When Imotekh received a series of very data intensive communication from Phaeron Rahkaak, he was rather surprised. Canned FTL messages could contain a great deal of information, but her communications were still seven in a row and Imotekh archived all of them to examine at his leisure. Then he played the final communication, which was much smaller.
Phaeron Imotekh, please accept this gift from my people. Phaeron Rahkaak said with a bow and Imotekh tilted his head. This is the work of Kototep and a human assistant, creating a great work for our people, a new play. Ugh, Kototep. Although Imotekh had heard his personality had shifted greatly since the resouling so perhaps he should give the fool a second chance. And he HAD been a poet, back in the Flesh Times. These communications contain the play itself, meant to be presented in a week, and the first season of a serial for humans based on the same work. It requires twelve hours to watch. Oh, that was nothing. Imotekh's time was valuable but without the need to sleep, he still had plenty of it. Please note that this is not common heritage and while we give this freely to Sautekh, it belongs to Uhnashret. Oh really? The communication faded away as Imotekh considered the message.
"You believe this has commercial value?" That was interesting. Artwork had once been a commercial enterprise among the necrontyr and it was beginning to rekindle, so Rahkaak might be right. Imotekh checked his workload for a moment, all the reports that needed to be read and collated, and mentally booked a time block to watch the human play. It would undoubtedly be nonsense but he would give it a chance.
When the time came to watch the play, Imotekh was favorably impressed. Just like Semephren, he was able to predict all the events before they happened, but in the best of ways… through deduction. Imotekh's mind was so advanced that if he had NOT been able to predict events, they would have been random nonsense and he despised such things. No, this was the opposite, clever storytelling with very subtle hints. In one particular scene, for instance, Imotekh noticed that a jug of wine was moved ever so slightly. It was possible to see because of the patterns on the table, inlaid work that changed just a bit between scenes. And sure enough, the wine had been tampered with, introduced with a subtle and vicious poison.
The quality of the human acting, and the dedication to replicating the lives of the ancient necrontyr, also impressed Imotekh. Part of the story was told through the eyes of two palace guards, who saw things and knew things, but knew better than to speak about them. Another part of the story was following the mother of the Phaeron's daughter, a beautiful and scheming woman who the Phaeron had grossly underestimated. The daughter herself and her Cryptek lover and his Immortal brother, both of them planning to spirit her away as the walls began to close in. The Chronomancer, summoned by the Phaeron and almost murdered by Mephet'ran's agents, but saved by their foolish sadism and his own determination. Mephet'ran manipulating everyone, making them dance to his tune, and one particularly malicious scene. It was so malicious, and so perfectly in keeping with the C'Tan's character, that Imotekh actually replayed it.
Mephet'ran was lounging in a private box, one of the ones dedicated to the nobility, as they watched a great display of acrobatics. There were jugglers and contortionists, dancers and high wire performers. As he watched, though, the C'Tan grew bored and when a beautiful young female was swinging and displaying her skill, a malicious smile crossed his face. Gently pulling a little cord from the dais he was lounging on, Mephet'ran began to slowly cut the cord with his finger. Above the female necrontyr, the cables keeping her alive began to fray, breaking with every slow stroke of Mephet'ran's finger. And while there was a net beneath her, the C'Tan timed it perfectly, for when she was at the apex of her swing. The rope broke and with a horrified scream, she plummeted to her death. The camera did not show the wreckage, just the spreading pool of blood as all the necrontyr, and the Phaeron himself, stared in horrified silence. And Mephet'ran smirked at what he had done.
The final act of the first season ended with the Phaeron's death, as his attempts to secure his daughter's future were thwarted. Imotekh moved on to the written play, not caring that he was spoiling the story. He would still enjoy seeing it, and he needed to evaluate if this truly had commercial value. After reading it, he was favorably impressed… there were many plot threads, many characters who met gruesome ends. Mephet'ran's part in the story was partly mischievous but largely malicious, and he functioned as a fourth wall breaker, often directly addressing the audience. Imotekh had already noticed that in the human play, the opening speech had amused him, and it continued all through the play. Imotekh was no connoisseur of art, but he could still enjoy it and this looked like a highly enjoyable work.
