Inside the Thunderhawk gunship's troop bay, the two Primarchs sat facing one another.
Ferrus Manus had removed his helm, his silver-grey hair tied back simply.
His sharp, angular features remained devoid of expression, exactly as the Master of the Iron Hands always was.
However, in the presence of Roboute Guilliman, the cold, unapproachable aura surrounding him did seem to soften slightly.
"So," Ferrus began. "You intercepted me off my course toward the Segmentum Obscurus, mustered twenty-five Ultramarines companies, and dragged my Iron Hands fleet all the way back here... Only to find out the crisis was resolved six days ago."
There was no blame in his words, but rather a statement laced with a sense of resignation.
It was like two brothers agreeing to go to a fight together, only to arrive in a rush and realize the brawl was already over, leaving nothing but cleanup duty.
Guilliman chuckled.
"Don't look at me." He shrugged, the gesture looking somewhat incongruous on his massive, 3.84-meter-tall frame. "I'm just as confused as you are." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Why would Father's Adeptus Custodes be out here... Didn't you know about this, having garrisoned here for a time?"
Ferrus turned his helmet slightly, seeming to search his memory.
"During the few weeks I was garrisoned here," he said slowly, "there were no Custodes. The Golden Guard of Terra, out on a fringe mining world? If they were truly here, I would have been notified." He paused. "However... I did discover quite an interesting organization on this planet."
Guilliman raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"They call themselves the Crimson Dawn." Ferrus's voice carried a hint of... approval. "The tobacco and liquor they produce are quite exceptional."
His Techmarines had analyzed their compositions. The manufacturing processes were highly unique, completely different from the standard protocols of Mars or any known Forge World, and the taste and effects were genuinely impressive.
Guilliman blinked.
Ferrus was praising tobacco and liquor?
That surprised him even more than hearing that the Custodes were here.
"Their leader calls himself Cage Lawrence," Ferrus continued. "Some sort of Cogboy."
Guilliman couldn't help but laugh. "So you were bought off with smokes and booze?"
"No." Ferrus returned to his usual deadpan seriousness. "It's their organizational structure and ideology. They claim to be a sanctuary formed spontaneously by oppressed workers, and they manage it with immaculate order. Their doctrine is to serve the citizens of the Imperium, to provide them with the opportunity to trade their labor for sustenance, and to earn equality, freedom, respect, and wealth through their hard work."
He looked at Guilliman. "I found it quite intriguing, so I gave them an opportunity to become Hive Governors. Kent Hive originally belonged to the Hysman Merchant Guild, but after I confiscated it, I handed its administration over to them. I wonder how they've been doing now that over half a month has passed." Ferrus stared intently. "Guilliman, doesn't all of that sound a little familiar to you?"
Guilliman's pupils contracted slightly.
Trade labor for sustenance. Earn equality, freedom, respect, and wealth through hard work.
Those words were like a key, instantly unlocking his memories.
He thought of Macragge, of the very first lesson his adoptive father, Konor, had taught him about ruling a world: "Roboute, to rule is not to take. It is to give."
"To ensure every worker is fed, every child receives an education, and every elder can live out their remaining years in peace—that is the duty of a ruler."
On Macragge.
Across the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar.
The entire system he had spent years building—the rule of law, civil welfare, education, healthcare, labor protections... At its core, wasn't it entirely meant to allow mortals to find dignity and hope through their labor within an ordered society?
But pushing these reforms within the Imperium's bloated bureaucracy and the Adeptus Mechanicus's technological monopoly had been an agonizingly slow, uphill battle.
Those old men in the Council of Terra constantly complained that the costs were too high, that it went against tradition, and that it would weaken the Imperial tithe.
And now, on a fringe mining world, there was an organization putting similar ideals into practice?
"So," Guilliman said softly, "you handed the administration of Kent Hive over to them?"
"A one-year trial period," Ferrus nodded. "Eighty percent of their mineral output goes to the Legion, and they retain twenty percent for their own use. It is both a reward and a test. If they perform well, they can be officially integrated into the Imperial administrative system. If they fail..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but his meaning was crystal clear.
Guilliman's fingers began tapping his sword hilt once more—his habitual tick when deep in thought.
"Crimson Dawn..." he muttered the name softly, a gleam flashing deep within his ice-blue eyes. "It seems I will have to pay them a visit later."
Ferrus's lips seemed to twitch slightly. "I knew you'd be interested."
"Because you touched upon exactly what concerns me," Guilliman stated bluntly. "I have reviewed the data on this planet. The local factions monopolized absolutely everything, and the common citizens lived worse than penal slaves." His tone turned cold. "Eighty years ago, your orbital bombardment wiped out House Blaec, but it also left a power vacuum. Both you and I know exactly what kind of hell the tens of billions of people on this world have been living in for the past eighty years."
Ferrus remained silent for several seconds.
"I gave them a choice back then," he finally replied, his voice devoid of emotion. "Compliance, or annihilation. They chose the latter."
"I know," Guilliman waved his hand. "I am not accusing you, Ferrus. Those are the doctrines of the Great Crusade. Those who do not submit are deemed heretics. I am merely stating a fact: this planet needs to change." He paused. "And if this Crimson Dawn is truly doing what you say they are doing... then they might be carrying out the very work that we Primarchs should be doing, work that has been indefinitely postponed by the endless wars."
Ferrus didn't respond, but Guilliman knew his brother had taken his words to heart.
Ferrus Manus appeared cold and unfeeling on the outside, but inside, he held his own strict moral code.
He had little sympathy for the weak, but he deeply respected order and efficiency. If an organization could simultaneously maintain order, improve efficiency, and elevate the living standards of the people...
Then that organization would score very highly in Ferrus's evaluation metrics.
--
Goal = 600 Powerstones.
Wanna read ahead right now?! Join Patreon.com/AHumanMadeMOFO to read 20+ chapters ahead for the price of a single happy meal and support me if you wish.