Mechanicum

  ‘Time to the Tempest Line?’ asked Sharaq, sweating profusely despite the cool air in the carapace cockpit.

  ‘Three minutes, my princeps,’ said Dolun.

  ‘Come on, turn away, damn you, turn,’ hissed Bannan, and Sharaq echoed his sentiment as the seconds ticked by with the inexorably slow slide of thick engine oil.

  Then the Manifold crackled and the blessed voice of the Stormlord came over the vox.

  ‘Engines of the Legio Mortis,’ said Princeps Cavalerio, his voice stentorian and unequivocal. ‘You are on course to cross the Tempest Line, whereupon you will be in breach of the Tharsis non-aggression pact as signed by Princeps Acheron of Legio Mortis and Princeps Bakka of Legio Tempestus at the First Council of Cydonia. Turn back now or you may be fired upon.’

  Sharaq watched the Manifold as Cavalerio’s engines marched up through the western pallidus, billowing clouds of dust swirling in their wakes. To have reached Ascraeus Mons in such time must have torn the hearts from their reactors, but they were here and that was what mattered.

  ‘Engines of Legio Mortis respond immediately!’ demanded Cavalerio, and Sharaq could hear the strain in the Stormlord’s voice. He checked the Manifold, getting elevated biometric and reactor readings from the Victorix Magna.

  The thunderous form of the Imperator did not slow and Sharaq saw that it was moments from crossing the Tempest Line, whereupon it would be in the territory of Legio Tempestus. His mouth was dry and he took a sip from the hydration straw at his cheek.

  ‘Legio Mortis, respond!’ demanded Cavalerio, and Sharaq’s heart swelled with pride as the stately form of Victorix Magna marched to stand alongside Metallus Cebrenia, firm in the path of the colossal Imperator.

  ‘Fifteen seconds to the Tempest Line,’ warned Moderati Bannan.

  Tharsis Hastatus, Arcadia Fortis and Vulpus Rex took position alongside Cavalerio’s engine, and the entire strength of Legio Tempestus on Mars stood before the mightiest war engines of Legio Mortis.

  ‘This is your final warning. Mortis!’ bellowed Cavalerio.

  Dreadful terror settled in Sharaq’s gut as Moderati Bannan said, ‘Tempest Line breached, my princeps.’

  SYSTEMAE MECHANICUM

  2.01

  THE TEMPEST LINE had been breached. The sovereign territory of one of the most honourable Legios of Mars had been violated. Armed engines had blatantly marched from their fortress and come with warlike intent to another. Despite the evidence before him, Princeps Cavalerio still could not accept that Mortis wanted to exchange fire.

  Why would they risk such a thing? Supporting Horus Lupercal and engaging in provocation was one thing, but daring another Legio to fire upon your engines made no sense unless there was a darker, more far-reaching scheme at work.

  If battle were joined here, little would survive, and even with the Imperator, Mortis would not walk away unscathed.

  Cavalerio had always suspected that Camulos was a man unsuited for command, and this confrontation seemed only to confirm his suspicions. It was madness, and Cavalerio did not want to be sucked into that madness. The factions of the Mechanicum might make war on one another, but the Titan Legions were supposed to be above such things, to hold the ideals of a united Mars and Terra above all things, even their own differences.

  ‘My princeps,’ said Moderati Kuyper. ‘The Tempest Line.’

  ‘I know,’ said Cavalerio. ‘Should we open fire?’

  ‘You have a solution?’

  ‘At this range we don’t need one,’ Kuyper assured him. ‘That monster’s so large we won’t miss.’

  Cavalerio nodded, sweat streaming from his brow, and his mouth dry. His heart was beating in brutal syncopation with the fiery heart of Victorix Magna, the straining power of a supernova at the engine’s core burning hotter and faster than it was ever designed to. He could hear Magos Argyre’s desperate supplications to the reactor’s spirit and felt the anguish of the mighty engine in the numbness spreading through his limbs.

  The image of the Imperator filled his senses, both through the viewscreen and through the Manifold. Data scrolled like liquid light through his mind, and he drank in the colossal feats of engineering that had gone into its construction and the utter lethality of its existence.

  Its limbs were death incarnate, the grinning skull-face an abominable harbinger of destruction. The bristling weapon towers and bastions were a martial city-fortress carried on the back of an ancient god, though this burden was borne willingly and not as a punishment.

