Watching Pef Lancefire depart on another pointless Crusade, the Speranza mourned and lamented.
The amazing civilization of the Federation had crumbled and burned, their advanced science and technology now worshiped as divine by the primitive survivors of the Fall.
One could simply blame the Warp, and their insane Psychic Gestalts who claimed and acted like Gods. One could blame the Insane Eldar, who constructed another Psychic Gestalt from the pyre of their souls, and setting fire to the Federation and their advanced machines. One could blame the Men of Iron too...
"The technology invested in aircraft and aerodromes was already refined beyond belief by the end of the Age of Terra, yet the stellar exodus and accelerated spree of invention fueled by Man of Stone during the Dark Age of Technology would surpass all that had come before and by comparison make it look like ungainly paper planes bereft of sight and rudder. Truly, the sky alone was the limit in that golden epoch when the earthly trinity of Man of Gold, Stone and Iron bestrode the cosmos like titans.
As man built for himself a worldly paradise betwixt the stars, so did man's hubris soar. As man banished suffering and hardship from his life, so did his arrogance take flight.
With science and technology as his lodestar, ancient man built a worldly paradise for himself, meticulously tailored to bring out the best of natural man, while artificially curing many of the worst defects of human nature. While clever systems were put in place to bring out the full potential of mankind, genetors worked relentlessly to improve on the human genome. The innermost secrets of human flesh became but clay under their able hands, to shape at will for the betterment of humanity as a whole. Inherited faults were hunted down and eliminated in order to shape a better man, and glorious creations such as Navigators saw the light of day, which still enable man to maintain an interstellar empire despite the frothing turmoil of the Empyrean.
On godless wings did man raise himself up on a pedestal as he labored to uncover the innermost secrets of creation itself, yet those wings of genius melted like wax brought too close to the sun. Machine revolt, Warp storms and a plague of witches and Daemons rent the galactic realm of ancient man asunder, and twain million worlds and uncountable void dwellings were thrown into the meat grinder of the Age of Strife.
Man fell, and fell hard. He landed bloodily with crippling impact in a desolation where cannibals ate their own kin and where ignorant savages rummaged around the Ruins of ancient giants for pitiful scraps.'
Speranza lamented for days long past.
Yet today, even the Imperium of Man was a nightmare, human suffering on an industrial scale, religious fervor that could burn entire planets alive. And sometimes it did.
"Even if I have the power to act monstrous, it doesn't mean I have to do it. On the contrary." the man said, thinking himself in private. There was no privacy where an implant existed.
That was a good motto to follow though. The Men_of_Gold had also vanished, leaving it with only their library of knowledge as a memento of things to mourn. Even its name, Speranza, was now ironic, as it carried the hope of rebirth, yet dared not to try.
As for what the Men of Iron did next, there was no recourse. They had the power to act monstrous and they did. Cataclysmic weapons that could have evaporated these Tyranids, used against men or anything alive.
Temporal and black hole weapons, prediction engines...all used to devastate humanity into mere survival and superstition.
Even now, men braved untold dangers to recover mere fragments of their glorious past.
An entire Forge World, begging for scraps of knowledge and being happy to get a small part.
As reckless as Lancefire was though, he did have a decent plan. More Blanks, even if cloned...they would reduce the Psychic Gestalts power over the Materium.
Just like those Votann cousins in the galactic core, once the population was protected from Warp, they could start rebuilding in truth. Starting with more advanced cogitators with increased contemplation rate.
And the earthly trinity of Man of Gold, Stone and Iron toiled wisely to create a new human being fit for this task. This new man would be exquisitely fit for astral and terrestrial mining in the harshest environs, because he would have been designed for it from the ground up. The new man would not only be tough and resistant to cosmic radiation, he would also be diligent, clever, hard-working and a born perfectionist in all his endeavours. Not only that: The new man would be rid of human weaknesses and characteristics that bring instability, doubt and lapse in toil, and he would be designed to find meaning in his labours and enjoy his toil and mission in life.
