“Fall. Rise. State your name and rank, in order from left to right. Then, report who you were before becoming Astartes and where you were recruited from.” My cold voice rang across the parade ground; though I did not shout, every one of the many thousands of Space Marines heard it.
Faithfully following my will down to the last syllable, the measured voices of post-humans soon began to resonate:
“Amadeus DuCaine, current Lord Commander and Master of the Legion. Formerly of Old Albia, I was one of the ragged youths gathered into gangs after the bombardment of Londyne, but I was soon graced with the supreme honor of becoming the Emperor’s blade!”*
“Samaradin Ibnmar, Master of the Apothecarion! Former citizen of Sollys Stelax, part of a successful family of medics—but when the forces of the Imperium arrived and annexed our lands, I was among those chosen for this great process!”
“Lika Jefferson, member of the Tenth Mechanized Squad! Belonged to Old Albia before elevation; son of a local aristocrat, after whose death I was taken and made part of the Legion!”
The Storm Walkers—my Legion and my sons—were, for now at least, displaying near-absolute loyalty alongside overt sympathy directed toward me.
Each stood over two meters tall and nearly one and a half wide, encased in high-quality armor the likes of which was hard to find even among my own technologies.
However, I was far more unsettled by the machines and methods that had transformed ordinary boys—whose territories had been seized by the Imperium and whose families had been ruthlessly killed—into true fanatics, devoted to my father until their final breath.
Even if that same mindset and loyalty now extended to me, it was impossible not to be disturbed.
How exactly had he achieved such a level of devotion?
“Our skills were granted to us in an accelerated manner through psychic indoctrination, involving specialized hypnotic states and the chemical rooting of specific reactions. Thanks to these, our minds have become incredibly resilient, resistant to psyker influence, and purged of all extraneous information such as family ties and romantic attachments. Nothing remains but absolute loyalty to the Imperium and all of humanity!”
…Right.
The most astonishing machine I had learned about from my sons was a literal mind-washer.
With its help, one could create absolutely loyal soldiers possessing all necessary skills in the shortest possible time.
No argument, save for actual magic, could sway them to the enemy’s side—and even against the former, they possessed incredible resistance.
Effectively, this is the most dangerous weapon the Imperium possesses.
For while orbital cannons and my matter-disintegrators pose a great threat, what does it matter if their use leaves only ruin and death?
How many lives have been lost forever because some king, president, warlord, or emperor turned out to be an idiot and refused to surrender power, sacrificing the lives of his subordinates?
On a galactic scale, the numbers must be maddeningly huge, as must the wasted resources.
And all of them could be avoided by simply brainwashing one specific mortal.
And if I finish work on Project “Scarab”—one of the more specific technologies of the Precursors and the Subliminatum—entirely new possibilities open up before me.
Using nanomachines to alter a brain, thereby creating absolutely loyal puppets, is an utterly inhumane method—but if it can save billions, it is a permissible measure.
I will need to devote more attention to this idea…
“There is nothing we would not do for you and the Imperium! You are the son of the Emperor himself, and thus one of the beings closest to our Master! You are our father, and we, as loyal sons, will obey you until our last breath! We are the hammer of humanity that will forge the path to a bright future! We are the hammer that will crush any resistance and break the defenses of even the stoutest foe!” The voices of hundreds of Astartes rose to support their Master and lead orator.
…Because I must secure the loyalty of my Legion by any means.
I loathe the idea that my father could, at any moment, order them to eliminate me or act as spies in my camp, and that almost none would refuse.
I will need to cease recruitment from Terra and take only those from Scthenalus who are entirely loyal to me.
As for the tens of thousands of already existing Astartes, they will be under my rigid control.
I must secure the loyalty of everyone possible; everyone else must be replaced with elements faithful to me.
Loyalty and faith require sacrifices, however somber they may be.
And while I already have thoughts on how to rapidly increase their numbers, such a path begins with small steps:
“…Listen to me, my sons,” my voice, full of power, once again swept across the steel parade ground.
“With my arrival, our way of life changes fundamentally. This will not be an easy transition, but its goal is the transformation of this Legion into a paragon for the entire galaxy. Each of you carries a portion of my will, and thus possesses a special honor, with which comes duty.”
Thousands of eyes followed my every move, heeding every word.
Even now, I felt a special connection to the Legion, as if we were bound by invisible threads.
I knew their emotions, feelings, and desires; yet while loyalty was one of the brightest flames, certain psychic blocks prevented them from becoming a perfect extension of my words.
“I know that each of you is worthy of being called a great warrior and hero.
But to prove that title to the whole world, you must train to the limit and do everything to become better.
And while true perfection can never be reached, that does not mean you should cease moving forward for even a moment.
Training of mind and body, learning new skills and honing old ones—any advantage is worth the time spent.
But in the end, I want you to always remember the primary quality of a victor: teamwork.
For we are not angels or knights—we are part of an army that must save humanity.
