by Guy Haley
‘In the name of House Vi, I claim the patronage of the Mechanicum of Mars, and the favour of the forge world of Tigris.’
She threw the cog down onto the bare, baked earth. She might as well have dropped a bomb.
Her father’s position was compromised. He could not rebuke her, because he would throw the whole contest into doubt, but if he backed her actions, he disrespected his dukes. Either way, the honour of House Vi was at stake. His cold stare promised terrible punishment. The royal court was aghast. They goggled in disbelief and muttered behind their hands.
The blank metal and flesh visages of the Mechanicum delegation could not be more different to those of the court of Procon. Blends of machine and man observed her clinically. Lights blinked in place of eyes. Lines of text streamed over glass displays set into chests.
‘Interesting,’ said the representative.
The king looked to his guest, unwilling to make the first move.
‘This contest is void,’ said the duke of House Kandaj. ‘This was to be a display of the skill of the Knights, not of horsemanship!’
‘The Knights’ skill was lacking. The huntress has won,’ said Mohana. She could say nothing else. She was terrified. She should not have run with the Knights. Her split-second decision to take up the prize would cost her life.
The dismay of the court grew. Knights were coming to a stop around the arch, steam roaring from overheated engines. Cockpit hatches slammed back. Warriors tore the interface cables of their thrones from their necks to stand proud in their cockpits, and condemn her from on high.
‘My daughter shows great courage, and resourcefulness,’ said the king. ‘She has shown us all up!’ He laughed indulgently, though any that knew him well would have seen his humour for a lie.
No one else laughed. A heavy silence fell, subduing even the wind.
Strange machine chimes and the rattling of mechanisms sounded from one of the Mechanicum delegation. A disturbing twittering, similar to but horribly unlike that of birds, passed between several of them.
The representative was the first to speak human words. ‘I say she has taken the token, and she has won,’ he said. ‘I proclaim House Vi victorious.’
From their expressions, the nobility had expected the Mechanicum to cry foul, but the machine priests did not seem in the least perturbed.
Mohana was a princess. She was well versed in statecraft, trained for the time she would enter the third era of life when her children were grown and she become barren. Old women spent their time smoothing and shaping the planet’s byzantine politics to suit their houses, never openly, always behind closed doors.
She saw now what she had done. If the representative deemed the competition fairly won, it would set all the other houses against House Vi. Her house would be the first to gain the Mechanicum’s promised knowledge, and have the honour of fighting the war in the stars, but they would be left at the mercy of the other houses for generations. She had made her family reliant on the Mechanicum for protection.
But her father was no fool either. A sly expression entered King Rahajanan’s eyes.
A second, worse realisation hit her. She saw, in that moment, in that look on her father’s face, that she had doomed herself forever for the sake of a moment of pride.
King Rahajanan opened his mouth to speak.
Two
Vox Omni Machina
While in transit Luxor Invictoria’s head was kept separate from his body in a soaring naoz. The removal to the chapel was done not for respect for the Warlord Titan, but for the machine’s permanent occupant, Luxor Invictoria’s princeps and his human soul, Domina Princeps Bellicosa Altus Xiliarkis Mohana Mankata Vi, the Great Mother of the Legio Solaria – or the Imperial Hunters, as the order was called in the vulgar tongue.
Luxor Invictoria’s head was altar, holy relic and war machine in one. His glowering face, forged in the likeness of a great helm, stared down from a cradle that dominated the naoz’s apse. His emerald glassite eyes took the place of stained glass windows. His red, angular visor was a part of the chapel’s architecture. His soul was the conduit for the divine. Through him, the Machine-God was immanent.
Princeps Majoris Esha Ani Mohana could practically taste the holy oil of the deity’s blood.
