POV: Nicole
I didn't want another scolding from myself, so I buckled down for a week, focusing entirely on integrating Original Nicole's mories. The only breaks I allowed myself were my study sessions with Master Doll and routine checks on the various new pieces of equipnt.
It pays off, even if it leaves ntally worn thin.
"Prerequisite Criteria t: Administrative Access has been granted to: Psyber Limiter System: Epsilon."
"Prerequisite Criteria t: Administrative Access has been granted to: Psyber Limiter System: Delta. Psyber Limiter System is fully operational."
"Prerequisite Criteria t: Administrative Access has been granted to: Psyber Enhancent System: Gamma."
"Prerequisites Not t: Psyber Enhancent Systems: Alpha, Beta, Oga."
"Prerequisite Criteria t: Administrative Access has been granted to: Psyber Control Systems: Chi."
"Prerequisite Criteria t: Administrative Access has been granted to: Psyber Control Systems: Psi."
The new Enhancent system is fascinating, even if the full functionality hasn't been unlocked yet. Gamma alone provides a significant temporary boost in raw psychic power. Fortunately, my finesse with Technomancy has improved enough to keep pace. The only downside? It leaves a bit drained after use, like running a marathon with your mind.
A ping from my internal scheduler snaps out of my reverie.
I blink. "Oh shoot. Is that today?" A flutters after as I rush to get ready.
---
An hour later, I step into the Halo's central command module, a spire-like structure built into the upper portion of Zeta-9 Kane's command center. The Governor and Magos both are already waiting. Several Tech-Adepts flank Zeta-9, who sits at the head of the table. I don't mind. Judging by how relaxed and pleased the Governor looks, he doesn't either. This is Zeta-9's domain, after all.
I access the impressive holoprojector system as I enter. It syncs to my interface without resistance.
"Princeps, thank you for joining us," Zeta-9 says, and gives a polite nod. His adepts and nearby Tech-Priests all bow much lower, one even murmurs a prayer to the Omnissiah.
"Thank you for taking the ti to provide this consultation," Governor Cornelius adds, nodding respectfully.
"Not a problem. It would be remiss of to leave without offering at least so of the insights I've gleaned from the fragnts we recovered regarding the Yggdrasil seeds." I take my seat and smile while letting the words settle.
"I've reviewed your infrastructure plans, Magos Zeta-9. They're well-structured and efficient. Your understanding of the planetary systems is exemplary." I pause, then pivot. "However, your defensive planning is insufficient."
I wave a hand, pulling up the projection of his proposal. Three anti-orbital installations blink into existence, one between the two cities, another on the far side of the planet, and a third nestled between key terrain.
"Please continue, Princeps," Zeta-9 says, leaning forward slightly.
"Governor Arrark," I say, while turning to him. "You're aware that Ur-Haven narrowly avoided destruction - again - thanks to luck and our tily intervention. But soon, the two most powerful vessels in orbit will depart. You may think the worst has passed, but here's the truth: With the Yggdrasil tree stabilizing the system, this planet will beco a faint light in the darkness. That stability will attract attention."
I pause to let the weight of my words settle. "This system is a cove of stability amidst the storms. It will be a flickering candle in the dark void. One that will draw moths. The forces of Chaos won't ignore this place for long. But you will also be able to help those lost if they're close enough."
I switch displays and bring up a different proposition, a new enhanced defense grid. "In my opinion, this layout would be far more effective. A hexagonal formation of defense lasers around Cycladon," I highlight six key areas. "Add two more on the far side of Halo Alphos. Once the tree matures into its tertiary stage, additional installations can be embedded in the upper canopy itself."
I rotate the projection, showing the tree's future growth. Highlighted branches mark optimal locations for platforms and towers. "This pattern was chosen because every component can be produced using your current forges. It'll require a heavy investnt in raw materials, but you have the capacity. And by the ti the installations are completed, the tree will be mature enough to provide the last of what you'll need."
Zeta-9 studies the projection with interest. "How accurate is this projected growth estimate?"
