FRIENDSHIP IS SANCTIONED

by Blue Legend/Thirdstring Overlord

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CHAPTER SEVEN

When Michael had opened the door to his quarters, Dante had not turned to face him. He stood unmoving in front of the window, a silhouette against a backdrop of white mountains that rose into the sky like the wings of angels.

“This is most disappointing, Michael. Didn't you say that we would face hardly any resistance? That the Imperials would take much longer to organize?”

“And what,” Dante said, “do you mean by 'your kind'?” His voice was like steam hissing from a volcanic vent.

An old wound had been opened, and Michael knew that to open it any wider would spell the end of his service. “My steward,” he implored, “I meant no offense. I only intended to say that the warp is a fickle mistress.”

“You stepped forward and took responsibility for it. That took bravery and honor. But now I fear you are becoming like Ishmael, cloaking your mistakes with talk of the warp.”

Michael bowed his head. “You misunderstand me. If there is one man who can be blamed for what happened today, it is me.”

A nerve-wracking silence ensued. For the first time in years, Michael had no idea what Dante was going to do next.

“This reminds me of a certain section of The Mandate of Sirnath. Chapter five, verse thirteen. Do you remember it?”

Suddenly it came rushing back into his head, but his relief was to be short-lived. “'The first time a commander fails, punish him. The second time, destroy him utterly.'”

“But..I shall make an exception. We have all made a new start on this world; it is only fitting that I shall consider this your first failure.”

Michael nodded slowly. “Do you wish for me to make a second attack? The Malakin troops will be eager for revenge.”

“Come now, Michael,” said Dante. “How would it be punishment if I gave you exactly the task you wanted?”

“Rest assured, you'll see combat soon enough,” Dante said smoothly. “But you will not be leading the main attack.”

“I've formulated a battle plan of my own. Summon the seraf katar,” Dante said, smiling. “I imagine they'll find it quite interesting.”

The next few minutes spent in the xenos' presence was uneventful, but only in regard to combat. Macer decided to use the relative peace to get a better look at the xenos.

The alien that had destroyed the walker drones was a leader of some sort. Even if it hadn't been wearing a tiara, it radiated a presence of authority, standing head and shoulders above the rest of the villagers. But its most striking feature was its mane: it was like a window into a clear night sky, glittering with countless specks of starlight. Macer found it fascinating and also a bit unnerving.

Currently, it was silently regarding the Imperials with an incendiary expression. It looked like a Planetary Governor watching while his palace was stormed by drunken revelers.

The rest of the villagers seemed to be divided into three subspecies, with the first group marked by elegantly feathered wings. A single horn sprouted out of the foreheads of each member of the second group. The third group looked the most like Terran horses, but they still shared the same odd proportions of the other subspecies: large heads, thick legs, short muzzles, and wide, emotive eyes.

The aliens' ability to be so expressive was unsettling to the Imperials, chiefly because it seemed so human. A common point of Imperial dogma was that the mind of any alien was utterly inscrutable. But Macer could see these creatures' fear and suspicion as clearly as if they were material objects.

While the rebels had knocked dozens of xenos unconscious or forced them to the ground with their webber nets, they had only brought six small cages for their prisoners. Six xenos had been put in the cages; two from each subspecies.

Whatever the case, these six xenos had been so important to the rebels that they had deployed a platoon-strength force specifically to capture them. That was more than enough to warrant Valesius's interest, and by extension Macer's.

Two of the prisoners were already free: a purple, horned specimen and a pink-coated one. The purple one kept peering at him with a look of cautious interest that seemed oddly scholarly, and it seemed to be trying to coordinate the efforts to communicate with them.

The main item of uncertainty was the pink xeno. It was a ball of unbridled energy, histrionically bouncing around the square like a jester. At one point it almost wrapped Captain Albus's leg in a warm hug. Such an action would have probably ended in bloodshed, so Macer stepped in and distracted it by offering it a handshake.