There is no longer any sense in worrying about individual victories and defeats, for only the future of our entire race matters now.
Now, I want you to remember: alone we are weak, but together we are unstoppable!
Only together will we become the storm that sweeps away enemies with the wind of change.”
The roar of thousands of Astartes served as a perfect conclusion to my speech.
Surveying my sons, I felt that another victory had been secured.
There is no time to look back and see how well I performed, for hundreds and thousands of new trials lie ahead.
And none of them will stop me on the path to my goal.
“A pleasure to meet you, Tenth. The Chosen of Scthenalus is of great significance to us, for few worlds in the past could compare to your great forge, which created true wonders. I am certain our meeting will be an excellent foundation for a long and mutually beneficial relationship. For the Omnissiah is generous to his most righteous followers.”
At this time, I was in my office, seated at my desk—also created by nanites and executed in my preferred “empty and grey” style.
In general, by adopting such a standard, I managed to significantly save on paint and construction time, removing the need for tiny machines to create artificial substances that served no practical purpose.
But the “man” across from me seemed, conversely, to relish such details.
One sign of this was the fact that he lacked a face.
It was replaced by a black plate covered in dozens of green eyes, without any other openings.
His head was covered by a crimson hood, from which a multitude of tubes and wires emerged.
The cyborg’s body was draped in the same red robe, and from his back protruded a crude mechanical drill, along with an emerald lamp and a thin surgical scalpel.
Two thin steel arms, far too long to be natural, hung down and nearly touched the ground.
However, the most prominent feature was the lower half of his torso—it had been entirely replaced by eight metallic limbs resembling those of a spider.
Hinges and attachment points were visible, as was a rather crude design, but judging by the quality of the materials and the high-grade electronic “innards,” this individual was merely pretending to be a technobarbarian while utilizing quite advanced technology.
In fact, it was quite curious to meet such individuals.
In the wastes, of course, there were many cults worshipping machines; however, because they were all utter lunatics, none of them had survived to this day.
All the maddened cyborgs who replaced most of their bodies with “chrome” were simply too crazed to pose a threat to the coordinated actions of a proper army.
Yet the representatives of this “Mechanicum” were an industrial giant of galactic proportions, overseeing virtually all technology and manufacturing capacity in the Imperium.
In a sense, my father had created a dual state, where the military and administration were controlled by one empire, while the rest belonged to the Tech-priests.
True priests who worshipped “machine spirits,” the knowledge of the past, and, strangely enough, my father.
Honestly, I’m not even surprised someone considers him a deity—he creates that impression in every way, and his own words about dispelling such myths only aggravate the situation.
And though my sons had already told me that everyone laughed at the strange religion of the Tech-priests, I only raised an eyebrow in surprise when hearing about their belief in “machine voices.” Supposedly, every complex piece of technology contains a spirit capable of improving the device if it is properly respected.
I was even more surprised to learn that my father is the one capable of communicating directly with them and even “healing” broken machines.
Of course, we share a bloodline, but could his sorcerous ability have passed to me?
Curious.
I don’t feel any potential within myself to be a warlock, but it’s interesting nonetheless—if he could not only communicate with machines but directly change their shape and restore them, perhaps I could as well?
“I am also pleased to meet the lords of iron and technology. I have spent the last few decades exploring the ruins of a fallen world and reviving the technologies of man, but I am certain that together we will achieve far more,” I replied calmly.
The Tech-priest nodded, then emitted a series of clicks in binary cant, which I had to translate quickly.
While their language is simple, it is terribly impractical.
“We too have spent centuries gathering the remnants of the sacred great heritage of our ancestors. It is known to all that humanity once reached the pinnacle of technological development, uncovering all the secrets of the universe; yet that is precisely what makes our mission so vital. By gathering the knowledge of the geniuses of the past, for the discovery of which they gave their lives, we honor their legacy and build a bright future for our descendants. Only in this way will the Machine God be pleased.”
Of course, their faith is quite foolish and remarkably primitive, but it is not for me to dissuade them now.
If a man believes in something and it can be easily utilized, then let him continue to believe as much as he wants.
When I have more influence, I can attempt to gain control over Mars and change them, making them more rational and discarding foolish prejudices, but that is a question for the distant future.
Now, I must guarantee a stable present.
“And I am certain I can assist you in this undoubtedly important task. However, a strong alliance is a bridge that leads both ways. In helping you, I would be most grateful for a return favor. And considering our shared desire to help humanity, it is unlikely to be so difficult. Besides, an STC is indeed a worthy reward…” Read this novel at NovelPing for the best experience.
“What interests you?” the Tech-priest replied with surprising speed, his body shuddering at the mention of their “relic.”
