//------------------------------//
// Close To Home 
// Story: Strange Bedfellows 
// by BRBrony9 
//------------------------------//

The last of the Chaos pursuit force died silently in the void, a destroyer and a cruiser, now on the run instead of being the ones chasing, finding themselves unable to outrun the flashes from the star. The sun had affected their sensors, and then it had been the cause of the deaths of every single member of every single crew which had set out to chase down the Crusade and bring them to heel. None had survived. Marcos's tactic of keeping his ships stationary had worked to perfection, giving Celestia definitive instructions on who exactly she should be targeting, and who was a friendly that she was protecting. It was a simple but necessary arrangement, since Marcos had no idea of how exactly the Princess could actually see his vessels at all. Some form of psychic energy, her magic, presumably, but what she actually saw he did not know. it might have been possible to use some form of emissions control, perhaps varying reactor output, venting plasma as a signal, or flashing infrared lights or activating emergency beacons. All such tactics had been tried and tested when awaiting help from other Imperial vessels, and all had been effective when the relief force knew what to look for and how to detect it. Celestia, however, had no Auspex equipment, no scanners or radiac equipment or thermoscopes. She only had her magic, and the only way Marcos could think of that she would be able to distinguish between the Imperial ships and those of the enemy was by keeping his still. It had worked like a charm.

Now, the fleet was in the clear, what was left of it. They had taken heavy damage, it was true, but at least they were safe for now, enough to enable the crews to make some emergency repairs. They had to keep their guard up, however; not all of the Chaos fleet had followed them, and some were still in orbit around the planet, no doubt having received word of the sudden attack from some of their fellows before they were destroyed by the Princess. How they would react could only be guessed at. Would they flee, come after the Crusade, attack the planet? Would more reinforcements be on the way already? Other ships, Daemons, perhaps the traitor Astartes?

Marcos had requested that the Princess attack the ships in orbit as well, but she had been rather more reluctant to do that. She had seen what had happened when the Chaos Grand Cruiser had plunged into the atmosphere during the initial invasion and exploded, showering the southeastern coastal region of Equestria in burning debris. She most decidedly did not want that happening again, and with several dozen ships still in orbit, the risk was extremely high. It was also possible that she could miss the target with one of her beams of energy cast out from the sun, and strike the planet directly by accident. She had told Marcos that she would act against those other ships if it became absolutely necessary, such as if they began attacking Equestria from orbit, but that she felt the risk was too great for disaster otherwise. The Admiral had tried to convince her to finish them all off right away, but she had suggested that the Crusade fleet might take care of the problem.

Marcos had quickly informed her that his ships were no longer in a fit state to fight any kind of large running battle with the remnants of the Chaos fleet. They had been whittled down through attrition and damage to a force barely able to defend itself against any credible threat, much less go on the offensive as they had done earlier in the campaign for Kuda Prime. Three cruisers with damage, a heavily damaged flagship and a single battlecruiser along with a couple of sections of destroyers and frigates may have been overwhelming numbers against a pirate fleet or Dark Eldar raid, but against a trained and prepared Chaos fleet, even a diminished one, the odds were not in the favour of the Crusade.

Celestia was not swayed enough to bring her power to bear against the rest of the Chaos fleet so soon, but told Marcos she would consider that as a potential course of action. She still had the Daemon to deal with, but Marcos pointed out that his ships could offer no aid unless the space around the planet was cleared of enemy vessels. No more troops could be landed and no orbital fire directed. Though the Chaos fleet seemed to have no dedicated transport ships, each of the larger vessels was more than capable of carrying at least a few thousand troops and the landing barges and equipment they would need, even if they might not be able to deploy heavy vehicles or artillery. The possibility of a second invasion was very real, and while there were plenty of Imperial forces already on the planet, without orbital cover they would lack the ability to redeploy freely using their landing barges, or even to make movements by road, for fear of inviting enemy fire down from the heavens. Control of space was vital for any successful planetary operation, either for defence or in attack. Without it, ground-based firepower was meaningless; unless the enemy wished to capture certain facilities or locations intact, then there was nothing to stop them simply pounding targets from space with impunity.

