Kamia felt a bit guilty about everything, but it didn't change her feelings.
Kamia was not a complicated young woman. A scion of the royalty of Perdita, she had been born into privilege and wealth. As a child, Kamia had dreamed of being the assistant to someone powerful… her favorite dream had been herself, going on wild adventures with a handsome Inquisitor as they served the Emperor and gradually fell in love. It had been a wonderful dream.
It had also been completely unrealistic and Kamia had known it even then. She had no particular skills that an Inquisitor would want, nor any knack for investigation. For a while, she'd almost wished she could be a psyker, because then she would have been special. Of course she knew that was stupid and her father had harshly remonstrated her, the one time she'd mentioned that vague wish.
As she got older, Kamia had done well but not outstandingly with her tutors and she had no particular talent for sports. She was, however, quite crafty… she could crochet little animals without a pattern and actually design clothing, some of which had come out fairly nicely. Her father had noticed and he'd suggested a marriage to the scion of a family that was involved in fashion, so they could directly take her into the business. It had been arranged, but to make sure they were both actually compatible, Kamia and the young man had been regularly meeting for dates. It was all rather tepid and mundane, nothing like her childhood dreams, but Kamia wistfully thought that was the difference between reality and mere dreams.
Then, overnight, everything had changed. Metal xenos had begun emerging from the ground beneath their feet. Kamia had been terrified, listening to the announcements urging everyone to remain calm, that they would crush the alien menace soon. She remembered the assurances that the Imperium would come for them, the Guard would save them, the Astartes would save them.
It had all happened too quickly for that. Things had quickly gone bad, as the seemingly confused xenos had abruptly become very hostile and began spilling out of the world in an endless tide. Their people had been completely massacred… Kamia remembered huddling in a closet, crying softly, and the door opening. She remembered looking up into the face of a machine, glowing with orange light.
Now, Kamia understood a bit better what had happened. Phaeron Zarathusa had awoken extremely confused, believing he was still alive and that they were his rebellious subjects. He'd tried to tell them to stand down, drop their weapons and swear loyalty, but he hadn't understood that they couldn't speak necron. That had resulted in the massacre of the humans on Perdita, as he decided to purge out the 'rebels' to prevent the mind infection of their disloyalty from spreading. And as Zarathusa explored his captured prizes, he had personally found Kamia in a closet and taken her as a concubine.
Kamia thought her life after that could have been a book of fiction, but a forbidden, heretical one. Being gifted with a strange, beautiful feeling of bliss and then sexually subjugated by powerful, very masculine xenos… Kamia could no longer blush but the truth was, she had loved every moment of it. She had been virginal before Zarathusa had taken her and it had been shockingly good, despite the fact that he was a machine. To Zarathusa though, she had been a toy, a plaything. It was Ahthap who had actually paid attention to her.
It was strange, Kamia thought, given that Ahthap was a master of technology that would put the Mechanicus to shame. But he liked to spend time with them and just talk to them, even if they couldn't understand most of what he was saying. And he would command the bliss to recede a bit, so they could play games with him. Simple games, often, and sometimes very silly games – Kamia vividly remembered when they had played a very physical game, where they had to put their hands on colored spots on the floor, and ended up contorted around each other and giggling – but games. Also, Ahthap had detailed some lesser Crypteks to read them stories and make sure they had plenty of supplies for arts and crafts. They had both spent a lot of time trying to make necklaces and giggling as the beads rolled away.
He did treat us like drugged children, or perhaps pets. Kamia knew she should resent that, but she ruefully remembered how they had behaved. They had been like drugged children, giggling and playing the days away. Of course, the necrons had done that to them but it was so much better than being dead, wasn't it? And she'd honestly enjoyed it. Now that she had her mind back, Kamia missed it a little, that beautiful haze. I feel so guilty though. Kamia felt terribly guilty for enjoying herself, for loving Ahthap, for forgetting the past. Her family was all dead and she'd loved them, but it had been over ten years ago and all based on a misunderstanding. Was there really any point in holding onto it?
"Kamia?" Kamia blinked her oculars, pulled out of her reverie. Ahthap was looking at her with what she recognized as concern. "Darling, what are you thinking?"
"I was just thinking about the past," Kamia said vaguely. Ahthap tilted his head to one side.
