One Word

001.M42

The council chamber rang with the dreary voices of pompous dignitaries. For hours they had waffled on, boring all within to tears and they seemed to be willing to keep on droning for hours more. In the high rafters of the Cathedral-like space choir-boys played jacks, thinking they passed unseen. In the back rows of the pews fat merchants snoozed with their chins buried in their chests while their mistresses preened in a complex dance of superiority. Minor lords and lesser generals skimmed data-slates in a pretence of important business, while in truth they were reading news of local sports teams and tawdry back-alley dramas. Nobody was listening to the speeches, save one.

Sitting on a dais in the centre of the auditorium Tithe-Legate Appbe watched the proceedings with interest. He was an aged scholar of a man with a bald scalp and a long beard. His robe was faded green and bore numerous symbols of the Administraum, set alongside the heraldry of the Macedoa Sector. The hierarchy of the Adeptus Terra was byzantine and convoluted, but for all intents and purposes Appbe ran the Administratum in this sector. Through a combination of authority, bribery, blackmail and sheer force of will all other functionaries feared his stern gaze. Yes, Appbe was the master of his own little demesne, but unfortunately not all he surveyed.

Appbe cast his gaze across the ring of chairs and saw his peers. Merchant princes, generals, heads of various institutions and Tech-Magi. These were the leaders of the Macedoa Sector, its ruling body of dignitaries. Each one of them commanded vast wealth and privilege, armies of servants and literal armies too. All of them equal in service to the Golden Throne and equal in the contempt they held for the common masses. All of them were shamelessly embezzling Imperial funds, greedily plundering the wealth of the sector even as the Cicatrix Maledictum split the galaxy in twain. None of them questioned this behaviour, in the heartlands of Segmentum Solar such behaviour was traditional and expected of rulers.

The local Cardinal finally fell silent and lowered himself into a seat. Into the fresh silence a gruff man snorted, "Finally he stops speaking, I thought I'd died and gone to a very dull hell." That was Lord Militant Bernas, de facto head of all armed forces in the Sector. Technically it was his duty to secure the God-Emperor's dominions, but he was spectacularly uninterested in the obligations of his office. His primary interest was in adding to the ever-growing number of chins that hung from his jowls.

Across from him a pinch-faced woman hissed, "No matter that, what are we going to do about Terra?" That was Jesset, speaker of the Chartist Captains, the Imperium's civilian fleet. She wore a long jacket with many medals of dubious authenticity and a powered wig that hung over her shoulders. She looked decadent and effete, and she was, but she was also the richest soul in the Sector.

"What of it?" Bernas scoffed, "Let Terra mind its own affairs while we mind ours."

Jesset retorted, "Terra's problems have a way of becoming our problems. We need to act."

Bernas snorted, "I can't remember the last time you acted. As always your solution is someone else should do something."

"You are the military, it's your job!" Jesset sneered.

"I know my job better than a jumped up dock-rat," Bernas scoffed.

Appbe gritted his teeth, knowing under Bernas' leadership a dozen worlds had been lost in the last solar year alone. These two represented all that was wrong with the Imperium, blind to the needs of the galaxy and interested only in their own advancement. True, Appbe had little interest in the lot of the common man either, but at least he saw the pillars of their society were crumbling. Someone had to do something and this lot were incapable, they were not the right people to save the galaxy.

He coughed loudly and declared, "My lords, we must take this seriously. The newly appointed Imperial Regent demands access to our sector assets and to draft our armies to his cause. His new Indomitus Crusade is voracious in its needs."

Bernas laughed out loud, "You believe that twaddle of a resurrected Primarch?! Ha, I knew you were dull-witted Appbe, but I never took you for gullible."

Jesset added, "Propaganda, pure propaganda. Terra thinks to dazzle us with a hallowed name."

"I assure you, the reports of Roboute Guilliman's return are genuine," Appbe protested.

But Bernas snorted, "Oh I'm sure they've found a very convincing look-a-like. Some Space Marine in glittery armour and platform soles, but it isn't him. Roboute Guilliman is forever locked in stasis on Macragge; all know it to be true."

