Wow.
Well, I am back. There have been points where I felt the story would never continue, but it seems I got back at least some inspiration to finish it.
This is the last chapter of the Fatemakers, but there is still some interesting twists ahead. I have no idea how often i will update, although I can say it would not take me another half a year

.
Enjoy.
Aboard the
Opportunity616 days after the Emperor's death
It was a lonely experience to walk the corridors of the ship now. Malistrum had to realize as he was heading for the training cages that several dozen people could simply not produce the same level of background noise as a couple of thousand. It was an almost unconscious, but eventually reassuring sensation to hear the faint sounds of all the hundred crewmen going about their business in all corners of the ship. Steps, quiet conversations, machine noises crated by the actions of humans... now it was all gone.
The Captain was disciplined enough to shake off the unease, but he did notice it, which was telling in itself. An era was over aboard the vessel, just like Strike Force Four itself was over. What was left was only the final chapter in the history of a five hundred years Astartes order: a last act of defiance, almost a formality to put the Fatemakers' affairs in order.
Being Space Marines, that last chapter was to end in violence and death, but not the death of everybody. The majority of the strike force – what was left of it after the pyrrhic victory – had left the system a day earlier and headed for the territory of their once enemies, the Twilight Monk Space Marines. Their fate now rested in the hand of Scout-Sergeant Essen and the Chapter Master of the Monks; Malistrum had no more say in it. He was only responsible for the small token task force which stayed on the ship to finally catch up with the rest of the Chapter fleet and confront the now undoubtedly renegade Fatemaker Chapter Master. Fiffito still had three ships at his disposal, and in a conventional battle, not even Malistrum's whole strike force could beat him. The Captain was counting on a more personal confrontation, for which only a skeleton crew was necessary, one which could operate the ship and make sure he himself would get to the Chapter Master.
Malistrum was sure he and the entire remaining crew would perish in the final showdown, which meant whoever had made the decision to stay had in fact resigned to die. Staying behind had been entirely voluntary, safe for those people who were bound to the ship herself with special oaths of servitude. Duty was not supposed to play any role in their decision, yet there were some who did the dutiful thing and refused to go with the others. These people had to have a personal reason to stay, and Malistrum was interested in their reasons.
There were not so many people left to ask, and the Captain mostly wanted to hear what the Astartes and the specialist contingent had to say, which meant he had to visit only a handful of people. The training cages were the closest to his quarters, so he went there as he was sure he would find the first man on his list there. He was not disappointed.
The training cages only occupied the back of the great room, but they were the most important piece of equipment here, so even the precise Astartes used this name to the hall in general. This place used to be louder as well, but now there was only one occupant. A large – although not Astartes-large, not yet – shape was leaping and moving inside the cage, battling with a set of pre-programmed mechanical arms, all of which ended in razor-sharp blades. None of the blades were wet with blood, and Malistrum nodded with approval. Although the young person in the cage was only an initiate, not a full-fledged Space Marine, he had shown great potential in the past, both physically and mentally. The boy had a future at the Chapter, and yet he had decided to throw it all away and follow his Captain to death.
Malistrum had to know his reasons.
The initiate sensed his approach, but he observed the protocols and did not simply jump out of the cage. Malistrum watched as he properly disengaged the training arms and stepped out to meet his superior. He was barely breathing faster than normally after what seemed to be a full training session, and the Captain nodded to himself. This initiate was indeed a worthy addition to the Chapter.
‘Brother-Captain,’ the younger one bowed respectfully. Malistrum raised a hand.
‘Initiate Loriant. I needed to speak with you, but for this conversation, we cannot keep up the formalities. I need to have an honest hour with you.’
‘Of course.’ If the initiate was surprised, he did not show it. The ‘honest hours’ were a Fatemaker invention, although as far as Malistrum knew, not all strike forces practiced it. Basically, the new initiates under training regularly got a full hour of time when they could speak freely with their drill instructors about any topic they wanted. Any other time, questions would have been considered insubordination which would have resulted in punishment meted out according to the harsh conditions of the Codex Astartes. The honest hours helped the initiates to better understand the aims and goals of their training and the tasks ahead of them. In most cases, the questions of the initiates were the same and could usually be summarized in one question: ‘Why the hell do you have to push us with the training like this?’ In some cases, however, the initiates could come up with surprisingly intelligent topics as well, and the instructors could gain valuable insight into the mindset of their charges. It helped to ease the tension and also served to meld the initiates with various background into a more cohesive unity.
The questions were usually not asked by a full-fledged battle-brother during an honest hour, not to mention the Captain of the strike force, but the times where these things mattered had long been gone. The two Astartes – one ancient and one at the beginning of his life – sat down on two opposite benches.
