Strange Bedfellows

by BRBrony9

Whiskey For My Men, And Beer For My Ponies

Repairing an Imperial capital ship was a long and complex process. Making a vessel which had been battered and beaten ready for warp travel could take weeks, or even months, depending on the extent of the damage. The Indefatigable had taken a pummeling during the fighting with the Chaos fleet, and Lord-Admiral Marcos had ordered a thorough schedule of overhaul to make sure that the ship could make the jump to warp safely without imploding or losing its Gellar fields. The other ships of the fleet were in similar conditions, and they were ordered to perform the same repairs and checks. Only then could the fleet depart from orbit.

That left plenty of time for thinking, and for celebrating, and while the first week since the end of the battle for Canterlot up until Princess Luna's funeral had passed still on a war footing, now things could finally calm down. In direct contravention of the Imperial Creed, standing orders and innumerable diktats from the Ecclesiarchy, large numbers of Imperial Guard units had been granted permission by their commanders to join in the celebrations with their alien allies. Others took it upon themselves to lead their squads or companies to the parties directly, and some officers simply turned a blind eye when their men disappeared from their barracks. The local pony brews were mixed with ale and Amasec from Imperial stockpiles, far more plentifully available than the home grown alcohol thanks to the war which had destroyed so much of Equestria's infrastructure. There was music and laughter and dancing, and, naturally, considerable unease from the Commissariat. A victory was a victory, and a victory over Chaos was all the sweeter, but to most of the Commissars there was something unnatural and unnerving about celebrating it in such a way with Xenos. No matter that they had stood alongside the Crusade and fought shoulder to shoulder against the Archenemy, they were still aliens.

Lord-Admiral Marcos's decree that the ponies and other planetary species, with the exception of the Changelings, were to be considered allies and not to be harmed, still rankled with some of the Commissars and other senior officers. Allies of convenience, they reasoned, should be cast aside as soon as it was practicable, and destroyed just as if they were mindless Tyranids or bestial Orks. Just because the ponies had helped and Princess Celestia had saved the fleet did not make them any different.

Others, however, were of a different mindset, and with good reason. Princess Celestia had already shown the ability to destroy the remains of the Crusade fleet if she desired it, and any threat against her citizens would bring her wrath very swiftly down upon the Imperials. Furthermore, she had shown herself to be essentially invulnerable against conventional weaponry, and given that her magic was of a similar kind to Queen Chrysalis, there wasn't even a guarantee that space-based weaponry could kill her, seeing as how the Queen had survived a Nova Cannon blast and a full barrage from an Imperial battlecruiser. Only that same magic had been enough to harm the Princess, and kill her sister. The officers on that side of the argument said that any attempt to wipe out the natives would result in the destruction of the remainder of the fleet. The more dogmatic of their opponents argued that it would be a price worth paying, pointing out that the Inquisition would most certainly take that course of action if they deemed it necessary. Sacrificing thousands of human lives to destroy aliens was considered worthwhile- sacrificing an entire Imperial planet to deny it to Chaos was considered a must.

To the men and women on the ground, none of those higher concerns had taken much root. They were the ones who had been knee deep in bodies alongside their equine comrades, in close combat against Daemons and Changelings and howling fanatics. They were the ones who had sacrificed so much to defend this strange foreign land, and they were the ones who were now seeing the gratitude of the ponies they had helped to save. Many civilians had fallen, but others had lived through the madness and were looking to release some of the incredible amounts of stress that had built up in them over the weeks and months of the war. The same went for the Royal Guard and the Air Corps and the Army, all of whom had seen more death compressed into those few months than they had seen in their entire lives. Even the grizzled veterans of the Changeling attacks and Griffonian border conflicts had found themselves overwhelmed by what had unfolded around them, for it was not just the military coming under attack. It was the civilians too, the foals and the eldery who had formerly been spared the horrors of war by the nature of conflict within Equestrian history. It was the very fabric of society, the culture and daily life which had been torn apart by the invaders. That was something previously unknown to Equestria, but a common daily occurrence for the Imperials.

