Emperor Take the Wheel

by Luke Heffner

A Delire short story, no. 3: Sometimes, all that is required is a little faith, and a little chance.

Emperor, Take the Wheel.

"Emperor, keep me from my humanity. Emperor keep me from my weakness, Emperor keep me from my prides. Emperor, shine your light upon my plight, enlighten your poor servant to your will."

"Emperor, keep me from my humanity. Emperor keep me from my weakness…"

And so Delire continued. Once he had been released from the trauma bay, the Castellan had made his way to his quarters, and sealed himself shut. He even broke the communication panels in his room, letting no one interfere with his penitent prayers. So he had continued, days upon days, sweat pooling on the decking. Incense curled about his head, permanently staining his short hair too an ashen grey.

"The penitent deserve enlightenment, the sorrowful deserve death. The mighty deserve humbling, the humble deserve truth. The penitent deserve enlightenment, the sorrowful deserve death…"

The pain of his hunched over back was ignored. The protests of the barely healed ribs, chastised and forgotten. The scars and still semi open wounds, pulled at the strain of his kneeling ministrations, damned to the warp in their sensitivity.

"Power hath descended forth from thy hand, bringing light to the Warp. We pray that our bolter and fire may swiftly out thy commands. And so we shall pour a river of souls before the, the heretic, the mutant, the traitor. In Nomeni Imperetor Et Adeptus, Spiritus Homo Sapien."

It was two months and two days until Delire emerged from his closed chamber. Bloody at the knee, but wild in eye, he stumbled into the tight confines of the hallway. Vansaulder gripped him under one arm, and Erin assisted them both. Delire mumbling in non-coherent statements, the two marines dragged their beloved Castellan to the trauma center. They really didn't know where else to take him.

The Dreadnought oversaw the training of the new Neophytes. There were, after the cleansing of the Carrabus system, thirty Neophytes of the original group. But the stalwart and effective fighting force the crew had been forged into on that same planet, had swelled their numbers into over one hundred and twelve acceptable bodies. Each had been laboriously checked over by Gestus and his now blossoming medical staff. None showed traits of mutation or deviance, though they would be checked many times over before the genes of the Space Marines would be implanted in them.

The Crozius that rode high on the dreadnought's frontal armor glimmered and shown in the dim training bay light. It flashed with purpose and intent, as if seeking out any shadow and its contents. A brilliant white shroud of silk was casually draped over the assault cannon on his left arm. The shrouds and hoods worn by some of the Fighting company, indicated simply the support of the Child.

This giant machine was the resting place of Chaplain Ramiel, the last Reclusiarch of the Ivory Fleet. He had been horribly wounded upon Carrabus IV, by the weapon that had drawn the chaos forces there in the first place. The former occupant of this machine had been Demetrius. A venerable and brilliant warrior, he had perished finally against the Greater Daemon that had been summoned to that forgotten Agri-world. Chaplain Ramiel had personally dictated, while staying awake from his massive wounds, to fairly untrained assistants how to remove the carcass and entomb himself inside the ancient mechanism. Such heroism is the flagstone upon which the Imperium is built upon.

Though the life of a dreadnought is usually full of sleep and waiting between times of action, Ramiel was firm in his decision to stay awake and had continued to command the Ivory Fleet, which was little more than a Black Templar Fighting Company. In itself, it consisted of a single strike cruiser named the Furious Interdictor, a positively ancient Linebacker class line breaker named the Emperor's Shield, and a maintenance and fabrication ship named the Emperor Provider.

Due to Castellan Delire's absence, Ramiel had kept control over the entire operation. He did not worry about Delire's sanity however, he would have done the same thing in his situation.

The Greater Daemon that had been summoned too Carrabus IV had been a Blessed of Khorne. The Brothers in Chain had quickly leapt to keep it entangled, and the already wounded Delire had gone with them. Without their intervention, there would have been an even higher toll of casualties. But the reason that the Khornites were on that backwater planet, and even a resident cult of Tzeentch, was because of a weapon that a defunct Imperial Guard captain had brought to ground there.

Only the remaining 5 of their original legion had been seconded on Carrabus IV, and the captain had stumbled upon something incredibly powerful. Though as is common, it took him many years to find out that it was more than just an ancient weapon.

When exactly he had fallen to the sweet words of Tzeentch was a question never to be answered. But he had, and raised a large revolt against the Arbites forces, and would have conquered the entire planet. But Delire and his Fighting Company, the Ivory Fleet, had leapt into system not even twenty days after the fighting had started.

With unorthodox tactics and many curious conflicts, Delire had lead his forces to victory over both chaos factions, burning the corrupted places to the ground. But Delire had been forced to use the weapon that was the center of attention, against the Greater Daemon. Their most powerful means had already failed to bring it down, and there had been no other course of action left to the young Castellan. And bring it down he did, in two shots.

The remainder of the planet had been very thankful, providing them with what ever Delire requested, before Apothecary Gestus had to practically wrestle him into the trauma bay.

"Its definitely Archeotech. Look at these capacitors here. They are normally on a battleship, though these have been miniaturized to the size of my fist. I have no records of anything like this, and my devices are registering over seventeen Unknown and three Classified compounds in just the energy distribution systems!" Tech marine Neilus was adamant in his gestures, indicating the suspect parts. "The serial numbers are in single digits." The stressed face of a marine close to the edge of sanity, grimaced at Ramiel's optical sensors. "Single Digits! I can not understand this. Its too much. I have destroyed two servitors trying to calculate what this means."

"This here, this isn't part of the original weapon. Its been added on since then." He indicated an obviously chaos corrupted part. The wires and heat absolving tubes all had faces of their own, imploring their re-connection with the weapon.

"But here, this back up tubing is perfectly serviceable, and still has the minute Aquillas attached. This rifle, if I might call this that, was built for someone much larger than the normal Space Marine. I would say, at least a third larger, if not more. Even if size didn't matter, they weapon re-aligns itself with the weight and need of the user!" The small, hysterical laugh of a man confronted with impossibility, sounded out in the quiet machine strewn room.

"Is it tainted by Chaos, or not." Ramiel leveled the flamer nozzle imbedded in his manipulator arm, with the Techmarine's head. He would brook no divergence from what he knew to be right and wrong.

"I…I don't know! I have been working on this for years now! There doesn't seem to be any taint that can not be removed. But how can a weapon be this powerful! It is not possible!" The stammering, more out of haste than fear, marine indicated the weapon laid out before them on his worktable.

"The Emperor works in many ways." That was all Ramiel said, as his foot steps from the chamber shook the decking, and rattled the hanging chains.

"Theodore!" Delire sat up bolt-right in his bed, one of many in the trauma bay. He looked about, gathering the light blue cloth bed sheets too him.

"Captain, please. Lay down, everything is fine." Apothecary Gestus, of the school where you might as well hit your patients over the head with a brick than convince them to stay put, pushed Delire back down onto the examination bed. Theodore of the Brothers in Chain, was horribly mangled by the Daemon on Carrabus IV, but had been fitted with bionic arms and spine. It would be a few years until he would be back up to his peak again, but it was assuredly his goal.

The Brothers in Chain, a radical squad of Black Templars, were at the forefront of the Greater Daemon attack on Carrabus IV. They managed to stall the daemon enough to allow Delire to utilize the Archeotech weapon. But it had perhaps cost Delire his soul, since the weapon had been owned and used by a minor follower of Tzeentch. This is what he had been so careful, so penitent about. He had made the decision to damn his soul, and in turn saving the lives of many of his Brother marines. But Ramiel had not given up on him so easily, and had focused a very in-depth investigation into the artifact weapon itself. It had been definitely Imperial in make, though the age of which it was, concluded to an unthinkable amount.

"Aye, coming about to heading 314. Attaching grappling points now." Hellius, who had been Delire's trustee of the Emperor's Shield, acknowledged the crew work teams. There had been several hulks that had been towed by the Ivory Fleet, prior to their engagement in the Carrabus system. They had dropped the huge metal relics at the entry point, and done righteous battle with the chaos forces present in the system.

It had been two years in cleansing the planets of their cultists, one and nine tenths years since the cleansing of Carrabus IV. Delire had led their forces, with an ever weighty conscience, till the final heretic strong hold had fallen. He had decreed that Carrabus III and VII be completely removed from the Emperor's light. Many hours of bombardment had rendered all heat signatures on those planets, null and void.

That was when he had gone into seclusion, and Ramiel had stepped forward into command.

The Child, a mystery given to them by strange circumstances, had stayed quiet and rather subdued after his action upon Carrabus IV. There seemed to be a great space between anyone who chose to speak to the vehemently unnamed growing Marine and themselves. Any questions posed to him were replied with excerpts from the Doctium Imperius, in pure scripture form. This left even the dreadnought entombed Ramiel, frustrated and itching for the simplicity of conflict.

Captain Surchild tapped her foot with irritating regularity. She was a Rogue Trader, and the captain of the Eminent Reward. She had signed on too travel with the Black Templar fighting company, but on the agreement that she would be able to find somewhere to sell her stores. She had a hold full of currently deactivated servitors of various aptitudes, that had been originally bound for a Deathwatch battle group. But the battle group had been all but destroyed, being able to salvage only one ship, thanks to Delire's intervention. As payment, assumingly, they had left the servitors with Surchild. But that was not all that went on, but simply the short and sweet. There had been something, almost staged about the battle. Delire often thought about it.

