Vainglorious, p.28
Vainglorious, page 28
[82] Most of them, probably, though few would have any interest in doing so.
[83] Or, equally likely, were mislabelled, dumped in storage facilities and forgotten about, or sent to the wrong system entirely, with all the logistical expertise the Munitorum is famous for.
[84] Cain’s preferred mode of transport, the light scout vehicle having both a powerful enough engine to outrun most trouble and sufficient armour to offer some protection against the rest.
[85] Jurgen always maintained that he had a medicae dispensation to grow a beard, due to his comprehensive collection of skin diseases – a claim no Imperial Guard officer ever appears to have disputed, either because of his ambiguous status as a commissarial aide, the fact that the random eruptions of facial hair between patches of psoriasis seldom formed anything cohesive enough to be described as a beard in any case, or understandable apprehension about what the application of a razor might reveal.
[86] Something of an exaggeration, since even the largest mineral harvester would barely have come up to the knees of a Warhound, let alone something like a Reaver.
[87] Always a good idea when in an enclosed vehicle with Jurgen in the driving seat.
[88] Adeptus Mechanicus walkers, generally dubbed ‘Ironstriders’ for reasons which ought to be obvious given the average tech-priest’s lack of imagination, have a servitor embedded in their bodywork to take care of the routine piloting chores, allowing the exposed gunner riding them to be shot by the enemy as efficiently as possible.
[89] Assuming skitarii followed the same loading practice as the Adeptus Astartes and the Imperial Guard.
[90] Although, according to the official records, he left no known descendants, Cain occasionally employs turns of phrase which suggest he wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with the existence of small children – possibly a result of the time he spent as the regimental commissar of the Valhallan 597th, a mixed-gender regiment, where it’s safe to assume that human nature resulted in the inevitable ensuing welfare issues crossing his desk from time to time.
[91] Of course he may not have been, many skitarii being equipped with implanted weaponry to enhance their effectiveness in close combat.
[92] Which the vast majority of their order never actually saw for themselves.
[93] I might resent the implications of that, given our personal connection, if it weren’t for the fact that I’m honestly grateful I never had to choose between it and my duty to the Emperor.
[94] By which he means local law enforcers, rather than members of the Adeptus Arbites itself, a colloquial usage common among those who’ve spent their lives hopping from world to world; which, given the bewildering variety of local names for such functionaries, is hardly surprising.
[95] Personal equipment intended for the use of Space Marines is large and robust enough to be commensurate with their physiques, although their fine motor skills, as superior to those of common humanity as pretty much everything else about them, renders this not strictly necessary. Presumably this particular data-slate had been handed to him by Vorspung a few moments before.
[96] Or perhaps not. Some Chapters place a high value on artistic endeavour, reasoning that a truly accomplished warrior should balance destructiveness and creativity to better serve the Emperor, or that it cultivates a more flexible mind, thus enhancing their effectiveness on the battlefield. Or possibly both.
[97] Or Vorspung simply couldn’t overcome the impulse to elucidate common to members of his order, who seem to think the rest of us ill-informed at best, and little brighter than the average ork at worst.
[98] Maybe a very small one. If its void shields were down, and the entire crew had disembarked for a picnic. Then gone to sleep.
[99] Or possibly representations of particularly venerated machine parts, or even binharic data packets, the Adeptus Mechanicus’ idea of aesthetics being idiosyncratic at best by the standards of the rest of us.
[100] The first regiment Cain was assigned to, and from which Jurgen was detached to take up the role of his aide; an arrangement which seems to have suited their senior officers at least as much as the Commissariat.
[101] A pointless endeavour in Cain’s case, given his uncanny knack for finding his way through labyrinthine passageways.
[102] ‘Tithe’ being used here in its literal meaning of ‘one-tenth’ rather than its more common associational one of a tax or an obligation due to a higher authority.
[103] As noted before, Cain makes many references throughout his memoirs to having grown up in an underhive, without ever being specific enough to provide a clue as to which world it was on.
[104] In other words, no one.
[105] A character in a number of mystery plays, a form of popular entertainment on worlds in and around the Damocles Gulf, combining inspirational texts from the scriptures with slapstick comedy and scatological humour. These are traditionally performed on holy feast days by an amateur cast who eagerly seize the opportunity to lampoon local dignitaries before drinking and eating far too much, ostensibly in the name of the Emperor, at their expense.
[106] Knowledge rarely explained by the Adeptus Mechanicus, but it may be summed up as doctrinal differences, expertise in a particular area of techno-theology, or an abstract representation of the forge world they call home. Most speculation from outside, however, boils down to ‘No one knows, and no one really cares.’
[107] Relatively speaking; if Cain’s description of the layout of the mine is to be trusted, and it does accord with the visual records in most particulars, this part of the complex would still be around a kilometre below ground level.
[108] Presumably because the simple courtesy of allowing him to pass unimpeded wouldn’t have occurred to most genuine tech-priests in the complex.
[109] Probably no more than twenty or thirty kilometres an hour, in reality, but the claustrophobic conditions and close proximity to the surrounding rock undoubtedly made it seem a great deal faster.
