Chapter Eleven

A/N: I have been contacted by several readers as to errors or inconsistencies within the previous chapters. As such, I've endeavored to go back and fix these problems to better shape the story overall. That is the primary reason as to why this chapter took longer to put out compared to others.

The situation aboard the space marine vessels, for those who had just returned from combat, was one of business as usual. Praying, cleaning their weapons, reading through the Codex Astartes again or taking a quick power nap. Many had more than earned a brief respite from the war down below, a war now that, merely a day before, had seemed unlikely to come to any sort of "good" conclusion. Now, with several ork armies destroyed, including the main one, the process of taking back Woebus from the remaining forces could begin.

However, word on the ships was that the actions of the rogue trader captain, whose daring rescue almost the entire remaining population of Caervindus, was beginning to spread like wildfire, both throughout the fleet and through the psykers that acted as inter-system communicators. As with all news, such deeds would likely be distorted and grow beyond their original parameters the farther they drew from Woebus.

Governor Ticric Vallalian was unhappy. He had been saved, alongside his family and the many precious relics of the Imperium he held dear, but others had been saved that he had decidedly tried to prevent being saved. Namely, his political opponents, and the heads of quite a few powerful families on Woebus. They had all been clustered in Caervindus together, and he had patiently waited for his own evacuation first, knowing full well the others would be overrun before they too could get out. But now… now they still lived, the bastards! Those who had besmirched his family's name over the decades, those who had allied and then betrayed him for often short-sighted goals, and those whose very existence was a threat to his authority and power over Woebus. He hadn't given a damn about any of the civilians either, they were easily replaceable tools in his political games, but now, with his rivals rescued, he would have to tread very carefully until the planet was secured. Blame could be easily placed on him for the greenskin invasion, even though the orbital defenses were the best they could have constructed with the resources available to them.

"Damn that bastard of a captain, that wretched Solomon!" he hissed, alone in the quarters the Ultramarines had loaned him. "Curse you to the Warp, captain, your insufferable heroics have cost me a great deal!" Vallalian desperately wanted to punch something, but the rather spartan room had little in the way of anything other than a bed. Without something to take his anger out on physically, he relegated himself to muttering instead and wringing his hands like a scheming monkey. "As long as I live Solomon, as long as my family lives, I will never let this slight go unpunished. The Vallalians always repay their debts in kind."

The Cadian guards posted outside of the governor's room ignored his ramblings. Despite the fact they had literally smashed an ork army a short time before, and were exhausted from such an endeavor, they stood at perfect attention, almost like statues.

This, however, did not stop them from speaking to the guards posted at the room across from them, another pair of Cadians.

"Did you hear?"

"What?"

"Caervindus got evacuated."

"Really? I thought a large-scale one was out of the picture."

"Yeah, this crazy Rogue Trader captain brought his cruiser down into the atmosphere and everyone flew into his hangars. Almost lost it to some ork warboss with an orbital cannon. Rammed the greenskin right off the mountain."

"Wow. Who would have thought, a Rogue Trader? Haven't seen one of those in a war in a long time."

"Yeah, my granddad told me about one who helped on one of their campaigns. Bastard stole all the loot and left before they knew what had happened."

"What happened to him, you think?"

"Oh, granddad? Got cut up real bad, was later vaporized by a melta grenade he stuffed into some chaos space marine's leg armor."

"No, I meant the Rogue Trader. All of our granddads are dead by now anyway."

"Oh, psh, probably got killed by his crew. Granddad always did say he'd been suspiciously nice to everyone when he met him. Probably some front to steal everything that wasn't nailed down."

"Sure he wasn't a part of the Blood Ravens?"

"Nah, they'd have stolen the nails too."

The men chuckled. Joke as they might, the Astartes were held in the highest regard, the literal angels of the Emperor's guiding hand to ensure the survival of man. They were treated with a deference and respect that was beyond description, almost innate, and they had earned it in every way possible.

Prollarius, the minute he had heard the news from the returning Ultramarines, had hopped on the nearest shuttle loaded with shipboard medicae headed to the Terra's Scion. He should have recognized it right away, but he had been very busy getting some much-needed rest with the rest of his surviving guardsmen.

