The endless bickering within the council chambers of Terra had persisted for several days.
Roboute Guilliman sat atop the primary seat of the massive assembly table, a deep sense of weariness washing over him as he watched the surrounding members of the Senatorum Imperialis and representatives from various organizations relentlessly voice their demands. Elevated on their high benches, the High Lords of Terra maintained expressions of solemn gravitas, wrapped in a calculated silence.
The representatives of the Adeptus Astartes and the Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes clashed in a bitter war of words, while the delegate from the Officio Assassinorum scrutinized every soul in the room with cold, predatory eyes.
To the majority of the High Lords, this accord was perilous. Aside from Archmagos Oud Oudia Raskian, the Fabricator-General of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the rest of the High Lords either withheld their support or maintained a strict neutrality. The most vehement opposition emanated from the Ecclesiarch and the representative of the Inquisition, while the Grand Provost Marshal of the Adeptus Arbites and the remaining officials chose to straddle the fence.
Guilliman understood the catalyst for this impasse all too well. The implications surrounding the Iron Men were simply too vast.
The Adeptus Mechanicus backed the accord out of sheer covetousness for the technology of the Iron Men. Many Space Marine Chapters maintained exceptionally close ties with the Priesthood of Mars. If this agreement were ratified, the Mechanicus would undoubtedly secure opportunities to study the gear of the Iron Men, and might even demand that these machines attach their own 'Iron Techs' to Imperial deployments on a permanent basis. Over prolonged periods of exposure, there was no telling what forbidden lore these Tech-Priests might glean from the Men of Iron.
Suddenly, the Ecclesiarch's solid-gold staff shattered the crystal goblet before him, its end, inlaid with the finger-bones of a saint, striking the floor with a resonant crack.
"You dare suggest that the Emperor's Angels should serve soulless machines?"
After all, the Adeptus Astartes were heralded as the Emperor's Angels. What were the Iron Men by comparison? The Emperor's Grace?
Flanking the Ecclesiarch, two Battle Sisters of the Adeptus Sororitas crossed their arms over their chests in the sign of the Aquila, offering silent prayers.
"When the populace sees Space Marines patrolling alongside Iron Men, binary incantations will find their way into our sacred hymns!" the Ecclesiarch roared in righteous fury, his gaze darting between Guilliman at the head of the table and the Fabricator-General of Mars, who loomed beside them like a monolithic structure.
Those were the hazardous, thinking machines the Emperor had once strictly forbidden from development. Furthermore, these Iron Men were not even the dangerous byproduct of Imperial research and development.
Seated nearby, the Grand Provost Marshal and the Grand Master of the Administratum remained noncommittal. The Iron Men would assist in enforcing the Imperial tithe, purge overcrowded hive cities, and uphold Imperial law, they were among the primary beneficiaries of the arrangement.
The High Inquisitor of the Inquisition tilted his head slightly, his piercing gaze cutting through the shadow of his ancient hood, as if analyzing every layer of conspiracy and threat.
"The duty of the Inquisition is to safeguard the Imperium and neutralize every latent threat," his voice was low and freezing, akin to a chilling wind rising from the abyss. "We do not fully comprehend the motivations or ultimate objectives of these Iron Men. To permit Astartes Psykers to join their ranks is equivalent to planting a ticking time bomb within the very heart of the Imperium. Who can guarantee these psykers will not be manipulated by the Iron Men, turned into weapons to be unleashed upon us?"
He leaned forward slightly. "The peril posed by psykers far outweighs almost any other threat."
His words pierced like a power blade into the vulnerabilities of the accord, sending a wave of dread through the hearts of those assembled.
The Imperium was never entirely devoid of clear-minded individuals. Even though the Black Ships providing escort duty operated under the purview of the Inquisition, it was not enough to make the Holy Ordos place absolute faith in the Iron Men. Neither the Adeptus Arbites nor the Administratum possessed the desire to cross the Inquisition; after all, even among the High Lords, who could truly claim their slate was entirely clean?
