by Gav Thorpe
‘He got that from me, admiral,’ said the lieutenant, without any hint of irony or humour.
‘Some of our ships are still resupplying, and the Conqueror and Heavenly Wrath are docked for refitting,’ said Kulik. ‘It’ll take at least five days to get the rimward flotilla ready, never mind some other parts of the fleet. If Acharya intends to take his ships out for translation tomorrow, we’ll be running to keep up.’
‘Yes, but I can’t just send my ships out piecemeal.’ Price folded his arms and leaned back with eyes closed. ‘We’ll split the fleet into two waves. Ships ready at present, except the Colossus, will be seconded to Acharya’s ship and leave straight away. We’ll take the stragglers in the second wave.’
‘You’ll give command of the ships to Acharya? Isn’t that what he wants?’ said Saul.
‘You know he’ll use our ships as the vanguard if we let him, sending them in while holding back his,’ added Kulik.
‘Temporary command, gentlemen,’ said Price, opening his eyes. ‘But good point, Rafal. I’ll set the transit order for two days’ time. That should give Acharya’s fleet enough of a head start.’
‘Does it bother you that Acharya’s forced us into this position?’ asked Kulik. ‘It occurs to me that perhaps I am being used by Brusech. It would be a bit of a climb-down if Acharya had to request you support him in the attack at Port Sanctus. Maybe he is relying on your better nature to follow him into battle, but this way he’ll look like the leader rather than an equal.’
‘Yes, to all of your points,’ said Price. He pulled something from his coat pocket: a silver flask engraved with the seal of Neoscotia’s Distillarius Superior. Price laughed and winked. ‘I managed to swipe this from one of the stewards. Small recompense, but it’ll do for now.’
Price took a swig and lifted the container in toast.
‘Here’s to the spoils of politics,’ he said with a laugh.
Kulik took the proffered flask and laughed too. But only on the outside. The politics of admirals would soon get lots of men killed. He hoped it would be worth the sacrifice.
Six
Nestrum – Mandeville point
‘There can be no blame apportioned for your loss at Ardamantua.’ Laurentis gripped a regicide piece in one of his crane-claws and moved it across the board. He placed it in its new position with a heavy click. ‘To have forecast the advances in technology and strategy employed by the orks would have required extrapolation bordering upon the insane.’
‘Only a madman could have foreseen what happened at Ardamantua?’ replied Koorland. He studied the regicide board. Sixteen days it had taken for the ship to travel to Nestrum, where they now waited to rendezvous with another vessel. The Achilles was due to arrive shortly to transfer Koorland to Terra. In that time Laurentis had visited Koorland in the medi-cell to play regicide thirty-eight times and Koorland had lost every single game. Laurentis had offered to disengage his secondary processors during their latter matches but Koorland did not want any such favours; a victory against an opponent that was not trying their utmost to win was no victory at all. The captain grunted and moved a piece.
‘That would be a succinct summary.’ Laurentis’ claw hovered above the board, digits clacking open and closed as he considered his next move. ‘From our own experiences we can deduce as much, but combined with data from other observations made by the Adeptus Mechanicus vessels in attendance the evidence is utterly compelling. The orks have reached some new threshold of technological and societal expansion.’
‘Orks have always had access to erratic but devastating tech – field projectors, energy beams and such. What makes the attack moons so different? One of their tech-savants has stumbled upon a gravitational disruption system.’
‘If we encountered one, perhaps two of these battle stations I would agree,’ said Laurentis. He moved a piece into an assassination position. Koorland frowned and studied the board with greater intensity. ‘The manner in which this technology is widespread and the deployment of the attack moons in a pre-meditated manner, if not wholly efficient and co-ordinated, suggests a higher level of interaction.’
‘Intelligent orks?’
‘Orks have always been intelligent, captain,’ said Laurentis. His artificial voice sounded strained, the modulators struggling to convey his disapproval. ‘They have also been numerous and determined, a fact which in retrospect the authorities of our respective organisations have failed to consider over recent centuries.’
