The temple.
Once, it was supposed to be a place where Imperial Truth was to be spread to the population.
This Imperial doctrine emphasized reason and atheism. Unfortunately, it had corrupted into a religion centered on the God-Emperor.
"This situation was inevitable," he thought as he walked slowly through the religious site.
Religion is poison.
Atreus had nothing against the beliefs from his previous life. However, things were different here.
The faith of a third party could harm an entire civilization, because it fed entities hostile to the races of the material world.
He could not let it develop unchecked.
"This place gives me the impression of being on a ship occupied by the sons of Lorgar," commented a Space Marine from the rear.
Atreus nodded at the remark.
The marble pillars of the temple supported a vast dome, and the floor was adorned with mosaics.
The interior was impeccably maintained, with lush gardens and constantly bubbling fountains, bearing witness to the care provided by the priests.
This place resembled the future churches of the Ecclesiarchy in the 40k era that Atreus had seen online back on Earth.
"Glory to the God-Emperor and His angels!" A priest's voice rang out the moment Atreus's group arrived before the temple altar.
There, a bald high priest with white hair, accompanied by a dozen young girls, presented themselves to them.
It was clear to everyone that the priest had been waiting for their arrival.
"My name is Eustache. I am the humble servant of the God-Emperor, come to welcome these holy Angels who have returned to our world to guide us once more."
At the moment of their meeting, Atreus suddenly felt his strength increase slightly.
There was only one possible explanation: the old priest had given him "Trust."
"Is faith considered a form of Trust?" he thought inwardly.
The situation was both good news and bad news.
"Trust" could bend reality to grant power to the target of that emotion.
The priest saw Atreus as the representative of the God-Emperor, thanks to his status as a Space Marine of the Iron Warriors Legion.
If several people provided him with this kind of "Trust," he risked embodying their idea of an Angel of the Emperor.
"I must prevent that, even if becoming a saint of the Emperor would be a considerable gain in power," he concluded mentally.
While he was lost in thought, the old priest immediately made the apprentice priests and young girls kneel.
"Rise, old man. I have come to announce the future directives this temple must follow," he said, trying to sound as "divine" as possible in front of this fanatic.
The old priest raised his head toward Atreus, various emotions crossing his face.
He was curious to hear the future declarations of the angel he venerated.
"The God-Emperor does not need your faith, for He is already all-powerful. Nevertheless, He desires your help to spread the tale of the wisdom and intelligence of His envoys who have come to guide the people of Limnos III toward a new era," he said, trying to imitate a preacher.
Anthony and Barnaby exchanged a glance, then decided to trust their leader.
They did not understand why Atreus wanted to spread a positive image of himself or present himself as a wise and intelligent man.
However, they chose to trust him.
"Understood, my lord. I will speak of your wisdom to the faithful and will strive to emphasize your generosity in sharing your knowledge with us humble, ignorant sheep," the priest replied, bowing even deeper.
Atreus nodded with satisfaction.
It was impossible to extinguish faith in the human heart given the history of humanity.
Trying would only generate resentment and feed Chaos.
He preferred to create his own version of Imperial Truth without completely banning faith.
As for actually becoming an angel because of Trust, Atreus hoped to avoid it by emphasizing his wisdom and reason.
If the believers' image portrayed him as a Space Marine, he would eventually become a Warp entity.
A saint of the Emperor.
On the other hand, if they saw him as a genius in technological and administrative fields, then that was what he would become.
Atreus simply had to guide the people slowly.
"Can you give me a tour? I like the calm atmosphere of this place."
The high priest did not dare refuse and quickly stood up to guide the group through the temple.
"This temple was built by the servants of the God-Emperor who guided us through the dark ages of Limnos III, and its history is almost as old as the city-state itself," he explained as he walked ahead.
"Under the protection of the God-Emperor, our city-state enjoys a long and flourishing history," he added, pointing to a display case.
It depicted the Emperor reaching out to dying humans.
"This is a work created in memory of the angels who came before you to guide our humble ignorant ones," he continued.
The Astartes ignored the priest, paying attention only to the statues of Iron Warriors.