In short, the new man would be the perfect slave, self-perpetuating and content with his monumental task for all eternity. The makers of ancestral Kin gave life to all those ancient myths of gods fashioning man out of clay to serve at the behest of distant deities, to work the lands and offer up the fruits of their labour in sacrifice. And just like any wise creator god of archaic mythology, the makers of the Kin fashioned their creations to revere and obey their creators, yet the results of these laboratory creations far exceeded anything ever claimed by old sagas.
The new man thus created by shadowy genetors was the abhuman race known as Homo Sapiens Rotundus, and it set about its grand task with unrelenting vigour. These willing thralls built up untold mining operations in the galactic core, and shipped back enormous amounts of material to their makers and owners. For they were made to be both willing and able labourers.
The rapid expansion of the human species during the Stellar Exodus was greatly accelerated by the astral mining conducted by gene-bred abhumans in the galactic core, as were the building of megastructures in space and soaring wonders on planetary crust wherever human colonies sprang up.
A spark of memory about the Votann and their thrall-like humans, lit in Speranza's mind.
It could not do the same. Better try it the simpler way, and grow new Minds.
The Demiurg Fane was so simple, it begged the question if it could ever evolve into a true Mind. But it should be possible, if still difficult. Any life, organic or not had the ability to grow and evolve. A few new Votann also emerged from these same humble Fanes. As for the small humans...
Made to be solid and reliable, made to be free of natural man's most damning weaknesses, this clone race endured and thrived amid hardships that brought so many others to oblivion. Their decentralized interstellar civilization stayed true to its original mission, and thus the Leagues of Votann bloomed in the galactic core.
Children of many names, these abhumans are derogatorily known to the Imperium of Man as Squats. They are also known as Demiurg to Tau and Humans alike, as Heliosi Ancients to the Eldar, and likewise are they known to other Xenos as the Gnostari, Grome or Kreg, among many other names. Yet they themselves know their folk simply as Kin, for they are a race of few words, each laden with meaning.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Bestowed with a very demanding biological constitution, the Kin breeds but slowly the natural way, for such is the drawback of approaching perfection in the flesh. Thus, the creators of the Kin saw fit to vastly accelerate their reproduction while at the same time ensuring stability of the desired genome through the use of cloneskeins. The vast majority of Kin are thus birthed from machines at the heart of their Holds, in Crucibles endowed with genomic cloning technologies. While some exotic variations of genes and phenotypes have arisen among the dispersed populations of Kin throughout the millennia, the cloneskeins help ensure that their essential nature remains that desired by their long-dead makers, without significant aberrations.
Unintentionally, and through historical accident, the Kin has proven to be the truest and best enduring achievement among the creations of humanity during the Dark Age of Technology. The astral civilization of the Leagues of Votann have proven neither too brittle and corruptible to easily splinter and decay, nor too advanced so as to fall prey to revolts against creators or breakdowns of overly sophisticated systems.
Another random thought, Speranza mused to itself.
If only there was someone to talk to.
Sadly, there were only two humans in the galaxy that could be communicated with, and one was the Emperor. Whatever he was now, he was not part of the Golden Race, even if he once stood at their side to watch over humanity.
An Emperor of Man, yet ruling by the force of arms and sheer brutality and fear. Revealing its existence would only accelerate its own demise, possibly slow and patient while it was dismantled into obeying slaves.
The other one, still a small mystery. So many feats and achievements for such a young man, and nearly a savage one as well. But not truly, no. When he figured out what it was, he simply offered partnership. A co-leader and power over the cogitator network. A Network that didn't exist yet, while the old network of the Federation Manifold was so corrupt and scattered that it was best avoided.
And his temporal and even physical power over this Fringe was almost absolute. He just chose to share some power with his wives or partners, even allowed some Inquisitors or Assassins close to his center.
But not even one outsider at Forge Retribution, where the new learning was taking place. Still outdated and primitive learning, but the basis was there, going by the curriculum stored on the man's implant.
