Imperium Ascendant

Chapter Twenty-Six: They Came From the Stars

Date: 888.M30

Location: Prime Medical Suite aboard The Righteous Fury, Flagship of the XII Legion.

Gloriana Class Battleships blur the line between Voidship and orbital habitat. Each dozen kilometer-long vessel holding a country all unto itself. Hosting Imperial civilization and all its trapping even at the forefront of the Great Crusade. The Emperor wished to rule over an Empire forged from more than blood and steel. Culture, art, technology, and shared values would unite humanity and birth the first truly pan-galactic human civilization. So it fell to the Legion flagships to act as beacons of both military might and cultural supremacy. Among the countless amenities aboard these ships were Hospice suites. Rarely used, but still lavishly made places where the best of mortal kind could finish their short but brilliant lives. One such of these suites held a patient and a guest.

The patient was a frail old woman, over a century in age and withered by times passing. She had refused rejuvenation treatment and was at the end of her natural life span. Even as her final slumber fast approached a spark of wisdom and kindness filled her soft eyes. Brought forth by the presence of her guest. Who could not have been more different from the dying old women. A giant of godly muscle with bronze skin and short-cropped reddish-brown hair sat next to the women's bed. Holding one of her hands in his own, each large enough to crush the old matron's torso with ease. Baraca Themistar, Primarch of the Warhound Legion sat next to Lady Hidamia the Brave, the woman he had called mother. It would be a matter of days before the Assasi-Matrari, adoptive mother of Baraca, passed away. She would be the first of her order to, and it would be one of the first times one of the Emperor's sons was faced with true terrible loss.

Hidamia's refusal of rejuvenation treatments had been the source of no small distress in her adopted son. She would not extend her life with gene-therapies, stem-cell treatments, or extensive cybernetic replacement. A decision that made no sense to the Primarch, a being designed to live longer than entire civilizations. Her decision to choose death angered her son and if he was a lesser man he might have forced the treatments. But he knew that was not his place, he would not violate the trust and bonds invested in him out of petty emotions. Still, as Baraca watched the woman who raised him slip towards the inevitable. He asked the same question he had been asking for years. "Why?"

The XII Assasi-Matrari smiled sadly and spoke: "I am fulfilled. My life has been good, and I am ready to rest. All I wished to accomplish is done, forcing myself to live would only wither me and degrade who I am."

Hidamia shut her eyes and she quietly reminisced to her son: "My memory is not yet cluttered with age and I can still remember the first time I saw the sun. With my brothers and sisters, I broke free in the confusion of your father's conquest. Escaping the thrall-caverns of Bankoik when the Thunder Legions marched on Narthan Dume's Jade Citadel. Joining the infant Imperium and becoming part of the new generation of free Terrans. I can still smell the mixture of ozone and incense that filled the Hollow Mountain on the day of your birth Baraca. How you felt in my arms for the first time and how proud I was of you when you first spoke. Yet other things are starting to fade. My Mothers face, the name of the Soldier who carried me to the Hongol evacuation center. Even if my flesh is restored and my mind reinvigorated, there's only so much a soul can hold on to. To live on I would lose parts of me that I love."

The Primarch sat silent for a moment and then spoke with almost childlike questioning "I don't understand. You give up on life, just to preserve some notion of who you are. Caring more about the memory of what was, than what can be."

"Oh Baraca, I don't think you can understand. You were born with a body and soul designed to last eons. You straddle the line between mortal man and ascended being. Truths known only to beings once called gods are within your grasp. Power to conquer worlds and rend armies to ash sleeps within you. That cannot come without a cost. Being unable to understand an old woman's irrational beliefs about something you will never experience is a minor detriment in comparison to what you can do" chided Hidamia with sad mirth in her eyes.

To that Barca growled a harsh response, his composure cracking under herculean emotions. "You are not just some old woman, you are my mother. If I cannot prevent you from accepting death, then I must understand why."

