A Squelch of Empires (crossover)

[LionElJonson]

Ironically, disappearing into a simulated dream-world would be techno-heresy for the Adeptus Mechanicus.

[Simon_Jester]

Which most likely explains how they managed to survive as a Cult of the Machine for ten thousand years (they existed before that, but were a lot more rational back when the Emperor was in a position to thwack some sense into their head, as I understand it).

More generally, I do like how this is shaping up...

[Eleventh Century Remnant]

An extra bit; this just flowed out, manuscript yesterday, and I laughed writing it, so I decided to post it now. Most of the boarding action is probably going to be from Ciaphas' viewpoint.


From the diaries of Commissar Ciaphas Cain, Official Hero, etc, etc;

As progressively more about this plan made itself clear, at first I realised, then I started desperately hoping, that this would prove to be yet another of the near- suicide missions that features so prominently in my life. Because, to be honest, it was actually starting to sound worse than that.

This multinational, multiracial crowd of lunatics I was going in with looked more like a frag bomb than a team, liable to splinter off in all directions chasing their own objectives.

The commodore didn't seem the sort who was likely to have overlooked something like that, so the obvious conclusion was that he was getting rid of us all; but it needed doing too badly for that. Probably just throwing one problem at another and hoping they cancelled out.


“Just” was wrong on two counts. It wasn't merely anything- I understood enough of what I had seen on the bridge to believe the Xenos commander knew his business, and if he said they were running out of time and luck and needed something like this to happen, I believed him.

It also wasn't exactly fair. It's normally completely useless to complain about that, of course; there are others who have it far worse, especially those who aren't here to complain any more, of which I have left far too damn' many behind me over the years.

And anyway, given the choice between wasting time and breath decrying the fundamental unfairness of the universe and bolting in the direction of greater safety, I know which I'd rather save my energy for.

This did have a shade of the blatant about it, though. Less than a hundred entities of all sorts attempting to board and seize control of a ship that must have at least a hundred thousand crew, plus who knew how many ground troops. It was bloody mad, which was at least consistent.


I managed to keep my composure, but others did not. One of the Deathwatch battle brothers, actually, who started pacing up and down, jumping, shouting, posturing- something about bolt rifles, knives, sharp sticks, holovid nonsense.

'Ay, he'll no' be in black for long, puir bastard's brickin' it a'ready.' Fergus said, in enough of a stage undertone for Andraste to notice and take his man in hand. This was a strange notion to me, and I asked him what he meant.

' “...and they shall know no fear” is, weel, if it's literally true then ah'd have tae say the auld existential angst tends tae fa' a wee bit thick an' heavy at times. Nine times out o' ten yon macho posturin's an attempt tae hide the fact that somebody's shitein' themsel's. An when ye're the size o' a Marine, wi' guts tae match, that can be an awfu' lot o' shite.'


He said that mainly looking at Andraste, who was apparently trying to lead his squad in prayer; I was reasonably certain this was a mixture of inter- Chapter rivalry and morale boosting act for the rest of us, but Andraste chose not to react openly, just pray louder.

I didn't follow the feed line; just said 'And the other one time out of ten...'

He read my tone correctly and said 'Aye.' It's the other one in ten you really have to watch out for, the people who can spout that sort of gung- ho nonsense with a straight face and actually appear to believe it; they're the ones who are likely to get you killed. Amazing how most of them seem to be generals. Or commissars.


I turned to look at our leader, who if he was spectacularly lucky might get about half of us to follow him; he was roughly Catachan sized, and very hairy.

He was dressed in overalls that might once originally have had a hue of their own, but which were so heavily covered in grease, dust, filings and various peculiar chemical burns as to be purely dirt coloured. I had seen something like it once in the engine room of one of our troopships, a relic that had been handed down from technician to technician for a thousand years.

Mind you, he was so covered in things that had already burnt that he was probably incendiary- proof. Hair, beard and visible parts of face in the same state, the only neat things about him were the tool belt and bandolier he was wearing, and he seemed to be armed with a pair of those energy blades.

The eldar were looking at him as if he had stepped out of another plane of existence, which of course he had. His own people seemed pleased to see him though, one of the captain's guard put- her?- arms around him and hugged him.


They said a few things, I understood not much more than the articles, and then he moved on to the rest of us. 'Right, which of you are going to stand by the plan and try to get it to work, and who's going to bugger off and do their own thing?'

An open challenge that some of us reacted with open astonishment to, myself not least because he was placing a frak of a lot of faith in his own judgement, in assuming he could gauge the reactions of so many unfamiliar aliens, most of them in full face helmets yet.

'Yourselves,' he said to the farseer and her harlequin escort, amazingly using some powerful technosorcerous device that converted his words to eldar, 'your people have already committed to this, sent ships, taken casualties.' They were so baffled they barely heard his actual words.

'I need all the subtlety and dexterity you can give me. Don't make your kinfolk's commitment mean less by screwing this up.' He left them metaphorically scratching their heads, and moved onto the Deathwatch.


'What is the difference, in your tactical repertoire, between “cleanse” and “exterminate”? Is there one? Let me tell you what I think is going to happen when you get on board Blistmok; all you're going to see are xenos. You're not going to be able to tell chaos taint from just plain strange, and you're not going to try.

You're going to start shooting at them all, indiscriminately. You're not going to obey orders from an alien leader, you won't stop when told to, and we're going to have to kill you to protect the loyalist crew and the vital facilities of that ship that we need.

You're counterproductive, the scorpion on the frog's back, and you can't or won't change. You're not going in with the rest of us. Wait here.' He moved on to the Lions of Caledon.


'I don't expect you to obey a xenos commander either,' he said to Fergus, 'but I do expect you to have enough sense to do what needs to be done, and that does mean running in parallel with the rest of us.

We cannot do this on quantity, we need a qualitative superiority at the point of decision, and that means relying on you as spearhead to push through what opposition the chaotics do manage to organise, to get me and my technicians to where we can manipulate the ship's systems and do the bulk of the cleansing work. Right? Right.'


I was taking this in, fascinated. Enginseer- no, that was our rank, and probably a damn' sight lower than the real equivalent- Engineer-Constructor Commander Mirannon was more than officially in command, he was in control.

