Manric clashed with Fulgrim in the training arena, letting him get the measure of his new weapons.
The sword of God, when activated, was a pure white power sword. It was highly compact and just hummed softly but the potential for destruction it carried felt like the weight of a dead star. Just the sight of it made Manric wary and he knew it would inflict terrible injuries, if he let it touch him.
The shield of God was equally powerful. Meant to be pared with the sword, it was a semi-translucent power shield that carried the same white light. As they sparred, Manric noticed something odd about it… when his spear hit the surface of the shield, it flexed and seemed to dissipate the energy but also partially reflect it? A few times, it stung Manric slightly.
Be careful, Trazyn murmured to him via interstitial message and Manric sent back a brief glyph of acknowledgement. Still, he wanted to test this further. He would just take care to use a level of power that would not be lethal if it were reflected back.
"Fulgrim, let me strike at your shield, I want to test it," Manric said and Fulgrim nodded. They were both confident the shield would hold. Summoning roughly three quarters the power the spear could muster – nothing close to the full strength of it, but very substantial – Manric lashed out.
?! Manric had no warning. The shield flashed pure white, them all the force of his strike, plus more, was directed back into his face. He was launched through the air as wild damage signals painted his vision red. The only thing that kept him from going for recall was the nature of the shielding around the arena. Instead of smashing into a hard object, which would surely have finished him off, the shielding yielded to his body and dissipated the kinetic force. It brought him to a gentle halt before flexing back and dumping him back into the arena with a clatter of metal.
"MANRIC!" Sehenna's voice was audible, although he couldn't see. His oculars were badly damaged. Manric tried to evaluate the state of his body but the readings were quite confusing and he couldn't feel much.
"Oh my. I admit, I didn't think it would be that violent," Trazyn's voice was clear as well as Sehenna remonstrating Fulgrim and the clone apologizing. Which was completely unfair, this had been HIS mistake. He couldn't speak, but was his interstitial messages working? Ah yes, he could still access the networks.
Sehenna, please stop, I'm fine, Manric said to everyone in the vicinity. Sehenna came to a halt with a small stutter and Manric heard her running to his side.
"Fine?! You're in… in bits all over the place!" Oh, was he? That did explain why he couldn't feel anything. Pain could be a curious thing for necrons… largely absent, but substantial enough injuries could trigger it. A bit TOO substantial, though, and the ancient pain systems could also be badly damaged. Manric was pretty sure that was where he'd ended up. "Manric, why did you do something so stupid?" At least now she was correctly labeling him as the stupid one. Manric made apology glyphs. "Oh Manric…" Sehenna sniffled and Manric could feel her hand on his face, although it was vague and far away.
"This really is quite an impressive mess. We've summoned the Technomancers." Oh good. "I observed everything, that is an incredible shield. Do you want to know what happened?"
"Please, if you could?" Fulgrim said and Manric seconded that.
"I noticed the shield had a reflective effect all through the match, but it was fairly minor. I believe that rather abruptly changes when enough force is applied to it, and it engages in a full force reflection and also amplifies the return force." Yes… that made sense. "The only reason you are somewhat intact is the shape of the shield. Instead of reflecting the force in a point, it reflects in a cone. I would venture to say that this reflection effect is only useful in close combat. If you were to use the shield to block a long-distance attack it would still reflect but hit nothing." Well, unless you happened to have a friend standing in front of you but that wouldn't make sense.
You could win many fights this way, Manric said and Trazyn repeated it aloud for Fulgrim's benefit. Manric could vaguely hear the rustle and tink of the clone kneeling beside him.
"I know it's not my fault, but I'm sorry about this. I hope it doesn't hurt too much," he said and Manric made amusement glyphs.
I can't feel a thing, don't worry about it. Trazyn served as his translator again, speaking the words aloud for Fulgrim. Then the Technomancers arrived and Simokh said something brief and obscene in the necron language.
