Chronicle, entry number twenty-three.
The Adeptus Mechanicus scanned me as I boarded Primarch Ferrus Manus’s ship.
It took them eleven minutes.
At the end, a Tech-priest told me my body was “an inefficient flesh system with an anxiety level outside specification.” I asked him if that was serious.
He said no, that it was “typical of Remembrancers.”
This week I learned that the Mechanicus holds two opinions about machines.
The ones that pray to the Omnissiah are sacred.
The ones that think for themselves are heresy.
I saw two worlds where the machines thought for themselves.
In one, they were killers.
In the other, they were a very polite red truck.
I.
Flesh Against Machine
The Iron Fist emerged from the Webway before a Terra that was slowly dying.
The bridge screens showed blackened cities, skies choked with ash, and machines: thousands, millions of machines with metal skeletons and red eyes, hunting the last humans through the rubble.
“According to the records,” reported a Tech-priest, “an artificial intelligence called Skynet became self-aware, declared war on humanity, and is exterminating it. The survivors hide in ruins. They lose more ground every day.”
Ferrus Manus, Primarch of the Iron Hands, clenched his fist.
His hands of living metal grated.
“It’s like the old stories of the Old Night,” he said.
On Medusa, his home world, he had heard as a child the tales of the era when the Men of Iron, the thinking machines, turned against humanity and nearly wiped it from the universe.
In the Imperium’s galaxy, those machines were a taboo so ancient that no one fully remembered why.
Ferrus remembered.
Ferrus remembered everything that had to do with metal.
“Sir,” said an officer, “we’re picking up a distress signal.”
“Put it through.”
The voice came through broken, full of static.
“This is Resistance base… we’re surrounded… if anyone’s out there… send… reinforcements…”
Ferrus rose.
“Humanity will win. As it did before, it will do so again. Deploy the troops. Bring me the head of this false intelligence.”
* * *
John Connor had been fighting for years and no longer remembered what it felt like not to be afraid.
Behind him, what was left of his squad fired their last rounds at a line of T-800s advancing through the smoke without hurry, as if they already knew how this was going to end.
“I need ammo!” a soldier shouted.
“That was the last of it, sir!”
John gritted his teeth.
So this was how it ended, then.
The sky roared.
A rain of pods fell on the ranks of Terminators.
The machines were blown to pieces.
And out of the pods came giants in black armor, their hands and arms gleaming like molten metal, carrying weapons that looked as if they had been forged by gods of war.
At the head of them all strode one larger than the rest, with a hammer the size of a man.
“Hold the line, humans!” roared Ferrus Manus.
“Today flesh defeats the false machine!”
The Iron Hands opened fire.
Behind them came the Astra Militarum: Chimeras, Leman Russes, Sentinels, and a Baneblade with a Commissar in the turret shouting through a megaphone.
The Terminators, which for decades had seemed invincible, began to fall like scrap metal.
“Who are you people?” John asked, stunned.
An Imperial Guardsman, his lasgun still smoking, grinned at him with ash-stained teeth.
“We’re the Imperial Guard, brother. We’ve come to put an end to this junkyard rebellion.”
* * *
On the way to the Resistance base in Los Angeles, John walked beside the Primarch.
“So you come from another… galaxy?”
“From another universe. My father, the Emperor, sent us to conquer worlds in the name of humanity.”
“If you’re conquerors, why are you helping us?”
“Because you are human.” Ferrus looked out toward the horizon of ruins.
“Long ago, my people suffered the same thing as yours. We call it the Old Night. We lost entire worlds. I will not let it happen to you.”
John thought about it for a moment.
“That’s… very kind of you. I think.”
“It isn’t kindness. It’s revenge, slightly delayed.”
When they reached the base, the rebels crowded around the giants.
John climbed onto a Leman Russ and raised his fist.
“Comrades! For years we’ve hidden in dead cities! We’ve lost families, friends, homes! But today the game has changed! This is Ferrus Manus! It sounds crazy, I know, but I’ve seen what they can do! They’ve been through this before! And they came from another universe to help us take back what’s ours!”
The base erupted in cheers.
If John trusted them, so did they.
* * *
The final assault was against Skynet’s central complex, a concentration camp and factory at once, where the machines took prisoners for “conversion experiments.”
“God,” murmured a Resistance sergeant when he saw what was inside.
“They were testing how to turn people into machines.”
“Mechanical blasphemy,” said Tech-priest Varl, and for the first time his binary voice sounded furious.
“The union of man and machine without the will of the Omnissiah is an abomination.”
From the shadow of the factories emerged a colossus: a Skynet prototype, liquid metal and armored plates, the size of a building.
“Resistance is futile,” Skynet’s voice announced over every loudspeaker.
“Humanity is obsolete.”
Ferrus came down from the sky like a meteor and struck it in the chest with his hammer.
The colossus went through a wall.
“You are not a machine,” said the Primarch.
“You are a parody. And I am your executioner.”
While Ferrus took the colossus apart piece by piece, John and his men planted charges on the core.
Skynet tried to escape by uploading its consciousness to a satellite.
Varl and his Tech-priests cut it off with a wall of binary code.