"Well, I'll be honest. I'm not going to apologize for anything, and the Phaeron won't either. I do regret that it happened that way… we really should have sterilized the planet, then you wouldn't have been there at all." Ahthap did something that made Kamia stare. He… traced symbols? And she could see them?
"What is that?" Kamia said, her mind suddenly completely distracted from her guilt and thoughts. Ahthap made another pattern in the air.
"Ah, the glyphs! I need to teach you them, darling. This is how we communicate our emotions." Oh! How wonderful! Kamia had learned to read the body language of her masters, but it would be so nice to have something much clearer. And she could learn to do that? How? "Let me show you a simple one for happiness." Oh!
Kamia quickly understood how to draw the glyphs, it was actually very easy, but mastering the glyphs themselves was much harder. It reminded her a bit of her classes in calligraphy… the glyphs could be quite simple but also beautifully complicated, works of art. Kamia wasn't good at puns and wordplay but she was good at calligraphy, and fell into a deep fascination with the glyphs. It was a deeply symbolic language, she could draw entire poems in it.
Time seemed to fly by as Kamia delved deep into the glyphs. But then Ahthap reminded her of something else.
"Darling, I hate to interrupt, you're doing so well with that. But you know, your body came with certain augmentations built in. Would you like to explore them?" Ahthap stared at her in a way she knew, that made her body tingle with anticipation. They could still do that now? But of course they could, or why else would he have transferred her? Kamia gently ran a hand over her body, looking curiously for what he had mentioned… she found it, nicely tucked away between her legs. Although.
"It's a bit different," Kamia mused. Although it WOULD be different, it was made with completely different materials, but it also just seemed a bit differently shaped? Then Ahthap caught her hand.
"Oh my, seeing you do that… I really want to replace your fingers with something else." His eyes were glowing so brightly and Kamia also wanted that, so much. "Let's go to my room." Yes, they couldn't do this in public. Honestly, she probably shouldn't have been exploring herself like that but the only other necrons in the room were Warriors who wouldn't care.
They made love that night so many times, exploring the changes to her body. To Kamia, the most shocking was the sound she made without thinking, the odd trilling. Ahthap loved it, it drove him to new heights of passion and in between lovemaking, he'd explained to her that it was a sound their people made. When she'd been transferred to this new body, she'd been given the genitals and mental augments that mimicked the ancient necrontyr. Aside from the trilling and a few small differences in shape, Kamia didn't think there was much of a difference.
When they were just lying together, basking in the afterglow, Kamia came to a realization.
I have been falling in love with him for years. Under the endless bliss of the scarabs, the mental control she was being subjected to, Kamia had genuinely fell in love. It had been happening for years and it meant so much to her.
Kamia still felt guilty about leaving the past behind, but there was no point in dwelling on it. She would look to the future.
Loki was so wonderfully happy. Everything was going GREAT!
I proved to Manric that I'm a psyker and passed on the message for Imotekh! Loki had thought he might want to wait to meet the Stormlord on Hemingway but he'd asked around, among the warriors and Crypteks who had actually met Imotekh and diffidently asked if the Stormlord liked surprises. The answer had been a resounding NO from everyone and several people thought he hated surprises. So Loki had changed his plans and decided to prove it to Manric, so he could pass the information to Imotekh and he could think about it. That was much safer.
The only thing left was a rather weird problem. Loki had to break the news to Calder. He knew that was going to be really hard… Calder would always shut him down, tell him he was being silly. But Loki could take him to Manric for confirmation and then he would HAVE to believe him!
Calder was practicing, when Loki went to find him. He paused at the sidelines to watch Calder sparring with one of the ship's Immortals. Calder was so good! He moved with such grace and economy, making every single movement count. He was so fast, too! Loki remembered that as a human, Calder had been preternaturally fast. That was a large part of how they'd survived three deployments together, before going for retirement.
The Immortal was super good too and Loki watched, enraptured, as their weapons clashed again and again. The Immortal was using a light spear, not a Staff of Light but similar in nature. He used it so smoothly, using it a bit like a quarterstaff and Loki loved how the spear could catch Calder's sword and deflect it easily. They were both amazing!
The Immortal won and Loki clapped. They both turned, startled, and saw him there.