Faced with the dangerous intensity of the High Inquisitor's gaze, the two High Lords remained silent. Meanwhile, the Master of the Adeptus Astronomica cast intermittent glances toward the Captain-General of the Custodes.
To the side, General Ashariel, Lord Commander Militant of the Astra Militarum, and the Lord High Admiral of the Imperial Navy conversed in hushed tones, entirely oblivious to the fierce debate raging around them.
"This matter is far too convoluted. It is best we do not meddle," the Lord Commander Militant muttered, shaking his head with an air of profound helplessness. "The armies and fleets of the Iron Men have always operated autonomously. Our opinions mean nothing to them."
The Lord High Admiral sighed in agreement. "Indeed. There is no telling what consequences this accord will unleash. Let us simply attend to our own duties."
The words of the two military High Lords were steeped in a sense of utter futility.
Thoom.
The massive heavy doors of the council chamber ground open. Thoroughly exasperated, Guilliman exited the hall ahead of the others, leaving the parasites of the Imperium to continue their endless squabbling. He harbored a strong urge to threaten the High Lords once more, but his previous unilateral actions had already triggered a severe crisis upon Terra. This time, he intended to proceed with absolute caution. Moreover, this agreement with the Iron Men involved all Space Marine forces, meaning the sheer volume of personnel affected was staggering.
Outside the chambers, Vulkan watched Guilliman emerge. The Primarch of the Salamanders stepped forward, clapping a massive hand onto his brother's shoulder before stepping aside.
From behind his towering silhouette, Jaghatai Khan stepped into view.
Guilliman felt a surge of pleasant surprise at the sight of the Khan. However, the words that traveled from Jaghatai's lips instantly struck him dumb.
"Brother Guilliman, why is the number of your progeny so staggeringly vast?"
"What did you say?"
"Why are the Ultramarines so numerous? Did you truly fracture your Legion in accordance with your own Codex?"
Faced with the Khan's interrogation, Guilliman wanted nothing more than to roar to the heavens. I was suspended inside a stasis field for ten thousand years! And now you return only to question me?! You are truly playing with fire!
For the first time, Guilliman began to vent his grievances to his brothers.
Before he was grievously wounded and placed into his long slumber, he had indeed broken apart his gene-sons according to the dictates of the Codex Astartes, or the "toilet paper," as some now cynically dubbed it. Throughout the vast span of centuries that followed, even he remained entirely in the dark as to how the number of his descendants had ballooned to such an astronomical degree. The Codex had been written to mitigate threats, not to grant the Ultramarines a loophole to bypass limitations. In truth, the total number of Ultramarines successors scattered across the galaxy now nearly doubled the strength of the original Legion.
Guilliman was acutely aware that the peculiar, guarded attitudes of the Adeptus Custodes and the Inquisition toward him were largely driven by this massive armada of gene-sons.
Yet, those countless Successor Chapters spread across the galaxy had endured ten millennia of unceasing warfare. They had fought for the Imperium, faced near-extinction, underwent total reconstitutions, and merged with one another. Their chapter cultures diverged, their lineages fractured, and in many cases, their original records were lost entirely to time. He had once attempted to catalog and audit this data, but the sheer complexity of the task was no less demanding than overseeing the daily governance of the entire Imperium. Ultimately, strained by finite energy and time, he had been forced to abandon the endeavor.
If anyone was truly mystified by this situation, it was Guilliman himself. He could scarcely conceive how chapters as bizarre and puritanical as the Mortifactors could have emerged from his own genetic lineage. He had simply never anticipated being confronted on this matter by his own brothers today.
As Primarchs, both Vulkan and Jaghatai Khan could sense the genuine confusion and absolute sincerity in Guilliman's voice. Unlike certain other Primarchs, they harbored no real suspicions regarding Guilliman's motives. After all, the sheer military might he currently wielded was already more than sufficient to overthrow the Imperium should he wish it.
The Imperial Regent's loyalty required no further justification.
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