ED of the Navigator
"Thunder and lightning and fire
Are guiding the trip of my life
Insatiable burning desire
As into the unknown I dive"
--Excerpt from Gamma Ray's Beyond the Black Hole
. . . . //File Psy.1.2, Sub-clause: Class-dea//
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Psyker; a loaded word in the Imperium of Mankind. There
are many homonyms for psyker: mind reader, wyrd, wizard, sorcerer and, the most
commonly employed, witch. The psychic mutation that creates psychic humans is
regarded amongst the vast bulk of humanity with doubt. Some Inquisitors say it
is the next step of human evolution; from Homo sapiens to Homo Psychana, but
few listen to them and the witch-hunters continue their purges. It is true,
most psykers found are not powerful enough to be trained as useful of their
kin, and so they are eliminated from existence. Therefore, a weak psyker's life
is mercilessly short, once discovered. And these weak psykers is often ordinary
people, how've been born with great powers. They might be able to bend spoons
and foresee the weather, but not much more, but the Inquisition roots them out,
and deletes them anyway. The reason is given later.
Moderately powerful psykers are
often taken into training for use in the Scholasta Psykana, should they be
young enough, but even here, a great many are deleted by the Inquisition. A few
promising are taken up as Inquisitor Acolytes, if worthy. Those moderately
powerful psykers, who are discovered in the puberty or later, are however
always deleted.
The most powerful psykers are the
Space Marine Librarians. The lowest ranking of these psykers, Lexicanums, are
easily capable of bending steel girders with their minds. They can call forth
raging thunderstorms with a gesture. The Codiciers are even more powerful,
capable of perceiving the outcome of a battle, keeping things floating in the
air for days by sheer force of will.
Next in line comes the
Epistolaries, ranking only lower than the Chief Librarians (or the Master
Lexicanums). The Epistolaries can see decades into the future, taking courses
of action to make sure the outcome sees to their, or the Imperium's, needs. The
most powerful Space Marine psykers, and therefore even human, are the Master
Lexicanums, the Chief Librarians of the Space Marine legions. These individuals
can perceive the future in the mesmerising web it is, and chose the right
course. They can destroy lesser deamons with a single word of power, alter the
weather with a flick of a wrist and even guide ships through the eddies of the
Warp. Few Space Marine psykers are of true Master Lexicanum level, though. Not
more than one per regiment.
There are two special kinds of
psychic mutations, however, which humanity takes great care in protecting: the
Navigators mutation and the mighty psykers Astropath.
We start with Astropaths. Astropath
is an abbreviation of astro-telepath, and it describes a psyker capable of
sending a message through the Warp. As the great distances between the stars
make all other means of communication worthless, the Astropaths are highly regarded.
They are the only ones able to send and receive messages over the Warp. Nearly
all people with the Astropath mutation are recruited in the Imperium's use, and
countless are executed, because they are too dangerous to let live. 90 per cent
of the Imperial psykers are Astropaths. And with this number, it means those in
Imperial service. The untrained mass is probably three times as many as the
Astropaths.
Navigators are different. Their
mutation goes through families, just like the Space Marine mutation. However,
the gene only shows up if both parents are Navigators. They have a strange
'third eye' which enables them to navigate through the eddies of the Warp. However,
they have no other psychics than this ability, and this renders them almost
immune to the inhabitants of the Warp.
Which brings us to the next
subject: Deamons.
