Thallaxia

Chapter 1

Flame was all around him.  The transport slammed into the ground at rapid speed, and the undercarriage began to peel away as they dragged.  Explosions rolled in series from the direction of the impact, before the ship caught on something, and began to tumble. 

On its third roll the ship came to a sharp halt, and Lukan became pinned in the wreckage.  He was wounded, something pierced his armor.  Fires grew around him.  He only felt the pain as he looked down to see it, a jagged pipe emerging from his chest at an upward angle.  His blood ran cold.  His automatic injector sensed the injury and released a powerful pain killer.  His thoughts swam through the red and dark and blood around him.  He needed to free himself before the fire consumed him.  The pipe wasn't that long, he could pull himself off and find a way out, he thought.

He tried to raise his arms, and they didn't move.  He tried to move his legs, and they didn't even twitch.  He was paralyzed.  The pipe must have severed his spine.  He could just barely still move his neck, enough to keep his throat clear so he could breathe.  He activated his emergency transponder via mental command that had been drilled into his psyche.  That's all he could do.  He couldn't even vox the rest of the Cell without his helmet.  He hoped the rest of his Cell survived.  He was in the belly of the transport, the worst place to be in this particular scenario.

Lukan hung by the pipe, jaw slack, drool mixed with blood running freely out of his mouth.  The smoke grew thicker and began to work its way into his throat.  He couldn't even cough to clear it, and felt it settle on his tongue, and coat his uvula.  He could still feel his limp body, through the painkillers.  He could feel the heat of the fire on every part of himself, threatening to melt his uniform to his skin.  His vision began to fade.  He let his consciousness fall into the deep, dark heat.  At least he was warm.  At least he was sedated as he died, and did not have to go screaming in agony.  He could retain some dignity, even if no one else would ever know.  He had survived more than so, so many.  He could die here with pride.

Lukan heard voices.  They sounded very far away.  He might have rejoiced to be found, were he not so certain of his demise.  Thank the Emperor that they survived, he told himself, as he closed his eyes.  He could not see any more, he need not spend the effort to keep them open.  He heard the shrieking of metal being torn apart, and fresh air flooded the wreckage.  The comparably cold air rushed at Lukan and into his wound, sending an agonizing chill through his body.  His throat and lungs began to spasm in response.  Ripping facsimiles of coughs ripped out of his chest, worsening his wound and sending blood flying out of his mouth with every horrible exhalation. 

His eyes flicked open and saw the shape of an Astartes in front of him.  Brother Decimus.  His helmet was flashing with multicolored lights, and sweeping sensors.  He was analyzing the severity of Lukan’s wounds.  The lights snapped off and the marines deep vox grilled voice boomed

“You will live.”  Was all he said, before stabbing him with an injection, and pulling Lukan off of the pipe.

The pain from the sudden movement was so agonizing that Lukan lost consciousness for a span of time.  When he came to again he saw the sky above him, and could breath clean air.  He was on the ground.  He saw Decimus above him, holding a piece of hinged wreckage aloft.

“Hide.”  Decimus said, and slammed the transport door closed over him.

“Salvation will find you.”  Lukan heard him say from the other side.  And then;

“We bring the fight to them!  Advance with extreme prejudice!”

He felt the marines' footsteps pound into the earth as he ran away, and the sound of gunfire faded, leaving Lukan alone, in the dark.  He wasn't in pain any more, not really.  He could feel the injection Decimus jabbed him with working, coagulating the ragged ends of veins in his wound.  He could feel his entire body, so abused and beaten and riddled with drugs, every inch of him was alive with tingling sensation.

Lukan attempted to stretch his over exerted muscles, and a dread cold as ice water seeped into his gut.  He had managed to forget that he was paralyzed.  The inability to move even an inch sent him into a claustrophobic anxiety attack.  His thoughts began to race faster than he could understand them.  His brain honed in on the strained muscles that were set to burning from staying in one position too long.  The sensation overwhelmed him.  Noises began to emanate from his throat and Lukan realized that, if he tried, he could still scream.  And so he screamed.  Decimus told him to hide, but scream was all he could do, and he did so until he lost consciousness again.

