Vainglorious, p.22
Vainglorious, page 22
Reminded again of the presence of the workers down here, I pushed what was left of my own door out of the way, and leant out of the cab, gesticulating wildly.
‘Run!’ I yelled, my voice completely lost in the racket surrounding us. ‘Run for your lives!’ A panic-stricken glance behind us confirmed my worst fears – the necrons had reached the cavern, and were fanning out, their sinisterly glowing weapons at the ready. But, to my surprise, they didn’t immediately begin slaughtering everyone in sight; they simply plodded after us at their usual unhurried pace, apparently indifferent to the feverish activity surrounding them. That gave me pause, I have to admit – after their earlier sprint, the sudden change struck me as somehow confident, cocky almost. An emotion necrons definitely didn’t have; though they didn’t have any others either, come to that.
It was then that I noticed the most shocking sight I’d yet seen, in a day positively crammed with them. A necron a few paces ahead of the pack seemed a little different from the rest; as I watched, it turned its head, glancing at its surroundings with what seemed to be vague interest, before freezing into momentary immobility, like a tech-priest communing with the surrounding data flow. The others promptly changed direction, widening the skirmish line. This was the first time I’d seen anything resembling an officer among the living machines, let alone one apparently capable of something resembling independent thought instead of just following what seemed to be an instinctive drive to annihilate everything in its path.[134]
‘Why aren’t they killing everyone yet?’ Jurgen asked, and I shook my head, equally baffled.
‘Beats me,’ I admitted, not really caring – so long as they weren’t shooting at us, that was fine by me. I glanced back again, still scarcely able to credit what I’d seen, and the true horror of our situation suddenly became apparent. The necron leader was passing a couple of the local tech-priests, perhaps the ones Jurgen had almost mown down in our precipitate progress across the cavern; instead of fleeing, or simply staring at the metallic abominations in their midst in shocked incomprehension, both merely inclined their heads and made the sign of the cogwheel before going about their business.
‘Holy Throne, the rank and file are in on it too!’ Or a fair proportion of them, anyway. Which meant no one in the mine from Tezler on down could be trusted, and everyone we met was a potential enemy.
Well, you may think, no change there – I’d been working on that assumption since we first set foot in Metallum Majoris. But whatever I’d thought the conspirators we sought had been up to, this was far more heinous than my worst imaginings.
‘That won’t end well,’ Jurgen opined, still fighting the controls as our battered truck bounced and slithered across the cavern floor, slaloming through the obstacles littering it far faster than anything I’d wager had been seen down here in living memory. (Or unliving, if you counted the necrons.) By some miracle we still hadn’t hit anything, or anyone, but that didn’t make us safe. On the contrary, the sinister metal figures I could see were clearly still after us, and I had no doubt that if they hadn’t been instructed not to use their weapons where there was the possibility of evaporating a cogboy or two by accident, we would have been under fire the whole way. Why that seemed to be a consideration for them I had no idea at the time, but simply thanked the Throne for the brief respite.
Which I meant to use to its fullest advantage. Tapping my comm-bead, I tried to find the frequency I’d used before in an attempt to contact Morie, still hoping against hope that I’d be able to yell for help – or, better still, be reassured that my earlier message had got through, and that it was already on the way. Predictably, however, I was to be disappointed, finding only a wash of white noise so strong that the channel had to be being deliberately jammed.
‘We’re on our own,’ I told Jurgen, as our much-abused truck bounced over a set of tramlines, and entered a broad, high tunnel carved into the bedrock, sloping gently upwards. The engine growled and rattled, and the whole thing shook worse than ever. We seemed to be moving more slowly, too, I noticed, although I forbore to mention it, knowing that my aide was doing his best, and that hardly anyone else would have been able to keep the motile scrap pile moving at all.
‘No change there then,’ he responded phlegmatically, which, perversely, I found somewhat encouraging. We’d certainly been in enough dire situations together over the years, more often than not with no help to be had, and we’d managed to survive well enough.
