40kTerra Novellette idea.

[Icarus Athrasuriel]

Enjoy

It is not Mankind's destiny to rule,
It is not Mankind's destiny to lead,
It is not Mankind's destiny to dominate,
It is Mankind's destiny to fulfill it's purpose.
They are the last hope against Chaos, for I have seen that the Tau will fail.
Our time has come
-
Found on 277.536.M43, under the destroyed Golden Throne.
Attr. to the God-Emperor

Chapter 1 (Part 1)
998.M44

His eyes opened, and he was instantly overwhelmed by the sudden light influx. He shut them hurriedly, then opened them again. His pupils adjusted, but still all he could see was pure white light, though it slowly faded. As his brain became functional, he was hit by a sheer wall of pain. Entire muscle groups felt like they were on fire, and his head could have almost exploded by his reckoning. As the sharp pains dulled, he tried to look to his left, turning his head, but stopped and groaned loudly as it seemed a white hot knife stabbed into his oesophagus.

+++Ah, you're awake+++, a mechanical, emotionless voice droned. A cold limb lifted him up onto his feet with unnatural ease. He managed to stand, though swaying. The pain had resided, though he felt unbearably stiff. +++I've been sustaining you+++, the voice said again.

“Wha-what?” he stammered, getting used to speaking again.

+++You have been in a coma for four weeks+++

“Fabricator...” he realised, looking into the Fabricator General's augmetic eyes, “What happened?” He was suddenly aware of what was going on. There were some fifteen other bodies scattered across the deck of the shuttle. Each had tubes and wires attached to various areas of their body. He began to pull out his own.

+++The Navigator was killed, I do not know how or by whom. We drifted into a warp storm, or very powerful current. The ship sustained structural damage and all organic occupants were killed or knocked unconscious+++, the Fabricator General explained in his monotonous voice.

“How...how long?” he asked, stumbling over to a view port, looking as his chronometer: 233.998.M41
He noticed that he was still dressed in all of his normal combat gear. Combat?

+++As I said--+++ the Fabricator said before being cut off.

“Wait, sorry, four weeks you said. Why am I in combat gear?” he asked, pressing buttons.

+++I found you like that, next to Brother-Marine Hector+++ the mechanicus lord said, assisting the man's attempts to open the view port.

“Where is he?” he asked.

+++Dead, a bolt round to the head+++ the Fabricator General answered. The man almost baulked at the lack of emotion or regret in the lord's voice, but quickly remembered he could not express emotion through his voice.

“Damn...”

+++Indeed+++ They continued their struggle against the ship's uncooperative command consoles in silence. It was only broken by the occasional groan and creak of the ship's hull, and the whirring of the Fabricator's aumetics. They continued for a while, then the man turned.

“Can you continue alone?” he asked.

+++Quicker than with an organic like yourself+++

“I'll take that as a yes.” The man hobbled across the bridge, leaning on consoles and pipes. He stopped just in front of the line of survivors. Each looked dead, still like a corpse. The man knew not many would make it out of the coma. He was lucky himself, to have survived so long...and in the warp as well. It almost made his think that there was some motive behind all this. He glanced and the Fabricator General. He was the only one who had not been unconscious when the man had woken. Nor had he claimed to ever have been.

+++What are you thinking about?+++ The man jumped, slightly startled. It was as if the machine lord had sensed his thoughts, or just seen his gaze somehow.

“Tell me, why were you not knocked unconscious?” he asked, slowly walking towards the Fabricator, gradually drawing his bolt pistol.

+++I am not flesh+++

“That is not a good answer, lord” the man pressed. He was checking the clip. It was full

+++I am not flesh, so my mind cannot be affected by blunt force like your organic one+++

“That only begs further questions,” he hissed, taking aim, “Why did the force not destroy you outright?”

+++Because I am made of the sturdiest metal known to the Mechanicus. Simple blunt cannot even damage me+++

“Very well.” He quickly holstered his weapon before the lord turned round. They locked their gazes. The man's was penetrating, fiery, powerful. The emotionless eyes of the Fabricator General were disturbingly emotionless.

