The Primarch of Liberty

In the gleaming halls of the Nova Libertas White House, Franklin Valorian lounged in a chair that somehow managed to support his massive frame, feet propped up on a desk that could have doubled as a landing pad for a small shuttle.

"So," Franklin grinned, looking at the newly promoted CIA Director. "How's that Primeborn enhancement treating you, Samuel?"

"It's something else. Still getting used to being twice my size and having to requisition new suits."

Franklin's booming laugh echoed through the room. "Wait until you try your new senses. You'll be saying 'I dare you, I double dare you' with pinpoint accuracy at 3000 meters."

"Very funny, sir." Jaxsen's deadpan delivery only made Franklin laugh harder. "Now what's this urgent briefing about?"

 "First things first - what do you know about the Warp, Director Jaxsen?"

"That it's one bad mother-shutting place full of things that need to get smote with extreme prejudice?"

"Close enough." Franklin chuckled. "And the Aeldari?"

"Pointy-eared drama queens who need to learn how to speak plain Gothic instead of all that cryptic BS."

Franklin nearly fell out of his chair laughing. "Oh Throne, I need to get you and Leman in the same room sometime." Wiping a tear from his eye, he continued, "But here's where it gets interesting. You see this sword?" He gestured to Anaris, propped against his desk.

"Hard to miss a big-ass glowing sword, sir."

"It's got a god in it." Franklin said it as casually as someone might mention having cream in their coffee.

Jaxsen's eyebrow shot up. "A what in the what now?"

"A god. But here's the thing – gods are weapons. Tools. Like that custom bolt pistol you're so fond of. Speaking of which, nice engraving on the grip. 'Bad Mother—'"

"Sir, about the god-sword?"

"Yep! And speaking of deities and other cosmic bullshit, let me tell you about the Cabal," Franklin leaned forward, "They're supposedly this xenos organization that might or might not cause the Alpha Legion to betray the Imperium. Though honestly..." He shrugged dramatically, "The Alpha Legion is so fucking confusing, even I get a headache thinking about it"

"The fuck you mean 'might or might not'? Jaxsen demanded.

"Welcome to dealing with the Alpha Legion! They're like that friend who says they're coming to the party but might actually be sending a body double while they're infiltrating an enemy base, but that might also be a lie because they're actually at home watching holovids. It's exhausting."

Jaxsen pinched the bridge of his nose, "By the Throne..."

"Anyway," Franklin continued, "I need the CIA to take care of these Cabal assholes. They're bad news. Also, keep an eye on the Eldar - we'll be working with them sometimes, but trust needs to be earned. And watch out for Alpha Legion infiltrators. Vladimir's FBI team is already on it, but I'm more worried about my regular Astartes than my Primeborn captains."

"Motherfucking shape-shifting space marines. Perfect." Jaxsen muttered.

"Listen, even I get confused about the Alpha Legion. Data says Alpharius was found first, except that's a lie, except the lie might be a truth pretending to be a lie disguised as a truth..." Franklin waved his hand dismissively. "I gave up trying to figure it out. Just protect our people."

"This is some next-level classified shit you're dropping on me," Jaxsen leaned back, processing everything. "So what's our main strategy against these Chaos fuckers?"

Franklin grinned, "A pro-tip for dealing with Chaos – just deny they exist. They're like those galactic net trolls – ignore them, and it drives them nuts. I think, therefore I am; they don't, therefore they can get bent."

Jaxsen sat back, processing everything. "Hold up. Just how much does our Legion know that others don't?"

Franklin gave him a mischievous grin. "Let's just say if knowledge was water, we're swimming in an ocean while everyone else is playing in puddles."

His brow furrowed as he scrolled through endless streams of data—schematics, tactical doctrines, and the detailed dossiers of every discovered Legion in the dataslate Franklin had provided. A flick of his finger brought up the entry for the First Legion, and his eyes narrowed. "So let me get this straight: we've got time travelers, god-swords, shape-shifting legionnaires, and enough secrets to make the First Legion have a stroke. And your solution is to, what, meme on Chaos while running the galaxy's biggest intelligence operation?"

