[40K] The Paths We Walk

[Honsou]

Hi guys. I had this idea the other day, and today I just felt the need to write and this is what came about. It is all written and done - that is to say this is a stand alone piece. I really rather enjoyed writing it, and I'm not at all unhappy with the result.

As ever, please enjoy, and feel free to post any comments and thoughts you may have! So, without further ado:


“The Paths We Walk”

Chapter Master Izar Yldanen looked around the room, observing the activity. To the uninitiated the room would have seemed still, even quiet, but Yldanen knew better. The bright morning sunlight spilled in through the vast window that covered the far wall from floor to ceiling, lighting the large semi-circular room up brighter than any holo-light could have. It spilled across the large conference table that sat proudly as the room’s centerpiece, it reached into the furthest corners of the room where screens and workstations displayed information on almost every planetary city in the sector, it settled warmly upon the Chapter Master’s pale white skin.

Master Yldanen breathed the cool air, vented in directly from the outside, and relished the warmth of the sunlight upon his skin. He stood quietly, unmoving, and let the surroundings immerse him. He heard the soft footfall of administrators as they strode to and through across the carpeted floor, checking the day’s work schedules. He heard the shuffle of datapad against datapad as scribes sifted through the ever incoming reports from the chapter’s assets scattered across the sector. He heard the soft humming of the workstations mounted along the walls, the far-away buzz of the ventilation system, even the whirring and clicking of scribe-servitors. No, it was not quiet.

The fall of familiar footsteps in the corridor outside the room, echoing in through the open door, brought Yldanen out of his reverie. For a moment he chastised himself for his indulgence, but soon recalled that these small pleasures must also be taken as part of life. He smiled, and turned to face the new arrival, knowing already who it was.

“Princeps Aldehar.” Yldanen spoke the words with friendly familiarity, for he had known this man for years beyond counting. Before the chapter master stood a tall, surprisingly athletic, man: Princeps Maximus Kolin Aldehar, Master of the Legio Fatalius. The two men exchanged a handshake, while the space marine continued. “Have you had the chance to deal with the matter we spoke of?”

Princeps Aldehar nodded. “I have, Master Yldanen. It is as I feared it would be, however; the Adept Seniorus will not budge on this matter. I think perhaps…” Aldehar paused briefly, searching for the most diplomatic way to phrase the Adept’s words. Yldanen suspected he already knew the reasons; it was not the first time during his tenure as chapter master that this issue had arisen. Oddly, a stray thought at the back of his mind noted how polished the Princeps’ speech was - not at all the stumbling that was so common among the servants of the mechanicus when they spoke out loud, or in their flesh voice as they called it. Yldanen pushed the thought aside as Aldehar continued. He knew full well that Aldehar was well accustomed to speaking out loud, for they had worked closely together for a long time.

“I think perhaps the Adept Seniorus resents your Chapter’s control of the Forge on this world. He has not yet… accustomed himself to the ways of this planet, the special circumstances surrounding the worlds administered by the Adeptus Astartes.” The words were well chosen, and Yldanen smiled warmly as he nodded his understanding. “It is much as I thought it would be then. I shall speak to the Adept personally when the opportunity presents itself.” He paused for a moment in thought, but soon continued: “Where does your Legio stand on this matter?”

Without even a moment’s hesitation, Kolin Aldehar replied, making the smallest nod of a bow as he did so. “With you, as we ever have, Chapter Master.”

Master Yldanen glanced out the window, and paused as he watched the high speed interlink transport fly by on its magnetic rail a few blocks away, appearing fleetingly as it zipped in and out of the buildings of the Planetary Administrative Center. As the transport disappeared from sight, he turned his attention back to Aldehar. “Your message mentioned that you had a request, Kolin?”

The Princeps did not seem taken back by the sudden change of topic. Instead he reached under his uniform cloak and pulled forth a datapad, marked in the bright colors of the Legio’s heraldry. “I do, I do. The magi of my Legio responsible for the repairs to Veneratio Fraternitas inform me that they require further materials for their work.” Aldehar glanced down at the datapad in his hand, hesitating for a moment before he handed it to Yldanen. “We require near two thousand tons of refined unobtainium ores. This datapad contains a full breakdown of the materials required.”

