The Primarch of Liberty

Chapter 151: Vacation and a New Primarch



The golden halls of the Imperial Palace stretched endlessly, their magnificent architecture a testament to humanity's renewed glory. Within one of its more private chambers, two figures stood before a massive hololithic display showing the expanse of the growing Imperium. The Emperor, his radiant form barely contained by mortal perception, studied the countless points of light representing conquered worlds. Beside him, Malcador the Sigillite leaned on his staff, his aged features illuminated by the cosmic cartography before them.

"Five hundred thousand worlds, my friend," Malcador began, his voice carrying the weight of both triumph and concern. "The Great Crusade proceeds at a pace even we didn't anticipate. The Independence Sector alone has integrated fifty thousand worlds into their

administration."

The Emperor's face showed a hint of pride at the mention of Franklin's realm. "Franklin has proven quite efficient at expansion and integration. Though I suspect having future knowledge helps somewhat with avoiding potential pitfalls."

Malcador chuckled. "Indeed. Speaking of efficiency, my lord, we need to discuss the Administratum. They're drowning in parchment and ink, trying to manage this vast empire with quill and scroll. It's becoming problematic."

"How so?" The Emperor turned his gaze to his oldest friend, though His mind never truly stopped restructuring the Impossible city through the Reality Engine.

"The current system simply cannot scale," Malcador explained, waving his hand through the hologram to highlight several sectors. "We're seeing increasing delays in resource allocation, miscommunications between sectors, and data loss. Franklin's been complaining - quite colorfully, I might add - about the Administratum constantly misplacing or misrecording the Independence Sector's production numbers, and I quote He's complained, and I quote, 'These idiots keep confusing billions with millions.""

"Franklin has never been one for bureaucratic inefficiency," the Emperor mused, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "What solutions do you propose?"n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Malcador straightened, his eyes gleaming with purpose. "We should consider implementing what Franklin has been advocating: Base Artificial Intelligence systems for data management. Before you raise your concerns," he added quickly, seeing the Emperor's expression shift, "I'm not suggesting anything close to the Men of Iron. These would be simple calculating machines, no more capable of rebellion than a well-designed abacus."

The Emperor's brow furrowed. "Elaborate."

"During the Humanity's Golden Age, we had programs - Gigahard Excel and its ilk - that could process terabytes of data in milliseconds. Simple, predictable machines with no consciousness, no ability to evolve beyond their programming. Just very, very fast calculators. and Data Banks" Malcador gestured to a small device on a nearby table, about the size of his palm. "Franklin's provided examples from his sector. They've been using them for years without incident."

"And you believe these would solve our administrative problems?"

"They would certainly help. The Administratum is buckling under the weight of managing half a million worlds. With these devices, we could process supply requisitions, population censuses, and resource distributions in a fraction of the time, with far fewer errors."

The Emperor moved to examine the device Malcador had indicated. "What of the Mechanicum? They hold strong views about such technology."

A knowing smile crossed Malcador's face. "That's where Belisarius comes in. As the soon-to- be Fabricator-General, he's shown remarkable... flexibility in his interpretation of the Machine Cult's doctrine. If we provide Mars with the STCs for these calculators, it would help secure their cooperation in other matters."

"Cawl," the Emperor mused. "Yes, his appointment will bring significant changes to Mars. You believe he would support this initiative?"

"He's already expressed interest in the examples from the Independence Sector. More importantly, he understands the practical necessity. The Imperium cannot function efficiently if we're relying on manual calculation and physical documentation for everything."

The Emperor was silent for a moment, His mind weighing countless possibilities. "These devices - you're certain they cannot develop beyond their programming? The risks of artificial intelligence-"

"Are well known to us both," Malcador interjected gently. "These are not thinking machines, my lord. They're tools, no more capable of rebellion than a sword or a bolter. Their programming is fixed, their functions limited to mathematical calculations and data organization."

"Show me," the Emperor commanded.

Malcador activated the palm-sized device, and a holographic display sprang to life between them. "Observe. This unit contains production data from three sectors over the past five years. Watch how quickly it can sort, analyze, and present the information."

The display flickered as the device processed millions of data points in seconds, organizing them into clear, comprehensible patterns. The Emperor watched intently as years of

administrative work was completed in moments.

"Impressive," He acknowledged. "And this would free our human administrators to focus on actual governance rather than mere calculation."

"Exactly," Malcador nodded. "The Administratum would still make the decisions, but they'd have accurate, organized data to base those decisions on. No more lost records, no more misplaced decimal points, no more delays because someone spilled ink on crucial documents."

