‘What is it?’ said Felix. ‘You should tell us that. Also plainly.’
‘It is a quantum empathic resonance beacon,’ said Cawl. ‘The necrons are masters of the physical realm. Their understanding of matter and the nature of the materium is so profound they can accomplish miracles that other races must rely upon the warp to achieve. I have come to believe that their ability to travel faster than light and communicate over interstellar distances must have been dependent on networks of beacons like Mount Pharos. Exactly how, I am not sure, but I suspect at the centre of every one is an entangled supermass of isolated particles perfectly in tune with others of their kind scattered across the galaxy. They are strange, these tangles, and powerful. Not only do they influence each other, allowing instant transmission of data, but they can also alter the sympathetic frequencies of other particles near to them, aligning them with other tangles, with targeted, predictable effects.’
‘Explain more clearly,’ said Felix.
‘This machine exploits the fundamental laws of physics to connect multiple parts of reality together, with no need of the warp. That is the simplest way I can express it,’ said Cawl.
‘I say again, we have seen nothing of this in nine thousand years,’ said Thracian.
‘You told Felix, just now, of the legends surrounding this mountain,’ said Cawl.
‘I did.’
‘You will admit that nine thousand years compared to sixty-five million years is nothing.’
‘Relatively, yes,’ said Thracian.
‘Do you know the stories of “mountain dreaming”?’ asked Cawl.
‘Legends. Myths. Old wives’ tales,’ said Thracian, though less surely.
‘Apparently not. You see, we have all just experienced it.’
‘The visions,’ said Felix. ‘They come from the mountain.’
‘They do. But they are not visions. They are direct interfaces with the past and, as you all no doubt experienced, with each other’s past. The realignment of one’s present physical state with its past state is exquisite genius at work, but this sharing of pasts astounds me.’ He laughed. ‘I, Belisarius Cawl, am astounded!’ He reached under his hood and pulled something from the back of his skull with a small click. Cawl displayed a small, black-green bead in his palm. ‘I fitted this before I arrived to allow me to communicate with the Pharos. Apparently you don’t need this to hear the mountain’s call. The machine is stronger than I thought. Perhaps it will help me interact more deeply with it.’ He replaced the bead. ‘Maybe not.’
‘That’s dangerous,’ said Felix.
‘It is,’ said Cawl. ‘A lot of what I do is dangerous. I do have a reputation to uphold, Decimus, so forgive me.’
‘Has it been dormant all this time?’ said Felix.
‘Records in the Library of Ptolemy suggest much activity before an attack during the Great Heresy war by the Eighth Legion. Thereafter, its functionality was compromised.’
‘Was it ever restored?’
‘Far from it,’ said Cawl. ‘My brothers in those days gutted the mountain of all its machinery, so I thought.’ He paused. ‘It is conceivable I was among them.’
‘You are unsure,’ said Felix. ‘Archmagos, much of what you say is alarming. Not only the provenance of this beacon, but the cavalier way you approach it.’
‘I am not entirely reckless, I promise. If I was here before, I have no recollection. My memory is… patchy, to use the Ultramarian vernacular.’ He paused again. ‘That may change, if the mountain has its way.’
‘Explain further,’ demanded Felix.
‘This series of fugue events is characterised by the random accessing of memory fragments, or more precisely, realignment of our present consciousnesses with fragments of our past. In my case, all of these moments were lost to me. You might find it surprising, tetrarch, but there are many gaps in my memory. I have been mind-wiped by my enemies at least once, probably twice, and although I keep comprehensive data archives as backup to my internal memcores, and am indeed obliged to memory dump every five centuries owing to the limitations of storage within my physical frame, data corruption has taken its inevitable toll. Some of my stores are lost, some are destroyed, some have been stolen. Despite my best efforts to preserve my experiences, and my knowledge, I have failed. My existence is an incomplete book, even to me, its author.’ He took a modest bow.
‘My time aboard your ship is the only part of my life I do not clearly recall,’ said Felix. ‘I am seeing it again.’