"Barring catastrophic deviation or major interference in the next two years, the margin of error is negligible, the tree's growth estimates are sourced straight from its STC." I say confidently.
"This is just a recomndation," I add, turning to them both. "But if you want the system to survive the next raid, let alone the next decade, it's one you should consider seriously. You'll need to ensure long-term self-sufficiency. We're on the wrong side of the Great Rift from Terra and the Astronomicon. Warp travel is... unpredictable. Supply chains and communications will remain unreliable for the foreseeable future."
I can see Zeta-9 considering the suggestions critically while Cornelius looks a little pale.
"Your plans to use the Hulk are great. Rendering the vessels within combat-ready and replacing the lost system ships will help considerably. Expanding the Halo would be an extensive undertaking, but you have the raw materials and the forge capacity to pull it off. An alternative to expanding the Halo would be the construction of defense satellites. I've included a dozen or so suggestions in the info packet. Long-term planning is essential here. I would advise against sharing it, but I also included so general rules regarding fortification construction from the databanks of the Astartes." I say with a playful smile.
"Lady Cavalerio, what are you trying to accomplish here? We're not a fortress world," Cornelius asks.
"No, but you can be a lighthouse. A breakwater where those lost in the warp can seek comfort. With the strength to defend yourselves from the vultures," I say as I lean back in my seat. "That said, I've included so advanced quarantine protocols you can implent for visitors in the future. Too much paranoia is excessive, not enough paranoia gets you killed."
"We will thoroughly examine your suggestions and implent the ones deed most feasible and effective," Zeta-9 declares firmly.
I nod. "That's all I ask of you... Well, not quite. Magos Zeta-9, I would like a portion of the excess material that is to be delivered to the Argent Drake, particularly the adamantine, to be in the form of chains." I smile, my eyes glinting. "Voidship grade, for towing. The Argent Drake has a gravity tether, but we may need additional anchor points depending on the number or size of the hulls. We may try to arrange for the acquisition of a quartet of the smaller lamprey-type tug vessels. Along with a hundred or so probe servitors, designed for void operations, with long-range auspex and vox systems. They can be designed for single use."
He hums in amusent, "Of course, Princeps. It will be so."
"Good. I have two last gifts for you, Magos. One is a single-use warhead. As a weapon of last resort," I say as I stand up.
Zeta-9 nods. "On behalf of the chanicus of Ur-Haven, I thank you for your generous gifts, Princeps. May I inquire as to the nature of the second?"
I place my palms on either side of the table and trigger my Psyber Enhancent system. A few stray blue sparks dance along the length of my hair. "Halo station! Your core module was damaged in the recent conflict. In the na of the Machine God! Be reforged!"
—--------------------------------------------------------------------
POV: Genta "Ghost" W98
Genta had finally completed the history and etiquette training the Lord Inquisitor had insisted upon. She'd also spent several days using her special sight to check individuals and objects for signs of corruption. She missed chatting with Sci, but she knew it wouldn't be long before she could speak with her friend again.
Rumors still swirled through the chanicus ranks: the Princeps had perford another miraculous feat of Technomancy aboard the Halo. Genta wished she'd been there to witness it. Since the incident, the Princeps had remained in seclusion, reportedly working on personal projects, at least, according to the Noosphere schedule she had access to.
Genta felt oddly clean in her new robes: fine, stain-resistant Martian silk dyed in traditional red and trimd in bronze. The emblem of the Collegia Titanica rested across her back, and the mark of the Legio Tempestus was emblazoned on her breast. The ensemble was likely worth more than everything she owned combined prior to her rescue.
Her new MIU system had integrated with her cybernetic fra more smoothly than she'd dared hope. She now held the title of Apprentice Moderati of Legio Tempestus - an honor that filled her with equal parts pride and anxiety. She was eager to begin studying the material the Princeps had prepared on Titan operations. There would be a lot to learn, but it was a tangible goal she could strive for.
As she was escorted off the Purest Shadow, she frowned when the stormtroopers veered away from the route that would have led them to the Argent Drake.
