'Your orders will be followed. Without question.' The words shouldn't need to be spoken at all. What did Iasus think? That the 22nd's legionaries were capable of insubordination?
Not overtly, he found himself thinking. But subtly? Unconsciously, perhaps ? How many different ways might there be to undermine an unpopular officer?
Iasus nodded, apparently satisfied. 'I believe you,' he said. 'Implicitly. I think, too, that we will have to speak again. Often. In greater depth.'
'I am at your disposal, Chapter Master' He could think of few things he would enjoy less.
'Thank you, Captain Hierax.'
Hierax chose to take the words as the cue the meeting was over. He stood to go. Iasus looked as if he was about to say something more. He thought better of it, and nodded to Hierax. Hierax strode from the chamber, his shoulders stiff with contained anger. The doors closed behind him with a metallic scrape and bang. His effort to hold in his rage narrowed his vision. He did not see Sirras walking down the hall towards him. He was startled when the other captain stopped beside him.
'Well?' Sirras asked. 'What should I expect?'
Hierax forced his attention back to the present, away from past humiliations and future injuries. 'Exactly what you think,' he said.
Sirras grimaced. 'He means to remake us in his image, then.'
'He will say it is the primarch's image, no doubt.'
A snort 'He presumes a lot.'
'Does he?'
'What do you mean?'
'His elevation can't be the result of a whim.'
'No.'
'Then the remaking is the primarch's will.'
Sirras stared past Hierax, his face thoughtful, his brow dark. 'A change of some kind clearly is,' he admitted. 'But not wholesale, surely.' He blinked, then looked at Hierax. 'Do you think that's what Iasus plans?'
'Not consciously. I don't think he'll even realise all the ways he'll be changing our culture. He won't know that the traditions he's ignoring even exist.'
'If he doesn't know about them,' Sirras said, more softly now, 'there will be no reason for him to destroy them.'
'What do you mean, if he doesn't know about them?'
'Our traditions are worth preserving, brother. Lobon agrees with me.'
Our traditions. Lobon of Macragge and Sirras of Terra speaking with one voice. They belonged to the Nemesis Chapter together. Their birth-worlds were irrelevant. Wasn't this exactly what Guilliman wanted from the Ultramarines? Didn't he seek precisely a loyalty to the corps that transcended the attachment to an individual world? We are what we should he, Hierax thought. Why would you change this?
He agreed with Sirras. Of course he did. The traditions should be preserved. Even so, the vehemence of Sirras' tone coupled with how quietly he was speaking made Hierax uneasy. 'What are you suggesting?' he asked.
Sirras frowned, puzzled by Hierax's caution. Then his eyes widened. 'What did you think?' He sounded alarmed now. His voice was louder.
'I really don't know.'
'I will follow our Chapter Master's orders implicitly.'
'As will I.'
'But I will resist the destruction of who we are.'
'How?'
'We will find ways,' Sirras said. 'We'll know the struggle when we encounter it.'
'Resisting change may mean resisting Iasus. If it comes to that...'
'We won't let it'
Hierax didn't trust Sirras' confidence. It was blind. There was no way Sirras could anticipate the nature of those struggles. 'Iasus may push hard.'
'We'll convince him not to.'
'Oh?'
'One way or another.' He held up a hand in anticipation of Hierax's objection. 'I said I would never disobey his orders. You know I never would.'
'Yes,' Hierax said. 'I know that.' So what was Sirras planning? Was he thinking of undermining Iasus somehow? Working to make his command untenable so that Guilliman felt compelled to relieve him? Hierax was torn. There was no common ground between him and Iasus. That was already obvious. Yet when he tried to imagine one way or another of pushing back against the Chapter Master, he recoiled. 'We have to find a way,' he said, 'of convincing the primarch of the value of what we represent.'
'A positive intervention, you think.' Sirras did not sound convinced. Hierax sighed. His shoulders were stiff from the iron of his anger. He felt no warmth for the legionary on the other side of the iron doors. He hated even the distant hint of insubordination even more. 'Do you think he isn't suspicious of how we will respond to his leadership?' he asked.
