Eating a meal while wearing power armour proved to be an interesting experience.
For the first time I joined the girls for dinner in the monastery’s mess hall. It was a spontaneous decision made after we were done with the wind tunnel session. Markeylla went to report my progress to the canoness, so only Alicya and Welminah were with me.
Entering the mess hall for the first time, I was struck again by the immense scale that was quite common in everything around here. The place was about the size of a football field, with vaulted ceilings stretched high above that were supported by massive, ornate pillars. The pillars themselves were intricately carved with religious iconography and battle scenes, depicting stories of devotion and valour. The whole place was lit by huge chandeliers that gave off a warm glow.
The air in the hall was filled with the scent of food, mixed with subtle hints of burning incense. Rows of long, sturdy wooden tables and benches, all perfectly aligned, ran the length of the place, many being occupied by dining sisters. At one end of the hall was a raised platform adorned with a statue of a saint surrounded by flickering candles, and towards the other far end was a large kitchen area, separated by a service counter. We settled down in a corner and were soon having our dinner.
I tried but failed miserably to be subtle, having Alicya around was high profile enough as she was one of the only four deputy commanders of the whole Order, plus me wearing power armour openly for the first time had turned more than a few heads.
A bit uncomfortable at first, I soon learned to tune out the attention from the crowd and focus on my food. Seeing my gloved hand holding a spoon and feeling the vibration of my suit’s power backpack as I ate was weird, not to mention I felt severely overdressed for the occasion.
In line with their doctrine and observance of religious teachings, the monastery served relatively simple food. Besides the standard fresh salad and soup, one could choose between rotellas, a type of new age tortillas, potato paste or good old bread for carbohydrate fix. For protein, today there were options between herb-marinated grilled grox or the ancient all time favourite of chicken and eggs. And finally for drinks, one could choose between plain water, tea or recaf, the last one being the catch all term of anything resembling coffee.
Without the grox dish which was produced from a type of common reptilian livestock throughout the Imperium, I could easily mistake this meal for an ordinary one back on Earth. Lean and firm, grox had a mild flavour with a hint of gaminess, but the meat was not as fatty as beef or pork. While I had the impression that food outside the monastery would be more exotic and exciting, for the moment the grox rotellas sandwich was good enough for me and my main go to dish.
‘My lady, Magos Balpradus reports your jump pack is ready for tomorrow’s session,’ said Welminah as she put away her personal communicator. The scholar spoke softly, yet her words still attracted a few random sisters to discreetly peek over.
‘Noted, thank you,’ I said before continuing to slowly chew down on my food. Despite being active the whole day I did not work up an appetite and ordered the usual reduced portion.
Being able to do so much and yet still eating so little felt strange, I guessed the arcane biology of my body was unimaginably more advanced in energy efficiency when compared to a standard human. It reminded me of a story about Rogal Dorn, Primarch of the Imperial Fists Space Marine Legion; At one point during the siege of Terra good old Dorn got trapped in an alternate dimension for literally a hundred or so years from his point of view. He came out healthy and fine, punching through solid rocks and all that when the chance to escape showed itself.
How did he survive so long without water nor food?
As I was daydreaming, Welminah asked a question. ‘By the way, despite our announcement that we will not accept any mail and parcels, many such items that are directly addressed to you have started to arrive. Before we proceed with discarding them all, do you have any directive on how we should handle this matter?’
Fan mails?
I thought for a moment before deciding on the issue. ‘For now, if it isn’t too much trouble please filter through them and bring to me those which you believe deserve my attention.’
‘As you wish.’
We finished our dinner soon after. I got the impression both girls could not properly relax with my presence. Maybe joining them for meals was a bad idea.
On a roll with my training, I decided to just push forward for the evening. Thus it was a while later with Alicya as my instructor that I got to drive a Rhino tank for the first time.
Being the ubiquitous base chassis for many of the Imperium’s elite forces’ fighting vehicles, the Rhino was built with two core fundamentals in mind: reliability and ruggedness. The vehicle was legendary for its ability to endure an incredible amount of abusive usage and ran on virtually any sort of fuel; from the standard promethium to alcohol, if a liquid could combust, a Rhino could probably run on it.
