Chapter 64: The Welcoming Ceremony
Chapter 64: The Welcoming Ceremony
The Stormbird. The primary lander used by the Legions during the Great Crusade. The Black Templars had once possessed them, but ten thousand years of crusading had exhausted their inventory. The few legendary survivors, forged in the fires of war, now resided in their Hall of Relics. Today, even if they were still suitable for the Chapter's combat doctrines, the simple matter of how to produce a Stormbird-pattern lander had become a problem.
"..."
A metallic chant echoed through the cabin. This Stormbird, a vessel carrying the honor of Mankind, spoke of its newly begun journey with the joyful vibrations of its engines.
Orlando's knuckles tapped against the cold, stark metal bulkhead. The boots of his Cataphractii Terminator armor scraped against the unpolished burrs of the plasteel deck, striking minute sparks. The interior was spartan, without a single extra decoration, its smooth metal walls reflecting the bright lumen-strips. There was no scent of sacred oils, no skull-faced reliefs. The iron body of the craft was as pure as the Emperor's will itself. The honor-plates, still bare, seemed to proclaim that this vessel was brand new, fresh from the forges.
Beside him, Cawl silently checked the isotopes.
[Isotope decay rate 0.0013%. Forging-era runes inactive. No production code...]
Brand new.
"Compared to a Thunderhawk, this is like the nave of a great cathedral," a captain from the Inquisitorial retinue whispered in awe, only to be hushed by the mechanical voice of a nearby Tech-Priest. "This is a holy machine. It is not for you to speak of lightly."
The captain quickly fell silent.
Aglaia, however, paid this small interlude no mind. A low hum came from the servo-skull beneath her robes as her focused gaze recorded every detail of this piece of living history. Compared to the cramped confines of a Thunderhawk, the Stormbird's interior was far more spacious. So much so that the high command of the joint fleet could all ride in the same craft and still have room for their honor guards.
As for its safety... one could say the Stormbird might not be suitable for the modern, galaxy-spanning Imperium. But there was a reason it had carried wave after wave of Space Marines on forced landings onto strange and dangerous worlds during the Great Crusade, and had held that tactical position until the Legions were broken.
Its blistering speed allowed it to evade the targeting of heavy weapons, and its dual-layered void shields provided an unprecedented sense of security, turning the dense incoming fire into a gentle, harmless lightshow.
As the flock of iron beasts tore through the atmosphere with a grace that defied their size, the purple-red arcs of electricity that sparked as their void shields scraped against the ionosphere were a spectacular sight. Dense volleys of fire shot towards them, only to be instantly shunted into the Warp, projecting a brilliant aurora across the observation windows.
When the gravity of Pierdra finally caught the 1,500-ton bodies of the landers, the bones of every passenger strained against the laws of inertia—except for the superhumans, whose gene-seed was woven into their very flesh.
The Astartes watched the approach with solemn expressions, as if they were witnessing history unfold. The four ancient holy warriors sat near the depressurization ramp, their postures varied but all equally silent, the frost of the void clinging to their ceramite armor. The Sisters of Battle bowed their heads like pilgrims, as silent as statues, only the rose-beads of their rosaries swinging gently on their chests.
They were composed. Waiting only for the moment the ship landed and their blades were sharpened, to be unleashed upon the enemies of Mankind.
"Receiving Imperial coded message. Identity code preliminarily authenticated as Imperial hereditary nobility," Cawl's voice, tinged with static, suddenly broke the silence. "They have designated a docking port for us. Shall we proceed?"
"Proceed," Romulus replied calmly, using the Stormbird's visual systems to survey the planet. "But demand they grant us full access to their airspace. We will choose our own landing site."
The entire planet of Pierdra had only one mega-hive, located on the equator. The southern hemisphere was completely covered by a dense network of Adeptus Mechanicus forge-factories. The northern hemisphere was shrouded in thick industrial smog, a toxic wasteland. In the Spire-Hive, the shrines of the Imperial Cult and the temples of the Adeptus Mechanicus formed a bridge connecting the two worlds.
From a topographical perspective, Romulus felt it was best to land safely in the Spire. The Word Bearers' intelligence indicated the planet was already in a state of chaos; not even the forces of Chaos had full control. If they were forced to conduct an assault from the hive's outskirts, the intensity of the fighting would be more than their single force could bear.
"Acknowledged. Their data-link has been accessed. The formation will proceed along the predetermined route. Landing zone has been revised to the Spire Mechanicus Temple. I have connected to its internal systems," Cawl said, making a few simple adjustments and directly overriding the landing site the Imperial nobles had chosen. His next words made everyone's expression turn grim.
"In addition, I have detected traces of Chaotic corruption in the Omnissiah's holy code. All parties, prepare for battle."
"More of those false angels, scorched by heretical faith," a noblewoman sighed with great sorrow after cutting the communication. "Such sad news. That a mere thousand xenos could inflict such unprecedented losses on the God-Emperor's holy children... I cannot imagine how much more slaughter this new invasion will bring."
"Be optimistic, sister. The God-Emperor teaches us tolerance," a voice, filled with infinite piety and gentleness, replied. "Whether xenos or human, if they have a heart of unity, we should welcome them and share this boundless starry sky."
"I was presumptuous, to have misinterpreted the God-Emperor's holy will," the noblewoman said, quickly rising to apologize to the preacher at her side. She was a bald woman, dressed in robes of exquisitely woven purple cloth.
"You will prepare a welcoming ceremony for them," the woman said. "Approach them with fruits and vegetables. If they offer a smile, we can coexist. If they offer cannon fire, we shall offer them the sword."
"Thank you for your guidance, divine messenger. Praise be to your tolerance, divine messenger," the noblewoman replied with a fanatical fervor, as if she had received a revelation.
"Do not thank me, and do not praise me." The woman spread her arms. As her expression changed, one could faintly see layered bone plates beneath the skin of her smooth-shaven head.
"Look around you." They were in a busy work area. "Unity." The people worked in close cooperation. Every report was met with the optimal solution, which was then perfectly executed.
"Tolerance." Even the lowest-ranking citizens from the underhive could participate in the meetings, in every decision. The nobles surrounding her showed not a hint of discrimination in their eyes.
Food was distributed with precision. People no longer had to endure the cruel exploitation of the dregs who worshipped heretical cults. No one had to suffer from hunger anymore, no one had to struggle for survival. They had gathered here, gathered their strength, only to spread well-being to every person, only to save the life of every compatriot from the hands of the wicked.
It was an incomparably noble ideal.
(End of Chapter)