Epilogue

The stormbird silently drifts through the massive blastdoors, klaxons wail as void-clad workers catch a glimpse of the dull grey vessel slowly sidling up alongside the brilliant amethyst hued sister-craft. Already the honor guard squad of pristine purple and gold warriors stand at the end of the telescopic gangway, awaiting the door to open. At its head, a summoned soul. A shock of bleached white hair crowns a perfectly sculpted, albeit sallow, face of Europan nobility. He stares out unflinchingly as the stormbird's blast doors puff open in a hiss of atmosphere. Taut and pinched, the waiting man spots the single grey-clad figure at the end of the walkway, bathed in the red light of the landing lamps.

Crew serfs scurry by on a myriad of duties while the noble Emperor's Children gaze impassively as the First Chaplain of the Word Bearers emerges with two of his own chosen warriors. The tall staff with a book clamped to its apex marks Erebus as surely as the golden etchings and Colchisian glyphs adorning the sacred parchments wax-sealed to his armor.

"Aaaaah, Lieutenant commander Fabius Bile, how wonderful that you got my message." Erebus's voice slips to its sibilant charm as he spreads his arms wide, as if offering a hug.

The small detachment's leader had assuredly spotted Erebus but paid the Colchisian priest as much heed as a cup bearer in the halls of a Chemosian palace. "Save it, Erebus." the cold calculating tone of the Emperor's Children's Chief Apothecary intones. "I have neither the time nor patience to deal with your frivolities. You asked for me, and Eidolon and Fulgrim are both busy. We have a war to wage, if you haven't noticed."

"Yes yes, the Auritian problem. I'm sure it will be hectic, getting along with the Barbarians of the Bloody Twelfth." Erebus chatters good naturedly as he closes the yen meter gap from Stormbird to station door. "But there's no need to be coy. We both know what holds your attention after your little harvest on Murder."

The reminder of the Megarachnid infested planet finally ticks something inside the Chief Apothecary, drawing the start of a more dangerous glint. "Careful what you insinuate, Colchisian. I'm a personal attache of the Primarch himself. This is merely a formal nicety. So I hope you haven't come to waste even more of my valuable time."

"Of course, and of course not, respectfully respectively." Erebus closes his eyes and lowers his head in a formal bow, "But... I do have business with you. Perhaps, in private? I mean you no offence, my dear Chief Apothecary." Erebus glances at the four-man honour guard dressed in Chemosian fineries of gold and polished platinum.

"Permission to formally come aboard, Lieutenant Commander." Erebus intones with a slight bow as he touches his chest.

Fabius Bile eyes First Chaplain for a moment before lazily waving his guard aside with the two Word Bearers. "It was granted prior, or you would be drifting atoms and nothing more."

As formal as it was, it brings a slow laugh, "How charming. But thank you, anyways."

Fabius waits for no more than a heartbeat before turning on his heels. The pair leave the umbilicus as it snaps closed with a hiss, leaving them to pass the long full length bank of glassteel panes overlooking the entirety of the Pride of the Emperor's monolithic embarkation deck. Solid white corridors practically glitter with polish and care, and pristinely dressed crewmen snap salutes to them when they pass.

All of it went without mention by Fabius, though the First Chaplain occasionally inclined his head in a form of acknowledgement as he continues. "I take your work very seriously, every single facet and discovery. In fact, I expect that the Warmaster will call upon your skills in the near future. And I would be most appreciative if you would be open to, perhaps, doing me one little favor, my friend."

"I don't recall us being friends, even if Fulgrim is somewhat fond of your Lord Lorgar." Fabius's cold tone could have passed for mocking, but Erebus recognized Chemosian insolence for what it was.

"Then that may well change in the near future." Erebus takes a step closer, getting a look of guarded wariness from Fabius, but it was enough that a vox thief couldn't intrude on their conversation, "You'll have an opportunity to work your art on some very new subjects rather than mostly dead Baalites and a few Chemosian corpses. Something that you might never have considered, but trust me, it will be well worth your time. Just keep an open mind and your time will come sooner than you think. I foresee a great future for you and your legion." Unbidden, Erebus holds out a single data slate produced from a hard case tucked beneath a jangling book chained to his hip.

