The Unquestionable Perfection, Unspecified Corridor

Techmarine Incomitus lifted up a sheet of metal with his hands, holding it in place. A few prayers to the Gloriana’s machine-spirits slipped from his lips while his servo-arms carefully welded the panel back into place. Technically, he was supposed to say a lot more litanies, but he was of the opinion that the Gloriana’s machine-spirits would be a lot more pleased by efficient, thorough work than by unnecessary and excessive religious reverence.

“Good evening, Incomitus. Are the repairs progressing smoothly?”

“By a given definition of “smoothly”, yes.” Incomitus answered, glancing briefly at the Chief Apothecary… and promptly doing a spit-take so hard he swore he heard his neck crack.

Every Space Marine in the Scions of the Konic had their quirks; Casimiria’s was an uncharacteristic excess of empathy and compassion for innocent non-combatants, regardless of whether those non-combatants were humans or xenos. And on the many occasions when the Scions of the Konic had more important things to do than run around trying to save xenos that they technically should’ve been purging on sight, the Apothecary would often vent his frustration at that by going on long “walks”. And while it wasn’t exactly common for these walks to end in him returning with the corpse of a foe who’d also wandered off on their own, it wasn’t exactly unheard of either.

Thus, it wasn’t the corpse of the Chaos Sorcerer that Chief Apothecary Casimiria was dragging along with his servo-arms that had drawn the Techmarine’s attention. That dubious honor went to the small, trembling, lavender-colored ball of fur he was carrying in his normal, non-mechanical arms.

Before, Incomitus had scoffed at the verbal descriptions of the local xeno population as “cutesy multicolored ponies”, but now that he was looking at one up close, he had to admit that those descriptions were shockingly accurate. The xeno in Casimiria’s arms was almost disturbingly similar to a miniature Terran horse in appearance, differing only in its absurdly bright purple-and-violet coloration and the short horn that jutted from its forehead. How such a vibrant coat color hadn’t been removed from the gene pool by natural selection, Incomitus honestly had no idea…

“Incomitus? You’re staring.”

The Techmarine looked up at Casimiria, who’d come to a stop and turned toward him. And then back down at the xeno. And then right back up at the Chief Apothecary. “…and you have a xeno in your arms.”

“And?” Casimiria asked, as if that wasn’t something noteworthy. It probably wasn’t, knowing him… but then again, his compassion had never driven him to take a xeno under his wing before.

“...look, I know the xeno inhabitants of this planet are far, far, far cuter than they have any right to be, but you do realize that one of the Imperium’s most well-known mottos is “suffer not the alien to live”, right?”

“Cuteness has nothing to do with it. Putting aside the pointless xenophobia in that motto, there are multiple occasions when the Imperium of Man has suffered the alien to live when it was beneficial to do so.” The Chief Apothecary countered, in a tone that implied that he’d been expecting someone to challenge him on this and had formulated a response in anticipation.

Unfortunately for the Chief Apothecary, Incomitus could see several large, glaring holes in that response, holes that he wasn’t going to leave unaddressed. “Speaking of putting things aside, I’m gonna overlook the fact that your declaration that “Cuteness has nothing to do with it” just tripped, staggered, and face-planted it's way through every single bullshit detector in my brain for a moment, and instead play along with your flimsy-as-all-frak pretense by asking a simple question; how is taking an unfamiliar, potentially dangerous xeno back to your Chapter’s flagship “beneficial” to us?”

“Information, that’s how. This xeno likely has far more knowledge of this planet than we do, and given that these creatures are intelligent enough to build housing and settlements, that knowledge likely includes the locations of resources that would prove useful in getting the Unquestionable Perfection back into the void. And it’s already predisposed to share that information with us, given that I saved it from this Chaos Sorcerer.”

The Techmarine glanced down at the dead Chaos Sorcerer, letting loose a frustrated huff. “You risked your life for that xeno? This cover story of yours just keeps getting better and better.”

“My reasoning is sound, is it not?”

