Herald of the Stars: Chapter Two Hundred and Six

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During the shuttle ride to Red Knoll, I am shocked to receive an influx of data from my Data Syphon.

My mind stalls for several minutes as centuries of obtuse and detailed knowledge is shoved into my noggin. One by one, my quarantined shards of consciousness reboot themselves and repeat the process in reverse, taking information from my mind and configuring themselves until they are all identical to the original, prime ego.

Feeling rather bewildered, I meditate for the rest of the journey, recentring myself. Once I arrive at Red Knoll, I read a summary of the information that was left to me as I am driven to my meeting with JK-404, accompanied by two bodyguards.

The data from the Eldar Haemonculi was rather disjointed, much of it entirely random experiments undertaken purely to witness and indulge in the pain of the subjects, rather than progress learning of any kind. My quarantined minds deleted most of that data.

I do, however, gain a near total understanding of Eldar anatomy and many other xenos, especially their reactions to tens of thousands of different exotic compounds and diseases, and how to counter them in multiple different ways from counter agents, to biological manipulation, to cybernetics.

While I doubt I have acquired everything the Eldar know on the subject, there is more than enough to research a superior toxiphage, as well as improve the pharmacopoeia within the armour my Heralds, or new evolutionary improvements to the Human genome to better resist mutation and disease.

With this data, I think I will finally be able to understand the Marwolv genome and edit it with a sufficient degree of confidence as well as better understand all the contents of the DNA library the Tau created and the consequences of each upgrade hidden within.

My understanding of Space Marines remains limited beyond a new list of compounds designed to disable them.

The second piece of technology I recover is superior healing and regeneration, including new surgery techniques and drugs. This will dramatically improve recovery time for all personnel, once the knowledge has been confirmed and distributed. This advance is mostly based on easier ways to test and create custom drugs that are tailored to a specific individual and a vast library to go alongside it.

There is so much data that I am glad that I do not have the memories of all the time it took to collect, sort, and comprehend this information. Without my simulated minds, using Data Syphon would have been a truly awful experience.

There’s not just drugs for healing and recovery, but custom performance and rejuvenat drugs too, from superior muscle growth and improved neuroplasty, to reflex enhancers and fear inhibitors. There is also a truly absurd number of psychedelics and sexual stamina drugs as well. So many that this less useful category of recreational drugs has more data than all the other drug data twice over.

The regeneration technologies include all the methods of restoring a dead Eldar from revival from a single drop of blood, to snatching souls from the Warp and placing them in new bodies. It won’t work for Humans, except perhaps the most powerful psykers and navigators, but there is an impressive list on how to sabotage the process. It’s not much good to me as I can just eat their souls and is far too high tech to be made by most of the Imperium. I could see such technologies being useful in my colonies and void stations though. It’s not like I can be everywhere at once. There is a chance I could use it to avoid purchasing Multiplicity, but I don’t really trust the Eldar technology to keep me safe from permanent death.

What is significant, however, are the methods to clone psychic beings. Meaning that with this data I could potentially create psychic servitors without needing psyker. This, in theory, makes it possible to create superior astropathic relays and choirs with better bandwidth and security, easier maintenance, and significantly less suffering. I really wish I had this information before I upgraded myself. It would have saved so much time!

Experimenting with arcanotech is always risky, but there’s enough data here to begin such a project and not accidentally breach the Materium, or create a legion of demon host Servitors.

Last and perhaps most irritating, is the knowledge that much of this data, especially the drugs, is Human in origin for these two Haemonculi know the last location of the Panacea STC. Asdrubael Vect, tyrannical leader of the Dark Eldar, possesses this vital machine and has lent it to the Haemonculi to encourage their cooperation in his endeavours.

The Panacea STC is a fully functional, adaptive STC that, according to rumour, is capable of curing any mundane disease, and possibly Warp based ones as well. Any faction who possesses it has a distinct advantage in countering the forces of Nurgle, the Chaos God of disease, pestilence, and decay. It would likely help against the Tyranids as well. Not only that, but with the Panacea STC I could probably safely fabricate and use Universal Medicine.

There is no guarantee that the Panacea STC is still functional or uncorrupted at this point, but it is desirable enough to risk an invasion of Commorragh. From the memories I have stolen, I am aware that the STC is guarded well enough that nothing short of conquering the city even has a chance of acquiring it.

No matter how much I might desire it, I do not have the forces to assault billions of Drukhari, and their myriad slaves and horrors, in their lair. The only way I could realistically gather and control enough forces to attempt such an endeavour would be to embrace the identity of an Imperial Saint and go full on chunni cyber angel.

