by Guy Haley
‘Yes, I’m sorry. The wiring has drilled into your skull. It will split now, and bridge neuronal gaps, make new connections. Soon, you’re not going to worry any more, and the pain will go away, I promise.’
Etan thrashed and howled. Ardim Protos stroked his forehead with a cold metal hand. ‘Shh,’ he said. ‘Shh. Not long, not long!’
Etan bucked. He was screaming so hard his sinews stood out in his neck and he could not breathe.
And then it was over. He fell limp. Blood trickled out of his nose.
‘It worked?’ he heard the Space Marine say.
‘Who do you follow?’ Protos asked Etan Boq.
‘The Warmaster,’ said Etan Boq. He was surprised at what he said, but his voice was no longer his own. His actions were not his own.
Protos gestured to his minions. They undid Etan.
‘Stand,’ said Protos.
Etan stood. He could not stop himself; he was a prisoner in his own skull.
‘There,’ said Protos. ‘It worked. We are ready.’
Protos went to a bank of machines and turned a dial. Scores of servitors stepped out of the shadows and marched in pairs to the head of each table.
The Space Marine drew himself up, like he was shucking off the burden of boredom, and began to issue orders.
‘Bring them in, by the two hundred. We have fifty thousand men to process before we make landing!’ Human thralls scurried to obey. The Space Marine turned back to Protos. ‘These neuroslaves better serve our purpose.’
From the corner of his staring eyes, Etan saw Protos wince.
‘I wish you wouldn’t use that phrase,’ he said. ‘It is so… uncouth.’
Sixteen
To the South
The summons came in while Domine Ex Venari, Velox Canis and Os Rubrum were striding the sodium deserts west of the Jinsu ruins. The smoking remains dominated one horizon. In the other direction Hansu Hive reared high, its void shields sparkling against the attacks of the Warmaster’s armies. The fierce battle engulfing the lower levels was out of sight below the horizon, but the hive was so huge its heights soared well clear of the planet’s curve, and its vast, termite mound irregularity could be seen for hundreds of kilometres in every direction as a blued-out mass between the clouds.
Legio Defensor took the brunt of the attacks at Hansu, standing behind walls made from broken buildings, while the Imperial Hunters roved the Hanjin Wastes in lone maniples, on the hunt for enemy infiltration units threatening the rear of the Hansu enclave. Each to their own strengths, thought Esha. Hunting was theirs.
Giant metal feet kicked up clouds of pulverised salt and sand. The flats were subject to the whims of the planet’s erratic weather. Every six years or so the sea surged up over the dunes separating the wastes from the ocean, flooding them with water that remained for years before it evaporated. In those times the wastes were sodium lakes, transforming slowly into desert crusted with valuable precipitates and wide deposits of evaporite. The changeable nature of the wastes discouraged construction, and they made for a natural border between Hansu and Jinsu.
In peacetime the Hanjin Wastes were empty but for tribes of chem-processors riding giant harvesters back and forth across the waste, ploughing up the surface before the next super tide inundated the plains.
Domine Ex Venari and its sisters were passing the blasted wreck of one such harvester when a priority signal punched into the maniple infosphere, its urgency-coding alone half-dragging Esha from meditative immersion in the manifold.
‘Legio Solaria wide call. All princeps majoris respond. Hololithic conference to ensue in seven minutes.’
Esha Ani Mohana pulled herself a little further from Domine Ex Venari’s mind weave. Her soul separated into a discrete object and floated up out of the deep machine bond. She used the Titan’s viewscreens to sweep the area for auspex contacts as she came back into the realm of flesh. The screens inset into the Reaver’s czella showed there was nothing for hundreds of kilometres.
To use the hololithic communications table, Esha had to bring Domine Ex Venari to a stop and manoeuvre herself out of the czella into the small atrium above the reactor chamber of the Titan.
‘All halt,’ she voxed the maniple. ‘I must communicate with the Great Mother. Standard defensive encirclement. Await my orders.’