‘What would you ask of me, Captain?’ Loriant asked. He was not cowed by Malistrum, which was also a good sign. The boy was made of good material.
‘I studied your files, initiate,’ Malistrum started. ‘Your performance during the training was consistently good. You were promoted junior squad leader quite early, and you could motivate the other initiates like a real officer. You also acquitted yourself well during the battle at Khadmus. You stood your ground under circumstances which you were not fully prepared for and you managed to keep up with Sergeant Essen, which is no small feat in itself. In short, you have great potential.’
‘I have thought of this, Captain,’ Lorian nodded. ‘I tried not to think about it because I did not want it to get in my head, but…’ he shrugged. ‘I was somewhat better than the others. The instructors didn’t tell me, but I knew what I can do and what the others can. I would have probably become a good Astartes.
Malistrum frowned. ‘Would have?’ he echoed.
Loriant shifted uncomfortably. ‘If we are having an honest hour, I should speak with you openly, Brother-Captain.’
‘I would not have I otherwise.’
‘Then I must say, and you must know this yourself, that we are all going to die in this mission. Maybe we will succeed, but we are about to take on three companies of Fatemakers, and we will not survive it. At most we will take them with us, but we will not live to have another mission. My training will not be over by that time and so I will die as an initiate, not as a full-fledged brother.’
Malistrum did not say anything for a while, and Loriant looked at him questioningly.
‘Is it not true what I have just said, Brother-Captain?’
This conversation did not start the way Malistrum planned, and for the second time in a few days, the Captain felt he was being pushed into a corner. Still, this was an honest hour, and the strike force had so few of its old traditions intact that he did not want to squander this one. He nodded.
‘This is true, initiate. This is nothing less than a suicide mission, and all the remaining personnel aboard are facing certain death. As a matter of fact, this is exactly the reason why I wanted to talk to you. Few of the Space Marines aboard remained and this is good because Sergeant Essen needed all the men to make a fresh start. Some stayed, and in most cases, it was completely voluntary. You stayed voluntarily as well, even though you did not have to and you had a bright future ahead of you – a much as anything can be called ‘bright’ any more.’
Malistrum leaned forward and raised the question.
‘Why did you stay with the ship?’
The Captain knew that this question was important. The strike force may not be alive long enough for the answers to make a difference, but they would make a difference to him. He had just sacrificed the better portion of his company to carry out a task which eventually turned out to be futile, and if he wanted to give their sacrifice a new purpose, he would have to pay attention to his remaining men. The answers would be enlightening.
Loriant sighed. ‘I stayed behind,’ he said, ‘because I drew the shortest rod.’
Now
this answer, the Captain did not expect.
‘
What did you do?’
‘I drew the shortest rod. It was…’ Loriant stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts, and he was probably also taken aback by the look the Captain gave him. ‘After the battle and your speech, we… the remaining initiates… sat down and discussed what to do. It was obvious that the majority would go with Scout-Sergeant Essen, but we felt that your mission was important. The Sergeant himself told us so.’
Malistrum raised an eyebrow.
‘Did he?’
‘Yes.’ Loriant was deadly serious. ‘He always talked about you with utmost respect. The stories he told us about you… during the Neodevourer Wars and other campaigns…’ the initiate stretched his arms out as if he what not been sure what to say. ‘He almost worshipped you. And us too.’
This praise sat uncomfortably with the Captain, but the initiate had not finished yet. ‘We knew that you needed all the support you could get, and we understood how dangerous a renegade Chapter is. We also knew that you would not get a lot more ahead with us scouts. But we needed to show you our support, even if it was symbolic. So we drew lots. We took the cleaning rods we used to clean the bolters – they came in two lengths for some reason, I don’t know why – and the one who drew the shortest one stayed behind to represent us in your final mission.’
Loriant finished his speech and looked at the Captain expectantly. Malistrum was not sure what to say. He wanted an answer to his question and this was an answer, but not one which was easy to address. Then a thought occurred to him.
‘The way you put this suggests that staying behind was an honour,’ he said.
Loriant nodded.
‘It was, and it still is. This is perhaps the most important mission in the history of the Chapter. And probably the last one too.’
‘Then why did the one who drew the shortest rod stay behind?’
The initiate sighed. He obviously felt uncomfortable with this question, but not more so than Malistrum had a minute earlier.
‘This was important, and we knew it. But none of us wanted to volunteer to stay behind. We… I…’ Loriant shook his head. ‘Captain, I was an orphan in Belandon when you recruited me. The scholam was better than the streets but still… I had nothing to look forward to in my life. You trained me, turned me into a new man, a being above men. You gave me weapons and a purpose to use them. I was destined to do great deeds, you said it yourself. This mission is a great deed… but not mine. I will have no part in it, only witness it. I wanted to do something more with my life.’