‘The orks were broken by the Emperor at Ullanor,’ said Koorland. He reached towards a piece, hesitated, withdrew his hand. ‘There have only been scattered encounters for the last thousand years.’
‘Which brings me back to my original premise. Only a madman, capable of an astounding and highly illogical leap of thought, could have predicted that the ork menace would return with such strength and means. From the records I have accessed, historical data concerning ork advancements is sporadic. However, I have discerned an underlying trend. Not a pattern, as one might think it, but a phenomenon. The orks operate in bursts of hyperactivity. They explode, rapidly expanding and showing technological advancement on an unprecedented scale, and then when defeated recede quickly. During the peak of their strength, their innovation and cultural intelligence is at its height.’
‘They thrive on momentum.’ Koorland knew that he was beaten and indicated as such before gently pushing away the board. ‘Each conquest, every expansion, feeds into… whatever. Their orkishness?’
‘Exactly. Aggression rewards and enables further aggression. Their progress is measured in plateaus swiftly reached, which may then decline in defeat or be sustained for a period until another major leap forward occurs.’
‘The attack moons are one such leap?’
‘Of the technological kind. Our companions in the Adeptus Astra Telepathica inform us that there has also been a psychic leap forward. The Beast, the driving force at the heart of the latest expansion, is an incarnation of ork psychic potential not seen before.’
‘The two must be linked,’ said Koorland, standing up. ‘If the Beast can be destroyed, the foundations of this current plateau of advancement will also be destroyed.’
Laurentis positioned himself in front of the Space Marine as Koorland stepped towards the chamber door.
‘It appears that your heartbeat has increased, as have skin temperature, perspiration and other vascular activity. One might think that you are undergoing an adrenal rush prior to some form of action, captain.’
‘I have just thought of something I must do.’ Koorland stepped to the right but Laurentis shifted position to intercept him again. ‘Step aside, or I will move you aside.’
‘Indulge me for a moment, captain.’
‘A moment.’
‘The only reasonable explanation for your sudden activity is a resolution to act based on a conclusion drawn from our recent discussion. Reconsidering your words, it would also be logical to assume that this theoretical course of action is related to your conclusion that the ork advances might be halted by the removal of the Beast.’
‘What of it?’
‘The psychic and technological advances we have experienced are not the complete picture, captain. Biological and cultural advances are also highly likely.’
‘What do you mean? That there are types of orks out there that we might not have encountered before?’
‘Precisely, whether physically or relating to cultural role. The Beast, whatever it is, may be an ork of a different order to anything we have experienced. Increased psychic activity denotes a shift of parameters that eclipses any expectations we might already possess.’
‘You don’t think the Beast can be killed?’
‘I am sure it can be eliminated. However, I am not sure that whatever plan of action you appear to be initiating will be capable of the feat.’
Koorland stepped back
, rocked as if struck. Laurentis’ cold declaration had hit him harder than a bolt-round, bringing home the realisation that the Imperial Fists were no more. Koorland steadied himself with a hand on the bulkhead, gripped by an emptiness he had never felt before.
‘Apologies, captain, I meant no offence.’
‘None taken,’ said Koorland. He straightened up. ‘Your assessment is right, magos. There’s nothing I can do alone that would kill the Beast. And there are no more Imperial Fists for me to command in such an action.’
‘Yet you have an alternative plan?’
‘I do.’ Koorland stepped towards the magos, forcing the machine-man to retreat quickly. ‘I need to speak to an astropath.’
‘A meeting I can facilitate, captain, if you would allow me.’
‘Why would you help me?’ said Koorland with a scowl.
‘It is in the interest of all non-orks that the Beast is stopped. I know that you think me and my kind inhuman, Captain Koorland, but we do have the best interests of mankind in mind on occasion. The Adeptus Mechanicus can no more survive this current onslaught than the Imperium. If you have a plan that will counter the ork threat I am happy to assist.’
