Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Machine God Rising

“I hate the Quarians.  I make no secret of it.  I hated them because they were vagrants, thieves, and all around no-good filth before, but now I hate them even more.  I hate their presumptuous ways, I hate the fact that they won’t comply with Citadel law, I hate their technology, I hate their Pilgrimages, and the way they strut around like they belong.  If I had my way, the Geth would have wiped them all out.” -Tibelio Aldonus, Turian banker

“You want us to go to Rilgalnith?  Are you out of your mind?  There have been reports of skitarii there!” -Glaalmea Cala, Blue Suns mercenary 

“I write from the heart, my brothers and sisters.  When we were all lost and adrift upon the open stars, we were always masters of Technology.  It was our calling, and it was our curse.  Our reason for being, and our reason for exile.  Indeed, it flowed, and still flows through our veins.  It has always been a part of our society.

Then, it should come as no surprise that we were chosen by the Omnissiah.  It was no mistake.  Out of everyone in this galaxy, among all the races that scorned us, we were the only ones deemed worthy by the Machine God’s holy servants.  It was through the might of the Omnissiah and Mars that we were saved, and risen up to reclaim our Homeworld once again.

I write to you now, my brothers and sisters, to those who still might feel some apprehension, that there is no need to fear.  Embrace the divinity of the Holy Machine in your life, and worship the God who gave us back our Homeworld, our lives, and our prestige.” - Epistle to Rannoch 2:4, Zore’Reer vas Adas  

oOo

The Temple of the Omnissiah on Rannoch was perhaps not the largest display of the Machine God’s might.  Certainly, it had nothing on the huge and glorious temples to the Omnissiah on major Mechanicus forge worlds.  Such things towered nearly kilometers high, reaching from the deepest strip-mine pits all the way into the pollution-choked air of the forge worlds.  They were made of cold steel and adamantium, with high walls that were as much fortresses as temples.  Some truly were fortresses, with gun turrets and perfectly-placed geometric slopes and bastiones to defend against invaders.

However, the Temple on Rannoch was a small thing.  Only one story in height and made of gray stone, it looked more like a cross between a Medieval European and 20th-century American parish church from old Earth rather than a full temple to the Machine God.  The Temple was an intriguing mixture of Mechanicus ideals and Quarian architecture.  While the Temple was owned by the Mechanicus, staffed by Tech-Priests, and controlled by Adas, it was also designed to entice Quarians to embrace the Cult Mechanicus.  Therefore, it had to be appealing to Quarians, hence the strange architecture.  

The interior of the Temple was no less strange than the exterior.  Its floors were made of smooth sandstone: an ancient Quarian tradition.  While Fabricator General Natrius had balked over creating the entire building out of such a material, he conceded the point to his Quarian subordinates and let the floor be in conjunction with the sandy plains of Rannoch.

The interior had stain-glass windows, which was an oddity in and of itself.  Glass, while it did serve its purpose, was structurally weak.  It was certainly not used on the outsides of Mechanicus-controlled buildings.  However, Natrius, pragmatist that he was, knew that most organics enjoyed light.  A dark and grim atmosphere would drive Quarians away from the Temple.  That was counter to Natrius’s purpose of establishing it in the first place, and therefore, plainly would not do.

Bright light from Rannoch’s sun streamed through the windows, tinted comforting shades of red and orange by the Temple’s stained glass windows.  There was an entrance chamber, low and welcoming, with sleek metal walls and electronic messages displaying information about the Temple and Machine Cult.  Two huge skull-in-cogwheels were mounted on each side of the rectangular entrance.  In the center was a mural of the Knights of Taranis fighting Geth infantry alongside skitarii and Quarian Marines.  The picture had been chosen as a reminder for what the Machine Cult represented to the people of Rannoch.  

Inside, past the entrance, was the main chamber.  It was open and sunny, with the stained light shining down from a myriad of plain rectangular windows.  Pews were spaced throughout the chamber so visitors could come and meditate on the glory of the Machine God and the Blessed Machine.  At the far end, on a raised platform, were a few Mechanicus relics: shards of wiring from the lost forge world Gryphonne IV, spent weapon casings from some battle Natrius had participated in while serving as an explorator captain, and, most importantly, the armored plating displaying the name Honor Unrelenting, a Knight of Taranis that had given its life during the Battle of Rannoch.

Incense burners were placed between the relics, and a huge cogwheel was mounted on the wall above the raised platform.  Servitors, their faces hidden by black and red cowls, trundled around, waving incense blessed by the Tech-Priests and dabing sacred oil on the walls and relics of the Temple.  Servo-skulls buzzed in the air, watching what was going on beneath them with empty eye sockets.  The Quarians had been nervous (and slightly disgusted) by these things at first, but the Tech-Priests had explained the Cult Mechanicus used the skulls of its deceased servants as minor computers, sort of like V.I.’s, to complete rudimentary tasks.  The Quarians, invested in ancestor worship, now saw the skulls almost as such.  Indeed, there had already been several Quarians that wanted their skulls to join the multitudes here.  

The Quarian people as a whole were somewhat divided on the topic of religion.  Some simply did not care for religion and continued their largely agnostic ways, only paying lip service to the elders on Rannoch or the Machine Cult.  Then there were those who adamantly stuck with the old ways of ancestor worship, especially now that the Quarians had retaken Rannoch.  The third group were those who embraced the Machine God as the ultimate power in the universe and were full-fledged members of the Machine Cult.  These individuals did not join the forge on Adas, but still remained loyal to the Cult’s teachings.  Natrius did not mind; there were many normal humans on Imperial worlds that worshiped the Machine God but did not outright join the Mechanicus in sectors where the Mechanicus held sway.  The Fabricator General reasoned this was largely the same.

