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Even the Master of Mankind could not truly control destiny's flow. He could see potential futures and try to bring about the outcos He wanted. But absolute control remained beyond even His divine reach.
"The Golden Throne project must remain classified at the highest levels," the Emperor declared.
His gaze settled upon Raven. "I will not permit knowledge of this undertaking to spread, even through secured communication networks. The risk of exposure remains too great."
"So you intend to...?" Raven prompted.
"You will personally return to Terra. Deliver the Throne's blueprints to Malcador. Ensure he proceeds in absolute secrecy."
"So now I'm reduced to an errand boy? I am the supre ruler of the Imperium, the magnificent Raven who traverses dinsions. I can peer into destiny itself."
"Malcador recently got the latest experintal flavour of fried sustenance."
"I would be honoured to serve you, my lord. Naturally, this service stems not from any desire for snack foods. It cos purely from my dedication to the Human Imperium and our shared grand vision."
The Emperor nodded gravely. "I expected nothing less from you."
Raven accepted the data crystal from the Master of Mankind's outstretched hand. He vanished with his characteristic sharp crack, dissolving into wisps of vapour.
The Emperor carefully organised His laboratory before leaving. The Custodian Guards flanking the entrance stood at attention as He passed; they received His rare acknowledging nod.
Administrative duties had piled up during His experintal work. Reports from Terra's governing bodies demanded His attention. Battle communications from the Great Crusade fleets required His imdiate review.
According to current projections, the huge computers and warships under construction on Terra should be nearly complete. The ti had co to co up with appropriate nas for these monunts to human achievent.
He could not repeat His previous mistake in naming. Nothing as undignified as "Terra Bar" would ruin these masterworks.
Malcador's Sanctum, Terra
After returning from the alternate dinsion, Malcador had once again thrown himself into the endless demands of governing. He worked tirelessly for humanity's sake. He constantly advanced their civilisation toward its destined glory.
The Sigillite's private sanctum was a marvel. It was not just a seat of power, but proof of human artistry. Exotic plants grew on every circular balcony. Dedicated staff and servitors tended them with religious devotion.
Stone spheres inscribed with endless runic formulas revolved in circular patterns around the central spire. They cast complex shadows through towering stained-glass windows. Smaller stone satellites orbited these main bodies like tiny moons. The tower's top had beco a chanical representation of the Sol System itself.
Here, Malcador would summon the Imperium's most powerful individuals. Those who commanded vast resources or possessed untapped potential. He assigned them roles fitting their capabilities.
The sanctum's chambers overflowed with accumulated knowledge. Texts recovered during the Great Crusade underwent careful review and authentication. Then they were copied and distributed between Terra's Great Library and Malcador's personal collection.
Beyond physical books, the sanctum housed sophisticated data-storage systems. They preserved countless docunts and records. Certain sealed chambers contained darker knowledge. Forbidden lore that common citizens must never encounter, yet which the Imperium's leadership could not afford to ignore.
Such materials remained under the strictest security. They were accessible only to a select few deed worthy of such dangerous knowledge.
Malcador sat reviewing critical appointnt docuntation. He studied the detailed profile of a prospective sector governor. This represented one of the Imperium's most significant positions. Once confird, this individual would command dozens of worlds and determine the fates of hundreds of billions of human souls.
These were humanity's golden hours. Any citizen with talent and ambition could rise to greatness. Yet Malcador recognised these as equally dangerous tis. The Emperor's grand design had already made the Dark Gods angry.
Chaos cultists had infiltrated every level of Imperial society, and they would never remain passive. Soon, they would use their most vicious strategies to destroy everything the Master of Mankind had carefully built.
Multiple projection screens flickered across his desk. Information flowed past in endless streams. Dust particles danced through the holographic displays, creating temporary patterns in the light.
A lesser mind might assu the Imperial Regent ignored such data flows. But as Malcador studied the appointnt docunts, his intellect simultaneously processed every piece of information that passed before him.
Without such superior ntal capacity, how could any mortal bear the Imperium's crushing administrative burden?
The data streams revealed troubling patterns. Every departnt sought to expand its authority and influence.