Then again, the fact that he had somehow not recognized Captain Solomon, of all people, was a mystery to him. He had been covered in blood, yes, and that weird sword hadn't helped out, but... he was the same height, wore the same armor, and had the same voice of the man who had replaced Ordacius. How the man was here, and had aided in not one but two city evacuations, was certainly a puzzle, but one the guardsman intended to find out.

However, the instant he entered the hangar, he found himself beset upon by an elderly civilian, chanting constantly to all who looked in his direction.

"Praise the God-Emperor, holy be his name! His will delivers all the faithful from his enemies. By the Throne, we have been saved by this glorious vessel of his divine will! The blessings of mankind's savior have brought us forth from the wretched abyss! Praise is to the God-Emperor, for he is one and true, the only one worthy of praise."

Prollarius prayed to the God-Emperor as much as the next guardsmen, which was very often, but he found this a bit unnecessary. Public adulations were good and all for gatherings and wartime, but he, like so many others he had met, preferred praising the Emperor in quiet, by himself. It made it feel more powerful, more personal, as if he were speaking to him in person, something he thought none had ever done since the God-Emperor was first interred on the throne.

Still, the old man's enthusiastic nature was a tad grating. Judging from the exasperated looks of many of the other civilians, he'd have to guess they agreed. Uttering a short, soft prayer of thanks for his own safe deliverance, the guardsmen looked around. Countless civilians were either clustered in small groups or aimlessly milling around, many bandaged severely. Many more lay in rows under white sheets, casualties of an evacuation none had thought possible.

"The flak was awful for them," a voice said, and the guardsmen turned to find the man he had been looking for. "Several transports didn't make it."

"I know, I lost friends on some of those," Prollarius replied. "Captain," he added, tipping his helmet.

"Just Solomon is fine, Prollarius," the man replied, a weary look in his face. To the guardsmen, he looked… older, more worn down, and there was an empty look in his eyes. A fight such as his own, judging from his losses, had not come easily. "What brings you back aboard my ship?"

"Well, thought I'd come over and see how you're doing," the guardsmen replied. Apparently, not very well: the man almost looked sick. "How many did you lose?"

"Civilians, or guardsmen?"

"Both."

Solomon sighed. "Many of those that didn't perish on the battlefield died from their wounds on board the ship. Around ten thousand total so far, I'd say. I don't know how many more I could lose more before I leave, there's many still in critical condition. As for the civilians… I don't know how many were packed on those lost shuttles and barges: too many."

"The rest of them are alive because of you," Prollarius replied. "Both the civvies and the guardsmen."

"I'm not used to such losses," was the reply. "I knew I'd lose men when I went to war, but this many… I hadn't expected the enemy to be so fierce. This is nothing like what I'd imagined war would be like."

"You never saw war before?" Sounded like quite the sheltered childhood to the guardsmen, but then again, many in the Imperium could go their entire lives without witnessing xenos or chaos in action. The galaxy was just too vast for everyone to suffer, the Imperium just barely holding everything together as it was. Honestly, he was a little jealous of them, but he also pitied them. They would never know or truly appreciate what others did for them, that they could remain safe from the terrors that stalked the galaxy.

"I… there was war, where I was, but never like this," Solomon sighed as they passed a small group of children, many of whom were huddled close to what he hoped were their parents. One little girl gave him a faint wave. "I was never witness to it, and growing up, only a few I knew had seen it, but… others had. Many had seen war in my time, far too many for me to comprehend. Yet this, this kind of war, it's not war at all. It's a damned slaughter, a glorified meat grinder, and the winner is whoever is left licking his wounds at the end of the fight."

Prollarius nodded. "Exactly. War isn't pretty, it never is, and the enemies of man are too dangerous, too numerous, to combat like smaller wars are fought. Sometimes, you have to grind them down with what you have, and give it all, just so that the city, the planet, the system you're defending, lives to see the next day, the next month, or the next year. It's a never-ending struggle, Solomon."

"Then I'll have to change," Solomon replied with a small grunt. "Wars may be fought with weapons, but they are won by men. I will need men who know how to fight the enemies of man, both xenos and chaos alike. If I must lose more men in the future in numbers like that, then I'll be damned if it wasn't for total victory."