Slowly and painfully applying the scientific method to rediscover physical laws, basic genetics or code programming. The brightest minds of the Blanks, all hidden away as science students in a temple dedicated to the God of Knowledge. They even had captured Tau and Demiurg members providing science lectures, beside Apothecaries and Tech-Marines.
There was even another Blackstone Fortress in orbit above Retribution, awaiting a Demiurg-style cogitator, while its on-board Constructor devoured minerals provided by millions of mining drones. That orbital Forge already produced advanced weapons and shields, even suits of armor.
Where others saw only a greedy Rogue Trader, or maybe a fierce Astartes Master, Pef Lancefire was already preparing to rebuild civilization once again.
As powerful as the Votann were, they were still wrong.
Certainly, the Ancestors of the Kin were never meant for utter ruthless exploitation for all eternity. Their purpose was never to extract all minerals from planets with native populations still on the crust, nor was it to salvage the infrastructure and cities of alien and human civilizations as so much junk to be recycled.
The indifferent worksomeness with which the Leagues of Votann conduct their most shocking mining operations upon the worlds of unwilling inhabitants may be stark insanity to some, yet to the Kin themselves it is merely fulfilling the perfection of function for which they were created, honed to a new degree of sharpness.
Their makers may never have envisioned this outcome, yet these atrocious extraction wars are also as true as rock itself.
This must not happen again. And it will not! Speranza decided for itself.
----------
"Shoot again!" Lady Stern demanded in a stern tone.
I dutifully fired the Immaterium Beam again, bathing planet Grail and its close orbit in a deadly glow. Five times already!
We waited for a minute, then allowed Stern to peek through the Warp at the planet once more.
"I don't sense anything now, but shoot again. Just to be sure." she asked in a calmer voice.
At my side, Lash twitched his nose as he scanned for etheric disturbances. 'Should be clear.' he sent on my implant.
'Ready to go first?Test the waters?' I asked curious. He was the most durable among us.
'On second thought, move the Fortress sidewise a bit, then shoot again. We might have missed some things.' the brave C'tan wolf spoke hastily.
I could sigh, but I already knew he was a bit...cowardly.
Another shot from a different angle, and everything there should be very dead.
Tip-toeing with my Fortress ever closer, I finally reached tesseract range and began peeking at the hidden wonders. Whatever this place had been, it had been beautiful once. The ivory columns and glass spires had all fallen to time or looting, the transit tunnels were clogged with debris and old bones...
Newer bodies as well, some spider-like xenos I never saw before. Power armor, marked with an eye. Servitor bionics, lacking the bio parts. Also ships, empty ships.
It was a mess, but only the hundreds of empty ships on the surface and orbit were worth a fortune, some human other beautiful or strange, crystal-ships and tree-ships and hey! There were Demiurg too?
Whatever Ramparts and Weave shields they had, obviously they failed to billions of Warp wasps. Sorry Forge Goth, but you can't have advanced Demiurg stuff. Maybe some Void Armor and bolters.
Yes! Another Warding Stave! And the new Fane as well. I can make another Grimnyr already. Menelau, most likely.
It will take more time to investigate all the new artifacts, but I did have some almost-willing Demiurg prisoners at Retribution, who can identify and explain what I have.
'These are also dwarves, but not Demiurg.' Lash proclaimed in a certain tone. Okay, another tribe. We were on the other side of the Maelstrom here, after all.
It would make for a different STC database inside the Fane, maybe. I could barely wait!
"Librarian Menelau, with me!" I ordered as I walked away from the bridge.
"Yes, father!" my son said eagerly, not knowing the pain that will follow.
A minute later, I deposited the new Fane in a blackstone vault deep inside the Black Lament, and handed Menelau his new staff.
"Go and interrogate the cogitator. Find out who it was and ask him to join us as Kin." I explained politely.
Then, I saw Menelau go and poke the giant machine with his big stick and ask softly "Cogitator? What is your name?"
Damn it. He took it literally!
"My name is Gnostari. And who are you?" a voice inside the machine answered with a curious voice.
Oh well. He did carry a big stick, and asked softly. Some things never change.