Malcador leaned back in the chair of his office, doing his best to portray an image of unperturbed calm and confidence.
For most people, he did not need to try. He was the Sigillite, the right hand of the Golden Emperor, his spymaster, advisor. His mere reputation was enough to make even the bravest men and women step warily, especially when they were summoned to his personal domain in the heart of the Imperial Palace. If absolutely necessary, Malcador could loosen his grip on his own power and aura. He may not have been as formidable as the Emperor, but he was still an Alpha-Plus psyker, and a fraction of his might was sufficient to cow any ordinary human.
For the visitor approaching his office, all of that was entirely worthless. But appearances were still useful to maintain, though it would not do to appear to be trying too hard.
A few moments later, the enormous psychic presence that had been steadily making its way through the fortress to his office stopped just outside the door and knocked.
"Come in." Malcador called out, feeling more like the young soldier he had been more than six thousand years ago than the ancient veteran he was now.
The door swung open and Isha entered. She was wearing her human guise of a beautiful but ordinary woman, as she always did outside her private chambers or labs. It was for the best that she did so, it was imperative that as few people as possible knew of her true nature, but that did not mean Malcador did not find it…disconcerting. On a purely personal level, Malcador preferred her Eldar form, when the evidence of her inhumanity was on display.
"You wanted to see me?" She inquired, her voice also sounding far too human for Malcador's tastes. Not that he particularly cared for the disconcertingly perfect music that every word out of her mouth sounded like when she discarded the illusion of humanity. But he refused to let his discomfort show, even if Isha could likely sense it anyway.
"I did." The Sigillite nodded, gesturing to the seat opposite him. "I wanted a progress report on your work."
Isha arched an eyebrow for a moment, clearly not believing him. He had full access to her and Astarte's reports, and much work to do besides. They both knew the progress report was just an excuse for him to check in on her.
But she did not seem inclined to question the excuse today, at least. Instead, she slid into the seat with the smooth, languid grace of some dangerous predator and began to speak.
"I have raised production of the panacea fruits by 300%, and mass production of the cures and inoculants for the the new Nurglite bioweapons is well underway-"
Malcador leaned back in his chair, carefully absorbing her words even as a part of his mind drifted.
Even after all these years, being left in Bai-heng with an Eldar warp-construct set Malcador's teeth on edge.
He knew Isha was unlikely to break her word after all these years. He knew they had already trusted her with critical parts of the Imperium's infrastructure, industry and military, and she had given them no cause to regret it. He knew that she was no fool, to risk her life and safety by suddenly lashing out. Not to mention it had become increasingly obvious that she was exactly as soft-hearted as she seemed at first glance, it wasn't a mask to make them let their guard down. Indeed, as he had told the Emperor, it was a weakness they could exploit.
Malcador knew all that, and yet, he could not entirely quell his paranoia. Could not prevent himself from considering all the worst-case scenarios, no matter how unlikely.
Ideally, Malcador would have preferred if Isha was still confined to her chambers, only doing very specific work for them, tightly supervised. It made him itch that an Eldar had managed to become such a vital part of their plans and resources in less than a decade.
But in the end, it all came down to the lack of time. They had so very little, that it might not be much at all. The Imperium needed to rise and expand as swiftly as possible, they needed to crush every threat such as the Orks, they needed to build a bastion against Chaos. If they did not pursue their goals with all possible speed, a second Age of Strife was all but inevitable.
The Emperor had always been driven by this knowledge, always rushing ahead as swiftly as possible, often disregarding practicality, safety and efficiency in favour of getting everything done as quickly as possible. Even when Malcador had cautioned his lord that too much speed might be detrimental to their efforts rather than an advantage, rarely did the Emperor acknowledge that advice.
Despite his immense power, his old friend could be so very human at times.
And Isha was a boon to that. Her knowledge, her abilities, the gifts she had offered…they had allowed the Emperor to dramatically accelerate his plans at very little cost, to let them surge forward yet also build a foundation far more solid than they had hoped. It had been inevitable, in retrospect. For all the Emperor's paranoia and mistrust of Isha and the Eldar in general, Malcador doubted his old friend could ever have refused an opportunity like this once it was clear she would not turn against them.
