Mechanicum Page 3

  ‘Check for more of them out there, Cronus,’ ordered Stator. ‘They usually hunt in bigger packs than this.’

  ‘Yes, preceptor,’ replied Cronus, marching his Knight past the dead servitors and through the gap torn in the barbed, chain-link fence that surrounded the reactor. Cronus guided his machine up the rocky slopes to check the ground behind an outcrop of boulders. To manoeuvre so large a machine as a Knight over such rough terrain was no mean feat, and Maven was forced to admire his brother’s skill as a pilot.

  Fortis Metallum’s upper body swivelled around on its gimbal waist mount to face Maven, and though he couldn’t see his preceptor’s face through the red visor of the cockpit, he could feel the stern, unflinching gaze through the softly glowing slits.

  ‘Keep an eye on our rear in case any slipped past us,’ ordered Stator, his voice once again as grim and inflexible as the posture of his machine. ‘I’ll hold you responsible if they have.’

  ‘Yes, preceptor,’ replied Maven. ‘I’m on it.’

  It was a Martian truism that if a warrior and machine spent enough time linked together they would begin to take on aspects of the other’s character. Fortis Metallum was an old machine, cantankerous, flinty and utterly without mercy.

  It was the perfect match for Stator.

  Maven had met countless Titan drivers and it was easy to tell which machines they commanded within moments of talking to them.

  Warhound drivers were belligerent, wolf-like daredevils, whereas the men who fought from the towering Battle Titans were arrogant and ego-driven warriors, who often appeared to hold those around them in contempt.

  Maven knew that such conceit was forgivable, for marching to war so high above the battlefield and unleashing such awesome destructive power would naturally swell a man’s ego, but it was also a necessary defence against the engine’s character overwhelming that of its commander.

  Maven walked his machine backwards in a bravura display of skill, watching as Stator turned away to follow Cronus through the mangled remains of the security fencing.

  A Knight was much smaller than a Titan, but the mechanics in its construction and operation were no less incredible. A Titan had a crew to maintain its systems: a servitor to man each weapon system, a steersman to drive it, a tech-priest to minister to its bellicose heart, a moderati to run the crew and a princeps to command it.

  A Knight was the perfect meld of flesh and steel, a mighty war machine at the command of a single pilot, a warrior who had the confidence to wield its power and the humility to know that, despite that power, he was not invincible.

  Maven strode back towards the reactor complex, spreading his auspex net wide to pick up any of the feral servitors that might have broken away from the main pack, though he suspected he would not find any. Even if he did, what threat did a few servitors represent?

  Broken and irreparably damaged servitors or those whose cranial surgery had failed to take were often simply dumped in the pallidus, the name given to the toxic, ashen hinterlands that existed between the Martian forges. The vast majority died, but some survived, though to call their doomed existence life was overstating the reality of it.

  Most simply attempted to carry out the task for which they had been created, marching back and forth through the wastelands with their fried brains unable to comprehend that they were no longer in service.

  In some cases, the damage to their brains allowed them a fragile degree of autonomy and those unfortunate creatures survived by feasting on the dead. Drawn by warmth and power, many banded together in unthinking packs and infested Mechanicum facilities, attacking workers and draining current to sustain their wretched experience.

  Such creatures required culling, which brought Maven’s thoughts full circle.

  He lifted his head, the motion of the Knight’s cranial carapace following exactly. The crags around the reactor were empty and desolate, the red volcanic peaks scoured by dust clouds blown up by the high winds funnelled along the northern fossae.

  The heart of the reactor facility sat six hundred metres back from the fencing that surrounded it, a collection of intricate buildings of pipes, cables and crackling antenna towers. A huge, domed structure sat in the middle of the complex, its surface studded with plugs and vents. The air rippled around the building and intense waves of heat and electromagnetism washed from it in tidal surges.

  The trench of the Gigas Fossae was dotted with several fusion reactors, but the facility upon the rocky slopes surrounding the northern impact crater of Ulysses Patera was the largest, and had been built by Magos Ipluvien Maximal.