A dozen cyber constructs hovered over Luxor Invictoria’s domed skull. Four cyber cherubs supported a thick cloth canopy bearing the mottos of the Legio and the roll of its victories. Less baroque creations moved in regular, precise patterns over the head, jetting polish and lubricants onto the gleaming metal. A servo skull fashioned from the remains of one of the Legio’s fallen heroes moved around the armour plates, the large pair of polishing discs mounted in place of its jaw buffing constantly. A second, equipped similarly, cleaned and polished the bronze panel trim in ceaseless rounds. Billows of incense puffed from auto censers. Fragrant lubricants steamed in wide bowls. A choir of servitor torsos mounted in high galleries sang hymns praising the glory of the machine. Devices hummed. Gas exchange pipes hissed. Bundled cables swayed in draughts vented from the mouths of atmosphere cycling friezes. The chorus was that of machines at work, but humanity was present there also. Red robed enginseers worked discreetly behind fretwork screening off cloisters full of banks of blinking lights. There was a sense of anticipation, as if something miraculous was about to happen, as profound and calming as the last moment before sleep.
All was peace. Neither the turmoil of the warp buffeting the Tantamon nor Horus’ war impinged upon the sanctity of the naoz. Only the Warlord Titan’s head and its revered mistress mattered there. The Machine-God commanded it.
‘Invictoria cannot begrudge having his head removed, if it makes the Great Mother sleep better,’ said Princeps Soranti Daha. She made to joke, as was her way. Her tongue was as swift as her Warhound Titan, always eager, but her words came out as a whisper, and she cringed slightly as they echoed off the marble and iron facings of the temple.
Six of them stood on the footway that rose from the naoz floor, Esha Ani Mohana and her subordinate princeps of the Imperial Hunters Second Maniple. Unconsciously they took the position their machines did when they walked: Esha at the front; her second, Jehani Jehan to her right; and then the rest, Toza Mindev, Soranti Daha and Abhani Lus Mohana, arrayed either side in wings that curved inwards, so that Daha and Abhani Lus were closest to the granite balustrade. Princeps Majoris Durana Fahl of Fourth Maniple was also present, slightly apart from the others, although she had fought with Second for three years now.
The women were of similar physical appearance, olive-skinned, dark-eyed, all but Lus black-haired. Lus’ reddish braids set her apart a touch from the others, but only so much as sisters look a little different. They were a family. All had the same straight nose, the same narrow face bearing the same grave expression. They were handsome women rather than pretty. Their similarity was accentuated by the dress uniforms they wore of dark green, heavy cloth with knee boots and tall, stiff collars. Esha and Durana Fahl’s collars were red and decorated with rank pins cast in the shape of Reaver Titans’ feet; the rest wore black displaying the splay-footed imprints of Warhound scout engines. Hung about their necks were bronze ceremonial gorgets stamped with the Imperial aquila superimposed on the machina opus of Mars. They guarded these vestigial pieces of armour carefully. They were the sign of their faith with Terra, and the Fabricator General in exile.
The footway raised the women up in height so that they might stand level with the eyes of the dormant machine. Esha’s Reaver Titan Domine Ex Venari was not so mighty as Luxor Invictoria, but they were forge siblings nevertheless, called forth from the same lakes of molten metal on Tigris, and Esha Ani Mohana felt a powerful kinship with the god-machine.
Although it was somnolent, and bodiless, the head of Luxor Invictoria radiated potency. All Titans
had a sense of danger, even when shut down, the same way a sleeping predator of flesh and blood would were it magnified ten thousand times – and there were no killers of any kind, flesh or steel, greater than an Imperial Battle Titan.
The fragment of Domine Ex Venari’s soul that Esha carried in her heart recognised Luxor Invictoria’s superiority, and urged her to kneel before the head. All the others of Second Maniple would feel the same. Their machines were lords of war, but they stood in the presence of the king.
Not one of them did kneel. The six of them were sister-bonded princeps. They knew full well what it was to bridge the worlds of machine and man. Although Luxor Invictoria’s eyes gazed unblinking and imperious upon them, and the machine-spirit’s might hummed around them, they were not cowed. A Titan’s soul was a being to be worshipped as the scriptures of Mars insisted, but it was also something to be dominated. One should never show weakness before a god-machine, no matter how imposing. A princeps could have no fear of any Titan. To show fear risked losing their own engine’s respect. A loss of respect equalled a loss of control, and a princeps with no control was no princeps at all.
