Imperator: Wrath of the Omnissiah
Page 20
‘I’m the one that’s meant to be upset,’ Notasa continued. ‘Giving me the silent treatment isn’t fair.’
‘It was… important,’ Ghelsa managed, trying not to cry. She wanted to leap over the divide and hug Notasa, to feel something from the life that had fallen away beneath her in just a few short hours. But the taint was on her. She would be hunted and killed, and anyone with her would suffer as well. Harkas’ acquaintance was like an infection, and now she was the carrier.
‘It’s always something else that’s important,’ said Notasa. He looked up, frowning. ‘You’ve been in the akropoliz? Why have you been up there already? There’s been fighting! By the Omnissiah, Ghelsa vin Jaint, what have you been doing?’
‘Stay safe,’ Ghelsa blurted, and then dashed down the steps, the multi-tool and her callipers clanging against the metal of the central column.
‘I love you!’ Notasa called down after her.
‘I love you too,’ whispered Ghelsa.
She reached the bottom of the stairwell and stumbled into the ruddy ambience of the downdecks, heading for the dead space between the plasma exchanges – the most isolated place she could think of.
A temporary star lit the desolate basin as the Will of Iron’s plasma reactor detonated. The flash lasted only an instant but was seared across Exasas’ archive circuitry. A Warlord Titan had been destroyed while the Casus Belli had simply looked on. He knew little enough about MIU transmission, but he had to imagine that the spirit of the Imperator was howling for vengeance now, chained by the treachery of the princeps senioris and moderati.
Others among the tech-priests and lower ranks would know what had happened. Not all of them could be part of the conspiracy. Could they?
It was a near-zero probability that of all the officer-elevated members of the Cult Metalica Exasas was the only one not party to the plotting. If that were the case it would have been far easier to have removed her from duty before the Imperator left its drop barge.
He desperately wanted to know what was happening, and in particular to identify the Legio of the Titans that had cooperated in the ambush. That data would go a long way to revealing the extent of the traitorous influence within and beyond the Legio.
Exasas turned from the window as the two Warhounds started to flee, void shields sparking under the gunfire of pursuing war engines. An idea lent further urgency to his thought process – not that he felt a lack of haste. The rest of the battle group was yet to emerge from the storm, and they would surely fall foul of the ambush. If he could access the noosphere in some way it might be possible to make some form of emergency signal to the others. The likelihood of such a broadcast penetrating the storm layer was marginal, but it was better than no plan at all.
Was this the sort of situation where assumptions were better than presumptions? Was there some leap of intuition Exasas was incapable of making that would lead to a solution to the current problem?
It was a waste of processing potential to ponder unknowns, so Exasas focused all available algorithms and antarithms on devising a means to circumnavigate the noospheric block.
He presumed that Olvatia was not foolish enough to have placed the jamming device in a position where Exasas could access it.
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Delight at his own cleverness briefly eclipsed Exasas’ concern, but it returned swiftly. He descended and started a thorough scanner sweep of the magazine shell, seeking any sign of a noospheric device. At the same time, he retasked several routines in his primary processors to approximate the circuitry of the warskin and started to assemble the battle-persona.
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The nerve-crackling sensation of interference was stronger at the base of the magazine, close to the inner vault. The store itself could only be accessed from below or from the gun tower above; the wall within the magazine was solid ferrocrete laced with reinforcing bars.
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Ghelsa sat with her legs pulled up to her chest, her head resting against the downpipe of the plasma exchange behind her. Sweat rolled across her skin, the heat and humidity the main reason this area was shunned when possible. She liked the warmth that came from the broad conduit, and every few seconds it shuddered slightly. It felt like a pulse, the heartbeat of the Casus Belli, strong and steady. It matched the rhythm of the torso’s sway as the Imperator strode relentlessly onwards. Implacable and eternal.
This was her home.
It had been tainted. Everywhere but this shadowed spot felt hostile, an alien place that wanted her dead. It was just a matter of time before they found her, beat her, carved the signs of the heretek into her and stripped out her augmentations.
Ghelsa lifted a hand to the symbol in her brow, a rare sign of blessing by the Cult Metalica. It had been the reward gifted to her for the year of pain
she had endured and the year more of rehabilitation following the insertion of the exo-skeleton. She had dedicated her body to the Machine-God and endured the test that had followed.
All of that meant nothing. It was scrap metal that would be reclaimed from her still-living body before they steam-blasted her into oblivion.
For what? A madman posing as an inquisitor? It was ridiculous how easily she had allowed herself to be played by his lies. Harkas had used her as a shield. She had vouched for him with the duct-fighters! Having been foiled once in his corruption of the Casus Belli, he had found a willing pawn in Ghelsa.
She should have just let the hyperezia beat him to death.
And what was his proof? Nothing. Everything he had insisted depended upon a stupid piece of wood. He had risked everything for that flimsy disguise. As if an inquisitor would just turn up at the Casus Belli with nothing more powerful than a decorated sigil. Why had he not brought skitarii or perhaps even Space Marines? With the entire resources of the Imperium at his disposal he had thought a small wooden ‘I’ could overthrow the command cadre of an Imperator Titan.
And now that Ghelsa thought of it some more, that sounded even more outrageous than the tech-priests attempting to deliver the Casus Belli to the traitors.
A sudden thudding of heavier tread drew her eye to the deck above her. She heard voices raised in complaint and snarled words in return. There was more argument, cut short by a shriek of pain.
Ghelsa was on her feet in an instant, her heart racing. It had to be the hyperezia looking for her.
Another pained shout shot through her nerves, followed by something hitting the decking. The exchangers were lit by the glow of status lights in a panel not far away, and in the amber gleam Ghelsa saw something drip through the crack between two decking plates.