The next step for the fleet was to take stock; to simply sit and recover as best it could from the mauling it had taken at the hands of a superior force, before the Princess's timely intervention. It was certainly no exaggeration to say that she had saved them from total destruction, or at the least from having to abandon the system entirely. Now there was still a chance that it could be brought under Imperial control properly; or at least, under pony control, depending on exactly how things panned out. Marcos had not forgotten the promises he and Lord-General Galen had made to Celestia. If the Chaos forces could be rooted out and defeated completely, cleansed from the planet, then his fleet would leave the system and never return. That was what he had said, and he still intended to abide by his word. As a man of principle and honour, that was the least he could do, even for a Xenos. A Xenos who had, admittedly, just saved his life, and the lives of every other man and woman aboard the Emperor's Judgement.

Damage reports were still flooding in from all decks and all ships. Not a single craft had escaped without damage of some kind or another. The Brigand's Folly was gone, reducing their cruiser count to just three. Of those, only the Polaris Maxima had suffered anything less than heavy damage. The venerable ship had taken mostly superficial hits, with its shields proving up to the task of protecting it from its position at the front of the Imperial line during the flight, and toward the rear during the final stand. That had been Marcos's order, broadly, but the ship's captain had seemingly taken a firm interest in the welfare of his crew, something which could be said for every captain in the fleet. The records would show that it was indeed the captain and some of the senior officers of the Brigand's Folly who had ridden the ship on its final death charge into the midst of the enemy, in the vain but glorious hope of saving the rest of the fleet. The rest of the crew had been evacuated, abandoning ship as per the captain's orders. Several escort vessels had sold their lives dearly in a similar fashion, to protect the capital ships from waves of torpedoes, being destroyed in their stead in at least two instances.

The number of escort ships was now down to a critical level. A battleship or a cruiser was a formidable force in space combat for sure, but unescorted it could be a sitting duck in the face of a well organised enemy. Attack craft and torpedoes were meant to be warded off by frigates, destroyers and corvettes, letting the capital ships focus on their opponents of a similar class. In a straight fight, a battleship could only be taken down by another battleship, a well-fought battlecruiser, two or three cruisers, or a shoal of torpedoes or bombers that managed to make it through their defences. Escorts were designed to deal with those two latter possibilities, but the fleet no longer possessed enough of the smaller craft to be able to protect both the flagship and the Indefatigable to any meaningful extent. If they focused their efforts, then the Emperor's Judgement  could just about be given all-around protection, but that would leave the rest of the fleet vulnerable to being taken out by huge swarms of bombers or torpedoes, and with no support in a slugging match against multiple enemy capital ships, the Emperor's Judgement was still just as likely to succumb. 

The flagship herself was likely to not fare too well in another engagement. It had taken heavy damage to its port side, with numerous weapons batteries being knocked out. Hangar bays were out of commission, meaning the surviving attack craft would have to double up in the surviving bays, leaving little room for anything more than superficial maintenance work and refueling. Some craft might even have to be ditched entirely, their pilots recovered by shuttle. Damaged superstructure elements might pose a potential integrity problem; they would have to be checked over by engineering teams, or else going to warp might cause them to rip away entirely. Compartments that had been opened to the void would have to be resealed and checked by technicians before they could be reoccupied, and all of that would take time. All of that would be necessary, however, to bring the ship up to a fit state to fight once more. The same could no doubt be applied to the rest of the ships of the fleet as well. They had all taken a pounding. Casualties needed to be treated. No doubt there were shortages of trained personnel to operate certain systems or weapons; that was not so much of a problem, as there were many such systems that were out of action anyway.