At this point in time the venerable armoured personnel carrier had remained relatively unchanged for more than ten thousand years, a span of time outlasting most ancient human civilisations. The Rhino and its many, many variants had to be one of the most sold model kits of the grim dark universe. Personally I had helped to contribute to that with a full fleet of them back in the peak of my hobbying.
As was tradition around here, most combat vehicles came with a fancy name; the Rhino that was assigned to my training was the Benedictor. The chassis was huge to accommodate its primary users - the Space Marines. Being able to fit armoured giants meant it was extremely spacious for human users, so much so that the driver’s seat had to be adjusted to the maximum level to compensate for my lack of height. With Alicya seated beside me, I drove the Benedictor into a training track that was built into the monastery’s massive yard. The place was lit up by stadium grade illuminations to make up for the lack of daylight which was long gone by this point.
The session was… paradoxically awesome yet boring at the same time. After a minute or two of feeling thrilled about driving a renowned war machine of the far future, there wasn’t much else to explore on the controls as everything was designed to be as straightforward as possible for no-nonsense combat use.
With Alicya giving tips, I quickly picked up all the basics. It was just like driving a relatively huge car, and I learned to do pivot steering, rotating the tank on the spot by making the tracks on each side of the tank move in opposite directions.
We spent some time going through the operation details of various support systems, most notable of them being smoke screen deployment and remote operation of the pintle mounted storm bolter that was attached to the main cupola. After that there was little else to do but wrap up the session by testing the limits of my driving with a properly timed lap around the course.
‘Start!’ Alicya signalled as she pressed her timer, and off we went. With my superhuman reflexes, senses and spatial awareness, it soon became clear I had become exceedingly good at driving compared to my past human self. Everything was coming at me with such clarity that the vehicle’s response to incoming turns and bumps could be anticipated to an almost perfect level of precision.
As the session went on I became deeply in tune with the tank, my senses registering every vibration, every subtle shift in the engine’s hum. The boundaries between me and the machine blurred, the controls melted away to become extensions of my limbs and every manoeuvre was executed with an almost perfect synchronicity.
With little to fear, I simply floored the accelerator and went all out, pushing the Benedictor closer and closer to its operational limits as it blazed through the course. I remembered a saying about how Formula One drivers could perceive reality at a higher frequency, or “higher reality frame rate” in gaming terms than the average human, which enabled them to drive at an incredible speed on racing tracks. That theory certainly explained my current way of driving that past me would never dare to attempt. Despite the seemingly reckless approach, every move was done with a comfortable margin for error from my perspective.
The tank was running full speed into the final corner when Alicya, who had been quiet for some time now, started to speak with a slight hint of anxiety in her voice.
‘My lady…’
The expert driver had spoken, am I cutting this too close?
Activating thought acceleration, the world slowed down as I blasted out a short range [Auspex] to double check the road condition while reviewing our momentum and angle of attack. An instance later I had the answer: Just barely.
‘I think it is doable, hold on.’
Trusting my readings and having multiple layers of protection, we were inside a tank and wearing power armour after all, I coaxed the Rhino into a drift.
The massive machine responded with a low growl, its engine roaring to the challenge as its weight shifted. The treads bit into the ground, churning up earth as its frame began to slide. Unlike a car’s nimble elegance, this was a dance of ponderous precision. The tank’s bulk shifted sideways, inertia pulling against the turn as I maintained a delicate balance between control and chaos. Vibrations resonated throughout the powerful machine as it groaned like a living beast.
The controls became heavy but were still responsive as it translated my every command into carefully coordinated movements. My hearts pounded in sync with the rhythmic thuds of the engine, senses heightened to keep on top of things as I drifted the Benedictor through the corner.
The Rhino completed the manoeuvre with barely any space to spare before straightening out with a final shudder. Alicya let out the breath she was holding and hit the stop button on her timer as we raced over the finish line.
‘Nicely done, my lady. Give me a moment.’ Alicya said as I slowed down the Rhino, she spent a short time verifying a few details before announcing my result.
‘A new record.’
I knew there was still room for improving but found little appeal in flexing my unfair advantages, so I called it a day.
* * *
Near the entrance to my room, Alicya and Welminah both bowed before turning to leave just as Herlindya, who was waiting on the side, walked up to me.