Deamons. Etherworlders. Warp
beasts. Chaos spawn. They have many names. And they all differ greatly in size,
power and looks. But they all have one in common; they reside in the Warp and
they are our worst nightmares given form. They are the minions of a myriad of
Gods, and the four most powerful Gods are brothers, and they control the most
destructive deamons. These gods are (in power order) Khorne, Tzeentch, Nurgle
and Slaanesh. Each god is very different from the other, as well as their
minions. Khorne's warriors are powerfully set, muscular fighters; Tzeentch's
wizards are very sly and intelligent beings, relying on guile instead of brute
force; Nurgle's forces are bloated, rotting abominations, carrying horrendous
contagions and lastly there's Slaanesh. His minions are trans-sexual creatures,
both male and female at the same time, beautiful beyond mortal imagination as
well as fanged and horned grotesques. The link these creatures known as deamons
have with psykers is that a deamon can't materialize in the mortal realm,
unless it does so through a psychic mortal of corresponding power. Thus, the
most powerful deamons can only materialize through the most powerful psykers,
and the most powerful psykers must therefore be trained and watched rigorously
by the Imperial Inquisition. Lesser deamons can materialize through virtually
any sort of psyker, whilst the deamon lords can't materialize through anything
else than an Astropath or such powerful psyker. Many are however the occasions
when Chaos cults have summoned greater deamons through rituals, and these
greater deamons have then called forth lesser deamons. Without a psyker even
featuring. Common are also the times when untrained psykers have been suddenly
possessed by deamons, torn apart from the inside to give way to the beast.
Hence, this is why the
Inquisition carries through with its purges of psykers. Although they know
humanity is evolving to a psychic race, humans have not the knowledge to
protect themselves from deamons as effectively as Eldar do. So for the time
being, removing young psykers is considered the only way, and the Inquisition
has forced this into the Imperial Religion as well. Psykers are abhorred by most
Imperial citizens, as are the mutants. Not to word too much about mutants, but
they are amongst all Imperials considered as deviants, marked by Chaos for some
sin committed by their parents. They are either killed or used as slaves. End
of story.
There has been many famous
psykers through time, most of them Space Marine Master Lexicanums. The most
powerful of these Space Marine Master psykers and most famous is without doubt
Edward McKenzie. Though not born in Space Marine family, he was born with extraordinary
psychic powers, and it is rumoured that he matches Eldar Farseers in his
powers. He has proved judicious and wise in his use of his powers and like one
would expect, he has never used them to achieve his own ends.
A famous non-Space Marine psyker
was Lord Astropath Zebulon. He was a mighty psyker, one of the mightiest,
capable of sending a message through the entire Imperium, without relay. He was
lastly stationed on Armageddon, when the last war broke out. He remained there
until the Siege, when the psychic scream of the Emperor's mortal death rippled
through the Immaterium. As Zebulon was so close to Secondus, the force of the
psychic ripple destroyed his brain.
A famous Inquisitor with psychic
powers was Inquisitor Felix Rovannion. He was not as powerful as the before
mentioned, but he was more than well capable of using his tricks. As an
inquisitor, he had to use his powers to achieve his own ends. He is rumoured to
have been closely involved in Rolf Yarrick's early days, but this is just hear-say.
These three form in a way a good
example of the Imperium's finest psychic warriors, a breed shunned by its
fellow humans, but regarded highly by the Emperor himself. And who is the
Emperor if not the most powerful psychic entity in the Galaxy, rivaled only by
the Hive Mind.
In the Imperium, people are
split as to where the Emperor comes from and what he is. He is not human, that
is for sure. There are those that whisper the word C'tan, but this is often
dismissed as insane ramblings. There is only one person that knows, the Emperor
himself, and he's not telling.
But it is in the Emperor's
service one finds psykers and witch-hunters, Navigators and Space Marines,
judicious Astropaths and zealous commissars.
The group of fourteen men and
women stepped out of the large elevator and into a huge hall. Torches dimly
lighted the hall, but sodium lamps glowed in the roof, high above their heads. All,
except Tanya and Rolf, stopped dead before the sight that met them: two lanes
of five metres tall marble or bronze statues, all depicting famous commissars
in the glorious service of the Imperium. Charleston let out a low whistle.
"And here I've considered
them religious lunatics all along..." McGranth whispered. He didn't want
Tanya or Rolf hearing him.
The group moved down the line of
commissars until Tanya stopped before two. One was tall and athletic; the other
one was short and stocky.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I
give you Commissar Mischkin and Commissar General Timoschenko. Founders of the
Imperial Commissariat."
