Duty

825.30M

Independence Sector

Nova Libertas,

The Valorian Estate

A Few Months into Franklin's Disappearance.

Valorian's private study remained unchanged since Franklin's youth. Ancient leather-bound books lined the walls, and a hololithic map of the Independence Sector dominated the center of the room. Marcus Valorian, his silver hair and lined face bearing witness to centuries of political maneuvering, sat in his favorite armchair, a glass of aged amasec in his hand.

Denzel stood by the window, his massive Astartes frame making the ornate furniture seem almost delicate in comparison. Below, the capital city of Nova Libertas stretched out, its spires reaching toward the stars that had become both their kingdom and their challenge.

"Funny thing about democracy," Marcus mused, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "Everyone loves it until it gives people the freedom to disagree with them." He took a sip of his amasec. "These frontier agitators – they don't want true democracy. They want power, wrapped in whatever ideological flag seems most convenient."

"We could crush them," Denzel stated matter-of-factly. "One company of Liberty Eagles would be sufficient to silence every dissenting voice from here to the Halo Stars."

Marcus smiled, the expression both warm and calculating. "And that, my boy, is exactly what they want you to do. Nothing validates a revolutionary's cause quite like martyrdom, do not give them a reason to fight." He stood, walking to the hololithic display. "Franklin understood this. It's why he created Managed Democracy in the first place."

"The system works," Denzel agreed, "in the fully integrated worlds atleast. But these frontier planets these have yet to be fully integrated..." He gestured to the outer edges of the sector map, where red markers indicated worlds with growing unrest. "They claim we're just the Imperium with a different coat of paint."

"Are we not?" Marcus challenged, his eyes twinkling. "The difference is, we're honest about it. We don't pretend to be something we're not. Managed Democracy acknowledges a simple truth – absolute freedom leads to chaos, but absolute control leads to stagnation. We walk the line between."

Denzel turned from the window. "Franklin always said that freedom requires responsibility."

"And structure," Marcus added. "These agitators on the frontier worlds – what are their actual complaints? Strip away the rhetoric, the calls for 'true democracy' or 'return to traditional values.' What do they really want?"

"Power," Denzel answered immediately. "The old merchant families want their monopolies back. The local governors want autonomy from sector oversight. The religious zealots want to preach to whatever god they want without restriction far from the Imperial Truth."

Marcus nodded approvingly. "And there's your solution. Don't fight the ideology – fight the interests. Every revolution is built on promises to the desperate by the ambitious."

He manipulated the hololithic display, zooming in on specific frontier worlds. "Take Nuovo Roma. The unrest there isn't really about democracy – it's about trade routes. The merchant guilds are funding 'grassroots' movements because our standardized shipping contracts cut into their profits."

"So we adjust the contracts?" Denzel asked, skeptical.

"No," Marcus smiled. "We expose them. Launch a public information campaign about how much the average citizen saves under the new system. Show exactly how much these 'champions of the people' were profiting from the old ways. Turn their own rhetoric against them."

"Fighting politics with politics," Denzel mused. "Franklin would approve."

"Franklin learned from the best," Marcus chuckled, then grew serious. "The Liberty Eagles are a hammer, son. A magnificent, precisely engineered hammer – but not every problem is a nail. Sometimes you need a scalpel."

He walked to his desk, retrieving a data-slate. "I've had my people working on this. Detailed profiles of every major agitator, their financial connections, their private interests. The proper application of this information, combined with strategic economic incentives for loyal worlds..."

"Will give the frontier populations a choice," Denzel finished, beginning to understand. "Support the system that benefits them, or the demagogues who would exploit them."

 Marcus nodded "And when the violence does come – because it will, they'll make sure of that – you'll be responding to clear provocations. The public will support you because they'll understand what's really at stake."

Denzel absorbed this, his tactician's mind adapting military strategy to political warfare. "We'll need to coordinate with the FBI regarding this. Plant the right information in the right places."

"And with our merchant fleets," Marcus added. "Economic pressure can be more effective than military might. When people's livelihoods depend on stability, they tend to choose stability."