He woke in darkness.  He had no way of telling how long he was out for, and after only seconds the panic began again.  Whatever muscles he was still able to manipulate into a scream were now failing.  Lukan attempted to master the panic.  He was a member of the Vigilia.  He was chosen because he is a survivor.  Brother Decimus Batur is his bonded Astartes, and great friend.  He has been serving with him for the better part of ten years.  The recitation of facts calmed him.  When his thoughts strayed to his broken body, he started from the beginning.  I am a soldier of the Malum Vigilia.  I am a survivor.  Brother Decimus Batur is my bonded Astartes, and great friend. 

Lukan’s mind slipped into darkness again, but the facts repeated in his mind as he rested.  He could no longer tell when he was awake or asleep until he woke, and he was somewhere else.  There were voices around him.  He was being moved.  He was staring up at the steel ceiling of a voidship, or more particularly, the docking bay where two ships were connected.  He could not move his head, or open his mouth to try to speak, as he was held in place by fittings on the gurney.  After a few seconds, the movement stopped, and Lukan heard a woman’s voice,

“Releasing patient for transport to the local Ordo Reductor facility.” it said.

What?  No.  No he hadn't heard that right.

+Thank you doctor.  We will take him from here.+

Why were there tech priests?  Oh throne.  No.  Emperor no. 

They were going to put him in the Lorica.

He could see only the ceiling as he began to move again.  Lukan’s mind was peculiarly silent.  They were going to put him in the Lorica.  The stories all came rushing back to him.  The omens of the tech priest that he had promised his body too long ago, in the event its ceasing to function.  Lukan found himself wishing to stay the way he was before allowing this.  He wished he had died on the pipe, in the fire. 

His eyes recovered from their sightless glaze and Lukan saw one of the tech priests stepping to the side, closing a chamber door.  He was in a stasis chamber.  He tried to scream as the room began to fill with cold smoke.  He craned his eyes to the side to meet the tech priests, hoping to plead for mercy, but saw none in its cold robotic voids.

A second later the door opened again, and Lukan was still trying to scream.  He was brought out of the chamber quickly and through a massive open ship's bay.  Large medical lights came into view above him, along with servo skulls with blinking red recording lights.  Then he came below a terrifying conglomeration of long metal arms with various cutting, drilling and welding attachments. 

Moments later he heard a tech priests start what sounded like a medical journal
 

+This is Ternax Vex of the ordo reductor.  Subject has presented with catastrophic lower cervical cord destruction and complete paralyzation.  Limbs have succumbed to various wounds and have lost any viability upon arrival.  I will now begin the transfer of the patient to his chosen Lorica Thallax chassis.

Lukan heard a console beeping next to him, and he felt a liquid being released from somewhere.  There was an IV in his arm, he didn't even notice it being put in.  In an instant the painkillers stalled in his system during the stasis transit were canceled out, and Lukan felt all of his wounds.

The tech priest long ago had told him that in this eventuality, he would need to remain conscious, and his nerves un sedated, in order to ensure their proper placement within their new host.

Lukan saw the face of the operating tech priest come into view above him.  I am a soldier of the Malum Vigilia, he told himself.  I am a survivor, he told himself, as the tech priest began the process of removing him from his body.



 

Chapter 2

Years ago

Lukan watched as his transport drifted towards the space station.  It had a large middle section, where the bulk of its activities must be handled.  Above and below it were large spires with rotating compartments shooting off of them.  Dozens of Mechanicus ships of varying sizes surrounded the station, entering or leaving docking bays.

Lukan knew that the Vigilia had extensive ties with the Mechanicus, in order to supply the augmetics needed by its mortal soldiers.  But he did not know what this station was.  The Vigilias best kept secret, or best kept he’s been made privy too so far.  None of his contemporaries knew the purpose of the trip he was on either, only that they, too, would make the journey one day.

Lukan was to be inducted into the Malum Vigilias Astartes companion pool.  The thought still gave him chills.  He remembered being a child, and thinking Space Marines were a fairy tale.  So much of the Galaxy was just a story back then.  And then he was recruited to the guard.  The horrors of the void soon became very real to him.  But Lukan survived, where so many had not.  And the Vigilia noticed. 