The Adeptus Arbites demanded greater jurisdiction over newly conquered worlds. The rchant Guilds lobbied for increased trade protections and expanded security for their comrcial fleets. The Navigator Houses protested the Imperium's support for psyker academies, viewing such institutions as threats to their hereditary monopoly.
The chanicum of Mars aggressively demanded access to technological knowledge that the Emperor had acquired from alternate realities. They simultaneously requested reintegration of the Unification Treaty organisations under their direct control.
Every faction, every power-holder, hungered for greater authority. Greed drove them to sche against one another in an endless cycle of political maneuvering.
Malcador understood these dynamics intimately, yet found himself constrained by necessity. Governing an interstellar empire required a delicate balance rather than absolute justice.
Sotis, principles that seed sacred to common citizens had to be sacrificed. Fairness, righteousness, and transparency might all give way to maintain broader stability.
His true function was to guide and restrain these ambitious individuals. He ensured their talents served humanity's benefit rather than their personal enrichnt.
When any faction attempted to cross established boundaries and threaten human civilisation itself, swift punishnt would follow.
Malcador put his biological seal on the completed review docunt. With that simple gesture, a ruler commanding hundreds of billions was born. Such was the terrible power of Imperial decree.
This represented one of the most potent forces in human governance. The ability to elevate paupers to kingship or cast monarchs into poverty with re words and official approval.
As Malcador set aside the completed docunt to examine the next matter, space itself tore open with violent force.
Raven erged from the dinsional rift with his typical dramatic flair, landing squarely in the middle of Malcador's pristine desk.
Malcador's eyebrows rose in surprise. The Imperial Regent had witnessed many strange things in his long service to the Emperor, but Raven never failed to bring new surprises. Before he could offer a proper greeting, the small creature cleared his throat theatrically.
"Knock knock."
Malcador blinked slowly, his mind trying to process this unexpected statent. The creature had just materialised through a tear in reality itself, bypassed all security asures, and landed directly on his desk.
Why was he now announcing his presence as if standing outside a door?
Raven noticed the confusion on the Sigillite's face and gestured with one wing, encouraging him to respond. His eyes sparkled with barely contained mischief.
Malcador sighed deeply. With experience over the years with Raven, he had learned that sotis the quickest path through Raven's eccentricities was simple participation. The sooner this strange ritual concluded, the sooner he could return to the Imperium's pressing business.
"Who's there?"
"Joe," Raven replied, his voice practically vibrating with suppressed amusent.
Malcador felt a growing sense of unease, as if he were walking into so elaborate trap. But having co this far, he felt compelled to complete whatever social protocol Raven was attempting to establish.
"Joe who?"
"Joe mama! Hahaha!"
Raven exploded into hysterical laughter, rolling back and forth across the desk's surface. His small form shook with uncontrollable mirth as he knocked over several data slates and scattered important docunts. The sound echoed through the sanctum's vaulted chambers.
Malcador remained perfectly still, his expression unchanged. He understood that so form of humour had been attempted, but the chanism escaped him entirely. More puzzling was the strange sensation that he had sohow been personally insulted, though he couldn't identify how or why. The feeling was 'Strange, why do I feel like this?'
After several minutes of continued laughter, Raven finally noticed Malcador's blank stare. His mirth gradually subsided as he realized his joke had fallen completely flat.
"You people are so uncultured," Raven declared, straightening his feathers with exaggerated dignity. "Looks like I'll have to extend culture classes from Valdor to the rest of the high command. We really need to look out for the Imperium's future, you know. We need cultured people to make the Imperium great."
He paused, as if struck by the weight of this cultural responsibility. Then he shook his head and took a deep breath.
"Now where was I?"
Malcador, still processing the bizarre interaction, could only shrug his shoulders helplessly.
"Oh yes, I rember." Raven tapped his head with the tip of one wing, as if chiding himself for the distraction. With a practiced motion, he produced a crystal data storage device and tossed it onto the desk with a soft clink.
"Delivery from the Big Guy."
Malcador retrieved the crystal, regarding his tiny visitor with curiosity. "This cos from His Majesty?"
"Yeah. Contains blueprints for the Golden Throne. He says keep it secret and find people to build it quietly."
Raven surveyed the sanctum's interior. He noted the absence of showy decorations in favor of countless volus of accumulated knowledge.
