Herald of the Stars: Chapter Three Hundred and Ten

I say, “You, Balor, a member of an ascetic style Astartes Chapter, are not prone to introspection? I find that difficult to believe. I acknowledge that reminders of one’s own weaknesses are never pleasant, but it is our flaws that define who we are. When we say ‘The Flesh is Weak’ it is not just the physical that Cult Mechanicus is referring to. It is the doubts and questions within our minds. The prayer continues with: ‘I crave the strength and certainty of steel’.

“The defining phrase of Mechanicus and Iron Hands Chapter comes from Vulkan ‘The flesh is weak but deeds endure’. What was once a celebration of the memory of mortal men has become a lamentation of what makes us Human, an acknowledgement of its necessity as much as a prayer to cast it off in steel and circuits. Sure, logic and efficiency bring victory, but if there’s nothing left of us at the end of it, there is nothing left to save and victory becomes, at best, pyrrhic.”

Canoness Ephrine looks like she is experiencing enlightenment. Alpia looks a little bored, and Balor deems my monologue worthy of a single raised eye brow.

I continue, “Introspection is a vital part of all actions, an act of tempering that maintains purity of purpose. What Astartes would dare be without such conviction? Our will is defined by the flaws we face, not those we disdain.”

Balor shakes his head, “Aldrich, your enthusiasm does you credit and your constant push to see Astartes as Human is a product of your desire to see us included, appreciated, and understood. You are, however, entirely missing the point. 

“Astartes are Trans-Human. Not Human, not Sub-Human, and not Post-Human. We are as different from Humans as Humans are from Neandertals or Homo-Erectus and other early evolutions. Astartes may come from Humans, but our minds, needs, and desires are not the same, no matter how close we may seem. I’m not saying we don’t benefit from introspection, but we do not need it to maintain our conviction. Discipline is a state of mind that is as automatic as breathing, not a debate. 

“Astartes meditation and philosophy is not a process of introspection, but one of clearing our minds, threat assessment visualisation, and improving our proprioception. Our extra organs are both automatic and controllable, with sufficient practice. Making the most of our gifts requires decades of constant practice.

“When I say that we maintain our psyche through force of will, I mean exactly that. We have conditioning and geneseed tweaks that allow us to do so that do not exist in other Human subspecies. I know that you know this.”

I sigh and lean back in my chair. “I do.”

Balor says, “We can doubt, our conviction can waver, and we can consider how our actions impact ourselves and others, but ‘They shall know no fear’, is not an idle boast. Neither is the claim as simplistic as it appears on the surface. I understand that this is not something that, even as a Post-Human, that you can grasp, no more that I have vague memories of a time when I feared the quiet breaths beneath the covers between my parents turning the light out at night and falling asleep.”

Ephrine shifts her position on the sofa, turning to get a better angle on Balor’s face, her face a picture of contemplation. Alpia covers her mouth with a portion of her wings, badly hiding her amusement, likely at me losing an argument. I close my eyes and rest my chin on my hand, cutting off distractions to better listen to Balor’s words.

Balor continues, “I know that you wish to build cooperation through empathy, appreciation, and respectful interactions, Aldrich. Between normal Humans, these are a requirement for productive, long term cooperation. For Astartes, they are a luxury. A fond memory that we can no longer relate to, and thus, perhaps, understand its value more than an unmodified Human. 

“We fight, we die, and we care for little beyond our objectives and being remembered in the hearts and minds of our brothers. In some ways, how Astartes interact with each other is a matter of programming, directed by the ghost of a determined child and subject to an absolute, caste-like hierarchy. Primarch Vulkan was most profound in his statement: ‘great deeds endure’. It is as much a comfort and reminder of our eternal trials as it is a vital cornerstone of Astartes psyche. The mission comes first. Always.”

I frown, but don’t interrupt. I know well that trying to get in between an Astartes and their mission is an invitation to be the guest of honour at an impromptu execution. It’s just how they are.

Balor continues, “Most fear and use us, perhaps even demand, or assume our service as their right. You do none of these things, treating us as equals when we are not. I am not speaking of military, political, or mental strength. There is no lesser or greater, only different. You could even see it as a form of autism. You have our favour because you remind many of us of a time before unending war. I know you’ve discussed this with Force Commander Odhran more than once and I am at a loss at how many different ways there are left to explain it.”

I shake my head, “Yet like every time before, I am no closer to understanding, no matter how much I try. I admit that knowledge of Astartes creation is not the same as being one. I suppose the same applies whether one is a Saint, a Sister, or a Post-Human relic of the Dark Age of Technology.” I smirk, “though you must admit your little speech counts as introspection, eh Balor?”