The last group of Quarians were those who followed both the old ways of ancestor reverence and the teachings of the Cult Mechanicus.  Strangely enough, there was no hostility between these four groups, something that Natrius endlessly puzzled over.  There were occasionally full-fledged civil wars over whether the Omnissiah was the Emperor or not back in his home galaxy.  It was a very trivial difference in Natrius’s opinion, but humans took differences in faith extremely seriously.  Apparently, the Quarians did not.

In the end, regardless of what particular group an individual Quarian belonged to, all were welcome in the Temple of the Omnissiah.  This was less to do with the Cult Mechanicus being a ‘nice’ religion, and more to do with the fact that Natrius wanted more converts.  Still, it benefitted the image of the Cult to the Quarians.  That was something the Fabricator General of Adas would take any day.

On this particular day, the late-afternoon sun was streaming directly through the left-hand windows of the Temple.  Quarians wandered, or sat, or kneeled throughout the main chamber.  They made up all walks of life, and all of the current Quarian religious backgrounds.  Some were true believers in the Omnissiah and the Machine Cult, and were here to pray to their God.  Others were interested in the Cult, drawn by its strangeness, its power, and its mysteries, and were perhaps here to see if they truly liked what the Mechanicus represented.  

There were many who were just here to be here.  The Temple was peaceful and solemn.  Its focus on technology, something that all Quarians had a fondness for, drew many individuals that simply wanted to sit here and meditate or relax.  The Cult did not mind.  Any who came here were welcome.

As the sickly-sweet scent of incense wafted throughout the chamber, Quarians simply sat or stood peacefully.  This place… felt comfortable.  It was different, unique, but still home.  Technology was a way of life here, and most Quarians couldn’t help but approve.

In a corner, near the raised platform at the front of the temple, stood a Tech-Priest.  Her slim form was covered in a heavy robe of black, red, and violet, and inscribed with the symbol of Adas.  A single mechadendrite, ending in a triadic claw-grip, poked out of her back.  She had two toes, two fingers, and one thumb.  Her face was rounded, her skin grey-ish in tone.  Besides the mechadendrite, she had cybernetic implants on her forehead, relics from the days of the Migrant Fleet.  

Next to her stood a much younger Quarian, holding up an omni-tool to the Tech-Priest.  Despite the Tech-Priest only being inducted into the hierarchy of the Mechanicus eighteen months ago, and still technically an apprentice, she already had a better grasp on technology than most Quarians.  It was not uncommon for the people of Rannoch to bring their technological troubles to the Temple so that the Priests may try to fix them.  Especially on a day where the senior Adas leadership visited.

However, it was usually Cona’Meesul vas Rannoch who helped the people of Rannoch with their problems.  She was the master of the Temple.  While still strictly the apprentice of Fabricator General Natrius, the older Tech-Priest had given her this assignment and encouraged her to help her brethren.  It was a task that Cona had taken to with gusto.  This was why she became a Tech-Priest.  This was what she always wanted to do, always dreamed of doing.  Helping others with their technological problems.  She fit in with the role like a fish to water or a bird to the air.

Currently, Cona’Meesul was helping a young woman about to go on her Pilgrimage.  The Quarian tradition continued into the new age of Rannoch, despite what many might have thought to the contrary.  The government of Rannoch thought it would be good for young Quarians to go out and explore the galaxy; to see everything Citadel space could offer and learn more about different species.  Even though the other species might not like the Quarians, it was deemed that young Quarians should experience this firsthand and learn exactly how the galaxy operated.

Of course, the tradition of Pilgrimage gifts continued.  Even simple things like material were useful for Rannoch and Adas.  The Mechanicus, especially, welcomed almost anything they could get their hands on.  Any new technology, any secrets the adepts of the Omnissiah did not possess were gathered by young Quarians across the galaxy.  It was a very profitable enterprise for Fabricator General Natrius.

Cona’Meesul turned down to the young Quarian woman with a smile.  Her mechadendrite twitched.  It was welded to her spine, as most devices were.  Cona was ridiculously proud of it; ridiculously proud of her status as a Tech-Priest.  She was very thankful Natrius had trained her.

“There, that should do it,” she said.  The young Quarian looked up to her, gushing adoration on her face.

“Oh, thank you!” replied the woman.  She bounced happily on her feet.  “I wanted to get that program running for my Pilgrimage, but I just couldn’t get it working.  Thank you!  Thank you so much!”  Cona smiled.  Her face was still in place, and even though most Tech-Priests would later modify their entire body, Cona wasn’t so sure.  She still wanted to keep her facial expressions.  However, such a decision was a long way in the future.  She’d have to prove herself to Natrius first. 

“It’s no trouble,” replied Cona kindly.  She inclined her head in a small bow and made the sign of the Cogwheel.  “The Omnissiah allows such things, and shares knowledge to the worthy.”  She grinned.  “Good luck on your Pilgrimage.  I know you’ll bring back something wonderful.”  

“Thank you so much!” squealed the younger Quarian before bouncing out the door of the Temple.  Several other Quarians, praying or simply enjoying the peaceful atmosphere of the Temple, looked up and smiled.  The servants of the Machine God were a wonderful boon for the Quarian people.

oOo

The forge on Adas never rested.  Great pistons hammered home as compressed gasses vented themselves into the air.  Vats of molten metal poured into pipes and molds, creating a vast array of technological wonders.  Tiny sparks of light popped as thousands of machines and men welded components into place.  

A forge world, any forge world, was the purest expression of humanity’s industrial ingenuity of war in action.  Adas was no different.  Weapons, power packs, fuel, ammunition, armor, combat vehicles, and huge arrays of devious mechanical devices of death were churned out every second of every hour of every day.  Machinery, along with pre-fabricated parts to new buildings were built in sections to expand the forge itself.  A balance had to be struck between preparing for war and creating things that would increase industrial output.  

