WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. THE STATE OF MICHIGAN HAS FORBIDDEN ME FROM ENTERING, THANKS TO MY CRUSADE AGAINST LAWN GNOMES, THE LITTLE BASTARDS.
Weapons? Check.
Armies? Check.
Fleet? Check.
An actual destination? Uh… lemme get back to you on that.
Star-Bound
Chapter 6
Vision
Shepard thought she had started to get a hang of the Imperium's incredible scale, right up until she saw the ships they used in battle. In the universe she'd been born in, a ship's size was limited by Element Zero; the bigger the ship, the more eezo required to power it, which meant that, at one point, ships of a certain size became unfeasible. The largest vessel she'd ever seen, other than the Reapers, had been the Destiny Ascension, a dreadnought that was over a kilometer long.
To the Imperium, kilometer-long ships were considered an escort vessel. Though they used the term 'battleships' for their dreadnoughts, they also had far more than anything back home.
The command vessel of her Crusade was an old Retribution-class battleship that was named the Vehemence. She was just over eight kilometers long, automatically making her the largest warship in her home galaxy's history by a wide margin. Of course, her sheer mass put her on a scale that Shepard could barely comprehend, and she was armed to the teeth; warship-killing lance batteries lined her dorsal section, while her sides were lined with row upon row of broadside cannons. Her armored, wedge-shaped prow had huge torpedo launchers built inside. Propelling this monster of a warship was a suite of engines whose exhausts glowed like a sun, and though most of the ship was painted a blue-grey, there was a golden shrine to the Emperor that stood out, nestled on top of the ship's rear third, glinting in the light of Vigilus' star.
As Shepard's shuttle landed in the Vehemence's cavernous hangar, she noticed wings of fighters and bombers waiting. The ship was so big that it could afford to be a battleship and a carrier. Once the light by the shuttle's door switched from red to green, Shepard finally set foot on her flagship.
If she hadn't been told in advance that it would happen, she would have been surprised by the sudden stamp of hundreds of boots on the deck as the ship's armsmen and fifty Deltic Scorpions stood at attention. The armsmen themselves were impressive, their flak armor painted the same as their ship, and armed with shotguns and las carbines; they held themselves professionally, though after spending so much time with the Deltic Scorpions, Shepard could see that they just weren't of the same caliber.
"Welcome aboard the Vehemence, Saint Shepard," Vils said from his position in front of his soldiers. "With your permission, we can escort you to the bridge. High Admiral Dartan is waiting for your arrival."
Shepard looked around at the massive hangar, taking in the sight of machines she could only dream of. "I'd ask for a tour of the ship, but I think we'd all die of old age before we reached the bridge."
Vils wasn't wearing his helmet, only a red beret, so Shepard could see his smile. "You're probably right. Even then, it will take us a while to reach the bridge."
Shepard made an elaborate show of pretending to look at a watch. "Well, at least it's still morning, so we've got time."
Vils dismissed the ship's armsmen, leaving just the Scorpions as Shepard's guard. As they headed to a transport that would reduce their journey to the bridge from a few days to less than an hour, Shepard began to speak.
"Hey, how's Hiral's training coming along?"
"He's determined, I'll give him that," Vils allowed. "He didn't attend the Schola Progenium, so he'll never be able to join my regiment, but the squad in charge of his training was impressed. He still has a long way to go, though."
Shepard just shrugged. Hiral was running himself ragged training to be worthy to fight in the Crusade; when he wasn't doing that, he was effectively Shepard's secretary, organizing meetings and keeping her on schedule while she continued learning all she could about the Imperium. She was impressed with Hiral's dogged determination, pushing through the worst exhaustion and coming out stronger for it.
"I've got a good feeling about him," Shepard said. "Keep working him hard, and if he proves himself to your troops, I'll approve him coming out into the field."
The two shared small talk for the rest of the ride, mostly discussing what the other thought of the various forces that had joined the Crusade. Neither of them could say much about the various Astra Militarum regiments, since they hadn't fought alongside them—only two were from Vigilus, but they weren't ones they knew. Many of the newly-mustered regiments had gotten at least a little experience on Vigilus, and the veterans kept their skills sharp.
When they eventually reached the bridge, they had to wait further while the thick bulkhead slowly sank into the deck. The bridge contained a dozen officers, and twice as many servitors attached to consoles, their functions a mystery that Shepard could only guess at. Beyond the viewports, Shepard could see the many ships that were pledged to her Crusade, from the bulky Imperial Navy craft, to the lumbering Mechanicus ships that glowed with esoteric energies, to the predatory vessels of the Necropolis Hawks. Most of her attention, however, was on the man who sat at the center of it all, on a raised platform.
