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We had been extremely lucky to capture the tech-priest alive. Most of them died with the EMP pulse; when all your mechanical organs shut down at the same time, you usually die along with them. This one held on just long enough to still be alive… barely.
I didn't waste any time before hacking the encryption on his memory. I wanted to dig into every piece of information this member of the Mechanicum stored inside his cranial databanks.
"Damn… that's some complex encryption," I muttered while trying to access the data vault embedded in the tech-priest's skull.
"adjutant, initiate brute-force protocol. Feed millions of possible codes. Let's see what breaks first," I ordered.
"Understood, General Hendrik. Beginning decryption protocol," the adjutant responded.
Tens of thousands of combinations were tested in seconds. None worked. What little I could extract by reading his mind was encapsulated behind digital barriers I couldn't penetrate without access to the main cipher.
These fanatics communicated in binary among themselves, so it was worth trying.
"adjutant, try binary sequences."
The AI began inserting long series of binary keys. In less than a minute, we cracked the first barrier.
From there, everything became easier. The deeper we progressed, the clearer the pattern became: all the encryptions were built from phrases, litanies, and praises to their Machine God. The structure was repetitive. Identify the sentence, rebuild the variant.
We kept opening layer after layer. Each level was longer, but not more complex; they reused the same coded formulas over and over. After an hour, we achieved total penetration.
We had entered the Mechanicum database stored in his skull. It was far more extensive and dense than anything you'd expect in such a small implant. The AI would need hours just to organize everything: technical diagrams, activation rites, repair protocols, internal schematics, and a pile of doctrinal trash.
I started browsing the military files when I noticed movement. The tech-priest was regaining consciousness. His optical implants came back online and focused straight at me.
"You almost died," I said, watching him. "Who would've guessed that replacing more than half your organs with machinery doesn't give you better protection against an EMP pulse? It caused something like simultaneous cardiac arrest and total liver failure… everything shutting down at once."
He looked around. Confusion hit him instantly when he realized he was immobilized. The stumps of his mechanical limbs were locked into a Dominion restraint rig, designed to hold even an ultralisk in place.
The tech-priest noticed the cables plugged into his skull and immediately attempted to trigger some internal memory-wipe protocol.
"That won't work," I said with a grin as he struggled with his own emergency routines, tightening the encryption and erasing whatever he could.
"I already made a backup of everything inside your memory. So you're just wasting everyone's time. Thanks for the cooperation…"
I blocked his access to communications. Then I shut off his vision, his audio, and all feedback systems. Blind, deaf, mute. I wasn't going to tolerate a sermon about "abominable intelligence" or "heretek machines." Better to avoid that entirely.
I sent all the information to Kurt. Most of it was about ships, internal schematics, and mechanical protocols; he could get the most out of it. Our admiral had already started redesigning the shipyards: originally, we planned to build Minotaur-class battlecruisers, 600 meters long and armored with adamantium. But after seeing the real scale of Imperial fleets and comparing their durability to ours, we changed everything.
Now we were going to build cruisers six times bigger: three kilometers long, and also resize our bigger classes, like the Gorgon and the Pride of Augustgrad.
That required a completely different kind of shipyard and forge. Everything needed to be enlarged: docks, platforms, gravity manipulators, assembly chambers. We had also begun studying every component of the captured ship: gun batteries, torpedoes, torpedo bays, armor plating, targeting systems… even the engine, although it seemed based on a primitive design, probably older than Terran supraluminal flight from the 23rd century. The Imperial engine didn't even reach a decent fraction of lightspeed. It was slow.
Another crucial area of research were the skitarii we captured. The EMP killed most of them, but a few survived long enough for us to remove their mechanical prosthetics. Once stripped, they were perfect test subjects. We analyzed their implants, modified physiology, and the genetic therapy the Mechanicum applied to them.
We also studied their las weapons and armor. Neo-steel worked well, but not well enough against bolter ammunition. And plasma… plasma had pierced several CMC-300 suits from the Sons of Korhal. The Aegis Guard's CMC-880 hadn't been penetrated, but it took serious damage.
