Chapter 40: The Boy from Olympia
Petros pressed his ear gently against the woman's slightly bulging belly. He held his breath, listening intently, but he couldn't hear anything except a faint gurgling.
"I can't hear the baby at all," he said, disappointed.
The woman reached out, her hand gently stroking Petros's soft black hair. She bent down and kissed his forehead.
"Silly child," she said, her voice warm. "I'm only three months along. You won't hear anything yet."
She stroked his cheek. "In six more months, you'll have a little brother or sister. As the big brother, you must protect them. Now, I'm going to make supper. Go and finish your studies."
The woman turned and walked to the kitchen.
Petros went to his desk and pulled his data-slate from his satchel. He opened his textbook, quickly solving the equations with his stylus. He was always fast with numeracy, and the High Gothic composition that followed was even easier.
His tutors all said he was a brilliant child. He could be a scholar, perhaps a physician, or even an officer in the Planetary Defense Force like his father—though his father was only a junior officer. But Petros wanted to be an architect. He wanted to design and build soaring towers, so everyone in his city-state could live in a proper home.
Soon, the scent of baking bread and cheese filled the small hab. His mother placed the meal on the table: bread, a thick cheese and vegetable soup, and a plate of fresh figs.
Petros dipped his bread in the soup, savoring the flavor.
"Your father went back to the barracks," his mother said as she sat. "They're on a training muster. It might last a month."
"Mm," Petros replied, his head down. He sensed a different, more serious tone in the air tonight.
"Petros," she began, "I heard something today... I heard you frightened one of your classmates at the academy. That you made her cry."
His hand, holding the spoon, paused. He didn't look at her. "I didn't. I was just teasing."
His mother's brow furrowed. "Petros. Your friend... she was frightened because she had started her first blood. She trusted you with her secret. And you told her she was going to bleed to death."
He buried his face in his bowl. "I'm sorry, Mama."
She leaned across the table and kissed his forehead again. "You must be honest, Petros. Good boys don't lie."
"I know, Mama," he whispered.
Her voice softened. "I bought some of your favorite figs. Tomorrow, I want you to take them to Arissa's house and apologize. Her parents will welcome you. Just say you're sorry. She'll forgive you. You're good friends, aren't you?"
She had already spoken to Arissa's parents. The girl wasn't even angry. Both families knew it was just the clumsy, first stirrings of affection.
Petros looked up, his face red, and nodded. "I'll go."
She stroked his hair, a sad smile on her face. "That's good. My little stone."
She was happy he had relented. She liked Arissa; the girl's parents liked Petros.
Petros quickly changed the subject, voicing a worry he'd had. "Mama... I heard some men in the forum. They were talking about... a rebellion."
His mother rested her chin on her hands. "Oh, child, don't worry. It's not a real rebellion. It's just... a symbolic gesture. To remind our Primarch and the Imperium that we are still here. That we need their help."
Her expression darkened. "For years, the Legion has taken our best boys. They go, and they never return... The Imperium has given Olympia nothing. Not resources, not food. Not even honor."
She reached out, touching his cheek.
"So, your father and I... we won't let them take you. We are just... negotiating. To let the Imperium know that children like you must stay on Olympia. To grow up here, to marry, to have children of your own, and to grow old."
Petros blushed at the talk of marriage. His mother smiled.
"What do you think of Arissa?"
"We're just friends..." he mumbled, his face turning red again.
"A girl doesn't share a secret like that with 'just a friend'," his mother laughed. "She likes you, my handsome boy."
The happy, embarrassing dinner ended. But as they were clearing the plates, a new sound came from outside. A low, heavy roar, like a sky-craft passing far too low. And something else... a sound like tearing, like falling.
The noise grew louder. Neighbors were coming out of their habs. Petros and his mother pulled back the linen curtain and looked out.
The sun had just set. The twilight sky was full of them. Hundreds of "falling stars," each dragging a long, fiery tail, arcing down toward their city-state.
"Mama, look!" Petros pointed, his voice full of wonder. "Meteors!"
He was just a child. He didn't know they were Drop Pods.
He didn't see the blood drain from his mother's face, leaving it the color of ash.
Standard Terran Date: 004.M31. The Purge of Olympia.
The Lord of Iron, Perturabo, led over one hundred thousand Astartes of the Fourth Legion in the utter destruction of his own homeworld. The Iron Warriors scoured their planet, slaughtering their own kith and kin. The Primarch himself strangled his own foster-sister, Calliphone.
The few survivors were rounded up and forced into the slave-holds of the Legion's fleet.
And those few Iron Warriors who had refused to take part in the massacre... were executed by their own battle-brothers.