In his passion, Baraca Themistar had broken an unspoken taboo within the Imperial royal family. The women who raised the Primarchs were never called mother, by themselves or their charges. A subtle but poignant reminder of the barriers between the Emperor's sons and the mortal women tasked with rearing them. It did not matter to Baraca, it was his nature to eschew such protocol and doctrine. Calling Hidamia his mother felt right, and no one could tell him otherwise. He was a creature of bonds and connections, to ignore or dismiss them was anathema to him.

With withered hands Hidamia reached for her adopted son's hand and brought it to her lips, kissing the palm larger than her entire head in a simple display of affection. "Your words warm my heart child, I will try to explain in ways you may understand. There is an old story, of a ship, a ship of the seas. Which faced countless trials and decades of service. Every time the ship came to port, pieces of it were replaced. Eventually, no original piece of the ship remained. Everything had been replaced at least once. So the question is this. Is it the same ship that it was when it first left dock?"

It took the Primarch no time to respond, his brain had mulled over the problem a thousand times before Hidamia took a breath after finishing. "If the ship serves the same purpose and holds the same name then yes. In this allegory, you are the ship. Again, I do not understand, as long as you keep to yourself you are still you."

"And that is the problem right there is it not Baraca? The world around the ship will change and the Ship must either finally be cast aside or changed with each repair. Rebuilt eventually into something new, something the ship's maker never wanted it to be. In my mind it is much preferable to end with a purpose served and feeling content then soldier on and become something you do not recognize. The reason you do not understand this is your very nature. You are grounded in a clear purpose and existence. One that despite time and experience does not deviate from its original purpose. A ship may become useless or hate what it has become. The idea of a ship does not even consider such questions." continued the Assai-Matarari

"Anyway, I am more than happy with the immortality imparted to all parents. Living on through the deeds and descendants of our children. I will exist in that perfect immortal memory of yours my son. I remember the day you were born Baraca, when the Emperor birthed a new star, and from that light you came. My life has been a happy one, and raising you has been a central part of that joy. Do not let my death mar my life." finished Hidamia.

Taking a deep breath Baraca Themistar spoke sadly: "I understand mother."

Date: 888.M30

Location: Tactica Center aboard the Righteous Fury. In Orbit of XII-C-XENO-AIV

Warlord Atoc Lhorke watched the hololithic projection at the center of the Tactica center with almost feral ferocity. Watching the movements of enemy troops across the mudball officially designated XII-IC-XENO-AIV, and unofficially called Tragedy by the men and women of the XII Crusader fleet. A grim title originating in the ugly situation Lhorke was forced to observe. Primitive Xenos with pressure-rifles and Iridium plate mail desperately fought to drive off an Orkish invasion. An Orkish invasion that in truth was the Imperium's fault.

The XII Crusader Fleet had repulsed a Greenskin raiding armada attacking the Imperiums frontier and pushed into the Golgothan Wastes. Joining with six other Legions in attacking the Orkish empire. Baraca Themistar crushed the Greenskin Armada and carved a path of destruction through the southern Wastes. Cutting a sector's worth of space off from the rest of the Orkish Empire. Allowing for a massive encirclement, pushing the Xenos towards a singular unimportant system at the sector's core. Where the corralled Greenskins would face exterminatus grade weaponry and a staunch line of Warhound power-spears. This strategy of encirclement and mass slaughter now faced a minor problem. The system chosen as the Greenskins slaughterhouse was inhabited. Cursory scouts had missed the presence of a pre-industrial Xeno species living on the high-oxygen core world of system XII-IC-XENO-AIV. A population of Anthropoidal filter-feeders who cultivated floating plankton-equivalents that lived in Tragedy's dense atmosphere. Tentatively named the Trileen, this species was facing a tragic end, swallowed whole by the Greentide provoked by the Imperium.

