Mechanicum
‘It won’t come back,’ said Dalia. ‘It thinks we’re dead, or at least it will for a while.’
‘Then let’s get out of here before it realises its mistake,’ said Rho-mu 31.
IN THE UPPER reaches of Olympus Mons, Kelbor-Hal inloaded the encrypted data blurt from the Kaban Machine. Looking out over the surface of Mars he took a moment to survey the landscape, knowing that soon it would be transformed into something wondrous and new.
The power that boiled from the depths of the Vaults of Moravec was intoxicating, and every day brought fresh miracles as he and his fellow Dark Mechanicum – a term Melgator had coined – found new ways to bind it to the metal and gristle of their creations.
Weapons, servitors, praetorians and fighting vehicles were imbued with power, twisting them into new and terrifying forms that were divinely primordial in their savage beauty. Monstrous engines of destruction that would be the heralds of the new power rising in the galaxy were taking shape in Olympus Mons and the forges of those adepts and magi that had bound themselves to the cause of Horus Lupercal.
Billions toiled in the weapon shops and manufactorum to realise this grand dream of Mars resurgent, and none who touched the powers unleashed to roam throughout his forge remained unchanged.
Chants echoed from the darkened thoroughfares of Olympus Mons, mobs of hooded worshippers hunting down those who did not embrace the new way and feeding their blood to the hungry machines. Brazen bells tolled constantly and howling klaxons shrieked with the godlike power of the scrapcode.
The transformation of his forge was a magnificent thing, and Kelbor-Hal knew that what they did here would echo through the ages as the moment the Mechanicum was reborn.
He turned from the armoured glass of the viewing bay to face his followers.
Regulus, Melgator, Urtzi Malevolus, together with holographic images of Lukas Chrom and Princeps Camulos, stood attentively before him. He could see the cluttering lines of scrapcode infesting their augmetics.
He nodded towards Lukas Chrom. ‘Dalia Cythera is dead. Once again, your assassin and thinking machine prove their worth.’
Chrom accepted the compliment with a short bow.
‘Then it is time?’ said Princeps Camulos. ‘My engines long to make ruin of the Magma City.’
The bear-like Princeps Senioris of Legio Mortis was clad in beetle-black armour and Kelbor-Hal read the warp-enhanced aggression flaring from him in waves.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It is time. Send word to the commanders of your allied Legios, Camulos. Tell their engines to walk and to crush our enemies beneath their mighty treads.’
‘It shall be done,’ promised Camulos.
Kelbor-Hal then addressed his fellow adepts of the Dark Mechanicum.
‘This is a great day, my acolytes, remember it always,’ said the Fabricator General. ‘This is the day Mars and her forge worlds cast off the yoke of the Emperor’s tyranny. Unleash your armies and stain the sands of our planet red with blood!’
ORIGENS MECHANICUS
3.01
LATER HISTORIES WOULD record that the first blow of the Martian civil war was struck against Magos Mattias Kefra, whose forge in the Sinus Sabaeus region was housed within the Madler crater. Titans of the Magna Legion marched from the southern Noachis region and within minutes had smashed down the gates of his forge. Howling engines daubed in red, orange, yellow and black, and decorated with flaming horned skull devices, ran amok within the high walls of the crater, crushing everything living beneath them and destroying thousands of years of accumulated wisdom in a fury of fire.
Vast libraries burned and weapon shops that served the Solar Guard were reduced to molten slag as the indiscriminate slaughter continued long into the night, the Magna Legion’s trumpeting warhorns sounding like the atavistic screams of primitive savages.
Further north in the Arabian region, the great engine yards of High Magos Ahotep in the Cassini crater were struck by a hundred missiles launched from the atomic silos secreted within the isolated peaks and mesas of Nilo Syrtis. The explosions of the forbidden weapons filled the four hundred and fifteen kilometre diameter of the crater with seething nuclear fire, and sent conjoined magma-streaked mushroom clouds soaring nearly seventy kilometres into the sky.
Along the borders of the Lunae Palus and Arcadia regions, what had previously been confined to heated debate erupted into outright warfare as Princeps Ulriche of the Death Stalkers unleashed his engines upon the fortress of Maxen Vledig’s Deathbolts.
