Flight of the Aquila
folder
+S through Z › Warhammer 40,000
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
4
Views:
3,488
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0
Recommended:
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
+S through Z › Warhammer 40,000
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
4
Views:
3,488
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Warhammer 40, 000; nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Logos Omnia Vincit
4. Logos Omnia Vincit
Mallear Creed was born on Ignia Secundus in the Calixis sector. The planet itself was initially deemed suitable for human colonisation, though no one predicted the interplay of the gravitational pulls of the nearby solar systems and the effects on the planet. Every 27th Imperial standard year, the planet would move much too far to the sun, killing off crops and anyone who was on its unprotected surface.
Over ninety-seven percent of Ignia’s inhabitants would enter stasis-chambers, preserving them cryogenically in gigantic substructures of the planets, while a small group of caretakers would ensure that the systems remained operable in the scorching heat of what the locals referred to as the Trial of Fire. When Mallear had chosen the path of the Adeptus Mechanicus, he had intended to discover a way to protect his homeworld from the devastating Trials, that his people had only endured due to sheer stubbornness.
When his application to join the priesthood of the Omnissiah had been accepted, he had left his homeworld and entered the sacred temples where he would spend many of his coming years, learning the codes of the Mechanicus and how to appease machine-spirits and how to properly honour those machines that exemplified the perfection of the Omnissiah.
When his training had been over, he had been gifted with a single holy augmentation; a rebreather attached to his throat, filtering out impurities from the air around him and ensuring optimal intake of air. It had allowed him stamina that few un-augmented humans could match and on that day, he felt a deep reverence for the perfection of the True Flesh.
Since then, he had been gifted with many augments, some made by his fellow adherents of the Machine God and others created by his own hands by the blessing of the Omnissiah. He always ensured that they were well-maintained and in truth, his continued existence depended on it. Nearly all of his vital organs had been replaced with inorganic replacements and there was only the vaguest resemblance between the young, idealist boy who had joined the Adeptus Mechanicus and Magos Creed.
Neither emotion nor flawed flesh would survive in the pure light of the Omnissiah.
Currently, he was working in the service of the Inquisition under Inquisitor Verelius. His current assignment was to analyse the hundreds of questionable leads they had received concerning their suspicion of a major Chaos operation in the sector. The amount of psykers in the region was distressingly below the expected numbers on several planets that normally had above-average amount of awakening psykers and the Tech Priest had been tasked with going through the tens of thousands of data-files, that needed to be cross-referenced and analysed before any actual progress could be made in the case.
Creed had worked silently and without interruption in the flickering candlelight of the room, which was mostly there out of habit, as his augmentic eyes automatically compensated for variances in ambience. Every third day, he had taken a onehundredandeightythree minute break in which he slept; the Inquisitor had insisted that he rested regularly so to keep at optimum efficiency, despite the Magos’ protests.
He penned the last part of his daily entry on his data-slate and transmitted it to the Inquisitors private frequency, before returning to his analysis of the data.
“Magos?” Judging by the voice-pattern produced by the vox, Creed estimated that it was the Inquisitor. After a quick glance at the incoming frequency on his vox his suspicions were confirmed.
“Inquisitor.” He acknowledged.
“Your last entry? Is it definitive?”
“According to my sources, the wrecked ship was discovered last month by a civilian. Its markings confirm the identity of the vessel.”
“Then gather your things. We’ll have to investigate this immediately.”
“I believe it would be more efficient should I continue investigating my data from my current location, Inquisitor.”
“No. You’ll come with us. If it really is the Terra Ariel, we’ll need you to make sense out of its databanks.”
“I see. I will be in the lobby in approximately seventeen minutes.”
The Inquisitor was at it again. Whenever they’d been on a planet for more than a few days he was itching to get out in the field again. Creed didn’t understand that need; surely it was more effective to investigate things in the proper environment? Still, there was no arguing with the Inquisitorial rosette.
There was a reason only Inquisitors had the actual ones; the trusted people in their service might carry a symbol signifying the support of the Inquisitor, but when authorities clashed it was only an Inquisitor who was sure to win. That little symbol gave them the ability to order the extermination of an entire planet, a sub-sector or even (should the circumstances mandate it) an entire sector, all in the name of the Imperium and the comatose Emperor on his Omnissiah-blessed Throne on far-away Terra.
Reluclantly, Creed gathered his data-slates and transferred their data to his secondary cogitator-implant. Any and all of the information in those dataslates could potentially save their lives and help them succeed in their mission. Also, it was undoubtedly a more practical way of bringing the information with him, even if it was easier to access the relevant information when it was spread between half-a-dozen dataslates.
