A smooth squeeze of the trigger and the next shot hits the target.
The Imperium's spaceships not only looked like Gothic temples with engines attached to them, but were also extremely monstrous creations. They could hold millions of people, and were supplemented with landing teams on top. And for a relatively comfortable existence, the ships were equipped with all the necessary infrastructure so that the soldiers would not lose their skills over the months of flight.
There was no arena for titans here, but there was a shooting range where I honed my shooting skills. Although Lex's memory and experience became a part of my mind, without training any skill will dull or be lost. In my case, the risk of the second option was high, because I had not been in Lex's body for long, and in general I had not devoted enough time to assimilating this knowledge.
- Damn... what asshole made the trigger so stiff? - I cursed, noticing that my accuracy had dropped.
- Do you need this firearm? Take a lasgun instead. It's good in space and in the atmosphere, and the ammunition weighs less.
— And reliability is lower.
- It's certainly better than plasma weapons. Also, considering that the Space Marines have their own personal supply system, and no one will carry these cartridges for you. Take the lasgun.
Laser weapons were truly superior to Camelot's firearms. In addition, the Imperial Army put lasgun production on stream and managed to supply almost all soldiers with them. Although, of course, there were exceptions, quite frequent ones in fact. However, one way or another, laser weapons were truly better, because they were universal and did not burden logistics so much.
Space travel was extremely expensive, difficult and dangerous. Travel took place through the warp, and only the Geller fields saved the ships from the monsters that dwelt in the immaterium. Plus, each ship needed a psyker-astropath, who blazed a path through the darkness with the Astronomican, the greatest astral beacon created by the Emperor. The Astronomican shone for fifty thousand light years, although the farther from Terra the weaker its glow.
One way or another, I refused the lasgun this time too. To be honest, as a pilot, I went to the shooting range solely to spend my leisure time usefully. Shooting skills as such are unlikely to be useful to me. In turn, I did not like lasguns, they were too... too... too much of a non-firearm. There was no recoil, no propellant gas, even a clumsy moron could hit the target, because a laser is essentially a beam of light, it has no ballistics.
It was nice to shoot a firearm and it calmed my nerves. Besides, I kept the officer's stub revolver with fire shot. A lethal thing, an expensive bastard, and the ammunition taken from Camelot will probably last me until the end of the Great Crusade, because the supplies will not bring anything personally to my order. And Camelot itself will be switching to the standards of the Imperium. So it is quite possible that soon no one will produce such weapons. Like all firearms in the Camelot army, they will be replaced after the accumulated reserves are used up.
So the long days passed. Space flights are a long process, plus the Halo stars were quite far from Terra, which made space travel difficult. And only the lodge meetings, which were held much more often during the flights, saved me from loneliness.
And in relative secrecy, one of the halls was once again occupied by members of the lodge. I was still surprised that here you could see people and space marines talking. Without armor, space marines were still more than two meters tall and menacingly towered over all mere mortals. On their faces lay sometimes even centuries of bloody battles for Humanity, which gave them an extremely heavy look.
They seemed to be creatures of a completely different order, ideal war machines, to whom any emotions should be alien. One order and the xenos' family would be cut out or burned alive. Although there is no need to even order here, because this is what they were created for - to crush and conquer. Their very genes determined this fate, because their hormonal background did not allow them to become attached, or even think about procreation. For them, only war existed.
And as a rule, the Space Marines tried not to contact mere mortals without need, looked down on them and certainly did not consider it necessary to communicate with ordinary rank and file on equal terms. However, everything changed on such lodges, which went too far in their violations. However, I did not see anything bad in this, silently listening to an officer of the Imperial army tell a joke.
"Once again I am convinced that Lorgar is the wisest of all the primarchs," a heavy and menacing voice rang out behind me.
I was sitting at the table and slowly finishing the second portion of dinner, so I almost choked from surprise. And when I turned around, I saw, as one would expect from the timbre of his voice, a space marine. With such a constitution, their voices were all extremely rough and bass. Due to the fact that at lodge meetings it was forbidden to wear regalia and insignia, I did not immediately manage to recognize him as the captain of the second company of the Arbiters of Fate. However, like all the other captains, Tyche was a well-known person and served as an example for all others.
"Is this the Primarch who advised the creation of the Lodges?" he asked, chewing his food rapidly.
