pdf-ebookys Chapter 74 Truth
Chapter 74 Truth
On the first morning after the convoy docked, Vera Nazari stood at the gangway of the Black Pearl, her crimson robe pressed tightly against her back by the circulating wind.
She didn't sleep all night. Not from nervousness, but from excitement.
She was involved in the entire process of planning the landing of 200,000 people, but the ones who actually carried it out were always the service servitors pushing the transport platforms in the berth area and the administrative servitors typing on keyboards in the administration building. She couldn't get involved, nor did she need to. What she was waiting for was something else—that Lunar-class cruiser.
The communicator beeped. It was Phyllis.
"Lady Vera, the Sage has instructed me to inform you that your ship is in berth number seven, a separate berth, and that ship is under your complete control."
Vera pressed the call button: "Okay."
She turned and walked into the corridor, saying to her adjutant, "Gather everyone. Engine room, weapons, navigation, communications, damage control—all team leaders, come with me. We're taking over the ship today."
The adjutant stood at attention and jogged off.
From berth number seven to berth number seven, one has to traverse most of the spaceport. The corridor lights are a cold white, the floor is made of non-slip ceramic steel, and emergency lights and directional signs are embedded in the bulkheads on both sides. Executive sergeants stand silently at the intersections of the corridors, their data lights on the optical lenses flashing in the dim light. Occasionally, technicians in gray robes run past her, carrying data boards, hurrying along, but no one stops to exchange pleasantries.
Berth 7 is a large, independent berth located on the west side of the spaceport, far from the main berth area. The berth's guide lights were already on, their blue beams crisscrossing and scanning the vacuum, locking onto the massive outline in the void. Vera slowed her pace as she stepped onto the observation bridge.
She saw the ship through the bulletproof glass.
Five kilometers long and 0.8 kilometers wide. The adamantium ram at the bow gleamed with a cold gray luster under the starlight, not the dull gray of ceramic steel, but the unique, polished, cold metallic texture of adamantium—a serene and austere quality that only war creations protected by emperors could bear. The surface of the ram was covered with a uniform oxide film, not from corrosion, but a protective layer naturally formed after long-term exposure in space, like the lead-gray rust marks on the dome of an ancient cathedral, each line whispering of past glories and sacrifices.
The macro gun turrets on both sides of the hull were already installed, their barrels pointing into deep space, each with a dust cover at the base, but no muzzle seal. The light spear turrets amidships were embedded between the armor plates, their barrels longer and thicker than those of the standard Luna-class. The cooling grilles were arranged in interlocking concentric circles, extending from the turret base to the muzzle; even in idle mode, a low, energetic hum could be heard emanating from deep within the bulkheads—the breathing of the slumbering machine spirit. The torpedo tubes at the bow were concealed by armored covers, but the hinges and latches were clearly visible, like the chains of an ancient fortress's gate.
The armor plates weren't the dark gray of the Imperial Navy, but a deep red—not the mottled old paint of the Black Pearl, but a uniform, serene new paint that gleamed a dark red under the starlight, like a curtain hanging in a sanctuary. The double-headed eagle emblem spread its golden wings on either side of the hull, its talons gripping the Imperial celestial sphere, inlaid with a gear and skull—the mark of the Garros Dominion, and an eternal vow to Om Messiah. The paint had been aged. Not the gleaming shine of a new ship, but the even fading and fine scratches that would appear after years of space travel. Several patches of paint had peeled off, revealing the dark gray undercoat—each scratch a deliberate, pious camouflage, as if the ship had been battling in the stars for decades, each peeling layer a testament to the Emperor's protection.
Vera stood in front of the glass and stared at it for a long time.
She wasn't unfamiliar with lunar cruisers. In Lucis's orbital dock, she had seen their half-finished skeletons; in the Temple's archives, she had read every single parameter. But to see this ship fully anchored in its berth, in her berth, her very berth—that feeling was entirely different.
"Sir," the adjutant's voice came from behind, "the technical team has arrived."
Vera turned around. The corridor was packed with people. There were veteran engineers from the engine room, gunners from the weapons crew, navigators from the navigation crew, signalmen from the communications crew, engineering sergeants from the damage control team, the veterans she had brought from the Truth Seeker, and the military talents her father had recruited from retired officers of the Apostolic Nation. Nearly a thousand people, crowding the corridor. Everyone was looking at the ship.
