Dark Imperium

by Guy Haley

  ‘Is the hall prepared?’ asked Guilliman.

  ‘It is, my lord. We await your council. We have refreshments, if you would prefer to eat first?’

  ‘Let us be about the meeting. Feasting must wait. I cannot afford to be away from the fleet long.’

  More engines screamed in the storm. All around the plaza, Thunderhawks descended, and out came all of Guilliman’s lords of war.

  ‘The others are here,’ said the primarch. ‘We are ready. Let us begin.’

  The Strategia Ultima was insufficiently sized to hold all the delegates, and so the edification had been arranged in the Hall of Maxellus, named for the twenty-first Chapter Master of the Ultramarines. The cold, damp smell of the outdoors came steaming off the assembled host of politicians and warriors. Huge heating coils hanging from arches did their best to warm the company, but succeeded mainly in raising an interior fog that ran wet on the stonework. A tall statue of Maxellus at the end of the hall looked on sternly, if benignly. He had been renowned for his wisdom. Emperor alone knew what he would have made of Guilliman’s return, and the changes that had befallen the Imperium since his day. Maxellus had lived in a time roughly halfway between Guilliman’s death and rebirth. Both the 32nd and 41st millennia would be unrecognisable to him.

  Guilliman was afforded the place of honour. A massive bronze chair had been taken from the museum vaults deep under the Fortress of Hera and brought forth for his use. Though Calgar had seen the primarch in stasis and was thus aware of how physically large he was, the primarch’s artefacts had always seemed bigger somehow than the being they were made for, as if sized for a titan from a greater age. They were sacred relics all, revered by successive generations of Ultramarines. The Ultramarines did not pray to their primarch, nor venerate him in an overtly religious way. They did not believe either the Emperor or His son divine, but an aura of holiness clung to his effects nonetheless, and it had been the habit of many Chapter Masters to meditate in the museum vaults, looking for inspiration from the things that had known the touch of their gene-sire.

  To the primarch, the throne was just another piece of furniture, a possession reclaimed, as Ultramar was. He used it unthinkingly. Even now he was back, his casual attitude toward these ancient relics, although they were his, offended something in Calgar.

  It was a ridiculous notion.

  Present in the hall were the upper echelons of the Imperial command structure within Ultramar, which comprised the Ultramarines’ upper leadership, the Chapter Masters of the Howling Griffins, the Novamarines and the Genesis and Aurora Chapters, as well as the first captain of the Sons of Orar and the third captain of the Mortifactors. The Inquisition were there, as were other, even more secretive organisations. By lithocast, the Chapter Masters of the Silver Eagles and the Libators were also in attendance. News had come that the White Scars were en route in force. Elements of twenty-four other Chapters were either on their way or present in Ultramar. These smaller forces were of varied strengths, ranging from a single squad to a company in size, and they had elected eight further captains from among their total number to speak for them at the council. Ultramar’s Knightly Houses were also well represented, as were its forge worlds, Navy and Astra Militarum forces.

  Guilliman had brought numerous groups with him from the Indomitus Crusade, including the heads of various Primaris Chapters founded at Raukos, as well as all his other military leaders, who all had their own spokesmen and advisers.

  Maldovar Colquan sat at Guilliman’s left hand, Calgar at his right. The military leaders occupied the first three tiers of seats around the council table; there were several hundred all told, as varied a gathering but not quite as grand as there had been at the Triumph of Raukos. In the remainder of the seats were diplomats speaking for the governments of dozens of worlds from Ultramar and Greater Ultramar.

  A human-sized table, long enough to run the length of the gathering, had been set up down the middle. It was largely symbolic, for there were far too many bodies in the room for anyone to make use of it. Guilliman had expressly ordered that no hololiths or other data-projection devices be present. Instead, the table was heaped with ancient tomes and maps, symbols of obligation assumed long defunct by many of the dignitaries present.

  Calgar thought Guilliman wished to be free of distraction. Less charitably, he thought his gene-father wanted to ensure that he was the sole source of knowledge in the room.

