V3 Chapter 31: What If I Return Guilliman's Foster Mother to You?
Duvette had barely begun to ask the Mechanicus priest what exactly the unknown ghost signal was when the priest's voice changed.
A rapid string of binary burst from his vox-synthesiser, considerably more discordant than anything he had produced before.
In the same moment the Mechanicus priest lurched backward, the servo-skull hovering in front of him detonated.
The fragments of bone and machine components had not yet reached the floor when some force arrested them in mid-air. In the space the servo-skull had occupied, a thin, elongated crack split open, glowing in pale phosphorescent green.
The crack was small, just wide enough for a humanoid shape to pass through.
But the moment it appeared, every light in the armoury dimmed. Green radiance bled from the crack's edges and fell across the weapon racks and munitions crates, coating every metal surface in cold light.
"Open fire!"
The Storm Troopers reacted instantly.
In almost the same moment the crack fully spread, every weapon barrel swung toward it. Laser beams left the muzzles. The armed ratings at the hatch opened up simultaneously.
But those beams stopped the instant they left the barrels.
The muzzle discharge hung in the air. Several Storm Troopers were locked in place mid-movement. The Mechanicus priest's servitors held their arms raised in the position they had been in when the field fell. The scanning device floated above the deck, its alert tone drawn out into a strange, attenuated whine.
The entire armoury had been held like a moment with its clock stopped.
Duvette was also standing still.
He had felt the stasis field sweep over him the instant it deployed. That force had passed across him and had not actually locked him in place.
He did not draw his sword immediately.
He let his gaze go flat, kept his body in the position and attitude it had been in, and watched what came next.
From inside the crack, a silver-grey shape walked out slowly.
The body was taller than a human, its metal frame covered in ancient plating, green radiance flowing through the joints and deep within the chest cavity. Trazyn walked in with his staff, stepping onto the Resolute's deck as though entering one of his own exhibition halls.
"We meet again." Trazyn produced a strange, unhurried sound.
His gaze moved across the frozen Storm Troopers, then across the laser beams hanging in the air. Then it settled on Duvette, and his tone carried a plainly audible satisfaction.
"You did not honestly believe I would leave no contingency in place?"
Trazyn raised one finger and lightly touched the green crack beside him.
"A phase beacon. Small, quiet, sufficient to evade your crude scanning rites. What is more interesting is that you came this close to Solemnace this time, which saved me a considerable amount of effort."
As he finished speaking, a small rotating hypercube structure had appeared in his hand.
The thing was no larger than a fist, yet it was in constant flux, folding and refolding. Green lines moved across its surface in continuous patterns, like a cage waiting to be opened.
Duvette held his position, but his fingers had already found the hilt of the power sword.
Trazyn was in no hurry.
He looked toward the back of the armoury first, as though confirming something. After a moment, a trace of what might have been regret entered his voice.
"The weapon is not here."
He meant Entropy's Song, naturally.
The weapon forged by a Primarch's hands had drawn his attention the last time as well. But Entropy's Song was not aboard the Resolute; it was with the Salamanders.
Trazyn was briefly quiet, then turned his attention back to Duvette.
"Though this is not a complete loss," he said. "There is something here that interests me considerably more."
He began to approach.
Every step was measured, the base of the staff touching the deck lightly as he moved, producing no sound. The small hypercube rotated between his fingers, seemingly ready to open at any moment.
Duvette waited.
When Trazyn had closed to a sufficient distance, he finally moved.
The power sword came out of the scabbard and the disruption field blazed to life in the dark. The blade swept across the space in front of Trazyn at speed, passing close enough to graze the chest plate.
Trazyn's reaction was equally fast.
He raised the staff, the ancient weapon known as the Empathic Obliterator intercepting the sword strike. The two fields collided and threw a brief ring of white light outward.
The staff was not cut through.
But the force of the impact still drove Trazyn back two steps. His feet left short marks on the deck plating, and the green light in his chest cavity flickered.
Duvette did not press the advantage.
He stood among the frozen figures with the power sword raised, watching Trazyn with an expression that had gone flat and cold.
Trazyn looked down at the staff in his hand, then back at Duvette.
"You were not caught by the stasis field."
