Mechanicum whh-9

by Graham McNeill

  She told herself it wasn't guilt, but only half-believed it.

  Zeth had placed her with Dalia with the express purpose of passing on her impressions and insights into the young transcriber's mind, and that was exactly what she had done. There had been no betrayal, no breach of trust and certainly no disloyalty.

  The only betrayal would have been if she had failed in her duty to her mistress.

  Why, then, did she feel so bad about telling Adept Zeth of Dalia's plans?

  Mellicin knew exactly why she felt bad.

  In the weeks she had worked with Dalia Cythera, Mellicin had rediscovered the joy of working on the frontiers of technology. Together they had discovered new and wondrous things, devices and theoretical science that they had gone on to prove valid. How long had it been since she, or indeed anyone in the Mechanicum, had done that? True, Adept Zeth was forever pushing the boundaries of what was known and accepted, but she was a tiny cog in a larger machine and there was only so much she dared risk.

  The Mechanicum was old and unforgiving with those who disobeyed its strictures.

  They had been gone less than a day and already she missed them. She wished she knew where they were so she could have tapped into the Martian networks to follow their progress, but she had wiped Dalia's destination from her memory coils.

  Right now, they could be anywhere, en route to the far side of the planet for all she knew.

  Mellicin had got used to their foibles, strengths and blind spots. She had nurtured them, blended them together until they were a team, working more efficiently and more enthusiastically than any of them had ever worked before.

  Now they were off making good use of that mentoring and she was left behind.

  She swung her legs out of bed and ran a hand through her hair. It was matted and sweaty, and no amount of time in the sonic shower would make it feel clean. She padded softly from the bed alcove and made her way to the kitchenette to fix a pot of caffeine. If she wasn't going to get any sleep, she might as well use the time productively.

  She yawned as the heating ring fired the pot, wiping sweat from her brow as the pot bubbled and hissed. She poured a cup and sat in the dining nook within the polarised glass bay that looked out over the surface of the red planet.

  This high up, Mellicin was above the distorting fumes that filmed the lower level windows with grime and pyroclastic deposits. Far below her, the Magma City blazed with light, an ocean of glowing industry in a desert of industrial wasteland. Silver trails of mag-levs spun out from the city, ttavelling to all parts of Mars, but beyond them the planet was shrouded in banks of dust and polluted fogs.

  Mellicin put down her cup and leaned her forehead on the hot glass. Lights moved in the city, and glittering transits ferried cargo and supplies to the port facilities.

  'Wherever you are, Dalia, I wish you well,' she whispered, feeling very alone.

  She frowned as she realised she wasn't alone.

  Her biometric surveyors were reading another life form in her hab.

  'I was wondering when you would notice me,' said a voice from the shadows.

  Mellicin jumped at the sound, looking up in frozen surprise as a lithe, sensual woman glided from the darkness. She was clad in a skin-tight red bodyglove and a pair of finely-wrought pistols were sheathed at her hips.

  Mellicin covered her surprise and said, 'I knew you were there, I was just waiting to see when you would announce yourself.'

  'A lie, but one necessary for you to feel you are still in control,' said the woman.

  'Who are you, and what are you doing in my hab?' asked Mellicin, still too surprised to feel anything but annoyance.

  'My name is irrelevant, because soon you won't remember it,' said the woman, and as she moved into the light,

  Mellicin saw the golden death mask she wore. 'But for the record, it is Remiare.'

  Mellicin's annoyance turned to fear as she realised what this woman was. 'That's half my question answered.'

  Remiare cocked her head to one side and said, 'You still think you have a measure of control, don't you?'

  'What do you want?' asked Mellicin, pushing herself further into the dining nook.

  'You know what I want.'

  'No, actually,' said Mellicin, 'I don't.'

  'Then I shall tell you,' said Remiare. 'I want you to tell me the whereabouts and destination of Dalia Cythera.'

  Mellicin furrowed her brow, as if in thought, and activated her silent alarm. Adept Zeth would now be aware of her plight and a squad of Mechanicum Protectors would soon be despatched to her rescue. All she had to do was stall.

