Serrati Stellas Chapter 8

The chamber was small and bare, half of it little more than a metal cell with the meanest facilities for daily life. In one corner a stand held a suit of power armour, meticulously restored and blessed with sacred unguents. Beside it was a workbench with a disassembled bolter and a battered Chainsword, various tools lay around them, worn from repeated use and covered in fresh oils. The rest of the room was taken up with a pair of chairs and a functional desk, which was piled high with data slates and reports.

Toran was sitting at that desk, sorting through the various reports. He was wearing a simple woven tabard that left his arms exposed, revealing a lifetime's worth of scars. He sat rubbing his chin, glaring at a report of the squads' consumption of ration bars during deployment, but all he could think was to wonder why in the name of sanity it required a Sergeant's authority to sign such minutiae.

With an exasperated sigh he threw the data-slate back to the desk and stretched his arms over his head tensing his gene-enhanced muscles one by one. He rolled his head and looked at the wall for a moment, wishing for a viewportal, but knew it was a ridiculous notion. The Astartes' barracks was located deep within the ship where enemy fire could not reach, only the gene-seed vault was more secure.

Toran thought longingly about taking his bolter to the firing ranges and letting off some of his frustration but sadly dropped the idea. His duty was clear and he diligently picked up the next slate, sighing when he saw it was a six hundred and fifty-five page report on repair estimates when they returned to the Chapters' shipyards around Lujan II.

Before he could start reading it he was interrupted by a chime and he gladly leapt to his feet, practically racing to the door. The door opened at his touch to reveal the bulky silhouette of Chaplain Wrethan, standing in black robes of office with his Rosarius draped around his neck. Many mortals would have been surprised to see him without armour but despite what the average citizen thought Space Marines did not live in their plate; power armour needed repair and maintenance as much as the Astartes themselves did.

Toran was surprised to see him at this hour but bowed in respect and waved him in; the Chaplain surveyed the chamber then sat down besides the desk without being invited. Toran was surprised, for this was unusually informal for the Chaplain, in fact it was rare to see him without his trademark skull helm. The sergeant studied his visitor and was surprised to realise that away from battle Wrethan's face was calm and relaxed, missing its customary snarl of hatred.

He sat down and asked, "Father Wrethan, to what do I owe the honour of this visit?"

The Chaplain looked at him with a cool gaze and then said, "We have been in the Immaterium for a week and the Navigator estimates the journey will take three more weeks, depending on the Warp's tides. Ophelian is fully healed and your squad drills diligently in the training arenas every day, yet you have not been seen."

Toran gestured to take in the piles of reports across his desk and said, "Duty calls Father, as Commander of this mission, I have to read and authorise every single thing that happens in this flotilla."

Wrethan sighed in disappointment and explained, "Your mind is like a blade, it must be kept sharp and honed, not blunted through neglect. You are still acting like an Initiate, thinking you must do every individual task yourself, but as a commander you must learn how to delegate. Perhaps you have not considered this but many officers appoint an equerry from among the Serfs, to assist with the mundane affairs so they can concentrate on the mission."

Hesitantly Toran argued, "But the Primarch wrote that there are no lesser duties. That attention to the smallest details creates the larger victory. What if something important is missed?"

Wrethan leaned back and said, "Which is why you must be careful in your selection. You must choose someone you can rely upon to know what is important enough to bring to your attention, yet has the initiative to deal with mundane matters alone."

Then Wrethan casually picked up a slate and said, "What matters are these that weigh so heavily upon you?"

"Damage reports mostly," Toran answered but then he said softly, "Casualty estimates too."

"Ah," Wrethan said knowingly as he lacing his fingers before him, "Now we come to the true heart of the matter."

Toran looked down at his calloused hands as he elaborated, "As best as can be told over five hundred serfs lost their lives in action. Not to enemy fire or tragic mishap, but directly caused by our manoeuvres… by my orders."

Chaplain Wrethan had an understanding look upon his face as he said, "In my time I have consoled many Brothers, both the lowest and the highest and there is one constant truth: it is never easy to loose men under your command. These men may not have been Initiates but they served the Chapter in their own manner and they were your responsibility. Space Marines were forged to know no fear but sorrow, anguish or remorse… in these matters we are not so far from human as many would like to believe."

"Why Father?" asked Toran despondently, "Why could they not just cut this guilt out of us like so much else?"

