While I was keen to try out the impressive-looking Dashing Aurora, the speeder was passed to Balpradus and Kryptorer first for a general security review at their insistence. Other than the local Sororitas, the tech-priests were the most invested individuals in my personal safety for obvious reasons, so I let them cook.
Returning to the library, I reviewed the batch of fancy letters passed to me earlier by Maylin. These turned out to be mostly invitations from some big shots. I asked Welminah and Maylin about these individuals, and learned that they were either prominent noble figureheads from the local great houses or other influential personalities. The common denominator being most if not all of them were known to enjoy cordial relations with the cardinal.
Lacking a full understanding of just how much weight my own actions carried, and aware that an unintentional action from me could throw the local political landscape into disarray, I decided it was wiser to just set these aside.
Free for the rest of the day, I decided to revisit the imprisoned Space Marine. I made the request through the official channel and was swiftly granted permission, with Herlindya who was still stationed in the monastery coming over to facilitate the process. Flanked by Welminah and Maylin, I received the throne agent in the library.
'Meeting with an Extremis-class prisoner?' Maylin said in surprise and immediately asked, 'since when did we have such an individual in the dungeon below?'
Extremis-class. A suitably grandiose designation used by Thaberus and his group to label individuals who were classified as being exceptionally dangerous. Which in fairness, was exactly what a renegade Space Marine should be. Maylin's expression reminded me that, until a moment ago, she wasn't even aware about the Space Marine's presence in the dungeon. While I was wondering if she could be entrusted with that level of information, Herlindya cleared that notion out loud.
'Preacher Hadmayer, the prisoner's presence is on a need to know basis and above your current security clearance level,' the throne agent said as she checked on her data-slate, 'I am afraid you won't be able to accompany Lady Syrine on this without her permission.'
'It seems like there is a lot that I don't know.' Maylin said in feeble protest.
You have no idea. Through Lady Syrine, one can catch a glimpse of Him on Holy Terra. Recently, she even learned to sprout angelic wings for flight.
I heard Welminah's mind loud and clear as she gave Maylin an almost sympathetic side glance.Unfortunately the scholar wasn't subtle enough and Maylin caught the gesture, causing her emotion to spike and she almost pouted openly.
Secrets again, so many layers of secrets.
Look at us, we are like the Dark Angels now. I thought with an internal sigh, self-mockingly comparing ourselves with the notoriously secretive Astartes Chapter. Jokes aside, I failed to see the benefit of letting uninvolved people learn about the renegade Space Marines on the planet.
'For the time being keep the current arrangement. I will go see the prisoner with the minimal required personnel,' I ended the discussion.
[Simulatio] activated-
I was inside the Space Marine's mind again, surrounded by nothing but a misty void. Moving forward in this fabricated dreamscape, I soon came across the expected person. Looming into view was the Space Marine, this time in his dark grey power armour war plate, helmetless and sitting on a flat piece of rock in a meditative pose.
'Hello again,' I greeted.
'You are back, witch.' The Space Marine answered without opening his eyes. He seemed every bit as distant as during our last meeting, yet I couldn't shake the feeling that he did not mind my presence. Then again, being confined here for so long must have been unbearably dull.
I wondered what really went through his head before recalling one story where an Astra Militarum commander complained to his colleagues about how unapproachable their Space Marine ally seemed from their perspective.
The commander explained that most Astartes underwent their transformation into transhumans during adolescence and in many ways, their formative worldview was forged while the fearlessness of youth still burned brightest. That mindset was then carried through endless wars, tempered by centuries of transhuman survival and becoming so far removed from ordinary human existence that the struggles of baseline humanity became incomprehensible to all but the most empathetic of them. To an Astartes, simply advancing into enemy fire and cutting down foes with a sword was often a perfectly legitimate tactic, a mentality few mortals could truly grasp.
I observed the Space Marine in front of me again and found myself unable to see that true transhuman cold fury, even Niandra fared much better than him in that department. I stood by my observation from last time, that this Space Marine was but a mortal boy not long ago.