The alien took to his gesture with gusto, somehow grasping his hand with its hoof despite having no fingers. Peculiar texture, Macer thought idly. It felt soft and spongy, much more like a pillow or a marshmallow than anything else.

While this simple action probably went a long way towards improving the xenos' disposition towards their Imperial visitors, Macer soon suffered for it. The pink xeno spent the next few minutes assaulting him with a ceaseless torrent of high-pitched speech and songs. It was maddening and yet in a strange way endearing, with “strange” being the operative word. Most aliens Macer had seen were much more interested in murdering or torturing humans than trying to entertain them.

Suddenly the alien nudged him. It held out a delectable-looking iced pastry, and the pink equinoid's expression reminded him of a whelp begging its master to let it go out and play.

Macer looked helplessly over at Valesius, who gave him a nod and a faint smile. Throne damn him.

Macer sighed, pulling out his microaugur. He ran a quick scan of the toroidal pastry before deciding it was reasonably edible enough for him to proceed.

He took a bite, and his tastebuds were met with an explosion of flavor. It was rich and fluffy, bringing back fond memories of foamcake breakfasts on his homeworld of Nova Atlantys.

Despite the language barrier, the xeno seemed to know it had been complimented. It grinned jubilantly, and its stream of speech somehow became even more hyperactive.

As the other four xenos were freed, Macer made a mental note of how each of them reacted to their human guests. The third prisoner, a winged equinoid with a rainbow mane, responded with a glare and a combat-ready stance. The yellow-furred fourth prisoner had a timid demeanor, backing away in fear from the humans. The fifth was a horned equinoid with a pearlescent white coat, and it almost fainted again when it saw its mysterious allies. Eventually the final prisoner left its cage, sporting a curious wide-brimmed hat that reminded Macer of the style popular on frontier worlds. It opened its eyes, blinking to let in the light, then blinking again as it registered the humans. Its mouth twisted into a scowl, eyes narrowing to slits.

Not the warmest reception, Macer thought. He wondered if Valesius had made the right choice. In stark contrast to the enthusiastic pink equinoid that was still literally bouncing all over the place, it seemed that many of the xenos had no interest in trusting the humans.

Hardly any of the aliens remained in the town square now, with most of the fearful citizens having gone off to find shelter. Aside from a few stragglers, the only ones that remained were the six former captives, as well as the strange midnight-hued xeno and its eight guards.

Macer was just about to worry about how they were outnumbered by at least five to one when a vox transmission cut in. ++Talon to Mercury,++ Vallin said. ++Visual on the guards. They brought the servitor.++

Macer turned to the woods. A party of ten red-robed guards was crossing the bridge into the town square, lasguns held ready. They were led by an gaunt man clad in ornate carapace armor. His face was sharp and sculpted, with an aquiline nose and a jutting chin. Macer recognized him as Tariq Hasim, the master of arms of the Herald of Terra. A small servo-skull fitted with arcane electronics and vox-speakers hovered closely by his side.

“As per your request,” said Hasim, “one Ecanthos-pattern lingua-vox servitor. Magos Tringathar suggests that you handle it with care.”

Hasim's jaw stiffened. He looked like he was ready to break something very important in the inquisitor's body.

Abruptly he plastered a deferential smile on his face. “Of course, inquisitor.”

“Good. Tell the Magos that his support is most appreciated,” said Valesius, in a tone that suggested quite the opposite.

“He'll be delighted to hear it,” Hasim replied. His voice dripped with subtle but potent venom.

Macer hated moments like these. He was adept at deciphering hidden emotions and hints in Valesius's voice, but often he ended up having to sit back and listen to passive-aggressive exchanges that made no sense without precious context.

“Now, then. Care to explain to me how to use it?” Valesius asked, examining the floating skull. It reared back slightly, like a skittish animal.

