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It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries, the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of Mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of His inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that He may never truly die.
Yet even in His deathless state, the Emperor continues His eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the Warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast armies give battle in His name on uncounted worlds. Most zealous amongst His soldiers are the Adepta Sororitas, the Sisters of Battle, defenders of the Imperial Creed. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the Tech-Priests of the Adeptus Mechanicum to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants - and worse.
To be human in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.
Transcript of degraded vox-recording found in the aftermath of the Phorcys Minoris IV Massacre.
Date: 5300923.M41
[-]
I lost track of time, sitting in the sweltering dark for Throne knew how long. When I first awoke in the abyssal hole, I had called down His righteous wrath upon my captors with wild and defiant oaths, promising a thousand vivid damnations.
The fiery boasts eventually gave way to sombre prayer. I had prayed 'til my voice became a dry whisper. I prayed for vengeance, for deliverance, for the strength to endure. Failing all that, I prayed for the chance to die with my teeth buried in my captors' throats.
All was silent save for the distant drone of the ship's warp engines and my own rattling breath. The darkness was all-consuming, but I could still remember the light. I remembered the glory of the Convent Prioris on Holy Terra, when I had marched alongside my Battle Sisters under its holy spires. We were Adepta Sororitas, Daughters of the God-Emperor, armed guardians of His Imperial Church.
That had been before the last battle, under a warp-scarred sky. My sisters and I had fought valiantly. With bolt and fury, faith and flame, we fought to hold back the tide of madness.
We failed.
In my mind's eye, I could still see my squad as clearly as if they stood before me. Sister Superior Duma, gruff and taciturn, the closest thing to a mother I had ever known. Sister Bianco, prim and proper, always the perfect soldier. Sister Temperance, brash and fiery, who I had known since we were nameless orphans in the underhives.
Temmi…
Temmi was the best of us. Her soul sang like a star in the void. She'd been a constant in my life, almost as much as faith itself. She…
No. I bit down the grief. I would not show weakness before these heretics.
Searing light flooded my cramped cell. Armoured hands grabbed me, wrenching me roughly from the darkness. After so long in the sightless pit, all I could see was a whirl of colour and shadow.
By the time my vision fully cleared, I was being thrown to the iron-grill deck in some blasphemous parody of an Imperial chapel. But this was no sacred ground. This was an unholy fane to the Ruinous Powers of Chaos, the false gods that ruled over the shrieking hell of the Warp.
Bloody banners depicting the most grotesque acts of violence imaginable hung across every wall. At the chapel's apse, where there should have been an altar to the God-Emperor, squatted an obscene idol, a daemonic warrior in ebon armour seated upon a throne of skulls. An eight-pointed iron halo framed the snarling bestial horror that could only generously be called a face.
I tried to stagger to my feet, only to be brutally rebuked by the butt of a bolt gun.
"Kneel in the presence of your Lord, worm!" barked a harsh, metallic voice.
The two warriors who had dragged me to this unhallowed pit glared down contemptuously. They were clad in power armour of crimson ceramite, their helms fashioned into grinning brass skulls.
I pounced on the nearest like a panther, faith filling me with righteous fury. I'm ashamed to admit it, but an armoured fist to my unshielded belly robbed me of much of my fervour.
"Cheeky poppet!" One of the skull-helmed warriors laughed, yanking my head back by the hair. She unsheathed a blade, pressing it to my bare throat. "Your blood will make a better offering anyway."
"Sister Moloch!"
A third figure stepped from the shadows of the cursed idol, a tattered mantle of deepest scarlet draped over brass armour wrought with snarling daemonic faces. Her own visage was hidden beneath a frayed hood, yet her unseen eyes lanced through me all the same. An ancient sword hung at her hip, ebon blade etched with inscrutable runes that glowed dim crimson in the gloom.
"Our Lady?" The one called Moloch hurriedly bowed her head, striking a fist against her crimson breastplate. "Forgive my impudence."
"It is from our new sister you should ask forgiveness," replied the Lady in Red.
