V3 Chapter 36: This Is What Sets Your Father Apart from His Brothers
Guilliman understood quickly that this was not the place for a long conversation.
The sealed docking corridor was secure enough, but around them stood the Honour Guard, Calgar, Duvette, and the Storm Troopers. Tarasha Euten had just returned from a ten-thousand-year old moment preserved in xenos stasis. She needed rest, and she needed medical assessment.
Guilliman looked down at the hand resting on his gauntlet.
That hand was very old, and very light. The gauntlet of the armour of fate could crush mortal bone without effort. He kept his movements very slow, letting her hand simply rest in his palm, and then carefully stood.
Tarasha Euten looked up at him. The smile had not left her face.
Guilliman looked at her, as though he had a great deal to say, and then at the last moment pressed all of it down. He understood that there were things he needed to do first.
Then he turned and looked at Sergeant Amon, standing at Tarasha's side.
The Astartes was still in his Thirtieth Millennium pattern power armour, the armour still bearing the marks of battle from the Macragge's Honour. The moment Guilliman's gaze settled on him, Amon straightened and rendered a salute to his gene-sire.
"Sergeant Amon." Guilliman had located the information about this warrior in his memory almost immediately: the man he had tasked with protecting Lady Euten.
"My lord Guilliman."
Amon's voice was steady, but Duvette could hear the guilt pressed underneath the calm.
"You protected her," Guilliman said. "I am grateful."
Amon lowered his head.
"I failed to return Lady Euten to your side, my lord," he said. "I request punishment."
The words made the corridor go very quiet.
Amon meant them. In his own assessment, he had accepted the duty of protecting Tarasha Euten and had ultimately vanished from the battlefield with her for nearly ten thousand years. Regardless of whether xenos technology was responsible, for an Astartes, that was a failure.
Guilliman looked at him and gave a slow shake of his head.
"You did not fail, Sergeant."
Amon raised his head.
"You protected her to the last," Guilliman said. "If not for you, Lady Euten would not be standing here."
Amon's lips moved. He said nothing further in his own defence.
He simply lowered his head again.
"By your will, my lord."
Guilliman turned away and looked at Duvette, standing nearby.
The look was complicated.
It held gratitude, and it held scrutiny. Duvette could see clearly that Guilliman had a great number of questions waiting, and that now was simply not the moment.
Guilliman gave him a slight nod.
"Marshal-Commissar Duvette, thank you for this recovery," he said. "Afterward, I would like to speak with you privately."
Duvette allowed himself a slight smile, removed his peaked cap, and rendered a salute.
"I would be glad to."
Tarasha Euten spoke from beside them, at the right moment.
"Roboute, General Duvette is a conscientious and courteous man."
The smile on Duvette's face paused for just a beat.
Guilliman looked at Tarasha, and his expression softened.
"I will remember your assessment, Lady Euten."
Tarasha gave a gentle nod.
Guilliman continued. "I need to take you for examination first. Medical checks, contamination screening, and identity verification are all necessary. Xenos technology should not be underestimated, and I need to confirm that nothing has been done to you."
"I understand," Tarasha said.
She showed no resistance.
Guilliman leaned down slightly, let her hand remain on his gauntlet, and slowed his pace to guide her toward the other end of the corridor. Several Honour Guard followed immediately. Calgar turned and walked with them.
Amon hesitated for a moment, then settled into a position half a step behind Tarasha.
The movement had the quality of something carved into instinct. Even now, even with safety restored and the Primarch himself walking ahead, he still chose to stand where he could protect her.
Guilliman noticed. He did not stop him.
Duvette stood where he was and watched Guilliman deliberately slow his pace and lean down to hear what Tarasha was saying.
The image was something he found unusual. A gene-sire capable of commanding the Imperium, at this moment simply a son long separated from his mother, listening carefully to every word she said.
Duvette let out a quiet breath.
He understood that Guilliman was going to need a long time for this conversation.
That was as it should be.
Facing a mother after a reunion spanning ten thousand years, even Roboute Guilliman should not be expected to return immediately to strategic briefings and military orders.
Duvette followed the group, though he did not walk toward Guilliman's side. He fell naturally into step beside Calgar.
Calgar glanced at him.
The former Chapter Master's expression was still serious, but within that seriousness was something complicated that he could not entirely conceal.
"I have read Tarasha Euten's name in the historical records of Macragge," Calgar said. "Mistress of Konor Guilliman's household. Foster mother to our gene-sire."
He paused for a moment.
"I never imagined she could still be alive and standing here."
Duvette did not answer immediately.
Calgar looked at him.
"You have done something no one anticipated."
Duvette raised an eyebrow.
"Everything I do seems to be something none of you anticipated."
Calgar blinked.
He appeared momentarily uncertain whether that had been arrogance or a quiet observation. After a moment, he chose not to respond and looked forward again.
Guilliman was leading Tarasha Euten toward the landing craft bay, the Honour Guard arrayed on either side, Amon following quietly at the rear.
Calgar watched the tall blue-gold figure and lowered his voice.
"I have never seen our gene-sire like this."
Duvette turned his head.
"Showing this much feeling?"
Calgar did not deny it.
He understood perfectly well that Guilliman had feelings.
But seeing Guilliman go down on one knee before an elderly mortal woman, seeing him carefully support her hand: it had still struck him with genuine force.
Duvette gave a quiet laugh.
"This is what sets your gene-sire apart from his brothers."
Calgar turned to look at him, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"You know the other Primarchs of the Imperium well?"
Duvette shrugged and said nothing.
He appeared not to notice the scrutiny. He replaced his peaked cap, gave Calgar a nod.
"I need to get some rest," he said. "If I am not mistaken, Guilliman will want to talk this evening."
With that, he turned and walked away down a side corridor.
Calgar stood where he was, watching Duvette's back as he moved quickly away, and quietly exhaled.
This man had recovered Tarasha Euten, had produced yet another near-impossible outcome, and had shown Calgar a side of Guilliman he had never seen before.
That was a service.
But the greater the service, the harder it was for Calgar to set aside something else.
Duvette knew too much. He moved too fast. He was becoming increasingly difficult to assess against any standard that applied to an ordinary mortal officer.
The man was becoming more dangerous with every passing month.
Calgar even found himself wondering what kind of outcome the highest honour of Ultramar, which he had once awarded to this man, would eventually bring down on all of them.