But that was not why she was here. Neophyte Hellius, currently captaining the Emperor's Shield, stared defiantly back at the fierce woman. Her head was shaved, and her clothes ostentatious, and Hellius had never really enjoyed her presence.

"Your outline of flight brings us no where near any places that I can sell my holds." Surchild's high pitched voice graded on Hellius' nerves. Secretly, this had been on purpose. Delire and Ramiel had decided that the servitors would be a better asset to the Templars than civilians. But they had not made their intentions public as of yet.

"Indeed it does not. But you may sell all you want once we get too Kidico." Hellius looked down to his consol, pretending to work.

Surchild, after several attempts to reacquire the almost Marine's attention, left the bridge in storm. She would see about this.

Ramiel's metal countenance filled the holo plate, and Hellius winced the volume was a little louder than his accepted level. He had become quite the perfectionist since Delire had forced him to take command of the Emperor's Shield.

"Neophyte Hellius, change of flight plans. I am sending over the new route list. Be advised, there will be a several month extension to our journey."

Hellius flicked his tongue in distaste. It was that trader woman, he knew it. "Yes Chaplain. I will make the course corrections."

The entombed chaplain didn't necessarily approve of Delire leaving Hellius as the central command figure for the Shield, but they did have quite a rapport. And there was no one else who knew the Shield as well.

Hellius slammed his fist down on the console, making the screws jitter in their slots. The new jump coordinates lead them even deeper into Terran space. It was another Long Jump, something that most Navigators were loathe to do. But the Ivory Fleet Navigator's seemed to be more than willing. They were no longer restless, sorrowful souls, but seemed dedicated and purposeful.

Their initial and hoped warp exit would land them near Dorn, a system that was now a dead system. The once imperial outpost there had fallen to Orks, and had been subsequently bombed out of existence by the Imperial Navy Solar. But the second jump, re-routed well out of the way, heralded their coming to the Ryza System.

Ryza was an Imperial Adeptus Mechanicus Forge world. It produced millions of tons of munitions and equipment for the Imperium's massive war machine. Hellius didn't have any more information on it, but that it was all classified well above his lowly rank.

This only stoked the anger in his heart, seeing only Surchild as its source.

The Child loomed over the bedside. Though the boy had grown into early manhood, he had incredible stature and endurance. His Marine organs had begun to blossom, without the intervention of Gestus.

"You know what has to be done."

Delire slowly opened his eyes. "Yes, I know." That was all that needed to be said. A silent agreement passed between them, in that time. They were understood to each other, no barriers standing in the way.

"Sleep now, Brother."

The secret room deep within the bowels of the Emperor's Shield, known only to Tech Marine Neilus and a scant few others, was filled with softly playing hymnals. Servo skulls danced in the smoke filled atmosphere, recording everything they could into their crude sensors.

Neilus stood before a solid wooden table, at the center of the large area, dark but from one light. His mind had cracked a long while back, the focal point of his fault being the Archeotech before him. Finally, after many years of work, he had taken it all apart into its perfect components.

Thirty two capacitors, seven reductors, eighteen inductors, close too seventy of the marble sized transducers, and the sparklingly perfect opti-inducer lens. The sub atomic pile that powered the shoulder sized attached power pack was not his specialty. It had been checked for chaos infiltration, but none had been able to pierce the powerful wards that encased the eldritch machine.

Marked with bits of paper and scraps of cloth, each piece was numbered in its order. Each screw, pin, and slot color coded too their indications and locations. It was his greatest work ever. A mound of logistical materials and notes had been assembled, stacked as wide, and placed as tall as the table itself.

The Servo harness on his back, the alternate arms that assisted him with the holy work of the Machine God, conducted the rhythm and volume of the hymns themselves.

Incinerated, and flushed out an airlock, were the pieces that some devotee of chaos had placed upon the weapon, though they had been unable to corrupt the machine as a whole. All of the parts that remained were still stamped and etched with the ancient sacred literature of the Emperor's words, though oddly phrased.

His mind lost to the music, Neilus did not see the final adjustments that he made to the ordered ranks of parts. They were unconscious and deliberate, but his soul was far beyond him, drifting on the waves of the pure music.

At the end of 'Dominus unam Sancta', he gripped the edge of the table, hard enough to place permanent indents in the hardwood. He stared down with the renewed furvor of one dedicated to a task.

It was much to his surprise that the previously set out order of components had changed. Confusion wrinkled his brow beneath his helmet, for taken apart, these components could not be worked by the unarmored human. Even a Marine.

He retrieved the stock and handle-grip, which had been placed at the point he had intended to start at. It sat heavily in his grasp, the still shining metal showing the reflection of his metal shielded face.

Perhaps it was the crack in his sanity that produced the following affect, though no one knows. The next piece, instead of the beginning of the energy capacitating systems, slid right into place. It was the vastly unorthodox system of chambers and divergent transmission systems that made up the body of the great weapon. The next to come were the feeds and interlockings between the atomic power source, and finally the rest of the components. They fit together as if supremely built for the task, practically leaping from the fingers of the Tech Marine, finding their places almost as happenstance.

Finally, the Mars adept raised the finished weapon above his head, and laughed against the crying hymnals.

"It is finished!"

It wasn't until an hour later that Neilus sighted a solitary lump on his sanctified work table. It was one of the infinitely miniaturized capacitors, one of the things that had broke his mind in the first place. The complexity of the small device, no bigger than a grenade, was usually seen in Naval engagements. It was a key component of the ever famed Lance batteries, though the modern version would take up more space than a Thunderhawk transport.

"And what, my little friend, are you for?" Neilus said towards the errant device.

Though when he checked, the Weapon had all the capacitors that it had slots for. There was no explanation.

"Ryza system automated Defense systems hailing unidentified Adeptus Astartes battle group." The cold voice emanated from the speakers on either side of Delire's head. The Captain's chair would always have small things that annoyed him.

"This is Captain Delire, of the Emperor's Shield. We are a Fighting Company of the Black Templars." He wagged a finger at Hellius, who transmitted the proper authorization codes.

After a moment, "Codes Accepted. Proceed to heading 1.49, your docking protocols are already in place. Greetings, Captain Delire." The simulated emotion in the voice was flat at best, producing a mixed feeling of disregard, and uninterested acknowledgment.

"Take us about, Pilot." Delire said, to the suspended pilot Servitor, slaved to the ship's systems. Hellius, face illuminated by the green glow of his data screens at his own personal station, smiled. He was glad to have the Captain back. Though technically he was a Castellan now, and semi-official leader of the Fighting Company, he was still called as Captain on his own vessel.

"So we have an appointment?" Delire punched several buttons on his control arm, and then moved it out his way.

"Yes sir, we have one. With the High Priest of Mars, who runs this rusty planet. Our good friend Surchild set up the meeting." Hellius chuckled to himself as he spoke, his distaste for the Rogue Trader running deep.

"Have the Mars Adeptus spoken yet with their superiors?" Delire referred to the contingent of Machine God priests that were crawling and prodding about the perfectly preserved innards of his precious Shield.

"They sent a highly focused packaged just as we entered the system. Mostly technical information. Very little in the way of personal.." Hellius looked up from his screens, catching the Captain's attention. "They have requested some very strange machines, and many more tech priests. The request seems to have been granted by the powers that be on Ryza."

Delire grunted in reply, for nothing else really needed to be said. He had made the agreement, allowing Mars Priests aboard his ship for an indefinite amount of time, so long as they continued the survival of it. So far, things had worked out too their mutual advantage.

But now they were on the Machine God's terrain, only one day out from the Forge world, one of the more famous ones in all of the Imperium. He had personally heard of this planet, but never having been even within 200 light years of it.

There were literally tens of thousands of ships, distorting the auspex and confusing many sensors. Though, it was apparent in the hours later, that an obvious path had been carved in the traffic for them. Patrol vessels, with every light aboard lit, lined their vector. Great commercial banner ships closed down their displays, and lit up pearly white against the night. Venerable cargo ships tilted slightly on their access as the Ivory Fleet passed, dipping perhaps a salute.

Delire grumbled, this unexpected fanfare appealing to his sense of pride. But whenever his vanity spoke, he became more and more alert to threat and danger. The Shield was banging away with every sensor and probe, all screens alert and glowing. He did not trust the Priests of Mars any more than he did say, the Ultramarines.

But they were the only ones who could give him and Ramiel the keys to making vehicles. It had been a desperate hampering during the Carrabus purge, that they had been found to rely on hastily converted civilian vehicles, to use as transports.

When Surchild had mentioned that she had 'contacts' with some of the medium to high priests in government of Ryza, she had specifically had the intention of turning their fleet to this position. She had carefully calculated what had been needed, and what could be used to force the Fighting Company to adhere to their agreement.

What she did not know, is that she had played right into Delire's hands.

"Lords Mechanica, Fabricator masters, the Gear Makers, I present too you, Castellan Delire Omsheir, of the Black Templar Fighting Company, the Ivory Fleet!" Delire did not necessarily acknowledge the servitor announcer, undoubtedly picked for his youthful but strong voice. While that had been painstakingly preserved, the body had wasted away to resemble the empty husk that it was.

Behind Delire, hulked the vast form of Chaplain Ramiel's dreadnought, and accordingly the terminators that once officially accompanied him in life. Their powerful close combat weapons glistened in the light. They usually favored the gruesome power maul, verses the statuesque thunder hammer, though the effects were virtually the same. As even for an engagement or combat maneuver, their weapons and personalized storm shields were chained to their wrists and bodies. A virulent symbol of their faith, and that the Emperor's finest never sleep. It was not unknown for the prestigious Brothers to wear their binding chains, even in day to day activities. Such was their devotion.