‘I suppose not,’ I agreed, and took another glance at the pict screen. It was hard to pick out our pursuers from the rest of the activity in my narrowing view of the cavern behind us, but I was sure they were hard on our heels, moving metallic glints appearing intermittently, and worryingly close. Not for the first time I found myself reflecting how much ground a steady pace could cover in a frighteningly short period, unbroken by a single misstep or slowed by fatigue. ‘At least we seem to be keeping out of range.’ So far, at least.
Traffic in the tunnel was light, people on foot for the most part, interspersed with the inevitable servitors moving heavy equipment about, but there were no other vehicles in sight; something I found both encouraging and worrying in equal measure. Encouraging because Jurgen could keep his foot down without having to evade any significant obstruction, and worrying because the paucity of other traffic implied that it was relatively rare this deep in the mine, and a replacement for our labouring truck was going to be hard to come by if it gave up the ghost.
Which seemed more and more likely by the moment. We were definitely losing speed now, Jurgen dropping down through the gears in an attempt to keep the wheels turning, while the jolting and buffeting was getting more pronounced than ever.
‘Drivetrain must be damaged,’ Jurgen said, as though simply exchanging pleasantries. He shrugged. ‘Can’t say I’m surprised, after all the holes the tinheads have put in us.’
‘Looks that way,’ I agreed, as if I knew what he was talking about; but whatever it was, I was inclined to take his word for it, given the number of vehicles he’d pushed to their limits and beyond over the years. ‘Will it hold together long enough to get us to the upper levels?’
One of these days I’m going to learn to stop asking questions like that. Hardly had the words left my mouth than a loud crack echoed from the tunnel walls enclosing us, and the truck shuddered to a halt, its motor racing, and, by the sound of it, trying to shake itself to pieces inside the scored and perforated engine compartment.
‘Don’t think so, sir, no,’ Jurgen said regretfully, reaching out to cut the power. Relative silence descended, as though he’d just granted the mortally wounded vehicle the Emperor’s Peace.[135]
‘So we’re on foot from now on,’ I said, clambering down from what was left of the cab, and drawing my laspistol, indifferent to the curious glances of a couple of passing artisans. I looked back down the tunnel. We’d come a little further than I’d realised, but our head start was being eroded by the second.
‘Best get moving, then,’ Jurgen agreed, jumping from the cab and scrambling for his weapons.
‘We had,’ I said, striding out up the gently sloping tunnel as I spoke, Jurgen falling in at my shoulder as always. It receded into the distance, no sign of any side passages which might have afforded some measure of concealment, and my heart sank at the realisation. We couldn’t outpace our tireless pursuers, that much was obvious; our only chance of survival would be to somehow give them the slip. Which would be far easier said than done.
Despite my apprehension I couldn’t resist glancing back once more as we set off, and immediately wished I hadn’t; sinister metal figures were already entering the tunnel, their hellish weapons glowing visibly in the reduced illumination of the widely spaced electro-sconces set into the walls every thirty or forty metres. At this rate they’d be in firing range within moments, and I picked up my pace a little, fighting the urge to run. Understandable as it was, giving in to the impulse would be fatal; Jurgen and I would tire quickly, especially as we were moving uphill the whole way, and as soon as we began to slow the gap would close. Almost by instinct we fell into the traditional infantryman’s gait, which would eat up the kilometres as efficiently as possible, hoping that would keep us far enough ahead to find some kind of shelter or means of escape before our relentless pursuers came into effective range.
‘Traffic’s thinning out,’ Jurgen said after a few moments, and I nodded.
‘I noticed that too,’ I said, not bothering to add that I’d hoped it had only been my paranoia imagining the worst. But he was undeniably right. The number of mine workers traversing the passage had dwindled perceptibly in the last few minutes – in fact we were practically alone now. And that could only mean one thing. Someone was diverting them away from this gallery. I could think of several reasons for that, and liked none of them. ‘All we can do is press on.’