The Emperor's lips quirked in amusement. "I assume Franklin was quite vocal about those incidents?"

"Oh, the stories I could tell," Malcador chuckled. "Did you know he once sent an entire shipping container of rubber stamps to the Administratum's head office? Each one read 'PLEASE DOUBLE-CHECK YOUR MATH.""

"That does sound like him," the Emperor shook his head, fondness evident in His voice. "Very well, old friend. Draft a proposal for implementing these calculation devices. Work with Cawl on the technical specifications and security measures. We'll begin with a trial run in several key sectors."

"And the Independence Sector's expansion?" Malcador inquired, returning to their earlier topic.

"Let them continue as they have been," the Emperor decided. "Franklin's methods may be unconventional, but they're effective. The knowledge his son brought from that other timeline... it's proving invaluable. The Webway Project alone is years ahead of schedule thanks to the information from the Black Library."

"Speaking of the Webway," Malcador's voice turned thoughtful, "the cooperation we're receiving from certain Aeldari factions is unprecedented. Franklin's connection to Khaine seems to have opened doors we never expected."

"The question remains," Malcador said carefully, "of how we handle the integration of such vast territories. Even with these calculation devices, governing five hundred thousand worlds - and growing - is no small task."

"We'll adapt," the Emperor stated firmly. "The Imperium must be flexible enough to grow, yet structured enough to endure. These administrative reforms you propose are a good start. Work with Franklin and Cawl on implementation, but keep a close eye on any potential risks." "Of course, my lord. And what of the other Primarchs? Some may see the Independence Sector's autonomy and technological advancement as... preferential treatment." The Emperor's expression hardened slightly. "They would do well to remember that Franklin's cooperation and contribution to the Imperium comes with certain necessities. The Independence Sector's production capabilities alone justify its special status. Let them focus on their own duties rather than coveting their brother's responsibilities."

"As you say," Malcador nodded, making a mental note to monitor any brewing tensions. "Shall I begin drafting the reforms immediately?"

"Yes. And Malcador?" The Emperor turned to face his oldest friend fully. "Thank you. Your counsel, as always, proves invaluable."

"That's what friends are for," the Sigillite replied with a slight smile, already planning his next meeting with Cawl. As he turned to leave, he couldn't help but reflect on how different things were from that other timeline Franklin had described. Perhaps, just perhaps, they were building something that would truly last this time.

The Emperor watched him go, His mind already processing countless possible futures. The introduction of these calculation devices would change the Imperium in ways both subtle and profound. But then, change was inevitable. The key was ensuring it served humanity's ascension rather than its downfall.

In the strategium of the Sweet Liberty, four of the Emperor's finest sons gathered around a massive hololithic table displaying the remnants of recently crushed Ork empires. The room's advanced technology painted their faces in an eerie green glow as they studied the tactical

overlays.

Franklin Valorian cleared his throat dramatically. "So, my dear brothers, we find ourselves faced with an unusual phenomenon: Ork empires popping up like mushrooms after rain, led

by surprisingly competent Mekboy Warbosses."

Magnus the Red adjusted his scholarly robes, his single eye gleaming with intellectual interest. "Indeed. Their technological advancement rate is... concerning. Though 'technological' might be giving their ramshackle contraptions too much credit." "They work," Rogal Dorn stated with his characteristic bluntness. "That is sufficient for the

greenskins."

Roboute Guilliman gestured to a particular cluster of defeated Ork strongholds. "The pattern is undeniable. These Mekboy Warbosses are displaying a level of strategic coordination that goes beyond typical Orkish behavior."

Franklin coughed awkwardly, knowing exactly why the Orks were "evolving" but choosing to keep that particular tidbit of future knowledge to himself. "Yeah, funny how that works..."

Magnus raised an eyebrow at Franklin's obvious deflection but continued, "I have a proposition. We could theoretically influence their development by selectively eliminating the more technologically inclined Warbosses. Guide their evolution, if you will."

"Explain." Dorn's voice echoed with interest.

"Well," Magnus gestured, creating a small psychic display, "if we prioritize the elimination of Mekboy Warbosses while allowing the more... shall we say, traditionally minded Warbosses to survive, we could potentially shift their species toward a preference for melee

combat."

"You mean make them dumber," Franklin grinned.

"I prefer the term 'specialized in close-combat tactics,"" Magnus replied primly. Guilliman's eyes lit up with understanding. "Brilliant. By controlling which strains survive, we guide their development toward a more manageable threat. Less shooting, more

chopping."

