NOVEL NEXT Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Six
“I’ve found a few new things. New to me at least, not necessarily to the Imperium,” I say, unwilling to give away too much. “Vanguard armour is a bipedal, humanoid machine, originally intended for the movement of cargo.
“Like most designs from the Dark Age of Technology, it is extraordinarily robust and can be built with a wide variety of materials and processes. Vanguard armour is an up armoured and weaponized version of the original cargo loader. It isn’t as heavily armoured as, say, a Space Marine dreadnought, and is much more similar in performance as a Penitent Engine from the Sisters of Battle, or a Tau Battlesuit, a xenos warmachine.”
The other guests, other than Lyre, look rather confused and I sigh. I’d forgotten that most Imperials know fuck all about anything outside their immediate sphere. I continue, “If one is feeling insulting, they could compare it to Ork Deff Dreads or Killa Kans. Would these be more familiar to you?”
Mildred, at least, starts nodding along, “I’ve seen the records of those.”
“I’ve only ever faced pirates and rebels,” says Raphael. “Lyre, do you know these machines?”
“I once was part of a supply run for a world overrun with plague zombies. Do not ask me how those creatures came to be, for I do not know. The Sisters of Battle were out in force and I saw a Penitent Engine in action as it defended the space port. It tore apart hundreds of shambling corpses with circular saw blades, then burned their tainted corpses with its heavy flamer. On a void ship, a Penitent Engine would likely only be usable in the main thoroughfares and bulkheads, and one would have to be careful about the strength of the weapons such a platform was firing.”
“Ah, a shame,” says Raphael.
Lyre says, “Magos, the Sisters of Battle had a single Penitent Engine and it was a major asset of their order. Even Orks would struggle to field more than a few hundred of their crude walkers. How on Terra did you manage to produce a thousand of them?”
Mattius frowns, “Mildred convinced me of the need for these machines. Are they really that remarkable if the good Magos can produce them in such numbers?”
“A company of my ground troops,” I say, “when configured for supporting Vanguard Armour, uses six Vanguards, giving the company eighty percent performance to an Imperial Knight with its supporting forces, approximately. Were you to use them in the same way as I organise my forces, you could produce one point six, six regiments of Vanguard armour units. Somewhere between fifty and sixty thousand soldiers, depending on how large your companies are. Rather small, for most PDF, who consider a million people under arms barely enough to man a single wall of a Hive city.”
“I find such numbers hard to imagine,” says Mattius. “One wall, really?”
Raphael says, “I have seen such things with my own eyes back on Scintilla. The Magos is underselling it.”
“I am happy with the numbers we have,” says Mildred.
“I believe you have two percent of your people under arms, Governor?” I say. The dataslate Mildred handed me had a lot of useful information.
Mattius nods, though he looks a little uncertain.
“Those Vanguard Armour are enough to supply half your army. It is an absolutely outrageous amount of firepower,” I say. “Should your Tech-Priests keep the Vanguard Armour in working order, and they see action every couple of years, you’ll still be using them in a dozen generations. I’d hate to think what sort of war it would take for you to lose even half of them.”
Mattius and Rapahel gape slightly, while Lyre narrows his eyes and Mildred folds her arms, making her medals clink. She looks a bit smug.
I say, “As for how I produced them, Lyre, the exact mechanisms are a Mechanicus secret and not for the uninitiated.”
“Ah, apologies, Magos,” says Lyre, “though I imagine a robust education system and advanced tools have much to do with it.”
“A reasonable assumption,” I say.
Mattius slumps slightly in his chair and takes a big swig, “I was unaware you had been so generous. I am uncomfortable with such a debt. Is there something else I could add?”
Brigid says, “Mineral rights to the fourth moon around Cobalt VI.”
“My lady, we only have three?” says Mattius.
“It’s on a rather far out orbit from Cobalt VI,” says Eire. “It’s not something you can actually spot with a telescope from Cobalt IV. Perhaps it was missed in the initial survey.”
Mattius gives Brigid a weak smile, “Having you in the system is worth far more than just the mineral rights. I’ll hand over the moon you want entirely to the Mechanicus, and you can cloud mine Cobalt VI as well, if you wish.”
Brigid is talking about Haddon’s Throne. Originally it was discovered by House Echo in 878.M41. It’s an icy moon with its own sub-satellite: a three point two kilometre asteroid. We must be before 878.M41, if it hasn’t been found yet. Haddon’s Throne has a huge reserve of promethium and a small deposit of diamonds, or so my records tell me. Our overpowered scan of the system suggested the records are probably accurate, though it will require actual drilling to be sure.
While promethium and diamond are useful, the moon is primarily made of carbon dioxide, and hydrogen monoxide ice, with a metallic core. As carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen are the three most in demand elements in the Stellar Fleet, and valuable to the Imperium, this is an incredible reserve that’s far more fuel efficient to mine than chasing down comets, so long as we can develop and protect it.
“Will that not cause issues with House Echo?” I say.
“Their authority over Cobalt is rather loose,” says Mattius, he glances at the two Imperial officers. “Errius Echo was a legend among Rogue Traders and discovered more worlds in the Koronus Expanse than anyone else has managed. He died in 817.M.41, without heirs, his heirs having died before him. Without a clear line of succession his House is still fighting over the Warrant. There are rumours of an additional codicil to his will, uncovered by House Vross, that was read out after Errius’s funeral, but what it contained is not public knowledge.