"Pretty much!" Franklin beamed. "Welcome to upper management! The coffee machine is down the hall, the temporal displacement shelter is in the basement, and whatever you do, don't open the door labeled 'Definitely Not a Portal to the Webway.' That's actually the janitor's closet. The real portal is behind the vending machine."

"I need a drink," Jaxsen declared.

"That's the spirit! But first, want to see me do a trick with this sword that really pisses off Khaine?"

"Motherfucker, NO."

Jaxsen pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. It was moments like these that reminded him, for all the pomp and gravitas of being a president, a primarch, and the unifier of countless worlds, Franklin Valorian was, without question, the most chaotically good being he'd ever encountered.

"One of these days, Primarch," Jaxsen growled, "you're gonna piss off the wrong god."

"Not today," Franklin quipped, winking as the sword's flames dimmed. "Now, come on—freedom's not gonna spread itself!"

-----------------------------

837.30M

The void of space stretched endlessly before them, a canvas of infinite black punctuated by the distant glitter of stars. Through the grand observation deck of the Imperator Somnium, Terra's master and his son watched the realm of Ultramar unfold beneath them. The massive vessel, recently refitted to surpass its sister ship by exactly 11,000 kilometers in both length and width, hung in the void like a golden monument to humanity's ambition.

Franklin stood beside his father at the viewport of the Imperator Somnium, both watching the distant blue jewel that was Macragge. He couldn't help but smirk at the recent "modifications" to his father's ship.

"Really, dad? You just had to make it bigger?" Franklin raised an eyebrow, His brown eyes twinkled with amusement as he glanced at his father's towering 20-foot figure, his voice thick with amusement.

The Emperor's golden eyes gleamed with barely concealed mischief. "I am the Emperor of Mankind. If I wish to have the largest vessel in the fleet, then so be it."

"Petty much?" Franklin chuckled, shaking his head.

The Emperor finally turned to face his son, his ageless face bearing an expression that few in the galaxy ever witnessed – that of a father's pride tinged with playful competitiveness. "When you are as old as the entire species of mankind, you learn the importance of... proper scaling."

"Proper scaling?" Franklin repeated, barely containing his laughter. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

Their shared laughter echoed through the observation deck, a sound that would have shocked any who knew only the Emperor's public persona. As their mirth subsided, the Emperor's gaze returned to the distant realm of Ultramar, his expression growing more contemplative.

"It reminds me of when I found you," he said, gesturing toward the glittering empire before them. "Another son, already ruling his own interstellar domain."

"Small is an interesting word to describe 300 but I grew it to 16,000 throughout the years," Franklin responded, crossing his arms. "Sixteen thousand worlds and still expanding – though I suspect Roboute's realm will grow just as impressively, given time."

"Indeed." The Emperor's voice grew thoughtful. "It took considerable effort to locate these coordinates. The universe's constant motion makes such searches... challenging. But now, we stand at the threshold of finding your thirteenth brother."

Franklin's expression grew contemplative. "You know, Father, I've been thinking about something." He turned to face the Master of Mankind directly. "Each of us twenty-one...twenty if you count Alpharius and Omegon as one, Us Primarchs represents a facet of you. Looking at the data from the future slate, I can't help but notice a pattern."

The Emperor raised an eyebrow, inviting his son to continue.

"We're all facets of you, Different aspects, different approaches." Franklin's brown eyes met his father's golden ones. "It occurs to me that each of us, given time and opportunity, would naturally build our own stellar empire. The size and nature of that empire would reflect our individual aspects of your being."

"And what of your own empire, Franklin?" the Emperor asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

"Liberty" Franklin replied without hesitation. "The Independence Sector thrives because we offer worlds something precious – autonomy within unity. We protect their freedom while providing the benefits of federation." He smiled. "Though I suppose our overwhelming firepower doesn't hurt either."

The Emperor nodded slowly. "Each of you has the potential to build something unique. The size and success of those endeavors depend largely on how well your approaches resonate with human nature."

"Finding this place was no small feat. The universe's constant motion makes pinpointing specific locations... challenging. Even with the Future Data's guidance, tracking down your brothers has been an exercise in patience."

Franklin raised an eyebrow. "And yet here we are, about to meet my theoretical younger brother. Though given how time works with we Primarchs, who knows who's actually older?"

