met, Arkhas was almost an automaton in the way he fell in line. Now he came to this discussion with an articulated view, even offering examples from other Legions.
"At times, you'll be meeting with other societies, or even within the Imperium, where an honor guard is appropriate. Not only to add to the splendor of the meeting, but also to focus on potential threats. Twenty-two eyes are better than two, no matter how advanced your own may be."
That was reasonable. A ceremonial guard had a purpose; it could also serve as a mark of favor and a morale booster.
"The other situation is one where you become injured or must face a near-peer foe – an Ork warlord or some Dark Age of Technology abomination. Rogal Dorn has his Huscarls. The Angel has his Sanguinary Guard. Fulgrim has his Phoenix Guard. If Primarchs who have fought for decades in the Great Crusade deem it necessary, I believe you should follow in their footsteps."
Oh, very good.
"Well reasoned, Praetorate Fal. You may form a detachment as an honor guard; however, for them to be of use, we should carefully consider how they could assist me in battle. It would be impractical for them to follow me when I use my talents to infiltrate and eliminate enemy commanders. Instead, a rapid reaction force to get me out of difficult situations would be practical."
Arkhas was happy, I could tell, though a normal observer would not, as he kept his outward features neutral.
"I believe Jump Pack-equipped Astartes would be appropriate," he suggested. "They can be assigned to Shadowhawks and drop down on your location should you require aid. I would also suggest…"
We discussed the issue back and forth and ultimately settled on the 1st Company of the Raven Guard, unassigned to any Chapter and existing outside that structure as my elite praetorian guard. Most Companies were divided into squads of ten Astartes each. I would have two squads of Terminators, both for formal events and to be teleported in as necessary.
The other eighty Space Marines would be divided into four groups of twenty, each consisting of two squads. Four would pilot and operate the guns of each Shadowhawk, fifteen would be equipped with Jump Packs and the most lethal weaponry, and each two-squad group would include a lone Space Marine operating a Xiphon to help clear the skies for exfiltration.
"This has been productive, Arkhas. I appreciate you bringing me ideas like this. Please continue to look for ways to improve our Legion."
My grateful XO left, and I readied my senses and established the link to the helmsman. I had been semi-debating just piloting the Shadow of the Emperor myself, as my Primarch-powered brain had quickly learned how, but I didn't want to disrupt things too much.
The translation into the Warp was always jarring, but once there, I focused on my task and was surprised. The Warp was full of currents, and the more stable ones were called Warp Lanes. Much of the diaspora of humanity had followed those paths. The turbulent unreality sometimes led to storms occluding these lanes. Historically, some ancient Navigator records said Warp Lanes could lose stability and even disappear over time, but that was rare and happened over centuries.
My initial inclination was to travel toward one of the Warp Lanes, use its powerful current, slip out of it, and arrive quickly. Only… the path before me was calmer than I had ever felt. There was not a storm or churning on the horizon – just incredibly fast eddies that should allow us to arrive in less than two days.
Fortunate. I had anticipated it would take over a week, and that was with me willing to take some risk.
I advised my command staff of the updated timetable. My Legion typically kept busy, quite the driven bunch of workaholics. My Techmarines continued to train Forgemarines and get them up to speed. My officers reviewed archived battle reports. Equipment was checked and maintained. Sparring took place in the dueling cages, and more. Even compared to the elites in my second life, the Raven Guard was as mission-focused as they could be. Downtime wasn't for leisure; it was for honing their razor's edge.
When we exited the Warp at Mandeville Point, the closest possible distance to our target without risking gravitational confluence damaging the ship as realspace reasserted itself, we went to full burn toward our objective. We could now send lightspeed communications to any survivors on the planet.
That, of course, wasn't instant; we would need to wait hours for a response. My Librarians could have used their talents to reach out with Psyker abilities, but that required a Librarian on the other end. The Iron Warriors did not have a Librarius, which probably did not bode well for my interactions with their Primarch.
"What can you sense Captain Anet?" I asked the Thousands Sons Librarian.
He had given up attempts to convince me he could see the future, but he did have quite an affinity for what one might call scrying. No, he didn't gaze into a pool of water and see images from afar, but he was able to sense life, detect the resonance of visual stimulation, and provide me data while we waited for a response.
"They yet live, Lady Corax, though lessened. The Imperial Army regiments with them are wiped out, but I do sense a Mechanicum contingent has survived."
We still had some days of travel left to arrive now that we were in the system itself. There was no sign of the Aeldari. The Expeditionary Fleet survivors had fled to another system with what remained of their vessels, and the planet's human population had no fleet presence at all, either because they had already been destroyed or because they never had any.
I'll know more soon.
***
Harkor, Warsmith of a Grand Battalion, did not allow bitterness to overwhelm him. It was difficult, as his perfectly placed siege engines had been destroyed by the perfidious bombardment. Basilisks, Medusas, Thunderstrike Cannons, and even a prized Typhon Heavy Siege Tank had been lost. Harkor had very nearly lost his own life.
Iron within, Iron without.
Like all those who commanded Iron Warrior Grand Battalions, he had not been lax in establishing his own defensive fortifications in case of a proper sally or assault from the lesser cities of this obstinate patch of humanity. Trenches, bunkers, underground bastions, ceramite walls reinforced with adamantine supports, and Void Shield generators had allowed them to survive the initial deluge of death from the sky.
