Veteran Battle-Brother Paulo Octavian's eyes hurt in the sterile brightness of the room within which he awoke. His body ached, the rituals of awakening seeming to have been neglected in arousing him from his protective slumber. His skin, oily from the secretions that his body produced to protect him from the harshness of vacuum, itched badly around the augmentic plugs and protrusions extending from his skin.
He took in his surroundings, trying to get his bearings on where he was and what he was doing. He was not on the Oath of Terra – that much was certain. Nor was he on any other ship of the Imperial Navy, the designs were too alien to be the product of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Which meant that he was at the mercy of those outside of the Emperor's mercy.
Though not being on the Oath of Terra was hardly surprising, he supposed. Given that his last memory was of watching its death.
He remembered the great battle, the war with the Orkish Hordes. An ambush – they had been overwhelmed. Greenskin warriors were aboard the Battle Barge before they'd been able to properly mount a defense. The Warlord Kiznik must have diverted the majority of his army to have that many bodies on hand for a single boarding action.
It was mere chance that he was delivering a note to the Apothecary on behalf of his Sargent when the attack came. He was barely more than a Battle-Brother himself, nowhere near worthy enough of a warrior to be defending the ship's repository of gene-seed. Such a task was for more senior Chapter Veterans, but he'd willing rose to it when the Apothecary ordered all Brothers in the vicinity to protect the vault. The most heavily guarded and well armored part of the Oath of Terra.
The Orks, always eager to fight the heartiest of opponents, swarmed the hardened fortress of the Gene Vault. The future of the chapter depended upon protecting the repository of gene-seed. The Imperial Fists defended their legacy valiantly, Brothers sacrificing themselves without hesitation. They fought in close quarters combat, breaking the greenskin horde on the spear of their indominable spirit. But in the end, they hadn't the bodies necessary to stave off the threat forever.
The Commander had ordered the ship's self-destruction rather than allow the Orks to capture a Battle Barge, consigning what remained of the 6th Company to death. Their orders were to keep engaging the Orks so that they wouldn't' remove their forces from the Barge before its destruction, a pyrrhic victory but one that would rob Warlord Kiznik of his most elite fighters. Hopefully their loss would be enough to allow the remaining Imperial armies to secure victory.
The Gene Vault, however, could not be sacrificed. It was to be preserved at all costs. So, before the warp-engines were finally overloaded to consign all aboard to oblivion, the vault had to be jettisoned. The distress beacon would summon any Space Marine vessel to recover it and return it to the Apothecaries on board the Phalanx. It would, however, have to be manned. A single warrior would be consigned to slumber within to ensure that no harm came to the future of the chapter. If some alien menace or chaos interloper were to open the vault they would have to overcome the warrior within – tasked with the holy mission of protecting the vault from harm or destroying it before an enemy gained access to the knowledge within.
Paulo was not supposed to have been that warrior.
This was the holy task of a ships Apothecary, the final duty he held if all else failed. Paulo remembered cradling the Apothecary's decapitated body outside the vault, begging the Emperor for there to be someone – anyone – more capable of fighting to take the task. Paulo wasn't afraid of the duty, but there were so many more skilled warriors than him. But there was no other to take the task. He had to climb into the vault, ejecting it into space so that the Commander could safely destroy the ship.
He watched his world implode as the vault careened out into the blackness of space. The Battle Barge that served as the 6th Company's headquarters bursting in an explosion of warp lighting as the stasis chamber activated, suspending him in time. His last thoughts were prayers to the Emperor, begging for the sacrifice of his Brothers not to be in vain.
When he'd finally awakened, it was to the keening klaxon of a proximity alert. A human being had finally encountered the vault. But when he exited the Vault, half-blind and frostbitten from excessive time in stasis, his nostrils were near overpowered with the foul stench of xenos. He'd tried to defend his future Battle-brothers, but the cowardly xenos had disappeared in a flash of light – stranding him and the vault in utter darkness.
