"Four frakking days!" Lord Commander Bellmont swore drunkenly. The other players that lounged around the regicide table didn't even blink at the sudden outburst, having long since become inured to the man's rambling on the subject. The potbellied man had made the exact same statement a few times in the last few hours, and Fleet Admiral Arnstein and Lord Commissar Neros were both sure the man would say it a few more times before the night was over.
Ignorant or uncaring of both his companion's apathy on the subject, the thoroughly swashed Lord Commander continued his tirade, "Four frakking days floating in the arse end of nowhere!"
He angrily slammed his hand down on the table, nearly jostling loose a few of the regicide pieces, "I have a god-damn war to win." He swore with growing intensity, "Do you think those stuck up Navigator freaks give a damn though? No, the only response I get from that bitch Minerva is that the 'warp moves unpredictably'. Do you think the Tyranids give a frak?"
Arnstein in attempt to draw the Lord Commander's ire away from the woman who was, although loosely defined, still technically one of his underlings spoke up calmly, "At least they said that the phenomena was clearing up, and we should be underway within the next cycle."
"Aye, there is that…" Bellmont grunted, his ire soothed by the reminder that at last the battle fleet was underway, still he spoke up with a degree of moroseness, "I just wonder how much of the segmentum the bugs have eaten while we sat stranded here."
Commisar Neros for his part, shrugged in resignation and decided to change the subject away from the likely doomed system they were now rushing to reinforce, "What about this world we stumbled across? The one with the shattered moon? I think the natives called it 'Remnant'?"
Bellmont saw the diversion for what it was, but accepted the change of topic anyway. He took a swig of his drink and sat back, "Yeah, it's a human world. They apparently have some issue with the local fauna that they call 'Grimm'. Has the whole lot of them living behind massive walls."
Neros sighed, "A death world if I ever heard of one."
Bellmont chuckled with cynical humor, no doubt thinking of his own homeworld, "Based on our preliminary scans the cog boys think it might have been settled sometime during the Great Crusade, and subsequently forgotten during the Heresy," The three men unconsciously made the sign of the aquila at the mention of that tumultuous time, "Although that could be a load of grox-shit because we only have a few orbital scans and a brief conversation over the comms to go off."
Neros raised an eyebrow, "Just over the comms? Shouldn't we attempt to you know? Bring them back into the fold? Bring the light of the Imperium to a forgotten colony"
The Commander and Admiral both turned to give him one of those looks. The sort generally reserved for new recruits when they said something particularly foolish. Considering Neros was a thirty year veteran he could have felt offended by that beyond a slight flush of his cheeks, but when he considered that both the Commander and Admiral each had another good thirty years of experience over his own he decided he wasn't particularly bothered. Neros knew he was a good soldier and a decent commander, but with his recent battlefield promotion to Lord Commissar, he was still ultimately a novice when it came to the grand games of high command.
"While it would be nice to 'bring them into the fold'" Bellmont said dryly, "We have the manpower for it, but don't really have the time to bother. We have a system to defend, and even if we did have the time… what's the point? This system is too far out of the way to be navigated to easily, and the world has nothing of great value to us."
Arnstien with deliberate slowness took that moment to add his own comment, "I have heard that they claimed to have… abilities." He said grimly, "I believe they termed it as 'Aura'? The power of the soul?"
None of the three men needed to explicitly say what he was implying. A large number of unsanctioned psykers was a threat to the imperium at large, no matter how far away they were. That would change things drastically. It would require contacting the Inquisition, if for no other reason than to notify the Black Ships.
Fortunately Bellmont just grunted, "Our pet witches haven't felt anything. If anything the bloody psykers said the world was far below average in regards to warp presence."
The Admiral and Commissar let out a barely audible sigh of relief at that.
Worlds with populations with next to no psyker population were rare, but they weren't unheard of. The theories for their existence ranged from anywhere between ancient xenos experiments, to the grace of the God-Emperor. It seemed that whatever this 'aura' the natives spoke of was, it wasn't warp based in origin. The origins of 'Aura' were interesting, but no more so than any other of the thousand odd things humanity stumbled across in the far reaches of space.
