Negotiation of Sigmar

879.M30

High Ambassador Fries paced the center of the Negotiation Suite. The normally unflappable resident of Sigmar had good reason to be anxious. It had been 3000 years since the last contact with life beyond his homeworld. For three millennia Sigmar had carried on, unable to penetrate the strangely unnavigable immaterium and unsure if humanity had survived anywhere else.

Until last week. Five days prior, a massive flotilla of ships had dropped out of the Warp at the system's edge. Transmitting greetings in a number languages, the craft had begun making straight towards Sigmar. Signals experts filtered out one of the languages and discovered it was known in historical records as 'Gothik', an ancestor language of their own Sigmarian.

The ships claimed via transmission to be part of an 'Imperium of Mankind', sent from 'Terra', the mythical homeworld of the human race. The Imperium wanted peace and unity. The governments of Sigmar went into high-alert. The information was not leaked to the population, but back-channel discussions were rapid and hectic. The heads of state met and decided one man would represent them. A short transmission back set the arrangements. Fries had been selected, as the only member of the planetary diplomatic pool who knew any Gothik. /Thank the ancestors I decided on dead languages as my secondary focus in the Academy/, he thought to himself. Though on the heels of that thought, a new one mused that this was perhaps not a blessing-- if things went badly, the Imperium fleet had enough firepower to destroy the planet itself.

He determined to ensure things did not go badly.

A soft courtesy knock on the door, as a soldier of the Civil Guard, bedecked in frills and epaulettes, pulled the door open. Two men strode through. One wore a simple black tunic and pants with maroon overcoat. A large bird was pinned to his coat, its two heads looking in opposite directions. His right eye was covered with a bright red orb fixed in a gray frame that protruded from the socket. The second man wore a more recognizable outfit, white and covered with dozens of medals. The sight of mere humans reassured the High Ambassador. A feeling which disappeared as the final member of the entourage stooped to fit through the door frame. A massive man, covered neck to toe in engraved bronze and dark green armor. A cape of reptilian skin flowed down his back from behind oversized shoulder plates. His hair was braided in rows on his scalp, and his eyes were yellow where the whites should have been. A smile was on his dark-skinned face.

The shock must have been visible on Fries' face, because the giant was first to speak. “You must be the High Ambassador,” he said. There was no mockery evident in his tone or posture. Fries found his tongue. “Y-yes.” He coughed and pulled down on his double-breasted dress tunic. “Forgive me. I am High Ambassador Erik Fries, of the planet Sigmar. It is my honor to represent Sigmar in her negotiations with the Imperium of Man.”

The giant bowed slightly. “I am Primarch Osoros, Son of the Emperor of Terra; Master of the Scale Bearers Legion /Adeptus Astartes/; and Commander of the 49th Expeditionary Fleet of the Imperium of Mankind. This is Lord High Admiral Arkhamm of the Imperial Expedition Fleet”-- a nod from the medaled officer-- “and Iterator Belk of Terra, attached to the Fleet.” a nod from the man with the massive aquila. Fries guessed it was likely the Imperial sigil; the Admiral had several visible on his uniform and the Primarch had one worked into the front of his breastplate.

Fries nodded and motioned to the couches off to one side of the room. “If you gentlemen would like to sit..?” The Iterator and Admiral moved to sit. The Primarch smiled again. “I will stand, if it pleases you. I am not in the practice of destroying the furniture of my hosts.” Fries found himself liking the enigmatic giant. /Anyone who is willing to humor others at their expense can't be bad, all other things considered./ He nodded. “Of course, as you wish.”

After drinks were offered and accepted, Fries suggested that some background information was in order. He briefly narrated the history of Sigmar, starting with the collapse of millennia prior, when Sigmar had learned she could no longer contact other worlds. The Imperials did the same, the Iterator using his skills to give an overview of recent Terran history.

“So this... Emperor... what are his goals? Why has he sent you here?” Fries asked. Osoros answered, “Exactly what we said in our opening transmission. Peace and Alliance. My father wishes for humanity to regain her rightful place as ruler of the galaxy, and this requires the membership of all existing human worlds in the Imperium. Only together can we defend ourselves from the myriad foes of our race. Only by contributing the best of their respective worlds can humans weave the enduring tapestry that is galactic civilization.” He was convincing, Fries would give him that. His body language and inflection-- insofar as it matched other people-- was honest and open. He believed what he was saying. /That doesn't mean he's not a simply a pawn,/ Fries thought wryly. The Emperor could have brainwashed his son and followers. It wouldn't make him unique among rulers.

