Wolfsbane

by Guy Haley

  By the Machine-God, the work was very dull, and exactly the reason he had not settled into one role for long. Cawl never wanted to be bolted into one hole and forgotten about. It looked like it had finally happened.

  He waved the next thallax through after the most cursory of examinations. Its tall ceramite war frame tramped forwards. The thallaxii were cyborgs like the skitarii, though you couldn't tell that from the outside. They looked like robots. Only the brain and spine remained of the original human, held inside an armoured amniotic tank. The rest was machinery. Cawl called them all 'he', although any one of them or indeed all of them could have been women. It didn't really matter what pronoun you used once they scooped out your brain and threw away the rest.

  The icon for an infospheric digimissive blinked in the artificial display of his third eye. He opened it with a thought.

  Cawl. Attend me now, it read. No sign off. No audio or pict. Aspertia Sigma-Sigma.

  Another adept was already approaching to take over Cawl's shift. He had gone further down the road to union with the Machine-God than Cawl had, and wore rank badges several grades higher than Cawl's. The lower half of his face had been replaced, along with all four of his limbs. There wasn't much more of him that was flesh than there was in the thallaxii.

  'Go,' the adept blurted. A single string directive of audible binaric.

  Cawl handed over the medical omnispex and aspergillum without a word, and went away to find his mistress, glad to be free of the thallax line.

  Domina Hester Aspertia Sigma-Sigma was in the Heptaligon's central data transfer nexus in Tria Station. The thallax line was in Seconda, so Cawl was required to take two low-pressure hyperspeed transit pods to get there. By the time he nudged his way through the throng of Mechanicum adepts clustered around the central hololith pit he was late again, and something momentous was already afoot. The room was dark. All faces were turned inwards. The adepts were silent, and resentful of his clumsy progress towards his mistress.

  At the head of the crowd was the lord of the Trisolian forge world, the Viceroy Extractatorian Benician Mendoza. Sigma-Sigma was by Mendoza's side, as befitted her status as Taghmata Macro Clade Leader. She pulsed Cawl a disapproving data burst as he joined her.

  Cawl arrived as an image was wavering into being. It took its time in focusing, until hovering over the imaging pit was a Mechanicum tech-adept clad in black robes. The birth-gender was indeterminate. The figure had altered itself far from the human norm. Odd angles under its garments suggested little of the original body remained. The face was invisible. Reflections on lenses hinted at multiple bionic eyes beneath the hood.

  There was nothing out of the ordinary about that there were far more extreme cybermorphs in the Mechanicum than this person, but there was something about the adept that was wrong. Although many in the room with Cawl were similarly enhanced as the figure, the messenger seemed arachnid in ultimate origin rather than mammalian, and its uncanniness did not stop there.

  The adept had a trick to play, as shameless as any dazzling feat performed for the benefit of feral-worlders by an explorator fleet. The hololith's projection ribbons wavered in a way that they should not. Heavily striated mote strands evened themselves into a true-pict-quality image. Frameshift technologies made flaws inevitable; they could not be ironed out. That was physics. At close range and in good conditions, the best holocast provided a phantom figure, and yet here the adept in the image was totally lifelike, and that was beyond the ability of the Martians. As surely as a conjuror ostentatiously performs progressive stages of his deception, each limitation of hololith technology dropped away. Audio buzz crackled to silence. The jag and tear common in long-range holocasts smoothed itself away. The blueness particular to the Trisolian comm grid melted into vibrant colour. Distortion flicker in the beam alignment faded to zero oscillations per microsecond. The instruments used to monitor the hololith - in that particular case discreetly hidden in the pit around the base of the projection aperture - ceased their symphony of quiet hums, leaving the tech-adepts manning the device staring in confusion.

  And then, the finale: a subtle conclusion, and more powerful for it. There was more to the image than visual veracity. Somehow, Cawl wasn't sure how - and judging by the noises the others witnessing this technological marvel made, nor was anyone else - but somehow it ceased to be an image, and became real.

  Until that moment lifeless, the figure's robes stirred in a warm breeze that blew, impossibly, from the image. Incredibly, they could smell the sacred oils greasing the adept's augmetics, the incense, the holy unguents of operation coating machine parts. The quality of the audio band approached, then exceeded, that of a hardline vox. It was all impossible.