"You're both great! That was amazing!" Loki said admiringly. Calder shook his head, putting his training sword away. "Hey Calder, I'm a psyker!" Might as well get started. Calder made glyphs of derision.
"And I'm a banana. Stop being a loon, Loki. Ahabi, would you like to beat some sense into this fool?" Aw come on! Ahabi tilted his head to one side.
"I had heard of this, they say he will be given extra blackstone," he said and Loki was a bit surprised. Rumors went around really quickly here! Hey, they had done it in Manric's room, who had heard?!
(the answer was Sehenna. She had asked Manric what was happening, when she'd found herself locked out of his room and he'd told her about Loki, not considering it secret. Sehenna had then mentioned it to the psyker Crypteks and word had just organically gotten around)
"Yes! I proved it to General Manric, so I'm a real psyker Calder. My visions are real," Loki said firmly but Calder's eyes flashed and Loki could feel his rejection.
"Loki, stop it with this nonsense! Your visions are not real. They are NOT. Stop it this instant!" Calder's eyes were flashing and Loki was starting to feel alarmed. Why was he so angry? "You didn't go to Commorragh!" Loki suddenly froze. He'd forgotten about that. Calder still remembered that? It had been eighty years ago! "You didn't find our friends turned into garden ornaments! You didn't find Lorne turned into a windchime!" Loki was starting to shake. The memories were oozing out of the back of his mind, ignored and suppressed for so long. "None of this is real Loki! Stop it! Stop it!"
"Calder, I… I…" Loki couldn't stop shaking as he remembered. I wanted to find them, I wanted to save them so bad but there was nothing left to save nothing left to save they were twisted and changed and screaming and the worst part was there was just enough so I could tell who they were just enough just enough. Loki wanted to retreat, wanted to make these memories go away but he couldn't now, he couldn't it was all coming back he wanted to run away but going into the Warp right now was out of the question he might go to Commorragh again and he couldn't he couldn't he couldn't –
"STOP." That voice was like the voice of a god. Loki's building panic attack was dispelled, as a hand landed heavily on his shoulder. Another hand landed on Calder's shoulder and his eyes, which had been flaring wildly, calmed down. Calder had been going through an emotional moment too and Loki realized they had been feeding on each other, making it so much worse. Turning his head, Loki saw General Duleth. He had his spear too, leaned against his body and it was glowing with pale light. "I apologize for doing this… this is a kind of psychic attack. But I had no choice. Loki, do you realize you were causing reality to change?" Huh?
"I did what now?" Loki asked, glancing around. Everything looked fine to him. The Immortal though was staring at him and answered.
"Everything was getting dark, and I started to see trees." That was a blow right in his chest and Loki couldn't draw a full breath, although he didn't breathe anyway. Ahriman told me about this. Ahriman had mentioned he was so strong that if he wanted, maybe he could take the dream in his head and impose it on reality around him, making the real world dance to his tune. Loki hadn't really believed it, he'd thought it was a silly idea but it had started to happen? It had really started to happen?
"It's not real. It can't be real. It can't be real," Calder muttered, shaking his head and Loki felt his heart breaking as he remembered. Lorne had been their friend, they'd met him in the army and gotten so close to him. That had been why Loki had gone to Commorragh in his dreams. It had all been desperate and stupid and he'd regretted it so much… Loki had stopped dreaming at all for over a year, suffering from shock after that experience. And yet, ultimately, he couldn't stay away from his dreams and visions. Acting on instinct, Loki reached out and took Calder's hands.
"Calder, I'm sorry, it was all real. The drukhari really did turn our friends into lawn ornaments and they did turn Lorne into a windchime. I know we don't want to face it, but we're not on Hope anymore and it's too dangerous now. It was always real," Loki said and he felt Calder's hands tighten on his. He wanted to pull away, wanted to deny it but Manric was helping. Manric was helping them both come to acceptance.
"Glad his mother never knew," Calder finally muttered and Loki looked down. Lorne's mum had come to the barracks personally looking for her son, the communications had been cut and she'd screamed when she hadn't found him. His father had finally taken her away. "Loki… if your dreams are real visions, what are we doing now?" Calder sounded lost but Loki had a good response to that.