‘No,’ said Cawl, ‘you are living it again. The machine is responsible.’
‘But why?’ said Thracian. ‘Why is it doing it?’
‘It could be a form of attack, exposing us to these lost parts of our lives.’ Cawl shrugged, which for him was a complicated motion involving multiple limbs. ‘How is more interesting to me. Some advanced form of field interaction, I suspect. As far as I am aware, the Pharos has no noosphere as my colleagues would understand it, but they don’t understand much. It is a machine and all machines can be accessed. The trick is knowing how.’ He tapped the back of his head where the bead was seated, then gestured at the fortress-monastery gates. ‘I know how to gain access. The knowledge was gained at cost, as much knowledge is, but the Pharos will find it is not the only one who can reach into the beings of others.’
‘I do not like this,’ said Felix. He stared at the silver web binding the wall gun to the alien device. ‘I am unconvinced that we should be here.’
‘Let me put my case. You must learn to understand how important this installation is. Although I surmise this beacon network to be crucial to the necrons’ mastery of space, the number of nodes must have been relatively small, because I have found only one other similar to this in all my life.’
‘That you can remember,’ said Felix.
‘Granted, although something that important, I make sure to record in multiple places,’ said Cawl. ‘The other one was destroyed utterly from the inside out. It was dead. This one is alive, and it is repairing itself. It may indeed have already repaired itself.’ He looked up to the mountain peak. ‘This is an opportunity of inestimable value.
‘As miraculous as these beacons are, or were, the secrets of their technology is not my primary goal, though I stress any knowledge gathered would be most welcome. In each of these mountains must be a vast repository of wisdom. You are aware of blackstone, also known as noctolith.’
‘This mountain is made of it,’ said Felix.
‘Indeed it is.’
‘Then you want to quarry it?’ said Thracian.
Cawl laughed. ‘No no no, definitely not. I am not some backward data grubber from Metallica! I am the Prime Conduit of the Omnissiah!’ He said this ironically, leaving the others unsure whether Cawl took the title bestowed upon him seriously. ‘Noctolith is perhaps the greatest work of the necrons. During this war of theirs, the warp was used as a weapon by their enemies, the fathers of the aeldari. The necrons found a way to fight back against it.’ Cawl swayed forwards. ‘Since your father returned, Felix, the Adeptus Mechanicus has been waging its own war to gather and understand the substance, how to tune it to amplify the warp or shut it out altogether. Blackstone can save us. In this mountain I expect to find information as to exactly how, and detailed maps of the prior Necron Empire that will allow me to find more of it. Enough, perhaps, to stitch closed the Great Rift and banish Chaos from our galaxy forever. This is what I will achieve. This is my great work. A new network of pylons like those lost on Cadia but far greater. I intend nothing less than the salvation of mankind.’
Thracian and Felix looked at one another.
‘Tetrarch, do you intend to allow him to do this?’ said Thracian. ‘The use of alien technology is proscribed by the Adeptus Mechanicus.’
‘By some of its sects only,’ said Felix. ‘Do not forget that alien technology saved our primarch, and that it
was alien technology that held the Cadian Gate closed for so long. It is your world. Allow Cawl access or not, but I will destroy this mountain once he is done.’
‘Not until our geneseed is laid to rest,’ said Thracian. He leaned against the parapet and looked out over the bailey. His men were collecting the wargear of the fallen with great reverence. ‘If the archmagos can restore Sotha and redeem my Chapter’s honour, I will let him do what he likes. But if you deem it too dangerous, my lord whom the Lord Regent Guilliman appointed to safeguard the east, then I will defer to your judgement, and you may level this place entirely as soon as our rites are over. The choice must be yours. This is my world, but this is your domain.’
Felix nodded. ‘I see the benefits. I see the risks.’
‘What does your father’s famed dialectic suggest?’ asked Cawl pleasantly.
Felix looked up at the man that had made him.
‘That we go in with all due caution.’
Cawl nodded in satisfaction. ‘Most excellent and wise of you, young Decimus. Your part in this will be remembered for all time.’
