Vainglorious, p.14
Vainglorious, page 14
‘Then I am prepared to trust your judgement,’ Morie said, glancing up from a slate of his own, which was almost engulfed in the palm of his gauntlet. How he managed to manipulate the settings without crushing it was beyond me, although I supposed he must have had plenty of practice at that sort of thing over the years.[95]
‘Me too,’ I agreed, looking out at the westering sun, casting kilometre-long shadows across the plain beyond the Chapter holding as it slid inexorably behind the range of hills on the horizon. We were in a long gallery in one of the upper storeys of the main habitat. The room was walled with armourcrys, allowing natural light to flood onto a large mural depicting the Ascension of the Emperor, the sunset hues deepening the splashes of blood a trifle overdramatically in my opinion. The composition had been executed with rather more enthusiasm than flair, the fleeing Horus having more of the air of a man ducking out of a restaurant without paying than a thwarted regicide, while the facial expression of Him on Terra as He mounted the Golden Throne seemed to suggest that He’d found a hair in one of the canapes. I could hardly fault the piety of its artist, though, and the Reclaimers garrisoned here clearly found it of spiritual comfort, judging by the number of candle stubs and incense burners scattered around the place. I suppose, given their calling, it was quite remarkable that one of the battle-brothers had chosen to express himself in such a manner at all.[96]
‘I’m gratified to hear that,’ Vorspung said, displaying as much smugness as a tech-priest ever did, which was rather more than they tended to realise.
I took another look at the slate, which continued to display a dense block of text interspersed with diagrams that meant nothing to me, and braced myself for the inevitable.
‘Perhaps a short verbal summary?’ I asked, uncomfortably aware that for most tech-priests the two concepts were completely incompatible. Morie evidently felt the same, because he nodded hastily.
‘As concisely as possible, in the interests of operational efficiency,’ he added.
‘Concise, of course. Efficiency is to be commended in all matters,’ Vorspung agreed. I half expected him to expound on the topic for several minutes before getting to the point, but it seemed Morie had found an effective way of prodding him in the right direction, because his voxcoder emitted the short burst of static I’d begun to equate with a preparatory clearing of the throat he no longer possessed. ‘The origin of the signal which precipitated the erratic behaviour of the skitarii remains unknown, although forensic examination of the communications system continues.’
Morie nodded again. ‘Praetor Norgard has already informed us of that.’
‘She has?’ I asked, as this was news to me. Morie looked faintly surprised.
‘While you were in transit from the proving grounds.’ A short hop in a lumbering cargo plane, which I’d spent asleep – partly because narrowly escaping death is surprisingly fatiguing, but mainly as a way of avoiding Jurgen’s inevitable airsickness, which could easily become as distressing to anyone in the immediate vicinity as to Jurgen himself. ‘Your aide assured me he would pass on the message at the earliest opportunity.’
‘And I’ve no doubt he will,’ I said. Jurgen had been even more subdued than usual on our arrival, due to some unexpected turbulence en route, hurrying off behind a stack of promethium drums as soon as the hangar bay pressurised. Under the circumstances I’d felt it prudent to afford him a few moments of privacy. Where he was now I had no idea, and rather suspected I didn’t want to, particularly if anything edible, portable or both had gone missing in the hour or so since our arrival.
‘Precautions are also being taken to harden the data systems against any further intrusion,’ Vorspung went on, pointing to something on the slate that might have been a snowstorm but probably wasn’t. I nodded, to give the impression I appreciated its significance.
‘We discussed that before I left,’ I said. Norgard hadn’t been jittery, exactly, but had certainly been showing more signs of agitation than someone so metallic normally did. The idea that another tranche of her skitarii might suddenly turn traitor without warning could hardly have been comforting. ‘She seemed to think that that, at least, was fairly straightforward.’
‘But we still don’t know what the data pulse contained,’ Morie pointed out. ‘Let alone why it had the effect it did.’