He was one of the largest of the locals, but I had the backwards feeling that his physical size was just a secondary consequence of him being the being that he was. He didn't seem remotely bothered by the smallest of the Astartes being at least half a metre taller than he was, and in his own odd way he had the moral authority of a prophet.

His own people certainly had confidence in him. I was less convinced. He was trying to use the short, sharp shock method, on Deathwatch Astartes?


Wierdest of all, it seemed to be working. Andraste's jaw was hanging open, and most of his comrades were in positions of utter confusion. The eldar had resorted to their usual particular specialty of mocking laughter, which wasn't helping the marines' composure any.

Fergus was clearly basically in agreement with the hairy engineer, but pulled by loyalty to his battle brothers. I wanted to say 'remember what happened the last time you decided to back them up no matter what', but that would probably just add fuel to the fire.

Besides, I was next on the swarf monster's tour. 'Commissar,' he said to me, 'you're here for your psywar talents, and for what I'm given to understand is an enviable count of suicide missions that failed to kill you. Stick close to me, I'm hoping there's something systematic in it.' A joke, yet. He added 'And keep your aide nearby, as well.'


Was there no secrecy any more? Fortunately Andraste chose to make his play then. 'You cannot do that, you cannot mean to have my people merely stand by, you cannot dishonour my team by leaving the Deathwatch out of this.' He was shouting- hoping that would be sufficiently intimidatory- at the engineer.

It didn't work. 'Do you think I was just trying to goad you into behaving? Offering a bargaining position? You are a blunt instrument in a situation that needs careful tactical-technical craftsmanship. Hm.'

He pulled a dataslate out of one of his pockets, clipped something to it, it projected a holoimage of the enemy ship. 'First target, bridge.' A glowing dot appeared in the image, more as he gave the list- 'Secondary targets; fire direction, machinery control, central computing. Tertiary, flag bridge, surface forces hq, fighter group command.

These are the main spaces that run a ship or from which it can be run, and they're also the spaces where the top chaos cultists will have collected. They're what we need to take back.' He looked at Andraste.


'You are going to cock this up, and if you really must come along the least worst option is to point you at the highest concentration of targets, where there will be few innocents to be found.' Main bridge, central computing, flag bridge, close together up in a tower on top of the ship.

The Deathwatch marine was happy, Fergus was relatively indifferent, but I thought there had to be a catch. There was, of course. Something to do with passing across the thickest concentration of the target's guns, and being away from the cover arranged for the rest of us.

'Take pods one, two, three for your squad. Flight,' he added over a voxlink in his own language, 'aim one, two, three at the target's bridge tower. Yes, I know. No, no warheads. They're the extra-double-plus super fanatics.'


Back to Andraste, he said 'You should end up there,' a point on the holomodel, 'up and in, basically.'

'What did you say to your own people there, what did you call us?' Andraste challenged him.

'Extra double- plus super fanatics.' Mirannon translated to Gothic, looking Andraste straight in the eye.

The Deathwatch Sargeant growled at him, before breaking into a grin. 'We like it.'

'I thought you might.' The hairy engineer said. 'Board your pods.'

[Grimnosh]

'Extra double- plus super fanatics.' Mirannon translated to Gothic, looking Andraste straight in the eye.

The Deathwatch Sargeant growled at him, before breaking into a grin. 'We like it.'

'I thought you might.' The hairy engineer said. 'Board your pods.'

Accurate discription. I wonder what he'd say about Grey Knights though.

And most excelent update. Also, as an aside, lightsabers are not unknown in the Imperium, in the Eisenhorn Trilogy, forgot which one though (1st or second I believe), Inquisitor Eisenhorn had one til it was destroyed when he used it on a demonhost.

[LionElJonson]

'Extra double- plus super fanatics.' Mirannon translated to Gothic, looking Andraste straight in the eye.

The Deathwatch Sargeant growled at him, before breaking into a grin. 'We like it.'

'I thought you might.' The hairy engineer said. 'Board your pods.'

Accurate discription. I wonder what he'd say about Grey Knights though.

And most excelent update. Also, as an aside, lightsabers are not unknown in the Imperium, in the Eisenhorn Trilogy, forgot which one though (1st or second I believe), Inquisitor Eisenhorn had one til it was destroyed when he used it on a demonhost.

There's stats for them in the Inquisitor's Handbook for Dark Heresy; the Sollex-Aegis Energy Blade is what those ones are called. They're fuelled by plasma weapon fuel canisters worn on a belt with a hose connecting the two. They're said to be rare outside the Mechanicus, and only the Cult of Sollex within the Mechanicus knows how to make them.

[Simon_Jester]

Sounds like a primitive lightsaber; Star Wars sabers used to be belt-powered, and in ECR's version of the setting engineering plasma torches still are.

[LadyTevar]

You're right, that little update was desperately needed

[Eleventh Century Remnant]

In the exceptionally unlikely event that there are enough of the Grey Knights nearby, they turn up, actually spend any time talking to a terrible techno- heretic and moderately powerful xenos psyker, and it does not end in nemesis force weapon vs. relative inertial field, probably something like

'I'm starting to wonder whether there really is nothing more to it than mental error, or if nonlocality and superstition are somehow...try this for a working hypothesis; there is an equivalent of the electromagnetic phenomenon of temperature in the nonlocal force, a degree of saturation.

We exist in one state, a low degree of saturation; basically rational, mostly, occasionally a little bit nuts and prone to believe things that obviously aren't so, but our brains still function the way we like them to.

The average local is much more strongly permeated by the nonlocal force; they have a lien on them from the paranormal, they believe unreasonable and irrational things that we would instantly dismiss as utter bullshit, things that no civilisation which has managed to get as far as inventing steam power can seriously pretend to believe.

They think about as well as someone in our saturation state would if I heated their brain up to the point where the proteins start to denature, in fact...that's too close an analogy for comfort. Anyway, they exist on the far side of one phase change, one mental horizon distant.

On the far side of them, beyond their mental horizon, more or less completely saturated in the nonlocal, there are the actively psychic. These are the people who live the paranormal, and those daemon hunters are way, way out even by their standards. And yet, considering what they're doing out there beyond the frontiers of the sane, I can't really dislike them for it.

They're standing guard and running search-and-destroy far, far out beyond the mental territory of civilisation, utterly immersed in the reality of their enemies, holding the terminal outpost of what it means to be human here and now.

