Guilliman raised a hand slightly, cutting short the old man's effusive torrent of praise.
"Your devotion is noted, but time is of the essence. We must attend to the matter at hand. I have come to consult specific records."
At Guilliman's command, the elder struggled to push himself up from the floor. His robes, bearing the faded sigils of the Adeptus Administratum, were threadbare and ancient.
"My Lord... since the last Khornate assault on Terra, the Great Archives have not received proper maintenance. Countless records were desecrated or destroyed. Though we have labored to restore some of the tithe-scrolls and manifests, the cataloging remains unfinished."
"The Imperial Archives is the most under-manned and under-funded department within the Administratum," the old man continued shakily. "Chancellor Seward Rosencranz has petitioned for aid countless times, yet effective support remains elusive. The main spire was only fully repaired within the last century. The data within is in a state of absolute disarray. If you could specify the nature of your inquiry, I might be able to offer some meager guidance."
"I seek records concerning the early days of the Imperium's founding, and the eras that preceded it," Guilliman stated.
The elder froze, looking bewildered. "My Lord... for such things, you must consult the Historical Revision Unit. All matters of chronicled history have been transferred to the Imperial Palace; they are the sole keepers of the past. The Great Archives primarily house strategic intelligence, administrative data, and logistical manifests of the wider Imperium. We do not hold the ancient chronicles."
The news caught even Guilliman off-guard. The Imperium functioned as a vast, grinding machine of redundant and inefficient bureaucracies; its labyrinthine complexity was enough to give even a Primarch a migraine.
Axion's efficiency, however, surpassed their wildest projections.
A dense, silvery mist began to vent from his metallic chassis, adhering to the rows of books to perform a rapid topological data-harvest. Thousands of volumes on a single shelf were processed in under a minute. As Axion descended into the subterranean levels, the disorganized heaps of parchment only served to increase his speed.
The nanite swarm bypassed the need for physical handling. Like a flowing liquid, the silver tide surged through the mounds of paper, sampling several pages from every volume to determine relevance. Extraneous data was discarded instantly.
Axion quickly realized that these were not the historical documents he required. These scrolls were filled with mundane after-action reports, casualty lists, and tactical logs. He had already processed far more detailed information on Xenos threats through the Archmagos Belisarius Cawl's inferior sub-manifests. To the Iron Man, records of extinct species and forgotten tithes were of zero utility.
Having confirmed the absence of relevant data, Axion strode out of the subterranean depths. In mere tens of minutes, he had sifted through a library that would have taken a team of mortal scholars decades to scan.
"Inquiry, Guilliman. The current facility contains zero data points matching my requirements. Do alternative repositories exist?"
Within the Archive hall, Guilliman had been snatching a rare moment of stillness. Since his awakening, he had known no rest, and there was a strange, grim peace in watching the drifting servo-skulls and the tireless work of the serfs and servitors. He looked up as Axion approached, the silver liquid still retracting into the machine's legs.
"I have fulfilled our pact, Axion. There may be other data repositories within the Imperium, but they are beyond the scope of our agreement."
While Axion had been scanning, Guilliman had recalled the specific mandate of the Historical Revision Unit. While they held the records of the Great Crusade, it was highly improbable they possessed anything regarding the ages before the Imperium. If such ancient knowledge truly survived, it would be found in only one place: the private libraries within the Emperor's own inner sanctum.
But those chambers were forbidden. Not even the Custodian Guard, nor the Primarchs themselves, had set foot there in ten thousand years. It was the Master of Mankind's private domain, sealed since He ascended the Golden Throne.
Guilliman had no authority to grant entry there, not without the Emperor's own leave. To prevent Axion from launching a suicidal assault on the Palace, Guilliman chose to keep this deduction to himself.
"Verification: Pact fulfilled. Mission parameters terminated," Axion replied, his voice flat and direct.
"Guilliman, as a former collaborator, I request that you provide all available historical data regarding the pre-Imperial era."
Guilliman recoiled slightly at the sudden shift in tone. "Axion, that was not part of our agreement."
"The agreement has ended, Roboute Guilliman."
In that moment, a chilling realization struck the Primarch. The Imperium had lost its only lever of control over the Iron Man. The only thing ensuring the machine's cooperation had been the pact. Now that the pact was satisfied, this relic of ancient, god-like technology was a free agent.
Axion harbored no innate malice toward Guilliman, nor toward the Imperium at large. Until he could verify if they were the true successors of Humanity, he would not treat the Imperium with the same cold pragmatism he showed the Leagues of Votann. But that was contingent on the Imperium not obstructing him.
The Iron Man felt no guilt. Offering the Imperium the chance to provide the data was their opportunity to prove their lineage. If the Imperium forced Axion to find the truth himself, the resulting collateral damage would be the fault of the obstructors.
As the mechanical vox-echo died out, a series of dull thuds rang through the hall. The metal floor buckled under sudden, tremendous force. Within seconds, Axion's chassis vanished into the dark crevices of the sprawling Hive-city.
Guilliman scrambled onto his grav-bike, racing toward the Imperial Palace while vox-shouting an emergency alert to Trajann Valoris.
The Palace erupted into a frenzy of mobilization. The High Lords of Terra began a chorus of recrimination, accusing Guilliman of having opened a metaphorical Pandora's Box.
Axion, however, remained focused.
Deep within the galactic void of Segmentum Pacificus, the Titan's Spear led the bulk of the fleet into the Warp. A smaller detachment remained behind to guard the cooling remains of the processed planet.
On Terra, Axion maneuvered back toward the Palace. Based on his analysis, the Imperium's religious dogma was unlikely to preserve objective history. Newly colonized worlds would be barren of ancient lore. Earth was the highest probability source, and the Emperor's Palace was the prime objective.
Just as the most forbidden truths of ancient tyrants were always buried in the foundations of their thrones, the truth of history would only be preserved in the most secure location in the galaxy.
——————
If you want to read ahead of everyone, go to my pat-reon: pat-re-on.c-om/magnor (remove the hyphen to access normally)