This does have commercial value. Dynasties would pay for this. Imotekh tapped his fingers together for a moment, thinking hard. He could think of a use for this work and given the nature of the use, Phaeron Rahkaak would instantly consent. This would benefit her greatly.
Imotekh wanted the wormhole generator. Not the plans for it, although those would be nice, but when he'd inquired Trazyn had immediately told him the amount of transpositanium needed to build it. It was an absolutely ghastly amount, enough for an entire Dynasty and Imotekh just could not spare that much. He had too many other uses for it, too many weapons of war that required it. So Imotekh had set that idea aside for another time.
However, a completed wormhole generator existed and it was within Trazyn's hands. It was unlikely he would need to use it again, now that he was safely ensconced deep within the Sautekh empire. Also, Trazyn did not use transpositanium like an actual Dynasty… he collected it, for the value and as a trade good, but he just hoarded it for later. He could passively begin rebuilding his stores and eventually remake the wormhole generator, if he traded this one away. But for Imotekh to convince Trazyn to part with it, he would have to absolutely inundate him with treasures. Imotekh had already begun that process, gathering up necrontyr artifacts and quietly trading for them. He was keeping them under lock and key, so a certain thief could not pilfer them before he was ready to trade.
This work was another treasure. Also, Imotekh knew that Osatek had gone to Hope to work on a great artistic project with the humans there. What treasures would they produce? Could those works be great enough, of high enough caliber, that Trazyn would want them? Imotekh was bankrolling that project so those works would belong to him. Osatek would probably be proud, if his works were considered great enough to be entered into Solemnance.
If he could only get hold of the wormhole generator, Imotekh knew precisely what he would do with it… he would give it to Phaeron Rahkaak and Hope. The great disadvantage of the Hopian shipyards was their distance from the heart of his Empire. They dealt with that, because of the vast technical skill centered on Hope, but the wormhole generator could address the problem. Trazyn had used the generator so it was transported along with Solemnance, but it did not have to be used that way. It could be used as a fixed emplacement, moving other objects to new locations, picked out by the buoy system. The generator was capable of having eight target destinations at a time, each loaded in and pre-set, although they could easily be changed. Ships and resources making the return trip to Hope would still have to use regular FTL, but this would still be a vast improvement.
Of course, Trazyn knew all that, so Imotekh really needed to gather incredible things for him. He would have to present the Grand Archaeovist with items that were beyond even the worth of the transpositanium, priceless items and historical relics. Imotekh passed the play along to the noble caste of actors, commanding that they begin work on mastering and producing this play. He would see the reaction of the critics before he fully decided.
If it was as good as he thought, Imotekh would add this work to the pile of items he hoped to eventually trade.
Time passed and on Yggdrasil, things began to happen.
Borin Zaul was noticing alarming changes on the planet. More and more military forces were showing up, Knight Armors in particular. Necron ships kept buzzing by overhead, although they were the new ones that didn't make you want to throw up with dread. Emplacements were being built. It was all being done quietly and fairly low key, so they wouldn't panic, but Borin and the other former POW's knew what was up. They discussed it in the tavern over beers.
"Indeed, they are preparing us for an invasion," the former Knight worlder said and they all nodded grimly. "I reckon it is the tyranids." Borin felt ill at the thought, but he nodded.
"It can't be the orks and it's unlikely to be the tau. It's also unlikely to be Chaos, from what I have heard, although we can't rule that one out," one of the others said and Borin nodded again. Yggdrasil's walls of reality weren't as stiff as Hope's, but they were still pretty thick. A spontaneous Chaos breech wasn't going to happen here. "It could be other necrons though." That was a big one, it could be that. "Still… I would bet on the tyranids."
