Chapter 256: The History of Necron Jokes: Page One

The curator of the Solumnas Art Museum, Tarasyn, observed his new collection,

in the underground tomb-world of this planet, the guardian of all history and relics, the archivist of all extinct and extant civilizations, the Great Immortal Tarasyn gazed upon his new collection,

his Prism Museum contained every historical scene he deemed worthy of display,

from the War in Heaven to the death of Solar Lord Macarius, from the fall of Phoenix Fugrym to the Beast Wars, from the forgotten Empire to the fate of Tarasha Udon, countless historical scenes had been preserved or restored by Tarasyn,

he walked past the replica of Fugrym and stopped at the end of the hall,

Lord Krieg, General Droste, their 8th Cadia Regiment and the 184th Regiment were all held in stasis fields, permanently frozen at the moment before their final end,

before them stood an exquisite plaque inscribed in all the major languages Tarasyn knew: The Fall of Cadia,

this was a pivotal moment, unquestionably altering the course of the entire galaxy,

Tarasyn's glowing eyes fixed upon this scene,

he had sacrificed many precious artifacts to secure it,

one Imperial Guard, Inquisitor Grephax, two Astra Militarum regiments, and a regiment of Space Marines from the Age of Heresy.

he had, of course, implanted Heartlock Beetles within these artifacts,

but Belisarius Cawl, that intriguing human, Tarasyn believed he could unravel the Heartlock Beetles' constraints—it was merely a matter of time—

the Heartlock Beetles had been removed,

Tarasyn's metallic face flickered briefly—just now, the Heartlock Beetles had been stripped away,

no, not merely stripped away. Through dimensional phase communication, Tarasyn had transcended the limits of time and space, connecting to the Heartlock Beetle removed from Grephax's body,

"The Omnissiah granted me power and machine-soul,"

a simple, immature consciousness came through the dimensional phase communication,

the Heartlock Beetle rejected Tarasyn's access,

precisely speaking, the consciousness within the Heartlock Beetle rejected it,

this puzzled Tarasyn,

this consciousness, though simple, could not possibly have arisen from the Heartlock Beetle's rudimentary structure,

an implanted intelligent system? An external thought array? Or a trick of the Gods of the Void?

as for the Omnissiah, Tarasyn dismissed it as yet another mechanical cult's superstition,

most Necrons regarded the Cult Mechanicus as a crude amalgam of low-tech and rotting flesh, desecrating both machine and flesh alike,

but Tarasyn found them fascinating—superstitious, yet worthy of historical record; his museum housed several Mechanicus priests,

as for machine-soul,

the soul of the machine?

Tarasyn scorned the notion,

he turned away from the Cadia's Fall exhibit, stepping slowly out of the human hall,

from Cadia's fall to the Horus Heresy, from the Great Crusade to the Old Night, from the Iron Men's Rebellion to the Golden Age, from the invention of the first warp engine to humanity's first step beyond the Solar System,

the entire history of human civilization passed before Tarasyn's eyes—he witnessed the evolution of humanity,

from ignorance to wisdom, from wisdom to madness, from madness to blind obsession, from blind obsession back to ignorance,

"Machine-soul?" Tarasyn muttered as he walked.

finally, Tarasyn halted before two extremely crude and primitive probes,

these too were part of his collection; the plaques before the probes read: Humanity's Attempt to Contact Other Civilizations—Voyager One and Two.

these were two crude probes released by humanity at the end of its second millennium, attempting to use them to understand their own star system and establish contact with other civilizations.

Tarasyn stood before this exhibit and could not help emitting a low, dry chuckle,

"Machine-soul?" he murmured again, as if repeating a joke worthy of repetition: "How could a machine have a soul?"

Tarasyn deactivated the stasis field of the exhibit, stepped forward, opened the probes, and extracted what he sought,

it was a twelve-inch circular disc plated with gold,

ancient humans recorded sound in an extremely primitive manner—etching vibrations onto these discs, then reproducing them as sound through a needle tracing the grooves,

Tarasyn also retrieved the diamond stylus from Voyager One, and from his own collection, a record player,

with ceremonial care, he brushed the dust from the disc, placed it on the player, adjusted the speed to thirty-three, and set the diamond stylus at the edge of the golden record—

"Hello."