'He's no idiot. I know that much from his reputation.'
'Exactly.' He turned to go. 'He's expecting you.'
Sirras didn't move. 'Where are we, then?'
'We are captains of the Twenty-second, and we will prove what that means.'
Hierax walked away before Sirras spoke again.
'A culture is a living thing,' Guilliman told Gage.
They were aboard the Macragge's Honour once more. Gage had said nothing on the rest of the journey back. Guilliman decided to draw him out again. There was something else Gage needed to understand. The Chapter Master Primus' concerns over continuity and tradition made this an opportune moment.
They were walking towards the bridge. The final preparations for the assault would begin in less than an hour. Guilliman turned off before they reached the main approach to the bridge, heading for his compartment once more.
'A culture,' he said, 'is created by its constituent citizens. In turn, it shapes them. It has a reality that transcends the collection of individuals.'
'Yes,' said Gage.
'"Yes"? That's it? Am I boring you, Marius?'
'You are about to make a point,' Gage said. 'I'm letting you make it.'
The primarch grunted. 'You are not subtle, Chapter Master Primus.'
'I never claimed to be.'
'Quite. So, we grant the transcendence of a culture.' He held up a finger. 'A viable culture.'
'Yes.'
Guilliman felt the comer of his mouth twitch upwards. 'The viable culture, then, takes on an importance that itself is superior to any one individual.'
'Ah,' Gage said, sounding disturbed.
'Do you see where I'm heading?'
'I think I might.'
They reached Guilliman's compartment. He led the way inside. 'I have documents for you to read,' he said.
'Why?'
Guilliman stopped at his desk. He turned around slowly. 'Because I wish you to,' he said.
Gage brought himself up short. He saluted. 'I misspoke,' he said. 'I did not mean...'
Guilliman waved away the apology. He turned to the desk. He picked up one of the data-slates and took it to Gage. Before passing it to the legionary, he said, 'Do you understand what I have been saying?'
'I think I do.'
'The Imperium is such a culture. That intent lies at the heart of everything my Father has done.'
Gage nodded, emphatically. On this point, he needed no convincing.
'What he has done for the Imperium is what I have - what I am - attempting to do for the Thirteenth Legion.'
'You have done it,' Gage said.
'I haven't finished,' said Guilliman. 'The work is still in progress. The Twenty-second Chapter, for example.'
'But you aren't insisting on the uniformity of all Chapters.'
'No, I'm not. Total uniformity is not a characteristic of a culture. That is a feature of the machine. But consistency is something I demand. Consistency and coherence. The unexpected in war can be disastrous. Theoretical - prepare for the destruction of an entire Chapter or worse. Practical - ensure any other Chapter can take the place of the fallen one. There must be a continuity of expertise and tactics across the Legion.'
'Agreed,' said Gage.
'Theoretical - the cultural integrity of the Legion must and will surpass the presence of any constituent element. Any!' He gave the data-slate to,Gage. 'This is the practical.'
Gage too
k the slate. He scanned the titles of the documents on the screen.
'This is a work in progress,' Guilliman said. 'I will continue to refine it. The essential principles, though, are there. You will, in due course, and in accordance with your judgement, share the contents with the other Chapter Masters.'
Gage was still staring at the screen. He tapped one of the documents. As he read, his face turned grey. 'This contingency...' he began. His voice turned hoarse.
'None can be excluded,' Guilliman said. 'I would betray my mission if I did.'
'But...'
'The Ultramarines are more than any of us. They are more than me too.'
Gage shook his head.
'Oh? Did the Thirteenth Legion not exist before my Father found me?'
'Not truly,' Gage said. 'We only thought we did. And now we know who we are...'
'You will always know,' Guilliman finished for him. 'I swear it,' He smiled. 'I have no intention of dying. I have far too much to do,'
'No,' said Gage. 'No.' He held the slate at arm's length as if it were diseased.
'Every eventuality must be confronted,' Guilliman told him. 'To do otherwise is a betrayal.'