"choppas are easier to wall against than shootas," Dorn nodded approvingly. "i support this

plan."

"Great!" Franklin clapped his hands together. "Let's get this to Father. Here's the data-slate with all the details..." He pushed it toward his brothers.

The other three Primarchs stared at him.

"What?"

"You take it," they said in unison.

Franklin blinked. "Why me?"

"you are father's problem solver," Dorn stated matter-of-factly.

"His 'little fixer,"" Guilliman added with a slight smirk.

"His Favorite Bureaucrat besides Malcador," Magnus finished, his eye twinkling with

amusement.

Franklin slumped in his chair. "I hate all of you."

"No, you don't," Magnus chuckled. "Besides, our Legion's handling of the Kaos Xenos

situation we handled last month."

"Speaking of which," Dorn interjected, "i require more information about these 'kaos' xenos

you encountered. their ability to bypass my fortifications is concerning."

Franklin and Magnus exchanged a quick glance.

"Yes, the... xenos," Franklin said carefully. "Nasty bunch. Very... alien." "extremely alien," Magnus added, matching Franklin's tone. "nothing like anything we've seen before. certainly not related to any other known threats."

Guilliman was already scribbling notes. "Fascinating. Their tactical patterns suggest a level

of strategic thinking that could pose significant challenges. We'll need to adjust our defensive protocols accordingly."

"i shall design new walls," Dorn declared. "these kaos xenos will not bypass my fortifications

again." Franklin struggled to keep a straight face. "That's... that's exactly what we need, brother. Strong walls. For the xenos. The very alien xenos."

"who are definitely not something else," Magnus added helpfully.

"Right!" Franklin stood quickly. "Well, this has been productive. I'll just take this data-slate

to Father and-"

"Before you go," Guilliman interrupted, "while you're speaking with Father..."

Franklin sighed. "What do you need?"

"Additional trade routes would be beneficial," Guilliman began. "And perhaps some

diplomatic considerations for Ultramar..."

"i require more construction materials," Dorn stated. "for the walls against the kaos xenos."

"And I was hoping," Magnus added innocently, "that Father might share more of his

knowledge about the Empyrean's concepts."

Franklin looked at his brothers incredulously. "Are you seriously using me as a messenger

boy?"

"you are the emperor's favorite," Dorn stated bluntly.

"His confidant," Guilliman added.

"His most trusted Primarch," Magnus smiled.

"I'm starting to think helping cure the Flesh Change was a mistake," Franklin muttered.

"Too late now, brother," Magnus grinned. "You're stuck with us." "Fine," Franklin grabbed the data-slate. "But next time we need someone to explain to

Father why an entire sector's worth of administratum clerks received rubber stamps that say 'learn to count,' one of you is doing it." "that was you?" Dorn's eyes widened slightly.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Franklin said innocently, heading for the door.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go convince Father to approve an anti-Ork evolutionary program and increased funding for definitely-not-Chaos-related fortifications."

"Don't forget my trade routes!" Guilliman called after him.

"and my materials!"

"And the metaphysical knowledge!" Franklin's voice echoed back: "I hate all of you!"

"no, you don't," Dorn called back.

"He really doesn't," Magnus chuckled.

The Imperial Palace's Grand Ceremonial Hall gleamed with a warmth that seemed to emanate

from more than just its gold-laden walls. Natural light streamed through vast crystal

windows, casting the assembled demigods in an almost ethereal glow. The Emperor, resplendent in formal regalia that somehow managed to be both understated and magnificent, stood at the center of the gathering. His presence, while still overwhelming to mortals, was carefully modulated to allow his sons to stand comfortably in his presence. "A little to the left, Angron," Franklin called out, directing his brother with the expertise of

someone who had organized far too many family photos. "Fulgrim, your hair is perfect, stop fidgeting. Leman, try to look noble for five seconds, please."

"I always look noble, ye meddlesome showman," Leman growled good-naturedly, though he did straighten his formal wolfskin cloak.

The Emperor's lips quirked in amusement as his sons arranged themselves. On his left stood

absence

Horus, The Primarch of the Luna Wolves in his formal white and gold attire, followed by Angron in a surprisingly well-fitted formal uniform of deep blue and Ashen white. The of the Butcher's Nails had transformed the once-rage-filled Primarch into a stern but composed warrior. Next to him, Fulgrim practically glowed in his purple and gold raiment, while Ferrus Manus managed to make even his formal wear look functional, the silvered hands of his arms contrasting sharply with the dark material of his clothing. Vulkan, massive even among his brothers, wore formal robes in deep green with gold flame patterns that

seemed to dance in the light.