Not with everything that was at stake if they failed.
And yet…Isha was still an Eldar. Was still an Eldar goddess. She should have been their enemy, and even now, it was difficult not to see her as one.
It did not help that Malcador was uncomfortably aware that for all his power and experience, Isha was more than capable of squashing him like a gnat if it truly came down to it. Checking in on her made no difference. If she decided that she was no longer interested in playing along, then even the powerful wards the Emperor had layered across all of Bai-heng would place them on even terms at best. And it was hardly as if meeting her regularly for the past few days would reveal anything to him about her which he had not learned in the past several years.
But in the end, his paranoia demanded that he keep as close an eye on her as possible, no matter how futile it ultimately was.
"-and Astarte informs me that transport of the new medicines to the warfront has already begun." Isha finished.
Malcador nodded in response to her words, having heard it all even as the rest of his mind had wandered. It was a useful trick, not psychic, merely one that took experience and practice.
"Thank you. Is there anything else?"
Isha paused for a moment, considering. "I understand Astarte has talked to you about concerns with the Space Marines?"
Malcador frowned. "Yes," He said slowly, feeling a prickle of irritation. Why would Astarte speak to Isha about this? "She has spoken to you as well?"
"Yes," Isha confirmed. "And I believe her fears are valid. She has been conducting studies on the geneseed, and has found some…concerning factors."
Malcador's frown deepened. "What factors?"
Isha produced her dataslate, pulling up the relevant files and offering them to Malcador. "A worrying tendency towards mutation. It is buried and dormant for now, but…"
Malcador skimmed the files. He wasn't a genewright on Astarte's level, much less Isha's, but you did not live as long as he had without picking up some knowledge.
And calling what Astarte had found concerning was putting it mildly. A part of him wanted to question it, given that Astarte had acknowledged she had found those things only due to knowledge she had gleaned from Isha's work, but Malcador quelled that part of himself for the moment. Isha was unlikely to fake this, and in any case, the Emperor would check it when he returned.
Malcador rubbed the bridge of his nose, already feeling a headache build. "I am starting to wonder how many hidden traps Chaos has left, only waiting for us to trip over them."
A sardonic smile flickered across Isha's face. "There will never be an end to those, I'm afraid. They can be disgustingly devious when it suits them."
"Indeed," He murmured. "We will have to discuss this with the Emperor when he returns, but I'm afraid there's not much else we can do."
Isha's smile faded. "I can correct the flaws in the geneseed," She said after a long moment. "If I can have direct access to it."
Malcador stiffened in his seat at the implied offer. "I'm afraid that's out of the question." He told her sharply. "You may ask the Emperor about this when he returns, but I cannot give you access."
Even if a part of him wanted to. For all that his long ingrained paranoia made it difficult to rely on Isha, letting the taint of Chaos fester in both the stored geneseed and the already active Marines was an even more unpleasant prospect. Isha was Eldar, but Chaos was worse.
But he could not go against the Emperor's orders and break his trust.
Isha accepted the answer, disappointed but clearly unsurprised. "Very well. But if I may ask, how is the Emperor's campaign going? When will he return?"
"Well, for the most part." Malcador said, glad for the easier question. "The Pan-Pacific Empire does not seem to have been prepared for the full extent of what he is capable of, fortunately."
Isha's smile returned. "That is good. I must admit, I dislike the idea of Chaos having a strong foothold on the planet."
"Indeed." Malcador replied, leaning back in his chair, his eyes flickering to the old fashioned wall clock on the wall, idly noting the time, almost noon. The clock was quaint, a piece of technology which had been outdated for millennia even in his own youth and that he did not truly needed, but he found the nostalgia of it oddly comforting.
"Is there anything else you wish to discuss? I have other appointments today."