“During his time as a Rogue Trader, Errius Echo advised and assisted many other Rogue Traders, so no one is willing to contest his House’s claim over Cobalt, even though he is dead. Neither, even with the House’s diminished state, can Cobalt afford to state that they are independent. House Echo rules from an ancient Vengeance Class Grand Cruiser, Inevitable, that is believed to have been laid down before the Emperor’s Great Crusade.
“While I am sworn to them, I have a lot of leeway in how I govern Cobalt. Either way, they would be fools to ignore the benefits of having Adeptus Mechanicus expertise in the system. They will need it if they want to develop their holdings further, should they ever resolve their succession. After all, it’s a long way to the closest Forge World.”
“In that case,” I say, “we are grateful for your offer, Governor Stigstaff.”
Konrad returns and stands before us, his hands clasped behind his back, “Rogue Trader David Modren and Consort Sciéno Ceasterwyrt have finished their preparations for the feast. They would be delighted if all of you could join them in the banquet hall.”
“Certainly,” I say.
Everyone else also agrees and Konrad brings us back to the air car. A ten minute journey brings us to the banquet hall.
The banquet hall is large enough to seat five thousand people and is divided into multiple sections, each with a central, hovering platform where gravity is reversed so that it looks like any performers are upside down.
Below the platform is a mirror so that guests don’t have to look up. I detect some machinery within the chairs and query the Machine-Spirits within. I am amazed at their answers. There are audio controls in each chair that automatically let one isolate particular conversations, or the performance on the upside down stage, in any mix that the user pleases, based on what or whom they are interested in. I could talk to someone fifty metres away, completely opposite me, on the other side of the huge, hollow square table and still hear them perfectly. I could also isolate my own conversations so that none may eavesdrop.
Decorations are equally elaborate with huge displays of fresh flowers from all over the galaxy. There are hundreds of banners and tapestries, and dozens of holographic, animated art displays. The staff are real people, not servitors, and are wearing minimal clothing - sarongs and bikini tops, or small shorts and open short sleeved shirts. All of them move with an uncanny grace.
Brigid starts humming the theme tune to her old Deep Sea Chef holoshow and I struggle not to laugh.
The Machine-Spirits whisper to me that each of the banquet hall’s five themed areas are based off the architecture of Modren’s favourite locations that he’s visited: Scintilla, Capital of the Calixis Sector; Terra, Capital of the Imperium; and Cretacia, homeworld of the Flesh-Tearers Chapter, in Segmentum Tempestus. The stuffed dinosaurs and the plaques beneath them even claim Modren hunted the massive Cretacian predators himself.
I have my doubts.
The last two locations are Port Maw, and Vostroya. Port Maw, Gothic Sector, is an artificial world built by unknown xenos for unknown reasons that’s now one of the largest naval bases in the galaxy.
Vostroya, is a unique industrial world, neither Hive nor forge, that technically doesn’t belong to the Mechanicus, but is their vassal. It sells good, and ornate, infantry equipment. Vostroya is a highly polluted, icey world and as the Machine-Spirits happily feed me data of all the conversations they’ve overheard, I discover Modren likes Vostroya because they don’t ask questions when you buy weapons, or any of their other goods.
Unable to quite believe how bad the security is, I continue to download and review all the insalubrious conversations that have taken place in this room since it was installed some sixty Terran years ago.
I point Brigid towards the datafeed and she stiffens.
“Really?” she voxes, “A data breach of this level in our Fleet would see the culprits sent straight to the penal regiment!”
I review my request to the Machine-Spirit and realise that my E-WAR module falsified my credentials without me thinking about it.
I clear my throat into my hand, “I accidentally hacked it without realising. Still they really shouldn’t keep this data locally and abbreviate it into actionable notes.”
Brigid laughs.
“What puts you in such a joyous mood, Chief Purser Issengrund?” says Konrad.
“Oh!” says Brigid, “I’ve never seen such a display. These flowers are magnificent and the reversed gravity dancers are putting on a wonderful show! I’ve never seen such grace.”
Konrad gives Brigid a genuine smile, “I’ve always been fond of flowers. Such vibrant colours to offset the endless void that we travel through. The dancers are pleasant, though that’s more a passion project of Consort Ceasterwyrt. These ones are new and have only been with us a few weeks.”
“Do you not think that the stars outshine flowers?” says Brigid.
“When you’ve seen as many stars as I have, it rather takes the magic out of them,” says Konrad. “I can’t help but see their many hues as points on a chart that dictate where I must pilot my vessel, or how the radiation they emit might endanger my crew.”
“A work association taking the beauty out of celestial phenomena?” Brigid sighs, “I can see how that could happen.”
Finally, we catch sight of David Modren and Sciéno Ceasterwyrt. The consort’s name is outrageous and most likely a complete lie.
David has grey hair, golden eyes, and is slightly overweight. He’s of average height, at one hundred and seventy four centimetres. He’s dressed in a black, Victorian frock coat with gold epaulettes, and a white waistcoat wrapped with a single tasselled cummerbund.
Sciéno is tall, at two point one metres. As she glides towards us, she gesticulates grandly, chatting to David with a relaxed smile. A barely there, sparkly purple cocktail dress hugs her lithe body. Most of her skin coverage comes from an otherworldly quantity of jewellery: bangles, earrings, rings, anklets, torcs all densely encrusted with gems. Some are obviously xenos in origin, one of wraithbone and three of alloys I can’t identify.
All of these details, however, are washed away by the size and strength of her soul.
Consort Ceasterwyrt is a psyker.