Chapter 91: The Weight of Blue Steel

Perspective: Commander Rhom-Varr of the Nova Corps

The bridge of the Nova Central Command Tower thrummed with low vibrations as long-range sensors screamed an alert. A massive fleet had appeared beyond the rim of the system, no warning, no standard arrival protocol, just a tear in space and two thousand vessels forming tight formations.

Commander Rhom-Varr strode toward the display, jaw tight. The holographic interface showed outlines of the incoming ships, angular, grim vessels marked with two-headed eagles and cobalt-blue hulls. Not a single transmission came through in the first seconds. Just disciplined silence.

“Commander,” his comms officer said, “incoming hail.”

“On screen,” Varr replied.

The visage that appeared was unlike any Rhom-Varr had seen. A man, if he could be called that, stood in what appeared to be a command chamber. He wore deep blue armor with gold trim and carried a presence that made even the most seasoned Nova officers pause. His voice came through clear, calm, and firm.

“I am Roboute Guilliman, Primarch of the Ultramarines and Lord Commander of the Imperium. We come at the Emperor’s request to access your Grand Archives. We require data on a system called Morag.”

There was a pause across the bridge. The Nova Corps hadn’t dealt or heard of these so-called Imperium forces before. Rhom-Varr weighed his words carefully.

“Our archives are not for military use. Why should we grant you access, especially to an unknown world?”

The reply was measured. “The Imperium seeks knowledge, not conquest. There is information in your records vital to the security of many worlds. Grant us access, and we will depart peacefully once our task is complete.”

Rhom-Varr exchanged glances with his bridge crew. A threat? Perhaps. But more than that, an honest request backed by overwhelming force. The Primarch had chosen diplomacy.

“You may land a small, escorted delegation,” Rhom-Varr replied. “But be warned—any foul play and you will face resistance.”

“Understood,” said Guilliman.

Moments later, atmospheric alarms sounded as multiple shuttles entered Xandar’s upper layers. From the tower, Rhom-Varr watched the vessels descend in strict formation, blue drop-ships touching down with absolute coordination on the marble-white landing pads of the Grand Archive Complex.

Rhom-Varr met them there. He stood tall in his white-gold Nova officer’s uniform, hands behind his back. When Guilliman disembarked, he understood immediately that this was no ordinary soldier. The Primarch towered over everyone, his every step measured but weighty. Behind him, his Ultramarines moved like a single entity, silent, alert, ready.

“Lord Guilliman,” Rhom-Varr said, offering a short bow. “Welcome to Xandar. Our archives are yours to search, under supervision. Follow me.”

Guilliman nodded. “Thank you, Commander. Proceed.”


---

The interior of the Grand Archives gleamed with silvery stone and bright data screens. They passed through levels of rotating data orbs and suspended holos of ancient charts. Guilliman’s eyes seemed to note every detail, though he said little.

They entered the Core Vault, one of Xandar’s most protected data chambers. Only command staff and designated researchers had access, but today, even that was set aside.

The Primarch stepped forward and activated a console. He searched “Morag.” Nothing. Only a blinking red mark: no entries found.

One of the archivists, a short Xandarian in white robes, frowned. “Morag isn’t listed. It was abandoned centuries ago.”

Guilliman didn’t look at him. “Search deeper.”

Rhom-Varr opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, the floor beneath them hissed. Smoke curled from a panel that had popped open. Warning klaxons shrieked through the archive.

“Sabotage!” the archivist yelled.

The Ultramarines reacted instantly. One of them, Marius, Rhom-Varr would later learn, leapt forward and jammed a plasma tool into the opening. Sparks sprayed outward as he burned through the device’s casing. Seconds ticked past. The alarm cut off.

The smell of burnt metal lingered. Another Nova officer knelt to the exposed device. His voice was grim. “Kree tech. A sleeper cell planted it here long ago. They meant to erase all records if the Search engine turn on.”

“A Kree cell did this?” Rhom-Varr asked.

His lieutenant nodded. “Looks like it. They embed themselves deep, waiting for someone to stumble onto something.”

Guilliman spoke again. “Remove any such infiltrators. Back up your records, do not lose this knowledge again.”

Rhom-Varr gave a nod. “We'll investigate at once.”

Back at the console, Guilliman tapped through command layers the Nova staff hadn’t touched in decades. His fingers paused at a hidden folder, labeled ‘Restricted, Legacy Coordinates’. He entered a short override code, and a dusty old file appeared. Morag. Vault Theta-Nine-Seven.

Rhom-Varr leaned forward. “I never knew this was here. Thank you for saving our records.”

“Knowledge is priceless, Commander. Guard it well.” said the Primarch.

Coordinates and system data floated before them. Ruined planet. No defenses. Vault sealed. It was as if time had skipped over it.

Guilliman memorized the data and stepped back. “I will depart at once. Xandar’s cooperation will be remembered.”

“Safe travels, Primarch. May your mission succeed.” said Rhom-Varr.

---

Outside, the Ultramarines had sealed the chamber and secured the landing pad perimeter. Rhom-Varr walked beside Guilliman as the Primarch made his way back to the dropship.

Then he turned and stepped onto the shuttle ramp. The ship lifted away into the sky, joining the waiting blue fleet above.

Back in the tower, Rhom-Varr watched from the command screen as the vessels gathered once more, silent and methodical. Then, in a ripple of warplight, they vanished from the system.

He stared at the empty space for a long time.

“Log it,” he told his officers. “Make sure it’s recorded.”

“Yes, Commander,” came the reply.

He turned and walked away, a little heavier, and a little more wary of what lay hidden in the stars.


---