Capítulo 72: Chapter Twenty-Five: Rust and Ruin (Part II)
My assessment of the Transhuman soldiers was interrupted by the Administratum Adept. She droned on in the monotone, efficient, and mind-numbing way of her order. I half-listened to what she said and tasked my augments with recording her lecture. Just in case I missed anything valuable. As I collected the minutiae of my new assignment and living situation I watched the Astartes on the right. I crept through the crowd, moving towards the Astartes. I wanted a closer look at him and his armor. In retrospect, it might have been a foolish idea, but the excitement of new stories to document prevailed over my better judgment.
It took some effort, but I maneuvered myself to within three meters of the Astartes. The crowd seemed to instinctively shy away from the Transhuman and I had no desire to leave the throng of bodies and the protection it provided. Despite its utter stillness, the Astartes unnerved all those who got too close to it. Was this the "Transhuman dread" I had read about? That was only supposed to occur in combat or other active situations. Not with silent Astartes on guard duty. Staring up at the armored giant, something clicked. I'd felt this fear once before. When I had watched an Imperial heavy-tank go through its diagnostics aboard the supply ship. A tech-priest I had befriended convinced me to come to watch his colleagues awaken a Baneblade. Watching that weapon of war come to life and roar with an engine like some hellbeast. With its eleven turrets rapidly scanning the cargo-hold looking for any excuse to kill. Being in the presence of such a tool of devastation. Knowing the sheer destruction it could unleash with ease disturbed me. A gut-wrenching primal fear. Brought forth again by the Angel of Death in front of me.
Ignoring the fear that gnawed away at my stomach I raked my enhanced eyes over the Astartes, noticing a peculiarity about the ceramite plates. The battle scars seemed to overlap and were even faded in places. While many of the lighter ones were real marks of war. Others were painted on the armor. A tapestry of damage both real and false. Questions bubbled in my mind and I prepared to take a subtle pict. A plan that quickly changed when I blinked. One moment the Astartes was a few meters away, uncaring to the crowd around him. The next, the armored giant was centimeters away from me. In space of my eyes flicking shut, the Astartes had moved nearly on top of me. In shock I fell backward. Mouth agape like a dying fish and my eyes wide in sheer panic. The Astartes looked down at me. His armor purring as he adjusted to match my stare. The crimson optic-glass of his helm bore into my soul. After a few heartbeats a growling voice came from the Astartes.
"Civilian, you have been watching me since our arrival. Explain yourself?"
Pulling myself together I pulled in a deep shuddering breath and responded with as much clarity and authority as I could muster. "I am Jinjoon Mhuirich, newly commissioned Remembrancer of Crusader Fleet X. I was doing my duty of observing, documenting, and understanding the Great Crusade."
The Astartes assessed me for a moment before responding: "That is a reasonable explanation of your actions. Carry on, and get your identification quickly."
Turning to return to his post the Astartes seemed finished with me. For some unknown reason, the documentarian instinct that led me to this post kicked in at that moment. "Ser Astartes, I beg your pardon but I must inquire. What is the meaning of the painted war-marks on your armor?"
Realizing this may have not been the best idea. I stepped back as the Astartes looked at me. Even through the emotionless helm I could feel the appraising and calculating stare of the Angel of Death. For whatever reason, the Space Marine decided to answer me.
"A Stormbringer wears the marks of every battle he has fought. If our armor is compromised. We transfer the scars to its replacements. To keep them as reminders of our successes and failures."
With that succinct answer, the Astartes returned to his post and became a statue again. It was at this point I noticed the entirety of the airlocks inhabitants were staring at me. Primarch Alexio Gravia is famously quoted as saying "Fortune Favors the Bold" If his words are accurate, then my actions at docking must have secured my future.