Weapons powered by pressurized oxygen and the Greenskins initial problems using internal-combustion engines on a High-Ox planet had given the Trileen some limited success. Fending off the first Orkish scouts, but now the full unstoppable might of a WAAAGH bared down on them. Badly beaten by the XII Legion the Orks had leaped at the chance for an easy fight. Slaughtering entire Trileen nations down to the spawnlings in vicious attacks. Imperial fleets steadily pushed forward, tightening the noose around the Orks, but also driving them in greater numbers towards Tragedy. Where the Warhounds watched in dismay with them unable to intervene.

Under official Imperial policy, human lives could not be spent aiding Aliens unless a compelling benefit came of the action. The Trileen were not vassals or thralls to mankind, they lacked any innovation or secret arts of interest. By no fault of their own, they were to be another victim of the Galaxy's cruelty. A tragic fate forced upon them by the actions of mankind. Only by the express command of the Imperator or his chosen emissaries could now save the Trileen. Amaru Serket, Shield-Captain of the Custodes Host assigned to the XII Crusader Fleet would not lift an auramite coated finger in the Xenos aid. As expected perfectly lockstep with his master on the "Xeno Question" Leaving the decision firmly at the feet of the Crusader Fleet's overall commander, Primarch Baraca Themistar.

As an Astartes Warlord Lhorke found himself uncaring for such petty matters of morality or political quibbling. Yet he found himself bitter his Brothers could not come to the Trileen's aid. Not out of any concern for the Aliens per se but out of a sense of responsibility and perhaps more importantly hatred for the Orks he had no desire to let the Greenskins win this battle. Like a canine with a bone, the Commander of the Warhounds mentally gnawed on the problem before him. Under his orders, the XII Crusader fleet engaged the Orkish fleet across the Tragedy system and did what they could to aid the Trileen through orbital strikes and attacks on the Greenskin ships. Going the next step and actually landing to defend Tragedy from the Orks went beyond Lhorke's authority and his distaste for what occurred was nothing compared to his duty and respect for the chains of command. A fact that brought up another collection of problems. The head of that chain of command was in no place to lead.

The news of Hidamia the Braves' impending demise had come when in transit to the Tragedy system and the Primarch had attempted to soldier on at first. Before being forced by his emotional state to step back and let Lhorke take overall operational command. This was a first for the Legio Astartes. The ideas of grief, loss, fear, and the deeply human emotions that go with losing a loved one were burned out of the Space Marines by their apotheosis. Leaving the Warhounds at a loss for how to handle this situation. So far they had taken it as viewing the Primarch was wounded in action.

A possibility the Legion was theoretically equipped to handle, but not practically. In a legion founded on the bedrock of brotherhood and close bonds the inability to understand the Primarch's experience and actions caused some strife. Many of the more indoctrinated Astartes could literally not understand why Primarch Baraca acted this way. The fact such human "weakness" affected the superhuman Primarch, distressed them, and sowed confusion. Further compounded by the unnatural holding pattern the Crusader fleet was taking. Skirmishing with the Orks and not committing to a true battle. Out of fear of either hurting or helping the Trileen the Imperium did not fully engage as they normally would. The "Xeno Question" and the problems surrounding it filled every level of the Imperial hierarchy. A schism that further bred inaction and fierce arguments among command staff and civilian officials. Normally with such an issue the Imperial citizens would look to the Primarch or other leadership in moments like these. With such leadership lacking it fell to Lhorke to keep this inactive stasis. Until the Primarch returned to duty, or a clear victor in this political debate became apparent.

Of the strife among the Astartes a particularly canny remembrancer remarked: "It's like watching children realizing their father is human. Only lives hang in the balance." Where the humanity of the Primarch, distressed and confused his sons. It was strangely comforting to the mortals of the Crusader Fleet. The idea that even the super-human champions of the human species could experience such emotions was a bonding experience. One tempered by the fear of how a Demigod might express grief. A thousand different variables a Primarch might triumph over, but Lhorke found himself insufficient to handle.