Massive conveyor belts clanked as lasguns and their cheap power packs flowed in their thousands.  The standard weapon of the Imperium of Man was powerful, robust, and much deadlier for its size and weight than most personal weapons of this galaxy.  Natrius had struck a treaty with the Quarian government: he would supply their armies with Imperial weapons and vehicles in exchange for a portion of the resources the Migrant Fleet pulled in.  That was what Adas craved above all: raw material.  They had the technology, but they needed substance to create it.

Along with the lasguns came kinetic barriers, produced by the thousands: enough to fuel an army.  There needed to be enough for the Quarian military, enough for the skitarii, enough for the civilians of Rannoch, and enough for the menial workers of Adas.  Kinetic barriers were a godsend.  They were defense against bullets and shrapnel, and while they didn’t block energy weapons, blocking kinetic weapons was enough.  All skitarii of Adas were now equipped with them.  However, more, always more, were needed to resist the Reapers.

In nearby factories, their pollutants already swirling in the atmosphere of Adas, combat vehicles were produced.  The venerable Chimera APC, with its heavy chassis and massive tracks, was already well-liked by the Quarians.  It was heavy, bulky, tough, and easy to repair.  A Chimera could be, and was, used for all sorts of purposes.  Quarians on Rannoch made them into farm vehicles, transports, and, of course, heavy support and transport for the military.  

The suspension system was a bit rough on delicate Quarian physique, but most didn’t care.  What the Chimera lacked in comfort, it more than made up for with utility and firepower.  In fact, it was one of the only heavy support ground vehicles in the galaxy.  The Tech-Priests laughed at this: if the Chimera was considered heavy support, then this galaxy needed a drastic upgrade in firepower.  Natrius was more than willing to provide.

A new vehicle, the Bel’isar tank, named after ancient Quarian knights, was produced in the factories next to the Chimeras.  This tank was a rather strange mix of Mechanicus and element zero technology.  It was, by all accounts, technically tech heresy.  However, the Quarians complained that the Chimera wasn’t suited to all their needs.  Used to quick hit and run fights and technological superiority, the Quarians wanted something that would suit their style of warfare.  The Chimera was an excellent vehicle, to be sure, but its plodding and heavy style of war didn’t sit well with the Quarian military.

Archmagos Cawl heard the pleas of the Quarians.  The elusive Tech-Priest came and went as he pleased, creating material for Adas in the bowels of the Serendipity as he wandered through the galaxy and dropping it off as he returned to Adas.  When he heard the Quarians’ complaints, Cawl set about creating a new vehicle with unholy relish.  While Natrius protested, rightly saying that it was heresy, Cawl did as he pleased.  The result was the Bel’isar.

Sleek and agile, mounted on a system of mass effect fields and protected by a powerful kinetic barrier, the Bel’isar was the pinnacle of modern warfare, and a perfect blend between Mechanical and Quarian technology.  Anti-gravity tanks were not unheard of, but the Bel’isar took the cake.  Looking almost like a more angular version of sleek Eldar constructs, the Bel’isar had a powerful underbody mounted on an ingenious anti-grav system.  On the front of this underbody was a multi-laser manned from inside the body.  The tank’s back held an electronic warfare suite with a powerful disruptor pulse ability.  Above the underbelly was a turret with a heavy mass accelerator cannon, used because of the Quarians’ familiarity with the weapon and, frankly, because it was cheaper than plasma or a Leman Russ’s main gun.  The Bel’isar crewed five: one driver, one frontal gunner, one electronic warfare expert, one weapons officer, and one commander.  Their roles were self-explanatory: driver drove, electronic warfare expert masked the tank’s signature and used the disruptor pulse, the gunner manned the multi-laser, the weapons officer manned the main gun, and the commander commanded.  A simple arrangement.

Of course, such vehicles were not the only things the forge on Adas produced.  It created much more potent war machines: the Knights of House Reegar.  

Along with the help of the forges aboard the Serendipity and Omnissiah’s Blade, the forge on Adas desperately pounded out Knights, hoping to bulk up one of its most powerful fighting forces.  When the Reaper invasion came, Natrius wanted House Reegar to be as powerful as possible.  

For any outsiders familiar with the production of Knight suits, Adas, the Serendipity, and the Blade were doing a fabulous job.  House Reegar was at six Questoris- or Dominus-class Knights.  In two years, that was a very good total.  

The first Knight produced was Kal’Reegar’s own: Pride of Rannoch, a huge Knight Castellan.  It had been produced aboard the Serendipity in eight months total.  Belisarius Cawl himself oversaw its production, and armed Pride of Rannoch with a terrifying prototype plasma decimator of his own design.  Known as Cawl’s Wrath, the decimator made up Pride of Rannoch’s right arm.  Its enhanced containment fields and machine spirit data shackles allowed it to generate even more lethal volumes of energy than a typical plasma weapon.  

Besides Pride of Rannoch, five other Questoris-class Knights and a multitude of smaller Armiger-class Knights were produced for House Reegar.  Two of the more common Knight Errants, with their thermal cannons and chainswords, two Knight Paladins with their battle cannons, and one Knight Crusader with a mighty gatling cannon and thermal cannon made up the Quarian House’s strength.  Their pilots all survived the Ritual of Becoming, and were now one with their Knights.

It was rather interesting to find pilots for the Knight suits.  To almost every Quarian alive, the chance to be picked as a Knight of House Reegar was a great honor.  However, Knights were picked by the Tech-Priests of the Mechanicus based on genetics.  Knights were rare, and Quarians were a notoriously genetically-unreliable species.  One Knight, a man named Nil’Tomun, had died during the Ritual.  Such things were to be expected even amongst humans.  It was a pity, but the Mechanicus needed bodies to pilot the Knight suits, and the entire Quarian population would be swept until a suitable match was found.