"I am no sister of yours, heretic!" I spat weakly.
"Heretic, am I?" The Red Lady chuckled darkly as she pulled back her hood. Her eyes were solid black orbs, her face a mass of scarred and burned flesh. Arcane runes had been branded into every inch of her hairless skin. Yet nothing shocked like the symbol tattooed just below her right eye like a tear drop.
Throne of Terra, she bore the Fleur de Lis of the Adepta Sororitas.
[-]
Perhaps I've gotten ahead of myself. Sister Duma often warned me of the dangers of allowing zeal to overrule patience.
I am, or rather was, Sister Mari Faith of the Order of the Sacred Rose. Ours is one of younger of the major Orders Militant, scarcely three millennia old. Still, we are Adepta Sororitas, Sisters of Battle, and our zeal burned no less brightly. My life path followed much the same trajectory as most any other Battle Sister…
Until Kalais.
A largely pastoral world, Kalais shares a star with the Forge World of Xetes. For centuries, Kalais had been charged by the Imperium with feeding the ever-growing workforce of Xetes' military factorums. Try as they might, even the half-mechanical acolytes of the Machine Cult couldn't entirely divest themselves of such fleshy dependencies.
Tensions must have been building for years. In a single day and night of anarchy, insurgents seized the planetary governor's palace and the Imperial cathedral in the capital. From the steps of the holy monument the rebels had issued a 'Proclamation of Independence', styling themselves the 'Provisional Government of the Kalaisite Republic'.
The planetary governor had fled to Xetes at the first sign his own personal safety might be compromised, before issuing an astropathic call to any and all Imperial forces in the system. The call did not go unanswered. To reject the Imperium was to reject the God-Emperor. And to reject Him was to be consigned to everlasting darkness.
The sun was just beginning to set as the twin moons rose, casting a fiery haze over the cyclopean spires of the cathedral. Smoke trailed from the distant slums of the capital, muffled explosions rumbling in the distance.
The new-born 'Kalaisite Republic' endured a whole six days before shattering under the Imperium's mailed fist. The last of the rebels had barricaded themselves within the cathedral. Base sacrilege but tactically sound, the local Imperial Guard regiments would have simply shelled any other building to gravel.
Our squad leaped from one spiraling minaret to the next, five Battle Sisters in full power armour, bolt pistols and chainswords in hand. The cathedral was the size of a small city itself. Our Seraphim jump packs carried us over gulfs that would have taken hours to traverse on foot.
We finally touched down near a shining crystalline dome at the centre of the complex, taking cover behind a clutch of grimacing gargoyles meant to strike terror into the hearts of the sinful and superstitious.
Sister Superior Duma, our squad leader, tapped the side of her helm. "In position, Reverend Mother." She spoke in clipped precise tones, not a single syllable wasted.
"Acknowledged, Sister Duma," responded the static-tinged voice of the Canoness-Commander. "I am approaching the high altar, keep vox-channels open and hold position until needed."
"Understood, Reverend Mother," answered Sister Duma. "Ave Imperator."
"Ave Imperator."
The plan was a simple one, the Canoness would meet with the leaders of this self-styled 'Provisional Government' to negotiate their surrender. Meanwhile, our squad would stand ready to leap into action if needed. Emperor willing, we'd end all this without firing another shot.
Not that that did much to steady my nerves. I silently mouthed the Fede Imperialis to keep my teeth from chattering. From the lightning and the tempest, Our Emperor, deliver us. From plague, deceit, temptation and war, our Emperor, deliver us. From the scourge of the Kraken, our Emperor, deliv-.
Someone softly elbowed me. "Excited, Faye?" Temmi whispered at my shoulder. Though the power armour's white ceramite helm masked her face, it couldn't hide the lilt of a smile in her hushed voice.
"Please, Sister Temperance, we're on duty," I hissed back, quietly mortified by the casual use of my childhood nickname. I was more terrified our Sister Superior might overhear us than of anything the enemy might do.