"Sounds like you want me back," the guardsmen said. "Might I ask why?"

"You've been fighting orks since the war began, Prollarius," was the captain's answer. "You know more about fighting greenskins than anyone else on board this ship, seeing as the space marines left a while ago. I need men like you to help me fight them, or none of my crew will survive another engagement like that. I won't survive another bloodbath like that."

"Well, I currently have no offers to join elsewhere, and the regiment I was with no longer exists in any combat-ready form. We'll most likely be absorbed into another regiment once the planet is retaken." He paused for a moment. "I don't really feel like going elsewhere. Besides, I kind of missed this ship."

"Then, Prollarius, can I convince you to come aboard?"

"I'll have to talk with some of the others, but I don't see why not," the man said, extending his hand. "Besides, someone needs to help the new guys learn how to better fight the damned greenskins."

"Then consider this conversation a precautious welcome back, Prollarius," Solomon said, shaking his hand. "Welcome back to the Terra's Scion."

Private Vanem Catillo sat in the corner of the mess hall with several other guardsmen, his head still aching from surgery. The bandages had stopped the bleeding, but he would have to still be careful, or else it'd get infected. Much of the antiseptic sprays and cleansing cloths had been used on the far more injured, and it would take some time before they were able to get enough to supply the whole ship again.

His vision was still a bit blurry from the near-constant headaches, but that was expected when shrapnel from an ork weapon was removed from underneath your skin. He was lucky it hadn't penetrated the bone, but the large gash it had left behind was certainly nothing to scoff at. However, the worst thing was not the headaches, but the nightmares.

He was exhausted, but every time he fell asleep, he saw them. He saw them all, the faces of all he'd known killed by the damn greenskins. Crushed, ripped apart, stomped, shot, or shredded, it didn't matter. Catillo could hear their screams when he slept, could see their faces when he closes his eyes. Dead eyes, the eyes of the dead, always staring back at his, and nobody wanted to talk about it. The ship commissar had told him to keep that to himself, or he'd be dealt with for disrupting morale.

Maybe death wouldn't be so bad, after what they'd been through. "I'm sorry, Halris," he muttered, looking down at his uneaten food.

"What?" one of them asked, a guardsmen with three quarters of his face hidden behind bandages.

"Nothing, it's nothing, forget I said anything."

"Man, we know you're not right in the head right now," another one said, half of her hair missing and one of her arms in a cast. "After the other day, I don't think any of us are. Even the captain's been acting weird, according to the officers. Come on, Catillo, tell us what's wrong."

"I keep seeing them, seeing him, in my dreams," the man replied. "I keep seeing Halris."

"He was your buddy, wasn't he?"

"We joined up together back on Mastuonus, thought it'd be cool. See the galaxy, fight for the Imperium, maybe earn ourselves some nice medals or something. But this… this isn't how I thought I'd lose him."

"Guardsmen die every day, Catillo. Millions die every day across the Imperium, doing the Emperor's will."

"I know, I wasn't planning on making it out alive if I served long enough, but… why him? Farella, he was my best friend!"

"We've all lost someone," the woman replied. "I lost two cousins and an uncle to an ork raiding party on some convoy they signed up for. It hurts, but time helps."

"Does it ever go away?"

"No, it never does, but all you can do is pray to the God-Emperor and thank him you're alive, and pray that he keeps watching over you. He watches over us all."

"I know, but… none of this would have happened if we hadn't come to Woebus in the first place," Catillo muttered. "We weren't ready, despite all that training. We weren't as prepared for those greenskins as we should have been. Our tactics cost us too many good soldiers!"

"They were the captain's tactics, and we follow the captain's orders," Farella replied, absentmindedly scratching at her cast. "It the risk that comes with the job, doing what he says even if it's not the best thing to do. He's no tactical genius, but he won us a victory; a hard-fought and bloody victory, but a victory for the Imperium nonetheless."

"Plus, what he did saved a lot more lives than it cost," one of the other guardsmen said. "Look at Ardentum, and now Caervindus. He helped rescue space marines, for throne's sake! Without him, both they and all the civvies under their protection would have likely all been wiped out."

