Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 260
To say Governor Bryne was feeling overwhelmed was an understatement. The man slumped in his chair and listened to arguments rage back and forth over the conference table, red-faced men shouting over charts and stacked reports. Deep under the Palace, in a secure bunker of Ferrocrete and stark lumen orbs, adorned only by portraits of previous Governors. Here he had sat through three days of bedlam and anarchy, three days of reports flooding in faster than they could be read. Bryne had never faced anything like this challenge, never imagined a threat descending on his world. As Governor it was his duty to lead his people in defying the menace, but he didn't understand what it was they faced, he didn't think anyone did.
"We've lost all contact with Kureat province!" a burly man with many medals on his chest and a face pitted by decades of weathering the hot sun, shouted, "We must pull back!"
"To retreat is to blaspheme against the God-Emperor!" another man in heavy robes and a mitre too big for his skinny head sneered.
"Don't talk to me about blasphemy Gotted," the military man responded, "Every unit I send to the front disappears, every contact with the enemy ends in silence. We're feeding bodies to this monster. Our only chance is to pull back and build a proper defence around the Capital."
"Your men are weak Urian," the other sneered, "You should shoot any officer who dares order a retreat, and have their families hung in the town squares as a warning to the rest."
Bryne let the debate roll over him without interest. It had been like this ever since that mysterious warning from Magos Pycelo had come in. Bryne's first instinct was to ignore it, but less than a day later reports started flooding in of attacks, unknown forces razing towns and cities everywhere. A dozen flashpoints had erupted into violence, followed by sudden silence from the struck towns. Then it spread, city after city, town after town, wails of alarm coming from all directions.
General Urian had acted commendably, mustering the PDF with speed but so far very little success. Every unit he sent into battle simply vanished, as if dropping off the face of the world. The only force seeming to have the slightest effect was the Mechanicus air-cavalry, flying from hot-point to hot-point, but always falling back after a few hours, diminished and bleeding. Bryne couldn't imagine what was happening out there, but had other worries. Civil unrest had erupted in every unaffected city as word spread, rioters thronging the streets and guildhalls. His aides had begged him to make a speech, to calm the masses but he had no idea what to say to them, how could he reassure them when he didn't know what was going on himself?
His eyes drifted above the table to where a grand portrait of Old Horoto hung, glowering as sternly as ever. Bryne had been too young to remember life under the ironhanded regime, but those who lived through his reign of terror still shuddered and averted their gazes from the many, many images of himself he had left. What would the despot have done, Bryne wondered, something bold and decisive and bloody no doubt. He wouldn't sit in an armoured bunker under his palace, he'd have got out there, chainsword in hand and started lopping off heads. Sadly Bryne wasn't half the man his forbearer was, he knew it, he knew he only resided in office because the other political players were too busy rebuilding after the ruins Horoto had made of their standing. Bryne knew he was only a placeholder Governor, until one family or another felt confident enough to seize power.
He was distracted as Urian bellowed, "I don't give a flying Frak about your crops!"
Across the table another man in a Guildsman's jacket looked angry as he spat, "Your vehicles are destroying our fields!"
"Better crushed fields than people Mytyr," the General hissed.
Another official in an Administratum robe retorted, "Cippum is already behind in its Tithe-shipments. The God-Emperor's due is being ground beneath your wheels!"
General Urian snarled, "Dammit Furead, don't you see what's happening out there?! We have attacks spreading on a dozen fronts, and more reports coming in hourly. Perhaps I could respond but the people are fleeing in droves. They flee before the attacks, weeping of impossible things, some even claim they came home to find their friends and loved ones turned into soulless monsters. Millions of refugees clogging up our roads, millions of desperate and fearful people mobbing every transport that tries to get through. Our roads are blocked, our trains swamped with bodies and our aerial transports were meagre enough to begin with. Driving cross-country is the only way I'm getting anything done!"
Administrator Furead turned to Bryne and said, "Those refugees are all heading for the spaceport, pleaded for transport off-world."
"So let them go," Bryne muttered dismissively.
"That is not my point," Furead retorted, "The masses disrupt our loading timetables, trying to get onto the shuttles. Our crews don't have the means to disperse them, some are even letting small groups stow away in their holds. You must send troops to drive these scum away."
General Urian spat, "I'm not sparing a single trooper to bully civilians. Let them go, start an evacuation, as that Magos instructed."