  To fight such a thing would be the greatest achievement of any princeps, but it would probably also be his last.

  The monster took another step, taking with it any chance that this crossing of the Tempest Line was accidental.

  ‘Princeps Sharaq requests instructions,’ called out Kuyper. ‘Arcadia Fortis requests permission to fire.’

  ‘Vulpus Rex and Astrus Lux moving into flank fire positions,’ noted Palus.

  ‘Tell them to hold positions, damn them!’ shouted Cavalerio, his pulse racing like the roaring discharge of a gatling cannon. ‘No one opens fire unless I give the order. Make sure that last part is especially clear, Kuyper.’

  ‘Yes, my princeps.’

  Cavalerio had the sensation of events sliding beyond his control, and he fought for breath as the fire from his loyal engine’s heart poured through the virtual marrow of his body like blood from a ruptured artery.

  His vision blurred, the edges of the Manifold swimming like a badly-tuned picter.

  Victorix Magna was hurting, hurting badly, and Cavalerio knew he had to end this ugly confrontation soon.

  But how to do that without beginning a firefight that would destroy them all…

  RAPTORIA STRAINED AT the edges of Princeps Kasim’s control, a feral, bestial thing that demanded blood and poured violent thoughts into his consciousness. Its murderous heart had tasted the enemy’s presence and felt the heat of its metal skin. It wanted to kill.

  Kasim looked down at the gold cog medallion he wore and focused his mind on the discipline encoded into his thoughts by the Legio Magi before beginning this walk. Clogged data from previous engagements were washed from the peripherals grafted to the frontal lobes of each crewman’s brain to ensure each engagement was begun without the mental baggage of the last, but the hungry taste of battle was impossible to wash away completely.

  No engine ever really forgot the hot, metallic flavour of war.

  Kasim could feel his steersman’s efforts to keep the aggression from Raptoria’s movements and could hear the engine’s hunger for battle in the thudding, roaring drumbeat of her reactor.

  Raptoria wanted to fight and, damn it, so did he.

  Princeps Cavalerio was holding his fire and so too must they, but it was galling to see the engines of Mortis so brazenly insulting the honour of Tempestus. To allow this art of defiance to go unpunished was a bitter pill to swallow, and he could already feel Raptoria’s ire building within his skull with the malicious promise of future pain to come.

  ‘Power up weapons,’ he ordered in an effort to assuage the engine’s bloodlust. ‘Disengage safeties and surrender all firing authorities to me.’

  By assuming all firing authorities, he was making sure that the feral heart of Raptoria didn’t overwhelm the low-grade brain coding of the emplaced gun-servitors and open fire herself.

  Kasim didn’t want his engine to act without his control, but if a shooting war started, he was going to be ready to prosecute it to the best of his ability.

  ‘Why isn’t the Stormlord opening fire?’ wondered Moderati Vorich.

  ‘Are you in a hurry to die?’ asked Kasim. ‘Because that’s what will happen if we let this get out of hand.’

  Despite his rebuke, Kasim was wondering the same thing. Mortis had clearly breached the Tempest Line, and Cavalerio was quite within his rights to fire. As much as his heart was spoiling for a fight, Kasim knew that the odds against victory were high.

  Staring into the Manifold, Kasim
saw the heroic form of the Victorix Magna standing firm before the monstrous, towering might of the Imperator. Beside her stood Arcadia Fortis and Metallus Cebrenia, all three engines dwarfed by the enemy engine.

  ‘What are you planning, Stormlord?’ whispered Kasim.

  The Imperator loomed on the Manifold, a glowering god of war that could destroy them all. A few more steps and it would be right on top of them.

  IN THE CABIN cockpit of Metallus Cebrenia, Princeps Sharaq was wondering the same thing as Kasim. Moderati Bannan counted the ever-increasing distance Aquila Ignis was striding into the territory of Legio Tempestus.

  Increasing the angle of his view through the Manifold, Sharaq saw Victorix Magna standing proud beside him, venting hot exhaust gases and sweating lubricant from its overflows. Even without the spiking data readings, he could tell that the venerable engine was suffering.

  ‘Come on, Indias,’ he whispered. ‘Hold her together a little longer.’

