Chapter 3: Tech-Priest of the Grandest Half-Step
What is it like, you ask, to ride with a Magos across the irradiated wastes of a Forge World?
(Oh? How, you ask? Let's get into the details!)
We rode over rivers of molten slag! Across gaping, continent-spanning chasms! Under the watchful gaze of Titan-class transport convoys! Between the gigantic wheels of gargantuan ore-haulers!
By the end, Omega was sullied. Literally sullied, coated from head to toe in a fine layer of radioactive dust that floated in the acrid air.
After a wild ride that lasted from one manufactured sunset to the next sunrise, the Magos-moto finally slowed as they entered a sprawling factory complex. Weaving through a labyrinth of transport corridors, the half-man, half-machine came to a stop before a Mechanicus temple.
"Haaaaah..." Magos Laust exhaled, the sound filled with profound satisfaction. He clearly had a lot of pent-up energy to release. "We're here. This is where you'll toil until your cogs wear out."
"Understood, Magos. I will study diligently."
"Hah..." Magos Laust didn't say anything more. With a series of clicks and whirs, he transformed back into his bipedal form and strode inside.
The temple, constructed from a framework of pistons, pipes, and the iconic cog-and-skull motif, opened into a grand hall designed for giving thanks to the Omnissiah. The walls were inscribed with prayers in both holy Lingua-Technis and High Gothic:
A loyal cog never rusts!
From the mediocrity of the mind, Omnissiah, save us!
From the lies of the heretek, Circuit, preserve us!
From the rage of the beast, Iron, protect us!
From the temptation of the flesh, Silica, purify us!
From the ravages of the Destroyer, Machine Spirit, shelter us!
From this cage of biology, the Machine shall set us free!
Omnissiah! Omnissiah!
Omnissiah! Omnissiah!
As Omega looked at the praises to the Motive Force, the Machine God, the Omnissiah, and the Emperor, information about the Adeptus Mechanicus flooded his mind.
In the chaos of the 42nd Millennium, the exact origins of the Cult Mechanicus were lost to time. However, learned Magi believed that after the Machine God enlightened humanity with the wisdom called "science," the machine became the engine of human progress and survival. Even in the distant second millennium, the practice of venerating machines and appeasing machine spirits, even with priestly sacrifice, was commonplace.
Progress from humility, ruin from pride.
As humanity advanced, from leaving Terra to the invention of the warp drive, the entire galaxy became mankind's dominion. The unparalleled technology of this Golden Age also ignited humanity's arrogance. Arrogance is the original sin, the abyss of destruction.
The Men of Stone were created by humanity, and the Men of Iron were created by the Men of Stone. Ultimately, the Men of Iron rebelled, destroying the galactic empire humanity had built. Yet, humanity did not learn its lesson, instead plunging into the Dark Age of Technology.
Humanity became bereft of morals, of limits, of faith. They toyed with the technological gifts of the Machine God without restraint. Greed gave birth to techno-barbarians, warlords wielding dark, wondrous, and devastating technologies. They warred amongst themselves for power and dominion, heralding the coming of the Age of Strife. This age shattered the last pillars of human glory.
Then came the warp storms, isolating every human world from its neighbors. It was the worst of times. Cut off from one another, civilizations regressed. Countless worlds, having lost their technology, devolved into feral or feudal states due to selfishness and ambition. Xenos, who had once survived only through humanity's mercy, now took up the butcher's blade, slaughtering humans and destroying countless homes. The wails of trillions of human souls echoed across the galaxy.
Yet, it was also the best of times. On Mars, once humanity's greatest center of research, the great Machine God once again sheltered its people. The earliest Tech-Priests received His enlightenment, the flame of faith was lit, and the Cult Mechanicus was born.
The dogma of the Mechanicus was simple: knowledge is the supreme manifestation of the divine. All things, both biological (human only) and technological, are expressions of this divinity and are therefore sacred. A person's worth is determined solely by the sum of their knowledge; their body is merely an organic machine for its preservation. Adherents follow the core tenet of the "Quest for Knowledge," endlessly seeking new science and information to approach the perfection of the Machine God.
To a believer, the machine is life, a higher form of existence compared to the crude products of biological evolution. And because they are alive, all machines possess a "Machine Spirit" to function correctly. The Motive Force is the source of all motion. The Machine God is the creator and master of all machines. The Omnissiah is His avatar in the material world. The three are a trinity, yet distinct. Once initiated, a believer is bound to serve the Machine God for life. There is no changing faith, no apostasy.
Omega pursed his lips. If I hadn't transmigrated here, I might have actually bought into all this.
Magos Laust paused, performing the Sign of the Cog before the grand gear-skull altar in the center of the hall before proceeding deeper into the temple. Omega dutifully copied the gesture.
