Belisarius Cawl was extremely happy when he was able to go to Hope's Landing. The attitude of the pwi-necrons towards it was rather amusing.

"You're not allowed to take anything apart. Other than that, if you can figure out how it works through pure observation, more power to you I suppose." Indeed! It would be a truly herculean task, trying to puzzle out entire STC fragments merely through observing the end product but Cawl was UP FOR THE CHALLENGE!

Then, alas, he met someone rather unwelcome.

"Allow me to be your tour guide to this beautiful world." Not him again. Cawl sighed, a rattle of air through his rebreather as he turned to see that one particular necron.

"I have a bone to pick with you, Trazyn, and you know exactly why." Trazyn the Infinite actually managed to convey puzzlement and innocence quite well with just body language. But then, Cawl presumed he'd had a lot of practice. "How did you manage to steal my kit when I was busy?" Not very important, Cawl had replaced the tools, but still. They had both been entirely involved in other things, how had Trazyn even done that?

"Well, I did tell you that most people call me a thief," Trazyn said and that was true, he had said that. Cawl supposed he should have taken that as a warning. "Although honestly, it was just a souvenir. I took a few others." Dare he ask what? Or perhaps even, who? "Really though, you do need a tour guide and not the assigned ones. They wouldn't want to deviate from their planned routes and also, you'd have clumsy marines along. Let me show you around." Hm. Trazyn actually had a point.

"Very well, I will go with you," Cawl acquiesced, allowing Trazyn the Thief to show him around the planet of Hope.

Hope's Landing was truly beautiful. Cawl had seen much bigger cities, of course – he'd seen Terra! – but it was beautiful in a way that made him stare at things covetously. One of the first things he noticed were the monorails. Cawl noticed exactly what Iplanen had… they were simply better than very similar systems on Mars. They moved more smoothly and he could intuit why.

"They have better ball bearing," Cawl muttered. How though? What was the small, probably almost insignificant difference in manufacture that gave them a higher performance?

"Indeed they do. There's far more than that though. Did you see the billboards?" Trazyn asked and Cawl swore he sounded like he was teasing. But he obediently turned his attention the billboards.

"…" They were crisper, somehow. Cawl's eyes narrowed as he tried to isolate the difference. It wasn't a large difference at all, probably not worth his time given that he couldn't possibly have more than a week, but there was a difference. "Is literally everything they use better than what we have?" He muttered, feeling a bit adrift.

"Oh no, not everything. Your paint is just as good!" Ugh, he was being mocked. Looking away from the billboards, Cawl examined the teeming humanity around him for a moment.

The Hopians were a different breed from most of humanity. Their skin tone was almost uniformly dark, mostly a deep, mahogany brown. There were lighter tones but they were rare, and pale skin like most of the Imperium shared was very rare indeed. Their features were actually rather distinct… Cawl couldn't remember seeing a combination quite like it before. Possibly due to their particular seed genetic stock, combined with genetic drift, or subtle mutations that had crept in. As far as he could tell, though, the Hopians did not deviate from standard humanity in the slightest. There were many children, so many that it actually raised his eyebrows. The Imperium of Man was good at encouraging large families but this still seemed quite a lot.

Of course, from what Cawl could see, the standard of living here was quite high. That was to be expected… despite being hyper advanced, the population was still shockingly low compared to Terra. The quality of life would degrade, he knew, as the population became larger.

(it actually wouldn't, given the future planned colony worlds. Depending on the situation, some colonists would not be allowed a choice)

(given the serf system that still endured on Hope, though, finding colonists would overall not be an issue)

That high standard of living probably encouraged large families. Putting it out of mind, Cawl went back to examining the technology, paying close attention to anything Trazyn specifically pointed out. As he did, he noticed there were strong necron influences everywhere… some of the signs were actually in what looked like a pidgin combination of the two languages. Those were rather odd though, handmade and rather shoddy.

