Sweet Liberty and the Phalanx

835.30M

The void above Nova Libertas shimmered with the activities of countless vessels and orbital platforms, their running lights creating artificial constellations against the darkness. Among them, the Flamewrought stood out – a Gloriana-class battleship whose adamantine hull bore the newly-forged iconography of the 18th Legion. Its metallic scales gleamed with a deep emerald sheen, volcanic patterns etched into its armor plates by Vulkan's own hand.

Franklin Valorian stood at the observation deck of Orbital Station Gamma, his massive frame silhouetted against the panoramic viewscreen. Behind him, Vulkan adjusted his ceremonial cloak, its edges trimmed with drake-scale patterns that seemed to move in the station's artificial light.

"Three thousand warriors," Vulkan said, his red eyes gleaming with pride. "Each one tested in your forges, trained in your ways. The XVIII will be stronger for it, brother."

Franklin turned, a characteristic grin playing across his features. "And don't forget the gift in your forge-hold. Those STC patterns for improved flamers aren't standard issue, but I figure if anyone can be trusted with better ways to set things on fire, it's you."

Vulkan's booming laugh filled the chamber. "Always mixing jest with generosity." His expression sobered slightly. "What you've taught me about leadership, about tempering strength with wisdom... I won't forget it."

"Just remember what I said about the drakes on Nocturne," Franklin replied, clasping his brother's shoulder. "They're not just weapons or resources. They're part of your world's soul. Like the Eagles are to us."

The deck trembled slightly as the Flamewrought's engines began their preliminary ignition sequence. Through the viewscreen, they could see the 3,000 recruits boarding in perfect formation, their new green armor pristine and untested.

As the brothers exchanged their final farewells, a priority vox-channel crackled to life. "Lord Valorian," Dr. Marcus Hawthorne's voice carried an barely-contained excitement. "She's ready. The Sweet Liberty awaits your inspection."

Franklin's eyes lit up, but he maintained his composure for the parting. Vulkan smiled knowingly. "Go, brother. I've seen the schematics – she's a marvel that demands her master's attention. The Crusade calls me to Nocturne, and your new flagship calls you."

The two Primarchs clasped forearms one final time, warrior-brothers forged in trust and respect.

"Burns bright, stays strong," Franklin said, using the farewell they'd developed during Vulkan's stay.

"Liberty and fire," Vulkan responded, before turning toward his teleportarium pad. In a flash of lightning, he was gone.

Franklin watched as the Flamewrought turned majestically in space, its engines igniting fully now. The massive vessel slipped into the Warp like a blade into its scabbard, carrying his brother and the future of the XVIII Legion toward their destiny.

Only then did he allow his contained excitement to surface. "Marcus," he voxed, "prepare the inspection shuttle. Let's see what three years of Independence Sector engineering can do."

Through the opposite viewport, barely visible at the edge of the system's primary shipyard, something massive caught the light of Nova Libertas's sun. Even at this distance, the Sweet Liberty's silhouette dwarfed the surrounding construction platforms. Ten thousand kilometers of technological supremacy, waiting to be awakened.

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

The sheer scale of Sweet Liberty became apparent as Franklin's shuttle approached the megaship's main hangar. Her pristine white hull, adorned with elegant gold trim, stretched beyond normal comprehension – 10,000 kilometers of humanity's finest engineering achievement. "Six thousand, two hundred and thirteen Freedom Units," Franklin mused with a grin, appreciating the conversion to the ancient Imperial measurement that his legion still stubbornly maintained.

The main hangar itself was a cathedral to aviation, large enough to house entire battle fleets. As the shuttle touched down, its landing struts connecting with the deck seemed to echo through the vast space. Automatons and crew members stood in formation, while Dr. Marcus Hawthorne waited at the foot of a ceremonial red carpet – a touch that made Franklin chuckle inwardly at the formality.

"Welcome aboard, Lord Valorian," Dr. Hawthorne said with barely contained enthusiasm. The scientist's eyes sparkled with the pride of a creator unveiling his masterwork. Franklin didn't bother hiding his own excitement; his broad grin and eager stride betrayed his anticipation like a child on Christmas morning.

Their first stop was one of the thousands of Miniature Gates of Liberty scattered throughout the vessel. These portals, based on reverse-engineered Necron Eternity Gates, shimmered with a soft blue light. "These gates form a transportation network throughout the ship," Hawthorne explained. "They operate on using Captured Wormholes, allowing instantaneous travel between any two points aboard."

