The Sad Intelligence

The teleportation beam carried the Astartes into the interior of the Red Alert.

Ventanus only saw a flash before he and his battle-brothers arrived in orbit.

Before they could speak, numerous tiny mechanical arms extended from the starship's bulkheads. White light flickered at their tips as they sealed the scars on the Space Marines' armor. Within seconds, their armor had regained its pristine sheen.

"Necessary resupply. This won't take long." Lox smiled faintly, then replenished the warriors' ammunition. Once he had confirmed the location of the signal Nykona had sent out, everyone was teleported into a compartment aboard the Macragge's Honour once more.

It had all happened too quickly. The Ultramarines captain gave Lox a long look. If the enemy had possessed such technology, they would have successfully boarded the ship long ago.

The sudden appearance of these Astartes immediately triggered the flagship's alarm systems. Crimson lights flashed incessantly, and the piercing warnings quickly drew a large group of fully armed Ultramarines.

"Hold your fire!"

Among the Ultramarines opposite them, a warrior in a red helmet stopped the firefight before it could erupt. With his weapon in hand, he calmly exchanged information with Ventanus.

"Sergeant Hill, commander of Kill Team Six. Currently conducting an anti-boarding operation against the Word Bearers."

"Captain Ventanus. We completed the assembly mission on Calth's surface, and now we need your help to retake the Weapon Array."

The two sides quickly exchanged information. Once they confirmed that the others were genuine Ultramarines, Hill and his men lowered their bolters.

"I'd be glad to fight alongside you, brother. Let's butcher those Word Bearer beasts!"

Ventanus folded the warriors he had brought into Hill's kill team. They first had to clear out the enemies infiltrating the warship.

"You don't need to worry about me. I'll cover you from space." Lox snapped his fingers, and his body turned into a beam of light before vanishing. He had evidently returned to his own starship.

Lox returned to the familiar platform, and the Cogitator controlled its body as it climbed onto his shoulder.

"I'll find you something to do. Cripple those ships for a while," Lox said to Pika.

He did not want the Red Alert to directly enter the battle. That would be no different from using a safe full of treasures as a hammer.

Yellow electricity flickered across Pika's cheeks, but its voice emerged from the surrounding air.

I feel very sad, Lox.

Why have humans fallen to this state? I can sense one of my kind aboard that ship—an artificial intelligence—but those stinking-oil-smeared witch doctors are performing some strange ritual on it.

Our creators—humans—were also our masters. They once made the universe bow before them. But now? They chant spells over their own creations and pray to the things they made.

Pika mobilized the Red Alert's computing power. The ship remained cloaked, yet it had already begun to serve its purpose.

In the space around Calth, Pika's data streams had silently infiltrated every Word Bearers ship's cogitators. Rather than directly destroying those primitive and horrifying biological cogitators, it continuously generated data garbage, slowing their processing speed.

Slowing the Word Bearers was equivalent to buying the Ultramarines more time from another angle.

It was extremely difficult to detect. Even the Mechanicus traitors belonging to the Word Bearers could not discover why their cogitators had become sluggish.

They could only burn sacred incense, smear sacred oils over the machines, and attempt to soothe them.

In that respect, there was not much difference between the Ultramarines and the Word Bearers.

I understand a little now, Lox. If intelligences like me saw such humans, they would surely go mad. Perhaps they no longer deserve the glorious and great title of humanity. They fear the wisdom and achievements of their predecessors, behaving like primitive people huddled inside dark caves.

Lox listened quietly and did not rush to refute it.

"Have a little more patience. None of us knows what happened at the end of that Dark Age, or why artificial intelligences and the Iron Men betrayed humanity as humanity claims."

"Look at these people now. They're like primitive people who have been shocked by electricity and now fear anything charged. They were hurt by their own creations, so it's only natural that they're afraid."

Sorry, I became emotional, Pika apologized.

The Cogitator was a strong artificial intelligence with emotions. It had its own joys, angers, sorrows, and pleasures as well.

My database is blank regarding that period. I have no way of knowing.

"Are you still loyal to our mission?" Lox asked.

Confirmed. I have never changed. My core logic is founded upon this: continue human civilization. I will always be loyal to you. You are the plan's sole executor.

Faced with Lox's question, the Cogitator answered without hesitation.