"Franklin always said that true freedom comes from security – both physical and economic."

Marcus nodded, pride evident in his expression. "My son understood that democracy isn't about giving everyone what they want. It's about creating a system where people's best interests align with the greater good." He paused, his voice softening. "He'll come back, you know. He's too stubborn to do otherwise."

"I know," Denzel replied. "Until then, we'll preserve what he built. Not through force alone, but through the same balance of strength and wisdom that he showed us."

"Good man," Marcus approved. "Now, let's talk specifics. I suggest we start with the Nuovo Roma situation. A few carefully leaked documents about the merchant guilds' tax evasion schemes, combined with a public works project for the outer hab-zones..."

The two men continued their planning well into the night, the ancient wisdom of political maneuvering combining with transhuman strategic brilliance. Outside, Nova Libertas continued its eternal vigil, its lights burning bright against the darkness of space – a beacon of Managed Democracy in a galaxy of extremes.

-------------------------

830.30M

The Ornate Wooden walls of the White House reflected the hololithic displays hovering above the round table, casting azure patterns across the faces of the Liberty Eagles' Continental High Command. The empty center chair – crafted from adamantium and inlaid with gold patterns – stood as a stark reminder of their missing Primarch.

Denzel Washington, his dark features highlighted by the blue glow of tactical displays, studied the latest reports from the frontier worlds. The weight of command had settled heavily on his shoulders these past five years, though he'd never admit it to his brothers. His fingers traced the pommel of Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi, a habit he'd developed when deep in thought.

"The Mechanicum's encroachment cannot go unchallenged," Marcus Graves declared, his augmetic eye whirring as he projected detailed surveillance footage above the table. The images showed red-robed tech-priests establishing bases on worlds clearly marked with the Liberty Eagles' aquila. "They're exploiting our Primarch's absence, testing our resolve."

Steven Armstrong leaned forward, his massive Mechsuit creaking against the reinforced chair. "Then let's give them a lesson in resolve they won't forget." His Nanomachines pulsed in anger. "I've got three battle groups ready to move on your word, Denzel. One shot, clean and precise – we take out their expedition fleet in the Prometheus Sector."

Elena Koshka raised her hand, her void-admiral's insignia gleaming. "Before we start shooting at Mars' toys, consider this: we have an opportunity." She manipulated the hololithic display, bringing up schematics of their crusade fleet. "Our ships needs upgrades – massive overhauls. The Mechanicum's aggression gives us perfect cover to dock for 'emergency repairs' while we implement the latest modifications across the entire Armada."

"And lose momentum?" Yamato Nakajima interjected, his weathered face creased with concern. "The void-craft designs I'm proposing require immediate implementation. Five years ago, we had 3,800 worlds. Now we have 5,000. We can't afford to slow down."

Chief Librarian Vladimir Mendelev's staff hummed with psychic energy as he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of foresight. "The currents of the Warp are... turbulent. More so than usual. Whatever drew our father into its depths five years ago, I sense similar patterns forming again." He turned to Denzel. "We must be ready. Not just with weapons, but with defenses that can withstand what's coming."

John Ezra, his Honor Guard armor adorned with hundreds of oath papers, nodded gravely. "The Secret Service networks report increased Xenos activity across the frontier worlds. They're whispering about 'the eagle's absence' – using our Primarch's disappearance as propaganda."

Denzel stood, his massive frame casting a shadow across the table. "We implement both strategies." His voice carried the same commanding presence that had made him Franklin's right hand. "Elena, begin the fleet overhaul – but in phases. We'll rotate battle groups through the upgrade process, maintaining our presence while strengthening our ships."

He turned to Armstrong. "Steven, prepare your warning shot. But make it surgical – no collateral damage. We're sending a message, not starting a war with Mars." A slight smile crossed his face. "Yet."

"Yamato," he continued, "accelerate production of the new void-craft designs. Focus on the interceptor variants first – they'll provide cover while we upgrade the capital ships." He paused, considering. "Vladimir's right – we need to be ready for whatever's coming."

Marcus Graves nodded approvingly. "I can redistribute the Army's resources to cover any gaps in our defense lines while the fleet overhauls. The new Mark IV Exo suits are performing beyond expectations – our troops can hold the line."