Isha shook her head, rising to her feet. "No, there is nothing else. I hope the war goes well." With a brisk nod, she left.
Now, for the more difficult of today's meetings. Isha made him uncomfortable, but at least Malcador knew how to handle her.
The Primarch, on the other hand, was another matter.
Taking a few more minutes to sort though the papers and dataslates, Malcador stood once his desk had been organized to his satisfaction. Grabbing his staff, he left the office, making his way towards the dining chambers.
As he headed for his lunch with the Emperor's son, Malcador mentally reviewed what he had learned of the boy from the reports.
Proud, clever and imperious. Fiercely protective, even possessive of that which he considered his. Charismatic, certainly. There was little doubt Horus was the Emperor's son.
But above all, young.
It was good, for the most part. A Primarch already grown to adulthood would be stronger, but also more difficult to mold and teach. Horus of Cthonia clearly had rough edges that needed polishing, but he was ripe to be properly educated and shaped into the perfect commander for the Imperium.
Nevertheless, his youth did come with some issues.
A lack of maturity, a dearth of patience, and most importantly, the need for a proper father figure. By the reports from the guards and staff, the boy had spent the last several days sulking, which did not bode well.
Truth be told, Malcador should have made the time to meet him immediately after the Emperor had left, but he was so damnably busy.
Hopefully, he could amend that today.
Arriving at his destination, Malcador walked past the guards and into the small, private dining chambers he usually used for entertaining particularly important nobles and guests. They were not particularly large, but still comfortable, with warm wooden floors and walls, illuminated by the sunlight from the round window on the left wall. It was lavishly appointed with blue velvet chairs that bore a not unnoticeable similarity to a throne, and a marble dining table that could seat five.
Horus was already seated at the table, but he wasn't looking at the golden cutlery or the rich food made by the finest cooks in the Imperium. Instead, as it had been for the past few days, the boy's arms were crossed and there was a sulky expression on his face that made him look rather like a toddler.
Malcador had to stop his lips from twitching at the site. Yes, definitely young.
"Good afternoon, Horus." Malcador said amiably, taking his own seat across from the boy. "It is nice to meet you. My name is Malcador, I serve as your father's advisor and help him run the Imperium. How are you today?"
The boy gave him a truly fearsome glare. It was an impressive one for his age, and combined with the natural aura of a Primarch, it could have cowed many grown men and women, but Malcador was unfazed. Horus had the potential to become one of the most dangerous beings in the galaxy one day, but for now, he was a child with power he barely even knew he possessed. He certainly didn't know how to wield such power properly.
There would come a day when Horus was his superior, but that day was not today.
"I see you are feeling particularly upset, but perhaps I can help with that." Malcador mused, taking a seat and reaching out to pour himself a cup of ginger tea. He inhaled the scent for a moment, before taking a sip, enjoying the rich taste as he watched Horus.
The boy slouched into his chair and mumbled something incomprehensible. The clothes he was wearing were of Imperial make, but had been torn and ragged in several places to resemble Cthonian gang garb. It was a petty act of rebellion, but it mattered little. The Imperium could pay for such things a million times over without making a dent in the treasury, and the boy would learn in time.
"I received more news from the warfront today," Malcador continued, swallowing his tea. "Things are going well, your father should be back in a week or two at most."
At this, the boy's head shot up and he glowered again, but Malcador could see the uncertainty and hope below the hurt feelings of a child.
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Horus spat, the first clear words he had spoken all day. "Father left."
He left me so soon after finding him, he left as though he didn't care. The words went unspoken, but Malcador heard them all the same. He suppressed a sigh, and not for the first time, wished the Emperor had at least written down a message for his son.
Rather than responding immediately to Horus, Malcador plucked a biscuit from a tray and popped it into his mouth as he considered what to say.
He could handle childish temper tantrums, even from a Primarch. It was even amusing, in it's own way. But it was going to cause issues when the Emperor returned, and his old friend's parenting skills were even rustier than Malcador's own. At least still had practice from managing the whining and squabbling of entitled aristocrats. But in Revelation's presence, they were usually too overawed to behave immaturely.