House Reegar also had twelve smaller Armiger-class Knights at their disposal.  Eight were Helverins, four were Warglaives.  The Quarians, by their nature, were not heavy hitters and balked somewhat at the idea of getting to point-blank range to kill a foe.  Such things could be trained out of people, but House Reegar preferred the longer-range Helverins either way.  Kal’Reegar was Princeps of the House.  His word was inviolate.  If he wanted more of one Armiger-class than another, he would get his wish from the forge.  It made the House a more effective fighting force, and so Natrius did not wish to interfere.

Two of the Armigers, both Helverins, were bonded to Kal’Reegar himself.  Three more, two Warglaives and one Helverin, were bonded to other Knights.  Much like in the Imperium of Man, Quarians saw the opportunity to become bondsmen to a Knight as a great honor.  Kal’Reegar and the other Knights were kind masters; no one chafed under their control.

Upon a great plain known simply as, “The Grounds,” House Reegar trained.  Bondsmen became accustomed to their neural enslavement.  Knights learned new tactics and how to fight against many different opponents.  Scenarios were played out, tactics were discussed, and the new Quarian Knights learned the tools of their trade.

Most importantly of all, they learned how to operate their Knight suits.  Such a thing was instinctive once one had the proper augmentations and went through the Ritual of Becoming, however, one still had to learn how to fight in the suit.  It was like controlling your own body: you know , instinctively, how to control your body.  If you want your right arm to move, you move it without a thought.  However, even though you do know how to move your body, an untrained person cannot fight as a soldier.  This was exactly the problem House Reegar faced, and the problem they solved upon The Grounds.

As House Reegar prepared for war, the forge of Adas within its entirety did as well.  Much like its machinery hungered for material, its factories and spaces in their entirety hungered for personnel.  Just as promethium was fuel for the huge clanking machines of the Mechanicus, people were the fuel of the forge itself.  

It was said that the most expendable resource the Imperium of Man had was human lives.  That was, in most cases, accurate.  There were quadrillions of humans within the Imperium, and if some died, more could be brought in from somewhere else.  The wretched, who lived in the far too overcrowded hive cities, could be pressed into almost any service.

However, in this galaxy, lives were not as abundant.  The Migrant Fleet strictly controlled how many Quarians were born.  Too many would be a terrible strain on resources for the already floundering and ancient fleet of ships.  Now, the Quarian people were encouraged to have as many children as possible, both by the government of Rannoch and Fabricator General Natrius.  

The Quarian people were more than happy to provide.  There wasn’t even a need for any sort of reward system.  The Quarian population boomed, births skyrocketing upwards in the last two years.  Rannoch was safe, both from the predations of other species and from the unclean atmospheres that haunted Quarians for so long.  Resources were abundant.  

Unfortunately for Fabricator General Natrius, the current Quarian population boom was all under the age of two.  The next generation of Quarians (perhaps one of the largest increases in their history) would not reach fighting age until approximately fifteen years in the future, give or take.  Babies were the future of Adas, and had to be protected as an ever-expanding investment.  However, babies could not fight, and so Natrius had to look to other sources for personnel to serve Adas.  The Reaper invasion was nigh, and the next generation meant nothing.  It was do or die now.

Of course, there were the ex-Cerberus personnel.  Kronos Station had been towed into Adas’s orbit by the Serendipity and Archmagos Cawl’s enginuity.  Cawl and Natrius had pored over the Illusive Man’s records, checking every single Cerberus cell throughout galactic space.  Most were duly informed of the Illusive Man’s death and summoned to Adas to join the Adeptus Mechanicus.  Almost all came willingly; the chance to serve humanity and the galaxy amongst the greatest technological faction ever recorded was not something to be passed up.  

Natrius was actually somewhat frustrated with the Cerberus personnel.  They were some of the best and brightest humanity had to offer, but they were mostly scientists.  Scientists he did not need.  He had Tech-Priests.  Tech-Priests were better.

The scientists, unfortunately, didn’t seem to think that way.  Some did actually become Tech-Priests themselves, which Natrius approved of.  They had the proper ideals, the proper background, and the proper work ethic.  Plus, even though the first several Tech-Priests in this new galaxy were Quarians, the ex-Cerberus scientists were all human.

The ex-Cerberus soldiers, on the other hand, almost all went into the Legiones Skitarii .  They had joined Cerberus for a variety of reasons: wanting to defend the scientists, wanting to fight for humanity, wanting to get the best equipment, or, in some cases, just because they wanted to kill.  Natrius very happily informed them that the skitarii offered all of those benefits, plus more, at the same time.  

Most of the Cerberus soldiers ended up joining the skitarii.  Each forsook their original human mind and form, and donned the swirling black, red, and violet robes of Adas.  They were faster, stronger, and more accurate.  Most importantly, all skitarii were completely loyal to Natrius, Adas, and the Machine God.  

The other Cerberus personnel now mostly worked in the forge itself.  Those who did not decide to become Tech-Priests or skitarii were now overseers in Adas’s many, many factories.  Sometimes they grumbled; Natrius didn’t care.  He needed people, and he needed production.  It was everything to prepare for the Reaper invasion.  Everything else was second. 

There were some Cerberus cells, those more sadistic, those more suspicious, those more far-flung, and those more loyal to the Illusive Man that did not come to Adas.  Such a decision was… unfortunate.  

Both Archmagos Cawl and Fabricator General Natrius decided that since Cerberus was legally a terrorist group in Citadel space, such people were not going to integrate peacefully back into the societies of this galaxy.  The Illusive Man had also been declared Excommunicate Traitoris to the Imperium of Man.  Thus, any other Cerberus cells still in operation that did not surrender and join the Mechanicus were in violation to that decree.  