"There is nothing we can do but be ready and follow the drills," the Knight worlder said and Borin frowned a bit.
"Doesn't it seem kind of odd that they aren't drilling us more?" Borin asked. The last drill, for going to the survival shelters, had been three months ago. The others exchanged glances.
"It is odd… perhaps they mean to evacuate us, since they clearly have warning." Ah, that could be and Borin would be relieved if that was the case. He had a wife now and a young baby boy, he would rather be safely off planet if the tyranids were coming. It would be tragic to lose the farm, but not as bad as losing all their lives.
"We could lose everything we've built here," one of the other men said and Borin sympathized, he really did, the farm was shaping up so beautifully and they all had lives here now. Still.
"I would rather be alive than dead, and they'll find another place for us," Borin said confidently. There were other colonies and they all needed people. "And they're going to fight hard for this planet. They can do terraforming… even if the tyranids mess it up, as long as we win we'll be back." That cheered everyone up a little and the conversation went on to other things.
A few months later, they got the real story as the local PDF commander started briefing everyone. And it wasn't what they thought at all.
"You must have all noticed that we are fortifying your planet." There was dead silence as everyone stared at him. The PDF commander was a strong, middle-aged man, wearing the colors and insignia of Yggdrasil. His uniform was grey and green while the insignia of Yggdrasil was a silver tree on a green background. It was on his hat and part of his uniform, a sewn-on badge. "We are going to be facing an invasion from the Chaos forces of the demon who thirsts, the Ruinous power of desire." Borin went pale at the thought. If you had to pick between Tyranids and Chaos, it was kind of a tough choice because while the bugs were utterly horrendous, Chaos might take your soul, not just your body. "Very soon, Craftworld Iyanden is going to be arriving in your system. Do any of you know what eldar are?" There were some yes's but more no's. Borin shook his head and added his voice to the no's. "Let me explain. The aeldari are an ancient race of xenos who in the past, had a great and powerful star empire. That empire came to an end with the birth of the demon who thirsts, created out of their debauchery and arrogance." The man paused for a moment, adding gravity to his words. "The time has come for them to rectify that mistake. They are going to be summoning the goddess of death, to fight the demon that thirsts for their souls. As that fight occurs in the Immaterium, we will do battle on Yggdrasil, and the outcome of our battle will – yes?" One of them men was waving his hand.
"You're putting our planet on the line for xenos? We should we care about these foul creatures?" Borin frowned. That was a good point. The PDF commander shook his head before fixing them all with a severe look.
"Do you understand what a blow to Chaos Undivided it will be if we can kill a Ruinous Power?" Oh… "There are only four of them and we could end one of them, permanently! To put this into perspective, the great Primarch Guilliman is going to be arriving from the Imperium of Man, with a large force of Astartes, to support this effort." What! Borin stared, shocked. He'd heard of the peace treaty and thought it was kind of crazy, but that was next level crazy! "The eldar are gathering from all over the galaxy and even the drukhari, the dark eldar, are beginning to trickle in. The necrons are committing forces and Hope is sending Knight Armor. We're going to be getting another Titan soon." The commander took a deep breath. "I would say saving a race of xenos from extinction is worth quite a bit, but this is about FAR more than that. We can inflict more damage to Chaos in one day than they have suffered since the Horus Heresy." Wow… but Borin's thoughts went to his wife and son. They were going to be here during an invasion of lust demons? He put up his hand. "Yes?"
"We're being evacuated, right?" That was foremost on his mind and the commander smiled.