‘Or why it only affected those particular skitarii,’ I agreed. That, more than anything, was what seemed to have Norgard spooked, and I could well understand why. Until that particular question was answered, there was no guarantee that it might not happen again. ‘There didn’t seem to be any connection between them at all.’ We’d already discovered that the affected skitarii had come from a number of different units, almost all of them grouped in single squads or the equivalent, and, prior to turning on their comrades, none of the formations had served with any of the others.
‘Not an obvious one,’ Vorspung replied, doing the not-smug-at-all thing again. ‘But there is one factor they all have in common.’ He fiddled with the data-slate again, pulling up a map of Eucopia’s southern hemisphere. ‘All have been assigned to the security detachment at one particular shrine in the last eight years.’ A dot glowed red, marking its position.
‘Metallum Majoris,’ Morie said at once. ‘A facility singularly failing to live up to its name.’
‘Indeed,’ Vorspung agreed. I must have looked baffled,[97] because he immediately went on to explain. ‘The largest mining facility on Eucopia, and among the least productive. Which accounts, in some considerable measure, for the shortcomings you were sent here to investigate.’
‘I see,’ I said, a very large coin beginning to drop. ‘And you didn’t think to mention that when I arrived here?’
‘I didn’t see the need,’ Vorspung said, in what looked like honest bewilderment. ‘We inloaded all the relevant data to your slate when you visited the Nexus control chapel.’
‘Of course you did,’ I said, as though I’d been aware of the fact all along. ‘But you’ll appreciate things have been a little hectic since then, and I must confess to being far from skilled in the interpretation of such technical detail.’ Both of which were true, and neatly skated over my complete failure to have even noticed the new documents.
‘I see.’ If Vorspung was at all put out he failed to show it; indeed, if anything, he probably relished the opportunity to show off again. ‘Then perhaps a short verbal summary?’
‘By all means,’ I said, bracing myself for an avalanche of tedious detail, but once again Morie came to my rescue.
‘We have extensive hololithic representations of the mine and its surroundings,’ he said, ‘which Commissar Cain is at liberty to examine should he so wish.’
‘Very helpful,’ I agreed hastily.
‘You do?’ Vorspung looked faintly surprised, and perhaps a little irked. ‘Why is that?’
‘We curate information about every significant installation on Eucopia,’ Morie said, looking almost equally surprised at the question. ‘In case our aid is requested to assist in their defence.’
‘I see.’ Vorspung nodded, evidently satisfied by the half-truth. I had no doubt the Reclaimers had just as many contingency plans to assault them as well – certainly any competent Guard commander would have put those in place in case of treachery, insurrection or Chaotic intervention, and Space Marines hadn’t earned their reputation as the finest warriors in the Imperium by being overly trusting. ‘Then I shall give you just the, ah, bolt points, as you so succinctly phrase it,’ he continued.
‘That would be helpful,’ I said, hoping he’d get to the point some time before my ship departed for Perlia.
‘Very well.’ Vorspung paused for a moment, as if deciding how much of his prepared data might reasonably be discarded in the interests of greater efficiency. ‘The initial surveys of Eucopia identified unusually high concentrations of many important raw materials in unusual abundance in a relatively small area. The importance of the site being so great, rather more of our resources were diverted towards their extraction than would normally be the case.’
He hesitated again, presumably to make sure I’d grasped this, before continuing. I nodded encouragingly, hoping he’d get to some kind of point soon.
‘In effect, the entire mining operation was given a degree of autonomy unusual in an undertaking of this nature.’
‘Basically, you just picked a team and told them to get on with it,’ I said, with a quick glance at Morie, who clearly liked this idea no more than I did.
‘Succinctly put,’ Vorspung agreed, ‘but essentially accurate. Magos Tezler was afforded complete discretion over the allocation of resources and personnel to the project.’
‘Magos Tezler being?’ I enquired, as the unfamiliar name meant nothing to me.