Cawl and Natrius waited a short while before making their move.  A few Cerberus cells disbanded, fed up with all the politics.  A good example was the cell on Earth that Jacob Taylor joined with.  They wanted nothing to do with either the Illusive Man or the Mechanicus, and went peacefully into a far-off colony.  Natrius and Cawl could tolerate that.  However, others posed a threat, or were at least a resource to be exploited.

Adas ended up with quite a large collection of servitors.

Besides Cerberus, there were many other places to get people from.  Natrius was desperate: the Quarians and the Cerberus personnel were not enough.  He needed more people to work in the massive factories that were sprouting over the planet like weeds.  The forges needed fuel, and people were fuel.

At Natrius’s direction, and through the news agencies and word of mouth in Citadel space, word spread quickly about the Adeptus Mechanicus and Adas.  Through his complete mastery of technology, Natrius ensured that most of what came out about the Mechanicus was positive.  Even though they opposed the Citadel, even though they were allied with the Quarians, who did not have the best relationship with other species, the strangeness, the newness, and the power of the Adeptus Mechanicus shone through.  

The Mechanicus took in many people.  Most obvious, of course, were those technophiles who wanted to join the most powerful technological faction in the galaxy.  That made sense.  There were also those that chafed under Citadel rule, and wanted to get as far away from their species’ governments and the Citadel Council as possible.  Before the arrival of the Mechanicus, those that wanted out of Citadel control had to go to far-flung colonies or flee to the Terminus systems.  Places like that were dangerous.  There were no soldiers or treaties to defend colonies or places in the Terminus systems from mercenaries, pirates, or slavers.  One always had to watch their back.

But the Mechanicus offered security.  No one, not even the Citadel Council itself, dared to go to Adas.  The Omnissiah’s Blade was more than a match for the entirety of the Citadel Fleet.  What pirate or slaver could even hope to oppose it?  

Should any potential threat reach the surface, they would then have to contend with the Legiones Skitarii.  Through the Mechanicus’s exploration and resource gathering efforts throughout the galaxy, word had spread over the terrifying lethalness of the Mechanicus’s foot soldiers.  A mere rumor that the Tech-Guard were involved on a planet would dissuade even the Blue Suns, Blood Pack, or Eclipse mercenary outfits from interfering.  

In the end, many people who would have otherwise gone to the edges of Citadel space flocked to Adas.  What Natrius did not understand, and where Adas got most of its lower-level personnel from, was from the wretched and impoverished masses of the galaxy.  It went so far that someone had actually inscribed part of Emma Lazarus’s famous poem, New Colossus, on a plaque on Adas’s starport.

"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she

With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Natrius learned that the poem had been inscribed on a famous landmark, known as the Statue of Liberty, on Earth.  He was somewhat annoyed over its use: the Mechanicus had no desire to be a haven of freedom for refugees.  Natrius was not running an immigrantion center, he was running a forge.  But he could not deny that Adas had, in a strange and unforeseen way, turned out that way.  

It was rather simple in explanation.  The Mechanicus needed personnel.  They didn’t particularly care who said personnel were or where they came from.  Humans and Quarians made up the majority of Adas’s population, but most species were actually welcome.  (It should be noted that, to the Mechanicus, personnel was synonymous with “servitor”.  Those deemed unsuitable, including many aliens, were simply converted into brain-dead cybernetic thrawls whose loyalty to the Mechanicus was absolute.)

People flocked to Adas.  The Mechanicus offered a myriad of benefits to becoming a laborer in the forges: food, shelter, and security were all provided.  If one worked hard, the Mechanicus would also provide cybernetic upgrades in exchange.  Most importantly of all, Natrius would provide transportation to Adas, free of charge, for anyone who wanted to join.  Thousands who lived in the slums of hundreds of colonies, thousands who lived in fear on Omega, thousands whose lives were wretched and downtrodden went to Adas in hope of a better future.  

There were other groups that came as well.  The Adeptus Mechanicus, besides being the most militarily advanced faction in the galaxy, was perhaps also the most medically advanced.  Citadel medicine was quite good; the Mechanicus didn’t have medi gel.  However, much like the difference between the Mechanicus’s lasguns and skitarii armor and the Citadel’s omni-tools and kinetic barriers, the Mechanicus provided a different focus on medical technology.  They didn’t have small, easy fixes for battle wounds, like medi gel, but they did have a very powerful array of advanced cybernetics and an almost unholy grasp on genetic engineering.

Just as there were in all times, there were many throughout the galaxy who lived as invalids.  There were no cures for paraplegics and many cancers and genetic diseases.  At least, the Citadel had no cure for such things.  

The Mechanicus’s view on medicine was simple enough.  If there was a problem in the body, it could usually be fixed with cybernetics.  If one’s eye was diseased, it could be cut out and replaced with an augmetic.  If your arm was torn to shreds in combat, you didn’t need medi gel.  Simply amputate and get a better arm.  Perhaps this view was frightening to many that did not worship the Machine God, but it was an effective one.  

Multitudes of sick came to Adas, seeking the salvation the Omnnissiah promised to bring.  Usually, Piloc and Natrius were able to deliver.  If not, Belisarius Cawl was always interested in finding out biological information about the individuals of this new galaxy.  

People who had been crippled and unable to move or walk their entire lives were transported to Adas.  For the first time, they moved.  Those with terrible wasting genetic diseases, individuals like Garrus Vakarian’s mother, were treated, given new years on their life expectancies.  The incurable were cured, by the grace of the Omnissiah, lord of all machines.  Word continued to spread about Adas.

The payment for salvation was simple.  Those that were cured paid for their treatment with years of service in the forges of Adas.  The Mechanicus had no use for credits.  Their only currencies were materials and personnel.  

