by Gav Thorpe
‘You showed no such mercy to the men and women of Kiavahr,’ said the hunch-backed Kanar.
‘A necessary evil, to prevent even more casualties,’ Corax replied quietly, shaking his head. ‘The threat of greater destruction ended the war. I do not think that Delvere and this Word Bearer commander will be swayed by such measures.’
‘Perhaps you will fly to Iapetus tonight and storm the grand temple yourself?’ suggested Loriark. His artificial voice made it impossible to judge if he was being sarcastic.
‘I might consider the possibility,’ the primarch replied. ‘Perhaps it would be better to gain control of Atlas first, all things being equal. With the power of a barge-city to command we can confront Delvere on a more even footing.’
Silence followed as the primarch and his potential allies regarded each other. Corax wondered if he could trust these men – half-men. From his experience with the Mechanicum who had come to Kiavahr, he knew that their motives and agenda were different from those of pure flesh and blood. As a group they seemed to be aligned against the archmagos, but individually Corax had no measure of them or their trustworthiness.
Now that he had revealed himself, only two courses presented themselves: make alliance with the priests of this district, or kill them now. Niro Therman, one of Corax’s foster mothers on Lycaeus, had lectured the young primarch at length regarding the sanctity of life. Corax was loath to kill out of hand, but far more was at stake than the lives of five tech-priests.
Kanar seemed to have reached the same conclusion, his augmented brain thinking almost as quickly as the primarch’s.
‘We can only offer our assurances of common cause,’ said the magos, his face twisting into a puckered grimace. ‘Other than our lives there is no bond we can give you for our good conduct.’
‘We have nothing to lose,’ grated Loriark. ‘Lacrymenthis was correct in one regard: we obey the archmagos or we will be deemed enemy and destroyed. We are not alone. The cities of Pallas and Crius have moved to the southern currents, away from Iapetus, and their magokritarchs have withdrawn from the council of the Cognoscenti. We must presume the other cities are in accord with the archmagos.’
‘How many other cities?’
‘Five, including the capital. For the moment, Delvere counts Atlas amongst his friends. Magokritarch Vangellin is of the Templum Aetherica, as is the archmagos. Even now, Atlas travels the capital current towards Iapetus.’
Corax absorbed this information, comparing what he heard to what he knew of other Mechanicum societies. No two forge world authorities were ever quite the same, and the specific nature of Constanix II’s independent cities had given rise to a confederate arrangement that could be exploited. The archmagos clearly held the centre of power, but only by the accord of the Cognoscenti, who it seemed were the paramount authorities on each of the barge-cities. Unless the Word Bearers’ influence had extended far into the structure of the Mechanicum – unlikely, given that they had been present for only a short while and the tech-priests were traditionally conservative towards any outside interference – it would be possible to regain the world with the removal of Delvere and the Word Bearers.
‘Vangellin, your magokritarch, do you think he could be persuaded to align against the archmagos?’ Corax asked.
The tech-priests looked at each other, their expressions doubtful.
‘Given sufficient leverage… he may be turned against Delvere,’ wheezed Firax.
‘And the rest of the Cognoscenti, how united will they be in purpose?’ asked the primarch. ‘Would one be a natural successor to the Archmagos, loyal to our cause?’
‘Such matters are complicated,’ answered Loriark. ‘It is not for flesh to decide, but only to divine the will of the Machine-God.’
Of course it is, thought Corax, mystified that such brilliant minds amongst the Mechanicum still clung to primitive techno-theologies – the tech-guilds of Kiavahr, for all their sins, had never pretended to serve a supernatural power. That the Emperor had been forced to treat with such a superstitious cult was proof of Mars’s importance to the Imperium, though; an importance that Corax was being forced to acknowledge at that precise moment.
‘Influence is applied through a mixture of promise and threat,’ he said aloud, quoting another of his prison mentors. ‘What promises does Delvere offer that we can counter?’
‘Only one of us can perhaps answer that question,’ replied Kanar, gesturing towards the unconscious Lacrymenthis.