These words echoed Essen’s almost perfectly, and Malistrum had to fight not to swallow hard. ‘Did the others feel the same?’ he asked.
Loriant nodded.
‘Then why did any of you stay behind in the first place?’
‘Duty,’ the answer came. ‘We knew what was expected of us, and we all accepted it. The majority goes and fights with Scout-Sergeant Essen, and one stays behind to support you in any way he can. Our motivations and personal desires are unimportant as long as we do our duty. I would have preferred to go where I could have contributed more, but my duty is the same here. I will stand by your side and do whatever I can to assist you in your quest no matter whether I drew the longest or the shortest rod. That is…’ he added after a moment of consideration, ‘I will stand by your side if you still take me after this, my lord.’
Malistrum stood immobile for a few seconds before standing up. ‘You have sacrificed a lot for the strike for and for me too,’ he said. ‘I know this now, and I appreciate your dedication. I shall be honoured to have you on my side when the final confrontation occurs.’
Loriant’s relief was palpable. ‘The honour is mine, Brother-Captain.’ He sat for a little while, as if to wait for Malistrum to do something more. ‘Was there anything else you wanted…’
‘No,’ Malistrum shook his head. ‘This honest hour is finished. You may return to your training session, initiate.’
‘Thank you, Brother-Captain.’ Loriant stood up, cast a final glance at Malistrum and turned back towards the cages.
The Captain looked as he turned on the machine. He had got his answer to his question from the first person he wanted to ask, but suddenly, he was not sure he really wanted to know what the others had to say. Still, he had made a decision and he intended to carry it through.
Loriant was about to enter the cage when he turned back for the last time, only to see that the Captain had disappeared. Frowning, the initiate gripped the handle of the practice blade and returned to the training.
Magos Brakk was the next in line, and, just like initiate Loriant, he was easy to find as well. Most of the Mechanicus contingent had left with the
Pearl of Malakash to assist the now independent Fatemaker remnants, but some, their leader included, stayed behind. They exclusively occupied the engine section now and only went out to the other parts of the ship to do maintenance work. The Magos did not take part in those: he stayed in the main engine chamber, overseeing the myriad consoles and instruments which eventually made the ship move in real- and Warp-space.
Malistrum approached with reverent slowness. This was the Magos’s realm, the realm of the Machine-God, even though the Emperor might have been its manifestation, in which case this was a temple of a dead deity. Nevertheless, this place represented a world quite different from his: a world of logic and order which he had to appreciate in these dark days.
The Magos was busy adjusting something on the main console, using not only his regular arms but also his mechadendrites. As Malistrum came closer, one of the servitor-assistants emitted a short blur of machine codes, and the Magos turned back.
‘Brother-Captain Malistrum,’ he named the Astartes with his monotonous machine voice. ‘I was not expecting your company today. Is there a technical problem aboard the ship I am not aware of?’
‘This is an informal visit, Magos Brakk,’ Malistrum answered. He knew how little the Magos was used to social interaction, but this was important to him. ‘I would like to have a private conversation with you.’
Magos did not move for a second, save for a few twitches along his mechadendrites. ‘This is an… unusual request,’ he finally answered.
‘I know. I am touring along the ship to get informed about the general morale and sentiment among the remaining crew. As master of the Mechanicus section, your opinion is important to me about certain issues.’
The Magos slightly moved his head aside. ‘Do you wish to reassess the human factor of the ship?’
Malistrum thought about it. ‘I merely want to know the answer to one question. But yes, I am eventually interested in how the human factor has changed on the ship,’ he admitted.
The Magos nodded. ‘We can converse outside the chamber.’
‘Good idea,’ Malistrum agreed. The Magos blurted some instructions to his underlings, and the two left the chamber. The engine section was a safety hazard for the ship, and so it was designed to be detached from the rest of the vessel as much as possible. The chamber opened onto a huge chasm with a simple metal bridge spanning it. They walked over the bridge with slow, steady steps as dictated by the Captain. He needed time to collect his thoughts.
‘I am interested in the reasons why the volunteers on this vessel decided to stay behind,’ he eventually said. There was really no point in running circles with the Magos. ‘There was no logic in staying, except in a few cases. Yours was not an obvious choice. You could have gone with the others and leave a subordinate behind.’
‘I was needed on the
Opportunity,’ Brakk answered. His voice did not betray any emotion.
‘This is true,’ Malistrum said, ‘but you were also needed on the
Pearl. Besides, you are not answering the question.’
He received no response to that. He stopped and turned towards the Mechanicus adept, just at the end of the bridge.
‘Magos?’