Mari Temperance had been my steadfast companion since before our Schola Progenium days. We'd been little more than girls when we were first inducted into the Order as novitiates. Though I loved Temmi dearly, I was sometimes astounded she hadn't been defrocked yet.
"Apologies, Sister," answered Temperance low, fingers absently tapping the grip of her bolter. She had joined the Seraphim Squad to be in the thick of things, descending from on high to rain His purifying wrath upon the unclean, be they heretic, alien or mutant. Inaction ill-suited her. "I just-"
"Quite!" Sister Duma snapped, tilting her head.
"Is something wrong, Reverend Sister?" asked Sister Bianco, our youngest squad-mate.
"The rebel leader…" answered the Sister Superior. "Idiot's trying to haggle, demanding medical treatment for his injured."
"Impudence!" Bianco trilled indignantly. "The dog should be grateful the Canoness even permits him to draw breath in her pres-"
The thundering crack of a bolt-shot rang out from below, shaking the cathedral roof beneath our feet. The Canoness had given her answer.
"Throne forgive me." Sister Duma raised her own bolter, blasting the centuries old crystalline dome to fine sparkling shards. "Seraphim, from on high!"
We leaped into the fray, five Battle Sisters moving as one. What a sight we must have made, jump packs roaring and bolters drawn, descending on wings of fire amid a hail of glittering shards. A shame none of the rebels were able to appreciate it.
Most of the insurgents were clad only in simple combat fatigues, lacking the protection of our own hermetically sealed ceramite power armour. As such, they had no shelter from the jagged crystalline shrapnel that hailed down on them, slicing through skin, embedding in eyes. By the time we landed on the tiled mosaic floor, most of the rebels were already clawing at bloody sockets or desperately crawling for cover.
Let it never be said that the Orders Militant are without mercy. A few swift applications of our arms were enough to end the remaining wretches' misery. By the time our red work was done, the holy sanctum was splattered in crimson viscera, reconsecrated in traitor's blood.
The Canoness stood serene amid the carnage like a marble lighthouse, rising from a crimson sea. Her white helm, framed by a golden halo, turned to regard the newly arrived Seraphim.
"Efficient as always, Sister Duma."
Sister Duma saluted. "Thank you, Reverend Mother."
"Thank the God-Emperor," chided the Canoness.
"Of course, Reverend Mother, praise be His Name," answered Sister Duma. "What of the rebel leader?"
The Canoness merely nodded towards the high altar. At the foot of the stone dais, lay a ruined figure that was only recognizable as human from the abdomen down. The Canoness' bolt shell had detonated in the insurgent's ribcage, reducing all else to a gory pulp.
"FATHER!?"
Our eyes spun in the direction of the shrill cry. A rail thin girl, barely more than a child and clad in rags, stood in the shadow of a stone saint. Her eyes were wild with fury and horror at the sight of the ravaged mass by the altar.
"You… you murdering bitches!" The child's eyes blazed electric blue, the still air of the cathedral began to churn as she was suddenly engulfed in an aura of prismatic warpfire.
"PSYKER!" Sister Duma cried as a wave of psionic fury cast us all from our feet, scattering us and our weapons across the sanctum like leaves on the wind.
Sister Bianco was the first of us to reclaim her feet. "MUTANT FILTH!" She bellowed defiantly; bolt pistol held high. "Your warp-spawned deviltry will avail you not! For I am shielded by His Grace, armed with His Wrath, and I shall suffer no witch to URRRK!"
With a gesture, the psyker telekinetically yanked Bianco from the tiled floor, her feet kicking helplessly like a marionette dancing on unseen strings. As the mutant's hand clenched, Sister Bianco's helm began to buckle. It collapsed in on itself as though crushed in some invisible daemon's talons, gouts of scarlet spurting from cracked eye lenses.
Temperance pounced, unleashing a fierce war cry, drowned out only by the barking roar of her twin bolt pistols. The witch-child raised her free hand in response, causing the .75 calibre bolts to freeze in mid-air before clattering to harmlessly to the floor.
"You die next," hissed the witch-child, telekinetically casting aside Bianco like a broken doll. With a flick of her wrist, she pinned Temperance to a marbled mural behind a wall of invisible force.
