Amateur Megalomania

The Rolm affair ended strangely (insomuch as it had ended – later I would recognize the inappropriate haste with which I had applied such a terminal verb). My subjects were generally not in the habit of surrendering themselves to me in such an odd fashion.

I hadn’t failed to notice this fact.

However, my responsibilities could not be set aside while I puzzled out the odd behavior of a dead heretic. Once his corporal body had been handed over to the Mortis Vinculum of my Order, my responsibility ended. The matter of Rolm was now in the hands of those who pursued such things in the realm of the dead. Should Rolm find his way back to the living, then I would be recalled.

It had happened before, and I guessed it might happen again. It wasn’t a sin to admit that I admired Rolm’s determination, even if it was misapplied.

It wasn’t until later that things became more apparent to me.

But I am getting ahead in my story.

I returned to the Expiscor in orbit around Solaris III and retired to my chambers while the rest of my entourage was recalled from the surface. Rolm’s ship would be berthed aboard for the time being, for later study at my leisure. But first, I tended to my equipment.

Many priests left the care and maintenance of their gear to the Technica, and while I had no qualms about their skills, I chose to do as much as I could to my own gear. Encounters such as I had today took a toll, well beyond my capabilities. I passed through the antechamber of my quarters and diverted to the maintenance bay annex. The Expiscor was a vast ship, and my status accorded me nearly a third of the vessel as my own private domain, sacrosanct and beyond the reach of even the Captain. My entourage and personal army consumed the resources of the primary armory, but I had my own personal maintenance section devoted to my needs.

My Primus met me at the bay, already summoned by the hurt radiated from my armor. Pron had been a faithful comrade for three centuries. His entangled dreadlocks writhed around his skull, sniffing the electromagnetic spectrum. Both eyes had been replaced long before I had ever made his acquaintance, yet I had learned to read emotion in the active matrix lenses. Today, it was genuine concern that grew as he looked at the deep claw marks on my chest.

“Well met, Lord Ragnusen. I trust the damage does not reach beyond that exquisite shell.”

I unclamped my outer skull and let the lifter take the weight from my shoulders. The world faded for a moment as the various neural sockets withdrew from my brain, leaving my completely within my body for the first time in days. I waited for the skull to lift out of the way before I answered him. My voice was dry from disuse. “I grant you that it is quite exquisite. My complements to the designer.”

Pron nodded from the waist in that peculiar manner I had grown to understand as a replacement for his lack of a flexible neck. He had been modified to handle unshielded acceleration as a hazard of his work, and inconvenient joints such as his neck had been excised. “It pleases me that my design has preserved you today. I have not seen marks like that in many years, Grunner. Are you well?”

Pron had earned the use of my first name, and I admit to enjoying our familiarity. A Priest did not have what most people would call friends. I waited as the rest of the armor unfolded and disengaged the various unpleasant, but necessary, hookups. The antiseptic mist rained down over the open wounds left from the couplings, moistening the raw flesh until the nanites restored me.

The stigmata of my office.

I ran my hand over my chest. While the claws had not penetrated my flesh, they had done far worse damage. “I am fine, Pron.” And I was, as far as I knew. I stepped around my armor hanging in the cradle, examining the various scorch marks accumulated through many days of chasing Rolm. The demon marks stood out as if they bled fresh on the carapace, oozing a shadow of blood trickling on the other side of reality.

“I think this shell is tainted.” I turned away and accepted the robe offered by a servitor. “See that it is destroyed.”

Pron gave one of his stiff nods. “I will pull the core and run it through the (anti-virus program that checks for possessed software) personally.”

I dismissed the servitor and waited for a moment as it retired. Pron sensed my pause and stepped closer in a conspiratorial way. “I’d rather you didn’t, Pron. Purge the whole unit.”

Pron was no fool. I could sense him thinking about the telemetry that would document all that had happened during my encounter on Solaris III. I said nothing as he stared at me. “Are you okay, Grunner?” he repeated.

I lowered my shields a bit and felt his empathy radiating around me. I reached out to let him get a sense of me, to confirm that I was intact, but not offering any more than that. “It would be better if the suit was not recovered.”

“Then that will be what happens. As you command.”

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