by Gav Thorpe
‘Faithful!’ he declared, raising his hands. He had a soft voice, smooth and assured, an accent that Keeler couldn’t exactly place but which brought to mind the Europa hives. Despite his tempered demeanour, his words carried well in the confines of the makeshift temple. ‘Raise up your lights so that we might feel the gaze of the Emperor in the darkness.’
The congregation lifted their lamps and Keeler copied them. Though each offered but a small yellow flicker, the combined effect of so many tallow-lights was a warm suffusing of the basilica’s interior. As flames danced in the draughts, shapes moved in half-shadow on the walls.
‘Feel the breath of the Emperor entering your lungs,’ Olivier said, commanding but gentle.
Keeler took a breath. She tasted tallow smoke and sweat and… Impossibly, she thought she could smell blossom, the fragrance of nightrose that used to grow near her window when she was a child. Delicate gasps from others around her revealed that she was not alone in the experience. Her gaze drifted between Olivier and the near-invisible movement of the wall shadows. His voice continued, hypnotic and low.
‘Feel the hands of the Emperor lift you up.’
The basilica faded as the shadow images grew clearer. Olivier’s voice was a breeze in the swaying bushes that surrounded Keeler. There was long grass under her bare feet. All about her the wind stirred a beautiful garden – not an ornate, ordered plot but a natural flourishing of wildflowers and heathland, which stretched onto far hills broken by copses of golden-leafed trees.
Her eyes were open as she wandered, taking in the bucolic voice of the wind, the buzz of insects and creaking of bending tree trunks. She walked slowly, with purpose, gazing upon each flower as though it were a newly revealed wonder, the warmth of the sun always on her back no matter where she turned.
She tried to see the sun, to look upon its brightness, but the light was omnipresent, yet without source. Keeler told herself that it was not wise to look upon the font of this power. To gaze upon the soul of the Emperor was to see into the heart of divinity. The sons and daughters of the Navis Nobilite had been bred over generations that they might see the chink of the Emperor’s spirit that was the Astronomican; to see it in full splendour would surely shred one’s own soul from the body.
She was drawn across a babbling brook into a broad pasture, where she came upon the greatest tree she had ever seen. How she had not observed it before defied logic, but she knew this was a place of faith not reason and accepted it as such.
The tree stretched beyond the clouds, its sprawling limbs holding up the vault of the heavens themselves. The branches quivered with life, bending beneath their burden, and from this came a tremendous creaking. She listened awhile, trying to hear the voice of the Emperor in the sound of the tree.
Her transition back to reality was abrupt but not harsh, like waking naturally from a deep slumber, refreshed and clear of thought. She heard weeping, but those around her shed tears of joy not woe, clasping each other in their shared ecstasy. She took a moment to steady herself, unsure of her own body.
A man in late middle age approached her, a broad smile on his face, eyes alive with delight.
‘Did you see the tree?’ she asked, wanting to share the feeling that bubbled inside her breast.
‘Tree?’ He laughed. ‘I followed the rose path. You saw a tree?’
‘The lord of trees, the strength of the Emperor holding His shield above us,’ Keeler confessed. ‘It was incredible.’
The man’s eyes widened further and he reached for her arm.
‘Amazing! Come, come, you must tell Olivier of your journey.’
She allowed herself to be led around the rampway until she was brought before the head of the Lightbearers. His gaze turned to her as she approached, his eyes a startling green, reminding her of the verdant gardens.
‘Olivier!’
‘How can I help you, Vili?’
‘This woman, she says she saw the Tree of Hope!’
Olivier’s first reaction was a smile, no hint of suspicion or surprise.
‘Indeed?’ He held out a hand and Keeler shook it. ‘That is a blessing that you have come to us and shared such a thing. Who are you, daughter of the Emperor?’
She hesitated, not sure if she wanted to reveal herself in this way.
‘I understand,’ Olivier continued. ‘We all have pasts – and presents! – that perhaps are to be kept secret. We are united in our single purpose under the light of the God-Emperor, and that is all that matters.’