The other seemed hesitant, almost uncomfortable, which was not something Malistrum was usually able to read on people. This was surprising, but the Captain knew enough of the tech-priests to know that he would eventually explain himself.
‘I… have been thinking about my decision myself,’ the tech-priest admitted. ‘There is indeed no logic in staying here in a mission which will inevitable end in our death. I am hesitant to say, but I came to the conclusion that the reason why I decided so was that cowardice.’
Malistrum was surprised the second time that day. ‘Cowardice?’ he repeated.
The Magos nodded. ‘Fear is an emotion. A chemical response to a dangerous situation aimed at self-preservation. It can be supressed even by unmodified humans, and a tech-adept of the Mechanicum does not even have the necessary brain components to feel it. However, cowardice is more than just an instinctive response. It is a hesitance to make the necessary sacrifice to achieve a goal. I am guilty of cowardice because I am unwilling to make the right sacrifice.’
Malistrum did not understand.
‘You said it yourself that staying here means certain death. If dying does not bother you than what is the sacrifice that you don’t want to make?’
‘Staying alive in this world,’ the answer came. The Magos slowed down and his voice seemed contemplative now. ‘Techmarine Guztav had a conversation with me before the attack on the heretic Mechanicus site. I suggested to him that Mankind is eventually doomed without the help of the Omnissiah as our species is not enough to face the challenges of the Warp and the natural dangers of the Galaxy in itself. I said that it was still worth living and fighting to protect others, even if only in the short run. I now regret making that claim.’
‘Malistrum contemplated this for a second.’
‘What has changed?’ he finally asked.
‘I received first-hand experience of that sacrifice during the battle. I have never commanded an army in a ground engagement before. This was partly the reason why I accepted that task because I wanted to see what I will need to do to survive in the future. What I saw on the planet…’
He stopped.
‘Forgive me, Brother-Captain,’ he said in the end. ‘I do not feel emotions like ordinary people do, but my brain still struggles to interpret what happened down there. It was total chaos where logic offered almost no advantage and the success of our mission eventually depended on a few random elements which I was unable to calculate. This would have been enough, but I also had to review the state of our troops and armour division after the battle had been won.’
His mechadendrites twitched as the Magos recalled that memory.
‘The final conclusion as that both the human and the vehicle contingents suffered irreparable damage. Theoretically, it was possible to replace both, but the practical analysis claimed that we would never get in a situation where such a complete overhaul would happen again. Strike Force Four and the
Opportunity would not renew. When I extrapolated this thought, I realized that this would also be the eventual faith of the Imperium as well. We are strong, but this only means that our decay would happen slowly. I have the potential to live even twice as long as I already have. I… did not wish to live out the rest of my life watching that slow decay, so when I realized that my presence here in this lethal mission could be validated, I volunteered to stay behind.’
The pair slowed down at the end of the bridge and then stopped completely. Malistrum did not look at the Magos: instead, his eyes gazed into the emptiness in the great chasm.
‘I believe you are disappointed in my decision and my character, Brother-Captain Malistrum,’ the Magos said in a soft voice.
The other sighed. ‘You have offered my help and you are ready to die in carrying out our current mission,’ he answered. ‘This is the very definition of the duty of an Astartes, which means I have no right to be disappointed. I wanted to know your motives, and you answered me honestly, and for that, you have my thanks.’
‘I am glad to be of assistance,’ Magos Brakk said. ‘I can also assure you that my cowardice will not affect my performance aboard this vessel. Was there anything else you wanted to know?’
‘No,’ Malistrum waved dismissively. ‘No, I… No, I do not require anything else from you, Magos.’
‘In that case, I will return to my duties,’ the other said.
Malistrum nodded. His mind was already occupied as the faint whirr of the Magos’s steps faded in to the distance. The answer the tech-priest had given him was disturbing, even more so than Loriant’s. He needed to ask even more people, it seemed.
‘Brother-Captain?’
Malistrum turned. The Magos was standing on the other side of the bridge now, and looked back at the Space Marine captain.
‘You must have had the same conclusion to the recent events as I did,’ the Magos called to him. ‘Do you also believe that all we do at this point is futile?’
‘I do not,’ the Captain answered back after a moment of thought.
‘But you have the same data at your disposal as I do. How can you come to a completely different conclusion?’
This answer was, at least, an easy one.
‘We Astartes have our duty,’ Malistrum stated. ‘We cannot and should not ponder over the future too much. Our existence is bound in our responsibilities to our Chapter, to out oaths, to our Emperor. Even if most of those things are no more, we can still move on and cast out any doubt.’
‘So you say that you can fulfil your duties better if you ignore reality?’ Brakk asked.
This was definitely not how Malistrum would have put it.
