Orion watched the Steel Atlas burning in space. He heard its last desperate transmissions, sent his own and discovered that they were incapable of receiving broadcasts. His astropaths were likewise unable to find the minds of their kin aboard the ship. The captain couldn't see them, and didn't know how close help was to arriving.
Company Captain Auralian Teks was gritting his teeth, eyes bulging as he clutched his helmet in his hands. He was young, he had only seen a single century of combat, and it had been relatively unvaried at that. Mostly on the enemy's territory, mostly without having to protect imperial citizens. And so he suffered this as a failure, watching the hololith display before them as it depicted the wrecked remains of the Universe-Class Mass Conveyor.
"It was a transport!" He growled.
"It was carrying survivors!"
"Discipline, Captain." The Chapter master said.
"Do you feel nothing? Hundreds of thousands of people-"
"Discipline." Orion repeated.
This time he was heeded, and the captain silenced himself. The first shred of wisdom he had shown in too long, the Chapter master decided. He was talented, but wild. Too swollen by victory, as his display had proven. Orion would do something about that soon, but for the moment he put such thoughts aside.
For despite what Captain Teks believed, Orion did feel, and he felt a great deal. It had only taken them moments to encounter a xenos empire upon entering the galaxy, and they had done as all aliens do. Leapt upon them when they perceived them to be weak. It was disgusting.
How could it be that in a universe where biological diversity and permutations should have been nearly unlimited, it was the common trend that anything smarter than a grox always attempted to eat, enslave, or destroy mankind wherever it was found? Disgusting. His abhorrence grew into something even deeper as a bright flash in the distance signaled the death of the Atlas of Steel.
The Captain, manning a mortally wounded ship, and otherwise helplessly watching as his crew and charges were abducted by the Xenos raiders, had done the only courageous thing a man in his position could and should have done. He had clearly instructed his tech priests to overload the warp reactors, destroying himself and a large portion of the alien fleet. All was silent as the crew watched with steel eyes and growing conviction as the Atlas of Steel shone like a star, and then faded.
Orion felt so much then. Pride in the unknown captain of that transport, in his dauntless pursuit of his duty, and the safety of his crew. Sorrow for the loss of hundreds of thousands of refugees that had been in his care, who had placed their lives in his hands when he had come to evacuate their entire subsector from the gnashing maw of the great devourer. They had left everything behind, had watched their world burn from orbit in order to deny it from the xenos, only to die in flame and void within this cruel, new galaxy.
But more than any of that, Orion felt rage kindle and spark within him, growing from the brooding fires that had sprouted before, into a towering monument of his intolerance for the cruelty of Xenos and their aberrant lives. He felt this combined with his other emotions, allowing them to stir into a storm within him, and yet he showed nothing, for he was a monument unto himself. Carved by over seven hundred years of loss, pain, victory, death, and more than anything else, discipline.
"Contact the Skyward." Orion said.
All tensed, all knew the importance of that command, even if the details of what was about to transpire were beyond them.
"Tell them Dark Command is a go. Also, contact the escort fleet and the unassociated Strike Cruisers. Tell them to prepare to burn for the dead center of the enemy fleet. On our mark." Said the Chapter master.
"On our mark? Master, it almost sounds like you're going to-" Captain Teks started.
"Prepare to charge. I want to hit them hard, fast, and once."
At that the room seemed to suddenly explode into a frenzy of actions and orders. Commands were hastily relayed by several crew members and officers, not just between ships or to the members of the Skyward, but also across the Battle Barge itself.
"Engine blocks twelve through thirty, this is the bridge. Full burn, I repeat, full burn."
"This is the bridge. Gunnery sergeant, it's time to test those Bombardment Cannons."
"Code red, code red. Sections b-22 through y42, code red, code red, retreat to blue zones. I Repeat, Retreat to blue zones."
"Bridge here, warm up the warp field generators, we are going to need them at full pretty soon."
"Bridge to arsenal, Vortex torpedoes and Cyclonic Torpedoes are in Sanction! I Repeat, V.T.s and C.T.s are in sanction!"
"Bridge to Magos Graasnon, all glory to the omnissiah, the Chapter Master requires the machine spirit to rage once more."
"Praise the Emperor, for we are his hammer! We are his shield! We are given strength and life so that mankind may live on!"
"Screamers one, two, eight, and twelve, stay on standby, stay on standby, Emperor protect you."