Blue-white warpfire licked at Temperance's armour. Ceramite was designed to shield against all but the most extreme heat, but fire from the Warp cared little for material physics. The unholy flames sought out every chink and seam like thirsting serpents.
Temperance screamed as the psyker began to roast her alive.
It took all my discipline not to scream at the sight of my dying sister. I snatched up a fallen chainsword, charging wordlessly at the distracted witch, knowing I would die the moment she noticed me.
Only when I was within arm's reach did I give voice to my rage. I swung my chainsword upward, waiting for the last moment to hit the throttle. Adamantium-carbon teeth whirled to life, their hideous metallic screeching mixing with my own howl as they dug into the psyker's belly. Crimson viscera spewed everywhere, further staining the tiled floor.
My chainsword's blade jammed on splintering bone and all went silent, the sanctuary once more still. By some obscene miracle, the girl still lived, just barely. She hung from my toothed blade, clutching at her unspooling innards, barely managing to raise her head.
Our eyes met. Even on the brink of death, her glare was hard and clear, as though looking upon my naked soul. She reached out with one bloody hand, pressing her bloody palm against my white helm, marking me with crimson.
"His red hand is upon you," she gasped before mercifully expiring.
[-]
The Sisters Hospitaller were summoned as soon as the cathedral was secured. Nothing could be done for Sister Bianco save to administer last rights and commend her soul to the God-Emperor.
Temmi was more fortunate, thank the Throne. Her burns were relatively minor. The Hospitallers had removed her helmet and armour, salving and bandaging her burns as best they could until they could get her back to the field hospice on the city outskirts.
I was there to greet her as she came to, carried upon a stretcher through the cathedral's courtyard under a cold blue starscape. She smiled weakly, olive features framed by the yellowed bandages covering one eye.
"Hey," she croaked hoarsely.
"Hey," I replied, my own smile small.
"You look like hell."
I was abruptly self-conscious. I'd almost forgotten the once pure white ceramite of my power armor was now almost completely caked in dried crimson. I tried to force a smile. "You should see the other guy."
Temmi chuckled, only to wince as her body protested.
"You should rest," I spoke. "You're lucky to be alive."
"The Emperor protects," sighed Temmi.
I gave her hand a gentle squeeze before as the Sisters Hospitaller carried her off. I could not tell how long I stood watching as she was loaded into the waiting dropship before Sister Duma's bark broke my reverie.
"Sister Faith, attend!"
Sister Duma stood by the Canoness' side. The senior Sororitas were overseeing a squad of Battle Sisters armed with heavy flamers and meltaguns as they herded the surviving insurgents into the centre of the courtyard.
Many of them could barely stand. The Canoness had made a point to deny them the Hospitallers' aid in defiance of their dead leader. There were children and elderly among the wretches shivering in the night. In fear of reprisals, the rebels had attempted to shelter their families with them within the cathedral. Poor damned fools.
"Reverend Sister, Reverend Mother," I made the Sign of the Aquila in salute. "How may I serve?"
"We thought it might do your spirit good to bear witness to the fate of all who turn from the God-Emperor's light," intoned the Canoness, her voice cold as the void.
"I don-" My voice withered as I glanced at the shivering wretches, realising what was about to happen.
"Sisters, flamers and meltas at the ready!" The Canoness roared.
The huddled mass began to panic, wailing for mercy that would never come. I would have cried out myself if not for Sister Duma's heavy hand on my shoulder, steadying my nerves as the Canoness gave the final command.
They say that pillar of fire still burns to this very day, tended by the priests of the Imperial Church. They also say that on silent nights, when the wind is still, you can still hear he screams of the condemned amid the crackling flames.
[-]
I woke screaming, the stench of melting flesh and charred bone assaulting my mind in the darkness. I thrashed wildly at the thin blanket constricting my limbs like it was an enemy's grip.
"Faye, Faye," hushed Temmi, grabbing my shoulder. "Please calm down."