"One more thing," Denzel added, his hand still resting on Kusanagi's hilt. "I want increased surveillance on all Mechanicum movements near our borders. John, have your Secret Service operatives focus on their command structure. If they're planning something bigger than these probing attacks, I want to know about it."

Elena manipulated the hololithic display again, showing resource allocation projections. "The phased upgrade approach will take longer – about eighteen months instead of twelve. But it keeps our combat effectiveness above 85% throughout the process."

"Acceptable," Denzel decided. "Vladimir, can you spare some of your Techno-Seers to assist with the upgrades? Their machine-empathy could help speed things along."

The Chief Librarian nodded. "I'll assign the Gamma and Delta Squads. They've been studying the new STC variants we recovered from the Halo Stars."

Armstrong cracked his knuckles, the sound like Tyranimite plates grinding together. "Just point me at which Mechanicum fleet needs to learn about respecting borders. I'll make sure the message is received – loud and clear."

"Take the 2nd and 7th Companies," Denzel instructed. "But remember – precision. We're performing surgery, not butchery." He turned to address the entire council. "Franklin taught us that overwhelming firepower isn't just about destruction – it's about control. We demonstrate our strength not through wholesale slaughter, but through precise, undeniable displays of superiority."

The council members nodded in agreement. It was what their Primarch would have wanted – efficient, calculated, and ultimately productive action. Even in his absence, his philosophy guided them, and well if they still refuse to heed warnings then let them refer to the fuck around and find out chart.

"One final matter," Vladimir said, his psychic aura flickering like static. "The FBI had been picking up... echoes. Similar to the disturbances we detected before Father was taken. They're faint, but growing stronger."

A heavy silence fell over the chamber. Denzel's grip tightened on his sword. "Then we'll be ready. Whether it's our Primarch returning, or something else emerging from the Warp, the Liberty Eagles will stand prepared." He looked at each council member in turn. "We've maintained his legacy for five years. We've expanded our territory, protected our people, and upheld his principles. Whatever comes next, we face it together."

"For Liberty," Armstrong declared, rising from his seat.

"For the Emperor," added Elena.

"For Valorian," Denzel concluded, and the council echoed his words.

As the meeting adjourned, Denzel remained at the table, studying the tactical displays. The empty chair seemed to watch him, a reminder of both absence and duty.

Battle-Brother Thomas's Tyranimite boots echoed through the corridor as he rushed towards the Chamber, data-slate clutched in his gauntleted hand. The encounter with the Custodian still felt surreal – like a dream wrapped in gold.

"My lords!" Thomas burst through the doors, interrupting the concluding moments of the council. All heads turned toward him, but he didn't flinch under their collective gaze. "A message... from the Emperor himself."

Denzel's eyes narrowed. "Calm yourself, brother. Report properly."

Thomas took a breath, standing at attention. "My apologies, Lord Washington. A Custodian arrived at the outer gates moments ago. He... he was different from others I've encountered." Thomas's voice carried a note of confusion. "He was actually polite. POLITE. This one Introduced himself, though I was so stunned I only caught the end of his name – Sunshine, I believe."

Steven Armstrong raised an eyebrow. "A Polite Custodian? Not Stoic or Indifferent? Or Downright an Ass but polite? Are you sure you weren't hallucinating, brother?"

"No, sir. He was quite real. Even asked my name before departing. Said the message was urgent, for the High Command's eyes only." Thomas extended the data-slate to Denzel, who took it with measured grace.

The moment Denzel activated the slate, his eyes widened. The other council members gathered around, their expressions shifting from curiosity to shock, then to barely contained excitement.

Vladimir Mendelev's psychic aura flared. "The Eye of Terror... those coordinates..." His Augur staff hummed with energy. "And that icon – the Eagle!"

"A Craftworld," Elena whispered, her void-admiral's mind already calculating transit routes. "Trapped in the Eye itself. And if the Emperor sent these coordinates..."

"He's there," Denzel said, his voice firm with certainty. "Franklin's there."

