Infinite Metaverse

Chapter 22: The Techmarine

The corridors of the 'Shortsword' were dimly lit, the faint hum of the ship's engines reverberating through the cold, metallic walls. The air was thick with the scent of oil and the faint tang of ozone, a constant reminder of the vessel's mechanical heart.

Ogotai and Taral walked side by side, their heavy boots echoing against the floor. Ogotai, seated in his wheelchair, furrowed his brow, deep in thought. His expression was one of contemplation, as if wrestling with a decision of great consequence.

After a long silence, Ogotai looked up at his old friend. "Taral, I think the time has come."

"What time?" Taral asked, though he already knew what Ogotai was referring to.

"Locke's progress has exceeded our expectations. He grows stronger every day, closer to becoming a true Astartes. And as for me… it's time I was entombed."

Taral sighed. He had seen this coming. Ogotai had tried to fight without his legs, relying solely on his upper body, but his combat effectiveness had diminished significantly.

The White Scars were not like the Iron Hands, obsessed with mechanical augmentation. Even Kurnos Anastasius, a master of biological sciences, had been unable to provide Ogotai with legs capable of withstanding the rigors of an Astartes' combat.

Ogotai's requirements were not modest—he needed legs that could not only walk and run but also endure the brutal demands of a Space Marine's life. Only the Iron Hands could achieve such a feat.

The idea of Ogotai being entombed in a Dreadnought filled Taral with unease. The early designs of Dreadnoughts were pragmatic, meant to allow severely injured Space Marines to continue serving. These warriors, their limbs lost and their bodies broken, were placed within the sarcophagus, suspended in nutrient fluids, their nervous systems directly interfaced with the machine.

The experience was torturous, with the pilot subjected to constant pain and sensory overload during combat. After a prolonged battle, the Dreadnought's cockpit often contained nothing but a charred corpse, ready to be replaced by the next crippled warrior.

"It's too early to discuss this," Taral said. "'Shortsword' doesn't have a Dreadnought for you. Your iron coffin isn't here."

Ogotai nodded, then changed the subject. "Have you noticed how often Locke has been visiting Kurnos lately?"

"I have," Taral replied. "Kurnos treats Locke differently from the rest of us. I wonder what that tech-priest is up to."

Ogotai thought for a moment, recalling Fu Qinghai's remarkable abilities on Cheslatan. He had an inkling of what might be happening.

***

Two weeks earlier, Fu Qinghai had entered Kurnos's laboratory aboard the ship, carrying a small case. As he stepped inside, his eyes were drawn to a massive iron cabinet standing near the workbench.

Inside, the corpse of an Ork was strapped in a spread-eagle position. The creature's muscles and organs had been hollowed out, leaving only a thin layer of skin stretched over its bones. It was a macabre sight, the green skin hanging loosely like a grotesque puppet.

Kurnos, short and hunched, emerged from the shadows like a specter. Noticing Fu Qinghai's gaze, the tech-priest chuckled hoarsely. "Experiment 1923 is complete. Servitor 37, remove this specimen. It might frighten our young friend."

The servitors obediently wheeled the cabinet away. Fu Qinghai shrugged. Having seen countless horror films in his previous life, he was hardly fazed by the Ork's remains. Ogotai's armoury contained far stranger alien specimens.

Fu Qinghai approached a station and placed his case on it. Inside was a standard-issue Imperial bolter. With practiced ease, he disassembled the weapon, removing the magazine and stripping it down to its components. He worked with precision, his hands moving deftly over the machinery.

He had noticed that Kurnos treated him differently from Ogotai and Taral. The tech-priest allowed him free access to the laboratory and even permitted him to operate the equipment—a rare privilege for anyone outside the Mechanicum.

Fu Qinghai didn't believe he shared any special bond with Kurnos. Instead, he sensed that the tech-priest viewed him as a valuable experiment, observing his every move with the detached curiosity of a scientist studying a lab rat.

As Fu Qinghai worked, Kurnos appeared silently at his side, watching intently. "What are you doing?" the tech-priest asked.

"I'm modifying the magazine housing to accommodate a drum magazine," Fu Qinghai explained, pointing to the lower receiver of the bolter.

"Your schematics?" Kurnos inquired.

Fu Qinghai tapped his temple. "In here."

Kurnos's mechanical eye whirred as he observed Fu Qinghai's hands. The young warrior's movements were precise, his hands steady as a surgeon's. Without blueprints or digital models, Fu Qinghai crafted each component flawlessly, the measurements exact to the micrometer.

Kurnos glanced at his own mechanical appendages, then back at Fu Qinghai's human hands. He was baffled. How could a mere mortal achieve such precision?

Unbeknownst to Kurnos, Fu Qinghai's mind housed the electronic backup of Tony Stark, allowing him to visualize and model the modifications in his head. Combined with the White Scars' meditation techniques and his enhanced Astartes physiology, Fu Qinghai's abilities were beyond ordinary comprehension.

As Fu Qinghai completed the modifications, he slid the drum magazine into place with a satisfying 'click'. He tested the weapon's balance and weight, satisfied with the result.

Kurnos spoke up. "That bolter was manufactured on Agripinaa. The barrel has a limited lifespan. With a drum magazine, it will wear out faster."

"I know," Fu Qinghai replied. "But the increased firepower is worth the trade-off."

Kurnos didn't argue. While modifying Imperial weaponry was technically forbidden, the Space Marines operated with a degree of autonomy that allowed for such personalizations. The White Scars, known for their independence, were unlikely to object.

As Fu Qinghai prepared to leave, Kurnos stopped him. "Locke, you have a talent for this. Would you consider becoming a Techmarine?"

Fu Qinghai paused, then nodded. "I would be honored, Magos."

***

Back in the training cage, Ogotai and Taral discussed the development.

"So, Kurnos offered to make him a Techmarine?" Ogotai asked.

"Yes," Fu Qinghai confirmed.

Taral stroked his chin. "This is a good thing, don't you think?"

Ogotai smiled. "Of course. I expected nothing less."

***

Techmarines, like Apothecaries and Librarians, were specialized roles within the Astartes. They were trained on Mars or other forge worlds, their armour adorned with the cogwheel of the Mechanicum. While some Legions, like the Iron Hands and Salamanders, produced many Techmarines, they were rare among the White Scars.

Fu Qinghai returned to the laboratory, where Kurnos awaited him. The tech-priest led him to a towering bookshelf filled with tomes of ancient knowledge—some written on vellum, others on fragile paper from ages past. These books contained the accumulated wisdom of humanity, collected from across the galaxy.

Kurnos's mechanical arms retrieved several volumes and placed them before Fu Qinghai. The young warrior sat down, his expression serious. As he opened the first book, a thought crossed his mind.

'If I had studied this hard back on Earth, maybe I would've gotten into a top university.'

***

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