Vainglorious, p.4
Vainglorious, page 4
Preliminary cost/benefit analysis [see Appendix 69(a–c, f, k–m) and associated footnotes] would indicate efficiency savings of three hundred and forty-nine per cent over the mass augmentation option should this course of action be chosen, and terraforming is therefore recommended in this case.
FOUR
I’ve seen a great many forge worlds from orbit over the decades, their all-enveloping clouds of effluvia making them look pretty much of a muchness, and was expecting more of the same – but my first sight of Eucopia came as something of a surprise. As our shuttle emerged slowly from its hangar bay into the harsh light of a sun unmediated by any trace of an atmosphere, the swell of the planet became gradually visible behind the vast wall of metal behind us, growing to dominate the view as the blocky little utility vessel moved around the hull of the starship[20] which had brought us here.
‘Doesn’t look too bad,’ Jurgen said, craning his neck to peer through the viewport, and favouring me with a quick burst of halitosis, before returning his attention to what looked like a bag of caba nuts retrieved from somewhere among the collection of webbing pouches with which he was habitually festooned. Since the Emperor Himself probably had no idea how long they’d been there, I refused the proffered handful with perfunctory thanks, and devoted rather more of my attention to our destination than my aide had.
My first impression was one of desolation, stark plains of drifted sand in muted browns and greys, from which hills and mountain ranges grew like barren reefs. Faint wisps of cloud swirled in the air below us, but barely enough to floss your teeth with; certainly the likelihood of any of them coalescing sufficiently to squeeze out a raindrop or two was low in the extreme.
As we descended into the tenuous upper atmosphere, and my aide adopted the familiar queasy expression which usually accompanied any form of air travel, I began to make out the topography of the world that awaited us in a little more detail. Gullies and crevasses appeared in the areas of naked rock, apparently scoured by the wind or ancient geological processes, since water appeared to be entirely absent. Far in the distance a vast structure loomed several kilometres into the air, too smooth and regular to be a natural formation.
‘Is that a hive spire?’ Jurgen asked, no doubt pleased to have something to distract him from his sensitive stomach.
I shook my head. ‘One of the atmospheric engines, I think.’ Eucopia was newly settled, after all, and had nothing like the population required to support a hive complex – although give it a few millennia and it would probably be just as crowded as any other forge world.
Jurgen’s brow furrowed, dislodging a few particles of grime in the process. ‘Sorry, sir, you just lost me.’
‘Part of the terraforming effort,’ I said, knowing little more than he did, since I’d paid only the most cursory attention to the briefing slate. ‘I’m told this miserable rock was completely unliveable before the Mechanicus started work on it.’ As opposed to being only mostly unliveable now. As we drew even closer to the surface, I began to make out patches of lichen mottling some of the hillsides, and wondered idly if they were native to Eucopia or had been introduced by the environmental enginseers. ‘They’re breaking down the minerals to release the gases we need to breathe.’
‘Blimey.’ My aide contemplated this for a moment. ‘They must have some really small chisels.’
‘I expect they do,’ I said, any other response being unlikely to bring the ensuing conversation to an end before we reached the ground. Our shuttle changed course by a degree or two, slotting neatly between two mountain peaks, and our destination came into view at last. Not a hive, by any stretch of the imagination, but sizeable enough nonetheless: a sprawling conglomeration of manufactoria and their associated hab-units filling a valley surrounded by scarps and tors, across which building-sized mineral harvesters were trundling. Craning my neck as we passed over one, I could see the load hopper was only half full, instead of stuffed with raw materials as it should have been.
‘That must be it,’ Jurgen said, his voice suffused with relief as the noise of the engine increased in pitch, and the shuttle began to descend towards a landing pad on the roof of the largest and most ornate structure in the complex. Unlike almost every other Mechanicus manufacturing facility I’d ever seen, it lacked a coating of grime, the devotional icons of the Omnissiah and the sacred cogwheel encrusting its surface gleaming brightly in the setting sun. ‘Do you think that’s the welcoming committee?’