Which was becoming more and more difficult, I have to admit. We’d been down here for hours by now, don’t forget, at a time when we’d expected to be sleeping, and our little adventures on the way had been strenuous to say the least. I was definitely beginning to flag, and although Jurgen remained as stoic as ever, I had no doubt that he too was feeling the strain.
I glanced back again, finding my worst fears realised. Our pursuers had gained a little ground, and their weapons were readied for use. Galvanised, I picked up my pace again, Jurgen following suit as always, but all too soon our footfalls became laggardly, the constant slope sapping our energy as though we were wading through a swamp. I began to feel uncannily as if we were trapped in one of those nightmares where something formless and evil is dogging your heels just out of sight, but in this case the evil was all too visible, and becoming closer every time I turned my head. My breath began to rasp in my throat, and I cast around desperately for any kind of refuge, even a discarded crate we could hide behind long enough to engage our pursuers, but fortunately, perhaps, there was nothing, not even an irregularity in the tunnel walls sufficiently large to provide a bit of cover. Fortunately, because attempting to stand and fight would simply have got both of us killed, and it was only the fatigue dulling my synapses which prompted the thought in the first place.
‘Shouldn’t we have reached a side passage by now?’ Jurgen asked, as though the mine was somehow breaching etiquette by failing to provide one.
‘Probably,’ I agreed. We were still some way from the mapped portion of the complex by my estimate, but the lack of other galleries intersecting with this one seemed puzzling to me. The only explanation I could think of was that this tunnel had been constructed specifically to access the necron tomb, which could only mean in turn that prodigious amounts of refined materials had vanished through the warp portal in the last few years. Despite our immediate predicament, I found myself wondering what that could mean – why would the lifeless metal killers need so much of it?
‘There’s something up ahead,’ Jurgen said, just as a beam of necrotic light struck the tunnel wall close to our position, punching a neat circular shaft in the bedrock deeper than I could easily see. It had probably been a ranging shot rather than a serious attempt to kill us, but we took to our heels anyway, all thought of conserving our energy forgotten. ‘Praise the Throne, it’s a door!’
‘Looks like it,’ I agreed, trying to focus on the metallic structure which protruded from the tunnel wall ahead of us. It was curved, like part of a pipe, and, as my aide had pointed out, a door had been set into it, following the shape of the cylinder. For a moment I couldn’t make out what it was, other than a potential way out of here, then realisation struck. ‘It’s a transport tube, like some of the void stations have!’[136]
‘I think you’re right, sir,’ Jurgen said, as though the matter were of no more than academic interest. ‘Wonder where it goes?’
‘Who cares?’ I asked, not entirely rhetorically, ‘so long as it’s deficient in necrons.’ We panted up to it, and I slapped the activation plate, hoping the door would open. It didn’t, but a panel lit up, counting down the time until the next piston arrived. At almost the same moment another gauss flayer beam ripped through the air between us, and I whirled round, bringing my laspistol to bear.
The hideous things were closer than even my most pessimistic estimate, evenly spaced across the width of the tunnel, advancing in lockstep, highlights from the electro-sconces glittering from their torsos and skull-like heads. I cracked off a couple of shots, which seemed to do little more than raise rapidly fading blemishes on the chest of the one I took for their leader. The automaton turned its head to look directly at me as though in mild reproof. Its weapon was bulkier than those of its subordinates, and although I had no idea what it might do, I instinctively regarded it as the greater threat.
‘Aim for that one!’ I called to Jurgen, who by now was already levelling the melta. Too preoccupied to respond, he merely grunted something I took for acquiescence, and squeezed the trigger.
The results were highly satisfying, at least for a short while. The burst of thermal energy struck its target, square on the peculiar weapon it carried, the backwash gouging a deep crater in the leader’s torso. Then, to my dismay, it strode on regardless, ignoring the damage which should have felled it, and bringing the huge and sinister-looking gun to bear. As it did so its subordinates echoed the gesture, every gauss flayer being levelled at us with a simultaneous precision which would have elicited a grudging nod of approval from even the most exacting of drill sergeants.