  Ever since he had returned from death, Roboute Guilliman had been exerting his authority in a way that Calgar had never truly considered before. As Chapter Master of the Ultramarines, Calgar was no stranger to power, and had on occasion had need for the application of coercion and subterfuge to ensure smooth running of the realm. But it was not his realm any more, and he felt a modicum of disappointment that Roboute Guilliman had to use such tricks, that the primarch seemed so… autocratic.

  Of course, Calgar was an autocrat too, a minor emperor in all but name. That he accepted, though it was a burden to have to be so. He had hoped for better from the primarch. Although in his genius Roboute Guilliman excelled at everything Calgar could imagine, in other ways he was a world away from the idealised figure Calgar had imagined all his life.

  Autocracy was the natural order of human society. There was a leader, and the rest followed. So it had always been. The Imperium was predicated on the preservation of this natural hierarchy. The disappointment, then, stemmed not from the fact that Guilliman was capable of such behaviour, and indeed seemed completely at ease with it, but that it was necessary he should have to exert his right to his power.

  Calgar had run the theoreticals and practicals of the primarch’s awakening through his head many times before Guilliman had come back to them for real. It was indulgent, wishful thinking – daydreaming, even. But who did not wish for a saviour in times of need? Marneus Calgar, who was looked to as a saviour by billions of people, had needed his own idols to put faith in. When he had formulated his own versions of Guilliman’s miraculous return, as he was sure every Ultramarines Chapter Master since the first had also done, he had not conceived of events playing out as they actually had. He had not foreseen the resistance to the primarch’s rule. He had naively expected a primarch to be able to overcome the sheer inertia of Imperial government by dint of his presence. The primarch would return, and all men would fall into line, and obey him unquestioningly. They would march together to conquer the galaxy, putting the old enemy to the sword and driving out the xenos.

  It had not worked so simply. There was dissension, different interpretations of the primarch’s edicts – sometimes wilful – and there was disbelief and suspicion. Guilliman’s rebirth had caused great rejoicing among the populace, but less so among those leaders who risked losing their influence to his rule. Calgar had relied a great deal on the civilian leaders of Ultramar and beyond. Roboute Guilliman should not need to.

  Calgar had more faith than ever in his primarch. To see him living and breathing among them brought a sense of wonder he had never thought to experience as a Space Marine. It had, to some extent, reinvigorated the sense of his own humanity.

  But the actions of some people in the face of the primarch’s return meant he had less faith than ever in his fellow man. Humanity’s short-sightedness and selfishness disgusted him.

  Guilliman stood, banishing Calgar’s train of thought.

  ‘My lords, my generals, my countrymen,’ said the primarch. ‘Fellow Imperial citizens, fellow warriors of many worlds, I bid you welcome to this conclave today, at the heart of Ultramar.’

  Guilliman’s voice rang strong and clear off the stone of the hall. To every man and woman present in the assembly, it was as if he spoke to them personally. Guilliman commanded attention like no other could. His words invited no disagreement. He was forceful and strong, while appearing the epitome of reason.

  Marneus Calgar was among the most powerful men in all the Imperium, and yet aw
e entered him as he imagined a time when eighteen of these beings had travelled the stars. Being in a room with more than one must have struck men dumb.

  ‘I have summoned you here to discuss the cleansing of Ultramar of my brother’s forces,’ the primarch said. ‘The Indomitus Crusade is done. As of now, a portion of the fleets that constituted it have returned here for a time. I have come to your aid. When I depart, this realm will be better defended, better organised and more resilient than it has been for many generations.’

  Calgar felt the remarks were directed at him.

  ‘I am saddened that those worlds attacked or overrun within our sphere of influence remain without help while the war grinds on here, seemingly without resolution,’ Guilliman continued. He gave the assembly a grave stare. Each person there felt their failings exposed by his regard, and none more so than Marneus Calgar. Failure was a new sensation to him, but he was becoming intimate with it. Under the gaze of the primarch he realised that his failures stretched far into back time. The realisation robbed the glory from all his successes.

