Bergheim was no expert on technology but he was fluent with the necron language and, more importantly, fairly versed on the phenomena of the Ghoul Stars. They thought that was where the strange metal originated.
Bergheim's work was important because the Mechanicus had been trying for many years, without success, to unlock the secrets of the strange metal. Yet they knew the necrons used it to warp reality in many ways… the Veil of Darkness in particular depended on it, but many of their other weapons also used it. And curiously, when a Veil was activated, it bonded to the wielder and could not be removed. This was true of anyone who activated one… Bergheim happened to know there was an Inquisitor in possession of that precious artefact, looted from a necron Tomb. That incident had not actually gone well for anyone, as the necrons had sensed the defilement of their sleep and begun to rouse as that Inquisitor had quickly gotten off world, precious item in hand. Had it really been worth billions of lives? No, and the Inquisitor involved had been roundly punished for it, but ultimately allowed to live and redeem himself.
Inquisitor Bergheim hadn't kept a ship because why would he? He was a fairly junior Inquisitor, with few resources and he could easily take a trade ship back to civilized space. That had led to him being stuck on the world when it was ceded to Sautekh, and still trapped when the Sisters of Battle stationed on the planet took matters into their own hands. Technically, he'd had the authority to gainsay them but Bergheim knew that Sister Agata did not like him even slightly. She'd caught him looking at the rump of that sweet, pretty Sister… what was her name again? Ah, yes, Hanna. Bergheim had actually been gathering himself to see if she'd be willing to go out for drinks with him, despite Agata's glares.
Fortunately the Planetary Governor knew about his situation and was willing to cover for him, for now anyway. Bergheim knew it behooved him to leave the planet as soon as possible. Still, he was on the track of something. There was a planetary myth of a slender man who came out at night. Precious stones glittered on his body, and if you were daring, you could take one. If the man's mood was good, you would live with your prize. If his mood was bad your corpse would be found, defiled in interesting ways. Were you ready to take a chance?
Bergheim was going to take a chance, but not for something as pointless as a jewel. The man was real, and he'd been working to hunt him down. Was this an entity of Chaos, or something stranger? A thing of the Ghoul Stars? If so he was taking his life in his hands, but Bergheim would try to be careful.
Several times, Bergheim had spied on the 'man' remotely. However, something had largely defeated his equipment… it was like watching a blur, he knew the man was there but could barely see him. Bergheim had persisted, though, and tracked the 'man' to an old, abandoned mine. The town had many of those places, spots where the mineral salts had been completely pulled out, and the tunnels closed and barricaded.
The one the man went to was still barricaded. He simply seemed to phase through the wood, which could indicate the supernatural or just advanced technology. Inquisitor Bergheim waited a decent amount of time before employing a servitor companion to pry away the wood. He had a few minions. Speaking of which.
"Take no hostile action unless we are attacked first," Bergheim told his other servitor. A combat model, this one was programmed to defend him but sometimes it could get a bit overexcited. It stared back at him with dull eyes, but Bergheim fancied he could detect a bit of homicidal mania in their depths.
(he was entirely correct. This servitor had been a follower of Khorne, before his capture and forced lobotomization)
(he's honestly gotten off lucky, compared to some of the things done to Chaos followers)
Inquisitor Bergheim waited patiently and when the entrance was entirely clear, walked through. He could have gone through with just a few boards removed but he actually wanted it clear in case he needed to run out very, very quickly. His heavy black cloak swirled behind him as he glanced around. Just a mine shaft.
They had to go quite deep and the mine shaft was cold. All the heating equipment, meant to keep the humans working here somewhat comfortable, had been stripped out long ago. Bergheim activated the small heaters in his gloves, to keep his hands warm and supple. He was honestly not uncomfortable at all… like all the people of Tisiphone, he now owned heavy woolen clothing, trimmed with furs. Sheep were one of the few agricultural animals that thrived on what was left of Tisiphone's habitable band and the vast majority of the meat and clothing came from that ancient Terran animal. The furs came from a native creature, similar to a racoon and considered a pest. It was too small to provide real furs but more than enough for trimming.