  Adept Maximal was one of the most senior magi of Mars, and his fusion reactors supplied power to a great many vassal forges dotted around the Tharsis uplands. Such arrangements were common across the red planet, ancient treaties binding the clans and forges together in reciprocal pacts of protection and supply that allowed such varied groups with conflicting needs to coexist. As well as allied forges. Maximal had exchanged bonds of fealty and supply with a number of warrior orders, including many of the most revered Titan Legios.

  ‘So why aren’t they here?’ Maven muttered to himself. ‘Too busy arguing amongst themselves is why.’

  Maven put thoughts of the increasing tensions on Mars from his mind and made his way forwards, swinging the auspex around by twisting his mount’s upper body, pulverising boulders as its enormous weight crushed them beneath its stride. He needed to cover every approach to the reactor complex, and threat or not, Stator would haul him over the coals were any feral servitors to get past him.

  He felt the rocks break beneath Equitos Bellum’s feet, the sensation akin to having his body and senses magnified to the size of the Knight. Mechanicum Protector squads at the edge of the reactor complex saw him and bowed respectfully as his Knight shook the ground with its heavy strides.

  Menials and servitors laboured to maintain the giant reactor functions, their movements slow and sluggish in heavily reinforced haz-mat suits. A huge transformer crackled with energy flares, metres-thick cabling and a lattice of conductor towers linking it to the reactor. Blue lightning sparked from the transformer, rippling along the length of ductwork that was visible before the cables delved beneath the regolith and bedrock towards destinations all across the quadrant of Tharsis.

  Maven blinked as he felt a tremor through the auspex return, a fleeting impression of something moving on the far side of the reactor. He focused his attention on that part of the cockpit display, enhancing the imagery in an attempt to see what he was receiving.

  ‘Blood of the Machine,’ he swore as the auspex connected with something big, something throwing off a spider-like pattern of electromagnetic energy much larger than a servitor. For the briefest second it appeared as though a great many other signals accompanied it.

  An instant later and it was gone, blinked out as though it had never existed.

  More ghost returns faded in and out, and Maven was suddenly unsure as to whether he’d seen anything at all.

  A Knight’s auspex was hardwired into the pilot’s senses via a spinal plug, and interpreting the incoming data streams was an art form in itself, a blend of intuition and hard fact. In any case, it was difficult to be sure of anything in this region, the flare-offs and radiation bleeds from the reactor playing havoc with the veracity of auspex returns.

  Then the spider pattern flashed again and this time he was certain.

  Something was out there, and it wasn’t squawking on any friendly channel.

  ‘Preceptor, I think I have something,’ said the voice.

  ‘Define “something”, Maven,’ came the voice of Preceptor Stator;

  ‘I’m not sure, but it’s coming from the opposite side of the reactor complex.’

  ‘More servitors?’ asked Cronus.

  Maven chewed his bottom lip, willing the sensor return to come again so he could report something more concrete, but the portion of the Manifold dedicated to auspex returns remained steadfastly awash with background
radiation.

  Still, he was sure that whatever was out there was more than simply feral servitors. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Something bigger.’

  THE STARSHIP BANKED as its pilot adjusted the angle of attack to allow it to enter the atmosphere safely. The view through the panel that Rho-mu 31 had rendered transparent slid away and Dalia rapped her knuckles against it.

  ‘I’m assuming this isn’t glass,’ she said. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Photomalleable steel,’ said Rho-mu 31. ‘A burst of current from my stave alters the structure of the molecular bonds within the metal to allow certain forms of light waves to pass through it.’

  ‘I haven’t heard of anything like it,’ said Dalia, amazed at the potential for such a material.

  ‘Few beyond the Magma City have,’ said Rho-mu 31. ‘It is a creation of Adept Zeth.’

  Dalia nodded and returned her attention to the view through the transparent metal. No sooner had she done so, than she found herself staring in wonder at an array of enormous structures, surely too large to have been created by the artifice of mere humans.