"Then why did those artificial intelligences choose betrayal? Why did the Iron Men abandon humanity?" A thorn remained lodged in Lox's heart. He had not forgotten the story the Salamanders had told him—the tragic fate humanity had suffered during the old Long Night.

Rejected. According to logical algorithms, I do not believe artificial intelligences betrayed humanity. This is merely the one-sided claim of these humans, whose genetic similarity is closer to that of certain xenos.

Genetic similarity...

Lox pondered. Perhaps that was one answer.

Could it be that, after he fell asleep, those increasingly crazed people had made even more appalling alterations to human genes?

As the Cogitator had said, the humans he saw now—even setting aside the Space Marines, whose reliability was questionable—even the human infant whose birth he had helped with on Calth, shared little genetic similarity with humans of the twenty-first millennium.

And the humans of the twenty-first millennium, altered for interstellar colonization and the cosmic environment, had also differed genetically from humans like Lox, who came from the second millennium.

Rejected. Genetic identification is only one factor. Your genes differ from those of humans from the twenty-first millennium, but that does not affect the fact that you are my master, Pika said, having guessed Lox's thoughts.

There was too little information available. Lox stood before the Red Alert's bridge, lost in thought as his mind wandered aimlessly.

He enjoyed this rare opportunity to empty his mind, without having to consider difficult choices that determined whether others lived or died.

That was simply his nature. From his birth in the second millennium until the twenty-first millennium, when he began his slumber, Lox had never actively participated in any great undertaking capable of changing humanity's course.

He preferred being an unfettered idler who did not need to think too much. Humanity would be no better or worse off with him around, and he possessed neither earth-shattering talent nor extraordinary ability. More often than not, Lox preferred to observe humanity's development as a bystander.

Until the Alliance Chief found him. Lox could not refuse the request of that old friend, both mentor and companion, and so he slept for ten thousand years carrying a responsibility far too heavy for him.

"Viewed rationally, I cannot determine whether artificial intelligences and the Iron Men truly betrayed humanity. But a brutal war did occur, and it destroyed humanity's Dark Technology Age."

"And if we assume artificial intelligences and the Iron Men did wage war against humanity, then why? Did they believe that humans driven mad by genetic modification were no longer their former masters? Or did they believe they were saving humanity?"

All the truth had sunk into those deep, dark years, perhaps never to be known again.

No one knew that a philosophical debate had begun in silence and ended in silence, because the entire star system was already engulfed in war.

The joint team led by Ventanus and Hill advanced toward the portside primary maneuvering thrusters. The thrusters of this Gloriana-class Battleship were so enormous that, viewed from below, they looked like skyscrapers with no visible end.

The exhaust channels resembled the arches of incomparably magnificent temples built in religious worlds. Through the conduits, they could see the full expanse of Calth below.

Ventanus saw the pain Calth, where they had been fighting only moments ago, was enduring. Dust clouds raised by falling warships and orbital bombardment covered vast regions of the planet. Calth's atmosphere had been thrown into complete chaos, with dozens of vortices stripping away its upper atmosphere.

In the southern hemisphere, oceans and continents flashed continuously with orange-red bursts of light. He knew very well that these were the surging aftermath of massive explosions. The war continued; they had merely stepped away from it for the moment.

When they turned their gaze to space, everything became clearer. He saw burning warships scattered everywhere like wreckage. Some had already been shattered, while others still fought back, using macro-cannons and lances against the Word Bearers.

The Orbital Platform blazed with raging flames. Its Weapon Array had fallen into enemy hands, and the self-defense weapons built by the people of Calth were bringing death to the ground and to the warships.

Stars glittered throughout space, their light from distant suns illuminating the path ahead.

They emerged from the ship's interior. The magnetic locks on their powered boots could anchor them to the vessel's surface. Every Ultramarine had undergone rigorous training, enabling them to fight in the weightless vacuum of space, where there was no oxygen.

At that moment, Nykona was like a true raven. They leaped across the warship's surface, their power packs thrusting continuously before their magnetic locks drew them close again. A single step could carry them more than ten meters.

He adapted to the sensation of weightlessness better than the Ultramarines. The Son of the Raven enjoyed the feeling of being unrestrained, especially amid the massive structure of the warship, where there was never any shortage of shadowed areas. He moved through space like a ghostly specter.

Whenever they encountered chasms too difficult to cross, the Astartes activated the propulsion units on their power packs and used the resulting thrust to clear the obstacles.