For a moment I stared death in the face, squeezing the trigger of my laspistol in the forlorn hope of getting off one more retaliatory las-bolt before my mortal frame shrivelled into nothingness; then the damaged necron weapon sparked, exploded and wreathed the entire squad in a storm of lightning bolts, which jumped from one to the other in a maelstrom of destructive energy. The air became acrid with the stench of ozone, and the leader dropped, the metal of which it was composed distorting and flowing like candle wax. The warriors nearest to it fared little better, staggering back, wreathed in eldritch fire, coming apart at the seams even as we watched.
‘Lucky I clipped it,’ Jurgen remarked. ‘Wouldn’t want to be on the wrong end of that.’
‘Neither would I,’ I agreed, with a faintly panic-stricken glance at the numbers still counting down on the door panel. The transport capsule was almost here, but was still taking a bit too long about it for my liking. ‘Better stay sharp. These things take a lot to put down.’
Well, I wasn’t wrong about that. As the lightning storm subsided, the leader and the most badly damaged of the soldiery accompanying it faded from view, the crack of air floating into the sudden voids they no longer occupied being drowned out by a last few electrical discharges. The survivors, however, resumed their relentless forward march, a volley of gauss flayer fire slicing the air ahead of them. A few of my laspistol bolts found their mark, having just as little effect as before, and Jurgen downed another by the simple expedient of vaporising one of its legs, leaving it scrabbling forward trying to shoot one-handed from the ground, but we were still outnumbered and outgunned – barring a miracle, we had only seconds left.
Then the door to the travel pod swung smoothly aside, releasing a hiss of compressed air and a hymn to the Omnissiah that sounded like somebody failing to juggle a pile of scrap.
‘Get in!’ I yelled, following my own advice, Jurgen hard on my heels. I smacked the closure rune, and the door thudded into place behind us, cutting off the resonant clatter of metal on stone, and sealing us in with Jurgen’s distinctive odour and the cacophonous melody. An irritation I relieved us of almost at once by the simple expedient of putting a las-bolt through the speaker.
‘Where to, sir?’ Jurgen was studying the controls, which seemed to be displaying a bewildering array of potential destinations.
‘Anywhere but here!’ I snapped, as a resonant clang echoed through our surroundings. It wasn’t going to take the necrons long to get through the doorway, even if they didn’t bother just vaporising it with their flayers. I hit the activator, and a sudden surge of motion almost knocked me off my feet. If my inner ear could be trusted we were rising fast, which was fine by me. Now we were on the move, I joined Jurgen in peering at the read-outs. ‘Looks as though we’re just going to whatever the last destination somebody picked is.’
‘Oh, right.’ Jurgen scratched absent-mindedly at one of his larger patches of psoriasis, and shrugged. ‘Don’t suppose it can be any worse than where we’ve just been, anyway.’
Which was tempting fate if anything was.
TWENTY-FIVE
As the transport pod lurched and rattled its way towards the surface, with a complete disregard for the comfort of its occupants which made me suspect that only senior tech-priests ever used the thing, I began to wonder who’d built the network and why. Given that no one had mentioned its existence to me at any point since our arrival, and that we’d boarded it in a part of the mine Tezler had gone to some pains to prevent me finding out about, I suspected it connected concealed sites crucial to the conspiracy; perhaps even harbouring more necrons. Which meant that, wherever we were going, we were likely to find ourselves among enemies when we arrived. I said as much to Jurgen, who nodded soberly.
‘Don’t suppose we’re going to find many friends around here,’ he agreed.
That reminded me of Morie again, and I activated my vox-bead, only to discover that we were still being jammed on all the frequencies I could reach. Though I still hadn’t given up all hope of getting through to him, it looked as if we’d be on our own for a while yet.
The pod jerked again, then came to a sudden halt. For a moment nothing happened, then the clunk of disengaging latches echoed around the enclosed space, followed by another hiss of equalising pressure. I lifted my weapons as the door slid open, but no enemies appeared, and I took a deep breath.