She put Domine into a stand-by trance, trusting to the others on the crew to manage the Reaver while it was semi-dormant. She unclicked the neuro-tether from the back of her skull, wincing as the data spikes dragged out of the socket. Getting out of her chair and into the atrium without kicking her moderati in the back of the head always posed a challenge, even after years of practice. She was getting older, and her limbs were stiffer. After hours of bodily inactivity the door was more difficult to exit than it had been to enter by, but at least once out in the atrium she could stand, more or less.
Omega-6 had prepared the small chart table projector for her. When she entered, he bowed silently and withdrew downdecks. Esha sat herself in the atrium’s sole chair, tugged off her glove and pressed her fingertip to the ident-plate.
The machine chimed. A host of small figures both seated and standing flickered into being over the desk’s obsidian projection plate. Chart desks were holoprojectors of a mean sort, intended for graphical display rather than live feed of human subjects; consequently the great and good of the Legio were represented by poor light models, striated by bars of shadow and flickering at a frequency that encouraged eye strain. Few other lights shone in the atrium, a couple of green-black screens and a number of status lights blinking to themselves. In the gloom, the hololiths were arctic bright, the glare further compromising their quality.
Esha looked across the assembled commanders. Among the Legio’s personnel were two guests: Colonel Vannes of the Fasadian Heavy Infantry, and Guillame Ferré, third princeps majoris of the Legio Defensor. The images of the guests were more degraded by static than those of the Legio Solaria; weapons discharge and void shields interfered with their broadcasts from Hansu Hive. The discussion was already under way when Esha joined them, and the Great Mother interrupted Vannes in order to welcome her.
‘Esha Ani Mohana. Daughter,’ said the Great Mother, who alone was not represented by a figure, but spoke as a disembodied voice. ‘Jehani Jehan has discovered the fate of Legio Defensor’s missing scout.’
‘A great deal of good it did us,’ complained Vannes.
‘What happened?’
‘They’re all dead,’ said Jehani’s light image, her eyes looking past Esha’s face. ‘Titan, crew and tech-priest. What killed them was not apparent. It is possible it was other engines, though I read none on Cursor Ferro’s sensorium. I can say that it was powerful. The Rapier exhibited the signs of a quick death.’
‘Orbital strike?’ suggested Osha Mir, princeps majoris of Eleventh/Thirteenth Maniple.
‘It is possible,’ said Jehani Jehan. ‘Whatever it was, we can assume our southern flank is at risk.’
‘There is no indication of overflight by traitor forces in that sector,’ said Vannes.
‘Their fleet is far too busy pounding our positions here for that,’ said Ferré sardonically.
‘They could have struck from Beta-Garmon Two, a missile maybe, servitor-guided,’ said Durana Fahl, whose Titan Steel Huntress was patrolling the far southern limits of the Hanjin Waste with Procul Videns in support.
‘Unlikely,’ said Esha.
‘Yes, but possible,’ insisted Fahl.
‘However it occurred, it has occurred,’ said Ferré. ‘I am saddened to learn of yet more brave comrades lost to this war.’
‘Death happens to us all,’ said Vannes. ‘It can strike without warning. We may never know what happened.’ To save on transmission bandwidth, the audio cut in only when one of them spoke. Whenever the colonel opened his mouth, the distant scream of plummeting shells
accompanied his words over the voxwaves.
‘It does, but not always like this,’ said Ferré. ‘This is happening too often.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Esha.
‘Princeps Seniores Ferré has lost contact with all of his patrols,’ said the Great Mother.
‘I see,’ said Esha.
‘The enemy are becoming better organised. Their attacks are more focused, harder to anticipate,’ said Ferré. ‘Our engines are suffering. I see the hand of the Warmaster here.’
‘Our esteemed ally speaks the truth,’ said Vannes. ‘An Iron Warriors siege battalion is establishing an engineering camp outside the range of the lighter hive guns. We’ve got the heavier artillery zeroed in on them, but they’re void protected. I fought those scum before. It won’t be long before they return fire on all positions targeting them, whether on the ground or in orbit. They won’t stop until the counterbatteries are silent. After that, the real trouble begins.’