That meant… there was a chance his indoctrination may be not as deep and rooted.
I cooked up a plan and smiled. 'Would you walk with me? I have something to show you.'
Slowly he opened his eyes before standing up, looming over me with his stature. The crown of my head barely reached the middle of the giant's breastplate. I observed no Chapter symbol nor rank markings, and my limited expertise in the subject led me to believe his armour was composed of mixed parts.
I turned and started walking. Without saying a word the Space Marine followed, a scowl on his impassive face. There was nothing he could do to hurt me in this realm and he understood that. Silently I observed his movement in that power amour with my acute senses. While this was no reality, instinctively I knew whatever was showing here was a reflection of his experience in the real world. Despite his bulk, his footsteps were surprisingly light, making little to no sound despite all that mass and armoured joints.
Into the mist we travelled, and I took the time to recall my recent experience in that courtyard. It was still vivid, and with little effort I could evoke all the crying faces and the pleading souls behind them. Slowly I used my powers and manifested the scene with every detail into existence here.
Suddenly I was back in the courtyard from that day, this time with a visitor. My halo bloomed, my white robes turned off-white. The Space Marine's movement slowed as a grand Ecclesiarchal possession appeared around us with Paudinith floating beside me, the Sororitas nearby and further away was the jubilant, pious crowd. All were replications from my memory, projected into this space like a vivid three dimensional movie. I remembered reading about the Night Lords' Primarch, Konrad Curze, doing something similar to his First Captain, Jago Sevatarion. Through a connection in a dream, Curze allowed Sevatar to relive one of his own past experiences as though the captain had been there in person.
The simulated scene unfolded exactly as it had before. The crowd was soon overwhelmed by emotion, with many of them beginning to weep openly. It was only a replayed memory, yet the emotions preserved within it remained uncannily vivid to the point I could almost feel those desperate souls pressing against my mind once more.
'When… was this?' The Space Marine asked, convinced he was looking at an event that had happened.
'Some time ago,' I said, 'after the Church recognised my deeds.'
Then as happened before the divine doves descended from the air, astonishing those who had never before witnessed such a miracle and sending the congregation's fervour soaring to an ever-greater crescendo. Some distance away a few black clad Battle Sisters reached for their weapons on reflex. Behind me, the Space Marine's walking pace became slower still.
'You… you are a living saint?' He put two and two together.
I turned to face him as the scene around us abruptly froze, like someone had hit the pause button on reality. The cherubs and birds of light pinned in the air with their wings outstretched, the awed crowd reaching out to touch, elation and religious ecstasy on their faces. All were frozen in time. The light of my halo lit up the Space Marine's stoic and features, his chiseled face was doing a decent job of suppressing an awe expression.
'Tell me, do you believe in the Emperor's divinity?' I asked.
That was a double probe question. The first on his loyalty, the second on his beliefs. As a general rule, unlike the average citizenry, most Space Marines do not subscribe to the Emperor's godhood. They instead revere Him as the greatest human to have ever lived, as the Master of Mankind. To them, He is an unparalleled ruler and father figure, but not a deity in the religious sense.
This outlook was rooted as much in history as it was in doctrine. Most Space Marine Chapters retained fragmentary but enduring records that stretched back to the Legion era, when the Emperor still walked among mortals during the Great Crusade. In those archives the Emperor was not depicted as a distant divine presence, but as a peerless war leader and warrior. The Emperor was there in His flesh, issuing battlefield commands, waging wars, standing beside the primarchs and their sons as an active participant in humanity's conquest and mastery of the stars. For many Astartes, these records were not myths to be worshipped, but passed down historical accounts that formed the foundation of their worldview.