‘Can you wake him?’ asked Corax.
‘Easily enough,’ said Kanar. The deformed magos crossed the chamber and stooped over his fallen colleague. He reached a hand into the man’s hood, fingers passing behind the neck. Lacrymenthis spasmed once, hard enough to lift his whole body from the floor. He continued to shudder slightly, fingers and feet twitching for several moments. His metallic claw scratched across the tiles, leaving three ragged marks.
‘Cerebral re-boot,’ Kanar said by way of explanation. ‘I installed it myself.’
Lacrymenthis opened bloodshot eyes, vacant for a few seconds as they stared at the ceiling. Life returned as he sat up, actuators whirring somewhere inside his body. Corax moved into an attack stance, one hand drawn back, as the tech-priest’s gaze met the primarch’s.
‘Make sure he makes no transmission,’ Corax told the others, his deathly stare fixed on Lacrymenthis.
‘His signal to the temple circuit interface has been disconnected,’ Loriark said. ‘No alarm will be raised.’
‘Flesh is irrelevant,’ said Lacrymenthis, focusing on Corax. ‘Threat of physical torture is inconsequential. My pain receptors have been reduced to minimum input.’
‘Neural core dump renders coercion unnecessary,’ said Kanar. ‘Core function downstrip will reveal memory receptacle interfaces. Your cooperation, however gained, is surplus.’
‘Memory-core access will haemorrhage organic life processes,’ Lacrymenthis protested, flexing his metal hand. ‘Catastrophic personality failure would be irreversible. My loyalty to the wishes of the archmagos and magokritarch should not render me subject to total subjectivity termination. I sought to act to the benefit of Third District.’
‘And in doing so… acted against the… determined order… of compliance set by… your direct magos superior,’ said Firax. He waved a hand towards Corax. ‘The prospects of… the Third District’s continued… prominence and prosperity… have been altered.’
‘I am capable of altering my perception of the situation also,’ claimed Lacrymenthis. ‘It seems detrimental to the cause of the temple to defy the will of the superior force, but the presence of the primarch adjusts the parameters considerably.’
‘Misfortune for you,’ said Kanar. ‘Should logic dictate that the best interest of Third District be served by your promotion to Magos Superior, you would not hesitate to cross-connect purpose with that of Delvere once more. To change loyalty is proof that further alterations of allegiance may be forthcoming.’
‘I would rather he was not killed, if it could be avoided,’ Corax said, understanding a little of Lacrymenthis’s complaint. When the tech-priest had made his decision to break from his fellows, there had been sense in complying with the archmagos’s demands rather than being replaced by someone else who would simply enact Delvere’s wishes anyway. Corax did not wish to punish ignorance too severely.
The primarch was no stranger to moral compromise. During the uprisings in Lycaeus he had needed every able man and woman for his freedom fighters and not all of the prisoners on the moon had been political internees. Some had been justly convicted murderers, rapists, thieves and wretches of the worst order. The overthrow, of the corrupt regime had meant compromising the punishment – and justice for the victims – of these miscreants, but such was the necessity. In turn, once the techno-cults had been overthrown those that survived had been granted pardon for their deeds during the war, as C
orax had been forced to promise them.
To the agents of the Mechanicum, the struggle between the forces of Horus and the Emperor might appear to be a morally ambivalent situation. Horus had done well to win the Fabricator General of Mars to his cause before his betrayal became known, and now it could not be guaranteed whether any individual forge world was a potential ally or enemy of the Raven Guard.
‘Total personality assimilation with the temple will ensure there is no misdirection or falsification,’ announced Loriark. He waved for Kanar and Bassili to seize Lacrymenthis. ‘Precision is ultimate.’
Lacrymenthis made no protest, shoulders sagging inside his heavy robe, resigned to his fate.
‘His datacore will relinquish its secrets over the next few hours, primarch,’ said Kanar. ‘If we hasten the process it could lead to data corruption.’
