//------------------------------//
// Homeward Bound 
// Story: Strange Bedfellows 
// by BRBrony9 
//------------------------------//

Lord-Admiral Marcos surveyed the planet below, the gleaming blue and green orb surrounded entirely by the darkness of the void. This planet was most peculiar in so many ways. Despite being out on the fringe of the galaxy, it was teeming with life, lush forests, bright mountain peaks, glittering oceans. Despite being so far from the Emperor's light, some of the creatures that lives upon it spoke Low Gothic as well as he did- more eloquently, perhaps, in some cases. They had functioning societies, industry, science, as well as psychic powers- or rather magic, similar but sufficiently different to have incited so much attention both from the Adeptus Mechanicus and Chaos. 

Perhaps it had all been a coincidence, but perhaps it had been destiny that drove the Crusade fleet to this place at this time. Marcos had thought about it often enough, but still knew nothing for certain. He had been told of what the Daemon had declared when it had tried to persuade Chrysalis and then Twilight to fight alongside it, but the words of a Daemon could never be trusted in any way, shape or form. It may have been true that Malaranth had been manipulating events for hundreds or thousands of years, or it may have been a coincidence the Daemon had leaped upon as a tool to use in its attempts to win the battle and gain possession of an active source of the Equestrian magic for its own ends. Ends which, it pained Marcos to admit, were basically the same as those of the Mechanicus. The Alicorn magic would have been weaponised by either faction, should it have been able to obtain a specimen- though clearly as events had shown, neither Luna, Cadence, Celestia or Chrysalis were going to simply roll over and submit, and all had proven more than capable of defending themselves. The whole thing may have ultimately been a fool's errand, for there had probably been no realistic way to capture any of the four royals who possessed the right kind of magic. Nor had there been any way to kill them, not with conventional weaponry, as both Chrysalis and Celestia had most decidedly demonstrated on numerous occasions. 

If nothing else, however, the Crusade's presence had helped preserve the planet as a whole from exploitation by Chaos. If the fleet had not arrived but the Chaos ships had, then Celestia and the ponies would have been fighting blind, and while the Princess herself would have withstood the attack, the rest of Equestria might not. She and her fellow Alicorns could only be in so many places at once, and the pony war machine, while impressively advanced for such a simple society, could not stand up to Chaos in any meaningful sense. The likely result in his mind was that Celestia would have eventually been forced to unleash her full power and control over the sun to rid the world of the taint, which would result in its sterilisation, not just of Chaos but of all life, perhaps including her own. Then, the planet would no longer be a lush garden paradise, but a barren ball of airless rock, and that would be a true tragedy.

It was only now that Marcos could see the truth of that. Losing this planet, as strange as it was, would be a tragedy indeed, for it was so strange and unlikely as to make it unique. The Emperor himself must have touched this planet in some way, for the inhabitants to know the human language. It couldn't happen by accident, and there had been no evidence in Imperial records of any explorator fleet or rogue trader making it out this far. Nor did the pony historical records and oral traditions hold any evidence of bipedal creatures resembling humans, or of visitors from beyond the stars. There was no other explanation except divine intervention or convergent evolution of an identical mother tongue, and the latter of those options seemed to be so infinitesimally small as to essentially be zero. Though neither Marcos nor Celestia nor anyone else would ever be able to prove it either way, it seemed that there must be some relationship between humanity and these ponies.

The space between the planet and the remains of the fleet was dotted with transports, bulk landers and small shuttles, a continuous conveyor belt of craft bringing supplies and personnel back into orbit. The whale-like transport ships were awaiting them, steadily refilling their cavernous holds with the men and materiel that had formed the lifeblood of the Crusade's planetside operations for so long, here at Kuda Prime and elsewhere, a dozen other worlds and more besides. They were men who were battle hardened by their experiences, widely traveled and tough both physically and mentally to have come so far and seen and fought so much. Now, they were finally on their way home, maybe not to their planet of birth, but at least to Imperial space, friendly territory, or as friendly as life ever got in the Imperium. Hydraphur would welcome them with open arms, as heroes.