“Yeah, well, try telling that to the rest of the Imperium. The Inquisition’s already pissed at us solely out of principle; they’d lose their frakking minds if they found out that the Chief Apothecary decided to adopt a Xeno.”

“Well, then, I suppose it’s a good thing that there aren’t any around to punish me for daring to do anything with a xeno other than purging it on sight.” And with that, Chief Apothecary Casimiria turned away, stomping off down the corridor.

Incomitus let loose a sigh, silently making a mental note to send a lingua-vox servo-skull down to Casimiria’s Apothecarion when he got the chance. Something told him that a translation for the xeno’s language was about to become a very handy thing to have.

The Unquestionable Perfection, Apothecarion, Several Minutes Later

The first thing Twilight became aware of was a low, almost mechanical-sounding whir. She jolted awake as her mind rapidly clawed its way back to full consciousness, a thin sheet of fabric sliding off of her as she sat up.

Several things became apparent right off the bat. Firstly, she was in pain. A dull, throbbing, bruise-like pain that seemed to permeate every single fiber of her being and felt particularly intense around her wings. Secondly; she was alive. Somehow. Never mind that the last thing she remembered was one of those metal-plated, minotaur-like titans seizing her neck in one of its massive 5-digited paws and lifting its sword to chop her head off.

And thirdly, she wasn’t alone in the room. The source of that mechanical whirr, it turned out, was a floating skull hovering above her.

Twilight let loose a frightened whine, scrambling to the edge of the oddly-oversized bed, her ears flat against her neck as she gazed up at the hovering skull. It didn’t look like a horse skull, thank Harmony, but it was still very, very creepy thanks to all the unidentifiable machinery that had been bolted onto and into it. She couldn’t see any obvious weapons, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t there.

For a long, long minute, the skull and the mare were still, the former bobbing ever-so-slightly as the latter studied it with her wide, terrified eyes.

“…hello?” Twilight finally spoke, her voice barely higher than a whisper.

Doot! Twilight nearly jumped out of her skin at the noise from the creature, bracing herself to roll out of the way of some kind of projectile. But the floating skull did nothing else. No blades or tendrils popped out of it, no lasers or bullets came out of any of the multitude of holes on the thing, nothing about its behavior or appearance indicated that it had even produced a sound.

“Are… are you gonna hurt me?” Again, the strange device let loose another Doot!, identical to the last.

“…that’s a no, right?”

Doot!

Twilight’s ears rose back up as annoyance began to replace fear. “You can’t even understand a word I’m saying, can you?”

Doot!

“Well, at least you aren’t trying to murder me…” Twilight muttered, tearing her eyes away from the ghoulish thing and studying her surroundings. There wasn’t much to see, largely because the lighting was so dim Twilight could barely see the walls of the disquietingly large chamber. The metallic, deep blue coloration of those walls certainly weren’t doing the visibility level any favors, either.

“What even is this place-?”

Da-deet! Twilight spun back around as the floating skull let loose another noise, this one longer and slightly higher pitched than the rest. The whirring noise intensified as it turned around, drifting away from Twilight.

“Wait! Where are you going?!” Twilight exclaimed, but the skull ignored her, not even letting off a parting beep as a part of the wall it was approaching suddenly slid into the ceiling. “Please don’t-“

The skull drifted through what Twilight now realized was a door, which promptly slid shut behind it with an ominous click. “…leave.” Twilight whimpered, her ears drooping as she shivered, and from more than just the chilly draft that the door had briefly let into the room. Honestly, literally anypony else would have been better company, but at least before it left, she hadn’t been completely alone…

A distant, heavy-sounding CLOMP, CLOMP, CLOMP filled Twilight’s ears, and she froze. She’d heard that sound before, back in Ponyville. Or, at least, what those metal-plated monstrosities had reduced Ponyville to. All of a sudden, the sheer size of everything around her made a lot more sense.