The void around them was littered with the broken wrecks of dozens of ships, mostly enemy, but a few Imperial ships also. Thousands of bodies gently tumbled through the emptiness, dead and left to float for eternity through the blackness, perhaps falling into an endless orbit around the sun which had been the cause of their deaths. A fitting end for the kind of scum who would come to attack an innocent planet with inhabitants that meant them no harm.

Except, of course, that description very much applied to the Imperium, too. The Crusade had not entered the system necessarily with the intention of taking control by force. After all, they did not know if there were any inhabitants when they arrived. But the whole purpose of the Crusade was to capture planets and star systems in the name of the Emperor. They arrived unbidden; they were not summoned by locals, not requested to aid in the overthrow of some corrupt governor or for defence against a pirate raid. They were there to conquer, to take by force if necessary. That was how the Imperium operated, and had done for thousands of years. There was good reason for that; it was the only way the Imperium could even survive. They had to be ruthless, utterly ruthless, when it came to protecting and expanding their territory, or else the pressure being applied from both within and without would see the whole structure crack like an egg, beset on all fronts by traitors, Daemons, heretics and aliens. Mankind had only survived this long by doing whatever needed to be done, both to their own citizens and to others who may have no say in the matter.

Marcos knew that the same approach should be taken with regards to the aliens on this planet. But he also knew that the Princess had just given a pretty convincing demonstration of why it would not be wise for him, or for any other Imperial officer, Inquisitor, or Astartes Chapter Master to necessarily treat them in the same way as they would with any other species. If Marcos honoured his pledge to her and withdrew from the system, then it would be entirely possible that the Princess might react to any ships she detected in the future entering the system in the same way- by attacking them, without asking questions or waiting to see who exactly was approaching her planet. Imperial lives could be lost in such a way, and ships would not be able to get close enough to the planet to open fire on it with Exterminatus-class weaponry. Even if they could, there was no guarantee, from what he had seen so far, that such weaponry would actually be capable of killing the Princess anyway. Artillery, missiles, heavy weapons, tanks, all had failed to harm her. The powers of the warp had done nothing to her, either, and that was power which could bend the very fabric of reality to the will of its user. But then, so could her magic; whatever its source, it performed a similar function.

Sadly, that was the very reason why future Imperial expeditions might be mounted to this planet, even if the Crusade fleet did leave. Such a resource, a potential power that could be exploited by the Imperium, would be too enticing for the High Lords to turn down if they were to learn of its existence from Marcos's report. The more he thought about it, the more he knew he should omit mention of the power of the pony magic from his report, but the more he knew that he absolutely had to include it. After all, others had seen it in action, measured its effects. 

No doubt the Magi aboard the Ferrus Terra had been steadily transmitting astropathic data back to their own superiors, who would relay it back to Mars itself, and that information would even now be in the hands of the Mechanicus hierarchy. What they would choose to do with it was anyone's guess. There was an intense rivalry between the Mechanicus and the Imperial Navy, between the Mechanicus and the Astartes, between the Mechanicus and...well, just about everybody. They jealously guarded their secrets from all competitors and those whose possession of the knowledge might jeopardise the dealings and objectives of the Magi themselves. It was entirely possible that the Mechanicus leadership would keep the information about the ponies secret from the rest of the Imperium. It would not surprise Marcos in the slightest if that was what they did, perhaps pursuing some of their own attempts to exploit the knowledge they had gained, maybe mounting their own expedition to Kuda Prime to try and recover a living specimen of sufficient power to be used. They already had, Marcos knew, some of the unicorn ponies aboard their ship for testing. Whether they were still alive or were now dead, he was not sure. He could ask, but he doubted that Arch-Magos Darius would answer his questions very openly, if at all. Matters of the Mechanicus were not to be the concern of the Navy, he would no doubt say. Marcos could push, use his authority as Crusade commander to find out- after all, the Ferrus Terra was part of the fleet and under his command- but even if he did discover the fate of their captives, there was no way Darius or any of the others aboard the research vessel would tell him what information they had transmitted back to Mars. That was sacred to them.

