Thule-551 had been born, like all of her sister-siblings, for one goal alone: to fight within cocoons of metal and spirit to fight against those who would harm those seeking to build a new Age, one heralded by the birth of the Star Child. Like all of her sister-siblings, she had often dreamed of those glorious so-far days of fighting within the thick of combat within her fighter, her mind melding with her sister-siblings and their machines to become more than the sum of their parts.
When she was five, she often raced around with the others and always liked to pretend she was one of those fighter pilots who had become idols and standards of excellence to aspire toward.
When she was ten, she scored high on her aptitude tests, and was selected for the fast-track of the education program and felt prouder than ever, lording it over 546 like that snooty bitch had done when she had been the first for an entire year!
When 551 turned 14 and entered the Academy to begin physical and mental training for her role, she learned three things within the next two years. The first was that, unlike many others, she found girls far more fascinating than boys. The second was that you could be surrounded by those who are to be trained as the best of the best and still end up with those lording about their superiority over you, like 469, a Thule one year her senior who always liked to boast about her skills and put hers down in the same breath. The third was that she was a good pilot.
And that was a problem.
Good pilots are not the best. Good pilots do not become the hand-picked fighter aces that fly on the Libra, who become the heroes of this age, and who will write history with their flights.
And when 551 turned 17, after a whole year of pushing herself beyond the brink of exhaustion, when she finally placed within the top ten of her class...469 boasted to her about effortlessly placing first again during the communal shower, and she turned in fury to punch the smug look of her perfect face.
But she turned too quickly.
She never recalled what happened, only that she woke up a month later, doctors telling her that she slipped and suffered a severe head injury. She was, essentially, paralyzed. All because of one mistake. One quick movement.
All of 551's dreams tumbled down, and her entire reason for existence was shattered. It felt like her whole world had come and set out to mock her in those days and weeks after, the sneers of the doctors, the hushed mumblings of the waste of time of fitting her with an implant to let her walk and move again, the snide gloating of 469 when she came to lord her still-healthy body around.
She would have shot herself if she had the gun to do so then. But she did not, and instead was demoted to just a regular flight school, learning to pilot the myriad transport shuttles and boarding craft the Keepers had in their arsenal.
Not a fighter. Not a bomber. No pilot.
Merely the one ferrying things around.
Yet, in a twist of cruel irony, she got her dream: she was assigned to the Libra.
But as a shuttle flyer, not as one of the top-aces walking around with steely bodies and sharp minds ready to inflict violence and clear the void of the Heretic, the Abominable, and the Apostate.
And like another twist of the knife in her soul, 469 was assigned too, earning herself a spot in the top squadron of the entire carrier, and she did not waste any time to lord herself over her again, walking around with a healthy body, perfect skills, and unbroken confidence. All the while, 551 could hear the whirr of her spine whenever she moved, felt the twitch and lag of her mind telling her fingers to move before they did, and shied away from all but the one who came.
Yet, 469 did not mock her like she once did, like 551 had assumed she would. Certainly, she was still arrogant and self-assured and thought she was the center of the universe, but she also came...to talk. Every day, bearing two sets of meals, so 551 could not escape by getting some food in the canteen. And they talked about nothing at first, nothing consequential, when they were first taking their shake-down cruise across the void before Operation Green Ebb. But as time continued, and the day of combat inched closer day by day...551 found that 469 was not bad company. Easy on the eye, her boasts made to hide a somewhat insecure heart, a sharp mind, and the desire to prove herself worth two Thules.
And wasn't that a thought? That 469 blamed herself for what happened to 551, fully and wholly. It...changed the way she looked at her...friend. She hoped they were at least friends by the time the fleet gathered the troops. It would hurt to see the woman who so lively recounted tales of training and rumor and boasted about the kills she'd score in 551's name refuse at least that. But there was something else when they were but a single jump through the Warp away from Itani, from fighting in earnest to secure Archwan against the Orks. 469 tried to tell her what to do if she died, who would get what of her things, and how she wanted to be remembered.
551...realized she didn't think of 469 as a friend now. Maybe never had. Possibly never will.
And so, when both of them stood before 551's shuttle, with 469 trying to hand her a document where she had written down her last will, a heart that had once known nothing more than loathing made a decision.
And 551's hands snapped out, grasped 469's head, and pressed her lips against her own, not allowing the other to leave until she physically could not hold 469 against herself. Shock, outrage, and confusion warred within the eyes of 469 as she looked halfway between running in fright and punching 551's teeth out. "I...I didn't want to let you go without that," she said, guilt and anger in her voice, fists balled and looking down and away, even as a part of herself freaked out at what she had just done. She hated herself. She had been a coward for years, and now, moments before it all may end, she just...does what? What if 469 will-
521 could not continue that thought. She was too busy trying not to fall; a strong hand had pushed her backward into her shuttle. But she noticed 469 step in after her, a hand smashing the button to close the doors.
What happened next is best not told within polite company.
A scout came back from the front, bearing news and information.
The battles against the Orks had been hard fought, hard-won, and not without cost: the Sagittarius had been shattered by an ambush of the remaining Ork vessels after the Mega Rok had been shattered from within by the Lamenters, and much of the fleet had suffered a savage blow and will require yard-time to be brought to full readiness once more. Yet, not all news in the void is terrible, as the Libra and her craft have proven their worth, denying the enemy the contact they sought by destroying engines and outright shattering smaller vessels with ease; only a single fighter piloted by Thule-477, Thule-487, and Thule-469 destroyed in return!
The war on the ground, however, is a different beast, as initial estimates for Magdab and Grubbub's, an Ash World and a Temperate Continental World, Ork population show that cleansing them of their inhabitants would require a multi-decade engagement per planet with all available forces. The same goes for Smug and "Looty Place" in Gnatiila.
Concerned about the sheer level of fortifications created by the Orks, and the loss of life required to take them even with full orbital control, Admiral K-529 has asked for permission to use Asteroid Bombardments against all four planets. Though it would push the landing and taking of these worlds out by another three years to wait for all the volcanoes to mostly settle, it would also reduce the cost of taking these worlds by a projected 91% for the small cost of temporarily turning these worlds into Volcanic and Frozen Worlds for three to four centuries. He awaits a response, and has noted that, thanks to more accurate information, Itanit can be quickly taken without any additional losses if given the go-ahead for bombardment.
What is the reply?
(6-Hour Moratorium)
[] Request Authorized
Asteroids shall be towed and aimed at these four worlds, and the lives we save today shall fight tomorrow in greater battles where they have to be spent rather than may be used.
(Magdab, Grubbub, Smug, and "Looty Place" are turned into Frozen or Volcanic Worlds for 3-4 Centuries. You lose 91% fewer people. You gain experience using Exterminatus-level responses against threats.)
[] Request Denied
We require the entire output of these worlds for our future liberations, no matter the costs it now incur. Create beachheads and begin a traditional attack against the Orks.
(Magdab, Grubbub, Smug, and "Looty Place" will be attacked traditionally. Incurr heavy losses, but do not turn these four planets into Hostile Worlds for colonization purposes. This will start a century-long extermination process to cleanse all four worlds.)
Do we need Medical Infrastructure to get rid of that? Or is it just "That's 40K baby" rules?