“Tell, me,” he said, “Who killed Hector?”

+++I do not know. I suspect the Navigator's killer+++ They continued to look at each other. The man began to read the Fabricator's surface thoughts. Suddenly, as he withdrew from the Machine Lord's mind, he noticed the quickly fading psionic ice crystallising on the view port.

“It is open?” he asked.

+++Yes+++ They looked out. All they could see was the warp.
The ship rocked, and the warp dissolved. Slowly it was replaced by light green. “We have dropped out of the warp?”

+++No. We have fallen out of it...+++ How was that possible? One did not just fall out of the warp without warning. They had been manipulated.

“Oh my...” the man gasped. The Fabricator General agreed, even through a rare sign of body language, taking a step back.

+++In the name of the Omnissiah...+++ It seemed to mean nothing on that mechanical frequency, but the man knew exactly what he meant. This certainly hadn't been encountered before. Just infront of the view port, there was a massive light green hull. A ship. It eclipsed the stars it was so close.

“What is it Cagarner?” the man asked, using the Machine Lord's proper name for the first time.

+++I do not know, Inquisitor. It is something I have never encountered+++ Inquisitor Rosenadel stared blank-eyed at the ship, almost with admiration, mostly with instinctive fear. He stumbled as their own ship shook, and suddenly the hum of the engines was cut out. Rosenadel turned, and hobbled off of the bridge and into a corridor, taking note of the date. He almost fell as he read it: 233.998.M44

The ship they were on only had three decks and one airlock. It was a transport shuttle for the Senatorium and guards, often members of various Chambers Militants groups or Custodes.

Rosenadel reached the airlock, with Cagarner coming shoulder to shoulder with him a few seconds later. There was a pneumatic hiss as the door slid open, controlled from the outside. What stepped in next took Rosenadel's breath away. And he was quite sure that if Cagarner could have, he would have gasped too.

What stood there was 3 metres tall. It had angular, almost human like features, but it's jaw was lines with round, scalpel sharp teeth. Instead of hair it had the beginning of a chitinous armour plating that extended down it's back. It had no clothing, but a rather body, armour like chest. It's four arms were likewise covered in some sort of natural armour, with claw nailed hands at their ends. It's legs extended backwards at the knee, rather than forwards, and it stood on a pair of hoof-like feet. It's eyes were black, but not malicious. Rosenadel could read it's surface thoughts, so it was clearly sentient.

Any other day, with any other recognisable xenos Rosenadel would have drawn his bolt pistol and blown it open. Today, though, was not any other day. He was weak, slow, disturbed and most of all out of sync with his surroundings. The Machine Lord Cagarner was similarly paralysed.

“What...what are you?” asked Rosenadel, suddenly snapping back into action. He was about to kill the creature when he heard it's reply.

“I welcome you in peace, human. We do not get many of your kind here, we were surprised. And your ship, it is such an...old, model,” it said, sounding just like a human, with a human's voice. Not evil or fair, just...normal.

“You have not answered my question, Xenos,” Rosenadel replied, hesitating to attack, looking at the creature now with hateful eyes.

“Ah, yes. You humans always have been stubborn. I am Arkot, Captain of this vessel. Welcome to our Galaxy, M23.” it smiled, and Rosenadel was quite taken aback at the answer. They were in another galaxy? Another Emperor-damned Galaxy?

Though he stammered for a second, Rosenadel managed, “Answer me, what are you?!”

The alien's answer was the killing blow to Rosenadel's mind, and he froze when he heard it.

“In your tongue? We are the Tyranid.”

[Templar Mikeel]

Well, seeing as Dan hasn't said it yey...

Dun Dun Dun!

Thats good. Plot twisting in the first chapter, only because it goes against all we know about 'Nids! Stop restarting and continue!

[calvor]

Nice job, the 'nids talking now that came out of know were.