Before he could work with an Astartes, Lukan needed to receive his standard augments.  That would be done aboard the response flotilla he is assigned to, however.  Lukan saw a massive icon above the docking bay he was about to enter.  A cog, with a tower, and a lightning bolt inside it.  He did not know this order.

The transport passed through the environment shield and docked in the middle of a large empty bay.  The transport was automated, and only Lukan was onboard.  The door opened for him regardless.  Cold blue light seeped into the transport.  Lukan stepped out, and saw his breath turn to frost in front of him.  Throne, it's cold, he thought.  He looked around for an indication of where he was supposed to go.

Against the wall Lukan saw a tech priest.  They stood at least seven feet tall, and wore a flowing mechanicus robe.  The deep hood kept their face in shadow, save for one glowing red eye. 

+Lukan Wrenn.  Congratulations on your promotion to bond cell applicant.+

The priest's voice was deep and oddly bubbling, yet entirely mechanical.  Lukan nodded to them. 

“What ordo is that?”  Lukan asked, pointing to where the icon above the bay was.

+The Ordo Reductor.  World breakers of the Un-maker.+ said the tech priest.

“The Un-maker?” Lukan asked.

+Omnissiah.  Emperor.  Un-maker.  In times past the distinction carried more import.+

Lukan was surprised to hear such candid talk of the Emperor.  If it were a subordinate of his he might have reprimanded them.

“Very well…” Lukan said, un-sure.  He continued;

“You are quite the secret.  A secret that everybody knows about.  Why do recruits of the Vigilia come here?”  Lukan asked.

In response the tech priest took a step to the side, and gestured to the lift behind them.

+All will become clear.+ The priest said. 

Lukan nodded again and made for the lift.  The priest entered after him, and the door closed without any noticeable interaction.  The lift moved up for around fifteen seconds, before opening into darkness.  The tech priest stepped out of the lift before him, and the cold blue lights turned on as he entered.

They were in a warehouse.  In front of them was a sort of reception area, a large desk with hololiths and maps, terminals and cogitators.  A dozen yards past the desk, and in either direction beside it, were huge arming racks displaying what looked like armor of some sort, though Lukan had never seen its kind.  Cold fog rolled on the floor in between the rows of racks that held hundreds and hundreds of these mechanical bodies.  They went on so far that Lukan could not make out an end to them in any direction.

The tech priest reached the desk and turned to see Lukan's bewildered expression.  They waited for Lukan to ask his questions.

“What are these?  Am I to be armored like a marine?” Lukan asked, grasping.

+Only in the proper eventuality.+  The tech priest said, and continued,

+The Lorica Thallax.  A remnant of an age long past, to be resurrected by the order of Archmagos Bellisarius Cawl, and Lord Regent Roboute Guilliman.+

Lukan was surprised again to hear such names mentioned in his presence.  The Lord Regent had ordered him here?  The Archmagos had a hand in this technology?  It was as if he were living in a legend.

The tech priest turned about, and walked past the desk, towards the racks. 

+Come.  Walk with me among them.  You will want to see before you make your choice.+

Lukan was still slightly stunned.  He had more questions, but felt no rush to end his wonder.  He followed the priest to the racks.

They were sorted by variations, hundreds of one identical model might fill a row of racks.  The first they passed were polished bronze in color, with an oddly shimmering faceplate.  The next they saw were slightly taller, and made of ceramite.  The next were shorter, and made of another, darker material that Lukan could not name.  Even more variations lay in any direction from Lukan, but he could discern a pattern.  There were many models and many materials, but those seemed to be the only two variables.  All of the machine bodies were bereft of weapons, and looked rather sparse, like they were missing components.

As Lukan continued through the racks he noticed a commonality between them all.  These did not appear to be suits of armor, as there was no discernible way to incorporate a soldier physically.  They were solid pieces with, evidently, no hollow spaces.  Some of them also bore ribbons, with names of Vigilia soldiers.  Certain models had a ribbon on each one.  Some had multiple.  Other models only had a few, though every model type had some. 