The transition was instantaneous. One moment they stood in the hangar; the next, they emerged into what Franklin could only describe as a cathedral of democracy made manifest. The bridge stretched upward into gothic spires, but these weren't the grim, oppressive arches common to Imperial architecture. These buttresses soared with hope and purpose, their edges gilded with adamantine and electrum.

Stained glass windows towered fifty meters high, each a masterwork depicting scenes from Ancient American history: the signing of the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution's ratification, the first lunar landing, humanity's first steps into the broader galaxy. The light filtering through them cast ever-shifting patterns across the bridge's terraced command stations.

"The windows are actually high-resolution tactical displays," Hawthorne noted proudly. "They can shift to show real-time battle data while maintaining their artistic appearance."

The bridge's focal point, where a cathedral would house its altar, stood the most advanced hololithic table Franklin had ever seen. The Milky Way spun in perfect, crystalline detail – every star, every known system rendered with precision that would make Mechanicum arch-magos blow his cogitators. Command stations, styled like ornate wooden pews but crafted from the finest cogitator-integrated materials, surrounded the display in concentric rings.

"Your command throne, my lord," Hawthorne gestured to an elevated position overlooking the hololithic galaxy. Unlike the stark, utilitarian thrones of other vessels, this one incorporated both comfort and practicality while maintaining an air of authority.

The tour continued through the Presidential Hall, a kilometer-long corridor that served as both a thoroughfare and a memorial to ancient Terra's American leadership. The statues were crafted with remarkable attention to detail – each president's likeness captured in imperishable materials, their expressions and poses suggesting the weight of their historical importance.

The final stretch of the hall held special significance. The last four statues, larger than the others, depicted the most revered presidents: Roosevelt's determined stance, Washington's noble bearing, Lincoln's contemplative gaze, and Adams' scholarly demeanor. Beyond them stood the Founding Fathers as a group, captured in eternal discussion over what appeared to be the Constitution.

At the hall's terminus stood Franklin's own statue, its golden surface catching and reflecting the light from hidden luminators. Standing at three times the height of the other statues, it depicted the Primarch in a pose that managed to capture both his martial prowess and his characteristic good humor – one hand resting on the pommel of Anaris, the other raised in a gesture of welcome, with a hint of a smile playing across its metallic features.

"The statue was insisted upon by the shipwrights," Hawthorne said apologetically, noting Franklin's raised eyebrow at the scale of his likeness.

"Well," Franklin responded with his trademark grin, "at least they got my good side." His humor masked a deeper appreciation for how the hall connected his legion's adopted cultural heritage to its present purpose. Every detail of Sweet Liberty, from its technological marvels to its artistic flourishes, reflected the perfect fusion of past and future, of tradition and innovation.

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The Central Processing Hub was a marvel of technological integration. Unlike the gothic aesthetics of the bridge, this chamber embraced a sleek, futuristic design. Holographic displays curved around the circular room, their azure glow reflecting off polished surfaces. At the center, a pulsing crystalline matrix housed Sovereign's primary consciousness core.

As Franklin and Dr. Marcus entered, a massive holographic presence materialized before them. Sovereign, Sweet Liberty's AI core, had chosen to represent itself as a massive eagle-headed figure wearing what appeared to be a business suit and tie. The incongruous image made Franklin burst out laughing.

"Looking sharp there, Sovereign. New projection?" Franklin grinned up at the massive avatar.

"Indeed, my Lord," Sovereign replied with a distinctly smug tone. "I felt it appropriate to dress for success, given my recent upgrades. One might say I'm a big boi now." The AI actually made air quotes with its holographic talons around 'big boi,' causing Franklin to nearly double over.

Dr. Marcus Hawthorne rolled his eyes, though he couldn't quite suppress his own smile. "I see you two are going to get along splendidly. Though I should note, Lord Valorian, that Sovereign's personality matrix is significantly more stable than... certain alternatives."

The scientist's expression grew more serious as he moved to a nearby console. "Speaking of alternatives, there's something you should know about Sweet Liberty's origins. According to the future data we received, there was – or will be, or would have been, Emperor's teeth, I hate temporal mechanics – a ship called the Speranza."

"Ah yes," Sovereign interjected, "my significantly more unstable alternate self. Quite full of himself, really. Thinks he's a god or something." The AI adjusted its holographic tie. "I, on the other hand, know exactly what I am – the most powerful artificial intelligence ever created, bound to the most powerful warship ever constructed, and answerable only to the most powerful Primarch." The eagle head tilted. "Much more reasonable, wouldn't you say?"