‘Very well, lead on,’ said Koorland, waving towards the door.
The two of them encountered only servitors as they made their way aft and up to the top deck of the ship. Here two combat servitors were stationed at the archway that led into the astropath’s crew quarters. The hulking creatures were bigger even than Koorland, with chainblades and gun barrels for fists.
Koorland was relieved when the two behemoths stepped aside at a clicked series of commands from Laurentis; the Space Marine was sure he could have bested the servitors, but it was better that he was able to avoid further confrontation with his Adeptus Mechanicus hosts. They were capable of rendering him comatose or immobile if they wished, and he had no desire to be held in such a way.
Following Laurentis, Koorland ducked under the arch and into the antechamber beyond. A bell chimed as they entered, alerting Astropath Daezen Asarain to their presence. Benches were arranged in a square looking at a dark stone sculpture depicting the Emperor as the messenger, one hand holding a star on an open palm, wings sprouting from His back. Laurentis and Koorland remained standing. Less than a minute had passed when one of the side doors swished open to reveal a surprisingly young-looking man in a dark green robe. His blank eyes regarded the two visitors as though he could still see. They widened in surprise.
‘Captain Koorland! I was not expecting this honour.’
‘I have a message to send.’
‘Um, I am not sure…’ Asarain’s blind gaze strayed to Laurentis. ‘That is, authorisation is…’
‘I am giving authorisation,’ said Laurentis as Asarain’s voice trailed off. ‘Please follow all instructions from Captain Koorland.’
‘If you… As you say, magos.’ Asarain looked back at Koorland. ‘What sort of message, captain?’
‘General broadcast.’
‘Tricky, what with all of the greenskin roaring, and the death-screams are…’ Asarain fell quiet as Koorland’s brow creased into a deep frown. ‘Of course, I will try my best, and we have relay stations to amplify the signal. I just felt you should know that communication is ever more precarious, what with us being located close to the heart of the ork psychic blanket.’
‘The Beast is close?’ said Koorland.
‘Not the Beast, as such.’ Asarain looked awkward, and wrung the tassel of his rope belt in his hands. ‘There are all sorts of strange signals bouncing back and forth through the warp. The Beast, the roar of his coming, is strongest, but it is not the only one. Or it is, but it is echoing back from somewhere else. Or the Beast is echoing back all the other roars. It’s complicated, and we’re not quite sure on the mechanism. Basically, there’s an awful lot of roaring.’
‘Can you send the signal, yes or no?’
‘Yes, I can send it.’ Asarain nodded vehemently. ‘If it’s complicated, any subtleties and nuances might be lost. The reverberations of the ork outbursts mean that we must focus on a simple, strong pulse.’
‘The message is very short. Just three words. I want you to broadcast them as hard and as far as you can. Every relay station, every astropath that hears it is to send it on. I need this signal to break through the ork noise and spread from one end of the Segmentum Solar to the other. Is that possible?’
‘I will add a rebound cadence to the transmission so that it receives further general broadcast. Three words? No sounds? No images? Any cipher?’
‘Just three words, as loud and clear as you can make them.’
‘As you wish.’ Asarain shrugged. ‘The signal should penetrate the green fog without too much effort if that is the case. What are the words?’
Koorland took a deep breath and considered the consequences of his actions. Three words would put into motion a plan laid down by the great Rogal Dorn a millennium ago. Technically, what Koorland was about to do was treason – a gross breach of the oaths sworn after the Heresy War when Lord Guilliman’s reforms were enacted. Koorland did not care. These were dire times. The Imperial Fists were destroyed, his honour already crushed. Fell times called for fell actions.
He fixed Asarain with a stare and uttered the three words.
‘The Last Wall.’