Or else they would be met with anger. They had been exposed to Chaos and to an unknown force, the pony magic. The Adeptus Mechanicus would have sent messages back from the Ferrus Terra to their superiors, but would those messages have been received? Such long-range communication was notoriously unreliable, and messages could vanish entirely in the ether or take decades to arrive instead of weeks. The warp was fickle and hard to read at the best of times, but any message sent purely by vox would take centuries, maybe millennia, to even reach the nearest inhabited world. To reach Hydraphur by such a message could take aeons. The warp held the best chance of sending a message successfully. If the word had got through, then the Crusade fleet may well be met with guns when they returned, either to hold them in quarantine or, perhaps, to wipe them out. It would be a simple enough task for the system's defence forces, given the parlous state of the Crusade's combat power, having taken so much attrition during the course of their mission.

If the Inquisition or Segmentum Command decided the fleet should die, then they would die. Marcos had no illusions about that. He had seen it done on numerous occasions, sometimes to a single shuttle, sometimes to an individual, sometimes to an entire flotilla. He himself had issued the order to enforce such a strict quarantine several times, enacting the wills of the high commanders whom he had been serving under. Given that, perhaps it would be better to not return to Hydraphur after all? Their mission had been accomplished. Worlds and systems had fallen under Imperial sway thanks to their Crusade across the fringes of the galaxy. Was that not enough? Had they not done their duty in the eyes of the Emperor? Of course they had. So who could begrudge them life instead of death? They had earned their survival, paid for it with the blood of their fellows.

That was why Marcos understood. He understood why some of his crews, many of them in fact, and many of the Guardsmen, had expressed a desire to remain on Kuda Prime. Several months ago, Marcos would have laughed openly in the face of anyone admitting to such feelings. He would have had them clapped in irons and imprisoned in the brig for treasonous thoughts, giving them time to reflect on their choices. He would not have executed anyone for such thoughts, however, and that was where he very much differed from Senior Commissar Birbeck. The Commissar had shown that quite clearly when he shot Sergeant Argan of the Parvian Lancers, tasked with arresting the Lord-Admiral, after he refused to comply. 

Birbeck was typical of the traditional view of Commissars among the rank and file- ruthless, brutal, willing to execute someone for the slightest infraction in order to retain his authority and to retain discipline in the unit. That was what the Commissariat was for, after all. But ordering the arrest of the Lord-Admiral, who had earned the respect of all those who had survived the Crusade up to this point? While technically within Birbeck's purview, it would take a very bold or very senior Commissar indeed to dare carry out such an act against someone with such a high rank. Birbeck wasn't even a naval Commissar, but an Imperial Guard one, adding further complications, though again technically his authority carried across both services. Many Commissars had tried to overthrow their commanders in the past, for a variety of reasons ranging from true duty to the Imperium through to a lust for personal power, but their success had been predicated on the support of the men and women under him. If the rest of the unit supported the commander and not the Commissar, then such an attempt would end rather swiftly and usually bloodily, as Birbeck had found out to his fatal cost.

Marcos was content, then. Birbeck's failure had allowed him to conduct a purge of those officers who had supported his efforts to overthrow the legitimate leadership of the Crusade. They had tried to conduct their business in secret, but vox records could be tracked and interviews conducted with likely suspects. Some dozen openly confessed and were confined to the brigs of their vessels for the return journey to Hydraphur. A couple of particularly vehement opponents of Marcos tried to fight it out with the armsmen and were gunned down for their troubles. Others perhaps escaped the net, as they had kept a cleaner trail than others with no loose ends, content to slip back into the shadows of obscurity now that the attempted overthrow had failed. It had been something of a  half-hearted play anyway. After all, it had been months since the fleet arrived at this planet and began to consort with the horse-aliens, and while Birbeck had hardly been alone in his criticism of that, neither he nor anyone else had been compelled to act to prevent it. It was only when news began to spread of Guardsmen expressing desires to remain on the planet that Birbeck had felt the need to step in, and while he had some support, it had clearly not been enough.