The tech priest began to speak, evidently tired of waiting for Lukan to inquire.

+The Lorica Thallax and astartes power armor were both born of the same principle.  To integrate a subject with its armor, to provide a supremely protected, informed and empowered occupant.  The level of integration ended up being the defining factor.  The Lorica Thallax diverged from use with Astartes, due to its reductive factors, and instead became standard in the forces of the Mechanicum, and the Ordo Reductor.+

Lukan listened intently, trusting his questions will be answered in turn.

+Once placed within the Lorica a soldier can live for centuries.  One of The Lorica's most valued uses is in saving a catastrophically wounded soldier.+

Placed within the Lorica.  That gave Lukan pause. 

“You’re going to put me in one of these?” He asked.

+The Vigilia would not rob you of your humanity, regardless of the Ordo’s view on the subject.  You are here today to select a chassis should your body fail, yet your mind can be saved.  You will be given a new body, and a new chance to serve the Un-maker.+

Lukan paused in thought.  Interesting.  He was simply relieved that this entire ordeal was not a matter of immediate import, instead something for the future.  A contingency.  The priest continued walking through the racks, and told him more.

+The Thallax are extremely durable, agile, and powerful.  You will be tougher, stronger and faster than you could ever hope to be while still beholden to your flesh.  Each Thallax houses a high energy compact reactor that can power devastating weaponry.  You will have extremely versatile access to augmentation, and customization.  You will be fitted with a jet pack.  The list of practical benefits goes on.+

Lukan was wary already.  Nothing a tech priest espoused so fervently was without a catch. 

“At the cost of my humanity?” Lukan asked. 

+Implantation within the Lorica is not without its difficulties.  You will lose your vision, and hearing, given something else instead.  Due to the intense trauma of being placed within a new body, your emotional centers will need to be dampened, lest you feel agony un ending.  Your mind will need to be conditioned to function with its new body, and your psychological limits will be tested.  However, due to The Archmagos recent applications of re discovered ancient technology, internment within the Lorica will no longer inevitably result in insanity.+

“That used to be a feature?  Inevitable insanity?”  Lukan asked with equal parts humor and horror.

+The great crusade, and the eras that followed, were times of unparalleled urgency, and unpleasant practicality.  A soldier may succumb to insanity within the Lorica, but only after centuries of superlative combat service in the ranks of the Ordo.  An exceptional compromise in the eyes of many, even to those that may suffer the consequences.+

It surprised Lukan to find himself thinking that he understood.  He was in the Vigilia after all.  After his time here, he would be sent directly to receive his standard augments to serve as a Bond Cell Applicant, a series of no less than a dozen, highly invasive medical procedures, augmetic grafts, and mechanical integrations.   This is a shade similar to the life and purpose he was already living.  It occurred to Lukan that another Chapter in another time might have interred him without his knowledge or consent, and conscripted him to service regardless.

Lukan stopped in front of a machine body made of polished steel.  It was taller and wider than him.  He tried to imagine the force capable of being summoned from its large mechanical arms and legs. 

“Does implantation hurt?” Lukan asked, not really able to think of a more pertinent question.

+Affirmative.  By design.  Your receptors will be dampened enough to not burn out your sanity, but you will be brought to maximal awareness during implantation, to increase the odds of success.  Each viable nerve needs to be mapped to a new pathway, and pain is the most effective method.+

Lukan paused.  That did not sound pleasant.  His nerves.  That gave him shivers.

“How much of me ends up in this thing?  As much as you can salvage?”  Lukan asked.

+Negative. The only components of your body to be transplanted will be your brain, spine, and nervous system, regardless of the viability of individual components or organs.+

That sounded horrific.  That sounded beyond horrific, like the worst pain that could be imagined.  The possibility of capitulation crept into Lukan's mind.

“What if I don't consent?  I imagine that's what you have brought me here to gain.” He asked, turning to look at the priest.

+The Lorica Thallax contingency is a requirement to be considered for work with an Astartes.  The Malum Vigilia is investing a disproportionate amount of resources into you and your training.  They will not waste the experience of a valued operative simply because their flesh fails.+ The tech priests said, meeting his gaze with his one red eye.

