by Guy Haley
The first choice for the siting of the bomb was down at the kerb. There was a utility slab to the left of Corax’s plinth she could stash it under, but if the conduits beneath were inspected it would be found. The blast would be lessened by the slab. Casualties would be low. The incident would be minor.
She discounted two other sites suggested by her instructions, one by a traffic monitor and another behind a support holding up the building she was in to make a cloister over the pavement. The blast would be difficult to direct from either of them. Most of it would go into the crowd. A few deaths were to be expected. Too many would turn the populace against the Children.
Her favoured site was a lumen tree, and it was not on her list of recommendations. They were fools for missing it. It was perfect. The lumen tree was one of four giant steel-and-glass sculptures around the statue, forty metres tall, with twelve lamps arrayed around the sides and top. There was an access hatch in the base that would take seconds to open. If she pushed the bomb down to the bottom of the inspection compartment and back into the cabling it would likely not be found even if the lumen needed maintenance. The tree’s metal was thin, and would be turned by the blast into a cloud of shrapnel that would scythe down the marchers. If she adapted the bomb to give it the properties of a shaped charge to direct the force up into the road, she could limit deaths in the crowd. The blast would certainly bring down the lumen tree. It would be seen along all the roads leading to the square. Best of all, Corax’s statue would bear witness to it.
She would have to fool the internal sensors that it had not been opened, but there were operatives working within the state who could perform that duty. She could bypass the Children’s command cadre and call in a couple of favours.
Her contact had said it was big. She would make it the biggest action she could.
That was it. That was the perfect spot.
Corax’s mission was not finished. He couldn’t possibly have wished to abandon the people to this half-formed tyranny. He had a larger struggle. It was up to the likes of her to continue the fight at home on his behalf. He would be saddened by the loss of life, but he would be glad to see the oppressors suffer. The Children of Deliverance were sure of their mission.
It was up to her to make the tech-guilds pay.
Eight
non-compliance
The Imperium was to put its demands to the comptrollers, princes and factor-generals of the Carinaean Sodality one last time. Corvus Corax decided to deliver the message himself. For additional impact, he did so from the parliamentary chamber of the captured city of Retrograde-48.
Hololith equipment taken from the stores of Fenc’s flagship, the Song-he, was hastily erected in the chamber. Frequency tether bulbs blinked unsurely from composition desks. Image capture and transmission arches rose up beside golden statues. Loop projectors buzzed, waiting to be brought to full activation. There were cables numerous and twisted as a plague of serpents all over the floor. Taken out of its housing the hololithic technology was an ugly chaos.
At Corax’s insistence, the makeshift setup was to be hidden from the Carinaeans so they would see only the Imperial leadership occupying the centre of government of one of the most powerful moons. There was to be space in the display matrix for representatives of every one of the Thousand Moons so they all could speak, should they so wish. A thousand discrete projection fields required accommodation. The cogitator power needed was immense. This presented a further technical challenge. Fenc oversaw the work himself.
Corax selected as his stage the Speaker’s Platform. It had been cleared of the chairs of the seven ministers who had, until their recent executions, run the city. The rear of the hall was free of machinery, allowing the architecture of the chamber to serve as a backdrop, placing Corax firmly in the context of the Sodality. He was its conqueror, and therefore now a part of it. Upon the platform were set two dozen Imperial officers of various types, selected mainly on the basis of how exotic and intimidating they would appear to the system inhabitants.
Fenc strode about the chamber with a gaggle of aides-de-camp in tow, speaking with his officers and the adepts. His work was required but his input was not. He would not have denied, were he asked, that he was delaying taking his place among the rest of the dignitaries. Having his command suborned to the primarch was bearable. Being used as a prop in a diplomatic show was beneath him.
Corax entered the parliamentary without Fenc noticing, and moreover, the primarch drew very close before he did. The primarch was so forceful in presence that it should have been impossible to step into the large hall without news of his entrance spreading to all quarters, and yet suddenly Corax was walking across the wide open space of the debating floor without any hint of his arrival. A murmur of surprise informed Fenc he wasn’t the only one to be caught out. Work ground to a halt. A babble of voices torn between dismay and amazement filled the room.
The admiral experienced a clench of fear that Corax had been there for several minutes, watching him unobserved. From a rational standpoint that was implausible. Experience told Fenc it was more than likely. The galaxy was a much stranger place than the Imperial Truth allowed.
He masked his misgivings well and saluted crisply, but the primarch would have seen his fear. They always seemed to know.
‘Preparations are complete?’ Corax asked. He was an odd being, thought Fenc. Affable in some regards, certainly more so than many of his brothers. But like all of the primarchs he had a sureness about him that crossed the line to arrogance, and in Corax this was exacerbated by the distance inherent to his manner. They could not be friends, not ever. Fenc knew this with complete certainty.