The brooding of Baraca Themistar's second in command was broken by the entrance of his Equerry. Lhorke looked up from the Tactica as the fearsome figure of Kharn the Breaker entered. Bedecked in battle, scared of power-armor and covered in a still drying coat of Orkish blood, the Equerry pulled every eye in the Tactica center. Kharn had returned from leading a sortie against a crippeled Orkish Hulk. Carving a crimson path through the Greenskin defenders and turning the once-mighty Warship into an asteroid. This was the Astartes Champions' method of stress relief. Kharn stalked up to Lhorke and looked over the hololithic display and growled: "Have you made a decision or are we going to keep up this idiocy? We have Orks to kill and debts to pay."

The taciturn and rough-edged Equerry was on the liberal side of the Xeno Question to the surprise of many. In his opinion, it fell to the Astartes to protect the Emperor's subjects and kill anything that threatened them. If the Trileen were not a threat and suffered because of mankind's actions they must be aided. It was only evening the score, leaving such unfinished business and ugly debts rankled Kharn the Traitor Breaker. Aside from being equerry to Baraca, Kharn held another unique role in the XII Legion. He led a Headhunter squad, an elite force of Astartes tasked with the ugly duty of eliminating those who broke oaths to the Imperator. Dragging "feral" Astartes back to Imperial space to be broken like the bonds they had discarded in shirking their duty. In Kharn's mind, abandoning the Trileen to a tragic end was failing a responsibility taken on by the Imperium. If it became apparent the Trileen were corrupted or twisted, then the headsmen's' axe would fall, till then Kharn would shed blood to save them.

Lhorke grunted in response, he understood Kharn's position and his headstrong desire to do what he thought was right. There was a reason he and Mago the True had been chosen as the Primarch's Equerrys. Kharn the Breaker to be the snarling hound pulling his master forward, Mago the True his faithful guard dog watching for any threat. In the Primarch's absence, the Equarrys had taken up some of his duties beyond Lhorke's scope. Mago acted as the peacemaker and fair judge while Kharn led from the front, first into the breach. Turning to face his hotheaded brother, Warlord Lhorke growled: "We will give the Primarch the time he needs, this war can be won without him. He has many sons to fulfill his duties, but only one Matron. The Trileen will die, but so shall the Orks. The filter-feeders will last no more than a solar-week against the Orkish onslaught, once they are gone we can finish this fight unhampered."

Kharn spat a glob of reddish mucus in frustration, the lingering touch of Betcher's Gland acid burned paint off the metal tile. "What gorydamn good does giving our father time to heal do if we just bring him more pain? He would not stand by and let innocents, even Xeno innocents be slaughtered by our inaction. Lord Baraca has invested in the three of us his authority. Mago and I agree we must interfere on Tragedy. With your consent we would be representatives of the Emperor's will. We could finish this battle with honor and await our father's return with heads held high!"

With the characteristic hot-headed intensity of Warhounds, Lhorke quickly got within a few inches of Kharn's face. Among the XII Legion, Lhorke was renowned for his calm, this act was uncharacteristic of the stoic Warlord. "What if we go ahead with this scheme dog?! We would be usurping a bloody Primarch over a handful of mudball Xenos. The precedent that would set could damage the entire Imperium. We are vested with the authority to fulfill his duties in his absence, not act as him! By the Warp Kharn! We don't even know which decision the Primarch would make! Yes, he leans into the liberal faction but he is no radical Xenoist like Lord Alexio or Lord Marcus. At best we commit a heresy of ego, at worst we defy not only the Primarch but the Imperator himself!"