‘In a manner of speaking,’ he answered in the end, mostly because he had nothing better to say.
‘I would not be able to exist this way,’ Brakk stated.
The two of them stood there for a while, separated by a physical – and now also a metaphorical – gap. Then the Magos turned back to the engine room and left Malistrum alone with his dark thoughts.
Most remaining members of the crew were now occupying the same area of the ship, as if they had found some form of comfort in the same familiar set of activities. Techmarine Guztav was no exception: the Astartes almost exclusively resided in the hangar bay where the strike force collected the few salvageable vehicles they could save after the last battle.
‘Why I decided to stay here?’ the Techmarine asked back. He was holding in his two hands the biggest wrench the Captain had ever seen before and he was busy dismantling the plates on the side of a damaged-looking Thunderhawk. He was wearing his mask now, even though this was not strictly necessary for his work. This somewhat worried Malistrum. Now that he was thinking about it, he could not remember seeing the Techmarine without the helmet since the battle.
‘I would like to know more about the motivation of the remaining people,’ he said.
Guztav slowly went to the Thunderhawk and placed the wrench against the plate of the machine.
‘I don’t think I will be able to fix it,’ he said in a flat voice. Then he turned towards his leader. ‘We Astartes are not supposed to hesitate even in the face of certain death.’
‘We are not,’ Malistrum agreed, ‘but we are also not supposed to cast our lives away. I have heard a lot of reasons for staying here. I would know about yours.’
Guztav cast his head down.
‘I need atonement,’ he said. ‘I have sinned gravely.’
Malistrum frowned. ‘How so?’
‘I have betrayed the teachings of the Mechanicus,’ Guztav said. ‘And my personal code as well.’
Malistrum now said nothing. He now knew that this conversation would disturb him, just like all the others had, but backing down was obviously not an option for him.
‘In the end phase of the battle… I gave an order to the crew of a Thunderhawk gunship,’ Guztav started. ‘Not this one,’ he gestured behind him towards the machine he had been working on. ‘Thunderhawk Two. I ordered the crew… to ram the last wounded Titan. They obeyed. They flew into it, destroyed it, and we won the battle.’
Malistrum had read the reports. He nodded.
‘The basic teaching of the Mechanicus…’ Guztav was clearly struggling with the words. ‘… is that you are not supposed to exert yourself to a bigger extent than you have to. If you can achieve your goal smaller resources, you should do it. That sacrifice was too big.’
‘Your forces had to destroy three Titans,’ Malistrum reminded him. ‘That is no small task. You could have been killed to the last man down there. The loss of the gunship was unfortunate, but unavoidable.’
‘It was not.’ Guztav looked at the Captain. ‘The
Opportunity had already defeated the heretic ship above the site. We had space superiority. We had the higher ground and we had the tools. I could have dispersed our forces and asked for reinforcements. I could have asked for an orbital strike.’
‘This is true.’ Malistrum started to understand. An experienced battlefield commander would have made sure to combine the elements of his force to the greatest efficiency, but Guztav was not a battlefield commander. It was only by virtue of the fact that the other officers were either busy or dead that he had to make this decision, and, as he had correctly stated, his was not the most efficient way.
It was not his fault. He did not fail, but he was too inexperienced to do a perfect job, and more people had died because of it than necessary. Malistrum often had to sacrifice members of the strike force, and it had never been easy for him. He could very well imagine how Guztav felt about it.
‘Sometimes we make decisions we regret in life,’ he started. ‘We could ask ourselves what we should have done, and we should because we must learn from our mistakes. What we cannot do is get stuck in the past and relive that one bad moment over and over again. It would consume us in the end, and we still need our strength.’
‘I know that, Captain,’ Guztav said. ‘I will do my duty to the last moment, but I feel I have been compromised. I made an unnecessary sacrifice, and I’m not sure if I could make it again, even if the need arises. I am… ashamed that I did not think things through. As a Techmarine, analysing and thinking is my main duty, exactly to avoid losses like this. I have failed, and I need to atone.’
‘And your death in this mission is atonement enough?’ Malistrum asked.
‘I have survived while another spirit perished because of me, even though I could have prevented that,’ Guztav said. ‘Balance must be restored.’
Malistrum sighed. He would not have considered Guztav to be so sentimental towards the human contingent, although in retrospect, this made sense. The crew of Strike Force Four had always been a close-knit community, mortals and Astartes alike. Even though it was sad to see one of his men half-broken, it was at least a reassuring thing to know that the moral integrity of his remaining people was still intact.
‘That Thunderhawk was almost four hundred years old,’ Guztav continued. ‘It was venerated even when I started my services here, and I destroyed it and the machine spirit that dwelled within. It was a trusted ally. It should have ended in glory, not as a battering ram. I betrayed it by giving that order.’