The rise of the Ecclesiarchy and the formalization of the Emperor's divinity occurred long after the Legions were broken into Chapters following the Horus Heresy. By that point, the Adeptus Astartes had already become semi-autonomous warrior orders operating at the fringes of Imperial authority. The Church's rising influence, while vast and far reaching across the present Imperium, never extended into the internal affairs and traditions of most Space Marine Chapters. As a result, a quiet divide formed over millennia. To the Ecclesiarchy and the average citizen, the Emperor is a god, and to question that is an act of heresy. To most Astartes, the Emperor remained something more down to earth, and the ultimate exemplar of what humanity was capable of, and might still one day become.
Back in the dreamscape surrounded by a world frozen in time, the Space Marine in front of me didn't answer my question, but I could sense the struggle underneath his impassive face. If his old beliefs before his ascension held enough sway, my status as a living saint might convince him to open up.
'I am not your enemy,' I said, trying my best to convince the guarded transhuman without resorting to brute force, 'please tell me about your Battle Brothers and your Chapter.' The scowl on the Space Marine's face deepened, but his silence remained.
In the end, he didn't open up. I exited the secured chamber empty handed, where Herlindya and a random Sister Hospitaller whose presence was mandated by protocol were waiting for me outside.
'Any progress, my lady?' Herlindya asked with a light bow.
'He at least acknowledged my existence,' I said with a shrug, 'but it is fine, such things take time. Unless Thaberus objects, I will be making regular visits.'
* * *
Cardinal Paudinith IV was having problems, sizable ones.
Within days of his return to Nusquam, he came to the realization there were precious little strings for him to pull on the emerging living saint. That, unfortunately, was not for a lack of trying.
Ordinarily, the Church possessed an astonishing assortment of invisible levers. Nobles coveted recognition from the Ecclesiarchy. Generals desired legitimacy. Merchants longed for endorsements. Even the planetary governor had to consider public opinion, and public opinion was one of the few commodities the Church could manufacture in almost limitless quantities. The system had worked admirably for thousands of years.
Then came Syrine. With her personal files locked behind the Inquisitorial mandate, she appeared like a ghost with no background nor history, and with no family members to bribe or bargain.
Through his interactions with Maylin, Paudinith quickly learned there was little point attempting to entice Syrine with power or material. The emerging living saint had no apparent interest in mundane politics, and seemed to eat so little she probably considered a noble banquet to be roughly equivalent dining experiences with a bowl of monastery stew, all the while never making any demands on her accommodations.
Paudinith had another plan set up even before his return, discreetly encouraging several influential noble families to invite the young saint into their social circles. These were put in motion after he deemed her legitimate and worthy of such investments. Invitations were elegantly written, stamped with ancient wax seals bearing prestigious family crests and accompanied by gifts worth small fortunes. Every single one was politely declined, leaving the cardinal at a loss on how to proceed forward, pondering if he would need to take more drastic actions.
Then there was the matter of his own influence. Ever since his return Paudinith noticed a difference in the attitude from a subset of his associates. A portion of his diehard followers of pious generals and nobles seemed… distracted.
Formerly, many had regarded an audience with him, Cardinal Paudinith IV, as the closest one could reasonably come to standing before the Emperor's light. Now, they seemed to have discovered that "cutting out the middleman" was a possibility.
It was nothing overtly disrespectful. If anything, they were more courteous than before. They still lowered their heads and addressed him with all the proper honorifics. Yet, beneath the polished etiquette, there lingered the uncomfortable feeling that Paudinith had quietly slipped from being the destination to merely another signpost along the road for divine blessings.
Several nobles, once eager to curry his favour, now approached him with conspicuous humility. The unspoken subtext was almost deafening, they were no longer seeking his patronage, they were seeking to access divinity through him.
The irony was almost artistic. For decades, Paudinith had been the gatekeeper through whom influence flowed. Now he found himself becoming a gate that some wished to pass through.
Worse still, the phenomenon was entirely self-inflicted. For generations the Ecclesiarchy had tirelessly preached to the faithful about the Emperor's divinity and that the appearance of a living saint represented the purest manifestation of His will. Now that such a miracle had genuinely appeared on Nusquam, the faithful had responded commendably by following the Church's teachings.