  Vocal murmurs and bleeps of binaric filled the room. They were wondering how it was done. Cawl was. Everyone was.

  And then the figure spoke.

  'Greetings to you all, faithful of the Machine-God.' The voice was female, and passionate - strangely emotive, to say it came from such an augmented being. Cawl did not let it fool him with its missionary zeal. It was her only trace of humanity, and though the voice was beautiful, there was a phlegmy catch to certain words that was not human at all. 'I bring word to you from Mars. I am Sota-Nul, emissary of the new Mechanicum to Warmaster Horus Lupercal, saviour of the Imperium.' Consternation greeted this latest pronouncement.

  'The false Mechanicum!' the Viceroy Extractatorian exclaimed. 'You reveal your allegiance. Terminate this conversation!'

  The tech-adepts in the machine pit poked unsurely at their machines. They raised faces of pallid flesh and oily metal to their master.

  'We cannot deactivate the projector, my lord,' whispered one who was healthily afraid.

  'Disconnect it!'

  'My lord, it already is disconnected,' said another, more fearfully than the first.

  The hololith's attendant adepts began to chant. The highest of them picked up a bronze hammer on a chain, kissed it, whispered ritual words over it, and smashed the glass front of a box attached to the pit wall to retrieve the coil of emergency incense kept inside. An alarm rang at the insult.

  'You cannot disengage this channel of communication. Only I have that power, and you will hear me out,' the she-thing said passionately.

  Cawl had thought Aspertia Sigma-Sigma horribly unnerving. This Sota-Nul was far worse.

  'My colleagues, my brothers in the faith, I am a servant of the true Mechanicum. The Mechanicum of Mars. Do you not see those you follow are of Terra, and not of our kind? Zagreus Kane is a puppet.

  'A lord without domain. You are homeless, cut off from the wellspring of all knowledge. We offer you leadership and unity under the Fabricator General, he who was appointed by the will of the holy synods, who operate under direction of the Motive Force, the Machine-God who moves among us.'

  Cawl sniffed. Smell was a neglected sense in a people who disdained the body and sought the higher purity of machine life - it was too animal a sense, too vulgar - but he retained the use of his nose, and something rank caught at it, crawled inside and clung like bad oil to the back of his throat. His machine senses registered nothing wrong, indeed, they detected no unusual olfactory input at all, but his birth smell caught a taint on the air blowing from the image, if indeed it was an image, that turned his stomach. Rotten meat, and blood. There was something moving in the background behind Sota-Nul, something unclean.

  'Ties!' exclaimed the Viceroy Extractatorian. 'Hal turned his back on mankind. I will not do the same.'

  'My fellow seekers after knowledge!' implored Sota-Nul. 'Do not take my word for it. I have a message for you, please listen. Heed wisdom!'

  The image went out of focus as though it were viewed underwater. When it cleared, Kelbor-Hal was there, sat upon the throne of Mars, the white-and-black cog teeth of its Cog Mechanicum backrest framing him.

  'Hal!' shouted the Extractatorian, his out-thrust finger quivering with accusation. 'How dare you show your face?'

  He hasn't, thought Ca
wl. This is a recording.

  So it was. Though exceedingly lifelike, Kelbor-Hal lacked the realism of his emissary. There was no movement or smell, though the clarity of the image was amazing enough in itself.

  'Citizens of the Empire of Mars. I am Lord Kelbor-Hal, Fabricator General, and your rightful lord,' he stated pointlessly. Every member of the fraternis technis, from idiot hygiene thralls one misdemeanour from servitorhood to the rulers of forge worlds, knew Hal's appearance. 'I demand your fealty. Turn your face from the false Omnissiah of Terra. Open your eyes and see that you have been deceived. The so-called Emperor came to us with deception in His heart, demanding our technology and our servitude. We were blinded by His power. He is a witch, who used His abilities to cloud our minds, and a data-thief. Join with me, your master, and you v u inheritors of all knowledge. Behold, the bargain of the Warmaster. See what we are promised.'

  Widecast data pulse filled every head capable of receiving it with the new treaty of Mars. The opening of the forbidden vault of Moravec Horus' generous gift of the Auretian technocracy's standard template construct data. The continued autonomy of Mars. All things the Emperor had denied them. The crowd murmured.