With a shrug Belmont returned to the Commissar's original question, "The Segmentum's being pushed hard and we're honestly scrambling to defend what we already have. No, I'm afraid all 'Remnant's' getting from us is a quick flyby."
Arnstein interjected calmly, "Fortunately or unfortunately for them, out here they are completely outside the borders of the rest of civilized space at large. It was a complete fluke that we came across them, and chances are it would be next to impossible for any of our known xeno scum to do the same."
Neros understood the logic behind it, but some part of him still felt it wrong. "So that's it? We show up out of the blue one day, send them all into a panic, have a quick chat, and then fly off without so much as a backwards glance?"
Belmont moved one of his own pieces, "Not entirely."
Arnstien looked up with a raised eyebrow, "Really? This is the first I'm hearing of any deviation from doing just that?"
As Admiral of the fleet he was only subservient to Belmont in practice. On paper as a member of the Imperial Navy he couldn't be commanded by Belmont who was a member of the Imperial Guard. In reality when it came to a system wide operations that required elements of both the Imperial Navy and Imperial Guard, the overall 'commander' of the operation was informally decided by seniority. It was one of those unwritten rules that allowed the Imperium to function as a relatively cohesive whole in spite of the bureaucracy.
Most of the time.
Belmont suddenly looked almost sheepish, a strange look on a man who was now pushing a ninety and commanded an army of millions of men, women and machines.
"I got forwarded a request a few hours ago. One of the cog boys requested to be sent down to the planet." He waved a hand dismissively, "You know how they get whenever there is even the remotest possibility of an STC fragment."
"So you let him?" Arnstien asked incredulously, "One man without guard on a foreign world. He'll more than likely be stranded there for decades if not forever!"
The Lord Commander sniffed with sudden contempt, "He wasn't entirely alone. I sent four guards with him as well as the pilot."
Neros took the opportunity to speak up, similarly shocked, not so much at the loss of the men, as they dealt in the death of men daily, but rather the fact that they had been lost at all, "So you stranded six men on a foreign world? For what reason? What if the natives steal their weapons or learn our secrets from them?"
Every little edge helped if it came down to a war, after all. Reverse engineering even a humble lasgun could have far reaching consequences if this world were allowed to stew long enough.
Belmont just grunted, "That would be fine. Warp, I actually ordered them to aid the natives."
"Fine!?" Neros asked as he physically resisted the subconscious urge to reach for his laspistol. He would never dare actually grasp his pistol in the presence of the Lord Commander, but a lifetime as a Commissar had ingrained the urge as an automatic response in him. The Lord Commander had spoken words that could have been considered heresy to a more dogmatic man.
"What would be 'fine' about giving away valuable imperial technology to godless primitives?" Neros asked with clenched teeth.
"They're human." Belmont responded sharply. Even in this informal setting he would have had any other man flogged for speaking to him so. Unfortunately, neither of these men were within his chain of command; Which ironically was the reason these informal Regicide games had started, they were a chance for them all to relax, away from the constant burden of their respective duties.
"So are the inhabitants of a thousand other worlds. It doesn't mean they're Imperial." Arnstien interjected more calmly than his younger compatriot, but still just as confused.
Belmont rose with an angry roar, knocking his chair back, "They're still human. I don't care what you think of me; a tiny shred of aid, six men, and a few casks of lasguns isn't even a drop in the bucket of what's contained in this fleet. If reverse-engineering that tech helps those people reclaim their world then I consider that a fine bargain. If those people ever come back to bite us in the ass in a few hundred years then I will give answers for my choices before the Golden Throne."
Almost as an afterthought he muttered, "Besides, it's not like those men will be missed."
Sudden understanding blossomed in the minds of the Admiral and Commissar.
This was about Vesuvius-Beta. It seemed everything these days was about Vesuvius-Beta when it came to Belmont. Neros couldn't help but wonder if it was guilt.
"You sent the Kriegers didn't you?" Neros asked with resignation.
Belmont sniffed, "They volunteered."