‘First we must secure control of the Chapter’s defence matrix, or disable it if we cannot,’ said Felix.
‘Agreed. Forgemaster Sebastion!’ Thracian voxed.
The Forgemaster came up from the courtyard to join them.
‘Explain your plans to the tetrarch,’ commanded Thracian.
‘As you wish.’ Sebastion flipped open a panel on his gauntlet, and conjured up a small cartolith of the fortress.
‘I must reach the Defensor Strategium. It lies deep in the mountain, beneath the Emperor’s Watch. The only access point is from the tower. The strategium is the sole central control nexus, and is our best chance of shutting down the weapons,’ said Sebastion. ‘Otherwise, we will have to visit each silo individually, and destroy them. That will take time.’ The locations flashed on the map as he spoke.
‘Once we have the fortress back under our control and have swept the environs for xenos threat, Cawl may begin his work, agreed?’ said Felix.
Cawl inclined his head in thanks. Thracian nodded.
‘I have a question for the archmagos,’ Sebastion said.
‘Ask, fellow acolyte,’ said Cawl.
‘If the device under Mount Pharos is xenos, how can you extract the information you need?’ Sebastion asked. ‘How can we be sure you will not be corrupted by its alien taint?’
‘Quite simply, Forgemaster, I propose to ask it.’ Cawl smiled again. ‘Nicely.’ Cawl tapped the back of his head. ‘I have my ways, you have seen my means. I realise this looks like a threadbare plan, Decimus, but you must trust me. I know what I am doing.’
‘Do we have any choice but to trust you?’ asked Thracian.
‘Truthfully, no,’ said Cawl.
The shadows were drinking in the day and becoming darker with each ray of sun they sipped away.
‘Time passes,’ said Felix.
‘Let us be circumspect,’ Cawl said. ‘I recommend we remain outside the main gates. If there are genestealers within the fortress as Lord Thracian thinks likely, we should wait until sunrise. That strain of xenos is known for being more active at night, and I for one would rather face one enemy than two. Lord Tetrarch?’
Felix watched the last of the sun passing up the side of the Emperor’s Watch. Without atmospheric refraction, the sunset was harsh. A stark line between night and day sliced across the masonry, inky shadows on one side, fleeing light on the other.
‘We rest,’ said Felix. ‘We enter the fortress-monastery in the morning.’
The Space Marines set about their tasks. All of them would rest in the safety of their tanks. None would sleep fully, but rely on the catalepsian half-slumber to refresh them. First, perimeters needed establishing, sentries posting on the walls, and the vicinity checked for hidden organisms. By the time they were done the stars shone steady in the hard vacuum sky.
Felix ordered them to rest and prepare.
There were further tremors in the night.
Chapter Ten
Mountain Dreaming
Circa 10,000 years ago
BANG!
A single shot.
Friedisch’s hands gripped Cawl’s wrists. Cawl’s hands were pressed against the great crater wound in Friedisch’s chest. Ruined organs shifted under his palms.
‘You’ll never… You’ll never staunch the blood,’ said Friedisch. ‘I’m going, Belisarius. I’m going to join the Machina Opus, the Great Work of the Machine-God, to become pure data!’ His human eye shone in wonder. His cheap augmetic stared away into vistas full of promise. Friedisch, always flighty in life, faced death without fear. ‘Get out of here. Leave me. I am done.’
‘Friedisch, please. Friedisch! Hold on, my friend, my only friend.’
‘He is dying.’ Sedayne got up from his chair, planting his cane on the carpet, deliberately pinning his words to the floor so that Cawl might better understand their gravity. ‘But we can save him, together.’
The Altrix Herminia held her gun so that it pointed at the two tech-priests on the ground. Smoke still rose from its barrel, the final gasp of the killing shot. The gun had been fired at close range, and Friedisch’s blood ran down her shiny clothes.