There were also frescoes depicting the descent of the Angels and the actions of the administrators left behind to guide the people.
Atreus continued observing these works of art as he walked, then suddenly stopped in front of a statue of an Iron Warrior.
"Who is this?" he asked in a tone unusual for Anthony.
Atreus's sixth sense had already informed him of the Space Marine's identity, but he wanted to be sure.
"This is Krasus, a member of the Iron Warriors. Along with the other angels who came from the stars, he crossed the sky and brought us the faith of the God-Emperor."
The high priest answered promptly, having detected the angel's interest in the statue.
Anthony became serious upon hearing the name, silently staring at the marble and painted statue of the Iron Warrior.
Atreus reached out to touch the sculpture, but withdrew his hand at the last moment.
A strange gesture, but the guilt on his face gave the answer to his friend.
Anthony also looked at the statue with a solemn expression.
Barnaby felt excluded.
He looked at Atreus and Anthony, then suddenly realized there was a common point between the two Space Marines that he did not share.
They were veterans of the Legion who had participated in the Battle of the Siege of Terra.
It was highly likely they had known the man named Krasus.
Probably dead on Terra.
…
On the lower deck of Atreus's frigate, four crew members pushed a cart of foul food through the nauseating corridor.
On the way, they occasionally poured buckets of protein blocks directly into the feeding points.
This work did not please those performing it, but the food had to be transported by someone.
Originally, pipes had allowed this thankless task to be done. Unfortunately, they had failed last month.
A malfunction due to the ship's age. Normally, the frigate's maintenance service should have handled it as soon as possible.
However, things seemed more complicated than expected.
Four years ago, when the drainage system in zone B2-68 failed due to Warp travel disturbances, the maintenance service had declared the problem would be fixed quickly.
But the problem had still not been repaired.
It was possible this issue would never be resolved, and this temporary job would probably become a permanent one in the future.
All of this demonstrated the pitiful state of the frigate that Barabas had to somehow get back on its feet.
"Damn it, what did I do in my last life to end up in a place like this?" one man muttered while smoking.
The four men were smoking nicotine-flavored Hack 50 cigarettes containing a mild anesthetic. Besides that, they all had the particularity of wearing flak vests and being armed.
Each of these men guarded the front and rear of the food convoy.
Old Walter noticed that his Hack 50 was completely spent; he was about to reach into his pocket again, but decided to endure his miserable situation.
Given his meager remaining cigarette ration, he would have to deprive himself a little to avoid running out.
Meanwhile, the boss of zone C3-57 heard some clattering sounds as the food entered the trough.
He stepped forward to look: "Shit, protein blocks again," he swore, taking his share.
Zack, another gang member beside him, was even more worried at the sight.
About a year ago, the food for these lower-class slaves had mainly consisted of a nutritious porridge with dubious ingredients.
But then it had become nothing but protein blocks.
"I don't know why they're giving us this now, but it doesn't smell good and it's not just shit," he thought as he also took his share.
Others might not understand, but as a former member of the Imperial Army, Zack knew that protein blocks were more valuable than corpse starch.
This was because protein blocks were the main by-product of promethium production, while corpse starch required grinding any meat that was not too toxic.
Therefore, when the rulers stopped providing corpse starch and switched to protein blocks, there was only one possibility…
War.
"Tss… that end wouldn't be so bad compared to my current situation," he muttered as he took a few pieces of his food.
Zack had no problem with his current job, because he didn't have one.
That was the heart of the problem on a human ship in the 31st millennium.
Compared to the lucky and stupid boss of zone C3-57, he was much more clear-sighted about their current dangerous situation.
Aboard an Imperial troop transport, he had talked with an old sailor in the bar and learned a few things about Imperial starships.
The hierarchy aboard a starship could generally be divided into three levels: upper, middle, and lower decks.
First, the upper deck, where the most distinguished people on the ship resided.
This could include Astartes, the captain, the first officer, the sailor supervisor, Navigators, etc.
These people all shared one common trait: their work was important and irreplaceable, and they carried considerable weight aboard the ship.
Consequently, their treatment was optimal: clean cabins, delicious food, exclusive staff, private bathrooms, and even kitchens.
