Quinn sat on the infirmary bed as apothecaries and medical servitors fussed around him, and looked ruefully down at his shattered armour, then at his brothers. Desial nodded, wincing despite himself against the pain of his many injuries.
Mercier gave a slight, equally pained, grin. "We were lucky, brother-sergeant. If he had not arrived when he did, we would have been over-run. Captain Esceriel's company would have been exposed too."
Quinn nodded, glancing briefly to the unconscious and bloody astartes laying on a medi-couch a few metres away. "Sedreth, he called himself."
"That's what it says on his shoulder-plate. Do you recognise the device?"
"No, nor the colours. Someone spent a lot of time on these though." The sergeant leaned over and lifted the marine's bolt pistol for inspection, handing it round. It was chased and gilded, beautified without any loss of function.
Desial took it and inspected it carefully, then nodded. "It has been customised very carefully, as well as decorated. See, it has a slightly longer barrel than is normal, and the magazine feed has been redesigned to load each bolt further back. The modification should increase both the penetration and accuracy without greatly reducing the fire rate. Whoever did it was a master armsman."
Mercier was reading the inlay on the heavy bolter he still carried. "Listen to this. 'To my brother Trent Baxter. Stand fast, 79th. Astartes-captain Chaom Grier, 43rd company, Legio IX.' There's a Blood Angels sigil beside that winged talon."
"Legio IX. That's us alright, we were the ninth of the Emperor's Legions. But, 43rd Company? There hasn't been a 43rd Company since the Second Founding. That weapon must be ancient."
"Ancient or not, it works. It's beautifully balanced, too. I've rarely held any heavy weapon with suspensors this good."
"I think we should discuss this with the captain." The three marines moved away from the unconscious stranger in search of their company commander.
Dante looked down at the unconscious marine. "How is he/"
"He is gravely injured. A 'stealer claw cut his chest-plate in two. Another centimetre or two and he'd be dead."
"Any idea who he is?"
"No, Lord Commander. The name Sedreth is unknown to me nor is it in any archive we have. But he has all fourteen astartes implants and all function perfectly. I am quite certain that there are very few chapters where that remains the case, although getting the information even from our closest brother chapters is very difficult. I have tried running a genetic match; he is not descended either from the Blood Angels, the Imperial Fists or the Ultramarines. We have sufficient on file to determine that. We do not have sufficient data here to determine any of the other First Founding lineages, but I would also discount the Salamanders, given their genetic darkening of the melanoma, and the Raven Guard, for opposite but similar reasons. Nor has he progenoid glands I could study; they were removed, and many years ago if I am not mistaken."
"Have you run his armour through the archives?"
"Yes, Lord Commander. It is Mk IV armour, what is commonly called Maximus armour as it was considered the final extension of the early armour marks, and has seen hundreds of minor repairs. As might be expected, of course; all such suits are thousands of years old. The colours match no current codex chapter. The decoration on his bolter says '79th'. However the 79th Chapter astartes is the Angels Penitent, a Fourth Founding Chapter reputedly descendant of the Dark Angels. Moreover their colours are recorded in the archives as quartered dark green and gold, edged in white, with a sigil of a chalice between two wings, all in white."
"Hmm. Interesting. And the device on this?" Dante indicated the half-smashed purple shoulder-plate still awaiting removal by the chapter's techmarines.
"The gold winged talon matches no current codex sigil, Lord Commander. I have not looked at the former insignia of renegade chapters, but I suspect it belongs to one of them. Although why, in that case, he would intervene to fight and die alongside the Blood Angels is not clear."
"He did not die."
"A matter of chance, Lord Commander. His injuries would have been fatal without the intervention of our apothecaries; may still be, despite our treatment. Were he in less than excellent condition he would be dead already."
"Oh?"
"Indeed, Lord Commander. I have rarely seen a space marine in such superlative physical shape. He clearly trains often, and moreover works out very hard indeed. I would suggest that when fully fit he would be a formidable opponent."
"Very well. Keep me informed." Dante nodded briefly and left, his thoughts whirling. No First Founding lineage, eh? If he was what that armour proclaimed that was hardly surprising.
"Captain Tarken, the marine who teleported from your ship to the hulk is severely injured. Our apothecaries are not certain he will survive his injuries."
The woman nodded slowly. "Brother-captain Esceriel, I would be grateful if you could keep me informed as to his condition. He is a good friend."
