Fu Qinghai and Ogedei sat side by side on a steel plate atop the warship, watching the residents below work feverishly. The star sank lower and lower, and the setting sun stretched their long silhouettes out before them.
One large, one small.
"It's been a whole day. Why haven't they come yet?" Fu Qinghai asked.
Ogedei calmly watched the busy scene below. "The ship is some distance from the planet. They may also be confirming my identity."
"Your identity?"
"You know how Psykers have certain special abilities."
Special abilities? Fu Qinghai looked at Ogedei with eager curiosity.
Ogedei explained, "As far as I know, Yesugei, the chief Stormseer of our Legion, can make a strong Astartes briefly lose his memory, forgetting his purpose and what just happened."
"Oh." Fu Qinghai gave a disappointed little sound. He'd thought Psykers in the Space Marine Legions might be able to control someone's Mind Stone directly, like Yuri.
Ogedei's battle-brothers might be worried that a Librarian from the Sons of Horus had briefly brainwashed him. It was possible, but unlikely.
Fu Qinghai couldn't think of any reason why a valuable Legion Librarian would appear on a remote planet like Cheslatan.
A single Space Marine showing up would be news enough.
Even if someone had been brainwashed, it could only last a short while. It couldn't control a Space Marine for long.
Thinking further, the Sons of Horus—formerly the Luna Wolves—had been firmly in favor of the Emperor's decision to abolish the Librarius at the Council of Nikaea, which had debated rules for the use of Psykers in the Legions. Librarians made up only a small proportion of the XVI Legion.
"Trust me, they'll be here soon," Ogedei reassured him.
Fu Qinghai was looking forward to it, too. He hoped his many questions would be answered as the coming landing unfolded.
In the distance, a red-and-white fixed-wing aircraft raised a storm of sand. Its engines roared as its massive fuselage slowly descended.
Unlike the streamlined, aerodynamic aircraft popular on Earth in his previous life, this one had a huge frame comparable to a space shuttle, with sharp angles, straight, rigid lines, and thick armor. Its overall appearance was brutally muscular.
The main wings were mounted at the rear, and two small canards sat beside the nose. Both sets of wings were thick, sturdy, and angular. Two exposed pairs of black twin-mounted Heavy Bolters lined the sides of the fuselage.
If Earth's fighter jets in his previous life were graceful, slender ladies, this behemoth was a muscle-bound man armed to the teeth.
The Stormbird, a Stormbird-pattern transport craft, was a standard assault and transport vessel used by the Space Marine Legions. It could fly both outside and inside an atmosphere, and was commonly used by the Legions as a landing craft.
Fu Qinghai had no complaints about its apparently rugged, durable, yet highly unaerodynamic appearance. Aerodynamics didn't matter in space, and when flying in an atmosphere...
Everyone knew that with enough thrust, even a brick could fly. Only wimpy aircraft with underpowered engines needed to worry about aerodynamics. Mindlessly adding thrust was the essence of the violent beauty of flight. (Just kidding.)
As he watched the Stormbird slowly descend in the distance, Fu Qinghai's thoughts gradually drifted beyond this universe.
The White Scars, the V Legion, were essentially the product of Games Workshop's British writers knowing little about Mongolian culture. The Legion's lore borrowed heavily from the cultures and institutions of many steppe powers, including the Mongols, Jin, and Liao. Popular cultures around the world influenced one another, and as the second Scourge of God, the Mongol Empire naturally seemed mysterious, powerful, and fascinating to modern Europeans. The German band Dschinghis Khan, which had taken Europe and America by storm during the disco era, was a good example.
But European fascination with Mongolian culture was more like the longing of someone who admired a dragon without understanding it. They didn't truly know the culture. Mongolian culture was also part of Chinese culture, and as a Chinese man, Fu Qinghai naturally knew more about the Mongol Yuan than the average European. But after thinking it over, he realized that the Games Workshop writers' shallow understanding meant his knowledge of Mongolian history and culture wouldn't help him fit into the White Scars. He'd have to rely more on recalling the original story's plot to gain an advantage.
Once the Stormbird had come to a stop, the hatch in its belly slowly opened. Fu Qinghai pushed Ogedei's wheelchair toward it.
Through the lingering dust, a tall outline appeared. Two crimson lights shone from the figure's helmet lenses.
As the dust settled, a tall warrior in armor and a helmet walked down the ramp. He removed his helmet and tucked it at his waist, revealing a weathered face with closely cropped hair. His gaze fell at once on Ogedei's empty lower body. The joy on his face gradually faded, and he spoke with a complicated tone:
"Ogedei, my brother. Are you all right?"
Ogedei looked steadily at the tall warrior before him, then suddenly burst out laughing and spread his arms. "Of course, Talal. I'm fine—better than I've ever been!"
Inside Calvin's little villa.
Two enormous men, plainly unlike ordinary people, sat facing each other. No one else was there; even Calvin himself had been driven out of the living room.
"This is a worthless colony world. They haven't even had time to establish agricultural processing plants. It has no food, fuel, materials, supplies, or population. Why would the Sons of Horus come here?" Talal asked.
"I don't know," Ogedei said, pursing his lips. "But I have a theory."
"What theory?"
"They don't know either." Ogedei poured himself a glass of wine.
"What do you mean? Oh, you're saying..." Talal paused, then understood.
"Exactly. This planet was discovered and conquered by the 17th Expedition Fleet, not by us or the Sons of Horus." Ogedei swirled the amber liquid in his glass, then tipped it back and drained it.
Smacking his lips, Ogedei continued, "Look, the Blood Angels conquered a planet and marked it on the star charts as a Terra-like world suitable for agriculture. That was the end of it. They had no reason to, and no way to, inform the other Legions about the planet's actual state of development."
"After all, Astropaths' psychic communications are brief, fragmented, and precious. You know they can't be used to relay information that trivial."
"When the Sons of Horus see a planet on the star charts marked as an Agri World, what do you think they'll do?"
"Whatever the case, they'll come and take a look first," Talal said with certainty.
You might as well give it a shot, whether there were dates or not.
"Exactly. And by chance, we ran into them." After saying this, Ogedei wheeled himself over to a cupboard.
"This wine has quite a kick. I thought no swill made on any other planet could interest me after the liquor of Chogoris. Maybe losing my legs has changed my sense of taste, too. I'll have to see if there are a couple more bottles in his cupboard."
"You bandit," Talal said with a laugh. "Honestly, when you decided to lead the Tactical Squad in a boarding action against the Gryphon, we all thought you were crazy. Seeing you alive now feels like a stroke of luck."
"We can't let a single traitor go." At that, Ogedei stopped rummaging. He frowned, staring at the floor as though recalling something painful. "I thought of Haidu. I thought of Ajil. I thought of so many of my brothers. They didn't die fighting the Orks, but fell to the blades of their own people."
A flash of hatred crossed Ogedei's eyes. "I wish I could catch up to our fleet right now and go to Terra to fight the traitors to the death—for the Khan, and for the Emperor."
"You're right," Talal said gravely. "But don't forget, we have a mission."
"I haven't forgotten." Ogedei shut the cupboard, having found nothing. "No need to say more. We leave now."
"But before we go, I need to bring someone along."
Before you continue