So they stared the head down. Confidence born from commanding its brethren gave them the will required.
Mohana Mankata Vi was another matter. She they did fear, and love. If she were stood before them, outside the head and the amniotic tank she dwelled permanently within, they would not have been able to meet her eyes.
‘One hundred and twenty-four years ago she entered the cockpit for the final time, never again to leave. Imagine that,’ said Toza Mindev in awe.
‘Imagine,’ said Esha. ‘She is the first of the Legio. She was there the day the first engine walked, and the day its colours were granted. She has served in our ranks since the beginning, and commanded for fifteen decades. This is why we come to pay our respects.’
‘She is your mother,’ said Mindev breathily. She looked to her leader adoringly. ‘You are blessed.’
‘She is far more than that,’ said Esha.
In battle Mohana Mankata Vi’s presence filled the comms waves of their Legio, linking them all so closely they could feel her breath on their necks. After so long in transit, they felt the need to be near to the Great Mother again, and being outside the disconnected head of Vi’s command Titan was the closest most of them would get to her in person, ever.
Mohana Mankata Vi awed them where the machines did not.
Abhani Lus knelt and marked the sign of the holy cog over her forehead.
‘Mohana Mankata Vi, watch over us. Use us well in the coming war,’ she whispered. ‘You are most praised, most exalted, bonded to the Machine-God by your mind, body and soul. Watch over your Legio, Great Mother. Bring us victory.’
‘She can’t hear you,’ said Soranti Daha. Again, she meant her words to tease, but they came out unbelieving, and quiet.
‘You don’t mean that,’ said Lus. She rose and brushed at her knees, although the naoz was as clean as it could possibly be. ‘She can feel our presence. We are all her daughters. She knows we are here.’
‘Maybe she knows you are here,’ said Mindev. ‘Granddaughter, mother and daughter. A trinity worthy of the Omnissiah!’
‘Silence,’ said Esha crossly. Mindev was devout, and her constant reciting of the Mohana line irked her. ‘You demean yourself with your envy. We are all daughters of equal worth to her, myself and Abhani Lus Mohana included. Not one of us is more important to the Great Mother than the others.’
They stood to attention in silence. The hum and whirr of machine life took the place of human noises.
The low ring of a bronze bell reverberated around the naoz. The spell broke. Esha turned around on her heels as the second chime sang.
‘Your holiness,’ she said, and inclined her head in respect.
The others turned at her words, and seeing who approached, knelt.
‘We offer our greeting and respect to you, Magos Mal-Four Chrysophane, deimechanic, who is Vox Omni Machina, talker to machines, and keeper of the secrets of the interface,’ said Esha.
Chrysophane walked tall on three stilt legs. Their length lifted him high over the heads of the women and the six neokora acolytes walking behind him. Though he lurched unsteadily on his tripodal feet, he moved very quietly; indeed, all his motions and his manner were quiet and thoughtful, for his role was communicator with the machine-spirits. He was a direct auto-oracle, a speaker with and for the machines. As each machine-spirit was a fragment of the Machine-God, his work was so holy it demanded he have the greatest respect for the devices he joined with and make no unnecessary noise in case he miss the subtleties of their speech. The clamour of industry was a holy song to their god, but he went on quiet, rubberised feet. His was a difficult but crucial role.
The Vox Omni Machina was hunched, with heavy diagnostic augmetic systems integrated directly into his spine. His red and white robes – the colours of the forge world of Tigris – were split along the back so the artfulness of the flesh machine bond and the blessed extent of his bionics were on display for all to see. Aged skin stretched under bonding pincers. Polished bone showed in his open back, enmeshed with wires. His head, by contrast, was wholly obscured by his hood. Though Esha had known Mal-4 Chrysophane for decades, she had seen his face uncovered only a handful of times. Beneath the crimson and cream he retained human ears and scalp, and hair which had turned from brown to grey and thinned over the course of their association, but his face was covered completely by a steel mask. Round green lenses had replaced his eyes, and a smooth rebreather unit his mouth and nose.