‘Probably,’ I said, catching sight of a small group of tech-priests waiting by the edge of the pad. I couldn’t make out much at this distance, apart from a vaguely defined melange of russet robes and gleaming metal augmetics, but they seemed quite senior, judging by the metal to flesh ratio and the amount of it which appeared to have been gilded. I found myself wondering if the bafflingly absent Tyron Clode had been similarly honoured, and felt my hands drift to the hilt of my chainsword and the butt of my laspistol for reassurance, before reason reasserted itself. Whatever had befallen him, it was hardly likely that anyone would make an attempt on my life quite so soon, or so publicly, come to that. On the other hand, it never hurt to be prudent, and I made sure the weapons were loose enough for a quick draw if that turned out to be necessary.
We grounded with a faint bump, a tribute to the skill of our pilot, and waited a moment while the engines powered down. Feeling the sturdy little vessel sink a little lower on its landing gear, I stood and checked the angle of my cap and the hang of my sash almost by reflex. Heroes of the Imperium were supposed to look the part, and making a good first impression on my reluctant hosts would undoubtedly aid my endeavours on the lord general’s behalf.
Not that I had much of an idea what I was actually supposed to be doing, other than asking a few discreet questions while dispensing the usual diplomatic platitudes, but that would probably suffice for the present – Throne alone knew, I’d had enough practice at that sort of thing.
Leaving Jurgen to sort out our kitbags, I strode to the hatch and waited for the boarding ramp to descend. The seals broke with a faint hiss, and a bone-chilling cold immediately swept into the passenger compartment, accompanied by a few faint wisps of mist as the air around me began to condense. I gasped reflexively, my lungs straining, and a wave of dizziness swept over me.
‘Commissar. Welcome to Eucopia.’ The delegation of tech-priests was waiting for me at the bottom of the ramp, the most metallic and ornately robed at their head. His voxcoder sounded unusually faint and high-pitched for such a device.
‘A pleasure to be here,’ I lied, the words constricting in my throat, and tottered down the ramp to meet them, trying to ignore the black, swirling clouds which suddenly seemed to be encroaching on my peripheral vision.
‘Are you functioning within normal operating parameters?’ the gnat-like whine enquired, the tech-priest’s head inclining in a manner I took to be indicative of concern.
‘I’ll be fine,’ I said, my own voice sounding peculiarly attenuated as well. A memory dredged itself up from the depths of my subconscious, of the air gushing from Amberley’s suite on one of the highest levels of a hive spire on Chyroprase after a couple of stray bolter rounds weakened the armourcrys window,[21] and the precise nature of my predicament suddenly became clear to me. ‘Just need a bit more air.’
‘I’ve got you, sir.’ Jurgen materialised at my elbow, having abandoned our luggage, offering the support of a grubby but nonetheless welcome arm. He seemed surprisingly unaffected by the conditions here, although I suppose that at least the cold didn’t bother him unduly,[22] leaving him better able to cope with the tenuous atmosphere. ‘This way.’ Ignoring the disconcerted delegation, he led the way across the pristine rooftop to an open access door in the side of a higher outcrop of the main building, faced with a vertigo-inducing mosaic of interconnected cogwheels.
‘My most profound apologies.’ The senior tech-priest scurried after us, a comet tail of his subordinates trailing out behind him. ‘We so rarely get unaugmented visitors the thinness of the atmosphere quite slipped my mind.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ I gasped, my vision greying; then a door slammed to behind us, a burst of artificial light assaulted my retinas, and welcome air surged into my lungs.
‘Only a temporary problem, I assure you,’ the magos went on, looking and sounding about as embarrassed as it was possible to with a face composed almost entirely of ironmongery and a voice which resembled nothing so much as a large insect trapped inside a box now that I was able to hear it properly. ‘The atmosphere will be perfectly adequate for the unaugmented within seventy to eighty standard years.’[23]
‘I don’t imagine I’ll be taking advantage of your hospitality for quite that long,’ I said, taking another surprisingly welcome draught of Jurgen’s unique aroma, and held out a hand to shake. ‘But if I go out to admire the scenery, I’ll remember to take a breather mask.’