Malistrum froze for a second.
‘What about the crew of the gunship?’ he asked.
‘The pilots?’ Guztav cocked his head aside. ‘What about them?’
Malistrum’s eyes grew cold.
‘Thank you for your time, Techmarine Guztav. I appreciate that I could talk to you about this.’ He stood up and went away, but he turned back after a few steps.
‘I believe…’ he started. The Techmarine was also standing now, waiting for his answer, hiding behind his faceless, emotionless visor. ‘…I believe that you staying here in this mission was the right decision for all of us.’
‘Thank you, Captain.’ The other Astartes’s posture changed and he now seemed somewhat relieved.
I did not mean this as a compliment, Malistrum wanted to say, but resisted the urge. Why bother? If he had not understood it this far, it was hopeless anyway. It was a sobering thought to realize that he did not know the people serving under him well enough, even after decades of service together. It also spoke volumes about himself.
As he went out of the hangar bay, he suddenly stopped for a moment. A lonely Thunderhawk was standing just beside the entrance. He had not given much notice to it upon entering, but now he was in the right mood to realize just what he was looking at.
Thunderhawk Three. Intact, with only a few scratches on it.
The look Malistrum gave to that Fatemaker vessel was one he normally reserved for his enemies – and he was right in that regard. He pressed his lips and moved on, his steps getting determined, as if he was heading towards a new battlefield.
‘I am bloody old. That’s all, chieftain.’
Thokk, leader of the remaining Ogry contingent aboard the ship, was sitting cross-legged on the floor of one of the loading bays. Like the other parts of the ship, this area was uncomfortably quiet, devoid of the usual noise of a couple of dozen Ogryns and tech-priests going about their business. Malistrum – who was standing, and so his head was almost level with Thokk’s – was reminded once more just how much his strike force had lost in the past few days.
‘Is that enough to stay behind and possibly die?’ he asked the Ogryn. The two of them were not friend, especially as the subhumans essentially revered all Astartes, the Captain included. Still, there was a warm yet professional atmosphere between the two whenever they conducted business together. This was the same now – even though the conversation was about more problematic topics than usually.
‘It was time my son takes over the tribe,’ Thokk said. His eyes showed a kind of wisdom as most people who lived long and experienced much did. ‘He was never the loader, my son. He was more happy with the shock troops. Wearing power armour, breaking stuff, you know what I mean, chieftain. But he is a good lad and has the brain to tell the others what to do. He will be happy with the Sarge, and he will be a better chief if I am not around no more.’
Malistrum thought this over. This was perhaps the most human answer he had heard to his question so far. This Ogryn was not burdened by guilt or a heavy code of honour. He merely decided that this was enough of a life for him.
Sometimes he has the feeling that Thokk and his tribe made more out of their lives than Astartes.
‘And I don’t wanna leave the cannons,’ Thokk added. ‘Where do I go? This is my home. Strike Force Four is my tribe. We talked it out with the old ones, and we sent the youngsters away, and we stayed.’
Malistrum looked past the Ogryn’s shoulder. There were a couple of other subhumans on the other side of the hall, and he could now clearly see that they were indeed old. Thokk misunderstood his gaze.
‘Don’t worry, Chieftain-Captain. We will load the cannons just like those little snots,’ he sniggered in a raspy voice. ‘Even better because they are not gonna slow us down no more. If we fight again, we are gonna shoot the enemy to pieces.’ He seemed to hesitate for a moment. ‘But…’
‘Yes?’ Malistrum asked. He felt a little better after hearing a reasonable answer to his question, but now he found he did not like that ‘but’ at all.
‘Did you know Morakk?’ the Ogryn asked. This was an unfair question when put to a man with perfect conditioned memory. Malistrum had no trouble recalling the image from his mind.
‘He was one of the shock troops,’ he said. ‘He died while fighting the Howling Griffons.’
Thokk nodded. ‘My son told me. He was there. Morakk died because he had to hit a Howling Griffon with his club, and he stopped. He looked like he didn’t want to hit a Space Marine. That’s how he died.’
Malistrum frowned. Was Thokk blaming him for the death of that Ogryn. ‘The H’ he reminded the other. ‘They attacked us on our own ship.
‘I know,’ Thokk was shifting uncomfortably. It was obviously him that felt guilty about it. ‘But this is the thing, you see?’ he stopped. He couldn’t hit a Space Marine. We can’t. We can’t fight Astarteses.’
Malistrum started to understand. ‘We are going to fight against our own brothers now,’ he said.