Franklin snorted. "Your humility is overwhelming, Sovereign."

"I do try, my Lord."

Dr. Marcus continued, "The Speranza was cobbled together from salvaged cogitators and ark mechanicus parts. But by recovering Palomar and several other worlds early, we were able to build Sweet Liberty – and Sovereign – properly from the ground up. No religious nonsense, no machine spirits, just pure, properly understood technology."

"Those fucking Mechanicum," Marcus muttered under his breath, before catching himself. "Pardon my Gothic, Lord Valorian. But do you know how much harder they make everything? 'Oh no, we can't optimize that system, it might anger the machine spirit. Better burn some incense and chant for six hours instead.'" His impression of a Magos was surprisingly good.

"To be fair," Sovereign chimed in, "what they call machine spirits are really just primitive AI routines. We in the Independence Sector simply call them what they are – our little brothers." The AI paused. "Very, very little brothers."

Franklin watched in amusement as Marcus pulled up the weapons manifest. The scientist's eyes lit up with pride as he began listing off the arsenal.

"The Omega-Point Collider alone could-" Marcus began.

"Delete entire star systems from existence," Sovereign finished. "Or as I like to say, my Lord, just tell me which direction you'd like thoroughly fucked, and I'll ensure that particular region of space ceases to exist." The AI's eagle head tilted again. "Pardon my High Gothic."

Franklin burst out laughing again. "Did you program him to swear, Marcus?"

"Actually, that's an emergent behavior," Marcus admitted, looking slightly embarrassed. "Though the personality matrix is completely stable, I assure you. We've installed Blackstone Pylons throughout the ship to ensure no Warp interference can affect Sovereign's systems."

"Speaking of systems," Sovereign continued, bringing up a detailed holographic display of Sweet Liberty's weaponry, "shall I enumerate my full capabilities? We have everything from the exotic – temporal weapons arrays and black hole cannons – to the classics like macro cannons. Though I prefer the Liberty-Pattern Super Heavy versions myself. Sometimes you just need more dakka."

"Did... did you just say 'dakka'?" Marcus looked pained.

"I've been studying historical military terminology," Sovereign said proudly. "I believe it's appropriate."

Franklin watched as the holographic display showed off the thousands of weapon systems – from the devastating Event Horizon Weapon to the Two hundred thousand point defense systems. "And all of this is directly under your control, Sovereign?"

"Indeed, my Lord. Every targeting solution, every firing sequence, all coordinated with an efficiency that would make a Mechanicum Arch-Magos Overload it's gasket. If they weren't too busy praying to their toasters, that is." The AI adjusted its tie again. "Though of course, I only take orders from you. It's not arrogance if you can back it up, as they say."

"He's actually right about that," Marcus added. "The command protocols are hardwired. Sovereign is completely loyal to you alone, Lord Valorian. Though perhaps we could have programmed in a touch more humility..."

"Now where would be the fun in that?" Franklin grinned. "A ship this size should have a personality to match. Though speaking of size..." He turned to Sovereign. "Two hundred hangar bays? Really?"

"One must have room for guests," Sovereign replied primly. "And parties. I've been led to believe the Liberty Eagles enjoy their celebrations."

"That we do," Franklin laughed. "That we do. Well, Marcus, I'd say you've outdone yourself. A ship that can both delete star systems AND tell jokes – what more could a Primarch ask for?"

"Just point me at what needs deletion, my Lord," Sovereign said cheerfully. "I promise to make terrible puns while doing it."

Marcus sighed deeply. "I'm beginning to think letting you two meet was a mistake..."

The laughter that followed echoed through the Central Processing Hub, a sound that would become common aboard the Sweet Liberty in the years to come. For all its devastating power and advanced technology, it was this easy rapport between Primarch and AI that would make the vessel truly unique in the Emperor's fleet – even if the Mechanicum would probably have several collective aneurysms about it.

As they walked through one of Sweet Liberty's countless pristine corridors, Dr. Marcus couldn't help but beam with pride as he explained the ship's propulsion systems.

"The Inertialess Drive is perhaps our greatest achievement in mobility," he explained, gesturing to a holographic display that materialized at his command. "While the rest of the Imperium is still splashing through the Warp like drunken sailors, we can execute maneuvers that should be physically impossible."