Marcos reasoned that, if the Mechanicus kept the information sequestered within their own command structure, it might be possible for his own report to omit details on the ponies, the Princess and their magic that could attract the attention of the High Lords themselves. Then again, that might be a false truth. After all, thousands of servicemen and women had witnessed pony magic, either from the Princess, her sister, or one of the other unicorns who had fought alongside them. There was no shortage of witnesses to the effects; the only hope was that the source was misconstrued by the rank and file as run-of-the-mill psychic powers, rather than the reality. The Mechanicus had confirmed that the source of pony magic was distinctly different from human psychic powers, or indeed the psychic powers of any other species. The Princess and the rest of them had no presence in the warp as mankind did. Maybe, potentially, Marcos and the few others who knew the truth could hush things up.

But that was not the way to go. Marcos had his orders to carry out, and the truth would come out one way or another, whether or not he was party to it. There were sensor recordings, Auspex readings, after action reports; a wealth of data that investigators from the Navy or the Inquisition could go on to establish what really happened. Now that it seemed possible that elements of the Crusade might indeed make it home to Hydraphur, such things had to be considered in the cold light of day, and Marcos had to consider his position. He was the Admiral, he was the leader of the Crusade. It was his duty to report the truth; it was the duty of the High Lords to turn that truth into lies, to spin it into whatever propaganda they wished. Perhaps pony magic would become the latest anathema and the latest deadly foe for the Imperium, or perhaps it would become the new wonder toy that all citizens should lust after, a way to wield psychic power without the risks.

Perhaps it would come to nothing at all, never made public in any way. If the Mechanicus investigations determined that there was no way to adapt magic for human use, for example, then it was certainly possible that they would destroy all records lest some nosy Inquisitor discover the facts and fear that the Magi involved in the research might have been exposed to some kind of taint or manipulative effect that the magic possessed. Such fears were entirely justified when it came to psychic abilities, after all; who was to say that the pony magic did not have a similar quality?

Perhaps the Lord-Admiral himself had already fallen victim to it. The Princess certainly seemed to possess a magnetic quality to her words and her presence. He listened to what she had to say not just because he needed her assistance, but because he wanted to listen; it felt like it was only right, the proper and logical thing to do, even when he found that he would normally disagree with such statements. He did not feel compelled to agree with whatever the Princess said, but he certainly felt the influence of her personality and her force of will every time he spoke to her, even over the vox from thousands of miles away. Such a trait would be deemed heretical, no doubt, by the Inquisition, if they learned of it, regardless of whether the Princess used it voluntarily or passively. Of course, her very existence would be considered heretical in and of itself, given her power and the control she had over the sun, a force which not even the Emperor Himself could wield. And if the Emperor could not do something, then nobody should be allowed to, at least according to the Ecclesiarchy. If they captured the Princess, perhaps she might be studied first, but if the more extreme and puritanical elements within the Imperial high command structure got their way, she would simply be executed as soon as possible- if, indeed, that were possible at all.

Even now, Marcos had no idea what was truly possible when it came to the Princess. She remained an enigma, as did the source of her power and the source of the pony magic in general. Much had been speculated by the Magi, but that was all it was; speculation. So far they had no concrete proof of anything that could directly explain it. Whether the reality be natural biological phenomenon, psychic link or something bordering on the Daemonic, it would not go down well with the Ecclesiarchy or the Inquisition.

'My Lord,' called the vox officer. 'Message from the Polaris Maxima. They are asking if we require assistance with repairs. They say they have half a dozen spare maintenance teams on standby.'