Unlike Birbeck, Marcos had some honest sympathy with those who wanted to stay. It wasn't too much to ask, really- a few hundred, or even a few thousand, missing men who did not return with the fleet would hardly be missed. They might not even be noticed by Imperial scribes, such was the vast and bloated nature of bureaucracy. They could be written off in official reports as casualties of war, either dead or, perhaps more appropriately, missing in action. They could be free to live out their lives in relative peace and comfort, helping rebuild the shattered nation, if Celestia would allow it. That had to be better than slaving for day after day in the bowels of a hot and steamy tank or gun deck, and the men had worked hard for so long. It might be treasonous to even think of such ideas, as Birbeck evidently believed, but Marcos had already taken many decisions that the majority of Inquisitors might deem to be so. When it came to this particular planet and this particular species, the Lord-Admiral no longer cared for such potential censure. 

That was why he had approached Princess Celestia to request some form of political asylum for those among the Crusade fleet who wished to remain behind and stay to live out the rest of their lives in this planet instead of under Imperial servitude. Marcos had carried out a fleet-wide survey of opinions and reasons among those who had answered in the affirmative when asked if they wanted to stay. The most common responses had been that the planet reminded them of their homeworld, the planet reminded them of some picture-book ideal of a paradise, the desire to help the ponies rebuild their society, and the undeniable draw of the Princess and her seemingly pure and honest soul. In fact, many said that the whole planet gave them feelings of calm, almost serenity and harmony, whenever they were not involved in battle. It seemed to have a soothing effect on the psyche of many personnel, and having visited the surface for himself several times now, Marcos could understand why. 

Even war-torn and ravaged as it had been, Canterlot still held much of the majesty that it must have in its prime, those scant months earlier. It reminded Marcos of the residences of the grander and more hedonistic planetary governors he had seen, and also of images and paintings of parts of the Imperial Palace on Holy Terra.  Canterlot palace itself was just as pure and elegant as the Princess who dwelt within, white and gold to match Celestia's coat and royal regalia. It was most befitting, and with much of the rest of the city being of similar style and design, it became clear that Canterlot was very much a capital city for Celestia to rule from. Perhaps she had designed it herself? Marcos had neglected to ask her such questions when he had visited her inside the palace to ask whether there could be accommodations made for personnel from the Crusade to remain behind.

She had agreed. Marcos had expected some kind of debate, at least, but Celestia had not even asked for any concessions to be made, other than that the humans should provide, where possible, their own temporary housing, or material to build such structures themselves. Equestria's housing stock had taken a battering and despite the massive casualties, there were going to be problems in finding places for all the survivors to live. Entire cities such as Manehattan and Baltimare had been rendered essentially uninhabitable, while others like Ponyville had been wiped from the map entirely. It would be a complex balancing act to get society functioning again, and Marcos had offered to provide plentiful supplies for the ponies to use. Celestia had accepted gratefully, and even now, as Marcos watched the transports bringing personnel to orbit, he could also see a string of shuttles and landers taking supplies down to the surface. Ration packs, prefabricated barrack units and tents, water purification systems, medicine. All of the items were in short supply in Equestria thanks to the war, and Marcos wanted to provide plenty of help. He felt it was the right thing to do, something which, again, Commissar Birbeck and his co-conspirators would have vehemently disagreed with.