So our victory had left us with a massive amount of technology to dismantle, study, and replicate.
As for prisoners, we captured around 350,000 of the almost half million crew. In some sectors, there were complete massacres: a couple idiots tried to resist, and my men responded by firing on full auto, clearing anything that moved.
All surviving crew were shipped to New Korhal as prisoners of war. They work in the mines now: mineral extraction, tunnel cleaning, cargo transport. We replaced almost all local workers; now we had more than enough labor, guarded by entire companies of the Royal Guard.
And now that we had a massive transport ship, we planned to modify it extensively. The primary idea was to replace its engine with a Terran warp drive, allowing true FTL travel without issue, and automate most functions with AI to reduce the crew requirements. We also wanted to add laser batteries, reinforce internal armor, and expand the hangars to turn it into a carrier.
It would be an excellent transport for launching squadrons of Vikings, Banshees, and sky fury. We couldn't afford to waste a structure like that. The keel was adamantium, and the rest of the hull was built from plasteel and ceramite: tougher than the neosteel on our standard battlecruisers.
That single project kept the scientists and engineers busy for years. But I had my own matters to deal with.
I needed to raise the level of our Ghost operatives.
A psyker with any talent can sense you from a distance; even mediocre ones can detect the more experienced Ghosts. I was different: I had trained with the protoss to learn true psionic control, so I mastered my abilities better than anyone else in the Dominion.
But I had grown complacent.
At some point I started believing I was the most dangerous person in the Terran Dominion —and I probably was— so I stopped training as intensely as before. I didn't see a reason to keep pushing my limits.
Here, inside the Imperium… or better said, in this universe, that was a mortal mistake.
I wasn't sure I could kill a talented Imperial psyker before he detected me. Maybe a psionic feedback strike would do it… or maybe not. And gambling with probabilities wasn't something I could afford. One mistake meant the end of everything: me, my men, and any Terran in this sector would be massacred.
I headed straight to my private sector on the White Star, the only place where no one else had access. That was where I kept my protoss prisoners. During my long campaign against them I had gathered a massive number of specimens: members of all three Khalai castes, executors, templars, even tal'darim. The worst were always the dark templars, the nerazim; those bastards vanish if you blink at the wrong time.
I always left my mental training for "tomorrow." Now I couldn't afford that luxury. If I was going to survive in this damned universe, I had to sharpen my psionic control and squeeze every last secret out of those who had mastered this discipline for millennia.
The moment I stepped through the training chamber door, I got hit by three simultaneous psionic feedback strikes. Pressure exploded inside my skull like a hammer. I wiped my nose and saw blood.
"Great… looks like they tried coordinating this time. That hurt," I muttered, approaching the multiple protoss restrained in their containment pods or binding machines.
"As you terran say… go to hell," one of the high templars said through telepathy, glaring at me with pure hatred.
"Oh, your words cut so deep…" I said, theatrically offended. "Anyway, I have work to do with you. I'm going to extract every last one of your secrets."
I dove into the mind of the strongest templar.
"What has changed, young terran? Why do you return to covet our secrets?" another templar asked, projecting his thoughts directly into my head. His tone was cold, almost resigned.
"We're in a horrible place," I answered mentally. "Being devoured by the zerg would've been a kinder fate than this. I need to improve. A lot. Because here, dying isn't even the worst thing that can happen to you."
"I sensed we were not in any known place… but where are we?" a dark templar cut in, slipping into the conversation like a shadow.
"My assumptions, nerazim, are that we traveled to the future. Thirty millennia or more. Not far from what terrans called the Koprulu sector, but here it seems zerg, terran, and protoss no longer exist." I looked straight at the dark templar. "There's a human government now… that barely qualifies as human by Terran genetic standards."
"What you say is improbable, terran," a high templar responded. His mind radiated rejection and disbelief. "Our lineage may have been affected by Amon and lost the Khala… but not to the point of extinction."