  'If the Warmaster's generosity towards our nation does not convince you, consider this,' continued Hal. 'The servants of the false Omnissiah of Terra have appointed Zagreus Kane as Fabricator General. Never before has an outside power imposed a ruler upon Mars. The Mechanicum is to be dissolved. Our independence is no more. This new Adeptus Mechanicus will forever subordinate the rights of Mars to the Terran Hegemony. With this act the Emperor has concluded the stealthy conquest of our empire He began two centuries ago. He is a false god. He would deny us the tools to seek greater union with the true god, the Machine-God, because He is envious of our wisdom, and He is afraid. Join with us. Join with the Warmaster, and cast down the false Omnissiah's empire so Mars may be reborn!'

  The message faded away.

  'Isn't he boxed up on Mars?' said Cawl to Aspertia Sigma-Sigma. She looked down at him. The unmoving features of her mask managed to convey her scorn adequately enough. Cawl was not discouraged. He spoke up louder, addressing the room.

  'Hal is trapped,' he said. 'He doesn't seem to be in a strong position to be making demands of anyone.'

  The look the Viceroy Extractatorian gave Cawl was no less damning than Aspertia's.

  'Who is this person?' he asked.

  'He is no one,' said Aspertia Sigma-Sigma.

  'I am Adept Belisarius Cawl, recently elevated in Domina Hester Aspertia Sigma-Sigma's service,' he said.

  'Then, Adept Cawl, be quiet,' said the Extractatorian. Sota-Nul re-emerged on the hololith. She walled with mannered patience.

  The Viceroy Extractatorian's hunched body unfolded, standing tall with the clacking of additional joints locking into place.

  'Reason dictates, Sota-Nul, that you are to demand our surrender. If not, we will be destroyed.'

  'This is correct. The Warmaster is not a monster, he offers peace, but if you stand in his way he will destroy you,' said Sota-Nul.

  'We will not yield,' said the Viceroy Extractatorian.

  'Then I offer further variables for input. The Warmaster sends but a portion of his mighty fleets to bring you to heel, but the force that will descend is far more than your miserable outpost can muster in opposition. Nine Legions come to aid the new Mechanicum. You will be obliterated.' She paused. 'Trisolian, forge world of the Mechanicum, think carefully with whom your loyalty lies. Mars, or Terra.'

  Every ocular sensor in the room went to the Viceroy Extractatorian. The Viceroy Extractatorian snapped his fingers. An officious looking minor adept shuffled forwards, his all-encompassing robes dragging over the deck. He held a covered object. The Viceroy nodded. With hands covered in sleeves, the bearer pulled free the cloth over his burden.

  As everyone leaned back in horror, Cawl leaned forwards, fascinated. Under the cloth was a magnetic flask of clear crystalflex. Something angry was held inside, bashing against the transparent metal and shrieking. Tiny mouths appeared in its form, which at one moment was a cloud of pinkish vapour, the next a swarm of numbers, the next darts of circuit board light.

  'We have heard of what occurred on Mars, and at Calth. Did you think to catch us unawares? As soon as your message reached our receivers we quarantined this from a substratum of your carrier signal. You will not subvert our defences as you did at Calth, you will come here and you will find us ready for you.'

  'You are a traitor to Mars and the Cult Mechanicus,' said Sota-Nul. 'You are the traitor. This scrapcode is infused with unholy energies. It is a synthesis of science and sorcery the product of Moravec's folly!' he fulminated. 'These are forbidden paths.'

  'Forbidden by the Emperor.'

  'No!' shouted the Extractatorian. 'Forbidden by the tenets of our faith! The Emperor might not be the Omnissiah. The argument is irrelevant! Without Him, Mars was a dying empire, tempted to dabble in things best undisturbed. Your display here has swayed the more impressionable among us, but not I. I know it for what it is. This is not technology you employ. It is darkness. It is you who betray the Machine-God.'

  Sota-Nul laughed, a moist, rasping sound that was as inhuman as her mechanical body.

  'So be it, servant of the false Omnissiah. If destruction is what you desire, the Warmaster has a plenitude to spare.'

