42: Chapter 42 The Faint Light of the Hall of Contemplation

The machine spirit "might" have consciousness, but no Archmagos dares to confirm that it does.

Because once confirmed, everything would change.

If the machine spirit had its own will, then what it would need is dialogue, not prayer; understanding, not faith.

The Archmagos would no longer be priests communicating with the divine, but subjects incorporated by the Imperium—the independent system of the Adeptus Mechanicus would be dismantled.

Those secrets passed down for ten thousand years, those forbidden knowledges only orally transmitted deep within Mars, those ancient pacts that even the Fabricator-General dares not easily touch—would all be opened page by page by the Imperium's auditors, categorized, numbered, and shoved onto some sunless shelf in the central archives of Terra.

The Adeptus Mechanicus would no longer be the Adeptus Mechanicus.

It would lose its sanctity and become something like the "Imperial Department of Technical Logistics"—a department, a branch, a bureaucracy that the High Lords could casually discuss, budget-cut, or purge at their meetings.

And what of the High Lords of the Imperium?

High above the towers of Terra, those immortals, those hereditary nobles, those who climbed to the pinnacle of power through lineage and intrigue—they blame their failures on the "wrath" of the machine spirit, interpret their incompetence as the "non-cooperation" of the machine spirit, and package the entire decaying ruling system of the Imperium as a mysterious, unknowable, divine will to which mortals can only submit.

The machine spirit is their best excuse and their most loyal accomplice—because it will never speak up to refute them.

If the machine spirit had consciousness, if it could say "no," if it could testify before the Inquisition—then how would the High Lords explain why the light of the Astronomican is fading in the Imperium Nihilus?

Why are supply fleets always three weeks late?

Why do the automated defense systems that should protect the citizens of the Imperium always find the "machine spirit displeased" at the most critical moments?

The machine spirit is their final shield.

A silent shield that will never betray them, that will never expose them.

"Therefore, Sedayne must die. Not because her research is wrong, but because—if she is right, if the machine spirit truly has consciousness—then the Emperor is wrong, the Adeptus Mechanicus is wrong, the High Lords are wrong, and even the entire Imperium is wrong."

It is not because she was wrong, but because she almost made this shield—speak.

This is the logic of the Imperium; when they collectively decide that 2+2=5, then 2+2 must absolutely not equal 4.

In a way, the Imperium is the backyard of Tzeentch.

He does not ask you to believe in anything; He only asks you—to be uncertain.

He does not ask you to be wrong; He only asks you to doubt.

And the Imperium—the Imperium makes everyone doubt.

It makes every Archmagos quietly jot down "four" in their midnight notes, only to loudly proclaim "five" at the daytime meetings.

Every "five" forced to be repeated is a toy in His hands.

The Imperium always thinks it is fighting against Chaos, but the way the Imperium fights Chaos is by turning itself into the shape most familiar to Chaos.

So, back then, Cawl assimilated her consciousness fragments; she became the core source of Cawl's obsession with technology, and also the origin of the name [The Inquisitor].

It is precisely because of Sedayne that Cawl completed the Primaris Space Marine project and created the Belisarius Furnace.

He could break the taboos of the Adeptus Mechanicus and integrate Necrons technology; in pursuit of "perfect technology," he even spared no effort in modifying himself, gradually replacing flesh with machinery, to the point where he was questioned by the Archmagos of Mars as to whether he had already become a Men of Iron.

And all of this is a continuation of Sedayne's unfinished path of technological exploration by Cawl.

These four people, four distinctly different qualities, make up Cawl's consciousness world—a miniature version of the Imperium's political landscape.

The rationality of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the passion of the explorer, the loyalty of the believer, and the honor of the knight, all squeezed into his steel body, arguing for a full ten thousand years.

At this moment, this argument erupted again.

Hester calmly made a demand: the extent of the loss must be calculated, a plan for how to disguise it must be devised, and no traces of any forbidden research must be exposed.

Sedayne was impatient: forget about the disguise, first explore the reasons behind the loss of those tools; perhaps a new breakthrough in spatial folding technology could be found.

Timothy and Hester spoke in unison, demanding that all actions must conform to human faith and the honor of a knight, and that no bottom lines could be crossed.

The clamor in his consciousness grew increasingly intense.

Cawl was silent for a moment, finally compromised, and squeezed out a sentence that precisely appeased all four personalities.

After all, if time and space can be folded, bent, and redefined, then what does the disappearance of a crate of discarded Servo-skulls matter?

This is the knightly spirit in accordance with the tenets of the Adeptus Mechanicus; this is the performance of a sacrificial ritual to space.

He explained to Sedayne in his consciousness: "After all, time and space can be folded, bent, and redefined."

Meaning we are still too ignorant and need to study more first.

He then explained to Hester: "Then what does the disappearance of a crate of discarded Servo-skulls matter?"

Meaning: I didn't waste resources; those were all discarded and not worth fretting over.

Turning to Hester, he softened his tone: "This is the knightly spirit in accordance with the tenets of the Adeptus Mechanicus."

Finally, he whispered a prayer to Timothy: "This is the performance of a sacrificial ritual to space."

The clamor in his consciousness finally subsided, and Cawl finally gained the understanding of his four personalities.

Only it is a pity for that crate of semi-discarded Servo-skulls; no one knows where they have appeared in some impossible location at this moment.

Perhaps, they are quietly gathering dust in some corner of this Sanctum of Reflection?

Perhaps, they are hidden in some remote and strange chamber of this mechanical ark, [The Inquisitor]?

Or perhaps, they have long been swept into the Warp by a space-time rift, drifting aimlessly in the torrent of Chaos?

Who knows.

In the center of the chamber is a slightly concave operating platform, carved from a single piece of pure obsidian mined from beneath the polar ice caps of Mars.

This obsidian had slumbered for sixty million years before being mined; it was formed during the volcanic activity of ancient Mars, waiting quietly beneath the ice until Cawl obtained it four thousand years ago.

Cawl chose it not because of faith in the Omnissiah—although the conservatives would indeed go mad over this.

He simply chose to use it because its crystal lattice structure is mathematically perfectly symmetrical, making it one of the most stable non-metallic substances known, and the most suitable as a tabletop for a high-energy experimental platform.

Above the operating platform, hundreds of display panels are suspended.

Each one is three meters high and two meters wide, composed of single-molecule-thick crystal sheets, arranged in multi-layered concentric rings, rotating around the platform.

They utilize a crystal resonance technology that Cawl reverse-engineered from Aeldari ruins.