The Terrans looked up at the two
statues. The two men seemed very different, but Tanya explained. "They
were best friends, united by chance but also a common goal, on the Industrial
World Moskva. The statues are nearly half a million years old. Unbelievable,
perhaps, but it is true."
McKenzie walked forward and read
the inscripture on Timoschenko's pedestal. "'Where Mischkin left,
Timoschenko took over. The first Imperial Commissar General.' Doesn't seem like
a fighter, does he?"
"Not quite," Nazz
said, frowning. "But then again, he might been the type that's short and
chunky, but really strong." She threw a side-ways glance at Eddy.
"Yes, I believe he
was." Tanya replied.
"'Timoschenko took
over...'" Edd repeated to himself. "What happened to Mischkin?"
"He died of
cardiac-cancer." Tanya simply replied. "Before the Imperial
Commissariat became what it is today."
"How did the Commissariat
come to being then?" Marie asked, surprised at her own question.
Tanya explained. She told them
about the crisis on Moskva, the Narkoms and the Siege of the Winter palace. As
she spoke, Charleston, McGranth, McKenzie and Rolf slowly removed themselves
from the group and walked down the line of statues. McKenzie stopped at a tall,
powerful man. To scale, he would've almost been as tall as Charleston. He
looked down on the inscription.
"Commissar General Delane
Oktar..." he read. "Enormous guy..."
With that, he moved on.
Charleston had stopped at the
man just next to Oktar. He read the name inscripture, took a few steps back to
look at the man's face, and then read the name again.
"What's the matter,
commander?" McGranth asked, walking up behind his friend.
"This guy is almost a
joke..." Charleston mumbled. He looked up at the man's face again. McGranth
did as Charleston had done; read the name, and then looked at the face.
"Oh..." McGranth said
silently. "I see..."
They both stared up at the blade
thin face of the tall and powerful colonel-commissar. Simultaneously, they
raised an eyebrow and then looked at each other with dubious looks. Then spoke
in unison. "Colonel-commissar Ibram... Gaunt?"
"Make's reason for his
name..." Charleston said and scratched his nose, trying to suppress a
smile.
"What a horror to be mocked
by your own family name." McGranth said and moved on.
"Or the other way
around." Charleston said smartly. "Having your family name mocked by
your looks."
Rolf had stopped by the statue
of Sebastian Yarrick. He was looking up at the statue of the old man with ork-designed
battle claw and bionic eye, with tears welling in his eyes. McKenzie came up to
him.
"Rolf, are you
alright?"
"It's happening again,
McKenzie..." Rolf silently mumbled.
"Memories?"
Rolf nodded. "I just feel
pain when I see Sebastian. I know he was slain by Kharn. I've known it for the
better part of two years now..."
"I know... Wait a second! Two
years?"
Rolf nodded again. "Don't
you remember, I told you so when you patched my arm up."
McKenzie looked taken aback. "I
must've forgotten... Denied it, even..." He shook his head slightly. "So,
these memories, what are they about?"
Rolf tried to gather himself
enough to speak. The memories had scored deeper wounds than he'd thought or
even dared to believe. "I just see a flash of bright light and I feel this
stinging pain in my chest. Then I see Sebastian's face as a young lad, no older
than I am now... wet with tears..."
McKenzie looked down on the
ground. He knew what it was about. Not many others knew the true reason to Rolf
Yarrick's death. Most Imperial citizens had believed he'd died of age. McKenzie
knew that that was a lie, a lie necessary to protect the Imperium from anarchy.
He put his hands on Rolf's shoulders and led him back to the rest of the group.
Charleston and McGranth had already rejoined them, as Tanya finished her story.
She noticed the look in Rolf's
eyes immediately. "Maybe we should go back up? You all seem in need of
sleep, my friends." She tapped the vox-link attached to her head like a
headset. "Tomas, darling, fix thirteen more beds for our friends. Yes,
separate rooms for girls and boys, what did you think? Show some decency, man! All
right... We'll be back up in 15 minutes. What we've been doing? I've showed
them a piece of history. One, out."