Caught by surprise, the Deathbolts lost nineteen engines in the first hour of battle, before withdrawing into the frozen wastes of the Mare Boreum and seeking refuge in the dune fields of Olympia Undae. Their calls for reinforcement went unanswered, for all of Mars was tearing itself apart as the plague of war spread across the planet in a raging firestorm.
Amid the Athabasca Valles, war machines of Legio Ignatum and the Burning Stars fought in bloody close quarters through the teardrop landforms caused by catastrophic flooding in an earlier, ancient age of the red planet. Neither force could gain the advantage, nor could either claim victory, so after a night’s undignified scrapping, both withdrew to lick their wounds.
A snapping, howling host of twisted skitarii and hideously altered weaponised servitors surged from the Gigas Sulci sub-hives of Olympus Mons to attack the crater forges of Ipluvien Maximal. Alert to the danger of attack, Maximal’s forces repelled the first waves of attackers, but within hours, his forge was surrounded and under siege by unholy Ordinatus engines and warped machines given hideous life in the depths of the Fabricator General’s darkest and bloodiest weapon shops.
The greatest single loss of life took place in the Ismenius Lacus region of Mars, where the glacial forges of Adept Rueon Villnarus were attacked by airbursting rockets carrying a mutated strain of the Life Eater. The rapacious viral organism leapt from victim to victim with malicious glee, seeming to travel via every possible vector. Via direct contact, it killed the tens of thousands directly exposed to the detonation in minutes. Airborne, it depopulated the millions-strong worker-habs of Deuteronilus Mensae within three hours, and through some diabolical warp-mutation, it spread through the haptic networks to infect even those who thought themselves safe behind vac-sealed barriers. When the gleeful virus finally burned itself out, some seven hours later, every living soul within Ismenius Lacus was dead, the remains of fourteen million liquefied corpses freezing solid where they lay.
Within the Herschel impact basin of the Mare Tyrrhenum, nine hundred thousand skitarii and Protectors clashed in a swirling, bloody melee that continued unabated until almost all were dead. No victor emerged from the senseless slaughter and no purpose was served by the destruction, yet still both factions poured their forces into the meat grinder for fear of what might be lost should they withdraw.
Nor was the fighting merely confined to the surface of Mars. The Ring of Iron, that great halo shipyard that surrounded the red planet like a glittering silver belt, shuddered as explosions and conflict spread along its length. Factions loyal to the Throne, and those sworn to Olympus Mons and Horus Lupercal, clashed with the fury of fanatics. The vessels of Battlefleet Solar pulled away from the fighting as Mechanicum ships duelled in the shadow of the Ring of Iron, pounding one another with devastating broadsides and no thought of strategy or survival.
Venting gases and bodies spilled from ruptured hulls, and thousands died every second as wounded ships fell from low orbit and streaked down through the atmosphere to their destruction. The flaming wreckage of Mechanicum Gloriam, its engines destroyed as it sought to evade a hunting pack of frigates in low orbit, plunged through the lightning-wracked skies of Mars towards the planet’s surface.
The Technotheologians, watching its fall from the Basilica of the Blessed Algorithm in the Cydonia Mensae region, proclaimed it a sign of the Machine-God’s wrath, raising their manip arms and mechadendrites in praise of this wondrous sign of divine displeasure. Calls for peace and a cease of hostilities
were carried far and wide across Mars, broadcast on every channel by every means available to them.
That signal was abruptly cut short as Mechanicum Gloriam slammed into the basilica and obliterated the vast complex of temples, shrines and reliquaries in a heartbeat. Millions of square kilometres and billions of faithful priests were consumed in the explosive impact, and any last call to reason vanished with them in the newest and deepest impact crater to disfigure the Martian soil.
All across Mars, in every region where the Mechanicum had built its holdings, the ancient order tore at itself in a frenzy of bloodletting more savage than any alien race had dared inflict on Humanity.
Libraries of priceless knowledge burned, adepts whose expertise had helped free the human race from confinement to its birth planet were torn limb from limb by screaming mobs, and forges that had previously sworn undying pacts of allegiance turned on one another like lifelong foes.