Fabius regards Erebus for a moment, not even lofting a brow in curiosity. But he plucks the data slate and asks sharply, "What do you want?"

Erebus's staff taps down as he keeps up the stride. "When you get to the Vengeful Spirit, I'm quite sure you'll get access to a wide variety of interesting spaces. But there's something a thief took from me, then hid in the sixteenth's genevault."

"And you want me, as a chief apothecary, to fetch it for you." Fabius sighs, but then blinks and purses his lips in thought as the first images and renderings pop into existence before his eyes. The creature was strange, non-human, but a variety of traits and listed attributes evidently had him curious. "What is it?"
Erebus's smile was self evident, almost audible in fact. "A sword."

A clatter of armored boots echoes across the empty hardened magazine in the belly of the Vengeful Spirit. The master of the armory paces the endless racks of macro cannon shells, the meager lights suspended on the thirty meter tall vault barely winking off the burnished diamantine penetrator jackets and reflecting their silvery finish in ripples across the grated floor.

Steam hisses and wafts as an automatic winch drones overhead, catching the lead lines of another macro-cannon shell as it is slowly raised into position to fill the empty cradle of a magazine. Munitions always had to be replaced, from test firing to restocking, it was an endless task and one that specifically fell to the master of the armory. The hellish inferno of the mechanicum's onboard ship munitions factorum reflecting in wavering lines or red-hot heat haze before the small passageway closest completely. The momentary wash of heat dissipates as he approaches the sealed white ceramite clad vault at the end of the dismal chamber.

There was one thing that couldn't be simply 'restocked'.

The astartes places his palm on the ident reader next to the enormous round pressure door of the inner magazine, ignoring the light winking off the brass biohazard sigils. Precious few were allowed down here, it was merely the Warmaster, Maloghurst, the legion's moritats, destroyers, and himself. And only the Warmaster, Maloghurst, and himself were allowed in alone.

The door hisses strangely, giving out a strange blurt of code and a weird red flicker from the ident reader before the vault yawns open. A blast of cold frost billows out into the already oppressive magazine.

He quickly steps inside... the second pressure door was open, strange, but the vaults occasionally opened and closed the two pressure doors depending on ambient external conditions to keep any spills or breaks from venting outside. After all, while it was swept clean now, the pristine white inert ceramite cladding did hold the fleet's Life Eaters bombs.

Abaddon had fired every single one of the planet killers into Davin and its moons before igniting them with lance strikes from the methane release. Davin, its moons, its people were no more but swirling ash swept up in tempestuous cyclonic storms fed by the dying atmosphere. But that, in itself, was the problem.

Slowly, surely, the master of the armory inspects each recessed cradle and clamp, each basin in the corners, and even the dozen stacks of stasis crates used to transport the lethal munitions from the magazine to the ship's guns. They were empty. One hundred and ninety two life eater globes had been stashed onboard, enough to fire each bombardment gun eight times, each weapon able to decimate a continent with the virulent plague. But guns twenty three and twenty four had only fired seven times...

The margin of error was small, but one percent meant a great deal when dealing with weapons of mass destruction. Yet the gunners had insisted they fired every round available to them.

Where did the two missing shells go?

The master of the armory licks his lips beneath his helm, spotting something on two small cradles just above floor level, right in the back of the room. Among the blinding sodium light that reflects off perfect white surfaces, there's a smudge.

Carefully, he kneels, focusing as he reaches a hand out to touch the grime. Slowly, he presses his fingers to the small dark blobs, and rubs it between his fingers. It crumbles when rubbed together, and slowly he takes his helmet off, a mop of his unkempt mane flopping down to the side of his head as he lifts the detritus to his nose to take in its scent.

"Ceramite corrosion?" like flakes of black rust, they tumble from his fingers to spot the white plates of the deck. "Ceramite doesn't corrode."