‘Good evening, my lady.’ The throne agent smiled and bowed. ‘So the rumours are true, you look marvellous in that armour. I also heard amazing stories about your training and witnessed your driving. Impressive speed. Congratulations on breaking multiple records.’
While what she said was true, I could not help but feel uneasy about it. From my point of view I hardly put that much effort into any of the activities today, it was simply due to my transhumanism operating on a completely different level that made it look amazing when compared to baseline humans. On the same basis, if I were to race Jaghatai Khan, Primarch of the White Scar Legion known for his love of speed, I would surely get my sorry ass handed to me.
I could almost see an instance where that happened on an alternate timeline: As the signal of the race sounded, the Khan in all his feudal Chogorian glory dashed ahead on a lightning fast jetbike, his top knot fluttering in the winds for mere seconds before completely disappearing from my view, leaving me in dust. Still being awed by his speed, I would be trying futilely to catch up when the vox came alive with the primarch’s infuriating taunt delivered in his signature fake Mongolian accent made familiar on audiobooks.
‘Little sister, I can hardly see you in the rear mirror. Do better.’
I winced and returned to reality from my micro daydream. My mind turned at full speed from the jolt as I noted Herlindya’s words and was not exactly pleased at the implication.
Putting on a sardonic face, I responded with a question. ‘Those records are not public information, are they?’
‘Surely you jest.’ Herlindya sounded amused but when our eyes met, she flinched and quickly added context, ‘they are classified, I had to access them with my credentials.’
Did I actually scare her? Feeling a bit sorry for making the throne agent uneasy, I diverted the topic. ‘You were looking for me?’
‘Ah, yes. Preacher Maylin had been active today, she was going around gathering witnesses on your supposed undocumented ability to…’ she paused to refer to her notes, ‘...light up the battlefield with miraculously vivid readings for onfield targeting systems. She seemed ecstatic about it and talked about pushing this to be officially listed as one of your divine blessings.’
Divine blessing? As far as I could tell it was just a weaponized ability. From the Church’s point of view that explanation definitely came in handy to further strengthen their religious brand, I certainly was just spamming it without thinking much on its implications.
‘How widespread is this information?’ I asked flatly.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
‘Well, she had already interviewed multiple battle sisters who took part in yesterday’s operation and was about to do more.’
My mood darkened as I wasn’t happy about this development. With the looming troubles ahead, the idea of advertising my tactical abilities to the rest of the world was… less than ideal no matter how I looked at it.
‘Should I put a lid to it?’ Herlindya asked while placing a palm on her heart, looking every bit like a secretary ready to serve. I was confused for a microsecond before remembering, oh yeah, I am the big shot here.
Within another heartbeat I formulated my response. ‘I understand it is Maylin’s duty to look into such topics, but it is never wise to parade such information to potential enemies, especially during these times of uncertainty. Can you please see to it that her current pursuit does not compromise our advantage?’
‘It will be done.’ Herlindya answered with a bow while my mind was moving on to the next topic. Might as well employ her capability.
‘There is another thing which I require your assistance, kindly erase all the results of my training sessions and make sure none of them ever make it to the official records.’
‘May I ask the reason for it?’ Herlindya asked while half raising her head, her eyes shining with inquisitorial curiosity.
I pondered for a while on how to properly respond before answering. ‘The same security concerns aside, I see no point in discouraging others with impossible transhuman standards.’
‘Very well. If there is nothing else, I will go and enact your directive immediately.’ Herlindya answered. I was about to dismiss her when a topic came to mind.
‘By the way, whatever happened to the investigation into those Space Marines?’ I asked.
‘It… went nowhere. We came to the conclusion that the likelihood of them being still on this planet is slim and diverted most of our resources into hunting the heretics.’
‘Is that so? Do you think Inquisitor Thaberus would mind if I continue my interrogation session with that Space Marine here?’
‘I am quite certain he won’t mind, should I ask him for you now?’
Wait, do I actually need Thaberus’ permission? I thought about all the people that would be involved in the process: Diadinah being the top authority in this monastery, Balpradus as the transhuman expert consultant, Veritta or another Sister Hospitaller for on-site medical support. Pretty sure no one would stand in my way, at this point it was but mere courtesy on my part to notify the inquisitor.
