40 Thousand Reasons

By the end of the week, Forge World Estaban III had begun their counter-attack, crushing the remaining warbands and other traitors that were now leaderless and slightly lacking armor units.

That's a big problem when a Legio Titanica knocks politely at your door, then kicks it open with a 50-meter-wide adamantium foot.

In orbit, things were going rather well, as without battleships the traitors couldn't stop the mighty fleet of the Cult Mechanicus, nor defend against constant harassment from my own ships, as I lead the fleet in and out and picked off a dozen more enemies, then fell back to re-load.

The Canticle's kill count rapidly climbed and passed 100 then 200 kills. Then again, it took only a full salvo from my battleship grade lance batteries to explode a destroyer, and a salvo of guided torpedoes to sink a cruiser.

Demons weren't as much a problem in space, because our guns were much heavier too. What would need a dozen tanks to kill on the ground took a single lance for my ship, and a few more from the smaller escorts.

Then a hundred cruisers gathered in a kill-squad to hunt me and the Canticle, possibly exasperated and aggravated by my actions, and so I did what any Rogue Trader would do.

I turned my pretty battlecruiser round and ran, and used my torpedo destroyers to come about and surprise the chasing idiots from behind, with a 50-meter-long suppository that delivered plasma warheads instead of medicine.

The Litany scored a dozen kills and the destroyers as many, before the Chaos Admiral gave up and decided to return to his fleet.

Only by then, the Mechanicus fleet has taken advantage and attacked, and shattered the Chaos battle line.

I ordered my corvettes to group in wings and hunt down the scattering traitors, and we bagged some 20 cruisers more, before they reached Warp limit and fled, tails between their legs.

While the fighting on the ground continued, I landed to meet the Fabricator General. Beside him it was a huge machine, that I soon learned was called Warleader Bannus of clan Kaargul, the leading strategist of the Iron Hands Astartes.

"Hello, and good to see you. I need 300 corvettes to replace my loses, Fabricator." I demanded in a less modest tone.

I mean, fuck that! Lord Pef had golden veins in my left hand now.

"You only lost 261 of those corvettes, Rogue Trader." the dreadnought interjected with no reason.

I drew off my armored glove, and held my left hand out. "Talk to the hand, Astartes!" I quipped, since the dreadnought was a terminator in every respect.

The Fabricator laughed as if I said a wonderful joke. "That's the famous hand you got from the Angel?" he asked to make sure.

"Yeah, I'd need to you to analyze what the sword guy did. He used some Blood Angel blood for this construct, and you have my original genes on record." I answered a bit more relaxed.

Estaban were the good guys, and even gave me 1000 years of youth for free.

"You seem upset with me for some reason, Lord Lancefire. Have we not fought together?" the dreadnought boomed in a tenor voice.

"I don't know you, Astartes Bannus. But my own mother just died, sacrificing herself to kill an Astartes Primarch. Then another Astartes boarded my ship and shattered my wrist. Among those who just attacked Estaban, how many Astartes were there?" I shouted towards the infirm space marine walking around in his coffin.

Something whirred and sputtered inside the coffin, then the veteran turned away in silence.

"Don't blame the venerable dreadnought for the acts of others. I'm certain many Rogue Traders do despicable things someplace, right?" the Fabricator intervened in a peaceful voice.

"There are 20 thousand crippled guardsmen from my regiments, just on board the Canticle. I don't see any Iron Hands offering them geneseeds and bionic limbs. They take healthy men and cripple them instead. Fresh young boys taken from the plow or factory, and given power armor and guns. No wonder half the Astartes go mad with power and start pillaging." I muttered with distaste and walked away.

In a minute, the Fabricator had me sit comfortably in a metal chair with too many needles and probes whirling around.

"This won't hurt too bad. Let's extract some blood and skin samples...then I will sequence them, right away." the Magos explained, trying and failing to sound like a professional medic.

Still, he tried...which wasn't so bad.

An hour later, we had some results, which were mildly promising. Not quite a geneseed implant, but similar enough that I should see improvements in my every stats: mind, body and soul.

"For now, only your left hand was affected, but this will spread to your whole person in a few years. No Astartes organs, unless some Chapter agrees to initiate you among their brothers. But this proves your conjecture was correct. Blanks, or at least Blanks from your bloodline can become Astartes and be immune to Warp corruption." the Fabricator mused, and took out a palm sized emblem shaped like a coffin.

"It that a Blank Machine Spirit?" I asked immediately.