‘A mechwright of great potential,’ Vorspung said, ‘with a reputation for efficiency second to none. They seemed the obvious choice for the role, despite some reservations among the more senior tech-priests.’
‘What kind of reservations?’ I asked, liking less and less of this the more I heard.
‘Tezler was relatively young and inexperienced,’ Vorspung said. ‘A few of our number were of the opinion that someone more familiar with the ways of the galaxy and the tenets of the Machine-God would be a better choice.’
‘I see,’ I said. It sounded to me like the old guard were resentful of being elbowed aside by someone up and coming, instead of seeing a prestigious position going to one of their own. A trait not exactly confined to the Adeptus Mechanicus. ‘Would anyone have objected strongly enough to have ensured Tezler’s efforts were not as successful as we might have hoped?’
Morie nodded, grasping the point I was trying to make tactfully, and verbally bulldozing through the niceties. ‘In other words, instead of wasting our time looking for genestealers and heretics, we ought to be looking into petty-minded rivalries within your own hierarchy.’
To my thinly veiled astonishment, Vorspung seemed to be considering this seriously, instead of exploding with indignation as I would have expected.
‘There are frictions between members of the order, of course,’ he conceded, nodding thoughtfully, ‘and I’m bound to say Tezler earthed more than their fair share of static from time to time – their views on the perfectibility of humanity in the image of the Omnissiah by extensive augmetic upgrades are not universally approved of by any means. But the balance of probabilities are quite heavily weighted against animosity towards Tezler’s stewardship of Metallum Majoris being the motivating factor behind the incidents we’ve observed.’
‘How so?’ Morie asked, palpably reluctant to have a new and promising line of enquiry so abruptly curtailed.
‘Because it would be in the interests of such a group to facilitate the commissar’s investigation, ensuring that he discovered evidence of Tezler’s culpability, possibly even by fabricating it if none actually existed. Attempting to assassinate him, and us, would be entirely counterproductive from their point of view.’
Morie nodded. ‘Your reasoning appears sound,’ he conceded grudgingly.
‘It does,’ Vorspung said, allowing himself a second or two of self-satisfaction, before resuming his habitual sober mien. ‘Unfortunately, that leaves us no further forward.’
‘We do still have one option,’ I said, trying to ignore the painted Emperor on the wall behind me, whose expression of prissy disapproval seemed to be warning me that this was a really bad idea. I turned to Morie. ‘I’ll need to take you up on your offer of a look at the files on Metallum Majoris, and arrange some transportation.’
‘Of course.’ He nodded. ‘A personal inspection seems the best way forward.’ He exchanged a glance with Vorspung. ‘We both look forward to discussing your findings.’
‘Assuming I make it back here,’ I said, trying to sound as though I was joking, and not think too hard about Magos Clode, who, for all I knew, had made the same connection before disappearing from mortal ken. On the other hand, I had Jurgen to watch my back, and some of the finest warriors in the galaxy just a vox call away. Surely that would be enough to ensure my safety.
I took another glance at the Emperor behind me, and found myself hoping He’d come along too, although, as usual, I was sure He had far more pressing concerns than keeping my miserable hide unperforated.
I’d just have to take care of that for myself, then; no change there.
FIFTEEN
If I’d had any expectations of what Metallum Majoris would be like, based on the hololiths I’d studied before leaving the Chapter holding, the reality far exceeded them. I knew that a vast pit had been excavated, several kilometres in extent, but the static image in the viewing tank had done little to prepare me for the sheer sense of scale the sight of the real thing evoked as our Thunderhawk dropped towards it from the upper fringes of the atmosphere. Despite my less than happy memories of travelling in the sturdy attack craft decades before, I’d accepted Morie’s offer of transportation with alacrity; the short suborbital hop would minimise Jurgen’s discomfort at being airborne, I’d be able to get a good look at the reality of what awaited us before we grounded, and, far from the least important consideration to my mind, the blocky gunship carried enough firepower to put a dent in a Titan.[98] If anyone at the mine really was involved in skulduggery of some sort, the clear message that disembarking from a Space Marine flyer would send might just turn out to offer me more protection than a set of carapace armour. (Which, to be honest, I’d have donned under my greatcoat like a shot if there were any sets to be had this far from an Imperial Guard quartermaster, and if the damn stuff didn’t chafe so much.)
