Brother Joshua of the Third Battle Company sat at a stool in one of the many armory chambers that were scattered about the interior of the Lion's Honor. In front of him lay his mighty and venerable plasma cannon. It was an ancient and powerful weapon, over two thousand years old if the etching on the handle were to be believed, capable of generating a fusion reaction similar to the reaction that fueled the stars. It would then project the plasma from that reaction several thousand yards from the end of the gun's glistening gold barrel, instantly incinerating whatever was struck. Imperial troops called them sun-makers, and there were no personal armors and few vehicle armors in the known galaxy that could withstand a direct hit. Even certain energy shields were unable to withstand the sheer energy that a properly wielded plasma cannon could bring to bear. The golden glint of the polished, heat radiating case of a plasma weapon was often the last thing many a foe of the Imperium would ever see.
However, as Brother Joshua knew, such power rarely came without a price. His weapon was no exception to the rule. The main drawback to the titanic power that plasma weapons delivered was that they were, put lightly, extremely temperamental. Imperial plasma weapons generated huge amounts of heat which needed to be dissipated very quickly in order to ensure the continued survival of both the weapon and its operator. The cooling technology employed was up to the task, but only barely. Improperly handled, the weapon could quickly overheat, causing damage to the internal components and severe burns to the gunner. In exceptional cases involving severe incompetence, the weapon could even melt down and explode, ending both the weapon's usefulness and the life of the person who carried it. For this reason, plasma weapons were widely feared by those with access to them. While none could argue that a generator of small thermonuclear explosion was highly effective in battle, troops were afraid of loosing their lives and commanders of loosing their troops. Only minimal attempts had been made to improve the cooling, as the techpriests of the Adeptus Mechanicus did not fully understand the technology and did not want to offend the machine's spirit, lest it cease functioning. Typically, plasma cannons were relegated to vehicular mountings, where the large heat sinks could properly cool the weapons and prevent overheats. Outside of the space marines of the Adeptus Asartes, the weapons were never issued in any size larger than a rifle. There were rumors that the xenos Tau had developed plasma weapons that were more reliable and safe than the Imperial versions, but the Inquisition barely acknowledged the existence of the Tau Empire and had absolutely nothing to tell anyone save the highest ranking generals and Grand Masters about their technology.
Space Marines, however, were a separate issue. Joshua felt that the reason that Imperial Guardsmen feared the plasma cannon was because they did not show it the proper reverence and respect that it deserved. Fear was not the same as true reverence. He took meticulous care of his weapon, which was named Promethius, a reference to an ancient being of myth who brought fire to dark places. Every day, before he even donned his armor, he would pay due reverence to his cannon's spirit, oiling it's moving parts thoroughly, changing the seals on the fuel canisters, polishing the casing, carefully cleaning the blue cooling coils, checking the machine spirit's settings, and making sure the targeting system properly interfaced with both his armor's machine spirit and his own nervous system, through his black carapace. Joshua's theory was that a properly built, cared for and revered weapon would never fail its owner, and proved it every time he pulled the trigger. He rarely if ever had any malfunctions that he could not isolate and correct immediately, and Promethius had never, ever overheated in his care.
Finishing the morning's arming rites, Joshua first reconnected the fuel, coolant, power, and data lines from the gun to his power pack, and then snapped his power armored gauntlets back on. They sealed to the rest of his suit with a hiss of equalizing pressures and a whiz of servomotors locking in place. He had been working with them off to ensure that the bulky, metal fingers would not cause any damage to the weapon. He then ordered two nearby servitors to re-mount the power-pack onto his back. His face twitched slightly as the pack's electrical contacts sought out and connected with the exposed nerve endings in the black carapace, then eased as the connections firmed up. Suddenly, a few bits of information popped into his mind. He suddenly knew that coolant levels were nominal. He was sure that the core temperature of the fusion chamber was currently below optimum but rising steadily. He could see exactly where his shot would go if he were to pull the trigger at that very moment.
Content that his equipment was functioning perfectly, he reached for his helmet with one hand and snapped it on. Once that connected, he "learned" a few more things. Most of them had to do with his armor status, his surrounding environment, and his metabolic functions. One piece of information stood out. He had a summons to report to Hangar 7 immediately. The summons had been held back from him until his arming rites were completed as per an earlier mental command. He sighed. He was late. The Master might be disappointed. Joshua, however, was not overly concerned. Surely one so honored as he would understand the need for the proper preparation. With a quick glance at the devotional sculpture on the top of Promethius, an angel that doubled as a backup sighting mechanism, Brother Joshua walked out of the armory and headed for the lift.
