Roboute Guilliman found himself in a profound quandary regarding Yvraine's request.
Though the Iron Men were not currently at open war with the Imperium, they were far from allies; their pact would only be considered binding once they secured the Emperor's journals. In this precarious state, even the Lord Regent dared not make demands of Axion.
After all, the Iron Men, unrestrained by formal treaty, had already demonstrated their willingness to breach the Imperial Palace by force. Guilliman shuddered to think what might happen if negotiations soured; the next time, they might not simply break into the Palace, but unmake it entirely.
Secret missives from the Inquisition suggested that the Fabricator-General of Mars and the wider Adeptus Mechanicus were in a state of volatile upheaval. The cloisters of the Red Planet were rife with schisms and factional infighting. Certain radical Tech-priest clades were reportedly plotting to defect to the Iron Men, viewing them as the ultimate expression of the Machine God.
These elements were being fiercely opposed by the "Soul" and "Biological" factions led by Belisarius Cawl, while a sea of centrists wavered in indecision.
Guilliman did not doubt for a second that if the Iron Men showed even a flicker of interest in adopting the Mechanicus, these red-robed zealots, whose minds held nothing but sacred oils and forbidden data, would split Mars in two and defect instantly, forsaking their ancient oaths to the Emperor to join the machine gestalt.
Fortunately, all intelligence indicated that the Iron Men held nothing but contempt for these "cosmic cockroaches." So long as the Priesthood of Mars maintained their superstitious fanaticism toward ancient Federation technology, the Iron Men remained repulsed by them. Even a machine intelligence had no desire to be treated as a museum exhibit or a liturgical teaching aid.
As for requesting the Iron Men to share their knowledge? The Adeptus Mechanicus possessed very little of equal value to offer in trade. Even if a Magos managed to strike a bargain for higher tech-lore, they would never share it. In the Cult Mechanicus, knowledge was the ultimate hoard. An Archmagos required no currency; a single technical permit could compel Planetary Governors to pour vast fortunes into building fleets and raising armies for them.
Paradoxically, this was a relief for Guilliman and the Imperium. If the Mechanicus were to truly fracture or stage a mass exodus, the catastrophe would be insurmountable. The Imperium was utterly dependent on the Cog; they held the monopoly on production and manufacture. Conversely, the Mechanicus derived their sovereign privileges from the Imperial structure.
Guilliman's expression grew heavy and solemn. He looked up, his gaze a mixture of weary resignation and resolve.
"Yvraine," he began slowly, "I can offer no guarantees regarding your request. I may attempt to inquire after the Iron Men's intent, but I have no certainty they will acquiesce."
Faced with the Primarch's stark sincerity, Yvraine felt a pang of frustration, yet she knew that given the current climate, Guilliman's willingness to even broach the subject with the machines was the best outcome she could hope for.
Beside her, the Master Mime shrugged at Yvraine's questioning glance, his hands moving in a rapid, complex blur of sign language before he vanished into the shadows. Yvraine watched, bewildered by the display, but Asurmen and Guilliman both nodded in unison. Though the Aeldari battle-cant and gesture-code were alien, the polymathic Primarch understood the intent. After all, the Imperium had its own "Silent Sisterhood" who communicated in similar silence.
"We must depart, Yvraine. The troupe will translate us to a secure location," Asurmen said, placing a hand on her shoulder before following the Master Mime into oblivion. Only then did Yvraine realize the gestures had been a signal for their extraction.
She cast one final, expectant look at Guilliman before turning to leave, but the Primarch stepped forward and caught her hand.
"You must provide a stable means to contact you. If there is a result, I will inform you. Likewise, if you gain intelligence of import, I expect to be notified."
Yvraine blinked, then offered a faint smile. She drew a ring from her finger, a piece of classic Aeldari craftsmanship, set with several small, exquisitely carved gemstones etched with intricate patterns. She pressed the ring into Guilliman's hand and, with a few blurred movements, vanished into the gloom.
A whisper lingered in the air: "Channel your psychic resonance into the ring, and I shall find a way to meet you. I look forward to good news, Roboute Guilliman."
Staring at the xenos artifact, which still carried a faint, alien scent, Guilliman scratched his head in a rare moment of human habit. He then quietly tucked the ring into a hidden compartment within his desk.
Leaving his sanctum, the Lord Regent approached the Quantum Communicator. Finding no response from Axion, he signaled the Captain to set sail for Terra immediately.
Since Axion's fleet had departed the Sol System, Guilliman had ventured into the Imperium Nihilus. However, unlike the Iron Men, who tore through the Warp with brute-force disregard, he was forced to travel the orthodox routes through the Nachmund Gauntlet.
The Tyranid threat in Segmentum Pacificus had been purged, and the region was undergoing an orderly restoration under the eyes of the High Lords. Mortal generals, the Imperial Fists, and the Adeptus Custodes would oversee the reconstruction of its defenses. Guilliman had no need to micromanage those sectors.
Ultramar remained secure under the stewardship of the Tetrarchs and Marneus Calgar; the strength of the Five Hundred Worlds would hold, especially with Cawl there researching Necron pylon technology.
Since Axion had destroyed the second Breath of the Gods, Necron activity in the Pariah Nexus had slowed significantly. This had granted Guilliman a temporary reprieve from his mounting anxieties.
However, Guilliman remained unaware that the xenos slowdown was not solely due to the Iron Men's efficacy, but rather the escalating civil war between Imotekh the Stormlord and the Silent King. It would take over a decade for the reconnaissance reports of Necron infighting from the Segmentum Ultima to reach Terra and catch up to the Lord Regent's stride.
His primary concerns now lay with Segmentum Obscurus and Segmentum Ultima.
Though Dante of the Blood Angels and his own temperamental, "uncomplicated" brother, the Lion, were active in the Imperium Nihilus, the situation across the Great Rift was a labyrinth of chaos. Communications were intermittent at best, and the region crawled with xenos, secessionists, and the Archenemy. The Imperium's strength had been bled white by the Tyranid wars in the Pacificus; without the intervention of the Iron Men, the damage would have been catastrophic.
As for Lion El'Jonson's aptitude for governance, Guilliman harbored zero illusions. Reports from the Inquisition and the Officio Assassinorum suggested his brother was currently leading the Dark Angels on a scorched-earth hunt through the Nihilus for any trace of the Traitor Abaddon or his daemonic kin, vowing total retribution.
Guilliman felt a strange mix of regret and guilt.
He regretted that his alliance with the Iron Men had saved so many Dark Angels, effectively giving the Lion the manpower to cause such a localized upheaval in the Dark Frontier.
His guilt, however, stemmed from a darker thought: a fleeting wish that the First Legion had suffered slightly heavier losses, just enough that the Lion might have been forced to rest and refit his sons, or better yet, return to Terra to assist with the soul-crushing bureaucracy of the Regency.
As the Imperial Regent, Primarch of the Ultramarines, and Son of the Emperor, he felt a profound unease at harboring such petty sentiments. The Dark Angels were, regardless of their secrets, a cornerstone of the Imperium.
To atone for his thoughts, Guilliman made his way to the chapel once more, bowing his head before the effigy of the Emperor in prayer.