"He saved the lives of Blood Angels; he will get the best medical treatment we can offer. You will be pleased to know that brother Vatiel, who you successfully evacuated from the hulk, will make a full recovery."
"And the other brave warriors in his squad?"
"Those who survived to assault the 'stealers will all live, though brother Rachiel has lost his left arm and will be obliged to change weapons from his lightning claws. The Third Company lost fewer than might have been expected, indeed the chapter as a whole lost fewer than we expected, given the opposition. The Emperor was with us today."
Sara smiled gravely, slightly surprised that the loss of over ninety astartes could be 'lower than expected' against almost any opposition. Then again, maybe not, she thought, mindful of the Black Templar losses at Caltenis. "And the Angel, brother-captain, if I may be so bold. The Grace of both father and son shone on the Blood Angels today," she replied.
Esceriel inclined his head. "Indeed. However, there is another issue. Your companion is too badly injured to be moved without risk. We have no doubt that you do not wish to leave him. Accordingly, Lord Commander Dante offers you the hospitality of our facilities at Baal Secundus."
She gave a brief bow. "We are immensely honoured, brother-captain. There is, however, one slight problem. We have no Navigator to see us through the warp so far a distance."
He blinked, surprised. "You have astropaths, surely?"
She shook her head. "No, brother-captain. We do not."
"I shall speak to the Lord Commander. We have a sufficiency and can perhaps offer one of our own. Esceriel out."
"It is a good excuse to explore this mysterious vessel. Very well, Esceriel, but take sufficient forces to secure yourself. I suggest you take your entire company. A vessel that size should have sufficient space; it was designed to carry a company of astartes as well as a crew."
"Mummy, there's a formation of Thunderhawks putting off from Eternal Wrath. Ten of them."
"Ten? That's a whole company's worth. Janey, you better get down to the main hanger and greet our new guests."
She smiled. "Okay, mummy. Formal dress?"
"Yes. Armour-robe too. And your bolt pistol."
Esceriel watched as they closed the ship. No decoration, hardly. Just the upturned bow, carved into the likeness of some great golden raptor, and the aquila on the main control tower. He had to admit it was an impressive vessel. No match for Eternal Wrath, of course, but a serious warship all the same. He wondered how much of the original armament it retained behind the long long series of closed gunports.
They swept in a double-v formation towards the ship's hanger. The massive doors slid smoothly open revealing a huge empty space dominated by an Imperial Aquila above a winged talon device in gold, both many metres across. Not even a shuttle was parked on the deck, however. Nor were there any crewmen in sight.
"Hmm. Full alert. Squads to standard dispersal. Keep engines hot until I confirm otherwise. Tell the astropaths to remain in their Thunderhawk until I give them permission to debark."
He remained up front, watching through the armoured windscreen as they came into land. There. Movement, which resolved itself into a single figure leading a series of transport trolleys. A very small figure in a long white dress with a purple and gold over-robe. He recognised the girl-child who had answered the comms. Interesting.
"Disembark."
Janey walked towards the blood-red-painted Thunderhawks, her heart thudding in her chest. The Blood Angels. Wow. She kept walking as the squads disembarked and took up defensive positions around their aircraft. Silly. She spotted the captain by his insignia and walked towards him, leaving the trolleys behind.
"Brother-captain Esceriel? I'm Jane Tarken. My mother's on the bridge, but she says you're very welcome aboard." She saluted, just like Mr Morgan had shown her.
Esceriel watched the girl approach. The over-robe she wore was clearly a match for the armour the marine Sedreth had worn. Interesting. She had a headset over her shoulder length dark hair and a smile on her face. No more than eleven or so, with a holstered, astartes-issue, bolt pistol that looked far too big for her at her slim hip and an aquila-decorated combat blade strapped to her forearm. She walked straight to him, which was very interesting. Her greeting was formal and precise. The salute, however, took him by surprise; it could have come from a Blood Angel parade ground. He returned it formally, despite the fact that she barely reached his waist.
"Sera Tarken. We are grateful for your hospitality. I trust our numbers will not prove a problem?" They had better not, he thought.
She smiled. "No problem at all, brother-captain. We have lots of space." The smile widened. "It'll be nice to have new faces aboard."
'Nice' wasn't a word Esceriel had often heard applied to his chapter. Or any chapter for that matter. Space marines didn't do 'nice'. This could be interesting.