  ‘In the days of the Great Crusade, the worlds and realms associated with each Legion provided a solid base for their operations, and a link to the greater whole of the Imperium. Most were paragons to be aspired to by other worlds, models of good governance and a promise of the peace that would come to compliant worlds. Ultramar was the very best. It was rightly lauded the length and breadth of the galaxy for its fairness – a just place, where every citizen could live free of harm.’

  Guilliman got up from his chair and unrolled a star map upon the table. He smoothed it gently with his armoured hands, and stared at it a moment.

  ‘I have read many histories. I recognise and am grateful that Ultramar has continued in the role I intended since the time of my death. I am proud with all that you have done to maintain the traditions of justice this realm represents in an often cruel galaxy. I am thankful for the preservation of the freedoms enjoyed by its people. Circumscribed by the grim state of affairs we find ourselves in as these admirable characteristics may be, Ultramar still remains an example to every other system in the Imperium.’

  He took a deep breath, and rested his fists upon the chart. Calgar looked past the armoured hands. The legend on the map read ‘Ultramar’, but it was not the realm as he recognised it. It looked to include all the original systems of the Five Hundred Worlds, and more besides. The territory was divided into five, distinct, coloured blocks.

  ‘However,’ said the primarch, and a touch of steel entered his voice, ‘I should have done better. By reducing Ultramar to a size that could be protected effectively by one Chapter while the Ultramarines fulfilled their many obligations elsewhere, I reduced Ultramar’s effectiveness as an example and as a bastion.’ He looked up, a sincere look on his face. ‘I was mistaken.’

  Silence greeted these words. To most of the people in the room, he was effectively a god, and gods did not make mistakes.

  ‘Furthermore, my command a century ago that all treaties of independence were to be immediately rescinded and the ancient Five Hundred Worlds reincorporated into this realm has not been fully enacted. The efforts to reconstitute Greater Ultramar – that is, the ancient Five Hundred Worlds – have not proceeded as well as I would have liked. I am angry with those Imperial commanders who will not submit to Ultramar’s rule. I am disappointed with those commanders that pay lip service to my command yet continue to put their own interests above those of greater humanity. Ultramar appears to be coming back into its original form, but it is a sham.’

  Several representatives of certain worlds looked very uncomfortable. Guilliman pointed an armoured finger at the star chart. ‘This is my vision for Greater Ultramar. It will be put into effect immediately. As I cannot rely on the goodwill of local government to do my bidding, I am of today reinstating the ancient offices of the tetrarchy. Four noble members of the Adeptus Astartes, whom I have chosen as much for their acumen as statesmen as for their abilities as warriors, will be installed as sector commanders to oversee the reorganisation of this realm along lines that I and I alone shall decree. They will be provided with all authority to pursue my aims as they see fit, whether diplomatically or militarily.’ He let the threat hang on the air. ‘They will furthermore be entrusted with the defence of these sectors, and when peace comes, with their rebuilding and further development.’

  The people waited their primarch’s word as to who would rule over them. He gave the map his full attention.

  ‘Under my rule, the tetrarchs governed from the worlds of Iax, Occluda, Saramanth and Konor. Saramanth was devastated some time ago, I understand, while Iax has diminished in relative importance to the systems around it and is currently occupied by the enemy. The seats of the tetrarchs were established early in Ultramar’s expansion, and Iax and Konor are both proximate to the capital world. In recognition of these changes in circumstance, I will establish the new tetrarchy upon the following worlds.

  ‘Konor will accept a tetrarch as its lord again. Despite its nearness to Macragge, the situation at Espandor demonstrates that a dedicated defensive strategy must be formulated to guard the northern reaches against further incursions from the Scourge Stars, and, eventually, to push out and cleanse those systems of the Plague God’s followers. To this role, I appoint Severus Agemman, First Captain of the Ultramarines and Regent of Ultramar.’

