(Thankyou to everyone who reviewed. For anyone who wanted translations, here they are. This is what I intended them to mean:
Lux Imperatoris Luciat omnes – May the light of the Emperor shine on you all.
Fortitum sacrum dona eis, Domine in Terram – Give us holy strength, Lord on Earth.
Imperator dominus eternam – The Emperor rules eternally.
Imperator defendit triumphans – The Emperor defends triumphantly.
In nomine Imperatoris, animus effet – In the name of the Emperor, lift up our hearts.
Imperator vobiscum, domines pugnae – Emperor be with you, Lords of Battle.
Ad Majorum Imperati gloriam – For the Emperor's greater glory.
Just so you know, the new faction presented here is of my own devising. If it happens to include any registered trademarks, then it is purely coincidental. Thank you and enjoy!)
-
"Many were their marvels of their technology and great was their power. But their hearts were corrupt for Chaos was the fount of their glory. Lesser was our technology and our might, but our purity and our faith were greater weapons. Still they closed with us, unto death and damnation, that their world be yielded at the highest cost. Indeed we were twice the victor, for in death we receive the Emperor's peace. For them, the realm of Chaos for their dwelling place, the bloody ground for their tomb, and the wails of the dying for their epitaph."
From the personal writings of Lord Solar Macharius
-
Valarion was fascinated.
He could not take his eyes off the data-crystal. The results of the examinations proved at least some of his suspicions correct.
These people, physically anyway, were human. Human, like himself.
There were those who would say not. To them, the humans on this planet were savage, feral things. Their technology was barely above the flint knives of ancient cave-men. Crude energy projectors and chemical explosives. They dressed in drab and uncomfortable-looking uniforms of cheap cloth with no individuality or style at all.
That was what they would say, but not what he would say. Unlike most of his people, Valarion could understand why certain things were different. He could look at something and have an idea as to why it was what it was.
That was why he was there. It was because of his talents that he had been appointed Investigator and given this important task.
The task of finding out whether or not his people were the only humans left in the Galaxy, as it had been taught for tens of thousands of years.
Valarion walked across the stone room, his white robes trailing in the pooled blood, and stopped just in front of the icon on the wall. It was a two-headed bird, wings outstretched, talons spread.
Feeling rather foolish, he reached out and touched the icon.
Nothing to it. Just shaped metal. Yet this image was all over this facility and on the uniforms and even the bodies of the inhabitants. This image must have been of great political or spiritual significance.
He had never seen it before in his life, yet the effect it had on him was profound. It seemed to stir something deep inside him. It was as though he should know this image somehow.
Valarion relished his task. He had become disillusioned with the arrogance his people displayed towards the larger galaxy. It was true that they were powerful, that they had maintained at least some of the technology from before the revolt of the Iron Men. It was true that they had maintained and even improved their culture since then in the face of terrible diversity.
But it did not excuse their overconfidence, the overriding belief in their absolute superiority. It was a belief that could be the undoing of everything he held dear.
There had to be more than this! Valarion could not accept that this was the only other example of humanity in the whole Galaxy. There had to be more.
And he had evidence. His studies of the large dish-shaped structure showed that it was some sort of long-range transmitter.
He also knew that some of these humans could wield the Inner Powers. He had felt it when the humanoids had overwhelmed the facility.
"My Lord, please respond!"
Startled out of his reverie, Valarion heard the voice coming from the communicator built into his circlet.
"Surakai, what is the matter?"
"Multiple ether signatures have entered the system my Lord. That they are clustered together suggests ships."
Valarion could feel his Augur's fear and surprise. It was difficult if not impossible to conceal one's feelings in a telepathic communication.
"Shall I contact Lord Damarose?"
A sensible question, and a prudent thing to do, but Valarion still found it distasteful. Damarose was an experienced warrior and an unrepentant glory-seeker, desperate to make himself indispensable. If he failed to do so, he might find himself dragged back to the Home-worlds at his family's insistence.
Valarion did not want to have to go crawling to the violent, irascible Damarose for protection. Not unless it was absolutely necessary.