"This is a gift from a small, distant world."

"It carries our sounds, our science, our music, our thoughts, our emotions, and our souls."

"This Earthly Voice is sent to this vast and awe-inspiring universe, to offer hope, our determination, and our good wishes to distant worlds."

"We strive to live in our age, hoping to enter yours."

after a brief silence, a voice filled with faint static played out,

it was Akkadian, one of humanity's oldest known languages, born among the Semitic peoples of ancient Mesopotamia,

then followed the proto-Gothic tongue, with fifty-five dialects of the ancient Dragon Kingdoms repeating the greeting,

Tarasyn waited quietly, awaiting his favorite part,

waiting helped emotion arise, he thought calmly,

then, the part he anticipated arrived,

ancient Terran music had also been recorded upon it,

the plucking of strings sounded—first like towering mountains, then like flowing water; the needle's vibrations traced the ebb and flow of emotion,

Tarasyn had studied the history of this piece, knowing it told of friendship between two individuals,

their souls resonated—by ancient human terms, they were "zhiyin,"

humanity chose this piece for the record, seeking a zhiyin across the boundless cosmos,

yet the one who ultimately received this record was Tarasyn, a Necron without a soul,

"How could a machine have a soul?"

Tarasyn murmured, savoring the faint ripples in his circuits that could barely be called emotion,

if machines could have souls, why, over such vast ages, had the Necrons' mechanical bodies held only emptiness?

Tarasyn stood still, listening as the twenty-seven-minute music played on,

"Curator, a visitor has come."

Sannet, Tarasyn's chief technician, relayed the message,

Tarasyn felt slight irritation at the disruption of his music,

yet he gently turned off the record player,

Solumnas Art Museum welcomes visitors,

"The Overlord, Voyager Anlakel, greets you and requests an audience."

Sannet's voice sounded again.

Tarasyn paused slightly,

he had had little interaction with Voyager Anlakel, the one devoted to reviving the Necron Empire's glory,

why would he come to visit him?

but before Tarasyn could respond, a faint blue glow spread through the Solumnas Art Museum,

the machines once under Tarasyn's control were overpowered by another will, and the museum's doors swung open,

Voyager Anlakel, his body shimmering with faint blue light, stepped into the human exhibit hall and stood before Tarasyn,

Tarasyn knew Anlakel excelled at imposing his complex will upon machines—even others' machines,

yet he had not expected Anlakel could control his museum's machinery. His ability seemed stronger than Tarasyn had believed,

Voyager Anlakel performed a complex series of ancient rituals, then spoke to Tarasyn in the elaborate tongue once used by the Necrontyr nobility:

"Hail to you, Tarasyn, the Immortal and the Thief."

Tarasyn sneered—he knew his kin did not understand his work, and his reputation among the Necron dynasties had grown foul,

"Have you developed an interest in galactic history?" Tarasyn demanded.

"You excel at theft and excavation—of Necron relics or others'."

Anlakel chose his words carefully,

"How many ancient ruins have you pried open? How many precious artifacts have you taken? How much valuable knowledge have you hoarded?"

"I've heard you maintain ties with those human cults—superstitious, flesh-and-machine hybrids."

"So, Tarasyn, tell me: have your actions granted you enough wisdom to solve a mystery?"

Tarasyn listened to Anlakel's tedious, ornate speech and waved his hand dismissively: "What do you want?"

Tarasyn spoke in the crude tongue of Necrontyr slaves—Anlakel's living-metal body stiffened slightly,

Anlakel regarded Tarasyn, as if weighing his words,

until minutes later, Anlakel spoke—not in Necron tongue, but in human language,

as if only this could convey his meaning.

"I think I've grown a machine-soul," Anlakel said.

". uh?" Tarasyn blinked in surprise,

then swiftly activated the hall's recording equipment and turned back to Anlakel,

this time, Tarasyn's expression turned grave,

"Could you repeat that last sentence?"

"It is the most humorous thing a Necron has said since the Bio-Conversion."

"This remark is worthy of being recorded in history, listed on the first page of The History of Necron Jokes."

(End of Chapter)