A lone marine sergeant worked out in the 6th cargo hold of the Lion's Honor. The sergeant had picked this particular cargo hold because of its remoteness on the ship- it was used for storing the tanks of fuel that were used to power the marine's flamethrowers, jump jets and vehicles. For that reason it was located as far away from the sub light engines, warp drive, bridge, and hangar as physically possible. The sergeant reveled in the solitude, silently stretching, doing push-ups, jumping jacks, and all those exercises that soldiers have practiced since before the Dark Age of Technology. The sergeant also ran through several martial arts routines; kicking, punching, flipping and jumping with accuracy and power. The sergeant knew that there would have to be a sparring session later- no one could keep their skills sharp through solitary practice only- but the sergeant preferred the feeling of being alone that was difficult to find on a crowded battle-barge.
This sergeant in particular valued the solitude, for this sergeant was unique among all of the other brothers of the chapter. Sergeant Kali was the only female space marine in the Dark Angels chapter and as far as she knew in the entire Imperium. Kali valued the solitude particularly because it gave her time away from the stares of her brothers. Some of the stares were in awe- scouts and junior marines who could not believe that her existence was even possible. Stares from the Chaplains, who disdained her as a breach of dogma, a blasphemy that was tolerated only because of the orders of the chapter leadership. Arrogant stares from her fellow sergeants, who only respected her because she had gone out of her way to prove herself in battle time and again. Appraising stares from the apothecaries and techmarines, who largely viewed her as an experiment in biological engineering and specialized armor design. Kali hated all of these stares. She only felt truly at ease when she was alone or when she was engaged in glorious combat.
There were a few who she respected and didn't look down on her, and she valued them greatly. Some marines recognized her talent for acrobatics and close combat, and respected her for that. Among the scouts and sergeants of the 10th company, she was known for bringing back her charges in one piece. Kali would have and had thrown herself in front of bullets and larger projectiles in order to protect her neophytes. Although she did show concern for her scouts, she believed that it was something that any honorable marine would do in the same situation, she was sick of the "motherly instinct" jokes, and the scouts were but a small part of the thousand marines who made up the chapter. She was still largely regarded with suspicion by a chapter that was infamous for its xenophobia.
It was for these reasons that Kali was disappointed when blast door started to open during her tenth set of calisthenics. She got up from the floor and faced the door with a certain apprehension, but was pleasantly surprised to find Master Gladius walking towards her. He was one of the few marines she truly trusted- he had championed her before when others doubted her loyalty and ability. She saluted him.
"Master Gladius, I am honored."
Gladius returned the salute. "Sister-Sergeant Kali, it is I who is honored. How go your exercises?"
"Outstanding, brother. Would you care for a sparring match? It has been a long time since I have had the chance at such a worthy opponent. Especially one who sees past the shape of my chest plate."
"Sadly, this is not the time, though I may take you up on that offer later. I have come to ask a favor of you."
Kali nearly snarled. "If it's another squad of immature scouts to whip into shape, perhaps you'd care to remember exactly what I told-"
The master cut her off. "Be calm, sister. It is nothing of the sort. The squad that needs your leadership is far from the greened recruits our esteemed colleagues in the 10th company would have you coddle."
"Indeed? And I suppose you'd have me leading Deathwing veterans now, would you?"
"To be honest, no. But these are hardly neophytes. Here," he said, handing her a dataslate, "these are my choices. Perhaps have heard of my mission to find a successor for the venerable Brother-Librarian Colias."
"Indeed," said Kali, taking the slate and activating it, "I have, and likely every Dark Angel this side of the Eye of Terror." She perused the contents of the computer, mostly a collection of personnel files and notes. She was impressed with his selections, despite herself.
"This is quite a selection you have here, Master."
"Then you see why I require your leadership. There are few in this chapter who can weld together such a varied group of marines in the manner that you know you are capable of."
Kali paused to consider this. It was true that she had had problems with other marines in the past, but she did greatly respect Gladius. She was also honored, and slightly flattered, that he had picked her from what surely was an outstanding pool of candidates…
"Very well. Just so long as you are quite sure that this squad of yours will have more respect than some other…marines… that we know of."
"I assure you, they will. Or do you not trust my judgment?" he asked, smirking.