Thus, Adas became something of an eclectic haven of all sorts of individuals.  One thing united them all: faith in the Machine God.  The Omnissiah was their salvation, the reason for their survival.  Day and night, the workers of Adas toiled in the forges, producing weapons and material in vast quantities.  Fabricator General Natrius surveyed all, and ruled the planet and its people with a fair but iron grip.  He only hoped his measures, some what might have been considered heretical, were enough to weather the incoming Reaper storm.

oOo

The center of the largest complex on Adas, where the Tech-Priests resided, was a massive tower.  It was much higher than any other structure on Adas.  Indeed, it was much taller, much larger, than any other structure on any planet in the Tikkun System.  It was beneath the heavy void shields and outer walls of the Adas forge.  Protected by some of the most powerful defenses in the galaxy, with macro-cannon turrets ringing the complex and perfectly-planned adamantium and titanium walls scraping the sky, the complex was still, to its residents, very comfortable.

To be sure, it probably wouldn’t be comfortable to a normal human.  But Tech-Priests were a different breed.  They liked the dark atmosphere, the brooding silences, the clanging of pistons and the sleek, geometric architecture.  

Servitors trekked through the metal halls, waving incense and chanting coded prayers to the Omnissiah.  Skitarii patrolled the complex, ever-vigilant for threats against their Tech-Priest masters.  To mortal men, the constant patrols through the same hallways of the most impenetrable fortress in the galaxy would get tiresome.  Boredom and complacency would set in.  Not so to skitarii.  Their minds were augmented beyond such things.

Within the halls resided the Tech-Priests themselves.  Each had their own suite of rooms.  Each suite was decorated and outfitted according to each Tech-Priest’s own personal preference.  Some were messes of parts and tools, others were almost completely barren and sterile.  Both styles were equal testaments to the glory of the Machine God.  

The first floor of the complex was servitor storage and the location of the skitarii barracks.  The initiates, the new Priests that would serve Adas, all lived on the second floor.  Natrius lived directly in the middle of the complex.  He did not want the ground nor the top floor; instead, he deemed it best that he was in the middle, where he could be contacted by everyone who lived above and below him.  The entirety of that floor was dedicated to his own personal use.  Great laboratories competed with reception centers for visitors and the Fabricator General’s own personal chapel.  

Two floors above Natrius lived the fully-fledged Quarian Tech-Priests.  There were technically only two: Zore’Reer vas Adas and Daro’Xen vas Adas.  They were the first two Quarians to join the Cult Mechanicus, and the first to become Tech-Priests.  Everyone else simply hadn’t had enough time to complete their training yet.  Indeed, while Reer and Xen were technically fully-fledged Tech-Priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus, Natrius and Piloc, their respective masters, were still tutoring them.  There simply was not enough time to train a Priest in two years, though the lords of Adas did an excellent job.

Upon that singular floor, Reer and Xen rarely came into contact.  Reer had joined the Mechanicus because to her, it was a home.  It was the first place she felt welcome, and the only place she wanted to reside.  On the other hand, Xen had joined the Mechanicus because she wanted to be with the most technologically advanced group in the galaxy.  She was an experimenter, a scientist, a cold dissector.  The Mechanicus suited the ex-Admiral well.  

But, due to their differences in motive and personality, Reer and Xen almost never spoke.  Xen was always in her laboratory, concocting new technologies and experimenting with new ideas.  She took the work that she used to do in the Migrant Fleet’s Special Projects division and upgraded it with Mechanicus technology.  Adas was a union between Mars and Rannoch.  Her projects and ideas reflected that.

In contrast, Zore’Reer studied.  She learned the secrets of the Cult as taught to her by Natrius.  She meditated on the Omnissiah, and caught up with the religion of the Machine God.  Reer did what duties Natrius (or occasionally Piloc) assigned her with great gusto.  This was her new home, and she wanted to do everything she could to help it.

At the present moment, heavy metallic footsteps clanged on the steel alloy floor of Reer and Xen’s level.  They echoed through the hallways, each weighty footfall in perfect synchronization with the next.  A squad of skitarii, cloaked in the black, red, and violet of Adas, marched through the halls.  Their augmetic blue eyes glowed softly off the steel, reflecting through the byways.  Each carried a weapon: the fearsome galvanic rifles of the Legiones Skitarii.   

The hallways here were more spacious, more open, more cheerful and airy than those aboard the Omnissiah’s Blade and many of the other places through the forge.  It had less to do with Quarians being housed here and more to do with the internal geometry and architecture of the complex.  Still, its residents appreciated the style here more than the gloomy gothic design of Blade.  

The skitarii rounded a corner, coming to a large double door.  A cogwheel was engraved in the metal, surrounded by a flowing series of other Mechanicus symbols.  The door was a thing of great beauty.  Most of the skitarii would not ordinarily have been able to appreciate the aesthetic of the design.  However, they were learning.  They were becoming more in tune with organic personality.

The door slid open with a hiss.  The skitarii filed inside.  They were no longer in lockstep.  Instead, they cradled their weapons more comfortably, simply walking forward in a gaggle.  They chatted cheerfully in binary to each other, beeps and blurbs flowing comfortably through the air.

The interior of the room was large and open.  A few metal tables and stray chairs lined the walls.  This was an entry room, a welcoming place for visitors.  The large circular area split three different ways.  The rest of the suite was deeper inside. 

As the skitarii filed in, a series of deep barks greeted them.  Several of the skitarii dropped to their knees, slinging their weapons on their backs or carefully placing them in a convenient nearby locker as a group of canids charged forward, paws clattering and skittering on the room’s metal floor.  They wagged their tails happily, tongues hanging out, excited to see their friends once again.  For their part, the skitarii scratched the backs and abdomens of the canids, ruffling their necks and ears delightly.  They chirped soothing nonsense to the canids in binary, Low Gothic, and Quarian.

“Where did you all go?” sighed a voice.  The skitarii looked up, many still continuing to play with the canids.  Those still standing immediately came to attention as only skitarii could.  With a soft whisper of robes against the cold floor, Zore’Reer vas Adas entered the room.  Her servo-arm and claw-tipped mechandentrites waved behind her back.  A small smile graced her face, exposed to the clean air of Adas.  