Seven
Terra – the Imperial Palace
Of late, the Clanium Library looked less like a library and more like the command bridge of a starship, and not by coincidence. Lansung’s ‘strategic consultations’ were carefully stage-managed affairs, choreographed to make the Lord High Admiral the centre of attention whilst giving the appearance that all of the other High Lords had equal input. Dressed in the full glory of his elaborate uniform, the tails of his dress coat tipped with golden skulls, breast veritably clanging with medals, Lansung cut a striking figure as he paced and pouted, strode and frowned his way through the consultations.
Nearly all of the shelves that had been stacked with books, flexi-discs, crystal data cells and digi-scrolls had been removed, replaced with chronometric displays, tri-d hololiths and quasi-spatial projectors operated by lexmechanics from the same temple as the Fabricator General. Nothing but the best, the Senatorum had been assured. No resource spared during this time of crisis.
It was a charade, of course. All real military decisions, those taken at the highest level, were agreed in advance between the aides of the Navy and Imperial Guard. Matters were far too complex, the logistical arrangements alone requiring thousands of Administratum staff, for discussion in open assembly. The willing participation of the other High Lords perplexed Vangorich. It was as if they reasoned that their own status was elevated by Lansung’s grandiosity. Even those Vangorich had once thought entirely sensible, not as venal as the rest of the Senatorum, seemed consumed now by the desire to be shown to be in control. Having sacrificed their power to Lansung they now crowded close to him so that they might somehow gain a little of it back, reflected by his beneficence.
Some of the gains made by earlier alliances were clearer to see now. The Administratum had lost a proportion of their control of military materiel directly to a branch of the Imperial Guard. The newly instated Departmento Munitorum operated out of exactly the same wings and buildings of the Imperial Palace, but now under the stewardship of quartermaster-colonels and logistarius-majors. Clerks whose families had served the Administratum loyally for five generations or more were now nominally Guardsmen, much to the surprise of the tithe-counters and manifest assessors themselves.
Yet what was given in one hand was taken with another. All Imperial Guard regiments being raised to combat the ongoing crisis were required, by a vote of the Senatorum, to include a proportionate number of staff from the Adeptus Ministorum. Preachers for the most part, but also armed members of the Frateris Militia that served the Ecclesiarch, were now required to encourage a
nd protect the faith of the men and women who would be laying down their lives against the ork menace.
It was the rise of these Frateris Militia – zealous worshippers of the God-Emperor led by fiery demagogues and manipulative cardinals, growing quickly in number – that indicated the price Ecclesiarch Mesring had wrung from Lansung and Lord Militant Verreault for his support.
And behind it all, the Adeptus Mechanicus were happy to watch the flow of wargear from their forge worlds increasing with each passing day, while the shipments of precious ores and labourers in return grew by equal measure.
It sickened Vangorich to see these men, and the organisations they represented, glutting themselves on the people of the Imperium. The very same citizens they were meant to be moving to protect were working harder, longer and in worse conditions to provide the arms – and the blood – to bolster the egos of those that now controlled the Senatorum. It not only offended his sense of service, but also his love of efficiency. The bloated Astra Militarum, Navy and Ecclesiarchy required an equally engorged Administratum.
In response to the ork threat it seemed as if the Imperium, at least the Segmentum Solar, was puffing itself up like some creature trying to scare off a predator. Not that any of this was making any measurable impression on the front line of the war, because the ships needed to convey these growing armies from their home worlds were all being drawn to Lepidus Prime or Terra itself.
The screens and displays showed the latest reports on the ork advance – if the semi-random encroachments could be called such a thing – and the various Imperial responses to the emerging threats. It was all slightly nonsensical even without Lansung’s theatrics. Even with the benefits of astrotelepathy, it took an average of two weeks for a message from the outer Segmentum Solar rim to reach Terra. Disturbingly, as the ork attacks had progressed, the typical delay had been reduced to a little over ten days. Even so, by the time a message arrived and a ship was despatched in response, and the report from that ship was received, a whole month might have passed, if not more.