Burning debris from orbit fell to the planet’s surface, and though it was said that it never rained on Mars, a rain of fire now filled the heavens as though the sky wept comet tears that it should bear witness to such destruction.
SITTING NEXT TO Caxton in the bucket seats fitted in the cramped rear compartment of their salvaged Cargo-5, Dalia fought to stay awake as the rugged, dusty vista of the Syria Planum sped past, rendered grainy and blurred through the scratched glass of the compartment’s windows. The ground was uneven, but Rho-mu 31 guided them expertly across the rocky plains. Severine sat on the other side of Caxton, her broken arm bound close to her chest, while Zouche sat up front in the driver’s cabin next to Rho-mu 31.
In the aftermath of the Kaban Machine’s attack, her Protector had pulled himself from the metal that impaled his shoulder and quickly dragged them from the wreckage of the mag-lev. Working with practiced urgency, he had ascertained the extent of their injuries and moved them to a hidden culvert in the tunnel walls.
As Rho-mu 31 and Zouche searched the rear cargo holds of the mag-lev for anything useful in the wreckage, Severine had stared at Dalia with an expression of awe and what Dalia would later realise was fear.
‘How did you do that?’ asked Severine. ‘Send that machine away, I mean. I thought we were all dead.’
‘We should have been,’ agreed Caxton. ‘Maybe it missed us or there was some kind of interference, I don’t know.’
Severine shook her head, biting her lip as the pain of her broken arm flared. ‘No, it was something Dalia did, I know it. What did you do?’
‘I don’t understand it myself, to be honest,’ said Dalia, leaning her head back on the cold stone of the tunnel wall. ‘It was as if I could see the mechanisms of its mind and I just knew how it worked. I saw what Chrom had done to it and I… kind of blinded it to the fact we were right in front of it.’
‘Chrom?’ said Severine. ‘Lukas Chrom? He built that machine? A thinking machine?’
‘Yes,’ said Dalia. ‘I could see his handiwork all over its mind.’
‘Why would an adept like Chrom want to kill us?’
‘Not us,’ said Caxton. ‘Dalia.’
Severine looked at Dalia as though she had personally broken her arm. ‘What haven’t you told us, Dalia? Why does Lukas Chrom want you dead?’
Dalia knew nothing she said would convince Severine that she didn’t know for sure, but she shrugged and said, ‘I’m guessing here, but I think maybe it’s something to do with Adept Zeth’s Akashic reader. Some people don’t want it built, and I think they’re afraid of what’s going to happen when we know everything it can show us. Think about it, if anyone can know everything, then what happens to the keepers of knowledge? Knowledge is power, right? So what happens when everyone can access that knowledge?’
‘They’d lose their power,’ said Caxton.
‘Exactly,’ said Dalia. ‘And I’m surer than ever that whatever the creature beneath the Noctis Labyrinthus is, it’s the key to making the Akashic reader work. People are frightened of what we’ll be able to achieve when we unlock its potential and they’re desperate to hang on to what they’ve got.’
‘So what’s all that got to do with what’s happening all over Mars?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Dalia. ‘I really don’t, but whatever it is, it’s bigger than all of us.’
At that moment Rho-mu 31 and Zouche had returned laden with a veritable treasure trove of useful items recovered from the unclaimed supplies earmarked for Crater Edge and Red Gorge: medicae packs, ration cartons, water recyclers and breathing apparatus. The medicae packs were opened and wounds cleaned and treated with counterseptic before being bound with gauze and bandages.
Best of all, Zouche had discovered an overturned Cargo-5 all-terrain hauler, an unreliable and cantankerous vehicle common in the frontier towns and less affluent forges, but one which offered them a chance of survival. Rho-mu 31 easily righted the vehicle, but upon doing so, they discovered that the indiscriminate fire of their attacker had severed the track unit and holed the mechanics of the driver’s controls.
Undaunted, Zouche set to work repairing the damaged track unit with Rho-mu 31’s help, while Caxton dismantled the control panel and set to work with Dalia, trying to jury-rig the controls back to life. Using spars of metal from the wrecked mag-lev, Rho-mu 31 groaned with effort as he lifted the Cargo-5 enough for the others to pull the repaired track links through, and they had cheered and embraced when Caxton finally ignited the drive plant and the engine turned over with a belligerent growl.