"I know, I know, it just… it just feels bad, okay?" Catillo muttered. "He comes down like a hero, gets all these thanks and probably some laurels to boot, and for what? Sending ten thousand men to their deaths?"

"Catillo, no, it's not like that," Farella whispered. "Besides, we were all there, and so was he. He saved a lot of us personally!"

"I know!" Catillo replied, no longer bothering to whisper. He didn't care if anyone else heard him. He had to get this out. "He saved you guys, and me, but not my friend Halris! What am I going to tell his family? That we both signed up, but I came back, and he didn't? We'll need to go back to Mastuonus Primus for supplies, and everyone will know what happened by then."

"We did the best we could with what we had. So many of us were green, what did you expect to happen? For us to just kill them all with no losses?"

"We could have done better!" the man shouted, slamming his hand hard enough on the table to rattle the serving trays. "We could have been better prepared, or better led! We didn't have to lose so many if we'd been under the command of someone with experience, and you all know it!"

"Catillo, be quiet," Farella muttered, glancing around. Several were approaching their table, curious to the outburst. She really didn't want the ship-appointed commissar, one of the veteran guardsmen, to deal with her friend. "What you're saying could be construed to attempting a mutiny."

"No, I will not be quiet, I have to say this!" he said, standing up. "We need someone with experience, not a captain with the inability to come up with a plan that doesn't border on suicide. We're all the troops he has, and throwing us away like that-,"

"It was not my intention to lose so many, Catillo," a voice said. All heads turned to see Solomon standing behind the younger man, a blank expression on his face. Prollarius moved up beside him, one of his hands on his service bolter pistol. "I… underestimated the capabilities of the orks. I do not intend for that to happen again."

"Do not intend? Do you even hear yourself?!" Catillo shouted, whirling around to fully face the captain. "Not everyone gets a second chance in war, let alone this kind of life! Why did we even come to this damned world?"

"They are our fellow humans, and we, as the ones capable of such, had a duty to aid them in their hour of need," Solomon said. "The men's sacrifice was not in vain, and-,"

With an enraged snarl, Catillo's fist flew up and struck Solomon across the chin, sending him stumbling backwards into a table, earning gasps of shock throughout the room. Before he could advance and strike again, a bolter pistol was pressed against the space between his eyes, none of the other guardsmen even seeing Prollarius draw his weapon.

"Private," he whispered softly, looking directly into the eyes of the younger man, who had frozen in shock. "Striking the captain is liable to mutiny and treason, and is punishable by death."

"Then kill me," Catillo muttered back, staring the man right in the eyes. "It'd be a damn sight better for me to end here and now than on some damned world at the whim of a captain that doesn't even care. I live to serve the Imperium, not the ideas and whims of one man."

"I do care," Solomon muttered, rising from the table and rubbing his jaw. "Catillo, I do care, far more than you know. When we return to Mastuonus Primus, all those who died will be given a proper burial."

The private barked a hollow laugh. "What, in a mass grave? Like animals, or civilians killed by disease?"

"No," the captain replied softly. "They will be cremated, and their ashes scattered on their home world, in the vast frozen wastes of the north pole of Mastuonus Primus. There, they will sleep, having earned their rest in defense of Woebus."

Catillo merely stared at the man, his mouth moving but not seeming to work. Even Prollarius glanced over at Solomon, a surprised expression on his own face.

"That's… that's very gracious of you, sir," Fellara said, standing up from the table.

"It's a start," Solomon said. "Many of those who evacuated Ardentum are alive thanks to you as much as they are to me, Catillo; as they are to everyone who bled and died that morning. Our sacrifice was my fault, yes, but I promise you this," he added, taking a step towards the man. "I will never put you through that meat grinder again. The next time we face our enemies, we will be prepared. The next time we fight, we will win, and we will survive."

Without a word, Catillo suddenly dropped to the floor, burying his bandaged head in his hands. The soft, choking sobs punctuated the quiet din of the mess hall.

"Pivate Fellara, see to it that Private Catillo is sent to the medical wing," Solomon said. "Have someone keep an eye on him until they can give him something to bring him down. This ledge he built himself up on, I don't want him falling from it." He didn't want to lose any more capable troops to shock and trauma. He'd lost too damn many already, he had to save as many as he could.

