The Third Son

[simison]

Chukhay could not help but wonder what would become of the desk after today. 

 

"Then use explosives!" Kravchuk roared.

 

Captain Dumas no longer had the bulletproof glass to protect him from the Director's spittle. He stood before the desk no longer the lone soldier in the room as the finest soldiers of the Directorate Guard lined the walls. Chukhay knew for a fact that a few of them were members of the Nightwatch in disguise. 

[simison]

"Even if we began now, it would still be an estimated two hours before we breached into the command center," Dumas stated as he maintained his poise.

 

It had been another one of Kravchuk's insistences in addition to the new automated defence system. The control room enjoyed one of the thickest concrete shells to ensure it would be one of the last areas to fall to an enemy force. The irony of this situational reversal was not lost on Chukhay.

 

"How does the Directorate Guard lose access to the most critical components of our defence with a facility on the highest alert!?" Kravchuk raged. 

 

Dumas was spared from answering when the radio on his belt squawked to life. 

[simison]

"The alien is over the bridge, over," the voice announced through the radio. 

 

~~~

 

Mat wasn't sure, but he thought he could every soldier shift as they trained a million guns on the three of them. He tried to act as confident as Alex was, who didn't seem to have a care in the world as the tank came to a stop. Mat was pretty sure his sweaty palms were a dead giveaway that it wasn't working. 

 

Alex's voice echoed in Mat's mind. It's almost time to complete your side of the deal.

 

Shooting a scowl at the red-haired giant, Mat thought as loudly as he could, I KNOW!

Edited January 19, 2018 by simison

[simison]

A low rumble of a chuckle echoed through Alex's chest, yet his eyes never left the army surrounding them. After Mat hopped off, Alex stepped off the tank. The soldier still had to look up to talk to Alex as he asked, "Should we come with you?" 

 

"You can," Alex answered, "But stay on my left side as we go in. I insist."

 

Mat's heart thudded louder. He knew he was supposed to be on Alex's right side for one reason alone. 

 

The soldier nodded before he shouted down into his tank, "Dismount!"

 

Mat didn't know if he wanted the soldiers to hurry up or slow down. All he could think about was the job he was about to do in a few minutes. He knew exactly how it was supposed to happen. Alex had made him go through it a dozen times in their shared dreams. But did what happen in dreams work in real life?

[simison]

He suddenly realized he was sweating. Not just his hands, but his entire body. Despite being a chilled Autumn morning, Mat's body was hot to the touch, a sign that his powers were reacting to his fear. As Alex had taught him, Mat forced his breathing to slow. He preferred to manifest a flame in his hands, it was easy for him to pour his emotions and fire into a single point than to calm down through breathing exercises. However, Alex had warned him in the dreams that if Mat made a fire at this moment, bullets would start flying.

 

As the last soldier took his spot on Alex's left, the giant gestured for everyone to walk forward. Even when he actively slowed and shortened his pace, Alex nearly left the others behind as they had to strike an uncomfortable pace somewhere between a fast walk and an outright run. In seven such strides, they arrived at the front doors of the Directorate's core building.

[simison]

The doors were big and pricey-looking. On any other day, the doors would've only ticked off Mat with their obnoxious wealth. Today, Mat thought it was a good thing they were so big to let them all enter at the same time. Even then, Alex had to duck a little to get in. The inside was just as expensive-looking as the outside with thick carpets and some kind of fancy stone making the room. Mat didn't care about any of that. His eyes were locked on the door to his right, behind the squad of soldiers pointing rifles at them. It was getting really hard to maintain his breathing as he recognized the door. 

 

"Shall we?" Alex prompted. Mat looked up and saw Alex looking down at him. Alex was waiting, unhurried. 

 

Mat took a deep breath and nodded.

[simison]

Two steps. Mat counted them out. With each step, he concentrated, focusing his inner fire to gather in his arms. On the third step, the door on the right was thrown open. A young woman rushed out, a handgun held high as she screamed something. Despite going through this moment a dozen times, Mat had never figured out what she had said. 

 

As she broke through the line of soldiers, who were caught off-guard by the outburst behind them, Mat threw his hands up. She pulled the trigger, weapon aimed at Alex. A curtain of blue fire erupted from Mat's hands, standing between Alex and the killer. The bullet entered the curtain and melted in the extreme heat before it could harm Alex. 

 

The girl was also shocked by this and instinctively kept firing. Mat gritted his teeth. Conjuring flame was easy. The difficulty was maintaining the hotter fire. Until now, his fires had never been blue. Seconds passed, and exhaustion beat at Mat as he struggled to maintain the curtain. Until, finally, the gun was empty and merely clicked as the stunned woman kept pulling the trigger. With a tired wheeze, Mat released the fire, which vanished into thin air. He fell back a shaky step before an enormous hand studied his back.

 

Well done!

[simison]