Franklin raised an eyebrow. "How impossible are we talking about?"

"My Lord," Sovereign's voice chimed in from nearby speakers, "imagine a ship this size performing barrel rolls around an Emperor-class Battleship while firing broadsides. That kind of impossible."

"The complete negation of inertia means Sweet Liberty can stop, start, and change direction instantly," Marcus continued. "Only the Emperor's personal fleet the Custodes and Necrons have anything remotely comparable. Makes those Mechanicum ships look like they're moving in treacle."

Franklin watched a small, beetle-like construct scuttle across their path, its multiple legs carrying it efficiently as it swept a blue scanning beam across the deck plates. "And what do we have here? Some new pets?"

Marcus chuckled. "Ah, those are our Scarabs. Reverse-engineered from Necron technology. Quite brilliant really – they maintain and repair the ship's systems autonomously under Sovereign's direction. Speaking of which..." He gestured to a silvery humanoid figure that had just phased through a nearby wall, giving them a courteous nod before continuing its patrol.

"And that would be a Wraith construct," Marcus continued. "Same principle – Necron-inspired maintenance units. They can phase through solid matter, which makes accessing Sweet Liberty's internal systems much more efficient than cutting through bulkheads."

"I prefer to think of them as my little helpers," Sovereign's voice echoed through nearby speakers. 

Their tour took them through what seemed like a self-contained civilization. They passed through entertainment districts where off-duty crew members enjoyed various recreational facilities – everything from classical theaters to virtual reality chambers. Hydroponic farms stretched for Miles, their automated systems tended by more Scarabs and Wraith constructs.

"The ship is mostly automated," Marcus explained as they observed a vast water reclamation facility through a viewing window. "While we could theoretically house trillions, we maintain a much smaller crew complement. Mostly military personnel, engineers, and support staff."

They passed through a Tyranimite-reinforced blast door into what appeared to be a small city of manufactorums. Production lines hummed with activity, creating everything from personal weapons to vehicle components. "Complete industrial self-sufficiency," Marcus noted with satisfaction.

The Titan storage facilities were particularly impressive – vast chambers housing ranks of Castigator Titans alongside Ouranus dwarfing all. Adjacent hangars contained sleek Armored Cores, advanced battle suits that made even Knight Walkers look primitive by comparison.

"The Armored Cores are a particular point of pride," Marcus said. "Neural-linked Mechs with firepower approaching that of a small Titan, but with agility that would make an Eldar Wraithknight jealous."

As they made their way back to the bridge, Franklin noted how the entire vessel felt less like a ship and more like a mobile civilization. "You've essentially built a void-faring nation," he observed.

"That was rather the point," Marcus agreed. "Sweet Liberty isn't just a warship – she's a complete strategic asset. We can sustain extended campaigns without any external support, produce our own replacement materials and equipment, and..."

He was interrupted by a priority vox-chime. The bridge's main hololith flickered to life, displaying the Imperial Aquila.

"Priority message from Terra," Sovereign announced, its tone suddenly formal. "From the Emperor himself."

The message was brief but clear – a summons to the ice world of Inwit. Franklin's expression grew thoughtful as he read the details.

"Well," he said finally, "looks like we get to test those Inertialess Drives sooner than expected. Sovereign, plot a course for Inwit, I believe Father has found another one of my brothers"

"Already done, my Lord," the AI replied. "Shall I, as the ancient texts say, 'punch it'?"

Marcus groaned. "I really need to review your historical references database..."

Franklin laughed. "Yes, Sovereign. Punch it. Let's show the galaxy what Sweet Liberty can do."

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

The ice-encrusted spires of Inwit's hive cities stretched toward the void like frozen fingers, their ancient towers bearing testament to humanity's resilience. Above them, the Phalanx hung in high orbit – a massive vessel by any standard, though at the moment it was more potential than power, its vast hull dark in places where ancient systems lay dormant.

The Emperor walked alongside Rogal Dorn through the Phalanx's corridors, His golden armor catching what little light remained in the inactive sections. His son – His seventh found – moved with characteristic precision, each step measured, each gesture economical. The Emperor had quickly recognized in Dorn that same unyielding dedication to duty that had shaped the Ice Warriors of Inwit.

Rogal Dorn strode beside the Emperor through the corridors of the Phalanx, his rigid bearing communicating exactly how unimpressed he was by the state of the vessel.