  'Dalia?' she said at last. 'Why do you want to know about her?'

  'No more questions,' said Remiare. 'Tell me what I want to know and I promise you won't suffer.'

  'I can't,' said Mellicin. 'Even if I wanted to. I might have known what you want, but I don't remember anymore.'

  'You're lying.'

  'I'm not. Adept Zeth had me erase any knowledge of where Dalia was going from my memory coils.'

  She regretted her smug tone instantly as Remiare ghosted closer and Mellicin saw the red light of the magma lagoon reflected on her death mask. Her face was the visage of something vile and terrible, a leering monster from her darkest nightmares. Even amid her fear, she recognised the exquisite work of the assassin's gravitic thrusters, the sinuous form of a killer bred and trained from birth.

  'Then that's very bad news for you.'

  'And why's that?' asked Mellicin, trying to muster some bravado.

  'Because nothing is ever really erased, Mellicin,' said Remiare as a silver spike extended from her forefinger.

  Despite the heat in the small dwelling hab, Mellicin suddenly felt very cold indeed as she recognised it as a data spike.

  'Why do you want to find Dalia?' asked Mellicin, the words coming out in a fear-induced rush. 'I mean, she's nothing, just a transcriber from Terra. All she did was take notes of our work. Really, why do you want her?'

  Remiare's head darted forward like a feeding bird's and she laughed, the sound soulless and dead. 'You are trying to keep me talking because you believe help is on its way, but it isn't. No one is coming, Mellicin. I am the only one hearing that insultingly simple silent alarm your implants are broadcasting.'

  'I'm telling you, I erased the things you're looking for!'

  'You may have erased your memory coils, but the soft meat beneath remembers,' said Remiare while softly wagging her finger. 'The Mechanicum never deletes anything.'

  Mellicin glanced down at her cup of caffeine and wondered if she would be quick enough to throw it in the assassin's face. That question was answered a moment later. One second, the red-clad woman was standing before her, the next she was seated next to her, pressing her against the warm glass of her hab.

  A hand with fingers like steel rods shot out and gripped her throat, tilting her head back.

  'I don't know what you want!' screamed Mellicin as the assassin's data spike pressed against the augmetic orb that replaced her right eye.

  'I'll find what I want,' promised Remiare. 'All I have to do is dig deep enough.'

  2.06

  He had always dreaded this, but now that it was his life, he knew there had been nothing to fear. In the world of flesh, his body had been aging and weakening, but here in this world of amniotic suspension he was all-powerful and all-conquering.

  In a simulated engine war, Princeps Cavalerio fought and killed like a living metal god, bestriding the virtual arena like a colossus of battle. His enemies died: skitarii crushed underfoot, Reavers torn to pieces in the terrible, smashing hell of engine combat and Warlords blasted apart with weapons fire in murderous killing salvoes.

  The world of flesh was over for Cavalerio. The world of metal was now his domain.

  Liquid data spiralled around him, fed to him through receptors implanted beneath his skin, filling his sensory apparatus with information that would overwhelm the brains of those less augmented than he. Darts of light,
each one carrying a welter of data, swirled around him like shoals of glowing fish as he ended yet another simulation as the victor.

  Cavalerio was unrecognisable as the spare, limping mortal that had walked the surface of Mars. A man he had been, but a creation of the Mechanicum he was now. His pallid flesh floated in nutrient-rich jelly, hung from a multitude of cables that connected him to the world around him in ways too numerous to count.

  Each day since his incarceration within the casket brought new attachments, new augmetics and new sensations. Only now did he realise how imperfect had his existence been as a mere mortal, confined to a mere five senses.

  A thick inflexible cable pierced his spine between the lumbar vertebrae, while other, more delicate wires were plugged into his eye sockets. A forest of cables extruded from the rear of his cranial cavity that would link to the Manifold when he once again took charge of an engine. Both arms were encased in metal to his elbows, and both his feet had been amputated and replaced with haptic sheaths.