Tech Marine Neilus and a plethora of the glistening, pristine servitors that were only to be found on the Emperor's Shield, swarmed to the Castellan's right. The vast docking bay, one of the largest Delire had ever seen, dwarfed even the vastest chamber of the Templar Battle Barge that he had been trained on. Hundreds of high ranking Tech Adepts of Mars, their various attendants, disturbing combat servitors, droning prayer cherubs, and other less recognizable persons, made little of a dent in the space needs of the bay.

This was Spire Four, one of the more auspicious spires, rising up from the ground of Ryza. It, like its brothers, was so massive that it easily pierced the atmosphere. This had allowed the Shield to come right up against her, linking a flight deck to the huge structure.

The surrounding crowd, after the very loud announcement, had lowered its own internal volume. After a few moments, a disturbance in the massive group showed itself. Out of Delire's enhanced peripheral vision, he saw the Terminators shift slightly, angling themselves more effectively to any obvious threat.

No one had known what to suspect. The cordial receiving of the Forge World was almost as unheard of as it was disturbing.

A hunched man, if one could call him that, rolled out of the lead group. In place of legs, great cogs had been attached in some mysterious way. His upper body was withered to the point of complete emancipation, though the blue lights shining through the eyes indicated that there was some life behind the weak flesh.

"I, Master Adept Cogretiese, accept your entrance to our sanctified world." Though no mouth moved, the voice was submitted through a Vox speaker that Delire now spotted. It was cleverly painted as flesh, and composed most of the abdominal region.

A slight pause gripped both parties, as Delire had not actually said anything, nor requested this sort of meeting. Infact, he had yet to request a meeting at all, though it had been his intention. Ramiel's close combat arm bumped him in the power pack. Delire had refused to appear in anything less than full armor.

"I…. Thank you for your hospitable welcome, and in the Emperor's name, wish the grace of the Machine God upon all present." Delire swept his left arm out wide, keeping his left hand casually near his antique Bolter, conveniently magnet-locked to his thigh.

A servitor with large cymbals for hands, broke the silence in a way that could easily be typed as a rupture.

The rolling body, Delire was not sure how to classify it, gestured with a distinct mechanical lack of grace. "Please, let us retire too the antechamber, where fluids await."

Formalities apparently concluded, the entire procession of lesser nobles and drift-humans began to file away from the Marine contingent. Delire looked, his helmet covering any facial expressions to Neilus.

The Tech marine, who the Castellan considered one of the most unstable people he had on his ship, besides the Enginseer; cackled in pleasure. The Vox speakers of Neilus's helmet made it sound even worse.

"That could not have gone better. Better? Gooder? Better-able? Improved? Yes, could not have been better gone." The marine, who had been schooled and indoctrinated into the Machine God's ways, nodded with a manic emphasis. "On, to the next glorious contest!" He stepped to take the lead, but a power maul stopped him at the throat. The inactivated circuitry of the weapon hummed in readiness.

"Castellan's first. Us, second." The thunder like resonance of the Terminator almost, almost, echoed in the vast bay. Neilus ducked his head, servo harness whining as it indicated his subservience.

Delire didn't know if he should praise the Terminator or slap it upside its greatly armored head. But regardless, he stepped forward on the dark purple and red laced carpet, following after the procession that was greatly outdistancing them.

"So, did you come from Terra, perhaps from a sabbatical?" The queer eyed Lord asked, both eyes replaced with telescoping lenses of the most archaic sort. They had a strange way of zooming in and out, making Delire wonder if he was speaking to him, or examining the paint on his helmet.

"No, we are fresh from Carrabus. It has been purged of rebellion, caught at the very cusp of their revolution into the service of Chaos." The first five times, Delire had felt good about saying the words. This was perhaps the twentieth time, give or take some alliterations, that he had said the same sentence. Thankfully, he was not the most besieged by annoying admirers. Ramiel, entombed in his Dreadnought, had to practically fight off those who were attempting to measure and label his 'parts'. It was quite humorous to watch the servitors and minor functionaries that were ordered to examine him, scuttle out of the way of his power claw. Which was sure to shred someone or something eventually, though the Chaplain was more trying to deter than destroy.

Undoubtedly, he could clear the room within seconds, should he really become angered.

"Carrabus, yes. I know of the system. I have several resource contracts in the area. I hope you did not disturb them.." The Lord who was currently addressing Delire had a third arm, which was specifically designed to hold a host of various fluids in small cups, waiting on it's owner's whim.

Delire bristled, his hands clenching at his sides at the mention that 'he' might have disturbed something, instead of the rise of chaos in that system. The metal cup he had been carefully holding, thumped against his belt held helmet, and then to the floor in a squeezed and solid mass.

"Be careful sir…." His judgment wrestled and arm locked his rage into submission. "I do not know what you speak of. You may…divulge more than you mean." The cautious social step back was against the grain of a Templar, though when a goal was in sight, some would do anything to win. Including Delire.

"Hrm, indeed. Your candidness is appreciated. I will, look into things more thoroughly from now on." While the noble moved off into the ever shifting crowd, Delire could not figure out which was more irritating. What the Lord had said, or what he Hadn't said.

But surely, the Castellan was not the center of attention. Tech marine Neilus was by far drawing more of a crowd than anyone else. A few of the Mars adepts that had become resident aboard the Emperor's Shield had come down planetward, but the most had stayed aboard. They seemed unwilling to leave what ever treasures they had found down in the bowels of the ancient ship.

Neilus had stepped up onto a table, and had begun regaling his fellow tech initiates or seniors in what was undoubtedly, a fantastic oratory explanation of well… something. Delire had tried to follow for a few minutes, but had found it impossible to catch onto what ever wind that Neilus was currently sailing on.

Delire had very, very cautiously picked over the array of foods and liquids that were available for the masses currently occupying the antechamber off of the docking bay. Most of them had been in more of a mechanical intent. Including several racks of various oils and unguents that had been barely labeled, mixed in with the normal liquors and various liquid nourishments. He had found a protein broth that was slightly to his enjoyment, a grayish green conglomeration of black powder explosive, unidentified blood, raw protein oriented enzymes, and engine lubricant alcohol. It kicked like a Power Lifter, but was surprisingly spicy on the way down. It took a lot to make an average Marine's pallet even take notice.

"So there I was, with power coupling number eight, staring down the interface board. And it just hits me, Eight was the division of Sixteen, so I ripped out the inoperative plug that was there. And Eight slammed home with complete ease!" The crowd that had long since gathered, applauded in their various ways, to Neilus's joke. Or perhaps it had been a funny experience.

Delire eyed the other marines and Dreadnought that were tactically arrayed around the antechamber, but his mind tumbled over the seemingly interesting statement. He couldn't find any reference, or logic to it. His conscious mind kicked it over the edge into the memory trash pile.

"Ramiel, is this all strictly necessary?" Delire said, over the tightly bonded com system.

The Dreadnought was whipping this way and that with the dead body of a hefty servitor in his grasp, further deterring those who would closer examine his machine form. "He said it was. You know what we must do. This is their land, their rules. We must play by them." And then out of his speakers, "Back you fools, curse you! If you touch me with that piece of chalk again, so help me Emperor, I will melt you to the carpet!" The heavy flamer nozzle at the center of the close combat hand cycled open, pilot light popping on with an audible announcement.

Delire laughed, though he respectfully kept the com channel closed. His helmet, removed soon after the pseudo-banquet started, was clipped to his belt in it's appropriate place. His vocalizations went unnoticed, though he was sure that the Terminator Marine nearest to him vibrated more than normal. Especially in the head and shoulder region.

Apparently, though I am sure no scholar would be able to suggest in either way, Ryza does not sleep. Or at least, its nobility. Six hours into the escapade in the antechamber, someone else indicated that they move to the Ball-Social room. This was directly attached to the docking bay antechamber, though much more grand. Delire had supposed that the gilded and hand carved girders, and carefully scripted walls indicated the pinnacle of this Forge World's prestige. He was wrong.

The diamond laced flagstones, emerald carved luminescents, beautifully muralled walls, all assaulted him at once. Senses reeled, as the chamber opened before the Marine contingent, who was politely forced to go first; entered the hall.

The crowd shambled, crawled, rolled, floated, and lastly, walked past them. The myriad upper echelon of Ryza seemed just at home here than anywhere else previously. Music was playing loudly, from unseen sources, whipping those who would dance into a distinct frenzy of ordered steps. Whirling skirts, outspread cloaks, tilting headdresses, all was displayed in a magnificence of splendor that made Delire think of himself as small and clumsy. That was not usually what a Marine liked to feel.

Some of the Lord's had specific servitors to do their dancing for them. These puppets of flesh and hidden metal traced beautiful tread upon the flagstone, moving to the still hidden band. Automatons, gifted the grace of angels, their dead eyes not conveying the joy our other emotions plastered to their respective reconstructed faces.

More and more attendants, or assumably, lesser nobles filed in from hidden doors. They took the places mostly deemed by status or perhaps rank. Delire could make almost no sense of it, as being that everyone was either swathed in silk, or bare in the iron additions that they treasured so much. It made for a very confusing sight, and even more disorienting to move through or around.

It was several hours until Delire found himself backed up against and steadied by the Dreadnought chaplain, Ramiel. When the Castellan looked back to his benefactor, he found that Ramiel had been draped with a foolish satin cloth, which conformed to the machine's form.

