3rd company of the Silver Griffons Space Marine Chapter. Eternally in service to the Emperor of Mankind and the Imperium of Man.
Brother Gechorus sat in his cabin and polished his armour. Gazing into the eyes of his helmet he considered the weight of what it meant to have been entrusted with it; terminator armour was not a commodity that was sparingly handed out and he looked on it with pride. He was anticipating the next time he would have to don its protection and relished the opportunity to represent the Emperor's wrath. To be a space marine was to be humanity's finest and to be one of only five terminators in the company was to be the best of the best.
There was tapping at the door, who would knock on the cabin of a space marine? Gechorus set his helmet down on the bed beside him, and rose to open the door.
Standing outside was a woman, a pretty thing, she was wearing a plain green outfit, similar to the fatigues guardsmen would wear, but with none of the combat gear or imperial iconography. She carried a book, clutched against her chest, as if it was some form of comfort to her in an unfamiliar place.
"Hello," she said in a timid and shaky voice, "I am writing an account of the space marines on this campaign and I was wondering if I could ask you some questions."
"A writer?" wondered Gechorus out loud, "Do you have permission to be here?"
"I do," said the woman, she flicked the corners of her book until she found the document she wanted; she then showed it to the space marine. "It has all the required seals, this is perfectly legal, don't worry."
Gechorus was still suspicious, in all his time in the chapter he had never heard of any form of documentarist being allowed with the Astartes themselves, and he hadn't heard anything of this meeting beforehand.
"You don't have to let me in," said the writer, "if you don't want to take part, I can just move on, it's totally up to you."
Gechorus handed back her stamped document and asked, "What is this for?"
"It's writing for the masses," she said with a smile, "I want to make the space marines look more heroic by giving the people a more intimate view of how they operate."
Gechorus opened his cabin door wide, inviting her in. There are not many items of comfort in a space marine's cabin and Gechorus had to indicate to her that she could sit on the bed, and she did. She sat cross legged at the foot of the bed, she was careful not to touch anything in the room, like the massive terminator armour that was arranged on the floor, and she kept her distance from the helmet on the bed, for fear of disturbing any sacred rituals she might be interrupting. She bounced up and down slightly to get herself comfortable, but seemed disappointed by the hardness of the mattress.
Gechorus sat on the bed where he was polishing his armour earlier.
"I'm sorry," said the writer, "I never said who I was; my name is Xilthara," she held her hand out to shake the space marine's.
"I have never heard that name before, where are you from?" asked Gechorus, ignoring the handshake.
"It's an unusual name, I know," said Xilthara with a smile, "my mother comes from Salidaris, and she wanted to give me a name from her home land."
Gechorus barely acknowledged her reply; he lifted his helmet from his side and continued to inspect it.
"And your name is?" she coaxed, tentatively.
"Gechorus."
"OK, Gechorus." Xilthara opened her book, took a pen from her pocket and began writing. "I see you wear terminator armour," she said, craning her neck round to see if she could get a better view of the space marine's face. "How did you receive the right to wear it into battle? No doubt through some heroic act in service to the Emperor."
"I earned the honour of wearing terminator armour through experience; for five hundred years, I have served the Emperor in war, I have been entrusted with this armour as a sign of my devotion and my combat prowess." Xilthara smiled on, nodding slightly to encourage him to divulge more. "There was no single act of heroism that elevated me within the chapter, no one story to tell."
"Can you tell me a little more about yourself?" she asked.
Gechorus looked at her, "What do you want to know? You already know that I am part of the Silver Griffons' Third Company, what else is there?"
"Where are you from?" asked Xilthara, "You weren't always a space marine."
"I come from Theadosis, like all other Silver Griffons," he explained, "I was a fine warrior in my youth and I was chosen to become a space marine. My story through the chapter is the same as any other Astartes here, we all went through the same trials and training, most of us went on the same missions, and we all had the same experiences."
