A month after the capture of the Hive City, Bonar finally set his plan in motion.
Over that month, Bonar had traded shots with scum in the Underhive, tightened bolts on factory floors in the Lower Hive, and prayed in mid-hive chapels.
Through some peculiar warmth he naturally radiated, most people who spent time around him would soon find themselves confiding in him, often to their own bewilderment.
In the end, Bonar concluded his time living among the people of the Hive City.
And no, it had absolutely nothing to do with a certain girl at a certain Lower Hive factory who had confessed her feelings to him.
Bonar had simply helped out of kindness, finished her share of the work, walked her through the factory’s routines, helped the poor girl survive her probationary period and land the job.
But then the girl had noticed the stranger with the peculiar light behind his eyes, whose every movement carried something impossible to ignore.
She’d grown up with so little warmth in her life.
She fell headlong into love almost immediately.
And then,
The door flew open.
A Chainsword spun through the air and buried itself toward Horus.
“Warmaster of Chaos Horus — I’m hacking you to pieces right now.
For my father!”
Horus burst out laughing and rolled clear.
“Oh?
Am I wrong?
My dear friend — who was it standing outside comforting that poor girl?
Who would have imagined our dear Highness has no idea what to do with a weeping girl?”
Bonar was already yanking the Chainsword free, fully committed to finishing the job, when he caught sight of the others in the room.
Admiral Spire, Inquisitor Arlit, Captain Dakan, Colonel Sarcot, and several Chapter Masters were all seated there, watching Bonar with expressions of considerable complexity.
His head throbbed.
He’d been a moment late, just a moment, and Horus had already staged the whole thing for an audience.
He slammed the Chainsword down on the table and let out a long, heavy sigh.
If he’d had the chance, he should have swung harder the first time.
“I’ve gathered everyone here today for one matter.”
He set a plain-looking book on the table.
The cover read, unmistakably: Codex Humanitas.
“This is what I’ve been thinking over for the past month.
It still has shortcomings, but I believe it contains exactly what we need to do.”
Inquisitor Arlit picked the book up with a slight frown.
The first line of the Codex came into view.
No individual or organization may lightly deprive another of their life.
That single sentence nearly made Inquisitor Arlit lose composure.
This Highness seemed to be living in a dream.
The idea was too naive.
Too idealistic.
Bonar was still laying out the plan.
“After the Hive City is leveled, the remaining population will be resettled to barren Worlds for pioneering work.
Over ten years, those Worlds will be developed into colonized Worlds.”
“This plan will require the cooperation of the Adeptus Mechanicus.”
“At the same time, we must undertake ecological reconstruction and establish social welfare systems.”
“Every Imperial citizen should be able to contribute their worth, not be reduced to livestock for nobles and bureaucrats to use as they please.”
“We must cut away the very soil in which rebellion and heretical cults take root.
Beginning with Taranqued III, we will bring one human World after another back onto the right path.”
The Hive Cities of the Imperium and their toxic, lethal surrounding environments.
Listening to Bonar’s grand plan, the expressions around the room varied widely.
Some, like Inquisitor Arlit, found the whole thing hopelessly naive.
Others, like Captain Spire, sat in silence and said nothing.
Only Captain Dakan threw his support in without reservation, applauding with genuine enthusiasm.
Admiral Spire gave a quiet cough.
“So then…
I’d like to ask, how exactly do we intend to realize a plan of this scale?”
“That’s where my cooperation with the Adeptus Mechanicus comes in.
Along with the question of rebuilding the Legion.”
Bonar produced a sheet of parchment and set it on the table.
“This is the Legion War Codex I’ve drafted — still rough, but take a look.”
Captain Dakan raised an eyebrow, took the parchment, and read.
1.
The Astartes are members of humanity, those of the most unyielding will, the most courageous spirit, and the most meticulous mind that humanity produces.
They are humanity’s most steadfast shield.
They are not beings that stand above humanity.
2.
The Astartes are obligated to protect every Imperial citizen.
In any tactical operation where the Astartes still possess sufficient strength, any deliberate sacrifice of Imperial citizens to achieve a tactical objective shall be subject to disciplinary action.
3.
The Astartes answer directly to the Departmento Munitorum. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
They are not subject to the jurisdiction of any other organization or individual, and are ranked on equal footing with other human military units.
The parchment passed through several sets of hands.
No one voiced an objection, but expressions stayed varied.
The Chapter Masters wore different looks, most showing some degree of dissatisfaction.
This War Codex landed like a blade against the Astartes themselves.
One had to understand: the Astartes, as superhuman beings with two hearts and three lungs, inevitably developed a sense of superiority over ordinary mortals once in possession of their formidable bodies.
That superiority had been one of the major contributing causes of the Horus Heresy.
When the Council of Terra was established, the Astartes were given no seats at the table.
Warriors who had earned everything in battle grew deeply resentful.
Now this War Codex stripped away the mask entirely.
With one kick, it knocked the high-and-mighty Astartes down to the same level as the Astra Militarum.
Admiral Spire and Colonel Sarcot, for their part, were surprised at just how bluntly it had been written.
If the Codex were successfully implemented, the forces under Bonar’s command would run as a far more efficient war machine than anything the Imperium had built.
Because the Imperium’s military strength was immense, and yet profoundly slow.
One of the main reasons was the tangled complexity of its forces.
The Astra Militarum was an independent force.
The Imperial Navy was an independent force.
The Adeptus Astartes was an independent force.
The Adeptus Mechanicus was yet another independent force.
To launch a Great Crusade, you had to petition each faction individually, wait for replies, send out notifications, gather all the decision-makers together, and then deliberate on how to proceed.
By the time all of that was done, factoring in the Imperium’s decrepit, sluggish bureaucracy, the soldiers at the front might well be long dead before any reinforcements arrived.
Crushing whatever small pride the Astartes harbored and forcing them into a unified war machine: without question, that was going to improve efficiency.
Beside them, Horus looked thoroughly pleased with himself.
Care to guess who had taken the leading hand in drafting this War Codex?
As the mastermind behind the Horus Heresy, Horus understood better than anyone how that old self, filled to the brim by the four Chaos Gods, had seduced nine Legions into open revolt.
“Going forward, I’ll be seeking the assistance of the Adeptus Mechanicus to help build our base of operations.”
“While I’m away, Inquisitor Arlit and Horus will serve as the decision-makers.
I’m counting on the two of you to carry out the construction work according to the situation on the ground.”
“Of course.”
“Understood.”
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