"Alright marines! It's time to march! To Death! To Glory, in this galaxy or the next! With Courage and Honor!"
"In the lightning and the tempest, Emperor Deliver us!"
"Bless the machine spirit, for the Master of Light Rises once more! And Once more, the enemies of man shall die!"
"This is the Master of Light to the Fleet, make way, make way, we are preparing for full burn. Get ready for a full burn."
"We ARE HIS ANGELS OF DEATH! We shall know NO FEAR!"
The Captain seems awed by the gesture, and it occurred to Orion then that Auralian had never once actually seen the Master of Light go into combat directly. Though the Skywatch had long been a fleet based chapter of space marines, it was rare indeed that they became so cornered, or driven to such desperation as to resort to calling upon a vessel as vast and potent as the Battle Barge they now rode within.
"Get below deck Captain." Orion ordered, and Auralian seemed nearly crestfallen by the thought that he would not be able to witness the carnage the Master of Light was about to dispense.
"You need to lead your men. I want to capture some of these ships, and I can't do that with macro cannons." He added.
That brought a vicious smile to the Captain's face, and with a salute, he snapped on his helmet, and departed at pace to the lower decks to prepare his company, or those who would be needed, anyway. The chapter master had just given him a privilege far greater than merely observing the retribution they were about to pay to the Xenos fleet. He and his men would be part of it!
This was good for Orion as well, as it would mean that his Third company and their new captain would be busy while the rest of his chapter went about securing the future of mankind from the most insidious of clutches. Its own.
The Skywatch were descended from the proud Ultra Marines, and while they served their Emperor in the farthest reaches of his Empire, away even from their beloved five hundred worlds, they were still studiously trained in the arts, methods, and patterns of Statecraft, debate, bureaucracy, and politics. Orion had lost count of how many times he and his chapter had been forced to utterly dismantle the decaying power structure of a hive world or even whole subsector, after having saved said system from the throes of heresy and treachery.
But what he faced now was not a mere reorganization of an irredeemable corrupt societal structure, but rather, the creation of an entirely new Structure, for an entirely new galaxy. He had not been idle in his weeks of warp travel, nor had his mind been consumed by purely martial pursuits. No, Orion had been drafting out all potential possibilities, outcomes, and likely dispositions among the fractious imperial forces that now found themselves, temporarily, corralled under his command.
Soon enough, this temporary state would end, and the disjointed parts of the Imperium which he had brought with him, forged together by emergency and circumstance, would soon seek to separate again, either to pursue their own goals, or simply to preserve their own power. And yet, Orion knew too well that this was impossible.
They were not the Imperium of Man, not out here. Normally the disjointed forces of mankind could separate and survive due to how utterly massive the Imperium which contained them was, but this was not the case in this new galaxy. And yet the nature of man would still pull them apart if nothing was done.
It had been bad enough when the orders had come to abandon their defense of Kalastan from the predators of the Great Devourer, that endless Xenos menace known as the Tyranids. There, at the ancestral capital of the Sector, nearly four thousand space marines had gathered already, having been warned by prophecy and less...scrupulous allies of the coming threat.
Three whole chapters and their mighty fleets had assembled in addition to individual squads from other, more distant Astartes forces. High command had seemed unusually competent, and had sent many regiments from several varied systems to back them, and even the Imperial navy of Battlefleet Xektek had been there to provide full support in both transportation and firepower. And yet their Primarch father, Roubutte Guliman, had looked upon the projected losses to their combined force, their expected earnings of their winnings, and had judged the scales over-balanced, and not in their favor.
So it was that Orion now had to contend with the haughty demands of High Marshal Xanathain Rektan, the indiscernible considerations of the Council Of Tempered Minds, as well as the abject insubordination and defiance of the Crimson Razor's Chapter Master as well as virtually all Adeptus Mechanicus personal with even a shred of legitimacy to their power.
As it was, the various personalities and power structures present, which may have survived each other within the greater context of the Imperium, were now poised to become a recipe for complete disaster, both for their forces, and the men and women in their care. This was all too clear to Orion, not just as a Chapter Master charged with the training, leading, and care of one thousand of the Emperor's finest warriors. Not just as an Ultramarine, trained and practiced in the realms of state and leadership. Not just as a former veteran of the Death Watch, where cooperation among disjointed halves was the key to survival.