  The hololith gave out with a bang. The machines hosting it burned out, sending electrical feedback racing around the chamber's circuitry. Servitors moaned. The lights went out.

  A whiff of brimstone hung on the air. Emergency lumens flickered on.

  Immediately the Viceroy Extractatorian began issuing orders. 'Cleanse this place! Remove all machines that have partaken in any of the projected energies and have them destroyed. Eliminate all servitors who helped process this signal. Sigma-Sigma, if the enemy have utilised the hololith, they are close. We must prepare for war, and guard against infiltration. All military assets are to be activated immediately. All extraction operations are hereby suspended.''Why come here?' said Cawl to Sigma-Sigma. He interrupted her. She was busy with three inferiors present and probably remotely.

  'What?' she said angrily. 'I do not think you understand how this relationship works. I speak, you are silent.'

  'No, no, no, no, no,' said Cawl. 'You are not listening to me. Listen! Why does the Warmaster come here? We're nowhere. We have nothing that he might need. You have a military mind, domina. Why?'

  'So you seek to suck my knowledge from me as you have your previous masters?' she said.

  'I am asking for enlightenment from one with greater comprehension,' said Cawl as humbly as he could manage.

  Sigma-Sigma gave a metallic sigh.

  'We offer a point of resupply for any Imperial forces who might threaten the Warmaster's rear,' she said.

  'But his armies are on the other side of us, galactically speaking.'

  Aspertia Sigma-Sigma bent down over Cawl. 'Yes. But when he moves to take Beta-Garmon, we will not be.'

  Quick as a whip crack, her long serpentine body looped around and she sped away, her mechapeds rattling. Scattering smaller techpriests she headed off on some mysterious errand of her own.

  Or maybe, thought Cawl, she doesn't want to answer any more of my questions. If Cawl possessed a shred of self-doubt, he might have thought her annoyed by his ignorance, and been humbled. But if Cawl was blessed with a surfeit of anything, it was self-belief. His question was valid.

  According to data traffic, four out of five of Trisolian's highest ranking Taghmata officers after Sigma-Sigma were in the room. So why had she gone?

  He found the speed of her departure suspicious.

  Eleven

  Road To The Underverse

  A century, a day; how long did the fleet of the Space Wolves cleave its way through the troubled empyrean before it re-emerged? Time liquefied in the warp, running out through faults in creation, leaving a man's soul drowning for lack of minutes, seconds, and hours. It
could have been a year or a decade or a thousand years when the translation warning was broadcast across the fleet. The Vlka Fenryka had no fondness for flight. They did not trust countdowns and failsafes. The klaxon sounded in enough time for them to mutter their charms against maleficarum, before the ship crashed out of the empyrean back into the material universe.

  The ships bucked. Alarms squealed from multiple systems. Reactors beat irregularly, like hearts undergoing arrest. The warp did not want to let its playthings go. The machineries of humanity said otherwise, rending at the membrane between somewhere and nowhere, and pushing out the ships in violent rebirth.

  The warp rift flared with indigo flames. Space split. The rift formed like a tear in flesh unevenly ripped by a predator's teeth. Sprays of solidifying corposant geysered thousands of kilometres across space, unlight added a malevolent star to the heavens that was too slow in dying.

  As wolf ships of Fenris, rigged for ice but encountering open water, the fleet went from one sea to another in disarray, almost foundering on the change of cosmic texture. Real space dragged at their keels. Disturbance patterning turned their Geller fields into plasma storms of unnatural colour. Blue witch-fire clung to tower, spire and gun barrel. Engine stacks guttered. Smaller ships tumbled uncontrollably end over end.

  Niddhoggur's reactor went offline after it regained real space. The vast ship drifted dangerously across the path of its sisters, necessitating frantic evasion. The fleet scattered like an outmatched wolf pack. The warp rift shut reluctantly, leaving the fleet adrift across sudden darkness. The Wolf's Eye lit hulls facing the system's centre with angry white light. All else was hidden by the hard black shadow only found in the airless void, the killing black, colder than the worst of winters.

  The Vlka Fenryka remained adrift. Had an enemy come across the fleet during those helpless minutes they would have found the Wolves easy prey.

  Engines stuttered. Ships recovered. They returned to formation slowly. The void was not the Vlka Fenryka's favoured hunting ground.