[wolfpack]

ACH ACH ACH ACH....well blow me down...frellin nids ...talking nids?...what year did you say this was?...300 years from now? (40K timeline that is)...I definately like the twist...this is gonna be so good...

[masterofweirdness]

Dude... this is freaky... very nicely written.

[Cagarner]

Wow, I absolutly love this!

It is quite concivable that tyranids, mostly genestealers could evolve to this. The interesting thing is that they dont seem to be connected with the hive mind. Normally they would have stormed the ship, and killed everybody; Unless they have other plans......

Oh, and I hope im wrong, but its always the pleasent helpful robot that goes AWOL and kills everybody.....

great stuff!

+Rep

[Icarus Athrasuriel]

I'm starting Part 2 of Chapter 1. I won't be revealing what's happened just yet, or what's been going on for the last 3000 (3000 dude, it's M44) years back in the Milky Way. I hope my little quote which I dug out from Fiends of Chaos is ample evidence for you.

There's a quote, before Chapter 1 now.

[Icarus Athrasuriel]

Chapter 1 (Part 2)
Tyranid

For the second time in a day, Lord Inquisitor Ignatius Rosenadel woke in a daze. He looked around him, finding himself to be in a sterile, white, spotless room. A medicae facility, he reasoned, seeing his colleagues on the adjacent beds, plugged into all sorts of monitors and support machines. He found that he wasn't, but he wasn't injured either. His last memories were made up of between waking on the Imperial transport, and drawing his bolt pistol. He strained to remember what had happened next.

He had fired, but the bolt hadn't even hit his target, the alien. What was his name, he struggled to think, the word failing to penetrate his splitting headache. Arkot.
His blood began to boil as his fury at the xenos filth resurfaced, but then cool and disappeared as his educated and wise mind jumped into a frantic storm of thought.

Tyranids?, he wondered. It was impossible, but the thing, which claimed to be one of the wretched filth Kryptman had named after the first world they devoured, claimed to be a member of the damned species. But, he reasoned, Tyranids are not sentient.

This one was. No matter how much logic tried to convince him otherwise, he knew the truth. He had recognised the physical features of a Tyranid, the breath, the stench of it's skin oils. Memories of Ichar IV flooded, back, but Rosenadel blocked them out instinctively. That had been a horrible moment of his life. The psychic resonance of the near-death event had almost killed him during a séance. When he came out of it, the Astropath's brain had been turned into a wall decoration.

He had also sensed it's thoughts. There he had found rock evidence. It knew it was a Tyranid, knew it's history, it's ancestry. These creatures were independent, sentient beings. No longer part of the Hive Mind, though how, Rosenadel did not dare thinking of.

He climbed out of the bed, leaning on a table at it's foot. He was still unused to balancing. Studying the bodies, he raised an eyebrow. On-board the ship, there had been 15 men on the bridge. Now, there were 18...

He looked at the faces, all of which he recognised. The 4 Custodes and 3 Grey Knights were dressed in robes rather than their armour. The robes were fresh. It made him think. Why would the Tyranid have human robes?

Now, the other three. To Rosenadel, they looked, and smelt...tainted.

He turned to look at the next room. It had a table in it, with a chair on either side.
He walked over to the door, and tried to open it. Surprisingly, it slid open after a few attempts at the code. He had thought this was a Tyranid ship, but the coding was in Low Gothic, and it was a name he'd heard before back in the Scholam on Cadia.

Now he was in another Galaxy. So far from home, that having been so long ago. He wasn't at all disturbed by the fact he was finding it difficult to come to terms with it.

He slid quietly into the room. It's walls and the door were plasteel, transparent. The table and the armless chairs were made of the same substance, though they were barely translucent. For a man so used to the smog and pig iron of the
Imperial Hive Cities, and the ugly steel subterranean factories that played home to criminal underworlds, the interrogation room, much like the medicae unit, and now he thought, the hangar, made him uneasy. It was the cleanliness. It was unnatural. Like someone had allowed a sea of some sterilising liquid flow through the entire ship.