The girl was still talking. "My mother suggested that you might take accommodations on decks five and six, brother-captain. There's sufficient room for a company there and the facilities on those decks include practice rooms. There's also a combat range on level six. Although you're welcome to use our own combat range and practice facilities, of course, on level nine. Mr Morgan, sorry, brother-sergeant Sedreth, installed a combat trainer there which is of course at your disposal while you're aboard. You can use any of our armouries for your gear; we only use the auxiliary armoury on level eleven of the main control tower and the main stern armoury on level four."
He nodded. "That seems adequate. Can you have your crew lock down our transports?"
She smiled but shook her head. "That isn't possible, brother-captain. Neither of us know how. But your own warriors can have any access or facility they need to do it."
He looked at her then what she'd just said struck him. "Neither of us? How many crew do you have, sera?"
"Me and mummy and Mr Morgan." She grinned. "And the ship itself of course. Phoenix was fully automated centuries ago."
"Three of you?" On a ship this size? The Chapter's techmarines would be all over this vessel like a swarm of insects.
She nodded. "Yes, Do you want to come up to the bridge at once? Or would you like to get your men settled first? And you'll want to visit the chapel, of course?"
Esceriel found himself smiling at such innocent enthusiasm. The girl wasn't at all intimidated by a company of Blood Angels; obviously she was no stranger to astartes.
"I think the chapel first."
She nodded and spoke into her headset. "Mummy, Captain Esceriel wants to visit the chapel first." She listened to a response. "I don't know. I'll ask."
She turned back to him. "Brother-captain, do you want to visit the new chapel?"
"You have more than one?"
She nodded. "We made a new one for refugees and other people when we take them on board. It's more, well, normal, for civilians Ours is a proper astartes chapel with remembrance columns and stuff. Mr Morgan thought it would be better if strangers didn't use it. But since you're space marines, I think it'll be okay."
"Then we shall visit the astartes chapel."
"Okay." She spoke into her headset again. "Mummy, the proper one. Yes, okay." She looked up at him. "Mummy will meet us there. What about your gear?"
He watched his squad sergeants finishing lock-down of the Thunderhawks' in standard docking brackets for a moment before replying. "It can wait, for now. Lead on, sera."
She giggled and nodded, hopping aboard a small transport trolley. "Marines walk fast," she said with a grin.
It was, reflected Esceriel, one of the most unusual experiences he had had in the two and half centuries he had served in the Blood Angels. The girl, happily rolling along on her little trolley, leading eighty-two space marines in full armour down a long processional. The golden winged talon device hung on alternate walls every twenty metres. Polished, wooden-faced doors stood open on empty chamber after empty chamber, but she didn't seem at all bothered, chattering away merrily.
"I run the processional four times a day," she said. "As part of my exercises. Mummy does too, but Mr Morgan makes her carry a backpack. He put it up to fifty-five kilos two months ago. Mummy complains, but I don't think she really minds. Mr Morgan runs it eight times a day, with four hundred kilos on his back, so he's not asking us to do anything he wouldn't do himself. He's much stronger than we are though."
Thirty-two kilometres a day? That was a decent basic workout. Interesting that the man considered himself a sergeant. He wondered where the rest of his squad were, what had happened to them. He very carefully tried to ignore some of the more unpleasant possibilities, at least until he had more information. "What else does brother-sergeant Sedreth do?"
She grinned, eyes shining with enthusiasm. "Well, he trains me and mummy. We both do two hours of exercises between shifts. Twice a day, that means. I do blades or unarmed every day, with gymnastics and bolters alternate days. Mummy does blades every day, plus one hour of unarmed combat, and an hour on the combat range every day. And he sets us tactical exercises too. Plus I do scan as well as lessons, and mummy does piloting and navigation exercises. Mr Morgan supervises and sometimes does the exercises with us, plus he spends at least an hour on the combat trainer every day. And he uses the combat range a lot."
A busy day. Esceriel couldn't help but approve; idle hands meant idle minds, and that could easily lead to curiosity and far worse things. "You spend four hours a day in combat exercises?"
She nodded with a smile. "Mr Morgan says I'm getting good."
"I am sure you are. But why do them?"
She gave him a look, as if he was being stupid. It was not a look he was used to receiving. "'Cos there's lots of people want to kill us. And so we can help people."
He caught sergeant Odo's eye. The veteran looked slightly amused. "Who would want to kill you, sera?" Esceriel asked.