Yldanen took the pad, scrolling down quickly as he skimmed the information. A whistle of amazement escaped him as he read the list; included on it were some of the rarest materials in the Imperium, the production of many numbering only in the tens of kilograms, even on the rich mining worlds of this and nearby sectors. The Legio was asking for much; Ketrenium, Ceramite Component Ti37, Adamantium, and Teseum were just a few of the items on the list. It was fortunate indeed that the Aptus Non Tithe grade of the chapter’s holdings had allowed them to build up substantial stockpiles of materials.

The Princeps, who waited patiently for the chapter master to read the contents of the datapad, grimaced at the space marine’s reaction. Jutting his chin out defensively, he sought to explain himself, a little hesitant at first. “I… I realize that this is a substantial reque…”

Yldanen interrupted him with a raised hand, looking up to meet the man’s eyes. “If these items,” he nodded down at the datapad, “will allow en engine of your legio to walk again, then you shall have it.” Half turning from the Princeps, he gestured for a junior administrator to come over, handing him the pad. “Take this to the Mining Administrator. Inform him of my approval, and that he is to deliver these items as soon as possible.”

Chapter Master Izar Yldanen watched as the young man scurried out of the room in search of the Mining Administrator, and reflected on the order he had just given. He had just agreed to hand over a large percentage of the chapter’s stores of ore, without as much as a second thought. He knew all too well that there could be no other choice: if this material sacrifice would aid in the restoration of a mighty Emperor Titan, then it would be worth it.

Yldanen had once wondered how the Legio Fatalius which, despite its long service and proud heritage, did not have great numbers to its name, had come by an Emperor titan. He had posed the question to Aldehar, long ago, who had told the tale with a bemused smile.

The ancient engine had been found during a campaign on a faraway, unnamed, world within a buried vault. It had been discovered only by the purest chance encounter, ‘guided by the Omnissiah’ were the words Aldehar had used. Determined to make their way inside, it had taken the legio’s magi weeks to break through the ancient mechanisms that had sealed it shut for years beyond counting. Within the vault they had found themselves confronted by the sight of an ancient god of war, an Emperor titan so damaged that it was barely recognizable as the proud engine it must once have been.

Unwilling to leave such a priceless treasure to be forgotten once more, Aldehar had ordered that the vault be opened to the skies, and the engine be transported back to the forge. There, housed in a specially constructed facility, the mighty emperor titan slumbered to this day as a host of tech-priests and magi worked to repair it.

Strangely, though the Legio Fatalius had sent a missive to the Mechanicus on Mars at Aldehar’s orders, no reply had ever been received, nor had an envoy come to claim the treasured prize. And so, as the years passed, it seemed as though Mars would never come, and the mighty engine had been inducted into the rolls of the Legio Fatalius. Deep in slumber, and bearing no recognizable name upon its mighty frame, the engine had been dubbed “Veneratio Fraternitas.”

The chapter master realized, somewhat sheepishly, that he had let his attention drift from the matter at hand. He glanced at the man standing in front of him; if he was impatient he certainly did not show it. Indeed, the Princeps seemed calmly composed, his arms folded comfortably behind his back and his legs rooted firmly to the ground. “My apologies, Kolin, I fear my mind drifted for a moment.”

“No apology is necessary, Izar.” The Princeps smiled warmly as he spoke, though the smile soon faded as he continued. “There… there was one other thing, however. I received a message from the Mechancius; information about a Standard Template Construct may have been located. They call my Legio to the Drizzen Sector.”

No other words were needed to express his meaning, it was clear to both men. Though he tried to hide his disappointment, a bitter frown of disappointment crept onto Yldanen’s face, the timing of this could not have been worse. “What of the Odenna V campaign? I had counted on your Legio’s engines. We are scheduled to depart within the week…”

Kolin Aldehar, Princeps Maximus of the Legio Fatalius answered the question with the slightest shake of his head. They both knew that, for all their friendship and history, this was not subject to debate: “I am sorry. The mechanicus has called me, I must answer.”

Yldanen had known that it would be so. Although he would be loath to admit it, he knew that his chapter was blessed with a great gift in the support they received from the Imperial Guard raised on the chapter’s worlds, and the legio was like a blessing from the God-Emperor himself. Over the years he had come to rely upon their support, and would miss their presence in this campaign in particular. He knew he was grasping at straws, but faced with the task of breaking open the Odenna system he had no choice, he had to ask: “Does the whole Legio walk, can you spare no engines for our campaign?”