"Um, excuse ," she said, voice tentative. "Where are we going?"
The lead stormtrooper paused and glanced back. "Ma'am, we have orders to escort you to the recruitnt trials. You'll be serving as a proctor for the final candidates."
Genta blinked. "I'm what?" she squeaked. A quick ping to the Princeps confird it.
With a small groan, she pulled her hood over her head and did her best to shrink into the folds of her robes as she was led down to the planet, toward the towering hive spire where her potential peers were already assembled.
—------------------------------------------------
POV: Guardsman Greg
Greg grumbled as he made his way to the obscure gathering point Feisty had arranged. It was further up in the richer parts of Halo Alphos than he felt comfortable being.
Walking into the room, he spotted the familiar little gaggle, Bill, Clank, Feisty, and Doc, of those who could make it, he was the last to arrive.
"You guys hear about Hound and Double-Down? Lost their damn minds buying land in Cycladon. Gonna live on a fraking tree." Greg said as he sat down and peered over at the odd device Clank was putting together.
"We heard." Doc muttered as he and Bill both nodded in greeting.
"So what was all the fuss about?" Greg asked as he looked at the strange raw foodstuff.
"So!" Feisty perked up. "Clank found sothing in the Noosphere with those fancy new implants of his. It's got the nobility in a tizzy. They're called waffles! Getting the ingredients for them was tricky due to current demand, but I managed, and Clank said he could make the waffle maker using the public schematic."
Clank nodded. "It's almost done. Give two minutes to make sure the heating elent is good."
"Waffles?" Greg muttered, "So new thing?"
"Old, if the docunt is to be believed. An ancient food from Terra." Clank said reverently.
Greg scoffed. "How likely is it that's even true?"
Clank smirked. "Given that the author who published the information is the Princeps and so of her sources require clearance levels so high they'd kill for trying to bypass them? I'd say very."
Greg blinked and then let out a low whistle. "Well… damn. I don't think I've ever had Terran food."
Greg watched as Feisty made so kind of sandy-looking sludge in a bowl.. "Hope you've all been doing alright?"
"Been good," Bill replied with a shrug.
Clank nodded. "Decent, got promoted to full Tech Priest and my implants upgraded." He said, pleased as he waved his utility dendrite around.
Doc nodded. "Can't complain any more than usual. Money was well spent. How about you, Greg?"
Greg winced. "I moved to a good spot with better air, but when I tried to enroll my girl in a good school, she got flagged by the Biologis during the physical! My baby ain't no damned mutant!" Greg spat. "She's just tall like her mother used to be, she's a good Emperor-worshipping girl."
Doc and Clank both snapped their eyes up. "Mutant?" Doc asked. "Greg, what did the Biologis say exactly?"
Greg rubbed a hand over his face. "Well, I was a little tired, just ca off a double shift." He said defensively. "They said sothing about uhh… neural profile?"
Doc and Clank shared a look as Clank put the last wire in and passed the waffle maker to Feisty. "I'll look it up." Clank said, pulling out his dataslate.
Bill passed Greg a drink as Feisty got cooking. "So just us, or are we expecting anyone else?"
"Just the six of us," Feisty said as she poured the gunk into the machine and closed the lid. In a few minutes, the sll started to spread around, making Greg perk up.
"Six?" Greg asked while doing a head count.
"Can I get a knife?" Feisty asked, holding a hand up, and suddenly McStabby was there, passing her a nice, clean cooking knife.
Greg jumped a little. "Who invited McStabby?"
"I did," Feisty said challengingly, "Anyone who fights a horrific abomination and saves our ass is good in my book."
"Fair enough," Greg said, putting his hands up and leaning back in his seat. "Sorry, just really miffed that I gotta take my girl all the way to the main spire tomorrow for testing."
Clank was scrolling when he stopped and spoke up, "Greg… you've been a tank operator with the basic MIU for ages, yeah? And your wife was a pilot?"
Greg puffed his chest up. "The entire family line has worked with vehicles on my side back to my great-grandfather, my late wife ca from a long line of pilots."