[110] A circumstance not quite as rare as Cain seems to believe; for a man of the galaxy he can, on occasion, be quite endearingly naive.
[111] Since this would take several billion years, it would be a less than optimal solution – as Cain was shortly to discover, time was very much of the essence.
[112] Not for the first time, although, to be fair, his instinct for trouble was usually sound. Which was what made him so useful an informant.
[113] Would have, in fact.
[114] Although a few exceptions do spring to mind.
[115] Or perhaps not – the precise nature of necron perception, or lack of it, is still far from clear; their habit of teleporting away with all their casualties after losing an engagement has made research subjects somewhat hard to come by. Which, given their propensity to regenerate from even a pile of scrap, might actually be something of a mercy, come to think of it.
[116] Cain mentions similar feelings of disorientation in his previous accounts of entering necron tombs – an experience apparently shared by others, though precious few of them have emerged again to ask.
[117] Other than by necron wraiths, which are capable of phasing through solid matter, of course – since Cain doesn’t bother to mention these, and had certainly encountered them before, perhaps he was deliberately not thinking about the possibility.
[118] And the servitor, although he doesn’t bother to mention it again, which would seem to indicate that it went with them.
[119] Which is Astra Militarum jargon for ‘blown to perdition with as many explosives as possible’.
[120] Not quite as much of a disparity as it sounds – Cain was an exceptional marksman, and would have been able to take out a potential threat at a far greater range than most people equipped with a handgun. At which point he’d probably have attributed his success to sheer blind luck, claiming he was only hoping to keep their heads down.
[121] Not that it would have made much difference; he was an indifferent lip-reader at best.
[122] Quite a trick for a tech-priest, given the amount of metal in their faces.
[123] Which, to be fair, makes up an appreciable proportion of their language. Like many Valhallans, Jurgen was reasonably fluent in orkish, and could read their runes after a fashion, a cultural legacy of the greenskins’ unsuccessful invasion of his home world some generations before.
[124] In actual fact, this isn’t all that surprising, given the degree of augmetic enhancement to their cerebellums most tech-priests seem to indulge in. This process of ‘optimisation’ undoubtedly allows them to access more information more quickly, but at the expense of more human forms of cognition, such as idle curiosity, and, in all too many cases, self-preservation.
[125] If they even realised that was what it was, rather than simply an obstacle to be circumvented or removed; the precise nature and acuity of necron senses is still very much a matter of conjecture.
[126] He’s partially correct here, at least according to the most prevalent theories among the Ordo Xenos. The primary purpose of these constructs appears to be the maintenance of essential systems while the inhabitants of a tomb remain dormant; which isn’t to say that the tools they’re equipped with don’t make unpleasantly effective weapons under the right circumstances. And unlike Imperial servitors, these spyders, as they’ve inevitably been dubbed, can apparently be repurposed for any contingency, including combat, at a moment’s notice.
[127] A somewhat atypical outburst, to say the least, given his usual attitude of Horus take the hindmost. But it does illustrate the concern he genuinely seems to have felt for the trooper in the field, at least if his own survival wasn’t threatened by their own.
[128] Cain had observed some of the trophy-taking subcategory of necron warrior, dubbed ‘Flayed ones’ by those of my colleagues with a flair for the dramatic, on Simia Orichalcae.
[129] Of course I did – why else would I have made sure I used them in his presence?
[130] Quite possibly the only human in the galaxy able to make that boast – I’ve certainly failed to find any other instance on record of someone doing so, and being subsequently able to describe the experience.
[131] Decades of familiarity and practice, probably.
[132] Since driving conventions vary so widely from world to world, along with the vehicles to be found there, many seasoned travellers simply describe which side of a vehicle they’re referring to as ‘nearside’, meaning the one nearest the edge of the road, and ‘offside’, meaning the one nearest the centre.
[133] Highly unlikely, given the probable resolution of so small a screen, and the fact that the truck was moving so fast – more likely he’s extrapolating from what he’d seen in earlier encounters with the necrons in the interest of dramatic effect.
[134] Some small percentage of necron warriors do indeed seem to have a kind of limited autonomy, although how much and under what circumstances still remains unclear. They are generally encountered in groups – a single one in charge of ordinary warriors appears to be quite unusual, unless Cain is simply misinterpreting what he was seeing, and all were of this type.
[135] An Imperial Guard euphemism for the mercy killing of grievously wounded troopers.
[136] An arrangement of branching pneumatic tubes, through which sealed compartments containing passengers and other items can be quickly and easily conveyed. The abrupt changes of direction are usually compensated for by localised gravity units; even so, they are far from comfortable, and a strong stomach is recommended. Not unknown on planetary surfaces, but far less common; where they are employed, most people outside the Adeptus Mechanicus prefer to take the stairs.
[137] Already described in exhaustive detail in an earlier volume of his memoirs.
[138] Records of necron encounters tend to the fragmentary, given the low number of survivors, but the Ordo Xenos has begun to draw some tentative conclusions about the matter. The vast majority do indeed seem essentially devoid of intellect, but the leaders among them are clearly of a higher order, and have been observed communicating among themselves. Occasions on which they have conversed directly with members of other races are not entirely unknown either, although such exchanges tend to be rather on the terse side.