My face may remain serene, but inside my mind, a single, dramatic tear slips from my left eye. My pride! How I shall miss thee.

Soon, my brief drive is over and I enter a cavernous laboratory, filled with hundreds of clear growth tanks, a mess of armoured cables, and an impressive flock of cherubim wielding pointy, gleaming implements.

I commandeer a cherubim and it leads me to JK-404, who is waiting for me in a small side chapel to the Machine-God, filled with bean bags and fragrant oil burners. A mountain of scrolls, books, and dataslates are piled haphazardly on a central recaf table alongside empty flasks of soylent, recaf, and hot chocolate.

JK-404 lounges in her bright yellow beanbag, a small smile on her face while she gushes about the Black Skeleton implant and all she has discovered about it to Inquisitor Raphael.

I can tell Raphael is struggling to follow along the conversation, but Tech-Marine Balor is clearly engrossed, his eyebrows rising higher and higher up his forehead as JK-404 speaks, then resetting with a frown and starting the cycle all over again. Both men are trying to sit upright on their orange and green beanbags. Balor is wearing dark blue robes, and Raphael is in his naval officer uniform. Neither of them fit the aesthetic of the space and I hide my amusement behind a warm smile.

Verlin is floating naked in a tank of regenerative drugs and nanites. His eyes are glassy and unfocused and his mouth is covered by a mask that intermittently lets out a stream of bubbles.

I was not expecting all these extras when I arranged a meeting to discuss the Hyper Intelligence upgrade. Even Owen is here, interacting with a dataslate connected to Verlin’s tank. From his thoughts, I pick up that he is having a private conversation with Verlin.

“Good day, everyone,” I say.

JK-404 grins, “Hello, Magos. Do take a seat. I hope you don’t mind the informal setting.”

I shrug, “Your lab, your rules. How is Verlin doing?”

Balor grimaces, “His head is rotting and he will die if he is removed from the tank. The new body is rejecting what remains of him, despite their compatibility. It was just too much change at once. We should have done it a bit at a time, but took the risk, hoping to get our Force Commander back on his feet as soon as possible. The chance of rejection was supposedly less than five percent, but sometimes one is just unlucky. Owen is helping him come to terms with his new condition as our Chaplain is also badly injured. We gathered in the hope you would have some solutions.”

“That is most unfortunate. Magos, were you able to identify the failure?” I say.

“No,” JK-404 scowls. “For all I can make Space Marines, especially with the help of the specialists aboard Red Knoll, I actually know very little about the details behind the process and must have missed something in our tests. The other marines are recovering well and we have a large supply of geneseed and spare parts in stasis. There are currently seventy-nine surviving marines, fourty-eight of whom are fit for duty.”

JK-404 taps one of the metal flasks in front of her with a mechadendrite and it resounds with an empty clang. She pouts briefly and continues, “Two dreadnought frames are in storage. It might be considered a great honour to pilot one, but there is a distinct lack of volunteers among the critically injured to be entombed in such a device.

“All the marines on board have seen the dreadnoughts of their chapter fight with uncharacteristic recklessness and are not keen to find out why even the most mild of brothers would seek death rather than eternal service. None among the marines and their auxiliaries, or even myself, have the expertise to tell if it is the weight of endless war, or faulty sarcophagi that drive the entombed to suicidal fury. It is especially unwelcome to place Force Commander Verlin in such a position and after such extreme casualties, there is no one fit to replace him.”

I nod, “I see, and what of you, Raphael. What is your opinion on the matter?”

“To my knowledge, there has never been a Force Commander dreadnought,” says Raphael, “though plenty have been known to lead small strike forces. The complex life support requires a lot of maintenance, and the occupant is often asleep or in stasis to minimise resource expenditure. This is unsuitable for a leader who must react as fast as a Force Commander is required to. It isn’t just about the potential mental instability.”

“I thought that might be the case,” I say. “What external forces are pressing on us at the moment? How quickly must we resolve this issue?”

Raphael hums, “It is urgent. The local inquisitorial fortress and the Barghest Chapter are aware of the local situation and its nuances, but neither are offering aid or condemnation at this time. The Imperial Navy is snubbing us, but that has less to do with the loss in production from SR-651 and more to do with another matter, which I will address after your own take, Magos Issengrund, on what to do about Verlin and the other Marines.

“I have had some inquiries on the ongoing system crisis from Rogue Traders, but they offered nothing for the news and have received nothing in return. The outbreak of plague in the Breaking Yards concerns me greatly. I fear it is unnatural. I have had to keep the new, unsanctioned psyker in my retinue in stasis due to excessive nightmares. He has an uncontrolled talent in divination. The local astropathic choir is becoming increasingly skittish and unreliable as well.”