On the Emperor's right, Franklin stood proudly in his liberty-themed formal attire: a tailored navy-blue suit with crisp red gloves and polished red shoes. A star-spangled necktie added a bold flair, while a subtle eagle motif embroidered on the lapels completed the ensemble. Next to him, Leman continued his silent war with his collar, while Roboute maintained perfect posture in his Ultramarines blue formal attire. Dorn stood stoic in imperial yellow, and

Magnus cut an impressive figure in his crimson robes, adorned with subtle scholarly symbols. "Remember," Franklin announced, "we're going for 'unified Imperial family' here. Try to look like we're not constantly arguing about everything." "We do not argue about everything," Dorn stated. "We're arguing about arguing right now," Magnus pointed out.

"That is not correct. I am merely stating a fact."

The Emperor's psychic voice echoed in their minds, tinged with amusement. "My sons, please."

The remembrancer's servitors began their work, flash-bulbs illuminating the scene. Franklin, ever the director, called out adjustments. "Fulgrim, slightly left - perfect. Ferrus, try to look less like you're planning to punch the camera. Angron, excellent neutral expression, brother!" Several flashes later, Franklin clapped his hands. "Excellent! That's our family portrait done, and some propaganda pics for the Imperium. Great job, everyone!"

The formal photography session concluded, the brothers began to disperse around the hall's adjacent garden terrace. Franklin, who had somehow produced an apron reading "Best BBQ Primarch" from somewhere, was already firing up an enormous grill that looked like it had been designed by the Independence Sector's finest engineers.

"I still can't believe Father approved this," Roboute said, approaching Franklin as the latter

began laying out various cuts of meat.

Franklin chuckled, expertly seasoning what appeared to be a steak the size of a Rhino's armor plate. "We're ahead of schedule, brother. Five hundred thousand worlds and counting. Even the Master of Mankind understands the value of R&R. Besides," he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "I think he enjoys seeing all of us together without someone starting a war." Nearby, Fulgrim and Ferrus had fallen into their usual debate about aesthetics versus

function. "But imagine if you just added some decorative elements to the servo-harness," Fulgrim was saying, gesturing enthusiastically. "Nothing excessive, just some subtle filigree..."

"The purpose of a servo-harness is utility, brother," Ferrus replied with the patience of

someone who'd had this exact conversation a hundred times before. "It doesn't need to be 'pretty."" "Everything needs to be pretty!"

On the other side of the terrace, Vulkan and Angron were deep in discussion about legion

traditions. "The brotherhood rituals of the War Hounds have great potential," Vulkan was saying warmly. "Perhaps we could arrange some joint exercises?"

"My sons could benefit from your perspective on warrior-craftsmen traditions," Angron nodded, in thoughtful consideration. "The discipline might help channel their aggression

more productively."

Meanwhile, Leman and Magnus had somehow already managed to start their usual scholarly

dispute.

"I'm merely saying," Magnus insisted, "that your Rune Priests are clearly utilizing warp energies-" "They're using the power of Fenris itself, ye one-eyed scroll-counter!"

"That's literally impossible and you know it!"

Horus and Dorn observed their brothers' various discussions with matching expressions of resigned amusement.

"At least they're not actually fighting this time," Horus noted.

"The last time cost us three walls," Dorn remembered. "I had to rebuild them all." Roboute approached, having changed into more comfortable attire. "Brother, about Father's

approval of these... informal gatherings..."

Franklin chuckled, flipping what looked suspiciously like a Grox steak. "Relax, Roboute. We're

ahead of schedule - 500,000 worlds found and integrated. A week-long vacation while our

sons lead the Crusade? We've earned it." "But the formality protocols="

"Were written by people who never had to manage an empire of half a million worlds,"

Franklin interrupted, handing Roboute a plate. "Here, try this. Special marinade from Nova Libertas."

The Emperor watched His sons from a comfortable distance, a subtle smile playing at His lips. Custodians stood nearby.

Horus and Dorn watched this exchange with varying degrees of amusement while discussing

fortification patterns for newly compliant worlds. The smell of cooking meat began to fill the

air as Franklin worked his culinary magic on the grill.

The Emperor, having taken a seat that somehow managed to be both casual and regal,

observed his sons with poorly concealed satisfaction.

"Food's almost ready!" Franklin called out. "Leman, stop trying to steal pieces before they're

done! Yes, I can see you sneaking over there. Magnus, stop encouraging him by psychically

moving the tongs away!"

"I would never," Magnus said with exaggerated innocence, while definitely moving the tongs

again.

