Armorum Fidei Chapter 4
Justini awoke with a start, her head swimming and back aching. Sleeping in power armour was never easy and twice as worse when slouched in a jostling Rhino. She blinked furiously and saw the rest of her squad dozing peacefully, heads tucked into their necks. They had been driving all night, heading back to their convent after visiting several more Train-cities. It had been important work, impressing the God-Emperor's faith onto the masses, but Justini was wrung out and eager to peel her armour off. Several days locked into Ceramite would make anyone stink.
"Awake?" Praxi asked as her head rolled up.
"I thought you…" Justini yawned, "Were asleep,"
"We woke up an hour ago," Resita chimed in, "Watched dawn breaking outside."
"Dawn already," Justini mumbled, "Nearly back to home."
"Throne I need a shower," Praxi grumbled, "A straw bed and a bowl of fortified porridge never looked so good."
Justini sniffed, "Enjoy it while it lasts, we'll be back to the wars soon enough."
Praxi looked worried as she mused, "Are you sure?"
"What do you mean?"
"This was supposed to be a sixth-month deployment, but it's been nine. A nice easy exercise to recover after seeing too much death at the front, but I'm starting to wonder if a ship is ever coming to pick us up."
Justini sniffed, "It's probably an oversight, lost orders, Astropathic interference, ships delayed in the warp: the usual."
But Praxi muttered, "I've been talking to some of the other Sisters, they've been stuck here years and years. None of them can recall seeing anyone go back to the stars. Some whisper Suna is a dead-end for Ecclesiarchy careers, that once you get sent here you never go back. They say Suna is a dumping ground for those who cross the local Cardinal, the broken and those too dumb to avoid this assignment."
"Scurrilous gossip," Resita snapped, "We have a Canoness with us, they wouldn't dump Phantea to rot. We're here to sort out this planet's lack of faith and when we do we'll go back to the God-Emperor's wars."
"Only the Ecclesiarchy has been trying to do that for millennia and had no success," Praxi argued, "How many generations of Missionaries and sisters have wasted their lives banging their heads against that brick wall?"
Justini didn't like that talk in the slightest and said, "I need some air," Justini left them to it as she stood and made her way to the front of the Rhino. She avoided the servitor driving the transport and placed her foot on a step to boost her head out of the hatch. A cold wind hit her exposed face, bringing with it the wet tang of endless fields of algae. She squinted at the low sun, barely warming this planet enough to support life. Some worlds could be beautiful in their desolation, stunning vistas of craggy mountains, tangled jungle or crashing seas. Suna was not such a planet, it was drab and plain and uninspiring. The endless plains were all the same and the smell of mulch being churned by the Rhino's tracks clung to the skin, making one feel moist constantly. What wouldn't she give for a single mountain, to watch pass by, but there was nothing to see out here.
Jusitini was left with her thoughts as they rolled on, chewing on what her Sisters had said. This was supposed to be a simple six-month assignment, but they were long overdue for recall and that boded ill. Had the Order forgotten they were out here, had they been left to rot on this bleak moor for the rest of their lives? She prayed not, she wanted to be somewhere she could make a difference, somewhere her skills could be applied. The idea of being abandoned again harrowed her soul.
Justini felt the ache in her heart but her hand touched her throat. Under her armour hung a single ring on a plain necklace. It was all she had of her mother, the one token left to her in the orphanage where she had been dumped as a baby. Justini didn't know who her mother was, and had spent countless hours wondering. That she was a serving officer was obvious, else the Schola Progenium wouldn't have taken her in, but her rank and role was a mystery. Some nights the thought nagged that her mother hadn't loved her, wanting only to be rid of an unplanned baby, not caring what became of the child. The notion gnawed at her spirit but Justini clung to the imagined ideal that her mother had fought and died valiantly in some terrible conflict, giving her life for Mankind and the God-Emperor. Surely such a brave warrior would not put up with griping about one's lot, content to serve however they could. Justini told herself to be as brave as her imagined mother, to accept her role without complaint, but it didn't truly convince her.