The Princeps was quiet for a few moments, seemingly mulling over the point. His Legio was a small one, to leave any of their number behind risked making their task that much harder. He risked that neither would have the strength to win through – to fail in two executions, to his mind, was worse than to attempt none. Then, seemingly at long last, he nodded ever so slowly. “Very well, I shall leave you Princeps Ascanius with his warlord Fides Validus, as well as two warhounds… Frasse Aeterna and”, the word was stretched as Aldehar thought quickly, “Nex Expector.” Aldehar nodded firmly, as if approving his own suggestions. “Yes, they will walk with you on Odenna.”

“Thank you, Princeps. I appreciate the sacrifice you make for us.” Though the words were simple enough, Yldanen was indeed truly grateful. Though he had hoped for more, even these few titans would undoubtedly serve him well in the difficult campaign that lay ahead. “I’m sure you have preparations to make, so I will delay you no longer.”

Aldehar nodded, and wordlessly turned away toward the door. Before he had taken more than a dozen steps however, he turned back. “Oh, I forgot to ask… how is the implant working for you? I heard you had it modified by the Legio’s magos?” Yldanen smiled inwardly, trust the Princeps to keep track of even the most minor details. He shrugged, “Well, it seems a re-calibration is all that was needed.”

Aldehar betrayed nothing of the mischievous glee he felt; even after all these years he still enjoyed surprising Master Yldanen with his encyclopedic knowledge of the slightest operational details of his legio. Of course, augmented as he was, it was no difficult task, but he delighted in it all the same. “Very well then. I hope, the Omnissiah willing, I shall walk with you again.”

Yldanen saw the sincerity in the man’s face, and smiled at the thought of the strange friendship they shared. “Emperor Walk with you, my old friend.” Aldehar nodded a quick farewell, and strode out of the room.

As the Princeps’ footsteps faded away down the corridor, Chapter Master Yldanen turned to look out across the cityscape that lay beyond the window. He allowed himself a few seconds to gather himself, enjoying the view. In its own way, this was a beautiful world.

Smoothing his robes out, he turned back to the room that lay behind him. Straightening his back, he summoned his most commanding voice and called out to Administrator Tolen, who had been hovering in the background patiently ever since the Princeps had arrived. “Tolen! Send messages to Brother Captain Ylsidar at the Chapter Keep, and to the fleet, to inform them of the changes.”

The administrator, who had turned toward Yldanen at the mention of his name, made a slight bow. “Fleet Master Navakov, my lord?” The chapter master nodded, “To Brother Captain Navakov, and to the Admiralty, Tolen. And get me today’s status report on our campaign preparations.”

It seemed Tolen, ever the capable administrator, had anticipated the request, for he immediately reached out for a datapad lying on his desk. Quickly double-checking that it was the right pad, he tossed it across the room to Yldanen, who plucked it expertly from the air. The Chapter Master, nodding his thanks, turned and headed for the door, calling out over his shoulder as he went. “Oh, and tell Idahr to bring my armor to me.” With that, he was gone from the room, leaving the administrator to go about carrying out his orders. Yldanen strode swiftly along the familiar corridors toward his office.

Although the Legio Fatalius would not walk with them, he had a war to prepare for.

[Honsou]

Well, it looks like I was wrong- apparently I am going to be expanding on this. This segment was actually a whole lot of fun to write, since it gave me the chance to explore some themes I haven't dealt with very often, and there were some fun things to play around with. I'm pretty happy with it, though I am tired now and no doubt there are a few things that could do with polishing. As ever, your thoughts are welcomed.

Enjoy!


“The Paths We Walk” (Part 2)

Princeps Karl Ascanius sat unmoving on the floor next to his bed, resting his back against the bedside table. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were dark and tired; he had not slept all night. At first glance his quarters in the Legion Barracks might have seemed spartan – at closer inspection however a few personal artifacts could be seen scattered around the room.

On the storage unit along the far wall to Ascanius’ left stood a faded holo-pict of his father, its frame old and worn. Beside it lay a misshapen lump of some sort of metal, hardly recognizable as a fragment of armor plating taken from the warlord titan “Lex Sanctus.” These were the only memories Ascanius had left of his father, who had perished with all hands at the helm of his titan in an engine war on Horandin Prime almost a century ago.

