The Beast Arises

‘I see it coming,’ Thane agreed. ‘Our own gene-father was against the division originally. He relented only to prevent further civil strife in the Imperium.’ He paused. ‘What if Lord Dorn were right all along? Perhaps Lord Guilliman was the one who was wrong. What if he divided the Legions in a panic, and it has been to the detriment of the Imperium ever since?’

‘A primarch does not panic.’

‘How can you be sure?’ said Thane. ‘They are all gone.’

‘We cannot countenance such a move,’ said Koorland.

‘Nevertheless, Issachar makes a compelling case,’ said Thane. ‘With our resources pooled, we can expand our numbers, bring the old Seventh to life in full, not this shadow. There are thousands of us here, but we are less than three hundredths of the full might of Dorn’s original Legion. Imagine what we could accomplish with ten thousand, fifty thousand, even a hundred thousand warriors? This entire war with the orks would never have arisen in the first place, but been crushed before it even began.’

‘That is exactly why Roboute Guilliman split the Legions. His foresight was great. Such power in the hands of one man, no matter how well intentioned, is dangerous. Our actions would undoubtedly start purely, but how many wrong decisions would it take for our successors to go astray, not realising their mistakes until it is too late and the Imperium once more burns in the fire of schism? The primarchs themselves did not manage to avoid that path. We will become tyrants, no matter our desire. The High Lords were put in place by the Emperor. We have no right to defy His wishes.’

‘That is the propaganda of the High Lords.’

‘It is the truth,’ said Koorland.

Thane exhaled heavily. ‘Then something must be done to return them to their original purpose. They are ineffective, divided. Their intrigues have brought the Imperium to its knees.’

‘Listen to the discussions between we Chapter Masters, who are brothers. Are we any different? We work in concert now, but already disagreement is on the horizon. I agree, something needs to be done. I will not bow to Udo’s demands and split the fleet before this crisis is resolved, but once it is, we must set the Senatorum in order, and go our separate ways.’

Thane thought a moment. ‘Maybe you are right. Power is seductive.’

‘Before that comes to pass, we have much to do. Udo presents us with a problem. Your departure will allay his fears for a while, but we must be prepared for strong resistance when you return. An increase in our numbers will anger him.’

‘I do not envy you, re-entering that snake pit.’

‘I am learning. Gather our brothers. I will deal with the High Lords. Find the Soul Drinkers, Brother Thane. Take our tidings to every Chapter that will listen, but when you return, do so in good conscience,’ said Koorland. ‘The Emperor set us above men, but He never intended us to rule over them. The moment we forget that, the Imperium is doomed.’

Thane and Koorland clasped arms, true brothers in every sense.

‘I will do as you suggest, Slaughter,’ Thane said, using Koorland’s wall-name. ‘You have proven yourself worthy of your office. There is wisdom in you. I will think on you often, brother, and hope it is not tested too sorely.’

Thane went to his shuttle. Koorland watched as the craft’s engines built to a throaty roar and it took off on four columns of fire. Angling its propulsion units backward, the shuttle sailed out of the hangar, through the integrity field, and into space.

Bells pinged. Servitors came out of their coffins to make the hangar good again, waving the nozzles of suppressant units about them in search of non-existent fires. Their limited awareness satisfied, they clomped back to their alcoves, leaving two others to buff the scorch marks from the decking. There was none of the bustle of the embarkation decks and major docks in the bay. Surrounded by the living corpses of the servitors, to Koorland it felt like a morgue.

He walked over to the hangar slot, and stood upon the edge of space. All around Terra sailed the Space Marine armada. Naval ships had been joining them daily, the mighty Autocephalax Eternal, that had so cravenly held back from their assault, sailing proudly at their head. At the centre of the blockade, circled by vigilant frigates and destroyers, the ork moon hung balefully, the great insult to Terra.

Koorland stared at the moon. The insults would keep coming from all quarters. Soon Udin Macht Udo would demand the Space Marines fleet redeploy. To defy the Lord Guilliman might well be as foolish as to cast himself through the field. Koorland looked down past his feet, past the lip of the hangar bay, into the yawning depths of space.

Sometimes, he thought, victory requires a leap of faith.

David Guymer

Echoes of the Long War