While the loss of all the heavy siege equipment was total, the majority of the Astartes had used that time to retreat into the tunnels and disperse. Eventually, the Eldar left orbit, and then the humans of Haval attacked.
The enemy used augmented soldiers, much like the Skitarii under the command of Magos Indomex. Their aim and reflexes were nearly equal to those of Astartes, though their durability was lacking. They wore hardened metallic armor, but it was sorely inadequate against layers of ablative ceramite, and bolters made short work of them.
The cyborg creatures were only one element of the enemy's forces. They attacked with small, analog-controlled machines that suicided into Space Marines. The explosive force was often not enough to kill, but by targeting the head, they took a toll. Indomex called them 'drones,' and there seemed to be no end to them.
The enemy tanks carried lascannons of similar make to those used by the Imperium. These, naturally, could slay an Iron Warrior in a single strike. The tanks themselves, however, were easier to dismantle than those of the Imperial Army or Astartes. All told, the enemy would have been manageable were it not for the Xenos fleet. Manageable for his Iron Warriors, at least – the Imperial Army regiment that had served as their auxilia had been all but wiped out. Even so, the enemy's numbers were beginning to tell, and supplies were dwindling.
Harkor had led his Astartes into the mountains, where the enemy tanks would have difficulty reaching them. Most were out of bolter munitions, and it had come down to chainswords, lightning claws, power weapons, and scavenged arms from Haval soldiers. These weapons were not operable with the bulk of a Space Marine's gauntlet. Removing the gauntlet to wield a laughably smaller weapon was what they had been reduced to – just to continue fighting against tens of thousands of enemy infantry and an equal number of drones.
"Based on optimal performance," the robotic-sounding voice of the Magos echoed, "we will not survive another week."
"Do not underestimate my Legion," Harkor growled. "You are correct that the situation is grim. Our efficiency in using inferior weaponry is diminished. The last message we received told us that the Astropaths had contacted the main fleet. Perturabo will come."
Indomex looked at him from behind his mask. The whirling servo-arms whipped to and fro, seemingly without purpose.
"I am highly specialized in STC inspection, review, and handling. If I were to fall, Sacred Mars would have to assign another and have them join a fleet to this region. The delay is unacceptable." The voice paused for a moment. "Instead of relying on your gene-progenitor to arrive in time, you should assault the forces making their way through this range."
"What? Have your cogitators failed? We lose all the advantage of the terrain; we will be at their mercy."
The response was swift. "Yes. It will cause the surviving Legiones Astartes to die. It will buy time for me to evade this field of battle. My loss will cause greater inefficiency than yours."
Harkor twitched, his instinctive desire to slam his fist into the freakish thing before him almost overriding many decades of ironclad discipline. Balancing his humors, he took a slow and steady breath.
"I do not care for your analysis. I have command, and I will not rush forward and waste the lives of my command to give you a slightly greater chance."
An hour later, salvation arrived in the form of a broadcast from the Nineteenth Legion. Now, they just needed to stay alive long enough for their brother Legion to reach them.
***
I was weighing a few options for what to name my guard. They weren't active yet, but a strong name would enhance the morale boost that came with being selected for such a prestigious posting. At the moment, I was aboard a Shadowhawk, descending toward the capital with several Moritat squads. The Iron Warriors had been kind enough to fill me in on what had been happening.
They had been making good progress with the siege before the bombardment. With so many of the enemy forces descending on the mountainous holdout Warsmith Harkor had selected, their seat of power should now be vulnerable.
I would not be abandoning the Iron Warriors, but I would personally be dropping into the city with my stealth teams while Praetorate Fal led the effort to rescue the warriors of the 4th Legion. The first wave would consist of me alone. The Sable Armor, combined with my strange genetic quirk, would allow me to infiltrate with ease. The Raven Guard were skilled stealth specialists, but their physical presence on-site was several orders of magnitude more likely to be detected than mine.
Once I was in and had found what I was looking for, they would take up positions. If alarms were triggered, I would act. If they weren't, we would wait for the preordained time and strike together, paralyzing their command and annihilating what defenses they had left, while simultaneously securing the STC fragment or templates the Mechanicum believed the world possessed.
It isn't guaranteed they even have one. The cyborgs, the augmented foot soldiers of Haval, have more sophisticated reflexes and targeting systems than those used by the Mechanicum. While they believe this must be the result of lost technology, it's possible the locals simply invented something better. Either way, as long as we don't completely destroy this place, we should be able to secure it.
I checked my equipment as the Shadowhawk opened for me to drop from the sky. My power lance was deactivated but ready to be activated at a moment's notice. My Archeotech laspistol named 'Fatal' rested at my fingertips. I also carried a pair of shroud bombs, two Krak grenades, and, given the nature of my task, a few tools I hoped would let me access their cogitator data-ports. Dataspikes were notoriously unreliable when dealing with branches of humanity that had been isolated for any length of time, but it was better than nothing.
Arriving in the city, I easily bypassed any augurs they had and quickly got my bearings. Not every city on every world placed its military headquarters at the center, but most did, and this was no exception. The grim darkness of this universe meant everyone valued defense in depth when preparing for potential hostiles.
I only had a few hours, but that was all I needed. I located their command and control and even waited to listen to their terrified scramble as they realized new foes had arrived. Their language was similar enough to one of the thousands I knew; after a minute, I understood it perfectly.
They are desperately scrambling for new reinforcements. Interestingly, they are 'producing' more of their cybernetic warriors by converting regular people into them, and the process requires lengthy surgery followed by time for acclimation. One general is demanding that the process be rushed, but based on the rebuttal, that is impossible.