‘Nearly so, my lord,’ said Fenc. He reported on matters that could have been left to a junior lieutenant. Pride and a desire to stand firm in front of Corax made him speak, ramrod straight, as if he were on parade. ‘There have been a few difficulties integrating our machinery with the power systems of this city, and further issues to overcome regarding the compatibility of the Sodality’s tri-d technology with the hololith to create a remote audience of this scale. The conference before worked well enough, but this is a more ambitious undertaking. Magos Bernt tells me that the more compartmentalised the incoming feeds, the more the divergence between our technologies becomes apparent. Some mismatch in data rate for the ribbon projectors, apparently.’ He gestured towards Magos Bernt, whose defining feature was a mass of writhing mechadendrites lashing about over his stooped back.
‘It has been resolved? This message must be delivered flawlessly.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Fenc. ‘All is prepared.’ He resisted the urge to continuing speaking.
‘Good,’ said Corax. He moved closer. ‘This is an important moment in this compliance.’
At a distance of two metres, Fenc could look Corax in the face without craning his neck, but up close the angles were wrong. His spine cracked as he strained to keep the primarch’s eye. The back of his head rubbed on his heavy brocade collar.
‘I fervently wish that your plan works, my lord,’ said Fenc. He did not believe it would.
When a new commander came breezing into an established warzone, they always had new ideas and better ways of doing things. Sometimes, those methods worked. Often they could not. A newcomer did not take into account factors that were, to those already present, glaringly obvious. Fenc had seen this mistake made by all confident men assuming new positions of command, from maintenance crew overseers to the primarchs themselves. No one was immune to hubris.
Fenc was a military man through and through, but he was a good judge of character. He suspected the same held true of any human hierarchy. Power came with blinkers.
‘There is a use for weaponised information,’ Corax said. ‘Propaganda is its own bladed edge.’
‘We are ready, my lord,’ spoke Magos Bernt.
‘Thank you,’ Fenc and Corax said together. Corax
gave Fenc a little smile that flustered Fenc.
Corax stepped up onto the stage, taking his place at the fore of the assemblage. Fenc reluctantly joined him. His place was at the front, as his office demanded.
‘Begin then,’ said Corax.
Magos Bernt bowed. Under normal circumstances the mechanisms of a hololith were hidden away. In the parliamentary chamber its guts were on open display. Boards of lights twinkled. Shining flywheels spun and stopped and spun again. The tether bulbs pulsed and shone true. The pale light of image collection beams shone on the group, and through the mechanisms arranged around them, sent their tri-d vid phantoms system-wide.
‘People and governments of the Carinae Sodality,’ the primarch began. ‘When we spoke yesterday you were of a single mind not to heed the generous offer of the Imperium. We speak again today, when I am in possession of eight of your cities. These eight were taken within three hours of each other by a small portion of the forces available to me. There were, regrettably, deaths, included among them the seven elected lords who ruled this city of Retrograde-Forty-Eight.’
Operators interjected hololithic pictures of the captured cities into the feed. Their exteriors were crowded by Imperial warships, better showing the huge size of the vessels Corax commanded. But included also were interior flat-vid feeds of thoroughfares busy with people moving freely under the watchful eyes of the Raven Guard.
‘Your people are safe. The rest of you lords can be so also. Hear then once again this offer of friendship and peace sent out into the stars by my father, the Emperor of Mankind. There is nothing to lose by your compliance, and everything to gain. Join us, and your civilisation will remain as it always has been, and enveloped in a cloak of security. You shall be welcomed into the brotherhood of man and protected from the dangers of this turbulent galaxy. The opportunities for trade, expansion and enrichment are beyond anything you may have considered before.’
A projector blinked. A face appeared, floating in miniature before Corax. It was rendered deliberately small, partly for reasons of space, partly so that Corax might stare down at it from imperious heights.
‘We have everything to lose,’ said the ruler of 37-Degrees Declination. ‘Our freedom, our agency, our will. You are barbarians from a broken world come demanding tribute of your betters.’
More of the spheres shone. More faces materialised, all of them bearing the high hats and festoons of beads that marked their exalted station.
‘He is right,’ said one.
‘We will not yield,’ said another.
A minority had spoken before. Fewer still showed themselves this time, a fact that seemed to please Corax.
‘There will be a new seven lords of Retrograde-Forty-Eight, chosen by the votes of its people as has been the case for many millennia. The removal of the incumbents will be a short interruption,’ he said. ‘But there need not be a new prince of Spinward Superior. There need not be a new arch-comptroller of Zenith-Three-One-Two,’ he said, naming two of the rulers who had been most vocal in opposition of compliance before. Neither had yet initiated their own broadcasts. ‘And there need not be a new High Councillor of Thirty-Seven-Degrees Declination. However, you can be sure there will be new rulers in all of these cities if you do not comply. I ask that you reflect on how easily these eight cities were taken, and consider how easily the remainder may fall to my men. Ask the population here how they have been treated. You will see you have nothing to fear. Consider your own positions, consider your own people. We will welcome your cities into the Imperium with open arms. I would prefer it if the hands of those arms held no weapons. I would prefer if no more blood were spilt.’
Corax raised the index finger of his left hand, the signal to hold transmission.
The faces winked out one by one.
‘We wait?’ asked Branne.
The primarch appeared to pay particular attention to everything this Branne and the other, Agapito, said. The commanders had a close resemblance that went beyond the enforced homogeneity of gene-seed bonds. They also had the same patronymic. Fenc assumed they were true brothers.
