Homeworld

Standard Terra Calendar.672.M31

Name: Limnos III

Region: The Expanse

Sector: The Maelstrom

System: Limnos System

Population: 1–3 million

Affiliation: Imperium of Man

Type: Feudal World

Tithe: Grade IV Exempt

The Shortsword-class Frigate Blackrock drifted silently in orbit around Limnos III. This ancient warship had weathered many hardships and undergone multiple repairs—at least, it had before the Iron Warriors captured it. Around the conference table in the equally timeworn command bridge, all 22 Astartes of the Forged Steel Brethren War Band were seated. Servants had poured each of them a cup of Bloodwine.

Peter wasted no time. He activated the Projector, and the blue-and-yellow planet appeared before his brothers.

"This is Limnos III, the third planet in the Limnos System. It has no moons and three major continents, with land covering 41.53% of its total surface. Much of the planet is mountainous. The main continent is ruled by a feudal dynasty and numerous vassals, and the ruler of the most powerful dynasty is the Planetary Governor. One of the other continents lies in the far north, permanently frozen and sparsely inhabited. The people on the remaining continent are more primitive; they're mostly savages clad in animal skins, wielding stone and bone weapons. The planet's total population is between one and three million, and its inhabitants show no obvious signs of Chaos corruption or mutation. The main continent has only just begun smelting iron. In other words, the Planetary Defense Force still uses spears and bows. That's Limnos III, and it will become our Homeworld."

Peter glanced around at the Astartes.

"Any questions, brothers?"

A deep voice spoke up.

"Forged Steel Lord, why leave the Eye of Terror and travel all this way to the Maelstrom in search of a Homeworld? This world is sparsely populated and technologically backward. It even belongs to the False Emperor."

Peter looked toward the speaker. It was Brother Wonaby, leader of the Second Tactical Squad, one of the later additions to the War Band. But he was quick-witted and good at getting along with his brothers. He knew when to raise questions on their behalf, even if he already knew the answers. That was why Peter had appointed him squad leader.

"The planets in the Eye of Terror have all been corrupted to some degree, and their inhabitants are severely mutated. They'd make poor recruits for our Chapter. There are too many War Bands, too, so the good places are never available to us. With our strength, we can't hold a world with planetary shields and orbital defenses for long. Most importantly, the Imperium probably doesn't even know this world exists."

Peter casually tossed a badly damaged piece of parchment onto the table.

"I found this in the Legion's archives. It's what led us here. During the Great Crusade, this world was conquered by the Iron Warriors Legion—I mean the 'former' Iron Warriors Legion."

"Back then, the Primarch hadn't yet returned to the Legion. Our predecessors discovered this planet during the Great Crusade. A squad landed and found the king of the so-called dynasty. There's not much more to tell. Dozens of Astartes faced a bunch of natives armed with wooden clubs, and the king immediately declared his world's return to the Imperium. The Legion left behind some administrators and departed."

Peter felt a little thirsty. He picked up his cup and drained a large gulp of Bloodwine, wetting his throat before continuing.

"The Imperium even considered collecting a Tithe at the time, but this world had nothing to offer. It had no food, weapons, or industrial goods. There might be minerals underground, but there was no mining equipment. As for recruits, it'd be better to look closer to home in the Hive Cities than travel all the way into the Maelstrom to enlist a few million people from this world."

"And that was that. This place couldn't serve as a supply point or pay taxes, so the Department of the Interior simply lowered its Tithe to Grade IV and left it alone. The relevant Imperial documents might still be buried under hundreds of meters of parchment—or they might have been destroyed in the fires of the Battle of Terra. If I hadn't found this file in the Legion's archives, this world might have remained forgotten. As for the administrators left behind, they're no problem. Nearly a thousand years have passed, and their descendants have long since become part of the local ruling class."

"Wait for the Imperials to come? We might as well wait to die. At least death is sure to come."

Hearing their leader's deadpan joke, Filon let out a hearty laugh and picked up the thread.

"I get it, boss. Warp Storms are just as frequent here, but this place is still more stable than the Eye of Terror. And it's still the Maelstrom, with practically limitless wealth. That makes it much easier to raid or mine resources ourselves. Since neither side is stable, there are clearly more opportunities here than fighting over those twisted planets in the Eye of Terror. Am I right?"

Filon was another battle-brother clad in silver-gray Power Armour. As he spoke, he tossed human fingers into his mouth, chewing them with a loud crunch. Twisted iron tendrils attached to his Power Pack gave away his identity: a Voidsmith. But the biggest difference between him and the other brothers was his skin, black as freshly mined coal, and his two blood-red eyes, like signal lamps in the night.