"Age becomes rather meaningless when dealing with scattered demigods," the Emperor agreed, a rare note of humor in his voice. "Though I suspect you and Roboute will find much in common. Your approach to governance, while different in execution, shares similar foundations."

"Hopefully he appreciates a good joke more than some of our other brothers," Franklin mused. "Though I doubt anyone could be as serious as Dorn. I still haven't managed to make him crack a smile."

"Give it time," the Emperor advised, though his eyes twinkled with amusement. "Though perhaps avoid the practical jokes you played on Russ. We don't need another incident like the one with the Fenrisian Ale and the painted Thunder Wolves."

"In my defense," Franklin protested, raising his hands, "Russ laughed about it eventually. After he tried to throw me through three walls, of course. But that's just how he shows affection."

As they stood there, father and son, watching the approach to Ultramar, the vast ships carried them toward another reunion, another piece of the Emperor's grand design falling into place.

-----------------------

Walking through the streets of Macragge, I can't help but appreciate the Roman aesthetics my brother has cultivated here. The columns, the arches, the perfectly planned streets - it's like someone took Ancient Terra's Rome and decided to upgrade it with modern technology. Very nice, very clean, very... Guilliman.

"You know," I mutter to myself, dodging a group of civilians who are trying their best not to stare at my fifteen-foot frame, "this is exactly what I expected from the data, but seeing it in person is something else."

The organization is immaculate. Trade shipments move with clockwork precision through the spaceports, PDF forces conduct their patrols with military discipline that would make some Imperial Army regiments jealous, and every citizen seems to know their role in this vast machinery of civilization.

"Five years," I whistle, impressed. "Bobby G managed all this in five years. Makes my sixteen thousand worlds look a bit messy in comparison." I pause at that thought, then grin. "Although...I built mine from 300 worlds"

What really catches my attention is how he's managed to maintain local autonomy while building an effectively independent empire right under Father's nose. The fact that Ultramar doesn't pay the Imperial tithe is a masterclass in negotiation - or as we'd say back in Nova Libertas, "galaxy brain moves."

A group of merchants passes by, discussing trade routes between systems. Their casual mention of warp travel confirms what I already knew - Ultramar had some form of Warp Travele. Though I bet they don't have anything quite like Sweet Liberty parked in orbit.

"The difference between us," I muse, watching a perfectly orchestrated shift change at a manufactorum, "is that Bobby built this through sheer administrative genius, while I just kind of... inherited an already-functioning civilization and added more freedom to it, maybe 'more' is an understatement"

The Ultramar Auxilia march past in perfect formation, their equipment and training clearly superior to standard PDF forces. It's fascinating how they've maintained their independence from Imperial command structure. Back home, we achieved similar autonomy by basically saying "nice Imperium you got there, shame if something happened to it," but Guilliman did it through pure diplomatic skill.

"Got to admire the different approaches to achieving the same goal," I chuckle, making my way toward the governmental district. "He builds his empire through bureaucracy and efficiency, I build mine through similar means but with much more firepower. Father must be so proud of our diverse problem-solving skills."

The governmental district is a testament to Roman architecture scaled up to transhuman proportions. Clean lines, imposing facades, everything designed to project authority and order. Yet unlike some Imperial architecture I've seen, it doesn't feel oppressive - more like it's trying to inspire rather than intimidate.

"You've got to hand it to little brother," I say to no one in particular, "he's managed to create something truly remarkable here. An empire within an empire, running so smoothly that even Father had to acknowledge its right to exist independently."

I pause at a public forum where citizens are engaged in organized debate about local policies. Now this - this is something I can appreciate. Different method from our town halls back home, but same principle: citizen engagement in governance.

"Wonder if we could get a student exchange program going," I muse. "Some of our Liberty Eagles could learn about organization here, and maybe we could teach the Ultramarines how to loosen up a bit. Get them to appreciate a good barbecue."

As I make my way back to the landing pad where Father is waiting, I can't help but feel optimistic about the future. Between Guilliman's organizational genius and our technological superiority, we might just have a chance at preventing the grim darkness that Henry warned us about.

"Though," I add with a final glance at the perfectly ordered city, "we really need to teach Bobby about the concept of casual Fridays."