‘Pretty big hole,’ Jurgen said as the pilot banked, bringing the greater part of the mine into view on the pict screen in front of us. My aide paled a little at the resulting sudden shift in our inner ears.
‘Indeed,’ I agreed, as much to distract him from his rebellious stomach as anything else. ‘And busy.’ Even from this altitude, the bottom of the pit was clearly seething with activity, hidden from view by the ubiquitous shifting dust. As we descended, however, I was able to discern vast shadows moving within it, no doubt the mineral harvesters scraping the crater incrementally deeper with every pass.
‘On final approach, commissar,’ the pilot voxed, his voice muffled a little by the thick ear defenders Jurgen and I wore over our comm-beads to protect us against the bellowing of the engines, which would otherwise have made the journey intolerable. Jurgen’s response was inaudible, but I caught the gist of it well enough – the sooner we were back on terra firma, the better, so far as he was concerned. ‘Switching to tactical view.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, as the pict screen in front of us flickered and began to return auspex imagery overlaid on the visible environment. The gigantic harvesters thus revealed, gorging themselves on the floor of the quarry, were far from the only things kicking up the dust down there. Contact icons erupted like mirepox blisters all around them, tiny scurrying vehicles collecting the scraps left in the harvesters’ wakes, or carrying out ancillary duties in their service, like a shoal of pilot fish around a marine leviathan. Even more of them were ranged about the walls of the quarry, which, as our descent continued, proved to be composed of innumerable terraces, connected by wide, ramped roadways along which traffic streamed in both directions. The near-vertical walls between the terraces were riddled with tunnel mouths, which, according to the holos Morie had shown me, disappeared into the depths of the earth, crossing and diverging from one another to produce a labyrinth of bewildering complexity.
‘That must be the shrine,’ Jurgen said, an air of unmistakable relief entering his voice at the prospect of getting his boots back on solid ground again. A jumble of buildings was beginning to appear out of the murk, occupying a broadened-out terrace a few levels above the quarry floor; as we approached it, and the lines became clearer, its true size gradually became apparent. By no means as vast as the Nexus, it was still pretty impressive, only the cyclopean scale of the mine workings at the foot of which it nestled making it appear small at first glance. The central block must have been a couple of hundred metres tall at its highest point, the two flanking it around half as high, all three of them surrounded by a scattering of smaller structures barely distinguishable at this altitude from the larger chunks of debris tumbling intermittently from the higher levels. All three of the main structures were backed against the rock face behind them, into which further extensions undoubtedly burrowed, the roof of the central one reaching almost to the ground level of the terrace above.
‘And there’s the pad,’ I assured him, noting the sudden paling of the few patches of skin visible through his habitual mottling of psoriasis, grime and facial hair as the retros cut in, sending a shudder through the fuselage. I straightened my cap and tugged my crimson sash into place. ‘Better make ourselves look presentable, I suppose.’
Which in Jurgen’s case was more of a pious hope than a realistic prospect, of course, but the remark did as I’d hoped, giving him something to think about other than his nausea; he began collecting up our kit, one eye still fixed on the steadily growing landing zone in the centre of the shrine’s roof. It was larger than I’d realised, the scale of it only becoming apparent once I’d caught sight of a couple of parked Aquilas and a heavy cargo lifter, all in the ubiquitous russet livery of the Adeptus Mechanicus, widely spaced around the margins of the field. The irregularities protruding from the roof around the smooth, slightly scorched area, which I’d taken at first for the covers of maintenance hatches and air shafts, were the size of buildings in their own right, an impression confirmed by the windows and doorways beginning to become visible through the haze of billowing dust thrown up by the Thunderhawk’s thrusters.