And there are never enough of them, there are never going to be enough of them, it's an endless fight against the tide, there are a million places they need to be and a million million fools who need saving from themselves, and they can only do more than humanly possible... it's hard not to slip into their mental world describing them.

I don't think I actually like them either, much; they don't particularly want to be likable- but I have to respect their dedication. They pass through the confused madness of most of the locals and out the other side into a stable state, a separate kind of sanity of their own...they call themselves Grey Knights; if we had had Jedi knights of their strength and commitment, the Republic would have lasted a trillion years.'


Hm. So much for the heavyweights. In terms of pure energy blades, 'not unknown' is very far from 'widely known'; an odd item in the possession of an inquisitor does not equal widespread by any means- and the Commissar did recognise them as energy blades chiefly because, ch 13, he's seen them in action.

Chief Mirannon and the department have been through at least one division- scale boarding action before, and most of the ship's engineers as a result of that take the mandatory close- combat and personal weapon qualifications quite seriously, some of them do extra; training and practising with various tools of the trade as close combat weapons.

When you think about how much energy it takes to work durasteel, to cut away damaged structure and do patchwork repairs, and what sort of specialist hardware it must take to deal with the forcefield complexes that permeate the structure, they could probably give a Terminator close assault squad a run for their money. I'm thinking of the original stats for the lascutter, here- old 40K grognards may wince now. More soon, typing up is in progress.

[Andras]

I'm thinking of the original stats for the lascutter, here- old 40K grognards may wince now

Wheee!

[Simon_Jester]

In the exceptionally unlikely event that there are enough of the Grey Knights nearby, they turn up, actually spend any time talking to a terrible techno- heretic and moderately powerful xenos psyker, and it does not end in nemesis force weapon vs. relative inertial field, probably something like

'I'm starting to wonder whether there really is nothing more to it than mental error, or if nonlocality and superstition are somehow...try this for a working hypothesis; there is an equivalent of the electromagnetic phenomenon of temperature in the nonlocal force, a degree of saturation.

Nitpick: temperature is not a purely electromagnetic phenomenon; "equivalent of the phenomenon of temperature..." would work equally as well and be more faithful to the truth you're trying to convey.

Otherwise, in all other respects a good piece.

I'm thinking of the original stats for the lascutter, here- old 40K grognards may wince now. More soon, typing up is in progress.

Would like to hear that statline...

[Andras]

Las-Cutter
Automatically cuts a man-sized hole in a building or spaceship;
Against creatures, it automatically hits with a 1/2" radius template,
each target receives an automatic d10 wounds with a -6 save modifier.
Max range 3"

I used to put on in my custom dreadnoughts, and dare chaos deamons to engage it in HTH.

Rogue Trader scale was 1"=2yds

[Eleventh Century Remnant]

Simon_jester, I don't suppose there's any chance of my being able to persuade you that I meant it that way? After dithering a bit, I decided to include that as part of the analogy- that being saturated with the nonlocal force is not the only way, or consequence, of having a head full of mystic nonsense. I think I got it the wrong way round, actually.

And yes, that lascutter. The one which, in a slightly scaled up version, was officially used as a close combat weapon for Titans. Wonder if it looks anything like a lightsabre?

Actually, I want to get some ground combat in somewhere, but so much is happening in space, the only way to fit it in would be contrived as all hell; any ideas?

[Andras]

One of the Imperium ships loose in the GE washes up at a nearby planet and drops a load of troops to figure out where they are and what might be nearby?

[Simon_Jester]

Simon_jester, I don't suppose there's any chance of my being able to persuade you that I meant it that way? After dithering a bit, I decided to include that as part of the analogy- that being saturated with the nonlocal force is not the only way, or consequence, of having a head full of mystic nonsense. I think I got it the wrong way round, actually.

Oh, I only take exception to your implication that temperature is an electromagnetic phenomenon.

The idea that the 40k galaxy is at a higher psychic "temperature" than the SW galaxy seems perfectly reasonable: more active psykers, with higher power levels. If we could posit some sort of psychic particles rattling around from mind to mind, (I dub thee... the greeblion!), the 40k version would carry more energy, more "impact" on the mind it struck, than its SW counterpart. Thus the way that minds get saturated with nonsense.

It's a solid analogy, I'd say, and there are interesting ways to carry it forward. I just object to the use of "electromagnetic" to describe temperature in an otherwise very good analysis regarding the physics of psychic phenomena.

Carrying the idea forward, we can imagine psychoactive entities (Force users, psykers, sorcerers) as being 'radiators' of the nonlocal force; when large numbers of them congregate you get a sort of critical mass (not in the nuclear kaboom sense, but more generally), because each of them is being "warmed up" by the ambient effect of all the others, which in turn means that they themselves radiate more intensely. The cumulative effect helps to explain phenomena like the orks' WAAAGH! being able to take nonfunctional piles of junk and turn them into useful fighter-bombers, something that it would normally take an incredibly powerful individual psychic to do. The area around a bunch of orks is hot as hell, psychically.

From the standpoint of an engineered bioweapon race, what's impressive about the orks is their ability to 'heat up' their surroundings in the nonlocal force, to make the nonsensical supernatural beliefs true, without causing the normal effects (total suspension of the laws of physics and the Warp bubbling through into reality).

Something similar applies to the Tyranids, who do essentially the same thing. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that the Shadow in the Warp is actually their equivalent of the WAAAGH! and that it helps to explain how what ought to be very squishy bioforms can cross swords with the advanced technology of other races and win.

Likewise the Eldar, who systematically cultivate their race's "coldness," trying to find remote locations far from heat sources and to minimize their own emissions, in an attempt to create rational, ordered enclaves in a universe swamped by irrational thoughts banging on your skull for entry.

...I really like this.

[LionElJonson]

On the subject of the AdMech: someone on 4chan has a copy of the latest Rogue Trader RPG book from Gencon, and has been typing up sections and posting them. Apparently, the Adeptus Mechanicus possesses a cybernetic procedure called the Rite of Duplessence, wherein after a course of cybernetic implants a few months long on both parties, the brain of one Tech-Priest is removed from their body and cybernetically installed into the body of another, and their minds are connected together (while still retaining individual identity). It results in the main brain being a bit distracted by the fact that the other brain can't see what's going on, and occasionally disagreeing with them, but otherwise it's probably worth it.