At this moment he could not bring himself to look at them. At this moment he could not tear his eyes away from the icon of the Sacred Cog mounted prominently on the wall before him. At this moment Ascanius, Princeps of the Warlord Titan “Fides Validus” felt ashamed of himself, he felt as though he dishonored the proud legacy of his father.

A surge of anger built up inside his chest, and he glanced across the cold plasteel floor. A few paces away by the foot of the dining table lay an upturned datapad. A faint glow still emanated from around the edges – Ascanius had not bothered to turn the screen off when he had tossed it aside. So there it lay, humming away softly against the metal dining table where it had come to rest.

With a groan of effort the princeps heaved himself up off the floor, and moved to pick up the pad. Eyes drooping with exhaustion he re-read the orders for what seemed like the millionth time. Why? Why was it he who had to stay behind when the legio walked to war? What had he failed to do that he was punished thus?

Glancing up from the pad in his hands, he caught sight of the old holo-picture of his father. Though it was long ago, it seemed like just yesterday that he had been a mere boy, dreaming of following his father’s footsteps into the service of the Collegia. In those days, before his mind had begun to fade as it was subsumed by the titan he commanded, his father had told him tales of the walks he had been on. He had told young Ascanius of mighty titans in the engine wars of old, how they broke open even the very ground they walked upon, and how even the god-machines would weep at the spectacle.

Ascanius had never seen an engine war. He had wanted so much to walk with the Legio to the Drizzen sector, to walk “Fides Validus" in just such a war. He had yearned for it, desperately, fervently – to be a part of those stories, to do honor to the memory of his father. Instead, he was to stay behind; all the effort, the study, wasted. The long hours of memorizing all the information he could lay his hands on, misspent. He would not walk, at least not in an engine war.

The thought almost brought him to tears, and he fought against the bitterness he felt toward the Princeps Maximus. He looked up at the chronometer above the door; in a little over five hours he was scheduled to be reinserted into his amniotic casket. In eighteen he would be transferred shipboard, and in one hundred and ninety-six the fleet was expected to arrive in the Odenna system. The anger stirred inside him again as he glared at the digits flickering by as they counted the passing seconds; in just three hours the Legio’s fleet would depart for the Drizzen Sector. He would not be aboard.

He frowned down at the datapad he was still holding in his hands, glared at the script that was shining brightly back at him. He willed it to be a bad dream, wishing it would go away – but it was not a dream, and duty was duty. His father had taught him that as well. With a heavy sigh, he signed the document and thumbed ‘send.’

Six rooms away Thorsten Hansen was stirring in his sleep as his habitual seven hours of rest drew to an end. He woke suddenly, wide awake within just a few seconds as practiced habit and the three-tone blurt of the timer on his nightstand kicked in. Immediately he leapt out of bed, stretching as he wandered over to mirror on the door to the washroom. He stopped to examine his naked frame for a few moments, nodding approvingly. Looking back at him from the polished glass was a youthful looking man of medium build with toned muscle structure. Glancing at the overlay figures that had been automatically displayed he noted that although his adrenaline levels were a little above normal, he was in excellent health. Of course he knew that already, the magos had given him the thrice over yesterday.

He smoothed the short jet-black curls of his hair off his forehead, and ran his index finger gently over the thin white scar that ran across his chest. Flexing his right shoulder a little he heard the familiar click of the metallic replacement; he saw the bright green eyes and the boyish grin on his face. Today was a good day.

Shaking his head at his own folly, Princeps Hansen pushed open the door and headed for the high powered shower. With a voice command, he activated the personalized settings he had pre-programmed when first assigned to these quarters and then stepped in to the warm rush of water. Letting the warmth seep through his entire body, he turned his thoughts to the day ahead. Although he felt a certain disappointment that he would not be joining the Legio in their walk, he relished the prospect of what lay in store for him. The thought of the Odenna campaign was an exciting one to him – they would be outnumbered and outgunned, with only their speed and skill to carry them through. Man and machine in perfect harmony, in perfect unity. This, to Thorsten Hansen’s mind, was the perfect war.

A grating computerized voice cut through his musings. “Two minutes of water allocation remaining. Two minutes.” Thorsten smiled, he really could have chosen a better voice when he programmed that setting. Although water was plentiful on this world and there was no official rationing he had never been a wasteful man – efficiency in all things, be it in his quarters, his personal habits, or plugged in to his warhound titan, “Frasse Aeterna.”