"Holy buck! HolybuckholybuckholyBUCKING horse apples! Sine, Cosine, c'meeeeeeeeere!" The joyous squealing cackle of delight echoes in the San Palomino observatory's simple enclosure. A pink earth pony mare spins around in her seat, howling and kicking her forehooves up in a happy albeit piercing wail of joy, "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

"What?! Clare, you went full Thestral. Never go full Thestra-will you STOP that?!" the raspy voice of an irritated mare snorts. But hooves quickly climb the curving staircase. With a bang, the thin wooden door rocks back on its hinges to reveal a pale plum hued Unicorn mare with shocks of ruby in her messy mauve mane. But the bright cornflower blue eyes stared daggers at the pony on the raised platform next to the wonky contraption. All of its copper and brass loops wheel around in fantastical twists like a massive metal curly straw.

"IfounditIfounditIfoundit. SINE!" The pink earth pony flings herself from her seat and gallops over, leaping over the metal railing of the little raised platform and tossing herself at the shocked Unicorn.

With a whoosh of breath and rolling tangle of limbs that tosses them to the floor, Sine was muzzle to muzzle with the jubilant mare.

Sine's breath comes out in a raspy groan, "Clarion Call, get off, you're too heavy to throw yourself off buildings, filly."

"I got it! First proof there's alien life!" She completely ignores the now taken-aback mare limp beneath her.

Another voice rises up with a warble from the stairwell, "Hey, you two party poniesth come down here. Mmm'kay? I've got thsoup on and I don't want it to go cold." Cosine's nasel lisp barely makes its way to Clare's ears as they waggle but little else.

"Wait wait, back up. No, like, literally back the buck up." Sine shoves the mare off and back to standing before rolling on her side and dragging herself to all fours. She stares at the pale pink mare, still practically shaking with a stupid grin plastered from ear to ear. "This isn't a joke?"

It gets a near-neck snapping shake of her head. Bouncing and quickly trotting in place, Clarion Call just calls down the staircase, "Soup can wait, c'mere!" She darts back towards the sheer ledge, hopping and grasping the raised platform before kicking and wiggling to pull herself up.

Meanwhile, Sine shakes her head and trots around the far side to the little set of stairs leading up to a bank of flashing lights spewing rolls of scratchy ink stained parchment.

With a sigh, another ponies voice calls up the steps, "coming, coming, keep your bit and bridle in."

"Hey, language!" Sine calls back down over her shoulder.

The slightly abash and cringing Unicorn that pops her head into the room just whispers her apology. She was shorter than either Clarion Call or Sine, thinner, with a pair of small wire rimmed spectacles perched on her freckled muzzle. The pale coral fur was partially hidden by a grey sweater with a faded Canterlot University 'CU'. Her curled powder blue mane hang in twists as she cocks her head to the side.

Her lisping voice whispers, "Did you acthsually do it?"

"Yes!" Clarion Call pulls herself up, Sine already by the chair ahead of her as the earth pony mare hops up on the chair to flick a great leaver before vaulting over an indignant Sine to flick a switch. Two enormous rolls of magnetic tape wind back with a rasping wheeze of gadgets. "Listen!" she proudly says.

The sound from the directional phonograph horn was jarring. The screech and warble giving pulsing pops and then some distinctly non-organic thrums.

But Sine was already sighing, "Good job, sounds like somepony put the shower on too hot before they hopped in. And speaking of showers, Clare-"

The noise fractalizes in an eerie and uncomfortable way, sending shivers down Sine and Cosine's frames as Clarion Call stares enraptured at the tapes. "Then I had to modulate the little throbby bits and pulsy bits, hey you're not allowed to laugh, and i got this afterward."

The noise that comes out is different, a stallion, no question though it comes out heavily distorted. "et vocem meam audire contempsit et de edicto Nikea. Quod autem adtinet Lupercal additional suas inquietari implicat, atque immediata et verificationem de, rogatur. Ave Emperator, Ave Russ."

Sine and Cosine look back and forth as a victorious and jubilant Clarion call glances back, panting breathily over her withers.

Sine sticks out a hoof and points, "What was THAT gobbledygook?!"

Cosine looks pale, "I think we should tell the printhsess."

"Okay okay," Clarion Call's eyes sparkle, "but remember, I call dibs!"

Authors note:

Well, that's it for this leg of the story, but there are naturally plans for a sequel/s. How weird would Horus Rises be if it didn't have a follow up? Anyway, got what I needed in the ground work and get started into the next bit in the new year.