“Ma’am,” replied one of the skitarii.  His metallic voice was much more animated than one would expect from a Tech-Guard.  Less wooden, more emotional.  “Reporting back after patrol.”  Zore’Reer gave him a soft smile.

“I know, 037.  You don’t have to report back every time you return,” she replied, crossing her arms.  037 noted her prosthetic left arm.  It was a Mechanicus cybernetic, coming up to just above Reer’s elbow.  The skitarii commander always smiled when he saw it.  Reer had cut off her own forearm aboard the Omnissiah’s Blade as part of her orientation to the Cult Mechanicus.  She had been so nervous, so apprehensive over the mutilation of her own flesh.  But, she had carried through, and bore the cybernetic proudly as a Tech-Priest of the Cult Mechanicus.

Abandon the weakness of your wretched flesh, and live forever in a miracle of steel.

Natrius’s words still rang through her head.  It had been two years since her first meeting with him on the Citadel, but she remembered his offer as clearly as the first day she met him.  Reer was extraordinarily glad she took him up on it.  

“Well, it’s protocol, ma’am,” replied 037 with a shrug.  Reer sighed to herself.  Even though the skitarii lived with her, even though she tried to get them to be more open, more emotional, some things would never change.  Skitarii would still remain skitarii.  

“Yarrick!  Gaunt!  Raine!  Theren!  Cain!  Come here!” she called out to the canids.  Leaving the skitarii, who watched them go wanly, the canids circled to Reer.  She pointed towards the central entrance to her suite, and the canids all trotted away, barking happily.  They were glad the skitarii were back.  The skitarii gave good scratches.  

The skitarii of Delta squad (for that was who they were) stood and filed out of the center room under the watchful eye of Zore’Reer.  The Quarian considered them some of her closest friends.  It might have been odd for a Tech-Priest to be friends with skitarii, but stranger things had happened.  

Delta squad had been a gift from Natrius to his favored pupil.  Upon a Tech-Priest’s graduation, it was customary for their master to grant them a gift.  Natrius’s gift had been Delta squad.  The skitarii had been put under the direct command of Zore’Reer.  They were her bodyguards.  Her companions.  Her friends.  Her strange, metallic, cybernetic, branded, super-soldier friends.  

She couldn’t ask for better.

Delta squad lived in a barracks in Reer’s suite of rooms.  Still minus 044, 045, and 048, the group stayed with their Tech-Priest mistress at all times.  They now tramped into their home, canids barking at their heels.  Many of them grinned as they came into their red-plated barracks.  Just as their Quarian mistress had found a home here, so had they.  There was no other place they’d rather be.

One of the skitarii hung back.  Instead of following his brethren into the barracks to the right of the entrance room, he walked towards the center pathway.  He went past the dining room, with its huge metal table and collection of knick-knacks of technological pieces.  Past the familiar forms of engineering workbenches and the airy kitchen, the skitarii walked further into the bowles of Reer’s suite.  

As he crossed the threshold of the final room, he was engulfed by an abrupt hug.  It was so sudden and strong the skitarii was knocked back a few paces.  He returned the gesture with just as much fervor.

“047,” murmured Zore’Reer into the skitarii’s plated chest.  “I’m glad you’re here.”  047 buried his face into the side of Zore’Reer’s head.  Even though his face was made of metal, Zore thought it was one of the most comfortable and reassuring things in the universe.

“I’m glad I’m here, too,” replied 047.  After the Battle of Rannoch, 047 had been a mess.  The delicate brain chemistry and neural links of his skitarii’s mind were scattered by Geth fire.  He had labored in a coma for several weeks.  After being pulled out by Piloc’s medical skill, his brain was a mess.  He didn’t seem to know where he was, who he was, or why he was in any place at any given time.  047 simply wandered, glowing blue eyes looking lost in the fog of things he could barely get a grasp on.  He rarely reacted to outside stimulus.  The only three people who could get him to do anything were Natrius, Piloc… and Zore’Reer.  

For her part, Reer stayed by his side as much as she could.  Even though she was swamped with the work Natrius gave her, she somehow endeavored to be near him at hours on end.  Even though he never said anything, nor acknowledged her presence beyond doing what she told him, Reer still stayed by his side.  

Then, one day, about two months after the Battle of Rannoch, Reer had returned to her quarters after a late night of studying under Natrius.  She jumped, startled, when she saw the robed form of 047 standing in the entry of her suite of rooms.  His back had been to her, but as soon as the door closed behind her, he turned.  His eyes gleamed, losing their foggy quality.

“Zore’Reer,” he said simply, moving towards her.  She beat him to the punch and wrapped him in her arms, crying all the way.  Everything was right once more.

At the present moment, that scene was recreated in Zore’s bedroom.  047 was the only skitarii who stayed there.  The rest of his brethren lived in their barracks.  047 kept his possessions there, but spent the nights in Zore’s room.  

It was strange for a skitarii to sleep in a bed supposed to be made comfortable for organics.  Skitarii required little sleep.  They required even less comfort.  However, 047 enjoyed staying by Reer’s side as she slept, carefully watching over her.  He loved to see her awake, and press a gentle, sleepy kiss upon him every morning.  There was nothing sexual, nothing typically romantic about their relationship.  047 and Zore’Reer simply loved each other, and adored being in each other’s company.  

As the strange pair, one Quarian Tech-Priest, one emotional skitarii, held each other, each couldn’t help but reflect upon how lucky they were.  Yes, they were a strange pairing.  Yes, the galaxy was a mess.  Yes, the Reaper invasion was coming.  