The servitors had their own heaters, just to maintain health and movement, and they complained of nothing. Bergheim could easily see the footprints left behind in the dust of the abandoned mine. He paused to kneel down and examine them closely. They were not the marks of normal boots… the pattern was entirely alien to him. It was definitely bipedal but seemed oddly flat footed, just simple imprints in the dirt, without defining characteristics. Could it be boots without treads?
Frowning slightly, Bergheim kept going. To his surprise, the tunnel abruptly ended with a metal door, definitely not human made. And around that door were arrayed necron runes?!
What in the Throne is this? Bergheim wondered, staring at the door. The stories of the man predated the Sautekh taking this world, by quite a lot in fact. Why would a necron be here, on Tisiphone? Then an idea occurred to him. The transpositanium. Was someone else aware of it? Until recently, the humans had just been throwing it away. Had someone been assiduously gathering those bits of precious mineral and hoarding them? Keeping them all to him – or her – self? If that was the case, this necron might be quite wealthy by his own people's standards. Yet, that meant his free ride had come to an end with the entry of the Sautekh Dynasty.
Did he know that?
Bergheim examined the runes and realized they were all mathematical in nature. After a bit of deep thought, he realized he was looking at a puzzle. He had a cogitator with him, in the form of a floating servo skull that always trailed behind him. Turning to it, he began to work at understanding and solving the puzzle.
For many Inquisitors the task would have been impossible, but Bergheim actually enjoyed such things and sometimes completed puzzles as a hobby. Also, his fluency with necron runes came strongly into play… without his knowledge of the necrons language, he wouldn't have been able to understand the concepts behind the puzzle. After several hours of hard work, Bergheim gently rearranged the runes to form a new mathematical expression. They were detachable although if they were left for any length of time, they actively moved back to their original position.
His first attempt to solve the puzzle did not work and Bergheim went back to the drawing board. Many, many hours and one ration bar later, he truly solved the puzzle. The correct arrangement of runes in the correct position, and they glowed with a soft green light before the door cracked open.
"Remember. DO NOT attack first," Bergheim forcefully reminded that one servitor. He still wanted it with him… it would be a distraction if he had to run for it… but he did not want it starting problems. This time, the servitor responded with a quick blip of acknowledgement. It was still trembling with anticipation but Bergheim decided he had to trust it. He really did need it.
Bergheim carefully entered the hideaway before stopping and staring in shock.
What he'd entered was a great, underground world that defied not only logic but simply reality. This literally could not exist in the mines, he hadn't gone far enough underground to accommodate such a vast space. Was this created with reality warping powers? Bergheim felt dazed as he gazed upwards, seeing the ceiling far, far above. It formed a smooth dome, leading into a mechanical wonderland.
Bergheim had never seen a Necron tomb world, or he would have realized he was looking at a miniature version of it. Even without that knowledge, though, Bergheim noticed some interesting things about it as he carefully moved through the paths. There were statues of necrons here, but they were uniformly not warriors… these were statues of Crypteks. Inquisitor Bergheim paused to examine some necron poetry, inscribed on one of the figures and found it was a paean of praise to the pursuit of knowledge.
There was only one real building, a large ziggurat. All the paths led to it, and statues seemed to be abasing themselves before it. Bergheim paused to read more poetry, this time in the forms of mathematical equations, and after a bit of work with his cogitator he realized that this was meant to be worship of the very concept of knowledge.
This is a secret lair for the Necron version of a Mechanicus Tech Priest. Did the Sautekh even know this person was here? Bergheim sincerely doubted it. He carefully entered the ziggurat, wary for traps, but there was nothing.
Deep inside the ziggurat was a tremendous workroom. Bergheim swallowed hard as he saw the bizarre trappings of science… things that put him in mind of the Mechanicus, the benches strewn with parts, the great diagrams on the walls, the tubes full of strange liquids. The only thing missing were the cogitators of the sort the Mechanicus would use. In their place were Canoptek scarabs, of all sizes, and other Necron cogitators displaying necron runes. Surely forbidden AI, but the necrons had no qualm about using such things.