The ordained time came, and I began by plugging in the Dataspike. I stayed close, wondering if my proximity would help conceal its intrusion. After several moments, their systems began to slow as what amounted to a computer virus interfered with their workings. As alarms blared to life, I initiated the execution.
The room held roughly a dozen important people and scores of what I would consider regular staff without decision-making power. There were a number of highly augmented guards, and I knew hundreds more were nearby. I drew 'Fatal' and fired several rounds at the most important individuals while powering up my Power Lance. Even as it flickered on, I was already driving it through seven individuals, pinning them to it like some grotesque human shish kebab.
Terror bloomed in the room as I dealt death. The guards attempted to fire their energy rifles, but I flung my grisly seven as the lance came to life. I moved through the fleeing command staff, killing them with my power weapon, my bulk, or my laspistol. In seconds, the entire room was devoid of life, save for me.
The Dataspike was still working, trying to override the system. I accessed their communication devices and sent out commands to surrender. Some may have complied, but the real purpose was to demoralize and confuse the enemy.
As more guards arrived, I burst through the ceiling with my armored bulk and then slashed back down, descending on a squad of twenty. Despite the heavy adamantine alloy their elite guards wore, none could stand before my sudden onslaught.
My merciless slaughter continued, and soon the nearby guard posts were emptied of soldiers. I checked back on the Dataspike and, annoyingly enough, it seemed stymied.
Ah well, time to locate it the hard way.
Explosions roiled throughout the city as power systems failed and enemy soldiers were taken unawares. I flew directly toward the area where the cybernetic implants were performed, my sophisticated acceleration device getting me there quickly. I blitzed past the lascannon turrets, speared one with my Power Lance, and wrecked ruin upon it. I wanted to find the STC fragment, or perhaps just the hard copies of the template.
Automated defenses were, strangely enough, even more sophisticated here than at their command HQ. I activated The Sable Armor, and the laser turrets, pict-viewers, augurs, and the lights themselves went dark. Soldiers converged, and I debated with myself whether I should simply avoid them, which I could do easily.
If I don't kill them, someone else will probably have to.
This whole operation reminded me of Dacia. They had no clue and no weaponry that could match my Mage Battalion. In a very similar way, these foes suffered just as much. No sooner had that thought coalesced than a new enemy presented itself. As I butchered the cyborg foot soldiers, a new and distinctive one appeared.
Bright silver, in contrast to the dull grays and blacks of most of the augmented. Standing nearly as tall as me, its mechanical servos moved almost completely silently as it raced toward me, some sort of Power Blade held aloft. It was a blur, not due to its speed, but due to some sort of optical interference designed for foes to misread its actual location. It moved fast, but I was faster.
My spear nearly struck its face, but the Power Sword parried at the last second, pushing my thrust slightly off target. I felt a blaze of Psyker power emanate from the blade as the two weapons clashed. In less than a split second, a thrust of Psyker energy tried to invade my mind, but it was shunted away. My Power Lance exchanged several more blows, and I sent a tendril of disrupting formulae at it while I danced with my foe.
I was better, and my weapon found purchase – only for the killing thrust to turn into a glancing blow thanks to the internal refraction shielding of my opponent's armor. A glancing blow from a Primarch was still deadly, and bits of flesh along with a large chunk of metallic circuitry were scraped off. The silvery foe staggered back, and I fired my laspistol several times, striking the visor of its helmet. The head jerked back, and my next thrust pierced the advanced armor and speared straight through.
The blade clattered to the ground, and I secured it. As I touched the hilt, I felt a Psychic intrusion emitting from the eye-catching weapon. I sent another series of disrupting formulae. The sensation was odd but I could almost hear a wail despite no actual auditory sensation. I would need to put this in stasis when I returned to my ship. There was so much about the Dark Age of Technology that did not understand, but it acted very different than any weapon I had ever picked up.
Mystery aside, I had a STC fragment to find.
***
Thousands of drones streaked toward the descending Thunderhawks and Stormbirds. Arkhas had been forewarned of them, and he watched with satisfaction as whole swathes of the devices were ripped to shreds by Xiphon Interceptors and the massed firepower. Even when the drones managed to make it through the hail of fire, the damage was minimal.
He watched in satisfaction as thousands of Astartes reaped a heavy toll on the enemy. The augmented humans fell quite easily. The only real challenge was the enemy tanks, which fired lascannons, but they too were vanquished once the larger landers deployed the Land Raiders and Dreadnoughts. Heavy weapon squads of the Raven Guard also proved sufficient to the task.
The enemy did not surrender, and no quarter was given. The Iron Warriors showed themselves and helped aid in the slaughter, though it was strange to see the 4th Legion resort to almost solely melee weaponry.
Arkhas snapped out orders and had several squads reload onto Thunderhawks to head to his Primarch's location. The heavy armor would begin driving straight for it, too, though they would be hours behind. In the meantime, he linked up with Warsmith Harkor.
Arkhas saw that the Iron Warrior commander's Mark III armor was a scarred relic of several days of near-continuous battle. The cog-toothed skull of the Iron Warriors was etched proudly on his breastplate. He had removed his helm, revealing ash-colored hair and pale skin.
The Terran-born Raven Guard stretched forth his hand to shake, and after a moment, the Warsmith reciprocated.
"You have our thanks. Where is your Primarch? I was told the Master of the Nineteenth was leading the reinforcements."