  Colossal orbital constructions filled the heavens above Mars, a near contiguous array of gigantic shipyards and construction facilities. Dalia pressed her face to the cold panel, craning her neck to see how far the unbelievable conglomeration stretched. Try as she might, she could see no end to the gleaming docks, one end of the arc of steel rising up beyond sight above the ship she travelled in, the other vanishing around the curve of the red planet.

  ‘The Ring of Iron,’ said Rho-mu 31. ‘The original exploratory fleets were constructed here and much of the expeditionary fleets were built in these docks.’

  ‘It’s huge,’ said Dalia, cursing herself for stating something so obvious.

  ‘They are the largest space docks in the galaxy, though the shipwrights of Jupiter will soon lay claim to the largest ship ever constructed when they complete the Furious Abyss.’

  Dalia heard wounded pride in Rho-mu 3’s remark and smiled at the notion that a servant of the Mechanicum would display envy. She returned her gaze to the sight beyond the starship’s hull, seeing firefly sparks dotting the Ring of Iron where new vessels were being constructed by armies of shipwrights.

  ‘What’s that?’ she asked, pointing towards what appeared to be a nebulous cloud of dust and reflective particles just over the horizon.

  ‘That is the remains of an active construction site,’ said Rho-mu 31. ‘The latest ships to be built here have but recently departed.’

  ‘Where have they gone?’ asked Dalia, eager to learn what far-off place the new vessels were bound for.

  ‘They were commissioned for Battlefleet Solar,’ explained Rho-mu 31, ‘but the Warmaster issued a new tasking order to have them despatched to take part in the Istvaan campaign.’

  Dalia heard the note of disapproval in Rho-mu 31’s voice, as though it were the greatest sin imaginable to change procedure and alter previously issued orders.

  ‘Look, there is the fleet they were to join,’ said Rho-mu 31, indicating berths high above them, and Dalia’s mouth dropped open as the mighty warships of Battlefleet Solar came into view.

  Distance rendered the fleet small, but to even recognise them and identify individual vessels from so far told Dalia that they were craft of unimaginable scale. From here they were sleek darts with sloping angular prows like ploughs and long, gothic bodies like great palaces hurled into the heavens and wrought into the forms of starships.

  The ships were soon lost to sight as creeping fire slid along the length of the starship, the heat of passing through the atmosphere of Mars rippling along the shielded hull of the vessel. Dalia felt a steadying hand on her shoulder, a heavy, metallic hand that gripped her tightly as the starship continued its descent.

  Flames and heat distortion soon obscured the view, but within the space of a few minutes it faded, and Dalia saw the surface of Mars in all its glory.

  Vast cities of steel, larger and more magnificent than any of the hives of Terra, reared up from the surface, gargantuan behemoths that vomited fire and smoke into the sky. It was called the red planet, but precious little remained of the surface that could be identified as that hue. Mountains had been clad in metal and light, and cities and districts perched on the peaks and plateaux of the world named for a long forsaken god of war.

  Glittering streams of light twisted and snaked through the few areas of cratered wilderness between the unimaginably vast conurbations, transit routes and mag-lev lines, and towering pyramids of glass and steel reared up like the tombs of forgotten kings.

  ‘I’ve read about Mars, but I never thought to see it,’ breathed Dalia. To see so many wondrous things in so short a time was nothing less than overwhelming.

  ‘The Martian priesthood does not encourage visitors,’ said Rho-mu 31. ‘They believe the soil of Mars to be sacred.’

  ‘Isn’t the idea of things being sacred, well… not allowed any more?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking, yes,’ agreed Rho-mu 31. ‘The Emperor advances the credo that belief in gods is a falsehood, but a condition of the Treaty of Olympus was that he swore not to interfere with our structures and society when Mars and Terra were joined.’

  ‘So the Mechanicum believes in a god?’

  ‘That is a question with no easy answer, Dalia Cythera. I do not believe in faith, but ask no more, for we are coming in to land and you will need to hold on tightly.’

  Dalia nodded as the ship banked sharply, and she watched the world below tilt crazily as the pilot brought them around a shining pyramid bathed in light and topped with a great carving of an eye.

