by Thorpe, Gav
‘Faithful!’ said Dazi, standing up, her pistol held out to one side. ‘Scan your datastore.’
It regarded her in silence for several seconds and then dropped its arms to its sides.
‘Major?’ Harkas and Ghelsa uttered the question at the same time, equally incredulous.
Dazi frowned at them. ‘What confuses you?’
‘I didn’t realise you had ranks,’ confessed Ghelsa. She ineffectually waved a hand at Dazi’s sparse clothing. ‘I would have expected… a uniform?’
Dazi sighed and turned her attention back to the kastelan.
‘Identify yourself and your unit.’
‘Where is your datasmith?’
‘And what is your standing control order?’
Two more kastelans strode past the construct, heading towards the gatehouse hall.
Ghelsa felt the kastelan turn its scrutiny on her and Harkas, though it had no face as such. She flinched when a red light gleamed behind its visor and its weapons rose towards her.
Dazi stood in front of the cybernetic warrior and looked at Ghelsa and Harkas as though she hadn’t seen them before, her eyes narrowed.
‘That’s true,’ she said. ‘You never did say what you were doing up here, tributai, or who that is with you. Why are you so desperate to get into the command deck?’
Ghelsa looked at Harkas for help, but the inquisitor remained silent. She glared at him, trying to urge him to speak.
‘Put down your weapons,’ said the major, her tone terse. Ghelsa let the plasma carbine drop onto the crate and stepped back. Harkas gave up possession of his arc rifle more reluctantly. He hadn’t moved his stare from Dazi during the entire exchange.
‘They were fighting the traitors,’ said Aszad.
‘I’m aware of that, which is why they’re still alive,’ said Dazi. She smiled at Ghelsa, but there was little warmth in it. ‘Thank you for saving our lives.’
‘I think I owe you that thanks more,’ Ghelsa replied. ‘That traitor legionary would have smeared me across the wall if you hadn’t arrived.’
‘We wouldn’t have caught him if you hadn’t slowed him down,’ said Aszad with a lopsided grin and a shrug. His levity was ended by the sound of an explosion.
‘I need to get to a vox station and find out what’s happening, and I don’t have time for… whatever this is,’ said Dazi.
‘I’ll watch them,’ offered Aszad.
‘No, you need to get back to the platoon and coordinate the attempts to reclaim the upper storeys.’ She turned to the kastelan. ‘Delta 6-Terror, can you comply with fresh orders?’
She eyed Ghelsa and Harkas, seemingly weighing up her options.
‘A compromise,’ she declared. ‘Delta 6-Terror, you will escort these two unidentified combatants to the command deck, and when there, deliver them safely into the custody of the hyperezia.’
The major considered the question, looking first at Harkas and then Ghelsa. The tributai wasn’t sure exactly what difference the definition made to the construct’s soul-program, but she was certain she didn’t want to be categorised as unfaithful.
‘You I trust,’ declared Dazi, looking at Ghelsa. She switched her gaze to Harkas. ‘I’m not so sure about him.’
‘I vouch for him,’ Ghelsa said quickly, before she had even thought about the consequences. She tried not to let an instant of regret show.
‘You do? Then if I trust you, I must accept your word for him. Delta 6-Terror, categorise combatants as faithful.’
‘Hail the Machine-God,’ echoed Ghelsa, letting out a ragged breath.
The sensation of lightness quickly became a more solid realisation as Exasas’ thoughtfilters switched from tactical to strategic mode. The uplifting effect of the noosphere was caused by the untrammelled presence of the Casus Belli’s spirit, focused through the MIU of the princeps senioris. It radiated a stillness of soul. Not calm, as the spirit of a Titan was ever belligerent by intent, but the violence at its core had become a latency from the actuality. One might think it was relaxing.
With noospheric links established with the command module, Exasas discovered that the source of this dormancy was a cessation of external hostile activity. The battle group had finally silenced the guns of Az Khalak and were circumnavigating the broken citadel, intent upon the valleys beyond as directed by the princeps senioris’ order.
A dichotomy sparked within the magos dominus as he regarded the completion of the primary mission on the one side against the counter-attack of the cybernetika that was still ongoing. It was not the first time that the travails of the skitarii were beneath the notice of the Imperator, which probably regarded its human – and once-human – protectors as little as a duluz heeds the presence of its own antibodies.
A perfunctory assessment reassured the dominus that while several Space Marines had escaped to wreak sporadic damage through the akropoliz, there was an absolute-zero probability of a further threat to the command module or lower decks.
Any positive effect on Exasas’ mood at the thought of the dual victory quickly abated when the magos appraised herself of the casualty records. A large proportion of the skitarii were dead, their absence like a blockage in the datastream that nagged at the magos. The auxilia, as much as he could tell at this stage before accurate reports had been submitted, had suffered equally harsh losses.
Even more distressing was the preliminary finding of the kill-efficiency equations, putting the performance of the defenders at a little over 60 per cent. Not only had the victory been costly in terms of personnel, but the expenditure of ammunition and energy cells had almost depleted the skitarii armouries.
