"Is this true?!"
Turing shot to his feet, his movements stiff with urgency. An incredulous, almost dazzling light flared in his dark brown organic eye.
He stared at the terse lines on the holographic projection before him, encrypted with the Emperor's personal psychic signature and transmitted directly through Terra's highest-level astropathic channels. His body trembled uncontrollably with excitement.
It was not a shudder of fear, but a tremor born of immense hope, the ecstasy of recognition, and a deeply buried unease finally glimpsing the possibility of relief.
"The Emperor... he's willing to accept my mother? He's willing to... sit down and discuss this? Discuss Novalors's future, discuss Silverheart's... status?" His voice tightened with excitement.
The letter stated that, given the unique nature of the planet Novalors and the existence of its core intelligence, Silverheart, the Emperor had decided to personally hear the Eleventh Primarch Alan Turing's detailed account and position, to assess the feasibility of incorporating them into the Imperium's structure or pursuing other measures.
The meeting would take place in the Imperial Palace, presided over by Malcador the Sigillite, with the Emperor's attention upon it.
It was a gleaming golden staircase, seemingly leading straight to the "understanding" and "acceptance" he had always dreamed of.
His years of persistence and explanations, everything he had done for Silverheart and Novalors, would seemingly at last be brought before the judgment seat of the Master of Mankind.
And that, in his eyes, was an opportunity in itself.
"There is only one requirement... I may bring no more than twenty accompanying guards, to ensure security and the necessary formalities. But my fleet is strictly forbidden from entering the Segmentum Solar's defensive perimeter and must remain on standby at the designated outer coordinates." Turing quietly repeated the additional condition, his brow creasing as he rapidly