"Ramiel, what in the Emperor…."

"We will not speak of it." Ramiel, though technically eyeless, surged his attention on the marine. Delire only nodded, and agreed. Indeed, they would never talk about it, not even to their end of days.

Seventeen hours and counting, since the marine contingent had landed on the graciously given docking slot, did most of the festivities come to an end. Well, it was not necessarily an end, but the main host of enjoyers promptly filed away from the much lauded ball room.

Till at the end, there was but the great Cogretiese, and nine other of the 'nobles'. The ballroom, without attendants or associates, became a daunting hemisphere of rich private indulgence. In this, the Templar footsteps rang unnaturally loud.

Tech Marine Neilus stepped forward in front of the group, his servitors keeping place near their original entrance.

"Glory to your home, praise to your domain, ever improving to your wisdom. Lords, may we enter into congress over the most important of matters." Though the Mars schooled marine seemed to have the way of words about him, when it came to these Technocrats, Delire saw many a weapon readied. Not all of them were on the side of the Black Templars.

"Speak, you that who Mars may understand little. Bastion us against your revelation." The true colors of Cogretiese showed through, demeaning the Templar tech marine, before he even had the chance to speak. Their conversation so far had felt much like a much rehearsed litany, which was not uncommon in the very formal structure of the Black Templars.

But Neilus was not dissuade from the words of those clearly higher than himself. He continued on, adding, "I humbly address this council of the Ever Increasing Gear, showing my inadequacies and begging reprisal."

A moment passed before the rotten corpse of Cogretiese passed a skeletal hand over the kneeling form of Neilus, and said "No reprisals we seek, only through knowledge do we survive."

The intricate formality of the ritual being enacted before him, spoke to Delire on a deep level. He was beginning to grasp ideas that were not commonly known, and perhaps the fact that his Tech Marine was part of some sub culture of the Adeptus Mechanicus. He had suspected as such for some time, though as his layman's knowledge, nothing had proved itself more than this.

"And knowledge we shall seek, for the Gate be damned." Neilus's servo harness moved as a silken snake, the main manipulator arm weaving a complicated dance. All of the other Templar marines present would never know what exactly had been spoken through the complex sign language.

"We accept your request. We are prepared to pay in full." Though Cogretiese, practically dead when it came to human mood, seemed pleased to say this; when several of the nobles that were present, shifted uneasily. Perhaps more was at stake than had been let on to Delire. Or perhaps, things from his side, and their side; could not be taken into such a scale of give and take.

"As you know sirs, from the intercepted transmissions from the Ivory Fleet, that they have found…." Neilus looked about himself, as if seeing it for the first time. "…..the remarkably preserved Emperor's Shield, and several other interesting items."

Delire, who readied himself with bolter, had no idea where Neilus was going with this. The conversation had strayed very far from the original idea that had been pieced together by Ramiel and himself. Several terminators, locked their main weapons into place, though the sound made a little dent in the common silence of the vast hall.

"We do know of the discoveries made, but they are not our own. They are Martian and Martian only. The information network of the Adeptus Mechanicus is slow, at the best of times. You however, have promised us something unique."

A small blue spotlight shone down out of the left eye of the Cogretiese construct, searching the ground in and about the tech marine Neilus. Apparently the marine waited, for there was no other motion, for the search to finish.

"I offer you a rebirth. An increase such as which has not been seen in ages. I offer you life, grace, and ultimately, incredible eminent importance." Neilus had straightened his back, standing defiantly before the Lords of Ryza in but a few seconds. If ever before Delire had a question of the tech marine's loyalties, the now proved it. He was Templar, from blood to bone.

"You offer much, young acolyte. Were it not for the prestige of the fleet that you came with, I would not have accepted you as I did." Cogretiese, whose thick gears moved him a step down closer to the same floor as Delire and Neilus, gestured haltingly. "I have a kingdom to uphold, one built of fire and soot, producing death to deploy to the living. I can not abstract from this."

"I offer you a single, solitary chance to work yourself to new heights. Will you take it, though knowing my terms?" Neilus fronted the idea that Ramiel and Delire had created, without even explaining. Though Delire assumed that all the other parties involved knew much more about it than even the creators did.

"I challenge, you my lord and prognosticator, to a game of Ultima. To decide the choice that lays before us." Neilus, true to his heritage, stood tall in his willingness to bet everything he had against victory. This had not been part of the plan, and Delire shifted nervously. Ramiel did the same, though it was more noticeable.

Cogretiese, perhaps just a body or an entity that controlled the body by remote, made it plain that he or it had noticed the significant change of power in their negotiations.

"What are the terms, and limits?" The Vox speakers embedded in the chest of the cog-wheel servitor, spoke loudly into the much echoing hall.

"No terms, no limits. I surrender my prize, which you know is great beyond measure, on a beaten hand. We both surrender on a matched 26 hand. I receive and keep both on a dual or double hand. Emperor's Tarot, will finish this. No need to further entangle our forces." Neilus stood tall, the multi arms of his servo harness splayed out behind him. And in that moment, Delire was proud.

Though, this new bet and card game was a veritable monkey wrench thrown into their plans. The amount of betting material staked upon a few ancient cards would be immense.

Neilus, stocked to the hilt with adrenals and endorphins, stepped down from where he was. But it was not enough. The Servo harness that was almost permanently attached to him made several quick jabs at the various nobles that surrounded the still shell-shocked daises. A few of them flinched. That would be a telling factor, to anyone who noticed.

"The fleet vrs my pick of your Data files." The solemn promise of such a prize as the Emperor's Shield shuddered Cogretiese into a momentary pause.

"Done." The hissingly clear voice emanating from the Vox speakers sounded pleasant, and suggested that it was almost enjoying this negotiation. Assumingly, of course, that the Mechanicus lord had positioned himself well.

Loudspeakers announced the disposition of the High Lords, communicating one way with the crowds on the levels below. Most had heard that a great bet had been enacted, and since the Emperor's Tarot being one of the more popular games of Ultima chance on Ryza, it was only formal that everything possible be transmitted to the lesser nobles of the Forge World.

Though many card games were popular and even accredited on Ryza, the Emperor's Tarot was above and beyond the possibility of sharks and boilers to predict. There were no stakes higher than the outcome of a Tarot game. For it wasn't really a game, or said the high Cult, the worshipers of the Emperor. Nothing could be higher, the epitome of chance and strategy revealed in a simple card revelation.

And such was placed before Neilus, atop a bone and marble table. The ancient cards, frayed at every exterior edge, laid in deck before him.

"Pick. You or I." Neilus tapped a ceramite capped finger on the pristine playing board. "It does not matter to me."

"Devil of Rods, Chosen anti-thesis." Cogretiese chosen servitor, who had a multiple armed advantage, laid down the well used card face up.

"Contingent 141, your servitor will provide me with a randomized card." Neilus, backed by the already armed weapons of the Black Templar squad, acted brave. Later on, Delire would learn that it had not been bravery. It had been prophecy. The servitor dutifully picked the deck up, and shuffled it in a complex fashion.

"Queen of staves, 1.2 out of house favor." The impartial brain wiped servitor laid down Neilus's card with care. A moment halted it, until the secondary programming kicked in.

"House, Deal up, or down?" the dead voice emanated from two insectoid like speakers filling the servitor's throat.

"Down." An unrevealed card was dealt to Cogretiese and Neilus.

"Add, or Destroy?" The Servitor, mindless in its duties, inquired to both parties. Cogretiese lifted up the barest edge, reveling it undoubtedly to the other attendants behind him.

Both players noted the destroy option, and the face down cards were collected. Two more cards were laid down, but this time in the face up line. A twelve of swords for Cogretiese, and a two of stars for Neilus. Things were not looking good, and though a corpse, Cogretiese smirked.

There were only two cards that would allow Neilus to win, still left in the deck. But one, the Black hole, would revert the game null and void. Each player would be able to take their bets and leave if they so chose.

Silence gripped the hall, and surely some of the upper parts of the Spire. It was the last card allowed in this type of Ultima game. It was placed face down before each. But Delire noted that Neilus did not look at it. He was also slightly sweating.

At this juncture, it was customary to raise the bet if both players agreed. Delire was at the moment very unsure about what exactly could be stacked up on this. The assault cannon of the Dreadnought was cycling slowly. Perhaps Ramiel's form of a nervous twitch.

"I will induce." Neilus said as he reached into the storage compartment on his hip. "Tie of Honor, and a Tie of Arming. Bound to the Ivory Fleet, in all of its forms."

Cogretiese paused as at this statement of raising, almost all of the lords near him spoke out loudly. It was a heavy price, binding the fortunes of Ryza to always support the Ivory fleet, and vise versa. It was not something that was easily given over by any of the very independent Adeptus Mechanicus Lords. Only a few Space Marine chapters had a dedicated contract as such, with any true Forge worlds.

"What do you place in turn?"

Upon Cogretiese's question, Neilus pulled the grenade sized capacitor from his pouch. It made a ringing clump on the table. Again, there was silence. Several of the nobles moved forward to inspect it, but they cautiously stopped at Cogretiese's raised hand.

"Where did you get this, young one?" The Lord loomed over the table, and brought the capacitor up to his face.

Neilus did not look anywhere but the corpse Mechanicus Lord. Though he was now pale, and slightly sweating. Delire worried, for everyone's sake.