‘Ask him at your next convenience. Just let me know.’
‘As you wish.’ Herlindya bowed again and turned to leave, her heels clicking away on the marble floor as she walked away.
I entered my lodging and was greeted by Solace. For a moment I had the illusion of being welcomed by a living pet until the servo-skull dropped off the latest excavation progress report from Kryptorer. I quickly went over the report, and the interesting bit that immediately stood out was that they started encountering pieces of blackstone, the mysterious black-hued stone that could nullify psychic energies. Somehow this made me more nervous about the contents of the vault.
I shooed the probe away into a corner before taking off my armour. As the pieces came off one by one, another book titled Catechism of the Sanctified Arsenal: Rituals and Rites for War Gear Maintenance materialised in my mind. I was instantly imbued with a weird blend of knowledge that was a mix between practical and superstitious on how to properly maintain my stuff.
One of the most suspicious passages in the book mentioned the creation of “Sacred Oil”, made by mixing the proper amount of machine lubricant and leftover lamp oil that was used in a church. Add exactly three drops of sanctified wine to complete the mixture. It was believed to be able to “ward off the machine spirit from becoming mischievous” by anointing the oil onto the crucial armour joints.
Then there was the Hymn of True Shot, a minor ritual involving chanting a short High Gothic hymn to the bolter’s machine spirit while cleaning the weapon, believed to invoke the Emperor’s blessing for a better aim on the battlefield.
I sighed at the silliness of it all.
By the time I removed my fibro-muscled bodyglove, the ridiculous book was viewed over twice inside my mind. Armed with the knowledge that made sense and the basic kit that came with my power armour, I performed the surprisingly easy fundamental maintenance work on my suit before going for my bath.
At this point I had mastered the art of bathing without ever looking at the mirror. I had also seen enough from the local television to know that while my current 120 square foot, fully equipped bathroom was the vision of ultimate luxury from my past life, it was considered to be only of decent standard compared to the mind boggling wealth shown in some local soap operas. A planetary governor and many of the local lords practically commanded the riches of the whole planet amplified by space age technology, so imagine the level of luxury such resources could achieve.
After finishing my bath, I put on a fresh white robe and exited the oversized bathroom. As I walked past the windows, the pilgrims outside came into view again. They seemed to be holding some activities and their numbers definitely had increased again.
How in the name of Throne can these people afford to camp out there day after day like that?
Then it occurred to me these pilgrims might not be your ordinary folks after all. Like that Rutibor guy I helped at the gate who later turned out to be a retired general, who knew what amount of resources you had to fork out to be able to even camp out there. In this universe where “gods” literally exist, I bet there would be a huge portion of the population who dedicated their lives to religion and would pay any price to be part of a significant event, like say… witnessing the canonisation of a living saint.
I shuddered internally, dropped the thought and went to get a drink. From a bulky fridge that looked to be bulletproof I took out a water jug and poured myself a glass of ice cold water. With crystal glass in hand I moved to the living room and took a seat while turning on the space age television with a flick of my mind. For a microsecond these very acts brought me a sense of comforting normalcy.
I was drinking when a program came on screen, and what I saw almost made me spit out the water. It was one of the primary news channels and the massive headline “Saint Candidate crushes heretics” was plastered across the screen while Archdeacon Ricene was giving a live speech under the full glare of the media.
It seems like the planet’s authorities have decided to admit to my involvement in yesterday’s event and had the leader of the high hat gang come out to trash talk. Ricene rumbled with the energy of such blind self-assertiveness that he reminded me of a certain infamous dictator I saw on a documentary. Between condemning the heretics’ blasphemous actions and assuring the masses of our “righteousness”, he quoted various verses from many holy books and cited my recent actions as proof that the Emperor was with us and so on, yada yada.
Slack-jawed, I continued to watch the dead serious yet parodic speech for a while before switching channels. However, no matter how many times I changed the channel, Ricene stubbornly remained on the screen. So, this was a mandatory planet wide broadcast. In the end I just turned off the television.
I should just… continue with mapping the monastery.