She looked at the others. "He's
really a nice guy, boring, but nice. So, off you go to the lift!" Tanya
herded the group back into the lift and they went up. As they came back out up
there, they split up in two directions, directed by junior officers of the
Guard. Tanya stopped Rolf.
"I need to talk to you,”
she said simply.
The two removed themselves
soundlessly and seamlessly from the others.
"Rolf, what happened down
there? You were weeping."
"It's a really long story,
Tanya. But you know I'm not the original Rolf Yarrick, right?"
"Yes, I know that, but how
can you weld the sword then?"
"I don't know... But see, I
still have your ancestor's spirit."
"Now I don't understand. What
do you mean 'spirit'?"
Rolf sighed. "It's a bit
hard to explain. But technically speaking, Rolf Yarrick is dead. Psychically,
he's not. He lives within me..."
Tanya looked shocked. "How's
that possible?"
"The Eldar had a technique
of storing souls in gemstones. McKenzie managed to copy that technique,
although crudely. But it was enough to spare the soul of damnation and to let
him fight again. He lives on, in me... I believe that's why I can weld the
sword..."
"And with his soul
comes-"
"His memories. Yes, Tanya,
that's right. And they hurt. They hurt very much. You can't imagine what pain
he went through. A Hero of the Imperium, indeed, but he was almost constantly
in physical or psychological pain."
"Deary me..."
Rolf nodded, silent. You need
not words any more. Tanya understood perfectly. She was silent for a while, and
then looked up in Rolf's eyes.
"Maybe you should get to
bed." She kissed him lightly on the mouth. "Come, I'll show you to
your quarters."
Rolf followed obediently, and
soon enough, he was fast asleep, just as his friends.
Charleston, however, nudged
McKenzie lightly, as the other boys were fast asleep. "Edward, wake
up!" he whispered.
McKenzie groaned and looked
round at Charleston. "What?"
"Ya know when that Gretchin
said that Ghazghkull was killed by Metallix, and so did Tanya."
"Mmm, so what?"
"The Grot said that it had
been on Ichar... But when Tanya spoke about it, it seemed to be on some central
world that he got killed. This messes things up for me..."
McKenzie was suddenly wide-awake.
When information got mismatched, he was soon awake. "You're absolutely
right, Ed... Maybe Tanya tries to hide things from us? She didn't even mention
that Necrons had gotten to Ichar..."
Charleston seemed ponderous for
a while. "Maybe... Maybe there was a Necron pyramid under one of Ichar's
hives? Armageddon had one in the middle of a jungle... And to a grot,
everything is big, right? He could have taken the Necrons leader for Metallix
and the Ork Warlords for Ghazghkull and Nazdreg. Easy to mix up, right?"
"Good explanation,
Ed..." McKenzie mumbled. "But we'll never know the truth, will we. This
is just a theory, right?" And a flawed one, McKenzie thought.
"Yeah."
"Good... Good. Go to sleep
now, commander."
Charleston did as he was told
and rolled over to his other side, and soon enough, he was sleeping too. McKenzie,
however, contemplated what truly was the truth for a long while, until he fell
asleep without noticing it...
The morning the next day, McKenzie had taken Johnny out of bed early, as
he wanted to avoid problems. McKenzie had a pack with him, which he'd slung
over his shoulder. It was full of food for Johnny and him and some other things
that McKenzie deemed necessary for Johnny's psychic training. McKenzie was
still pondering Charleston's comments from yesterday, when Johnny brought him
back to reality on Secondus.
"Where are we going,
McKenzie?" Johnny asked.
"It is time for some
serious psyker training on your behalf. So, therefore, we are going a bit away
from the base. I'd like it so, as there are rituals and such that blunts aren't
meant to know of."
"Blunts?" Johnny
asked.
"Psyker-slang for
none-psychic minds. Don't voice it aloud in their presence, okay?"