After a few moments, the orientation continued and eventually finished up. The Adept, Officer, and Tech-Priest divided us up by occupations and positions. I found myself grouped with five other Remembrancers. We quickly got to work swapping credentials, discussing our assignments and generally engaging in the banter of colleagues. It soon became apparent none of us were assigned to the same company, let alone Chapter. Or as the Stormbringers called them "Battle-band" and "Clan." I never know why warriors and the like insist on needlessly complicated jargon like that. The reason for this dispersal was the sparsity of Remembrancers among the X Legion. We were being spread as wide as possible. To ensure every Chapter had at least one. A far cry from the average numbers, let alone Legions like the Phoenix Blades or Dawn Angels.
With this worrying news, I bid farewell to my new compatriots. We made plans to meet up at one of the major mess halls in a week to swap notes. Till then we would face whatever challenges the Galaxy had in store. Passing through the Airlock and into the Thunderhead. I was greeted with the heavy smell of ozone and machinery. Walking through the halls of the Gloriana Class ship was humbling. Compared to the supply ship I had traveled on and my own orbital home-station it seemed incredibly oversized. Void construction usually works to maximize space usage and be as efficient as possible. That did not seem the case aboard a Primarch's flagship. The vaulted ceiling of the hallway reached up to absurd heights with the walls far apart, forming a nearly box-shaped tunnel of massive proportions. At that moment I wondered if a Baneblade or similar war machine could pass through these halls unaided before quickly realizing that was probably the exact reason why the corridor was so large.
Soon a slight hum filled the air and a swarm of Servo-Skulls descended from the rafters. Looking up I realized a steady stream of Servo-Skulls and other simple machines filled the heights of the hallway. An aerial highway for the cybernetic servants of the Imperium to quickly navigate the Ship. Only some of them were breaking from the traffic to greet us. The skulls zipped overhead and identified their targets. Coming to hover at head height of the Adept they were assigned to. Mine arrived soon as well. An intricate fusion of bone and steel. It seemed equipped as a recording or messenger tool. Dangling from where a lower jaw would be was a medallion, hooked on some internal mechanism. I recognized the sigil of my order on the medallion and grabbed it. The palm-sized badge of office detached into my hand. Its surface was dominated by the Remembrancer symbol, with identification marks both in Gothic and Binary tracing its edges. Quickly fastening this new token to my clothes I looked up at the Servo-Skull.
The Skull buzzed a prerecorded message into my vox implant. It was for my personal use and would now lead me to my quarters. My new cybernetic companion set off and I followed behind it. I tried to absorb as much as I could of the environment around me. The Thunderhead's design mixed Imperial standard architecture with Old Albia industrialism and North Atlan tribal markings. Keeping up with my Servo-Skull however, turned out to be slightly difficult. I suspect the damn thing was calibrated for an Astartes stride and I was forced to slightly jog to keep up with it. It dragged me through countless bulkheads, mag-lifts, and at least two hangar bays. Eventually, it stopped in front of an unremarkable bulkhead. Again a synthetic voice buzzed in my ear "Arrived at Destination. High-Value Staff Quarters of Clan MacSmyth."
With that the bulkhead slid open and I was greeted by a sour looking menial. The menial informed me he was Nardal-5, Keeper of the Quarters and he would show me to my new living space. Apparently I was the only new arrival for Clan MacSmyth and the Keeper had more important duties to attend to so my introduction and tour was brief. Judging by the keeper's name he was a Selenar. Many of the Loyalists had left the cursed rock of Luna in the aftermath of the insurrection. Apparently screening the tide of disillusioned and disgusted Lunarians had been one of the first tasks of the Silver Order. I kept these thoughts to myself as Nardal-5 showed me the cabin-block I would call home. My personal quarters were one of twenty that shared amenities and made up the block. Before leaving me in my cabin, Nardal-5 informed me that Chieftain Smyth, Chapter Master of MacSmyth was expecting me at his office in three hours.
Nardal-5 left then without a second glance and I went into my cabin, sincerely hoping my Servo-Skull would guide me to the Chieftain's office. Till then I busied myself washing the exhaustion of travelling off myself and accessing my room. Decent cot, good desk space, larger than I expected, immaculately clean with good storage. It was however painfully spartan and seemed designed to be acceptable if utilitarian. My equipment and luggage would arrive soon and till then I dressed in the maroon jumpsuit provided. Apparently the Stormbringers' color-coded the work clothing of their mortal staff. Maroon, the color of old book covers, was chosen for Remembrancers. A dataslate keyed to my credentials let me use the time wisely as I waited for my meeting. When only half an hour remained until my appointment with the Chieftain I got moving.