"How did you do this? I do not think a strike from Imotekh's staff could do this much damage." It probably couldn't, Manric had been hit by that once and it hadn't torn him to pieces, just caved in half his body. Not much of an improvement though, honestly. "I wonder if it would be less work to just send you for recall." HEY! "No… there is no point in courting a recall failure. Gather the parts." There was a skittering sound that Manric tentatively identified as Canoptek Scarabs. They could carry things, particularly when working in groups. Manric felt himself lifted and he felt oddly light. How much of his body was missing?
Over the next few hours, he was quickly and expertly pieced together. A few parts of his body were so badly damaged that they were just discarded for scrap and replaced entirely, which made Manric wonder. How did recall work exactly? It seemed like magic, but nothing the necrons did was actually magic. Did the recall facilities have great banks of replacement parts to use when something was too badly damaged to mend?
Manric was relieved when his oculars started to work again, the world coming into focus. Even if it was just a view of Simokh and another Technomancer, along with dozens of tiny scarabs, working on his body.
"I'm very sorry about making you do this, that was quite foolish of me," Manric murmured, apologizing to Simokh. The head Cryptek waved the apology away.
"You have already been most roundly punished." Certainly true. Even if it didn't hurt, being blown to bits was not an enjoyable afternoon. "However, in a sense, this is fortunate." How so? "We can prevent future sparring accidents, although it will deprive Fulgrim of wins from surprise. However, it is simply too dangerous." Ah. Yes.. could even Imotekh be badly damaged if he hit the shield just the wrong way? Probably, although his phase generator might catch that.
"I'm sure he'll understand. We might want to consider using a different shield for sparring," Manric murmured. The necrons could probably supply something very good without that nasty effect. Simokh tilted his head to one side.
"Perhaps, although having to deal with the danger might be a good challenge for his opponents." That was true. "Well, I believe I am finished. Can you move and test your body?" Ah, right. Manric pulled himself up and did a few testing movements, verifying that everything seemed to be in working order. Although now that he was put together if there were any problems, his self-repair mechanisms would finish the job. They were quite potent.
"Manric…" Sehenna was waiting outside and immediately gave him a hug. Manric returned the affection, holding her close. Trazyn and Fulgrim were not there but it had been hours, so it was just as well. Manric hoped that Fulgrim had gone back to the manor, because that was what he desperately wanted to do. For Sehenna, he made more glyphs of apology as she cuddled him. "It's fine. But please, don't do that again?"
"I will certainly try not to." That was not a fun time. "Where is Fulgrim? The manor?"
"No, he went with Trazyn. He wants to take him to an art gallery?" Ah, good! Fulgrim was quite focused on improving his skills but it would do him good to see a bit more of Hope. Manric had been told the original Fulgrim had possessed a keen appreciation for art in all its forms. "We can go home though." He wanted nothing else. If he were still human, Manric might have wanted a nap, but right now he just wanted to do something quiet like play their game. Something that was soothing and involved minimal effort.
And that was how they spent the afternoon. Manric realized, to his mild dismay, that he seemed to be losing this game… He would have to see if he could pull out of his death spiral but if not, he might want to consider conceding. Sehenna saw it as well and Manric could feel her hesitating, considering taking mercy on him, before deciding against it. That pleased Manric… they could always just start another game after all, or even play something else. There were many options. As they played, Manric thought about Imotekh's fleet and the necrons that would soon be arriving. How would they get along with Fulgrim? Manric honestly suspected that many of them would get along with him very well indeed. Many of the Overlords would find Fulgrim's dedication to war extremely commendable and be more than willing to work on their own skills against him.
If there was one thing they all shared, it was a dedication to the arts of war.
When the fleet arrived, Manric was quickly proven correct.
Imotekh had not brought his own fleet, he'd specifically taken command of Zahndrekh's wing. That was practical, as it would allow all the pwi-necrons a fine chance to spend months with their families, the ones who had families at least.
Manric first introduced Fulgrim to Itolyx and Ahmakeph. Individually, neither of them would have been a true challenge for the young clone but working together and also with Manric (without the gauntlet) they suddenly became far more threatening.
