The eyes of the recruits cycled -- from crystalline stupidity to absolute madness, then back from absolute madness to crystalline stupidity -- in a loop with no sign of stopping.
And that question:
"Excuse me -- are you Fulgrim?"
The entire hall had gone into complete silence. What on earth had those people given them this time -- Emperor's Children Gene-seeds again?
Everyone present turned to look at the Apothecary. The Apothecary shook his head.
"I can confirm without question that these are..."
But before he could finish:
"Word Bearers! Traitors!!!"
"Lorgar has betrayed us -- Calth needs reinforcements!!!"
"Guilliman..."
The hall became a scene of absolute pandemonium, because the other recruits had woken up as well.
Gene-seeds carried accumulated memories -- which was precisely why, as a safety measure, freshly implanted recruits were always restrained after the procedure to prevent any loss of control. The extreme reaction unfolding right now was well outside normal parameters. But very quickly all the scattered exclamations converged into a single refrain.
Almost every recruit's eyes were cycling between crystalline stupidity and absolute madness simultaneously, and it all resolved into the same question:
"Excuse me -- are you Fulgrim?"
"..."
The visiting senior Apothecary from the Ultramarines main Chapter, and the company captain overseeing the replenishment, arrived at the same terrifying possibility simultaneously.
"Contact the Chapter Master immediately. This batch of Gene-seeds has a serious problem. Possibly a much more serious problem than the Word Bearers incident. Get these recruits into the Shrine of the Primarch right now."
They had both heard of something like this before. It resembled the Blood Angels Curse. But the critical difference between this and the Blood Angels Curse was that the Ultramarines' Primarch was still alive -- unlike the Blood Angels, who had been left with nothing but a bowl of pureed remains.
So the first step was to bring them before the Primarch and see what happened.
The Apothecary had served in the Deathwatch before this assignment. One of his squadmates during that rotation had been Blood Angels lineage, and it was from that period that he had learned about the Blood Angels' other curse -- the Black Rage.
The Blood Angels had no way to handle it. For the Ultramarines, the situation was theoretically more manageable. Their Primarch was alive, just resting inside a stasis field.
So the citizens of Macragge had the somewhat unexpected experience of watching some of their finest graduates -- the ones you pointed to with pride when explaining what the education system had produced -- being carried in fully restrained through the doors of the most famous landmark in the entire star system, with their mouths stuffed.
---o---
On the other side of that same building, Calgar had been in the middle of a meeting with the senior Inquisitor Chris when rapid footsteps sounded outside.
Then a sudden halt. A blue-armored Ultramarine burst through the door.
"Chapter Master -- there is a problem. After the recruits woke up, they started shouting things like: Fulgrim, Calth needs reinforcements, the Word Bearers have betrayed us, somebody warn the Primarch it's a trap..."
"?"
Calgar paused briefly, then recalled the situation. Several companies had taken severe losses, and their Gene-seed reserves were also running short. They had drawn a supplementary batch. Then by fortunate coincidence a Mechanicus tithe ship caught by a Warp storm had drifted into the vicinity of Macragge, carrying what appeared to be a large quantity -- over a hundred -- of very pure Ultramarines Gene-seeds. They had taken them on the spot. The political paperwork on that acquisition was someone else's problem, and given the Imperium's administrative efficiency, who knew when any of that would get resolved anyway.
But...
These were memories from ten thousand years ago. Those Gene-seeds....
"Are you saying these Gene-seeds came from ancient Ancients -- veterans of the Battle of Calth, from ten thousand years ago?"
Calgar was on his feet now, genuinely startled.
"Yes, ten thousand years ago. And the memories are exceptionally clear. Not only ten thousand years -- some of them include the Primarch himself..."
"That's impossible. Every warrior who survived Calth and made it back had their Gene-seeds documented. The ones who stayed behind to hold the line against the fallen Primarch -- who could have possibly recovered their Gene-seeds!!!"
This made no sense to Calgar at all. Their lineage had complete records of continuity. Those ancient veterans from ten thousand years ago -- their Gene-seeds had all been passed down through the generations. Take the perpetually headache-inducing 2nd Company Captain Sicarius, for instance -- his Gene-seed traced back to a very ancient warrior. There was no sub-chapter that could produce this many ancient Gene-seeds from the same era. And certainly no sub-chapter that would submit something like this as a Gene-seed Tithe. That was simply too bizarre for words.
