The battle was done, another victory for the Fifth. There was no glory to be had, a contentious fact within the ranks of the warriors present. The old guard largely was indifferent, they had long learned to disblieve in honour and what they flatly decried as social-constructs among one another. They aspired to greater things, things that this new-brood had no care for. Of brutish origins, so many had their own little strictures of how to fight and what was best in life, brutal little obsessions that most other Legions would find objectionable. It created a great contrast, where only a few years difference would make a member of the Fifth range from those with cold manias and lust for advancement to primitives with almost ritualized brutality. For the most part, those of the latter would evolve into the former given long enough lives, but a growing portion made it past the expected attrition that would make them not a problem for the intellectual elite of the Fifth.

But, perhaps as always happened with such cultures when one couldn’t be rid of the other, there was a growing synthesis.

“You waste our time with this.” Anwar cursed, kicking a corpse of one of the dead Urshites. Their water supply was poisoned by a careful climb deep through their sewage system. It wasn’t enough to kill them, but enough to make this fortress system’s invaders all far too busy demanding time on the toilet to be adequate defenders, or do their other jobs. From there, it was only a few steps to destroy their other defences from within.

“It is not a waste, I have explained the needfulness of this time and time again.” Gamaliel the Apothecary cursed, annoyed that he had let the youthful Marine distract him. With a sigh he looked up, pointing at Anwar with the same blade he was skinning the man beneath him with. “If you have no interest in remaining here, you may depart. There is purpose in what we do, and if you do not serve it you are not needed. Leave, and take any like-minded warriors with you.”

“Do not say such things.” This was a Marine that was starting to be annoying to both Anwar and Gamaliel, a little lickspittle for the Captain. It was thus his self-appointed duty to ensure the Captain’s will of all his warriors getting along remained fruitful.

Anwar thus merely laughed this off. “Leave? I’d be leaving you to die. Duty forbids this.”

“Then do your duty elsewhere.” Gamaliel snapped, spitting at his counterpart.

The younger Marine dodged the glob of acidic phlegm, clicking his tongue sardonically as if chastizing a child. “Such spitefulness for your comrades, and after the joint proclamation of Captain Nestorius to the Legion no less? Abominable!”

A weary sigh came from Gamaliel. “What do you want from me?” 

“To explain why you waste our time so.”

The Apothecary was annoyed, for as far as he was concerned he had already done so. Still, he would try again. “Look, here.” He pointed with his tools to a small but extraordinary patch of hair between the shoulder blades. “This is a mutation, one of interest to me that has permeated through the population of this fortress. Not just the placement of the hair is extraordinary, but also its properties. Now, if you wish, I may teach you further.”

Anwar was clearly unimpressed, kicking another corpse. “And you think this is something that matters?”

The exasperated Apothecary tried his best to get back to work despite the distraction, carving and cutting. “Yes, it matters a lot “

“Elaborate.” 

Gamaliel inhaled through his nose. “Because in studying we learn. We adapt, we evolved, we improve.” Again he looked up, pointing his surgical blade at Anwar. “It is why we are the best, the supreme, the penultimate of all Legions and yea mankind - or at least have the sole discernible potential to be. Not just despite, but precisely because of even our failures we may attain new and greater heights. This, this is not just meat. This is the next step of our learning, and perhaps from it a masterful new discovery could emerge.”

His counterpart crossed his arms. He heard some merit, but far from anything actionable to warrant waiting around for the Apothecarion to finish. “Then why haven't the appropriate Imperial staff taken to this? You think there aren't enough scientists within the realms we conquered that now serve our cause?”


[i]What an annoying little runt. I’ll have to kill him some day. But perhaps I might fix him yet.[/i] the Apothecary thought, the narrowing of his eyes visible even through the helmet he wore. “I do not know. I am not a bureacrat. Would you prefer that? That I be a bean counter and penny pincher? I think you would be only more incensed as such. So, why don’t you leave me to my work?”

Anwar was undeterred, ignoring half of what Gamaliel said to try and bind him against his words. “So you think our Emperor - Peace, Glory, and Success be upon Him - is in error.” 

The Apothecary stared at his counterpart, even as he didn’t cease carving the flesh of the dead men before him. “No. I merely believe that many of his servants are imperfect. For, are we not warned to guard against failure, treachery, incompetence, malfeasance and carelessness in our ranks?” Ripping off a bit of skin from the dead Urshite, he began tearing that part into ever smaller parts and placing it into vials for storage. For a moment, Gamaliel tried to see things in the eyes of his comrade, if only for the mere sake of getting to him. “By the time the Emperor’s scientific staff get here, these samples will be ruined. If they rush here, they may die. We received our changes from mortal man to be more durable, to be faster, to be stronger. We persevere where more simple men won’t. Are you faulting me for complementing the gifts of the geneseed with those of my nature?”

The young Marine wondered how to counter this. On an intuitive level, he knew not how to counter this thinking. But he still knew it was wrong. Thus he merely spat on one of the dead Urshites, his saliva already melting the dead man. “Hurry up.” He said, and headed off to bother his other fellows. 

They didn’t mind of course. The one of Silver Flesh, he was always welcome. That was something that annoyed Gamaliel as he worked, staring at his ruined sample. With a sigh, he raised the flamer behind him. There was no progress born this day. 

As promethium reflected off of his armour, he rummaged in one of his ammunition pouches, retrieving a rusty locket. “I still love you.” the Apothecary murmured, staring at the old image. 

There was not much more time for musing or study. There was more murder and violence to spread. But, perhaps when peace reigned on Earth, there would be time for greater things once more.