"The Emperor's will granted it too me. It is a much miniaturized capa-"

Cogretiese cut him off, speaking loudly. "I need not your explanation you young fool. It is not miniaturized at all. It is simply a much, much earlier version of what we use today. This my boy, is Archeotech to be sure." The emancipated hand set the capacitor back on the table. "I accept your induction. But I raise that if I win, you will reveal the source of this artifact."

"Done." Neilus, rubbed his face clear with the hem of his cloak.

Cogretiese nodded to the servitor.

"Show your cards gentlemen."

Neilus flipped his card over. The sucking blackness imprinted on the old paper was a very good rendition of what a black hole would look like, should one actually be a visible phenomenon. Cogretiese's card was a four of Rods.

"All bets rendered null. Any conditions?" The servitor looked at both players, but it was just a macabre semblance of life programmed into it.

Cogretiese, well above the reliance of facial feature movement, still regarded the Marine skeptically. Neilus had pushed too hard, and raised for no reason. Granted he had not even looked at his card, but still there was something strange.

"Condition 049. Sub-condition 859." Neilus apparently knew what he was doing. Though Delire had no idea what it was, or even the exact rules of the game. But it resolved itself and was explained. Each player would receive one card, the higher would be considered the winner. Unless, Cogretiese put in his own condition. But he did not.

Two cards were dealt out to the table, from the top of the deck. Each player retrieved their card, though again Neilus did not look at it.

"Any Conditions?" croaked the servitor.

"None." Both players said in unison. Delire could not see anything from Cogretiese, though a few of the nobles around him looked very confident in their stance.

"Deploy!"

Both cards landed face up on the table with a slap.

"Mom, can you reroute the shuttle to another bay?" Inquired Delire, who was out on the hull of the Emperor's Shield, monitoring an Adeptus Mechanicus inspection team.

"You bet. Any in particular?" Mom's voice, who was really just a normal human with an incredible touch with numbers and logistics, was as always soft and smooth. To date, Delire hadn't heard her be upset by anything. But the mousy woman was much loved by the crews of the Ivory Fleet, a lot having to do with her being in charge of all normal day to day activities.

"Um, no. Perhaps number two? We are still out here inspecting the winch system for the doors on Four. Apparently, they can't get enough." Aggravation and boredom sounded through Delire's voice. The Adeptus from the local Ryza Forge World, which they currently orbited, were notorious for taking things apart. They had already been stopped at disassembling several pieces of the precious ship.

The shuttle that was waiting for entrance into bay four slowly veered away, seeking another berth. It probably held another clutch of data crystals or specialized equipment that Neilus had requisitioned from Ryza. Delire had felt like firing his weapon into the air, when the Tech Marine's card had fallen, showing itself to be the Golden Throne itself.

Cogretiese's card had been the Mars card, the second highest in the deck. Second only to the Golden Throne of course. There had been much an uproar at the outcome, and had almost come to blows before everything could be hammered out. But everything had been settled grudgingly. Neilus, after the game, had seemed very far away in the eye. And his hands shook for some time after.

However, he had made things better, to the point where Cogretiese was almost willing to give up everything they had betted for. Neilus had given him the capacitor, to keep as an indication of favor.

And, he had granted that a section of the Ryza adepts would be allowed to be permanently installed aboard, under the same terms and conditions as the Mars adepts. Though, much to Delire's surprise, both groups did not seem to collaborate. They did not seem to have a good working relationship between them, though why was beyond the Castellan's understanding. Personally, he didn't understand any of them.

He fired a round from his bolter, just grazing the servitors that were attempting to unscrew a large bolt. The associated Tech priest, covered in an atom-suit, made a face. But he did correct his activities. Delire rocked back slightly from the impact of the shot, his magnetic boots the only thing hold him to the bay door that they were standing on. The relative gravity of the ship kept them slightly orbiting, but only a very small push would be required to send the unlucky soul into the long black. Or to fall and burn in Ryza's practically non existent atmosphere. So, magnetic shoes were definitely a must. Luckily, Space Marine suits had them already integrated.

Ramiel was keeping Delire informed, but Neilus had pulled a huge amount of technical and manufacturing schematics from Ryza. Some of the more important nobles had attempted to place dams in the flow of information from their coveted stores, but to no avail. The Emperor Provider would be able to manufacture almost everything that the Fighting Company would need, in almost any situation. And with the 112 neophytes that were only a few years away from shaping into true marines, Delire should have felt good about the future of his Fighting company. In truth, he should have gone home to the Templar's Fleet based group and attempted to become recognized as a Marshal.

But then, he did not have time. Things and times were approaching at a frightening speed, things that only Delire, Ramiel, and the Child knew about. And that knowledge, ate at Delire from the inside.

"The Ivory Fleet has a green light Captain, we are ready to move." Hellius sounded happy. Indeed he was, for Surchild was gone, on to her own travels. Her merchant ship would no longer clog his flight plans.

"Understood." Delire reached up and flicked on his personal com beam, contacting Ramiel. Soon the Chaplain's entombed form appeared, and ambled towards the holo pickup. "Are we prepared, my friend?" Delire questioned.

After a pause, "We are. All of the Neophytes are currently in a prayer session, being led by the Child. We can be no readier."

"Good. Pilot, mark out these coordinates." Delire pushed back the control arm of his captain's chair, and stood. Neilus, who had now been installed in the third and previously empty chair of the bridge, watched him suspiciously. He had recovered somewhat, from his unhinged state. Though a nervous giggle still could be found on his lips, from time to time.

Delire removed a brand new deck of Emperor's Tarot from the stash beside his swivel command chair. The wax cloth surrounding it folded back easily, and the Captain took his time. He savored the bitter sweet sensation of loss, mixed with a small kernel of hope. He shuffled the pack, the white cloth draped over his shoulder.

Hellius didn't know what was going on, but he trusted the captain. In the past few months that they had spent orbiting Ryza, the captain had shown a lot of strain and sulking pressure. But, nothing that a little action couldn't squash. Many of the Marines of the Ivory fleet were as such adversely affected by times of doldrums. Many meaning almost all.

"Mark 2…1…9." Three cards fell to the decking. A one and two of rods, and a nine of swords. The pilots smoothly working logi engines located in its brain case whirred softly. They were really the only sound on the bridge, as both other marines grasped the concept of what was going on.

"By 11…7." A King of Swords fluttered down, along with a seven of staves. The Emperor's Shield, at the vanguard of the small fleet, slowly shifted to the orientation that he had called for.

"Navigator, realize these intended coordinates." Delire now spoke to the emancipated and hardly ever seen psychic Navigator, who was chained up on his iron maiden like enclosure. More for the safety of the bridge personnel, should an actual possession take place during the most vulnerable times of travel. Which was while the ship was swimming through the Warp, with billions of beings just waiting for a chink in the armor to exploit. And travel through warp, only because it was necessary to span the distances of the Great Night, was never precise in temporal or stellar location.

"11, and 5." More cards tumbled to the floor. "By 8…1…3."

Hellius did some quick computations on his personal station, trying to find anything in reference with that location. He could find nothing. As far as the computers were concerned, it was dead space. Dead space was statistically empty and void of anything larger than ranging dust clouds. If that.

"Location Realized." Sand paper on sand paper, would have been the best explanation of the voice of the Navigator.

"Neilus, drop us in."

And the Warp consumed them like an open wound.

"This is impossible! We can not do this! We simply do not have enough man power, even if we were to drain the entire Fleet dry of it's crew. And even the one's with combat experience would be hard pressed. This is beyond our ability!" Delire raged, Ramiel and the Child being the only people in the room.

"I would put vote with the Castellan. We would bankrupt our fleet of lives, simply taking a foot hold on the planet. And even if we did manage to do so, there would be no backup, and almost no notable defenses. The neighboring systems of Orks would crush us to dust." Ramiel put in his own opinion, gesturing with his power claw.

The Child, sat serene, noting each reply in turn and judging their merit. It had been prophecy from his own mouth that had spurned on the card game, and even their own current predicament. The Ivory Fleet was hidden behind a vast ring of debris, just on the outskirts of the Tigrus system. The whole place was a boil with Orks, numbering in the millions, if not billions. They had owned the system since M35 or so, having taken it under the name of the Ork Warlord Arrgard the Defiler. All attempted sorties into the region had been repulsed with frightening force. No true crusade or war had been called upon Tigrus, and the neighboring three systems full of Orks.

"Delire, hand me the deck. The one you have in your pouch." The Child gestured to the small slightly armored utility pouch on the Castellan's hip. Delire started slightly, but did remove the stack of cards, bound in wax cloth.

"The Emperor protects. He preserves, and provides for his sheep." The Child slowly unwrapped the simulation paper cards, each about the side of a normal human hand. Though the Child was only 16 standard years of age, his hand dwarfed the cards. He was nearly as tall as Hellius himself.

"But we are his wolves, his lions, his vipers." The Child laid out a few cards on his thighs, studying them intently. "We must be dropped into the pit to do battle, before we can prove our worth. If we succeed, we are lauded and protected. If we fail, we bleed onto the sand, under the roaring of the crowd.." Dark hair, kept long in templar traditional style, offset the metallic tattoos that etched the Child's face. He had undergone the arduous ritual of manhood, that was the native custom for the people that now crewed the Ivory Fleet. Though, he was relatively dark skinned, they accepted him as their own. The indigenous crew had raised him to an almost worshipful state.

"But the Emperor's hand is closed for now. We must trust in him." The piercing and chilling iron cross shaped pupils of the Child locked with Delire's own. "We must do what we were set to do. In Templar style." The Child pointed down to the three of staves, picturing a charging chariot, over laden with flame and weapons.

