You Deserve Better

Assassins spent most of their time asleep in stasis fields, ensuring that they remained in peak condition. Alpha-Rho-154 was here because the Assassinorum had to protect humanity's savior. In his opinion, the Primarch needed no protection. Even without ever fighting him, he could sense that tremendous power. No enemy could harm such a being. To him, they were all insignificant ants.

No matter how well the assassins hid, the Primarch spotted them at once. His eyes seemed to be scanners from which no creature could conceal itself. Alpha-Rho-154 felt distinctly uncomfortable under that burning gaze. He was not accustomed to being discovered. Soon, however, the Primarch looked away and strode toward the bridge.

Alpha-Rho-154 followed through the darkness. He had to remain at the Primarch's side at all times. Assassins from other temples moved in several other directions. They were so well concealed that, while motionless, almost no one could detect them. Assassinorum operatives could control their body temperature and blood flow, entering a state resembling death. Sometimes even soldiers carrying scanners could not find them.

As he moved, Alpha-Rho-154 considered how to conceal himself. He could not fool a Primarch. The fact that Guilliman always detected him instantly was deeply frustrating.

An assassin could never be satisfied with past victories. Satisfaction was complacency, and complacency invited danger. Once the illusion of perfection bound an assassin's hands and feet, the end was near. Improve yourself. Never stop. Pride and stagnation were heresy. That was their creed.

Every assassin was selected in infancy. The grand masters chose candidates soon after birth, and before their bones had finished forming, they underwent hundreds of modifications. By the time they could walk, they could easily kill an adult. The Assassinorum's grand masters and leaders trained them carefully according to the requirements of their temples and missions.

Sometimes their mentors raised candidates to resemble aliens, making infiltration of other species easier. Humans were not their only targets. The Assassinorum had carried out killings among almost every enemy humanity faced: strange cultists, Orks forever bellowing “Waaagh!”, Genestealers at the vanguard of the Tyranids, and the Aeldari.

Alpha-Rho-154's Culexus Temple trained anti-psyker assassins. His duty was to prevent evil sorcerers, daemons, or any other malevolent beings of that kind from approaching the Primarch. The Assassinorum had deployed its finest operatives, intent on keeping Guilliman completely safe.

The Grey Knights, Battle Sisters, and Sisters Repentia did not trust that protection. Assassins were permitted no closer than five meters from Guilliman. Each carried explosives that would detonate if they crossed that limit, and every movement was strictly monitored. At the start of their protective assignment, all their communications devices had been confiscated. They would accept orders from no one but Guilliman. These precautions guarded against a betrayal by the Assassinorum.

The assassins' abilities had been proven across the ages. Within a certain distance, they could easily kill a Space Marine. Meanwhile, the plan to rescue Celestine continued moving forward.

Elsewhere in the galaxy, great changes were taking place on Nostramo, the Night Haunter's homeworld. Corax, a keen supporter of workers' movements, had found it easy to start a revolution. Ten thousand years of suffering had ruined the inhabitants' morals by any normal human standard. To survive, they would kill the elderly without hesitation and eat their flesh.

Corax understood that human self-discipline could not sustain itself unaided. The Emperor had made that very clear. He established simple laws and recruited a security force from those whose character was at least passable. To enforce his laws without obstruction, he ruthlessly exiled or killed the former rulers. He also assigned people to preach and spread the Imperial Creed, hoping to stir the passions of an ignorant populace.

Under the combined influence of religion and law, Nostramo improved rapidly. People who had suffered so long in darkness welcomed something to support their fragile spirits. Their lives gained a purpose beyond the struggle to survive. Establishing a religion was not difficult. Corax needed only to copy Guilliman's Ecclesiarchal teachings. They proved remarkably effective.

The finest legacy his half-dead father had left him was the very religion that father despised. Corax almost wanted to see the day the Emperor awoke from the Golden Throne. His expression would surely be priceless.

Preaching demanded a particular gift that no modification or enhancement could provide, nor could effort alone produce it. A speaker had to be articulate, perceptive, and quick-thinking. Technology and drugs could sharpen that last quality. Historical knowledge, political negotiation, and rhetorical skill could all be acquired through diligent study and practice.

Yet true orators remained rare because they needed empathy, a quality exceedingly hard to find. Fortunately, Corax had found one: fifteen-year-old Ruisi. To be honest, he had not expected much from a child at first. A skilled speaker was crucial to spreading a faith; the other missionaries' success depended largely on that person's ability. But Ruisi had not disappointed him. Sometimes Corax had to admit that certain gifts were inborn and could not be obtained by any other means. Guilliman's talent for government and Ruisi's gift for public speaking were like that. The boy's words carried a profound empathy that could readily move his listeners.

Although Ruisi came from a poor family, Corax had still entrusted him with this important task.