Paudinith could hardly fault anyone for that. More than once, the cardinal caught himself wondering whether this was how planetary governors felt whenever an inquisitor arrived unannounced and found the comparison deeply disturbing.
Speaking of which, as though matters were not sufficiently complicated, there remained an inquisitor openly operating on his planet. An Ordo Hereticus inquisitor. Knowing the man's existence, Cardinal Paudinith had extended the customary invitation through official channels within hours of returning to the planet. A private audience on neutral ground with offerings of excellent amasec. The reply arrived via discreet channel the following morning.
Declined.
Nothing else. No explanation. No apology. No signature. Merely a single word written with impeccable penmanship on his invitation.
Paudinith stared at the card for several moments before placing it aside. "...How reassuring."
It took considerable discipline not to sigh. For anyone in a position of power, there existed only two categories of inquisitor: Those who speak with you, and those who did not. The latter invariably caused significantly more sleepless nights.
Paudinith silently added another item to an already overcrowded list, to find out what the inquisitor wants and knows. Preferably before the inquisitor discovered anything else.
* * *
For the first time, my life in Nusquam seemed to settle into a rhythm. It was the same pattern for days: intense martial related training in the morning, loitering and self research in the library in the afternoon, followed by mandatory social activities or other extra skill learning in the evening. Being a creature of habits, this gave me a false, comforting sense of security. I knew it was fake, but still liked it.
While waiting for the Dashing Aurora to return, I picked up speeder handling by practicing with one of the ambulance speeders used by the Sisters. Alicya was again my tutor in this, it took me a few moments to get used to it. To the surprise of no one involved, within the hour I was a qualified speeder operator.
During the nights I would either continue to explore the fortress monastery or secretly visit Xalma and Gideyn at the Scholastica Psykana with my projection, honing my psychic infiltration skill. When I last visited, Xalma looked a lot better than when I first found her, being properly cleaned and eating full meals.
Meanwhile, instead of fading, the media hysteria on the planet surrounding me had somehow escalated. Major cities were competing to host the grandest thanksgiving procession. Local regional governors publicly argued over which district had been "most blessed" by my arrival, while a record surge of new faithfuls packed every available church and monastery on the planet. It was a piece of news that gave me severe mixed feelings.
Then the opportunistic merchants struck again.
There were reports of enterprising vendors selling bottles of compressed scented air, allegedly processed air collected from the cathedral courtyard after my debut, and marketing them as "Holy Fragrance". In my opinion, it was only marginally less outrageous than selling bathwater, a remarkably low bar. The Ecclesiarchy responded with an unending stream of proclamations denouncing the products as fraudulent, while promising to invoke the full extent of the local Lex against everyone involved. For once, I found myself in agreement with the Church. Those opportunistic buggers had thoroughly earned whatever punishment was about to descend upon them.
One piece of good news was that the horde of pilgrims gathered outside the fortress monastery had finally dispersed. With my miracles and status now officially recognized by the Church, they no longer had reason to remain camped there in show of support and departed peacefully, that huge statue of me disappeared along with them. A chill ran down my spine as I knew the statue was somewhere out there, becoming the first religious relic related to me.
Then there was the infamous dig site, it had become the latest primary battle theatre between the Imperials and the Chaos cult, with both sides waging brutal skirmishes underground. According to the reports the cultists had dug in well, nulling the Imperials numerical and equipment advantage. The Sororitas of course would not sit idle on this and swiftly dispatched multiple strike squads to join the operation. With a little convincing, Kryptorer agreed to deploy a detachment of his highly efficient Skitarii troops.
While I was confident the arrival of such elite forces would tilt the advantage back to our side, at the moment it was a bloody mess down there.
* * *
For a fringe Imperial civilized world, Nusquam possessed an unusually high number of speeders, even the local Sororitas benefited by using these levitating means of transport as ambulances. This remarkable technological proliferation could be traced back to the stubborn obsession of one extraordinary man: Augustian von Klaeus.