Justini watched as the sun crept higher, illuminating the world as she strained for the first glimpse of home. A smudge on the horizon caught her eye and she peered eagerly as the Sister's base came into view. Towers and domes and gun batteries were picked out as details emerged and she saw the magnificent sight of Currens Ecclesia emerge, perhaps the only worthwhile view on the planet. A stately bastion-convent as redoubtable as the greatest Cathedral of Ophellia VII, yet unique in the galaxy, for it was walking towards them. Currens Ecclesia: the walking church.
The mobile-convent rose above the plains on towering cantilevered legs, each twenty metres tall. They were built into paired gimbals, and worked in tandem, wheezing pistons driving them ever onwards. Forty legs, all working together to carry the convent across Suna. Above those moving pillars a curved hull, like an aquatic boat's keels rested, containing the arcane machinery and plasma reactors that made such a wonder possible. Resting upon what would have been the deck was the convent itself, rows of transepts, naves, and spires set out in rows, some of them hanging over the edge to make it look like they would fall. The prow was dominated by a single domed building, riding high over the landscape, steershouse and primary chapel of the convent its stained-glassic windows black as spider's eyes in the dawn light. Further back seven soaring towers rose even higher, supported by flying buttresses. Each of them carried a great brass bell, that chimed in tune with the convent's plodding walk, ringing out praises ceaselessly day and night. From those towers cyber-gargoyles swung to and fro, ugly hunch-backed creations of clone-flesh and metal, scampering up and down the towers and across the domed roofs with a purpose Justini had never been able to deduce.
The entire edifice was a stunning display of faithful devotion, a walking shrine to the God-Emperor, as macabre as it was wondrous and yet it was no gaudy curio. The domes and spires looked fragile from afar yet closer were revealed to be thick and well-armoured. The walls were dotted with gun emplacements and heavy artillery, while anti-air batteries elevated long barrels across its length. Sisters of Battle and Frater Militia manned those guns night and day, a veritable army waiting for the call to fight. As if that wasn't enough the front of Currens Ecclesia supported a Macro-weapon of staggering might. Where a Cathedral's doors would have been instead protruded a barrel as wide as two men standing on top of each other. A Nemesis Quake-Cannon, a dreaded siege weapon to rival the ordnance of a Warbringer Titan's main gun. There was not a Train-City on Suna that could withstand such power and the threat of the Imperium's wrath was plain for all to see.
Justini heard vox-calls from below, as they signalled their approach and Currens Ecclesia slowed to permit them entry. A heavy ramp extended downwards, touching the ground to allow their Rhino to enter the mobile-convent. Justini lurched as the Rhino mounted the ramp and climbed swiftly, driving into a cavernous opening that hung under the prime chapel like a mouth. The sun disappeared and Justini blinked furiously as she tried to see what awaited them.
The Rhino turned right and ground to a halt, and Justini's eyes beheld a garage filled with black vehicles. Rhino, Immolators and Exorcists, set out in lines and tended to by servitors and lay-adepts. There were even three Paragon Warsuits, standing guard at the door and pointing their weapons out into the world. Noble Sisters were strapped into the hearts of them, their arms and legs steering the suit's limbs with their motions. They reminded Justini of Penitent Engines, save that their pilots were honoured heroines, entrusted to protect the mobile-convent, and they could dismount from their war machines instead of being permanently sealed within.
The doors slid shut, closing off all outside light and Justini hastily ducked back into the Rhino. She grabbed her polearm as the Celestian dismounted and took up a parade stance behind Phantea. The Canoness led them away, heading towards the rear of the garage. Adepts and lower-ranked Sisters made the sign of the holy Aquila as they passed and Phantea kept her stride steady as they departed. Heavy doors came and went and the noise abated as the Celestians turned for their quarters, only to be surprised to find a dishevelled man awaiting them.
Justini pulled up short as Phantea ground to a halt before they ran the man over. It would have been easy for he was short and frail, his limbs thin and lacking in muscle. He seemed hunched in heavy grey robes, and the tarnished chain around his neck seemed to be dragging his shoulders over. His eyes were yellow and watery and his nose veined by red lines. He smelled distinctly of cheap rotgut, a drunkard who was never far from a bottle. Not the kind of jolly sot who roared with laughter but the kind of alcoholic who was trying to obliterate all memories. The man was a wretch, in Justini's opinion, but also the appointed leader of Currens Ecclesia: Eparch-Frater Tyreck, highest-ranking member of the Ecclesiarchy on Suna.