  The transition had been difficult and not without setbacks, but his famulous, Agathe, had been with him every step of the way, soothing him, cajoling him and encouraging him to overcome every problem. Though initially hostile to the idea of a famulous, Cavalerio now appreciated how vital such a person was when you were confined to an amniotic tank.

  The terrible, aching loss of Victorix Magna still haunted his nightmares, as he knew it would for the rest of his days. No princeps survived the death of his engine without psychological scarring, but with every simulated engagement, his warlike confidence grew stronger. Soon his ability to command an engine became faster and more efficient, until he knew he was better than he ever had been in his previous life.

  As this latest simulation came to an end, the fury of battle and the exhilaration of connection faded from his consciousness with a sharp pang of regret. It wasn't the same as physically disengaging from an engine, but it was close, and he could already feel the hunger to go back in creeping at the edge of his psyche.

  he canted in a soft sigh of binary.

  His awareness of the world around him swam into focus as the images of battle faded like banished phantoms. Slowly the world of reality began to impose itself on his perception. Though Cavalerio no longer saw the world as he once had, the sensorium installed as part of his casket allowed him even greater acuity than ever before. He identified the biometrics of the two people standing in his casket chamber before any visual recognition was made.

  He could see Agathe's physical form, which was short and slightly rounded, as well as reading her biometrics and the electrical field densities of her subtle augmetics. Her noospheric modifications flickered and tiny geysers of data light streamed above her head.

  The second figure was Princeps Sharaq.

  'My princeps?' said Agathe, startled by his sudden vocalisation. 'Do you require anything?'

  'Hmmm? No, Agathe, I was just thinking aloud.'

  'Congratulations on another successful engagement, Indias,' said Sharaq.

  'Thank you, Kel,' said Cavalerio. 'Did you see how I took down the second Warlord?'

  Sharaq smiled, and Cavalerio read the genuine pleasure his friend took in the accomplishment. 'I saw it, my princeps. Masterful.'

  'I know,' said Cavalerio without arrogance. 'I am faster and more cohesive in my command than ever before. I merely think an order and the engine responds. Data streams into me straight from the Manifold, which increases my reaction and response times by an average of nine point seven per cent. That's more than the difference between life and death in an engine fight.'

  'That's good to hear,' said Sharaq. 'You're adjusting well, then?'

  'I am, Kel, I am. My days are full. I fight simulated engagements every day, though only Agathe watches me now. Between my battles and surgery, Princeps Kasim comes to check on my progress, and we share stories of our glorious Legio's history.'

  'And the casket?' asked Sharaq. 'You don't miss… well, flesh?'

  Cavalerio hesitated before answering. 'It was difficult,' he admitted at last. 'For the longest time I thought I would go mad in here, but Agathe has helped many a princeps adjust to his new life. And, as time went on, I began to understand that this was what I was destined for.'

  'Destined?'

  'Yes, Kel, destined. I don't know why I resisted immersion for all those years. I link with the Manifold and it's so much closer than it was before. When I commanded Victorix Magna I could feel what she felt, but it was borrowed sensation. Now I am the engine. This shouldn't be the last resort of an aging or injured princeps, this should be the standard method of command for all the bigger engines.'

  'I think you might have a hard time convincing some of the die-hards of that.'

  'Not if they knew what I know,' said Cavalerio. 'But what say we dispense with the small talk and discuss the real reason for your visit?'

  Sharaq nodded, circling the tank with the awe of one in the presence of greatness, and Cavalerio read his unease in his increased heart rate and spiking alpha waves.

  'It's all right, Kel,' said Cavalerio. 'You don't need to feel guilty. You did what you had to do and I would have been disappointed if you hadn't.'

  Sharaq stopped his circling and knelt before the casket, placing his hand on the warm glass of the tank. Cavalerio floated to the front, his flesh marbled and glossy, his features all but obscured by the complex bionics that grafted him to the machinery of his life-support. Only an inch of toughened glass separated the two men, but an anatomy's worth of augmetics created a gulf between their humanity.