The parties occurred first around the palace in Canterlot, for that had been the symbol of Equestrian resistance throughout the entire war. Princess Celestia had organised an official function to be attended by some of the more liberally minded human officers, as well as pony dignitaries and representatives of other species. It was a more restrained affair, with cocktails and dress uniforms, not so much a party as a reception and social event. Outside the palace walls, however, it was a different story. Guardsponies mingled freely with civilians, who offered drinks to human and pony alike. Musicians played and community members gave speeches in front of burned-out buildings. The evidence of the war and the struggle had not gone away, despite the efforts to clean up. It would be a long time before Canterlot returned to anything resembling the former normality that the survivors remembered before their lives were turned upside down.

The austere and grim surroundings did not dampen the festivities. Fireworks were set off as the darkness descended, bringing light and joy to the city which had only known the violence of artillery fire and anti-aircraft guns for so long. Many ponies appreciated the spectacle, enjoying the old familiar sight of fireworks detonating in celebration overhead, reminding them of better, happier times when ponies would gather to mark events such as the Summer Sun Celebration, Nightmare Night and Celestia's Jubilee years. For others, however, the noise and the thunder and the lightning of the displays could only bring back memories of the war, so fresh and raw in their minds. The celebrations only added further trauma to some unfortunate victims. A few even ran for the palace gates and returned to cower in the catacombs, where the vast majority of civilians were still being housed due to the damage to the city. Many buildings were completely destroyed, smashed by bombs or razed by fire and completely uninhabitable, which meant that there was very little intact housing stock in Canterlot.

That sad fact and the visual evidence of it all around did nothing to deter the celebrations, however. Most ponies and guardsmen needed to unwind. They needed some way to de-stress and relax after being constantly wound up and ready, either for a call to action or a call to dive for shelter. That endless state of enforced readiness for so long was deeply draining, physically and mentally, especially on those who were not used to being on alert like the city's fireponies and Royal Guard. During the war there had been a steady string of suicides among the city's population; after the guns fell silent, there was a sudden flurry of cases, as ponies took stock, looked around, and realised there was simply nothing left for them. Those whose families had been wiped out, whose homes were gone, whose towns and villages had been annihilated, could see no future, and many of them took the option of dictating their own way out of the hopeless hole they had found themselves in.

The dichotomy between the experiences of those partying and those too afraid or traumatised to do so was very marked, even if it wasn't visible. Those ponies who were affected retreated into their own cocoons, either by returning below ground to the catacombs or simply withdrawing into themselves, shunning friends and even family who tried to help. It was a common effect of any major trauma, and this war had been the biggest collective trauma in Equestrian history, and for many citizens, the biggest individual trauma they had ever experienced. No amount of counseling could ever erase the national grief, nor should it. That raw emotion was what had carried them through to the finish, that strength of character, that faith in their Princess, and in each other, and, rather perversely at first, faith in their new human allies. That trust had been very shaky at first, for it was based on need and nothing more. But the longer the ponies fought alongside the Imperials, the more sure they became that the humans were helping not from necessity, but from a genuine desire to free the planet of the taint of Chaos in order to restore it to its former purity.

That was true in many cases, but not all.

While the rank and file partied in Canterlot, and the senior staff attended Celestia's official engagement, others held furtive meetings in empty briefing rooms and temporary building already stripped of their contents, where the only sound was the gentle hum of a generator or the drip of water from a badly-maintained pipe. Not all of the Crusade's officers and officials felt that it was proper for the senior staff to attend a banquet held by a Xenos princess, not did they believe that the right decisions had necessarily been taken throughout the fighting for Kuda Prime. There were dissenting voices- not everyone was behind Lord-Admiral Marcos. Some never had been, while others had other vested interests or had seen things change and develop during the campaign. Two schools of thought had prevailed in the Crusade's forces, and they were diametrically opposed to each other. There had been rumblings and rumours among the men, whispers of a kind of rebellion that the Commissariat especially would take great exemption to, but that news had indeed reached the ears of the sons and daughters of the Schola Progenium, and it had caused disquiet.

The schism was not yet at a crisis point, but there was a danger that it could spread, and that, some alleged, must be prevented at any cost. Fleet Commissar Aldoric, the most senior member of the Commissariat who had embarked on the Crusade, was dead, lost with the Emperor's judgement when he had taken personal command of one of the efforts to relieve the besieged decks that were overrun with Changelings. That was just as well, for he probably would not have agreed with the actions that were to be taken, despite his usual dogmatic approach. He had never agreed with radical action and believed that certain powers possessed by Commissars should be used incredibly sparely and only in extreme circumstances. All of those present in the clandestine meetings, however, were in agreement. Something had to be done before it was too late, and that meant action. Hard, fast, decisive action.