"Yes, sir," the woman said, before motioning to several others. They gently lifted the crying man from the floor and supporting his weight, left the room.

Solomon rubbed his jaw, wincing slightly as many of the guardsmen went back to what they had been doing. Damn, that had been a solid punch. He'd have to put ice on it or something.

"Why did you stay my hand?" Prollarius asked. "Most other captains would have had no qualms of letting a shipboard commissar kill someone for such disobedience."

"These troops need to know I care about them, even if they feel right now I don't," Solomon said. "I'm in this for the long haul, and I can't have them thinking I view them all as expendable. Besides, they aren't as trained as they could be, and if I can avoid any fighting for a while, then their training can continue, and their discipline should follow suit. In the meantime, I think it's about time we finished up here and left Woebus behind. I've been wondering how the garrison I left back at my base is doing, but Pontius can't contact them."

"Base? You have a base other than the ship?"

"Yes, back on the moon of Talmanjir, above the planet of Mastuonus Tertiarius. It was uninhabited before I set up shop there. Kind of foggy, and there's moss everywhere, along with some insects, but nothing to worry about."

The moon of Talmajir had seen much progress since Solomon had last seen it. In the months he had left to aid Woebus in its hour of need, the walls around the base had been fully built, and the equivalent of a castle was just about halfway done. Many weapon systems left behind, especially the larger ones, had been set up to defend against both ground and space assaults, many with overlapping fields of fire.

The nearby quarry and mines were churning out materials almost as fast as they were being used. The lower portions of the castle had already encompassed the barracks, armory and a small chapel, where one could pray to the God-Emperor in either a congregation, or by themselves if they so wished. The chapel also was directly over the entrance to the bunker systems underneath, though many were still being excavated.

Water collectors had been built long before, and because of the rivers down in the valleys now supplied water to quite a few farms, several pathways down had been reinforced with tunnel-like constructs. The hivers who worked them had been very keen to learn from the agri-world guardsmen, many of whom had worked on such large farms themselves before their recruitment. Many of the hivers had also been able to build their own homes, some within the base or right outside it, others down in valleys or out on their own little plateaus.

Up in the base, however, the hydroponic farms had been set up beneath the base in underground caverns, carved from the solid rock. These quickly grew food that was rather tasteless, but they had the proper nutrients, so they in turn were made into long-lasting rations.

With the materials from the quarries and mines stacking up, the workshops where machines could process the materials into useful items, had been a blessing. With them, the development of more tools and weapons had been almost constant, and although nobody really knew how to make something from scratch, fiddling around with whatever plans Solomon had left behind had been fairly fruitful. Then again, most of the five thousand-man garrison of guardsmen came up with something because they were often bored.

In the mess hall, things were as they usually were. Guardsmen sitting off in small groups, chitchatting about the latest news they'd heard from Mastuonus Primus, though given the fact that their larger vox systems could only reach that planet, entertainment wasn't too varied. Then again, most of them were from there anyway, so they didn't mind.

"Hey, guys, I think something's up," Private Gallinius said to his squad as he sat down to eat supper. Training, as usual, had been an all-day affair, and they had just finished with several of the rooms in the fortress, including the captain's future quarters. He personally hoped the man would like it, they'd worked very hard making sure it was more fortified and solidly laid than other portions.

"What is it?" one of them asked. "The fog getting to you again?"

The fogs of Talmanjir were frequent, though the visibility could range from several miles to less than a hundred meters at times. It made maneuvers rather difficult on certain days, especially if they were trying to coordinate with the civvies living amongst them. People had managed to get themselves lost too many times to count, so now all pathways between buildings and roads were marked with bright blinking lights.

"No, it's with the civvies," Gallinius replied. "Most of 'em have been pretty decent, but a couple..."

"You mean the weird ones that live off by themselves on that little outcropping?"

"Yeah, those ones, the hivers with the purple robes: they're really quiet when working, but when they get together after, all they do is talk and laugh. That, and apparently try to keep everyone up within earshot with their "nightly" antics. I swear, someone's gotta tell them to keep it down."