"Ah, you noticed those signs? That's a hybrid language that the young people here came up with. They use it to indicate where to find the party." Ah. Of course. "It's actually catching on fairly well. I wouldn't be surprised if it becomes more prevalent in time." Well, a lot of languages did start that way. "Right now, though, it's just meant to frustrate older people trying to stop the party." Of course!

"Wouldn't want the old farts getting in the way of a good time," Cawl remarked, vaguely remembering those days. It was such a useless memory to have held onto, after all these years, but he still treasured that one LAN party he had organized as a young neophyte of the Mechanicus. They could all have been censured for it but honestly, it would have been worth it.

"Indeed! I attended one of those parties but I'm afraid it's not nearly as fun when you can't use intoxicants." Yes, being sober around drunk people was exceedingly tedious. Although.

"You know, you seem a little different to me," Cawl observed. It was very hard to define, but Trazyn didn't seem like quite the same person he'd met before. Trazyn made a soft grating sound that Cawl tentatively identified as a chuckle.

"Ah, you can tell? Yes, I have a soul now and I have remembered my own past." Ah, of course. They had heard rumors about that, the resouling operations of the Sautekh. The Rogue Traders had picked up a few rumors of it, along with the talk of troop movements to Mandragora. Cawl hadn't been sure how much stock to put into it but it seemed to be true. "It's much easier to relate to organics when I have clear memories of being one. I really do miss intoxicants, even though I hardly ever used them… it's strange how you only miss something when it's gone."

"I'll take your word for it." Cawl couldn't think of anything he'd lost that way. Perhaps there was something, but he'd also lost the memory of it. Given how many times he'd backed up his mind, that was likely.

"Hmm… you know, I think I should give you a hint." Oh? "This will be a bit of a walk, but follow me." Well, he didn't really care where he was going as long as he got to see the city. It took several hours of walking and Cawl noticed several intriguing pieces of technology on the way, but what Trazyn brought him to was actually impressively useful.

"I see…" It was a fountain, but with little moving sculptures. Little merfolk cavorting through the water, but Cawl could see why this was of interest. He could study the movement of the sculptures at his leisure and also, it was possible to catch glimpses of the mechanisms at play.

"Indeed! I believe that if you are going to work out anything purely from observation, you should concentrate on the ball bearings. And this is the place to do it. You only have a week, at the most, but it's actually possible you might figure it out. A lot of the other things… without taking them apart you frankly don't have a chance." Yes, that was true. Although Cawl felt slightly suspicious of all this and turned to look at Trazyn.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked bluntly. Trazyn seemed to think about it a moment.

"Honestly? I just want to see if you can do it." Hmm. That was consistent with his personality. Cawl rather cynically thought of it as similar to giving a puzzle to a monkey and watching it try to figure it out to get the treat. "Even though I think this is your best chance, it will still be incredibly difficult. I do advise you to concentrate on just this, if you want any hope of success."

"Very well, I will take your advice." Cawl said before concentrating on the fountain. He vaguely noticed humans staring at him and making a detour, but paid it no mind. Even in the Imperium, his appearance often got second looks and they knew tech priests. It was a bit ironic given that Trazyn was taken for granted, but it was what they were used to.

Belisarius Cawl was determined to figure this out.

Fulgrim hadn't spoken to anyone about it, but he was quietly terrified of meeting Guilliman again.

What if they reject me? It was entirely possible they wouldn't want to give him a chance to prove himself. If that happened, what would he do? Fulgrim supposed he would stay with the Hopians and devote himself to preparing for the battle of Yggdrasil, where he might slay the Demon Prince Fulgrim. Perhaps that would let him prove himself and if not… if not, perhaps he could even stay with the Sautekh Empire? It felt incredibly strange to even contemplate, but they seemed to be honorable xenos.

Fortunately, that didn't seem to be happening. Guilliman was surprised but seemed accepting and the Marines with him didn't seem hostile, just wondering at it all. Fulgrim wondered… was it because Guilliman knew how Manric's psyker abilities worked? Fulgrim was well aware of it now and that it would be virtually impossible for Chaos taint to evade his senses. Was that part of why Guilliman was willing to give him a chance?