With a voice command he stopped the water stream ahead of the end of the programme, “off.” Glancing at the chronometer above the wash-basin he clambered out of the shower. Less than two hours! Princeps Hansen grinned boyishly, today was the day - when he received his new orders last night he had immediately requested a training session for today, at eleven-hundred hours. In less than two hours he would finally be reunited with his engine, would finally be plugged in once more. He was giddy with anticipation at the thought.

Although, in his wiser moments, Thorsten understood the Legio’s standing orders that all Princeps’ be disconnected from their engines at regular intervals, there were occasions when he wished that it was not so. Each and every time was a struggle – the aches, the shakes, the nightmares… and plugging in again was never as easy as it should have been either. It was necessary of course; it was all too common that a princeps would slowly loose his grasp on reality as his mind became ever more dependent on the MIU of his titan engine. Even knowing this, the young princeps was eager to be plugged in once more; less than two hours!

The time of the training exercise had been chosen on the advice of the First Princeps, who had sent a private addendum to the official approval. The message had been short: “Suggest eleven hundred hours. Avoid Princeps Ascanius for as long as possible, he will not be happy.” Well that might be so, but Hansen was happy – he had his fellow warhound princeps’ would be reunited with their engines, and in just two hours would be on the field again! The Omnissiah had granted them the hunt. It was a good day.

A loud banging from outside his quarters startled Thorsten Hansen, almost causing him to trip over himself as he was dressing. Looking up he discovered, to his surprise, that he had missed the chime of the door. He headed straight for it, hurriedly pulling on his dark red and black uniform jacket as he went. The Access Display Panel next to the door, that had come alive with the chiming of the bell, told him who it was banging on his door: “Access Request. Hector Korden, Princeps. Princepture: “Nex Expector,” Warhound. Legio Fatalius.”

Thorsten Hansen ignored the rest of the scrolling biographical information that the panel felt it had to display, instead thumbing the switch to open the door. Standing impatiently outside was Hector Korden, a long time friend and the other warhound princeps who would go to Odenna. “Well that took you long enough! It’s unlike you to oversleep, my friend.”

Korden was not much taller than his younger friend, though his graying hair betrayed his age. It would have been foolish to dismiss his years, however. Those that looked into his face, past the regal cheek-bones, sharp nose and the ragged scar that cut its way across left cheek and forehead, into his intense blue-grey eyes could see the fierce hunter’s instinct that made him one of the best Warhound Princeps’ the Legio had ever known.

Ignoring the question, and the implied jibe, Hansen excitedly enquired after more urgent matters. With time running out before the start of their training exercise there was still an awful lot to do. “Have you seen my crew yet? Are your crew up and about?” Princeps Korden nodded in response as they began to make their way down the corridor of the accommodation building. “I saw your moderati and sensori in the mess hall and I spoke to my moderati not ten minutes ago.”

Korden paused as they reached a junction in the hallway; it took Hansen a few steps to realize his friend was no longer walking at his side. Turning back he looked at his fellow princeps quizzically, who simply smiled knowingly in response. Hector Korden was no fool, and he nodded down the side passage to his left as he spoke: “We should go to the mess first,” seeing that his young counterpart was about to make some protest he swiftly continued, “it would be wise to eat before we go. Reintegration is difficult enough as it is…and both our crews are most likely there.”

Thorsten Hansen, for all his eagerness to be reunited with his engine, could not argue with that logic. With a shrug, he nodded his assent and set off toward the mess hall. He was impatient to get started, but he also knew that Hector was as right now as he so often was. The two men moved at a good pace discussing the technical details of the engine-reports they had both been reading at length the day before. So engrossed were they that they would have walked straight past the large doors of the mess hall had it not been for Danae, moderati to Princeps Hansen, who called out to them as they passed: “My Princeps!”

The two men shared a friendly handshake, arm against arm, before they proceeded into the mess hall beyond the doors. Glancing around, Hansen took in the sight. Along 3 of the walls were cooled storage units containing various prepared meals, while the bulky box like forms of Dispensers were mounted at regular intervals. Dotted here and there around the huge room were small groups of people from every branch of service – the magi, tech-priests, administrators and there, just a few tables away, sat a group of men in the instantly recognizable garb of the Legio’s titan crews.