The grand hall of Canterlot Palace had been returned to some semblance of its peacetime glory. What little had survived in the way of decoration after the complex had been sacked by Chaos had been moved and assembled, along with items brought up from the stores in the catacombs below, to attempt to recreate the splendour that was due such a magnificent and storied building. Princess Celestia had overseen the efforts personally, including the erection of a huge banner, in mourning black and bearing no embellishment other than a recreation of Princess Luna's cutie mark.

Tables had been set up, though lacking the usual fine lace cloths that would normally cover them. The drinks were being served from ceramic mugs instead of fine champagne flutes, for that was all that could be found, the crystal glassware having been smashed by the occupying forces, or else taken as war booty along with so much of the fine treasures that had accumulated over the years, from centuries of conquests, expansionism and trade. An illuminated history of the Equestrian nation, Celestia had once called the palace during a speech. Now, while it was bruised, battered and scarred, much like the Princess herself, the palace represented hope, stability, tradition, a return to the calmer, simpler times that every survivor longed to recapture.

While the ordinary citizenry mingled with the military and the Imperial Guard outside the walls, inside the palace, the great and the good of Equestria, those that had survived the Chaos purge of the capital, at least, had gathered. Ambassadors from every nation mingled with Princess Celestia, Princess Cadence, Shining Armour, Grand-Admiral Bluewater, and the human high command. Lord-Admiral Marcos and General Jahn were the guests of honour, joined by others including several ship captains and regimental commanders who had assisted with the recapture of the capital city. It was a more subdued atmosphere compared to the fireworks and laughter in the streets, something akin to the dignified high-society events which would often fill the grand hall with distinguished guests for events such as the Grand Galloping Gala.

Celestia was the hostess of the event, and formed a natural focus for the guests, as she always did, being so visually striking and awe-inspiring for everypony, and even seemingly having a similar effect on many of the human guests. Lord-Admiral Marcos, while certainly not intimidated by her, had learned to move beyond feeling a grudging form of respect to a genuine understanding of exactly what she was capable of and the lengths she would go to to protect her people. He imagined that the Emperor himself would nod his mighty head if he were able, as a mark of understanding. A leader must always lead, and that was exactly what Celestia had been doing throughout the entire crisis. She had not cowered like the Griffon King, who was now here as a guest. She had been out on the frontline, defending her cities, aiding her allies, saving the lives of her troops and citizens, and those of the Imperial Guard, too. She had saved the entire Crusade fleet from utter ruin, and in so doing had saved the planet from being overrun by Chaos. Together with her sister and the sextet of strange young ponies that Marcos still knew precious little about, she had saved the planet from Chrysalis and from the Daemon, and ultimately brought peace to the land once again.

A little relaxation was overdue, for all of them. A few glasses of Amasec was not an unknown for the Lord-Admiral, though usually in the solitude of his private quarters or in the quiet company of Lord-General Galen, before his untimely death. Now his quarters were gone, too, the old familiar metal walls replaced by those of a similar cabin aboard the Indefatigable. Similar, but different. Not quite the same in just enough ways to remind him every time he awoke that he was no longer aboard his old faithful, the Emperor's Judgement. That fine vessel, that grandest of ladies, the keystone of the Crusade fleet, now sadly lost, along with so, so many of its crew. The cost of any major fleet action could be measured in the tens of thousands of casualties at a minimum, but were far more likely to run into five or six figures if a capital ship was destroyed. The Crusade had lost many such ships and many good men and women along the way, especially here, in orbit around Kuda Prime. This had been their final stand, and this, it seemed, had been their destiny. The fates, manipulated in untold ways by Tzeentch, the Emperor, the Eldar, who could say with absolute certainty? They had arrived at Kuda Prime for a reason, and that reason, it seemed, had been to defend the planet against the foul insurgency of Chaos and prevent the Ruinous Powers obtaining the secrets of Equestria.