Her terror came roaring back, her ears going flat against her neck once again as adrenaline flooded her veins. Oh sweet harmony above… this is a prison cell! I’m a prisoner! I should be looking for some way out of here, not trying to chat with that floating skull-thingy! Her eyes darted around the prison cell, frantically scanning her surroundings for a way out, a place to hide, a weapon to defend herself with, something, anything she could use to escape whatever fate her captors had in store for her-

The door opened, revealing a hulking, all-too-familiar silhouette.

The latest in a very long series of screams of terror erupted from Twilight’s throat. She swiveled around, flaring her wings as she leaped off the side of the bed… and was promptly reminded of the fact that she no longer had wings as her nonexistent feathers failed to catch the air and she fell… right into the creature’s extended hands. A fresh wail of terror escaped her lips as she strained against the monstrosity’s steel-plated fingers, trying to squirm free of its grasp...

“It’s okay.”

Twilight froze as her captor’s deep, slightly staticky-sounding voice reached her ears, her confusion returning with a vengeance as her captor lifted her back onto the bed, setting her down on it with a gentleness that was completely and utterly at odds with the brutality and violence she’d seen from these creatures.

For a long, long second, Twilight just sat there, her mind struggling to process what just occurred. She didn’t know what these invaders did to any live ponies they managed to capture, but she had a few good ideas, most of which involved tossing them into labor camps and working them straight to death, strapping them to a surgical table and vivisecting them alive, tossing them onto an unholy altar and sacrificing them in some kind of horrific ritual to appease whatever dark gods they served, or some nightmarish combination of all of the above.

Or, at least, she thought those ideas were good. Absolutely none of them featured one of those creatures catching her as she fell off the side of a bed, telling her “it’s okay”, and then setting her back down, completely unharmed.

“It’s okay.”The creature spoke again, somehow speaking in near-perfect Ponish as it dropped to one knee next to the bed, in an attempt to look a little less menacing. The attempt wasn’t very successful, on account of the thing still towering over her, but that didn’t change the fact that it was actively trying to not be intimidating. “You’re safe here.”

Twilight looked up at the creature, really looked at it, noticing for the first time that it differed from all the other creatures of its kind that she’d seen. For one, its armor was white and light blue instead of black and gold, and had far less spiky bits, though its wearer was no less intimidating for it. And its helmet was off, giving Twilight an unobstructed view of its head.

The creature had no fur, aside from a short, close-cropped brown ‘mane’ of sorts atop its head. It had eyes, a nose, a mouth, and ears, but no muzzle, and the features it did have were disquietingly small. Its nose protruded only slightly from its face, and its icy, greyish-blue eyes were small, almost beady. And yet, despite its alien appearance, there was no mistaking the compassionate look the creature was giving her.

“Are… are you gonna kill me?”

The creature shook its head. “Of course not. Rest assured that the only thing we have in common with the beings who invaded your homeland is our species.”

The moment Twilight received verbal confirmation that her captors weren’t about to murder her, the floodgates flew open. “Can you help us drive them off? I know it’s a lot to ask of someone you just met but they’re hurting all my friends and I don’t know how to make them stop and I’m scared-“

“Easy there.” The creature interjected, laying one of its hands on her withers in a surprisingly successful attempt to calm her down. “You can worry about all that once you’ve gotten some sleep. You look like you need it.”

“…yeah.” Twilight answered, her eyes starting to droop closed. Now that the adrenaline was starting to leave his system, all the stress and terror and exhaustion that had plagued her these past few days was starting to catch up to her.

“I’ll be back with food and water a little later.” The creature stood up, draping the sheet over Twilight’s form as she shifted slightly, settling into a safe, warm, comfortable place to sleep for the first time in days. Needless to say, it didn’t take her long to drift off into a deep, deep slumber.

The Unquestionable Perfection, Master of the Keep’s Quarters, Several Minutes Later

To: Chapter Master Severa

From: Chief Librarian Magnus

While what my fellow Scions are gossiping about is typically beneath my attention, their discussions of one particular matter are becoming a challenge to not notice. Apparently, at least five of our battle-brothers spotted Casimiria carrying a “small, purple equine-esque xeno” in his arms this evening. A few of those spreading this rumor are claiming that the Chief Apothecary has, to quote a particularly tactless Marine, “lost his fraking mind”.