It was rare that the crews of the Legio Fatalius stood on any sort of formality, and this was especially true of the close-knit groups that formed among the warhounds. Today was no different, and Princeps Hansen slid neatly onto the bench beside his moderati, exchanging friendly handshakes with a few of the men around the table. It was clear that each and every one of them had one thing only on their mind, for they soon slipped comfortably into conversation about a power-distribution grid that had been replaced on “Nex Expector” just a few days ago.

Though he said little, Thorsten listened intently to the conversation as he began to go over in his mind the many status reports he had read just last night. He had forgotten completely his intention to eat, though the hunger soon returned as Hector Korden expertly slipped a tray onto the table in front of him. With a smile of gratitude, Hansen ate hungrily as his mind raced over every last detail of his engine and crew.

It was not a moment too soon for any of the men clustered around the table when Princeps Hector Korden signaled that it was time to go. It was time! As they left the two crews exchanged light hearted banter, each determined to beat the other in the day’s hunt; Thorsten Hansen did not hear any of it. He could think of just one thing: he was to be reunited with “Frasse Aeterna.”

[Salvin]

That was a rather nice little read mate, nice work!

[VolatilSpam]

I really like seeing the world through three very different Principes with three unique views on the world, both inside and outside of their titans. Keep it up! I'd love to read more.

[Honsou]

Thanks guys! Now I just have to get my butt in gear and work on the next chapter- the chapters subsequent to that are all ready formed in my mind, but the intermediate one I cannot pin down exactly how I want to express it. I'll try to put pen to paper over the weekend and see what I can come up with. As ever your thoughts are most welcome!

@Volatil: aye, the different world views and character differences were for me one of the best things about writing this, it was really very fun to explore characters like this.

[Honsou]

Well I'm sorry to say that this took me ALOT longer than I had wished for- largely due to a shortage of time due to other commitments. Still, I've finally got another segment down and you know... I'm quite happy with it. I had alot of fun working with the different characters, especially in the nuances of how they react and deal with the situations this segment puts them in.

In any case, I apologize for the delay- I hope you all enjoy, and as ever feedback and comments are welcome! So here y'all are:

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"The Paths We Walk" (Part 3)


"Target, enemy engine. Two-thousand-ninety-three meters, left. Sector blue, low!" The sensori's shout was barely audible above the crackle of feedback from the explosions that buffeted the warhound Nex Expector, smashing the hab-block buildings that sheltered it. Giant chunks of masonry and rock up blew up into the air with each shot in a deafening cacophony of hellish plasma fire.

"Solution!" Princeps Korden barked the words out louder than he had intended. He could feel the spirit of the Nex Expector straining against him deep in his mind, willing him to let go to the primal fury that lurked within. Everything in him yearned to rise up, to strike out, to make the kill. He sucked in a deep breath, letting it go with a hiss. He could feel his control slipping away. "I need that firing solution sensori! NOW!"

The ageing princeps summoned all his will, called upon all his experience as he sought to calm the engine. A deep breath; another, then another. His muscles tensed under the strain, and his jaw clenched. "Patience...patience." The crew ignored the muttered words. Hector Korden gritted his teeth, his hands clutched the tepid leather armrests in a death grip. Though he knew mere moments had passed, it felt like an eternity. Though he wanted to lash out he restrained himself. "Sensori?"

"Solution achieved!" Moderati Kredat's voice was like ice water to the feverish princeps, a solution at last! Without a moment of hesitation, Korden willed the Nex Expector forward and the hound within answered readily, eagerly. "Ahead full stride. Make ready primary one. Primary two to stand-by." The warhound lept into full stride, barreling down the city block toward its prey.

There. There! Hector Korden could sense his prey; could smell him on the wind, could hear him in the recesses of his mind. Even before the sensori called out the information he knew it all: "Engine target, one-thousand-fifty-seven meters, ahead. Sector blue, low!" The clear almost song-like chant continued. One-thousand, nine-fifty, nine hundred, eight-fifty, eight.

He could feel the tingling, prickling, heat of the charged plasma blaster in his finger tips, the ache of hydraulic pistons in his legs, and the rumble of the power generator deep within his gut. Beneath it all was the eager growl of the god-engine, still fighting to break free, still straining against the barrier's in the princeps' mind. It was time. Princeps Hector Korden let go to the snarling hound within him, letting its primal fury wash over him. With the roar of plasma blasters, the warhound titan Nex Expector fell upon its prey.