"Fortify the GRILL," Dorn suggested seriously. "Don't you dare," Franklin pointed his spatula at Dorn threateningly. "The last time you

'fortified' my grill, it took Cawl 3 weeks to figure out how to open it again." Roboute, ever the organizer, had somehow produced a dataslate and was creating a schedule

for serving order. "If we optimize the distribution pattern..." "Put that away," Franklin snatched the dataslate. "This is a barbecue, not a military campaign. Though if it were," he added with a grin, "I'd still be in charge. Best BBQ Primarch, remember?"

"The apron proves nothing," Fulgrim sniffed, though he was eyeing the grilling meat with obvious interest.

"The empirical evidence of previous gatherings supports Franklin's claim," Ferrus pointed

out pragmatically.

"HA!" Franklin pointed his spatula triumphantly at Fulgrim. "See? Even the function-over-

form brother acknowledges my supremacy in this domain!" The Emperor watched as his sons fell into comfortable banter, the weight of empire temporarily lifted from their shoulders. These moments, He knew, were as important as any military victory. They were building bonds that would help prevent that dark future he and

Franklin is trying to prevent.

"Father?" Franklin's voice interrupted His thoughts. "Your usual? Medium-rare with that

special sauce you like?"

"Perfect," He replied, allowing a truly paternal smile to show. For just this moment, He wasn't the Master of Mankind or the being of immense power that had guided humanity for millennia. He was simply a father, watching his sons enjoy each other's company. The afternoon stretched on, filled with laughter, arguments, impromptu contests (somehow Leman and Magnus had started a competition about who could flip burgers better - psychically or manually), and the kind of familial chaos that only superhuman demigods could generate.

"Leman, I swear by Father's golden throne, if you try to steal one more piece before it's

ready..."

After all, sometimes the best way to help your sons save the galaxy was to keep them busy

with family portraits and barbecue.

And if anyone noticed that Franklin seemed to check his data-slate a bit too often, well, they

just assumed he was monitoring the cooking temperatures.

Just another day in the life of the Imperial family.

The Imperator Somnium hung in the void a few thousand Astronomical Units away from Baal.

its golden hull reflecting the harsh light of the system's star. Through the vessel's crystal- clear viewing port, a deathworld painted in shades of red and brown rotated slowly beneath them, its twin moons casting shifting shadows across the radiation-scarred surface. Franklin Valorian stood beside his father, both figures cast in the ruddy light of Baal's sun.

The Primarch's usually jovial expression had given way to something more contemplative as

he studied the harsh world below.

"What a shithole," Franklin remarked, though there was no real venom in his voice. "We should begin terraforming operations once we find Sanguinius. The radiation levels alone..."

The Emperor's presence filled the chamber, not overwhelming but comforting, like the

warmth of a sun on a cool day. His golden eyes studied not the planet below, but His son's face, reading the calculations and plans already forming behind Franklin's eyes.

"The process would take a few years" the Emperor noted, "even with the Independence

Sector's technology."

"Worth it," Franklin replied without hesitation. "This world shapes the Blood Angels in ways that..." he paused, choosing his words carefully, "...well, let's just say a less hostile

environment might help with certain issues down the line."

The Emperor turned fully to face His son now. "Speaking of which - have you found it? The

cure for the Red Thirst?"

Franklin shook his head, frustration evident in the set of his shoulders. "Not yet. It's similar to Magnus's sons' flesh-change in some ways, but also fundamentally different. I'll need to examine Sanguinius's DNA directly, and more importantly, his soul or souls." He gestured at

the data-slate in his hand. "The theoretical models suggest it's tied to both, just like the

flesh-change was, but the exact mechanism..." The Emperor placed a hand on Franklin's shoulder, the gesture carrying both reassurance and

expectation. "Keep at it, son. I trust your input on this. Do not fail me."

A chuckle escaped Franklin's lips, some of his usual humor returning. "When have I ever

failed you, Father?"

The Emperor's expression softened slightly, though few would have noticed the change.

"Never. Which is precisely why I trust you with this. The Red Thirst... it could become a significant problem if left unchecked." As father and son began discussing the technical details of transforming Baal, the deathworld continued its slow rotation below them, unaware that its days as a radiation-scarred wasteland were numbered. Soon, a new chapter would begin - both for the planet and for the

brother they had yet to find.

And if Franklin was already planning how to explain to Sanguinius why his homeworld needed

a complete environmental overhaul... well, he had plenty of practice delivering difficult news

to his brothers by now.

After all, that's what family was for.