Settling down, I closed my eyes and fell into psykana meditation. Soon a sense of weightlessness took over, I opened my mind’s eyes and found my consciousness floating above my body in the room. Despite this being quite the routine for a while now it still felt odd every time seeing myself from this out of body perspective.
Moving through walls, I began my work. I had been familiarising myself with the monastery’s layout by ghosting around. Initially my progress was slow as I was extra cautious and worried about triggering any psychic security, then slowly my exploration gained speed. Building by building, section by section I had come to know many areas like the back of my hand.
Of course the fortress monastery had its own fancy name, called the Citadel of the Eternal Light, or Castrum Lux Aeternae in High Gothic. Appearance wise, overall it looked like a titanic church on steroids, an immense monolithic symbol of devotion that rose from the landscape like a gothic mountain of faith. Being both a bastion of faith and a military fortress, this immense structure featured multiple massive gun towers around its perimeter and even had its own void shield generators.
Following the Imperium’s tradition of awe-inspiring scale, the primary building was so massive it could easily house around 80,000 souls inside its main structure. At the pinnacle of the fortress was the Sanctum Sanctorum, a complete chapel in its own right where the Sisters held their most important rites and ceremonies. While having another chapel on top of your super monastery might sound over top for any sensible individual, it was how they ran things around here.
Beneath the fortress lay a multi-layered network of structures. Here you would find huge storage rooms, high security dungeons, power generators and even a few massive garages that housed hundreds of war vehicles.
Moving around, I was making mental notes and came to a wall where dozens of souls could be seen on the other side. Unlike the bright souls of psykers, the “ungifted” normal people appeared as dimmed glows, but still registered to my otherworldly senses. This was a previously unexplored area so I had no idea what was on the other side.
Curious, I passed through the wall and came upon the most absurd scenario ever since taking on the mapping project. Like a scene straight up from some fan service episodes, I ended up in a communal bathing hall where a group of sisters were taking their shower.
My non-corporeal jaw dropped to my surroundings of running water and a large group of young ladies washing their sculpted bodies. The crowd was a bustling bunch, laughing and joking about. Half panicking, I tried to cover my eyes only to discover I didn’t have a body. Not sure where to look, my senses were darting around just for me to pick up a small group of sisters in a corner comparing boob sizes.
Then I remembered they couldn’t see me.
Everything felt so preposterous I almost laughed out loud before noticing more details. On the bodies of a few sisters were exposed metallic components in reflective chrome, like spare parts being embedded into their flesh. Most of these were disc shaped objects located on shoulders or thighs, some were small bands that wrapped around legs or arms, while others were random parts that were fitted over necks or back of heads. A moment later I realised what these things were with a sense of chill.
Combat implants and augmentics.
The very notion of healthy people subjecting themselves to bodily mutilation for combat effectiveness was just surreal from my point of view. Still, at least these girls seemed content. Then again, from their point of view they might feel like they were living a very good life, no? They had their God and life’s purpose, they were given proper training with arguably some of the best tools and had many Sisters-in-Order as companions in their lifelong duty. Even as an outsider I sensed their close comradery, at the very least they belonged here.
Then it hit me: I was the one that did not fit into this world. My hidden status of abnormal existence aside, I could not even sit down and eat a meal with my companions without making them scared stiff. I had no real friends, all my family had died thirty eight thousand years ago, and the closest person I might be able to relate to at the moment was a transhuman assassin, a living weapon in human form.
Literally invisible in the cacophony of giggles and water splashing, the feeling of not belonging slowly took over and became piercing. I felt like a lost soul in a sea of vibrant life and stayed unmoving as the deep sense of disconnect amplified with every passing moment, until the aching feeling of isolation came close to being a physical pain.
Somehow in this moment I remembered another person. Like me, he was here due to circumstances beyond his control. Unlike him, I was a lot further away from my initial place both in space and time.
Did he survive? How is he doing?
I wondered for a moment before realising I could just find it out myself. I want… No, I need to know.
With that decision made, I left the glorious fan service-like scene behind and flew back to my room in the blink of an eye. After seeing my physical body still in place and verifying that the odds of having sudden visitors was low, I floated out of the monastery.
Once out, I double checked my orientation and started the journey. Like a speeding ghost, my consciousness flew across the capitol night sky, drifting towards another soul that was far from home.