Excuse me? Mr Herik? How and why exactly did you get so obsessed with birds? And your wings are so pretty
„Fanmail? Seriously?“
Duco whistles through his teeth in slightly mocking admiration as he continues to prepare a tissue sample with deft, incredibly quick movements. He finishes his task and straightens up. Brushing one of his long, black strands of hair from his snow-white, narrow face, he looks at Herik out of black eyes.
Herik, sitting huddled and very birdlike on a half-open area of the lab table, nods and hands his colleague the datapad.
As the Night Lord skims the few lines, the storm shutters over the skylights close far above them. The howling and pattering of one of the dust storms can only be heard muffled and the extra lights spring to life with a crackle and hum. Further back in the lab, some creatures in glass tanks begin to roar restlessly. Like every time the unnatural weather of the croneworld strikes with too much force.
„You‘re not going to tell your whole story, though?“ Duco hands the datapad back to Herik and goes to the sink to clean his tools. Bloody rivulets gurgle down the drain.
Herik shakes his head in his abrupt, birdlike way. „No. Who remembers the rebellion and Terra? The way it really was.“
Duco grins crookedly, showing sharply filed teeth. „Us.“
„Exactly. And I don‘t have to tell it to us again.“ He hums melodically to himself as Duco places the prepared sample on a steel tray and then sets off to disappear towards the main lab. He nods once more to Herik. „Yeah, there‘s really no need to keep rehashing the whole debacle.“
When he is alone, save for the eyes of quite a few creatures in tanks and terrariums in the corners of the room and the subliminal roar of the dust storm high above his head, Herik drags his clawed feet onto the table, perched there now like a beautiful, exotic bird of prey. Then he begins to write.
„The question is not when I started to be interested in birds. The question is rather - when was I not fascinated by them? And why else do so few people see it the same way? My Gene-sire bears the epithet of the most famous of all birds, and that‘s how I see him: as a mythical creature that burns itself out to emerge again and again. And that is what I have inherited from him. This urge to emerge anew. Something I use not only on myself, but also on my patients and my creatures. That is what led me to the Chief Apothecary. Because no one understands me in that sense like he does. He knows that not everyone is as they should be. That some beings, Astartes and humans alike, lack something to truly be themselves. Something they sense themselves but no one else sees yet. The Chief Apothecary has an almost psychic eye for this. He sees what is missing. What is wrong. And then he perfects.
I‘ve always wanted more than what a jump pack can give me - not that I was ever a Raptor. My Apothecary vocation has always outshone this underlying need. We Emperor‘s Children love speed in battle. Coupled with precision and absolute accuracy. What comes closer to that than a bird of prey? They are perfectly optimised to seize prey. To strike with ruthless speed. That is what I strive for.
It was only after Laer, when Lord Fulgrim opened the way for us to perfect ourselves, that I really felt the need to change so powerfully that I lived only to fulfil it. In those heady years leading up to the Siege and then on the way to the Eye, I laid the foundation for becoming who I really am. And to make it possible for others too.
But I too am only a work in progress. I cannot yet muster enough strength and endurance. I am not yet perfect. I have not yet reached my ideal. But I am experimenting.
And one day I will achieve what I want.“
He looks ahead of him for a while into the silence between the tables and the laboratory equipment. His claws scratch absently across the table. Then he shrugs, briefly spreads his wings to stretch and sends off his answer.