Even though the code had been in Low Gothic, with a human alphabet, and the xenos had talked in the very same tongue, he could not shake the thought that this was most definitely a xenos ship, making him uncomfortable. Logic, however, once more argued against his instincts, telling him that it could not be Tyranid, because it was not biological, nor even a miracle of Biotechnology.

Rosenadel sat in the chair facing the medicae entrance and lay back. He fished around in his armour with one hand, and pulled out his Inquisitorial Rosette. He sat, staring at it for a moment. It still shone in the white light of the room, even after he had been wearing it for centuries.

[Icarus Athrasuriel]

Rosenadel jumped to his feet as he heard a pneumatic hiss and the door opposite him opened. A Tyranid walked in, stood to the side, and Arkot followed. The Tyranid guard left and Arkot sat opposite Rosenadel, who had quickly shoved his Rosette down his armour.

“Human,” Arkot acknowledged, inclining his head. Rosenadel did likewise.

“Xenos,” he replied, his tone venomous. He locked eyes with Arkot for a moment. The two sat, motionless, then Arkot opened a folder with his two lower arms.

“I would like to ask you some questions, human,” Arkot said, looking sidelong at Rosenadel while taking a pen from inside the folder.

“Why?” Rosenadel asked, his voice almost a growl. He could not believe he was being interviewed by xenos filth.

“To gauge your psychological health,” Arkot replied, looking up from a file he had pulled out. That answer surprised Rosenadel. Not only were these Tyranid sentient, but they had an advanced understanding of science also. He was slowly beginning to suspect outside involvement.

“Very well,” he sighed, examining his hands. His nails had been cut from long, dirt covered claws to manicured fingernails, more fitting of a remembrancer than a warrior.

“What date is it?” Arkot asked.

“Day two-hundred-and-thirty-three of year nine-hundred-and-ninety-eight, millennium 41,” Rosenadel answered. Arkot cocked the bony ridge over his right eye.

“What galaxy are you in?” the Tyranid asked.

“The Milky Way galaxy.”

“What race of creature are you?”

“Human.”

“Scientific designation?”

“**** Sapiens Sapiens.”

“What race am I?”

“That is debatable,” Rosenadel answered, causing Arkot to tilt his head in confusion. “You claim to be Tyranid, but you are sentient and you have no link to the hive mind. In addition, you do not have weapons grafted onto you, but clawed hands. So, logic reasons, you are no Tyranid, Arkot. You are lying.”

“Am I? You claim to be in the Milky Way. You are not. You are in the Triangulum Galaxy, NGC 598. Also, you claim it is the year nine-hundred-and-ninety-eight, millennium 41. This is also incorrect, it is the year nine-hundred-and-ninety-eight, millennium 44.” Arkot let it sink in, then added, “Tell me, why are you're answers incorrect?”

“They are not, you are lying.” Arkot sighed.

“You call me xenos. That is a term once used by the Imperium of Man. Why?”

“Because that is what you are, xenos filth. I am tasked by the Holy God-Emperor to destroy your kind.” Arkot's eyes widened, and he looked at Rosenadel's chest. He reached over, and Rosenadel moved to stop him, but the two lower arms shot out and restrained him. Arkot slid out Rosenadel's Rosette, and sighed.

“What is your name?” Arkot asked, leaning back and letting Rosenadel relax again, withdrawing his long arms.

“Lord Inquisitor Ignatius Rosenadel, Ordo Xenos,” Rosenadel answered, scowling.

“Damn...” Arkot sighed, rubbing his forehead. Somehow he managed not to slice his skull open with his razor sharp claws, but Rosenadel didn't bother figuring out how.

“What, xenos?”

“It is...as I feared. Inquisitor...I'm not sure how to put this to you...” Arkot said before trailing off.

“Say it, filth!” Rosenadel pushed, a look of anger replacing his scowl.

“The Milky Way, nor this galaxy, belong to the Imperium of Man...anymore.” Rosenadel looked like he was about to lunge, but he restrained himself.