Personally, I’m not opposed to Casimiria taking a xeno under his care. Quite the opposite, actually; I’m looking forward to studying and interacting with a sapient, intelligent alien organism in an environment other than a no-holds-barred warzone. However, as the aforementioned Marine has made clear with his scornful comment, not all of my fellow Astartes share my enthusiasm at the prospect of sharing space with a xeno.

While I understand that you have many duties as the Scions’ Chapter Master and far more pressing concerns than this, I strongly recommend that you take a little time to look into this, confirm that the xeno isn’t a threat, and make sure the rest of my battle-brothers are informed of what you learned. I’d appreciate it if the xeno didn’t get its head blown off by a battle-brother with more fanaticism than restraint, and I’m sure Casimiria and the xeno would say the same.

Thank you.

Thought for the Day: Knowledge is the lifeblood of the Imperium

Severa closed out the message, setting the dataslate down and looking up at her surroundings. Captains, unlike the rank-and-file space marines they commanded, had personal quarters that they could decorate as they wished, but Severa wasn’t particularly inclined to exercise the latter half of that privilege. As a result, her quarters were a lot more spartan than what was normal for her station, barren aside from a desk, a chair, a bed, a rack of assorted weapons, and a partially-empty bookshelf. To Severa, this was purely a place to sleep and to work in relative peace; no more, no less.

She’d been doing the latter when her dataslate had pinged, notifying her of Librarian Magnus’s message. Coincidentally, the thing she’d been working on just so happened to be how they’d approach first contact with the Xeno natives of this planet.

Severa opened up a private vox-caster channel to Casimiria. “Chief Apothecary Casimiria, this is Severa speaking. I’m fairly sure I don’t need to tell you what I’m reaching out to you about.”

“Yes, you don’t. I was about to notify you of the development myself, actually. Rest assured that the only reason I saved that xeno was the benefits having a xeno informant on friendly terms with the Scions might grant us.”

“Of course.” Severa responded, in a tone that made it clear that she knew full well that the Apothecary’s decision to violate the Imperial tenet of “suffer not the alien to live” was driven by more than simple pragmatism… and also that she was completely fine with that. “That being said, the next time you decide to “recruit” a “xeno informant” from the local population, I’d appreciate it if you could tell me first.”

“Noted.”

“Good. And one more thing: while I’m willing to tolerate you rescuing one “xeno informant”, I’m afraid that I won’t be able to say the same for twenty or more. This is a derelict Gloriana-class Battleship that we’re frantically scrambling to get up and off-planet before the Heretic Astartes take notice of it and murder us all, not a refugee center.”

Through the vox-link, Severa heard Casimira let loose a frustrated huff. “...understood.” The Chief Apothecary growled. “Anything else you wish to discuss with me?”

“Not tonight, no.” And with that, Severa closed the vox-link, picked the dataslate back up, and set about typing up a notice to the rest of the Space Marines about their new alien guest.

Author's Note

Discipline Among The Scions (more specifically, the lack thereof): As you've probably noticed, the Scions aren't quite as disciplined as most Chapters. They make up for it by being very close-knit and dedicated to each other... which also means that they're all up in each other's business and a lot more prone to gossiping between missions as a result.
Lingua-Vox Servo-Skull: This Servo-Skull variant is cribbed straight from Friendship Is Sanctioned, I freely admit. In universe, it exists because the sheer size of the Imperium results in colonies developing radically different versions of Low Gothic, necessitating a servo-skull whose machine spirit can act as an interpreter when a colony's language has drifted so far from Low Gothic it's basically an entirely different language. It can also translate xeno languages, though processing a xeno's language normally take far longer than a few minutes, requires a much larger sample size, and more meaning is lost in the translation. Why the Lingua-Vox Servo-Skull can process Ponish so easily will be explained later.