"So? What's wrong with having a laugh or a bit of fun?"

"They don't make jokes or tell stories that would cause anyone I know to laugh. Plus, the ladies… they're kinda scary."

"Man, they came from a hive world, where only the toughest of the tough survive, let alone prosper. They're all like that."

"No, no, I meant the purple-robed ones. They're even scarier than the others. The tattoos don't help."

"Yeah, I noticed that too," one of the other said, a woman by the name of Zita Kyner. "The ladies have these tattoos on their necks, especially around the throat and chest areas. Really seem kinda simple, but they curve all over the place. Don't know how they got there, thought it better to not ask while in the showers. You sure none of them were crooks?"

"No, they all checked out, and nothing's been stolen or sabotaged. They're just creepy is all, and prefer to keep to themselves. That, and all the gold jewelry they wear. I don't even know where they could have gotten the stuff."

"Well, better go over it with the older guardsmen, just to be sure," Zita muttered. "You never know what people are up to, and they'd be the best bet in figuring out what's going on."

"Yeah, right. Anyways, what about those rifles you and the others were testing the other day? The… what were they called again?"

"Burst lasguns," she replied. "They're weaker than the big ones, but still a lot stronger than the older ones, and they fire in five-shot bursts. I've seen them burn through rock like it was paper. Really accurate too, and they don't need as long of a cooling time."

"Those orders Captain Solomon gave us explicitly stated we were allowed to fiddle with or make anything we wanted, within reason and even though there's been quite a few accidents, thankfully nobody's died yet. Dayn is lucky he didn't blow his foot off with that one mine."

"Can't wait for the captain to come back," Gallinius said. "I bet the others will have tons of stories about how glorious the fighting was."

"Captain Solomon? There's someone out here who wishes to speak with you."

Having long ago decided that trying to get some sleep would be the best course to take, Solomon tried taking a nap in his quarters. However, the stress of what had happened, combined with everything he was worrying about, as well as the plans he had to eventually deal with, made restful sleep all but impossible. That, and he kept seeing the faces of those he had lost, which made it even more impossible.

"Let them in," he muttered, not having bothered to get undressed. Sitting up, and rubbing his face, he saw Prollarius enter with an older man, his hunched form likely an indicator of great age. That, or he was born that way, but from what Solomon had heard, that was highly unlikely. Mutants and similar genetic aberrations were often persecuted in Imperial space, if not outright exterminated. "Can I help you?"

"Savior of Caervindus and her people, mighty sword of the God-Emperor's divine will, I thank thee on the behalf of all who have lived through our most terrible ordeal," the man said, making many gestures and bows. "Were it not for your intervention, the citizens of Caervindus and the surrounding countryside would have undoubtedly fallen victim to the greenskin horde."

"Well, thanks, but there were guardsmen and space marines with you," Solomon replied.

"They too were saved, thanks to your audacity and cunning tactics. Many of us owe you our very lives."

"I would prefer a thank you, really, and maybe a small statue or plaque," the captain said. "Nothing more, I can't have people thinking I'm the greatest hero since… well, what was his name again? Cain?"

"Ah, but you are a hero, a hero to so many." The old man spoke with fervor and intensity that reminded Solomon of religious memories from his past. The message was different, perhaps, but the intention and purpose was clear: he was being lauded for his deeds.

Well, that was just… peachy. Before he could speak, however, there was another knock at his door, and Prollarius soon returned with another older gentlemen, this one likely quite a few years younger than the first.

"I must apologize for my father's rather… evangelistic approach to thanking someone," he said, shooting his father an exasperated glare. "He means well by it, but sometimes gets a bit out of hand on the subject."

"That's fine, that's fine," Solomon said.

"What he is likely trying to say is that many of us no longer have a home on Woebus," the man continued, even as his elderly father continued to mumble under his breath about "saviors" and "prune cakes", for some odd reason. "Many of our citizens have no home left to go to on the world, with Caervindus gone and many other cities lying in ruin. Many more do not wish to return: far too many bad memories of the war, you see. It's not a large number, by any means, but it is significant."

"How many?" Prollarius asked.