Delire's shoulders sagged. He had known, since he had been taken into confidence of the Child, that things were going to get bad. Very bad, and very costly in the lives of his forces. But this was impossible. Martyrdom, looked good at this point, because Delire was going to lead his forces into a slaughter. Wolves killed like sheep.

"Damn it, then shut the vents!" Neilus screamed into his com line, connected with all of the other Adeptus Mechanicus squads currently on the Emperor's Shield. The ship shuddered again as another ork assault boat hitting home. The miss angled fleet arrayed about them were blazing away, the Xenos firing crews more often than not completely missing the Emperor's Shield. But the shots that did hit home were dangerous. The xenomorphically unstable weaponry of the green tide helped often as much as it hindered its users. Hundreds of ships were firing on Delire's line breaker cruiser, her void shields glittering with the strain.

All of the Titus shells were expended, but two. Evidence of thus were the twisted and blasted Roks and Space Hulks, that had met the Ivory fleet at the beginning of their mad charge into the system.

Both main batteries of the Emperor's shield were firing, and had been for quite some time. The completely ballistic weapons of the ancient ship had accounted for many kills, though it was but a small dent in the tide of enemy vessels. Reports were coming from several decks, of boarders. Though, unfortunately for the orks, the crew of the Emperor's Shield and other ships in her fleet, were very zealous in their defense. And a good portion of them had honest combat experience, coupled with an extended amount of captured or manufactured heavy weaponry. The ork boarding parties were being held at bay for the moment.

"Anti-small craft batteries, target boarding vessels as primary." Delire ordered, through Hellius. The unique type of ballistic weapons that the Shield used included a ferocious amount of AA hard points. Originally built as a line breaker, ships of the Shield's class would be the first and hardest hit by fighter craft. In consequence, the Shield had a 360 degree shell of AA fire, controlled by no less than ten separate fire control towers. In the event that one would fail, either of the two closest towers could slave the leaderless hard points into their own firing systems.

A ragged group of fighta-bommerz made an explosive run over the dorsal tower of the Shield, their last bombs rupturing just below the Main Bridge. The armor glass of the forward view port shivered in its moorings. Three of the haphazard constructions burst into flames and venting gas as they passed the trio of flak guns that sat just above, at the tip of the main dorsal tower.

Delire gripped the control arm as it the ship rocked. Brilliant Lance beams burst into view, from Ramiel's forge ship, striking an urchin shaped destroyer directly in front of Delire's trajectory. Due to its line breaking roll, the Shield had almost no forward firing capability.

The Captain noticed a large disturbance, moving in from sunward. "Pilot, fire engine One too 110 capacity. Attitude thrusters to 8.95, Starboard zenith." Delire hit the com switch to his starboard weapons battery. "Titus cannon, target object 113. Aim high." He didn't wait for a reply, trusting in his laboring crew.

The vast object was perhaps one of the largest Space Hulks that he had ever seen or heard of. It crushed several other vessels in its path, who crashed like meteors into the outer skin of ice, rock, and debris. The gaping holes and tubes that Delire could only assume would be jury rigged ork capital weaponry, began to sparkle as it charged. It's growing nimbus was a sickly green laced with blue energy, pushing and growing in disordered pulses.

"Captain, the Void shield is failing. We are at 18 percent. 17. 16." Hellius's count down to death was poignant, and Delire felt his gut uncoiling. He had tried his best, doing what he had believed in. He simply sat back into his chair, the thin cushions forming to the curves in his armor. He steepled his fingers before his face, the release of imminent death lifting the weight of stress from his shoulders. He gave a last order.

"Cannon fire on solution." A few moments and 4 more percent of the void shield, the Emperor's Shield rocked as the Titus shell fired, and the stabilizing thrusters exactly opposite of the massive mechanism cycled on.

The archaic weapon slowed the massive asteroid of junk and weapons, vaporizing a small portion, but there was little stopping it. There was nothing else to do, and the rest of the bridge crew knew it. Hellius also sat back, looking into the view port instead of his myriad data screens. Though Neilus was still just as firmly engaged in his own delegation of repair crews.

"I am a leaf, on the wind. Watch me fly."

And the universe went orange and white. The kind of explosion where, there is just brightness and no sound. The worst sort.

10 to the 31st power of joules and plasma reaching 100 million degrees Kelvin swept through the system. The solar flare was massive, reaching its tentacle arm more than one million miles away from the parent white dwarf. Inestimatable tons of plasma matter spewed into the system, destroying the closest two planets with infantile ease. They were wiped completely clean, oceans vaporized, and land smoothed to glass. Most of their atmosphere were blasted outward, to become gas clouds that would have similar orbits.

The shockwave of energy and electromagnetic force devoured every electrical system within several trillion miles, and thus including the remaining four planets of the system. The fleets currently engaged in dire combat were the hardest hit. Though, the Emperor Protects.

"Ok, do you at least have a report on the boarding parties?" Delire yelled into the hallway, which was telephoned by voice to a long tubing corridor. It had become the central sounding point for most of the ship, due to its acoustic attributes. A minute later, a reply returned. All boarding parties destroyed, or fleeing to their assault boats.

"Got it!" Neilus said with quite a bit of triumph. The Tech marine had managed to kick start, with the help of the Mars Adeptus contingent, one of the Novid reactors. They were used primarily for independently recharging the Void shield, but now were slowly restoring power to the primary systems. And providing the spark to engage the primary reactors as well.

"Neilus, I am going to nominate you for a Black Rose." Delire remarked, as he threw several switches, who were just starting to light up.

"No enemy activity shown, everyone's still where they should be. Minus trajectory movement. That Hulk is rather close, but it will pass us by…." Hellius did some quick computations on his just now available screens. "By a margin of forty feet."

Delire whistled as he began bringing on the Shield's main systems online, and attempted to establish a com line to the Emperor Provider, Ramiel's ship. For quite a long time there was nothing but static, remnants of the titanic solar flare, but he did receive a weak signal.

Ramiel had the Provider starting its systems with the sealed back up maintenance and manufacturing reactors. He estimated another day until things began fitting back into place. The Furious Interdictor still had not responded. The single strike cruiser of the Ivory Fleet had not reported in, and in the hectic combat, had been unreachable. Once all systems were online, Delire would send out search parties and sensor sweeps to locate the relatively small ship. Relative to the Emperor's Shield that is.

Only a few of the Ork ships had been able to bring themselves under way since the Flare. The Shield and the Provider had been directly shielded by the massive Space Hulk, being it was in the path of the worst damage. Plasma had evaporated millions of tons of rock, metal, and ice from its former engine section. If there were orks still aboard, they gave no sign for the several days that the Shield took to get completely back under Templar control.

The assets of the Mars and Ryza Mechanicus expeditions had been hard pressed to restart most of the main systems, systems that they barely understood and still had decades if not centuries, of study to do on them. But dutifully, as soon as firing solutions could be drawn, the electrically and magnetically propelled guns of the Shield spat into the darkness. Their mostly inert projectiles traveling at .1583c, or the equivalent of 15.83 percent of light speed, burst and ruptured ork ship after ork ship. It took a month for the Ivory Fleet, including the very damaged Furious Interdictor, to exterminate the remaining crippled ships. None, to their scanners and auspex, had been able to get away. Indeed, Delire and Ramiel hunted down every single still capable or otherwise ship available in the system. Surely most of the orks onboard, with no way of restarting their generators, would already have been dead. But Delire had learned precious lessons from orks, lessons that taught to be thorough. And never let an ork corpse lay unburned.

Throughout this space purging of the system, the Child had stayed in reclusion, waited on by only his most trusted native attendants. The breed of humans that called the Ivory Fleet home were as the name suggested. They were dominantly albino, though simply lacking skin pigment, and not suffering from the organ maladies that most adherent albinos receive. Their pink to red eyes were always a give away, though the skin of the indigenous peoples was white. Not clear, or vein filled as would be normal, but simply white. Perhaps, sometimes Delire wondered, that they had a white melatonin.

But as always, they assembled in force at the loading bays of the Ivory Fleet, when it was time to make the first incursions onto Tigrus III. Delire once again had to fight and finally order a space to be cleared for him to brief his resident Marines.

Almost no energy emissions had been registered to the once populated forge world beneath them. The Flare had rendered one whole hemisphere of the formerly grand strong hold of man, completely without atmosphere. The remaining shock of loss of atmosphere, and the pooling of the remaining gas back into place had created storms with winds of excess of 300 kph. Not including the toxins that had been introduced or stirred up. Long had it been in ork hands, though they had a tendency to assimilate and alter anything they could get their mitts on, and those alterations were typically at whim. The small amount of intelligence reports that the Ivory Fleet had access too noted a significant amount of internal clan fighting within the resident ork population. And very slight Ordos Xenos report, mostly classified, had spoken about the significant fractures of loyalty that had kept this captured forge world for funding any other major Waaaghs into the other near by systems. Raiding was a-plenty, but a full force of the green tide found here and the closest three captured systems, had yet to be assembled. It seemed that Warlord Arrgard the Defiler, a mighty ork Waaagh leader, had gone to ground here. More than likely, had died here, and thusly fracturing his alliance of independent clans with his demise.

The crew groaned in aggravation, arguments breaking out almost immediately. Some of the current tribal elders, noted by their heavy concentration of their curious metallic tattoos, complained loudly.