In return for the supplies, Princess Celestia had agreed to turn the current location of the main Imperial landing zone, out to the west of Canterlot on the plains, into a town for the humans to live. Some forty thousand men and women from both the Guard and the fleet had signed up for the chance to remain behind. For many it was an easy choice. Those who had no family to return to had nothing to look forward to at the end of their military service. For some, their home planets no longer existed at all, having been rendered lifeless or destroyed altogether by a vast cosmic force, Exterminatus, a Tyranid splinter fleet, or the touch of Chaos. Others were wanted criminals or gang members back on their planet, where a death sentence or life in a penal work camp would await their return. The military tithe provided a way out at least for the duration of their service, but this was an opportunity for a fresh start, especially for those who never wanted to be part of the criminal life in the first place, which was very attractive.There were still others who simply did not buy into the Imperial doctrine and faith as much as the Ecclesiarchy would wish; there were always outliers in every group who, while not necessarily disbelievers, simply didn't fall properly in line with the creed that was being dictated to them.

The Imperium, it seemed, would be better off without many of these people in it, and those same people would be better off without the Imperium. It was a win-win situation. Those who had been conscripted had served their tour of duty in some of the most dangerous environments to be found anywhere in the galaxy, fighting from planet to planet and ending up here. Those who volunteered were, theoretically, if not in reality, entitled to withdraw their service and ask for an honorable discharge from the Guard or the Navy. The Imperium being what it was, that almost never came to pass until their full allotment of time had passed. It was rare indeed for an Imperial citizen to be able to leave the Guard or Navy before their term of service was completed, other than through a dishonorable discharge, which inevitably led to a firing squad more often than not, or through a medical discharge as a result of wounds received, which led to a pathetic disablement pension that forced most recipients to spend their days begging in the gutters of whatever Hive city or desert village they happened to hail from.

Once the personnel transfers were complete, it would be time for the fleet to begin the process of withdrawing from the system, leaving it in the capable hooves of the Princess. It had been a long time since the Crusade arrived, and how it was finally gearing up depart. They had suffered grievous losses, and while the fleet had been expected to continue on at least a little further to explore the galactic fringe, there was certainly no possibility of that now. They would no longer be heading away from Terra, but toward it, homeward bound to Hydraphur and the familiar surroundings of its orbital dockyards and supply depots. Away from the glittering marble and rolling green plains of Equestria, and back to the grinding pistons and throbbing generators and hissing steam of the Imperium's industrial heartland. It would be quite the contrast for the men who had been on the ground for weeks on end, but then again, so would returning to the cramped holds of the transports that would carry them back to Imperial space. It would be a return to the lives they all knew. How long it might last would be up to the Imperial authorities. 




'Your Highness, I have a vid call coming through for you.'

That was most definitely not a sentence Princess Celestia had ever imagined hearing in her palace before, but now it was reality. The Imperials had delivered a number of what they referred to as 'vid sets,' to go with their vox units. The latter transmitted audio only, but the former could also show live images. The humans had graciously donated enough sets for the ponies to equip every city and town hall with one set, and every military base and outpost with two, including some mobile units for use aboard airships. They had also donated a large number of vox sets with instructions on how to modify their straps and webbing to allow them to be carried easily by ponies, for distribution to both military and emergency units. It was a paradigm shift in communications as far as Equestria was concerned, freeing them from the limitations of their limited telegraph network or fast Pegasi messengers. Now, Manehattan could instantly contact Vanhoover, on the other side of the continent. Celestia could speak directly with any of her provincial governors or generals. Army and Royal Guard patrols or outposts who came under attack could immediately call for reinforcements or air support.

'Who is calling?' Celestia asked, receiving the expected answer.

'The Lord-Admiral, Your Highness.'

'Very good, put him through,' Celestia ordered, and the guardspony who had been trained in the use of the vid-set activated the call. Marcos's face appeared on the screen.

'Your Highness,' he nodded. 'It is good to see you for what I can only assume will be the final time.'

'Likewise, Admiral,' Celestia replied. 'You are ready to depart?'

'Yes. all of our men are aboard, apart from those who elected to remain behind,' Marcos explained. 'We will be breaking orbit within the hour. Please look after our people, Princess. They have given much to aid you in your fight for freedom, and they have all chosen to stay with you. They have not been forced. We have not offloaded our troublemakers on you, I can assure you of that.'