---------------------------

The Emperor's farewell to Roboute had just concluded, the golden light of his departure still lingering in the air when Franklin approached his newly discovered brother. The Thirteenth Primarch stood tall, his features noble and classical, every inch the patrician ruler. Franklin couldn't help but grin – it was like seeing every Roman statue he'd ever studied come to life and then some.

"Brother," Roboute greeted him formally, though there was genuine warmth in his voice. "Father spoke highly of your achievements in the Independence Sector. Sixteen thousand worlds, I understand?"

"And counting," Franklin replied with a casual wave. "Though I have to say, what you've built here in five years is impressive. Particularly the administrative framework – though I have to ask, has anyone ever told you that you look exactly like what would happen if someone combined every Roman dictator's statue into one perfect form?"

For a moment, Roboute's carefully composed expression wavered, caught between surprise and – unexpectedly – amusement. "I... cannot say I've heard that particular comparison before. Though given your extensive knowledge of Terra's history, I'll take it as a compliment."

"Oh, it absolutely is," Franklin assured him, gesturing expansively. "I mean, you've got Cincinnatus's bearing, Augustus's administrative genius, and Marcus Aurelius's philosophical bent all rolled into one. Though hopefully with none of Caligula's... quirks."

This time, Roboute did laugh, a sound that seemed to surprise even him. "Father mentioned you had an... unusual way of approaching things. I see he wasn't exaggerating."

"If you think this is unusual, wait until you hear about the time I convinced Russ that his wolves had turned pink. Though in my defense, the paint was completely harmless."

"You... pranked Leman Russ?" Roboute's eyes widened slightly. "And you survived?"

"Oh, he tried to throw me through several walls," Franklin shrugged. "But you know how it is with brothers – sometimes you have to get thrown through architecture to really bond."

Roboute shook his head, but his smile remained. "I'm beginning to understand why Father seemed both proud and exasperated when describing you. Though I must admit, it's refreshing to meet another brother who understands the importance of proper logistics and administration."

"Right?" Franklin's eyes lit up. "Do you know how hard it is to get some of our brothers to understand that armies march on their stomachs? Or in our case, massive void fleets run on properly maintained supply lines? I swear, some of them think ammunition just materializes in their weapons through sheer force of will."

"Exactly!" Roboute's formal demeanor cracked further, genuine enthusiasm showing through. "The greatest victories are won long before the first shot is fired, in the careful planning and preparation stages. Though I suspect our methods differ somewhat."

"Oh, absolutely. You've got this whole Roman thing going – very organized, very centralized. I've gone more for a federation approach think Space Murica!, letting individual worlds maintain their cultural identity while working within a broader framework. Different paths to the same destination, you might say."

"And both approaches Father has allowed to continue," Roboute noted thoughtfully. "Though I imagine your negotiation with him was as... interesting as mine."

Franklin grinned. "Let's just say that having a massive technological base and the ability to outproduce Mars helps when making your case for autonomy. Though your achievement in maintaining Ultramar's independence is impressive – working with what you had and building it into something Father couldn't ignore."

"One must use the tools at hand," Roboute replied diplomatically, though there was a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "Speaking of which, I would be very interested in discussing your logistics networks. Father mentioned something about your Legion's unique integration with mortal troops?"

"Oh, buckle up, Bobby G," Franklin said, grinning like a man with a plan. "Picture the Old Earth's American military but cranked up to 11. We've got specialized training programs, integrated command structures, and joint operations – the works.

Hell, every time we add a new solar system, we triple the defense budget. At this rate, we're one bad decision away from putting guns on Luna."

Guilliman blinked. "You're joking."

"Buddy," Franklin smirked, "Luna's already fully loaded."

" Roboute's eyes gleamed with genuine interest. "Perhaps we could continue this discussion over a detailed review of your organizational charts?"

"Only if you'll show me yours in return. I've got some questions about how you're managing the tithe distribution across Ultramar that's been bugging me since I got here."

The two Primarchs began walking together, their conversation flowing easily between administrative theory and practical application, occasionally punctuated by Franklin's jokes and Roboute's increasingly relaxed responses. It was, Franklin thought, like finding a kindred spirit who read the same books but came to delightfully different conclusions.