"Ah, I'm glad you asked! That is the next point… we are evacuating the planetary population to Craftworld Iyanden." Wait, the xenos ship? "It's largely empty, due to fighting very hard against the Tyranids, so they have plenty of space. They've sectioned off a large part of it, so you will have it entirely to yourselves. Let me show you the accommodations…" They got to see a holograph of some slightly alien, but still very nice living quarters and also a huge, indoor garden area. Borin had to admit that it looked pretty nice. "There are currently human technicians on the Craftworld, they have been dealing with the eldar for years to bring it here. They will act as liaisons, so if you have any concerns you can bring it to them and they will take it to the eldar. No contact with the xenos will be needed." That was smart. Borin didn't exactly hate the idea of meeting a xenos, but it did scare him and he knew there were a lot of people who felt more strongly about it than that. But this once, being an underhiver did him some favors… he'd seen mutants who were so weird, they might as well have been xenos, and really scary ones at that. It was hard to imagine that actual xenos could be worse. "You are projected to be staying on the Craftworld for six months, three before the battle and three after. That is because it will be better to have you out of the way as we begin the final stage of fortification, and afterwards, given the best outcome, we will be spending time cleaning up the damage and rebuilding your homes for you." The best outcome…
"What is the worst outcome?" Someone else asked and the PDF commander hesitated a moment.
"In the worst outcome, the planet will be lost." Borin swallowed hard, although he wasn't surprised. "If that happens, though, the eldar will experience a final extinction event. Then the Craftworld will be empty and we will use it as your new home." What, really?! Borin wasn't sure how he felt about that. "The Craftworlders have indicated that in that dark outcome, they would not mind… however, that would mean we have lost to the demon who thirsts. We will do everything in our power to avoid that outcome." Yeah… he could imagine they would. Would that mean that GUILLIMAN was dead? Borin shuddered internally at the thought. "No matter what, you will be taken care of."
The PDF commander fielded more questions, and some of them were really interesting, particularly the ones from the Hopians in the crowd. Borin had heard rumors of a prophecy but hadn't really paid attention, now he found out that this battle had been predicted five thousand years ago. That was pretty wild… those questions led to them finding out that a second Primarch, a clone? Was going to be coming to Yggdrasil. This was going to be a CRAZY battle, the kind the Guard would prefer to just not be part of since they couldn't compete with gods. Yet, it was the kind of battle they sometimes found themselves in anyway. Borin was glad he wasn't going to be here for it, and also glad that from what they were saying, no actual Guard were coming. It would be the Primarchs and Astartes, the xenos and the Hopian forces. Borin hoped those last knew what they were in for.
(they didn't really, because how could they? But they would all be wearing a bit of blackstone to prevent them from falling to the blandishments of Slaaneshi demons)
(that one thing would make a considerable difference, as they were able to see the daemonettes as simple enemies)
The PDF commander gave a decent length of time for the questions before calling a halt to it, and they all left the meeting. They were buzzing with conversation afterwards and Borin went home to tell his wife all about it. She hadn't come, she'd been tending to the baby and no children were allowed in that meeting. As he did, Borin was thankful they would all be safe.
They could rebuild their lives if they had to. He just wanted his family to be safe.
Hanna Drake was hard at work in the mines of Yggdrasil.
It wasn't nearly as bad as it sounded. The vast majority of the hard, dangerous work was done by machines. Hopian built AI machines, things that would have been forbidden in the Imperium, and also the xenos built Canoptek machines. They were heretical of course, but Hanna was grateful that it meant that she and her sisters did not have to ruin their bodies mining ore. Instead, they were tasked with many different things. They primarily worked in the kitchens and the cleaning crews, getting everything that the rather primitive AI's missed. They also assisted in the ore sorting and a few of them, the best ones, had been trained for more advanced tasks. Hanna herself was very good at cooking so she largely worked in the kitchens, preparing food for the men that assisted more directly with the mining.
The Astartes, meanwhile, had been put to grunt work clearing out stone in the new buildings. It wasn't really practical – they required vastly more food than regular humans and the machines could do what they were doing more efficiently – but they were just being kept useful. It felt like they were waiting for something although Hanna had no idea what.
Then all the Sisters and Astartes were drawn into a meeting and she found out.
