Indomitus, p.8
Indomitus, page 8
The guns of the fortress opened fire again in response to the approach of the necron legion. Explosions ripped swathes through the advancing artificial warriors, scattering living metal amid blossoms of intense heat expansion. Where these detonations occurred nearby, Ah-hotep let free her energetic spirit, syphoning away the volatile reactions to channel the power back into the fractured bodies of Simut’s warriors. The process was harder than if she led her own troops but the overlord, ever jealous or suspicious of those around him, had forbidden the mobilisation of the phalanxes aboard Ah-hotep’s thrallship.
Bolts of star-stuff rained down, turning warriors to molten pools that Ah-hotep spun into renewed bodies with a simple extension of will. Around her the warriors could not die, sustained not only by their own superlative construction but also the energy-wielding abilities of the plasmancer. An emerald ghost-aura danced about her and the nearest echelons, swathing the advancing skeletal soldiers.
Elsewhere the weapons took a greater toll, but it mattered not to the plasmancer. The warriors that were struck down did not perish, but were transmitted back to their tomb ship for reconstitution. Any momentary discomfort they experienced was negligible and acceptable. Their form-deaths absorbed a good proportion of the humans’ defensive strength, distracting them from the threat posed by the plasmancer.
Ah-hotep was almost within range of the first shield generator when she felt a tingle in the core of her cortical essence. It was contact from the tomb ship in orbit, but she ignored it. Summoning her biotek field, she started to extend her influence towards the human power source, the first fronds of her touch tasting its crude but enticing voltage.
The communication whisper became more insistent.
Ah-hotep paused and flexed a cortical array to align herself with the incoming signal. She sent a dismissive rebuttal and returned her attention to the citadel.
An instant later a paralysing spasm wracked her body as the overlord’s summon-missive scattered through her engrams. Ah-hotep had just enough time to whip her extended essence back into the shell of her artificial body before the summons took effect. Displacement seared through her living metal frame, turning it from matter to energy and back again, translocating her presence to the command hub of Simut’s warship. The experience lasted an instant but its after-effects were unpleasant, her senses spinning as she attempted to rectify the massive gravitational displacement that skewed her essence like a mortal suffering vertigo.
Lightwaves flooded into Ah-hotep’s single facial lens, bringing her the image of Overlord Simut. He was sat on the command throne, a loop of cortical cabling snaking over his shoulder and into a socket on the side of his chest, interfacing directly with the tomb ship. His expression was a mask, as always, but his cortical aura transmitted annoyance every bit as vehemently as the deepest scowl. Wisps of emerald power flickered along his vestments and leapt to the armour and blade that flanked the army commander. Phetos stood at the bottom of the dais.
‘That was… unnecessary,’ Ah-hotep said, cutting back the remarks she wanted to share, seeing instantly that Simut was in no mood for disobedience.
His power was limited – the plasmancer had been assigned to the matrix force by order of Szarekh himself and was backed by the shadowy authority of the technomandrites. Within an acceptable margin of error, she was certain that Simut could not have her disintegrated. Even so, he was even more unpleasant when vexed.
‘I was enacting your will, overlord, even as you reached out to me.’
‘Your excuses are inconsequential, plasmancer. King Szarekh demands results and so do I.’
‘The last vestiges of enemy resistance were about to be overcome, overlord.’ Ah-hotep thought better of trying to blame Simut for the earlier delays. ‘Your preparatory attacks perfectly seeded the field for my phalanxes to harvest.’
‘My phalanxes, plasmancer.’ Simut settled back in the throne, his aura dimming, apparently mollified by Ah-hotep’s flattery. ‘Your efforts are unnecessary, however. Once the resonator is in place the humans will be rendered harmless. It is only a matter of time.’
