Beautification of the Inner Sphere 5 (Patreon)

Commissioned

Beautification of the Inner Sphere

Chapter 5

-VB-

Three days ago…

Abdemon sat alone with his father in one of the many chapels dotted across the Pride of the Emperor. 

This one had been cleared because the primarch needed to say something to him in private. 

It made sense. He was one of the remaining top ranking astartes among his brothers. It made sense that he would be told things that might not be told to his brothers. 

“My son.”

He straightened when father called him that. 

“Yes, father?” he asked, returning the familial gesture, especially in a private meeting like this. 

Primarch Fulgrim took a deep breath in and let it out. 

Like he was suffering from something. Like he was … less. It didn’t sound like him at all. When Lord Fulgrim had trouble, he would frown, grumble, or mimic his elder brother Horus in smiling even when he didn’t feel like. 

He never sighed despondently.

But that couldn’t be it. There was no way that -.

“Abdemon, I must confess to you something crucial about our current circumstance.”

“Something more than being away from the Emperor, perhaps thousands of years if not more back in time, and without any support structure?” he asked in his usual manner and almost clamped his mouth shut. 

Father … chuckled. 

“Just about. But there is something more.”

“... It must be something significant if you have me here alone.”

He could think of a few reasons as to why. 

One of them was if he could not handle the truth, then he would need to be disposed of. 

It was why there were no psykers among his brothers, though there were among his cousins. Psykers perverted the Imperial Truth one way or another, so father had rejected them in turn, sending them away to his brothers to serve. 

There had been those who also rejected the orders from the Emperor during and after the expungement of the 2nd. Those who had grown too close to their cousins in the 2nd Legion and protested even the eradication of those who had remained clean. 

Father carried out the Emperor’s orders with tears in his eyes, then, for there was nothing more perfect and reflective of the Emperor to perform heartbreaking tasks because they needed to be done. 

And now, he was here alone with his father. 

It must be … profound, whatever Lord Primarch wanted to tell him. 

Father took a deep breath in and finally spoke. 

“After an in-depth discussion with the navigator, I have come to believe that … we may be indefinitely stranded.”

He blinked. 

“Was that not the case before?”

“I mean that we may be stranded here in this system.”

“I do not understand.”

“The warp does not exist here.”

He stared at his father. 

“I do not understand.”

“Our warp drives require the warp to function, even if we were trying to skim the surface of it. Right now, there is no warp. If there is, then it is so thin that our ability to cross lightyears has been severely reduced.”

Ah, it was that kind of a problem. 

“Worse, I am worried about how the first contact scenario with the Federated Suns will play out.”

“How so? Are they not inferior to us technologically?”

“Yes, but they are also an empire rivaling the five hundred worlds of Ultramar governed by my brother. Not as robust but they are one of the five main powers of this era for a reason.”

“I… see. Speaking of which, my lord, how did you know about them?”

That brought Fulgrim to a stop. His father didn’t hesitate so much as he mulled over the correct words for his delivery. 

“Part of it is simple knowledge. Others are … different. When our warp jump came to an end, I experienced some kind of hallucination. A glimpse of this era and the situation at hand. It is why I am not acting like how I usually am. I believe I am still disoriented from it, though with the rate that I have been recovering, I should be fine by tomorrow or the day after.”

Abdemon nearly rose up in alarm. Lord Fulgrim had been under stress and warp influence and no one had recognized it?! 

“How bad is it, my lord?” he asked cautiously. 

“Not bad enough to require extensive rest. Just quiet time for myself to organize my thoughts.”

“... I see.”

“Which leads to the second problem at hand. We have no logistics.”

“Ah, yes. I did mention that.”

“Worse, the Pride does not have a sophisticated enough facility capable of replacing the most critical parts of the ship, though most power armors, vehicles, and ship armor will not be a problem. No, the bigger problem is the limited number of engiseers, magi, and other techpriests required to operate those very machines. After all, most of my sons do not know how to turn on the main generators for the ship, never mind maintaining them. The few techmarines among your siblings can, aye, but even they are limited in number.”