He pointed back toward the city. "There. She's leading the assault now. Based on your accounts, she figured they would have been emptied of most of their soldiers after they pushed you back."
A member of the Mechanicum stalked forward. Arkhas was never fully comfortable around Tech-Priests, too strange and inhuman-like.
"No, no! She mustn't risk the STC!"
Arkhas surged forward, hand gripping the tattered crimson robe.
"You will not be telling my lady what she can and cannot do. She is aware of what the people of this world may have, and that is why she is there and not here. She can walk the shadows as if she were born unto them."
The Magos shifted slightly as he was released. "If the enemy defenses have been breached, then I must go now and ensure its safety."
Arkhas looked to Harkor. "He was assigned to your Expedition Fleet. What say you?"
"I am the…" the Magos was cut off by the Iron Warrior.
"Take him, and I will join you. I am eager to see this foe crushed underneath the iron of my boot."
The Magos and his artificial voice box displayed static. "There is no iron within your boot, Astartes."
The two Space Marines from differing Legions shared a glance and a wry shake of the head.
"My men need ammunition."
"It will be provided, identify your second and we will ensure they are supplied. Our egress from this location comes in 240 seconds."
Chapter 10
He is anything but subtle. He plays a dangerous game and tangles the weaves of destiny. The skein is occluded; we know not when it will reappear. Its fate was dark, but it was known. Now we know not what horrors it will cause in the future. And do you know what he said to me when I accused him of bumbling malice?
He merely asked. 'What future?'
-Unknown
The Magos was thrilled that I had found the hololithic copies of the STC fragment the people of Haval had used for their reflex enhancers. It was an interesting piece of technology that allowed implants to use direct line-of-sight sub-optical light beams to process information from the nervous system to implanted cogitators.
While it was a disappointment that they didn't have a true, intact STC terminal, the odds of that were always low. The copies were potentially useful to the Mechanicum and could theoretically improve the performance of their Skitarii. I say "potentially" because the information still needed to be processed, and the necessary interface and computing power were not free. Either way, mission accomplished.
The second bit of good fortune was that it wasn't the only schematic copy they had. I couldn't be sure they weren't duplicates of designs the Mechanicum already possessed but had yet to approve, yet they represented a variety of useful enhancements to radiation cleanup acceleration and filtration devices.
I also managed to save 2,892 intact Iron Warrior Space Marines. Two additional Iron Warriors were interred in Dreadnoughts from my own stock, bringing the total number of survivors to 2,894. In addition, most of the world was now in Compliance. After their primary city and fabrication zone were conquered, all but two of the major cities surrendered – representing over 95% of the population. The final two continued to resist, but even without my Raven Guard, eliminating them would be trivially simple.
It would probably be easiest to simply bombard the two remaining cities from orbit, but their continued resistance suggests they may be holding out hope for something, perhaps the return of the Aeldari warships.
To that end, I had both Battle Barges equipped with Reflex Shields, as well as Shadow of the Emperor, my personal flagship, cloaked. I kept one Battle Barge, two Light Cruisers, and three Destroyers and Frigates in orbit around the planet. If the enemy returned to try to repeat their earlier success, they would be in for a wicked surprise.
We can let those cities sit there for now.
I was cognizant of the time. I was ahead of schedule, but not by much. Having my largest fleet idle instead of taking more worlds gnawed at me. I had also taken some losses, though they were reasonable at less than a company's worth of Astartes and two Xiphon Interceptors. It would be worth it if we could destroy the Xenos fleet so near my own zone of control, secure the gratitude of a fellow Primarch, and hopefully make the Mechanicum less ill-disposed about no longer getting to run Kiavahr.
Now three days into my waiting game, a vast fleet arrived at the Mandeville Point. Led by the Iron Blood, the Gloriana-class battleship and Perturabo's personal flagship, over fifty capital ships emerged. Many of these were Battle Barges and Grand Cruisers, while smaller capital ships such as Strike Cruisers were notably absent. I also counted seventy-two frigates and thirty-eight destroyers.
I'm getting fleet envy, and I know that prior to leaving Terra they had multiple splinter fleets!
I lowered the Reflex Shields and sent a communication to my brother Primarch. No doubt I would soon meet the second of the sixteen fellow Primarchs who had been found. From Horus, I knew that Perturabo was a brilliant master of siege warfare, though grim and taciturn in person. He was highly task-oriented, something I was generally a fan of.
What I was not a fan of was the punishment he had inflicted on his underperforming Legion when he was found and declared the gene-father of the 4th Legion. He had them undergo a brutal winnowing called decimation. Literally from its ancient roots, which I was probably one of the few people who still knew, it meant one in ten. Roman Legions used this as a punishment for mutiny. Evidently, even almost thirty thousand years later, people still held to this tradition as a form of discipline.
Perturabo had every squad draw lots. The unlucky loser of the one-in-ten odds was then beaten to death by his brothers. The brutality of it would bother most people, but I wasn't that soft. Death was death, whether from a beating or a bolt to the head – it didn't matter much. What mattered was that he killed ten percent of his fighting force. All those precious human resources, the wealth of experience and battle-tested grit, wasted.
Hopefully, he had bonded with his Legion since then. It was one thing to kill thousands you had just met; it was another to kill loyal subordinates who had served you for decades. I could find no sign that Perturabo had repeated the event. Ultimately, I decided to keep my feelings to myself. It wouldn't serve my purposes, and starting our working relationship on the wrong foot would not be wise.