Exasas resolved to recalibrate the oppositional factors for the Heretic Astartes in light of the data gleaned from the battle. All previous differentials had been based upon non-personal experience or archival records, and thus divorced from proper investigation. The reality of facing the Traitor Space Marines was far more informative than the rumour; even though Exasas had downgraded many reports as being exaggerations, the truth was that perhaps much of the archive data he had threaded into the calculations had underestimated the lethality of the fallen creations of the Omnissiah.
Pre-calculated effectiveness estimates rated the overall standing of the dominus’ defence forces at 12 per cent. Estimating survival rates among the wounded while reviewing their individual battle-memories to experience the extent of their injuries, Exasas engaged defensive failsafes that dedicated the remaining troops to key positions in the akropoliz and bastions. The cybernetika remained the most battle-ready asset, but their inflexibility made them poor substitutes in many situations. Exasas left them with their current task of exterminating the renegades still at large.
Evidence of Exasas’ adjustments was immediately visible when a skitarii alpha led her team to the antae gate leading from the atrium to the command module. Elsewhere troopers redistributed their weapons and ammunition, quickly creating more effective fire teams while those that gave up their armaments moved among the dead and wounded, acquiring what other materiel they could.
In some form or other, they would be ready for the next threat to the Imperator.
CHAPTER 8
TIME OF JUDGEMENT
The sounds of fighting had moved away by the time the tunnel fighters led them back towards the atrium. With Delta 6-Terror looming behind them, they followed the two Armageddon natives out into the great hallway. The dead of both sides choked the stairs and galleries, the smoking carcass of a con
struct here and there among the organic ruin. The air was thick with smoke and the stench of blood. Erratic bursts of fire lit the stairways as squads of skitarii moved among the corpses, firing point-blank into the traitors to ensure they were truly dead, hacking off their heads with buzzing transonic blades.
The walls were blackened by las-fire, cratered with plasma impacts and bolt wounds, scarred by deeper welts and molten abrasions. Ghelsa laid a hand on the cold ferrocrete wall, hoping that the comforting gesture, small as it was, soothed the spirit of the Casus Belli in some way.
Brave warrior, she thought. If I had but a fraction of your strength, indestructible master of war.
‘Go with Delta 6-Terror and report to the hyperezia,’ Dazi told them. She laid a hand on Ghelsa’s arm and leaned close, her voice a whisper. ‘Whatever loyalty you think you owe this man, remember that your oaths to the Legio surpass it.’
The urge to confess everything welled up within Ghelsa. She clamped her jaw shut, worried that some stray word might condemn her to further examination. She answered with a brief nod, afraid to speak.
Harkas set off, shoulders hunched, fists clenched. Ghelsa picked her way over the shattered armour of a traitor legionary, trying not to look at the unpleasant designs moulded into the ceramite – images of degradation and violence that made her shudder even only half seen. Delta 6-Terror made no effort to avoid the renegade, crushing battle plate beneath it as it stomped down the stairs behind her.
They had descended two flights when Harkas paused for a few seconds, allowing her to come alongside him. Not so suited to the steps, Delta 6-Terror was a few metres behind.
‘I think we can outpace the construct,’ he said quietly, keeping his gaze ahead.
‘But for how long? And it only takes one shot on target to end everything.’
‘There are still weapons to scavenge – we can arm ourselves again when out of sight.’
‘Attack it?’ The thought horrified Ghelsa. ‘That’s as bad as killing the hyperezia. Delta 6-Terror is a child of the Machine-God – it is only doing its duty.’
‘You would choose the existence of a cybernetic over the survival of everyone aboard this Titan? Perhaps I was wrong about you.’
‘What do you mean? Wrong about what?’
He fell silent as they passed a squad of skitarii standing sentry at the next landing. When they reached the next set of steps he continued.
‘I thought that you possessed the moral courage to help me.’
‘I do!’ Ghelsa realised she had raised her voice more than she had intended. She continued quietly. ‘I do. I want to protect the Casus Belli, but it doesn’t mean we should throw away life needlessly.’
‘It is an artificial creation – it isn’t alive.’
‘Of course it is,’ she said. ‘It has a soul – that makes it alive.’
‘Just because it has a lump of cortex wired in there somewhere doesn’t mean…’ He stopped with a frustrated snort. ‘It does not matter. Soul or no soul, if it takes us to the hyperezia we are both as good as dead.’
‘It does matter,’ said Ghelsa, not willing to drop the subject. ‘The Cult Metalica is very clear that all forms of animus are equal in labour and regard in the universal engine.’
‘Equal in labour?’ Harkas looked at her with a raised brow. ‘The magos render themselves immortal with augmentation and elixir and you toil to an early death amid fumes and plasma exhaust.’
Ghelsa said nothing, irritated by his assertion. She wished she could read the theological tracts of the tech-priests to rebut his accusations, but aside from a few common maintenance runes she was illiterate. His words left her feeling mocked and frustrated again.
‘I was referring to a greater purpose, Ghelsa vin Jaint,’ the inquisitor continued. They turned onto the penultimate landing, the steps thick with bodies in bloodied white robes and tattered coats, where the skitarii had held against the traitors’ relentless attack while awaiting the reinforcements of the cybernetika. ‘One beyond the Imperator.’