After regarding my hand dubiously for a moment my host appeared to remember the appropriate social ritual, and took it in one of his own, which, to my distinct lack of surprise, had very little of the organic about it. ‘Magos Vorspung,’ he said, ‘Omniprophet of Eucopia.’[24] He broke off, loosening his grip and studying my hand with intense interest. ‘Your fingers would appear to be of exceptional workmanship.’
‘Master-crafted, I believe,’ I said, peeling the glove off to allow him a closer look. Not something I’d normally do in public, but you know me – anything to make a favourable impression, and this seemed as good a way as any to get him onside. ‘By a Techmarine from the Reclaimers Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes.’
‘So I’ve heard.’ He stared at the digits in question for a moment, while his hangers-on milled around trying to pretend they weren’t as fascinated as he was, then returned his gaze to my face. ‘We’re aware of the connection between you, of course.’
‘Of course,’ I said, wondering briefly how he knew, before remembering that the Reclaimers had something of a special relationship with the Adeptus Mechanicus. Space Marines weren’t exactly inclined to gossip, but I suppose my name would have come up from time to time, especially after the recent unpleasantness on Fecundia, in which the acolytes of the Omnissiah hadn’t been entirely uninvolved themselves. ‘Been a while since I’ve served with them on a more formal basis’ – given the Astartes’ predilection for charging in with bolters blazing at the first sign of trouble that was a good thing too, if you asked me; although if push comes to shove, a genetically engineered superhuman in ceramite power armour’s a lot better to hide behind than the average Guard trooper – ‘but it was certainly a memorable experience.’ Especially the part where I’d got dragged along on the suicidal boarding of a space hulk we’d spent several months tracking through the warp.
‘I’m sure it was,’ Vorspung agreed.
‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ Jurgen interjected, ‘but would now be a good time to go back to the shuttle for our kit?’
Vorspung and his companions were, for the most part, unable to muster the expression of vaguely horrified bemusement most people adopted on first encountering my aide. I had no doubt they would have done had they still possessed enough flesh in their faces to be able to, now they’d been reminded of his presence.
‘My aide, Gunner Jurgen,’ I said, making the vague hand gestures common to perfunctory introductions throughout the galaxy.
Vorspung rallied with commendable speed. ‘I’ll have your belongings collected,’ he said, ‘and transferred to your quarters. I trust that would be satisfactory?’
‘Eminently,’ I agreed, before Jurgen could object. Knowing him, he’d consider it a point of honour to take care of my possessions himself, regardless of the consequences, and I really didn’t want the only other person on the planet I trusted incapacitated unnecessarily.
Vorspung nodded, a faint air of relief settling around him like another layer of over-ornamented fabric. Which I could hardly blame him for; having lost one envoy already, he could hardly be expected to relish explaining to Zyvan that the Astra Militarum representative had gone the same way as the Adeptus Mechanicus one. Which reminded me, I might as well start as I meant to go on…
‘At least your last visitor won’t have been quite so incommoded on his arrival,’ I said, inflecting it like a casual pleasantry.
‘Young Clode, you mean?’ Vorspung didn’t miss a beat, although I suppose I’d have had better luck spotting any signs of unease or evasion in someone less thoroughly augmented. ‘I wasn’t aware that you were acquainted.’
‘We’re not,’ I said, pretending to take the remark at face value. ‘But I gather we’re here on similar business, so it might be helpful to compare notes if the opportunity arises.’
‘A most rational conclusion,’ Vorspung agreed. ‘I look forward to your combined input.’ He began to walk down the corridor, clearly expecting Jurgen and I to follow, so we did, continuing the conversation as we went. ‘No doubt the Militarum is as aware as our counterparts at the shrine on Coronus that we’re experiencing some unforeseen complications in the commissioning of the manufactory here.’
‘It’s come up in the conversation,’ I conceded. ‘And since I was on my way to Perlia anyway, the lord general suggested I might like to drop by and learn enough about the situation to reassure him that you’re on top of things.’ I’ve never been averse to dropping names if they’re likely to be caught, and it wouldn’t hurt to make it absolutely clear that I was acting on behalf of the highest authority. Especially if something really had happened to Clode, and Vorspung knew about it; that way I was much more likely to be fobbed off than assassinated. Which worked for me.