‘We wait,’ said Corax.
Fenc kept his position on the platform. The buzz of complaining hololithic equipment merged with the whispered placations of Mechanicum adepts in an eerie, hypnotic combination that denied the right of other sounds to be heard. A cathedral quiet fell, full of mumbling and the buzz of electricity.
Three minutes passed before a single self-contained sphere of light fizzled into being, displaying the lugubrious face of a man preserved beyond the span of mortal years by medical means.
‘I am Wondril, the Duke of Polar-Three,’ he said gravely. ‘I hear your message. Following consultation with my council, and after addressing the concerns of our population, we have decided to accept your offer. We regret our prior deafness to the reasonableness of your position, and humbly beg your forgiveness.’
‘I cannot forgive you, because there is nothing to forgive.’
Corax’s disappointment loured behind his smile. It would be better if the leaders not beg. Having so craven a submission was suboptimal for the primarch’s purposes. A proud leader who made the choice more freely would have been ideal. A man who surrendered with honour intact was more likely to convince his peers to follow. A groveller would harden their resolve.
‘You make the right choice. You are most welcome into the Imperium of Man,’ said Corax. ‘I name you brother, and–’
Wondril’s image broke apart momentarily, his face smeared sideways by jagged, lateral lines that carried off his features to the left and right. It briefly snapped back into clarity. ‘What? What’s happening?’ said Wondril. He looked up in alarm.
The broadcast from Polar-3 ceased.
‘My lord!’ called out a Therion aide. ‘The Carinaeans have opened fire on Polar-Three.’
‘Show us,’ said Fenc.
Fenc’s officers competed with Corax’s Therion minions to obey. Corax’s men won out. A portable hololithic table was brought forward for the primarch’s benefit. A grainy image of Polar-3 flickered on over the dull, black surface. The higher officers left the platform to crowd around it.
Phased particle beams sliced into Polar-3 from all sides in such numbers there was more light than black in the void. The energy shielding had already collapsed. Clouds of debris and vented gases floated around the moon. The beams would take a while to demolish Polar-3 on their own. The core of the city was still whole, but the storm of hard projectiles launched as the beam weapon attack began would smash it to atoms.
‘Can we save it?’ asked Corax. He tracked the incoming ordnance. Reduced so markedly in scale, they crawled across the ersatz void.
‘No, my lord,’ said Fenc, consulting his own system cartograph displayed on a data-slate held by one of his adjutants. The amount of firepower kicked out from the other cities was incredible. Polar-3, unable to manoeuvre easily, would take most of the storm as direct hits. ‘We could shoot down maybe half of the missiles, perhaps a fifth of the shells and mass projectiles. The rest would get through. To achieve this modest reduction, we would have to reposition. We would leave our conquered territories vulnerable, and any run to shelter Polar-Three would put the fleet in this death quadrant here. May I?’ he asked.
Corax nodded. Fenc dragged the information from his slate with an auto-stylus and directed it into the hololith. The death of Polar-3 was replaced by a graphics-heavy strategic display of the middle system. A wide kill-zone shone an angry red. ‘We would be under fire from approximately three hundred of the cities in this area, four hundred as we neared Polar-Three.’
‘Then a rescue mission is also impossible,’ said Corax.
‘Regrettably so, my lord,’ said Fenc. He’d already calculated the risk. It was far too high.
‘This is too smooth. It looks planned to me,’ said Agapito.
‘The Carina
eans have the advantage of knowing each other well,’ said Corax. ‘If their intelligence is good enough, they could have anticipated Wondril’s surrender, but it is as likely that they were poised to fire on whoever broke ranks.’
‘He was among the few who contemplated compliance seriously from the start,’ said Branne. ‘This is going to send a powerful message to the rest.’
‘My lord, there is an incoming transmission,’ said a communications officer.
‘Display,’ said Corax.
The hololith crackled. The machines pitched to a higher tone. The individual portrait fields for the thousand rulers came on at once. In the place of multiple people was a single composite face.
‘Arch-Comptroller Agarth,’ said Corax.
The elements comprising Agarth’s face were incompletely aligned. Disjointed movement rippled through the swarm of tri-d picts that made up this gestalt man.
‘Listen to me, son of the tyrant,’ said Agarth, his giant visage glowering at Corax. His eyes bulged moistly. The projection fields remained imprecisely coordinated and his movements jumped from sphere to sphere. ‘This is how we will deal with any who bow to your demands. They shall be marked as traitors by the rest. Not one city in this system will surrender to you. Begone from here. Your pathetic show capturing a handful of our confederates has changed nothing. There are yet a thousand left. Can you stand before the full might of our guns and evade our fleet? Creeping into our kingdoms to snatch single victories will avail you of nothing. We will force you to face us like men and you will die. I say to you, son of the so-called Emperor, leave, or perish.’
‘The Imperium is vast and powerful,’ said Corax. ‘I am but the point of the blade. You cannot resist me. You can defy my father all you wish. In the end your compliance is inevitable. Accept it now. You are one system. I have thousands at my back. You cannot stand before us. I shall break you.’