‘You’re wrong!’ snarled Cawl. ‘He can’t die.’ But it was obvious to them all that Friedisch was dying. Trying to plug a bolt wound was impossible. It was like dipping his hands into a bowl full of blood. Cawl bundled up more of Friedisch’s robe and pushed it down. It soaked instantly to a deeper red. There was not enough robe, and far too much wound.
Friedisch smiled weakly. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth. ‘He has killed me.’
‘I regret that this occurred,’ said Sedayne. He walked around Cawl slowly, the cane thumping into the rug. Fastidiously, he avoided the spreading stain of Friedisch’s blood. ‘But it is your fault. Now you know I am serious.’
‘What you can’t take by asking, you’ll take by force,’ said Cawl. ‘Such a fine way of persuasion you have.’
‘Truly, this is the only way to save your friend.’
‘Belisarius,’ whispered Friedisch. ‘Belisarius, don’t do it. Please. Not for me. Save yourself.’
‘Come with me to the processing room. Please,’ said Sedayne. ‘Neither you nor I have very much time.’
Sedayne held out a parchment-skinned hand. Cawl looked up into his face. The anti-gerontics were wearing off. From beneath a veneer of stolen youth, a skull looked out.
‘Cawl,’ said Friedisch. His grip was weakening. ‘It hurts, Cawl. Oh, it hurts.’
His hands slipped from Cawl’s wrists. His human eye fluttered closed.
‘It is the only way,’ said Sedayne. He extended his hand further.
Cawl stood.
Knowledge of the now intruded into the past.
Cawl fought to follow the machine voice of his inbuilt cogitators. It was like swimming against a current. Swimming against a tide. Swimming in a river of light.
Circa 100 years ago
Light of such strength smote Thracian’s eyes it was a physical blow. His enhanced body responded instantly, but it was too little to blunt the pain. A mortal man would have been blinded. He regretted not donning his helmet.
‘I told you it would hurt,’ said Hadrios. ‘I suggested you close your eyes.’
‘I’ll keep my eyes open,’ said Thracian, shading his face against the glare with his left hand. ‘I don’t trust you.’
Hadrios nodded as if that was totally understandable.
‘Wait,’ said Thracian. With his right hand, he unlocked his helm from his belt and placed it over his head. As soon as the helm s
ystems meshed with his battleplate the lenses darkened, bringing the glare down to bearable levels. The room still shone like the brightest of days, but he could see clearly enough.
‘Come and see the thing that doomed us,’ said Hadrios, beckoning him inside.
Thracian entered the room. It was of middling size, a cavity deep in the ship.
Two Space Marines stood guard over a suspension casket. Through the viewing plate was darkness. Emperor alone knew how Hadrios had got it aboard.
‘Do you want to see it?’
‘No,’ said Thracian. ‘We should kill it.’
‘Not yet. It will be useful,’ said Hadrios. ‘The light keeps it dormant. It is not a full-blood strain, but the hybrids share many characteristics with the parent creatures. Genestealers have an affinity with the shadows.’
‘Why have you brought this aboard?’ said Thracian. ‘After what the tyranids did to Sotha, how could you?’
‘I had to,’ said Hadrios. ‘We need it.’
‘Do we?’ said Thracian. The situation had him ready to fight. There was something wrong. The cleanness of Hadrios’ armour had struck him when they first met a few hours ago. It did so again. Was he involved in the battle at all? Already Thracian was calculating how he could fight his way free. ‘Why don’t I know you, Hadrios?’ He looked at the warrior carefully, wishing that he could remove Hadrios’ faceplate and see the man beneath. ‘There are less than one thousand of us. Only that many, and yet I don’t know you. I don’t know any of you.’ He turned, taking in the Space Marines guarding the casket.
‘Our identities were hidden intentionally, though I assure you I am a loyal servant of the Scythes of the Emperor. It is time to initiate you into the deeper mysteries of the Chapter.’
Thracian snorted. ‘We are good sons of Ultramar. Guilliman’s progeny. We don’t have secrets.’
Belisarius Cawl- the Great Work - Guy Haley Page 12