(that was actually a factor. If Fulgrim had approached him independently, without the necrons to vouch for him, Guilliman would have been far more suspicious)

Fulgrim watched the negotiations with interest. It made him wince a little, as they bargained over the fates of entire worlds, but he did know it was necessary. The priorities of the necrons were interesting… Fulgrim knew that Imotekh specifically despised planets that could not feed themselves. He'd asked Obyron about it and learned that it probably dated back to the long-ago Flesh Times, when the necrontyr had been at war with virtually everyone, including each other. Any planet that required food imports was in a very unenviable position, back then. Not that many had cared – they had just let the least valuable starve – but that was not Imotekh's way. He tried to make sure that everyone in his Empire was being fed.

Leaving that side, though, Fulgrim could see that much of what the necrons wanted was purely military in nature. A supply line directly to the Pariah Nexus, primarily, where they could build relays. And when the trade negotiations started, one thing they particularly wanted were raw materials in that vicinity, mostly from Balor. All military, so they could build their recall facilities in an area where they could be reached and do some good, bringing their forces back to the battle before it was entirely over.

The trade negotiations were going to take days, though, and they eventually called a halt. Manric had already discussed it with him, so Fulgrim knew he was free to join Guilliman before the trade treaty was done. It was less important that the military matters and they were confident they would be able to hammer it out.

Guilliman understood that as well, when Fulgrim went to join him, and offered him a hand. Fulgrim took it, feeling the solidity of his brother after so very long.

"It may surprise you, brother, but some of your sons are still with us." What?! How? Guilliman saw his shock and gave him a crooked smile. "Disguised among our legions to hide their shame, descendants of loyalists. With your return, they can be reunited with you."

"Thank you," Fulgrim said, completely overwhelmed. He hadn't hoped for that! He'd thought he would have to re-establish his Legion from scratch. "Guilliman… I'm so sorry for what happened." The guilt of it tore at his heart, even if he knew he wasn't entirely the same person. Guilliman squeezed his hand.

"It wasn't your fault. Don't worry about it," he said quietly. "Just concentrate on redeeming yourself. I've been told about Yggdrasil… the moment will come then." Fulgrim nodded. It was actually greatly heartening, to know that in just five years, he would be able to prove himself worthy to stand among them. "Come with me, I should introduce you to everyone." That was true, he didn't really know anyone anymore.

As Fulgrim went with Guilliman to the flagship, he felt deeply optimistic about the future.

Elsewhere, at not precisely the same time at all.

Khas pulled his hood tighter around his face as he moved through the town of Yvonne. He was a mutant, and not a pretty one, with his three eyes and ugly face. Mutants did sometimes come into the town, usually to act as muscle for some project, so he wasn't too worried about being accosted. Still, it was good to keep a low profile, particularly when he was here for something else.

"Here it is. Read this," Khas said to his companion, a very old mutant who had the rare ability to actually read. He'd promised the old beggar a few coins if he could read this sign… Khas couldn't really read, but he had a few words and that had been enough for him to realize this was interesting.

"Recruitment now open. Join for a chance to go to the stars," the old mutant read slowly, sounding out a few words. Still, it was good enough. "Fight the orks and prove your worth and you may be granted immortality, to fight for the Sautekh Empire." Yes, that was what he'd thought! "Huh, I wonder how the wages work? Not like robots need money, eh?" Khas honestly had no idea.

(the pwi-necrons were paid a small wage through Phaeron Rahkaak, and leave was sometimes arranged, when it was convenient for Zahndrekh. It made things a bit more complicated than normal, but only a bit)

"Does it say anything about mutants?" Khas asked and the old mutant perused the whole thing, muttering to himself.

"No, says open to everyone." Perfect. "You going to do it?"

"Yes. I hate looking like a freak." Khas hated his mutant body with a passion that could hardly be expressed. His face was bad but there was worse under the heavy cloak he wore. He was a circus freak and he knew it, but strong and fast and that could serve him well against the orks. "I'd rather be a necron." Then he wouldn't stand out. Then, he would just be normal, like all the others. Sure, a normal pwi-necron but that would still be such an improvement. It wasn't like most people would call him human anyway.