“The flesh fails with age as well.  Am I to be interred in one of these when I am too old to serve?” Lukan asked, wholeheartedly expecting it to come off as a joke.

“Affirmative.  To be a member of the Malum Vigilia is to embrace service without end.  You will be kept at operational capacity until such a thing is no longer viable.” The priest said without humor.

Now this shook Lukan.  He had never really entertained the possibility of retirement, not much of the guard does.  So in a way, Lukan thought this an improvement.  He could live for centuries, if he played his cards right.  He could serve with Astartes for centuries.  He could never be one of the Emperor's Angels, but this felt like he might come close.  The weight of a trillion human souls never given the opportunity to live a life of such purpose felt like it would crush him if he were to refuse. 

Lukan looked back at the mechanical bodies.  So many more left to see.  He wondered if he would find any that suited him in particular.  Any with some personality.  He looked back to the priest.
 

“Then I suppose I should find one I like, eh?”



 

Chapter 3

Lukan was changed.  His brain was irrevocably and catastrophically altered by the pain he endured during transplantation.  He was peeled open, and pulled by his seat of consciousness.  His flesh was pared away around his nerves and discarded without ceremony.  Any semblance of familiar sensation or identifiable senses quickly became a forgotten memory.  The only experience left for Lukan to feel was agony, as his nerves become exposed to the near freezing air of the mechanicus operating theatre.  “How?” was the only word he could manage to think.

His brain was placed within his chosen chassis, a tall and thin body, made of a dark matte material.  His spine was fixed into place.  Then began the long, long process of the flesh welding.  Every single one of his nerves was affixed into its new position with extreme heat.  His already screaming nerves erupted in fresh torment, and his brain began to fight against the stimulants keeping him cognizant of the pain.  This is when he noticed his emotions beginning to vanish.  Lukan's mind was brought to its breaking point, and emotion of any kind that touched this threshold was chemically castrated by the tech priest currently watching his brain.  He would never feel anything so deeply again.

If he were to look back on the experience Lukan would not be able to identify when he began to feel his new body, rather than the insane mess of unidentifiable sensations from his raw, flailing nerves.  He could feel the heat of his nerves being fixed, and then he felt the heat of the steel around the nerve.  As more and more of him was welded into place, he began to feel a weight to himself.  The sensation was dull now.  Agonizing, but not fresh, and the layering and piling on of these dull flesh welds eventually coalesced into a facsimile of a body.  The process of affixing his nerves took no less than eighteen hours.

When all of his nerves had been placed, his chassis was closed, and he was fully inside his new body, for the first time.  Lukan was lifted by a large chain hooked to his back.  He felt the sensation of being moved.  His center of gravity was shifting and he could feel the massive weight of himself pressing firmly on the rest of his body, and the hook in his back.  He could not see, hear, smell, or taste.  But he had a body to feel now, in a way.  It did not feel the same as his old body.  Or did it?  If he was being honest with himself, he could not remember what it felt like to be in his old body.  He just remembered that he could feel great pain like that.  Less now.

He felt something press into his new abdomen.  It was very warm.  It jerked and clicked and interfaced with his body in some way, before locking into place.  Moments later he felt an extremely volatile… something, enter his body.  It churned and rolled at his center, before sending waves of itself into his torso and limbs.  He felt it begin to gather beneath the home of his thoughts, until the waves filled his body completely, and his polished blank face shape clicked on.

Lukan would frequently be asked about the Djinn sight by his fellow soldiers upon returning to the ranks.  He would often describe it as if his sight and hearing had become one sense, and he had neither individually any more.  It would allow Lukan to see through walls and terrain around him, determine velocity and trajectory near instantly, and gain an exceptional amount of data about a target's physical condition from the unique combination of sensory capabilities.  It would allow him to track seismic pressure, blood heat, and electromagnetic fields, over great distances.   The human brain struggles to compensate when presented with a new sensory experience though, and Lukan would eventually come to refer to the Djinn sight as his “vision” because it was the closest approximation. 