Hasim seemed to relish the opportunity to show his knowledge on the subject. “Its machine-spirit is a very old and wise example of its kind. It listens to the unknown language, devises a translation algorithm from a complex mixture of auditory and contextual analyses, and then actively broadcasts the translated speech to the receiving individuals via vox transmission. For individuals without vox receivers, it uses a parabolic speaker array to--”

Valesius coughed. “I need you to be succinct on this. We have only so much time.”

A tiny scowl flashed across Hasim's stately features, but he obeyed. “The machine should have already begun generating the algorithm. You'll just need to make sure the aliens keep speaking...although I doubt that will be too difficult,” he said, eyeing the pink xeno. It was now in the middle of a song-and-dance that for some reason needed to be performed while wearing a lamb costume.

“So don't be feeling sheepish, or angry, scared or weep-ish...” Pinkie Pie caterwauled, kicking her hooves into the air.

Despite everything Twilight had done, Pinkie was irrepressible. To the aliens' credit, they didn't seem to be particularly annoyed by Pinkie's antics. Mostly just perplexed.

When her other friends had been freed, she had found herself besieged by a barrage of questions. She was having to play the role of the diplomat to both parties, switching between trying to communicate with the aliens and trying to placate her friends. It didn't help that every time Luna tried to lend a hoof, her intimidating demeanor just made things worse.

She wished Mayor Mare was with her. She knew much more about the political game than Twilight, but the poor mayor had taken a hefty blow to the head in the attack, and had been rushed off by Nurse Redheart.

Still, there wasn't much else that she could do. She sighed, trying her best to keep taking mental notes about the aliens. The two smaller ones seemed much less aggressive than the larger, armor-wearing specimens. Their voices were higher, too. Briefly she wondered if they were the females of the species.

Don't jump to conclusions, she reminded herself. It was highly unscientific to resort to such arbitrary criteria for gender determination. Besides, maybe the aliens didn't even have genders. Or maybe they had more than two genders. And come to think of it, how did she know that the large ones were even part of the same species? There were so many questions, it made her head spin!

Then she saw that they had brought along another one of the machine-skulls. It glided gently towards her, strange displays and lights flashing on its machinery.

Twilight held her breath, expecting some grand new revelation about the aliens. Perhaps this was some sort of communication device, or a gift, or--

Nothing happened. The skull simply floated impassively in the air, and when she looked to the aliens they just stared back at her.

“Oooh! Is this Mister Floats' buddy? I bet he needs some company!” Pinkie Pie chirped.

Something clicked into place within the erratic clockwork of Twilight's anxious, confused mind. Get Mister Floats. Of course! The aliens were trying to find where the other machine went!

“No time! I need to find Mister Flo—I mean, the—ergh! Look, just stay here!” Twilight Sparkle said, racing off into the distance.

As the dust settled, Pinkie Pie cocked an eyebrow. “Geez, Twilight. It was just a suggestion.”

Meanwhile, Spike had discovered the power within himself. His destiny awaited him in the Castle of Gloomdoom, and he would let none stand in his way. Spreading his house-sized wings, he took to the skies, savoring the taste of the wind.

He could see the massive fortress looming in the horizon. The heart-wrenching cries of a damsel in distress echoed from its tallest tower.

Suddenly, a shadow swept over him. Craning his tree-trunk neck, he saw that it was none other than Gloomdoom's evil Clockwork Dragon! The beast swept down at him like bird of prey, and Spike realized with a thrill of horror that its face was a strange-looking skull fused with machine parts.

It shot towards him with a speed impossible to dodge. Within seconds it had latched on to him, and the two dragons fought each other tooth and nail. Spike soon found himself plummeting to the ground, locked in a desperate struggle with the mechanical monstrosity.

They crashed into the earth with the force of an earthquake, plowing up a massive stretch of trees as they skidded to a halt.

The Clockwork Dragon looked at him beseechingly. “Sorry, Spike, but I need you to get off!” it said, gently but swiftly picking him up.

The dream fell away from him like scales. He had somehow fallen asleep on top of the box with the skull in it, and Twilight had woken him up to retrieve it.