‘I know that too. And we can do it. We will load the cannons, just like we do always. But Chieftain...’ Thokk looked into Malistrum’s eyes. ‘If we meet them face to face, we will stop. We cannot help it. We will get a weapon, yes, we will go to them, no problem, but they will cut us down. I’m sorry. We can’t kill… we can’t…’
‘I understand,’ Malistrum interrupted. Thokk looked physically sick at the mere thought of hurting a Fatemaker, a member of the Chapter he thought of as demigods. The chance of him actually facing an enemy Fatemaker was so slim it was not even worth mentioning, but the thought that these loyal people were limited by their own loyalty was sobering nonetheless. The Captain tried to calm the other down with some reassuring words, but he was now feeling less reassured himself. A nasty thought starts to nag him, and he started to wander if his own remaining Astartes could raise a hand against their own brothers.
‘I’m not going to lie to you, Captain. Should we confront the others Fatemakers, our men may hesitate, even though it would probably kill them.’
Malistrum sighed. He was afraid he might get this answer, and he was right.
The Captain’s gaze went through the room and took everything in. This was obviously no longer a Space Marine’s quarter: it was clean and there was relative order in it, but only in human terms. The weapon and armour racks had all the equipment on in no recognisable order and the bedsheet was so creased one might have thought the room’s occupant slept on the bed every single day. He probably was, too: another worrisome sign of the mental state of the person sitting in front of him.
‘We will fight against our own brothers if we have to,’ Chaplain Uskovich continued. ‘In a way, we our taste of fratricide in our battle against the Howling Griffons. Our own Fatemaker brothers, however… That’s going to be completely different.’
Malistrum looked back at the Chaplain. ‘You don’t seem to be bothered too much by this,’ he remarked in s casual a voice as he could.
Uskovich shrugged. ‘I do not and I am not. I had time to think about this. Besides, I no longer have my Astartes conditioning intact, and this actually give me an advantage here.’
‘How so?’
‘Part of our conditioning,’ the Chaplain explained, ‘is a set of mental blocks which prohibit us from harbouring seditious thoughts against our own Chapter. We have very similar blocks regarding the Emperor and the Imperium in general, but the latter usually… erodes over time. We have to fight against other Imperial organizations quite regularly, you see. Astartes in general have great faith in the Emperor, but those blocks are no longer reinforced. Akichi could tell you more about the psychological background, but my point is that most of our brothers have two remaining constants in their life, and one of them is the sanctity of the Chapter.
That remained. That is still valid. Test their faith in combat, and…’ he shrugged again.
Malistrum processed this for a while.
‘I should have known about this,’ he finally said. ‘If our brothers are in such a state, then why did you allow me to order the
Opportunity towards the Dark Torch? Why did you not say anything?’
‘For the very same reason I decided to stay with you.’ Uskovich’s face showed genuine pain. ‘We still trust you. You alone. That’s the other constant. We no longer have the Chapter, not truly. We no longer have the Emperor either. But we still have you, and we trust that you will steer us through this.’
Malistrum shook his head, dissatisfied.
‘I have made mistakes before. I could make new ones as well.’
Uskovich made a grimace, and Malistrum suddenly had the feeling that the man in front of him is deadly exhausted. ‘Well, then you are merely the best option we have. The only option.’
‘And the rest of the strike force? Those who left? They offered another option.’
‘Essen is a child. How old is he? Fifty? Fifty-five? He has been living in your shadow from the very first day he was promoted. He has a vision, but not all of us felt he had the confidence to carry his will through. Besides, his path would change us beyond recognition. Not all of us are willing to accept change. Our conditioning works against such thoughts as well.’
Malistrum said nothing.
‘This is the problem with those who stayed behind,’ Uskovich continued. ‘They are mostly traditionalists, and the very same traditions which convinced them to stay here may – may – hold them back if they have to shoot at their own brothers. If you came here for my advice, it is this: you cannot allow us to come to blows with the reserve fleet face to face. You have to find some other way to confront Fiffito, and only him, not the rest.’
Malistrum thought about this.
‘I need to consider all this, Chaplain,’ he said ion the end. ‘Nevertheless, I am grateful for your advice.’
Uskovich nodded, and the Captain stood up.
‘I may not be able to leave the rest of the strike force out of this,’ he said. ‘Will you and the rest of our brothers do all you could, even against our own conditioning, even if it meant fighting against our brothers?’
Uskovich cast his head down.
‘Are you determined to go all the way?’ he asked.
‘I will,’ the Captain answered, and he was not lying: even after all what happened, he was still sure that this was the right way.
Uskovich looked up, and for a moment, Malistrum could see the old zeal in his eyes. ‘Then lead us,’ he said, ‘and we will follow you to the deepest bottom of the Warp.’