For a solid moment, Warlord Lhorke and Champion Kharn squared off like snarling canines. Before Kharn relented and stalked off. The Breaker of Traitors was insulted Lhorke would even insinuate he would desecrate his oaths. He did understand why the Warlord did what he did. Lhorke sought to keep his vows no matter what, something Kharn could respect. Still, he would find a way to finish this battle with the Legions honor intact. For creatures created for war and service honor was all. The Warhounds would never let themselves fail in the role the Emperor had given them. They would be loyal dogs to the end. Now it fell to Kharn to go for his final option. He had one final weapon to push his master and fellow hounds to action. He just wondered if his father would ever forgive him for it.

Date: 888.M30 (Six Hours Later)

Location: Primarchs Quarters aboard the Righteous Fury. In Orbit of XII-C-XENO-AIV

Primarch Baraca Themistar sat in a secluded meditation chamber at the center of his quarters. Kneeling on a mat of woven fabric in a state of intense focus. In creating his sons the Emperor had given mythotypes flesh. Bringing archetypal figures of a million legends into stark superhuman reality. This came with an ugly cost as all such stories have. The Primarch are gifted with more than just a superhuman body and mind, but emotions beyond mortal scope. Like the demigods and heroes of ancient myth, they were prone to exaggerated bouts of anger, melancholy, joy, and other such grandiose emotions. Both the Emperor and the Assai-Matrari had put significant efforts into teaching the Twenty Brothers to control these overpowering feelings. Now as Baraca faced the impending death of his mother, an event that could shatter a normal mortal's soul. The usual restraints became brittle.

In his personal sanctum, Baraca tried to reforge those chains and restore some semblance of self-control. From his meditation mat he glared down at the pedestal in front of him. On it sat an impossibly ancient cracked skull. A fossil dug up along the banks of a now-forgotten river in Terran antiquity. It had once sat on a similar pedestal in the Emperor's own study in the Palace. Directly across from the rich oaken desk the Master of Mankind used when he needed such a space. The skull had been positioned just so whenever the Emperor looked up from his work, he would stare into the skull's eye sockets. Unlike the countless polished skulls of true bone and precious metal that decorated Imperial style, this one was rather sad and slightly warped. The signs of a hard life apparent even after 40,000 thousand years.

In his youth, Baraca had asked who the skull once was, and more importantly, why did the Emperor keep it so close. In that eternally unknowable fashion of his, Baracas' father answered with a riddle. "It is why you exist, my son."

The Primarch had never gotten a straight answer about the skull, and more curiously he had even been gifted it on the eve of the Great Crusade. The skull felt warm to the touch and resisted all wear and tear. An enigmatic gift that had left a mark of Baraca, both physically and mentally. Upon first touching the skull it had for a lack of better words "burned" the Primarch. A jolt of psychic energy had lanced from it and bit into his hand. Leaving a faint scar on Baraca's left palm. In times of battle, when the fury of war ran hot, the Primarch swore he could feel the scar move. As if something hot and metallic was trying to push its way out of from his skin. In times of turmoil Baraca had taken to meditate on the skull. Rarely he would catch glimpses of psychic energy or even flickers that might be the first part of visions. It took his mind off of things and recently Baraca felt as if he was making progress on whatever eldritch task his father had given him.

Baraca's trance was broken by a voxcoms beep. Something important enough to warrant his attention had happened. Fighting back the flicker of irritation and apprehension the Primarch rose up and exited his meditation room. Passing by the rows of helmets, masks and skulls he kept in it as part decoration, part psychic totem. Moving into his chambers, he quickly dressed in his uniform and opened up the vox channel. "What is it?" he growled in the thunderous voice the Primarchs possess.

"Lady Hidamia requests your presence Lord Primarch," spoke the vox-attendant. For a moment the Primarch's twin hearts seemed to stop. Was this it? Was her death already here? Almost snarling a quick response, Baraca bolted from his quarters. At speeds a Landspeeder would find comfortable the Primarch moved through the flagship. The irrational, panicked emotions of a scared child winning against transhuman intellect and battle-tested willpower. To the callous or foolish it might seem ridiculous a being that could break worlds and rule civilizations might fall into such patterns. In such a case such an observer would not realize it is precisely that power Baraca possessed that he found himself struggling so much. As a man who could change the course of history with ease, whose very existence altered the destiny of a billion worlds and a trillion lives. How distressing must it be to not be able to keep a single mortal living?