~~~

 

The gunshots pierced the quiet of the Directorate office, even if they were muffled by distance and closed doors. Both Directors threw a suspicious glance at each other. After a moment, Chukhay realized that his counterpart was as confused as he was. He addressed Captain Dumas. "Situation report."

 

As the officer activated his radio, Kravchuk murmured to himself. "Did the alien open fire? If so, why is there no return fire? Has the entire Directorate Guard been compromised?"

 

Chukhay did his best to ignore Kravchuk as he tried to listen in on Dumas' communication. There were two voices on the other end. One was the distinct cadence of a professional soldier, the other was a loud wailing of some sort. The wail made it difficult to hear the soldier, leaving Chukhay to hear bits and pieces of the conversation.

[simison]

Just as Chukhay was piecing the information together, the double-doors into the office opened. One of Balov's officers stepped through, a tank commander as denoted by his uniform. A flash of confusion struck Chukhay before he remembered how the VonSalim had arrived at the Directorate. He peered behind the officer. And wasn't sure what he was seeing. For a moment, he thought someone was holding an enormous, purple curtain next to the doors. Then the fabric shifted, and a giant bowed in half as he slid through the doors. 

 

Only once he had entered the room did the giant, VonSalim, stand tall, his head not too far from the high ceiling. 

[simison]

Even in their shared dreams, never did VonSalim evoke such inherent charisma. It was almost a physical thing, a mantle VonSalim wore with almost indifference. Chukhay couldn't help but wonder if this yet another subtle manipulation. 

 

VonSalim glanced at the clock and smiled. "It appears that I'm exactly on time." His eyes shifted back to to the Directors. "I am ready to conclude the blockade and negotiations at this time." 

 

Kravchuk, who had been reeling from the giant's unnatural aura, regained a portion of his composure, finding refuge in rage. "What negotiations," he blustered. 

 

"Oh, it's very simple. I have made an offer for a mostly peaceful resolution to our current conflict," VonSalim elaborated before turning his attention solely upon Chukhay. "Has my offer been accepted?"

[simison]

"Chukhay!"

 

Chukhay ignored his fellow Director as he attempted to meet VonSalim's eyes. He had stared down rulers and killers, but never had Chukhay wanted to break eye contact so quickly. It was more than facing off against a being much greater than he was. The longer he stared, the more Chukhay wanted to surrender. Not out of fear or despair, but out of camaraderie. Slowly, he felt himself wishing that he wouldn't disappoint the alien who was asking for his world. He wanted to befriend his powerful giant. 

 

The feeling was antithetical to everything about power and politics that Chukhay knew. There were no friends among men of such stature. Only allies and enemies. "I wish to renegotiate the condition."

[simison]

VonSalim smiled and said, "No."

 

Chukhay took a deep breath as he prepared himself for his next action. Death was a possibility, but the odds were in his favor. The portly leader reached for a drawer and opened it as calmly as possible. Removing the false bottom, Chukhay pulled out a Tokev-pattern plasma pistol. Plasma were highly experimental weapons within the Alliance and, as far as he knew, only the Directors had access to the sole stable plasma pistols in the entire system. 

 

Kravchuk's shouting grew louder, but Chukhay ignored him as he pointed the weapon at the giant in front of him.

[simison]

VonSalim didn't sneer, tense up, or so much as twitch. He stood there, waiting with that ever-present smile. Anger boiled within Chukhay. Not even in this moment could you at least grant me the decency of showing a little fear. The room's tension swelled as the seconds became centuries. 

 

Chukhay swung the pistol toward Kravchuk. His fellow Director had an instant to react in horror and surprise before Chukhay squeezed the trigger. A green sun engulfed his former comrade. The blinding light faded in a moment, leaving the lower half of a melted body and chair. Chukhay forced himself to not gag at the sight or the smell. He may have been beaten, but he would not violate the dignity of his station in its last minutes.

 

All of the soldiers in the room remained pointing their weapons at VonSalim. Chukhay could not tell if it was because of their loyalty to his command or if this was a subtle show of power by VonSalim. 