“What do you mean? What are these lies based on?” he growled.

“They are not lies. You see, the Imperium of Man no longer exists.”

[Icarus Athrasuriel]

A small not. Everyone will be included, but please ignore the post I made about what title you will hold, it is now void.

[calvor]

That was good, I'm looking forward to what happens next. The Imperium of Man no longer exists thats a twist i did not expect, anyway good job.

[wolfpack]

Very intruiging...please continue..I would like to see where this goes....(and some good writing too)

[masterofweirdness]

Yep, this is pretty good...

One thing though... try to make the characters a bit more alive... the tyranid dude needs a bit, well, something. More life is how I would say it. Not that its not done badly, just a suggestion.

+rep

[Icarus Athrasuriel]

Do you mean, more depth to the character?

[Icarus Athrasuriel]

Chapter 1 (Part 3)
The Lord Inquisitor

“No!” Rosenadel roared as he leaped to his feet. He threw himself at Arkot bodily, crashing into the Tyranid with enough force to pick him up off his chair and slam him into the wall. The door hissed open, but Rosenadel ignored it, screaming profanities at his struggling captive. It took three of the Tyranid guards, each one easily 20-times stronger than Rosenadel, to drag him off the slowly recovering Arkot. They pinned him to a wall, one of them holding a serrated claw at his throat.

“I apologise,” Arkot said, a tinge of regret entering his voice. “Perhaps Gregor would have put it gentler.” Rosenadel's head shot up at the mention of the name. He stared coldly at Arkot, his piercing gaze causing the xenos to shiver slightly.

“Gregor?” he hissed, his eyes darting from each of the Tyranids holding him to another.

“Yes. He is an Inquisitor, like you, but he is the Lord Inquisitor of the Ordos Triangulum,” Arkot mentioned off-handedly. “Perhaps you would like to meet him?”

“Eh,” Rosenadel stuttered for a moment. “Ah, of course.”

“Very good,” Arkot smiled. He looked at the Tyranid guards, who swiftly withdrew to the far wall. Rosenadel hadn't noticed he had been so far off the ground till he slid down, then noticed it was foolish of him. He wasn't as sharp as of late, he had been looking Arkot in the eye from his level.

“Well then?”

“Nache, tor girdak nof Ekc,” Arkot told the guards. Rosenadel shot him a look, and Arkot looked down at him considerately. “'Guards, look after the humans', in Low Gothic.”

“Of course,” Rosenadel mumbled as he followed Arkot towards the door, sounding only slightly reassured. The door slid open cleanly and Arkot strode out, being careful to move slowly, and allowing the limping Inquisitor to keep beside him. “What happened?” Rosenadel asked as he examined the ship's interior. It was shining, unblemished white, much like the medicae, but with black, blank control panels integrated into the wall. He ran his fingertips over one, feeling it's impossibly smooth surface, refusing to give his hand purchase.

“What do you mean?” Arkot replied, sounding genuinely confused by Rosenadel's query.

“The Imperium. You said it was gone, yet you speak Low Gothic. Why?” Rosenadel replied, stopping to lean against a wall, rubbing his right thigh.

“Well, I guess that is rather more a question that you should ask Gregor when you meet him,” Arkot replied, “It is not my place. I will gladly tell you of my own race's history, though, if you will.”

“Of course. I am very interested in your advancement to sentience in...how long?” Rosenadel said, walking again.

“I'm sure you would be, considering your background,” Arkot agreed, turning sharply into an adjoining corridor. “Well, you see. Me and my race are descended from a very large brood of Tyranid Warriors your Imperium called Tyranicii Preafectea.”

“A Tyranid Warrior brood?” Rosenadel half-mumbled to himself, though Arkot heard him.