The reactions of the Star Wars people to it would probably be amusing, if they found out about it. Especially the Force-users, since there's two seperate minds in one body.

[PaperJack]

I've just finished reading this from the start and I got to say that the palpatinians do look a bit like mary sues in my opinion.

First of all, a force user, untrained to using a force much more superior than usual, manages to contact the hivemind without going crazy, a feat only done ONCE by an extremely powerful, century-trained, space marine librarian and it left him almost crazy.
Lennart manages to do it with little to no effort, meaning he can concentrate so much and has more than enought raw power to overcome the Shadow in the Warp of the Tyranids (which is so powerful that blocks communication and travel system-wide and more). That's Horus-level power we're talking about, at least.
And he also resists temptations at that level with relative ease, when his mind is almost a portal to the warp!
A normal psyker, without being soul-bonded to the Emperor and having A LOT of experience, would simply explode into a warp-hole when using even much less power. That's why unsanctioned psykers are so dangerous, afterall.

Then Jurgen has no effect on him. Normally, any psyker would be screaming in pain just by being near him or looking that he doesn't have a soul. The more powerful the psyker, the more acute the pain, to the point that high-level psykers just die.

But, even though he has an insanely high power, Lennart just finds him "fascinating" instead of "OH GOD MY EYES IMPLODED FROM LOOKING AT THE DARKNESS! THE DARKNESS! HE'S EMPTY! AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHRGHHHHHH!" and die horribly, bleeding from everywhere, as his force powers implode his brain into nothing.

There are more things I could ramble on about, but I disgress.

[Vehrec]

Well, Jurgen doesn't kill psykers ever. He doesn't implode their brains. the only one that flips out around him ois one known for her instability to begin with. So you're outright WRONG about that.

Secondly, the GFFA crew aren't psykers, not natively. They aren't used to this universe and are actively resisting everything about it. they actively avoid using many of the abilities that they can after all, and they do not necessarily draw the full force of the Warp's attentions. Those attentions by the by, are so foreign to them, that many cannot get a grip, as they likewise cannot come to grips with the Warp.

[Eleventh Century Remnant]

PaperJack- who's winning at the moment? Look at Amberley's logic for a second.

The Imperium might lose a culture war, in the short term. The people could be bribed with things like relative freedom from oppression, higher living standards- and it would be a medium and long term disaster, because the brutal repression, some of it, exists for a reason. Keep the Warp away. Maintain readiness for the catastrophes that beset the Imperium on a depressingly regular basis.

How much of this is genuine need and how much people simply being assholes to each other is an open question, think of the possibiltiies for genuine graft, fraud and corruption available in the Imperium- but I think the best overall fit for Amberley is that she's an Amalathian. Being forced to live under the Imperum is certainly not the worst thing that could befall mankind.

So she's willing to open the dance, negociation/sabotage, by pretending to be willing to blow the control machinery and leave the wormhole in the open position; she's bluffing, and betting that they, by now, have some idea of the scale of what they're up against- posinbg the military threat against the political. At least, she hopes she's bluffing, because plan B is to go through with it.

Contact with the 'nids is an overambitious description. There was no meeting of minds, there couldn't be, the relationship simply being too alien- which in itself was the strongest protection. They were certainly aware of it- it hapens to the extremely unstable Rakhel frequently, it's an essential part of Amberley's 'nid hunting technique, home on their beacon- but not contact, not exchange of ideas. What made you think that there was?

And yes, blanks simply do not do that. They are an absence, they might offend, but they don't make psykers' heads explode. Incidentally, although he would hate to have it pointed out to him, Lennart's behaviour squares rather well with "a Jedi uses the force for defence and knowledge, never for attack."

[Simon_Jester]

I've just finished reading this from the start and I got to say that the palpatinians do look a bit like mary sues in my opinion.

First of all, a force user, untrained to using a force much more superior than usual, manages to contact the hivemind without going crazy, a feat only done ONCE by an extremely powerful, century-trained, space marine librarian and it left him almost crazy.

Lennart manages to do it with little to no effort, meaning he can concentrate so much and has more than enought raw power to overcome the Shadow in the Warp of the Tyranids (which is so powerful that blocks communication and travel system-wide and more). That's Horus-level power we're talking about, at least.

Let's look at the relevant passage:

It was a straightforward short hop through hyperspace at less than a quarter of maximum speed- to a system fifty-four light years away, one hundred and twelve seconds.
Just before emergence, the fuzzy feeling, the scent of ozone, the drumbeat inside the back of the skull, they all got worse. Massively worse. ‘Legion, disperse to internal security stations, set to stun-‘ Lennart ordered...

The destroyer tunnelled back into bradyonic space, and the hideous gnawing feeling, of something with too many teeth right behind, intensified. Except they weren’t behind, they were spread out over maybe ten degrees to rimward of the system and plainly visible.
‘We were expecting the strange, but this is pushing it…’ Rythanor said, not entirely able to believe his sensors. ‘How the kriff do they manoeuvre? Is that a relativistic sphincter?’
‘Galactic spirit, don’t zoom in, I did eat lunch.’ Brenn said...

‘Well, this could be some sort of periodic migration that the local industry organises itself around, like a school of fish…’ Brenn suggested, tentatively. He obviously didn’t believe it himself.
‘They could also exist in symbiosis with the local humans, or actually be the dominant civilisation in the area.’ Rythanor said. ‘Life form indicators suggest- not much brain activity for their size, actually. Lots of fuzzily complex low level EM, but it’s big slow waves, peripheral nervous activity- probably.’

‘Thanks a lot, for leaving it to me to harp on the extremely krutzing obvious.’ Wathavrah stated. ‘Count the claws, fangs, beaks, tentacles- if optimisation means anything at all, they’re predatorial.’
‘They’re also where my headache’s coming from.’ Lennart said. ‘They, whatever intelligence they have, is radiating, and it is not friendly. How are the planets reacting?’

First Palpatinist observation of the Tyranids. No attempt at telepathic contact by either side, just the Palpatinists encountering the psychic effect of the Shadow in the Warp: an overpowering sense that something very hungry and predatory is coming up on you, because it is.