***
Perturabo, Lord of Iron, The Breaker, The Hammer of Olympia, was incensed. He was the one called upon to help his lesser brothers take worlds. His Legion cracked fortresses and secured ultimate victory. The sheer audacity of another Primarch to suggest that his Iron Warriors needed support was a vile insult.
She arrived so swiftly she must have been waiting for the chance to seek glory by coming to the Fourth Legion's aid. Is she as vainglorious as Russ and Dorn?
He would descend onto the planet and see with his own eyes the ruination left by the battle. The data feed detailing the months of siege, the Aeldari bombardment, and finally the arrival of the Raven Guard only further angered him.
The distress signal by the surprised Astropaths in the few vessels that had survived had gone in all directions throughout the Warp, no doubt many of his other brothers would learn of this… this… humiliation. It was bad enough that his pathetic excuse for sons had to be rescued, but to have the Raven Guard do in a single day was particularly galling. All their hard-earned work of wearing away the enemy defenses would be overshadowed by this fledgling newfound Primarch.
Days later, when he was on the surface of Haval, he was met by Tanya Corax. Her appearance was strange. There were no female Astartes. From a coldly analytical view, she did not even seem a Primarch, but Perturabo could sense the latent power in her limbs and the surety of her gaze. She was one of them, even if diminutive in comparison.
Next to her stood a Techmarine and a warrior clad in Terminator armor. With them was the Magos Indomex. He nearly growled. The entire delay in taking this world was due to their damned obsession with the potential STC fragment. The Fabricator-General of Graia had urgently requested that Perturabo halt his current campaign and resolve the issue on Haval.
The gathering that arrayed to greet him was even larger. Three of His Custodian Guard stood there, their parade armor flawless. For a moment, Perturabo nearly stumbled over the unfairness of it all. This newfound Primarch was given His personal guardians? The Emperor's own, there to glorify and uplift the Nineteenth Legion? Not his own, after all he had done? The next figure was a Thousand Sons Astartes, a Legion Perturabo found difficult to work with, despite Magnus being one of the few brothers he could tolerate.
The Warsmith he had left in command was also there. Harkor dropped to a knee and bowed his head as Perturabo approached. His sister smiled at him.
She mocks me. She revels in my shame.
"Hello, Perturabo. I am pleased to meet you. You are only the second brother I have met, and I am eager to get to know you."
He stared at her and stepped forward, almost directly looking down at her. The two Raven Guard at her side shifted their weight at the proximity.
"Are you pleased with yourself?" His words were terse.
Her mocking smile widened. "Yes, I only regret that I could not arrive even sooner. I was impressed by the strength of your Legion's fortifications. Had my Raven Guard been besieging the city, there would have been far fewer survivors."
Like Fulgrim, she enjoys her sly double-meanings. Her intent is plain: masked in a compliment, she implies that for her Legion no siege would have been necessary. It is an unfair comparison. Yes, she took the city in a day, but she is a Primarch. Moreover, the enemy had moved most of their formations out of the city to attack the Grand Battalion.
Honor demanded he thank her for what she had done. It stuck in his throat. He couldn't force himself to say it. Perturabo had other tasks he could carry out while he mustered the will to speak the expected gratitude to the smirking face before him.
"Warsmith Harkor, muster what is left of your Grand Battalion." His words were hard as iron. "You have failed me. Cast the lots for decimation."
"What?" Tanya hissed.
Perturabo turned from Harkor and looked at the outraged eyes of his sister.
"They failed. Punishment must be meted out for failure so that my warriors do not repeat this travesty."
She looked to Harkor and then back to him. "This is a criminal waste of Astartes resources. They were left without a fleet to protect them. How was Warsmith Harkor to know that the elusive Aeldari would attack from the void?"
His fraying temper snapped, and he grabbed the shoulder of her armor. "Every word you speak is an insult to my Legion! Have care, sister, I can only be pushed so far."
She took a breath. "Warsmith Harkor, would you feel shame and disappointment if your Primarch banished you from his Legion to serve with another?"
"I would. I am loyal to the Iron Warriors. Being removed from the presence of my brothers and gene-father would be mark of disgrace."
"There." Tanya's eyes flashed with triumph. "Have them cast their lots. But instead of killing nearly three hundred Astartes, give them to me. Exile them from your Legion."
The thought was a foreign one to Perturabo's mind. It was ridiculous. Was this some twisted barbed jest?
"It would interfere with discipline. Decimation is the price, not exile. I will not have my warriors go soft."
"Look," she said in a more soothing tone. He heard the velvet but knew the cut was coming. "I am not one to go running to Malcador demanding recompense for helping a brother. The reality is, you owe me. Beyond just the surviving Space Marines, you also have much of their gene-seed of the fallen intact, and a world now almost fully agreed to Compliance. Give me the ones you had intended to kill; it will still be viewed as a punishment. Beyond those present, it can even be our little secret."
It angered him to listen to her crow over her victory. In a moment of clarity, he understood the byplay taking place. She was promising not to spread the tale of her humiliation of his Legion. She was offering him a way to hide the indignity. Receiving a bit shy of three companies of his Space Marines was a pittance and not what she was after. Saving over twenty companies of his Space Marines, completing the mission his Legion had been assigned, and securing over six thousand gene-seeds was worth far more.
Yes, she is like Fulgrim in the way she twists words, but she is also like Horus in how she plans ahead to further her own aims.