That drew everyone else in and it happened organically, as Manric intended. Imotekh did nothing to stop it, just watching as Overlord after Overlord tested their skill against Fulgrim. The only one that actually defeated him, once in a while, was Obyron. As Manric had anticipated, Obyron's incredible age and canny skill could take him to victory, with a bit of luck. And of all the opponents Fulgrim faced, Obyron was the one who taught him the most.
Finally, Imotekh himself decided to enter the arena.
The Stormlord won of course, and it went the way Manric expected… Fulgrim was stymied by Imotekh's phase shifting and his incredible, self-repairing body. Imotekh's victory was more of hardware than true skill, although the Stormlord was very skillful. Afterwards, Manric could see Fulgrim chewing over the match in his mind and he decided to give the clone a few words of wisdom.
"I am confident that if you study him enough and work hard enough, you can master a technique that will defeat Imotekh," Manric said to Fulgrim in the manor as he had some tea. "But should you?" That flummoxed the young clone for a moment.
"Should I? What do you… oh." Fulgrim stopped, his brows drawing together as he began thinking of the consequences. Manric was pleased, just letting him work it out. "The other necrons will be afraid of me and Primarchs in general."
"I would not quite say fear… more wariness. Right now, it is a great comfort to them that you were defeated by Imotekh. If you defeat the Stormlord, you will be greatly raised in their estimation, but that has drawbacks." Some of them would no longer want to spar against him, for certain. "And consider further. How would Imotekh react?" He wouldn't be angry but being defeated would come as a great shock to him.
"…" Fulgrim considered it for a moment. "I don't know him that well, but would he go on a quest to improve himself?" Manric was very pleased with Fulgrim's ability to anticipate Imotekh's actions, even after knowing him for such a short amount of time.
"Yes. He would task the Crypteks to create ever more intense improvements for his body, while also sparring with you heavily in an attempt to refine his own skills." Manric paused for a moment. "I believe this would be a fundamental waste of time and resources. Imotekh's great strength is not on the battlefield, it is as the mastermind that runs the battlefield. He should concentrate on simply being what he is and not attempt to refine his battlefield prowess further." That was Manric's concern in this. Fulgrim tilted his head to one side.
"But your concern is for the necrons. Would they not benefit, if Imotekh could make himself a champion to match a Primarch? They seem to be lacking such champions." That… wasn't entirely true. Manric hesitated a moment… should he reveal this? … but then he decided it was necessary.
"That is not true. The necrons have weapons at their disposal that can fully equal a Primarch or a demon prince." Fulgrim might have objected but Manric held up his hand. "Living weapons, they are called the C'Tan. They are shards of gods, the great entities that existed from the birth of the universe. The gods of the necrontyr, who betrayed them and were betrayed in turn, cast down and chained to their will. You cannot spar against them, because they are malice given form and powerful beyond most nightmares." Fulgrim probably did have knowledge of nightmares to equal the C'Tan. He did have all the memories of the original Fulgrim. "They hate the necrons but cannot disobey, when correctly commanded by a powerful Cryptek." Manric knew that commanding C'Tan shards was not a fun job. They would look for any weakness and loved to creatively misinterpret instructions, particularly if the one commanding them lacked any mental fortitude. Some shards were worse for that than others… Mephet'ran shards were notorious for it.
"C'Tan…" Fulgrim murmured, his gaze faraway as he scoured ancient memories. "I remember. Father, the Emperor, he mentioned them. I believe he even said that he said something about Mars… but then he wouldn't tell us anything more." Mars? What about Mars had to do with the C'Tan? "Ah, yes, I remember now he said they were parasites of stars? They must be incredibly powerful. And the necrons can command them?"
"Yes, but they are all sharded so they are vastly less powerful than the originals. It is worth knowing that there are free shards in the galaxy and they generally have one goal… to collect their shards and return to their original form." Manric shook his head. "I am sure Guilliman knows of this, but they are shape changers and Mephet'ran, in particular, is incredibly dangerous." Many of the other C'Tan were more inclined to just blow things up. Mephet'ran would trick his victims into blowing something up themselves.
"Well, I will take your advice. I think I can learn more from Obyron anyway," Fulgrim said and Manric nodded. Obyron really was tremendously skilled. His lack was more in the hardware area… his weapon and body, while mighty, were not up to Imotekh's standards.