“No time to explain!” Twilight blurted. “Just stay here! Don't answer the door for anypony but me!” She snatched up the box, using a spare cord to strap it around her back.

Spike simply stared at the door for several seconds, his mind filled with a thousand questions.

“Hoo-hoo! Hoo-hoo!” Owlowiscious remarked. To Spike's confused and angry mind, it sounded an awful lot like mocking laughter.

“I don't care what Twilight says,” Spike muttered as he stormed to the door. “I'm gonna help her—whether she likes it or not!”

“Hoo-hoo! Hoo-hoo!” Owlowiscious warned as Spike threw the door open and stomped outside.

“And I don't care what you say, either!” Spike snapped, slamming the door shut behind him. He paused, then opened it slightly to add, “Especially not you!”

Tariq Hasim assessed the xenos with a typical blend of suspicion and contempt. He had asked for permission to chase down the purple equinoid when it had galloped off, but Valesius hadn't let him. Damn that man! He was giving the aliens far too many chances to relay intel and set up ambushes. Didn't he have a modicum of common sense?

At least Captain Albus seemed aware of the risks. The Ultramarine kept a firm grip on his bolter, and Hasim knew that he could bring it up and spit out death in less than a second's notice. That was something of a comfort.

Still, it wouldn't help much if he kept bowing to the orders of that arrogant fool. The way he saw it, inquisitors like Valesius had a habit of acting like everything was going to be fine. But when things went downhill, they'd blame everyone but themselves and run off to their cozy safehouses to drink fine amasec and “entertain” some lovely curvaceous--

“Hey, Mister Alien? You came ta halp us, right?” It was a young girl's voice, hopeful yet anxious. Despite its foreign drawl, it sounded distinctly human. For a moment Hasim thought his auditory implants had gone haywire.

The voice came back, still nervous but now with a tone of insistence. “Mah sister says y'all ain't nothin' but bad news. Tell 'er she's wrong!”

Puzzled, Hasim looked to see where the voice was coming from. There was a small xeno staring up at him with those ridiculously wide eyes, probably one of their young ones.

Hasim blinked, then looked down at his dataslate to see the progress on the servitor's translation algorithm. It had completed the operation in less than ten minutes. That was completely unprecedented.

“Apple Bloom! What're you doin'!” a young woman's voice cut in. Hasim was too absorbed in examining the infofeed to bother to find out what was going on.

Sifting through the heaps of superfluous data, Hasim finally found the analysis of the aliens' language structure. His eyes widened.

The crowd of equinoids parted before the two Space Marines as though magnetically repelled. The outer reaches of the town seemed to have largely the same strange architecture they had seen on the way in, with ungainly houses that Dac'an deemed structurally unsound in at least forty-three different aspects.

He switched his augmetic eye to auspex mode, and immediately his surroundings were rendered in green wireframes upon a pitch black background. Living beings were represented by blurry red shapes accompanied by runes denoting their vital readings and distance measurements.

Almost all of the buildings were packed with more of the equinoids. He noticed with wry amusement that they all seemed to be trying to watch the Space Marines through cracks and shuttered windows even as they cowered in their homes.

Dac'an didn't blame them. Space Marines were a sight that brought awe and terror across nearly all sentient species. If he had not been wearing his helmet, he suspected they would have been even more shocked.

His body had gone through a series of transfigurations in his career as a member of the Salamanders chapter. The first change had come from the gene-seed of Vulkan, the Primarch of the Salamanders. It had gifted him with superhuman strength and stature, turning his skin as black as coal and altering his eyes to glow like red-hot steel.

The second change had come upon his entry into the ranks of the Techmarines, when the blessed implants and augmetics of the Machine God had been joined with his flesh. The surgeries had been agonizing, but he had emerged as something greater than either man or machine.

The most recent changes had come during the Liberation of Jakav, when he had suffered deep physical and mental scars. It had been on Jakav that he had attracted the interest of the Deathwatch, and he had joined them with great enthusiasm.