- Yes. The Crusade was underway, the battles were brutal, the war was long, and although war was the main goal of the Astartes, but... something was missing. Or on the contrary, there was something extra in us, because after each battle, a Space Marine carried some small thing, a trophy, to his cabin, and after the death of a comrade, he received a box with the same small things. What to do with them? Why did we want to be the perfect weapon in the hands of the Emperor and at the same time waste time on such insignificant things? Probably because we are all people, albeit those who have undergone genetic modification. Even two hearts, - Tyche was clearly glad to have the opportunity to talk to someone like this, because he missed the previous lodge meetings due to a serious injury.
And in fact, Tyche was right. Many of the Space Marines were very much like ordinary soldiers. Very strong and fast, resilient and mentally stable, but still making notches after each kill. They liked to tell jokes and the death of those with whom they fought side by side for decades or centuries was very upsetting. Apparently, the hormonal effect could not be completely eliminated, or there was something else at play.
- How old are you? How old? - the Bird suddenly sang, incarnating right on the table and staring at Tyukhe.
- What a wonderful demon. And so diligently tries to hide his malice... - Tyche smiled with curiosity, examining Tzeentch's creation, and then held out his finger to her. - Or maybe there is no malice in her yet.
- That remains to be seen. But based on conversations with the psyker mentor, it can still be assumed that the immaterium is, in general, a reflection of our souls and all emotions. That is, good things can be born there, right?
- It could have been before, before our vices became dominant. The Age of Strife and the Fall of the Eldar made things even worse. Anything good that is born in the warp is immediately devoured by those who are not bound by virtue. That is why this bird came to you not by chance. Someone really wanted it to come to you.
- Yes, I think so too and I never forget about it.
Tyche had actually voiced all my thoughts. He was absolutely right and also very well versed in the secrets of the warp. As I was told, the Fatebringers communicated very warmly with the Thousand Sons and also tried to preserve as much knowledge as possible when taking worlds, and libraries were of strategic value, which excluded total bombardment of capitals.
In general, Moiran and his legion managed to find a common language with everyone. Yes, some legions and primarchs had exceptionally nasty characters. However, even so, the Arbiters of Fate tried to make concessions, to seek compromise and not give the opportunity for potential conflict to arise. Compliant, as the World Eaters sometimes contemptuously called them. Fulgrim considered them not ambitious enough. Not very diligent, Rogal Dorn evasively called them, never accepting their help.
Yes, that was the reputation of the Fatebringers. Different, unnecessary, and sometimes even words were used: useless, worthless, weak and unnecessary. And all because of some strange melancholy, like Moiran, the entire Legion liked to reason more, which simplified communication with the Word Bearers and Thousand Sons legions, but made them weak in the eyes of everyone else and the Emperor.
If one day the Eleventh Legion were to disappear, then… nothing catastrophic would happen to the Imperium. However, even so, Moiran never despaired, and even though the Emperor had only spoken one word to him personally in his entire life… Moiran still worked for the good of the Crusade and did what he believed was right. While some focused on the destruction of enemies, on the defense of worlds brought into compliance, on furious and lightning-fast expansions or diplomatic negotiations, Moiran focused on the Legion's connection with the world around it.
- The Crusade will end with our victory someday. The Rangdans may be strong, but... we will break even them. And then all the others, - our dialogue with Tyche continued over a game of regicide, in which the captain of the second company was much better than me. - But what will happen then?
— In the plan?
- Look at us, Mordred, we live for war and we don't know how to do anything else. And when the war is over, will all the legions put down their bolters and start a peaceful life? - Tyche grinned and moved a piece, putting a fork in my hand. - No, some are really capable of that, but Moiran clearly wants each of us to be ready to start something new on this day. Although even in war it is extremely important to be able to get along with allies. Although some of my brothers still do not consider people equal to themselves and get very angry when imperial officers give them orders.
- Ha, peaceful life? - I couldn't help but grin, imagining a huge Tyukhe plowing a field faster than a tractor. - And what else can a space marine do if not war?
— Word Bearers can become excellent ideologists and orators. Salamanders are famous for their humanism and can find a place for themselves among the rescuers. Word Bearers are irresistibly eager for knowledge, which makes them excellent scientists. And Fulgrim's Legion is very well versed in the arts. There are simply a lot of options, but some will certainly remain in the garrisons of worlds, helping to strengthen the defense of Rogal Dorn's sectors. Who knows what other misfortunes will come from other galaxies.