That issue resolved, Manric spent more time with Sehenna. They went to several private events, things Reinhart got them invitations to. It was a bit vexing but Manric did not want to venture into public… the prophecy being fulfilled had truly started a bit of a religious firestorm. Manric didn't understand what was happening and had decided to handle it by turtling, hiding in the Tomb World and the Estates. Reinhart agreed that this was probably the best tactic and was helping him take Sehenna a few places without getting mobbed by religious zealots and paparazzi.
(Manric wasn't sure which of the two he liked least)
Overall, while staying this long in Hope was fun and it was good to spend time with his family, Manric desperately wanted to get back into the stars.
When Guilliman and his fleet arrived in the Hope system, he could see why Imotekh had said he didn't want them here.
Very impressive. Not directly around Hope, but orbiting around the fourth planet in the system to give separation, were vast shipyards. Guilliman could see they were extremely active. It was hard to tell for certain, but he thought some of the ships being built were entirely Necron design while others were human/necron hybrid designs. He saw nothing that could be called an entirely uninfluenced human design, but Guilliman supposed that was understandable. This planet had no Navigators, whatever original individual had brought them here had melted into the population. Necron technology would be more practical for the Hopians, in many ways.
"Hmm, impressive." Belisarius Cawl echoed by his side. "Very advanced. Not as large as the shipyards of Luna, they couldn't possibly produce as much but I think everything they make would be of extremely high quality." Yes, he thought so too. "They're also mining their asteroid belt but surprisingly crudely."
"Apparently that just generates fairly low-quality ore. They probably see no reason to upgrade the facilities," Guilliman said absently as they began receiving instructions of where to place their fleet. That was very important, given the other fleet in the system.
The Necron fleet was just as impressive as the Hope system. Beautifully made and deadly as knives, the Stormlord's fleet shone like black diamonds, glittering with the green light the necrons always favored. They were settled around Hope in a non-threatening way, nothing like a true military formation. The instructions they were given would set them in a very similar formation on the other side of the planet. Guilliman saw nothing wrong with that so directed his captains to obey the instructions.
The bulk of his fleet was Astartes ships and Guilliman had brought with him Ultramarines and their successor chapters, Dark Angels and, oddly enough, the Blood Angels and their successor chapters. A huge number of the Blood Angels, led by Dante, had shown up and demanded to be included. They refused to say why and Guilliman suspected something was up, but could see no real reason to exclude them. Also, a strong contingent from the White Scars were along, but they had a direct interest. They had already quietly requested that if it could be arranged, they wanted biotransference for Jubal Khan. His life support was beginning to fail and the Chief Apothecary thought he only had perhaps fifty years left. Guilliman had severely mixed feelings but with Cawl's support, had tentatively given his approval. Of course, who knew if Imotekh would allow it.
"What is that?" Cawl suddenly asked and Guilliman looked at what he was pointing to, the readouts on the Stormlords' fleet and also the native defenses of Hope. "Why is there an eldar vessel here?" Guilliman had to think about it a moment but then he remembered the reports of his Callidus assassins and Revalt's story.
"Oh, that's actually a drukhari vessel. They took it intact and crewed it, when the alliance between the necrons and Hope was young." Cawl made a buzzing sound of disbelief at the thought. "They had been at war with the drukhari for four thousand years. I would assume they had a lexicon of their language and a decent grasp of how their machines normally worked."
"Still, that must have been highly unpleasant. I wonder why they kept it? It seems quite old," Cawl said and Guilliman shrugged.
"Why not?" If he had an oddball unit that was nonetheless functional, he'd keep it. Actually, he did have several units like that, incredibly old ships that were still in working order. Not particularly useful, some of them, but they did function well enough to be assets.
Although the peace talks were being held on Hope, they would not be held at Hope's Landing. Instead, the Stormlord specified a cold, arid plain in the middle of a great mountain range. The White Scars would find it quite familiar, as it mimicked the plains of Chogoris. It was habitable and someday Hope might build a city there, but that was for when the planet was entirely full and such a marginal land was worth exploiting. For now, it was vacant of everything but native life.
