The sprawling bureaucratic machine of the Imperium of Man did not move quickly, but when it did, the results were undeniable. Word of the artifacts acquired by Rogue Trader Captain Dominia Virellia Merikova spread slowly at first — whispers through Administratum channels, discreet Mechanicus enclaves, and hushed Inquisition briefings. A shipment of unknown devices. Human-made. Not xenos-tainted. No signs of the warp. Potentially useful.
Within the fortress-worlds and manufactoria, carefully selected regiments were outfitted with the artifacts. Modest at first: a few squads here, a company there. The standard approach for any unknown technology — observe its effects before committing to mass production. The items in question were relatively simple to distribute: strange but elegant Pip-Boy devices; lightweight energy weapons that bore superficial resemblance to lasguns but functioned entirely differently; Stimpaks that promised rapid healing; Gen-1 suits of unfamiliar but effective power armor.
At first, reports were unimpressive. Standard operational improvements. Soldiers using Pip-Boys reported smoother mission logistics, better battlefield coordination. Medicae praised the Stimpaks for stabilizing wounded troops far faster than traditional battlefield kits. The new weapons performed well, the energy rifles vaporizing lightly armored targets with disturbing efficiency.
Then the unexpected began.
Field commanders started submitting after-action reports indicating bizarre survival rates among troops equipped with Pip-Boys. Squads assigned to meat-grinder missions where survival rates traditionally hovered below twenty percent were coming back with eighty percent or higher. Unprecedented. Impossible.
Internal investigations were launched. Adeptus Biologis overseers demanded medical reports. Adeptus Astra Telepathica dispatched psykers to scan the soldiers for signs of corruption, sorcerous influence, or mutation. The Ordo Hereticus sent a minor Inquisitor, Markus Holstein, under the guise of a logistics inspector, to observe personally.
He found no signs of chaos.
No heretical warp signatures.
Nothing at all, in fact.
The soldiers remained human. Unmodified. Their souls intact, bright and clean under psychic scrutiny. They exhibited no genetic tampering, no psychic awakening. Just... better results. Enhanced reaction times. Sharper cognitive function. Luckier tactical outcomes. Survivability that should not have been possible. Statistical anomalies, Holstein reported, but ones without heretical roots.
Pip-Boys were declared priority requisitions for elite regiments.
Meanwhile, the Stimpaks were causing their own quiet revolution. Frontline medicae corps adopted them immediately after seeing grievous battlefield injuries sealed and stabilized in minutes. Plasma burns, bolter wounds, even shrapnel through the gut— injuries that normally killed within minutes were now survivable. The standard Medikit now felt almost primitive by comparison.
The Mechanicus, for their part, studied the weapons. The "Lazer Rifles," the "Cryo Guns," and the "E.M.P. Blasters." Their designs were... unsettling. Too efficient. No machine spirits needed nurturing. No sacred oils. No litany of ignition. Pull the trigger, and the device obeyed. Heretical simplicity by Mechanicus standards, yet utterly effective.
Several tech-priests began agitating for more samples. A few high-ranking Magi even proposed quietly lobbying for Mechanicus control over the planet the goods were coming from — unaware it was merely one Rogue Trader's secret.
The conversations inside the Mechanicus were cautious.
"This technology mirrors the blessed works of the Dark Age of Technology," stated Archmagos Telmarr of Ryza in one encrypted communique. "Its replication would advance the Great Work."
Others, more cautious, suggested patience. After all, the goods continued to arrive through approved Rogue Trader channels. No need to alert the Ordo Malleus, who might destroy everything if they suspected hidden xenos influence.
Meanwhile, the Astra Militarum leadership, desperate for any edge in the endless wars against the Great Devourer, the Green Tide, and the forces of Chaos, rushed to expand deployments. Entire regiments from battered sectors like Cadia Secundus and Armageddon III were earmarked to receive shipments of Pip-Boys, modified energy weapons, and stimpaks.
Unbeknownst to the Rogue Trader herself, the High Lords of Terra had begun to take notice.
In closed chambers in the Imperial Palace, a handful of Administratum scribes noted the rising operational success rates in certain battlezones. Correlation was eventually drawn to the influx of "unknown standardized relics" sourced from a planet still unidentified in the greater Imperial Cartographica records.
But none questioned the benefits.
The Imperium did not ask where miracles came from.
It used them.
Rogue Trader Captain Dominia Virellia Merikova, now newly wealthy and well-favored, continued her cautious smuggling of these "miracles" into Imperial space. Selling primarily to Administratum officials and Mechanicus enclaves while quietly avoiding the Ordo Xenos and Ordo Malleus.
Inquisitor Markus Holstein filed his final report under sealed orders: "The artifacts pose no present threat. Further observation recommended. Source unknown. Potential value: extremely high."
Already, requests flooded the trade channels.
Request for more Pip-Boys. More stimpaks. More rifles. More armor.
A quiet dependency was forming.
And no one—no Magos, no Inquisitor, no High Lord—knew the truth. That these gifts came from minds and technologies beyond their understanding. That the world from which they came was building its own destiny, beyond the Imperium's grasp.
In the endless war-torn galaxy, the Imperium of Man, built on suspicion and fire, had unknowingly let a new player onto its stage.
And that player was watching.
Waiting.
Ready.
End of Chapter Thirty-Five