"Let's go." Vera lifted her chin. "Get on the ship."
The boarding bridge extended from the berth interface, locking onto the side hatch amidships. Vera led the way, followed by a long procession. Passing through the airlock, they entered the ship's corridor. The lights were on—not the dim yellow of emergency lights, but the cool white of daytime mode, evenly bathed in light from the ceiling panels. The corridor was spacious, with non-slip metal grating on the floor. Pipes and cable trays were embedded in the bulkheads on both sides, and every few meters there was a fire equipment cabinet and an emergency communication terminal. The air was dry, like a tomb, carrying the faint ozone smell unique to the circulating system, like the lingering breath of incense in an ancient sanctuary. The white noise of the ventilation system was low and even, like the humming of chanting from distant ley lines.
"The Machine Soul has awakened," Vera whispered. The voice was like a whisper in the Star Speaker's ears, like a pulse at the Tech Priest's fingertips, and like a war drum in her chest.
She walked along the main passageway toward the bridge, her pace steady, but glancing back at each fork in the road. A right turn led to the engine room; the low-frequency hum of the plasma reactors emanated through the thick terracotta bulkheads, pounding against her sternum like the heartbeat of some lurking beast—steady, calm, and unshakeable. A left turn led to the armory; the ammunition hoisting shafts for the macroguns were nearby, their mechanical locking mechanisms in standby mode emitting a soft, clicking sound, like the winding of an ancient clock. Further on was the hangar; the doors were open, and the interior was empty. The mooring points on the berths were neatly arranged, but not a single shuttle was yet parked there.
The bridge is located at the front of the ship.
Vera paused as the airtight door slid open. The bridge wasn't large—smaller than the Black Pearl's, but more compact. The commander's seat was in the center, flanked by the positions of the first officer and tactical officer. In front were the navigation console and weapons control panel, and behind were the communications array and Thinker terminals. The seats were brand new, the synthetic leather padding still gleaming with a fresh sheen, and the armrests were etched with the Garros gear and skull emblem. Every button on the control panel was labeled, and the indicator lights glowed a faint green in standby mode. Several auxiliary displays were embedded in the dome, currently showing real-time images of the berth area. The Emperor's statue looked down from behind the seats, cold light streaming from the dome and casting deep shadows on the armrests.
Vera walked over and sat down in the commander's chair. The seat cushions conformed to her body shape—not by coincidence, but because the ship's designers had included a margin of adjustment for a standard size. She leaned back, rested her hands on the armrests, and looked up at the main display screen directly in front of her. The screen showed the berth area, with the silhouette of the Black Pearl faintly visible in the distance.
She remained silent for a few seconds.
"Gather everyone. Assemble in the hangar, I have something to say."
The hangar of the Luna-class cruiser, located mid-section, is the largest single space on the ship. Its dome is over ten meters high, and its area is large enough to accommodate dozens of shuttles simultaneously. At this moment, the hangar is empty, with a team of nearly a thousand people lined up on the hangar floor, divided into several loose square formations. Vera stands on an ammunition box; there is no podium or megaphone in front of her.
"This ship is called 'Truth'," she said. "I named it. It's not 'Truth Seeker,' it's 'Truth.' Three words shorter, but the meaning remains the same—we seek the truth."
No one laughed.
"This ship was secured for us by Sage Cohen. You only need to know one thing—this ship now belongs to us. It is not a ship belonging to the Temple, nor is it an overseas branch of the Forging World; it is our own ship. From today onward, the 'Truth' is responsible only to Sage Cohen Severus and only to the Garros Autonomous Domain."
She glanced around.
"Anyone who disagrees, step forward now. I will arrange for you to return to Lucis."
No one moved.
Vera nodded. "Very good." She jumped off the ammunition crate and walked to the makeshift command post in the center of the hangar, where data panels were already laid out. Her adjutant stood beside her, holding a stack of paper lists—for backups; in case the data panels fell into the warp, at least there would be paper.
"Engineers, head to the engine room. Reactor cold start, full system self-check. I'll give you three hours."
The old engineer from the engine room left with his men.