"You will keep this hidden from sight unless asked by the Emperor himself?" Perturabo asked in a demanding tone. "No one will know of the decimation being exile? No one will know it was you who secured this world?"
"If I get what I want, yes." She glanced over at the others. "I am sure the Custodian Guard will not speak of it, and Captain Anet will swear himself to secrecy, and the Mechanicum will not share. I will not have the Iron Warriors who join wear your colors; instead, they will simply be ordinary members of my Raven Guard. No archivists will ever make a record of it." She shook her head. "Your legacy of discipline will remain intact."
If she gets what she wants? Why can she not just speak plainly? Or is this one of those games like the hawkers on Olympia used to play? They had a price in mind, but would gladly let a would-be customer pay double by concealing their true intent.
As he stared at her, she waited patiently and then gave a hint of what she was after. "In fact, I will be leaving shortly. My initial intent was to use my Reflex Shield–capable vessels to potentially bait an attack from the Xenos, but my fleet is not so large as yours, and I have my own Compliance campaigns to consider." Her smile flashed again. "Not all of us have had the opportunity to build up shipyards like the ones on Olympia, a remarkable achievement given the limited technology it had when the Emperor found you. Besides, it would be best to leave before the iterators come and there are more eyes upon my Raven Guard."
Ah, that is what you are after.
He had heard that the Mechanicum was not administering Kiavahr. He rarely paid much attention to whispers that the human elements of the Expedition Fleets he led discussed. His preternatural hearing and perfect memory made it impossible not to pick up tidbits fleet officers, Tech-Priests, Imperial Army officers, and serfs spoke of.
Distaste for the Mechanicum and their dogmatic approach to technology was a grudging point in her favor. The technology of Mars was advanced, and he suspected there was nearly unmatched brilliance among the higher ranks, but the lower-level overseers and functionaries he regularly interacted with knew naught but rote routines.
"The shipyards on Kiavahr," Perturabo ground out. "I will visit them personally along with the material needed to begin proper construction as gratitude for our agreement."
Her eyes grew wide. Was she surprised? Did she think so little of him that he would not acknowledge her Legion's efforts despite the insult? Did she think him a prideful fool like the Lion? A relentless war dog like Angron without the niceties of civilization?
Do Ut Des. I am no savage. Though my brothers have never honored me for my efforts, I will not stoop to their level, but I will remember what you did, Corax.
"I am glad we understand each other, brother. This has been a most productive meeting."
***
Perturabo was not what I had expected. Given the level of biologically engineered loyalty of gene-seed recipient to gene-seed originator, his level of harsh discipline within his Legion was simply not necessary. He had seemed petrified at the idea that even some small mercy would be shown, that he bargained a grand prize in exchange for keeping the mercy of exile a secret.
It borders on the ludicrous, but I will take what I can get.
The Lord of Iron was a genius when it came to building and renovating structures. As part of my ravenous consumption of knowledge, I had studied well how things were fabricated and where the centers of industry were in the galaxy. Perturabo had captured enemy shipyards in one of his earliest campaigns. Dragging the entire set of superstructures, he had modified them for Imperium shipbuilding. The Olympian dockyards could now compete with Mars in the construction of the largest vessels in the Imperium.
Mars, naturally, could construct a Gloriana-class Battleship while also producing Titans, endless armaments, tanks, fighters, and dozens of lesser capital ships at the same time, while Olympia had nowhere near the industrial output to accomplish so many feats simultaneously. Yet even a single Gloriana-class Battleship was a feat of monumental engineering.
The fact that he was also bringing material to help build it and leaving behind his most technologically minded warriors was also a tremendous boon. I also had 289 new warriors to induct into the Raven Guard. I was honest in my agreement; the fact that they were not Raven Guard would be kept as secret as one could make it, given the realities. However, I would be carefully marking them out and tracking their progress, as well as making use of their gene-seed.
I had some concerns the natural loyalty-bond between Space Marine and Primarch for new Astartes made from that gene-seed might be missing, but cultural conditioning and the natural desire to fit in and win the respect of peers would hopefully prevent any real issues. After all, even before the Primarchs were found, their Legions performed quite well and were fanatically loyal.
Returning to the sector of space I had originally been working in; I was somewhat disappointed the return trip through the Warp did not have a current nearly as swift. It did give me some time to meet with the Iron Warriors turned Raven Guard. As was suspected, they were both dispirited at being separated from their brothers but also grateful to continue their service to the Emperor.
Since it was drawn by random lot, I mostly acquired standard file Astartes. Two individuals stood out—a Captain and an Apothecary. Captain Drenos Klytor veered more toward the grateful than the bitter. I had something interesting in mind for him. Within the next year, the first batch of recruits I had left on Terra would be arriving, calm Warp permitting, and I wanted to create a new unit to represent the disparate elements of my Legion.
"Captain Klytor, I wanted to discuss your new assignment to the Raven Guard. I could have had you lead all the Iron Warriors, but I want you all to become proper members of the Raven Guard and not carve out pockets where your otherness may create friction."
He bowed his head. "I understand the wisdom of this."
"Good. The makeup of your company will be Legion standard, ten squads of ten. Two squads will be drawn from your Iron Warrior brethren; you may select who you desire, save for Apothecary Zoltar. Three squads will be drawn from Raven Guard who were born on Terra, three squads will be drawn from Deliverance-born Astartes, and the final two squads will be Terran-born, but they will be those who are using the newer gene-seed synthesis from my genetic material."