She paused for a few seconds, as if wondering how to phrase her answer. "Well, they're mostly after Mr Morgan of course, but the Children want him dead, 'specially since he killed Marius."
"Children?" He had a horrible thought about that word. He wasn't disappointed. Odo's amused look faded.
She nodded. "The Emperor's Children. Mr Morgan's old Legion. They want to kill him, of course, 'cos he serves the Emperor again an' they don't like that at all. But also mummy, 'cos she wears their codex colours on her armour, an' they really really don't like that. Mummy said they got really mad when they saw her on Plett. An' I guess they'd kill me too, just 'cos they could. An' the Word Bearers would too, 'cos we got some of them on Haura. An' the other chaos legions probably, but they want to kill pretty much everyone anyway. Oh, there's mummy." She stopped the trolley and stepped off without apparently realising the gravity of her statement.
Esceriel walked beside her towards the black-cloaked woman in purple and gold powered battle-armour – he wasn't a techmarine, but it looked like an adaptation of astartes plate just as she'd said – waiting in front of immense doors of polished, inlaid wood beneath a great golden aquila. He noticed she wore a purity seal of the Black Templars proudly on the front corner of her left shoulder-plate. A very traditional place to wear it.
"Brother-captain Esceriel? It's an honour to have you and your company aboard. I watched the tactical readouts during the boarding of the hulk. You are very skilled." Her voice was polite but held a clear welcome.
"Thank you, captain," he said, returning another parade ground salute. Tarken had a faint scar on her cheek and cool calm dark eyes in what was a remarkably pretty face. She gave him a brief smile and turned, then paused and looked back at them.
"Brother-captain, this place is not something you will have seen before. Please respect it, and the many astartes commemorated here." She pushed the doors gently and they swung open revealing a brightly lit chamber hung with flags. She led them inside.
It was like, yet unlike, any other chapel they had seen. A plain altar in front of rows of astartes-sized wooden pews. On it, two gold and silver candlesticks and a large chalice formed in the shape of the same winged talon that he was now almost certain must be the codex sigil of the pre-Heresy Emperor's Children; above it, a huge purple silk battle standard edged and embroidered – that talon again – in gold which read 'Legio Astartes III' and '79th – Stand fast'. Beyond the altar, a long passage of alcoves, each with a marble column. Above most hung a flag. Purple and gold, most of them, but also the familiar yellow and black of the Imperial Fists, the gleaming white of the White Scars, the black and white of the Raven Guard. And the Iron Hands. And the Salamanders, the Space Wolves. And the Chapter. Blood Angels banners; he counted seven.
And other banners he did not recognise. And some he did. The midnight and silver with skull that was still the emblem of the accursed Night Lords. What had to be a pre-Heresy World Eaters banner, blood still staining the blue and white silk below the open stylised jaws. A crimson and white banner he did not know; several white and green banners likewise unfamiliar. A purple banner with a chained 'A' that was probably Alpha Legion. Several pearl-white banners with a black wolf's head which must be Luna Wolves. He felt rather than heard the indrawn breaths from behind him.
Tarken turned to look at them all. "Welcome, Blood Angels, to the remembrance chapel, the last remembrance chapel, of the Emperor's Children."
Esceriel drew along breath. "Give me one good reason why I should not kill you, captain. This place, it is Heresy."
She met his eyes unafraid. "No. Every single warrior named in this place died for his Emperor, a loyal space marine. Well, my late husband wasn't a space marine, but he died for the Emperor just as they all did." She moved to the right, gestured towards a huge golden plaque, metres across, which took up most of the wall. "Look here, Blood Angels. Do you know these names? These are the Betrayed, the loyal astartes who were virus-bombed from orbit by Horus Lupercal at the beginning of the Heresy. Do you deny their memory?"
She turned abruptly and walked down the long passage to the middle. "Or His?" She pointed.
Esceriel walked closer and stopped abruptly as the picture came into his line of vision.
"By the Throne!" came a soft voice behind him. Odo. "The Primarch."
Tarken nodded. "As he was on planet one-forty-twenty."
"Murder," said Esceriel. It was an infamous campaign, and well covered in the histories.
She gave a tight smile. "Quite so. Murder. Sedreth says it's a good likeness." The smile became slightly more real. "You are welcome to look round, to say a prayer for the Fallen. Please treat it with the respect due the dead."
Esceriel looked across at the other portrait and swallowed. "That..."