"Well, good luck to you." Khas nodded and they parted ways, the old mutant going back to the mutant side of town. Khas, though, had a different destination in mind. The sign just said to present yourself at the barracks if you were interested. Khas was worried about how they'd react but surely they had anticipated some mutants would want this?

To his relief, they had.

"Ah, excellent! I am Captain Revalt. You are looking to sign up?" One of the necrons said and Khas nodded. "Good, let me run you through the terms. We have two different forms of recruitment… One is the standard recruitment as we offer to Hope natives. With that you will draw a normal wage and be eligible for retirement from military duties at the age of thirty. Then you can move to non-combat roles or be discharged to the civilian population, but if you have met the qualifications you can take biotransference immediately or at a later date, after you have raised a family and had a civilian life." Khas hoped there was something else, he wasn't interested in that. "However, our second form of recruitment is for those who specifically desire only biotransference. You will be given a five year tour of duty to prove yourself as a soldier and if you meet the minimum requirements, you will be transferred to a Warrior level shell. If you manage to distinguish yourself as exceptional you will be provided an Immortal level shell and if you somehow wildly impress us – unlikely, but possible – you could even be provided an Overlord level shell. That would mean you are earmarked for command."

(Lord level shells were not mentioned because while they were powerful and capable in combat, they were also the necron equivalent of civilian shells, mostly meant for administrators)

"That is what I want, the second," Khas said and Revalt nodded.

"Can you read?" Khas shook his head. "Let me read this to you." It was the full contract and Revalt read all the terms, including the wages which were low but still better than what he could currently get with odd jobs. Food and housing which was provided, which made it very solid. It was interesting to find out that as a pwi-necron he would still earn wages, but leave would be sporadic and according to the current situation.

"We could be involved in decades long wars. You should assume that leave will be very infrequent," Revalt warned and Khas nodded. He didn't have a family so he didn't really care. "If you are willing, sign here." Khas actually could sign his name, he'd memorized that and clumsily formed the characters. "Oh, you are a tiny bit literate?"

"Yes. I know a few words," Khas said and that seemed to please Revalt.

"Good, we probably won't bother to teach you low Gothic, we'll move you to the necron language and script." Uh…. That was mildly terrifying but Khas supposed he'd need to know it if he was going to become a pwi-necron. Still, Khas didn't think he was brilliant and learning another language was daunting. "If absolutely necessary – you've passed all the trials but aren't able to learn the language – we'll have it programmed into you with Mindshackle Scarabs, with your permission." Uh… with permission? "There's a small chance of an adverse reaction, you see." Oh, so that could cause brain damage… still, Khas thought it was a bit reassuring that if he couldn't learn Necron, they could just MAKE him learn it.

To his surprise, Khas was given a small room to himself. Then Revalt explained.

"Don't necessarily get too fond of this… this was sprung on us a bit last minute, so we're still building a new barracks. Probably two, actually, one for the mutants and one for the regulars." That was probably a good idea. "Fortunately, you're the first in so we have some rooms available. Others might not be so lucky, we'll have to sort things out. Worst comes to worst, we can break out the tents. Possibly evict some of the pwi-necrons for a while as well, since we don't actually sleep."

"You have rooms just for privacy?" Khas asked, a bit curious about it. Revalt nodded.

"Pretty much, some of us spend very little time there while others like the privacy to read. We can live without it for a while, if necessary. Of course, we also don't use BEDS so…" Revalt managed a really convincing sigh. "Sorry, you wouldn't care about all this. I really wish that this sort of thing could come with more warning! Well, put your things away and I'll take you to the tailors for a uniform." Uh… "Our seamstress is also a mutant, don't worry too much." Oh good.

Khas put away his few meagre possessions before following Revalt, feeling more reassured by the moment. It felt like they'd been anticipating a lot of mutant recruits and specifically planned for it, which was a huge relief.

It was early to say, but he had a good feeling about this.