[simison]

Chukhay walked around his desk. Although he was now committed to his course, his pace was slow as he marched towards VonSalim. He held his pistol at an angle, neither pointing at the floor or at VonSalim.

 

The giant waited. 

 

Chukhay stopped before him. A moment passed as Chukhay rehearsed the bitter words. He turned the pistol in his hand, offering the handle first. "I, Varlam Chukhay, sole remaining Director of the United Balovian Alliance, hereby surrender."

 

Reaching out with his index finger and thumb, VonSalim pinched the weapon's handle as best as he could with his size. "I, Alexandros Darshan VonSalim, Primarch of the Imperium of Mankind, accept."

[simison]

~~~

 

Alexandros typed commands into his personal dataslate as he sat in the strategium. With the press of a button, Alexandros officiated Chukhay as Balov's first Imperial Governor. With that particular bit of legal work completed, he opened the a new form that would shift the Imperium's future. 

 

Before he could start, the door hissed open. Alexandros looked up and enjoyed the small surprise of seeing Theodor Villrof, Chief Apothecary, step in. After a full week of scrying and navigating the currents of the future, he welcomed a brief relief from his powers and a chance to anchor himself in the present. "Excellent, I was actually hoping you'd be the first to arrive. How are you, my son?"

 

Theodor snapped off a moving salute as he approached. "Enjoying a chance to indulge in a research project, sir. How can I be of service?"

[simison]

After pressing a few buttons, Alexandros offered his dataslate to Theodor. "I have a young woman who needs this treatment. Her name is Larisa Ivanov. I want an apothecary sent to her address immediately as I have promised her grandmother. Send an escort as well, but in recon armour. We need to start exposing the population to Legionaries, and now is as good as time as any."

 

The Chief Apothecary scanned the screen several times before he returned the item. "I'll send the order at once, sir." He gestured to the hololithic table. "If I may?"

 

"By all means."

[simison]

As Theodor began to make the necessary arrangements, the door made way for Ludendof. As before, the officer was the picture of military discipline. It was only because of Darshan's passive abilities as an empath did he sense Ludendof's internal flash of frustration, aimed at Theodor. This would be the first time Ludendof was not the first officer to arrive for a meeting. 

 

Regardless of his emotional state, Ludendof marched to Alexandros and saluted. "My lord! I have come as ordered." 

 

With a quick salute, Alexandros ordered, "At ease."

 

While Ludendof transitioned into a parade rest, he shot a quick glance at the Chief Apothecary. After a moment's hesitation, Ludendof, "My lord, if I may, you said you had an answer for me once Compliance was enacted."

[simison]

Alexandros was not remotely surprised that this was the first thing he'd have to address with his logistics officer. "I did and I do. However, I'm going to have to ask you to wait, until the meeting. Just a little longer now."

 

"Yes, my lord," Ludendof said, a little too quickly.

 

"In the meantime," Alexandros added as he handed his dataslate to him. "I have a priority task for you to accomplish. The speed of which will determine how long our fleet will remain in-system."

 

Although still acting with complete professionalism, Alexandros could detect a pang of curiosity within Ludendof. He received the dataslate and pored over the information. "I must admit, my lord. I was wondering if you were going to keep the Legion in grey, or if you were going to mirror the Wolves." He paused, glancing at the Primarch's purple robes. "I can understand the purple, but why red?"

 

Alexandros grinned. "All while be explained in the proper time."

[simison]

Chapter 10: Lessons Learned

 

The moment the last member of the Praetorate was seated, Alexandros asked, "Who can tell me what the projected casualty totals were calculated if we had executed a traditional planetary campaign?"

 

After the brusque end to their previous meeting, an air of hesitation hung over the officers, sons afraid of disappointing their father. Ludendof broke the silence. "With complete void control and the technological inferiority of the planet's inhabitants, a conservative estimate would place losses around 5-10%, perhaps as high as 15%."

 

"That's a potential loss of 6,000 of my sons," Alexandros stated, emphasizing the final word. "Now, what about the Balovians?"

[simison]

"From information procured from their warships, we know that they had a standing army of, at least, 100 million," Irvin said. "Unusually small in comparison to their system's population, however it seems they had not experienced war in some time."

 

"What of civilian casualties?"

 

Another pause as the Storm Riders glanced at each other. "It's always difficult to evaluate civilian casualties, my lord," Adalbard offered.

 