Esha knelt and held out her hand for his blessing. A mechadendrite tipped with an interface plug snaked down and stroked her upturned palm.
‘May he who is three yet one bless and keep you in knowledge, Princeps Majoris Esha Ani Mohana.’ Chrysophane’s legs hissed and shortened, bringing him down to a more human level. Further mechadendrites moved from beneath his robes, until he was surrounded by a dancing crowd of metal tentacles. They caressed the hands of the princeps as he blessed them all in order of seniority.
As maniple majoris, Esha was permitted to rise first. She did, and looked into the green glass eyes of the Vox Omni Machina.
‘You have come to awaken the Great Mother?’
‘Your mother wakes already, mistress Esha Ani Mohana.’ Chrysophane’s voice was human sounding, but synthesised, and it rasped on the sibilants. ‘The fleet has made good speed through the immaterium. Battle calls us. Great Mother Mohana Mankata Vi will be brought to full functionality today so she may lead Legio Solaria once more.’
‘You have begun already?’ said Esha. She looked back at the Titan head. ‘Rousing her takes longer every time.’
‘A precaution, huntress,’ said the priest. ‘She is old. It is best all should be done correctly, according to the precepts of scripture and manual, than to risk one so honoured as the Great Mother through haste.’
Esha gave him a querying look. ‘Taking that into account, I calculate not enough time has passed for us to have reached the core worlds of the Garmon Cluster, even given a fair warp current. We are not due to leave the warp for another four days. Has her condition deteriorated?’ Despite her pledge to remain distant, she asked the question with a daughter’s concern, not as an officer of the Legio.
‘We arrive soon at Theta-Garmon,’ said Chrysophane.
‘When?’ asked Esha in surprise.
‘One day, perhaps two.’
‘But we were bound for Beta-Garmon itself, at the centre of the subsector. The capital system! Why have we changed heading?’
‘New orders,’ said the Vox Omni Machina. He sounded regretful. ‘You have not been informed?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I have not.’
‘For that I apologise.’
‘You can tell me now, your holiness. Surely.’
Chrysophane gestured in
agreement, a strange tentacular, mechanical shrug. ‘We have been diverted to the shipyards of Theta-Garmon Five. A major attack is under way. There is much glory to the machine in the shipyards and hydrogen harvesters that ring the world. These works cannot be sullied by those of the False Mechanicum.’
‘Only the Great Mother has the authority to change the target, yet she sleeps,’ said Esha. ‘Why was she not consulted? What is Magos Principia Militaris Goten Mu Kassanius doing?’
‘In the absence of a Grand Master’s guidance, it is usual for the Magos Principia of a Legio to interpret commands and decide upon the best course of action,’ he said smoothly. ‘As well you know, princeps majoris. The orders came from Terra. They are the words of Lord Dorn himself.’
‘We are a Legio Titanica of the Mechanicum. We are not beholden to a distant primarch’s whim.’
Chrysophane’s disturbingly false voice smiled as he spoke. ‘No longer the Mechanicum. We have entered a new iteration. We are the Adeptus Mechanicus, and the orders sent to us are ratified for all forge worlds by the psy-stamp of Zagreus Kane, true Fabricator General, lord of the Senatorum Imperialis of Terra and ruler in exile of most holy Mars, so if you prefer, our orders come from the highest possible authority. If you have any concerns, raise them with the Magos Principia Militaris. I am sure he will hear you out, honoured daughter of the Great Mother.’
‘That I shall,’ she said.
‘Now, please, I beg you. I have work to attend to. You must depart.’ Chrysophane gestured politely but firmly towards the rear of the chapel.
The twin doors opened and a solemn procession of chanting priests filed into the naoz. All had their heads cowled over with halved red and cream robes. Though the colours of Tigris remained as they had for centuries, new sigils and devices spoke of the change of regime rippling throughout the Martian empire.
‘I don’t like it,’ said Jehani quietly to Esha. ‘Mars has given up too much for a seat at the Terrans’ table.’