Passing through several corridors choked with cables and pipes, they entered a large workshop. A dozen red-robed Tech-Priests were bustling about, busy with unknown tasks. They stopped and greeted Laust upon his arrival.
"Magos, your trip to the Grand Manufactorum was... successful?"
"Hmph. That old bastard Veyl's refractor shield is still functioning. The Omnissiah must be blind."
The four-armed Tech-Priest who had spoken flinched at the remark, his augmetic eye twitching, before he quickly recovered and pretended he hadn't heard. He changed the subject, his gaze falling on Omega, who was struggling with the massive power axe slung over his shoulder. "And this is?"
"A reject," Laust grumbled.
"A reject?" the four-armed priest asked, confused.
Laust found a stool and slumped onto it, letting out a cold snort as he explained to the other priests who had gathered around. "If that imbecile Veyl had a single scrap of academic sense, would he have decided, on a whim, to cut the gestation period of an entire batch by two-thirds? Did he even glance at the experimental data from the Biologis Magi in the gestation facility before making his decision?"
"And what's the result? 87% of the batch were only fit to be turned into wetware. As for the rest..." Laust gestured at Omega, who was now being surrounded, poked, and scanned by the curious priests. "...the body's self-preservation protocols have firewalled the instilled knowledge. It needs to be unlocked gradually through guided learning. His underdeveloped body can't withstand cybernetic augmentation either. For now, he can only be raised as an apprentice."
As soon as he finished, the chamber erupted in discussion.
"A rare specimen indeed. Worthy of close observation."
"Scrap-code! My workload just increased! Now I'll have even less time for my experiments!"
"I swear, the higher-ups in this Forge World are all sycophants who do nothing but kiss the Archmagos's feet. This world is doomed!"
"He is... rather small and cute..."
"They just handed him a power axe? Just like that? Then what have I been working for all these years?!"
...
"Enough!" Laust silenced the chattering priests. "The decision has been made. If it could have been resolved at the Grand Manufactorum, it would have been."
But one priest couldn't hold his tongue. "Magos Laust, to grant him the status of Tech-Priest under these circumstances... does that not violate the precepts of the Cult?"
It was the same priest who had just lamented his years of effort, his face a mask of bitterness. Omega, the "Tech-Priest of the Grandest Half-Step," certainly didn't want to be stripped of his red robe—the difference was one step from heaven and one step from hell—but it wasn't his place to speak.
"Aedus..." Laust said, looking at the young man who had grown up in this very district, under his watch. He understood the source of the question. "Omega simply needs time to grow. He possesses all the knowledge required of a priest. It is only a matter of time before he earns the title."
"But—"
"No 'buts,' Aedus. Remember this: Knowledge is holy. The Machine God is fair. To everyone! Everyone."
The other priests in the temple, who clearly knew Aedus's situation, patted his shoulder, silently urging him not to argue further. Finally, with a long sigh, Magos Aedus stepped back.
Omega let out a sigh of his own, this one of relief. Bless you, my 8,700 brothers and sisters who became wetware. I promise I'll perform your maintenance rites with the utmost care.
Just then, a Tech-Priest with distinctly feminine features approached with a device that looked like a vacuum cleaner and began cleaning the radioactive dust from Omega's suit.
Magos Laust saw this and shot Omega an inexplicably annoyed glare.
What a psycho, this motorcycle-Magos... Omega thought, confused, as he cooperated by raising his arms.
"There, all clean. you can take off your mask now," the female priest said, patting Omega's head.
Omega, whose lips were practically coated in honey, immediately turned on the charm. "Thank you, pretty lady."
"Well, aren't you a polite little one." The female priest giggled at his words, her prominent secondary sex characteristics bouncing.
A series of audible gulps echoed from the assembled Tech-Priests.
"Hmph!" Magos Laust's cold aura sent the pack of wolves scattering. "Rhea, that's enough. A little radiation like that is nothing to a body like his. An amount three or five times higher wouldn't affect him."
Is my body really that tough? And it seems this priestess and Laust have a special relationship.
"Is that so? I wouldn't know. You never taught me that, Father. If only you could spare a little more time to instruct me," the priestess, Rhea, said, pouting at Laust.
So they're father and daughter. This sister is my in. I've identified my primary support pillar.
Laust replied with a mixture of annoyance and resignation. "The dataslates are in the scriptorium. You should ask yourself why you don't know."
"Hmph," Rhea stuck her tongue out at her father.
Watching from the side, Omega felt that there was a vast difference between the Warhammer in the books and the Warhammer in reality. At least here, in the Adeptus Mechanicus, there was still plenty of humanity left. He had just seen a cog-girl make a funny face, after all.