“Thank you, Raphael. I am pleased you are keeping abreast of the situation. The plague concerns me as well, but I am still unclear on how bad it really is. As for Verlin, I have options for you, Balor. The first is that I place his brain inside a custom Servitor, either a Janus or Praetorian.

“I could alter a Dreadnought, Vanguard Armour, or Knight to accept a Janus Servitor frame as a pilot. The Janus is weaker than a Space Marine, but this would not be an issue if he could hop in and out of larger machines. A Janus is low maintenance with a full supply chain of parts available within the Stellar Fleet, even for more custom ones, as we often use them to repurpose mutants into more productive personnel, without overriding their free will.

“A Praetorian is inhuman and not suitable for long term piloting. Without access to other, more humanoid frames and the noosphere, Verlin might be driven just as mad as he would inside a Dreadnought. This should take significantly longer though than a faulty Dreadnought. A Praetorian is a powerful warframe that I know works and does not require me to dedicate resources towards fixing whatever incompatibilities and issues the Barghest Chapter is having with its own Dreadnoughts.

“It would also be possible, with an hour of downtime, to swap between a Janus and a Praetorian. A Praetorian isn’t as strong and tough as a Dreadnought, but it is far more manoeuvrable than any other warframe I possess and remains combat capable even within the narrow corridors of a hive or void ship.”

I pause for a moment to consider the consequences of my next offer and decide to go ahead with it. Verlin would make for a good test subject should I be required to perform a similar operation on my family.

I continue, “The other option is that I place him in a body similar to my own. As I do not have a spare millennia to teach someone how to maintain it, it would create a conflict of interest between Verlin and the Barghest chapter as he would be reliant on me to fix him if he gets shot up enough to overwhelm the self-repair mechanisms. On the other hand, it would enhance Verlin to a similar level as the Custodes or a Magus Dominus. The whole chapter would likely benefit greatly from his improved capabilities.”

Verlin would only be getting the Potentia Coil powered prototype that I created while researching my hybrid version. The nanites are nowhere near as versatile or fast and it is, at maximum, twenty-five percent as powerful as myself. It is still a full body prosthetic and way better than anything one is likely to find outside the maddening halls of Arch-Magos Cawls’ laboratories, or the depths of Mars.

Balor closes his eyes for a moment and takes several slow breaths. He opens his eyes and says, “Thank you for your generosity, Magos Issengrund. I did not expect you to have so many solutions. Would it be possible to downgrade Brother Verlin’s frame to a Janus should there be a conflict of interest between his continued existence and his duties to the chapter?”

“Unfortunately not. There is some crossover between my systems and the Janus, but I am not confident I could remove the implants from his brain without killing him. I could try, but he is transhuman, not human, and like the experts on Red Knoll, I am not well versed enough in Space Marine biology to guarantee I could reverse the process. Should he die, this could lead to an unpleasant splintering of relations, should accusations start to fly.”

Raphael nods along, clearly agreeing with my summary.

I continue, “Even if we signed agreements and I permitted supervision and summarised what I was doing during such an operation, it wouldn’t make any difference as no one else has the knowledge or tools to be absolutely sure I hadn’t pulled a trick or two for pointless revenge or bruised pride. I might believe such things are ridiculous, but whether we are transhuman, post-human, or abhuman, we all share the same societal flaws of our original species.”

“I understand your concerns, Magos,” says Balor, “but could you provide an example of where you feel lacking? Perhaps there is something we can overcome together.”

I smile and shake my head, pushing aside my flash of irritation at Balor’s version of tact. “I have performed the operation of placing a brain inside a cybernetic or bionic body over a hundred thousand times, often performing dozens of operations simultaneously, for weeks on end. I am confident I can do the same for Force Commander Verlin. I have never removed implants as invasive as my own from anyone other than myself. I am uncertain I could replace cloned grey matter without killing him, or ensuring he remains the same person.”

Balor grimaces, “That is adequate. It is remarkable you claim you can do so for yourself though. Owen, I know Verlin is listening. Is he lucid enough to make a choice or must I do it for him?”

“Commander Verlin is well enough to offer his opinion, but the whole reason we’re having this conversation is because he can’t make decisions,” says Owen, his face carefully neutral.

“Ah,” Balor winces. “Well, pop him on vox. I would like to accommodate him as much as possible.”

Owen pokes and swipes at his dataslate, “There we go. You are free to speak, Commander.”