He'd scrambled about in the horrible darkness, the illuminator from his armor revealing the horrible truth. By some foul xenos devilry, both the vault and its protector were buried beneath the ground. There would be no escape from this prison – there were no doors to break, no locks to pick, no passages to traverse and no enemies to fight. His captors were content to leave him buried alive.
Paulo wasn't sure when the madness overtook him. In a flash, it was as though his mind ceased to be his own. His body twitched rapidly, his arms and legs jerking at odd moments from the vaguest idea. Wild, cruel thoughts overpowered his reason as adrenaline pumped through his body without end. His captors continued to taunt him. Appearing and disappearing with ease, mocking any sense of decency in the ease with which they toyed with him. His horror only increased as it became clear that these – things – were able to manipulate the natural laws at will. Within their domain they seemed able to force the very forces of the universe to obey their whims.
And then the madness finally showed him the truth. They'd worked hard to create the illusion they placed him in, but he knew it to be an illusion – nothing more. For all their talent at trickery, their knowledge was flawed with respect to the holy technologies of the Empire. For when he went to examine the gene-stock he realized that they'd failed to imitate the Vault.
And then the rage came. He wasn't sure how he'd convinced himself to defile the machine spirit of his armor to create the explosive or what had made him sure that it would disrupt the lie they'd trapped him in, but he knew one thing for sure. They had separated him from the Vault. The future of the Imperial Fists depended on him.
He only remembered fragments after that. Battle, pain, death – he didn't recall who he'd killed, though he knew he'd shed the blood of those who stood to prevent him from finding the Vault. And then he was here – staring at the woman who'd visited him in a dream.
"Witch." He growled, glaring at the curly haired sorceress and her crimson haired lackey. They were surrounded by men in gold and black uniforms, each of them holding what could only be weapons.
The woman replied in her language, speaking in soothing tones as though she were addressing a spooked animal. He flexed his arms, disgusted as he realized that an unseen force was preventing his exit though nowhere near as disgusted as he was to realize that they'd stripped him of his armor. Defilers, how dare they desecrate the machine spirit of his armor in that fashion?
He ignored their attempts at communication, choosing instead to recite the litanies of his people. For though they robbed him of his armor and stole his charge, they could never take his faith. "While vile mutants still draw breath, there can be no peace. While obscene heretics' hearts still beat, there can be no respite. While faithless traitors still live, there can be no forgiveness. With the bolter, cleanse the unclean. I will cleanse! With the flamer, purify the unholy. I will purify! With the chain-sword, purge the corrupt. I will purge! With the missile, kill the impure. I will kill! Primarch! Progenitor, to your glory and the glory of Him on Earth!"
He spoke for hours, reciting every prayer and catechism that he could remember. He recited the history of the chapter, the glory of victory. He spoke of the destruction of the heretic, witch, demon, and xeno. He spoke till his lips hurt from the continued motion, and then he spoke more – working himself into a religious fury. He was their prisoner but he would show them the defiant heart of a Space Marine. He would recite truth till kingdom come.
The women nodded, continuing their infuriating tone of placid platitudes. The fools truly believed that he would forgive their transgressions or become their pet? The Emperor was his shied and sword, and he would fear not evil.
It was through the recitation of a Black Templar Vow that he'd heard only once that a curious thing happened. There was a loud chime, and a mechanical female voice spoke in perfect High Gothic. "Translation matrix complete – activating 'Jack and the Beanstalk' protocol."
He faltered slightly in his recitation, somewhat unnerved by the voice but did not silence the fervor with which he spoke. "Trust in the Emperor at the hour of battle. Trust to him to intercede, and protect his warriors true as they deal death on alien soil. Turn their seas to red with the blood of their slain.
Crush their hopes, their dreams and turn their songs into cries of lamentation."
The women flinched at that, their infernal machine seemingly translating his words into something they could understand. Paulo smiled, good – he hoped they'd recorded his earlier words so they could feel the fury of his recitations. The curly haired woman spoke, her words coming out in High Gothic. "Good morning. My name is Deanna Troi and this is Doctor Beverly Crusher. We've been treating your wounds."
Paulo wasn't going to waste time giving his name. "I remember your name witch."