‘That’s an unwelcome development,’ said Fahl.
‘Unwelcome? You underestimate the gravity of what I said,’ said Vannes. ‘I had not heard of Ferré’s problems until yesterday. This felling of Defensor’s patrols is worrying. When the Iron Warriors are ready and move in, I’m nearly as sure as a man can be that we’ll see the opening of a second front to the south. It’s effective, if predictable.’
‘They don’t need to be too clever,’ said Ferré. ‘They have the numbers, and the upper hand. Without better coordination, Beta-Garmon Three will go the same way as Beta-Garmon Two.’
‘If you allow me to pull in some of my engines from search and destroy missions,’ said Esha, ‘I can offer Third and Second Maniples to form a picket line against the remains of Jinsu.’
‘You will have more,’ said the Great Mother. ‘Seven maniples, under your command. All prior orders are rescinded – you are assigned this demio-Legio as of now. You will muster in force and prepare to thwart any attack from the south.’
‘If it doesn’t come?’
‘Then we shall resume our prior role.’
‘It will come,’ said Vannes. ‘But you will not fight alone. The environment out there is not the gentlest, but a solid man can brave it out. This morning I requested reinforcements from Lord General Bollivar. I received a coded communique shortly after. There’s a Fasadian regiment inbound from system’s edge. It has been diverted to the wastes. I have received confirmation of their arrival. They will aid you in holding the ground.’
‘What about our own support troops?’ asked Esha.
‘Our skitarii and secutarii are fully occupied here, with Legio command,’ said the Great Mother. ‘The reinforcements Lord General Bollivar promises will provide adequate ground support. I have already despatched Baron Hanto and fourteen lances of Knights to your aide. He will arrive at the rendezvous tomorrow.’
‘Leave the smaller dangers to us, princeps seniores,’ said Vannes. ‘We need you sharp to clear away enemy armour and god-machines, should they manage to land any, Emperor forbid. Hansu can repel an infantry assault of any size, but if Titans come against the south, the situation will spiral out of our control.’
‘Rally your engines quickly, huntress,’ urged Ferré. ‘If our long-range patrols were slain for a purpose, it is to keep their plans secret. The enemy will be quick to exploit the opening. They will not announce themselves.’
‘One might say they have,’ said Esha. ‘What if we are acting as they desire? What if the destruction of the patrols is a goad?’
‘You point, princeps majoris?’ said Vannes.
‘It might be a ruse to draw us away. A trap, even.’
‘It may be, but you must hold the south,’ said Vannes. ‘You will have forty-five god-engines at your command. With my countrymen at your side, you should be able to resist even if this is a ploy. I do not see what other choice we have. We must respond.’
‘Great Mother?’ asked Esha.
‘Their commands are my commands, princeps seniores. Legio first, my daughter.’
‘Legio first, Great Mother,’ said Esha.
The hololiths contracted to points of light with a dying whistle.
Esha stayed in the dark a while. She took off her other glove and rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes. She was tired beyond the point of exhaustion. Not even the strength of Domine Ex Venari could keep it wholly from her. When in the manifold the machine’s strength kept her going, but disconnected as she was now, fatigue hit her like a falling building. Her eyes closed. Disconnected images filled the theatre of her mind. Old fights, old friends, regretted situations tormented her; they played out differently in ways that could never change anything.
She jolted, fearing she had fallen asleep. She fetched herself a plastek bladder of water from a storage unit and drank most of it down. The rest she poured into her hands and rubbed into her face and those bits of her neck she could reach. The skin around her spinal port was sore.
She took a deep breath, wiped her hands on her trousers, and put her gloves back on.
The door opened on the cramped czella. Worn out as she was, it seemed crazy to grant the cockpit so holy a name. It felt like a deathtrap.
Wearily, she slid herself back into the command throne and plugged in. Domine Ex Venari’s tireless might washed out some of her exhaustion.
‘What orders, my princeps?’ asked Yeha Yeha from her position at Esha’s feet.