The faint strains of an orchestra playing at the other end of the hall without any functioning speakers or other audio equipment, and the gentle clink of glasses and murmurs of conversation, were suddenly drowned out by a growing roar. Ponies looked around in worry and several guards suddenly burst in, clad in their golden armour, hurrying to Princess Celestia. They spoke animatedly with her, but there seemed to be some confusion. Marcos strode over to them. His dress uniform replete with several dozen well-earned but heavy medals would have weighed a lesser man of his age down, but not the Lord-Admiral.

'What's going on?' he demanded, half-empty glass of Amasec clutched in his powerful hand. Celestia turned to him.

'It appears we have an unexpected arrival, Admiral.'

Marcos hurried to the large windows that looked out over the palace gardens. As he peered out, the windows rattled as something roared overhead. He looked up. It was an Imperial dropship, thrusters glowing against the darkness above as it swooped in low. Moments later, another appeared, then a third, all settling down unbidden onto the palace lawn.

'Friends of yours, Admiral?' Celestia asked, appearing at his side.

'The fleet had instructions to call me via the vox if required,' Marcos replied. 'I do not know why they would send somebody in person.'

'Perhaps they are here for someone else?' Celestia suggested. 'General Jahn, for example?'

'The same applies, Princess,' Marcos answered as he watched the dropships touch down. 'They would contact us by vox. Any of us. That is standard procedure, unless vox communications are down, but so far as I know, there is no interference beyond background levels at the moment.'

The ramps of the dropships lowered, and squads of Guardsmen descended, in full combat armour, lasguns in hand. 'This does not look much like a social call, Admiral,' Celestia stated the obvious. 'We should find out what is going on.'

There were guards outside the palace doors, and confronted with this strange turn of events, they did not know how to react. Certainly the new arrivals did not possess invitations to the party, but they were humans, Imperials, allies. 'Halt! Who goes there?' they called out, holding their rifles at the ready as they were trained to do. The Guardsmen formed a line, lasguns at the ready position also, neither side aiming at each other but showing that they were willing to do so if needed.

The large doors to the main hall opened and Celestia strode out, with Lord-Admiral Marcos beside her. 'What is the meaning of this intrusion?' she demanded, eyeing the serried ranks of human infantry. There was a company's worth of men now assembled in her garden. An officer stepped forward, parting the line.

'Princess. We have no quarrel with you at this time,' Senior Commissar Birbeck replied, wearing a brow creased as sharply as the brim of his peaked cap. 'Lord-Admiral Arlen Marcos, by the authority vested in me by the Imperial Commissariat and in the name of the Emperor, I am here to relieve you of command.'

Celestia and Marcos shared a look of surprise. They were not alone- there was a clear ripple of confusion among some sections of the infantry accompanying the Commissar at his announcement. Evidently some of them had not been made entirely aware of the actual purpose of their mission to the capital city.

'You would dare...?' Marcos suddenly roared. 'Birbeck, you pathetic piece of garbage! Human garbage! Fleet Commissar Aldoric was a man worthy of my utmost respect, and he had it. But you? You're not even worthy to lick his boots!'

'Nevertheless, My Lord, I have the authority,' Birbeck replied, his frown turning into a sneer in response. 'I am a member of the Commissariat.'

'Not for much longer!' Marcos snarled. 'This is nothing but bare-faced mutiny. I will not stand for it!'

'Then stand down, Admiral,' Birbeck retorted. 'You have been relieved of your command for failure to ensure adherence to Imperial discipline, for failure to follow standing orders, for consorting with Xenos...' Birbeck spared a moment of his disdain for Celestia before returning to his diatribe against the Lord-Admiral. 'For failure to act to correct improper thoughts among the troops, and for failure to act to prevent the formation of an insurrection.'

'An insurrection?' Marcos laughed. 'The only insurrectionist here is you, Commissar, coming to me with your false outrage. This is a power grab. With Fleet Commissar Aldoric, your direct superior, dead and gone, you can see an opportunity. Take command of the Crusade! Return to Hydraphur to take all of the glory! See the conquering hero comes!'

'This is no power grab, Admiral, it is a necessity,' Birbeck answered. 'Aldoric was a good man and a good Commissar, but he respected you too much to take the action, even if he knew it was necessary. Just look at this. The scene is writ large before my very eyes. Here you are, a Lord-Admiral of the fleet, cavorting with aliens at a...a...dance party!' Birbeck shook his head. 'You have not even seen the problem unfolding in your own ranks. There is serious disquiet, and myself and numerous other Commissars, both from the fleet and the Guard, have decided that we will take it seriously even if you will not. There are reports of large numbers of men, entire units in some cases, who have expressed desires to remain here on this planet! Not to return home to Hydraphur, to their loved ones, to the glory that they deserve. Not to return to the embrace of the Emperor's light! You have not even noticed. because your head has been filled with improper thoughts thanks to this Xenos princess!'