"Sure thing."
McKenzie did want to voice that
his real reason to conduct the training away from the base was if Johnny accidentally
blew something up or, even worse, conjured a deamon.
"So," McKenzie said,
showing the basket. "We'll be gone most of the day. Won't be back till
afternoon. I have the grub, but are you prepared for this, Johnny?"
"Yep, all set!"
McKenzie smiled softly at the
teenager. "Good. Follow me."
Johnny followed McKenzie to the motor
pool of the big base. It was about a quarter the size of the Death Angel's
Armoury, but still immense. There were tanks and other mechanical things strew
about, in pieces, everywhere. Tech priests in their murky red robes milled
about. Most had at least some sort of mechanical implant. Johnny saw several
chatting away with each other in Lingua Technis, their mechadendrites repairing
the vehicles they stood by. Mechadendrites was what McKenzie called the octopus-like
arms that were attached to the tech priests' bodies. They freaked Johnny out a
bit, to say the least.
McKenzie moved between the
down-mounted tanks and approached the magos in command of the tech priests. To
McKenzie's dismay, Masterson was with the half-mechanical magos.
"Commissar Masterson, what
are you doing here?" McKenzie asked, genuinely surprised at the short
commissar's presence. He lost some of his potency next to the powerful magos.
"Tough times. We all do
what we have to do, and thus I am the military arm supervising that Arilla here
does things right." Masterson replied, gesturing to the tech magos. McKenzie
greeted himself to the magos, exchanging courtesies in Lingua Technis.
"May I ask, Master
Lexicanum," Masterson said, wiping sweat from his brow as it was a warm
day. "What are you doing here?"
McKenzie indicated Johnny in his
flowing Eldarain robes. "I'm taking Johnny here for some... training. I
will request the use of a bike."
"Well, I can't see
any..." Magos Arilla began, but was told to shut up by Masterson, who
pointed a meaning finger at his brow, as to indicate that both McKenzie and
Johnny were psykers. Masterson turned and stared poisonously at McKenzie a
minute. Then he picked something up and stalked over to the Master Lexicanum. He
held out his arm and pointed the large wrench in it towards McKenzie's chest,
as if it was a blade. It almost touched the Marine's chest.
"You come back with that in
one piece, witch." Masterson snarled. "Anything fall off that bike,
I'll pull something off you and not even Arilla here will be able to replace
it! Understand?"
McKenzie studied the wrench
aimed at his chest and raised an eyebrow, before running a hand through his
thick black hair. "Very well, then," he said in a calm voice.
As McKenzie led the bike out,
under the watchful gaze of Masterson, Johnny glanced over his shoulder at the
glaring commissar.
"Charming type, that
Masterson," Johnny whispered.
McKenzie dared a glance over his
shoulder as they came out, but a truck moved from one end of the machine shop,
to the other, luckily obscured Masterson. "No kidding?" he said with
a sigh.
McKenzie tucked their stuff onto
the bike, produced a helmet for Johnny and clicked his own Space Marine helmet
in place. A few powerful kicks of the ignition and the twelve hundred cubic
centimetre motor roared into life. McKenzie knew how to do things and soon the
two were off at an alarming speed. McKenzie liked high speed. As they sped
along, he couldn't help himself but to think of his BMW on Terra.
I miss the BMW, he thought. Wonder
if it is possible to make a copy here? I miss the feeling it had. This bike,
give its due, is fine, but it has no true... feeling.
McKenzie shook the thought away
and concentrated on driving. They soon enough reached their destination, as
McKenzie preferred to keep at a speed of a hundred kilometres per hour. McKenzie
had studied several maps the night before, just before bed, and found the
perfect spot, nearly twenty kilometres from the main base. It looked, from the
air, like a shallow bowl about seven hundred metres across. There were several
fair-sized boulders strewn about in the pit. At the northern part of the pit,
the gentle slope of the pit became a steep wall from which a waterfall fell. The
water from it collected at the bottom of the pit. A small stream ran from the
pond, due south, and ran through the south slope of the pit where a small
wooded area took the pit's place. As to compensate the cliff on the north, the
south part had no slope upwards, though downwards.
