The training ground of the Nicor had not seen this many bodies in one place for reasons other than combat readiness in longer than anyone aboard could clearly remember.
The mortals pressed in around the perimeter in a dense line, almost all of them massed behind the Lamenter contingent on one side, the mortal numbers on the Carcharodon side noticeably thinner. None of this was organized. It had simply happened in the way that things happen when a ship's population is given a reason to be somewhere at a particular time and the freedom to arrange themselves as they prefer.
In the center of the training ground, two Terminators were working each other at close range with a focus that made the noise around them seem irrelevant to both parties. A Lamenter in Tactical Dreadnought plate and a Carcharodon in a suit of armor that predated most of the current Chapter's memory were exchanging strikes at a pace and force level that sent ceramic fragments flying in every direction with each exchange. The crowd nearest the ring had developed a habit of leaning back slightly whenever the fighters clinched.
Nolan stood at the edge with his arms crossed, watching a shard of broken pauldron bounce off his shoulder armor. He turned to Tyberos.
"I think we should have them fight without armor for the next bouts. At this rate, the technical sergeants are going to be delivering their opinions about our planning in tones we will find difficult to ignore."
"Maintaining weapons and equipment is the technical sergeants' responsibility and their honor." Tyberos kept his dark eyes on the fight, his pale face carrying no readable expression. "I do not object to the principle, however. Even with the Chapter's supply situation improved, sustaining this level of material consumption across thirteen bouts is not comfortable."
Nolan watched a Carcharodon fist land on the Lamenter's helmet hard enough to produce a sound the crowd responded to. He let a moment pass.
"Have you ever considered finding a suitable world and building a monastery for the Sharks? Even if it functioned only as a foundry: the long-term development for the Chapter would be considerable."
Tyberos was quiet for a breath. Then he turned his neck slowly and looked at Nolan with the particular steadiness of someone choosing their next words with care.
"My Lord Primarch: is that an order issued in your capacity as Primarch, or a suggestion offered in a private capacity?"
"Chapter Master. What are your thoughts on it?"
Tyberos held the gaze for another moment.
"With respect, my Lord Primarch. A space shark that stops swimming loses its terror to its enemies and its hunger for its prey. That is not a good outcome for either quality." The pale face did not change. "Beyond that: the culture of this Chapter is embedded in every Astartes from their first day of conditioning. It runs deeper than the Codex Astartes. It is not something that yields to changed circumstances easily. Stubbornness, perhaps, is simply part of what a Carcharodon is."
He said it carefully, the words placed with the deliberate precision of a Chapter Master addressing his Primarch on a subject that touched something the Chapter would not negotiate on.
Nolan let the silence hold for a moment. Then he smiled, the expression arriving quickly and without preparation.
"Fair enough. I was thinking out loud. Don't take it too seriously."
He reached out and patted the unyielding ceramite of Tyberos's shoulder armor once, lightly, and turned back to the fight.
The roar that followed hit them both at the same time: a sound from the crowd that had no single point of origin, filling the training ground from every direction simultaneously. Cheers from the Lamenter side, louder than anything that had come from the mortal complement since Nolan had first boarded the Nicor. A different quality of sound from the Carcharodon side: not silence, but the specific noise of a crowd recalibrating its expectations.
The Carcharodon Astartes with the highest recorded win rate in the Chapter's internal combat history was on the floor of the training ground. The Lamenter standing over him had a shattered helmet and armor that looked as though it had been processed through an industrial press, but he was standing.
Nolan raised his hands and clapped, unhurried and deliberate, and turned to Tyberos with a slight motion of his head toward the center of the ground.
Tyberos walked out. When his full height and the particular quality of his presence reached the center of the training ground, the remaining noise in the space dropped away with a speed that made it seem as though it had been switched off. His voice in the silence was low and carried without effort to every corner of the space, announcing the adjusted rules for the bouts that followed.
Movement at the edge of his vision. Nolan turned.
Te Kahurangi stood at the outer perimeter of the crowd, the pale Librarian's presence distinct among the mortal crew members nearest him. His dark eyes, carrying their characteristic depth, found Nolan across the distance between them.
Nolan walked over.
"Chief Librarian. If you are looking for Tyberos, he will be finished shortly."
"My Lord Primarch." Kahurangi bowed slightly, the stiff line of his pale face working into something that approximated a smile at some cost. "The method you and the Chapter Master devised has addressed tensions that had been building for considerably longer than the immediate incident. The Chapter owes you a debt of consideration for it."
A pause.
"There is another matter, however. One where I believe your direct involvement may produce a different outcome than the Chapter's standard process. A significantly different outcome."
"Tell me the specifics. If it involves the Chapter's direction and standing, Tyberos should hear it too."
"A hunting team absent from the warband for an extended period has returned from the void." Kahurangi's voice dropped slightly, not from hesitation but from the careful modulation of a man delivering information that has weight. "They carry news. The protocol requires a void council to sit in judgment of their conduct. But without your involvement, my Lord Primarch, I believe their most likely outcome is execution."
Nolan's eyebrows rose.
"What is the charge?"
"It is a long account." Kahurangi took a measured breath. "The hunting team's leader is a Chaplain Brother named Tangata Manu. Some years ago, an ancient relic was lost under circumstances for which he accepted responsibility. Rather than surrender that responsibility, he chose to pursue the relic himself: an independent search undertaken to atone for the loss."
"The Chapter's resources are constrained. The support provided to him has been limited accordingly. Despite this, and despite the passage of thousands of years, he has not recovered the relic."
"The Carcharodon Chapter tolerates failure. It does not tolerate failure across that span of time, with that level of resource expenditure, producing no result." He met Nolan's eyes directly. "And the relic itself is the larger issue. What Tangata Manu has been searching for is an artifact entrusted to us, the Forgotten, by the Father of the Void himself, to guard for as long as the Chapter endures."