His casual dismissal of the disposal of six of the Emperor's soldiers over a petty grievance fired up the Commissar's anger, "Of course they always frakking volunteer. And you always send them."
"The drones want to die, and I'm willing to oblige them." The Lord Commander hissed venomously.
"They are loyal soldiers! Soldiers of the Imperium, some of the best." Neros shouted back just as venomously.
"Those 'soldiers'" Belmont snorted at the word, "are little more than wind-up toys and butchers!"
Neros wasn't happy with what happened on Vesuvius-Beta, but he at least understood it, "They did their duty!"
"Six million!" Belmot howled with fury. "Six million men, women and children!"
"You gave the order." Arnstien calmly pointed out.
"I asked for containment!" Belmont roared as he turned on the taciturn admiral, "Not what those blank faced monsters did."
The three men stared at each other, the Regicide game thoroughly forgotten.
"This isn't the end of this. Your vendetta against the Kriegers cannot stand." Neros said as he stood to leave, the amasec he had drunk now lying heavy in his stomach.
"Well if we survive this campaign, then you can bring my conduct before the Commissariat, but until such time, kindly keep your mouth shut Lord Commissar." The drunken Lord Commander yelled at the retreating Commissar's back.
Grenadier Watchmaster Armin watched the red robed tech priest across from him with slight contempt. Being a soldier of Krieg, Armin was adept at reading body language. It was a fact that many who were familiar with the blank faced people of Krieg would have found surprising. Armin didn't understand why. Just because Kriegers had no use for emotions of their own, did not mean they could find no use in being able to see the emotion in others.
Kriegers simply interpreted body language differently to others. When a people spent a great majority of their lives displaying next to no emotion, while wearing heavy overcoats and face concealing masks, it became only natural that they would learn to interpret body language differently. A member of the Death Korps would struggle to see the emotion in an angry snarl, but he or she would see the subtle tightening of the hands.
So when Armin watched the outwardly still form of the tech priest, he saw that where it seemed the man was calm, he was actually feeling incredibly agitated. His mechandrites twitched and twisted in a manner that distinctly spoke of pent up energy and nervousness.
Internally Armin was irritated by the lack of discipline shown by the adept of Mars. He supposed it was only natural though. A worshipper of the Omnissah could never possess the true steel of a loyal servant of the God-Emperor. Emotional dampeners were no match for tried and tested emotional conditioning.
Still, Armin had to reluctantly concede that a nervous tech priest aided no one. Efficiency would be lost if the behavior continued to affect the Adept. Drawing upon his meager social skills, Armin tried to refocus the tech priest on the task at hand.
"Magos Aldron, this soldier requests further elaboration on its unit's objective, as well as the current situation within the operation zone." He stated in a clipped monotone.
Instantly the Mago's body language turned from nervousness to the much more familiar irritation, condescension, and a barely hidden shred of fear most superiors displayed when dealing with the Death Korps. Armin was pleased. The Tech Priest was once more focused on the mission. As long as the Techpriest was focused on his mission, what he thought of the Death Korps mattered little.
As dead men walking they were beneath consideration after all.
"What have you been told?" The Magos asked in a voice that somehow managed to ooze condescension even through the Techpriest's communicator.
Armin responded with the typical Krieger emotionlessness, "We are making landfall on a planet known as Remnant. We will be landing at a remote military base in the kingdom of Atlas. Once we have arrived, we are to aid the natives in repelling the aggressive fauna known as Grimm via any means; this will likely take the form of encouraging technological development rather than direct military action." He droned while successfully hiding the minor distaste he had for aiding a world that was outside the bounds of the Imperium.
He had no place to judge the natives however. For them to have never known the Emperor's light meant that they had yet to truly step away from him. In that regard they already stood above the damned sons and daughters of the Death Korps. That they were human was enough for him to die in their defense, as was his duty, and as he had been commanded. For him to choose to violate that order because of his own opinions on the natives of Remnant, was a heresy most dire.
He would do as commanded.