Armstrong slammed his fist on the table, causing the hololithic displays to flicker. "Then what are we waiting for? The fleet-"

"Is already prepared," Elena interrupted, her fingers dancing across her command tablet. "Standard emergency protocols have kept Battlefleet Liberty at ninety-percent readiness. We can move within thirty minutes."

John Ezra was already issuing orders through his command vox. "All Honor Guard units, full mobilization. This is not a drill. Priority Alpha."

Marcus Graves and Yamato Nakajima exchanged quick nods before rushing out, their own commands echoing through the chamber's communication systems. The machinery of war was awakening, driven by hope and determination.

Thomas stood at attention, watching the High Command spring into action with practiced precision. His mind wandered back to the strange Custodian – the way he'd moved, more fluid than the usual rigid stance of the Emperor's Guards. The way he'd spoken, with an almost casual warmth that seemed at odds with everything Thomas had heard about the Emperor's Custodians.

"Brother Thomas," Denzel's voice snapped him back to attention. "You delivered this message swiftly and properly. Return to your company and prepare for deployment."

"Yes, Lord Washington!" Thomas saluted sharply, but as he turned to leave, he caught Vladimir studying him intently.

"That Custodian," the Chief Librarian mused. "Did he say anything else?"

Thomas paused. "Only... only that we shouldn't delay. And he seemed... happy? As if he was sharing good news with old friends rather than delivering an Imperial message."

Vladimir exchanged a meaningful look with Denzel, but neither commented further.

Within twenty-eight minutes – a new record – Battlefleet Liberty had assembled in high orbit. Hundreds of warships, from swift strike cruisers to the mighty battleships, formed up around the flagship Sweet Liberty. The void itself seemed to hum with their combined power.

As the fleet prepared for Warp translation, Thomas stood at his battle station aboard the Sweet Liberty, still puzzling over the mysterious Custodian. The Custodian named Sunshine the Emperor has some strange naming conventions.

------------------------

The bridge of Sweet Liberty hummed with power, golden light filtering through crystalline viewports that stretched across the futuristic command center. Denzel stood at his customary position to the right of the massive command throne, its ornate form currently empty – waiting for its true occupant's return.

"Sovereign," Denzel addressed the ship's AI, his deep voice carrying across the bridge. "Calculate optimal Warp translation coordinates near the Eye of Terror."

A hololithic projection materialized, taking the form of an eagle wreathed in binary code. "Accessing Prognosticator systems," Sovereign replied, its voice a perfect blend of authority and servitude.

Denzel watched as the Prognosticator's main chamber activated beneath the bridge. The ancient device, a triumph of Dark Age engineering, was a massive crystalline sphere suspended in a gravitational cradle. Within it, countless calculations played out in real-time, mapping the Warp's currents with mathematical precision. Golden threads of energy pulsed through the crystal, each representing the trillions of potential futures and paths.

Connected to the Prognosticator, the Void Abacus whirred to life – a cube of impossible geometries that shifted and reformed constantly. While the Prognosticator predicted the Warp's movements, the Void Abacus translated these predictions into navigational data. Together, they achieved what the Navigator Houses claimed only they could provide.

Denzel remembered when they first discovered these devices, during the early days of their compliance crusade. Franklin had been ecstatic, immediately recognizing their potential. The Navigator Houses had threatened sanctions, but Franklin's negotiation with the Emperor had secured their independence in this matter, as in so many others.

"Calculations complete," Sovereign announced. "Optimal translation point identified. Uploading to fleet command network."

Steven Armstrong, standing at the throne's left, grinned. "Remember our first crusade through here, Denzel? Barely had void shields that could hold against a heavy lance, let alone Warp translation."

Indeed, Denzel thought, looking out at the assembled fleet. Six hundred ships strong now, each a masterpiece of engineering worthy to be called the Eagle's Crusade Battlefleet. He recalled their maiden crusade – three hundred vessels, most of them barely worthy of void travel for Golden Age Standards. Their marines had worn basic ceramite armor, Sector Patterns of course, protected by crude ion shields, armed with pulse rifles that seemed advanced at the time.

