"- Am I a Pirate Space Marine?" Trek asked with a low voice, still unable to speak clearly.
"- Yes," I replied, looking at him.
Trek looked up at Harlock, whose face was obscured by shadow. "You come up with poor names," he chuckled as best he could.
"- I know," I responded, placing my hand on his shoulder. "Rest. If anything feels wrong, go see Nibe."
"- I will," he said curtly before falling asleep, his body still twitching from the intense pain.
"- Nibe, may I have a moment?"
"- Just a second, I'll take off my apron." She tossed the blood-soaked apron into the trash and followed Harlock.
The two of them left the operating room and went up to a floor that overlooked the sleeping Trek. Harlock leaned against the glass wall.
"- What do you want to talk about?" she asked, slightly annoyed.
"- Any observations?"
"- Yes, next time I ask you for help, help me!" she snarled. "I cut out almost 4 meters of intestines to fit everything. If you want to create that many of them, I suggest setting up a base. Or we can do a dozen or so a year."
"- Do those organs take that long to grow?" I asked, looking at Trek, who had blood trickling from his mouth.
"- Rejection reaction, it will pass in a few minutes," she interjected, seeing what Harlock was looking at. "Yes, growing the organs alone takes a long time. I don't have enough space to increase the quantity."
"- Increase the quantity to a hundred per year at least..."
"- Don't expect the impossible!"
"- I believe in you," I replied, leaving her alone, hearing her curse in my direction.
Trek recovered within a few days. His body regenerated surprisingly quickly, and the scars from the incisions were now just thin lines on his skin. Under the watchful eye of Nibe, who monitored his every move and every vital function, he returned to work. A mountain of paperwork, psychological reports to review, and decisions to be made awaited him on his desk. He had to finish everything before they reached Sotha, and that destination was closer than further.
His strength and cognitive abilities soared. This was evident almost immediately during training aboard the Arcadia. His movements became smoother, faster, and every blow was delivered with greater precision. He dominated his opponents; their own skills seemed to pale in comparison to his new capabilities. He was surprised by his current potential himself, realizing how far he had exceeded his former limits.
Imperium Secundus, the planet Sotha—one of many billions of planets in the vast cosmos—was now the focal point. It was on this planet, on Mount Pharos, that the navigation system lay, a priceless relic of ancient technology. Barabas Dantioch, along with Alexis Polux and other Ultramarines officers, were tasked with protecting this extraordinary machine. The Primarch himself had ordered them to protect Pharos at the very beginning of the Horus Heresy. Despite the initial reluctance between the two commanders, Dantioch and Polux performed well. Their differing characters and working methods gradually melted into effective cooperation in the face of a common threat.
And a threat was approaching. According to reports spreading through the Sotha system, a Night Lords fleet was flying towards them. It was a large part of the VIII Legion's fleet. It was estimated to include several thousand traitor Astartes. The defenders of Sotha, on the other hand, had at their disposal less than four thousand loyal Marines, mainly Ultramarines and fragmented forces of other Legions. Additionally, they were supported by Mechanicum detachments with their own dreadful machines. The numbers spoke in favor of the traitors. However, the defenders were holding their ground, so they had an advantage at that point. Their fortifications, defensive guns, and pre-established positions gave them better chances in the unequal fight.
As the soldiers prepared on the planet, the Arcadia emerged above them, shrouded in black cosmic mist. The orbital defense systems immediately locked onto it. Their sensors flared with alarm, tearing through the silence of outer space. They were about to start firing at the unknown vessel when Polux stopped them. His voice came through the communication channels at the very last moment.
"- Let them land; they are pirates hired by your Primarch."
"- Did they receive our distress signal?" Barabas asked. "They could be enemies."
"- No, Lord Guilliman himself approved and ratified a treaty of alliance with these pirates. And since they have arrived, it means they either received the signal or have some business here themselves," interjected Addalus, the commanding officer of the Ultramarines forces.
"- I don't know what Lord Guilliman was thinking hiring a pirate," Polux added.
"- I've seen that ship in action. It may look like a strange cruiser, but its firepower surpasses even battleships," Addalus said, deactivating the alarm and planetary defense so the Arcadia could descend to the planet.
The Arcadia flew downward, heading straight for the landing pads designated for Imperial Navy ships. Air brakes slowed its descent, and the air around the hull heated up to a glowing red. Steel landing plates stretched out beneath it. Down below, the ground crew was already waiting. They stood ready, their faces tired. Their task was to resupply allied ships, delivering ammunition, fuel, and provisions. But their role didn't end there. They were responsible for retrieving bodies from the battlefield and assisting in treating wounded soldiers. This was their routine. In this case, however, they might have been slightly surprised by the sight. The ship that was landing looked like no Imperial vessel. Its sleek, predatory lines did not fit the Imperial aesthetic.
With a rattling clang, the ship's landing legs emerged from hiding. They were massive, covered in engraved patterns and traces of battle abrasions. With a hiss of compressed air and a metallic grind, they settled onto the concrete base of the landing pad. The impact force was so great that it cracked the concrete in places, which broke and crumbled under the pressure of hundreds of tons of the landing hull. A tremor ran through the entire airport structure—a tremor that was well known to everyone.
Meanwhile, the pirates aboard the ship could not wait to go out and have fun. On the Arcadia, one could drink any liquor until passing out. One could take consciousness-altering drugs. However, there was one iron rule strictly observed: no sexual intercourse. Harlock did not want children running around the deck. He did not want children to appear as a result of such recreation on his ship. Therefore, at every docking, a large part of the crew vanished like ghosts. They sought pleasure that was forbidden on board. And despite common understanding, this did not apply only to men. Women also frequently took advantage of this to satisfy their needs.
As soon as docking was complete, the metallic jaws of the docking station clamped around the Arcadia's hull. Hatches began to slide out slowly with a hiss of compressed air, revealing a ramp leading into the depths of the Imperial hangar. At that very moment, an invitation arrived at the Arcadia's main bridge from Sotha's command staff. The invitation concerned a discussion to coordinate joint defensive actions. The Imperial messenger's voice was stiff and formal.
Harlock listened as the messenger spewed forth a stream of words, protocols, titles, and unnecessary formalities. The entire message could have been shortened to one sentence that contained the true meaning. Harlock did not even turn around to look at the communicator screen. He sat with his back to it in the captain's chair; his posture radiated weariness. He was fed up with these senseless ceremonies. Next time he met Guilliman in person, he would have to tell him. He would have to demand that he change their rigid approach and protocols regarding him and his crew.