Dac'an bore no resemblance to the slight youth he had once been so long ago. But he still remembered the day he and his family had stared in amazement at the massive armored warriors who had saved them in the Time of Trial.

That was what made it so shocking when he saw one of the xenos looking up at him with the same expression. It was one the horned equinoids, with a light green coat and a cyan mane. He briefly met its gaze, and though its comrades shrank back, the xeno's strange look of wonder did not subside. Curious. He filed that odd encounter away in the labyrinthine depths of his memory implants.

“The wretched things are going to be the death of us,” Chaplain Bardrik muttered.

“Why? Do you worry that these creatures can best you, Brother-Chaplain?” asked Dac'an.

He detected a flush of elevated temperature on Bardrik's face. “That is not what I meant,” he retorted clumsily.

Dac'an smiled inwardly. There was much sport to be had from toying with the Chaplain, but it made him feel faintly guilty. Not so much because of Bardrik's rank, but because it was too easy.

Chiding himself for losing focus, Dac'an performed a final check for targets. Nothing but the slowly-becoming-familiar shapes of the equinoids met his gaze.

“Mercury, this is Crucible. Sweep is almost complete, still no hostile contacts,” he spoke into the vox.

++Copy that, Crucible,++ Valesius replied. ++We've completed the translation algorithm.++

Valesius's flustered tone was detectable even through the static-polluted signal. ++I'll explain it later. In the meantime, do pick up the pace, will you? I may need your help soon.++

A small, carefully hidden part of Dac'an wanted to roll his remaining eye. Inquisitor Valesius was a valuable counter to the more hidebound Marines, but he had a way of reminding one why he was so unpopular with his colleagues.

Valesius chuckled enigmatically. ++Of course not. We can make ourselves understood at any time, but I'll wait until you arrive to open up communications.++

As soon as the lingua-vox servitor began broadcasting the alien's translated speech into the team's microbeads, Macer had learned much about who these creatures were.

For one, the six captives were all females, judging by the pronouns they used on each other. Their names were presumably the result of imperfect translations, with odd monikers such as “Twilight Sparkle” or “Rainbow Dash”. The former belonged to the purple xeno who had bolted off earlier, and the latter belonged to the rainbow-maned one who had set out to find her.

Neither had yet returned. The four remaining ex-captives were growing increasingly worried, and they were trying to convince the starry-maned one they called “Princess Luna” to send some of her guards after them.

“WE WILL SEND TWO GUARDS,” Princess Luna boomed, speaking to the orange xeno who wore a hat. She briefly gestured at two of her guards, and their bat-like wings boosted them into the air. “BUT TO SEND ANY MORE IS A RISK WE CANNOT AFFORD. WE DO NOT KNOW WHAT DEGREE OF THREAT THESE CREATURES POSE. UNTIL CELESTIA'S TROOPS ARRIVE, WE MUST STAND READY FOR THE WORST.”

“But they're not meanies!” the spastic pink equinoid pleaded. Apparently, this one was named “Pinkie Pie”. Just then, Techmarine Dac'an and Chaplain Bardrik emerged back into the town square. Pinkie Pie gawped at Bardrik's scarred visage, her eyes widening. “See, look at that one! I bet that deep down he just needs a great big super duper hug!” she added.

Judging by his lack of a reaction, the Chaplain was either out of the servitor's vox range or had suddenly mastered his emotions. It wasn't hard for Macer to guess which was more likely.

Princess Luna tensed. “BELAY THAT ORDER,” she said to the two flying guards. They looked mildly annoyed before settling back on the ground.

“With all due respect, inquisitor, can we get on with this?” Macer asked Valesius.

Hasim fiddled with the controls on a remote that looked heavy enough to slaughter a grox. “Done.”

“Greetings,” Valesius proclaimed, stepping forward and raising his voice. The xenos watched him with transfixed stares, no doubt spellbound by the weight this historic message carried. “I am Percival Valesius, inquisitor of the Imperium of Mankind. We understand that you have come under attack by members of our race.