“We have struggled to survive in aimless darkness because of the unforgivable sins we committed. Yet the great and holy Emperor will grant us redemption once more and guide us onto the proper path. His emissary already walks among the stars. But have we prepared ourselves to welcome that glorious light? Greed and slaughter will only lead us away from glory and into darkness forever.”

“We must abandon our old way of life and embrace a new future. We must prepare before the emissary arrives. If he leaves in disappointment, we shall remain trapped in darkness forever, crawling upon the ground until the vile things lurking there devour us.”

Ruisi's audience applauded enthusiastically. His skill was such that no one needed to plant supporters in the crowd to stir its emotions. He could make people cheer all on his own.

“The great emissary of redemption raises the flame of truth and divinity to illuminate every direction, lighting even the darkest corners. We shall have hope of leaving this planet and traveling into the vast sea of stars. We shall escape our eternal curse and move toward a future of equality, free from famine and death.”

“How tragic it would be if none of this were ours. The emissary's vanguard has already arrived. He has taught us to establish factories and build cities and roads. He has sown the seeds of hope. Whether they bear a rich harvest in the end is up to us.”

“We must keep a clear-eyed watch for anyone who attempts a crime. Such people would lead us away from the Emperor's path and light. We must learn to hear every accused person's account and determine whether they are guilty. We must let no wrongdoer escape, but neither may we condemn an innocent person. Either would disappoint the emissary.”

Applause grew louder with Ruisi's words, sweeping through the gathering like rolling thunder. He stood smiling at the lectern and quietly waited for the deafening sound to subside. Devotion shone on his youthful face. Vitality and holiness seemed to coexist there, calling countless beautiful things to mind.

“The time to part has come again. Remember the holy Emperor's teachings. Return to your posts. Keep your hearts watchful against evil and strive for what is good... Remind yourselves always to obey the law, preserve your inner calm, and reject excessive desires.”

As Ruisi spoke, the soldiers maintaining order slowly began dispersing the crowd. People withdrew reluctantly, still unsatisfied. They longed for more guidance.

Ruisi left the platform and walked into a shadowed place where Corax waited. The Primarch retained his preference for the dark. He no longer liked taking center stage. Ten thousand years spent hunting Lorgar had almost made him forget how to deal with other people. Picking it up again would not be especially difficult, but Corax understood that one sun was enough. Guilliman was the best choice for that sun.

Guilliman's expeditionary fleet would come to this world and sow the seeds of happiness and beauty. Its people would gain better lives, free from poisonous air, deserts, hunger, and cold. As on the countless worlds under his rule, flowers would bloom across every inch of land.

These poor, tormented people would see blue skies and breathe deeply of fresh air. They would take off their shoes without fear and run over soft grass. They would eat the freshest food, receive treatment for their illnesses, and perhaps even own a little courtyard filled with things that brought them joy. It all seemed as wonderful as a fairy tale.

Corax knew he could not accomplish that. Only Guilliman could. His brother had been born for it.

“My lord.” Ruisi's voice brought Corax back from his thoughts. He looked at the child, not even half his height, with contemplation and concern. This world was desperately sick. Chaos and destruction had sunk into its marrow; wanton violence and killing had become instinct. Even Ruisi, raised in a comparatively orderly settlement, would kill without hesitation to survive. Elsewhere, disorder was simply the norm. Yet the boy still loved his family. That was worth praising, and one reason Corax had chosen him.

“My lord, what news of the message?” Ruisi gazed at Corax in adoration. That towering body held incomparable strength. Any enemy before him was swept aside and killed. He was the redeemer sent by the Emperor, a god walking among mortals.

“There has been a reply. A fleet has answered me,” Corax said. He had used several untrained psykers to raise a psychic chorus so that the expeditionary forces could locate him.

Guilliman had granted his brothers a useful authority: they could draw freely upon Imperial resources. The Departmento Munitorum would review their requests before all others and approve them so long as they did not endanger the expeditionary fleets. Corax's astropathic message had been processed as soon as it was received. A fleet would arrive with administrators to take over the world and provide him with a starship, allowing him to continue his mission.

“You'll keep guiding this world, won't you?” Ruisi looked at him hopefully, waiting for reassurance. Corax had seen that look before, ten thousand years ago. After he liberated his homeworld, its people had looked at him in the same way. They wanted his guidance forever, to keep them from straying onto the wrong path.

“No, Ruisi. There is no use in my staying. This world will receive better guidance. You will become part of a great family, and they will help you build a beautiful world.”

The smile vanished from Ruisi's face. His eyes reddened, and all the confidence of his speech deserted him. His voice caught. “Why are you abandoning us? What we have now is already so good.”

“But you deserve better. A better ruler. A better world. Ruisi, you have lived in hardship too long. You are like someone who has spent years starving, always on the edge of death. Give him enough food to keep from starving, and he thinks he has found paradise. Your restraint is a fine virtue, and you should keep it. But sometimes you must set it aside and let yourself embrace a better future.”