  Agemman stood and knelt. ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘you do me great honour.’

  ‘You will retain your rank and position within the Chapter, tetrarch, though your new duties will be onerous,’ said the primarch. ‘Rise, Tetrarch of Konor, and take your place among the highest of lords.’

  Agemman returned to his seat, his bearing radiating new determination.

  ‘The other worlds that will bear this responsibility are as follows. Andermung shall be the base of the second tetrarch, with responsibility over the southern reach. To this role, I appoint Second Captain Portan of the Genesis Chapter.’

  Portan stood, his red armour dark in the hall. He held up his hands in confusion. ‘My lord, what have I done to deserve this honour? Do you not wish to appoint your own Ultramarines to these positions? I am overwhelmed.’

  ‘I have studied Chapter records of serving Space Marines among all of my sons, not only those of the Ultramarines,’ said Guilliman. ‘I have selected my tetrarchs according to their ability, no matter their origin. I call upon those who are suitable for the role, without favour to my own Chapter over others. You who have been chosen are worthy in my estimation. Do not forget, that although you wear red and carry another Chapter’s name, you too bear my gene-code. That is all that matters to me. Your efforts in rebuilding the Diamat Cluster four centuries ago suggest you have all the qualities the position requires.’

  ‘My lord, thank you,’ said Portan.

  ‘You will also retain your title as captain, though I recommend Chapter Master Eorloid promote another to captain your company. The strictures of the Codex shall be waived in this instance.’

  ‘As you command, so shall it be,’ said the Genesis Chapter Master.

  ‘Protos in the west will take the third tetrarch. To this role, I have assigned Captain Balthus of the Doom Eagles. I have confirmation that he has been released by his Chapter and is making his way to Macragge.’

  Guilliman pressed his finger at the edge of the map. There, his new Ultramar bowed out in a long, curving tail towards the Eastern Fringe, taking in many planets that had not known Macragge’s rule for long ages.

  ‘That leaves the eastern marches. This area, under the Sotharan League, remained politically unified until recently, but since the fall of Sotha itself to the tyranids the League has been without proper guidance, and I hear troubling reports regarding its efficiency. This will change. Vespastor, three light years from Sotha, is designated the new seat of authority there, and its tetrarch will rule over the Sotharan League and the eastern shieldw
orlds besides.’ Guilliman looked behind him at his equerry. ‘Captain Felix, Primaris Ultramarine, will take command.’

  Felix, who was standing to the right of the primarch’s throne, looked thunderstruck.

  ‘My lord, I am not qualified!’ blurted the equerry.

  ‘You are qualified because I say you are qualified,’ said Guilliman matter of factly. ‘I have been testing you ever since your records were brought to my attention. Why do you think I inducted you fully into the Ultramarines from my Unnumbered Sons? I saw your potential a long time ago, Felix. I have been training you for this role. You have not disappointed me. I need a Primaris tetrarch. All the Space Marines in the eastern quadrant of Ultramar will be of the Primaris type, and many others throughout Ultramar also. I cannot afford any dissension between the two generations of Space Marines.’

  Guilliman surveyed the room, looking between the differing sorts of Space Marine.

  ‘You may protest that this will never happen,’ he continued. ‘Archmagos Cawl can assure me that you are made to be loyal. You of the older type may cite your records of sacrifice and devotion, but I know the souls of men. I have heard protestations of loyalty before, and witnessed unintended slights burn them to ash. Where there is difference, there is space for envy, and envy leads to conflict. I will have none of it. Three of the four tetrarchs will be Space Marines of the existing type. You will accept this offer, Felix – the books must be balanced. Eighty-six worlds will be yours. Some of them are lost, and you will require all the arts I have taught you to recover them. It shall fall to you, as Tetrarch of Vespastor, to govern them all for the good of their peoples, and to be a spokesman for the Primaris Space Marines upon the Council of Greater Ultramar. All of you tetrarchs have similar burdens.’