‘Legio Solaria walks, moderati. All speed south.’
Seventeen
A Moment’s Respite
The demi-Legio gathered in the shadow of Jinsu Hive’s broken mountain. The hive’s death had scattered debris for miles around, turning that part of the Hanjin Wastes into a junkyard landscape, riven with crevasses and sinkholes where subterranean levels had caved in. The weather on Beta-Garmon III was almost always dangerous, but a rare clear evening revealed the sky. The atmosphere’s thinness allowed the dark of space to show even while the sun still shone, a blue as deep as a failing void shield. In the harsh light of Beta-Garmon the devastation of Jinsu looked worse, incomprehensibly vast, a human anthill kicked in by a callous god.
The fires burning in Jinsu’s remains would not go out for decades. Smudgy tracks of dark brown straggled skywards over the jagged peaks of the ruins. To the south-west the diamond necklace of the Chymist’s Sea garlanded the horizon, white waves rushing upwards around cliffs of broken plasteel.
The demi-Legio scouted for some time to find a site suitable for the landing of the void ships. A little to the north there was plenty of space, but no cover from the elements or the enemy. Further south the enemy would first have to pass through the debris fields, and there in the maze of chasms and steel, Esha decided, their attack would be easier to break up and halt.
Once a suitable site had been discovered, the Legio stopped its pacing and waited for their reinforcements, tensely hoping the Fasadians would arrive before their enemies. As the sun rode the sky twice and neither friends nor foe came, Esha ordered the crews to sleep in rota, no more than four hours each, while others watched over them. In the meantime, Baravi Hanto and the bond-Knights of Procon Vi joined their mistresses, and something approaching a strong force began to take shape.
Esha found it hard to rest. She constantly refreshed the comms log, looking for the arrival of the Fasadian reinforcement regiment. There were worrying gaps in their capabilities. A high proportion of the fights in the cluster were pure engine on engine affairs. The Garmonite worlds had suffered from long occupation by mankind, and their environments were often too harsh for lesser troops and machines. Her demi-Legio was well equipped to deal with that kind of battle, but despite its deadly weather Beta-Garmon III allowed all manner of warriors to fight, and a Legio without infantry support was vulnerable to certain forms of attack. Sometimes, infantry needed to be opposed by infantry.
The sun went down. Wind b
lew salt-laden dust across the Titans standing in the dark. Their banners snapped. Esha’s need to sleep would not be denied any longer. There was enough force in the breeze to rock the giant machines on their legs. The czella cockpit swayed. Domine Ex Venari’s soul was a vast, comforting presence, a guardian beast who would watch over Esha and protect her without question. The command throne was warm. Her head nodded.
Together, Titan and princeps slept, and Esha’s dreams that night were the strange visions of machines.
There was no pain like childbirth. The few women in the Legio who had undergone its ordeal came to her one by one while Esha was confined in her rooms awaiting the day. Towards the end she found it hard to get out of the door of her mean little quarters, and certainly could not command Bestia Est. The women arrived shyly, bearing her small gifts, and then they warned her, telling of the blood, tears and bodily indignities with grim little smiles. They seemed to relish sharing, but not to torment, she realised almost straightaway. These women had a look to them no others did. Their faces shone when they spoke of their daughters’ achievements. She was surprised to hear that the few who had had boys kept themselves informed about their sons’ progress through the priesthood.
After the third of them came to visit her she knew for sure they were not attempting to frighten her, but were instead welcoming her into their sisterhood within a sisterhood. They were mothers, the role evolution had forced upon the female sex, and yet so few got to experience it in the Legio. She had never thought about it much, but it seemed sacred now she approached her own labour, and certain of the legends of Pahkmetris made more sense to her.
The magos medicae who tended to the physical wellbeing of the Legio crews dispassionately laid out the procedures to be used. The gruesomeness of his descriptions was worsened by the detached tone of his voxmitter. There would be pain. Ruptures. Potential organ damage. Parts of her that she would rather a knife never come near might need to be cut to facilitate the birth. She could even die.