“Yes, most basic of all the so called 'synapse creatures'. The most important detail of this is that Tyranicii Preafectea could reproduce, much like Preafectea Ceralobitus, the Termagauntus Termagauntii, Hormagauntii, and Gargoylisii. During a battle with the now extinct denizens of this galaxy, consumed by the Tyranid hordes, the brood was cut off from Tyranid forces retreating from the world in the face of an overwhelming counter-attack. The Tyranid's enemies, however, left the planet to pursue the Tyranid, leaving the brood behind. They adapted to the terrain, and took five millennia to develop sentience, while the Hive Mind's influence on them had grown weak. This was around the time of the Horus Heresy.” Rosenadel shuddered at the mention of the fallen Primarch's name.

“That long ago?” he commented, composing himself.

“Oh yes. They did, however, still fight amongst themselves almost continuously, still weakly under the Hive Mind's aggressive influence. We developed, slowly but surely, technology akin to that which humanity created during the Dark Age of Technology, though it was all geared towards war.”

“Big surprise...”

“Please, Inquisitor, do not joke about this.”

“Oh, no, please go on.”

“Thank you. As I was saying, all of our technology was geared towards waging war on other broods, we were slowly killing each other off...”

“And..?

“And it stopped,” Arkot finished, turning at a door and typing in a code. His dexterous fingers flow across the keys, the tips of his claws gently tapping in letters, not leaving so much as a scrape.

“Just, like that?” Rosenadel wondered, snapping his fingers as he said it. He raised and eyebrow.

“Indeed, Inquisitor. I know, it was very sudden.”

“How long ago?”

“Around five hundred years ago. Then the Alliance came, and made peace between the broods.”

“And who are the alliance?”

Arkot smiled wickedly, “You will see, Gregor will who you. They united the broods, and integrated us into their society.”

“What role do you fulfil?”

“I am of the Imperial Navy, a Captain. This, as I have told you before, is my ship, Wrath of Erek. Erek was the first and only Tyranid Admiral, well known amongst the Navy for his exploits in the subjugation of the minor races located in the aptly named Erek Cluster.”

“I thought the Imperium was gone.”

[Icarus Athrasuriel]

“Yes, the Imperial Navy is part of the Imperial Alliance.” Rosenadel moved to counter him with another query, but Arkot told him to be silent as, at long last, the door opened. They stepped inside, and Rosenadel stopped in awe. He was in an auditorium, in the middle of which was a schematic of a cluster of stars, a hundred at first count, but obviously more. “The Erek Cluster,” Arkot hissed, “Each star represents a system, red represents enemy held systems, green is Alliance controlled and blue is uninhabitable.”

Rosenadel nodded. He scowled as Cagarner turned round and nodded at him, but his attention was drawn away from the Mechanicus Lord and to another, human figure in the middle of the auditorium. He was sitting in an anti-gravity wheelchair, with several wires entering his body from the back of the chair, a particularly thick one connected to his brain stem. “What is that?”

“A life support system, built by the Eldar to sustain the ageing military geniuses of the Alliance, in order to continue our crusade into the Universe,” Arkot replied in a whisper. He walked up towards the chair, and bent down, talking to the figure in the chair in an impossibly low voice to avoid the words being carried across the room.

The chair spun round, and the man in it scowled. It was like he wore a mask of flesh. “Welcome to the Triangulum Galaxy, Ignatius. I was following your progress with great interest before you, disappeared. Valdor was quite distressed by the loss of one of his Centurions. Icarus is with you, I hope. Anyway, we were all worried. Several key men had went missing in one go, oh, the uproar you caused., quite a nuisance. Anyway, I greet you, Ignatius.”

“Heretic!” Rosenadel spat. “How dare you consort with these Xenos breeds! Osma was right, all those millennia ago! You are a heretic!” The man was quite taken aback by Rosenadel's outrage, and looked to Arkot for support.

“Are you even aware of who this is, ignorant Inquisitor?” Arkot asked, tilting his head. Rosenadel nodded slowly, his face contorted by rage.

Of course he knew who the man was. Every Inquisitor who had lived during Rosenadel's day knew.

Eisenhorn.

[Icarus Athrasuriel]

That's the final part of Chapter 1. I might take a break to concentrate on the hobby, but I'll post more soon.