"Ten thousand years ago..."
The words reached Chris, and he went still.
Then he arrived at the same place as Calgar -- what manner of entity could be this spectacularly unusual.
These kinds of Gene-seeds would naturally be implanted into new recruits immediately. Who on earth would submit something like this as a tithe... wait.
An unusual individual.
Chris suddenly blinked.
He had actually met one.
The thing that had made him re-examine every assumption he held about the universe. The reason he had come to Macragge in the first place. Someone whose behavior he could not explain at all -- who had been idle enough to write the Imperial Catechism into a Necron Overlord's core.
Who treats the Imperial Catechism like that? Like scrap paper? Like something to write wherever there's space?
But then: ten thousand years ago. Back in that era, the Imperium ran on the Imperial Truth. The so-called Imperial Catechism was, functionally speaking, exactly that -- scrap paper. Something a Tech-Priest of that era might genuinely write into a core without a second thought, purely for the sake of having something to put there.
A Tech-Priest from ten thousand years ago, capable of naming twenty-two Primarchs. A being who had genuinely lived through that complete ancient era. A being who might have direct access to methods of fabricating Gene-seeds. And who was this casually peculiar....
"Where exactly is the Star of Trailblaze?"
"Tillius. I'm sending someone to the coordinates right now."
Calgar took a slow breath. As the figure who was best at politics among all of the Ultramarines -- and the nominal supreme leader of the Five Hundred Worlds -- he had already formulated his response.
If this was genuine, then what they were likely looking at was a Chapter composed of ancient Ultramarines veterans -- Ancients who had stayed behind to hold the line when their Primarch had been nearly killed at a single stroke, who believed they had brought shame to their Chapter and had no right to return.
Warp storms caused ships to emerge at unpredictable times and places. A detachment lost in the Warp for ten thousand years was not unheard of.
So Calgar turned and gave the order directly:
"Notify Terra immediately. Register the Star of Trailblaze on the Ultramarines' rolls as a sub-chapter with lost records."
"Actually..."
After issuing the instruction, Calgar noticed that the Ultramarine who had brought the news was still standing there with an expression of someone who had more to say but wasn't sure how to say it.
"Chapter Master, you might want to come and see this in person. It's quite lively over there right now."
"Hm?"
Calgar stared at the Ultramarine's expression. Chris, who had just located Tillius on the star chart and was doing a poor job of concealing his excitement, was equally confused about why this warrior was still here and what that look was supposed to mean.
"Chapter Master, you really should come see it yourself..."
"Hm?"
Calgar was puzzled, but he walked out. Chris naturally followed.
He could confirm one thing: the mysterious Tech-Priest 010 Omega had some extremely significant connection to that Chapter. Tillius and Aestia were not far apart -- separated by only a small star cluster. In all probability, this Magos was either the senior advisor stationed with the Chapter, or was in direct operational control of it. A being that ancient and that powerful had every standing to command an Astartes Chapter outright.
And as a side note -- the White Scars warriors he had sent back to Terra were apparently having the time of their lives. They were currently drag racing their jetbikes against the Adeptus Custodes in Terra's transit corridors, leaving those magnificently equipped Custodes eating exhaust and unable to do anything about it. The Custodes rode the finest bikes in all of the Imperium, the envy of literally every other Astartes -- and these White Scars were making them look ordinary. That Magos had sold those bikes to Chris at a price so low it bordered on giving them away, which was only possible if the seller had access to knowledge of extraordinary antiquity and depth.
Chris had refrained from contacting Mars about this specifically. If he had, those Adeptus Mechanicus maniacs would have lost their minds.
The two of them arrived at the Shrine shortly. But before they even entered:
A burst of music reached them from inside.
Calgar walked in to find the freshly Gene-seed-implanted recruits -- still technically restrained -- playing saxophone.
Looking at some of the finest graduates from the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar, performing in this particular fashion, Calgar had a very distinct sensation that something fundamental had shattered inside him.
---o---
After a very chaotic scramble, the Ultramarines boarded Chris's Black Ship and left Macragge, jumping into the Warp and moving with haste toward Tillius.
According to what the Tech-Priest persona had communicated previously, the Star of Trailblaze was apparently planning to conduct recruitment there. The Ultramarines hoped the ancient veterans could return. Chris, for his part, wanted to find the Tech-Priest -- and to extend an invitation for this individual to return to Terra.