‘Speaking of cutting things open,’ Lennart said, ‘stay on the line and comms, get me the chief medical officer.’
A few seconds pause, then a new voice on circuit, ‘Commodore, this is Surgeon-Senior Lieutenant Karrish. The surgeon-commander has just relieved herself from duty on medical grounds and ordered that she be sedated.’ He reported it as a matter of fact, but there was a wobble in his tone that said he was verging on panic.

Lennart thought of the surgeon-commander’s sensitivity index- in the six hundreds- and cursed.

This is the effect of the Shadow in the Warp on the most sensitive of the potential psykers aboard Black Prince, the chief medical officer. She's not the most powerful, but she's got the highest (worst?) combination of high psychic power and low innate resistance to influence. Note that she gets overwhelmed by the Shadow, just like relatively unstable human psykers (like Rakel) from the 40k universe.

...The throbbing was starting to recede slightly, and also to transform.
‘If two and two still make four, they’re source of your strange attractor.’ Mirannon found time to point out.
‘If there’s anything else around here that is giving off feelings of primitive rage and voracious hunger, I want to know about it now.’ Lennart said. Also just a faint hint of- manifest destiny? Strange thing for an interstellar nautiloid to think. Or perhaps not; they- it?- certainly seemed confident of their ability to kill and eat.

And again, this is just an emotional vibe, not psychic contact of any kind. It's the Tyranids broadcasting and the Palpatinist humans receiving, not a two-way communication link of the sort that Tigurius of the Ultramarines managed.

They compared notes; six others disabled, two catatonia and four attempted cannibalism, two of the cannibals shot by the legion, the rest dealt with by their crewmates. The midi counts were interesting; none of the known sensitives, all well above average but below what in their own space would have been the threshold.
‘I thought so,’ Lennart said, honesty compelling him to add ‘well, suspected it anyway. The most vulnerable aren’t the already sensitive, they’re the individuals who would have had no Force abilities back home but do on this side of the wormhole.’

Now, given the size of the ship, six incapacitated by the Shadow in the Warp isn't all that remarkable, I will grant... but still, we don't see anyone actively trying to make psychic contact with the Hive Mind, any more than most of the 40k human psykers on the planet the 'Nids are headed for are trying to make contact. All anyone is doing is perceiving the aura these things throw off.

---

And he also resists temptations at that level with relative ease, when his mind is almost a portal to the warp!

With regard to the temptations, you will note certain common features of daemonic possession in 40k.

Chaos demons normally go after targets that are already in some way vulnerable- that have a superstitious fear of them they can exploit. Or that are in the grip of powerful emotions that link to one or more of the Chaos deities such as rage, lust, ambition, or sorrow. None of this describes Lennart very well- the only one of the Chaos gods that has any real chance of getting a grip on him is Tzeentch, and even there the mismatch is enough that corrupting him would take real time and effort.

That leads into the next point: Chaos corruption is hardly ever instantaneous, except in cases where it's more like a human sacrifice (destroying a living human to open up a path for a demon) than like corruption (turning a human into something demonic in nature, like a powerful Chaos lord).

Finally, there is a critically important defense against corruption that Lennart (and many others from his civilization) has that most people in 40k do not: self-examination. Lennart routinely stops to examine his own motives. The Imperium of Man (and for that matter the Galactic Empire) do not normally encourage that kind of behavior; they would prefer you to act on your conditioning. It is much easier to corrupt and control a mind that does not self-examine, that does not stop to consider if what it's doing makes sense outside of context, because context can be (literally) warped.

That is a powerful psychic defense right there. Even so, I doubt Lennart is immune... but he hasn't been on this side of the wormhole for more than a few weeks, at most.

A normal psyker, without being soul-bonded to the Emperor and having A LOT of experience, would simply explode into a warp-hole when using even much less power. That's why unsanctioned psykers are so dangerous, afterall.

Which in turn raises a whole new question: how, exactly, has he been using large amounts of psychic power? What has he done that would place him in danger of opening a hole to the warp and having demons come pouring out?

Bear in mind that he already nixed one plan explicitly because he realized that it would involve exactly that... and that he isn't entirely sure the idea wasn't planted in his mind by those same demons.

Then Jurgen has no effect on him. Normally, any psyker would be screaming in pain just by being near him or looking that he doesn't have a soul. The more powerful the psyker, the more acute the pain, to the point that high-level psykers just die.

Citation needed.

[Tiwaz]

Then Jurgen has no effect on him. Normally, any psyker would be screaming in pain just by being near him or looking that he doesn't have a soul. The more powerful the psyker, the more acute the pain, to the point that high-level psykers just die.

Citation needed.

If we take Lexicanum as credible source, apparently it is possible.
http://wh40k.lexicanum.com/wiki/Blank

Though Lexicanum makes distinction between Pariah and Blank.

Pariah can kill psyker, Blank just makes them feel really bad.

[Simon_Jester]

Right. No psyker or psychic entity has ever been killed by proximity to Jurgen. It's absurd to claim that Lennart should be.

EDIT: Not directly. Being close to Jurgen doesn't make them go crazy and die. It may get them killed by disrupting their abilities.

[LionElJonson]

Right. No psyker or psychic entity has ever been killed by proximity to Jurgen. It's absurd to claim that Lennart should be.

EDIT: Not directly. Being close to Jurgen doesn't make them go crazy and die. It may get them killed by disrupting their abilities.

I dunno. Proximity to Jurgen may well get a psyker killed. He totes that multi-melta around for a reason, you know.

[Simon_Jester]

Even then, proximity to Jurgen's blank effect is not the proximate cause of death. The proximate cause of death is torso-vaporization.

[Eleventh Century Remnant]

Please, nobody say 'it's back' or words to that effect...I'm deeply embarrassed by this one, because it should never have been away. Blocks, rewrites, diversions (60+ thousand words of notes, dammit, notes for an AH that might never happen), mistakes, revisions. Argh. Anyway, finally,




The central holodisplay flickered, activating but blank as yet, presumably the pickups were active; a voice came from the overhead PA.'That's a disturbing bargaining position you have there, miss- I can only presume that you are an Inquisitor?'

'You may be correct, and that would put you a step ahead of me considering I seem to be addressing a disembodied voice.' Amberley said, in the direction of the speaker.