"Temmi?" I whispered, staring at her in the gloom. Her left eye framed by a ring of burned scar tissue, her shorn dark hair just beginning to grow back.
My mind returned to me, Kalais was weeks ago and half a sub-sector behind us. I was safe in my bunk in our communal barracks aboard the Vindicator of Wrath. The deep low rumble of the battlecruiser's warp engines pervaded everything.
"More Nightmares?" Temperance asked.
I nodded, reaching for the Aquila hanging at my throat. Its cool silver helped to ground me. "I just-"
From atop a nearby bunk one of our Sisters slurred something indecipherable before rolling over and going back to sleep.
"Maybe a quick walk will clear your head?" suggested Temmi.
[-]
"Thought for the day: There is no such thing as innocence, only degrees of guilt," echoed the vox-com through the labyrinthine corridors of the battlecruiser.
Temmi and I walked together, clad in our duty habits. What few of the ship's crew we passed made the sign of the Aquila, bowing as they hurried silently on their way. I sometimes forget that to the common folk of the Imperium, we were holy women. I did not feel especially holy that night.
As a child, I had rather romantic notions of interstellar travel. I imagined endless starscapes filled with softly turning spheres and glittering nebulae. In truth, few warp-worthy vessels came equipped with any kind of external viewports. When one stares into the Warp, the Warp stares back.
We stopped by an auxiliary mess, where one of the missionaries attached to our commandry was giving an impromptu sermon to about a dozen desultory night-crew just finishing their shift. Behind him, loomed a large yet irregular object concealed under a stained tarp.
"This galaxy is ours!" His voice boomed, ringing out even into the outer corridors. "We are the divinely ordained Masters of all Creation! It is our right to bestride the cosmos, glutting our fill on all the stars have to offer!"
Temperance and I hung well back, not wanting to disturb the sermon. The flock gave half-hearted nods, murmuring among themselves.
"And yet, wherever we turn, Humanity is forced to toil and strive, to bleed and suffer for what is ours by right, our by His Grace!"
Grumbling assent rolled across the mess; the crew drawn further in by the missionary's sonorous tones.
"And why, Children of the God-Emperor? Why are brave souls such as you asked to fight and die for what should be yours by Divine Right!? Who is to blame!?"
The crew fell silent, hanging on every word. He had them now.
"I will show you who is to blame!" He roared, pulling the stained tarp aside to reveal what lay beneath.
It was a bizarre asymmetrical creation, something between a half-disassembled servitor and a demented taxidermy piece. The missionary must have cobbled it from scraps of detritus scavenged from across the ship, a fused servo-arm here, panels from broken crates there. Throne only knew where he found the horse skull.
"This is who is to blame!" He pointed accusingly, as though the cobbled manikin was on trial. "The alien! The xenos! The soulless misbegotten half-life that infests this galaxy! Living blasphemies whose very shapes mock the purity of the human form!"
Some of the crew were on their feet now, angrily slamming their tables, jeering at the makeshift invader.
"They are the root cause of all evil that plague Humanity! They are the pestilence that harrows the cosmos! They are the Enemy!"
One of the crew leaped to his feet, fire in his eyes. Grabbing up a metal pipe, he lunged forward with a scream of weary rage. He savagely swung at the mock-xenos, cracking the equine skull.
"Yes! YES, MY SON!" The missionary exalted, hardly bothered by the destruction of his craftwork. "Let His holy hatred flow through you!"
As the effigy tipped over, the crew broke into an outright mob. They rushed forward to kick and stamp upon the toppled marionette, shrieking slurs and obscenities, finally given a permissible target for their bubbling frustrations.
Even now, I can't quite bring myself to voice what ran through my mind at the sordid sight of the crew falling upon a lifeless effigy like rabid wolves upon their prey. I feared the mere thought may be enough to damn me.
"Come on," whispered Temmi, giving my arm a gentle tug as we left the mess, shrieks of righteous fury echoing behind us.
[-]
"Crewman Myles Obreen, report to Commissar Volchek for your daily flogging. Failure to comply will result in summary airlock ejection."