"Perfect," McKenzie
said silently to himself as he removed his helmet. He turned to Johnny. "We're
here, Johnny. Unload your gear and we'll start."
Johnny did as he was told and
was soon ready. McKenzie led Johnny to a clear area in the pit.
"The first thing every
psyker has to learn is to ward off daemons. And the only way to learn that is
to live through the real thing: possession." McKenzie put unnecessary
stress on that last word, but he got the desired effect. Johnny winced
slightly.
McKenzie sat down best he could
in his power armour and made the sign of the Aquila as he intoned an Imperial
Litany of protection upon himself. He then closed his eyes and started
murmuring in a tongue Johnny did not like one bit. McKenzie suddenly made a
sweeping gesture towards Johnny, as if pointing guilt to him. The young Terran
suddenly felt he wasn't alone in his head anymore. There was another presence
in it. It had a strange voice. Sugar sweet but hoarse at the same time.
"Hello there,"
it spoke. Johnny shuddered. It was cold, soulless.
"Sweet little Johnny,"
the voice whispered. "I am prepared to give you whatever you want, just
ask, and I will grant you that. Want money? I'll give you that. Want a longer
life? I can grant that too."
McKenzie suddenly brought Johnny
from his reverie with the strange voice. "Fight the voice, Johnny. It is
the voice of a Tzeentchian deamon. Fight it, Johnny!"
"Don't listen to him. What can he give you? What can he do?"
the voice continued. "He's afraid of you, Johnny. He's afraid you'll
become a greater warrior than him. A greater psyker than him! He doesn't want
that. But I can help you rid the world of such a coward. I can make you achieve
whatever goals you want. I can wake your slumbering powers, but that fool
McKenzie wants not to!"
"Fight it, Johnny!" McKenzie's
voice rang out to Johnny from an eternity away it seemed. "Fight it,
Emperor damn it! Fight it!!"
"He claims to be your friend," the voice continued to
whisper in Johnny's mind. "He's not. He wants to stop your powers from
evolving. But I am your friend, no? I want you to become powerful, but he
doesn't."
"Frekkfrekkfrekkfrekk!"
McKenzie swore from somewhere. "Fight, damn it! You won't ever get a
second chance if you fail, Johnny! He wants nothing but your soul!"
"He's not your true
friend," the voice continued calmly, soothingly. "But I, I am
your true friend, isn't that so?"
Johnny seemed to come to a
conclusion in his ravaged mind. "No," he said quietly, but very
firmly. "My true friend is not you! It is not you, deamon filth!!"
The presence in his mind
recoiled a few seconds, but soon came back. It didn't speak soothingly now. It
screamed, wordless screams mixed with a cursed language, and it tore and bit at
Johnny's mind. Impossible pain, incorporeal pain, raged through Johnny's head
as the deamon attacked again and again, trying to weaken the resolve of the
human's mind. But Johnny endured; fighting the etherworlder back, knowing what
awaited if he was to give in. He felt the deamon at the very borders of his
mind as he fought it back. McKenzie's mind was suddenly there again, and he
once again spoke in the cursed tongue of Tzeentch.
"An'du ssa'ade
Gzoag'gilph'ulfduak!" McKenzie roared and the deamon disappeared. Johnny
fell to the ground, but McKenzie was soon beside him, pouring water into the
young lad's mouth.
"Was that a real deamon?" Johnny whispered. He felt
drained, worn and generally out of sorts.
"Yes, a lesser one. I am
amazed that you were able to withstand its temptation without any training
whatsoever."
"What was that you
spoke?" Johnny asked as he regained somewhat.
"Tzeentchian..."
McKenzie looked around. "It is always good to know some. Most Librarians
shun it utmost, but I'm not so orthodox in my ways. Some Dark Tongue is always
useful. I have banished many a deamon by uttering a banishment curse in the
Dark Tongue and their true names."