"Oh, of course my brother Shiva. I would trust you with my life." Shiva was Kali's nickname for Gladius, and never used it in the presence of other marines.
"As would I, sister. Though I am sure you could say that for any other marine in the chapter…"
It was Kali's turn to smirk. "At times, I wonder." They both laughed, which was an odd sound for a space marine, very deep, but heartfelt all the same. They stopped after a bit, and Gladius suddenly looked pensive.
"Sister, forgive me, but what is the meaning of 'Shiva'? I have heard you call me that on many occasions, but I know not what it means."
Sergeant Kali was surprised by this sudden outburst of honesty and curiosity, but she took it in stride. "On the planet where I spent my few years before attempting the trial by fire, Shiva was a name for one of the many manifestations of the God-Emperor that the populace believed in. Shiva was both destroyer and redeemer; he danced and worlds crumbled; he danced again and they were reformed. Of every Marine I know, you are most like him."
What she didn't tell him was that in the tradition of her planet, Kali was the name of the jet black-skinned, many armed manifestation of Devi, Shiva's wife. The mythological Kali wore a necklace of skulls, a custom the Sergeant had adopted, and was extremely vicious and ferocious in battle, devouring her foes, but very loyal and devoted to those she loved. Kali had originally chosen this as her new name as a Space Marine for it's ferocity, but after she met Gladius and fought alongside him in battle, she decided he was truly worthy of the title. If perhaps they weren't Marines… but that was not the will of the Emperor. She had never told anyone this. It seemed likely to her that she never would. Space Marines did not show emotions, aside from perhaps righteous anger, or reverence. There was no place for these feelings on a battlefield, where every moment might be your last. And she knew this was true, and in the heat of combat, her work was the only thing on her mind. But in those moments she kept to herself- exercise, mainly, and what free time and rest she had, the thoughts always lingered in the back of the mind.
It was Gladius' turn to be surprised. Even though he had no knowledge at all of the belief systems of whatever planet Kali had come from, and absolutely no knowledge of any deeper meaning than what Kali had told him, he was… honored. Flattered, maybe. More than that, even… Gladius had entered the chapter as a neophyte at the age of 10, and like many Space Marines, had had little time to devote to interpersonal relations or feelings at all, for that matter. But if he had known how to describe the emotion he was now feeling, he might have described it as being touched. Deeply so. No one he could recall had every paid him such a compliment, and meant it. Even good friends like Colias had never compared him to a manifestation of the Emperor. Not seriously, anyway.
"Sister, I..." Gladius struggled for words, but a look from Kali told him she understood. "Thank you," he intoned. They shared a fleeing moment in silence, but then they both got back down to business. Professionalism was instinctual to a space marine.
"Very well. You shall find the squad assembled in hangar 7. You may go commence introductions whilst I assure our ship is in working order."
"Aye, Master. So it shall be done. For the Emperor."
"Indeed. For the Emperor."
Although it was technically a Dark Angels vessel, the Lion's Honor actually carried a proportionally low number of Space Marines. There were actually only 192 or so Marines on board- One Battle Company (100 marines), a platoon of scouts from the 10th company (20 scouts, 4 scout sergeants), a detachment of tanks and support vehicles (20 vehicle crew, 5 techmarines), infantry support staff (5 techmarines, 5 apothecaries), and command staff (1 Grand Master, 2 Masters, 4 Captains, 3 librarians, 3 chaplains, and 10 Deathwing Veterans). Marines ate, breathed, and slept combat, so the systems, navigation and maintenance of their fleets were automated where possible. Where this was impractical or otherwise infeasible, two support mechanisms filled in.
First, a veritable army of Servitors performed many menial and highly dangerous tasks which were not worth risking marines or even normal humans. Servitors were cybernetically enhanced humans who were kept obedient through a mind-wipe, which effectively lobotomized them. This procedure was used as a punishment on large worlds for notorious criminals and heretics- their bodies could serve the emperor where their minds had not. Servitors were occasionally more useful than more intelligent servants, since they could mount extra arms and tools, they did not necessarily need air or regular sustenance, and did not cost much to replace, since there were always more criminals and heretics to be found on the many hive worlds of the Imperium. Thousands of servitors worked tirelessly on every Space Marine ship.