"You know," Franklin commented as they headed toward Roboute's strategic command center, "between your Roman empire in space and my Space Murica, among the stars, we're going to give Father quite the administrative headache."

"Perhaps," Roboute agreed with a slight smile.

-----------------------------

Roboute Guilliman prided himself on his analytical mind. His ability to see patterns, to understand complex logistical networks at a glance, was unmatched among his brothers. So when he finally saw it, really saw it, in Franklin's masterwork of supply lines, he nearly spat out his recaff.

There it was, hidden in the intricate web of trade routes and supply lines spanning the Independence Sector: a perfectly formed, anatomically correct penis, complete with detailed vascular system represented by secondary supply routes.

"By Terra's throne," Roboute muttered, frantically cross-referencing data points. The more he analyzed, the more impressive (and disturbing) it became. Every route was optimized for maximum efficiency. Every hub served a vital purpose. The redundancies were perfect. It was, perhaps, the most efficient logistics network he'd ever seen.

And it was a giant cock.

"With that face, I believe you found my magnum opus?" Franklin's amused voice cut through his shock.

Roboute turned to find his brother leaning against the doorframe of his study, wearing what could only be described as the most shit-eating grin in human history.

"You... you arranged an entire sector's worth of supply lines into a..." Roboute couldn't even finish the sentence.

"A dick pic for the ages, brother!" Franklin declared proudly. "Sixteen thousand worlds, billions of supply routes, all arranged in perfect harmony to create what I like to call 'The Phallus of Liberty.' Took me three years to perfect it."

"Three years?" Roboute was aghast. "You spent three years arranging interstellar trade routes to create a... a..."

"The greatest penis in human history? Yes, yes I did." Franklin walked over to examine the hololithic display. Had to make sure it was only visible to someone who really understood logistics. You know, a real dick-tective. Look at the arterial flow patterns here - they're not just decorative, they're actually the most efficient paths for luxury good distribution."

Roboute groaned at the pun, as found himself studying the pattern. "The... testicular region appears to be handling bulk resource distribution."

" Indeed!" Franklin beamed. "And the shaft contains the primary military supply lines. The tip" - he gestured dramatically - "is where we concentrate our rapid response forces."

"This is simultaneously the most brilliant and most juvenile thing I've ever seen," Roboute admitted. "One miscalculation, one misplaced route, and the entire system would fail. The level of mathematical precision required..."

"Had to be a dick measuring contest worthy of a Primarch," Franklin nodded sagely.

Roboute pinched the bridge of his nose. "Father would have an aneurysm if he knew."

"Bold of you to assume he hasn't noticed. Where do you think I get my petty streak from?"

"How many people know about this?" Roboute asked, still staring at the display in horrified fascination.

"Well, now you do. Denzel figured it out about a year ago - laughed for three straight days. And I suspect Malcador knows, he's been giving me that look lately."

Roboute shook his head slowly. "I don't know whether to be impressed by the mathematical genius required to create this or concerned about your mental state."

"Why not both?" Franklin suggested cheerfully. "Besides, it works perfectly. The Independence Sector has the most efficient supply lines in the Imperium, and it's all because I wanted to draw a dick so big it spans multiple sectors."

"I... I need a drink," Roboute declared.

"Way ahead of you, brother!" Franklin pulled out a bottle of Macragge blue label. "I figured you'd need this when you finally noticed. Want to hear about how I arranged the defensive positions to look like-"

"No!" Roboute cut him off, accepting the drink. "No, I think one revelation is enough for today."

As he sipped his wine, Roboute couldn't help but marvel at the contradiction that was his brother - a tactical genius who used his brilliance to create the most elaborate anatomical joke in human history, a supreme logistician who turned supply lines into art, albeit questionable art.

Roboute shook his head, still chuckling. "I don't know whether to be impressed or concerned that I'm related to you."

"Of course! This is brotherhood, Roboute - sharing inappropriate jokes hidden in highly efficient administrative systems. Now, want to help me design something special for the Mechanicum trade routes? I'm thinking something involving the number 69..."

As Roboute watched his brother enthusiastically explain his next "project," he realized that perhaps there was something to be said for combining absolute competence with absolute irreverence. Though he made a mental note to review all future trade agreements with the Independence Sector very, very carefully.

Just in case.