Mallear Creed was born on Ignia Secundus in the Calixis sector. The planet itself was initially deemed suitable for human colonisation, though no one predicted the interplay of the gravitational pulls of the nearby solar systems and the effects on the planet. Every 27th Imperial standard year, the planet would move much too far to the sun, killing off crops and anyone who was on its unprotected surface.
Over ninety-seven percent of Ignia’s inhabitants would enter stasis-chambers, preserving them cryogenically in gigantic substructures of the planets, while a small group of caretakers would ensure that the systems remained operable in the scorching heat of what the locals referred to as the Trial of Fire. When Mallear had chosen the path of the Adeptus Mechanicus, he had intended to discover a way to protect his homeworld from the devastating Trials, that his people had only endured due to sheer stubbornness.
When his application to join the priesthood of the Omnissiah had been accepted, he had left his homeworld and entered the sacred temples where he would spend many of his coming years, learning the codes of the Mechanicus and how to appease machine-spirits and how to properly honour those machines that exemplified the perfection of the Omnissiah.
When his training had been over, he had been gifted with a single holy augmentation; a rebreather attached to his throat, filtering out impurities from the air around him and ensuring optimal intake of air. It had allowed him stamina that few un-augmented humans could match and on that day, he felt a deep reverence for the perfection of the True Flesh.
Since then, he had been gifted with many augments, some made by his fellow adherents of the Machine God and others created by his own hands by the blessing of the Omnissiah. He always ensured that they were well-maintained and in truth, his continued existence depended on it. Nearly all of his vital organs had been replaced with inorganic replacements and there was only the vaguest resemblance between the young, idealist boy who had joined the Adeptus Mechanicus and Magos Creed.
Neither emotion nor flawed flesh would survive in the pure light of the Omnissiah.
Currently, he was working in the service of the Inquisition under Inquisitor Verelius. His current assignment was to analyse the hundreds of questionable leads they had received concerning their suspicion of a major Chaos operation in the sector. The amount of psykers in the region was distressingly below the expected numbers on several planets that normally had above-average amount of awakening psykers and the Tech Priest had been tasked with going through the tens of thousands of data-files, that needed to be cross-referenced and analysed before any actual progress could be made in the case.
Creed had worked silently and without interruption in the flickering candlelight of the room, which was mostly there out of habit, as his augmentic eyes automatically compensated for variances in ambience. Every third day, he had taken a onehundredandeightythree minute break in which he slept; the Inquisitor had insisted that he rested regularly so to keep at optimum efficiency, despite the Magos’ protests.
He penned the last part of his daily entry on his data-slate and transmitted it to the Inquisitors private frequency, before returning to his analysis of the data.
“Magos?” Judging by the voice-pattern produced by the vox, Creed estimated that it was the Inquisitor. After a quick glance at the incoming frequency on his vox his suspicions were confirmed.
“Inquisitor.” He acknowledged.
“Your last entry? Is it definitive?”
“According to my sources, the wrecked ship was discovered last month by a civilian. Its markings confirm the identity of the vessel.”
“Then gather your things. We’ll have to investigate this immediately.”
“I believe it would be more efficient should I continue investigating my data from my current location, Inquisitor.”
“No. You’ll come with us. If it really is the Terra Ariel, we’ll need you to make sense out of its databanks.”
“I see. I will be in the lobby in approximately seventeen minutes.”
The Inquisitor was at it again. Whenever they’d been on a planet for more than a few days he was itching to get out in the field again. Creed didn’t understand that need; surely it was more effective to investigate things in the proper environment? Still, there was no arguing with the Inquisitorial rosette.
There was a reason only Inquisitors had the actual ones; the trusted people in their service might carry a symbol signifying the support of the Inquisitor, but when authorities clashed it was only an Inquisitor who was sure to win. That little symbol gave them the ability to order the extermination of an entire planet, a sub-sector or even (should the circumstances mandate it) an entire sector, all in the name of the Imperium and the comatose Emperor on his Omnissiah-blessed Throne on far-away Terra.
Reluclantly, Creed gathered his data-slates and transferred their data to his secondary cogitator-implant. Any and all of the information in those dataslates could potentially save their lives and help them succeed in their mission. Also, it was undoubtedly a more practical way of bringing the information with him, even if it was easier to access the relevant information when it was spread between half-a-dozen dataslates.