Wrethan sat up straight to emphasise his next point, "In ancient times the bureaucrats on Terra thought they had, they thought the Astartes were little more than bolters, weapons to be used and discarded. The Horus Heresy taught us all the folly of that, the first and greatest lesson the Chaplains learnt in that war was that at heart we remain men. Under all our gene-forging and indoctrination we are yet human, which is why we must ever be vigilant against our own flaws."

Toran looked up and asked "Then how does one come to terms with this loss?"

Wrethan replied sternly, "I will tell you the same thing I told Captain Phalros after his first command. You must hold to one truth: that these men willingly gave their lives for the Divine Emperor and for victory. This triumph is not yours it is theirs; it belongs to every man who laid down his life to make it happen. You must remember that no man who dies in the service of Him on Terra does so without purpose."

Toran nodded in understanding as Wrethan continued, "You showed steel when you made the necessary sacrifices for victory. Yet it is concerning that after all that you still took a great risk saving Ophelian."

"A calculated risk," said Toran looking up sharply, "And it worked."

But Wrethan stated gravely, "But the next time it could cost the Chapter dearly, you must accept that sacrifices are necessary, not only to ensure victory but to safeguard the lives of many more. You could go forth tomorrow and find a way to die in battle but as a commander you will be required to send others to die in your place. You must come to terms with this truth or you will fail as a leader and be removed from command."

Slowly Toran stated, "I have seen loss before, I have seen good brothers sacrificed for victory but I have never had to give such orders myself. I was always willing to die for the Emperor but now I see I must do something much harder, I must be willing to live on for Him, even when others do not."

Wrethan gave the Sergeant penetrating stare then seemed to reach a decision and said, "You have a quiet faith Toran, you do not trumpet it but the Chaplains have been watching you for a long time. I have pushed you hard these last few weeks, tested the quality of your spirit and your steel because we see great potential in you."

Toran frowned in confusion, unsure what the point was as Wrethan continued "What I have to say will shock you but the Imperium has failed the Emperor's vision… you have seen enough to realise it is a diseased and rotten thing."

"What are you saying?!" asked Toran in a startled tone of voice.

Yet Wrethan explained, "The Astartes stand apart from the Adeptus Terra for a good reason and our Chapter has come to embrace belief in the God-Emperor, because believing in the High Lords is impossible."

Toran could not hide his incredulity and said, "Father your words border on Heresy, are you saying we have rebelled against Terra?"

But Wrethan lifted his hands to refute that, "No, not at all, there are none who hold fiercer to the Divine right of the Emperor. It is the High Lords who have fallen short, those feeble clerks have fallen short of His vision. We uphold the ideals the Imperium was founded upon, even when Terra itself does not and we will not let scriveners and clerks stand in the way of the Divine Emperor's glorification. High Chaplain Samect has declared that through spreading belief in the Emperor, true faith not the sham peddled by the Eccelsiarchy, we shall lead humanity back to the righteous path."

"That is a noble goal," said Toran slowly.

However Wrethan's face became stony as he continued, "Understand this: there are those in the Chapter who do not agree, a few doubters who intend to return us to enslavement to those bloated bureaucrats. We do not know how many they are but now you have proven yourself as a leader we believe they will approach you soon."

Toran's jaw fell as he replied, "You intend to use me to identify and eliminate them?"

Wrethan looked shocked at the response, "Eliminate them?! Do you take us for kin-slayers? No, they remain brothers, misguided perhaps but still able to see the light if guided correctly. We shall take them by the hand and educate them in the truth of the Divine Emperor."

Toran considered this for long moments then said "What do you need of me?"

Wrethan smiled at his young protégés acceptance and said, "Merely to keep your eyes and ears open. Keep a sharp eye on Furion especially, he was rejected from the Chaplaincy for his refusal to embrace worship and may backslide. Most importantly say nothing, not to him or anyone else, report only to me."

Toran nodded to show his agreement then Wrethan said, "I am pleased to know you accept the necessity of this, with Marines like you among us we will see the Imperium restored to glory."

Then he stood up and bowed in respect before taking his leave. Toran watched him go and sat staring at the walls; he considered all he had heard and all he had done for a long time. He waited almost an hour then walked to the vox panel upon his wall. He raised a hand to open a channel then paused; he moved to a different control and checked his system was secure, then he checked it again.

Finally satisfied he opened a vox link and said, "Furion, meet me on the practice ranges at the sixth hour: there are matters of grave import to discuss."

The adventure continues in Tenebris Resurget