"That's a bit harsh for someone who just helped you wake from a coma." Deanna replied. "Not much of a 'thank you' is it?"
"I do not plan to thank a witch for entering my mind uninvited." Paulo replied. "I do not intend to befriend my kidnappers."
"You are not a prisoner." Deanna replied.
"And yet I am kept in bondage." Paulo strained against the unseen force, impotently struggling against the smooth metal of his cot.
"We were worried that you would react adversely to your sudden change of scenery. You were highly agitated when you woke from stasis and had a negative reaction to getting transported onto the ship." The redhead explained. "I had to repair your implants to repair a brief bout of psychosis."
"I see. And now that I am no longer 'psychotic' I am to be released from my bonds? Am I to be returned my armor and weapons? Given the Vault that is my charge and mine alone?" Paulo queried caustically.
"There are concerns regarding that." Deanna replied. "You hurt several members of our crew. You even killed some. Our head of security is worried that given the chance, you might do harm to more. He is going to need to be sure that you won't do anything to hurt our crew before we do anything that drastic."
Paulo laughed. "I see – how foolish of me to believe that I were a prisoner. Odd, I am unaccustomed to conditions of parole being associated with a guest."
"You killed people." Deanna shook her head. "I know that it was a result of your injured mind, but we can't just pretend that didn't happen."
Paulo's brow furrowed in confusion before it dawned on him. She seemed to be under the impression that his capture would bother him less than the actions he'd taken while in the grips of the madness. "Witch – I feel no guilt at having slain my captors. I would have done so had you captured me and taken me against my will in perfect health. You have no right to my person or to take me from my holy task. I am not some pet Grynx that you can capture from its den and woo into domestication. I am a warrior. Kill me or let me go – but do not patronize me or presume to speak my mind for me."
"We truly do wish to become friends." The witch sighed, a sad desperation in her voice. "It was not our intention to make you our prisoner."
"The greatest heretics and traitors in history chose their paths thinking they were making the right choice." Paulo replied. "If you wish for me to have my freedom then give it to me. Give me my belongings and send me back."
"We can't – not just yet." The redhead replied.
"My liberty is not yours to choose, woman." Paulo sneered. "I am a warrior of the God Emperor of Mankind, and I will not be denied."
The woman was unimpressed by his tone. "I'm sure you're very intimidating but I was being literal. We physically cannot transport you down to the planet without undoing the work I just did to heal you. We can't 'just send you back' the way you came without reducing you into a gibbering, violent madman too insane to feed himself. Now I 'don't presume to speak your mind' but I assume that you would quite like to retain some semblance of sanity once all is said and done. So, I'm going to keep you under observation for the moment to make sure there aren't any health complications. For the next two days, you're not getting out of my sight."
"I am not – " Paulo interjected only for the woman to speak over him.
"I am your doctor. You can hate me and insult me, but I will not allow you to waste my time. Now I'm going to go back to the med bay to help my other patients but in the meanwhile you are going to work things out with Deanna so that we decide what to do next. I don't especially care if we have to do it with you restrained and sedated or with you walking off this ship in your armor and retaining your 'warrior's dignity' that men like you always seem to be so invested in maintaining but you will speak to her with a civil tongue and stop calling her witch or so help me I will reduce your pain medication and let you feel exactly how bad the injuries to your face and body really feel. Do you understand."
"I do." Paulo replied.
"I do, Doctor Crusher." The woman said angrily.
"I do, Doctor Crusher." The woman would have made a decent Inquisitor. "The W… I mean, Deanna, and I will speak."
"Good." The Doctor turned on her heel. "Now play nice. I need to report his to Will."
Paulo watched her leave, unsure what to do now that he was running out of litany to recite.
"Let's start again." Deanna spoke. "My name is Deanna, what is yours."
"I am Veteran Battle-brother Paulo Octavian of the Imperial Fists. Last survivor of the 6th company and protector of the God Emperor's most holy realm." Paulo replied.
"That's a bit much to say at once." She replied. "Do you mind if I call you Paulo."
"If you must." Paulo relaxed on his cot, resigned to the coming interrogation.