He was stoically still, but based on the subdermal twitch, I sensed his curiosity.
"You have a question?"
"We only heard the vaguest of rumors… but when you say newer gene-seed, do you mean after you were," he struggled to find a good word, "altered?"
"Yes. I'm not like my brothers, but I was supposed to be. Sanguinius was not supposed to have wings, but he does. It will be an experiment to see how they do. Reports back from Terra say that they took to their new organs well enough; however, they are on average of slightly smaller stature than normal Astartes."
How very spiteful of Being X to curse my genetic legacy to permanent pettiness. It no longer bothers me personally since, except for my brothers, I am taller than others.
"Will I be able to select my officers?"
"For the most part. Some of my comrades during the uprising on Deliverance will be joining you. Branne Nev will be one of your lieutenants. After a few years, he will lead his own company. In the interim, I'd like you to learn how we do things and, at the same time, teach other members of the Raven Guard siege tactics. We obviously know how to attack and defend bastions, but your Legion has a niche, and I would be foolish not to have you spread your knowledge."
"Yes, Lady Corax. You will not regret taking us into your Legion." His voice was fervent.
Pleased with his attitude, I dismissed him and turned to the strange sword I had picked up from Haval.
I pulled it out in my quarters and looked at it. It was 1.5 meters in length, which would have made it a two-hander for a normal human; however, the design of the blade made me think it was intended to be wielded in one hand. It was a straight blade without curve, and the hilt contained circuitry of a design I was unfamiliar with. Blackened adamantium wire was coiled around the core. A simple touch to the jeweled hilt activated its disruptive field.
I examined it in detail with lenses enhancing my already keen sight. It was not something Mars had made in the last several millennia – either Xenos or from the Dark Age of Technology. I attempted to strip away slivers of the blade, but the metal was resistant even to the highest setting on the laser drill. The blade could bend, but only to a certain point. I was almost tempted to see if I could snap it, but that seemed a waste.
Hours into my study, I felt the intrusion in my thoughts again.
Is it a rudimentary Abominable Intelligence that has Psyker-level capabilities?
I expanded my senses, trying to read the formulae it was trying to use. I had some success observing the likes of Librarian Bronov and Captain Anet. Bronov was the easiest; it was simple manipulation of basic industries. Fire, lightning, kinetic barriers, and the like were straightforward. Anet's 'scrying' ability was different, and I still struggled to make sense of the formulae he subconsciously was using.
The same sort of thing was happening with this weapon. The more I strained to observe it, the more elusive it proved to be, and then I once more felt, rather than heard, a cross between a whimper and a wail.
I wiped at my nose, and my hand came away with blood.
Strange, my passive sensing doesn't normally fatigue me like when I actively use Psyker abilities. That was why I was able to help steer us through the Warp channels without issue.
I thumbed the Power Sword on and lashed out into the air a few times. It seemed a natural enough thing to want to test it out, only something made me pause. I was moving a bit too quickly then what my game plan was. I frowned, turned it off, placed it in a stasis field, and locked it into a gene-coded lockbox I kept in my quarters.
Next time I was on Terra, I'd see what the Emperor's artificers would make of it. I was a big believer in experimentation, but a potential A.I. that could use Psyker powers was a dangerous thing. So far, it felt like it was reaching out to me, which was likely a proximity vector, but Psyker abilities could occasionally leap distances beyond what one might think. Who was to say it wouldn't try to interfere with other people when it failed against my mind?
***
It had been months since the Primarch had successfully rescued the Iron Warriors contingent. Diago Malov's time had been pulled in a variety of directions. From studying the copy of the STC fragment, finishing the final touches on the Primarch's new weaponry, and adding the Iron Warrior adoptees' pool of knowledge, there really was never a down moment.
The Iron Warriors as a whole seemed more inclined toward the intellectual rigor of being a Forgemarine than the standard Raven Guard member. It was a matter of averages, not absolutes, but it was a fascinating resource. Given the Primarch of the 4th Legion's preternatural understanding of technology and intellect, it only made sense that his sons would inherit a predilection for it as well – just as the sons of Vulkan inherited his massive height and strength in comparison to every other Legio, save for the 20th, who were also massive.
When the final Primarch is found they will almost certainly be on par with Lord Vulkan, or perhaps stand mightier still.
Several of the Iron Warriors had expressed interest and fascination with the idea of leading retinues of mortal scientists in the pursuit of innovative weaponry, defenses, and enhancements. He had spoken with the lodge master about inducting many of the new warriors into the Legion, as, like him after his time on Mars, they would likely feel adrift. The lodge was still considering it, as some felt uncomfortable with bringing in 'outsiders' before they'd been blooded in battle alongside their new brothers.
Diago would continue to push, but he had little time for argument, as he had enough on his plate. He barely found time to attend the lodge gatherings these days. One was happening today, but he had a meeting with Lady Corax to showcase the weapon he had constructed for her and to discuss Nasturi.
His Primarch rubbed her hands together at the bundle Diago brought forward.
I enjoy my place as her confidant, as she would never make such a gesture in front of a larger group of Astartes. She appears to revel in new toys, and I am pleased to be of service.
"I am eager to see what you have wrought, Commander Malov."
He unveiled the Lighting Claws. "I originally thought to try to incorporate them into The Sable Armor; however, the intricate stealth fields and anti-auger countermeasures were truly beyond my current understanding. I long to learn from the Emperor's artificers, because this is beyond our ken and may well remain so even after centuries of study, but I digress."