“Nothing much, truly. Our world still suffers from the effects of the Long Night, and some of your blueprints and research would greatly assist a world intended to become the center of an entire Legion of Astartes. For now, I wish to discuss obtaining samples of genetically enhanced food, as well as other data regarding genomic manipulation. To accelerate development, cloning technologies will be useful—the improvements for which I can personally offer. I would also like to discuss certain details regarding psycho-indoctrination technologies and increasing the amount of heavy armor in my Legion. In exchange, I can guarantee that some of my personal developments, as well as the blueprints we have found, will reach you first…”
Judging by how his implants “screamed” with delight, as did the strange electrical generator on his back, he considered this deal incredibly profitable.
But I had no desire to disillusion him and tell him how much more I would gain by taking control of key technologies, so I simply remained silent.
There is no point in helping fools when they are making the biggest mistake of their lives.
“I’d almost stopped believing you’d stop by to see an old man. When was the last time we spoke? Six years ago? And even then, it was a rather short business talk. But a real conversation… I can’t even remember. I’m not even sure if such a thing ever happened,” Utor’s powerful voice boomed through the temple as soon as he saw me.
He was currently sitting at his desk, sorting through some stone tablets inscribed with nonsense like the personal feelings of some archaeologist before the war with the machines—yet Utor handled them like the most precious treasure.
My mentor’s office seemed not to have changed a single bit in the last thirty years.
In fact, over the past few decades, despite all my attempts to help and improve the temple, it had remained the same, for they simply refused everything.
There was no practical benefit to it, only the simple habit of ancient giants living in a place familiar and understandable to them.
And since I had no wish to harm those who helped me in my most difficult moment, I respected their wishes and did not interfere.
“And I am glad to see you, Utor.
Truly many years have passed, yet your home and you yourself remain unchanged,” I replied calmly, entering the office and surveying his primary “treasures.”
Nearby on the shelves sat a collection of stones of various sizes and shapes, each bearing a distinct rune.
Despite having lived here for many years and perfectly mastering their written language, I still had no idea why he collected them.
Simple nonsense without practical use, and even the cultural value was questionable.
“Time has almost no power over us, yet because of that, it is so difficult for us to understand its passage. For us, the last thirty years flew by in the blink of an eye, while for you, an entire lifetime has passed. And while we have remained relics of a past era, you have achieved everything. I will be honest—we are all sincerely happy for you, Ferrus. You have done well,” he said calmly, closing his eyes slightly, which caused me to freeze for a moment in surprise.
However, a second later, I was once again in control of my body.
Saying nothing, I simply walked to Utor’s desk and slightly lifted a stone, behind which was hidden a chest containing various metallic implements of mediocre quality.
All were made by me, but back in the days when I had neither effective tools nor honed skills.
Frankly pathetic work.
Yet I reached down anyway and pulled out a decent one-meter hammer, created by me when I was, I think, three?
A chunk of iron on a metal stick—outright junk.
But I had gifted it to Utor when I no longer needed it.
And though I had immediately forgotten about it then, the giant had preserved this creation even years later.
“Yes, very good work,” he replied with a smile, shaking his head.
“I remember the day you brought it. With a serious face, you carried two huge hammers, then without a word, you handed me the smallest one. I never dabbled in smithing, yet I accepted it anyway. It was only a few hours later that I realized it was the anniversary of our meeting.”
Silence fell over the room as each of us followed our own thoughts, remembering the past while looking at the old items.
Perhaps the ancient giant kept all this for exactly that purpose?
To use objects to recall the details of events that occurred hundreds and thousands of years ago?
In any case, I didn’t have much time left to dwell on such things:
“…There are still a couple of years of heavy work ahead with establishing a new administration on the planet and restructuring the state, but once all that is complete, I will have to leave this world to go and unite humanity. The galaxy is full of enemies, and I could use the voice of an old sage…”
“No,” he replied with the same ease.
“I have guarded this temple for tens of centuries, and I will continue to do so, even if there is no longer an obvious threat to it. As I gave my oath thousands of years ago, so shall I fulfill it, protecting my people at any cost. And you must not stop or look back for the sake of one who no longer has a place in your story. I can already see that you have made your own promises, for which you would shatter an entire world, or the whole galaxy—but I believe in their righteousness, and thus I will support you by not becoming a burdensome reminder of a lost past that would slow you down like a stone. For now, just sit beside me, and let an old man simply feel the moment of union; it is unlikely we will be able to experience it again.”
Refusing to argue, I simply continued to stand.
The only exception—for the first time in ten years, I completely removed the suit of living metal.
And judging by how the giant smiled, it was the right decision.
* Yes, as strange as it may seem, the first batch of Iron Hands found on Terra consisted mostly of Britons from the distant and grim future.
Furthermore, they were perhaps the most aggressive part of the Legion, earning the name “Storm Walkers” for their classic “Hammer and Anvil” tactics—a combination of massive bombardments and lightning flank strikes.
Later, Ferrus discarded this in favor of the “charge forward and kill everything” tactic, but for much of the time, it was the Iron Hands who were the best tacticians and masters of warfare among all the Legions.