High Admiral Sirruk Dartan was old, even by the standards of the Imperium. His dark skin was deeply lined, and the hair on the right side of his head was greyer than Shepard's had ever been; the left side of his head was bald, and was instead dotted with cybernetics, including a trio of thick cables that ran from his scalp to under his high collar. His skeletal, augmetics hands gripped the arms of his command throne, which rotated to face the new arrivals.
"Saint Shepard," Dartan said, his voice coming out raspy, but strong as he bowed in his seat. "Welcome aboard the Vehemence. She will serve you and the Emperor well, as will I."
Shepard put on her best smile as she walked up to the old man. "I'm sure you and this beautiful ship will do everyone proud, High Admiral. I've been on this ship for an hour, and I already love her."
Dartan smiled the same way a grandfather would if his grandchildren said they wanted stories. "If you haven't already, I can provide you with a list of battle honors the Vehemence has received. She has served for nine thousand years, so that list is quite extensive."
Shepard winked. "And I'll bet you've added your fair share to that list, right?"
Dartan chuckled. "I would not dare to boast to a Living Saint." A chime from a station below made him frown. "Forgive me, Your Holiness, but there are matters of the fleet that I must attend to."
Shepard bowed her head respectfully. "Of course, High Admiral. I believe that I have a meeting in the strategium soon. Will you be joining us?"
"The first official meeting of the Crusade's leadership?" Dartan drew himself up proudly. "I would not miss it."
Shepard smiled again, and she and her escort withdrew from the bridge. Thankfully for them, the strategium was close to the bridge, so the walk was only a few minutes long. They weren't the first to arrive; Temperance Blaise and Hadrian Rex were already present.
"Ah, Saint Shepard!" Rex bowed, as did Blaise. "It is good to see you, on the eve of this glorious Crusade!"
Shepard just nodded; part of her was still very uncomfortable with the level of religious zeal the Imperium displayed. She had thought she'd seen the worst of it from Michael back home, but this was something else.
The door opened once again, revealing yet another familiar face. Zandtus inclined his head as he walked in; Shepard noticed that, despite his size and bulky armor, Zandtus barely made a sound as he moved. Shepard glanced at his chest; the wound he'd received at the Patriarch's claws had healed, and his armor had been repaired. Such was the Necropolis Hawks' artificers' skill that, if Shepard hadn't seen him so badly hurt, she wouldn't have known his armor had been damaged at all. As someone who appreciated fine craftsmanship, Shepard approved.
"High Admiral Dartan is dealing with fleet positioning, as well as some unfortunate politics," Zandtus said without preamble. "He will join us once he has smoothed some ruffled feathers."
"What kind of politics?" Shepard asked as she took her seat.
To her surprise, it was Hadrian who answered. "Everyone pledged to this Crusade has done so earnestly, Your Holiness, but the old faults of man still persist. Some of our forces have long-standing grudges, and until they bond on the field of battle, it is best that their respective vessels stay away from each other. We do not want to risk them firing upon each other."
"Wonderful." Shepard closed her eyes and silently counted backwards from ten. "We haven't even started, and parts of our army already want to kill each other."
The doors hissed open before anyone could comment, and the one member of Shepard's council that she hadn't met strode in.
"Ah, so many of you are here early!" The booming voice caught Shepard by surprise. "Absolutely spot on!"
Lord-Marshal Stevron Helmin did not look like he was over eighty years old, as his file suggested. Frequent juvenat treatments and healthy living gave him the appearance of a man in his early thirties. His brown hair was slicked back, and his handlebar mustache was waxed; his skin was almost unhealthily pale, and his blue eyes sparkled with amusement. He wore a gleaming silver breastplate, replete with medals and ribbons on a sash, and an immaculate forest-green uniform. Over it all, he wore a cloak, lined with the fur of an animal Shepard didn't recognize.
Overall, she would have considered him a fop, if not for two things. First, his record was impressive, having led eleven victorious campaigns against aliens and heretics alike, many of them across entire systems. Second, despite his flamboyant attire and attitude, he had his cloak adjusted perfectly so that he could draw his pistol and sword without difficulty.
"Lord-Marshal," Shepard greeted with a nod. "Welcome aboard."
Helmin grinned widely, even as he bowed. "Saint Shepard, it is an honor to be in your illustrious presence! Had I known that your beauty exceeded the wildest rumors, I would have come sooner!"
Oh, for the love of… Shepard almost buried her head in her hands. It's like having Locke back, only he commands whole armies.