Baraca soon burst into the hospice suite his adopted mother resided in. The solid metal door dented by his momentum as he thrust it open. Inside lay Hidamia the Brave. Still at the end of life, but very much alive. Sitting next to her, in rarely worn dress fatigues was Kharn the Breaker. The grizzled legionnaire in deep conversation with the old woman. Both Assasi-Matrari and Astartes looked up at the Primarch. In that single moment, Baracas super-cogitator of a mind fully understood what was occurring. Kharn had been unable to convince his fellow consuls to follow his plan and believed something must be done to move the Primarch to action. So Kharn had sought to enlist the aid of the one person who could reach Baraca and push him where the Breaker believed his father needed to go.

Kharn did not get the opportunity to speak. One moment he sat beside the honored matron of his father. Next, he choked on blood as a lightning-quick blow had struck him square in the chest. Then a colossal hand wrapped around his throat and lifted him up into the air. Kharn's head and shoulders smashed into the hospice suite's ceiling as Baraca launched him into the air. From between gritted teeth, the Primarch seethed: "How dare you! How dare you try and manipulate me with such brazen tricks! You defy your purpose, break your oaths, and besmirch the honors you have been given. Tell me why I should not rip your head off Kharn!?"

Kharn did not answer, because he could not. A mortal's neck would have been reduced to a crimson paste by the force on the Breaker's throat. Instead, Hidamia spoke up in a striking parade-ground bark. "Put him down Baraca. You act the fool and let your emotions run wild like a rapid beast"

Instantly Baraca dropped his Equerry and whirled to look at his mother. "He sought to use you in petty political games! Betraying my trust and exploiting you!"

Even as death fast approached, Hidamia's mind and tongue were razor-sharp. "He did the right thing despite the obvious dangers in doing so. Risking his father's wrath in order to save him. Kharn is right. What kind of Hound shirks his duty and lets monsters skulk past his watch? You are a great man Baraca like your father, but you have the potential to be what he stopped being long ago. You can be a good man. Do not dishonor my memory by retreating into misery and failing to protect those who need your shield and spear! You are the Hound of Humanity, the watcher at the gate and snarling fangs against the dark."

Emotions warred inside Baraca and he spoke with a mixture of confusion and pain: "You would have me leave your deathbed to save Xenos? Override my Father's will to save a worthless species on some matter of honor? Sacrifice my last days with you in some petty conflict I am not needed at?"

Without hesitation, the Assai-Matrari responded: "Yes, of course. These Xeno's doom is because of our actions, your actions. They deserve your protection right up until they prove themselves unworthy of it. I understand why your father acts with such hatred and callousness to the Alien, I also want you to understand that he can be wrong in this regard. The Warhound Legion must be like its namesake. Loyal, honorable, dutiful, but also willing to do what must be done and protect all those it should. Yes, I will die, but only in death does duty end. Honor me, my son, fight for the weak and the innocent no matter who they are."

Baraca stood silently for a moment before softly responding: "Yes, I understand mother. And…. thank you for everything."

Hidamia the Brave smiled a sad smile and touched her son's hand. "It's been wonderful, I am happy to have raised you as my own and my only wish is for you to be the best possible you. I love you Baraca my boy, I'll always be in your memories."

Choking back silent tears the Primarch whispered: "I love you too. You will always be with me."

With that, the Primarch turned and left. A new determination filling his being. Kharn followed behind his father and a momentary glance between the two showed the bonds forged on a hundred worlds and a thousand battles still stood strong. After sharing one final glance at his mother, Baraca Themistar. Lord Protector of the Imperium and Hound of Humanity marched to war.

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