The dataslate and a series of vocal commands got the Servo-Skull to lead me to my destination. This trip was much less than the epic march from the docking point. Only a few turns and a maglift. A lift that seemed to run through the heart of Clan MacSmyths section of the Ship. I'd read that segments of Thunderhead were divided up into Chapter Houses. With the quarters, equipment and staff of a Chapter all operating from separate macrocompartments. On each stop of the maglift I was greeted by the sights of Astartes, servitors and servants busy with countless tasks. I even shared the lift with an Astartes for a few minutes. Getting used to them would be a difficult but important skill. Finally, I exited the lift and made my way to the Chapter/Clan command center. With the Chieftain's office deep within it.
Greeted by a heavily augmented mortal aide of some fashion, I was whisked to the office with barely a word given my direction. Upon entering the Chieftain's place of duty. I was struck by the proportions of everything around me. While most places in the Thunderhead were oversized, they still were usable by unaugmented humans. The office doors alone would have taken great effort for me to pull ajar. Inside was a curious mix of utilitarian equipment and primitive-looking trophies. An oversized desk covered in cogitator readouts, Adeptus reports, and tactical briefings took up much of the room. With one wall covered in spoils of war ranging from truly massive Xeno skulls to a carefully arranged assortment of expended munitions. Set on display was also a nearly complete set of Astartes Power Armor. Every piece was in awful condition, ripped apart by battle and crudely rebuilt into a statue of broken ceramite. Judging by what the Astartes who I conversed with back on the gantry said. The tattered suit of armor was made up of pieces destroyed during the Chieftain's various battles.
In retrospect, my curious examination of the room was not the most polite thing, and probably a primitive defense mechanism against addressing the powerful presence behind the desk. I'd never seen an Astartes out of armor and somehow assumed it formed the majority of their bulk. Seeing the Chieftain clad in a stark uniform, deep in the minutia of military organization opened my eyes to the truth. He was massive, a wall of muscle shaped in an exaggeration of the human form. Barely acknowledging my presence, the Chieftan gestured to one of the mortal sized chairs in the room. I sat there for a solid minute, across the great metal desk, waiting for the Chapter Master to finish reading whatever engrossed him. He finally did and put his attention on me which was enough to make me wish he would go back to his files. The full attention of an Astartes for an unprepared and uninitiated mortal can be incredibly stressful. The stare of an officer who commanded over a thousand of those gigantic killing machines was even more fearsome than that. As the piercing steel grey eyes bored into me I fully understood the apocryphal accounts of non-compliant humans dropping dead from heart attacks when confronted by attacking Astartes.
Addressing me in a deep rumbling voice he spoke: "I am Chief Shadrak Smyth of Clan MacSmyth. Warrior of the Emperor and son of Stormking Culian. You are Jinjoon Mhuirich, Remembrancer 2nd Class. Assigned to the Stormbringer Legion, by order of the Primarch and Adeptus Terra.Let me make a few things clear, however. The presence of the Remembrancer order within this Crusader Fleet has been strenuously debated. My Genefather and most of my Brothers view your presence as a distraction and possible liability. It was only by the request of the Emperor himself and Lord Primarch Iskandar that your presence is permitted. Many in this Legion have derided the idea of artists accompanying us into battle and consider it merely our Primarch accommodating his family. But I am not of that mind. I believe the presence of the Remembrancer Order is valuable to this Legion and the Imperium in general. You ensure the presence of our species more gentle aspects are present even in are battles across the stars. My brothers and I are tools of war, who often forget there is more to us than destruction. We are the sword and shield of humanity and we must not forget what we fight for and why we fight for it. I hope your presence and the presence of those like you might help awaken my Legion, to better us in ways the anvil of war cannot."
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