And besides, he wanted to see these newcomers. He was desperate to know more. Would these be the proof he needed? Would they vindicate the beliefs that he had held for so long?
"No," Valarion eventually answered. "No doubt he has spotted them already. Prepare the Kamiumo for quick escape. We may need to leave in a hurry."
He wanted to talk to the newcomers. He wanted to find out as much as possible.
But he might not be able to. What if they had come to avenge those who once inhabited this facility?
Curse Damarose and his bloody-mindedness! These unfortunates had died for nothing, and he knew for a fact that he still had no prisoner.
He knew. The capture-team humanoids must have been destroyed. He would have sensed them otherwise.
-
The image grew larger and larger. When combined with an energy spike in that area, it was obvious what awaited them.
"That must be the repulsorcraft we were warned about," Brother Ichiro commented.
"It would seem so," Brother Katsuo replied. He watched silently as the other Thunderhawk Gunships of Junyo Squadron reported in the same sighting.
"Hold brother, there is another reading," Ichiro interrupted his reverie. "Two more contacts climbing. Look like Interceptors."
"Junyo Squadron!" Katsuo barked. "Confirm Interceptor sighting!"
"Junyo 2 confirms."
"Junyo 3 confirms."
"Junyo 4 confirms."
"Junyo 5 confirms."
The remainder of the squadron all confirmed.
"Energy spikes!" Ichiro spoke with greater urgency. "Confirm hostile!"
Katsuo forced himself to be calm. Panic was as unbecoming to a Crimson Guardian as hatred. Neither emotion was conducive to fighting effectively.
"Junyo Squadron, interception configuration, stand by to engage enemy aircraft. The Emperor protects!"
Then he saw them, rising from the lowest cloud banks. Each a silvery oval, framed with a pair of forward-sweeping wings. They approached with great speed, their intention obvious.
Katsuo heard the familiar roar of the heavy bolters. The weapons were inaccurate at such a long range, but it would probably be enough to scatter the enemy.
They did not. Katsuo could see the shimmer of vehicle-grade conversion fields, or whatever equivalent this race used, as some of the bolts impacted. Closer and closer they came, unperturbed by the bolter fire.
"Squadron! Peel now!"
The Thunderhawks broke formation as energy beams lanced forward. Junyo 3 did not move fast enough, taking a hit that tore one wing away. For a second, the gunship bobbed gently, slowing down, before exploding violently.
Katsuo did not bother to mourn. He had lost wingmen before, and he had no more reason to get upset this time than at any other. What mattered was destroying these enemies before they decimated his squadron any further.
"Junyo Squadron, come about and continue firing."
He had a sneaking suspicion regarding those conversion fields. Pretty soon he would find out.
The Thunderhawk shuddered as he brought it around in a tight turn. It was not designed for high-speed aerial combat, but under the circumstances there was no option. He had to remove these interceptors before Taiho Squadron arrived with the Assault Squads.
Ignoring the g-forces pulling at him, Katsuo completed the turn. Through the forward viewport he could see the alien fighters pulling off astonishingly tight turns to face the remaining Junyo Squadron Thunderhawks.
"Servitors!" he barked. "Lascannons! Single targeting! Fire on my mark!"
Whispering the mantra of control, Katsuo held the Thunderhawk on its smooth arc, waiting for just the right moment.
The Thunderhawks opened fire.
And there it was.
"Lascannons, FIRE!"
One deadly beam struck. It tore through the silver hull of the enemy fighter and continued on out of the other side. The strange vehicle came apart, disintegrating as its protective field collapsed leaving it at the mercy of the wind and air pressure that it had once so easily negotiated.
The other fighter was more fortunate, seemingly predicting the attack and preparing for it. The las-beam diffused harmlessly against the glimmering shield.
But the other Thunderhawks had not ceased firing. The bolts peppered the alien interceptor, tearing great holes in the structure and sending up bright sparks.