Balor throws up his hands, “May Saint Drusus guide you far away from me and your troublesome debates, Magos! Must you pick at every tiny flaw in my words?”

I laugh.

“That was most enlightening,” says Ephrine. “Thank you for letting me listen in on your conversation, Magos, Tech-Marine Balor. Repeating both your words will, at least, provide my sisters and I a distraction from the shock of seeing the Imperial Gods in person. I sense, however, that we are beginning to intrude. May we be excused?”

“Yes, it is time to bring this conversation to a close. I can see that you are both sound of mind and heart. Thank you both for coming. You are dismissed.”

Balor and Ephrine stand. Balor salutes and Ephrine makes the Sign of the Aquilla, then they both depart.

I lean back in my arm chair and sigh. Alpia finally starts digging into her plate of shortbread with gusto.

“Dad?”

I hum.

“Don’t you find it weird how everyone is so cooperative with you? Like, everything always seems to go your way, no one is ever outright rude, and people tend to agree with what you say? That just doesn’t happen everywhere else for other people. It feels unreal.”

“Ah. That. The short answer is selection bias.”

“Uh huh. How about the long answer?”

“Well, we have a culture of mandatory confessions. That predisposes the population to sharing their thoughts in a healthy manner. More importantly, it is a top down policy from myself that shows that Fleet Command values those in touch with their motivations, faults, and how their actions impact themselves and the society they live in. An absolute necessity when you're crammed into a metal box and hurtling through a hell dimension.”

Alpia tuts, “For you, maybe. Imperial discipline is more like ‘beatings will continue until morale improves.’

I sigh, “Yes, I suppose that does work too. You know why I don’t like to feed negative emotions though.”

“Yes. You have explained it at length. Multiple times.”

“To continue answering your original query,” I glare at Alpia, “people adopt specific traits to flatter me in the hope that I will favour them with knowledge or a promotion. Also, all those I choose to get close to me have the traits I appreciate. This creates a self-evident and reinforcing state, one that I have to be wary of lest people only tell me what I want to hear, thus leading to decisions informed by the odd bubble I live in, rather than the reality that surrounds me.”

“Ah, so that whole conversation was Balor humouring you. No wonder he was annoyed by the end of it. You owning the air that everyone breathes also helps too, no doubt. Much like beatings, but more subtle.”

“Of for goodness sake, Alpia. Yes, you are correct. To most people, I am a rather terrifying individual, capable of flaying their soul from their bones with a glance should they say something that displeases me. To you, I am the fellow whose shoulders you used to ride one while slapping my head and demanding to help you bake cookies that look like your long dead pet rabbit.”

“So why did you marry Mum then?”

I blink a few times, trying to follow Alpia’s logic and fail. “Why are you asking?”

“Well, you’re not the sort to marry someone with a power imbalance as you’d hate how that would affect your relationship. What makes Mum special?”

“Ah, I see.” I hold up three fingers, “Three reasons. Brigid was the first person from Marwolv to recognise that legacy equals survival. To most, I was some distant hero who liberated their world from xenos and uplifted them, granting them some control over their fate. Your mother saw beyond that, she had the foresight to question what the requirements for living in this galaxy actually are and the guts to commit to the solution.”

“You?”

“No. A big family. For all I harp on about nepotism spoiling meritocracy and causing fatal issues, it is family that holds people together in the void between the stars. Brigid saw that and was willing to be a part of the solution.”

“Yeah, that tracks. What’s the second reason?”

“Experience. Both Brigid and I would be committing to our second marriage. A legacy like mine can’t afford to fuck around, both physically and metaphorically.”

Alpia radiates distaste, “Thanks for that image, Dad.”

“You’re welcome. Relationships take practice. I wanted a wife who already understood the commitment that she was making. Neither a Novator, Magos, or Rogue Trader can afford to have their marriage fail as that would be seen as a dynastic failure, which leads to instability. You can’t afford that in a metal tank surrounded by lethal radiation and one way gaseous exchange, as I pointed out earlier. My situation is even more extreme, I have all three titles, though when I married your mother I only had two of them. That’s still pretty nuts though.”

“Hence ‘picking a wife who knew what she was doing’,” Alpia makes quotation marks with her fingers, then blanks out for a moment. “Ewww, I can’t believe I just said that about my Mum.”

I laugh, “The last reason was trust, though between your mother and I it is less conventional. I chose your mother for her obsessions. Your mother, as much as you won’t want to think about it, is utterly obsessed with me. I am the hero of her world. Aside from being incredibly flattering, Brigid is incredibly motivated to deter social climbers who think that getting on their knees is a viable path to a life of leisure, or a quick shot at a promotion.”