"Nothing! We're going to the Pariah Nexus and kick the Silent King's ass! We'll worry about it after then, if we make it. Right sir?" Loki said, regaining his good cheer a bit. He was going to be helping do amazing things! Manric made a glyph of amusement.
"Yes indeed, but Loki, I'm getting you a bit of extra blackstone right now." Awwww! Although if he'd started turning the sparring room into the forests of Commorragh, Loki guessed he kind of had to. That could have been awful. "It will be the kind you can control, though, in case we need your powers." Oh, that was nice! "Don't abuse it." Right!
"I'll be careful sir," Loki promised. Manric nodded before taking him out of the training room, to the Crypteks. Calder followed behind, still a bit dubious about everything. He had to believe it, though, when Loki was being outfitted for special blackstone, the kind the psyker Crypteks normally wore.
You didn't waste that on someone unless they really needed it.
Zivok stared at the beautiful workings of the necron mind, laid bare in front of him, and tapped his face with his pen. Then he glanced at the piece of ghost wood he had on a stand. It glowed in his witch sight with the power of a strong soul.
"I need to be very careful," Zivok mused, still tapping his face. "Very careful indeed." This kind of thing was exceedingly dangerous. Yet, curiosity was propelling him onwards. Could he do this?
Zivok was delving deep into the realm of the Psychomancers and incorporating his knowledge of the soul. He wanted to see if he could customize the psyker souls, to give him precisely the gift he chose, when the ensouled individual awakened from their trance. He also wanted to see if he could customize the mind as well, to promote the right gift. To aide with that, he'd acquired deep scans of the minds of various psykers, of all types. Necrons, humans and Navigators. The one kind of psyker he'd been unable to acquire had been aeldari scans, they had refused and as Lords, they had that right. Manric had donated his scans, however.
Zivok didn't think Manric fully appreciated the depth of his research. He was beginning to edge into things that were truly dangerous, the areas that separated the very talented from the great luminaries. Szeras would no doubt recognize many of the things he was doing, and had likely already done them. Yet, Zivok wondered. Did the great Illuminator have the same ability to modify the soul that Zivok was learning?
Gently picking up the ghost wood, Zivok began working on it. Using the tiniest of tools, and the help of extremely tiny scarabs, he carried out the delicate and painstaking work of engraving the engrams he wanted directly onto the ghost wood. He was specifically targeting empathic telepathy. Not only was it a rare ability, it was also rather safe. Zivok wasn't worried about being killed by an errant psychic attack, not with an empath. And his blackstone shielding should handle any unintended broadcasting of emotions.
When he was done with the ghost wood and the soul, Zivok began working on his necron test subject. This Warrior had been chosen carefully, selected from the great pool of civilians. Oramoton had done such wonderful work, labelling each Warrior with a general profession and standing in life, along with priority for re-souling. Zivok had looked among the low priority for his test subjects, and politely asked Orikan for assistance in finding those who would be adaptable and intelligent. The current Warrior he was working on was a civilian woman, a wandering trader and delivery service. She and her husband had owned a small cargo ship, carrying small but very lucrative hauls between planets. They had made a fine living and raised a family on board their ship, before disaster had come.
Zivok carefully altered her mental engrams, trying to mimick some of the patterns in Manric's mind, the ones he thought were related to empathic telepathy. This portion of his efforts was as much art as skill, he had to be very careful. If he made a mistake, the necron would fall into fatal engrammatic disfunction. Like his prior six attempts.
Is seven my lucky number? Zivok felt like it might be. Humming softly, he reviewed all of his work. It appeared to be perfect. Pausing for the mental equivalent of a deep breath, he gently connected the soul and began a very unusual process of transfer. He flowed his psychic power into the engravings of the ghost wood, modifying the soul even as he transferred it.
That done, he gently customized the soul to the body, trying not to ruin his work. Then he began the slow and painful process of awakening a non-sentient. Hopefully it would be successful… this was where all his previous efforts had failed, as the engrams devolved into utter chaos.
Zivok had left a note on the door that he did not want to be disturbed, but someone decided to ignore that and he heard the door quietly being pushed open. Zivok ignored it, single mindedly continuing his work. It was all important to assist this female necrontyr to accept her memories and transition to sanity.