Bill grumbled, "Still don't know how you convinced her to marry you. She was twice your rank, twice as good, and twice as smart. Still a sha about the accident."
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"Bah, you're just jealous of my roguish charm." Greg grinned before he sighed, "Yeah," Turning back to Clank and Doc, who were whispering. "Why?"
Clank gulped. "Greg, your daughter's neural profile got flagged by the chanicus. Not because she's a mutant, but because she's showing the rare neutral profile that only one in ten million people have. That test tomorrow is to determine who gets recruited by the Princeps!"
Greg's eyes went wide, and he let out a weak "Oh."
Bill glanced back and forth between Greg's stunned face and Clank, who was staring at his dataslate in awe. "So… what does it an if she passes?"
"Well… It depends on how well she does in the trials. The top ten percent of candidates will get scooped up along with their families and a few guests as they're moved to the fleet. Candidates in the next bracket can bring their whole families, the next bracket after that just imdiate family, and so on, but from what I've heard, they want quality, not quantity." Clank said reverently.
Greg finally recovered and frowned. "I dunno if I want my girl working for the Princeps. She paid us well, but I did a bit of looking, and what we found was worth a lot!" He grumbled.
Feisty scoffed loudly, "Greg, you don't know? Did you not look into the other teams that had the sa idea you did?" She asked as she popped out the first batch of crispy waffles and set them aside.
"No?" Greg said, looking around as Doc and Bill winced.
"We were lucky." Feisty explained without looking up, "The Princeps saved our asses. Of the other teams that made it back, two in three went to the Inquisition for… questioning, and most of them ended up killed for corruption or turned into servitors. The lucky ones either got their mories wiped or conscripted by the Inquisition. With zero pay or loot."
"We even got a minor mark of distinction on our records… I may have accessed them a week ago." Clank added with a small shrug.
"No one, not even the Inquisitor, wants to cross the Princeps. I've been talking to a couple of people on the staff at the Governor's palace. Before the invasion, sothing big went down, and now half the staff have these shiny new expensive brain implants and can't talk about what happened. Not 'won't' but rather 'can't.' Even the Governor got one." Feisty whispered as she kept cooking.
Bill nodded, "Yeah, I overheard the local Sisters talking about how many of them are going to follow their new Imperial saint. The one who personally guards the Princeps. Along with the skitarii and the Astartes."
McStabby finally sat down and nodded, muttering, "She is a keen blade. One to be revered and feared, but one that is aid against the enemies of the Imperium."
Greg pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay! I get it, we got lucky and got off light. Still… let's say my girl gets in the top ten percent. What happens then?"
"Then you and any other family get to follow her into the void. Top five percent can bring a whole group of non-family..." Clank said, his voice trailing off as his expression turned contemplative.
Greg shook his head ruefully, "I'm all that's left of the Olds family. My wife's poor ho planet…" He cast a forlorn glance upwards.
"How much about driving have you taught little Robin?" Clank asked.
"Quite a bit, she hasn't gotten any implants outside of a few electoos. I took her out in a sentinel and let her walk it around. The girl was a natural!" Greg boasted proudly.
Feisty finally finished her cooking and started to dish out plates of hot waffles, drizzled with a ruby-colored syrup and topped with diced fruit. "Alright! Behold the wonder of Terra! I give you waffles!"
Everyone dug in silently, enjoying the rich, delicious food. Doc even moaned after the first bite.
"Mmm, makes glad I can still eat food." Clank joked.
"This is delicious." McStabby praised as he carefully cut up small, precise bites and speared them with a long, thin knife.
"So, Greg, hypothetically, if Robin does well… What if we went with you? Can help look after little Robin." Doc broached the subject that was on several of their minds.
Greg looked up from his plate and glanced around. "You guys… want to go? You know, we might not ever get back here? We'll be going from planet to planet, encountering war zones, warp horrors, Xenos, who knows what."
"I would go in a heartbeat," Clank admitted, "I could work my way up as an Enginseer. I might even get to work on a God Engine."