"Several thousand at the moment, likely more as time goes by. Many children are orphans now, living with their elder siblings or distant relatives. With Woebus in ruins as much as it is, there is too great a risk for them falling to… temptations, if they are not cared for."

Solomon nodded. Chaos notwithstanding, it would be far too easy for these war orphans to descend into either suicidal depression or lash out against the world that took their families from them. They would need to be looked after, cared for, or else them being saved would wind up becoming one of the worst days of their lives. He couldn't let that happen.

He wouldn't let that happen. "Are the children and their relatives, by chance, the ones that don't want to go back to Woebus?"

"Most of them, yes," the man said. "Many of the space marine ships have invited them to be relocated to other worlds within the Imperium, closer to Macragge or Nocturne, but those journeys will be fairly long. Many wish to settle back down as soon as possible."

"So… what exactly are you suggesting?"

"Will you take us with you, back to wherever it is you are stationed? Surely there are worlds that you resupply at or have established a base upon where we could settle. It is the least we could do, out of gratitude for saving so many of us."

That was… unexpected. Here Solomon had been thinking they'd simply ask for him to transport them to the nearest Imperium world, not to actually join him in some way. Then again, the voices of Adam and Eve had told him others would join him because of his actions, so maybe this was the beginning of that. Hopefully he wouldn't come to regret it.

"Are… are you sure? I have a base on a habitable moon, but I don't know how developed it is. I mean, I just left a garrison behind before I left for Woebus. Other than that, there's the agri-world of Mastuonus Primus, but I'm not sure how the locals would react to you."

"Anything free from the infestations of orks is a welcome paradise to us," the man said. "We can easily integrate into another society of the Imperium, given a few years. I will talk with the others as to what they wish." With that, and with his father at his side, the pair left the two of them alone.

"Well, that was… unexpected," Prollarius said. "What are you thinking?"

"Well, I can't just reject their offer," Slomon replied. "I mean, this could be great. Or it could be terrible. I still don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"If I accept, and if this happens to be an even semi-regular event, I'll be dumping far more people into the base I'm building than I'm afraid it could support. On the other hand, just dumping refugees on an agri-world could seriously meddle with its taxes, tithes, and even its production. The planetary governor is very open to helping me, so long as I help her in return, and I'm slightly worried she'll take offense to me turning her world into a potential refugee camp."

"Aren't there any other planets in the system that could work? Habitable ones or something? What about nearby systems themselves?"

"I've been looking into the local star charts I have, but it's not looking all that good. Mastuonus Secundus is a mining world, highly automated and basically unfit for the likes of these refugees. Mas Tertiarius is a feral world, really unlikely they'd be welcome there, or even survive. My moon base is habitable, but I don't have the infrastructure to suddenly care for an influx of several thousand refugees. My supplies would run out faster than I could replace them if they all stayed there."

"I overheard one of the privates before talking about the Vaeria system. I looked them up, they have a refugee planet."

"Yeah, but Vaeria Quaternius is a sack of grox shit. It's deeply divided along cultural lines, and it's in a near-constant state of some kind of cold war. The loyalty to the Imperium is the only thing keeping it from just imploding into one planetary cultural civil war. I'm not going to drop them off only for them to be shunted into some unused corner of the planet and be hated simply because they showed up. That'd be like entrusting a human child to an ork for safekeeping."

"The Whara system?"

"A cemetery world turned asteroid field, a dead world, a barely-inhabited agri-world, and a hive world: not the best choices, seeing as the agri-worlders are treated like shit by the hivers."

"Starth system?"

"It could work, but they have a knight world that literally hunts prisoners to hone their skills on the nearby penal world, most of which are supplied by the third world, a hive one as well. The fourth is another agri-world, but they too are treated like shit by the hivers, and even more so by the knight world."

"Okay, so… Mastuonus Primus is your best bet."

"Exactly, though I will definitely have to talk with governor Delvidia first. Maybe she can make an exception this time. If I end up rescuing more refugees every time I go to war somewhere, I can't just be dumping them off on the people who support me, or soon I'll no longer have any friends."

With a nod, Prollarius left the captain alone in his room once more.