There was an openness about him that Keeler could not resist. She had been used to doubts and suspicion and questions, and here was a man who wore his faith like a light, accepting of her without reservation.
‘Keeler. My name is Euphrati Keeler.’
Others nearby heard her reply and a small pool of silence spread around them. Eyes turned towards Keeler, faces displaying a mixture of fascination and delight.
‘Euphrati Keeler?’ It seemed impossible that Olivier’s smile had widened even further. ‘The Guide? The one that brought the Light of the Emperor back to Terra?’
‘I…’ She had accepted her role as a messenger for the Lectitio Divinitatus, but being confronted by the truth of what that meant caught her off guard. ‘If that is your belief. I am Euphrati Keeler, and I would like to know more about the Lightbearers.’
Rann fights back
Solidarity
A deeper loyalty
Lion’s Gate space port, stratophex core, six days since assault
Hour after hour the enemy continued to push towards the skybridges. Pressed on all sides, it took the best part of a day for Rann to muster a force capable of pushing back against the Iron Warriors’ advance. As the traitors moved further down the Starspear they overran defence emplacements, reducing Rann’s anti-air and anti-orbital fire. Cannons from lower regions were still capable of keeping back larger vessels but a stream of drop-ships had reinforced the initial enemy landing.
The technophage that had been introduced to the port’s systems continued to plague everything from gun control to energy output, bringing rolling blackouts, environmental support shutdowns and weapons misfires. Every tech-priest was spared other duties to coordinate the response, but for the most part Rann had access only to crude hard-line communications between the strategium and his defence posts, and short-range personal vox between companies in the battle.
‘Simple is best,’ he told Haeger and the six Imperial Army colonels who’d travelled to Lion Primus to receive their briefing in person. All communications equipment in the chamber had been shut off, just in case the Dark Mechanicum had devised some means of reversing the transmitters to listen in on the council. Word of mouth was slow but hard to intercept. ‘Our objective in the base is to slow the advance and contain it where possible. There’s almost no leadership that I have seen, so redirect their attacks to non-vital areas. Let them rampage around the hab-blocks and loot what they can – the citizens will fight to keep them at bay as well. Haeger, what’s your assessment of the infiltration attack in Sky City?’
‘Problematic,’ said the lieutenant-commander. He zoomed in the monochrome briefing slate to show several key port systems that were situated close to the Iron Warriors’ attack. ‘Plasma reactors, conveyor access and the bridges themselves are all within a few kilometres of the enemy insertion. We have no more information regarding how they arrived, so there could be further reinforcements on their way that we cannot detect.’
‘Prioritise vulnerable sites by value and location. There are ten thousand Imperial Army veterans in Sky City. Deploy them and reinforce with a thousand legionaries.’
‘And what are you going to do with the rest of your warriors, lord seneschal?’ asked Colonel Maigraut. The Imperial Army chief of staff fidgeted with the brim of the officer’s cap on the table in front of her. ‘There is another Iron Warriors column approac
hing along Highway Four. It is possible that a sally from one of the minor gates could assault the enemy forces from the rear, catching them before they gain access to the outer defences.’
‘We have to deal with the enemy already here,’ said Rann. ‘I’m taking ten thousand legionaries into the Starspear to meet the aerial assault head-on. It’s the worst area in terms of our data, so I need to see for myself exactly what sort of trouble we’re in.’
‘But if we allow–’
‘Your troopers cannot fight in the depressurised levels. If you wish to contact Lord Dorn and request an Imperial Army armoured reserve be despatched to counter the Iron Warriors, I will endorse the move. But I cannot ignore the army landed on the orbital docks.’
The colonel acquiesced with a nod of the head. She put her cap back on and stood up, straightening her uniform. The other officers also stood, looking to Maigraut for guidance.
‘We will hold to the last trooper,’ she assured Rann. ‘I shall send request for an armoured thrust as you suggest. For the Emperor!’