"Was that name its real
name?" Johnny asked astonished. "What did it mean?"
"I can't really tell you
that, as there aren't human words for it. Though the name it hides behind in
this realm is easier understood: Pain Wight."
Johnny nodded his assertion. The
two sat silent for a long while.
"Now," McKenzie broke
the silence between the two. "We shall go on to the next level. You have
already shown you possess some knowledge in telekinesis. Let's see how it is in
the reverse. To attack with psychic force."
"How do you do that?" Johnny
asked interested.
"Like this," McKenzie
said and without warning a large force swept Johnny off his feet and he landed
several metres away from McKenzie. The tall, slender Marine walked over to the
prone Terran. "That is what I mean with offensive psychics."
"Wow!" Johnny
exclaimed. "What a ride! How did you do that?"
McKenzie just tapped his
forehead. "I can perform such menial things as that with a nudge of my
head, but you'll need words and moves, Johnny. Until you reach a higher degree
of power, that is. Then you might just nudge your head to send your enemies
sprawling."
"So, what's the word?"
Johnny asked eagerly.
"Many Imperial psykers of
lesser power use High Gothic, though I prefer Eldar, as it gives a better
effect. And it is what I'll teach you. The word is 'ruuma' and you must
focus on the objective to be forced back."
"Alright," Johnny said
and turned and held his hand out towards one of the smaller rocks. "Ruuma!"
he shouted and the rock did move, though not far.
"Don't be disheartened, Johnny," McKenzie said happily. "No-one
can do it the first time they try. It is always try, try, and try again. One
more, and some more force into the word."
Johnny nodded sternly and
focused all his will into his outstretched arm. "RUUMA!"
he shouted and the rock flew backwards, knocking into another, larger rock and
splitting in half.
"Not bad!" McKenzie
said and grinned. "Not bad at all." McKenzie paused and Johnny saw
how he fixated the large rock that had been banged. A few seconds later, it
cracked open like an egg.
"Imagine that to be an enemy's skull, Johnny, and you will
get some measure of what power we possess," McKenzie said grimly. The
Marine walked down to the pond and Johnny followed obediently. McKenzie stopped
by the shore to the pond and extended a hand. What Johnny saw happening, he
scarcely believed. The water in the pond suddenly raised upwards, turning and
twisting in impossible forms. It took Johnny a while to realize, but McKenzie
was forming a gigantic water-serpent with the fluid, like a sculpture. McKenzie
turned to Johnny.
"Although we psykers are
extreme warriors when put to it, most of us prefer to lead quiet lives and to
develop other skills than those of war." McKenzie spoke softly, without
strain. This didn't take much of his concentration it seemed. McKenzie suddenly
pulled back his hand with a snap and raised the other hand. A ball of water
came out of the pond. It hovered before the water-serpent a few moments, until
McKenzie sent the ball flying straight into the serpent, shattering both in a
cascade of water. The serpent sunk back into the water with a splash that made
Johnny's robes wet all the way up to the knees.
"You try," McKenzie
said simply.
Johnny nodded and focused. It
was all a matter of focusing your will to one point. Johnny had realized that
early on. But it was much harder than it seemed.
"Try whispering the words
'linque oro'," McKenzie whispered softly.
Johnny uttered the Eldarain
words silently and the water began to rise. He could not form a serpent, but he
made one big sphere of it. On McKenzie's command, he let it go and it fell back
with a splash far greater than McKenzie's. It showered them both with water. Johnny
found himself with robes soaked in water and that clung distressingly to his
armour. McKenzie wiped his wet hair from his face.
"We might need to practice
on that part a bit..." he said and smiled warmly. McKenzie walked a few
paces away from the pond and sat down, cross-legged, wringing his hair of
water. He motioned to Johnny to take a seat opposite to him.
"Now what?" Johnny
asked eagerly. He wanted to know more.
"Telepathy and
scanning," McKenzie said and grinned.