The Techpriest remained ignorant of Armin's inner musings as the Watchmaster continued speaking, showing no signs of his inner thoughts, "Our immediate objective however will be to insure the safety of Magos Aldron. In the event Magos Aldron becomes beyond our reach, we are to aid the natives, unless it conflicts with an order from the Magos or any other ranking member of the Imperial Guard."
The Tech Priest seemed satisfied for the most part, but chose to add his own objectives, "While it is true that the Lord Commander ordered us to aid the natives, and even provide them with the blessing of the Omnissah's mighty advances," A small burst of binary issued forth at that statement, the tech priest equivalent of a disgusted snort, "Our primary objective is to search for any STC fragments that may be on the planet. We are also to investigate the technology of this world, even if it is an affront to the Blessed Omnissah, we may find some value in this 'Dust' resource that the natives are reliant on."
Armin nodded to show his understanding, "Understood Magos."
However the Tech Priest wasn't finished as he leaned forward to stare into the shaded lenses of Armin's skull mask, "If you happen to acquire any opportunities to study any of the technologies of this world, including this 'Aura', you are to take it. Anything we can learn now we may be able to put to-"
Anything else the Magos was going to say was cut off by the automated droning of the Arvus Lander's flight servitor.
"Warning, Warning. Incoming Fire. Warning, Warning. Incoming Fire." The flesh golem droned over the cabin's warning claxons.
"Attempting to Evade." The calm tone of the Krieger polite came through over the comms. "Evasion unlikely, prepare for impact."
The Kriegers were already bracing before the first words had left the Servitor's comms unit. While the Krieger Grenadiers tended not to make use of aerial insertions, they knew what to do in the event the lander they were in was taking fire. Typically that would a heavily armed and armored Valkyrie rather than an aging Arvus Lander, but the rules remained much the same regardless of the vehicle.
Unfortunately it seemed that the same could not be said for the Magos under their guard. The man had begun to panic in his seat, his mechandrites and limbs flailing impotently as their master's panic messed with the delicate logic engine of the mechanical limbs.
Deeming the man a danger to himself, Armin nodded to one of the Death Korps soldiers under his command, causing the man moved to unshackle his seat restraints and begin struggling through the shaking ship toward the Magos in an attempt to calm him down and tighten the man's restraints. The act would all but guarantee the man from the Death Korps would die in the event of a crash, but that was irrelevant. The only life on the vehicle that mattered was that of the Magos.
Unfortunately the man's actions were in vain, as the trooper had barely unfastened his restraints when the ships was rocked by a massive explosion and Armin felt them flip through the air as the Lander began to plummet. His last sight was the unrestrained trooper flying through the cabin towards him…
"You shot it down." Ozpin stated in a voice that betrayed none of the fury he was feeling. The first contact with an extraterrestrial race, admittedly a human one, but still, one that had proved amenable to aiding in their fight against the Grimm, and the Atlas military had shot down the aid ship they sent. He supposed it was fortunate that they were walking through the busy halls of an Atlesian military base, or he might have been tempted to physically throttle his fellow headmaster.
"I did not shoot down anything Oz." Ironwood responded in a voice that likewise didn't betray any of the anger he was feeling. "The missile was launched by a rogue soldier who is now in custody."
Contrary to what his friend thought, Ironwood had been as ecstatic as his colleague, that the 'Imperium of Man' was sending examples of their technology, as well as an expert in their construction, down to Remnant to aid them. It had been a boon from the stars themselves.
He had recognized the possible threat as well. That was all it had been though, a possible threat. One that had to be recognized and planned for in the event the worst came to pass. It did not mean shooting down the aid sent by an interplanetary civilization in a fit of blatant paranoia. The fact that this had been a joint project between the two nations, and it had been Atlas that had messed up, made the situation all the worse.
He could only be both thankful and frustrated that Imperials had made it abundantly clear that they had their own pressing duties, and this would likely be the only aid, or contact at all, that they would be receiving from them in this generation. Which meant that Atlas didn't have to explain to a massive battle fleet that they had 'messed up' and shot down their delegation. The thought of that conversation sent a barely perceptible shiver down his spine.