Solomon gently pinched the bridge of his nose as he lay back in his bed, twiddling his thumbs as he stared at the ceiling. All of these possible places had more problems than he was willing to deal with, and even if he could get all these people to stay on his moon base, it'd turn into some sort of colony before long: not exactly the "imposing fortress of solitude and eventual guiding light" he'd originally imagined. Still, he'd have to make do with what he had.

"I just hope the governor can understand what I'm going through right now," he muttered, before rolling over and trying to fall back asleep. Maybe he'd hear the two voices in his head again: hopefully he could get some advice.

"Madam, we believe we have received word from the psyker choirs of an event unfolding in the Woebus system. The scribes are trying to decipher the finer details, but we have received a rough picture of what has been going on."

Governor Delvidia looked up from the tithes report she had been quietly perusing. "Yes? What is it?" Psykers, despite being rare as a whole within the Imperium, were common enough that many of the more important or prosperous planets within the Imperium were able to have them stationed there… under heavy guard and surveillance, of course. A demonic incursion was never taken lightly, and after having heard of several, she personally made sure they were as guarded as one could be.

Her own psyker choir was a very expensive gift from a passing Inquisitorial Black ship, though they mostly served as a relay system for the messages of others. If not for her request, the lot would have likely gone to another world as a relay, but her connections and resources had made it possible her planet had one. It was just another thing to rub in the faces of rival planetary governors who had been passed over for such an opportunity.

"It involves the Rogue Trader you met with, Captain Solomon, in a war with orks," the servant said. "Apparently, he has been making a name for himself."

She blinked a few times in surprise before a small smile graced her lips. Interesting... "Please, tell me more."

Within the hangar bay of the Terra's Scion, several of the Woebus guardsmen that had been saved were mingling with the ship's own complement of troops. One such group was carefully explaining the new-looking attack craft when another guardsmen walked up. Well, a guardswoman, technically.

"What is this?" she asked. "I don't think I've ever seen a craft like this before."

"Oh, just something we recently received from Vaeria Primus," the pilot said. "Pretty neat, isn't it? Not as big as the original type, but a lot faster and more maneuverable."

"I heard the designs came from the captain himself," one of the others said.

"That's just a rumor," another said, walking up to the guardswoman. "You from Caervindus?"

"Originally," she said with a shrug. "I'm pretty much all that's left of my regiment. Knew Prollarius, thought I'd come on by and see about joining up. Can you tell me where he is?"

"Oh, him? He was off with the captain, last I checked," the man replied. "What's your name?"

She paused for a moment, as if in deep, contemplating thought. "Janeve Stell," she answered.

"Cool. Well, Janeve, the captain's quarters are easy enough to find, just ask around," the pilot said. "Once you get there, finding Prollarius should be easy."

"Thank you," she replied, before marching off.

"Say, you think there's something odd about that one?" one of the guardsmen asked as she disappeared from sight.

"What do you mean, mate?"

"Well, the way she held herself… noble-born?"

"I don't know, maybe. See the way she was lookin' over the craft?"

"Yeah, like she was upset, but also curious. Not sure what ta think of that. I mean, yeah, it's a new kind of craft that I heard the captain got from either Syngra or the governor of Vaeria Primus, but then again, they're both far from Mars. Maybe they got it from another Forge world?"

"Whatever, don't really care where they got it. Might as well get back to it, captain said he was going to be running drills when we get back to base."

"Yeah, I could use the practice."

A/N 2: again, I would like to apologize for this chapter taking so comparatively longer to put out. Life and trying to make this story more in-line with the 40K universe, such as with correct terminology and such, take their toll on you if you try and memorize it all. Also, I would like to extend a massive, heartfelt thanks to my new additional proofreader and beta-reader, Akularz-Shati. Her insight into the 40K universe has helped me immensely, and I look forward to more of their advice and helpful brainstorming ideas. Also, many props to my fellow 40K enthusiast and brainstormer, Amir-015: without them, as well as my original beta-reader Flame Falcon, this story would be nowhere near as good as it is.

A/N 3: also, those planets and systems mentioned? Completely made up by myself, may or may not go into further detail on them in later chapters. As always, if you have any questions, comments or concerns, do not hesitate to leave them in a review, or to PM me.