“We do not come to make apologies for these men, nor dissuade you from retaliation. We have come for a simple purpose: to destroy them.” Many of the xenos seemed taken aback by the phrase destroy them.

“I have seen you fight against these wretches, and I know you have courage and valor,” Valesius continued. His voice and expression were expertly forged alloys of seriousness and compassion. Impressive, Macer thought. If he hadn't known anything about Valesius, he would have believed he meant every word.

“I believe that if we cooperate, we can bring this threat to a swift and lasting end. Will you stand with us?”

Princess Luna's expression was unreadable. Just as she began to reply, a slightly manic-sounding voice rang out.

“Wait, Twilight! Let me help!” Rainbow Dash cried. Twilight Sparkle didn't even notice her.

The machine skull had gone crazy while Twilight carried it back to the square, and it kept trying to break out of the box that she had strapped to her back. Its motion made her sway back and forth like she had spent too much time around a saltlick, and every few steps threatened to send her careening into a wall. But now the town square was in sight, and she could see that the aliens had regrouped.

“I have what you want!” she repeated, much more for herself than for the aliens.

“What do you speak of, xeno?” the alien in the center of the group asked, its dark mane flecked with streaks of gray. Its voice was crisp and clear, sounding like it could have come from a middle-aged stallion. As such, Twilight decided to assume that the alien was male.

“Wait—how did you just do that?” Dash stammered, echoing Twilight's thoughts.

The alien gestured nonchalantly to the other machine skull, still floating by his side. “Thanks to this translation engine, we may now speak relatively naturally. Now, what were you saying?”

A plethora of emotions raced through Twilight Sparkle's mind. The aliens were willing to talk. That brought a surge of relief. But what had she missed while she was gone? What unforgettable moments had passed her by? What--

Twilight felt the box on her back lurch again, and finally it tore open. She gasped as the machine skull burst out like some horrible wind-up toy.

The aliens scowled, swiftly bringing their weapons up as the device slowly floated towards them.

“What in Dorn's name is this?” one of the armored aliens rumbled, a giant with a golden staff and a battle-worn face. His voice was like a dog growling with a mouthful of gravel.

“Wait. Hold your fire,” said the alien in the center. The skull had stopped moving forward. It began to rise into the air, more strange lights blinking across its surface.

There was a low buzz, and the ghostly image of another alien materialized in a square of light. Fascinating, Twilight thought. It seemed that these creatures had technology that could mimic advanced illusion and light spells.

The man's face was smooth and symmetrical, with sharp green eyes and a mane of raven-black hair. An indulgent smirk played across his face, as though he was listening to a friend's joke and waiting for the punchline.

“Greetings,” he purred. “I am Dante Ferin, Steward of Exathel. You Imperials have a habit of ignoring any helpful advice, so I'll waste few words on warning you: you have trespassed on my domain. Leave now, or suffer a slow and painful death.”

“You are in no position to make threats, heretic,” the gravel-voiced alien snarled. “We just routed thirty of your soldiers.”

The man chuckled. It was a cold and mocking sound, bringing back ugly memories of Discord. “And yet, you failed to score a single fatality. If this is what I should expect from the Emperor's avenging angels, I am greatly disappointed.”

“We will drag you out of whatever hole you're hiding in,” another one of the armored aliens vowed. His voice sounded proud and commanding, like the voice of a noble. “And when we do, you will beg for our forgiveness.”

The man laughed again. “You remind me of a scorpion, Imperial. So fierce...and yet, you can be crushed with a single step.”

He leaned closer and grinned, flashing a set of gleaming white teeth. “Ready yourselves, insects. I am about to bring my boot down.” The image flickered out.

Twilight was about to remark that scorpions technically weren't insects, but she quickly thought better of it.

Before the alien named Valesius could reply, an answer flashed in Twilight's mind. It was jarring and unpleasant, like a static shock.

Friendship is Sanctioned

by thirdstring_overlord

Chapter 7