Techmarine

In the corridors of the Sword-class frigate.

Ogedei and Talal walked side by side.

Ogedei's brow was furrowed, as if he were weighing some difficult decision.

After a long silence, Ogedei looked up from his wheelchair and turned to his old friend.

"Talal, I think it's time."

"Time for what?" Talal asked, pretending not to know what Ogedei had been thinking about lately.

"Locke's learning faster than we ever imagined. He's getting stronger by the day, moving closer to becoming a true Astartes. And I'm about ready to be put in a can."

Talal sighed.

At first, Ogedei had tried to fight using only his upper body, despite having no legs, but he was nowhere near as effective as he'd been when whole.

The White Scars weren't the Iron Hands, that band of maniacs obsessed with mechanical augmentations. Even Kunto Anastasio, a leading expert in biology, couldn't give Ogedei prosthetic legs capable of fully replacing his own.

Ogedei didn't just need prosthetics that could walk and run. They also had to withstand the brutal demands of Astartes combat.

Only the Iron Hands could manage that.

As for entering a Dreadnought, Talal couldn't bear the thought of it on a personal level.

When the Adeptus Mechanicus designed the early Dreadnoughts, they took a practical approach: put those Astartes whose injuries were too extensive to repair to one last use. After all, the wealth of combat knowledge stored in an Astartes's brain, along with his near-reflexive fighting skills, was beyond measure.

So the early models gave no thought to the pilot's physical comfort. An Astartes with his limbs cut off, leaving only his torso and head, was imprisoned inside, immersed in the life-support fluid while all manner of neural interfaces were plugged into his body. The machine fed countless signals directly into his flesh as powerful electrical impulses. During dormancy, the pilot could at least sleep through it, but in battle he was subjected to unrelenting agony from every direction.

After a fierce battle, the iron coffin often held nothing but a charred corpse. Then another crippled Astartes would be put inside.

Ogedei's hands were still intact, but entering a Dreadnought meant having them amputated, too.

Talal said, "It's too early to talk about this, Ogedei. There isn't even a Dreadnought aboard the Sword for you to use. Your iron coffin isn't here."

Ogedei nodded, then changed the subject. "Have you noticed Locke's been visiting Kunto a lot lately?"

"I have. Kunto treats Locke very differently from the rest of our Legion. I wonder what that Tech-priest is up to."

Ogedei thought for a while, recalling some of Fu Qinghai's remarkable feats on Cheslatan. He began to suspect he knew the answer.

Two weeks earlier.

Fu Qinghai carried a briefcase into Kunto's laboratory aboard the ship, entering with practiced ease.

As soon as he stepped inside, he saw a huge iron cabinet standing beside the workbench.

Inside, a hulking green brute was fixed in place, spread-eagled.

It was an Ork, and it had been dead for quite some time.

What was astonishing was that something seemed to have eaten away the muscles and organs beneath its thick skin, leaving only a complete hide hanging over the skeleton.

It was skin and bones in the truest sense of the phrase—not an ounce of flesh remained.

The sight was downright eerie.

The diminutive Master Kunto emerged from the shadows of the equipment like a ghost.

Seeing Fu Qinghai look up at the skin-and-bones Ork hanging inside the iron cabinet, Kunto gave a raspy chuckle. "Experiment 1,923 is complete. Number 37, take this specimen away. It might scare our little friend."

Servitor 37, standing nearby, hurriedly joined a few others in wheeling the cabinet away.

Fu Qinghai shrugged without explaining. He'd seen plenty of wildly imaginative Hollywood splatter films in his previous life. How could the skin-and-bones remains of an Ork scare him? Besides, there were even stranger alien specimens in Ogedei's armory.

Fu Qinghai walked to a machine tool, set down his briefcase, and opened it. Inside lay a standard Imperial issue Bolter for Astartes.

He seemed to have already worked out what he wanted to do. Without a word, he took out the Bolter, removed the magazine, disassembled the bolt assembly, and set to work on the machine tool with practiced hands.