Zandtus and Vils were wearing their helmets, but the way they turned toward the Lord-Marshal suggested they were giving him strange looks. Blaise and Rex, however, looked outraged, and the former rested her hand on her power sword's hilt.
"You dare—"
"Easy, everyone," Shepard said, gently pushing Blaise back into her seat as she tried to rise. "I can tell that he was just being polite."
Helmin wasn't stupid, and caught the hint immediately. "Of course, Your Holiness, my apologies for any offense caused. It is expected among the nobility of my homeworld to flatter ladies of higher standing."
The strangest thing was that Shepard actually believed him. Still, Blaise nodded after another moment of glaring at the man, and Rex had already smoothed his features.
"Now that we're all friends," Helmin went on, as if nothing had happened, "I meant it when I approved of everyone getting here early. I imagine that the Mechanicus component to our group will be here exactly on time, though I hear that the High Admiral is busy. Shall we wait for him before starting?"
"It would be rude if we started without him," Shepard pointed out. "It's his ship, after all."
A moment later, the door slid open once again, and Xem-Beta skittered inside; Shepard noted with some amusement that it was now exactly when the meeting was scheduled to begin.
"Greetings," Xem-Beta said, followed by a squawk of binary. "This meeting is meant to facilitate unit cohesion, correct? All data is available through personnel files."
Shepard just politely smiled. "Sorry for any inconvenience, Magos, but most people like to meet face-to-face at least once."
Xem-Beta's triple-lensed optic clicked as it rotated clockwise, then counterclockwise. "Inefficient, but understandable. Where is High Admiral Dartan?"
"Arriving now, Magos," Dartan said as he slowly walked in. He leaned heavily on a cane—Shepard empathized, having done the same for years, and had she not seen the way he proudly held himself, she would have helped him to a seat. "Now that we are all present, are there any matters that must be addressed before we depart?"
Shepard didn't miss the way everyone, even Rex and Blaise, glanced at her. She didn't blame them; even she didn't know where they were going, and she was supposed to have that kind of information. At that point, she was starting to worry that the Emperor had just given her power, but no direction.
Fortunately, Helmin came to her rescue. "I won't be so arrogant as to claim to know the God-Emperor's mind, but I am certain He will guide His Saint when it is time."
Rex nodded. "Agreed. We must all be patient; the God-Emperor is not some functionary whose favors can be summoned, but we can still ask. I will lead a prayer for His guidance until we have it."
"And I'll be… meditating in my quarters," Shepard said. "I'm still new to being a Saint, so I can't say I know what speaking to the Emperor is like, but I might have a better chance if I'm somewhere quiet."
"Your personal effects have already been transferred to your quarters, Your Holiness," Dartan said calmly. "I have been informed that the necessary prayers, wardings, and holy writings have all been applied."
Shepard nodded her thanks, first to Dartan, and then to Rex and Blaise, who almost certainly had something to do with it.
"I know that this was only a short meeting, but I'm glad we all came together today," she said. "I thought it would be a good idea if all of us met in person at least once, especially since we'll be campaigning together for a while. Before we return to our stations, are there any matters that need to be brought to everyone's attention?"
"A few more ships were added to the fleet," Dartan said. "Mostly escort squadrons and a pair of cruisers. They emerged from the Warp just before you arrived on the ship, Your Holiness; they were not scheduled to join the Crusade, but then again, half of our ships are volunteers anyway."
"Hey, the more the merrier," Shepard said with a smile. "I certainly won't complain if we have a few extra guns." She frowned as a thought occurred to her. "I know I said this during operations on Vigilus, but there is something I want to make clear.
"I'm aware that many commanders within the Imperium are happy to sacrifice the lives of their soldiers if it means achieving victory. I don't want thousands of men and women lost just to take a hill or something; massed infantry charges should be the absolute last resort."
"Of course, Your Holiness," Helmin said with a bow. "I myself prize efficiency over needless sacrifice. It is far easier to see the ruined remnants of the foe when it is not blocked by a mountain made of the bodies of the loyal."
Good, he gets it, Shepard thought. "Exactly. I don't want a Crusade of martyrs; we won't get far if we lose an entire regiment for every battle we win."
The nods from Zandtus and Vils showed that they approved, and Shepard thought that Xem-Beta agreed—the Mechanicus were usually creatures of logic, so efficiency in battle likely struck a chord with him. While Blaise and Rex appreciated the destruction of the Imperium's enemies, they also saw death in service to the Emperor as a blessing, so they were probably a little conflicted. Shepard hoped that their first campaign was a resounding success, thus vindicating her decision to them.