'Admial Mariot Themion, Imperial Starfleet.' Themion stated, and the holographic head and shoulders portrait of him appeared in the central image tank. He could have delegated- arguably should have- but this was a personage of importance and the situation was critical.


'How is it, Admiral,' Amberley asked, 'that you come by your knowledge of Gothic- and, for that matter, Inquisitors? From the wreckage of our battlefleet?'

'From the fact of the wreckage more than anything else. You were one of those responsible for your fleet's effective command paralysis, for the suicidal tactics that made life so much easier for us? For that, I suppose we ought to thank you.' He tried to shake her composure, and failed.

'You are not thankful enough, I expect,' she said to the holographic head, 'to allow me my way with this device of yours as fair exchange.' Also trying to see if they had anything recognisable as a sense of humour.

'No.' he confirmed. 'In any case, from the wreckage of your fleet, there were seven of you- and as the only female, you would have to be Inquisitor Amberley Vail, of the, hm, Order of the Alien?' He sounded confused by that.


'From the fact that you are a naval officer, am I to take it that all things in your society serve war? That you do, because of that, have plenipotentiary authority- there are no civil powers to contest the issue?'

From the initial encounter, the rogue trader that had fallen through the bridge, it seemed distinctly possible. There had been a civil authority, certainly, but it had been rapidly and completely overruled by their armed services.

Although from the look of him, an agent of the Ordo Xenos should be all too well aware how dangerous it was to presume to read an alien lifeform's expression, but he simply did not radiate the presence of a being in full control of his own destiny. He didn't have the poise that someone of that stature should have to carry off- should have acquired through- supreme command.

Which was one of the chief things the Inquisition looked for in it's own recruits, for that matter. Didn't have to be fully formed, potential would do. Caiaphas had it, for instance, although he would fight tooth and nail against the chance to develop it to the full; and this alien admiral did not.


If only that were true and we really were in charge, Themion thought, imagining the budgets that would be possible, and wondering why she was glaring at him like that? An aggressive response, he decided.

'Well, it is a healthier option than having your armed forces compelled to commit suicide at the word of a squabbling cabal of amateur would- be dictators- but no, you are not. We are what we are, and you currently look very much like a military problem that requires a military solution.'

'Yanbel, start pushing buttons at random and see what happens.' Amberley ordered her techpriest. She turned to her hostage. 'Is he the boss? In sole charge?'


Senior Lieutenant Beliksjaden almost did something stupid, but then realised the tech- priest was going to spend some time faffing about with incense and ju-ju bones, so there was no immediate danger.

'How far up the chain of command do you really want to go?' he asked the alien inquisitor, wondering if it would really be a good idea to somehow catch the attention of the Executor. 'There are layers above, but for a project this strange they'd have been cut out of the loop anyway.'

He watched her come to terms with the mental model of layers and loops, and if it made sense to her it was more than it did to him. He hadn't even thought as far as the subject of lying yet, was still trying to figure out what he could and should actually say.

'There are a billion groups you could call if all you wanted to do was make trouble, but- Galactic Spirit, that's right, you're from a milieu without computers. There's no net, Galactic or mostly local. No mass access, no interest groups, no social networking, no streaming news-'


'As fascinating in the abstract as whatever you're wittering on about might be, get to the point.' Amberley prodded him. Information-poor she might be, but she could recognise a stall when she saw one.

If you actually want to achieve anything other than suicide,' which might take some time given that Yanbel appeared to be trying to dismember a holotank, 'the person to demand to talk to is the Oversector governor, Grand Moff- that's the title, don't laugh- Ardus Kaine.'

Amberley had, in fact, been in complete control- it was ridiculous but she had heard much worse- until he mentioned the name. 'What?'

'Grand Moff. It's actually alienese, has some fairly sinister connotations- a borrowing from Rakata I think, but-'


'No, no, his- the actual individual. What is he like? As a life-form?'

Considering that he would probably find out about this or was actually directly listening in, that ruled out options one to seventy-five thousand. Beliksjaden skipped over most of the truth and went for the official bio.

'Former head of the Political Reliability Office, party loyalist, personally well off, promoted from backroom influence to the largest and most troubled subdivision of the Empire to restore order. As close as you want to get to the Court of Courts.'

'A good omen, boss.' Pelton decided to say.


On the other end of the comline, there was a similar conversation taking place. Themion did have the sense to blank it off. The Grand Moff was berating him; 'This is getting nowhere fast. Trying to treat our uninvited guests like a bunch of terrorist fanatics is not going to work, not on what actually seem to be dedicated professionals.'

'It seems like the best of a bad set of alternatives.' Themion said. 'I see more chance of a satisfactory result- their dead or in custody and the facility back in our hands- by pushing through on this line than by playing softball; that really would go nowhere slowly, and how many alternatives are there after that, jungleball?'

'Insufficient.' the moff stated. 'I don't think you fully grasp who you're trying to deal with- she was one of the political officers who plunged their fleet into chaos, whose essentially unlimited oversight and the meaning of her being in our hands...' He let Themion recover a little by following it the rest of the way.


'Oh. Ahhah.' Themion finally listened to what he had been saying. 'If she could be turned, by fair means or foul, what a source of intelligence- what a political weapon- she would make. Hold on a moment- how could she be unaware of that?'

'I don't believe she is.' Ardus Kaine stated. 'How they managed to find the facility is a subject in itself, but she is currently sitting on what may be the key to this whole damnable mess, and forcing us to deal with her on more than a military level- not the act of a fool.'

'Still the act of a risk- taker though; however it was, however it shakes out, there's a ferociously long shot in there somewhere, in putting the contents of her head in harm's way like this. I can't believe that she knows exactly what it is she's sitting on, for that matter- this is someone gambling to retrieve the situation, and I think pressure- she might not be weak, but her position is.' Themion justified his approach.


'No, the politics of that are potentially disastrous, would leave the Empire with no choice but confrontation. She could be the key to bringing the business, or at least this phase of it, to a soft landing after all. We can always be diplomatic now, and shoot them later when they're not expecting it.' The grand moff said sarcastically, thinking that if the recon reports were true, that might be a couple of millennia.

'Sorry, Sir, you've lost me. I thought you had decided that our internal politics- the Empire's that is- left us with no choice but confrontation anyway.' Themion reminded him.