‘My lord, that has served us well in the past but I do not think the strategy will work here.’ Ah-hotep was not sure where to begin describing how irresponsible it was to attempt to bring in the resonator before the enemy was fully subjugated. ‘If you would allow me–’
‘Witness our next victory in the making,’ commanded Simut, one hand gesturing towards the image wall, flecks of power crackling along the arm.
The display was an affectation, of course, emulating the physical senses Simut and Ah-hotep had once possessed. It was not needed; the data represented on the screens could be processed as pure cortical input. Wasteful. Extravagant, in fact, and that was the point. Even so, Ah-hotep had to concede there was something both majestic and comforting about seeing the fleet arrayed above the human world, the glint of ships in the local starlight, the great dark thrust of the resonator being moved into position for final descent to the surface.
A small portion of the screen showed the battle raging around the citadel. Without the plasmancer to break the energy defences, the necron phalanxes were being whittled down by barrages of fire, unable to gain a foothold within the precinct of the defensive structure.
‘The mortals’ resistance to the overnull is irritating but a passing obstacle,’ declared Simut.
‘The organisation of this world appears to be different to the previous inhabited planets, my lord.’ Ah-hotep allowed her cortical essence to combine briefly with the tomb ship, increasing the size of the citadel image. ‘They have concentrated military, civil and astromantic power in this one place. Had the resonator site been elsewhere, the threat would be negligible. Unfortunately, they have positioned their greatest defence almost exactly atop the point we must exploit.’
‘And that shall be their undoing. Watch.’
The fleet display magnified, closing in on the resonator. The blackstone shard hung between two gantry-like suspensor vessels, its surface dull but for the reflected light of the local star. The massive obelisk’s surface was not flat but carefully faceted, cut through with a tracery of necron astromantic circuitry. More precisely, anti-astromantic circuits, which diffused the power of the neversea.
‘The human astromancers are collected in the target area,’ said Ah-hotep, watching the resonator-ships accelerate effortlessly into lower orbit. ‘We must assume that other defences…’
A brilliant flash of white brightened on the sub-display of the human fortress.
CHAPTER TWO
A stunning combination of shock and horror crackled through Simut. The spear of energy from the planet’s surface appeared in the main display, diffracting slightly through the atmosphere so that a rainbow of colour struck the blackstone resonator. The defence laser was not powerful enough to harm the astromantic device but the beam deflected from the hard surface and sheared through one of the support ships.
The two neatly severed pieces of starship disconnected from the resonator and fell into the gravity well with balletic grace. The other vessel halted its inertialess engine immediately, but too late. Already the resonator was spinning into a decaying orbital ring. Within moments it was skimming the upper surface, flares of heat roiling along its sharp edges. Panicked demands pulsed through the tomb ship’s cortical field from other vessels, calling for emergency protocols to be enacted. For a few precious moments, Simut was overwhelmed, unable to correlate what was happening on the display with his vision of victory.
He eventually responded, affirming the rescue protocols, diverting processor authority to several lesser officers stationed through the fleet. A squadron of ships darted forward, gravity flails latching onto the departing resonator. The tomb ship sensed the pulse of hyperspatial engines digging deep for traction in the undersphere. Pulsed commands and responses flared between the four necron warships. The exchange resolved into comprehensible language inside Simut’s cortical interface.
Barque, Star of Natarun-4: Gravitic clutch increasing. Powering stabilisers to rear.
Barque, Star of Natarun-2: Insufficient dimensional grapple. Recalibrating.
Barque, Star of Natarun-1 [prime]: Balance required, stabilising efforts. Stop squabbling.
Barque, Star of Natarun-3: Secondary dimensional phase engaged. Motive traction enabled.
Barque, Star of Natarun-1 [prime]: All power to gravitic traction. Pull, you fools, pull harder.
Barque, Star of Natarun-2: Gravitic slippage critical, atmospheric interaction inevitable.