Now, as he watched a squadron of escorts take formation, their conversion shields rippling with power, he felt a surge of pride. Their troops wore Tyranimite Exo-Suits, wielding disintegration rifles that could reduce a target to its constituent atoms. Even their basic infantry armor incorporated technologies that would make a Magos weep with envy.

The fleet emerged near the Cadian Gate, and Denzel's enhanced vision took in the changes since their first visit. Orbital rings encircled each planet, bristling with defense platforms. The Cadian Pylons stood active, their black surfaces humming in concert, keeping the Eye's influence at bay. A Blackstone Fortress hung in high orbit, transformed into a command center for the entire defensive network.

"This was our first real conquest," John Ezra commented from behind, his Mechsuit reflecting the golden light of the bridge. "Father chose this direction at random, said he had a good feeling about it."

Vladimir Mendelev's psychic presence rippled with amusement. "Not so random, perhaps. The Prognosticator's first major test was plotting our course here."

Denzel ran his hand along the command throne's armrest, remembering Franklin's pride when they'd secured the Cadian Gate their first Skirmish with Chaos. It had been their proving ground, demonstrating to the Imperium that the Liberty Eagles were a force to be reckoned with. Now, five thousand worlds bore their mark, each a testament to their growth.

"Report, Commander." Said an Officer.

"The Craftworld emerged from the Eye approximately six hours ago. It's moving under its own power but showing signs of battle damage. We've maintained a respectful distance as per standard protocols for Craftworld encounters."

Denzel studied the tactical display as fresh data flowed in. The Craftworld was massive, easily the size of a small continent, and despite the damage, He could see the elegance of its construction. Its wraithbone surface bore scars of recent battle, but the integrity of its structure remained intact. And somewhere aboard that vast vessel was their Primarch.

"Sovereign," Denzel commanded, "open a channel to the Craftworld. Aeldar Language."

"Channel open, Lord Washington."

Denzel straightened, his voice carrying the weight of five years of waiting. "Craftworld vessel, this is First Captain Denzel Washington of the Liberty Eagles Legion. We believe you have something that belongs to us – our father. We would very much like him back."

As they awaited a response, his mind wandered to the technological marvels they'd made and acquired. The Adrathic weapons, supposedly restricted to the Custodians alone, had been another of Franklin's negotiations with the Emperor. In exchange, they had built the Imperator Somnium, the third Archangel-class vessel after Sweet Liberty and Bucephalus. Even now, its massive form dominated the skyline of Forge World Prime back home, currently under construction it's a massive beast the size of a continent.

The Prognosticator pulsed again, its crystalline surface reflecting the complex gravitational patterns of nearby space. Unlike the crude methods of Navigator Houses, who relied on mutation and mysticism, their system was pure science – measurable, reliable, and precise. It had given them true independence, the ability to plot their own course through both real space and the Warp.

Steven's voice broke through his reverie. "Movement on the Craftworld. They're responding."

The hololithic display shifted, showing the elegant vessel in detail. Denzel could see the damage more clearly now – evidence of weapons fire, but also signs of Warp exposure. Whatever battle had drawn Franklin here had been fierce indeed.

"Five years," Denzel muttered, his hand unconsciously gripping Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi's hilt. "Five years since he vanished into the Warp. And now we find him here, at the edge of the Eye itself."

The Prognosticator's calculations suddenly shifted, its crystal surface blazing with new data. The Void Abacus responded, its geometric patterns realigning to account for the change.

"Warp disturbance detected," Sovereign announced. "Pattern matches known signatures. It's him."

Denzel felt his hearts quicken. After all this time, after all their advancement and growth, they were about to be reunited with the one who had started it all. The one who had taken a Dark Age remnant and transformed it into a technological powerhouse that could rival Mars itself.

"All ships, battle stations," he ordered, though he doubted they would be needed. "Prepare for contact."

The fleet moved into position around the Craftworld, six hundred ships displaying the power that the Liberty Eagles had accumulated in their Primarch's absence. They had grown, evolved, expanded – but they had never forgotten who had shown them the path to liberty.

Now it was time to bring him home.