She raised a hand to her cap in salute, copied by the other colonels. Rann banged a fist to his plastron.
‘For the Emperor,’ he replied.
He waited a few seconds as they filed into the strategium, and then followed, Haeger at his side.
‘There is a Rhino outside ready to take you to the muster, commander. Your Huscarls are already waiting for you at the transfer ramps into the Starspear.’ Haeger moved quickly to one of the scanning consoles and returned with a flexisheet showing the top third of the space port. It looked like a heat map, blurs of white over a complex wireframe model. ‘Latest augur returns.’
‘I’ll study it on the way,’ said Rann, taking the flexi. ‘Remember, our mission is to slow them down. Give ground to preserve resistance, no unnecessary offensive action unless the opportunity is too good to pass up.’
‘Defence first. I understand, commander.’ Haeger thumped a fist to his plastron, the crash of ceramite momentarily louder than the grinding of cogitators and the murmuring of servitors.
Rann turned and left, knowing there were a hundred things he wanted to tell Haeger, and knowing equally well they were all redundant. The lieutenant-commander was a highly capable war leader. As he clambered through the Rhino’s rear hatch, Rann knew that protocol really dictated that Haeger lead this attack while he, the senior officer, continued in the role of strategic command. He was grateful that Haeger hadn’t even mentioned swapping places.
Son Basin, forty-one days before assault
The weather rapidly worsened, so that even the days were a frigid ordeal. The further north the Addaba Free Corps trudged, the colder they felt. As altitude increased, so did the chill wind. Eighteen days since the train had been attacked and the sun was a memory. Smoke choked the upper airs, spread far and wide from the continuing bombardment of the Imperial Palace. Even at midday it was as cool as an Addaba dusk.
Zenobi huddled close to the other squad members, swathed in a thick coat, the bulky gloves on her hands making it difficult to grip her lasgun and the banner pole. Despite the burden she was grateful for the clothing, supplied by the seamstations back at Addaba – for months they had known they were destined to fight at the Imperial Palace in the heights of the Himalazia. It had not mattered when they were deployed, the turn of seasons did little to change the climate of the high mountains. Every kitbag had contained a coat, gloves and a body stocking to be worn beneath the uniform coveralls. Though much had been lost in the wreckage, there were enough kitbags for everyone.
They followed the line of the solitary rail, the locomotive and four carriages chugging along with them. The officers rode on board, but most of the available space, those four cars not adorned with cannons, was packed full of weapons, power packs and such other supplies as could be fitted into every nook and gap. One wagon had been turned into a rolling hospital, where the seven surviving medicae did their best to ward off starvation, dehydration, frostbite and exhaustion, with diminishing success.
Zenobi’s company had got off relatively lightly, with only a handful of walking wounded and perhaps a score of dead. Some platoons had suffered almost fifty per cent casualties, while the companies in the middle carriages had been all but wiped out. The survivors had been spread into the existing formations, so that two new arrivals had joined Zenobi’s platoon.
One was the new squad sergeant, a gruff woman named Attah, who was as different to Alekzanda as the Himalazia were to the plains around Addaba. She barked her commands with a sneer, derided her squad’s efforts and was generally unpleasant. It was also clear that she was as unhappy with her assignment as her subordinates and missed no opportunity to compare them unfavourably to her former squad. At night she muttered the names of her dead troopers, restless in her sleep. For this she was given more latitude than perhaps she was due, for nobody could imagine what it would be like to survive when everyone else around you had been killed.
The integrity officers carried out hourly inspections, hovering like vultures around the marching platoons, ears and eyes alert to any mischief. The influx of relative strangers into the surviving companies stirred up suspicions and there had been a flurry of accusations and counter-accusations.
Just as they were bedding down for the night, three integrity officers approached through the dark, their pistols in hand. Jawaahir arrived a few seconds later.
‘Which of you is Seleen Mogowe?’ she asked.