When Lukan's new body became active, he did not understand the Djinn sight yet.  His faceplate flicked on and Lukan's brain was overloaded with information instantly.  He perceived a roiling sea of red, pulsing and all aiming directly at his face plate.  The tech priests were chattering, but he didn't even know how he knew that.  Words entered his brain as this new form of data;

+Back away.  Monitor the subject closely.  Remove the ignition apparatus.+ a Tech priest spoke.

Lukan looked down.  He could move his head.  He again didn't really know how, he just felt the machine being pulled from his new metal gut and instinctively looked at it.  The storm of data in front of him became complicated, and then faded.  He moved his head some more.  Throne, it had been ages since he moved.  He needed to stretch.  Lukan immediately became overwhelmingly anxious.  He needs to move his body right now.   He began to try.

Lukan's metal frame began to spasm.  His arms began to flail and legs began kicking.  He smashed his right arm through the rigging that was holding him upright, and the chain that was holding him aloft fell out.  He landed with a resounding slam on the deck.  He tried his hardest to stay upright, and he managed to make it a few loping gaits into the room before falling and slamming into the deck.  Movement was not helping.  He still felt still, and stiff.  Like he had under the wreckage.  He felt the dread again, cold as ice.  He continued to smash the floor below him, attempting to force the aching dull whine from his nerves.  It wasn't working, and he found himself emitting a machine sound of some kind.  Is that how I scream?  Lukan thought.

Lukan focused on the physical sensation that created the noise.  It was something he was controlling, he just couldn't make out how to do it on its own yet.  Nonetheless, he forced his will into that section of his mind, and his body reacted by letting out a terrible, long and painful screech.  It all hurt.  Throne, it all still hurt so much.  A tech priest spoke near him again.

+Bond cell applicant Lukan Wrenn.  You have endured much, and survived your ordeals yet again.  You have a new body.  We are capable of inducing a state of rest.  Would you like us to do so?+

Nothing had ever sounded so pleasant in Lukan's entire life.  He stopped his shrieking and stilled his limbs, for the most part.  He did not feel entirely in control of his body yet, so full of energy and power it was.  The tech priest spoke;

+We will take that as affirmation.+ 

Somehow Lukan could perceive the tech priest approaching from his side even though he was facing straight down.  He was an odd mixture of cold and hot spots with electromagnetism flying off of him at every point.  The priest connected something to Lukan's back, and he fell asleep.




 

Chapter 4

The tech priests re-booted Lukan.  They attempted to do it slowly, with the application of sedatives to keep him from reacting violently again.  When he came to Lukan was upright, back on the hook, but his feet were on the floor this time.  There were three tech priests in the room with him.  One in front and one on either side, behind him.  Information slowly trickled into Lukan's mind.  There was a field of some sort around him, around everything in the room.  It was flowing constantly from one thing to the next.  Machines.  It was flowing from one machine to the next.  The tech priests included.  There is heat around him, though little of it.  The tech priests contained the heat too, as well as the electromagnetism and environmental pressure all around.

Lukans recalled the sensation from earlier when he screamed and tried to talk. 

“+Is this the noosphere?+” The words came from his body with unexpected ease.  His voice bounced off of itself and rattled around the room like a coin in a beggar's tin.  It bore no resemblance to Lukan's old voice.

+You can perceive the noosphere?+ The tech priest in front of him said with surprise

+I am going to transmit a large packet to the Magos, tell me when I have sent it+ The priest said.

The tech priest did nothing for around twenty seconds before a large wave of the rolling information streamed in a million pieces to the Magos behind Lukan.

“+Now.+” Lukan said.

+Fascinating.+  The tech priest said with robotic wonder.

Lukan did not know what to say to that.  He noted that he was not in pain, and did not feel the need to stretch what used to be his limbs. 

“+The pain.  Will it return?+”  He asked.

The tech priest shook his head and began to move towards him.

+You must re-define pain in your new form.  The sensations you felt are what it is to be implanted in the Lorica.  Not pain.  They will return, and you must master them.+ The priest said, moving to his side.