"I could go," Feisty said with a grin. "I hear the food on the Drakios's fancy ship is fantastic."
Bill snorted, "Like I'd let you go anywhere by yourself. You big idiot, you can barely scratch your ass on your own without ."
McStabby looked up at the ships in orbit and held up his knife. "The ships, from here, they look like knives in the void."
Doc smiled, "I… wouldn't mind leaving. I may or may not have a family debt collector on my ass. Word of our windfall is getting around."
Greg looked around at all his friends and smiled as he lifted his glass, "Well, I guess we're going to space. There's no way my baby isn't a top contender."
—---------------------------------------------------------------
POV: Genta "Ghost" W98
Genta hadn't known quite what to expect when she arrived at the spire for Titanicus screening. But even still, what she found wasn't encouraging.
One of the first people she encountered was a pleasant surprise, an adorable felinid Tech-Priest nad Nyanko, already marked in her files as one of her fellow student candidates. Nyanko was polite, precise, and deferential. She bowed to Genta with formal chanicus grace, tail tucked respectfully, ears flicking with attention. Her respectful deanor and earnest tone only endeared her further to Genta. If the rest of the cohort were even half as promising, they'd be in good shape.
Unfortunately, little Nyanko was the exception.
The rest of the candidates were... appalling.
The neural marker that indicated potential Princeps compatibility was rare, one in ten million rare. Halo Alphos had a population of ten billion alone, yet the entire pool assembled at the spire for screening numbered only around eight hundred. Disappointing.
She cut half more after glances at their souls revealed low-grade corruption. She'd decided early: any corruption was disqualifying. Better harsh now than have a Princeps go rogue with an engine or get shot in the back.
Mutants and abhumans were more complex - evaluated case by case-but she had a higher tolerance for physical variance than she did for spiritual compromise. For more chapters visit novel⦿fire
Another thirty dropped during baseline implant compatibility scans. So couldn't handle even the preliminary noospheric tethering trials. Then ca the real joke: fifteen latent psykers. In a candidate pool ant for the most spiritually grounded and ntally disciplined roles in the Imperium. Lady Cavalerio was the single exception. The idea that a normal human with psychic abilities could pilot a God Engine was ridiculous.
Then the real testing began.
And that's when they started dropping like flies.
A disturbing portion of candidates weren't even literate. Genta had the Biologis reroute them to oral problem-solving assessnts. Results: disastrous. Only the few already inducted into the chanicus passed reliably. The mass failure of most of the nials made her wince.
Still, as the tests grew more rigorous and specialized, a few true candidates began to shine.
Robin Olds, a tall, lanky girl with a ferociously calm deanor, excelled across the board, with top scores in chanics, piloting aptitude, and manifold tolerance. She kept her expressions minimal, but her bright eyes missed nothing.
Then there was William Aarark, a sharp-featured noble boy who perford admirably in logic grids and written assessnts. The na gave Genta pause. A quick dig confird it. He was a distant nephew of the planetary governor. Of course.
Z0-0M, a junior Tech-Adept covered in unauthorized modifications, scored high in practical systems tests. Notorious for a record riddled with minor infractions: "borrowing" vehicles from the depot, "test-driving" transports ant for overhaul. Reckless, but inventive. Possibly brilliant. She flagged him as potentially unstable but useful.
Then there was the strange one.
A small, twitchy young boy she nearly mistook for another Felinid at first glance, until the genetic scan returned an obscure vulpine abhuman classification. His file only listed him as 'Yip', but even that was a recent addition.
"Where did this one co from?" she asked, frowning as she reviewed the limited file.
The Biologis overseeing the screening shrugged, augtic arms folding with a hiss. "Found in the bowels of Trader Morgen's vessel. Stowaway. No other records."
That prompted a cross-reference. A query to the Inquisition confird it: Yip's subspecies was sanctioned. Barely.
Strange origins aside, he passed his reflex, synchronization, and cognitive pattern tests with quiet and shocking precision. He shook when spoken to, flinched at harsh tones - but he bonded with the manifold simulator faster than so of the forge-born. His instincts were keen, his soul was untainted. He had potential.