They got roughly the same speech as Borin and the farmers had, but their fate was to be entirely different… the Sisters of Battle and Astartes would be given back their weapons and be handed back to Guilliman, to aide in the defense of the Cauldron. Hanna was a bit terrified to meet the great Primarch in these circumstances, but also uplifted. Surely a great fight against the demons of Slaanesh would be enough to absolve their sins! Amusingly, some of the Astartes didn't want to believe that any of this was real, but then the PDF did something very convincing… they were all taken off their regular duties and re-armed so they could begin practicing. The Mindshackle scarabs were modified to allow the practice, although they still could not take real violent action.
"You are going to remove the scarabs before the battle?" Hanna had to ask. Surely they were not going to send them back with this xenos technology still in their bodies! The man nodded.
"Oh, of course. They CAN be picked up with a simple scan, they're metal, so sending you back with them still implanted would be exceedingly rude. Guilliman would surely complain." Oh, of course, that made perfect sense. Hanna breathed a little easier at the thought. And Sister Agnes was absolutely overjoyed.
"We will be able to meet the great Primarch Guilliman and prove ourselves in battle! This is even finer than joining the Sisters Repentia!" Agnes exclaimed after the meeting, checking her weapons. "Shall we go practice right now?" Her joy was infectious and Hanna smiled in pleasure.
"Yes, let's go." There was no reason why they couldn't and Hanna was feeling more eager by the moment. True, the battle for the Cauldron sounded like it would be nightmarish, but that kind of nightmare was exactly why she had joined the Sisters in the first place.
Hanna would gladly give her life to defeat the forces of Chaos.
Far away, on Mars itself.
Belisarius Cawl gently pressed a hand to the glass encasing the great work Magos Explorator Su Osadix had managed to secure. As he stared at it reverently, Cawl's mind was filled with awe for the knowledge it signified. Even his great intellect could not understand it but it provided tantalizing hints. Things that could be teased out about the great underpinning knowledge behind it, the nature of reality itself and how the fabric of space and time could be warped.
Su had shocked them all, when she and her rogue trader friend had arrived with this great prize. They had both been rewarded and feted, particularly for managing to secure it so relatively cheaply. Cawl thought he understood why Trazyn had let it go for less than a king's ransom… the necron had been thinking of the practical worth of it, which was virtually nil. Cawl tentatively estimated that even if he managed to keep the Imperium on the path of growth and innovation, it would likely be ten thousand years before they could even think of using this. And given that the course of advancement was rarely linear, it might be even longer. Also, to be fair to Trazyn, the worth of an artefact of old Terra, with a great and storied history of use in the Horus Heresy, was not inconsiderable. Cawl felt sure that knowing Trazyn, he would go about completely authenticating the weapon. There were indeed records of the Rogue Trader who had used it at the time, and possibly even records of his likeness. No doubt he would get a new place in the galleries.
Still, it felt like they had acquired a treasure for virtually nothing and Cawl let his gaze travel over the beautiful diagrams, the elegant schematics. To think that this was largely human technology, it was truly incredible, something any tech priest should treat as the holiest of things. Some of it was necron, however, and there was a reminder of that in the form of the handwritten notes in necron runes. They had been helpfully translated into high Gothic and Cawl looked at incredible calculations, math that was almost brain searing, even for him. And interspersed in those calculations were personal notes from the Technomancer who had finished this great work. One of them caught his eye.
I love my work. Love. Love. Love.
"I as well," Cawl murmured, wishing he could meet this necron. He seemed like a kindred soul. Alas, from what he'd heard, it was a bit unlikely he ever would… Trazyn had mentioned that this Technomancer was highly introverted and might show up in a few thousand years, or maybe not. Necrons needed very little social contact to begin with so for them, real introversion was quite impressive.
Cawl let his hand fall away and turned aside with a wistful sigh. While he wanted to study this great work more, and try to understand how reality could be warped, this was a long-term project. The short-term was extremely pressing and his efforts were better spent on things to prepare them for entering the Pariah Nexus. Still, someday he would get to that. Someday, he would spend decades just immersed in it, trying to understand.
It was something to look forward to.