"Indeed it is. This is a Storm Shield applique I intend to gift to Warleader Bannus, for his aid in defense of Estaban. We have already tested them on our holy Titans and battle-automata and they worked with statistical certainty. Instances of Warp corruption have decreased by 20 percent with this simple pattern applied to the chassis, and once we perfect the machine canticles and the consecration engrams that percent will go up." he declared proudly.

"What about cogitators?" I asked with a frown.

"... That will take more time. Or less time, if you agree to stay one year and allow us cloning of your enhanced tissues." The Fabricator pleaded with a hopeful voice.

It only took a second to think it over. I could spare one year. My regiments will need time to heal or get bionic replacements as well. Ships will need repair, and the armor regiments will have to be rebuilt to strength.

"I will do it. If you fix my ships and people. My life isn't worth all of theirs." I spoke in a gentler voice.

The Magos patted my head with his cold tentacle. "Of course, Lord Pef. We always pay our debts."

"Then, I could ask for the Volcano_Cannon pattern. My corvettes need some upgrades." I demanded after a minute.

The Fabricator sighed in defeat. He had to pay his debt, after all.

As I was leaving the Fabricator, that dreadnought Astartes waited for me, with a few more Iron Hands, all sporting nearly full mechanical replacements.

Ludvaius was there and so was Mansirius Thrasius, the last surviving Scythe from my honor guard.

"Captain, these Iron Hands want to offer their support." Thrasius announced in a flat voice, like it wasn't his business.

Well then, it seemed my sneaky plan worked. Now let's see what they actually offer.

"Very well. We'll speak on the Canticle. I'm certain my tech-priests can offer them some machine oil to drink." I allowed politely and kept walking without a single glance towards the cyborgs.

Ludvaius snorted amused and walked faster, to arrive first at the landing pad and check for danger.

Paranoid perhaps, but then again... Chaos troops were still on Estaban, and even a few ships somewhere beyond the gas giants.

My Stormbird transport engaged the Gellar Field first, before taking off for the Canticle.

The Iron Hands muttered at one another while examining my assault lander with greedy eyes. Yes, I bet you'd want this nice craft, and maybe a dozen Fellblades too, as a welcome gift.

But I wasn't feeling generous today.

Ludvaius and Tharsius excepted, I kinda loathed Astartes right now. Bunch of overgrown bullies, who couldn't even keep an oath.

I made a note to locate The Sworn Of Guilliman, another traitor chapter who pillaged the Eastern Fringe, and exterminate them. And soon enough, every other xeno or traitor infesting my tiny corner of the galaxy.

"Can we see those wounded soldiers, Captain Lancefire?" Another Iron Captain asked politely once the transport landed on my ship.

"Astartes Tharsius will escort you. And if you draw weapons on my ship, you better be faster than the last Astartes who tried." I replied with a dismissive voice and left without turning, Ludvaius stomping on the deck beside me, possibly a little upset.

A minute later I entered the elevator and stared him in the eye. "You disagree, Blood Angel?"

"That was Lord Clan Commmander Arven Rauth, Iron Captain of Clan Rauvaan. There is no need to be hostile with him, or any Iron Hand brother." he spoke in a warning voice.

I nodded and smiled wryly. "And yet, here they are. Begging me to let them recruit my wounded guardsmen." I answered a bit jovially and let out a small snort. In the long run, a mechanical Astartes dying for the Emperor is better than a crippled soldier living on a meager pension.

Ludvaius blinked while he thought it over. "I see, it was all a trick. Shame them into accepting the crippled soldiers as their Aspirants." 

Indeed, that was the plan and worked fabulously. "And what would the Angel say, after he healed those thousands of burned guardsmen with your blood, Ludvaius? I had merely a broken wrist. Perhaps it was as thanks for my mother. The miracle was for them, not a tiny gift that a tech-priest could repair in 10 minutes."

"How did you know it would work? Was that our Primarch, returned from the dead?" the Astartes asked me with fervor.

"You talked to him, not me. I collect only rumours and stories from around the galaxy, repair STC patterns and devise plans and strategies. You created the miracle, Astartes. Your blood is the reason." I answered cryptically.

Truth is I didn't know. Some say the Angel is the good part of Sanguinius, a fragment of his soul looking after his children. Other sources say it is a Blood Angel guardian of the Red Grail, that fell into a Warp rift.

But I suspect the Sanguinor is just like all the other Saints or the Legion of the Damned.

The Emperor is part of the Warp now, and his dreams are made flesh. If your pleas reach him, then he might send help, just like the Chaos Gods send Champions of their own.

Sing or pray louder, and miracles will follow you around, like they do with the Sisters of Battle or some Astartes.