'Still a scholar at heart, this Malcador. But then again, without such profound learning, how could he have earned the Emperor's trust and beco His most valued advisor?'
"I believed the Golden Throne project had been abandoned?" Malcador's frown deepened with concern.
After discovering Raven and completing their first dinsional journey, the Emperor had revised His grand strategy. The Webway project had been shelved indefinitely. Naturally, the Golden Throne's construction had never started.
Why resurrect this particular sche now?
Raven explained casually: "The Big Guy says he needs to create temporal anchor points, magic networks, and other control hub infrastructure. So he's restarting the Golden Throne project."
"That reasoning seems sound. Temporal anchors and mystical networks would indeed require centralized oversight." Malcador nodded thoughtfully and reached for a nearby communication control.
"My lord, how may I serve?" ca a servitor's chanical response.
"Prepare several servings of the latest experintal fried provisions," Malcador instructed.
Raven's eyes imdiately brightened with obvious admiration and approval.
Malcador placed the data crystal carefully on his desk. "The preparations will require ti. Walk with ."
Raven perched on the Sigillite's shoulder. "Lead on."
They passed through towering bookshelf walls that stretched to the vaulted ceiling. The shelves held countless volus of human knowledge. Moving through a marble archway, they erged onto an open circular balcony. Or rather, an elevated garden.
The space blood with exotic flowers, carefully cultivated plants, and artistically sculpted trees. The mingled scents of blossoms and rich earth perfud the air.
Upon Malcador's arrival, attending servitors bowed respectfully and withdrew to grant them privacy.
The garden commanded a spectacular view of the entire city. The Custodian Guard's towers, the Astronomican's beacon spire, and the Council Chambers housing the High Lords of Terra rose prominently above the urban sprawl.
These monunts to Imperial power surrounded the Palace itself. Their grandeur was visible even from this great distance.
The orbital elevators represented the tallest structures. They extended through Terra's atmosphere to connect with space-based platforms. Countless spacecraft sward around these towering ports in constant motion, resembling busy insects transporting vital supplies throughout the system.
"What trendous change," Raven observed with genuine awe. "When I departed, this was in ruins. Now it has beco a magnificent tropolis."
"Humanity suffered greatly during the Age of Strife," Malcador replied. "When civilization's dawn finally broke, they released all their accumulated enthusiasm. They were determined to manifest every form of beauty they had dread of during the dark years. Yet the city's transformation pales beside what awaits above. Observe the sky."
Raven lifted his gaze to behold magnificent tallic structures suspended in Terra's heavens.
They hung impossibly close to the planet's surface. Even with normal vision, one could distinguish lit towers and the geotric canyons ford by continuous architectural complexes.
Drawing upon his ability to perceive cosmic information, Raven easily identified each structure's function. Orbital platforms, interstellar ports, space construction yards, and the completed celestial-scale computer.
"The second stellar cogitator is operational?"
Raven's sharp eyes located the massive computational matrix hanging in orbit. A planet-sized construct configured in cruciform architecture.
Malcador nodded approvingly. "The Great Crusade has brought nurous technologically advanced civilizations into Imperial compliance. The resources they contribute have significantly accelerated all construction projects."
"What designation has been assigned to this second cogitator?"
"The naming remains undecided. I intended to request His Majesty's guidance on this matter."
"No need to bother him," Raven declared with a dismissive wing-gesture. "Just call it 'Fries.'"
Malcador regarded his small companion with obvious skepticism. "Would that not be... inappropriate?"
"What's inappropriate about it? Use that na exactly. I, as supre ruler of the Imperium, command you: the second celestial cogitator shall bear this designation."
"If anyone objects, direct them to personally. Even the Big Guy doesn't intimidate ."
Raven assud a posture of exaggerated authority. His tone radiated supre confidence.
He was, after all, co-ruler of the Imperium, equal in rank to the Master of Mankind Himself.
"Very well," Malcador conceded, unable to contest Raven's determination. "I shall implent your directive."
"Rember—if you dare disobey my instructions, prepare yourself for assignnt to guard duty around a black hole," Raven threatened with mock severity. "And no amount of fried provisions will save you from that fate."
[End of Chapter]
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