The Subsector Project

Caomer Subsector – Ederon – 736.M41

  The docking bay was austere, purposefully, insultingly so. Rather than a fanfare of honor and glory for their return to the bosom of the Imperium, the trio of astartes warriors were greeted with bare metal, a few stacked pallets of war materiel which had yet to find its way to the storage magazines, and rank upon rank of the citadel guard.

The soldiers stood in tense rows, helmeted and armed with grim determination as much as with conventional weaponry, flanked by hastily-erected heavy pintle emplacements. Their armor shone, not with the spit polish of Militarum troopers, but the frank, muted dullness of Navis breachers. Voidsmen all, bonded to the service of the Citadel. Some undoubtedly brought by merchants and imperial navy vessels, others likely drawn from other areas of the crew or born on-station. They were the most lethal the citadel had to offer, drilled in the art of void warfare until they forgot anything but the urgency of their mission, a stalwart bastion against any foes.

The three space marines stood stolid before the citadel guard, seemingly at-ease. Their armor bore the fetishes of their kind long-separated from the trappings of imperial forgeworlds, making each an island unto themselves. Scavenged ceramite plating showed the age of each armor set as being amalgamated; black, blue, and a single bronzed eye cried out their chapter to those with the knowledge to see it: Visionaries.

  Abdos swept into the hold, imperiously, arrayed in his cloak of office, bearing the golden aquila seal about his neck which marked him as a representative of distant Terra. Unlike his men he’d forgone a helmet- if decompression came for him, he would face it head on and die with a smile on his lips. He reviewed the arrayed guard with relish, savoring the sensation of making the penitents wait for him to finish. At last, his eyes turned to them, to see what the void had spat onto his station. He approached a handful of steps, waving away his attendant guards and hangers-on, save for a personal transcription servitor. Leeches all of them, under-sector administrators and lords too petulant to find passage off the Citadel. He wouldn’t normally acquiesce to their presence, but sometimes it paid to host an air of authority.

“Penitents,” He paused, adding weight to the word. “I greet you, and welcome you to the Citadel of Ederon. I am Citadelmaster Abdos.” He spoke with what he hoped was an imperious and officious demeanor. Such a greeting was designed to elicit a response, and he gazed expectantly at each astartes in turn.

The first of the three was taller, measurably so, hooded and enshrouded in a cloak of deepest purple, one hand ensconced in a lightning claw, dull and unpowered, but seemingly unable to be removed. Atop his shoulders, skulls of bestial creatures, stripped of flesh and grinning lifelessly. The eyes of his helmet shone in the deep recesses of his cowl, a glittering orange, the coals of a blazing fire. The giant offered no word of greeting.

The second wore a cape of furs over his battlescarred plate, hiding hideous, long scratches, evidently recent as they glittered, unpainted in the darkness. Abdos shuddered to imagine what manner of creature could ravage ceramite to such a degree. That being, too, declined to do more than stare at Abdos as he turned his attention to the third space marine.

“I am Rex Solus, the Speaker of the Path.” The marine’s tone was distorted and metallic, as though the vox speaker struggled to process his words properly. Of the three, his armor was perhaps the best-maintained, free of trophies and augments save for a hanging censer maglocked to his belt, and perhaps a few subtle markings of rank Abdos did not comprehend. A click from one of the other giants indicated a terse vox-message, and Salus Rex, as he had identified himself, reached up, releasing the seals of his helmet with a hiss.

He pulled it free, short dark hair framing pale, sallow skin and sunken cheeks. Notched eyebrows gave him a feral, unkempt appearance, quite unlike his armor’s cleanliness would suggest. Abdos gritted his teeth to avoid quailing before the space marine’s gaze, feeling the hazel eyes sharply admonishing him for his petulance. It all suddenly felt so cheap and transparent, a small game for the visage shared by the Emperor’s own creations.

“We are not penitents.” The space marine’s voice was soft outside of his helmet vox. It carried none of the judgement of his eyes, as though he was merely stating a fact, a personal state of being. “A penitent is one who has a debt to be paid in blood, a sin to be absolved of by the grace of the God-Emperor.” He spread his hands, as if to encompass the whole group. “Our blood has been shed, and our sins absolved.” Again, his tone was light, his words simple, as though he felt himself speaking to a small child. It fanned a coal of anger in Abdos’ heart.

“I know your ilk, space marine.” Abdos practically spat the words. “I have read the betrayals of your chapter, and found the High Lords’ admonishment wanting.” He clutched the golden aquila about his neck, and thrust it towards the sallow-skinned giant, as though seeking to repel him. “The God-Emperor of all mankind has charged me with the defense of this world, the sector trade lanes, and the wellbeing of the trillions who depend upon it. I will not allow heretics-”
The hooded giant twitched, his fur-clad compatriot’s head snapped towards him, and the vox clicked. It was only an instant, a moment of motion before both returned to their solid, unspeaking silence. Abdos had seen, in an instant, the lightning claw crackling with power, the work of an instant for the creature to decapitate him, only restrained by the one to which he seemingly owed allegiance. The bay suddenly smelled of ozone, and the breachers responded, raising their weapons to level at the astartes, the tension rising.