'We will treat them well, Admiral. You have my word on that,' Celestia replied, seated atop her throne, the best place for her to be for this final goodbye. 'I want you and every one of your Guardsmen and crews to know that Equestria owes you a deep debt of gratitude for your service and sacrifice. I extend my personal thanks, and the thanks of every survivor of every race.'

'And in return you have the gratitude of myself and every member of the fleet,' Marcos responded honestly. 'it is no exaggeration to say that you saved every one of us from the Chaos fleet, Your Highness. That is a debt that can never truly be repaid. However, I hope we have left you with sufficient supplies to help you rebuild as best you can. I know this must be a most surreal experience for many of your citizens, but hopefully...hopefully you can build a better, stronger society from the ashes of the old. It has been done before. Our Emperor did just that back on our home planet after a terrible war nearly destroyed our civilization. He united every warring tribe and faction into one greater combined humanity. If anybody can do that here on this planet, you can.'

Celestia nodded sagely. 'Thank you, Admiral. We appreciate all of the supplies and equipment you have given us, of course. We shall do our best to live up to the noble ideals that your Emperor seems to embody.'

'And we shall do the same,' Marcos replied. 'It is our Emperor who drives us onward, but I can see clearly that it is you who drives your race, Princess. You and your sister. Before we depart, I just want to express my deepest condolences again to you personally. Princess Luna was extremely brave and determined. I can say the same about you. I am sorry that she is not here with you today, but her sacrifice was not in vain, for without it, you would not be here, and it would be impossible to say what else might have been lost.'

'My sister has long made a habit of being brave. A thousand years facing nothing but emptiness can only be endured by those with a will of iron, and it will forge steel from flesh for those who survive it,' Celestia answered. My sister and I have always been prepared to sacrifice ourselves if it became necessary to save Equestria. Until now, even with all we have faced before, I never truly believed that it would be. But time makes fools of us all, Admiral. We cannot, it seems, fight our destiny.'

'Indeed, Princess, indeed,' Marcos nodded. His ships were being prepped for transit, bulkheads being sealed, generators tested, the final few shuttles and picket fighter squadrons brought back aboard. Pre-departure prayers were being led by Confessors, while many of the crews performed their own rituals, ranging from a quick shot of home-brewed liquor to complex and deeply superstitious strings of actions designed to ward off disaster in the Warp. Astrogation cogitators were being spooled up, coordinates inputted and paths mapped. The fleet's Navigators were meditating, planning their routes and actions through the Maelstrom to get the Crusade back home safely. They were almost ready to go, and Marcos knew he had to sign off and get back to the final preparations. 'Our destiny remains unknown to us. Only the Emperor knows how and when we shall die. Perhaps you know the same for your ponies, Princess, or perhaps you do not. Either way, it has been perhaps the strangest honour of my life to have met you and to know you. I must attend to my fleet and our departure now, Your Highness.'

'Of course, Admiral.' Celestia nodded. 'Thank you again for your assistance, for we should have been lost without it. We shall never forget, and we shall never forget your honoured dead who fell beside our own. Please, remember our agreement.'

Marcos took a step back from the vid-screen so that rather than just his face, his upper body could be seen as well. He came sharply to attention with a stiff and smart salute, dropping his hand back to his side before bowing. 'I will not forget it, Your Highness. I want to remind you again that I can offer no guarantees, but I will do everything in my power to ensure that your planet is not disturbed by the Imperium anymore. On that, you have my solemn oath. Farewell, Your Highness. Marcos out.' The screen went black.