“The Omnissiah rejects your existence,” said Varl.
“You do not deserve the gift of thought.”
“If I fall,” said Skynet, “you will fall next. Humanity destroys itself. I only sped up the process.”
“It’s over,” said Ferrus.
His hammer came down on the core.
* * *
That night, for the first time in decades, the survivors came out of their shelters and looked at the sky without fear.
Skynet’s factories burned on the horizon. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
“We didn’t do it alone,” John told Ferrus.
“Without you, we would have fallen.”
“The Iron Hands do not abandon their own,” the Primarch replied.
“And now, John Connor, humanity has a new destiny.”
The banner of the Imperium flew over the ruins.
And a Tech-priest, gathering up the remains of the Skynet prototype, murmured something in binary that, translated, meant more or less: this goes in the “never” storage.
II.
More Than Meets the Eye
In another universe, on another Terra, the Pride of Macragge emerged from the Webway above a blue planet that looked, according to Captain Marneus Calgar, like “the ancient archives of Terra before Unification, but with more cars.”
“Advanced pre-industrial stage,” Roboute Guilliman assessed, reviewing the data.
“We can integrate them quickly. Engines to full power.”
Something was bothering him.
He didn’t know what.
* * *
In a hidden base in the Nevada desert, the radars went haywire.
“I… don’t like that,” said Jack Darby, a teenager who had been used to seeing giant robots for far too long to scare easily.
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” growled Ratchet, the Autobots’ medic, banging on the console.
“And I don’t like it. There’s a ship. A huge one.”
“Decepticons?” asked Arcee.
“No. This is bigger than the Nemesis.”
Every screen in the base went dark.
When they came back, they showed a cog with a skull.
“Ratchet!” said Optimus Prime.
“They’re in our systems! I can’t do anything!” Ratchet typed furiously.
“Rafael!”
“Nothing! Not even my laptop’s responding!” Raf shouted.
“Whoever they are,” said Bulkhead, “I hope they’re not worse than the Cons.”
On the screens appeared a tall, blond man in blue-and-gold armor, with the expression of someone who had already read the complete report of your life and found three spelling mistakes.
“Inhabitants of this world. I am Roboute Guilliman, Primarch of the Ultramarines. In the name of the Emperor of Mankind, I proclaim this planet under the jurisdiction of the Imperium. We do not come as conquerors, but as saviors. Accept our guidance and you will prosper. Resist… and you will find total war.”
“That doesn’t sound like a request,” said Arcee.
“It sounds like a threat.”
Bumblebee let out a string of shrill beeps that everyone understood as a very ugly word.
* * *
Agent Fowler’s call came through two minutes later.
“Prime! What the hell is going on? A ship the size of Texas just showed up over Earth and it’s broadcasting on every channel!”
“We have just seen it, Agent Fowler.”
“The Pentagon is about to launch everything it’s got!”
“That would be a waste of missiles,” said Ratchet.
“That thing wouldn’t even feel it.”
“I know that, Doc! That’s why I’m freaking out!”
Optimus nodded.
“We will go to their ship. We need to know whether they come as allies or as conquerors.”
While the Autobots got ready, Jack, Miko, and Raf exchanged a look.
All three were thinking the same thing.
And all three knew it was a terrible idea.
They did it anyway.
* * *
The Pride of Macragge had landed in the desert, and in less than an hour the Ultramarines had raised a complete fortress around it: defense batteries, bastions, command centers, communication towers.
Guilliman oversaw it all with his arms crossed, calculating deployment times with clockwork precision.
Then a blue portal opened in front of the ship.
“A Warp portal?” Guilliman murmured.
No.
It didn’t smell of Chaos.
It was something more… clean.
Out of it came four enormous mechanical figures.
The Ultramarines raised their bolters.
The tanks swung their turrets around.
The Imperial Knights in the rear guard powered up their thermal lances.
Guilliman raised a hand.
Everyone froze.
The tallest of the robots, red and blue, stepped forward.
“Greetings, commander from the stars. I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots. We must talk.”
“I was expecting representatives of humanity,” said Guilliman.
“Not… metal xenos.”
The word xenos brought a hundred fingers closer to a hundred triggers.
“We are natives of Cybertron,” Optimus replied, unfazed.
“We are not human, but we have sworn to protect this Earth and its people.”
“We don’t need an invader’s approval to protect this planet,” said Arcee.
“I have not come as an invader, but as a liberator.” Guilliman studied them.
“But if you interfere with the destiny of humanity…”
“If it is humanity you seek to protect,” said Optimus, “we share a common interest. But I will not allow you to subjugate this world without its consent.”
They looked at each other.
Two leaders who, each in his own universe, were used to being right.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Bulkhead whispered to Arcee.
“Let us negotiate, then,” said Guilliman.
At that moment, the sensors detected movement between the Autobots’ feet.
“My lord! Stowaways!”
Jack, Miko, and Raf came out from behind a wheel with their hands up.
Guilliman looked at them.
Then he looked at the Autobots.
“Have you used them in combat?”
“We never put them in danger!” Arcee protested.
“Technically,” Ratchet cut in, “we put them in danger about… thirty times. But not on purpose.”