Out of eight hundred, only a few dozen made it past the thresholds she set.
And of those, only a rare few, Robin, William, Z0-0M, and perhaps Yip, might have what it took to survive training, endure implantation, and ascend to the manifold.
The rest? Useful enough for supportive roles, and the rank of Moderatus at best.
But Princeps? That would take more than numbers, nas, or even talent.
It would take survival.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------
POV: Nicole
I'm glad I waited.
A week after testing ended, I gave them ti to adjust to their new reality aboard the Argent Drake, settle into the barracks, and receive their first round of basic implants. Ti to let the shock wear off. They needed it. It also let finish my work rebuilding a pair of Saturnine Dreadnought legs.
Only once I was certain the worst of the disorientation had passed did I order them to gather every last candidate down in one of the main vehicle bays.
When the all-clear ca through confirming they were assembled, I finally move to et them.
Not on foot, I pilot Sword of Vengeance.
The Castigator's reactor hums with purpose beneath as I guide it through the interior gantries. And when I reach the edge of the bay, where a crowd of green trainees stand staring and whispering. I jump.
We land with a thunderous crash, the deck groaning beneath our weight. Dust and shockwaves ripple through the hall. Then I sound the warhorn.
Several drop instantly and crumple under the ntal blow of engine shock. Good. Let them feel it.
With the impact still reverberating, I command the Sword of Vengeance to kneel. The hatch above hisses open, and I disconnect from the throne interface. I erge from the carapace, my hood up and A perched on my shoulder like a silver gargoyle.
I look down at them all. Silent. Stunned. Still trembling. Then I speak. "My na is Nicole Cavalerio, daughter of Indas Cavalerio. By blood and by right, I hold the title of Matriarch of House Cavalerio." I raise my head, letting my voice ring clear, firm, and unwavering. "None of you truly understands what that ans. Not yet. But in ti... you will."
I do my best to project my innate transhuman aura as I push back my hood, letting them see my face and the cog of the chanicus at my collar, that hangs from my neck, A flexes her tentacles as I continue.
"You are here to serve the chanicus through the Adeptus Titanicus. Specifically, you serve the reformation of Legio Tempestus."
A murmur passes through the crowd. I let it hang for a heartbeat before I continue, voice rising with each word. "The na Tempestus is a na steeped in history. We were once one-third of the legendary Triad Ferrum Morgulus - sister to Mortis and Ignatum. We stood defiant during the Heresy. We bled for Magma City on Mars. We bled for the walls of Holy Terra. Many fell, but we did not fall."
I clenched my fist, then swept my arm outward like a blade. "What remains of Tempestus is a fragnt, scarred, fractured. And worse still, traitors who once bore our colors still walk this galaxy unpunished under the na Tempestor!"
I took a breath, held it, then spoke the vow I had made to myself before. "As Princeps Senioris, I will rebuild my Legio. You are but the first generation. You will not be the last. So of you will not pass the trials ahead. So will falter. So will rise. I expect - no, I demand the best of you."
I reach down and run a hand across the armored carapace of the Sword of Vengeance. "This is a Cerastus Knight-Castigator. Its na is the Sword of Vengeance. Compared to the god-engines you may one day command, it is a small thing." I turn back toward the assembly. "But do not mistake small for weak. And do not mistake for kind. We are going to break you down, mold you, and rebuild you."
I let that settle, then allowed a wry smile to cross my lips. "You will train. You will be tested. If conflicts arise, they will be settled in the simulators once you're ready. This ship, laid down by my family, is an ideal crucible. Preparations have been made, and I am gathering what we need. I have plans in the works. All you must do is learn."
I step back toward the cockpit hatch, turning so they can see the Titanicus emblem across my back. "Tempestus will rise again. Whether you rise with it is up to you."
I pause, let the silence stretch. "One way or another… You will all serve the chanicus and the Omnissiah through my Legio," I climb back into the throne, the cockpit sealing around , but not before I call out one last ti. "Welco to Legio Tempestus, trainees."
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