One by one, the destroyers and frigates began to peel away from orbit, followed by the heavy transports, tankers, and logistics ships. The Astra Gloria followed the Barnham's Pride, their main drives glowing. In Canterlot, it was dark, and Twilight Sparkle peered through the telescope in the Lunar Tower, a name that now served as a memorial rather than an indicator of who lived within it. She could see the human ships as they moved into higher orbits, then ignited their main drives and pushed away from the planet's gravity well. She felt a lump in her throat as she looked on. There was something beautiful about it, something deeply moving and symbolic. They were beings from another world, another system, another section of the galaxy entirely. They had traveled so far, fought so hard, and now they were going home again. That knowledge that others were out there would haunt Twilight for the rest of her days, she already knew that, especially because of the Admiral's final words to Celestia. 

I will do everything in my power to ensure that your planet is not disturbed by the Imperium anymore. On that, you have my solemn oath.

If the Admiral succeeded, then this might be the last sighting, by Twilight or by any future pony, of any kind of alien contact. If they never came again, and if the humans who remained on the planet integrated into society and never sought to send a distress call, would the whole episode fade into the stillness of the pages of history, like the Mare In The Moon? So many species and creatures had been believed either to be mythical or simply extinct until they reared their heads again one day. Would humans and Daemons and the invasion become more myth than fact to future generations? So much in Equestrian lore was hard to decipher and hard to place into a category of truth or lie, or perhaps an embellished half-mix of both. Already Twilight found herself fearing that this whole invasion would, one day, fall into that same trap, and she was determined that it never would. 

Unlike previous generations, they had two means of ensuring that; firstly, there were humans who had remained behind on the planet, and secondly, they now had vid-screen technology from the Imperials, which would allow recordings to be made. With designs on how to make the technology, which Equestrian scientists had been vaguely working on already at a very basic level, vid-screens could one day be mass produced. One in every home and in every school. That was Twilight's wish, so that everypony could watch the recordings they would make. Interviews with the humans and Guardsponies, tours of the rubble and the burned-out streets. Direct addresses from the Princess. How wonderful it would be, once society returned to normal.

But that was far, far in the future, and for now, all Twilight could do was watch the twinkling string of lights as they slowly receeded from the sky above, homeward bound. They, at least, had a home to return to. Twilight did not. Ponyville was gone, reduced to matchwood and carried away by the floodwaters. But, she knew, she had been lucky. Extremely lucky, compared to so many. Her family were all still alive, her closest friends, too, though countless others had died with the town. She herself had escaped death by a second when Luna intervened to protect the Elements, but she was still alive. She was still alive, and though she was alone, it was because she had chosen to be, to watch the human fleet leave, for that is how she had seen them arrive. That was a beginning, this was an ending. There would be no more death and destruction now.




Aboard the Indefatigable, Lord-Admiral Macros had adopted his customary position at the command lectern, hands clasped behind his back, steadfast as ever. That was how he had arrived in the system, and that was how he would leave it. The Indefatigable was, fittingly as the new flagship, the last vessel to break orbit. The first of the transports were reaching the jump point outside of the planet's gravity well, and once the Astra Gloria reached them, the venerable cruiser flashed out of the material plane. Several escort squadrons followed, tearing holes in reality and slipping through into the Warp. The transports began to follow, the Ferrus Terra taking the techpriests of the Mechanicus into the Immaterium. Tankers and frigates, one by one, made the jump, and it was time for the Indefatigable to join them. But before they left orbit entirely, there was one more task for the battlecruiser to carry out.

'Navigation?' Marcos called.

'Coordinates marked, My Lord.'

'Very good, engage main drives,' the Lord-Admiral ordered. The huge craft began to swing about, its underbelly still pointing down at the planet. 'Seal the bridge.'

The armsmen locked it down, securing the doors and turbolifts. No man in, no man out. Marcos had hand-picked his most loyal officers to form the bridge crew for the departure, for good reason. Captain Bormann, his faithful flag officer, stood beside him, and apart from Captain Marsten, the Indefatigable's commanding officer, every other member of the bridge crew came from the Emperor's Judgement, from those rescued by the Princess from the clutches of Queen Chrysalis. Only those most trustworthy men could ever be permitted to carry out such a task as this, for to shirk one's duty was criminal at best, heretical at worst. 