"The Legion's Primarch. Fulgrim, as he was. Before."
Esceriel raised his bolter. A small hand grabbed it. "No. It wasn't his fault. He'll be free one day an' the Emperor will have him back at his side."
Caliel strode forward, his face furious. "What Heresy is this, child?"
She met the chaplain glare for glare. "He was tricked by a daemon, an' possessed. The Emperor knows. An' the Emperor will forgive him, an' they'll be together again. An' no-one touches his picture."
Caliel stared at her in disbelief. She folded her arms and scowled at the huge black-armoured chaplain, utterly unintimidated. "Don't make me hurt you, child."
She suddenly grinned. "Don' make me hurt you, you mean." An impish challenge showed in her eyes.
Esceriel stepped between them. "Enough. For the present, in light of your actions in support of the chapter so far, we will take no action. However, captain Tarken, you and your daughter will consider yourselves under arrest pending our arrival at Baal, when the Chapter will get to the bottom of this ship and your presence aboard it."
Mother and daughter looked at each other, then deliberately handed their weapons to the nearest astartes, bowed and walked to the exit.
Tarken paused at the door. "Well, captain? I presume you will need the command codes? The bridge is this way."
Esceriel nodded and walked beside her, wondering why he still trusted her. Behind them the wide open chapel doors shone chalcedony light down the corridor.
"A portrait of the Primarch, you say?"
"Yes, Lord Commander. A life-size portrait. In a remembrance alcove, one of many. Above it hangs a Blood Angels banner. The 43rd company. There are three columns in the alcove; two hundred and seventy-one Blood Angels are named on those, most from that company, but also from the 32nd, 117th and 60th companies. With a further eighty-two named in other alcoves. In total, Lord Commander, the remembrance columns name three thousand and sixty-four astartes, one Imperial Guard soldier, and one and seventeen other Imperial military personnel. That figure does not includes the plaque on the right-hand wall, which names thirty-seven thousand one hundred and twelve astartes."
"Thirty-seven thousand?" Dante's voice held astonishment behind the normal gruff tones.
"Yes, Lord Commander. Captain Tarken claims that it is the drop list for the loyal astartes virus-bombed from orbit by their commanders on Isstvan III at the beginning of the Heresy."
"Does she indeed? Anything else?"
"There is one other portrait, facing that of Lord Sanguinius. Also life-size."
"The traitor Fulgrim, I presume?"
"Indeed, Lord Commander. Wearing the aquila and leading a mixed force of astartes. Including Blood Angels."
"Apart from our own brethren, which formations are represented?"
"All the First Founding Legions, Lord Commander, have marines named in one or other alcove. Although there are no banners for the Ultramarines, Dark Angels or the treacherous Word Bearers. The most common banner, apart from the Emperor's Children of course, is the Luna Wolves. There is also one alcove which commemorates Grey Knights killed less than three years ago. Captain Tarken confirms they were killed by Emperor's Children heretics during an action in the Plett system."
That gave even the Lord Commander cause to hesitate; the Grey Knights' loyalty and honour were legend, even amongst the astartes. "And can any of your chaplains or librarians detect any trace of taint? I would not risk your company, Esceriel."
"No, Lord Commander. Apart from Tarken and her daughter the ship is deserted. All systems appear to be automated – machines, not servitors. The only other crew member was the marine known as Sedreth."
"An Emperor's Children 'loyalist'. When he regains consciousness there are many questions for him to answer."
"Mummy, I'm bored." Janey had been set 'homework' – repeatedly writing out passages from a prayerbook provided by chaplain Caliel – and was obviously finished.
Sara looked up from her book, the Lectitio Divinatus – again, courtesy of chaplain Caliel – and smiled slightly. "Captain Esceriel said we were to stay here."
The little face nodded sadly from her seat at the workdesk. "Can't we even do our exercises?"
Sara nodded; it would be good for her daughter to work off her excess energy, and she was getting a bit stir-crazy herself. "I'll ask. It won't do any harm." She stood and walked to the door where brother sergeant Deneth stood on guard.
The Blood Angel looked at her without expression. "I shall relay your request. Return to your reading."
Sara nodded and walked back.
Janey looked at her. "Mummy, do they really think we're traitors?"
"I don't know, darling. I don't think so. If they did they'd just have killed us. I think they're worried though. It can't be every day they meet a ship with a loyal Emperor's Children space marine."