Fu Qinghai had long noticed that Kunto was unusually patient with him. With Ogedei and Talal, the Tech-priest was polite but businesslike, and occasionally impatient.

Not only did Kunto allow him to come and go from the laboratory as he pleased, but whenever Fu Qinghai showed curiosity about its instruments and equipment, he even let him try using them.

That was very unusual for a Tech-priest.

Fu Qinghai certainly didn't think he shared some special bloodline with Kunto.

Kunto's patience felt more like the patience one might show toward a rare experimental specimen.

Whenever Fu Qinghai came to the laboratory, Kunto would stand quietly nearby with his hands behind his back, watching Fu Qinghai's every move, like a researcher from his previous life observing a laboratory mouse.

He also answered Fu Qinghai's many questions with remarkable patience.

Just then.

Kunto had appeared beside Fu Qinghai again without a sound. Hands behind his back, he looked down at Fu Qinghai's swift, busy work and asked curiously:

"What are you doing?"

"See, I'm widening the magazine port, then making a new magazine to fit into it." Fu Qinghai pointed to the underside of the gun.

Then he added, "A drum magazine."

A drum magazine... Kunto understood, then asked, "Where are your blueprints?"

Fu Qinghai tapped his head. "In here."

Are you kidding me? That was Kunto's first thought.

Then he watched Fu Qinghai's hands intently. Fu Qinghai worked the machine tool's rotary blade, drill, welding torch, and other tools, carefully shaping the materials in his hands.

Kunto's eerie green mechanical eye turned slowly. The longer he watched, the more alarmed he became.

People said a person had a surgeon's hands when they meant that his hands were steady.

But Fu Qinghai's hands were beyond the description.

They were like a pair of precision mechanical arms, with an error margin of less than a micron.

According to the readings from Kunto's mechanical eye, Fu Qinghai had completed the components entirely by hand, without blueprints or a model, and there wasn't the slightest deviation. The readings for every parameter—bore diameter, hole position, shaft diameter, cylindricity, runout, major and minor diameters—were all perfectly consistent.

Kunto discreetly looked at Fu Qinghai's hands.

Long fingers, nimble and strong. They were undeniably flesh and blood.

Then he looked up at Fu Qinghai's eyes.

His black eyes were fixed on his work, without the slightest distraction.

Those were undeniably human eyes, too.

Kunto glanced down in disbelief at the mechanical tendrils slowly emerging from beneath his robe.

So where exactly had things gone wrong?

Master Kunto had no idea that Tony Stark's electronic backup existed in Fu Qinghai's mind, automatically handling the modeling process. Nor did he know that the White Scars' unique meditation techniques and enhanced training had given Fu Qinghai greater control over his superhuman body.

So he couldn't make head or tail of it.

The Tech-priest quietly steadied his breathing and made a note in his mind:

Experiment log: 17-6. The subject displays extraordinary hand-eye coordination and bodily control. Possibly linked to mutation caused by the Blood of Kunto.

Whatever turmoil was churning inside Kunto, Fu Qinghai had finished modifying the magazine in an orderly fashion.

He held the gun in one hand and gave it a light tap with the other.

"Click!"

With a crisp snap, the cylindrical drum magazine slotted neatly into the gun.

The drum was already full of mass-reactive shells. Fu Qinghai turned his wrist, tested the gun's balance and center of gravity, pulled the charging handle and chambered a round, then took aim—but didn't pull the trigger.

This was Kunto's laboratory, not a firing range.

Kunto could see what Fu Qinghai had in mind. Replacing the curved magazine with a drum was meant to improve sustained firepower.

He reminded him, "This Imperial issue Bolter was manufactured on the Agripinaa Forge World. Its barrel has a rated service life, and fitting a drum magazine may shorten it."

"Of course, I know, Master. But I don't think a little less service life matters compared to the leap in firepower."

Fu Qinghai had thought it through carefully. Although the Bolter had a long range, and some models had been modified with extended barrels for sniping, it was mainly used in line-of-sight engagements—or, more precisely, close-range firefights.