Ironwood wasn't a coward by any means, but he had no illusions as to the outcome of a war between the Imperium of Man and Remnant as a whole. It would be an unmitigated slaughter. The Imperials wouldn't even have to get out of their ships. A few rounds from orbit to put holes in their cities defenses, and the Grimm would swarm though and win the war for them within a week.
For likely the hundredth time that day he cursed the weapons operator who had apparently had an emotional breakdown at his station. Ironically the unstable man had only been operating those weapon systems because traditionally this base was far from the frontlines, and thus considered something of a backwater assignment. Somewhere to place soldier who had seen a little 'too much' in the line of duty and needed some time to rest and recuperate.
Apparently the idea of interstellar visitors had been sufficient to unhinge the man.
The base's isolated location was why it was supposed to have been the perfect place for them to meet the Imperial delegation without letting the general populace becoming aware of the veritable sword of Damocles hanging above their heads. The idea of a greater galaxy full of conflict beyond Remnant made the Grimm seem small in comparison, but it did not in any way inspire comfort.
"Has the Imperial fleet reacted in any way since the incident?" Ozpin asked as he took a sip of his ever present coffee.
Ironwood shook his head in the negative, "No, they left this morning, just as they said they would," Ozpin admitted with a mixed sense of relief and frustration. "Disappeared into one of those strange portals that they apparently use for FTL."
It all seemed so surreal. That one day a fleet of ships had simply popped out of the blackness of space, said 'hello', and then disappeared again. Apparently not to be seen again for a hundred years or so. Possible salvation or destruction, and it had just disappeared as easily as it had arrived.
Ozpin sighed, feeling the same relief and irritation Ironwood himself felt. Still he turned his thoughts back to the task at hand.
"So what can we recover from this debacle? Please tell me I did not stay awake for the last two days solid, just to be told we acquired some twisted bits of metal and some poor soul's pinky finger." Ozpin muttered with uncharacteristic grimness.
"No." Ironwood said with some relief, "Whatever else you could say about the Imperials, they build their ships to be tough. I suppose it was to be expected from a people who were willing to maroon seven of their own on an alien world for the rest of their days."
Some part of that still didn't sit right with him. Irownwood was a man used to the cold calculus of conflict, but ordering men to their possible deaths was a whole different can of worms as compared to ordering men to their inevitable death. Still, he wasn't an Imperial, and it was ridiculous for him to assume their values were the same.
"Oh?" Ozpin asked, visibly perked up by the idea that the whole event wasn't a complete loss.
"We were fortunate that it crashed not a few miles outside the walls. We were able to get in and grab everything of interest before any of the larger Grimm showed up. Unfortunately we had to leave the ship itself behind, but we are already getting a task force together to make a concerted effort to retrieve it. We found a few casks of what we believe to be weapons amongst the wreckage, and what appeared to be a computer that isn't dissimilar to our Scrolls."
Ironwood sighed, in irritation as he ran a hand through his hair, "Unfortunately our scientists are having some difficulty getting the casks or the computer to open without damaging the insides."
Ozpin found that to be something of an issue, but he was sure that the Atlesian and Vale scientists working in conjunction would be able to overcome the issue. Putting the weapons and computer to the back of his mind, he asked the next most obvious question.
"What of our tech expert? I assume he did not survive the crash? Did any of the crew survive?"
Ozpin looked over to his colleague, and noted at the subject change, the General's lips formed a thin line. After a few moments the General spoke in a tone that was heavy with distaste,
"We have one survivor. We think he might be one of the guards… but honestly I don't want to believe it."
Ozpin was confused by the man's cryptic tone, but he asked the obvious question anyway.
"Why would that be the case James? Is he some manner of super soldier? Something we could never hope to fight?" For all that Ozpin was considered the softer of the two, he was no less ignorant to the threat the Imperial's posed than his colleague. That didn't explain Ironwood's irritation though. Even if the guard was some manner of super soldier, it hardly changed anything. They already knew they were no match for the Imperials if it ever came down to a conflict.
Ironwood spoke through gritted teeth, "The reason I don't want to believe our survivor was one of the guards is because… He can't be older than fifteen, and he has more scars than I do."