Duvette exhaled. "It seems you have finally noticed."
Trazyn was quiet for a moment, then gave a low sound of amusement.
"More precisely: not only were you unaffected by the stasis field, you also knew exactly when to pretend that you were." He paused. "How exactly are you to be classified? In human terms, what are you?"
"I was about to ask what you actually want here," Duvette said, his voice very low. "Last time was not enough for you? You relentless thief. You still haven't given up?"
Trazyn did not take offence at the label.
He appeared to be genuinely studying Duvette, the green points of light in his eyes contracting in sequence. Evidently the fact that this human Commissar had not been caught by the stasis field had exceeded his projections.
"I find you extremely interesting," Trazyn said. "You are among the most peculiar things I have encountered. A human, or something wearing a human's exterior, who participates in genuinely unusual events, who can render my stasis field ineffective, and who understands many things a being of your apparent nature should not know."
Trazyn gave something that might have been a laugh.
The sound came from the metal chest cavity with a clear mechanical resonance. He did not activate the hypercube again. Instead he drew it back into his palm, as though abandoning the immediate plan to forcibly collect anything.
"Perhaps we can find a different mode of exchange."
Duvette did not lower the sword.
He understood clearly that the being in front of him was a Necron Overlord, with a danger level that exceeded an Astartes by a considerable margin. Even if this body was almost certainly not Trazyn's true form, that was no reason to take him lightly.
Trazyn leaned on the staff and began a slow circuit around Duvette.
"I have begun to feel that you have considerable collection value in the present state," he said. "But your continued existence may allow more things to accrue that value."
"What do you mean?"
Duvette kept his grip on the power sword and adjusted his footing as Trazyn moved, never allowing the Necron to reach his back.
Trazyn stopped.
"I am aware that a being your kind refers to as a Primarch has returned to you. A rather significant one."
Duvette's expression shifted, just slightly.
Trazyn noticed. His tone became more relaxed.
"Roboute Guilliman," he said. "A historical nexus that should by all rights have continued sleeping in stasis, now returned to the stage. This event carries exceptional preservation value in itself. And you appear to have played a rather pivotal role in bringing it about."
"So you want to collect me?"
"That was the original intention."
Trazyn did not deny it.
"But I now find that placing you in a display case immediately would be wasteful. A being who is actively making history is considerably more interesting than one who has already been catalogued."
Duvette said nothing.
Trazyn continued. "I have in my keeping an elderly woman from Macragge. Her historical significance has been substantially underestimated in your records. If Roboute Guilliman were to know that she still lives, and that you were the one who returned her to him, how do you imagine he would assess your value?"
"An elderly woman from Macragge."
Duvette's brow came together.
In the next moment, his pupils contracted sharply.
An elderly woman from Macragge.
Connected to Guilliman.
Historical significance substantially underestimated.
If Trazyn was not lying, there were very few people who fit every element of that description.
Trazyn watched his reaction with what appeared to be growing satisfaction.
"As I expected," he said. "You understand what I am referring to. Your reaction further confirms my hypothesis. You carry a very significant secret."
Duvette held his gaze with absolute steadiness.
"Tarasha Euten?"
Trazyn's metal fingers gave a light tap against the staff.
"Yes. Precisely," he said. "An elderly human woman. Resilient, clear-minded, possessing substantial historical association value. Her disappearance from your records was rather too vague. Though I expect you already knew the shape of it. I simply preserved her for history. One might even call it a form of protection."
The expression on Duvette's face became something difficult to name.
He knew who Tarasha Euten was. Guilliman's foster mother: her final fate in the original timeline had never been made fully clear. He had not expected that Trazyn would have actually taken her into his collection.
Duvette did not believe it immediately.
But he could not dismiss the possibility either.
If what Trazyn was saying was true, then what this meant to Guilliman went well beyond the outcome of any ordinary campaign. It might be possible to use this to secure considerably more...
"What do you want?"
Duvette narrowed his eyes and looked at the dangerous collector.
Trazyn stood quietly inside the stasis field.
The frozen laser beams still hung in the air behind him. The Storm Troopers maintained their trigger-pull positions. The entire armoury seemed to be waiting for his answer.
After a moment, Trazyn said it plainly.
"I want your future."