While it was fall in Hope's Landing, the meeting was being held on a different hemisphere and here, it was spring. When they exited the shuttles, Guilliman glanced around curiously to see a great, beautiful steep. The flowers were blooming with the minimal spring rains and the temperature was excellent, not too hot or too cold. That, he knew, was a very brief state for a place like this.
"Ah, it reminds me of home," one of the White Scars murmured and Guilliman nodded. Cawl, though, was mildly annoyed.
"I really wanted to see the actual cities of this world." Well honestly Cawl, where would they meet in Hope's Landing? Guilliman knew that some facilities might be built to accommodate necrons, but even they would have a bit of difficulty with Primarchs. Not to mention that the best place would likely be in the Tomb World itself and Guilliman did NOT want that. The necrons also wouldn't want that. "Although I do see why we're not. I don't suppose I could get a tour after?"
"We'll see if it can be arranged." If Guilliman had been in Imotekh's shoes he wouldn't have wanted Cawl near anything, but maybe he'd make an exception for the purposes of diplomacy.
The instructions were to proceed on foot to a dais that was set up a short distance away. Imotekh and his entourage were already there and Guilliman stopped dead as he saw who was with them.
"What…?" Dante breathed and Guilliman wondered if he was going insane. Beside the two powerful necrons was someone who stood over a head taller, and had pure white hair. The armor, the majesty… Guilliman had not seen this person, not like this, for what felt like an eternity. For a brief moment his mind flashed back to the fight with his serpentine, corrupted 'brother' but then Guilliman pushed it out of mind.
"How perplexing. Did someone actually clone a Primarch? I believed that to be impossible," Cawl said and Guilliman cynically thought that he would know, he'd surely tried it. "We should probably keep moving." Ah… yes. The way they'd stopped was quite obvious. Guilliman started moving again and as they closed in, he observed Manric gently placing a hand on… Fulgrim's arm. There was no sign of nervousness that he could see, but with Manric's gifts, he would detect it.
(was he truly Fulgrim though? Guilliman wasn't sure)
The dais was pleasant enough, with a canopy to provide shade and jugs of water with glasses, which was thoughtful. Guilliman decided to tackle the obvious matter immediately.
"Who is this?" Guilliman examined his 'brother' dubiously but also with a well-hidden sense of wonder. He really did look exactly like Fulgrim and he also had the undefinable… thing that made a true Primarch. It was difficult to quantify but it was there. It was his 'brother' who answered.
"I claim the name of Fulgrim and I have all of his memories, until his corruption into chaos. I will redeem myself and kill the demon who profanes everything he ever was," he said very firmly, with the light of destiny in his eyes, a determination that was almost palpable. "If you will have me, brother." Fulgrim looked down and Guilliman could see his doubt, his fear that he would be rejected. Then Imotekh made a grating sound and Guilliman looked to him. The Stormlord stared back and Guilliman could read nothing in his glowing eyes.
"We offer to trade him to you, along with two pieces of technology, in return for concessions." Well, he'd expected that Imotekh would want something but it wasn't pleasant to hear though. Pieces of technology? Did he mean STC fragments? "These are the specifications of the first."
"Maybe it will be a weapon," one of the Primaris marines muttered, what he thought was under his breath but Guilliman heard him and Cawl surely did as well. But Cawl ignored it, taking the piece of paper from Imotekh and reading it over. Guilliman noticed as his hands started to shake.
"Improved capacitors… improved capacitors?... are these specs correct? How could this… this would mean…" Guilliman could tell that Cawl was quietly losing his mind. Unfortunately for the Primaris marine, he understood nothing.
"Not a weapon? Disappointing," he said and Cawl turned on him like a shark.
"THIS IS A MILLION TIMES MORE VALUABLE THAN ANY WEAPON YOU IDIOT!" The Primaris actually leaned away, to Guilliman's amusement. "This are used in ALL of your weapons! Your armor! EVERYTHING! This changes EVERYTHING!" Yes… Guilliman knew enough of what Cawl was talking about to understand that it did. This could potentially overhaul their entire tech base and it was just one thing from the STC. Then Imotekh made that grating sound again and Guilliman's attention snapped to him.