'I am well aware of that issue, Commissar. Unlike you, I am not so blinded by dogma as to leap upon someone's thoughts rather than their actions,' Marcos answered sharply. 'Even if they did wish to remain, that would hardly be unique. Men disappear from recon parties and landing forces all the time, into the wilderness of a jungle planet, or the villages of a feudal world. These men are tired, Birbeck. Damn tired, and so am I. They have fought their way to the end of the galaxy, killing and dying in the Emperor's name, yet so far from his light that the reason, the only reason, the sole reason we actually made it to this fucking planet was because of her!' He pointed to Celestia. 'The last planet they saw with nothing trying to kill them was a barren wasteland with no oxygen and no life whatsoever, and that was six months ago. This place, this planet, gives them a sense of peace. I can understand that. I can see that. Can you?'

'I can see that our decision was the correct one, Admiral,' Birbeck replied. 'I fear that you are too far gone already. You are willing to abandon your men? To leave them on an alien world, with a Xenos as their master? That is heresy, Admiral. Heresy, nothing more and nothing less. Abhor the alien, Admiral! Abhor the alien. Did you forget the Imperial Creed?'

'If I had taken that blunt of an approach, Commissar, we wouldn't be having this delightful conversation, because we would already be dead, killed either by the Princess or by Chaos. Use your head, man! You have fought alongside the Eldar before, when it was necessary. This is no different.'

'Perhaps not initially, but how many of our men have expressed willingness to go and live on an Eldar Craftworld?' Birbeck pointed out. 'More importantly, how many would you have allowed to do so? Have you not seen the way these ponies treat their leader? She has them under her sway, and now she has you as well. Do you not remember your oaths? Do you not care? Have you forgotten that it is the Emperor who protects, not this alien!'

'I have a name, Commissar,' Celestia pointed out coolly. 'Does your Emperor have a name, or is he merely a faceless entity? From what I understand, he spends his time sitting in silence, day after day, year after year, taking no kind of active role in the lives of his subjects. What kind of a leader does that make him?'

'You see? Now she profanes the Emperor himself!' Birbeck growled. 'And you stand there and not only allow it, but practically subjugate yourself to her by attending this event at her invitation. Several months ago you summoned her to your flagship like a leader, and now you fawn at her feet.'

'Not only do I have a name, but I have hooves, not feet,' Celestia retorted. 'I will be sure to give you an invitation next time, Commissar, so that you do not...rudely interrupt proceedings again.'

'Enough!' BIrbeck shouted. 'Be quiet, witch! Sergeant, arrest the Admiral!'

A Sergeant stepped forward. Sergeant Barnard Argan, Gamma Company, 1st Battalion, 2nd Brigade, 40th Parvian Lancers. The Regiment had not been committed to the fight for Canterlot, for it had been well out of position to the south when the attack was launched. That was why Birbeck had selected it to provide the troops who would accompany him to the capital to arrest the Lord-Admiral; they had not had direct exposure to the Princess recently, nor had they been taking part in the celebrations with any natives, thus reducing the chance of their minds being corrupted, as the Commissar saw it, in the same way that he believed Marcos's to have been.

Argan had fought across the planet, from Manehattan to Ponyville and beyond. He had seen the usual array of horrors and more besides. He had also seen the Princess fighting, putting herself at risk not to protect ponies, but to protect humans. To protect Imperial Guardsmen. To protect him. As much as it confused and unnerved him at the time, he had made up his mind when he was recuperating in the field hospital after the flood in Ponyville had injured him. His decision was based on the simple fact that he had little else to return to. His wife, Marla, was long gone. Why should he want to return home when there was nothing there for him? This place, this planet, had revitalised him, given him back feelings he had thought long dead within him.

'I'm sorry, sir...I cannot carry out that order,' Argan spoke in a steady voice.

'What? Why not?' Birbeck turned his iron gaze upon Argan.