However, some tasks required more intelligence, ingenuity, or breadth of knowledge than a largely mechanized former criminal could provide, and so Space Marine chapters also retained large Servant Clans. These were large families of men who through various ways and means had become retainers of the chapter and grew up training to be servants, flying the ships, commanding the servitors, and generally overseeing tasks that the Marines deemed unworthy of their time. Each large ship would have a human captain, generally the head of his family, who would ensure that the commands of the marines on the ship were carried out faithfully and with expediency. The clans oversaw the piloting, weapons targeting, engineering, and warp drives of the ship, as well as much of the logistics and what repair the Adeptus Mechanicus would allow them. Each family also usually contained a number of Astropath navigators, individuals with special psychic connections to the warp who could guide a ship from one point in the materium, through the warp, and return it to another point in the materium in relative safety (most of the time). Warp travel and interstellar communication was impossible without Astropaths, and a Chapter could not function without its ships, so the Servant Clans enjoyed comfortable positions within the hierarchy of the Imperium.
Thus, for an Imperial citizen, John Hawke could be considered fairly well off, despite his legal status as the "Eternal Property of the Dark Angels Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes," which was what his papers read. He was the third son of Richard Hawke IV, current Patriarch of the Hawke clan and captain of the Lion's Honor. Since his father had only one surviving brother, John could reasonably expect to eventually captain a large strike cruiser and even become Patriarch and gain command of the Lion's Honor itself if he managed to outlast his siblings. At the moment, however, he would have to be satisfied with his status as commanding officer of Punitor, one of the five Hunter class destroyers that deployed with the Lion's Honor. At the age of 27 Imperial years, he was considered fairly young for a commander of a destroyer, and he had earned that distinction in battle, having destroyed a ship more than five times the size of his own, back when he was merely the command pilot of a thunderhawk gunship. For this, and several other ship-to-ship and ship-to-surface engagements, he had been given his own ship and allowed to pick his own crew.
He still belonged to the Dark Angels, though, and thus he found himself standing on his bridge next to Master Gladius, who had recently arrived via Thunderhawk gunship with his detachment. John didn't mind the fact that he had to report to a marine- he knew he owed them his job to begin with- but he sometimes had to deal with marines who believed they could command a ship better than someone who'd spend his entire life learning how. Gladius, thankfully, was not one of those. To him, a ship was merely a means of getting from one battle to the next, and so while he'd closely overseen the loading of his equipment and troops, he stayed on the bridge merely as an observer. He touched his earpiece as a message was delivered to him, and then looked down at Captain Hawke, who, like most normal humans, was much shorter than the Marine.
"Captain, I have received word that the last of my equipment has been brought aboard and secured. You may take us out at your leisure; I trust you have the coordinates I transmitted to you."
"Aye aye, master. Comms?"
"Yes sir?"
"Inform Fleet that we are loaded and prepared to leave. Navigation, power main sublight drives, set course to these coordinates…"
He typed them into a console that stood on a pedestal near the captain's station. "…and prepare the ship for warp travel. Tactical, status?"
"Main batteries offline, point defense on standby; All hatches sealed at maximum airtight integrity; Void shields powered to 83 per cent and rising; Sensors set to medium range and functioning nominally."
"Very well. Astropathics, are you prepared?"
A slow and mystical-sounding voice answered "Yes, sir, the warp behaves calmly… and I perceive our path to be clear. I forsee a successful journey."
"Outstanding. Communications, inform the fleet of our imminent departure and warn all small craft to retreat to a safe distance. Navigation, lock in coordinates and power warp engines." He turned to Master Gladius to formally ask permission to take the ship to warp, a traditional formality, but one which was always observed. "Sir, The Most Holy Emperor's Ship Punitor is prepared in all aspects for travel and for battle, and I, your servant Captain John Hawke await your word for the commencement of warp operations."
Knowing this script by heart, having performed it many times, Gladius responded, "I, Brother-Master Gladius, by the power entrusted to me by the Dark Angels Chapter of the Adeptus Asartes, Lion El' Johnson, and the Most Holy Emperor himself, do hereby give permission and order the commencement of warp operations onboard the Punitor."
"So it shall be." He turned back to his bridge crew and looked out the viewport into space. "Sound the general alarm, set void shields to full power, and engage warp engines now." As he watched the veiwport, a large… something… took shape in the black of space directly ahead of the Punitor. The ship vibrated and hummed louder now beneath his feet and he saw the shape in space grow larger and begin to swirl in a mix of blue, red, and purple light. The newly-opened warp rift grew until it filled the viewport on the bridge, and viewed from outside, engulfed the entire ship. The rift sealed nicely behind the ship as Master Gladius began his journey.