‘You doubt the strength of our dedication to an alliance, but how are we to know what you intend for the future of our world?’ said Loriark, turning his attention back to Corax. ‘Before we sacrifice one of our own, can you assure us that we will not suffer the same fate as Kiavahr?’
The discussion had reached an impasse, with both sides locked together by mutual need yet unable to prove the commitment required to further their plans. Corax did not like to use his Emperor-given gifts to cow others to his will – such measures were rarely lasting – but he pulled himself up to his full height, head nearly scraping the ceiling of the temple, and allowed the grandeur of his primarch essence to show. Pale flesh burned through blackened camouflage, revealing a ghost-white face, Corax’s eyes becoming orbs of utter darkness. He held up his claws: a mental command sent blue fronds of energy crackling along their length.
‘Should I wish it, I could kill you all now and depart. From here I would leave with my foes none the wiser, to return with my Legion to raze this planet and eradicate any threat it presents. No world is beyond the jurisdiction of the Emperor and his agents. Seven Legions were sent to destroy me at Isstvan, yet I survived. Do not think for a moment that this world possesses the power to destroy me. Any that move against the Nineteenth, as sure as iron rusts and flesh fails, I will see them slain by my own hand. Your need is greater than mine – do not scorn the opportunity of my presence.’
The effect on the tech-priests was immediate. Stunned by the magnificence and ferocity of the creature before them, they backed away, heads bowed to the authority of the primarch.
Corax allowed his presence to fade, reeling back the majesty of his nature behind walls of discipline and humility. The facade he had built during those years hiding amongst the prisoners of Lycaeus felt like a return to normality rather than a caging of his might. It had always been his preference to inspire his followers with deeds and words rather than force subservience through coercion. His eyes dimmed as he looked at the cowering magi.
‘Such is the threat,’ he said quietly. He held out a hand, offering reassurance and friendship. ‘The promise is to free Constanix from the coming tyranny of Delvere and the Word Bearers. Make no mistake, an alliance with their kind will doom your planet to slavery or destruction. Make your choice well.’
Three
Three sleek Whispercutter landers skimmed across Atlas, the ten-man craft invisible in the last minutes of darkness. The Whispercutters were little more than winged anti-grav engines, the Raven Guard clinging to their sides exposed to the elements as they soared above the roofs of refineries and worker habitats. Dropped at high altitude from beneath the belly of a Stormbird, the landers were almost undetectable.
‘Hard to port,’ warned Stanz, shifting his weight.
Agapito clutched the grab rail tighter as the pilot, harnessed in the guidance cupola just in front of the commander, brought the lead Whispercutter into a tight turn, steering away from the centre of the city. The other two craft split towards their separate destinations, assigned during Agapito’s briefing before they had left the Kamiel.
Below, Atlas was in turmoil. The headlights of a skitarii column moved along a main avenue towards the Third District, where three fires were burning: arson at empty ruins chosen by Corax to attract attention without putting the populace in needless danger. Here and there, not far from the blazes, the crack of gunfire echoed from the tenements and manufactoria. Las-fire sparkled from several rooftops, targeting one of the abandoned structures.
On the ground, squads of troopers moved from street to street, alley to alley, building to building. Most were normal men, raised under the aegis of the Mechanicum, dedicated to the cult of the Machine-God but otherwise unaugmented. Their squad leaders and officers were boosted, some through cybernetics and augmetics, some through gene-therapy and biological enhancement, depending upon the temple and magos to whom they were sworn.
At the forefront of the search for the city’s elusive attackers was a small cadre of praetorians. These were the favoured warriors of the Mechanicum, some sporting near-completely artificial bodies. Each was unique, whether sleek and fast or bulky and beweaponed, possessing energy-crackling blades or multiple rocket launchers. Led by lesser tech-priests in the hierarchy of Atlas, the praetorians were as much dedications to the Machine-God as they were flesh-and-blood fighters.