'Has the Emperor?'
The absurdity of the question almost made Guilliman laugh. Gage was more distressed than he had expected. He waited for Gage to realise what he had just asked.
At last the Chapter Master Primus lowered his arm. He looked down at the slate. He said nothing.
'The culture of the Ultramarines must be as much a living thing as the Imperium,' Guilliman said. 'It must be the bedrock of every legionary's strength, and the lifeblood of every Chapter, company and squad.'
'Do you understand what you're asking us to envision?' Gage asked.
Guilliman frowned. 'I was under the impression I was trying to make you understand.'
'Osiris,' Gage said. 'The losses we suffered there almost carved the heart out of the Legion.'
'I know.'
Gage held up the data-slate for a moment. 'What you contemplate here is infinitely worse than what happened on Septus Twelve. When Lord Commander Vosotho was killed by the psybrids, the Legion was decapitated. How can those of us who were there even think of revisiting that trauma? And Vosotho was our leader, not our primarch. We didn't know we had one, then. As for our brothers who came after, they don't even have the knowledge of having survived Osiris to sustain them. We can't go back to that pain. We won't.'
'That's right,' Guilliman said. 'You won't. Why do you think I'm talking about our culture? Those documents are not thought games or exercises designed to torment you. I can't pretend I will live forever. I will not be derelict in my duty to the Legion and to my Father. I can't ensure my eternal existence. I will do everything in my power to ensure the Legion's. The Ultramarines will be forever. You are my sons. You are my essence. So is the Legion, and what animates it.' He swept his arm to take in the manuscripts and notes on the desk, and the volumes stacked and classified in the high bookcases on the walls adjoining the crystalflex. 'I live in these words. I live in the thoughts they embody. This is more than my legacy. This is me.' He took a step towards Gage. 'I will shape the Ultramarines into what they must be. Duty compels us all, Marius, and that is mine. My duty is the destiny of the Legion.'
He paused. He tried to see the effect of his words on Gage. The Chapter Master Primus was nodding, slowly, still grim of face. Good, Guilliman thought. He sees.
'What I am asking you to face is no different, in essence, from what I demanded today of Iasus and the Twenty-second. Iasus will correct the course of the Chapter. He will make it a full partner in the culture of the Legion. And that,' he said, pointing to the slate in Gage's hand, 'is the guarantor of continuity.'
Gage said, 'I won't fail you, primarch. None of us will.'
'I know you won't.' Once again he thought, Good. 'Then let's bring the impact of our culture to the greenskins.'
'Before we go, there's one last thing I must impart to you.' Guilliman said, walking to his arming chamber and picking up the Hand of Domination.
'Of course my primarch.' Gage responded cautiously.
Guilliman slowly raised the Hand of Domination, and turned towards Marius Gage.
'This will only sting a little Marius,' he said, with a small disarming smile.
Marius Gage, with no small amount of trepidation, eyed the glowing Hand of Domination.
'Father,' he said quietly. ' Are you sure this will lead to a better understanding of your tactics?'
Guilliman moved close to Marius and placed a sure hand upon his back, guiding him to bend over and face away.
'Of course my son,' he said confidently. 'Pain is a wonderful teacher, and nothing in our arsenal of awesomeness brings more pain than the Hand.'
With sure movements Guilliman raised the Hand of Domination and slammed it into Gage's backside. Light erupted in a brilliant flash, and smoke gently
drifted from Gage's cauterized rectum.
'My lord,' Marius gasped, as a single tear of painjoy rolled out from the corner of his eye. 'What do you call this mighty move?!'
'I call it powerfisting my son,' Guilliman said, laughter drifting quietly at the end of his response.
'It is..' Marius hesitated, his bowels rumbled with tension, his butt cheeks vibrated rapidly. 'Truly full of awesomeness!'
Gage was a fraction of a second slow to begin to follow, as if his mind were somewhere back in the paths of their conversation. Guilliman looked back. The old warrior's face was set, grim, and determined. The shadow of an old grief hovered over him.