"Canoness," Tyreck mumbled in a pathetic attempt at a greeting.
"Friar Tyreck," stated Phantea icily.
Justini winced at that, using the diminutive form of his title was an insult that would have provoked dire recriminations from a more assertive leader. Yet Tyeck seemed not to care as he asked, "How was your little excursion?"
Phantea lifted her chin and declared, "We visited half a dozen Train-cities and taught them the folly of heathen idolatry."
"Hah, you really think it's that simple," Tyreck scoffed, "I can't remember what it was to be so naive."
"You forget yourself," Phantea growled.
Tyreck pined, "It would make things easier if I only could."
Praxi turned her head a fraction and whispered, "Throne, I think he's drunk… again."
Justini muttered, "It would be quieter if he was."
Phantea leaned in and growled, "Were your office not so exalted I would have you on an excruciation-rack for lack of zeal."
Tyreck sighed, "Keep thinking that way, please do, you'll miss the fire when you've been here ten years or more."
Phantes growled, "I will not be here so long. I'll get this planet praying properly in short order, then be off to the stars."
"Sterner souls than you have tried," Tyreck lamented, "All came to the same sad end. You'll see, you and I are going to be stuck together for the next century or two."
Phantea looked down her nose at the wretch and hissed, "Was there a point to this or did you merely want to rub your failures in my face, Friar?"
Tyreck blinked wearily then replied, "Oh… that's right… I have news. While you were out on your jaunt Suna has had visitors. The local Space Marine Chapter has landed, the Storm Heralds."
"Space Marines!" Justini gasped in surprise, "Is there a war coming?!"
"Hold your place," Phantea barked, "You, explain this."
Tyreck shrugged, "It's not what you think, they're only here to train. The Storm Heralds maintain a practice zone on Suna, a place to drill with their vehicles, it's harder to imagine more perfect tank country."
Phantea frowned, "I have heard of some disturbing practices among Storm Heralds. Preaching deviant creeds to the masses and trying to subvert the righteous authority of the Ecclesiarchy."
Tyreck sniffed, "Once, when I first landed, they did so. They tried to convert the people to their own version of the Creed, and had even less success than we've had, but they seem to have given up on that. Now they only come by every few years to drive around and blow holes in the landscape, then proceed to bugger off again."
"Still, we should send forces to make sure they keep to their Emperor-appointed role and do not think to return to deviant practices."
Tyreck sniffed, "It's pointless, they'll be gone before you blink. Best to stay away. We ignore them, they ignore us, and we all go back to our lives."
Phantea sneered, "At every turn you display your weakness."
"Do as you will then," Tyreck retorted as he threw up his hands, "Go shout at them and get gunned down or driven over. Maybe that'll stop you harping in my ear."
With that the man turned and shuffled away, doubtless to get drunk again and pass out in his quarters. Justini watched him go and wondered how any man, a priest no less, could become so dissolute and apathetic. But in the back of her mind a tiny voice whispered that after a few decades on this dreary world she might feel the same way.
Praxi broke the silence to muse, "Storm Heralds… Storm Heralds… that sounds familiar."
Phantea retorted, "That was the Chapter of disgraced penitents we met in our war of faith."
"That's where I heard the name!" Justini gasped, "I knew it sounded familiar."
"They won the war," Resita mused, "But lost their Chaplain in doing so."
Justini remembered it well. She had been caught in a moral crisis, duty to the order against duty to friends, and had been advised by the stern and scarred Chaplain. Wrethan, he had been named, and his stern wisdom had gone hand in hand with his shameful pain. She wondered if his kin would remember him and mourn his passing, or do their best to forget the disgraced Marine ever existed.
Her musings were cut short as Phantea declared, "We must address this, head to your billet and get washed and recharge your armour. We leave before the day is out to confront these Storm Heralds."
The Celestians bowed their heads and then turned to march away as Praxi muttered, "So much for a few days rest."
Justini however kept quiet, wondering if this would prove a warm renewing of old bonds, or the start of a conflict they would bitterly regret.