In any case, Malcador needed to present the image of a wise, benevolent uncle, and ensure that Horus retained a positive opinion of the Emperor until the man himself returned.
"Your father had to deal with a dangerous threat to the Imperium," Malcador said finally, pouring himself another cup of tea. "I understand why you are upset, but you were a gang-lord on Cthonia were you not?" More of a raider and a thief than a proper warlord, according to the reports from the Star Hunters, but still. "You should be able to understand the value of defending one's territory and being proactive in dealing with threats.
The sulky expression returned as Horus turned away. Malcador had expected some sort of counter-argument, perhaps about how he had always made time for his companions, but the boy was apparently too upset by the Emperor's departure to bother.
"How are your friends settling in?" Malcador asked instead of pressing the point. Of course, he already knew how the boy's friends were doing, but perhaps changing the subject would help.
"They're fine." Horus grumbled, still pointedly refusing to eat. "Not that it's any of your business. And I'll stay with them, no matter what you say." He added, the sulkiness replaced by a stubborn express very reminiscent of the Emperor.
"You won't be separated from your friends." Malcador assured him, suppressing a sigh.
Horus clearly didn't believe him, and Malcador couldn't blame him. Valdor had expressed concerns about the boy being far too attached to his gang, but Malcador found the boy's attachment to his companions entirely harmless. It was to be expected, given the environment he had grown up in, and he would grow out of it in time.
The Emperor's attempt to separate them were rather more exasperating. Honestly, it was as if his lord had completely forgotten how to deal with children. Malcador was rather rusty himself, but even he knew how to handle them better than that.
But Malcador couldn't bring himself to blame the Emperor. Most of Revelation's children and descendants were dead, far too many of them by his own hand. The memories of raising children were painful enough for Malcador, who had been fortunate to have never had to strike down his own offspring for any reason.
But if the Emperor meant to raise and train Horus properly, he would need to rediscover his aptitude for parenting rather quickly.
Refocusing his attention on Horus, Malcador spoke. "Is there anything you would like to do, or that you want for yourself or your friends? I can arrange almost anything easily."
The boy would need to be guided with a firmer hand in the future, but for the moment, Malcador needed to convince the boy to trust him rather than regard him with fear and trust, and gifts seemed like the only option.
Horus frowned. He was clearly considering his options. Hopefully, he wouldn't ask for anything that actually violated the Emperor's orders.
But Malcador's hopes were dashed with the next words out of the Primarch's mouth. "Can I meet the scientist who helped terraform Cthonia? I asked fath-, the Emperor about her on the ship, but he said she was too busy to meet with me. I'd like to talk to her."
Malcador resisted the urge to slap a hand across his face. Of course the boy would ask for the one thing Malcador could not grant him. Most anything else, even if it involved working around the Emperor's orders, was something he could have explained to Revelation as necessary and his lord would have understood.
Introducing the boy to Isha was the one thing the Emperor would never accept, and frankly, Malcador was inclined to agree with him.
"I'm afraid she is far too busy, and occupied with even more work now that the war has flared up again. Is there anything else?"
"But you said you could have anything I wanted." Horus pointed out, his eyes gleaming. The boy was curious about Isha, but this was clearly more about testing Malcador's boundaries than actually meeting her, the Sigillite realized. Wonderful.
"I said almost anything." Malcador corrected. "I cannot go against your father's orders, and he ordered Isha to focus all her efforts and time on supplementing the war effort."
Horus scowled. "Then what does it matter? You can't give me anything I want anyway?" He sneered, rising to his feet, shoving a bunch of food and cutlery to the floor, the storming out of the room before Malcador could think of an appropriate response. Stopping him would have been easy, but also counterproductive.
Malcador sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Clearly, his parenting skills were even more decayed than he had thought.
Damn the Emperor for dropping this on him.
As always, the next chapter is on my P-a-t-r-e-on, the link to which can be found on my profile.