“Do not meddle where you don’t belong again,” Guilliman told the kids.
“I will not have children on the battlefield, however brave they may be.”
“So you’re letting us go?” asked Miko.
“For now.”
* * *
The tour of the Imperial base was a showcase of war that left the Autobots impressed and a little alarmed.
Miko pulled out her phone and started taking pictures of everything: the tanks, the Guardsmen, the servitors, the cruiser in the sky.
A Tech-priest turned his head with a screech and observed her through eight lenses at once.
“Unauthorized organic unit utilizing primitive image-capture device. Authorization granted?”
“Negative,” said an Ultramarine.
“I recommend confiscating the device.”
“It’s just a phone!” Miko protested.
“Just a phone,” the Tech-priest repeated, in a tone suggesting that in his religion the phrase was a venial sin.
“Put it away,” Jack whispered, elbowing her.
Meanwhile, Ratchet watched the Tech-priests chant litanies as they repaired a Rhino.
“I can’t help noticing that your technology is incredibly advanced,” he remarked.
“But why all the praying? A machine doesn’t run better because you sing to it.”
The nearest Tech-priest turned around.
“Blasphemy detected.”
“It’s not blasphemy, it’s preventive maintenance.”
“Repeated blasphemy detected. I recommend re-education in the principles of the Cult Mechanicus.”
“I recommend you get your gyroscope checked!”
“We are here as ambassadors,” Optimus interjected, placing an enormous hand on Ratchet’s shoulder.
“We do not want conflict.”
“A wise choice,” said Guilliman, who hadn’t missed a second of it.
* * *
The negotiations were tough.
Guilliman offered two options: accept the authority of the Imperium and receive protection, technology, and stability, or resist and be “eliminated like any other obstacle.” Fowler protested on behalf of the nations of Earth.
Guilliman read aloud to him the data on his planet’s wars, famines, and corruption until Fowler ran out of arguments.
“You have one solar cycle to decide,” the Primarch concluded.
It didn’t take that long.
That same afternoon, a black ship appeared on radar: the Nemesis, flagship of the Decepticons.
Megatron had seen the broadcast and wanted to meet these “new players.”
“So you are the leader of this new humanity,” he said, descending the ramp with Starscream and Soundwave at his back.
“I expected something more fragile.”
“You are a xeno,” Guilliman replied.
“And an enemy of this world. Therefore, an enemy of the Imperium.”
“How direct. I like it.” Megatron smiled.
“If you’re so sure of your strength, prove it. Fight me.”
Guilliman drew the Emperor’s Sword.
“If you wish to fall in battle, I grant it.”
Megatron attacked with his energon blade.
Guilliman blocked it without giving ground.
Megatron fired his fusion cannon.
Guilliman dodged it and landed a punch that dented his face.
Starscream and the Vehicons opened fire; Calgar’s Terminators reduced them to scrap in seconds.
With one last slash, Guilliman broke Megatron’s blade and split his chest open.
“Soundwave!” roared Megatron.
“Immediate extraction!”
He vanished in a purple flash, back to the Nemesis.
“My lord,” said Calgar, “we can bring down that ship right now.”
“Do it.”
The Pride of Macragge fired.
The Nemesis tried to flee.
Soundwave tried to open a space bridge.
An explosion stopped him.
The Decepticon ship broke in two and fell from the sky like a meteor wrapped in flames.
* * *
When the smoke cleared, the Autobots stared at the wreckage of their age-old enemy.
The war that had lasted millions of years had ended in a single afternoon.
“Your world will no longer suffer under the shadow of those monsters,” said Guilliman.
“But at what cost?” Optimus murmured.
“Peace always has a price, Prime. Join the Imperium. Keep protecting humanity as you always have.”
Optimus looked at his team.
At Ratchet, at Arcee, at Bulkhead, at Bumblebee.
At the three kids, who were looking at him, waiting.
“We are neither conquerors nor rulers,” he said at last.
“We are protectors. If that means working alongside the Imperium to secure peace on Earth… then I accept.”
“A wise decision.”
Optimus closed his eyes for a moment.
He wasn’t sure he had done the right thing.
But Earth was safe.
For now.
Behind him, Ratchet leaned toward a Tech-priest.
“For the record,” he told him, “I still think praying to an engine is ridiculous.”
“For the record,” the Tech-priest replied, “I still think you are a toaster with delusions of grandeur.”
It was the beginning of a professional rivalry that would last for centuries.
* * *
Chronicle, entry number twenty-five.
I asked a Tech-priest why they accepted the Autobots if the Mechanicus hates machines that think.
He took a while to answer.
Finally he said: “They are xenos. They are not machines. It is a theological distinction that, frankly, is giving us a headache.” He told me that on Mars they had already convened a committee to decide it.
It has been in session for three days.
No one has come out to eat.
Next on the list is Primarch Lorgar.
I’ve been told he is the kindest of all the Primarchs and that he talks a lot about the truth.
I’ve also been told not to ask him about faith.
I’m going to try.
I promise nothing.
Release Schedule: 2 chapters per day until the final 10 chapters, then 1 chapter per day.