At close range, the volume and duration of fire mattered far more than accuracy.

In theory, modifying standard Imperial weapons without authorization was forbidden.

The Imperium's Forge Worlds had to consider production costs, logistics, upkeep, and maintenance when manufacturing weapons. A modification like Fu Qinghai's, swapping a curved magazine for a drum, was more in keeping with the practices of the Chaos Space Marines. The arms industry had to consider overall costs, while the warrior had to consider his own survival on the battlefield. Neither side was wrong.

As a Tech-priest, Kunto ought to have stopped this and reported it.

But the Legiones Astartes had enormous autonomy within the Imperium's military. They'd done far more outrageous things than just modifying a gun.

Among the exemplary Legions, such as the Luna Wolves, Ultramarines, and Emperor's Children, Jaghatai Khan and his White Scars were known as the most unconventional and rule-breaking of the twenty Astartes Legions.

Even so, customizing their own weapons was more commonly done by the Chaos Space Marines of the future, within the Eye of Terror. Drum-magazine conversions in particular were a favorite of many Chaos Space Marines.

Ogedei and the others couldn't care less how Fu Qinghai personalized his own weapon.

Kunto couldn't be bothered to interfere, either. Compared to a Bolter, he was more curious about why his precious experimental specimen had decided to modify a weapon.

And he was curious about the remarkable ability Fu Qinghai had shown these past few days to learn almost anything without instruction.

Fu Qinghai took a mass-reactive shell out of the drum, rolling it between his fingers as his thoughts wandered.

The Bolter was a classic weapon.

It was the standard firearm of the Astartes, as iconic as Power Armor. Depending on its size and model, there were also variants such as the Bolt Pistol and Bolt Carbine.

In appearance, the Bolter had a boxy receiver and a short, thick, heavy body, all of it steeped in the distinctive violent aesthetic of Warhammer 40K. Compared to the hulking, armored frame of an Astartes, it looked more like a submachine gun. Some Astartes Monks with exceptional strength could indeed fire it one-handed.

In principle, like many firearms from his previous life, the Bolter's ammunition was its core technology. Its key innovation was a two-stage propulsion system: the shell had two propellant charges behind the warhead. The first ignited, giving the shell its initial velocity and launching it from the barrel, much like an ordinary bullet. The second continued burning inside the casing, pushing the shell faster even after it had left the barrel.

So every round was like a tiny rocket.

The principle behind this two-stage propulsion system wasn't all that futuristic. Fu Qinghai reckoned that if the military-industrial giants of Earth in his previous life had worked at it without regard for cost, they might have managed it, too.

But there would have been no point. As an infantry weapon, the Bolter would have cost too much to produce and inflicted far more damage than necessary against the soldiers of Earth.

Infantry weapons were used against other humans. Given how fragile the human body was, a round that could penetrate body armor and tumble inside the target, creating a cavity, was already powerful enough.

There was no need to blow someone apart.

But against the alien species in the Warhammer universe, with their outer shells and technological barbarians clad in protective shields, the Bolter's power was only just enough.

Fu Qinghai picked up his new gun, pleased as could be, and prepared to leave.

But Kunto called after him.

"Little Locke, I've noticed you have a real talent for this. Would you be interested in becoming a Techmarine?"

"A Techmarine?" Fu Qinghai froze.

After a moment, he nodded. "I'd be delighted, Master."

Inside the training cage.

"So Kunto was the one who asked if you wanted to become a Techmarine?" Ogedei asked in a low voice.

"Yes." Fu Qinghai replied without hesitation.

"Hmm..." Talal rubbed his chin. "I think it's a good thing. What do you think, Ogedei?"

Ogedei smiled. He'd expected this all along. Fu Qinghai's seemingly instinctive grasp of machinery and technology on Cheslatan had left a deep impression on him.

A glint of smug satisfaction shone in his eyes. "Of course. I saw it coming."