In the midst of this scientific glory was a single necron Cryptek. He seemed old and almost dusty, his necrodermis filmy and strange. He had a single glowing ocular and he was mumbling to himself as he worked by hand, writing with the necron equivalent of a fountain pen on a piece of parchment. Bergheim just examined him for a moment… he was wearing a great cloak of long plaques, full of more mathematical expressions and interspersed with cabochon jewels. Mostly fine amber, a few of them were missing and Bergheim wondered why the necron sometimes allowed humans to steal them. Just in a good mood and willing to show some charity? And did they also serve as bait, when he was in a bad mood and wanted someone to punish?
"Well, aren't you the clever Mon'Keigh to solve my puzzle," the necron rasped out, not looking up from his work. Bergheim hesitated a moment before stepping further into the room. "I may have to make that more difficult. It was supposed to be for fellow Crypteks." Ah… that did make sense. Although this made Bergheim wonder… it seemed like a great coincidence, but…
"Are you Ahkaros?" he asked and the necron stopped his writing before slowly putting down his pen. Then his head turned, green ocular focusing on him.
"How did you know that…" Bergheim swallowed, sensing that the Cryptek was considering killing him now. He raised his hands pacifically before responding.
"Everyone has heard of you. You finished the wormhole generator plans that the Mechanicus purchased from Trazyn the Infinite." Ahkaros tilted his head to one side at that information. "He used the device to move Solemnance into the Sautekh Empire." That had been quite a wonder.
"Ah, the wormholes… they are so interesting… I am still working on that. I want to make something smaller for my personal use, independent of the Dolman Gates," Ahkaros said, almost seeming to be talking to himself. "Hm, clever little Mon'Keighs… I like your work. Not your work now, that is bad, but these things of the past… beautiful work." His head turned, looking at one of the pieces on the wall and Bergheim followed his gaze. He was no Mechanicus tech priest, but was that the wormhole generator? "I am in a good mood. You can leave." …Uh…
"You do know that this world has been claimed by the Sautekh Dynasty?" Bergheim asked and Ahkaros paused for a long moment. There was no change of expression, nothing to indicate surprise, but the length of the pause indicated to Bergheim that he hadn't know that.
"The metal. They want it…" he finally rasped out and Bergheim carefully nodded. "Tch. I may have to leave…" Ahkaros tilted his head and Bergheim felt a trill of danger again. It was something about the way the necron was examining him, the glow of his ocular. Was Ahkaros contemplating getting rid of him to prevent word of his presence from reaching the Sautekh?
"I need to leave too. I'm an Inquisitor, I'm not even supposed to be here," he said evenly, trying not to betray his realization that he was in grave danger. "If you are going to be staying here a while, though, would you mind speaking to a Mechanicus Tech Priest? Belisarius Cawl wants to meet you." Would he be willing to make a trip to Tisiphone just to speak to this necron? Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't, but if not he would surely send a great Tech Priest of Mars in his place.
"Hm… perhaps… I will stay here for a time," he said and turned back to his work. "You can go." This time Bergheim did go, sensing he'd already pushed his luck to the absolute limit.
He would make sure word of this reached the Mechanicus. Hopefully they could send someone before Ahkaros moved his base.
I am Technomancer Ahkaros and this is my story.
I do not need a soul to remember. I broke my conditioning long ago, shattered all the walls the C'Tan tried to impose upon me. I am not a Psychomancer, nor a an Ethermancer, nor a Chronomancer. I can do them all. I love them all. I hold every discipline within my mind.
Did I achieve this when I was alive? No. This is the glory of immortality, of continuing to learn, and I pushed aside the Silent King's dictate to sleep. I ignored him, choosing wakefulness and managing to overcome my programming to achieve it. For sixty million years I have wandered and learned. Is it any wonder I paused my work to learn Chronomancy, from the basics of the barest apprentice all the way to Orikan himself? Is it any wonder that I plumbed the depths of the mind, to achieve mastery of Psychomancery?
Yet, I always come back to simple Technomancer disciplines. That is my true passion, my love. It is what I started with, so long ago. Ah, I remember that time. How nostalgic, to remember it all so clearly. Is it not blessed that I control my own mind so well?
