Chapter 5: Earning a Living Begins with Kowtowing
What is the required knowledge base to become a Tech-Priest?
Omega wasn't entirely sure, but based on the sheer volume of formulas and advanced concepts that leaped into his mind as he flipped through the temple's texts, he figured he could go back to his old life and be a tenured professor.
Imagine taking all of modern physics, chemistry, and engineering, shattering it into a million pieces, and scattering those pieces throughout tens of thousands of books on religious philosophy. Then, telling someone to learn it all through self-study. "Genius" would be an understatement for anyone who succeeded.
Praise the Omnissiah! For decanting me from a vitae-womb and gifting me a mind with perfect recall and a body tougher than adamantium.
Another half-month passed. Now familiar with his surroundings, Omega decided it was time for some serious business: cornering Magos Laust.
His objective? To get paid.
Does anyone know how Omega had survived this past month? When thirsty, he drank purified water. When hungry, he ate corpse-starch bars. It got to the point where, during one particularly contemplative moment on the latrine, he had the sudden realization that what was going in the top end wasn't all that different from what was coming out the bottom.
To make matters worse, a certain scheming cog-girl was constantly trying to lure him into her laboratory with various temptations. He couldn't speak for anyone else, but he, for one, was not having it.
So, early one morning, Omega geared up. He hefted his power axe onto his shoulder and marched, head held high, straight for the data-hub.
The data-hub was as busy as it had been a month ago. Seeing Omega appear, some of the more outgoing priests greeted him with playful banter.
"Good morning, Priest Omega."
"Good morning, Magos Randi."
"Ready to serve the Omnissiah so soon, Priest Omega?"
"I believe the use of child labor is something the Omnissiah would frown upon, Magos Higgins," Omega joked back, earning a few chuckles from nearby priests.
"Priest Omega is quite witty. I look forward to working with you in the future."
"As do I."
Each priest had their own duties, and after a few lighthearted remarks, they returned to their work.
Omega, brazenly, stood by the doorway, his ridiculously oversized axe propped on his shoulder, ensuring that everyone entering or leaving would see him.
Before long, his target appeared: Magos Laust.
"Hmm? What are you doing standing here?"
"Good morning, Magos Laust. I have a matter to discuss with you."
"What business could you possibly have with me?"
Magos Laust didn't break his stride. Omega fell into step half a pace behind him.
"It's like this, Magos. There are some things I wish to ask you."
"Don't beat around the bush," Laust said impatiently. "My time is limited!"
Omega had no choice but to get straight to the point. "Magos, I wish to ask, as a fellow Tech-Priest, do I receive a salary?"
"..."
The words had barely left his mouth when the previously noisy data-hub fell silent.
Laust seemed to doubt his own audio-receptors. "What did you just say?" he asked, uncertain.
Omega, who had prepared himself for this, did not back down despite the sudden change in atmosphere. For the chance to add some industrial sweetener to his corpse-starch, for a change of clothes, he was willing to risk it all.
"I am asking, as a fellow Tech-Priest, what is my monthly salary?"
Omega could see several of the more mischievous priests already jacking into each other's data-ports, chattering away in binary. He could also read the incredulous look in Magos Laust's eyes, which clearly said: How could you, a freeloader, have the audacity to say something so shameless?
Omega said nothing. He just thumped the butt of his power axe on the floor and used a mechadendrite from his back to smooth a wrinkle in his red robe.
The sight made Magos Laust's face twitch.
"A Priest?" Laust sneered.
"Yes."
"Hah!"
"In the future!" Omega clarified.
"So you admit it!"
"I can take out a loan against my future earnings!"
"..."
"What a talent..." one of the onlookers muttered, unable to contain himself.
Laust never thought that, even after replacing his heart with a mechanical pump, he could still experience the sensation of his blood pressure skyrocketing.
"Loan denied!"
"Then what about a living stipend?"
"None!"
"..."
"Magos, let us be calm and analyze this rationally."
"Are you implying I am being irrational?!"
"Magos, this body of mine requires sufficient nutrition to develop more quickly. Every day I mature faster is a day I can begin my duties sooner. This is a net positive for the temple."
"..."
"Likewise, living in the temple, I will inevitably interact with priests, aspirants, and laborers. While I may not be a full priest yet, in the eyes of those outside the temple, there is no difference. Therefore, my personal appearance reflects upon the image of all priests and of this temple."
"..."
"Therefore, I require funds to meet my physical and social needs. This request is both reasonable and logical, and it aligns with the interests of the temple and yourself, Magos."
"..."
"Logical, well-reasoned, and brilliant!" one of the priests cheered.
"I second Priest Omega's motion!" added a female cog-head.
"Just thinking about my days of eating nothing but starch bars makes my stomach hurt."
"Stomach ache? Have it removed. The weakness of the flesh only slows our pursuit of knowledge."
Magos Laust replied coldly, "Your points are valid. But I don't like it."
"Very well, Magos," Omega replied with a sigh, turning away.