‘We will be happy to assist you in any way we can, of course,’ Vorspung said. ‘But if I might suggest that you rest and consume nutriment before commencing your enquiries? It would hardly be conducive to them if you were still operating at suboptimal levels of efficiency.’ Which was as close as the average tech-priest was ever likely to come to suggesting a meal and a decent night’s sleep before getting to work. A sentiment I found myself in full agreement with, as it happened, since I was still feeling the effects of having been exposed to the tenuous atmosphere.
So much so, in fact, that our surroundings barely registered with me, beyond the gleaming metal surfaces and examples of particularly revered techno-theological junk being protected from the sticky fingers of the unhallowed by the dusty glass cases common to corridors in Mechanicus shrines. Most of the hangers-on from the welcoming party drifted away en route to the guest quarters, leaving only Vorspung himself and a couple of aides too junior to have said anything[25] still with us by the time we reached the rooms set aside for our use.
‘That was quick,’ Jurgen said, a note of approval entering his voice as a servitor plodded up to us, carrying our kitbags. He took them and disappeared into our quarters, leaving me alone with the tech-priest.
‘I look forward to resuming our conversation tomorrow morning,’ Vorspung said, in the faintly stilted manner of someone for whom small talk might just as well have been a dialect of the aeldari language.[26]
‘As do I,’ I agreed, with more politeness than sincerity. Then I added, as an apparent afterthought, ‘Will Magos Clode be joining us?’
‘I couldn’t say.’ There was no doubt about it, Vorspung was noticeably disconcerted by the question. ‘He hasn’t been in contact for some time.’
‘Forgive me,’ I said, feeling distinctly apprehensive all of a sudden, but hiding it with the ease of a lifetime’s practice at dissembling, ‘but I was under the impression that you were monitoring pretty much everything that happens on Eucopia.’
‘In the abstract, yes,’ Vorspung said, manifestly happier to be back on surer conceptual ground. ‘But the aggregated data points to wider trends in production, material flow and usage of resources. The whereabouts and activities of a single individual would be well below the granularity of the information we normally process in the analyticae.’
‘I see,’ I said, pretending I did. ‘A planet’s a pretty big place for one man to get lost in.’ Not a thought I found particularly comforting, under the circumstances.
‘Quite so,’ Vorspung agreed. He paused for a moment, as though waiting for me to continue the conversation, then inclined his head in a manner I took to be formal. ‘Until tomorrow, then.’
‘Pleasant dreams,’ I said, the first reflexive pleasantry to spring to mind.
Vorspung looked surprised, then faintly confused. ‘I don’t dream,’ he said. ‘That would be an inefficient use of my cortical processors. But thank you for your good wishes.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ I said, and went to turn in.
Editorial Note:
Though Cain mentions in passing the importance of Eucopia to the Imperium, just how pivotal a role in shaping the future of the entire Eastern Arm his intervention was to play appears to have escaped him. With this in mind, I append the following extract, which may go some way towards emphasising its importance.
From In Blackest Night: The Millennial Wars Appraised, by Ayjaepi Clothier, 127.M42.
Even prior to the resurgence of the Great Enemy, presaged at first by the greatest and most destructive of the so-called Black Crusades, which was itself to pale into insignificance next to the cataclysmic opening of the Great Rift, the Imperium found itself hard-pressed across much of the Eastern Arm. To the expansionist ambitions of the t’au, the wanton destruction of the orks and the piratical raids of the drukhari was added the inexorable advance of the Great Devourer as the tyranid hive fleets bore inexorably onward, leaving naught but desolation in their wake. This last, perhaps, took the greatest toll, as every Imperial world consumed ceased its contribution to the whole; the furnaces of forge worlds and manufactory hives fell silent, their supplies of weapons and ammunition denied to the Astra Militarum and the Space Marine Chapters who stood firm in their resolve to defend what was left of the Emperor’s demesne, but were weakened by every such loss. So too the agri worlds, whose looted provender could no longer sustain those who stood against the Emperor’s foes, or the populations of the industrial worlds working desperately to make up the ever-increasing shortfall.