She moved forward and held out a hand. Another droplet splashed onto it. It looked ruddy, but the light cast a reddish hue on everything. Lifting her hand to her mouth, she licked the drop.
Blood.
The dripping became a trickle, and horror stole through her with the realisation that it was not going to stop. This was not a broken nose or cut lip – it was the last life fluid spilling from someone in the plasma chamber above.
Ghelsa stumbled away, narrowly avoiding the tubing that cut across her path. Fear and anger warred inside her. They were close, so close to finding her. The thought of her slow death was terrifying, almost as dread-inspiring as the shame of her excommunication. She would be swiftly forgotten, but for a while at least among the duluz she would be known as a heretek – her death would be the example to remind the others of the price of disloyalty.
And what if they thought she had corrupted others? Would they come for Notasa?
The anger was stronger, fuelled by that thought. They had just killed someone out of hand, perhaps for trying to resist their hunt, or perhaps for speaking out in defence of Ghelsa.
She could not have that blood on her conscience.
Ghelsa reached the ladder up into the plasma chamber and stopped, hearing other raised voices. There were more footfalls, booted and bare, and she looked up through the opening. She caught a glimpse of white cloth. Not the robe of a tech-priest but the coat of a skitarii. Changing the angle brought the muzzle of an arc rifle into view.
That explained the increasing dissent. The downdecks were the domain of the tributai and the epilekhtoz, off limits to the skitarii.
She heard the words of a skitarii alpha cut through the babble of shouting, her voice empowered by a volume modulator.
‘No shooting in here. Do not open fire!’
The soldier at the top of the ladder took a step away, revealing more of the blue-bathed plasma chamber. Something brighter sparked white into the gleam, accompanied by a hissing and then a high-pitched wail. The fury of the duluz voices intensified rather than abated at this attempt to cow them. Metal-edged skitarii demands rose in volume in response.
A terrible doubt gnawed at Ghelsa.
What if Harkas had been telling the truth?
While she did not doubt that hereteks had conviction for their twisted causes, Harkas’ utterly indefatigable nature suggested a confidence far greater than anything she had encountered before. His single-mindedness in recovering his sigil and the utter contempt he had shown to the new magos spoke of an unshakeable faith in himself. He had feared failure more than death.
And if he was to be believed, that failure was nothing less than the corruption of the Casus Belli. The same magos that had vaporised Harkas had sent skitarii into the downdecks. Even Ghelsa, who had never lauded herself as the quickest of thinkers, could see there could only be one reason for that – to subjugate the duluz.
Her fingers curled around the rungs and she started to climb. Her thoughts burned with something Harkas had said at their first meeting.
‘And if what I say is true, and the Casus Belli is turned against the Imperium, you would be purged along with the others of the crew not party to the plot.’
The skitarii were not just enforcers – they were executioner squads awaiting the command. Anyone that did not openly swear loyalty to the new regime would be killed.
The soldier at the top of the ladder looked at her as she clambered up. Its face was hidden behind a lensed mask, jutting ridges of cybernetics pushing the white coat into odd shapes around the shoulders.
The skitarii levelled its arc rifle at Ghelsa.
‘Wait there,’ the soldier ordered.
Ghelsa hauled herself into the plasma chamber and stood on the rim of the ladder hole.
Located at the heart of the Casus Belli’s torso, the chamber was really a series of interconnecting rooms and walkways around the immense plasma reactor at its centre. The huge sheathed star that powered the Imperator was contained within spherical layers of ferrocrete, plasteel and magneto-shields, the outside studded with large hexagonal bolts. Around it were several walkways, stairs and tertiary levels broken by banks of monitoring gauges, control stations and access ladders. Power feeds each thicker than Ghelsa’s waist spread like roots from the base of the globe to the motive engines, bastions and void shield generators, while overhead splayed the branching conduits running up to the weaponry and command stations far above.
Several dozen tech-priests and duluz were drawn up in angry clusters, surrounded by two squads of armed skitarii. Three tributai lay on the deck – one with the side of her head crushed, the others perhaps also dead or only unconscious, it was impossible to tell.
‘Halt,’ the skitarii said again, taking a step closer, around the ladder hole.
The downdeckers eyed the soldiers sullenly, growling and shouting their dissatisfaction. A little ahead of the others, a golden-masked alpha confronted the largest group, where two tech-priests blurted endless binaric at the interlopers, to no avail.
Nobody else was paying any attention to Ghelsa.
She moved towards the skitarii, swinging the multi-tool towards the soldier’s head. It connected with a metallic clang, snapping the skitarii’s head sideways, neck broken. As the soldier crumpled, Ghelsa guided the body into the hole with a shove.
As one, the remaining skitarii turned towards her, detecting the death of their companion over their squad-link.
‘No shooting!’ the alpha commanded again. Five of the closest soldiers started towards Ghelsa, their rifles couched, pulling shock mauls and long blades from their belts.
‘We are betrayed!’ Ghelsa shouted, lifting up the multi-tool as though it were the war banner of the Legio. ‘Defend yourselves!’
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Exasas started up the rampway at speed, impelled by a sudden conclusion.
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As he ascended, the effect of the jamming signal lessened. It still prevented any kind of link, but the magos sensed the noosphere’s presence beyond the interference, much like one can detect a light coming on through eyelids. He accelerated, all his jointed legs churning to propel the excited tech-priest upwards.
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Reaching the highest level, Exasas moved around the walkway to the opposite side from the location of the jamming device far below. He reared up as far as possible, extending his segmented body with a hiss of pneumatics.