They would need all the help they could get to bring such a large ship back up to code and get it ready for combat as soon as possible. The Chaos fleet were still in orbit around the planet, but could potentially launch another attack at any time, though hopefully if that happened the Princess would jump to their aid once more. There was always the possibility of enemy reinforcements arriving as well, which would present a larger problem depending on where exactly in the system they dropped out of warp. There was no way the Crusade could prevent a determined force from punching their way through and linking up with the enemy at the planet; not in their present state. Repairs were already underway but would take time, and time was always one of the most precious commodities that any commander had at his disposal. It was not to be wasted or squandered, but spent wisely and carefully on tasks that would reap the best rewards. Getting the Emperor's Judgement back in fighting shape was vital, whether they tried to fight for the planet or whether they headed for home. The warp was a dangerous and unpredictable place that might well deposit them somewhere else entirely, and if they were not ready to fight, they could be vulnerable to Orks, other Chaos ships, Dark Eldar raiders, pirates, or a thousand and one other dangers besides.

The flagship's own repair crews were hard at work in the worst affected areas, but some of the damage control teams had been killed in the battle. Others were cut off by damage, and there were at least a dozen spots that required more resources to fix up than could reasonably be thrown at them without help. Several decks, it had been rapidly determined, would have to be kept abandoned until they could return to spacedock at Hydraphur. 

'Very good, Lieutenant,' Marcos replied to the vox officer. 'Signal the Polaris Maxima. Tell them we'll take all the assistance they can provide.'




Midshipman Kaplen manned his duty station down on deck 11. The ship was still on combat alert despite the broadcasts through the speakers which had played exhortations from the ship's Confessor during the fighting, and then a message from the bridge informing them that the enemy fleet had been destroyed. It had seemed a remarkable turnaround- the preacher's messages had suggested they were facing their potential doom, overwhelming odds being thrown against them and only faith in the Emperor, iron-clad and unyielding faith, could possibly hold the line and win the day. Then suddenly, just like that, they were victorious. Kaplen was not going to question it; survival was survival, and a victory was a victory. As a junior deck officer, he knew little of exactly what went on elsewhere on board the ship, and certainly not what the precise tactical situation might be as regards to the battle. His remit was basically control of the two starboard docking bays within sector 9 of deck 11. It wasn't much, but it made the young man feel proud. His parents had worried and fussed that he was falling in with the wrong crowd, and at such an early age. He had been just 14, and the gangs of the Underhive had almost gotten their claws into him before his father had a stern talk with him and shipped him off to the local garrison as a way of escaping the downward spiral. From there, he had signed up for the Navy; the idea of adventure had always grabbed him and that was why he had fallen in with the gangs in the first place.  

A few years of training had made him into a crewman, but more than that, it had made him into a man. His father had been pleased when he had heard of his successful graduation to the ranks of the non-commissioned officers, sure that it would lead to only good things for his son who had been heading down the wrong path, and was now in the service of the Emperor. His father had been right. He had not seen the old man for several years now, but the training and the Ecclesiarchy scriptures, lectures and speeches had ingrained in his soul the need to fight for the Emperor, and for the Imperium. Though it was relatively rare for someone of his low social standing to become even a junior officer in the Navy, which tended to cling to the old and outdated traditions of class equaling rank, he was far from unique in becoming a Midshipman from such a background. Countless others had served in such a way before him, and many more would no doubt do so after. Kaplen knew he was doing the right thing, and he was proud to be part of the Crusade, to be part of the crew, and to be given the responsibility over other men and women, and over a section of the deck that he and several thousand others called home.