"Very good." Shepard stood up, followed by everyone else. "If there's nothing else, please return to your stations and be ready to leave at a moment's notice."
…
Several hours passed, and Shepard was beginning to grow frustrated. She'd tried meditating, praying, even talking to herself in an effort to get the Emperor's attention; so far, all she'd gotten was a headache.
"Come on, you're supposed to be guiding me," Shepard hissed through clenched teeth. "What do I have to do to get your attention?"
Shepard pulled her fist back, ready to punch a wall in anger, when a thought came to her. Her powers came from rage; maybe channeling her power would help her connect to the Emperor? It had kind of worked when she'd first used them, after all.
Shepard moved to the center of her quarters—a rather lavish affair that included expensive rugs and a gold-chased marble desk—and knelt. She focused on her anger, stoking it until she almost saw red; her body glowed with golden light, and her wings materialized behind her. It took her a moment to master the angry voices she heard; she was certain that, if someone were to enter her quarters at that moment, she would have attacked them. Once her power stabilized, she worked to enter a meditative state while also maintaining her anger.
Just when Shepard was starting to wonder if she was wrong, everything went dark.
…
There was no ship, there was no room. She was in a dark forest, the night sky illuminated only by the stars and moon. Shepard recognized the trees; she'd spent part of her survival training in these very woods. Somehow, she had been taken to Earth—or Terra, as it was called now. But this wasn't the Terra she'd seen pictures of; the homeworld of humanity had no trees, just endless cities.
She was seeing Terra as it had once been.
Shepard took a step forward, but found herself feeling weak. She looked down at her hands; instead of the smooth skin of her youth, she was once again an old woman. To her surprise, she also had her cane again, and used it to support her as she walked into a clearing. In the center of that clearing was a fire pit, piled high with ash and half-burned wood; only a few glowing embers remained of a once-great flame.
Sitting on a ring of stone seats at the edge of the pit was a man, swaddled in an old cloak, his features concealed by a hood. He showed no sign of noticing Shepard, and kept poking at the embers with a stick.
"I don't think it's working," Shepard said, surprised that her voice still sounded young, though her body was old.
The old man—and Shepard could now tell that he was old, with hands so wrinkled they made hers look like a child's—continued to prod the embers.
"If I do nothing, the last of the flame will go out," the man said. His voice was deep and contained the wisdom of ages, though it sounded so, so tired. "This may not restore the fire, but I can keep some of it alive."
"Have you tried blowing on it?" Shepard asked as she sat on her own seat, on the other side of the pit.
"I would have to stop what I am doing now," the man said sadly. "If I cease, even for a moment, the embers will die before I can do anything else."
Shepard looked down at the embers, and realized that the man was right. "What if you had help?"
The man chuckled. "Who would help me? You? You do not even know who I am, or where you are."
Shepard just shrugged. "It's cold out here, and the fire will keep us warm. Give me a second."
Before the man could protest, Shepard hobbled over to the pit and began to gently blow on the embers. To her delight, the smallest sticks caught flame; her joy diminished, however, when she noticed just how slowly the fire moved. It was almost in slow motion.
"This isn't real, is it?" Shepard asked as she sat back down.
The man didn't answer at first. He was transfixed by the slowly crackling fire. Finally, he looked up at Shepard; his face was swallowed up by shadows, but she could tell that he was surprised.
"I never thought that would happen," he said, almost in wonder. "It has been a long time since anyone offered to help me. Everyone only asks of me, when I have nothing left to give."
"You didn't answer my question," Shepard said. "This isn't real. I remember these woods; we're in Alaska."
"Are we?" The man sounded amused now. "It has been ages since anyone knew this place had a name, much less spoke it aloud. But, yes, you are right; this is not real, not in the corporeal sense. This is… a representation, you could say, a way for your mind to put things into context that you can understand."
Shepard was quiet as she turned her attention to the flames; they were still small, but they were more than embers now.
"Who are you?" she asked.
The man chuckled again. "You may call me… Revelation. It is good to meet you, Alexia Shepard."
Shepard raised an eyebrow. "I don't recall telling you my name, 'Revelation'. And if that's your real name, I'll eat my boot."
"You had best begin cooking," Revelation said. "I have had many names in my lifetime. All of them were true, yet all of them were false."
Shepard idly drew random scribbles in the dirt with her cane. "You're the Emperor, aren't you?"
In the darkness, the trees rustled, and wolves howled. A chill went up Shepard's spine, and Revelation clutched his stick tighter.