- And what will you do, Tyukhe? Or haven't decided yet?
— Not everyone will find a place in the new system right away. But they can find a place too. And who, if not a space marine, can better understand another space marine and what he needs?
"Not bad, all that's left is to live to see that glorious retirement," I nodded, understanding from the few emotions on Tyukhe's face how important this future was for him and probably the entire legion. "And you won't miss the war?"
— Frankly, I am already tired of it. With each decade, no, with each year, the burden becomes heavier. I don't know why, but unlike other legions, for some reason we seem to be fading or burning out. Before the reunification with Moiran, everything reached the point where morale had fallen so much that we had lost half of our combat capability. Shame and disgrace, a legion incapable of fulfilling its mission. Perhaps that's when we became second-rate in the eyes of all the other legions. Or always were.
- M, where is Moiran? Doesn't he take part in the lodges?
- Oh, don't you know?
- What exactly?
- Moiran is a rather powerful psyker, no, he cannot compare with other primarchs, however... his soul underwent the Astra Telepathica rite. The Emperor himself personally supervised the process. An incredible honor, thanks to which Moiran is now forever linked to his father. Thanks to this, our fleet makes jumps in the warp faster than all others, and the primarch is able to see the light even in the densest warp storm.
- Oh, so he's leading our fleet right now?
"Not exactly," Tyukhe answered evasively, after which he killed my king with the final move. "Another game?"
"Yes, I will win you someday," I agreed, and then immediately returned to the topic that interested me. "What do you mean, 'not quite'?"
"We have a debt to another legion. Moiran and a dozen of his strongest sons help those who once helped us.
— I don't quite understand... some demon ate all the astropaths in another legion?
- No, everything is much more complicated and... sadder. Frankly, even though we are in the box, we can speak openly and directly, but... this topic is still too painful.
— Can I at least find out why?
"Because no one has power over their own destiny," a menacing voice rang out, not giving Tyukha a chance to answer.
It was the captain of the first company, the one who kept an eye on me and was ready to become my executioner if necessary. His name was Shai and he rarely visited the lodge, because he considered the lodge to be the Legion's problem. It was because of these and other worldly weaknesses, hobnobbing with people, in his opinion, that no one respected the Legion. All efforts had to be thrown into rigorous training, increasing numbers, getting rid of weak and melancholic blood, so that the war would replace weaklings asking questions with the Emperor's angels carrying out orders.
Because of this, Shai often quarreled with Moiran, but the Primarch never punished him for expressing an opposing position. Moreover, thanks to Shai, Moiran did not forget that other points of view existed.
- Fortuna will soon emerge from the warp and find herself right in the thick of a space battle. There will be fierce combat, enough cooling off. Tyukhe, this concerns you first and foremost. You are the captain of the second company, so do your duty to the legion, and do not play games with mere mortals.
- If you spent more time studying strategy, you would understand why I play regicide and communicate with people. You are a good tactician, Shai, but you should learn to look and act in the long term. At least within a week or a year.
- What are you hinting at?
- That my company has already made all the preparations. And as soon as the signal is given and there is an hour left before exiting the warp, then within five minutes we will already be at the landing shuttles.
Shai cast a menacing glance at everyone gathered, stood for a couple of seconds and left to shake up the others.
"Is your car ready for battle?" Tyukhe asked, starting to play out the opening.
- Always, just like me. And yet... I will continue to strangle you. What is this painful topic and what do Shai's words mean?
- Oh, curiosity, although not a vice, must be kept in check. However, there is no secret about it.
- Then I'm listening.
— The thing is, life is such a thing... when you can never make a mistake and still lose. No matter how hard you try, no matter how many perfect moves you make, circumstances can be above you and they will break you, slowly, piece by piece, they will take apart everything that is dear to you, tearing your soul and causing unimaginable pain. In the awareness of your own helplessness, you will grit your teeth in anger and slowly watch the ashes falling from the sky. The second legion realized all this. It did not deserve such a fate, but... such was its fate. And Shai's words say that... the second legion really had no power over its fate. After all, everything was decided for it.
"And which legion is Moiran helping now?" I asked directly.
But Tyukhe sighed and simply stood up, stood in place and left without answering. My questioning really did cause him great pain in his heart and he did not want to remember what had happened. And in order not to lose his temper, he did what Moiran often did during arguments with other primarchs. He simply left silently.
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