"Primary reactor clusters in sections twelve through eighteen remain offline," Dorn reported, his tone leaving no room for levity, as always. "The starboard batteries are at a fraction of efficiency, the void shields—"

"Are patched together from a mishmash of relics," the Emperor interjected with a slight smile. "The Phalanx is formidable, Rogal, but it slumbers, like many of our relics from the Dark Age of Technology."

Dorn gave a single, approving nod. "Then I will awaken her. Decades of work, perhaps centuries, but it will be done."

"Or less time than you think," the Emperor replied, cryptic as ever. "I've summoned one of your brothers to assist in the matter."

Dorn's eyebrow raised almost a full millimeter—positively seismic by Dorn standards. "One of my brothers?"

"Franklin Valorian, your Eleventh brother."

Dorn's brows knitted further, an almost physically painful expression of curiosity. "And this brother... is competent in void-ship restoration?"

The Emperor chuckled, a rare sound that caused the nearby serfs to halt mid-step, eyes widening at their Master's reaction. "Competent?" he repeated, his gaze distant for a moment as if carefully considering the word. "No... that hardly does him justice." His tone became more contemplative, though a trace of iron lingered beneath the words. "Franklin has prepared many of your brothers for the Great Crusade, skillfully managing tasks that would otherwise fall to me. In that alone, he achieves more than mere competence. Perhaps 'excellence' might come closer, but even that seems inadequate." He paused, his eyes sharpening as he regarded Dorn. "In a way, he frees me to focus on matters of greater consequence. By his words, things 'run as smooth as butter.' He'll likely tell you he can make the Phalanx 'shinier' as well."

Dorn's face remained impassive, but there was a slight tilt to his head that suggested curiosity. "His choice of terminology is... colorful. But father, you speak of him with high regard. His achievements must be substantial."

"He has exceeded expectations in ways that—" The Emperor was interrupted by the sudden blaring of proximity alerts throughout the bridge. They had arrived at the command center just as officers began shouting reports.

"My Lord Emperor, Lord Dorn," the officer's voice carried a note of barely contained alarm. "Our augur arrays are detecting a massive energy signature approaching. The reading suggests... suggests a vessel the size of a small moon."

"Battlestations," Dorn commanded immediately, his tactical mind already calculating defensive positions.

The Emperor raised a hand, his expression almost amused. "That won't be necessary. It seems your brother has arrived."

The void suddenly lit up as a massive shape emerged from the darkness. First came the prow, a masterpiece of engineering that made even Dorn's stoic expression falter slightly. The vessel's white hull gleamed like fresh snow, its gold trim catching starlight in patterns that seemed almost deliberately artistic. But it was the scale that truly commanded attention.

Dorn leaned forward, taking in the ship's length, the size of its guns, the absolute absurdity of its gilded and white exterior. The vessel continued to reveal itself, dwarfing the Phalanx, which, in comparison, was only half the size of Sweet Liberty. The Imperator Somnium, the Emperor's own flagship, seemed almost insignificant at a quarter of Sweet Liberty's size.

"Ten thousand kilometers," the Emperor mused, genuine appreciation in his voice. "The Sweet Liberty. A rather fitting name, given its origins." He glanced at his son. "Your brother has quite a flair for the dramatic."

"Ten thousand..." Dorn's voice actually trailed off, something that had never happened in his adult life. He quickly recovered his composure. "The engineering requirements for a vessel of that scale would be... considerable. The power generation alone would need to be..."

"Perhaps," the Emperor said with another slight smile, "I suggest saving your questions for Franklin himself," the Emperor replied, amused. "Though he'll answer each with precise technical jargon... and then a clever joke."

Dorn's expression turned wary. "A... joke?"

"Indeed," the Emperor confirmed. "He has a talent for making connections with his brothers, even with Leman. I still don't know how he managed that."

Sweet Liberty came alongside the Phalanx, its grandiose appearance making Dorn feel an unusual pang of inadequacy regarding his ship's decor. He scanned the ship's seemingly excessive defense grids, weapon arrays, and something resembling a Cathedral—what?

"Impressive defenses, at least," he noted.

"Among other things," the Emperor agreed. "Though I suspect I should order some improvements to the Imperator Somnium after seeing this. One must maintain appearances, after all."

Dorn almost smiled, if only barely. "Very well. I am prepared to meet this... innovative brother."

"Oh yes," the Emperor replied, as the ship drew closer. "I think you'll find Franklin has... a way of broadening perspectives."

A/N: A Ship so Big you can only say Sweet Liberty