"Be careful what you say," he warned. "Names have power, and power can attract unwanted attention, even in places such as this."
Shepard took his words as confirmation that she was right. "I have questions."
"I am sure that you do," Revelation said. "But we have little time. Your assistance with the fire reduced the time you would have spent talking to me. Perhaps next time, when you have more power."
Shepard felt an odd pulling sensation, as if there was a hand on her shoulder that was gently leaning her back.
"Wait! I came here because I need to know where to go next!"
Revelation nodded slowly. "Trust your instincts, Alexia Shepard, and trust your nature. You will know your destination when the time comes."
Shepard opened her mouth to speak, but the words refused to come out. Revelation, the campfire, and the forest all vanished like smoke in a breeze.
…
Shepard's eyes snapped open, and she pitched forward, barely able to break her fall with her arms. Only moments had passed, yet it felt like days; her limbs trembled, and sweat drenched her body.
"What… the fuck… was that?" she gasped out.
When she finally regained the ability to stand, she paused only long enough to down a glass of water, and then hurried out of her quarters. She had an idea that she wanted to try.
As she rushed to the bridge, she almost barreled into Hiral, whose arms were laden with dataslates. In a surprising display of agility, he managed to catch several of them before they hit the deck.
"Saint Shepard, what—"
"No time!" Shepard called over her shoulder. "Follow me to the bridge!"
Dartan was surprised when Shepard practically sprinted into his domain. "Your Holiness, is something the matter?" He noticed how ragged Shepard looked. "What happened?"
"No time," Shepard said, her breath coming in short bursts. "I need a map of the galaxy, quick!"
Dartan frowned, but pointed her to a small station off to his right. A Tech-Priest brought up a hologram of the galaxy, which included the Great Rift, and was highlighted by important systems. Shepard barely acknowledged the Tech-Priest as her eyes darted across the map.
After a moment to calm herself, she reached out with one hand; all eyes that didn't belong to servitors followed her every move. It felt strange; Shepard almost thought that someone else was guiding her actions, but she followed Revelation's advice and trusted her instincts. Finally, Shepard rested one finger on a tiny dot.
"There," she whispered. "We need to go there."
Dartan raised an eyebrow, then keyed up the coordinates of the system she'd indicated. Immediately, his personal dataslate blinked red with warnings.
"Saint Shepard, I do not mean to question you, but that system is off-limits to all but the highest authorities in the Imperium."
Shepard huffed a laugh. "Well, I answer directly to the Emperor, so I think I win."
Dartan conceded the point. "Very well. It will take us several Warp-jumps to cross back into Imperium Sanctus and properly align—"
"No," Shepard interrupted, her instincts guiding her once again. "Set a straight course. We're going to punch straight through the Rift." Murmurs flooded the bridge, and Dartan looked like he thought she was insane. "Please, just trust me."
After a moment, Dartan sighed. "As the God-Emperor wills." He turned to his officers. "Inform the fleet to make for the Mandeville Point, and then set a direct course for Prospero. In the Emperor's name!"
"In the Emperor's name," the officers echoed.
Shepard leaned against the hololithic display as the Vehemence powered up her engines. Finally, the Crusade was beginning.
"In the Emperor's name," she whispered.
Before anyone asks, no, Shepard isn't about to have a showdown with Magnus the Red, awesome as that might be. I have something else in mind.
Anyway, this chapter was shorter, but that's because it was mostly focused on meeting the last two members of Shepard's war council. Dartan was fun to create, and so was Helmin, though I will admit that the latter was inspired by Locke. This guy, however, is turning up the bombastic to eleven.
Many people messaged me with requests to give Shepard an Apocalypse- or even Emperor-class battleship to ride in. Okay, even if she is a Living Saint with one of the most important powers ever discovered in the Imperium, those ships are stupidly rare. The Retribution-class might be old as hell, but they're far more common, and I like them.
That scene with Revelation was actually inspired by a scene from the book The Solar War, by John French. It's an amazing book, if you haven't read it.
Also, I wasn't too sure where Shepard's Crusade was actually going to go, so I just kinda threw darts at a map of the 40K galaxy. It ended up landing really close to Prospero, so there we go. I mean, I have about a billion different ideas for what Shepard could do in this story, so this is where we're starting.
Anyway, thanks for reading so far! If you want to continue supporting me, please consider buying my book, Alpha Sanction, by Josh Gottlieb. It can be found on my website (link in my profile), or on Amazon.
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Next Chapter: Shepard blazes a new trail, quite literally, and goes to the world where all was burned, and all is dust…
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