"Weapons team, proceed to the turret control room and ammunition depot. Conduct a functional test on the macro cannon, laser lance, and torpedoes. Do not load ammunition for now; await my orders."
The artillery officer from the weapons group left with his men.
"Navigation team, proceed to the bridge. Calibrate the inertial navigation system and synchronize the positioning signal with the spaceport guidance array."
The navigation team has left.
"Communications team, proceed to the communications bay. Perform self-checks on the Star Language Array and laser communications to ensure a stable data link can be established with the Black Pearl and the Spaceport administration building."
The communications team has left.
"Damage control team, conduct a full ship inspection. Check airtight doors, fire suppression systems, damage control supplies, emergency escape routes—every compartment must be checked, and every door must be opened."
The damage control team has left.
The hangar was more than half empty. What remained was the core armed force of the Apostleship—those recruited from retired officers of the Apostle Guard, plus the veteran sergeants she had brought from the Apostle Seeker. Nearly two hundred men stood in several loose square formations. The military skills of these men were gleaned by her father from the Lucis Temple's retired personnel files through the Nazari family's connections; they were combat veterans, had seen blood, and were not raw recruits. They still wore the old Apostle Guard combat uniforms, the gear and skull insignia on their chests worn white, but their backs were ramrod straight.
Vera turned to face the nearly two hundred people, lowering her voice slightly.
"The armory of the Truth is empty. But the Sage Cohen has promised to equip us with finely crafted gear to equip the Truth's combat guard."
She glanced around, her gaze lingering for a moment on each of the veteran officers' faces.
"You don't need to know the origins of these things. Don't ask, don't spread the word, don't mention them. The Emperor doesn't need you to investigate the origins of the sacred objects; he only needs you to be able to pull the trigger when necessary."
No one asked. In the world of the Mechanicus, not asking about origins is the greatest form of loyalty.
Vera paused for a moment, then pulled up another document from the data panel and projected it onto a makeshift screen on the hangar wall.
"There's one more thing. I have my own plans regarding the ship's weaponry on the Truth." Her gaze swept over the retired Guardian officers. "Sage Cohen didn't ask me to form a Guardian Army—Gallos isn't a Forging World, it doesn't need to follow the Temple's organizational structure. But a Moon-class cruiser can't be without people who can fight tough battles."
She turned the page.
"Therefore, I have decided to establish the 'Machine Soul Cult Combat Guard' on the Aletheia. It will consist of 10,000 men, divided into five companies. The first company, the Aegis Guard, will be responsible for guarding key areas within the ship, patrolling the gangways, and patrolling the core compartments. The second company, the Chainsaw Brotherhood, will be responsible for boarding and counter-boarding, specializing in close combat, equipped with power armor and explosive guns. The third company, the Furnace Fist, will be responsible for turret guarding, anti-aircraft positions, and ship-to-ship fire support. The fourth company, the Thunder Servant, will be mobile and ready to go wherever needed. The fifth company, the Forging Logistics, will be responsible for ammunition resupply, wounded evacuation, and fighter maintenance."
She handed the data panel to her adjutant.
"I will appoint the company commanders for the first through fifth companies. The platoon leaders and squad leaders of each company will be chosen by the company commanders themselves. The organizational charts should be submitted to me within three days."
Several veteran officers nodded. One of them repeated the name "Mech Soul Order Combat Guard" in a low voice, a slight smile playing on his lips—not contempt, but approval. In the tradition of the Mechanicus, an armed force named "Order" signifies that this unit is not merely a warrior, but also the guardians of Mech Souls and the protectors of sacred relics. This is not a friars of the Faith, but it possesses an additional layer of faith.
"The equipment. You will go to the armory to inventory, register, and distribute it yourselves. Then the logistics officer will coordinate with Phyllis on the Black Pearl to allocate it. It's all top-quality equipment; every piece used is one less available, so use it sparingly."
"Yes." The answers were unanimous.
"Alright. Each company, begin forming up. Lieutenant, you keep an eye on things." Vera handed over the data panel, turned, and walked out of the hangar.
She didn't go to the bridge, the engine room, or anywhere else that required her signature. Those things were done by others she trusted. She needed to see Garros with her own eyes.