  'I don't feel guilty,' said Sharaq. 'I know I did the right thing. You weren't fit to command the Legio then and, despite your progress, I still don't think you're ready. Soon, but not yet.'

  'Then why are you here?'

  'I need your help, Stormlord,' said Sharaq, 'and I need your experience. I fear I am not cut from the same cloth as you. Leadership is in your blood, but not in mine.'

  'Then speak,' ordered Cavalerio. 'I may not be Princeps Senioris, but I am still your friend.'

  The words were meant to comfort Sharaq, but only seemed to wound him. He looked over at Agathe and said, 'Perhaps we might speak privately, my princeps?'

  'Agathe is my famulous and anything you have to say to me can be said in front of her.'

  'Very well, Stormlord,' said Sharaq. 'You won't have failed to notice that you haven't been linked to any ports with outside access during your recovery. The medicae felt it would hinder your adjustment for you to be inloaded with an excess of data.'

  'A decision that, with hindsight, I applaud,' said Cavalerio. 'So tell me, what's been happening beyond our fortress? Have Mortis been taken to task for their violation of our territory?'

  Sharaq shook his head. 'No, my lord,' he said, 'they have not. The Princeps Conciliatus have been appraised of the facts and they have issued a summons, but both the Fabricator General and Princeps Camulos ignore it.'

  'A Conciliatus summons and a rift between the Legios? Ignored? Madness!'

  'All of Mars may well have gone mad, my princeps,' agreed Sharaq.

  'What do you mean?'

  Sharaq shared a look with Agathe and said, 'The situation on Mars has deteriorated almost to the point of open warfare. Disaster strikes at the Mechanicum from all sides and we are petitioned daily for our engines to walk.'

  'Petitioned by whom?'

  'I have received missives from no less than seventeen forges, all begging us to initiate an execution. With your permission, my princeps, I should like to inload your casket with the latest updates on the current tactical situation.'

  'Of course, Kel,' said Cavalerio. 'Immediately.'

  Sharaq said nothing and didn't appear to move, but Cavalerio felt a rush of data as his fellow princeps noospherically unlocked the feeds that were part of the Martian network and which fed directly into the smart liquid of his casket.

  'Blood of the Omnissiah,' hissed Cavalerio as the data
permeated his mind via informational osmosis. In an instant, he drank in the terrible events of the Death of Innocence caused by the hateful scrapcode, the spate of catastrophic machine failures and the rising tide of violence erupting all across the surface of Mars.

  He saw bloodshed as forges went to war and old feuds were re-ignited. He saw opportunistic territorial grabs, spiteful acts of vengeance and hungry snatches for a rival's knowledge. The drums of battle were beating all over Mars, stirring the bellicose hearts of man, and spurring the looming presence of civil war ever closer.

  It saddened him to realise that, a race apart though they might be, the Mechanicum were just as prone to human foibles as their unmodified brethren.

  'And this scrapcode attack came just as Mortis walked on Ascraeus Mons?'

  'We caught the first spurts of it, I think,' said Sharaq. 'It was fragmentary and dispersed, and Zeth's noospheric upgrades saved us from getting hit as hard as some others, but Legio Fortidus and Legio Agravides are gone. Their reactors went critical and took their entire fortress and a good chunk of the Erebus Montes with them.'

  Cavalerio digested the information without comment, though it grieved him to think of two allied Legios lost to so ignominious a fate. He reviewed the data he'd been fed impassively, sifting through the morass of contradictory communiques, orders, requests, petitions, demands and propaganda flying between the forges. Factions were already forming, fragile alliances drawn along the lines of the tired old Omnissiah schism.

  Blurts of cant circled the planet, some demanding an end to the union of Mars and Terra, while others urged all Mars to cleave more tightly to the bosom of humanity's birth rock. Worse, much of it had gone off-world, spreading like a plague on departing ships or within astropathic visions cast across the void to the Mechanicum contingents accompanying the Expedition Fleets throughout the galaxy.