Katuso had been right. A conversion field of such power could only protect a single area at a time. Head-on attacks in aerial combat were something only the inexperienced or the suicidal would normally do. Instead of seeking a tactical advantage, the enemy pilots had chosen to attack head on, trusting in their conversion fields and assuming that the space marines would not perceive their weakness.
Even so, that insight had been paid for with Junyo 3, and the lives of all on board. Those fighters were indeed powerful, though improperly used.
"I have ground contacts," Ichiro spoke up, startling Katsuo from his reverie. "Multiple infantry and walkers."
Katsuo glanced out of the side viewport at the remaining fighter, seeing it descend in a wobbling spiral. There was no time to pursue it. Already Taiho Squadron was approaching and Junyo Squadron had yet to complete its mission.
"Junyo Squadron, prepare to carry out ground attacks. Ignore the repulsorcraft for now, concentrate on viable targets. Remain in formation and don't waste ammunition. In the name of the Emperor, the slain shall be avenged."
-
Star-Rider Zarufiur counted himself lucky to be alive.
Although his Fighter-craft was beyond repair, he had managed to get enough of it down for him to be able to walk away. It was not an ideal situation, but it was preferable to immolation or falling.
He had underestimated his opponents. Not just him, but his brother Zarumyon too. And as a result his brother was dead. They had thought that the crude technology of their opponents would make it easy.
It was so simple, so infuriatingly simple. One of them had figured out that the protective screen could only be projected in a single direction at a time. After that it had been just a matter of efficient deployment and use of available resources.
To have destroyed one of them was sheer luck, or perhaps the shock value of new and deadly technology. But what luck they once possessed had soon run out. He had seen it just in time. Zarumyon had not.
His left leg was hurting badly. Zarufiur looked down, gagging at the blood streaming from a ragged gash just below his waist, staining his white uniform. Realising that it would be difficult to escape on foot, Zarufiur decided to attempt contact.
The searing headache that overrode even the pain in his leg told him that it was a bad idea. As he pulled the silver circlet from his blond hair, the pain stopped.
Part of the silvery skin had been ripped away, exposing the delicate circuitry. The sparks and the smell of burning indicated that it was damaged, beyond his ability to repair.
He flung it away in frustration. The circlet served to boost his somewhat limited mental abilities, allowing him to communicate telepathically and control a fighter-craft. But damaged like that, it was more likely to melt his brain.
It had been less painful, however, than Zarumyon's death. With his brother gone, Zarufiur felt alone, empty, as though a part of him had been cut away. It was worse than any physical injury.
A click came from behind him. He turned, insofar as he could, to see a tall robed figure standing by his wrecked fighter-craft. It was pointing some sort of weapon at him.
His hand shot to his holstered En-pistol…
"Don't bother," the voice brooked no argument. "My reflexes are several thousand times faster than your own. Your mind might be quick, but your hands are not."
Shuddering with despair and pain, Zarufiur slumped to his knees.
"If you're going to kill me, then kill me! I don't want to live like this!"
Was this what it was like to be one of them? Alone, cut off, denied the comforting presences of others in his mind, shorn of all belonging?
"You are a coward," Adamar's voice was contemptuous. "You seek death not out of courage, but because to live is too painful. That is not sacrifice, but betrayal.
"How could you know what its like!?" Zarufiur spat, his words filled with anger and hatred. "You who are not human! You who feel nothing! You…you mutant! You abomination!"
"Your words are meaningless," Adamar pulled the trigger.
The explosions were audible now. Just over the horizon, if his estimate was correct, a battle was taking place.
So they had come after all. Adamar knew that it could not be his enemies, for the familiar Thunderhawks in the sky had worn different colours. There might be hope after all, or if not that, then a means of getting off this planet.
Ignoring the remains of the pilot, Adamar started walking in the direction of the battle. Whether to salvation or damnation, he would know soon enough.
-
(Just so you know, this new race was invented by me, with any similarities to the personal creations of others being entirely coincidental. I used them because an unknown enemy might make things more interesting. If you don't like it, I'm sorry. Please review so that I will know.)