Looking down, Agapito was glad that Atlas – indeed, Constanix II as a whole, as far as the intelligence went – had no herakli. The monstrous, heavily gunned brutes that had assisted in the fighting against the tech-guild rebels during the latest insurrection on Kiavahr would have been a tough proposition to face. Even so, the enemy had tanks, armoured walkers and transports in abundance, though several companies of infantry were loyal to the magi allying themselves to Lord Corax. It was mainly these divided forces that were currently bearing the brunt of Magokritarch Vangellin’s reprisal against the Third District.
Workers had been forced from their homes in the pre-shift hours, filling the streets with dazed, fatigued crowds that hindered both sides. To their credit, the skitarii of Vangellin were as unwilling as those of Loriark and his peers to endanger the non-combatants in the barge-city.
‘What is the First Axiom of Victory?’ Agapito asked Lieutenant Caderil, who was poised on the side of the Whispercutter behind the commander. A Terran veteran, Caderil would have made company command by now had the Legion not been devastated at the Dropsite Massacre. They exchanged over the vox-net – at this altitude the wind would have required them to shout over their external communicators.
‘To be where the enemy desires one not to be,’ replied Caderil.
Agapito turned his attention to another of the honour guard he had hand-picked for the mission. ‘Harne, what is the First Axiom of Stealth?’
‘To be other than where the enemy believes you to be,’ came the legionary’s sharp reply.
‘So what do we do to gain victory by stealth?’ the commander continued.
‘Attack where the enemy does not want us to be, whilst feigning presence elsewhere,’ said Caderil. He pointed towards the centre of the floating city. ‘The main temple is our objective, but it is too well defended for direct assault. We have to draw out the enemy force, leaving the temple vulnerable to counter-attack.’
‘Just like the Perfect Fortress,’ said Harne.
‘And Copatia, and Rigus Three, and lots of other places,’ said Agapito. ‘We don’t have the numbers or firepower for a straight feint-and-attack here. Vangellin and his tech-priests won’t deplete their defences unless they really need to, so our attack is a second diversionary assault. We have to make the enemy believe we’re in much greater strength than we actually are.’
‘The lord primarch gets the killing blow,’ said Harne with a nod. ‘I understand that.’
‘It sounds like there’s something you don’t understand, Harne.’
‘If the Word Bearers are on Iapetus, why are we fighting to take over Atlas?’
‘Caderil, what is your explanation?’ Agapito replied.
&nb
sp; ‘A simple decapitation mission is unlikely to succeed without the element of surprise, and with the defences of the capital against us we lack the time needed to prepare a proper assault. Atlas is only achievable thanks to the presence of Loriark and his dissidents. There is no guarantee we would have any support on Iapetus. We simply don’t have the numbers without the aid of the skitarii. Once we control Atlas, we have an established base of operations and also the firepower of a barge-city at our disposal.’
‘And any skitarii that survive will likely side with the winners, regardless of who is commanding them at the moment,’ added Shorin from the other side of the Whispercutter’s narrow fuselage.
‘A good assessment,’ said Agapito.
‘Four hundred metres from drop-point,’ warned Stanz. The Whispercutter started dropping groundwards.
‘Power up,’ ordered Agapito. The whine of jump packs reverberated along the length of the lander as turbines spun into life.
The Whispercutter banked sharply between two smoke-belching chimneys, descending into the glare of an outdoor assembly line. The cabins of mechanical diggers were being attached to their chassis, line after line of servitor labourers with welding torches and grafted facemasks lighting the ground with white sparks and dribbling lines of red-hot metal. Ghosting above them, the Raven Guard passed unseen.
Lining up on the roadway beyond the factory, the Whispercutter glided down to fifty metres. In the lenses of Agapito’s helm an objective reticule glowed into life, centred on a junction ahead. The metres counted down rapidly beside it.
‘Drop!’ he snapped the moment the countdown reached zero.
As one the Raven Guard released the grab rails and fell groundwards. Stanz had activated the machine-spirit guide in the moments before leaving; the Whispercutter ascended swiftly into the darkness, and would then head out to sea before ditching itself.