"I suppose. I thought they'd be nicer though. Mr Morgan always said he liked the Blood Angels."
"He said he'd liked the Death Guard too, Janey, and they're definitely not nice."
"Not now. Not since they turned traitor. It's all that Lorgar's fault."
Sara chuckled. "Yes, probably. Although that's maybe because he wanted a God to believe in." She grinned and held up the book. "It's weird really. Morgan said he wrote most of this, the most holy book in the Imperium. Yet he hates the very being who it reveres."
A quiet voice came over the comm-link. Esceriel. "That is an interesting point of view, captain. It could easily be construed as heresy."
Sara looked up at the speaker. "Indeed, captain. Nonetheless, it is true. The traitor Lorgar wrote the Lectitio Divinatus, raising his father to godhood, against the Emperor's express wishes. And now the very reason he turned traitor in the first place has taken root across the Imperium. You are astartes, captain. You know the Emperor as other than a God. So do Janey and I."
"I think, captain, that it would be better for you to exercise than to delve into these issues. You have access to the practice rooms if you require them. Unarmed and blades only."
"Thank you, captain. May we use them now?"
"Yes, if you wish. Deneth will escort you."
Janey gave her mother a formal bow and came on guard in a defensive stance. Mummy was bigger and stronger, with a longer reach, but she was a touch faster and trained unarmed more often. She ignored the three or four armoured space marines watching idly from around the walls. A couple had drifted in as they'd been warming up; just sergeant Deneth had been there when they'd started.
"Let's take it slow at first," said mummy. "I'm still a little stiff from sitting around for three days."
She nodded and they began at about half-speed. After a few minutes mummy nodded.
"Okay, that feels right. First to ten, pull on contact?"
Janey nodded, feeling Mr Morgan's grin pulling at her face. Mummy's smile was just as wicked. Okay, she thought, let's show the space marines what girls can do. Mummy looked to sergeant Deneth. "Brother-sergeant, would you keep score?"
He nodded, the impassive face flickering brief surprise. He moved from the wall. "Begin."
Mummy's attack was fast and strong, and Janey barely parried it; mummy knocked her counter aside and then everything was a blur.
"Brother-captain, Deneth here. You will want to see this. Level nine practice room three." Esceriel was surprised by Deneth's voice over the vox. He acknowledged and walked along the corridors and down.
Walking in, he found more than half the company – all the marines not actually on duty elsewhere – standing against the walls, watching Tarken and her daughter going at it hammer and tongs in the middle of the room. Caliel nodded to him from the observation balcony. The chaplain had a strange expression as he watched the fight. A blow went home.
"Point. Seven-four." Deneth was keeping score? The two bounced apart and came together again. He recognised a standard astartes unarmed combat sequence. Then another. Blood and sand! Both of them were using space marine techniques. And using them superbly. He noted that more than half the observers, and all the sergeants, had helmets on. Two of his marines were operating recorders mounted on the balcony. Good. He blinked as Tarken's strike was slipped and she went flying across the room. That child did not just do that. Caliel's expression was sardonic, which he knew meant the chaplain was impressed. At least he wasn't the only one.
"Point. Seven-five."
Tarken grinned and came back on guard. Hmm. They were both pulling the strikes, but at that speed it would be easy for them to injure each other. Interesting. That move was something he'd never seen before. The girl rolled smoothly to her feet and grinned.
"Point. Eight-five."
The briefing room was quiet as the squad leaders watched the recordings. Esceriel, Caliel and the company Librarian, Jacobus, sat round the table with the sergeants. After an hour or so, Esceriel paused the playback.
"Comments?"
Odo chuckled. "Keep it for training. The scouts could always do with a little humility." There was general laughter; they had all trained recruits at one point or another.
Jacobus smiled briefly. "It is impressive. For normal humans to fight at that speed for that time indicates a high level of physical conditioning."
"But?"
"I worry, brother-captain. Why does a girl-child need training like that?"
"Perhaps she wishes to join the Sisters of Battle," said Deneth.
Esceriel shook his head. "They do not follow the Imperial cult. The girl, especially, talks of the Emperor as a child might speak of a beloved patriarch. The mother read your copy of the Lectitio, Caliel, then commented on the irony of its original author having been the driving force behind the Heresy."
Caliel scowled. "That author is not exactly common knowledge, brother-captain. In point of fact, I have never before heard anyone suggest that the accursed Word Bearers were behind the Heresy. Do you believe that might be the case?"