"This will be a Marine only excursion. The atmosphere is not safe for you!. We don't have nearly enough atmo-suits, and hardly any of them are armored!" Delire was up on a table in the mustering hall, trying to calm the crowd. Though he could understand their feelings. "Once we get a firm foot hold, and find out if any of the old hives are still able to support you, we will act accordingly."

Now there was much shouting, and a great deal of chest thumping. The Crew, having been used in an engagement before, and thusly treated with some honor by the Templars; wanted to do so again, to stand with their masters in combat. And with several hundred of them packed into the mustering room, it was quite a din.

But the large holo projector, based at the main wall of the auditorium like room, burst into a huge green display. The picture immediately quieted the crowd.

"How are things, Castellan Delire?" Asked the child, his voice loud in the room. Delire noted that most of the crew were down on one knee, head bowed. Curious.

"Fine. Though the crew is very adamant on going with us." Delire had turned, and was looking up into the face high above him.

"Aye, mine as well. But unfortunately we do not have the resources to allow them to survive on the planet." There was no rumbling this time, nothing but silence. The other Black Templars of Delire's own looked about them, kind of amused. There were some smiles to be found in that grim group.

"But, Ramiel and I are slowly fixing that. We are beginning the manufacture of carapace armor, Mk. 12-Ryza. We expect that things will go slowly at first, but thanks to our friends at Ryza, this will give our warrior forces armored atmo-suits." Now there was some whispers and raising of heads at that. The face of the Child moved to the side as a schematic was brought up. Sure enough, it was an atmo-suit, almost exactly like the one that Delire had seen with the Imperial Guard. Except there were some more unidentified equipment, and utility plugs. Nothing front liners should be equipped in, at least in terms of cost per soldier. Though, the Templars did not care of cost.

"Each accepted adult warrior will eventually be issued one. This will be your heritage, and you will keep them in working order." The Child's late teenage face looked sternly out at the crowd of crew. Many hopeful faces nodded in return to the command, but none spoke.

"Good. That is all." The Child disappeared from view, and with the removal of motion, the holo feed clicked off with a slight pop.

"Ok, you heard the man, get too your posts." Delire stepped down off the table and gathered with his marines. There was much work to do.

"Its about time that I came with you. Though I fear putting Neilus in charge." Hellius racked his heavy Bolter, the neophyte's favored and most proficient in, weapon. The long belt feed of bolter shells hung from an over sized backpack of ammo, which in itself weighed in the good excess of a hundred pounds. Though that was nothing to a Space Marine, even without his power armor.

"Heh, my friend, we will make a marine of you yet!" Delire slapped the marine up side the helmet, in a rough but affectionate gesture. "Neilus is a Templar first, Mechanicus second. I think he has shown that, and Ramiel feels the same." The Thunderhawk rocked again, shuddering into a veer. The winds patterns of the settling atmosphere were insane at best. Super-cells of storms hundreds of kilometers wide at the thinnest point, rampaged like Titans across the damaged planet. Neilus had estimated that a complete 45 of the atmosphere had been blasted into space by the flare, causing the remaining to rush back into the gap created. The leading edges of gas, mostly industrial pollutants, had collided into awesome storm fronts.

This was Hellius's second ground engagement in his Neophyte career, though he had been through hell and back in space, providing a perfect systems manager on the Shield. He was now informally considered Delire's second in command, but in truth the technical branch was Ramiel's.

Hellius didn't know it, but if he lived through this, there was a promotion to full marine waiting for him. Indeed, now that Delire thought on it, there was quite a good chance that none of them would be making it back. Even though most of the technology had been rendered inert, guns still worked. And despite the storms and dangerous air, there could possibly upwards of a couple billion orks just waiting for them on the planet. As it stood, there wasn't enough ammo in the entire fleet for all of the green souls that lay below.

Four Thunderhawk transports were fighting their way through the rough storms, trying to find the surface. Their escort of three Thunderhawks in gunship configuration were fairing no better. But an ancient map retrieved by Neilus had given the rough approximation of a hive within reasonable distance. No one knew what it looked like now, as the storms were too intense for anything but a ship to pierce them.

The Auspex in the cockpit beeped incessantly. Delire called up the pilot feeds to be displayed on the inside of his helmet. The command programming that Neilus had added to Delire's armor a long while back did this easily.

Brilliant lights played over a craggy and pitted metal surface. A vertical metal surface, blackened with age and chemicals. The other ship pilots, servitors all, communicated quickly between each other in bursts of data. The Thunderhawks spread out very, very carefully, searching for any sort of structure that even suggested a landing pad or bay. They found many missile firing structures roughly welded on, the orkish method of deploying things to space, but no landing pads.

Finally one of the gunships, either on order from someone or perhaps just the impetuousness of the human gunner, opened fire. It slowly blew out a large sized area of the outer wall, exposing two floors part way. With the assistance of the second gunship, it opened enough for one thunder hawk to enter.

Delire's command and heavy weapons squad was first in. The floor creaked and shifted slightly under the weight of the marines as they disembarked from the hovering transport, oily rain blowing in almost horizontal through the blasted opening. Delire gave the pilot a thumbs up, the universal sign of Ok, and signaled the next Thunderhawk in for approach. The floor was littered with grease and shattered metal, and Brother Erin slipped very ungracefully until he found his balance.

The next thirty marines were headed by the Child. Though only a neophyte in truth, the young man was as tall as most of the other Space Marines in the empty floor. He only wore partial armor, as it was custom. And no neophyte would be completely trusted with a full suit of one of the ancient sets. All the full power suits in the Fleet were hand me downs, each having had scores or more of previous owners. Delire's own had one hundred and forty one other Templars that had most likely died wearing it.

The new group, silently integrated into the various firing squads, and positioned themselves accordingly across the open floor. Any walls that had been originally in the level that they were on, were nothing but the bare metal supports. The Templars that supported the Child wore typically a white hood, or had painted their helmet white. Delire knew there was something incredible about the Child, but had yet to really sink his teeth into anything. Perhaps wariness was in his nature.

A contingent of Skitarii, mostly bionicly enhanced veterans, disembarked immediately after. They had brought in tow some of the combat servitors that Delire had been able to lift off of Captain Surchild. More a kin to the machines they serve, the Skitarii quickly flowed into place, taking up center firing point for one of the three stair wells present on this floor. But some remained for the next Thunderhawk. A Ryza Mechanicus came next, with a host of heavily armed servitors. Almost all of them had some sort of plasma weapon. But to Delire's surprise, a Mars Adeptus Mechanicus followed as well. His….well, its servitors were much more advanced in nature, bearing the long bore weapons indicative to las and assault cannons. These machine priests had come prepared for war, where as Delire hadn't expected them to come at all.

When the rest of the marines arrived, and the Thunderhawks had banked upwards into the black lashing sky, Delire was busy starting a local map.

Ramiel was going to wait until more things developed, and keeping a reserve force of their newly constructed vehicles and Neophytes in reserve. Delire had not agreed with him about this, but Ramiel had simply said it was his decision. What ever that had meant.

"I am surprised to see you, Zelnus." Delire clashed bolter against bolt pistol in ritual greeting.

"You would not find me cooped up in that ship for any longer, Brother. Now, where in the Emperor's name are we?" Zelnus's white helmeted head turned this way and that, surveying the trash strewn level.

"Not sure. Too had to pin point, but we are definitely above the mist line. Perhaps a Hab tower."

"Office. Judicial spire." The ice cold voice of the Mars Adept, sounding more akin to the slide of metal against metal than a human voice. If any of the Tech Priests of his age could be called human any more. He was currently running his fingers across one of the standing support beams that had once held a wall. "Seventeen digits for Judicial Constructions. Or prison complexes. But this shouldn't be a prison. Too flimsy. Too high." Zelnus and the rest of the Brothers in Chain that had come with him, exchanged glances with Delire and Hellius, who stood next to him. They chose not to comment. Apparently there was a very, very tiny registration number on the particular piece of forged iron. Delire attempted to see it, but there was but a slight impression in the smooth and only slightly oxidized surface. What ever fingers the Mars Priest had, they were incredibly sensitive.

"Uh, yes thank you." Delire clicked the internal com system on with a clench of his jaw. "Child, Brothers in Chain, and Squads 1 & 3, secure above floors. Squads 2 & 4, and the Adepts with me." The Castellan busied himself with black-taping several more bolter clips to his thighs, out of the large cargo coffins that had been brought along with the expedition. Fairly quickly, others of his squad were doing the same. Soon, two out of the three ammo coffins had been emptied of their munitions. All of this was in addition to the normally deep reserve of ammo that every marine carried. If they valued their lives, that is. The last contained a significant nuclear device, that Delire wanted to have incase of emergencies.

As the Upper team began to file cautiously upwards in the stair wells, they synchronized communications frequencies and organized rank and firing times. The Child took charge, of almost a unanimous vote. He seemed to be completely comfortable with the burden, and almost all the Marines viewed him as directly in tune with Emperor himself. Delire doubted that as such, though the child was decidedly special.

"Mount up. You sirs to follow?" Delire queried the Adepts, who although hated each other, had decided to both attend the potential slaughter. Perhaps they simply did not want the other potentially stumbling on anything important.

"We will follow. Let us be appraised of trouble at all times." The Mars adept, the much more formal of the two, moved his servitors into a tight group. The Ryzian adept just kinda laughed and waved his acceptance to Delire. Most of them had been completely won over by the presence of the Emperor's Shield, the ancient ship quickly becoming a Mecha of the Mechanicus. Well, at least of certain sects.