"Yet, it is for them that we make war," Alexandros observed. "Let's throw out a simple estimate of 500 million. Many of the Balovian bases were located within population centers, making even precise orbital bombardments capable of wiping out millions in seconds. Furthermore, quite of a few civilians would have been pressed into service as conscripts as we annihilated army divisions. That would have been 600 million people denied to the Imperium. Now, how many casualties happened during my execution of planetary Compliance?"

[simison]

"One, my lord," Irvin said. 

 

"One," Alexandros repeated as he held up a finger. "For the price of one life, we now have a system sworn to the Imperium. The Imperium now has an entire system with its industrial capacity intact. Most importantly, at the cost of one life, there are millions of fathers, mothers, and children who get to go home, not to ruins but to their loved ones."

 

Alexandros stood and circled the table as he continued to speak. "This is the arrogance I spoke of days ago. Whether consciously or subconsciously, each one of you believes that your undisputed mastery of the physical battlefield allows you to neglect the other aspects of war. In its purest form, war is not some mundane thing fought with bolter and blade, but it is one idea or ideal in conflict with another. Wars are not heralded by the squeeze of a trigger but by the silence of a thought."

[simison]

"This must come to an end," Alexandros continued as he returned to his throne. "Henceforth, I want the Legion to become as adept to the war of ideas as much as it is to the physical battlefield."

 

A moment of silence prevailed as Alexandros allowed his words to sink in. Adalbard would be the first to speak, "My lord, although laudable, this will be a difficult endeavour. I know well that you teach that we are all men first, but there are barriers standing between us and our mortal kin."

 

"And I do acknowledge these difficulties," Alexandros said. "The standard training regimens the Legiones Astartes employs, by their nature, implicitly reinforces the divide in order to acquaint trainees with their new abilities. A necessary aspect, but it is imperative that we modify the training program to both realize a marine's capabilities while retaining a connection to his core humanity. Not only will this enable the Fifth to win Compliances as I have, it will be necessary to put an end to the plague that afflicts us."

 

Irvin quirked an eyebrow. "The plague, my lord?"

[simison]

"The stream of insanity that crippled dozens of Legionaries. I have not been ignoring since we've been campaigning, merely finalizing my studies," Alexandros explained. "Do you remember what your original hypothesis was?"

 

Irvin nodded. "I believed the psykers were the cause of it, even though we have cases not involving them."

 

"You were half-right. On the surface, the psykers do appear to be the cause due to being responsible for 70% of the cases, even though they form 11% of the Legion. As you rightfully observed, they were involved in each case in some degree. However, they are they not the cause, though they do accelerate the appearance of symptoms. No, this weakness is found within each of us. Every single Legionary is in danger of their minds breaking."

[simison]

"Impossible!" 

 

The Praetorate swung their heads toward Crassus. Only Alexandros saw the hidden wince. Apparently, the Prefect's outburst had been subconscious. Despite whatever internal reservations, Crassus pressed forward. "My lord, we are not like the mortal auxiliaries. The psycho-indoctrination training alone should prevent this." 

 

"Yet," Alexandros countered without acrimony. "It is failing. All of you are standing from various degrees from the touch of Battle Fatigue. Crassus, if I had to put an estimate, I suspect you are nineteen campaigns from suffering it. Irvin, perhaps as much as one hundred. Ludendof, your position as chief of logistics has protected you, and you might have as many as two hundred campaigns."

 

"Then the answer is to rotate battalions for combat duty," Irvin declared. 

 

Crassus scoffed. "I could not think of a faster way to advertise our weakness to our brother Legions. Not only will our reputation suffer, but we will quickly fall behind in Compliances as we are questioned for holding back so many of our brothers."

[simison]

"While I am less concerned for our reputation, Crassus is right that we do have a duty to execute the objectives of the Great Crusades," Adalbard said. "I recommend fewer rotations out of combat duty combined with a complete ban on battle-psykers."

 

"But this doesn't solve the problem," Theodor countered. "All that will do is reduce the number of cases."

 

"We have a duty to the Emperor," Adalbard repeated. 

 

Ludendof became increasingly aware that the Primarch was silently watching the proceedings. Clearing his throat, the brown-eyed Astartes focused on Alexandros. "My lord, I believe you mentioned something about our humanity that would enable us to address this?"

 

Alexandros smiled at him. "Indeed, I did, didn't I?"