Stocking up the rear compartments of the Cargo-5 with their supplies, they had driven along the darkness of the tunnel and emerged into a freshly broken morning. Dalia had never been happier to see open sky, though the scarlet hue of the dawn and the cascades of fire she saw in the distance spoke of deeper troubles to come.
As Rho-mu 31 negotiated the Cargo-5 down the rugged slope leading to the Syria Planum, Dalia and the others had their first glimpse of Mondus Gamma forge complex. Like a dark slick, it spread south and east across the landscape in a vast swathe of smoking, flaming industry. Hive manufactories, vast weapon hangars and blazing foundries pounded and throbbed with the labour of production. One of the largest forges on Mars, its furthest extremities were beyond sight, a black pall of shrouding smoke clinging to the fabrication plants and sub-hives as though unwilling to let outsiders view what lay beneath.
The sight was profoundly disturbing, for Dalia knew this was the domain of Adept Lukas Chrom, the builder of the machine that had just tried to kill them.
Despite that, a newfound vigour filled Dalia, though whether this was in response to their brush with death or some other reason, she couldn’t tell. All she knew was that she was alive and all the things she had feared losing were still there, just waiting to be experienced.
The same mood seemed to suffuse them all, and over the next few hours of their journey, as the ground levelled out and they made good time across the plain, each of her fellow companions relaxed into this new stage of their journey. Even Severine, whose arm was still painful despite Rho-mu 31’s ministrations and the effects of a couple of painkillers, seemed in better spirits.
The air in the vehicle was clammy, yet it was better than the hot dust that billowed around them outside. This far from the pallidus – the atmosphere outside wasn’t actually poisonous, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant. Dalia felt a growing sense of optimism that they were going to reach their goal after all as the hours blurred into days and the unending dust clouds enveloped them.
The days passed mostly in silence, though occasionally one of them would point out a particularly interesting formation or unusual sight and they would talk about it until it was obscured in the dust of their wake. Rho-mu 31 kept one eye on the distant forge, and Dalia felt a growing excitement as the ground became rockier.
At length, Rho-mu 31 slowed the Cargo-5 and pointed to a dark scar in the earth that dropped sharply into the ground between two descending cliffs of rock.
‘The western entrance to the Noctis La
byrinthus,’ said Rho-mu 31.
‘Well, we made it here,’ said Severine. ‘What now?’
Dalia looked at the tense faces of her friends. They had come this far, but looking into the tomb-like darkness of the Noctis Labyrinthus, she could see their fear and hesitation at war with their desire to stand by her.
‘We go in, what else is there to do?’ asked Caxton. ‘We’ve come all this way and we can’t turn back. Right, Dalia?’
‘Right,’ said Dalia, grateful for his support. ‘Fine by me,’ said Zouche. ‘Pointless journey if we don’t go in.’
Severine nodded slowly, and Rho-mu 31 guided their vehicle down the sloping entrance to the canyon system.
The ground dropped away sharply, swallowing them whole as the light faded and left them travelling in a twilight wilderness of shadows and thin bars of diffuse light that filtered down from high above.
Sheer cliffs of layered rock soared above them, and Dalia felt like they were plunging deeper and deeper into the heart of the planet through some dreadful, unhealed wound.
MAVEN COULD BARELY contain his anger at the sight of so many bodies. The tunnel was choked with them, lying scattered in pieces or crushed amid the twisted wreckage of a mag-lev that had been blasted from the track. He rode Equitos Bellum through the darkness, his twin stab-lights illuminating the tunnel and the dusty armoured carapace of Pax Mortis.
‘You still think we’re following dead spoor?’ he voxed to Cronus.
His battle-brother didn’t answer for a moment and Maven sensed his friend’s fury at what he was seeing. The mag-lev hadn’t just been attacked, it had been obliterated. Weapons of tremendous power had torn it open from end to end and slaughtered every living soul within.
‘With all that’s happening across Mars and even after what we found in the pallidus, I’ll admit I was beginning to regret my decision to follow you,’ said Cronus. ‘But no more, brother. Whatever that machine is, it has to be destroyed. This will not stand.’