Esceriel shrugged. "I don't know that it matters; whoever started the damned thing, it is the results we need to deal with."
Caliel nodded. "They need to learn discretion. They could, possibly should, be executed for comments of that nature."
Odo grimaced. "Yet they appear utterly loyal to the Emperor."
Jacobus hesitated, then spoke quietly. "They are, brother-sergeant. That child believes in Him. It blazes off her like a beacon. To her, the Emperor is like a lode-star. Everything she does is about Him."
"And the mother?"
"Is as dangerous as any non-astartes human I have ever seen. She is fiercely loyal to the Emperor, but even more so to her daughter. Both of them have killed, more than once. And..."
"And?"
"I got a glimpse, just a glimpse mind, of Tarken killing an Inquisitor."
"An Inquisitor? Are you certain?"
"Not certain, no. Both of them have very disciplined minds. Rather like astartes' minds actually. They are difficult to read. I could break in of course, but that could damage her permanently."
"We must know. If she would attack an Inquisitor, then Sara Tarken is not loyal to the Imperium."
Jacobus chuckled softly. "That I know already, brother-chaplain; neither of them even try to hide it. They consider themselves loyal to the Emperor, not to the Imperium."
"Now that is interesting. Two highly trained and very dangerous women on a ship capable of destroying almost anything it might encounter who consider themselves capable of distinguishing between the blessed Emperor and the Imperium."
"Much as we do," said Garth, the assault squad sergeant, quietly. He grinned briefly at Caliel. "You know we do, brother-chaplain. We defend humanity in the Emperor's name and by His will. Yet," he paused, "the actions of the Imperium do not always meet with our approval. Our loyalties are to Him, not to the Administratum or Ecclesiarchy or any other branch of the Imperium. Which is why there is always certain tensions between the astartes and the High Lords of Terra. They are aware that, should any of the lost Primarchs reappear, every astartes chapter would rally to support him over the Council."
There was a long silence. "Then what do we do?"
Esceriel looked at the grim faces. "We let them practice. We record those practices; Odo is right there. They are both very good and it will be instructive for our brothers to be reminded not to underestimate opponents. And we observe their actions. When we get to Baal, we report to Lord Commander Dante and Lord Librarian Mephiston. Then we will decide how the chapter may honourably proceed.".
There was a series of nods and grunts of agreement. Then Deneth spoke again. "One thing, brother-captain. Would it be permissible for some of us to train with them?"
"Why?"
"Combat training builds a certain camaraderie, brother-chaplain. If they feel comfortable around us, they are more likely to tell us things."
Odo laughed. "One day, brother, when you command your own company, I shall be able to tell my recruits 'ah, but I knew him when'. That is an excellent idea. Brother-captain, I concur."
Esceriel nodded. "It is a good thought. Do that. But don't teach them any of our secrets."
Deneth inclined his head, a rare twinkle in his dark eyes.
It was quite something, thought Odo, as he watched his squad pound along the processional behind the child. It wasn't a particularly fast pace by astartes standards, but her presence had certainly driven the Blood Angels marines to train harder. Especially when she was able to score points against them. Brother Sodor, a veteran of more than two centuries who was widely respected, had likened her to an especially ferocious gretchen. 'She is small, and not strong by astartes standards, but she uses her size well. Do not underestimate such an apparently insignificant opponent. A blade in the knee can bring down even the mightiest astartes.'
Captain Esceriel had given permission for the pair to use the firing range, and they had not disappointed. Tarken, in her power armour, was as good as most astartes, cool and calm and precise. The girl was an excellent shot with a bolt pistol, even though she had to use it two-handed with a wrist brace. She moved well and picked her targets. Once she was grown, she would be formidably skilled. All in all, the experiment was proving beneficial. Every squad was working harder; no space marine would let himself be out-scored or out-worked by a woman.
Odo grinned behind his helmet. He had to admit he rather liked the pair. They were brave and smart. It was, he mused, a pity that the girl was a girl. She would have made an outstanding recruit. Still, they would be at Baal in a week or so. The Lord Commander would expect a full report.
He smiled when he though of the reaction of the Chapter's techmarines to the armoury. A hundred sets of power armour. He wondered if the Lord Commander would take them for the Chapter. Perhaps not; they were all older marks, and using another unit's armour was not normal practice for space marines. On the other hand, what good they would do sitting on this ship without marines to fight in them he couldn't see.