A being of this caliber wandering unsupervised across the galaxy was, if something happened to them, a loss that the entire human Imperium could not afford. And as a potential colleague of the Emperor himself from the ancient era, such a figure would have more than sufficient standing to impose some organizational accountability on the unruly Adeptus Mechanicus on Mars.
---o---
On the other side of the galaxy.
Fenris, buried under ice and frost.
Nearly the entire Space Wolves Chapter still present on the planet had assembled.
Even almost every Dreadnought had been woken.
At the very front of the gathering stood an Ironclad Dreadnought scratching itself against a nearby rock face with what could only be described as nervous energy.
Bjorn the Fell-Handed.
"Lemont Icefang. He actually survived."
Even Bjorn was anxious -- claws rasping slowly against stone. This was a brother who had shared the Varagyr with him. Before the outbreak of the Great Betrayal, Leman Russ had dispatched him to the Vengeful Spirit. Because the Space Wolves had another duty -- and Lemont had gone to fulfill that mandate.
Nobody had imagined the Horus Heresy would begin when it did. And after it did -- every surviving member of the Varagyr and Leman Russ himself had quietly accepted what had happened to their brother.
Who could have predicted he had not died. And that he had somehow survived all the way to the present.
The message had arrived via Navigator relay only, with the signal limitations that imposed. But the news it carried: this was the oldest of all Space Wolves Wolf Guard. Even Bjorn was a younger brother by comparison.
So when word arrived, the entire Space Wolves Chapter erupted.
Even Logan Grimnar, as Great Wolf, had personally ordered every available Dreadnought woken -- including their legendary Bjorn, who was now bouncing with excitement like a child waiting for a much older sibling to walk through the door.
---o---
Meanwhile, in the voidship making its approach.
The Space Wolf cubs were carefully packing away the remaining fruit, intending to bring it home and continue eating it there.
Zhou Ye had sent over a hundred tonnes of assorted produce in total. Half had been distributed to the Death Korps and the Aestia Mixed Regiment. The Space Wolves' share was still considerable -- but divided among their forty-thousand-plus Astra Militarum allies, individual portions had been modest. Still, the effect on every single one of those veterans had been: tears. Not only because this was a gift from a son of a god. In this universe, fresh fruit was one of the most extreme luxury items imaginable. Many of these soldiers had never touched any in their entire lives. Warriors with insufficient mental fortitude might genuinely be at risk of corruption simply from the overwhelming pleasure of the experience.
But to suggest that a group of veterans who had just survived an Apocalypse-class engagement would be corrupted by eating a piece of fruit -- that was the actual joke here.
Even the Death Korps soldiers could be found eating through tears while praising the God-Emperor's greatness and the Primarch's benevolence. And it was worth noting that this particular group of surviving Death Korps had shed their old stereotype almost entirely -- they had become considerably more expressive and warm than the Death Korps were supposed to be.
The Dreadnought Ancients, naturally, could not eat. But their situation was even more painful. The Space Wolves' allocated share had gone directly into a stasis field, untouched. At the thought of presenting himself to an entire Chapter of battle-brothers and explaining why there was preserved fruit but no story of having eaten it, Volvok felt his heart dripping.
"Once we land, everyone keeps their mouths shut. Not one word about this."
He surveyed his pack of Space Wolf cubs and made the instruction very clear.
"Understood!!!"
"Good. Now, Ancient -- we need to carry you off first."
"Understood. It is good to finally be back..."
Looking at the Dreadnought that was, by any charitable assessment, completely beyond repair, Volvok could only say it plainly. The degree of damage had gone past what anyone could fix. But the Space Wolves would attempt the repairs regardless and spare no resources in the process. The most likely outcome: the Dreadnought would be restored to mobile function, but combat capability was probably gone. In other words: walking was achievable, fighting was not.
Which would have to be enough.
The ship's bay doors opened slowly.
A group of Space Wolf cubs carried out a Dreadnought whose limbs had all been destroyed, its remaining chassis covered in erosion cracks, while the Space Wolf cubs at the rear held high the trophy Zhou Ye had given them.
Mortarion's cloak. The symbol of absolute honor.
As they walked out, every one of the cubs who saw the broken Dreadnought went very still.