“See?” Abdos pointed to the hooded space marine, its baleful orange eyes fixed upon him from its hidden visage. “The desire to willfully slay a servant of the Imperium is an act of heresy in and of itself!” He was speaking for the benefit of his soldiers, rather than Solus, or either of the other marines. His face became a sneer. “Hundreds of your brethren fell to the influence of the dark gods- why are you any different? Why should I not obliterate your ship from existence and scrap its ruin for raw materials?”

Silence, for a beat, before the Speaker of the Path spoke again.

“We were no different.” Salus Rex’s hand rose, touching the aquila on his own chest, framed in the same bronze as the eye upon his chapter emblems. For the first time, his voice shifted, it was almost thoughtful. Abdos gaped at the naked confession.

“We were no different.” The space marine’ voice rose, as if to address the entire docking bay. “We believed we were those who saw, Visionaries, those who followed what we thought was the Path the Emperor had laid for us as clear and plain as the steel beneath our feet.” His hand gestured downwards, not just to the grating, but to the very idea of solid ground. “And in that belief, we allowed ourselves to be led, like grox to the slaughter. We allowed the dark gods to encroach upon our chapter, and pull us to the brink of damnation. Only providence, and our faith in the Emperor, drew us back from perdition, and even then, not all of us.” The fur-robed figure inclined his head momentarily, seemingly interrupting the Speaker with a signal only he could understand. A moment, a mere breath, before Solus began again.

“The heretical elements of our chapter have been crushed.” It was a statement delivered with the force of a Volcano Cannon, with obvious relish. His eyes gleamed with the memories of battles fought, and battles won. “Six hundred faithless traitors burned from the surface of dozens of worlds, along with hundreds of thousands of their vile ilk. A dozen stolen void ships burned, along with our chapter’s battle barge destroyed with all hands and our accursed former chapter master.” The space marine tone shifted again to one of unbridled venom, dictating the destruction wrought by his chapter’s penance as they reached out to grasp their brethren traitoris. “My brothers gave their lives, not that we might return to the Imperium, that we might rebuild our chapter, nor for the pleasure of the High Lords. Hundreds of faithful destroyed with their geneseed and wargear, slain in battle, or beneath the apothecary’s blade for lack of resources and succor.” He raised a fist, and brought it striking down in admonition against his other palm. “They did so to become the blade of the Emperor once more! To be given the chance to smite the forces of the archenemy and bring ruin upon their plans. That was the only absolution we desired, the only absolution we shall ever need!”

The Speaker’s teeth were bared in a fervent grin, the zeal behind his words self-evident to the onlookers, energizing their own emotions. The assembled ranks of citadel guard shifted, some rifles slowly dropping. Abdos blanched at the fervor of the space marine’s oration, and the realization of his own folly. He had given the astartes the perfect platform to appeal to the faith of the many. Indeed, he felt his own certainty shaking, fracturing- Can this creature really be heretical when it preaches like a ministorum priest?

“The God-Emperor does not provide certainty beyond that of his own divine purpose!” The Speaker’s words were like a physical weight upon Abdos’ shoulders, a rebuke to his own conviction. “All those who claim infallible certitude, be they man or space marine, are a pawn, a tool for the dark gods to puppet as they desire.” Solus’ hand rose once more, this time in accusation, pointing straight towards Abdos. “You, stationmaster, claim to know my heart, and the souls of my brothers. You call us penitents and heretics, and bemoan our fall from grace while discounting the truth of our revivification.” The gauntlet remained firmly pointed towards him, causing Abdos to sputter, feeling the eyes of the crowd upon him.

“I-I do not recognize your-” He could not form the words. The hulking forms of the astartes were filling his vision, suddenly seeming god-like in their stature. How could I have thought to disbar such creatures?

Abdos felt his gorge rising. The ceramite finger was accusatory, unwavering, certain. They planned this. The thought lanced through his brain, ice-cold fear gripping his heart. They knew I was planning to repulse them. He cast about, searching for a charitable face in the crowd of hangers-on, but found only pale, grim visages.
“We are created in the image of the Emperor’s sons.” Solus’ voice boomed through the bay, veritably shaking Abdos and those in his employ. “We are charged by the High Lords to take control of this world, and become a bulwark for the Caomer subsector.” The hooded space marine’s hand rose, hoisting a long, flowing scroll of vellum on high. The stationmaster didn’t need to look to know it bore the seals of the High Lords. “Let all those who still hold the Emperor in their hearts aid us, and raise his name on high!”
The energy of the moment was released in cheers and shouts of adulation. The citadel guard was no longer Abdos’ hammer, they were the angels’. As one, they beat their breastplates, hammering their boots upon the deck plating. Inspired. The stationmaster marveled, even as his own honor guard closed in at a motion from the Speaker. Irons clamped upon his wrists and ankles, sealed at the giant’s direction.

The space marine’s eyes were almost gentle as he stared at Abdos, leaning in for a moment more, his voice returning to its soft and moderate state.

“I do not think you are an evil man, but undoubtedly you have gone astray. The Inquisition will determine the truth of your faith, as they have determined the truth of ours.” Abdos sputtered, but found his voice lacking, unable to rise to the occasion as he felt force on his back, pushing him away from the angels of death as they were surrounded by the adulation of the crowd, snatching him away as the last words of the Speaker rang in his ears. “Signal the Chapter Master. All as he has forseen.”