"We chose that in particular because we believe you will need it to make this," he said before offering Cawl another sheet. Cawl gently put the spec sheet of the capacitors on the table before taking the second sheet and reading it over.
"Ah, I see… a machine to detect genestealers." Guilliman froze at the thought. They all knew the necrons possessed hand held scanners and larger scanners, to scan entire spaceships. They could make those? "The notes indicate they do not believe we will be able to make the handheld ones but we should be able to make a gate sized one that we can usher anyone suspected through, and larger ones that can scan spaceships." That was nearly as good as a handheld unit, to Guilliman's mind. "They have a ninety-seven percent success rate… this mentions we should scan three times, to reduce the failure chance to close to zero." That made sense. Three percent was extremely low but it was better to be sure.
"I see… and what do you want for these priceless gifts?" Guilliman asked the Stormlord and he deployed a hologram.
"Let me show you how we see the galaxy." Guilliman watched with interest, counting on Cawl to commit this to memory as the Stormlord painted the galaxy in vibrant colors, each denoting a large necron dynasty. "I now claim Charnovokh." That color changed to match Sautekh. "I mean to claim Nihilakh, but that will not be easy… our prognostications now are that they will not come tamely to my banner." That part of the galaxy was changed to red. "I name Maynarkh my enemies as well." That also shifted to red. "And I will strike at the Pariah nexus within the next twelve years." Twelve years? "Preferably much sooner… the great Hive Fleet Leviathan is scheduled to arrive in fourteen years." Guilliman wanted to curse but held it back manfully. Fourteen years?! Yvraine had mentioned that the Farseers were predicting that, but they hadn't had an exact time frame. "If the Pariah Nexus is not taken care of before that, Szarekh will use it and destroy all organic life in the Galaxy."
"…" Guilliman closed his eyes for a moment. He did not doubt Imotekh's words at all. Then he opened them and looked at the Stormlord. "I see. This does make our coming to terms rather urgent." They were going to need each other, and soon. Imotekh nodded.
"Now that you understand our situation, Manric will negotiate. I am of no value in such things," The Stormlord said before stepping back and letting the lesser Overlord take his spot at the table. Guilliman sighed internally. He was at such a disadvantage here! Well, he would just have to do what Yvraine had recommended… be completely truthful.
What Imotekh wanted from the Imperium of Man was clear… he wanted worlds that were strategic for the building of relay facilities and other hardware. He wanted full rights to the space owned by Nihilakh, which was not a problem since it was completely lost to the Imperium anyway. Guilliman wasn't sure if they'd kept human subjects or destroyed the worlds there, it was so completely cut off. He also wanted first rights to the space occupied by the Maynarkh, although that was more flexible… Imotekh bluntly admitted that he did not have the military strength to hold all of it, even if the Maynarkh were battered into submission. So the Imperium would certainly be able to claim a swath of it back, although such a war might take thousands of years.
Guilliman and Manric bargained back and forth for many hours, sorting out what planets could be sacrificed to the control of the Sautekh. That involved a bit of flexibility from the necrons… Guilliman bluntly told them they couldn't have Balor, so Manric and Imotekh consulted before proposing a different planetary system. It wasn't even inhabited, not really, so Guilliman was happy enough to concede it.
"We will need a trade arrangement with Balor though… we can speak of that later." He was sure they would. The reason they'd wanted Balor was obvious, with all its' deposits of minerals but that was also why the Imperium needed it. Not to mention the Naval facilities there.
There were other issues to deal with, though. Fortunately, one thing the necrons wanted brought the White Scars smoothly into the discussion.
"I know we cannot have Chogoris – that is a very important world to you – " Well, in terms of actually contributing to the Imperium, not really. But they certainly weren't going to trade away the home world of the White Scars. "But it is a necron Tomb World." They had suspected as much. "It belongs to the Xahkeph Dynasty. They were an independent Dynasty but they did sometimes ally with Sautekh. It's very likely this is a dead Tomb World. But we would like permission to check."