'Between the irresistible force and the immovable object.' Kaine said. 'Yes, and an alternative to that might be well worth exploring, at least as a reserve option.'

'I think I understand.' Themion said, trying to sound as if he did. This seemed like shaving the margins rather too closely- but then again, wasn't that just politics? 'Shall I start trying to talk them out, or has the buck been officially passed?'

'I'll take it from here. You had best go back to coordinating the hunt for the leakers- although have a few platoons of raider-scouts form the station close escort group brought in, in case the situation does reduce to jungleball.'

The holotable flickered, showed the six-pointed cog- Yanbel and Mott both briefly bowed down and worshipped it and Beliksjaden took the opportunity to lock down the control boards they had been poking at- and the image of the Moff emerged. The Senior Lieutenant did the introductions.


The Grand Moff decided to take a chance. 'Is this the point in the negotiations where we try to impress each other with the military strength and determination of our respective Empires? Can we assume we've done all the posturing and posing already, it can always be edited back into the historical record, and just get to business?'

It was an interesting opening move, and in perfect Gothic too- Amberley didn't have time to suspect it was all voxcode translated. The Grand Moff had taken a look at the structural linguistics of it, looking to judge what sort of mindset the language was set up to support, what kind of thoughts it was easy to think in Gothic, but had largely ignored the words themselves- apart from a few of the curses which might come in handy.


She was wondering how senior he really was; clearly an operator, and one senior enough to be able to break the rules when he felt like it, even if his job title was inherently ridiculous. How good were these people's communications, how close to this place would he have to be?

'If it was possible to believe that we would come to the same conclusion...' Amberley temporised. He was probably better informed than she was. He and his staff- and how well supported was he?- had more to go on, almost certainly managed to figure out more about the Imperium of Man than she had about the Galactic Empire.


'We are largely looking at the same asymmetries on the grand- strategic level as we are on the tactical.' Grand Moff Kaine said, without mentioning anything in the way of sources. 'We have speed, dexterity, power. You have depth, endurance, numbers. You would win a strategic pounding match, if we were stupid enough to offer you one.

We, on the other hand, would be able to dislocate you in detail in a lightning, nexus campaign- if we saw something to be gained that was worth the effort. Do you disagree with that?'

'If there were no other factors, and no other parties involved,' Amberley said thoughtfully, and regretfully- if he had been a boastful, blustering fool he would have been so much easier to manipulate- 'that might make sense. I think you overestimate yourselves, though.'


'I expected you might think that,' the Grand Moff said dryly, 'there's no other consistent reason why you might think it wise to blow the bridge in the open position.

The bottom line may be that either civilisation could expect to win on it's own home territory, where it's own advantages could be effectively brought to bear. Jamming the gate open, making that conflict possible, is a bold choice.'

'I would expect people who think breaking into other people's universes a good idea to approve of boldness.' Amberley said. 'I would also expect you to object more strongly to my opening a path for you into the morass, where our advantages apply.'


'What would you gain and lose by it?' The grand moff said, beginning an increasingly vehement rhetorical question. 'Granting my recon reports to be true, after shattering your existing battlefleet and uncovering your worlds, you could manage to drag us into a state of parallel sieges on a horde of planets trying to take them;

we grind each other down, you force us back for lack of resource, and find your empire, apart from whatever tissue damage we can achieve, having lost every nexus point- literally every communications and transportation hub, every key industrial planet, every military and administrative control centre that I can shake a star destroyer at.

It would take you millennia to claw your way back to the status quo- if your native external and internal enemies would spare you long enough; we would be giving opportunities away to our dissidents left right and centre. Exactly in what terms would that constitute victory? For either side?'


He sounded genuinely angry, and she thought, if he is the territorial governor of the outer wilderness, if he is the being into whose lap or equivalent xenoanatomical feature drops the responsibility for this long, wasting, fruitless campaign, if this is what he actually genuinely believes- and unfortunately there really is no reason to believe that, none at all...

He could be utterly confident of victory and simply simulating anger, he would have to be a good actor to be where he was, but that equally would have to be a protective veil around a hard core of determination; perhaps he actually means it. A good enough chance to take a risk on- with these stakes, no, not yet.

She decided to probe a little more. 'I could be an Istvaanite radical; the Imperium is very old and very slow- moving, after all, corroded and sclerotic- a radical challenge like this might be the only thing that could force it to reform and improve.'


'Unlikely.' Grand Moff Kaine said, choosing to leave aside his bafflement and gut dislike of the concept. Although, could it not be said that something very like that had happened to the republic?

No, from the reports sent back so far she was describing something much more twisted than that, something closer to domestic terrorism organised by the state. And it didn't sound as if they were particularly subtle about it, either. Destabilisations and the other active branches of the Ubiqtorate should be able to beat them at their own game, if it became necessary.

As amateurish and disorganised as the whole setup sounded, the idea that the Istvaanites might actually have a valid point was the nastiest idea of the lot. Still, it would not be well to actually say such things.


'As a charter member of the New Order Party,' he did say, folding the sting back on her, 'there may be something to that, in principle. However, it isn't you- a fanatic of that stripe would have blown themselves and the control chamber up already. You, I think, are waiting for a counter-offer. What do you imagine it could make political sense for me to promise you?'

'Apart from the opportunity to avoid a clash like the one you describe, no, that's far too obvious. What you mean is, what specific measures would actually fall within the realm of the politically possible?' Amberley asked for confirmation.

He wasn't an Istvaanite, or whatever the equivalent was- he had taken that gambit and run with it, but she detected- she hoped- a strain of real contempt behind the play-acting, and she was far from sure she wanted to get to know the New Order Party in anything beyond operational detail; but it was a good question, What was possible, for him?


For that matter, what was politically possible for her? This did not look like a problem that could be solved by waving a rosette at it, and she felt uncomfortably sure that he knew that.

'Communications with Battlefleet Alcaris are...uncertain.' she only half lied. In fact, Rakhel was straining her limited telepathic talent trying to send out a homing beacon, which would undoubtedly be so clouded with sarcastic asides to imaginary people and green cake that it would make no sense whatsoever.