The shadow of a future one seemed to stretch before him.
Recursion: the theoretical and the practical are the keys to their own reinforcement. Theoretical: the full implementation of the theoretical and the practical is the means by which their strength achieves its most complete realisation. Practical: instillation, through edict and usage, of the theoretical and practical at every level, and at every instance, even and especially including those situations where the correct course of action appears self-evident. It is these moments that provide the greatest risks and opportunities. The obvious is treacherous, thus doubly in need of rigorous interrogation. The application of the theoretical and practical in these instances thus reinforces the approach for all other circumstances.
- Guilliman, Towards a Union of Theory and Praxis, 111.54.xl
Three
INSIGHT • POTENTIAL • ACTUAL
The Cavascor's deck vibrated. Hierax felt it through the soles of his boots. It was the pulse of the launches. The heartbeat of the strike cruiser had become the drum of war.
He was on the bridge. The rest of the 22nd Chapter was descending to Thoas while the Destroyers, once more, remained in orbit, their strength chained, their way of war denied. Iasus had given the order. Perhaps he had come to the decision on his own. It was very possible. He had been given his position for a reason. Ultimately, though, it was Guilliman's distaste for what the Destroyers were and did that held them at bay.
Hierax had come to the bridge to watch, and to be seen. The situation of the Destroyers was known across the Chapter's ships. That they were again denied the battlefield was not a source of shame. Nonetheless, the frustration of the companies translated into tension and discontent throughout the Chapter. He had spoken with Laches, whose First Destroyers were stationed on the frigate Glory of Fire. Laches was on the bridge there too. The captains were in position, to observe and stand ready, and to present the unbowed pride of the companies.Hierax was in the strategium, standing in the pulpit. It projected forwards into the space of the bridge. He was visible to every officer, serf and technician. He emanated a sculpted calm as he watched the oculus and listened to the launch reports. He gave his full attention to the deployment. He would watch and study every step of this war. He and his company would be ready the instant an order to deploy came.
Bootsteps sounded behind him. He turned. Legionary Kletos had entered the stra
tegium. His armour, like that of all Destroyers, was predominantly black. With the departure of the other companies, the only Legiones Astartes heraldry still visible aboard the Nemesis Chapter ships was the dark of unforgiving, brutal, scorching war.
The colours of necessity, Hierax thought. We do not engage without reason. But we cannot be ignored or forgotten. War forbids it.
Kletos saluted. 'You wanted to see me, captain,' he said.
Hierax nodded. 'I'm taking a sounding, legionary. How would you describe the mood in the ranks?'
Kletos cocked his head. He was not wearing his helmet, and he made no attempt to moderate his expression. He had been badly burned in the hive on Septus XII when the psybrids had sprung their trap. His face was a mass of glistening scar tissue. Unlike Hierax's wounds, which had accumulated over the length of his career, the mark of Kletos' injury had come all at once. The right comer of his mouth was pulled down, making him appear perpetually sardonic. Which was not that far from the truth.
'With due respect, captain,' Kletos said, 'I think you can guess.'
'I choose not to.'
Kletos shrugged. 'Right. Ugly, then.'
And this was why Hierax had called on Kletos. The legionary was plain-spoken to a fault. He balanced on the razor's edge of insubordination with such regularity, he would never make sergeant. As a barometer of the company's mood, he could not be bettered.
'Uglier than the last time?'
'I should say so.'
'And the difference is...'
Kletos snorted. 'The Chapter Master.'
Hierax lowered his voice. 'Go on.'
Kletos took the hint and spoke softly, for Hierax's ears alone. 'He's wrong for us. He's an outsider several times over. Might as well be from another Legion.'
'How bad is it?'
'Bad enough. If he tries to change us into something we're not...' Kletos trailed off.
'If he tries, then what?' Hierax said, his voice harsh.
Kletos cursed. 'I don't know. No one does. We can't stop him, so we'll resent him even more.'
Roboute Guilliman: Lord of Ultramar Page 4