[139] The necrons have their own names for worlds and regions of the galaxy, not all of which even exist any more.
[140] The vessel which had conveyed him, and the ill-fated Mechanicus scavenging expedition, to Interitus Prime.
[141] The Astral Knights, whose heroic last stand is still commemorated and revered throughout the Imperium. There were, of course, a few survivors, chiefly detached units too far from the conflict to rejoin their battle-brothers in time, but too few to continue their Chapter’s traditions; they were absorbed into the newly founded Sable Swords as a veteran training cadre, with, apparently, great success.
[142] Almost certainly correctly.
[143] Perhaps some of the battle-brothers dabbled in pottery as well as painting.
[144] Having been persuaded to try it once, I strongly suspect the latter.
[145] A tactic more often adopted by orks than anyone else, although desperation has its own impetus, especially when facing foes like the necrons.
[146] Quite unlikely, in fact: if it really was as badly damaged as Cain describes, it would simply have been rendered down for spare parts and the metal it contained.
[147] After all, he’d had plenty of practice.
[148] Which had presumably been uploaded to their cortical processors, in the interests of verisimilitude.
[149] Some of them, anyway. Mott, my savant, can get distinctly tetchy on occasion.
[150] Guising is a custom on several worlds in and around the Damocles Gulf, where holidays marking the Emperor’s protection are celebrated by the populace dressing up as His most fearsome enemies before eating and drinking too much. Inevitably, the combination of relative anonymity and overindulgence creates difficulties for the local law enforcers, particularly as mutants and the Chaos-touched are able to mingle with the crowds without attracting as much attention as usual.
[151] Presumably Jurgen or one of the drivers had instructed the servitors where to place them while Cain had been talking.
[152] Presumably he means groups of around the same size as that Imperial Guard formation, which would mean twenty or thirty.
[153] No necron activity has been observed on Simia Orichalcae to date, but that doesn’t mean they’re not still burrowing away beneath the surface. Given the sheer scale of the destruction Cain triggered, it seems unlikely, though not impossible; in recent years growing numbers of orks have been detected from orbit, presumably descended from a few who survived the cataclysm, so the possibility cannot be entirely discounted.
[154] Or possibly rivals, considering his earlier remarks in Tezler’s living quarters.
[155] Given the average necron warrior’s lack of emotion, highly unlikely. Going by what little we understand of their limited intellect, they were probably inhibited by an innate prohibition against firing on their own kind, and, like a servitor faced with an unexpected contingency, simply reverted to the next most applicable instruction.
[156] From Inspiring Thoughts for Simple Minds, a Schola Progenium primer for commissarial cadets; whether he actually remembered this from his own education, or had whiled away the journey from Coronus preparing for his new pedagogical role, remains unclear.
[157] Though, like the Ecclesiarchy, the Adeptus Mechanicus likes to keep its internal divisions private, this does seem to be one of the major schisms within it; some tech-priests being eager to study alien technologies and artefacts, while others apparently consider their very existence an affront to the Omnissiah. Vorspung, perhaps fortunately, fell into the latter camp.
[158] The starship I commandeered for my personal use almost a century ago – the life of an inquisitor tends to the peripatetic, and it’s nice to have somewhere to call home. Particularly if it has a couple of lance batteries and a torpedo bay to discourage unwanted visitors.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sandy Mitchell is the author of a long-running series of Warhammer 40,000 novels, short stories and audio dramas about the Hero of the Imperium, Commissar Ciaphas Cain. His other stories include ‘A Good Man’, included in the Sabbat Worlds anthology, and several novels set in the Warhammer World. He lives and works in Cambridge.
An extract from Steel Tread.
The Salamander was a light armoured vehicle, often employed for scouting purposes, or to ferry officers around hostile warzones. As with so many enduring Imperial technologies, its design leaned upon rugged simplicity. Salamanders were built for speed and resilience.
They were not, reflected Etsul, made for comfort.
She was crammed onto the Salamander’s open-topped fighting platform along with the tattooed Geskan, Lieutenant Aswold, three Cadian infantry officers and all their kitbags. Adding to the press were the Salamander’s commander, its gunner and a robed Munitorum adept. He had introduced himself as Umboldt while herding them aboard their transport back at Mandriga command. He had not spoken since, and clung to a grab rail with an intensity that bespoke either annoyance or fear.
Aswold had made some attempts at conversation, but Etsul fended them away. She hung on near the rear of the vehicle’s troop bay, and fell back upon a calming technique Commander Masenwe had taught his crew.
‘Widen your focus,’ he had always said. ‘Observe the world around you. Anchor yourself in its details. Tally patterns or coloured objects, it sometimes helps. It’s no bad thing to glue your eyes to your targeter, but be sure to look up at the wider battle once in a while.’
Etsul started with the sky. It looked bruised today, blue and amber swirling like milk stirred into recaff. She counted five distinct rafts of cloud coiling across the heavens. They diffused the light of Croatoas’ star and made it possible to look skyward without risking a poisonous glimpse of the Rift.