Augustian was Khatalina's great grandfather, a legendary former planetary governor who had ruled for decades many generations before. Beside being known as an excellent leader, Augustian was an unashamed enthusiast of speeder racing. To the horror of his advisors and the eternal annoyance of countless Administratum clerks, the lord governor could discuss anti-grav engine tuning with greater passion than agricultural quotas or trade agreements. Rumour had it that he once delayed a diplomatic reception because a championship race was entering its final lap.
By a remarkable coincidence, Nusquam happened to possess rich deposits of rare ores essential in the production of anti-grav plates. Furthermore, the planet's almost identical gravity to that of Holy Terra made it an ideal environment for calibrating anti-grav engines and its related field of precision manufacturing. Recognising the opportunity, the then governor negotiated aggressively with the Mechanicus, offering highly favourable terms for them to establish speeder manufacturing facilities on Nusquam.
The agreement was a triumph for both sides. The Mechanicus gained access to valuable resources and a near-perfect world to calibrate their manufacturing, while the governor secured generous allocations of speeders for his people. Officially, it was celebrated as a visionary economic initiative that brought industry, technology, and prosperity to Nusquam. Unofficially, most agreed that the old man had simply found a way to ensure his planet would always have enough devilly fast vehicles for a proper race.
Centuries later, the legacy remained. Side industries surrounding many delicate anti-grav plate usage, including those life improvement devices used by the current cardinal, flourished on the planet. While citizens on many imperial worlds considered owning a personal anti-grav vehicle a luxury reserved for the wealthy, it was not unusual on Nusquam to see modest folks commuting in aging speeders or teenagers racing modified hand-me-down models across the outskirts of cities—much to the despair of local Magistratum, who were still issuing citations for "reckless operation of anti-gravitic vehicles" generations after the governor's passing.
In fact, illegal speeder racing was one of the rites of passage to many aristocratic children on the planet.
In blinding speed, the Dashing Aurora cut through the sky.
It was a fulfilment of a distant boyish dream, an aspiration of a previous life: driving a mind boggling expensive ride while having a beautiful female companion by my side.
The truth was unfortunately less than dreamy, this vehicle was more or less a political gift, my expert handling of the machine was largely contributed by my transhuman baseline and Alicya Sabatith was beside my side by the edict of her Order. I was not allowed to be alone on this excursion, in fact my caretakers hardly allowed me to be alone anywhere except in my own quarters.
While I was in my standard white robes, Alicya was in her full Sororitas battle plate, the visor of her helmet lifted. Fortunately, the sophisticated seats on Dashing Aurora could be set into a configuration that allowed her armour's power pack to fit snugly. The rich do usually have the best stuff.
I pushed the machine and felt the resonant thrum of its engine intensified, a deeply satisfying sensation. As if expressing the joy of being released from its confinement, the speeder sliced through the air with a mesmerising efficiency. Inside the speeder, the whole frame was pulsating with raw power and energy, micro vibrations reverberated from the hull to the control stick in my hand. As we gained further momentum, the symphony of sound transformed into a harmonious blend of a high-pitched whir and a futuristic whoosh as our speed climbed past three hundred kilometres per hour.
Meanwhile, I could not help but notice Alicya eying between the digital speedometer and the windscreen, her pretty face maintained a stoic display of indifference but minor traces of nervousness could be seen leaking from underneath. I felt her heartbeat picking up, mirroring our speed that was steadily climbing.
As the machine was pushed further and further into what it does best, the view outside the speeder became a blurry scene of ever dashing forward, almost too fast for the average human to comprehend. From my own point of view though it looked very manageable, like a leisurely cruise. Between inhuman reflexes and thought acceleration, I had full confidence in the handling and control at this speed. It felt very safe, so safe in fact, it was kind of boring.
'My lady, everything seems to be in order,' Alicya addressed me respectfully and asked, 'will you be taking the planned trip?'
I nodded. 'Please inform the others, I am heading there now.'
It was time to revisit the vault, to see the Mechanicus gang and Archmagos Triax again.