'Because...because I do not believe it is justified, sir,' Argan added his reasoning. 'I do not believe the Lord-Admiral has committed any crime worthy of being relieved of his command as a punishment.'

'You do not think that the swelling mutiny in our ranks needs to be stopped?' Birbeck raged. 'That our men need to be checked and brought to heel before they are truly lost to us! Before they fall under the sway of this Xenos?'

'With all due respect, Commissar...' Argan paused, glancing to Marcos and Celestia, then at his men. 'I am with those men. I wish to remain here. On this planet.'

Birbeck's expression turned from one of anger to one of apoplexy. 'You...you actually...want to be here? On this heretical world? Very well, Sergeant. You shall remain here permanently.' Birbeck pulled his bolt pistol from its holster, and before anyone could react, he fired.

Argan went down, a steaming hole in his torso. There was a flurry of activity, flashing lights around him, a sudden glow of gold. Muted sounds, filling his ears like treacle, his brain unable to fully process any of them. He could vaguely see the Lord-Admiral being dragged back inside by his own security detail, while Princess Celestia stood with her horn aglow, erecting a protective shield, though no gunfire appeared to be going her way. He could see his squad, among others, firing their weapons, but not at the Princess. They were firing at Commissar Birbeck, who staggered backward and fell, cut through by a dozen or more las-blasts, his leather overcoat smoking, part of his face replaced with a blackened mess of scar tissue. Merkev the vox-man stepped forward and made sure of the job, putting a final round through Birbeck's head as others rushed to attend to their Sergeant. Argan managed a small smile. He remembered when Merkev had been cowering in the corner of the room at Griffonstone when the Traitor Marines attacked. He had taught the young man well. Birbeck had picked the wrong company for his escort. Argan knew there were many across the 40th Parvians who shared his sentiments and wanted to stay, and not just his unit, either. Men and women from other Regiments, from the armour and the artillery and the air support and logistics. Men from the fleet, even, who had seen even one glimpse of the surface during a supply run or transport mission, and had been captivated by its beauty, the pristine nature of those areas unaffected by the war. It was something many would never find elsewhere during their long careers, for there were not many worlds of such perfection to be found across the Imperium.

All he could see was the dark sky above, speckled with pinpricks of light. Stars. Any one of them might be the one circling his home planet, or perhaps none were. It was so far away, maybe in another sector, another Segmentum even. He couldn't remember, nor did it seem to particularly matter now. The sky was no longer a web of stars, but a picture. A picture of Marla. A picture of his wife. This was perfect. He had dreamed for so long of reuniting with her. Now he was coming to join her. He would stay on this planet, as he had decided. He would live, and die, on Kuda Prime, and he would soon be with his wife again.

Comments

[Booster Spice]

Depends on just how good magical stasis and available Imperial medical is,or Mechanicus? More like the Mausaluem of Names and The Last Solderis Stand?

[Coranth]

FUCK YOU, Commissar Birbeck, FUCK YOU! THIS is the true nature of the Imperium of Man, folks; any sign of common decency and actual "humanity" (thoughts of peace, maybe there are peaceful Xenos out there, maybe we can help the Emperor) and you're just cut down. No wonder people rebel. No wonder people fall to Chaos. So much good undone by one pissant fucking upstart Commisar shitstain who probably led from the back with threats, just like they always do.

[Josiador]

10656020
Well it's not quite undone yet, if anything this might help strengthen relations.

[Josiador]

Oh boy, if the Inquisition learns anything about what happened on this planet, the entire fleet is going to be executed faster than you can say "consorting with xenos". Staying on Equestria might be in their best interests after all.

[ChaosDeathBlade]

10656932
Again not exactly, the inquistion is meant discern If something is a threat first, it doesn't go in guns ablazing first, not all the time anyway, here they have a RECORDED AND DOCUMENTED CASE, of aliens helping the imperium which in most Warhammer 40k books is actually grounds for a Full inqustion investigation not a okay you've been with xenos you die now act, the inquistion still has to adhere to thier own laws which even one states a friendly xeno is a asset, Remember that

[BATTLEBROTHERcarnage]

Yeah well forgive me for not holding the imperial inquisition to the highest moral code but we must remember that all it takes is one upstart inquisitor with a dick bigger than his brain to fuck over everything. ever hear of the months of shame? Yeah look it up in warhammer lore and you will see why I say this stuff.