It was clear to him as a man, an old man who had known many others of his kind. But recipes could be altered, ingredients added. Ingredients removed. And thus it came down to his command to the Skyward, the most loyal and skilled warriors from within his chapter. Orion had not been idle for his weeks in warp travel, no, not idle at all.
He had been referencing the Codex Astartes, the greatest single work of any of the Primarchs, and had begun the process of adapting it into a new work. A new structure, one which might save them all and forge them together into something stronger than their constituent halves. But it would all rely on the Tempered Hands, and on Lord Admiral Rollah. If both agreed to try his method, then all the others would be forced into place, their dispositions and ambitions be damned.
But if he could only convince one, or worse yet, neither...He'd be lucky to split off peaceably. And that was the trick. As soon as this battle concluded, he would need to address the situation, in fact, he was addressing it already.
"Full burn is go go go."
"All Bombardment cannons were primed. Blessed be his name."
"All Torpedo Tubes Primed. Glory to his word!"
"All Weapons batteries are ready to deliver his wrath! Terror be to his enemies!"
"Engine Decks, Brace Brace Brace, Keep Faith and remember, the Emperor Protects."
"Courage and Honor!"
"Now! Show them the face of the Emperor, and Remind the Xenos who is the True Power in the Universe!"
"Prometheum charge is in the vent, projects countdown to fission impact is, 4, 3, 2, 1, 0. Impact detected! Charge is successful."
"All decks, all decks, final call to full readiness. Look to your faith, hold fast to your duty, we are the scions of mankind. No matter the distance, The Emperor is with us, and we cannot fail."
"Astropathic choir is at full readiness, we are beseeching the Emperor for his strength, his guidance, as we seek the minds of the foe!"
The gravity projectors whined with strain as the Master of Light, an ancient ship well over Ten Thousand years old, seemed to return to life after centuries of deathlike dormancy. Despite the mastery of its technology, all aboard the ship felt the pull on the unnatural gravity which adhered them, even Orion, as the behemoth of a ship launched itself like a loose arrow through the void of space. It briefly outpaced even the escorts around it, though only briefly, as the smaller craft assembled around it, encapsulating the battle barge in a defensive formation, while others ranged even further ahead.
They were like fleas around the Master of Light, being a mere average of two kilometers long, compared to Orion's venerable Battle Barge, which stretched twelve kilometers long, and nearly five kilometers high. Even being as large as it was, the Master of Light was much faster than any ship that could call itself its contemporary within the assembled fleet, even the battle barges of the Tempered hands.
Orion smiled, watching as, first the Navy, and then the Tempered Hands fleet themselves, gave chase, unwilling, one and all, to be unmanned. Good, this would keep them occupied, keep them busy. A new enemy to fall upon, to examine, to defeat. It was as good a diversion as any he could have hoped for, though paid for in much more blood than he would have ever desired.
Meanwhile, the Skyward were, even then, executing his will, moving amongst the undefended carrier and cargo ships which held the vast majority of the survivors of the worlds they had evacuated. Rich and poor. Pauper, and aristocrat. Some were ordered to abduct, but most were to be slain. Not obviously, but quickly, efficiently, and with as little immediate impact as possible.
Their targets were predesignated, chosen tactically by Orion himself after reviewing all of the possible data. His pristine, trans-human mind held all that he had ever seen and ever known at thoughts reach, and yet even then he had deliberated greatly as to who was to go where on his list, and if they were to go on it at all.
But the fact remained, he needed to be able to come to both the Lord Admiral, and the Council of Tempered Minds, not only from a position of strength, but with compelling offers, and the power to carry those offers out. For this to be the case, some among the martian priesthood would need to die, and others would need to be taken. For this to become reality, many, many lords, aristocrats, bureaucrats, administrators, and Governors would need to die. And not just them, but unfortunately, because of the very structures they had created, their entire bloodline as well.
But this was ever the truth of the galaxy, mankind needed to suffer so that mankind could survive. Orion had allotted for all the mercy he felt he could afford, but he could never allow petty sentimentality to cloud his view of what needed to be done. As soon as this battle concluded, he would go to them, first the Lord Admiral, and then the Council.
And because they were here, and because he was here, they would have no way of knowing, anticipating, or suspecting what his offers would be. That alone would be advantage enough, but it would not be his only advantage.