Amberley only hoped that the various astropaths of the fleet would find it sufficiently bizarre and nearly-familiar to come and investigate. She could use a battlewagon or three round about now. 'I have a similar question to put to you, but I suppose that as a guest,' irony dripping off her voice that she hoped he could recognise, 'I should probably go first...

yes, I can give orders under the Seal of the Inquisition, that theoretically must be obeyed,' she chose to leave the part about "can only be overridden by an Inquisitor Lord or a Lord Inquisitor" well alone, it would only confuse him- 'but the Imperial Navy have their own musts, their own expectations and imperatives, that in such circumstances, well.'


'Hm. That is depressing- I had hoped we had rather less in common, but I suppose it was too much to expect that the gentle art of CYA should not extend even throughout transdimensional space.' The grand Moff said.

'Grant the expectation of a certain amount of superpatriotism, panic, misinterpretation, and blunderage; from a political system that needs an override option like the Inquisition I would not expect one hundred percent in any case. Postulate a mutual withdrawal in good order, followed by trade negociations.'

Perhaps that would be a better way all round, the Grand Moff thought. A soft conquest, with none of the cost and waste of a major military campaign, all of the gains but glory, and minimal risk of sending anyone with dreams of empires of their own to go and carve one.

'Could you actually enforce such an agreement, if one were to be made? Convince sufficient of your heath-robinson power structure to hold to it?' he put to her.


It's a commonplace among the Inquisition to speak of putting people to The Question, but this is the first time I've had it so toweringly obviously put to me, she thought, and with such blatant capital letters. The cultural reference escaped her, but it was guessable from the context, and not a compliment.

'Could you do the same for yours?' She stalled for time.

'I could stretch to it.' He said, and probably strictly accurately- he had the political leverage if he chose to put his weight behind it, being high in the College of Moffs, and only the Privy Council between him and the throne; oh, and Vader.

'Would,' he went on, 'if- and only if- we could be credibly sure the Imperium would hold to any bargain made. The Galactic Empire's factions will fall into line behind a reasonable deal, but we will not be caught in the position of being the only honourable party.'


He's enjoying seeing how far he can go, she thought. What does he want me to think, what does he want me to believe? Well, for a start he wants me to believe that he's a credible force- is he? That or a damned good actor.

For that matter, did he have a point- could they play the part of an honourable party? Thinking such thoughts about the Imperium was probably heresy in itself, but she suspected not. Too many factions pulling in too many directions, too many chancers, too many internal struggles that would sieze on an external source of power.

Which was just humanity being itself- and how different were things likely to be on this side of the wormhole? If there were internal factions- and how likely was it in a New Order that there were not? Overwhelmingly probable there were, in fact- the place would be full of new men on the make. Like, probably, the Grand Moff.

They could show unity- could probably achieve it, as near as made no practical difference, but they moved, and reacted, and thought, very quickly. Did they also move on- lose focus, lose interest- that quickly?


If they did, if an agreement could be hacked out that meant they soon reverted to business as usual, moved back from their ready stance and dropped the mask of unity, let the internal divisions which had to exist actually show, let the relatively controlled Imperium at their corrupt underbelly- a culture war on those terms might be winnable after all.

Now, how to get him to agree to it without accidentally giving him enough to let him work through the logic for himself... 'It would be more of a stretch, but I think it could be done. It would have to be by an arm of the state, though, you would be dealing with the Administratum rather than individuals and free traders. Would that be an ideological problem for you?'

'I suspect it would be more of a problem for you. Your state draws legitimacy from xenophobia, does it not? Protecting your species from the alien. On the other hand, having met one of your rogue traders-'

She's more determined than that, and I wish I really was that convincing, the Grand Moff thought to himself. Oh. Peaceful contact- well, more or less peaceful- buys time for them that they badly need.


'Sir?' Senior Lieutenant Beliksjaden interrupted. 'Your inbox; Nova 1a.' Which would have been almost meaningless, but for the fact that he knew full well that meant a superflash priority message- presumably from the forward fleet, which was why it had been copied to the engineer.

'Themion? Deal with it.' the Grand Moff passed the responsibility downwards.

'I'll need about three trillion tons of chlorine trifluoride.' Admiral Mariot Themion said, wondering how in the nine hells to retrieve this situation, and failing that how to avoid being blamed. They were both looking at the same image; ex- HIMS Barathrum.

Beliksjaden had been reading the download on a monocle HUD to keep it reasonably concealed from the Inquisitor's party, which he was now holding at arms' length and wondering if he could borrow some trifluoride to wash his eye out. Barathrum was the ship that had been seized on by the daemon prince of Nurgle.


Warned by his admiral's tone, the grand moff found the dispatch, found the image. He had a fairly strong stomach, but this...this was grotesque beyond imagining. Worse, the checks and routings were all good- this was true, it had really happened, was happening.

The warnings in the initial recon report had been an understatement, then. The powers of darkness, the domestic enemies of the Imperium of Man, were real and very potent, and the squadron he had dispatched as a political necessity, to secure a beach-head and show loyalty to his own side had fallen, literally, foul of them.

He closed the image and tried to think of the political reality it represented. The Galactic Empire's invasion attempt had failed as utterly as that of the Imperium of Man, and at far higher relative cost- there were not so many of those ships that he could afford to lose them, or worse, have this happen.


On the other hand, the deviant lunatic whose ship the dispatch had been sent from still seemed able to function- and it was said-same deviant lunatic who had come up with what looked like the only viable offensive strategic option he had left.

An option, however, that depended on control of the symmetry breaker- that the Imperium Inquisitor and her team had just wired a set of demolition charges to. No more choices left. 'Admiral Themion? The marines. Now.'

[Grimnosh]

Hmmmm sending in Imperial marines against an Inquisitor's group who are most likely expecting an attack. This is going to get intreasting (as well as bloody) as the Imperium's standard ground forces are better then the Imperial ground forces, especially considering that a Rogue Trader's crew (and thier lack of training and gear compared to the Imperial Guard, let alone the Adeptus Astaries) put a garrison force through the wringer. Add in that while an Inquisitor's retinue tends to be formed more from individuals they have recruited along thier travels rather then full troop units, they are almost always the best at what they do from whichever specialization the Inquisitor deemed nessary (or useful) at that time.

Those marines are going to have thier hands full at best. Provided that they have hands left after exchanging cultural greetings anyway.