We eventually found ourselves walking along a catwalk overlooking a cavernous cargo bay. The vaulting chamber was silent and unpeopled, unless one counted the occasional servitor humming to and fro. The cyborg slave-things paid us no heed, their eyes blank as they trundled down pre-programmed paths.
"Kalais again?" Temperance asked.
I nodded silently, my eyes downcast in shame.
"They were heretics, Faye," She spoke softly as though to a child. "Already damned by turning from the God-Emperor's light. If anything, the Canoness did them a mercy. Remember what that psyker witch did to Sister Bianco, what she almost did to me?"
"I know but-"
Temperance paced a finger to my lips. "Blessed is the mind too small for doubt," she quoted.
I smiled, despite myself. "Since when did you become the sensible orthodox one?"
"Perhaps I'm just spiritually outgrowing you?" Temperance giggled coquettishly. "Just don't expect any special treatment once I make Abbess Sanctorum."
"As if," I snorted, elbowing her. She elbowed me back. In a few moments, we were grappling and laughing as we used to back in the underhives.
Life was hard back then, but simple. We contended with no dilemma weightier than where to scrounge our next meal, responsible to and for only each other. That was before the drill abbots of the Schola Progenium had come for us, before we were set on the path that led us here.
We both knew where that path would inevitably end. Whether in the muck of the trenches or the silent cold of deep space, whether by the talons of some alien horror or the traitor's gun barrel, our path would end on the battlefield. But not yet… not today.
After a few minutes roughhousing, I finally managed to hook my foot around Temmi's ankle, sweeping her quite literally off her feet. We came down together. I grabbed her wrist, pinning her to the deck.
Our eyes met. She smiled up at me, panting heavily. I felt her heart beating against mine, her heat flowing into me, our lips mere inches apart. In that moment, I was very conscious that we weren't children anymore.
"Oh dear, it seems you have me utterly at your mercy," she teased coyly.
Throne help me. I wanted to take her then and there.
"Sister Mari Faith," intoned the vox-com. "The Canoness demands your presence in Chapel Primaris … Immediately."
[-]
Stepping over the chapel's threshold was like stepping into another world. The bare steel deck plating surrendered to delicately marbled mosaics. The harsh acetic light was replaced with soft candle glow. Sweetly cloying incense clung to the air.
The beautifully mural-etched walls had been carefully soundproofed to block out even the omnipresent hum of the Vindicator of Wrath's engines. In the cool stillness, it was easy to forget one was still aboard a voidship, yet alone traversing the tortured eddies of the Warp.
The steps leading up to the altar where engraved with images of the hated xenos. Eldar, Ork, and Tyranid lay in positions of prostration and agony. So that with every step, the petitioner could place their boot upon the enemies of Humanity. Above the altar, flanked by winged saints, towered an unmistakable image, the image… of Him.
The icon depicted the God-Emperor as He had been before His ascension to the Golden Throne ten millennia ago, in the days when He walked among mortals, clad in radiant golden armour and wielding a spear of living flame. He stood triumphant over an obscenely writhing four-headed serpent, the Dragon of Chaos, representing the daemonic forces that lurked in the depths of the Warp.
I shuddered. Bolter and chainsword might hold back the xenos, who for all their abhorrence were still mortal creatures of flesh and blood. But against the spirit-ravaging horrors of Chaos, there was no defence, save absolute faith in Him on Earth. If not for that very faith, and the ship's Gellar field, daemons of the Warp would even then be falling upon us like ravening locusts, eager to despoil body and soul alike.
The Emperor was more than simply the temporal ruler of the Imperium. He was Humanity's divine sire. His was the constant steady Light that guided us through the cold void of realspace and the maelstrom of the Warp. He was our shield and our bulkward against heresy and mutation, the perfection of Humanity incarnate.
He was God.
His expression was without love or hate, joy or sorrow, anger or pity, only pure immaculate serenity.
"Beautiful, isn't He?"