Nine kilometers away, among the torn ruins of a warehouse district, Princeps Thorsten Hansen led Frasse Aeterna in a deadly game of hide and seek. "Where is he, Kiril?" Even as he directed the question at the sensori, the princeps mentally swept over the stream of information pouring in on him. Visual feed, clear. Atmospheric feed, clear. Audio feed, clear.

The princeps was about to move on to the next layer of the data stream but something stopped him. With a haptic gesture he brought back the primary audio feed, trying to find what had caught the attention of his subconscious. Something was wrong, something out of place. There! Suddenly he knew; straining against his chair he raised his voice and screamed out the warning. "Void shields! Move, now!"

It was too late. Princeps Hansen screamed in agony as the void shields buckled, sending a feedback discharge crackling through the engine's MIU. Grimacing he fought off the searing pain, and glanced at the status readouts that were scrolling across his vision. The primary void shields were down, and power relays all over the Frasse Aeterna were blown out, but at least the secondary shields were holding for now.

With a growl of frustration he turned his attention to the enemy engine, a skull-faced reaver in jet black livery. From within the mangled husk of what, according to the navigational entry already scrolling across the princeps' vision, was once a refrigerated deep storage facility, it battered the reeling warhound again and again. The bright muzzle flashes blinded the young princeps momentarily. Blinking furiously, he willed himself to move. As the pain-induced daze wore off he once again found his footing, throwing Frasse Aeterna into full stride in a mad dash for cover.

The nimble warhound dodged and weaved as it leapt forward, a string of explosions all around it as the malicious foe poured fire upon it. Princeps Hansen was in his element; the engine was his body and the spirit that lurked deep within was his own. Straining his every fibre he pushed for more speed, and the titan engine responded in kind. Jolts of feedback coursing down his spine told the princeps that it was not enough, more and more of the enemy shells were finding their mark. He did not need to check the status display to know that the void shields were failing.

The lighting flickered, plunging everything into momentary darkness, illuminated only by the hissing arc of sparks that leapt through the air. A cry of pain escaped the princeps of the Frasse Aeterna as a sharp pain stabbed its way through him. Without even checking the status display he knew already what he did not wish to know: the void shields had buckled, and the titan was hit. He could feel the blood trickling from the sympathetic welt that had appeared on his lower back.

The lighting flickered again, and the air filled with audible crackling as the power relays struggled to keep the void shields operational. In the peripheries of his awareness Thorsten could sense the techpriest below fighting a losing battle to maintain the shield. The entire titan rocked as another volley of shells found their mark, the feedback from their impact blowing out panels and rupturing a coolant pipe somewhere behind the princeps' seat. Hansen grimaced; he felt each and every buckle, every ripple of energy tore through his nervous system like a cursed warp storm.

Another series of impacts pattered against the failing void shields, but these felt different. It took the princeps a moment to realize that these were not shells, but fragments of the building that sheltered them from the furious barrage of enemy fire. He leant back and sighed, his whole frame heaving. He felt drained, but this wasn't over yet. Somehow, by some chance, the void shields had not completely failed. Princeps Hansen murmured a grateful prayer to the God-Emperor, the Omnissiah had shielded them. In the depths of his sub-conscious, at the very peripheries of his mind, he could feel the subdued growl of the warhound. Smiling the princeps murmured the words softly under his breath: "And you too."

Straightening up he turned his attention to the status display. More than a dozen power relays and coolant valves and blown out and there was widespread structural damage. Scrolling rapidly down the list, reaching out haptically to feel the damage for himself, he began to prioritize. "Moderati?"

"My princeps." The words were not a question but rather a statement of fact, an acknowledgement of understanding. Danae already knew what had to be done and immediately set to work. Princeps Hansen was immediately aware of the change in the air as the fire suppression system rumbled to life, and the incessant hissing behind him quietened and finally stopped as the coolant flow was terminated.

He grimaced; Frasse Aeterna was battered and bruised but there was still much to do. Leaning against the backrest of his chair he let himself sink back into the depths of the manifold. The bloody game was on again. "Ahead, walk pace." His mind racing, Princeps Hansen thought back over everything he had seen, every detail - anything that would give them the edge. He let the images crash over him, relishing the manifold as it ebbed through his conscious and sub-conscious mind. "Arm primary one. Arm primary two."