Abdemon grimaced. This was something he had already run into while running the ship. 

“A problem even bigger than that … is food.”

“Food.”

“Yes, food.”

“We have rations.”

“Son, we have rations to last one year.”

“Ah.”

That was not a lot of time. Time passed by rather quickly. 

“Yes, that is the biggest problem. Food will run out sooner or later.”

“... Can we not bring a few worlds into compliance? And use them as our new base of operation?” 

Father let out another sigh, and Abdemon almost felt like he disappointed Lord Fulgrim. But he kept firm and waited for an answer. 

“Let us assume we do. We then tie ourselves down to a single location without the ability to fully protect all of the worlds. We do only have one warship, after all.” Then he sighed. “We will have to learn more about this era before we take our next step.”

He nodded. That was the prudent choice.

“But this also means that we may need to act far… gentler than we ever have back home,” Fulgrim continued. “There is an old Terran story about situations similar to ours from a time before humans even left its gravity. Two people were at war, and a mighty warrior from one people stepped up. He challenged the other, claiming that they should end the war with a single one-on-one combat. But this man was a giant for his time, powerful as well. The other people’s king and warriors hesitated and feared this powerful giant. The regular soldiers obviously didn’t rise up to fight. So what happened?”

“Did they retreat?”

“No. A shepherd stepped up.”

“... A shepherd,” Abdemon repeated incredulously. 

“Yes, a shepherd. When his king, the people’s warriors, and soldiers cowered in their tents, this shepherd, a boy not even in his adulthood, stepped up with a single sling. He grabbed a few smooth stones from the bottom of the ditch that the two were supposed to fight. The powerful giant laughed and mocked him and his people. How cowardly must one be to send a little boy to die?”

“And did he die?”

“Oh no. The thing is, shepherds during that time - and really, still today - had to fight off predators coming for the livestock they protected. So this boy had been an expert in fending off predators with his sling.”

“How?” 

Father smiled. “Ancient slings in the hands of an expert approached the stopping power of a handheld slug thrower. Not same or better but approaching it nonetheless.”

Abdemon paused. Interesting. “And against a giant who didn’t have bulletproof armor…”

“Yes. The giant took one hit to the forehead and fell. He could have been alive when the boy began cutting off his head, but the point of this story is that we are the giant and the numerous smaller, inferior states are the boy in the story. That boy is not a valued member of his society. He was a shepherd, a job that every little boy and even elderly were allowed to perform at times. All it takes for us to fall, my son, is for us to act recklessly and invite the retaliation of the common man in an era where small nuclear bombs exist and void ships, no matter how small, can cause significant damage if they suicide-charge at max acceleration. To that end, we must become … unassailable in other ways.”

“Then how are we to gain supplies to keep ourselves afloat, father?” 

Father smiled. “I have an idea. In fact, you may even like the plan.”

-VB-

Present

“I … see,” Powell replied.

But he wasn’t sure if he should believe the words the man was saying. At the same time, he couldn’t not believe it considering what was in front of him. 

The giant of giants, Lord Fulgrim of the Emperor’s Children, claimed to be a genetically altered son of an emperor. And his sons, those who took on his “geneseed,” were the “astartes,” or “space marines” as Lord Fulgrim called them in English. 

And according to him, he and his people might have jumped back in time as a result of a misjump.

And had it been just words, Powell might not have trouble not believing… except the very words themselves gave credence. 

Lord Fulgrim said that no one else on his ship spoke English, only “High Gothic” and “Low Gothic.” Linguists from around Tancredi IV were brought in, and they were super ecstatic when they heard both languages being spoken. Apparently, both languages were some kind of descendent of a mix of multiple languages including but not limited to English, Latin, Cantonese, and Urdu. 

“Then what will you do now?” he asked. 

Fulgrim rubbed his chin. 

“... I was meant to be the perfection of the emperor. Or rather to be the face of that perfection,” he replied. “Whether it is combat, knowledge, wisdom, justice, or art. I will continue to be so.” 

“... How?”

Fulgrim smiled. “By fighting for what is good and righteous, of course! As the Emperor intended!”