I spun on my heels, heart fluttering for a moment. The Canoness sat in one of the rear pews under the light of a flickering candle, her eye tracing over a scroll of parchment. Behind her, in a shadowed eve, Sister Superior Duma stood at attention.
The Canoness did not look up. "Sister Mari Faith."
"Reverend Mother," I stuttered, bowing my head low.
The Canoness raised her gaze. The bionic lens that served in place of her left eye regarded me coldly and dispassionately, contrasting the barely contained fire ever burning in her natural eye. She stood, holding up the parchment she had been perusing.
"Do you know what this is, Sister?"
"No, Reverend Mother," I answered honestly, if a little hesitantly. In the Imperial Church, when a superior asks you a question, the honest answer was not always the correct answer.
"It is a copy of the 'Proclamation of Independence' issued by the insurgents back on Kalais." She approached the altar. "It is a childish thing, invoking febrile notions of 'liberty' and 'equality'. It would be humorous had so many fools not died for this lunacy."
The Canoness held the parchment to a candle flame, allowing it to consume the perfidious document. She let the blackened ashes fizzle themselves out upon the white marble altar. A burnt offering unto the Golden Throne.
"Fire cleanses all sin," she sighed, gaze lost in the flickering flame.
"Yes, Reverend Mother," I replied, feeling I should say something.
The Canoness turned back to me sharply, a strange gleam in her eye, as though she had forgotten I was still there. "What is the nature of your relationship with Sister Mari Temperance?"
"Reverend Mother?"
"I understand you went to the same Schola Progenium, and that you've served alongside each other since you were novitiates on the Throneworld."
"Yes, Reverend Mother."
"That was not a question."
Her words stung like neural whip.
"Sister Faith," she spoke again, softly this time. "What is the Two Hundredth and Sixteenth Constitution of our Order?"
"They shall carefully avoid any attachment contrary to communal sisterhood," I quoted.
"Finish the quote, Sister Faith."
"Such a close union with one individual being a formal separation from the whole."
"A formal separation from the whole," she echoed, stalking towards me, candlelight flickering across her bionic lens. "We are promised to the God-Emperor before all else, even each other. In the heat of battle, we cannot risk personal attachments influencing our judgments lest victory be snapped from our grasp."
"I… I understand, Reverend Mother."
"Do you?" The Canoness arched her remaining eyebrow. "I'm considering transferring you to the shrine on Typhas I."
"Typhas?" I blurted.
Typhas I was a dead world, scoured of life by a solar storm centuries ago. The only habitation left on its surface was a small hermetically sealed shrine guarded by a tiny mission of Battle Sisters. It was where the Order sent its embarrassments.
"But I-"
"I said I was considering, Sister, I have not decided yet," intoned the Canoness. "There is… an alternative?"
"Anything, Reverend Mother!" I spoke with desperate hope. "Whatever you command!"
"Very well. We could transfer Sister Temperance instead?"
My throat seized for a moment. The thought of life without Temperance hit me like a physical blow, but I bent my head regardless. "As you will, Reverend Mother."
"You misunderstand, Sister Faith. I will not be making the decision… You will."
"Me?"
"We are due to arrive at the Segmentum Fortress at Cypra Mundi in little over three standard months, subjective-time. There we will muster with the rest of the fleet bound for the Validus Crusade. Meanwhile, either you or Sister Temperance will be on a pilgrim ship bound for the Typhas System," She paused, letting the words sink in. "So Sister Faith, which shall it be?"
My mind froze like an animal that sees tank treads bearing down on it. Typhas was far across the Imperium. Even under optimal conditions, traveling there through the Warp could take years. And conditions in the Warp were so rarely optimal.
No matter which I chose, the chances of Temmi and I ever seeing each other again were practically nil. If one of us died in the line of duty, the other might live out the rest of her life without ever knowing, separated by the yawning void of a silent galaxy.
"You see? Even now you hesitate." She held out an open palm. "Give me your hand, child."
I hesitated for a moment before doing as bid. The Canoness' fingers gripped around my wrist like an iron claw, wrenching it so that my bare palm hovered mere inches above a naked candle flame.