Tanya ran her hand down the side of the claws, examining how they functioned.
"You'll notice that, unlike most Lightning Claws, these are not always bare to the world. I made them retractable, which is why they extend past your gauntlet a fair ways. When operating to avoid enemy auspex scans, keeping them sheathed will not interfere with your armor's surreptitiousness."
She was nodding. "Excellent. I relish the hidden knife; I can turn a punch into a deadly strike."
Your punches are deadly strikes, my Primarch.
He grasped her meaning, however. "To that end, artifice entails trade-offs. Standard Lightning Claws bear a larger corona; a slash that is off by millimeters will still damage a foe. This field has been refined and narrowed."
A smile graced his Primarch's noble features. "Ah, but since you've narrowed it, the potency of the disruptive field is enhanced and amplified in a narrower section, creating greater piercing ability."
Diago nodded enthusiastically. "A normal Lightning Claw, or truly any Power Weapon, punches through ceramite, plasteel, and adamantine with ease. Refraction fields, such as those in Cataphractii-pattern Terminator Armor, can provide some resistance to Power Weapons by helping deflect the destructive energies. With a correctly placed piercing strike from your Lightning Claws, such defenses would be far less effective."
The Primarch smiled broadly. "You've outdone yourself, Commander Malov. I will be sure to field test it in combat at the first opportunity I have."
She pulled up a dataslate and sent over some information. "Given the difficulties with incorporating additional armaments within The Sable Armor, I won't ask you to try to insert additional armaments into it like I saw that my brother used."
Now that was another piece of artifice he would have loved to analyze and experiment on. Lord Perturabo had created a most intriguing suit of Terminator Armor. Embedded into the armor were multiple weapon arrays built directly into it. It would no doubt make him an even greater monster in combat.
"However," his Primarch continued, "I do want to examine the use of controlling them remotely as standalone weaponry with antigravitational fields – perhaps similar to how the Mechanicum uses servo-skulls, only controlled through a Psyker interface."
"That is an interesting concept," he replied slowly while considering it, "but I am not a Psyker, in fact no Techmarine or any of our Forgemarines are. This could prove difficult."
"Agreed. You may use Librarian Balsar Kurthuri to test some design concepts. Psyker abilities and strength fall on a spectrum. There are those who have a minor talent that is far from sufficient to be of use in the Librarius Program, but who may still be able to use those sorts of designs. Be on the lookout for future Forgemarines who may have some latent abilities. Captain Anet has a bit of a sixth sense for sniffing out psyker talents, you make use of him."
She paused. "But don't listen to his nonsense about being a damn seer. I hope not all Thousand Sons are this stubborn… ah, never mind, it is not germane to this conversation."
Tanya switched topics. "Now, you mentioned there was another topic you wished to discuss regarding Cortex Implants. I saw the schematics sent over. These would be upgrades and potentially useful for the retinues of Forgemarines, but they are also quite costly, both in terms of material and labor."
"Not for the retinues, well, perhaps for some," he hedged, "but the purpose here was for Nasturi Ephrenia."
Corax sent a message to have Nasturi brought. "She's technically still a minor by most world governments, but as it pertains to her future, she should be present for the conversation."
The girl in question arrived, and Diago began to explain.
"As a mortal, you have, by comparison, vastly diminished reflexes, cognitive speed, and resistance to bodily injury. If you wish to accept, we can begin modifying your mind to be keener, faster, and more effective." Diago paused, noting her neutral reaction so far. "But it doesn't need to end there. Though past your prime growth, we can also infuse biomantic stimulants to give you several more growth spurts. You are barely at 1.5 meters and will likely only grow a little more. However, with some modifications, we could potentially get you to nearly 2 meters."
Tanya interjected, "To what end?"
Diago shrugged. "Nasturi has not decided what she wishes to do once she reaches adulthood. One of those options would be taking part in fighting, perhaps leading one of the planetary mortal units from Kiavahr or the Novus System. The additional height will improve her reach, and combined with other enhancements, we could bring her ability to defend herself well past that of any mortal soldier."
Nasturi eyes grew big. "I could fight alongside Tanya?"
"No." The Primarch responded instantly. "I won't risk you in that way."
Nasturi frowned. "Why not? When they finish their training, you are going to have the Nev brothers fight. Why can't I?"
"You aren't an Astartes."
That was true, but with the designs Diago had in mind, she could fight just as well. It would be costly, but there was a reason Tech-Priests and Magi had combat output when pressed that could match Astartes. Once a certain level of baseline strength was achieved, Nasturi could use an exosuit armed with powerful weaponry just as strong as a Devastator Squad. Even as the thought formed and he opened his mouth to voice it, a glare from his Primarch silenced him.
"That's not fair!"
Tanya brought her fingertips to her forehead. "I am not opposed to you enhancing yourself, especially given the dangers of the galaxy. But the topic of you participating in combat operations will be shelved until we see just what Diago's improvements are capable of, assuming you want them."
Nasturi gave a resolute nod. "Yes. Give them to me. If I choose to be a researcher, they will help me. If I choose to fight, they will help me. If I choose to captain a ship, they will help me. Just make sure they work properly and I don't end up lobotomized."
Diago gave her a comforting smile. "I will ensure you receive the highest quality of care."
Inwardly, he was very pleased that he was being entrusted with the mortal his Primarch cared for most. It was a heady responsibility, and one he would treat with sacred reverence.