As both a falling spark and a stream of telemetry, Simut watched the attack barque burn up in the world’s atmosphere. As living metal shed in waves of silver lightning, a last flash of data soared along the cortical field and back to the tomb ship. The barque’s engrammatic presence settled into the resurrection core, awaiting the cryptek protocols to re-fashion its physical form.
The other ships managed to slow the descent of the blackstone resonator, aiding the lifter vessel with bursts of their gravitic impellers.
‘Fortunately it seems that the human’s defensive cannon is still recharging,’ reported Ah-hotep.
Simut was sure he detected some smugness from his subordinate, as if this wasn’t her failure too. In fact, had she pressed home the earlier attack the entire situation would have been avoided.
‘Your presence is no longer required,’ said the overlord. ‘The resistance to our plans will be eliminated.’
‘If you permit–’
‘I will not permit you the opportunity to fail me again, plasmancer,’ snapped Simut. Green flares of energy pulsed across his body to spiral along the tomb ship umbilical. ‘I have been left no choice but to replace you with the Skorpekh Lord Zozar.’
A pulse of genuine dismay slipped across their cortical field connection.
‘The Silent King has ordered that we preserve the lower lifeforms where possible, my lord,’ protested Ah-hotep. ‘They may prove useful later, as potential vessels for biotransference or an indentured workforce.’
Disdain flowed through Simut, discharging itself as jade energy streamers.
‘You dare invoke the name of my cousin to intimidate me?’ The words of Tholotep cycled through the overlord’s memories, goading him. ‘I think that perhaps the flesh-memory is too strong within you. You harbour a residual sentiment for these lower beings.’
‘Not at all!’ The plasmancer floated higher, vertebrae-tail twitching with anger. ‘I…’ Ah-hotep’s protests died away amid a stutter of cortical static.
‘You would do what, plasmancer? Take my command from me? Usurp my rule for your own? I do not forget how you inveigled yourself into this endeavour. Do not outstay your usefulness.’
The plasmancer drifted back and forth a few times before descending to the floor of the chamber, her essence purring with placating outputs.
‘Grant me one more chance to seize the citadel without destroying the humans entirely.’
Simut would allow her no more opportunity for distracting manipulation.
‘I have made my determination – my will shall now be enacted!’ Simut rose from the throne and flung a hand out towards Ah-hotep. The jade beam that lanced from his palm carried the dismissal protocols. The instant they touched her cortical pattern the protocols activated the plasmancer’s translocation field. A final stab of desperation from Ah-hotep faded as her body became a green mist and then disappeared, leaving a momentary afterglow in the airless command-mastaba.
It was perhaps a spiteful act, Simut conceded, but the plasmancer needed to be reminded of her position now and then. He was losing patience with her incompetence and passive insubordination.
‘Phetos, begin the canoptek reanimation process for Zozar and his legion.’
The royal warden turned to his lord, a wave of revulsion playing across the cortical field.
‘I am protocol-driven to request confirmation of that command, Celestial Lord of the Seven Stars,’ intoned Phetos. ‘I caution against waking the destroyers. Once reanimation has begun the end result is unpredictable. Extended exposure to the skorpekh legion increases the risk of engram degradation of all high echelon nobility.’
‘Do it,’ said Simut, focusing his attention on the citadel below. On the wall display it grew in size, obliterating all other images, an artificial mount surrounded by crackling energy and blossoms of fire. ‘Tell Zozar to kill them all.’
The royal warden’s eyes fixed on his master as the imperative was instilled across the cortical bonds.
‘He will need no such encouragement, my lord.’
Not since her reawakening had Ah-hotep been so sharply conscious of the emptiness of her tomb ship. Vassal to the command protocols of Simut, its stasis chambers remained dormant, only her presence reflecting back to her from the control matrix.
Alone.
Simut’s words bit deep, but not because of their truth. She cared nothing for the transient mortals of the world below. The energy they possessed was of passing interest but their existence was of no concern.