Deck 11 had escaped serious damage during the battle, at least on the starboard side. There were reports of macrocannon galleries being blown wide open over on the port side, smashed by heavy enemy fire, including several torpedo strikes. But they might as well have been a world away, given the size of the ship; even those crew of the same deck might never meet men from the other side of the vessel. They each had their duties, and they knew what needed to be done. No doubt many men had died carrying out their duty on deck 11's port side. The starboard shields had held for the most part, however, and Kaplan and his crews had been kept very busy repairing and rearming returning Lightning fighters, loading the heavy ordnance onto the underwing pylons and fixing fresh belts of autocannon shells into place. Normally the craft under his care would deploy to the planet's surface, to fight hostile aircraft, but through necessity they had been pressed into service as void fighters. A surprisingly high number of them had returned unharmed, considering they were not designed for fighting in space, and their pilots not trained particularly well in that specific skill. There were many other squadrons aboard ship, and Kaplen did not know how well they had fared in the fighting, but he was very glad to welcome home many of the familiar faces of the men and women of Sapphire Flight. As the fighters were being rearmed, however, a call had come down from deck command, a relay from the bridge. The landing bays were to be cleared, both of them, for incoming craft.

Kaplen had shouted his orders, relaying them to the crewmen under his command. The Lightnings had been withdrawn into the support chambers and loading bays located to the side of the hangar itself, where maintenance was performed and where spare craft were stored. There were no longer any spares left; though many pilots had survived the battle, there had of course been losses suffered by Sapphire Flight, leaving plenty of room for the Lightnings to be moved out of the way. The vox call had informed the Midshipman that repair crews were expected, aboard heavy landing barges. One would be coming in to each hangar bay, provided they were cleared sufficiently of equipment and personnel. A squadron of Lightnings, or a single barge, could be accommodated within each bay, and Kaplan again felt a brief flush of pride at knowing he was responsible for the operation of two of them.

He could see on his monitors; here came the barges. One for each bay, auguring in, guided by the flashing beacons and the automatic guidance systems which had locked on to the incoming craft. They slipped in through the localised void shields, dropping slowly to the deck, and settling down on their landing struts. Kaplen kept watch on both hangar bays through his vid-screens, located in the supervisory station above. Both barges had docked, and his work was mostly done. His men and women had done well, guiding them in successfully. Now it was his turn. The first craft to arrive was the lead barge, containing the primary team assigned to that sector, according to the vox message. Kaplen headed down to Bay No. 20, where the barge in question had docked. 

Men and women were hurrying around, securing connections and prepping support equipment, making sure the barge was properly docked and secured to the deck. Once everything was confirmed, the signal was given to the barge's pilot. The belly of the large, slug-like craft began to distend, and then crack open, a ramp dropping to the deck with a clang. Members of the repair teams aboard began to depart, walking down the ramp with their equipment, carrying heavy plasma torches and toolboxes full of different instruments. An officer was among them, and Kaplen approached her, saluting.

'Lieutenant. Midshipman Kaplen at your service. Welcome aboard the Emperor's Judgement.'

'Thank you, Midshipman,' she replied. 'Lieutenant Callantine reporting for duty...now, perhaps you'll show me to the bridge?'

'The bridge?' Kaplen blinked. 'But Lieutenant, you've been assigned to deck 18. apparently there are heavily damaged sections with severe structural...'

'Oh, do not worry, Midshipman Kaplen,' Callantine replied with a smile. 'I am sure that will be attended to in due course. But first, I would like to speak to the Lord-Admiral.'

'With all due respect, Lieutenant...I would imagine that the Lord-Admiral is rather busy at the moment, and...'

'And he does not wish to speak to a mere Lieutenant assigned to repair work?' Callantine suggested, smirking. 'Fear not, Midshipman. He will make time for me.'

Kaplen looked up at the ramp of the barge. More men were coming down it, yes. But they were not alone. There was something else there, behind, farther up in the darkness of the interior of the craft.

'Hey! Hey, look out! There!' Kaplen gestured wildly. 'Contact! Enemy contact! Behind you!' he shouted into Callantine's face. The Lieutenant just laughed.

'Behind me? Oh, what are you worried about? Do not fear, Midshipman. They are my children.' Kaplen stared at her, aghast, and then he began to scream, as the things he had seen suddenly advanced upon him. He turned and tried to run, but it was futile. He barely made it half a dozen steps before the things were upon him. Down he went, to the deck. Midshipman Kaplen died, still screaming.