But this moment, right now, was perfect.  They had each other, and that was enough.

oOo

Beneath the heavy platform, the army stretched out as far as the eye could see.  Rows upon rows of soldiers, all heavily armored with weapons in hand, silently waited.  Legions of the dead, silent and solemn, waited, posed, for the command of their ancient master.  An entire army, thousands strong, stood in the trenches, beneath the platforms, waiting.  Always waiting.  Always watching.  Always ready.  

They stood watch, a silent, eternal vigil, over a necropolis of royalty.  Theirs was the everlasting honor, the long watch, over their master.  But now, for the first time, the army was on the march.

Trazyn the Infinite stood on a platform within a huge human structure.  It was made of heavy metal, almost like a huge warehouse or sports stadium.  Next to him, his curator, Sannet the Light-Sculptor, stood respectfully behind the necron lord, holographic stylus in hand.  Beneath them, two armies moved, one still, made of terracotta, one in motion, made of living metal.

Stretched as far as this huge building went, a full force of 8,000 terracotta figurines waited.  This was the army of the dead.  Created in 210 B.C.E. for the first Emperor of China, Qin Shi Huang, the Terracotta Army stood eternal watch over his tomb.  A huge necropolis, not fully excavated by humanity due to concerns over whether excavation would damage it, stood underneath the army.  It was the tomb of the First Emperor.  And Trazyn had to have it.

His army, which was also technically dead, moved throughout the rows of statues, carefully placing them away in tesseract labyrinths.  Farther beneath, even more necron soldiers excavated and carefully packed away the tomb of Qin Shi Huang.  Necron technology was far superior to human technology.  Plus, Trazyn had been doing this sort of thing for literally millions of years.  If he couldn’t extract valuable artifacts without damaging them, no one could.

The guards over the housing/museum of the Terracotta Army had all been mindshackled or knocked unconscious.  The necrons had been working all night to fit the entirety of the Army into transportation back to Solemnace.  What would have taken human archaeologists decades took Trazyn and his forces mere hours.  

“Why do we have to get all of them, lord?” asked Sannet, turning to Trazyn.  His stylus moved, calculating inventories and writing notes.  The Lord of Solemnace turned back, staff in hand.  The timesplinter cloak he had… borrowed… from another necron tomb world rippled on his back.  He frowned at his chief curator.

“Why not?” replied Trazyn.  He spread his arms out wide, gesturing to the sweeping encompass of the Terracotta Army.  “This is a set.  It is only right if we take the entire thing, plus the necropolis and the lord it was created to guard.”  Sannet sighed.

“As you wish, lord,” he said dutifully.  He swiped across his holographic tablet, muttering as new information caught his notice.  Turning towards Trazyn, he spoke.  “Lord?”  Trazyn, gleefully watching the Terracotta Army being dismantled for transportation to Solemnace, turned back.

“What do you want, Sannet?”

“Lord, by the calculations of our chronomancers, the Reaper invasion is somewhat… overdue,” replied Sannet.  “It was originally supposed to happen four years ago, with the arrival of Sovereign, but Commander Shepard delayed it.  It was also supposed to happen about two years ago, but we believe the arrival of the Mechanicus delayed it again.”  Sannet’s glowing green eyes met Trazyn’s.  “Now, it is two years after the arrival of the Mechanicus.  The Reaper invasion should, by our accounts, happen somewhat soon.  They will destroy all inhabited planets, lord, and the artifacts of this galaxy.  I recommend that we take what we can in the short time before the invasion happens.”  Trazyn laughed and clapped Sannet across his back.

“Ah, of course!  The Reaper invasion.  How could I have forgotten?”  His tone became more serious.  “You are correct though, Sannet.  We must take what we can so as to preserve the artifacts of this galaxy for all time on Solemnace.  For prosperity’s sake, of course.”

“Of course,” replied Sannet dutifully.  It seemed to be his default tone of voice.

“Now, pick up the pace!” cried Trazyn, his voice echoing through the massive chamber.  “There is very little time left, and still so much left to collect!”

oOo

Codex:

House Reegar:

Homeworld- Adas

Motto- “Death to the Soulless Sentience.”

Colors- Violet, red, and black

House Reegar is a series of firsts.  It is the first Knightly House founded in the newly found galaxy ruled by the Citadel Council.  House Reegar is also the newest Questor Mechanicus and newest overall Knight House in service to the Machine God or Imperium of Man.  It is the first House to have xenos pilots, and the first House to have Quarians in its service.  

Founded by the authority of Archmagos Belisarius Cawl, the House is one of the smallest in Mechanicus service.  It has a total strength of one Dominus-class Knight, five Questoris-class Knights, and twelve Armiger-class Knights.  While having little combat experience in their Knight suits themselves, the Knights of House Reegar were drawn from Quarian Marine veterans of the Dawn War.  Greatest among these is the House’s Princeps, Kal’Reegar vas Adas.  A hero to the Quarian people and decorated veteran, Kal’Reegar strives to make his House an exemplar of chivalric virtue in the service of the Omnissiah’s glory.

Kal’Reegar himself is married to an ex-engineer from the starship Naaron.  Like most marriages of Imperial Knights, it was arranged.  Reegar himself balked at such a thing, stating that Quarians married only for love.  However, a Princep does not have such luxuries.  Pressured into continuing the genetically pure Reegar dynasty by Fabricator General Felis Natrius, Kal’Reegar reluctantly sought a mate from a list of genetically approved individuals.  

However, unlike most Knights, Kal’Reegar’s marriage actually ended up being a love affair.  Natrius smiled knowingly: Kal’Reegar was a kind and generous individual by nature.  He knew how the minds of mortals worked.  A woman, even one pressured into an arranged marriage by the Mechanicus, would grow to love Kal’Reegar quickly.  Besides, a happy Knight was one who would do the most good for the forge.  

Kal’Reegar now prepares tirelessly for the Reaper invasion, preparing to lead his House, race,  and dynasty to glory.