Then an arm lashed out and a hand hit him in the face. Zivok was genuinely surprised – the Warrior had been fully restrained in a force field. She slipped out of it. That was Warp powers at work, a derivative of telekinesis. He hadn't been aiming for that, but that was the downside of using Manric's engrammatic scans. He had too many abilities and it was hard to define exactly what made up his empathic telepathy. Fortunately, she was wearing blackstone, and not under her control. Zivok increased the negative charge as he reconfined the Warrior. As he worked, a rather annoying voice spoke behind him.
"This appears to be another failure." Oh, sit on it and rotate!
"She isn't a failure until I say she is," Zivok muttered, still deeply intent on his task. "Do you want something?" He could speak as he worked. And Navgran the Eternal, the High Transmuter, was ranked well above him so he couldn't just tell him to rust off, as much as he might like to.
"I'm curious about your work and where it might be going." Oh? Zivok didn't care for that although he supposed it was inevitable. "Do you know what truly makes the difference between a highly placed, well respected Cryptek and a true Luminary, Zivok?"
"Of course. Pure, unadulterated selfishness and a trace of disloyalty." Zivok said, already tired of this sparring. "True luminaries do not allow little things like ethics and loyalty to get in the way of their work, although they do try to thread the needle and stay on good terms with their parent Dynasty." Doing otherwise was dangerous.
"What a way to put it. I would say that we are devoted to the pursuit of knowledge above all else," Navgran said, with a small series of glyphs indicating that he found Zivok's bluntness and effrontery amusing. Zivok grunted… he was not the kind to curb his words, even for the greatest of luminaries or Overlords. Fortunately, Imotekh himself appreciated that kind of bluntness and with the Phaeron's favor, Zivok had only needed to use his agility once, to avoid an outraged Overlord who was unable to take a joke.
"Potayto, potahto… we both know that following the pursuit of knowledge above all else is fundamentally disloyal. Knowledge is meant to be used," Zivok said, acting on instinct and cupping the Warrior's face as he felt her mentally crying. She was sane, he could feel it, she just needed help to get past the pain. "Toholk is the finest example of that, with his mad obsessions about the nature of time when what his Dynasty needs from him is something else entirely. Not that they deserve it," Zivok knew that it was said the Maynarkh Dynasty tortured Toholk relentlessly to get what they wanted from him. There surely had to be a better way, but they were not the sort to employ Psychomancers for the gentler side of their craft, the mending of broken minds.
"Zivok, I shall be blunt. Where are you going with this research? What are your plans for it?" Navgran asked, deciding that fencing about was not productive. Zivok appreciated the bluntness, even if it was troublesome. "Do you intend to become a Luminary or shall you remain forever in the shadow of your Dynasty?"
"I haven't decided yet," Zivok lied. He knew fully well his intentions, he just had no inclination to share them. "Also, I do not have to decide for a very long time. My current research is useful, productive and will take me a considerable length of time." That was true. Zivok was sure it would take him hundreds of years to fully master the art of inscribing any psyker gift he wanted onto a soul and implanting it into a waiting necron body.
"Really? So you're not intending to learn how to inscribe command protocols directly onto the soul, creating slaves to your will?" …
"If you have all the answers, why are you asking the questions?" Zivok asked, which was not any kind of denial. Navgran made glyphs of amusement, the equivalent of a dry chuckle.
"I see. I will await the results of your work with interest," he said before letting himself out. Zivok honestly wanted to kill him. As far as he knew, none of the Psychomancers had considered where the modification of the soul could ultimately lead. Should he attempt to bring Navgran to a final end? Zivok seriously considered it before reluctantly setting the thought aside. Despite his fundamental nature, he was loyal to the Dynasty and also, making that kind of enemy was dangerous. Like assassinating a Phaeron, if you intended to assassinate a great Luminary, you'd best not fail.
"Where am I…?" Zivok's attention snapped to the Warrior. She was looking around, his hands still on her body. "What are you… what am I…?" She was starting to shake, but this was a normal and rational reaction. Zivok immediately began to reassure her, inwardly exulting. Finally, a success! Although he would have to test to see if he'd managed to confer empathic telepathy on her. If not, he would have to reevaluate his mental scans of Manric and possibly figure out a way to bribe the eldar for some scans of their empathic telepaths. However, he had definitely given her telekinesis, which was another of Manric's skills so this could be considered a success.
Now, he just needed to refine the process.