Malistrum nodded once more and left the room. He did not raise his question here, but he did not need to either. In fact, he had the feeling that he did not really need to ask anyone else about their motives. The Chaplain had answered in their name.
Except, perhaps, in one last person’s name.
‘I must be of purpose,’ Akichi said.
The two of them were sitting in the small meditation chamber at the prow of the Opportunity. There was no light in the room, so Malistrum had to leave the door a little. Even the half-lit features of the Librarian showed tenseness.
‘Explain to me this, please,’ Malistrum addressed the other. ‘I was very surprised to find out that you of all would stay here when you know very well how this journey is supposed to end.’
‘With our ship hurled back in time to meet our past selves moments before it explodes,’ Akichi sighed. ‘With me the only survivor, only to be shot by my own past self. I would do almost anything to prevent that future.’
Malistrum cocked his head aside. ‘Almost?’
‘I would not make a pact with the Gods of Chaos even to prevent that,’ the other answered. ‘But yes, anything else is fair game. I do not fear death, Captain, but the thought of looking up and seeing myself pulling that trigger… I cannot tell you how much I regret doing that.’
‘Then why did you not go with Essen? You could have changed the future that way.’
‘I am not sure I could have done it that easily,’ the Librarian said. The effort of keeping a level voice was clearly audible. ‘Changing the future may cause a time paradox, although that would not have prevented me from leaving. Perhaps me leaving with the rest of our brothers was part of the circle, and I would have somehow still ended aboard our burning ship in the end. I wold have taken that risk anyway.’
He stopped talking. Malistrum waited for a few seconds.
‘So?’ he finally asked.
The Librarian looked aside.
‘Merely stopping that future is not enough,’ he stated. ‘In a way, you already prevented the complete destruction of the Chapter by ejecting as many brothers from the strike force as possible. Even if we all die in the future, even if I face my younger self, I will not have to lie when I say that we are the last true Fatemakers. Still, I cannot help but feel that I have a greater part in all this than just being the last person alive in the strike force.’
‘You want to be of higher purpose?’ Malistrum asked.
‘I have to be of higher purpose. ’ Akichi looked up straight into the eyes of the Captain. ‘I was there. I had a vision of Terra the moment He on Earth died. I saw him struck by a veiled assassin, and for a moment, He saw me too.’
Malistrum was silent. He knew about the details of his Librarian’s failed attempt of contacting with Terra, and the thought of what he went through there greatly disturbed him.
‘He looked at me, then He died.’ There was zeal now in Akichi’s voice. ‘I should have died there. The aftershock of His death killed the whole Cephalo system a Segmentum away. I was there in the middle of it! A whole astropathic choir was strengthening the psychic shockwave, and the blast caught me in the face. Nothing should have remained of my body or my soul. Nothing!’
‘And yet I survived,’ he continued with a much softer voice now. ‘I would had never had the power to do so on my own. As heretic it may sound, I believe that the Emperor somehow intervened and protected me. And if I am right…’
Malistrum slowly nodded. ‘Then perhaps your presence is still needed here,’ he said. Claiming that the Emperor paid special attention to someone was great hubris, but the circumstances actually supported Akichi’s claim. ‘Still, maybe your destiny was to go with Essen and help him.’
Akichi sighed again. ‘Captain. We both know that I will be involved in time travel on this ship. I believe the Emperor would pay more attention to
that than to a depleted strike force trying to find a new home and a new identity.’
The last sentence came out badly, but the Captain could not fault the other for speaking his mind. ‘And if you are mistaken?’ he asked.
The Librarian looked aside again. ‘Then I have effectively killed myself.’
There was not much to add to that. Malistrum stood up after a moment of silence.
‘Let us hope you have made the right decision.’
Akichi nodded. ‘Let us both hope so.’
Ten minutes before making the next jump.
Malistrum was sitting in his private quarters, pondering over the answers he had received from his crewmen in the past few hours. He made a tour on the ship to get confirmation of his own decision, but it seemed now that he had simply managed to get burdened with the troubles of his remaining brothers. He would have never guessed that they would have so varied and, eventually, so uniformly depressing reasons to stay with him. Dutiful but hesitant brothers, crewmembers who have given up on life itself, people who followed him because they could find no better option. The leftover of a once proud Chapter.
He shook his head. These were unworthy thoughts: whatever the motives of his men were, they stayed beside him, and that was the only thing which mattered. He was fairly sure his own motives would have sounded just as strange to the others as theirs sounded to him.
He cast one last look at the screen of his cogitator. That one particular picture of the side of the ship which he had seen so often that virtually every detail was burnt into his mind by now. He pushed a button and called froth a new picture.
He looked at it for a long time too.
Yes. He could still make it. There was still a way to get out of it all.
It should work. It would work.
At least he hoped it would.