‘That’s me,’ Seleen replied, standing up from her bedroll. There was frozen dirt on her coat and she brushed it off self-consciously. ‘What do you want?’
Zenobi knew Seleen well, that no belligerence was intended, but she cringed at her friend’s forthright manner in front of the integrity high officer.
‘You submitted a message for return to Addaba this afternoon?’
‘Yeah, that was to my niece. She’s only six years old, I thought she’d like a letter from her auntie.’
‘Come with me.’ Jawaahir turned away, expecting compliance. Seleen did not give it.
‘What’s this about?’ she demanded. ‘What’s the problem?’
Others in the platoon, Zenobi included, roused themselves from their sleeping sacks. The integrity officers twitched, but none of them raised a weapon. Jawaahir was calmer, regarding the minor insurrection with a calculating gaze, her eyes reflecting the orange gleam of the camp burner they had clustered around for warmth.
‘I wish to clarify a statement you made in your letter,’ said the integrity high officer.
‘Then ask me here,’ said Seleen. ‘I got nothing to hide.’
Jawaahir looked at her for several seconds, unmoving. Her hand slowly dipped into a pocket and produced a folded piece of paper.
‘Is that my letter?’
‘You wrote, “I know this battle is inevitable, that it couldn’t have ended any other way, but I wish that it didn’t have to be fought by us.”’ Jawaahir folded the letter back along its creases and returned it to her pocket. ‘Why are you reluctant to fight for Addaba? Does the future freedom of your niece mean nothing to you?’
‘Come on, Seleen’s as loyal as any of us,’ said Tewedros from the ring of half-gloom beyond the immediate gathering of troopers. ‘Which of us hasn’t wished we didn’t have to fight?’
There were a few murmurs of agreement but Zenobi remained silent, watching her companions carefully. She glanced to her right, grateful to see Menber standing a few metres away. His arms were folded and his brow creased in a scowl, but he kept his lips shut too.
‘Would you have others die and fight in your place? Would you trust the future of Addaba to others?’ growled Jawaahir, stalking further into the light, her anger flashing as she glanced at the group of troopers. ‘Nothing – nothing! – less than total dedication will see us to victory! When your friend Seleen has her lasgun pointing at an enemy, do you want her to
wonder for a moment if she has the right to kill them? Is your life worth her hesitation?’
‘I wouldn’t–’
‘You already have,’ snapped Jawaahir. ‘Selfishness breeds cowardice, Trooper Mogowe.’
‘What’s going to happen to her?’ Zenobi asked quietly, stepping towards her squadmate. ‘What’s the punishment?’
‘Close observation,’ Jawaahir replied. She looked at Seleen. ‘Yours is not a grand transgression, but we must be sure of your integrity to the cause. You and others are being formed into a dedicated platoon under the direct command of an integrity officer.’
Seleen laughed, her relief evident.
‘That’s it? Redeployment to the naughty girls’ company? A punishment shift… I thought…’ She made a slashing motion across her throat.
‘Lieutenant Okoye!’ Jawaahir’s voice cut across the whine of the wind, summoning the officer as if by magic, though Zenobi assumed he had already been warned regarding the arrest of Seleen.
‘Yes, integrity high officer?’
‘The solidarity of your platoon is admirable, but please remind them that they are not to question the authority of integrity officers.’
‘Yes, integrity high officer,’ growled the platoon commander. He raised his voice to address the assembled soldiers. ‘You will all stand watch for the next two hours! Patrol by squads on the perimeter. Sergeants, take the names of any man or woman that complains.’
A chorus of yessirs echoed back, accompanied by a swell of suppressed sighs and grumbling.
‘See you on the battle line,’ said Seleen, lifting a hand to a salute that turned into a wave. She disappeared into the darkness with the integrity officers.
When they were gone, Kettai slipped out of the gloom, joining Zenobi and Menber.
‘Punishment platoon?’ he whispered. ‘Do you really believe that?’
‘Not a word of it,’ said Zenobi. ‘I’d be surprised if we ever see Seleen again.’