"Exactly, Brother Filon. Any other questions?"

Peter waited ten seconds. The conference room remained silent for ten seconds.

"Next topic. Captain Barnabas, how's the Blackrock holding up?"

The Captain, wearing a Mark II Crusade-pattern helmet, replied:

"My lord, not too well. This warship was built on Mars during the early Great Crusade. It's a miracle it's survived this long. With only a few Lances and Macro Cannons, we can drive off pirates, but that's about it. We don't even have Virus Bombs or torpedoes for Exterminatus. To carry out an Exterminatus, we'd have to bombard a world without planetary shields for months."

"As for the crew, even after lowering our standards and picking from the slaves, we're still short a few. We can currently provide Corpse Starch for the crew and Sailors. We've always selected some of the slaves to be ground into Protein Blocks for the rest. It's just about within acceptable limits."

Peter nodded.

"Captain Barnabas, we won't be able to get another warship anytime soon. We'll have to make do for a while."

"Acknowledged, Forged Steel Lord."

Peter turned to the Voidsmith.

"Filon, how's the Armoury?"

Filon hurriedly put down his cup and swallowed his drink.

"Boss, apart from the gear issued to individuals, we don't have much left. For the mortal crew, aside from the equipment the Sailors carry, all we have are a few Laser Guns, Combat Shotguns, Autoguns, and Logging Guns. We've got only one Aquila Shuttlecraft, two Avior Barges, and one Valkyrie under repair. We have no ground vehicles at all."

"The War Band's Armoury has one Land Raider, one Rhino APC, and one Storm Eagle Gunship. We've got forty magazines of Bolter ammunition, three Bolter Guns, two Bolter Pistols, seven Monomolecular Combat Knives, three combat shields, two boarding shields, one Heavy Bolter, one Meltagun, twenty Meltabombs, and four crates of assorted grenades. But we're running low on high-grade Adamantium, plasteel, Power Cells, and Micro-beads. Maintaining our existing equipment is already a struggle. The good news is, we still have a decent supply of Promethium."

"And the bad news?" Peter knew his brother's temperament.

Filon looked smug.

"We don't have much equipment that can use Promethium."

He put on a serious expression again and continued.

"If we run out of materials, I'll only be able to make a few sets of Carapace Armour out of Sub-Adamantium, and modify the Combat Shotguns and Laser Guns for the brothers to use."

"Then modify some. Keep them for the recruits."

Filon looked dubious.

"Boss, we don't have any recruits, any Gene-seed, any equipment for making them, or even an Apothecary."

"The Apothecary and equipment are already on their way. As for the Gene-seed, I'll take care of it," Peter replied calmly.

Filon clenched his fist and slapped it into his palm, looking enlightened.

"Oh, that kid Dioscorides, right? I knew you'd have a way, boss."

At that moment, the warrior sitting to Peter's left clenched his gauntlet and said angrily, "Captain, we fought for the Legion for so many years, but when we left, they treated us like thieves. The Primarch gave us permission to form a War Band, yet they gave us nothing. I think they'd be happy if we left our warship, Bolters, and Power Armour behind—and better yet, died and left them our Gene-seed too."

Peter sighed and looked at the stocky, short Anthony beside him. Half his face had melted away. Though he was the shortest of them all, he was the man Peter trusted most.

"They were never our brothers. Think about Father's Iron Circle Automata. Father didn't even trust his own sons, yet expected them to trust each other."

"Fine. If the Legion thinks our years of service were worth no more than this, then we owe them nothing anymore."

After offering Anthony a few words of comfort, Peter continued issuing orders.

"Anthony, Wonaby, take the First and Second Tactical Squads—sixteen battle-brothers in all. Be ready and waiting in the hangar within an hour. We're going to conquer our Homeworld. Captain Barnabas, you'll remain aboard the flagship with the other three brothers."

Realizing he hadn't been mentioned, Filon immediately spoke up.

"Boss, what about me? What about me?"

"You want to go down too? Is the Valkyrie repaired?"

Filon sheepishly rubbed the back of his head and smiled.

"It's not that I haven't tried to repair it. We're missing parts. Besides, I want to see our Homeworld too. I've been cooped up on this ship for ages."

"Fine. Same time. We won't wait for you."

With that, Peter rose from his iron chair, and the other warriors stood with him. Peter looked at his brothers, clenched his right fist, and hammered it against his left breastplate. The Adamantium clanged dully as he called out in a low voice:

"Into the Furnace."

The others struck their chests in reply.

"All Forged into Steel."