"Believe me," I said, staring him down. "You're the last. I have about a hundred of you locked in here. In other labs we've got more… three thousand in total, if we're lucky. That's all that remains of your species."
"A sacrilege you will pay for dearly, terran," the high templar spat into my mind.
I punched him in the face as he leaned forward.
"Maybe you should've thought of that when you were purging terran worlds like there would never be consequences, templar."
I sent them all mental images: what I knew of the Warhammer 40k universe, the gods, Chaos, how death wasn't the worst fate… how their souls could be used as currency and tortured for eternity. I watched surprise, fear, and confusion ripple through their minds all at once.
"Good. Before I have to force my way into your minds, here's my offer." I let my telepathy spread across their thoughts.
"If you help train my Ghosts, if you help them perfect their psionic control, I can guarantee the survival of your species. I can't offer much more."
"Eternal test subjects? What kind of offer is that, terran?" said a high templar, full of contempt.
"It's all I can offer a race that slaughtered millions of terran lives. My subordinates would kill me if I released you as if you were harmless little doves."
There was silence for a few seconds.
Then the nerazim spoke:
"If the terran's visions are true… if we are truly the last… then we must serve a higher purpose, brothers. The survival of our species is at stake," the nerazim said, invading the minds of the others. "It is not so different from what Amon intended."
"And what then? Become slaves to the terrans just to live one more day?" a templar spat back.
"I know…" the nerazim murmured. "…unless the terran can offer us something better."
I stared at them for a moment before answering:
"As I said, I can't offer much. But if you're going to train my Ghosts… then you can live with them. I plan to build a space station in deep space, hidden inside a mining asteroid belt that will soon be exhausted. Once mined out, the place will be worthless. You could live there. Hidden. Safe. Fulfilling your purpose."
I stepped closer to the dark templar."But if you try anything…"
"You will crush us again. I know." the nerazim replied before I could finish. He transmitted the idea to the others. The protoss immediately began arguing psionically among themselves.
For a long moment they debated. The psychic noise was overwhelming, almost deafening to someone like me. And, as expected, nearly all the ones who actually mattered—the strongest high templars—rejected the idea.
Only the dark templars, one high templar, and a couple of tal'darim accepted the proposal. Most high templars refused out of sheer pride. If I wanted them to train me, I'd have to force my way into their minds… but having even one high templar willing to teach my Ghosts was already a victory. One of them as a mentor was worth more than a thousand hours of training alone.
"Adjutant, release subjects X-23, X-24… and X-79."
The Adjutant executed the order. Energy restraints powered down and thirty-eight protoss were freed inside their containment cells. Most immediately moved to assist the lone high templar; we had amputated limbs and removed several organs from all high templars to prevent psionic storms during captivity. Now we would need to restore their limbs and repair their internals so they could train properly.
I approached the dark templar."Nerazim—this is yours."With telekinesis I handed him his dual psi-blades.
The moment he activated them, he vanished in a flicker and reappeared inches from me. The psi-blade was at my throat.
"Do it, and your species will be exterminated," I said with a calm smile. "I'm the only one keeping you alive."
The blade vibrated, drawing even closer to my skin.
"As long as you breathe, I'll honor the deal, terran…" the nerazim replied, deactivating his weapon.
"Good. I enjoy working with aliens who understand their place."I smirked. "I'll need you to teach me what you just did. Appearing at someone's neck in a blink is… useful."
"You will need extensive training," the dark templar said with the cold detachment
"I have time. Though first I'll need to start administering terrazine to increase my psionic index." I said, walking toward the exit. "Wish me luck, protoss. If I lose my mind, our agreement ends. For everyone."
I left the laboratory, the protoss remaining under the supervision of the Adjutant—and more than a hundred automated turrets—should any of them get ideas about escaping.
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Hello, everyone. I hope you are enjoying the story. I would like to ask you to leave your reviews so that we can get the star rating on this platform. As always, please be as honest as possible, as I need your opinion to improve.
-----------------------------
If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
-------------------------------