The flame started to pinprick my skin. "Reverend Mother?!"
"Indecision is death, Sister Faith. You must choose."
I looked pleadingly to Sister Duma, but her eyes refused to meet mine. The heat rose, pinpricks blooming into flowers of pain across my skin. I tried to pull back, but the Canoness held my wrist in a grip of iron.
"Chose now!"
"I… I…"
"Attention, all personal: Prepare for translation into realspace," the vox-com intoned passionlessly.
The Canoness released me, turning to Sister Duma as I nursed my hand. "What is the meaning of this?"
"I don't understand, Reverend Mother," answered the Sister Superior. "We couldn't have arrived this soon."
The Canoness's eye narrowed dangerously. "You two, attend me!"
[-]
I kept my still stinging hand hidden in the sleeve of my habit as Sister Duma and I marched behind the Canoness. As I have explained before, windows and externals portholes are a rarity on any warp-capable ship. The Vindicator of Wrath's command deck was no exception.
It resembled the war room of some underground bunker more than how one might popularly imagine the bridge of a starship. Naval officers fretted to and fro, adding notations to the panoply of starcharts and tactical readouts that lined the iron bulkheads. Bridge servitors were wired directly into the ship's cogitator consoles. Thick cables ran to the input ports that had once been their eye sockets, routing sensor-auguries and operational data to what was left of their organic brains.
A hololith table stood at bridge's centre, displaying the shimmering image of a barren planetoid. About it stood two figures, one hunched in rust-red robes that echoed the dust of their Martian homeworld, the second proud and erect in her blue-grey navel greatcoat.
"Ah, Reverend Mother," drawled Captain Jenpath, not even taking her eyes from the hololith as we entered. She was tall and long of limb, like most void-born, almost gaunt with dark hair slicked back. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Why have you taken us out of warpspace?" The Canoness never had much patience for idle pleasantries.
"If you must know, our astropath picked up a distress call from an Adeptus Mechanicus Explorator team excavating a nearby moon," replied the captain coolly.
"Can the Machine Cult not take care of their own?" The Canoness sneered.
The red robed figure at the Captain's side cocked their head. "Forge World Xetes is weeks away by warp. In addition, the moon's ruins may contain ancient technology that must be secured immediately." Their voice was toneless, stilted. Their head turned to reveal a mass of optic sensors and mechanical mandibles beneath the shadow of their rust-red hood.
It was rare enough to see High Enginseer Lumic outside the engineerium, tending the tempestuous machine spirits of the ship's main reactor. But it was nigh unprecedented for the Martian tech-priest to take any interest in command affairs.
The Canoness ignored the cyborg. "I would remind you, Captain, that your orders are to transport my Battle Sisters to Cypra Mundi so we can muster with the rest of the Crusade Fleet bound for the Validus Cluster."
"With all due respect, Reverend Mother. The Valdius Crusade has been ongoing for over three centuries now," spoke Jenpath dryly. "I think they'll manage without you for an extra day or two."
"Day or two?"
"We are preparing a landing party to investigate," the Enginseer droned, their mandibles clicking in exasperation. They had little patience for 'meat drama'. "We will know more once they complete their initial sweeps."
"Most of your void-born wretches have never felt the touch of natural gravity," snorted the Canoness. "They'll be lucky if they don't break every brittle bone in their bodies after tripping on a rock!"
Jenpath arched a thin eyebrow. "If you wish to expedite matters, Reverend Mother, your Battle Sisters are more than welcome to join us. Either way, I have no intention of leaving loyal servants of the Emperor for dead on some Throne forsaken rock."
Canoness and captain glowered at each other over the command table. In theory, neither had any authority over the other. Transporting our Battle Sisters from one theatre of war to another was a favour from the Imperial Navy to the Church, in the understanding that a favour in kind would be expected later. In practice, each commander had taken every opportunity to try and assert dominance over the other throughout the course of the voyage.
In the end though, only one of them had a ship.
"Sister Duma," growled the Canoness through gritted teeth. "Ready your Seraphim squad for deployment."