>>6051259“What is there to record?” You glance around the forge. For maintenance, everything had been shut down. The small oil spritzer in your hands was probably the most complex machine in the room that was functioning. Even with your own powers of observation, there didn't seem to be much worth remembering at all.
“There is much to be seen that's hidden to the weak and unaugmented eye.” Alpha-Nought-5 turned back to his own maintenance duties. “Thermal essence, radioactive particles, even the psychic signature of living things.”
The oil rag in your hand pauses. “It's possible to detect such a thing with a machine?”
“All things are possible with the machine, A-414.” Alpha-Nought-5 droned. “It is called a psyocculum. My personal research into the pattern has allowed me to rediscover techniques that allow accuracies up to ninety-four percent in identifying psykers and those tainted by warpcraft.”
“...ninety-four percent?” You frown. “What's the baseline?”
“Forty percent based on instinctual revulsion alone.” Alpha-Nought-5 turned to you. “You can tell many things by the frequency and spectra of such readings, even beyond whether someone is merely tainted by the Warp or not. Emotional disturbances, a lack of faith, inferiorities of the spirit are all laid bare- the instinctive flesh reaction of ‘wrongness' can be quantified and measured, to borrow the analog term. We can see whether those around us are less than human.”
“...are you referring to me, Magos?” You try not to let the disappointment show on your face.
Alpha-Nought-5's wheels spun quickly for a moment as he looked you over. “No, initiate. I am not. Whatever psychic traits you may have, they are no different than those of any other person I have ever sampled. To me, at least, your humanity has never been in question.”
---
“Sacred geometries?” Trisa-Cant-8 grimaced behind her respirator, reaching up and gripping the great bronze chains hanging from the foundry gate with leather gloves. “That's what he's teaching you?” She pulled down with a grunt, servo-arm whining softly as it ripped the chain through it's mooring, exposing red-hot bronze to the air.
“Yes, what of it?” You frown, struggling to throw your share of the chain behind you with the same ease.
“Nothing.” She shrugged. “It's just that it's...” With a grunt, she heaved the mess of chains back, sending the lengths of metal spilling behind her. “Parlor tricks! Mystic communion that only exists as a parlor trick to impress guests.” Rather than let yourself be dragged with the hot metal, you simply let go, the metal clattering across the floor as the foundry gate opened and oozed molten metal down the spout. She turned back to you, waving a finger in your face. “It's superstitious nonsense that has no meaningful convergence with the Omnissiah, and don't let any of these illogical whelps imply otherwise.”