It all began when I was just a child. I was a child of the working class and if events had not conspired to change things, I would have been a baker. I would probably have killed myself from sheer boredom. Fortunately that event did not come to pass.
There was a Technomancer living in our small town. He did work for the Phaeron, but from a distance, because he did not like the court. We held him in awe and approached him cautiously. It was well known that he had a series of puzzles in his tower, that if solved, would allow admittance to him. He used it to keep the stupid away from him.
I spent every moment trying to solve those puzzles. It wasn't easy, because I was not literate. I had to teach myself so much, scrouge books and beg adults for scraps of knowledge, to solve this challenge I had set for myself. I started when I was just six and I completed the puzzle when I was eight. I walked in to the tower and walked up the steps. I let myself into a work room and tried to understand what was there.
"How did you get in here?" I was interrupted from my reverie and turned to see the great Technomancer. He was in a simple robe, perhaps just from waking and was regarding me with surprise and confusion. I did look like nothing but a dirty little urchin, wearing only a simple shift.
"I solved your puzzle," I rasped out before looking at the machines again. They were more interesting than him. Then a hand gently touched my shoulder and I looked up at him. He was dark of skin, not much of the usual indigo shade, and missing one eye. It was bisected by a vicious scar and it made me wonder what had happened to it.
"Would you like to solve another puzzle?" he invited and I nodded. I loved puzzles. He brought me to a table and sorted through some papers before pulling out a parchment and setting it on the table. "Try to solve this."
I stared at the images on the parchment and began to doodle on the table with my finger. I wished I had dirt. I needed dirt, to scrawl in… but then I realized there was a pen. I was not of the right class to use such things, we were the ones to bake the loaves, not sell them but I could still recognize it. I lifted the pen and began to doodle below the equations. I felt the Technomancer watching me but I did not care. I wanted to solve the puzzle.
"Solved," I finally said and showed him my result. He examined it and nodded.
"Indeed it is. Would you like another?" I was getting thirsty and hungry, but I nodded. I preferred puzzles to food.
I solved another puzzle, then another. And then there was a final puzzle that… puzzled me greatly.
"No solution," I finally said, looking at all the work I had put in. "No solution." This wasn't my fault. This puzzle could not be solved. There was a soft exhale of air and then the Technomancer rest a hand on my back.
"Excellent. You are right, that equation has no solution. Tell me child, what is your name and who are your parents?" he asked and I frowned. I was annoyed that he had given me an insoluble puzzle. But my parents had beaten manners into me years ago, so I answered properly.
"I am Ahkaros. My father is baker Tustekh and my mother is laborer caste Nagha." My mother had no profession aside from child rearing, so it was correct to give her caste.
"Take me to them." Why did he want to meet my parents? I had no idea, but did as he asked. Perhaps he wanted some bread.
What he actually wanted was me. I still remember how my mother cried in joy, and my father was stunned into complete silence, as the Technomancer told them that I was now his apprentice. I was of the Cryptek caste, that was often accounted an unofficial nobility. All that meant nothing to me at the time… I only knew I would be able to solve more puzzles, learn more things, and that gave me joy. Thus began my apprenticeship and we were kindred spirits. Both spurning the company of others and loving puzzles, we found great joy in each other. I was so sad when my mentor finally died, claimed by ill health as all necrontyr were.
As for my family, I had nothing to do with them, but I did remember them. I took care to always send them money and while I did not attend any events, I always sent handsome gifts. I do not regret that… I would have had nothing in common with them, and I despised social contact in all forms. Attending a wedding would be dreadful for me and probably not much better for them. Yet I did honor them, for they had brought me into the world and I did love my parents. They had humored my little obsessions and let me go play. If they had kept me more under heel, I might never have achieved such greatness.
Do I have any desires, other than the pursuit of knowledge? Yes… it pains me to admit, but sometimes I enjoy… showing off? Perhaps it is more that I enjoy public acclaim. Not for long, it quickly comes to grate on me, but it was pleasing to know that humans know my name. It alarmed me at first, but that they know my latest work, a very fine one even by my standards… it is pleasing.
Perhaps I will entertain them, for a time.