"How do you feel about where we are going? We are in warp travel now, is it like any other mission? Does it feel any different?"
"No," said the space marine simply, "We have been called out to face an Ork problem. It's a mission like any other."
"Do you ever get nervous before a mission? I would get nervous if I had to go and fight all the time."
"I have been waging war for five hundred years," said Gechorus, "and I know no fear."
Gechorus kept answering her questions until she decided it was time to stop. He answered all her questions fully, but when Xilthara had gone, he couldn't help but feel that he hadn't given her anything she didn't already know; like her entire visit to him was a complete waste of time. He continued to prepare his armour…
Gechorus serviced his assault cannon, every barrel, every join, every moving part, had to be in total working order and in the best possible condition. He checked his Powerfist for damage, there was minimal damage to the middle finger, but smoothing out the small imperfection was still a long and difficult task as ceramite is hard and strong, like the noble Astartes that wear it.
Servicing one's own tactical dreadnought armour was hard work, but that was good. Everything he was doing, he was doing in the Emperor's name; all the work, all the toil, all the bloodshed, all for the Emperor and Holy Terra. What more noble cause could there be. He kept working away, for days he worked his armour to perfection; keeping the mind focussed on his holy work for the emperor, for an idle mind wanders in dark places.
There was another knock on the door, it was Xilthara. "You disturb me again?" he probed.
"Hi, we are getting near the end of our warp jump, could I ask for some more of your time?"
"If you must," he said as he opened his door wide for her again.
She looked around, the war gear she saw the first time she was in the cabin was still placed on the floor in exactly the same way as it was the last time she saw it. "Have you been servicing your armour the whole time?" asked Xilthara as she made her way to the bed again.
"My armour is my soul, and my soul's dedication, its armour," Gechorus recited.
"Yeah, I heard that," she said, "but I didn't know you actually took it literally," she sat down on the bed, where she sat before, "it's been two whole days," she explained to him, "has anything changed since the last time we spoke?"
Gechorus was almost unaware of the time passing, as he was so engrossed in the maintenance of his equipment. "I am still awaiting the call to arms and the drop with my battle brothers, nothing has changed."
She opened her book and readied her pen, "Do you talk with your brothers at all before a drop?"
"We do not make time for idle chatter."
She looked at him puzzled, "You don't talk about anything?" He just gave her a stern look back in agreement. She looked around the room, searching for something to talk about. "Can I take a closer look at your armour?"
Gechorus didn't take long to make up his mind, "Of course," he said. He knew that the worst she could do was to smudge the perfect sheen he had given the silver, and that wasn't all that bad considering what the Orks were likely to do to it in a few hours.
"I thought the tech priests maintained the space marine armour."
"In this chapter, the adeptus mechanicus are responsible for repairs; but it is the responsibility of each Astartes to take pride in the appearance of his armour, and to ensure that it will work flawlessly."
She crouched down to inspect it, it was immaculate, she dare not touch it, for a mere fingerprint would spoil the beauty of it. "It's perfect," she commented.
"It is the representation of my dedication to the Emperor."
"You should be very happy with your job," she commented, "it looks like new."
A small smile crept on to the face of the cold, hard Space Marine, he wasn't used to compliments.
She continued to inspect the rest of what was on show. She could recognise the big solid parts of the armour, but she couldn't guess the exact purpose of what she could only assume were the mechanical and interface components of the apparatus. "How long does it take to put it on?"
"It takes a team of twenty tech priests and servitors two hours to fully arm me."
"Two hours?" she exclaimed.
"The armour is complicated."
"Yeah, I know but that's insane. I assume it takes that long again to remove it?"
Gechorus nodded. "I will only have it removed at the end of the campaign, when the tech priests have the time to do so."
"It must take a lot of dedication," she commented.
"We are all fully dedicated, heart and soul, body and mind."
She looked thoughtful as she wrote in her book. "I wish I could show that kind of dedication," she said.
"Then thank the Emperor that you don't have to."