"That does explain the Necron vessel that bombarded it," Guilliman remarked and caught the subtle stiffening in Imotekh's body language. "That wasn't one of yours?" Manric glanced towards the Stormlord and he felt like they were quietly conferring.
"No… and now we're even more certain it's a dead Tomb. But still, we should see if there are any survivors before we close it forever. If that is acceptable?" Manric asked and the leader of the White Scars jumped in.
"We would be willing to allow access to our planet if you will give biotransference to our great leader, Jubal Khan," he said and Manric tilted his head. Guilliman fancied he could sense his surprise. Then Manric openly looked at the Stormlord and after a moment, Imotekh responded.
"A civilian shell only. We will not share our military grade shells. Although that does not preclude going to war… such shells function perfectly well, when wired into a larger machine." Yes, that was certainly true, they could easily wire him into a Dreadnought. "We can bring the equipment and complete the transfer on Chogoris. If that would be agreeable?"
"That would be ideal, thank you," the White Scar said with a small bow. And that prompted Dante to finally bring up his concern.
"We are here because our Librarians, those who can see the future, have told us you hold a shard of the soul of Sanguinius." Guilliman froze. They had WHAT? "Return it to us."
"No." Manric's response was immediate and firm. Guilliman hesitated. He should demand that as part of the peace treaty but… why was Manric responding like that? It was extremely unlike him. "I can also see the future and this soul shard will bring you nothing but ill. Forgive me, I believe your name is Dante?" It was surprising Manric even knew his name, really. Dante nodded. "I found this soul shard in the Garden of Slaanesh. It was there because this is the one part of Sanguinius that naturally calls to her, and falls beneath her hand." …Oh… Guilliman grimaced internally. He knew what that meant. "This is his Thirst. But I am a machine, with no capacity for such things, so that part of the soul shard remains quiescent in my hands. In yours it would be anything but and it could bring your entire chapter to ruin. Sanguinius does not want that for his sons." Manric tilted his head to one side. "But I have seen… in a vision, I have seen you standing before me, a case in hand. You open it and there are six other rubies and an open space, meant for the seventh. I remove the ruby from my gauntlet and add it to the case." Manric looked at Dantes. "This is the last shard you need. Come to me when you have the others and I will surrender it."
"I see… I believe you. Our own seers have told us that we need seven soul shards in total." Dante nodded and Guilliman was relieved that this was turning out fairly well. What would he have done if the Blood Angels had demanded the ruby while Manric refused? He didn't even want to think about it. "Keep it in trust for us."
(Dante hadn't mentioned it, but his Librarians had also seen that Sanguinius had chosen to rest this soul fragment in the hands of this xenos)
(given the nature of the necrons, Dante had been able to guess the reason)
When the negotiations for worlds was done, the Imperium conceded to Sautekh control almost fifty worlds. It seemed like a lot, but it wasn't… to Guilliman's relief, the Stormlord specifically did not want Hive and Forge worlds. Despite his work with Antioch, he considered them both damned nuisances and did not want more of them to rehabilitate. Instead the Stormlord preferred Civilised worlds, which were much easier for the Imperium to surrender. Guilliman would never have admitted it, but giving up some of these planets was a relief. They were problem children, well past the light of the Astronomicum and chronically behind on their tithes. The Stormlord could deal with that.
That left the trade negotiations and Manric had a suggestion.
"While you need some of them for security, I believe this portion of our negotiations will bore your escort to death. In particular, your tech priest would surely like to be somewhere else." Oh yes, Cawl was already meditating on his inventions. "We can arrange tours of the planet, in non-secured areas, if you wish."
"Oh yes! I would love that, thank you so much," Cawl immediately jumped in and while none of the Space Marines would agree aloud, Guilliman could sense that some of them were already intensely bored with the diplomacy, no matter how vital it was. The trade negotiations would make them wish for death. He kept a core of Ultramarines with him, but gave the rest leave to return to the ship and avail themselves of the tours, if they wanted. Guilliman wondered how that would go but put it out of mind.
As long as no one died, that wasn't his problem. Getting the best deal out of the Sautekh Empire was.