Delire nodded. Hellius in tight support, the hip mounted heavy Bolter primed and ready, moved with him to the stair well designated on his map as Alpha. The steps seemed solid, and Delire gritted his teeth as he moved downwards the full turn winder stair well. For those who may be interested, the elevator shaft to this level was empty and like everything else, devoid of power.

Delire's very faint ambient shoulder lights, amplified by his genetically enhanced vision and the helmet's sensor array, threw up a beige sheen to the permacrete walls. Large numbers had once been painted on them, but had long since been worn off.

Io pointed out dung, which he said was probably a few days old at best. He had been picked up on Io II, hence his name. He was notoriously good at scouting skills, and Delire had called upon him many times for expressly that fact. A red bandana graced the whitened helmet of the Space Marine in question.

The next two levels were in similar condition. What ever had made up the wall had been most likely scavenged for unknown uses. Ork uses were almost always considered unknown or unpredictable.

The Grotz on the fourth level down were seemingly feral, though Delire wouldn't be the specialist to tell any types apart. All he knew is that they looked good, festooning the surrounding area with their various body parts. Each marine made sure that the little buggers were dead, crushing skulls and chest cavities with their heavy boots. Delire had instructed them to do so, because of intelligence that had been gleaned from the fighting on Armageddon. Apparently Orks and their kin had a huge amount of regenerative ability.

He wasn't going to give them the possibility.

The Upper team had covered ten levels, each worse than those before. They had noted structural instability, and openings into the rough atmosphere. No resistance had been found before they were forced to turn back. The stair wells seemed to have been melted from that point on.

No real resistance had been felt until both teams had been pushing ever downward, twelve levels below the Entry Point. It had been quickly suppressed, as being only an apparently small tribe of feral Orks, who had the stair wells that led lower; completely barricaded off.

Delire was just going over some plans with the Child when the Ryza Mechanicus Adept stumbled upon a map. It had been etched into a flat metal plate, probably being once part of a wall. It had very crude symbols and assumably, attack plans written on it with some unidentified substance. It was quickly scoured clean, and presented to Delire. The Martian Adept was silent, but it was most likely that he was fuming.

After a few minutes to align themselves, assuming that the map had been taken off of one of the walls in this very same spire, Delire felt fairly confident on where they were. The logic codifiers were compiling the new information into a cohesive map when the first push struck.

Bolter fire roared into being from the three stairwells as the highly trained Templar's poured fire into the first green thing that appeared. The ork barricades provided them with a good amount of cover, obviously the reason for their construction. The orks that were being chopped down like wheat looked to be just as feral, and seemed very surprised at the presence of firearm wielding beings in the place of the orks who had previously owned this level. Still they came on, crude spears and axes being hurled up at the marines with force.

No wounds were taken though, as each projectile either sailed wide or glanced from the Marine's superior armor. After eight minutes of fighting, the greenskins apparently decided they had had enough. No more appeared around the corner of the stairwells.

"Clear the bodies!" Delire ordered, and from his vantage point, he could see the flamer Marines move forward to lean over the barricades. They cooked the corpses to a universal black and smoking, a haze now hanging at just eye level throughout the floor.

"Ok. We are on a Adeptus Arbites spire, one of four. We are four levels down from the first mass transit floor, which encompasses all these spires here." Delire pointed to the etched map, indicating a good portion of the northern side of the Hive. "I imagine that those greenies are going to alert their friends. We need to hit them now, as soon as we can. Heavy weapons squads, your first. As soon as the aggressors get within five yards, turn and move back into the lines. There will be a close combat marine waiting to take your spot. Don't wait, and don't get stupid." Delire watched as several of his heavy weapons squads slapped some of the close combat Marines on the helmeted head. It was a trend of familiarity and friendship that they had picked up from him.

"We don't have terminators right now, though there are some waiting to transport. I don't want to play them yet, so do your best. Close combat line, throw frag grenades at every opportunity. We have enough, and more can be shipped down through the spire. If there are as many orks as I fear there are, we are going to be in for hell of a fight." Delire moved away from the map, checking his equipment. As almost an after thought, he turned. "Flamer marines, don't retire. Stay put, and light as much as you can."

He checked the first few rounds in his magazine, then slammed it home into his relic Bolter. "Time to die."

Green blood flowed ankle deep. Clogged with squishy bits of flesh and organs, it stopped up most of the drains in the transport level. More and more of it were added every second, gallons for every drop of Templar red. Hellius screamed in the rabid joy, his one in ten tracer rounds glittered in the blackness, sending death into the onrushing army of blade wielding orks. Even Delire, pushed to the right of the central formation, grinned in the fulfillment of purpose. His chainsword rose and fell, counter pointed by bolt pistol.

The always taciturn Brother Theodore was leading a squad of marines even deeper into the Mess, supported by promethium flamers, cutting a swath to the most apparent War Boss. They were singing in perfect harmony a long chant to the Emperor, each blow falling in time with syllable or beat.

Mernas and Junda were providing their usual role, coordinating fire bases by their own example. A hell storm of lead and explosives leapt forward to the front Ork ranks every half second. Some of the heavy weapons specialists had yet to retire, though shooting through a stack of already broken bodies was becoming a hindrance.

Brilliant plasma illuminated and destroyed countless orks in its fury, unleashed by the Ryza Tech Priest and his servitor entourage. As soon as battle had been joined, the Adept had leapt forward, bringing his world's devastating knowledge of plasma weaponry to bear upon the enemies of the Imperium. Truly this Tech priest had shown his metal, for which Delire would forever grant him.

The Ork chieftain, if it can be called that, stood on sturdy metal stilts, a crackling power klaw slicing this way and that. Sometimes cutting down any near by grot or snotling that was unlucky enough to be close by. Pressed around him, presumably the much famed Nobs that Delire had heard reports of, were slowly cut down by Zelnus and Theodore. Their size and skill were no match for the Brothers in Chain, in intensity and faith. In one quick moment, then entire tide of battle shifted, as Zelnus blew the throat from the War Boss, splattering the surrounding orks immobilized by the press of bodies eager to get to the Marines.

Rage turned to fear as Theodore lashed about himself with his custom chainsword and chain held vibro blade. The route became a sellable point as a concentrated throw of frag grenades splattered ork body parts to bounce against the vaulted ceilings.

"Glory to the Emperor!" The Child led the counter charge, further decimating the ork line of bodies, tumbling back those behind it to get trampled and mashed underfoot. Delire went with them, helpless in his desire to purge the foul xenos from the halls built for mankind.

Only one train stood still on its tracks, looking more like the bones of some vast whale than a vehicle. It had long since been scavenged for parts or what ever needs had arose in the ork kingdoms here about. Squads of Marines were quickly and messily making sure that each ork corpse was down, and down for good. They had been ordered to do so with the least expenditure of ammunition possible.

Only three marines had lost their lives so far on Tigrus, but each would be mourned. All three had been to lucky strikes with make shift power weapons, or other close combat weapons. None of the ranged weaponry the various tribes had been able to bring to bear were of any worry to the Marine armor.

"Coordinates 542, by 234. Polar East." Delire quoted into his com system, interfacing with the Thunderhawk gunships that were patrolling through the heavy weather. "Full breach. At least 15 by 30 meters, and signal before firing."

"….Zzztz…Understood." said the computerized voice of the Pilot servitors.

"Hellius, your trailing something." As soon as recognition had sounded across the com system, Delire had switched thoughts. He strode over to the Neophyte, who indeed had something caught in the crease between his foot armor and calf. Upon pulling it free, it seemed to be a long line of plate sized scales, tied together with gut-cord.

Delire frowned inside his helmet. Those were big scales. Obviously from some sort of creature, but there were no files that had been found that contained indigenous creatures. He raised both of the Adepts on his com link, but neither had any sort of idea that was helpful.

He left the stringed plates in the off-green muck, sloshing forward to issue orders to his scout team.

As the brilliance faded, and only the metal glowed, did Hellius speak up. "That's all eight. Caved in and plasma melted. They wont get out of those spires any time soon." Though the chuckle sounded from the almost marine, Delire knew better. The greenskins were entirely too lucky as a race for his taste.

He calmly waited for the weaponry crews to check in. Mostly made up of minor Mechanicus functionaries, they were deploying seventeen Tarantula class heavy bolter hard points throughout the massive transit bay. The hole that Delire had requested, had been punched through the Hive's outer skin, right into the large bay. Through this the Thunderhawks had shuttled in more munitions, the requested automated gun platforms, and two of the freshly fabricated Landraiders from the Emperor Provider. Ramiel and his crew had done a fantastic job working with the Ryza data crystals, converting an entire ship bay into a manufacturing unit.

As the ancient train tracks were the only conduit into the rest of the Hive from this area, their meeting point had been fortified. The other spires that connected to this level had been cut off and sealed. Automated defenses, such as the Tarantula Heavy Bolter, were being ferried in as soon as they could be manufactured and equipped. Delire had put in for several different configurations of the Tarantula, least of which included missiles, las cannons, or plasma batteries. The kit and caboodle was being hastily constructed above in orbit.

"Mount up!" Delire called as he gripped a side bar, on the rear portion of the lead Landraider. He hung out over the side, while the interior of the large tracked vehicles were stocked to the hilt with Templar marines. The great vehicle rolled over the slight drop onto the tracks, and roared southward, the direction chosen thanks to their map. To the south and down many levels were the main reactors. If they could be kept silenced, this Hive would have to fend for itself, instead of calling for it's sisters to come and assist in a large Waaagh. Something that Delire hoped to keep as fact, instead of fancy.

"Further down, Further in!"