“What you say sounds desirable. And I cannot deny that it is a stirring vision of the future. But you'll forgive my skepticism. You are no doubt emissaries of a powerful Empire. Your fleet alone proves that. But why should I believe you when you say you want peace? That very same fleet seems to put the lie to your claims of peace. Why come with all that firepower? Why even bother asking? I can sense that 'no' is not an answer you plan to accept.” Fries noted the uncomfortable shifting of Lord Admiral Arkhamm, and knew he was correct. He shifted his gaze to the Primarch. “I am right, aren't I? You are here to accept our entrance into the Imperium if we agree, and conquer us if we do not.”

Osoros frowned. He then turned to the Admiral and the Iterator. “Wait outside, if you please.” He cut short their protests. “I have served the Emperor for two decades. I am not about to betray him, or undo these negotiations through misguided posturing. Wait outside.” When the two had departed, the Primarch fixed Fries with his gaze. “Listen to me very carefully, High Ambassador.  We are in a precarious position, you and I. I represent my Father and the empire he has striven to build for the last several centuries. You represent the people of Sigmar and their governments. We must come to a preliminary agreement, or lives will be lost unnecessarily.”

“You were right that we cannot accept any other conclusion than Sigmar's inclusion as a full member of the Imperium of Mankind, with all the honors and duties that implies. But to be a member of the Imperium does not mean the abolition of your way of life. Far from it. The Emperor is no fool. He knows the only way a galactic civilization can be managed is in a decentralized fashion. The day-to-day governance has to be local in order to work. He cannot rule Sigmar from a half-galaxy away, nor does he wish to. Your world would be ruled by your own people. Taxes and troop levies would be required,  your history would be studied and recorded for posterity, and any scientific or technological discoveries would be shared with the wider Imperium.” He rose to his full height. “But that would also be true in reverse. If Sigmar were to face a mass uprising, or an invasion of the Eldar or Ork races, Imperial troops would come to fight and bleed for your world's defense. The knowledge and advancements of Terra and a million other worlds will be yours. We will teach you how to build planetary infrastructure a thousand times more efficient than your own; to tap the limitless resources of your own star system. The Imperium is enriched by your cooperation, and diminished if Sigmar rejects.”

“And that's where the conquest comes in.”

“Yes. But not, perhaps, as you imagine. I would personally lead the forces that would attack Sigmar. We would not strike civilian targets. We would decapitate the command structures of your militaries; leaving the upper echelons to negotiate surrender. We would break- as quickly as possible- your warmaking abilities. My Legion would make surgical strikes on command hubs and centers of resistance. We would make it absolutely clear that you could not win. And then we would re-open negotiations.”

High Ambassador Fries was taken back with shock. “What? Negotiate? Why?”

Primarch Tiran's face was a calm contrast. “Because to do otherwise would be dishonorable. And a waste of lives. War is not a first resort. If there are other paths to the goal besides riding out against one's enemies, then it is a foolish and stupid warrior who sacrifices those means so he may gain glory in battle. We have such an opportunity before us, Ambassador. I would not strike your people or their world. Not when I can have your friendship freely. War is not always necessary. And it is not necessary here.”

Fries stood. “I understand. I myself cannot make any decisions; I report to my superiors. The Council which represents the collective governments of Sigmar would make this decision.” He paused. “If I can manage... a meeting of the Council, would you be willing to attend? It would provide you an opportunity to show them your vision for Sigmar, and to address any concerns.”

Tiran nodded. “I would appreciate that greatly, High Ambassador. You are a hard negotiator,” he said, a smile breaking across his face. “And you care deeply for your people. That is a noble thing. When pride guides the powerful, those beneath needlessly suffer. It is my goal that the people of Sigmar keep their world and their honor, and attain to their destiny without bloodshed.”

High Ambassador Fries could work with that. “On that, Primarch, we agree.” The two shook hands.