‘Beyond?’ The thought excited and terrified her. ‘In what way? I don’t want to be reallocated to a starship or forge world. The Casus Belli is my home. I belong here.’
The thought almost brought her to tears.
‘I see. I had hoped that, once my mission here was successfully concluded, you might continue to accompany me on further works in the name of the Emperor.’
‘Join the…’ She again realised she had lost control of her volume. ‘Join the Inquisition?’
‘Not as such. You would aid me in certain situations, nothing more. I admire your resourcefulness.’
As before, the words of appreciation made Ghelsa’s heart quicken. She turned her head and faked a cough to hide the smile that she could not contain.
So stark was her feeling that it almost instantly sparked paranoia. The kind words were at odds with Harkas’ generally dismissive attitude. Several times now he had belittled her faith, not to mention the insult of desecrating her Machine-God-augmented body with the stolen stimm. He spoke of respect but rarely showed it.
The thought led her to a moment of revelation.
‘I think there’s another way,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how these kastelans work exactly, but I’ve been around the tech-priests enough to pick up a few ideas.’
‘Another way to what?’
‘To get inside the holy decks without the hyperezia killing us.’
Summoning a quintet of armoury-slaved servitors to attend to the heavily damaged warskin, Exasas approached the antae and extended a noospheric cipher into the watchdog systems. Another tech-priest responded to the magos’ intervention.
Monderas:
The immense gates opened as Exasas approached, letting forth billows of red vapour like the breath of a mythical beast. He advanced into the welcoming haze, puffing out clouds of his own incense to mingle with that of the command deck, as if they were pack creatures exchanging scent marks.
Exasas:
He passed under the gateway and into the antae. The chamber was quite plain, silvered like the forge world that had raised the Casus Belli to the service of the Machine-God. A servo-skull detached from a docking alcove at the crux of wall and ceiling and floated down to the magos, the hollows of its eyes lit with a red gleam from the rudimentary cogitator within. Exasas recognised it as one of Monderas’ peripherals, one of the logistarius’ favoured students before an implantation mishap had ended her promising ascent towards the Higher Wisdoms.
It extended a data-spike, indicating a desire for physical interface. It was an unusual request, but Exasas held up a tendril that ended in a dataport and allowed the servo-skull to connect its protrusion.
#startaccess/Exasas=Monderas/shielded#
Exasas cautiously accepted the logistarius’ invitation.
#is there some issue with the noosphere of which I am ignorant?#
#the functioning of the noosphere is unimpaired to my knowledge#pertaining to the princeps senioris’ recent command we are progressing directly into the region beyond the fortress without resupply#
#this is known to me#I do not understand the need to keep this exchange from the noosphere#
#we have meteorological reports that show intense electromagnetic activity will engulf the area imminently#this storm will seriously impair the systems of the Casus Belli#we will be unable to communicate with the rest of the battle group at a time when we are not fully recovered from the losses and damage just suffered#I thought it pertinent to your conjecture that the enemy were attempting to isolate us#
#and the direct transmission is because you do n
ot wish this exchange to be perceived as a challenge to the princeps senioris’ orders#
#correct#
#to the extent that you do not wish the rest of the command crew to even know we have conducted ciphered communication#
#the existence of such communication could be interpreted as dissent#or worse#
#endaccess/Exasas=/=Monderas/shielded#
There was a moment of dislocation as the logistarius severed the link. The servo-skull retracted its data-spike and drifted back to its docking point.
Exasas was unsure what to make of both Monderas’ peculiar behaviour and the princeps senioris’ insistence on continuing the advance when the battle group’s effectiveness was compromised. In the case of Iealona’s motivations there was a significant probability that the Titan commander was under some greater indictment from the Legio hierarchy. Perhaps the enemy’s own idiosyncratic behaviour at Az Khalak had presented an unforeseen opportunity to conclude the current war-phase at a swifter rate than previously anticipated.
He pondered this as he moved from the antae into the lower but broader chamber beyond, known as the pronaoz. In direct contrast to the unadorned antae, which existed as a physical incarnation of the disparity between the mundane and the divine, the pronaoz of the Casus Belli was a highly decorated structure. The walls were lined with half-pillars with capitals shaped like mechanical devices, their interlocking gears and belts forming vaults across the ceiling. The columns were lit from above by tubular lumens powered by the holy gases, bathing the columns in reds, purples and blues, in simulation of the aurora-lit skies above the Templum Metalica Majoris.
In between the columns were rendered the mask-like faces of the Casus Belli’s creators – four great magos of near-forgotten antiquity that had raised up the Imperator to crush the enemies of the Machine-God. The magos dominus’ reflection was caught in a flat expanse in the centre, placing his image among those of the legendary founders.
The centre of the silvered floor was inscribed with a twelve-lugged cog in golden channels, the principal points decorated with runes of electrum, copper and red iron steel. Intricate circuit tracery filled the symbol, each pathway a metaphor for the holy mysteries of the Cult Metalica, every potential course a different route to enlightenment in the service of the Machine-God, be it as biologis, hermetika, arkeotektonika or one of the other dozens of disciplines a tech-priest might study.