  ‘The Temple of All Knowledge,’ said Rho-mu 31, anticipating her question.

  Dalia felt her stomach lurch as the ship dropped suddenly and a thick curtain of yellow smog obscured the view outside.

  They flew through the smog for several hours until, as suddenly as it had appeared, it vanished, and Dalia cried out in terror as she saw that they were heading straight into the glassy black flanks of a towering mountain.

  1.02

  ONCE AGAIN, DALIA’S stomach lurched as the craft’s altitude altered rapidly, climbing at a sickeningly steep angle as the black cliff-face drew closer with terrifying rapidity. Sulphurous fumes wreathed the top of the mountain and the craft plunged into them. Dalia closed her eyes, expecting any moment to have her life ended as they smashed into the immovable mass of rock.

  At last she opened her eyes when the feared impact didn’t come and peered breathlessly through the transparent panel in the side of the craft. A sea of glowing red lava heaved and swelled beneath her, the volcanic heart of the planet bubbling up within the giant mountain.

  Her view of the volcano’s caldera shimmered and danced in the incredible heat radiating from the lava, and though she was insulated from the unimaginable temperatures, Dalia felt uncomfortably warm just looking at the molten rock.

  ‘Arsia Mons,’ said Rho-mu 31. ‘A dead volcano brought back to life to serve the Mechanicum.’

  ‘It’s incredible,’ breathed Dalia, looking over to the far side of the caldera, where a huge, industrial city-structure fashioned from what looked like blackened steel and stone rose from the lava like the broadside of a submerged starship. Enormous gates steamed in the lava, and mighty pistons of gleaming ceramite hissed and groaned as they rose and fell. Billowing clouds of superheated steam roared and vaporised like the breath of a host of great dragons, and Dalia saw that they were gaining height to fly over the bizarre structure.

  Closer now, she could truly appreciate its enormous size and complexity, a precise series of sluices, overflow channels and pressure gates to keep the lava in motion and circulating through the system that fed the incredible sight on the far side of the volcano.

  Guided down the flanks of the mountain in enormous chasms a hundred metres wide, the lava from the volcano fed a vast artificially constructed lagoon, an inland sea of glowing, hissing, bubbling molten rock.

  Built up
on this sea was the Magma City, and what a city it was…

  Dalia’s breath was snatched from her throat as she saw the mighty forge, surely the domain of Rho-mu 31’s master, Adept Koriel Zeth.

  All across the bubbling, flame-wracked surface of the lava, blackened cylinder towers soared from the magma beside giant structures in the shapes of flat-topped pyramids that belched fire and steam. Twisting roadways, boulevards, open squares, wide platforms and entire industrial complexes sat upon the raging heat of the lava in defiance of the awesome caged power of the planet’s molten fire.

  A golden route traced a path towards a mighty structure of silver in the centre of the colossal metropolis, but it was quickly lost to sight as the craft descended. Thick retaining walls of dark stone surrounded the lagoon, such that it resembled a lava-filled crater, and a colossal plain of sub-hives, hab-zones, landing fields, runways, control towers and a vast container port filled the horizon behind it, abutting the cliff-like walls of the volcano.

  Continents of steel-sided containers sprawled outwards from the Magma City, towering skyscrapers of materiel: weapons, ammunition and supplies manufactured in the factories of Mars for the Warmaster’s armies of conquest.

  Fleets of enormous vessels filled the skies over the port, rising and descending to the surface of Mars in a veritable procession of steel and retro-fire. Each one was destined for worlds far distant from the Solar system and as valuable to the Great Crusade as any warrior or battleship.

  A forest of lifter-cranes swung and groaned over the container port, their heavy, counterbalanced arms moving with leisurely speed in an intricate ballet as an army of servitors, loaders and container skiffs packed the holds of the enormous bulk conveyors with as much as could physically be contained.

  Dalia held onto the stanchion as the ship banked, heading towards a landing platform within the city, a glowing cross of light sitting on a boom of metal that jutted out into the lava. The view through the photomalleable steel rippled in the heat, and Dalia found herself becoming nauseous with the disorientation.