Princeps Thorsten Hansen took a deep breath letting the sensations of the manifold flow through him. He could sense his foe, tantalisingly close beyond the wall that hid them from view. He could hear the buzz of scrapcode, could feel the heat of its generators. Reaching out with his mind he readied himself, and then barked out the order. "Ahead full stride! Lock solution!"

Ever the eager hunter, Frasse Aeterna leapt forward coming to full speed in just a few short paces, crashing through the plascrete walls with gleeful abandon. Even before the walls crumbled the two mighty turbo-laser destructors tore into the reaver's exposed flank, their terrifying whine a herald of its impending doom.

"Engine kill, engine kill. Frasse Aeterna has engine kill." The words were vindication, they were triumph, they were victory. In the distance aboard the Nex Expector Hector Korden smiled, and punched the hardcode into the panel on his arm rest to end the simulation.

Seven hundred and twenty eight kilometers away in the secondary medicae centre, Karl Ascanius opened his eyes slowly, waiting patiently for the tingling in his extremities to subside. Slowly, one by one, he moved his fingers to form a fist and uncurled them again. He flexed each muscle in turn, relishing the viscous resistance of the amniotic fluid that now encased him. Reaching into himself, he brushed the back of his mind and felt the echo of a voice not his own as if from a great distance; though he was not yet plugged in, the MIU link had been established. Despite the anger he felt toward his mission, he yearned to be reunited with his engine; deep within him he felt the sympathetic agreement of the Fides Validus.

Ascanius blinked; once, twice. He closed his eyes, and reached out with his mind, letting it wander. Without needing a prompt, his thoughts reached out to his warlord titan, willing and eager. Practiced habit allowed the princeps to subconsciously filter the waves of information that began to stream into his thoughts; status updates, repair reports, engine operating temperatures, the maintenance journal. It was all there, and Ascanius let himself get lost in the information, oblivious to the passing hours and the medical personnel all around his casket.

The princeps' reverie was interrupted harshly as high concentrations of the nerve agent Dytexaline was pumped into his body, momentarily weakening his connection to the titan MIU. Blinking furiously to stabilize his vision, Ascanius caught sight of the low-set figure of the chief medicae of the lab he was in. Although the man looked disheveled and frayed, a warm smile sat comfortably on his features. From within his amniotic casket, Ascanius looked the man up and down quickly only to be immediately bombarded by an information stream identifying the man as one Medicae Senioris Quentin Attalus.

Before Ascanius had time to draw out any further information, Attalus interrupted him again, speaking as much to the princeps as to the medical journal recording: "Hrmm, the reinsertion procedure is complete. Log time as D.1731. Your amniotic balance is within appropriate tolerances, medical records have been cleared and the MIU sub-link is sufficiently stable to undertake the direct plug-in procedures. You've been cleared for reintegration with your engine. Walk well." Attalus flashed the princeps a big smile, and then grabbed a dataslate from its holster on his belt to call for Ascanius' casket to be removed from the lab ready for insertion into his titan.

With the Medicae's approval, the integration process could finally begin. Ascanius smiled as his casket slowly descended through the floor of the lab, into the internal transit system that would take him to his engine in Arrias Complex. The Arrias Complex was the Legio's primary titan storage and loading facility, located within the defense perimeter of the spaceport terminal that had been allocated to the Legio by the planetary administration.

From memory, Karl Ascanius knew that it would take the transit system four point six-three-seven minutes to deliver him to Bay IX, where Fides Validus was currently housed. He used the time well, reading and re-reading the mission orders that had been haptically downloaded to him as soon as he had been cleared for reintegration. By the time his amniotic casket was transfered to the loading mechanism in the engine bay, he had memorized every minutiae of the orders.

Clearing his mind, he added his approval to the reintegration request, and relaxed as the casket was lowered through the loading hatch, slotting neatly into place on the command deck of the warlord titan. Although the princeps was immediately aware of his crew waiting patiently at attention around him, he kept his eyes closed. As was his custom, he waited until the external tech crew had completed the plug-in and had departed, before he opened his eyes and turned his attention to the crew.

Princeps Karl Ascanius looked into the eyes of each man grouped around him; for the first time in days he smiled. "Begin initiation sequence, power to stations. Begin maintenance journal 1158.4093."