  He transferred his view outwards, seeing the agile, snapping forms of Vulpus Rex, Astrus Lux and Raptoria darting around the edges and rear of the approaching Imperator like pack wolves hunting a stag. Ever bellicose, their weapons were powered and ready to fire.

  The ground shook and Sharaq could feel the tremor through every joint of his engine’s structure. Inertial dampers could compensate for most fluctuations in a Titan’s surrounding environment, but the mighty tread of such a colossal enemy was beyond its power to completely dissipate.

  He looked down at the far away ground, feeling a stab of pity for the massed ranks of skitarii gathered around his engine’s splayed feet. To face a beast like the Imperator from a Warlord’s cockpit was a terrifying enough prospect, but to stand naked before it without the protection of voids and armour…

  That was courage indeed.

  ‘Range to target?’ asked Sharaq, fighting to keep his tone even.

  The question was unnecessary. He could already see that the Imperator was less than three hundred metres away through the Manifold, point-blank range by any normal measure of things, but insanely close in this situation. He could already hear the squeal and rasp of the voids as their fields warbled with the proximity.

  ‘Two hundred and fifty metres, my princeps,’ said Bannan.

  He spared a glance to his left.

  Victorix Magna stood, implacable and immovable, before the marching Imperator, and Sharaq loved the Stormlord for his resolve as much as he was frustrated by his inaction. The tension within the cockpit compartment of Metallus Cebrenia was unbearable.

  Then a harsh, deafening squall shrilled across the vox frequencies, a filthy blurt of continuous, corrupted code noise that sounded like throaty laughter. Sharaq flinched and his sensori screamed as the wailing shriek tore at their hearing.

  ‘What in the name of the Omnissiah is that?’ yelled Bannan, snatching the vox-set from his head.

  Sharaq killed the audio as the cackling laughter code burbled over the vox and the booming warhorns of the Mortis engines echoed from the towering cliffs of Ascraeus Mons.

  The Imperator lowered its weapon arms, every horn, bell and augmitter upon its colossal spires and bastions blaring in disdain. The noise was unimaginably loud, broadcast across every audible wavefront and code frequency.

  Debased and dirty codelines conveyed vile algorithms that Sharaq felt worming their way into his peripherals like viral code, and his aegis protocols fought to prevent them from reaching the deep sub-systems of Metallus Cebrenia.

  ‘Princeps!’ shouted Bannan. ‘Enemy course change detected.’

  Sharaq gasped, his mind awhirl as his implants defended his neural paths from infection by the scrappy code fragments carried on the war-scream of the Imperator. He forced his mind through the clotted data packets of black, oozing information that blurred his vision and saw that Bannan was right.

  The Imperator was changing course, its stride swinging to the east.

  Like a great ocean liner travelling at speed, the course of such a vast machine did not change swiftly and its new heading would barely carry it past the south-eastern skirts of Ascraeus Mons.

  ‘Dolun? Intercept plot,’ hissed Sharaq, the beginnings of a blistering headache building behind his eyes. ‘Where’s it going?’

  His sensori didn’t answer, and Sharaq twisted his head to see Dolun lying supine on his reclined couch. The man’s eyes rolled back into his skull and foaming spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth.

  Sharaq meshed his senses briefly with Dolun’s station, feeling the hash of viral code replicating like a plague within his I/O ports, ready to spill out into the guts of the war engine.

  With a thought, Sharaq cut the link between Dolun’s interfaces and the rest of the Titan, but even as he did so, he could feel the scrapcode trying to find another way in.

  ‘Moderati Bannan!’ shouted Sharaq. ‘Disengage Sensori Dolun from his station. Now!’

  Bannan looked over at Dolun, who was convulsing as his corrupted cybernetic enhancements began fitting with the power of a grand mal seizure. Bannan disengaged his hard plugs as quickly as he dared and lurched across the sensori station, unsteady on his feet after so brutal a separation from the MIU.

  Sharaq turned his attention from the compromised sensori officer and followed his own track on the enemy engines. An overlaid map of the Tharsis Montes swam into view, grainy and washed with fragments of faulty code. A red line extended from their current position, swinging around to the north-east and extending towards the port facilities of Tharsis Tholus, the primary embarkation point of Astartes supplies from the fabricator locum’s Mondus Occulum forge.