The middle deck was the gathering place for crew members and sailors.
Crew families, grouped together, were responsible for the proper functioning of the ship, while sailors maintained order and defended against boarding actions with their weapons.
Whether maintaining the ship's water purification system or transporting macro-cannon shells, they were an indispensable part of the starship; but among them, the families in charge of engine maintenance were the most distinguished.
These people could at least be assigned dormitories, sufficient food, rations such as cigarettes and alcohol, and even reproduction rights.
That's right, unauthorized childbirth aboard a starship was illegal, because it added another mouth to feed and prevented the mother from effectively performing her duties during pregnancy.
But the old sailor said that only applied to people on the middle deck; after all, neither the upper nor lower decks really cared about that law.
They were too busy for that.
On the lower deck, things were very different from the other parts of an Imperial ship.
The work of most people was neither urgent nor important, and some people did not even have the right to work.
In case of boarding, even if many people died here, it would not attract the attention of the upper levels, because these personnel were easily replaceable.
It was like a small hive city; everything was chaotic, disorganized, and unimportant.
Those who had a job could at least expect the sailors to come to their aid when targeted by a gang; for those without a job like Zack, the Emperor's embrace could come at any moment.
What the starship could provide them depended entirely on the conscience of the lords on the upper deck.
"Sigh… I just hope I'll taste good," he muttered as he finished his meal.
Zack could not help cursing his luck.
Next month, he might be a protein block in someone else's mouth.
Zack looked at boss Dede, surprised to see that the man was actually quite satisfied with his life.
According to his own words, the stupid man had once been a minor gang member in a rich hive city. However, several factors had led him to this place.
Now, the idiot ruled over a hundred people on the lower deck.
"You've already finished? Too bad, I'm still hungry," Dede declared upon noticing Zack had finished his meal.
Looking at his dejected expression, the former Imperial Army soldier cursed himself for being under the authority of such an idiot.
**Bin!!**
Suddenly, the green light at the entrance came on, accompanied by the mechanical sound of a transmission signaling the door opening.
Bright light from the corridor poured into the cabin, forcing the hundreds of people present to instinctively raise their hands to shield their eyes; the interior of the room was too dark for them to adapt to the sudden glare.
Hundreds of men and women in dirty rags huddled in the corners of the ship's cabin on the lower deck.
Two armed men stood at the entrance; one of them held a data-slate, seemingly searching for something:
"Is Zack still here? Captain Zack?"
Seeing no response, the sailor noticed one of the cabin's members signaling to ask a question.
"Is this for rations?" the young girl asked in a hesitant voice.
"I think so," he said, neither confirming nor denying.
"And then…" The sailor began calling other names.
"Did the sailor really call my name for extra rations?"
Zack was skeptical.
He also noticed that all the people the sailor called had one thing in common.
They had been captured during the Iron Cage campaign, when the Iron Warriors faced Rogal Dorn's Legion.
Logically, Zack should have remained silent and maintained the status quo for now.
However, was that the right thing to do?
Should he really stay and rot in this cabin under the authority of some lower-hive scum?
The answer was obvious to the former veteran.
The moment the sailor was about to close the door, Zack decided to seize the opportunity.
"I, I, I… I'm Zack!!!" he said as he pushed through the crowd.
"I-I'm Zack, the man you're looking for," he repeated, catching his breath.
The ship's officer put away the data-slate and took out a pair of magnetic handcuffs, which he immediately fastened around Zack's wrists.
The moment the handcuffs were put on him, Zack knew one thing.
He had fucked up.
"Uh… if I say I'm not the right Zack… will you let me go?" he tried, hoping to escape.
If he was lucky, he could live as a fugitive aboard the starship.
After all, a frigate averaged one kilometer in length, not counting the colossal volume of Imperial vessels.
The only answer Zack received was the butt of a bolter.
***
Author's note: damn, 2,500 words… that's huge :)
I also underestimated the development of the side characters. However, this universe truly shines through them.
I simply can't focus only on the protagonist in a galaxy this vast.
Anyway, feel free to share your thoughts on how the story is unfolding.