Jesset agreed, "The Senatorum Imperiallis is pulling some elaborate con. It is not him."

Suddenly a crone-like voice interjected, "His identity is confirmed, but what matters is that we stop him." Appbe winced for that was Hachar, Grand Dame of the Inquisition and Mistress of the Sector Ordos. Her ancient features were hidden in a shadowy robe but her eyes were keen and her wit sharp. Few knew anything of her life for her history was an enigma, one she took care to deepen with every year that passed. Only two things were certain, every time something significant happened in the sector her personal wealth and reputation were enhanced and all those who stood against her had suffered hilariously unlikely accidents.

Appbe blinked in surprise as he asked, "You believe it is him?"

Hacher nodded, "I do, and he must be stopped."

Bernas frowned as he asked, "Why would you care, shouldn't you be helping him?"

Hacher hissed, "Primarchs were trouble. The restricted histories are clear, they nearly brought the Imperium to ruin once and would do again, if given the chance."

Appbe urged, "But he has been appointed Imperial Regent!"

Hacher snapped, "And already he reorders the Imperium to his tastes! Half the High Lords have been dismissed, their ancient rights and privileges stripped away. If he comes here he will take away our authority. We cannot let it happen, not here. He must be dissuaded from entering the Sector!"

Bernas nodded, "I shall muster our armies on the border and scare him off. I have a hundred ships, two million soldiers. He will turn aside and pass us by rather than tempt our wrath."

Jesset crowed, "We've already sent him a missive warning him off. He won't dare challenge us in our own home. Primarch or not, he will wilt before our strength."

Hacher hissed, "This is our corner of the galaxy, he will not take it from us."

The great room filled with flutters of bravado as the crowd were emboldened but Appbe had yet to play his trump card. He reached into a pocket and drew forth a data-slate proclaiming, "It may interest you to learn that our missive has prompted a response."

Jesset snorted, "So tell us what this pretender says."

"If I may first provide context..." Appbe demurred.

"Context?!" Bernas spat, "Just get on with it man!"

"Please, context matters," Appbe implored.

"Very well but be brief," Hacher hissed.

Appbe cleared his throat and said, "As you recall we sent the following message: Roboute Guilliman, you are hereby commanded to withhold your armies' advance forthwith and respect the sovereign borders of the Macedoa sector. Think not to defy this decree, for if we bring our fleets and armies to bear against you we shall destroy your forces and scatter your followers to the nine vectors."

Jesset leaned back and chortled, "Yes, and what was his reply?"

Appbe looked her in the eye and recited, "If."

Appbe enjoyed the sight of blood draining from Jesset's face and her eyes growing wide as she whispered, "He... he wouldn't dare to fight. Would he?"

Bernas gulped, "I think he would."

Jesset worried professed, "Surely we can prevail against him in battle."

But Bernas muttered, "I'm suddenly thinking a hundred ships and two million soldiers isn't nearly enough."

Silence filled the hall as the implications sank, all souls measuring their chances in battle against a Primarch and not liking the conclusions. Jesset chewed her lip and said, "Maybe... Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way. When he comes he will need resupply and support, he will need local rulers to service his requirements."

Bernas added, "If we make ourselves indispensable to the cause, we may keep a good portion of our authority after he is gone."

It was then Hacher hissed, "He is already indisposed to us, what of our terse message?"

Appbe suggested, "Plead miscommunications and incorrect Astropathic signals. Confusion in the passing of orders. The left hand not knowing what the right hand is doing."

Hacher nodded, "That could pass scrutiny."

"You agree?!" Bernas yelped.

Hacher spat, "I haven't lived this long without knowing when to be pragmatic. We must demonstrate our willingness to comply and offer our full support."

As the conversation turned to matters of logistics Appbe sank into his chair with a quiet grin. One word, that was all Robotue Guilliman had required to defeat the mighty lords of the Macedoa Sector. One word and he had overturned armies and neutralised fleets. For the first time Appbe felt a flicker of hope for the Imperium. Perhaps Roboute Guilliman truly was the right man to save the galaxy.