'Auspex?'

'Auspex, aye! Target locked, My Lord!'

'Tactical?'

'Tactical aye. Weapons ready, My Lord!'

'Let it be known and recorded,' Marcos announced, 'that by the authority vested in me by His Imperial Navy, as Lord-Admiral of the fleet, and as commanding officer of the Western Fringe Crusade, in His Holy name, I, Lord Admiral Arlen Marcos, do hereby declare this planet, Kuda Prime, to be home to a foul and insidious abomination against nature and against the Emperor, a power with the potential to cause severe and widespread damage to Imperial morale should word of it be allowed to spread, and a power with the potential for devastating consequences should it ever leave the planet or be manipulated and acquired by those hostile to the Imperium. For this reason, I, Lord-Admiral Arlen Marcos, do hereby declare Exterminatus upon this world. May Imperial justice account in all balance. The Emperor protects.'

Marcos turned to the tactical officer with but a single word on his lips.

'Fire.'

From the belly of the battlecruiser, a dozen spherical objects were released from hidden tube-launchers. They sped toward the planet with but one purpose. Virus Bombs, an older, yet no less effective device used to carry out the monstrous but necessary task of Exterminatus, the death of an entire world. An extremely deadly pathogen would be released into the atmosphere, spread rapidly across the planet by the high-altitude winds. The nasty virus turned all organic matter to sludge in a matter of moments once it fell to the surface, genetically engineered for speed and virulence, a form of incredibly fast-acting necrotic for flesh mixed with an extremely potent herbicide for plant life. Once the organic matter had been reduced to its component and highly flammable state, a single lance beam would finish the job, spreading a tsunami of flame across the planet, rendering it as utterly sterile as if it had been struck squarely by a solar flare.

The bombs fell into the atmosphere and detonated, spraying their toxic contents into the rarefied air. The Indefatigable climbed away from the planet, rolling onto its back relative to the surface. The Auspex officer continued to monitor planetary atmospheric conditions. Everything was going precisely according to the plan, and after several minutes, Marcos issued the second fire order. One dorsal lance blazed into life, a beam of incandescent light streaking across the void, the spark to light the all-consuming flames that were designed to destroy all life, cleanse the planet of all organic matter. A great flash lit the planet just above the eastern ocean as the strike hit home, a blazing glow in the atmosphere, spreading rapidly, like a curtain being drawn upon this strange and tainted world. 





The Indefatigable continued on, reaching the jump point. Hopefully their last act before leaving the system would be enough to cover their tracks, atone for their earlier transgressions so far as the Imperial commanders would see it; the cavorting with aliens, fighting alongside them, allowing Chaos and Changelings to board vessels of the fleet. It was necessary. It was vital. If they had not done so, the entire Crusade fleet would have been wiped out, and the powers and artifacts that had a home upon the planet would have fallen into the hands of Chaos. Now that the battle was won and the remains of the fleet had been extricated from the curious clutches of Queen, Daemon, and Princess; this was the right time for their final task in the system, for their last parting shot. Many would ask why it hadn't been carried out sooner, but Marcos knew he would have his chance to explain once they reached Hydraphur.

The Gellar Field went up, void shields were charged in readiness to compensate for any structural damage. The general alarm was sounded and the crew braced themselves, for the shock of the warp entry could be quite violent at times. Almost the entire crew, save for those on the bridge and in the weapons bays on the lowest deck, were unaware of what had just happened. They had no clue of the Exterminatus order, for such was the lot of most deck-dwellers, who rarely received word of anything significant to happen either inside or outside the hull of their vessel. What they did know was that Hydraphur beckoned- they knew they were homeward bound at last.

'All decks report ready, My Lord!'

'Very good.' Marcos nodded. 'Take us to warp.'

The warp drive charged up with a whine, shaking the deck plating, and with a sudden purple flash, the Indefatigable was gone.