Warhammer 40k: Ours Journey

Chapter 19: The Emperor? When Did He Get Here?

"To serve you is the sacred mission bestowed upon me by the Omnissiah."

Because a significant number of factions within the Adeptus Mechanicus believe the Emperor to be the Omnissiah's avatar in the material realm, the Astartes—one of the Emperor's own creations—are considered sacred and inviolable beings in their eyes, especially to the Genetors. They were the pinnacle of genetic engineering and the Omnissiah's divine power, combined.

Of course, this attitude didn't stop them from occasionally indulging their own creativity while cultivating gene-seed.

And while this particular Tech-Priest was not a member of that specific sect, he still maintained the requisite reverence. Especially when facing an Astartes of unusually immense stature who could kill a Chaos Terminator in single combat.

Since the Ultramarine had already promised to cover the material costs for the surgeries, to refuse would be suicidal.

Did he want to die?

Of course not.

And so, with a reaction speed that was superhuman in its own right, he accepted the olive branch Romulus had extended. He respectfully made the sign of the cog to the two Angels, then obediently led his tech-adepts to the surgical altar that had been blessed by the Sisters.

The Tech-Priest ordered the guards to open the bionics warehouse, intending to inspect the fine craftsmanship from other Forge Worlds.

Then he stared at the replacement prosthetics and fell into a deep, contemplative silence.

This model number... this quality... and this precision...

Watching the Sisters diligently stamping Seals of Purity onto the surfaces of the prosthetics, the Tech-Priest fought back the urge to stop these foolish zealots from ruining their perfect structure.

There were just so many of them.

He could use these bionics to transform a group of indentured serfs into a Skitarii cohort that could rival an entire Astra Militarum infantry regiment.

Has Ryza produced this many bionics for export?

He casually picked up a bionic respiratory system that had already been stamped with a maker's mark. As the Guardsman on the table stared in horror, the Tech-Priest began to cut. His electronic eyes, filled with countless questions, remained fixed on the warehouse of parts as his mechadendrites moved with a fluid grace, as if they had rehearsed this countless times.

In less than thirty seconds, the baffled Guardsman was helped off the surgical table by the Sisters.

Don't be surprised. The mechanical arms of these "grease-monkeys" were capable of precise operations down to the atomic level. For them, bionic surgery was a simple matter of excision and connection.

"It seems he's quite skilled," Arthur said, relieved.

"That's because we scanned all the data from his own body. Oh, and from his private stash," Romulus replied matter-of-factly. To ensure they had bionics for every body part, Karna had taken the liberty of scanning the inventories of these cog-boys. If they hadn't deliberately edited the production codes, this Tech-Priest would probably be having an existential crisis right now.

"My apologies," Arthur said to Romulus. "I acted on my own."

"Don't mention it. We're short on manpower, not equipment. These Guardsmen are a valuable combat resource. Whether it's assisting in future conflicts or using our military strength to gain leverage with allied forces, it's all... ugh, why does saving people sound so utilitarian when I say it." Romulus slapped his forehead in annoyance. "Anyway, what's wrong with saving people?"

Arthur had taken the lead because he had a plan, while the others couldn't think of what to say at the moment. For an army that combined religious fervor with a death cult mentality, you couldn't just say, 'It's too tragic for you to die like this, we don't want you to die, so you have to live.' If you said that, these Guardsmen would probably commit suicide on the spot.

Instead, the approach Arthur had taken had given them an out, boosted their morale, and provided a perfectly suitable way to integrate these soldiers. After all, no loyal warrior of the Imperium would refuse the honor of marching to their death alongside an Astartes.

"But honestly, I'm not optimistic about their future," Arthur said, looking at the soldiers who had been given new life with the aid of bionics. He had said the nice words, but the underlying problem still needed to be solved. "If we can't cure the Warp's influence on their minds, it's only a matter of time before they fall to Chaos."

Aside from the rare instances where the Four Gods couldn't be bothered to get involved directly, the corruption of Chaos wasn't usually so violent. It was more like a pervasive, subtle suggestion. A person with a strong will might not be easily corrupted, but they would hear constant whispers, or experience a barrage of psychological suggestions affecting their senses. Over time, even the strongest would break down and fall. Even elite units like the Vostroyan Firstborn had been corrupted and turned traitor after long campaigns against Chaos, assassinating the Lord Castellan of Cadia during a joint military parade.

"When that happens, just as I said before, dying on the battlefield will be their best possible end."

"Indeed." Romulus nodded, his expression grim. "The methods for resisting the Warp's influence in this universe are all too harsh."

Death, especially death on the battlefield—such an outcome was still a sad one for the transmigrators. It was hard to imagine that of the few thousand people still alive on this ship, the number who would live to die of old age could likely be counted on one hand.

And death was only the beginning.

Unlike Space Marines, who, as long as they remained loyal and pure and fought to the death for the Emperor, could go to the Golden Throne, mortals like the Astra Militarum had their souls cast directly into the Warp upon death. Only a very few, like Living Saints or unbelievably pious Sisters of Battle, were exceptions.

If you were lucky, the Emperor would sense you and pull you out. If you were moderately lucky, you'd drift in ignorance for a while before dissipating naturally. If you were unlucky, you'd end up as daemon-food. And given the current state of the Warp, a naked soul thrown into it was most likely to be unlucky.

After all, there was only one Emperor, and there were four Chaos Gods. When the Four Gods have their hands in your pockets, you're lucky if you can keep anything from being stolen.

Arthur fell deep in thought, recalling the theoretical methods for resisting the Warp's influence.

The C'tan, the physical embodiments of cosmic laws, created an extremely stable "null-zone" of reality around themselves, insulating them from the Warp. But the Star Gods were on the same level as the Four, so unless one of them appeared and asked, "Do I look like a man or a god?" like Old Man Gold, they could be disregarded.

Then there were the three methods of the Eldar. The Drukhari sustained themselves by feeding on the psychic energy of other races, while relying on their ridiculously advanced, almost magical technology to ensure they didn't die easily. The Asuryani used Spirit Stones to protect their souls, which would enter the Infinity Circuit of their Craftworlds upon death. The Exodites lived on worlds with a World Spirit, and their souls would merge with the planet's soul upon death.

Of course, the simplest way was to have the Emperor notice you before the Four Gods grabbed you, and to be valuable enough for Him to spend the energy to save you.

In short, there were methods, but all of them were rather demanding.

"Emperor preserve us!" an exclamation broke Arthur's train of thought.

It was light!

Arthur turned his head and saw a sacred, golden light emanating from the bodies of the Guardsmen.

The Emperor? When did he get here?

(End of Chapter)