Like Apothecaries and Librarians, Techmarines were a specialized branch within the Astartes Legions.

These specialists were Astartes first, with all the abilities and qualities that came with being an Astartes, but each had their own particular strengths.

Apothecaries and Librarians had been discussed earlier.

Techmarines were Astartes selected from within their Legions and sent to Forge Worlds such as Mars for training. Besides their Legion's heraldry, they usually painted the cog insignia of the Adeptus Mechanicus on their shoulder armor, marking their status or showing their faith in the Omnissiah.

The Luna Wolves, Ultramarines, and Emperor's Children were large, well-balanced Legions, with every type of warrior.

Other Legions weren't like that. Take the Magic Ponies, the Thousand Sons of Magnus the Red: nearly every one of them was a psyker. Their total numbers were low, but with so many Librarians among them, their combat power was greater still.

Similarly, the White Scars and Blood Angels produced many Librarians. Their genes made them naturally sensitive to the Warp and the Aether, and their homeworlds often had traditions of studying mysterious phenomena or practicing superstitions.

That made it easy for their Legions to produce Librarians.

Other Legions had more materialist, science-minded types, such as the Iron Hands, Iron Warriors, and Salamanders.

These Legions produced many Techmarines; some could even be said to have Techmarines in every squad, such as the Iron Hands, skilled in bodily augmentation, and the Salamanders, who were all master smiths.

Among the White Scars, Librarians weren't uncommon, but Techmarines were extremely rare.

What was rare was precious. To the White Scars, a Techmarine wasn't just a curiosity for the Legion to gawk at, but a valuable and scarce asset.

Fu Qinghai arrived at the familiar laboratory and bowed slightly to Kunto.

"Master, the Legion has agreed."

A raspy chuckle came from the shadows of Kunto's hood. "Heh. Of course they agreed. The White Scars aren't exactly known for producing Techmarines."

Under normal circumstances, a Techmarine needed to study at Mars for three to five years. But with Mars likely already a war zone, Fu Qinghai would train under Kunto instead.

Learning from a Tech-priest of the Biologis's stature was a privilege many ordinary Techmarines never received.

Fu Qinghai heard the faint disdain for the White Scars in the Tech-priest's voice, but said nothing. He simply followed Kunto to a huge bookcase filled with books.

Fu Qinghai looked up. Inside were classic Imperial books written on parchment. Some in the Imperium believed that books and documents made from this material were immune to the corrupting influence of electronic magic wrought by certain Warp Daemons.

The parchment was a special type of hide made in the bio-factories of Agri Worlds, tough and resistant to decay.

The shelves also held paper books preserved from ancient times, each one a precious, fragile artifact.

Some of these ancient books might have come down from the days of Terra on Earth; others might have been captured by the Imperium's Great Crusade fleets after they reclaimed other human colonies.

Gathering human knowledge scattered across the galaxy was also the Adeptus Mechanicus's solemn duty.

Whether they chose to share that knowledge was another matter.

Sealing away certain dark technologies, or researching them in secret, had always been the Adeptus Mechanicus's way. At times, this vast organization, born on Mars, wasn't entirely on the same side as the Imperium.

Mechanical arms of all shapes and sizes, along with mechanical tendrils and feelers, constantly emerged from beneath Master Kunto's dark red robes. They made Fu Qinghai wonder how much of the old man's frail body had been replaced by components and gears.

Several mechanical tendrils pulled books from the shelves and set them down in front of Fu Qinghai.

They were all massive tomes.

Most were written on parchment.

As the mountain of books before him grew higher and higher, Fu Qinghai couldn't help but grow serious.

At last, he could read to his heart's content!

Filled with curiosity, thirst for knowledge, and anticipation at finally getting to indulge in it all, Fu Qinghai sat down with a solemn expression.

As he opened the first page of the first book, Fu Qinghai suddenly couldn't help thinking:

If I'd had this kind of drive and perseverance when I was preparing for graduate school, would I have made it into Tsinghua long ago?