“Dad! Please spare me the sex jokes. I’m already regretting asking why you married mum.” 

I steal one of Alpia’s short bread then continue, “Regardless of one’s views on such tactics, or the threat of Chaos that might come with it, I don’t want to constantly deal with social climbers. Brigid, as High Pursar, reshuffles anyone who attempts such stupidity away from me without me having to interfere. 

“There is a double standard here. If I get rid of people looking to tangle mechadendrites with me, I’ll have to deal with all sorts of opinions and rumours about my love life. Rumours affect stability, legacy, and ultimately survival.”

“Yes, I get it, Dad. No point flogging a dead menial.”

“A charming image. Now, if Brigid removes social climbers, she’s seen as an intelligent woman defending her territory who should absolutely not be crossed. Unlike me, she gets a boost to her reputation. 

“This arrangement blesses our relationship with trust. Brigid doesn’t have to worry about social climbers getting near me, because she’s already removed them. I can trust Brigid to be faithful because of her obsessive personality. Thus, stability and continuity of legacy is assured and we don’t all die because a jilted lover indulges in some Byzantine plot to sabotage the genatorium.”

Yes, for those who only understand relationships in terms of anime stereotypes, I deliberately married a woman with yandere tendencies.

Alpia says, “So nothing about love, or Mum looking like engineered perfection? Just cold logic?”

“Love and attraction can grow or wane over time. They are built or crumble on the bedrock of mutual interest. No matter how much of a romantic I am, for a relationship to last a millennia, both parties have to want to sail in the same direction. I married your mother because we could both agree where we want to go together before we even put our hands on the wheel. That direction was you, Alpia, and Luan, Dareaca, and Fial. Family. Survival. Legacy.”

“Dad! That’s super embarrassing!” Alpia shakes her head, “Never mind all that. Do you think it will be the same for me?”

“Got someone in mind?”

“You know I don’t. Like you, everyone worships the deck I walk on. Will I have an arranged marriage?”

“Only if you want one. Didn’t you already discuss this with your mother?”

“I don’t and I did. I’m just contemplating my future after a galaxy sized shock.” Alpia grabs a wing and runs her hand through her feathers. “I could try disguising myself, or maybe pick someone from the Psy-Errants?”

“Up to you. I understand the appeal of a disguise for you. Then again, starting a relationship on a lie isn’t a good idea either. An arranged marriage might be your best bet. It’s worked out for Quaani just fine.”

“That’s because Annette is a timid mess. Yes, I know that isn’t nice. That doesn’t make it less true.”

“You don’t want a shy boy, huh? That does not surprise me. They wouldn’t survive a year.”

“Exatly. Any husband of mine would need, like, a totally impossible long list of positive traits, skills, and achievements. By the time they were qualified, they’d be old, wrinkly, and set in their ways. Even if you restored their youth with biomancy, I wouldn’t want them.”

I smirk, “Well, if you get fed up waiting for the perfect husband to prostrate himself before you, you can just ask your mother to grow you one from scratch with whatever ridiculous list of requirements the two of you can come up with.”

“No way! That’s like saying I can’t get who I want. Totally not an option.”

“Suit yourself,” I shrug. “It only really matters if I’m dead and legacy is immediately required. Even then, you can just pick a donor. By the time the embryo was tweaked to perfection it really wouldn’t matter who it was. You don’t have to have a paramour or husband if you don’t want one.”

Alpia sighs, “Why am I still discussing my non-existent love life with my Dad? Still, I am happy you’re not going to use me to push some agenda. Not that I expected anything less. You suck at being a noble.”

“Your praise brings tears to my mastercrafted eyes.”

Alpia stands abruptly, “I am going to find Mum. Seeing that you two are both apparently so in sync, I want to check that she hasn’t stuffed a vortex missile inside Dawn Garnet.”

“Alright, Sweet Pea. Come find me if you get any nightmares, weird flashbacks, or just want to talk some more.”

“Sure. Whatever, Dad.”

“Oh, and Alpia?”

“Yes?”

“I’m super proud of you. You did really well today. Don’t doubt yourself, even for a moment. I really was impressed.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Alpia mutters and rushes off.

I smile at Alpia’s departing figure. I wonder what Alpia would think if she knew half the reasons for my marriage are Brigid’s. Brigid’s idea of seduction is more like: ‘I’m your perfect wife. Deal with it.’ All while stroking my cock with one hand while squirting a dangerous chemical out of a medical syringe with the other. Yes, I exaggerate, but I am not particularly surprised she was divorced when I met her and the two children from her previous marriage avoid her like the plague.