“+I felt as though I needed to…Stretch.  To express my muscles.  I can not.+”

+Ah.  Well that is simply phantom body syndrome and will subside with time.+

The priest placed a mechadendrite on the hook in Lukan's back

+You have regained the faculty of speech rather quickly.  Shall we try walking next?+ He asked.

Lukan affirmed his consent to the priest, but something strange happened.  He didn't say anything, but he spoke to the priest.  He essentially said “Okay” without the need for the mechanical step.  The priest noticed.

+We will train you to interact with the noosphere and other such networks before you return to your compatriots.+

His compatriots.  His cell. 

“+Do they yet live?  How long has it been?+” He asked.

+You were the sole casualty of the crash.  They eagerly await your return. It has been over four hundred terran cycles since you sustained your injuries.+ the priest replied, while pulling the hook out of Lukan's back.

Over a year.  The stasis chamber must have masked a trip through the warp, back to the heart of Ultramar.  And he suspected it would be over a year going back.  He felt something.  The only feelings he had a notion of at the moment were agony and confusion, until this new one reminded him he could still feel more.  He was excited to be reunited with his friends. 

Lukan quickly learned to walk again.  It was more intuitive than he would have thought.  Still, he felt that he was underutilizing his new body, and the priests took him through a full diagnostic of his new form.  The process took hours, but the passage of time did not affect Lukan like it once did.  He did not get hungry, or tired, or bored, or restless.  He got lost in the diagrams and schematics of his body, and came away with a deep understanding of his systems.  The practical application of these systems was another thing entirely, though.

Lukan spent the first months of his travel back testing his new physical capabilities.  He was capable of running five kilometers in under seven minutes, though he heavily damaged the track he ran on.  He no longer needed to breathe, a great boon while running.  He did not tire physically any more, and continued these benchmark tests for many days in a row, partially out of excitement, and partly because he had absolutely no idea what to do otherwise.  He did not want to confront more than this, not right now.  The priests offered him many chances to rest or recreate, but he was content to lose himself in training.

He could lift over a thousand kilograms in a standing posture and more in various lifting positions.  He could carry an intense amount of weight on his back.  Still, he did not tire, only felt his metal body endure the stress without complaint.  His reaction time was exceptionally improved, the djinn sight keeping him ultimately informed of all things around him at all times.

He was capable of running obstacle courses and reacting to interference in ways that he never would have been able to when reliant on sight and hearing.  His perception was three hundred and sixty degrees at all times, and physical obstructions no longer provided as much complication.  He could sense the heat and electricity of all things, all around him, shooting off into every direction, forever, until it all faded into the background noise of reality.  A wall in front of him existed, and so too did the things behind it.  But they did exist behind it, and his perception of them was as such.

He was taken to a shooting range.  This… Now this excited him.  He was a sharpshooter in the flesh, and he was wondering if he would retain his specialization after his transformation.  He still retained many of the necessary qualities.  Patience.  Discernment.  His reaction time was better.  His physical control of his extremities was better.  Lukan was beginning to think he actually might be a better sharpshooter in this form, although a bit clunky.  

They gave him a rifle that would have been comically oversized before, now it felt as though he might break it.  They ran many servo skull shooting galleries that Lukan enjoyed, even if they were a bit easy.  Eventually the trick became to recognize when the priests had released the skulls in a pattern that made it physically impossible to hit each target, and take the option that eliminated more.  Lukan felt very good about his marksmanship.  He spent days practicing with various standard long range weapons, until one day a tech priest approached him with a rifle.
 

The priest told Lukan that he would have as much time as he wanted in their armory later, but brought him a particularly effective weapon to train with.  He said it had been borne by the Thallaxii before, but did not elaborate further.  The weapon was nearly two meters tall, with a long thin barrel, and a bulbous flared protrusion along its length.  Near the grip was the energy chamber where the shots were charged.  The handle and trigger came directly off the energy chamber, and a very sparse stock stuck out of the end of it.  There was a large cable to connect to his own energy source, to power the weapon.  The tech priest called it a photon thruster.