Just as Laust thought he was leaving, Omega merely leaned his power axe against the wall, turned back, walked right up to him, and before Laust could tell him to get lost, Omega sat down on the floor and wrapped his arms around the Magos's leg.
The sudden movement startled Laust. If not for his modified brain reacting in microseconds, detecting no threat in Omega's actions and halting his auto-defense systems, Omega would have been vaporized.
Unaware that he had just taken a stroll past the gates of hell, Omega's heart was already dead. He was about to experience social death, but he had no regrets. Corpse-starch and water were simply too terrifying for a soul from the second millennium.
"Magos! Give me a chance! I just want a small allowance!"
"Let go of me!"
"Not until you agree!"
"Let..."
"No! I'm not letting go until you agree!"
"Activate electro-prod!"
"Aaaargh..."
The outcome was positive. Omega got the job of his dreams: piece-work, paid daily, and lunch was included. A job that countless souls in the second millennium would have killed for.
The next day, it was Rhea the cog-girl who led Omega out of the temple, through the districts where the indentured laborers lived, and to the temple's warehouse district. All along the way, people stopped to bow and stare. After all, even the laborers, who were used to seeing priests modified in all sorts of strange and wonderful ways—with three arms, four legs, wheels instead of feet, or mechanical tentacles—had never seen one so short.
"Priest Omega, this is your place of work," Rhea said, pointing to a row of Tech-Priests who were kowtowing before rows of lasguns, hellguns, hot-shot volley guns, and lascannons.
Well, Omega thought, a man's got to kneel for his gold.
"Priest Jacob!" Rhea called out.
"Priestess Rhea." A man with a brilliantly polished metal forehead turned to them.
"Priest Jacob, I've brought you Priest Omega—the 'Little Priest'."
"Oh, so this is the famous 'Little Priest'," Jacob said, clicking his tongue as he looked Omega up and down.
That's right, Omega was famous. Thanks to his childish tantrum and his actual age, the more mischievous priests had bestowed upon him the nickname "Little Priest." The pict-capture of the event had already spread throughout the communication network of the several hundred priests in the temple.
"Greetings, Magos Jacob," Omega said flatly. His rebreather mask hid his expression, of course. He still wore it not just for the 'low' radiation, but also for the toxic factory fumes and the ever-present dust. He planned to keep his original-issue lungs for a few more years.
"Haha, greetings to you too, 'Little Priest'. Follow me."
So, what was Omega's job? It was to "bless" newly manufactured weapons. For a "Priest" with a theological rank, "blessing" or "consecrating" weapons was a perfectly normal duty.
Machines are alive. They have souls. To ensure that every newborn machine functions correctly, that every newborn machine spirit is content and does not malfunction, and that every weapon of humanity can resist the corrupting influence of the warp, a blessing and baptism by a Tech-Priest, according to the rites of the Cult Mechanicus, is mandatory.
Although Omega was not yet a complete priest, his title was undeniable. He possessed the legal and theological authority to perform these blessings.
Priest Jacob led him to a station and issued him the necessary tools: a wrench, pliers, a screwdriver, a sprinkler for holy water, sacred oil, a ritual bell, a censer, and a book of rites. He was then assigned an empty workbench.
Omega arranged his tools, lit the incense, and, holding his breath, opened the book—which was less a book of rites and more a maintenance manual—and began to read.
Lasgun - Imperial Standard Issue. The most widely used, longest-serving, and most numerous weapon in the Imperium of Man. The nightmare of xenos, the beloved tool of the Astra Militarum grunt.
Weight: 2.3kg
Length: 90cm
Power Pack Type: 19 Megathule (approx. 150 standard shots, rechargeable)
Firing Modes: Single shot, fully automatic
Rate of Fire: 220 rounds/min
Power Setting: Low to high (adjustable)
Sights: Adjustable, fore or rear, optional las-sight or optical scope.
Simple, durable, easy to produce. It required no additional ammunition, relying on a rechargeable power pack. It could be quick-charged with a power module, slow-charged with solar energy, or in extreme cases, charged in an open flame (not recommended, as it can melt the casing and damage the pack). In emergencies, the battery could be short-circuited for warmth or overloaded to take an enemy down with it. It was the Warhammer 42k version of the AK-47, with countless variants produced on most Imperial worlds, yet it was still always in short supply.
Ring the bell once.
Remove the power pack, inspect the casing.
Ring the bell twice.
Disengage the safety, pull the trigger.
Ring the bell thrice.
Unscrew the bolts, open the housing.
Sing praise to the Machine God.
Observe the focusing crystal for integrity.
...
Reassemble. Anoint with sacred oil.
Kneel. Sing loud praises to the Omnissiah!
Reading about it was one thing, but doing it was another. After a full day of this, Omega felt his very soul being uplifted, his piety deepening.
Praise the Omnissiah!
He immediately slapped himself. Snap out of it!
Almost there...
Slap! Slap! Slap!