But to speak of the flesh…
The curse they all shared and yet most pretended was a gift. The biotransference to their artificial forms was hailed as an epoch of greatness, and not the vilest trick of the star gods. Yet they all yearned for their mortality once more, in many different ways. Eternity was too high a price to pay for dominion, and many of her fellow nobles had not been able to pay it. Ah-hotep’s own lusting after energy was perhaps a surrogate desire. Fulfilment was always beyond her but she craved the acquisition of the energy all the same. Like a flighty, mortal thing after all.
She floated along the empty corridors, lit only by the ghost ambience of her cortical field. She could translocate to anywhere on the ship but that cursed physicality hung upon her as heavy as chains. If one no longer cared for form, what was left but predetermined engrams moving along a nebulous cortical spiral matrix? Mortality had a long legacy and the necrons had not escaped its hold though their bodies had survived for an incomprehensible span of the universe.
Ah-hotep drifted, passing the great soldier dorms where five thousand of her warriors awaited the command to activate. A command she could not issue. Everywhere she sensed the hierolock of Szarekh’s dynasty, slaved to the will of Simut.
Her anger – a physical, hot-blooded thing that her wraith-body could no longer fully encapsulate – soared at the thought of the incompetent overlord. The humiliation of pandering to a noble who had in life been vain and stupid, and in afterlife was losing such scant faculties. The Silent King wielded his dynasty with unflinching despotism over those bound to his will in afterlife, their fates sworn to his protocols by inescapable cortical bonds. Hierarchy was absolute, the upper echelon a new elite equal to the nobility that had occupied it at the height of the necrontyr empire.
Her movement brought her into the inner chambers, surrounded by her elite guardians, as useless as inert hunks of rock or bags of flesh that had lost the spark of animus. A legion to command, wasting on the altar of paranoia and jealousy.
But there was one vault open, the door wards deactivated, the portal stone disembodied. Ah-hotep passed within, the seals flaring with power in recognition of her presence, burning briefly in hierograms unknown to any within the Szarekh dynasty.
It was no secret that she was a servant of the enigmatic technomandrites. It was, in truth, her relationship to the arch-engineers of the necrons that had brought her to the gaze of King Szarekh. Courting their favour and seeing her potential, the Silent King had readily agreed to her presence within the matrix expeditions. She wondered if it was simply poor fortune or a degree of cunning circumspection that had seen her placed within the tomb fleet of Simut. Had Szarekh deliberately kept her from the main effort? There was no reason to believe the king harboured any suspicions. If so, he was not the sort to indulge potential traitors, even if they came with the seal of the technomandrites. Simpler to believe that Ah-hotep had been placed with Simut because the king knew his cousin was incompetent.
If only Szarekh had seen fit to give her full access to the command protocols.
Instead she had nothing. She accessed the technomandrite dimensional wave transmitter and processed a fresh missive. There was little of note to report and as always she received no reply, not even an acknowledgement that her signal had been picked up.
Resigned to a future of irrelevancy, she closed the dimensional transmitter and relocated back to the command chamber. On arrival she powered the ship’s long-range sensors, ready to observe the distasteful spectacle about to be unleashed.
The wan light of the red sun caught in the pupils of her eyes, trapped there for the longest time. Zozar marvelled at the beauty, letting the sight seep into his every fibre as though he could make the sensation last for eternity.
Cleophatia’s happiness was infectious. It lifted his spirit even in these uncertain times. She made it easier to ignore the tumours that riddled her body, drew his mind away from the polyps that punctuated his. There was no sickness in her gaze.
They stood like that for a long time it seemed, together on the slope of the Evermount overlooking the capital. The ruddy light washed over the pyramidal buildings of the city below, catching like laser on capstones, dancing from one vertex to the next as a living thing, a monochrome zephyr that streamed along abandoned streets. All was quiet now. The rioters had no more strength, the rebels had been cowed, the disenfranchised infected no longer possessed the strength for upheaval.