When connecting a weapon to his power source the energy would run through the hand that he has affixed to the trigger and handle of the weapon, in this case his right.  The feeling of connecting to the gun was something with no real human analogy.  The sensation that he felt at all times, that gave his body the ability to move, his internal reactor, became split between the two reservoirs.  The photon thruster came alive with his energy, and began to sustain itself within the chamber.  It did not diminish his own energy capacity at all, except maybe momentarily, initially. 

Lukan held the rifle one-handed and let off an un aimed test shot. The shot made the reservoir of the gun fluctuate slightly.  His own core was not affected.  Nor was his arm,  did this gun not produce any recoil?  He fired another shot.  No it definitely did, and if his sensory calculations were correct, it was actually quite strong.  Not by his standards, any more, evidently.  He could fire repeatedly one handed without moving a centimeter.  The tech priest offered to run a special gallery to test its capabilities, and Lukan accepted.

The wall moved half a kilometer back.  Lukan shot bullseyes with no issue.  He could shoot repeated bullseyes into the same scorched target mark.  The targets moved and Lukan could track them with astounding fluidity, continuing with no misses.  A barrier made of stone appeared.  It was difficult to discern the skulls past it, but it was a simple scene with only one new variable, and Lukan continued to take his shots.  He was surprised when his first shot pierced the stone wall cleanly.  The bolts of energy thrust from this gun were extremely powerful.  Lukan continued practicing with the rifle for many days, and eventually adopted it as his favored primary weapon.

With half of his transit left, Lukan began noospheric and advanced systems interface training.  The noosphere flowed through all things here on the mechanicus ship and was almost indistinguishable from baseline reality.  They taught him to interface with it, though he had almost none of the information necessary to access any of its systems.  He was not fully aware or in charge of the things he was doing.  He suspected that is why he was not allowed access to the noosphere, he might interact with it in some erratic way.  They taught him to connect to various cogitators and force them into submission in seconds, in a manner that astounded Lukan himself.   It was as if he spoke directly to the simple machine spirits, and they listened.  The technical jargon and rows of numbers were all transmitted to him, but he did not understand any of that yet. 

It was during this period of intense mental training that Lukan first truly looked inward, at what he had become.  He was still Lukan.  He remembered being Lukan.  He had memories from throughout his whole life.  Didn't he?  He found his memories fragmented and missing something.  Memories of being Lukan, without Lukan there any more.  Lukan did not exist any more, or at least the Lukan that was.  He thought of a cold cup of amasec, one of his most visceral pleasures.  He had enjoyed it many times.  He could not remember how it felt to drink one.  He couldn't imagine the sharp bite of the alcohol, or the condensation on the glass.  That was it.  Lukan had endured so much pain, and been so quickly and effectively reconditioned, that he no longer had a viable mental model for what it felt like to have flesh.
 

Lukan explored the ramifications of this.  He explored his memories and found what they were missing.  He no longer had memories of physical sensations throughout his life, as his brain had given up its old ways and fully adapted to the new.  He remembered the raw agony of the surgery, but not even the pain he felt in the wreckage, on the pipe.  Every memory Lukan had was torn apart into tiny pieces, and shuffled together in his brain, now bereft of the connective tissue of his flesh.  He did not know what to do with this revelation.  He thought he might start a journal.  Record what he did remember somehow, but when he looked inward he found that he actually had the internal capabilities to create catalogues and organized repositories of his own memories.  It would just take time, and be very confusing.  It became a task that Lukan addressed in his down time.

Towards the end of his trip Lukan was genuinely excited.  Everything was so unbelievable.  When he thought about what had happened to him and what he now was, he…  Did not know how to feel.  Maybe the feeling he should have felt was not there any more.  Confusion dominated his life for so long. 

But he would get to see his cell soon.  He went through training with a couple of them, and had memories with them.  Above all else, he wanted to see what Decimus would make of him now.  It had become somewhat of a tradition for the cell to test their strength against Decimus as training.  They had never bested him, all five of them versus him, and they never really expected too.  It was just fun.  Decimus would want to challenge him when he got back, that much Lukan was sure of.  A test of strength vs an Astartes. 

Lukan endured much throughout his service.  He did not know what lay ahead for him, and he could not say whether anything was worth it.  But one thing was certain.  He was now living a legend.