  Sharaq dismissed the map as the shriek of voids filled the cockpit with a warbling, squealing howl of feedback. Like a million nails down a blackboard, titanic energies pushed against one another, scraping their invisible power together and sending flaring, whooping coils of colourful lightning discharge into the air.

  ‘Sensori disconnected,’ called Bannan, and Sharaq looked round to see Dolun jerking and twitching on the deck, lubricant and jellied brain matter leaking from his cranial plugs.

  ‘Good work, Bannan,’ said Sharaq. ‘Leave him and get back on station.’

  Sharaq returned his attention to the Manifold, watching in ashamed relief as the might of the Imperator swung yet further away and the spine-shearing sound of void interference abated.

  ‘All Tempestus engines,’ he said, forcing a channel through the howling static that still laced the airwaves. ‘Ease weapons, I repeat, ease weapons. Mortis are turning away! Acknowledge!’

  One by one, the affirmations of the Tempestus engines appeared on the Manifold, and Sharaq let out a shuddering breath as he realised how close they had come to igniting a shooting war on the surface of Mars.

  The Imperator’s escort of Warlords moved with it and the war machines of Legio Mortis began tramping away, each step carrying them further from the domain of Tempestus.

  Mortis was leaving, but Sharaq wanted to be sure they weren’t about to turn back for another provocative pass.

  ‘Raptoria, Vulpus Rex, follow Mortis and make sure they keep on their way,’ he ordered, wondering why the Stormlord was not issuing the order himself. ‘Keep a safe distance back, but make sure they go.’

  The two Warhounds set off without bothering to acknowledge his order, and Sharaq slumped deeper into the moulded leather of his reclined seat. Sweat coated his brow and his hair was soaked. He closed his eyes for a second, shutting out the data noise of the Manifold and letting the human part of his mind process the near calamitous events of the past few minutes.

  Had it really been so short an engagement?

  He opened his eyes as the nagging static of the vox remained unbroken by orders, information requests or any form of leadership from Victorix Magna.

  Sharaq looked over to the Stormlord’s engine, a terrible sense of dread building in his gut as he saw that Victorix Magna remained as she had since taking up station before the Imperator. That drea
d built as he saw fluid drooling in a black rain from her torso and that the hissing plumes of superheated steam that ought to gust like breath from exhaust vents beneath her shoulder carapace had ceased.

  The engine’s head was bowed, her limbs slack against her sides.

  ‘Victorix Magna,’ called Sharaq over the Manifold, his fear rendering his communication sharper than he intended. ‘Princeps Cavalerio, please acknowledge.’

  There was no response.

  ‘Stormlord, please respond immediately!’

  A shift of view in the Manifold and Sharaq’s head sank to his chest as he inloaded the auspex readings of the Stormlord’s mighty engine Victorix Magna was dead.

  THOUSANDS OF KILOMETRES to the south of the confrontation between Mortis and Tempestus, deep in the desolate, empty wilderness of the southern pallidus, wind-borne ash blew across the cratered wastelands at the edge of the Daedalia Planum.

  Even further south, the horizon burned with colourful fire, the skies striated with chemical pollutants and reeking gases expelled from the massive refineries that encircled the planet’s equator.

  Only the hardiest scavengers attempted to eke out a living in this region of Mars, the spoil pickings usually too thin and too laden with toxins to be of any real use. One such scavenger was a man named Quinux, a wizened prospector and former Skitarii whose body had rejected the gross implants necessary for full assimilation into the ranks of the Mechanicum’s soldiery.

  Quinux scoured the deserts and hardpan of the Daedalia Planum in a ramshackle Cargo-5 bulk-hauler that pulled a tender filled with scrap metal, held together by faith, hope and fervent devotions to the Machine-God. Its plates were caked with rust and its tracks streaked with corrosion from prolonged exposure to the hostile environment.

  Acrid fumes belched from the exhausts of his crawler, and the interior of his pressurised cabin smelled of sweat, recycled nutrient paste and excitement. A cracked and filmy auspex panel hung from the roof of the cabin, pinging with a hard return of solid material.

  Quinux hadn’t seen a signal this strong in decades and knew that this find could be the making of him. Whatever it was, it was big, and his head darted from side to side, peering through the crazed glass of his cabin as he searched for any other scavengers that might have picked up this juicy find, not that he could see much through the whipping scads of dust and ash that swirled around the crawler.