"Abandon our Tithe-shipments?!" Furead exclaimed, "Unthinkable, Governor tell this lout to mind his tone!"
Bryne shrank into his chair and muttered, "I… I… don't know…"
"Warp Hells," Urian growled, "Crap or get off the pot man."
Bryne cast about in desperation, looking for any means to avoid this conversation. He saw a pair of aides sneaking in through the armoured door, carrying trays with drinks laid upon them. Desperate for a reprieve he opened his mouth to summon them, only to fall silent as he spied what was carried under the platters. His look of terror drew attention and other heads around the table began to turn to see what distressed him, when the servants cast aside their platters and whipped out the laspistols concealed underneath.
Cries of alarm rang out but the pistols fired before any response could be mustered, stabbing las-bolts into the rising men. Bryne saw Bishop Gotted go down with a shot to his shoulder, clutching at the smoking hole in his robes. Guildmaster Mytyr fell with a blown out knee and Administrator Furead collapsed clutching at his guts. The pair of assassins calmly played their barrels about, gunning down anyone who cross their eyeline.
Bryne sat frozen in terror, only to be smashed out of his chair as General Urian slammed into him. The veteran warrior threw them both under the heft of the table and from somewhere drew a laspistol of his own as he spat, "Do you have a way out of here?!"
"I.." Bryne gasped, "What?"
"An escape tunnel, a secret stair, a trash chute. C'mon Governors always have a backdoor somewhere!"
"There's… a private elevator," Bryne stammered.
"Good, here's what you're going to do. On the count of three, you run for the exit. Don't look back, don't stop. One, two… three!"
"But…" Bryne protested yet Urian had already leapt to his feet, laspistol flaring as he fired at the pair of assassins. Bryne had never been so afraid and yet fear lent his feet swiftness as he rose and ran for the wall. He didn't look back, didn't see las-bolts strike the assassins and leave scorch marks, that immediately closed over. Didn't see Urian keep firing anyway, blasting away till his magazine was expended. Bryne missed the general's defiant last stand as he put his head down and sprinted for a blank stretch of wall, fiddling with a signet ring on his finger as he did so.
A bare bit of Ferrocrete slunk back in response to the vox-key hidden in the ring and then rolled away, revealing a hidden elevator. Bryne dove inside and pounded on a runepad, causing the door to slam shut again. He leaned on polished wooden panels and breathed hard, hearing the pounding of his heart in his ears, drowning out the plinky music played through a vox-speaker as the elevator ascended. Terror clung to his guts and he struggled to comprehend what had just happened, how the enemy had got so far inside their defences. The Palace was the most secure place on the planet, surely it should be safe, it had to be safe.
The elevator ground to a halt and the door slid open, revealing bedlam. Smoke filled the air and distant screams rang down the corridors. Sounds of las-fire and explosions ringing loud. Bryne's mind froze as he saw the enemy had sent far more than two assassins; the Palace was filled with foes, tearing out the heart of Cippum.
Bryne slid out of the elevator and headed left. He had no plan, no scheme to reach further routes outside. Such things existed for sure, but he was too terrified to remember them, brain locked up in terror. Only his feet seemed to have any agency and they took him through luxurious quarters and richly appointed corridors on instinct. He nearly ran straight into an attacker in a velvet sitting room, seeing a man in a butler's uniform standing with his back to the door. All that saved Bryne was the fact the man's hands were locked around the throat of a maid, the woman sobbing as he choked the life out of her. Bryne opened his mouth to yell for help but fell silent as he saw silver threads bore through the woman, devouring her alive. In moments she was consumed, her body becoming runnels of silver liquid that dripped upon the floor, then she was no more.
Bryne ran, driven by utter terror. He fled down the corridor and flung himself through the first open door he found, not caring what was on the other side. He grabbed the door and heaved it closed, pressing his back against the wood as if that would stop anyone. His mind brimmed with denial, trying to reject the sight he had just seen, but images clung in his mind's eye. Again and again he saw the maid dissolving, her face becoming a perfect silver sheen before collapsing in on itself. She'd been alive as the impossible thing hold took her, of this he was sure and somehow that was worse than if the attacker had just killed her.
"Whose there?" a faint voice called. Bryne's head snapped up and he realised he was in a small library, one of many dotted about the Palace. It was a reading room for family histories and genealogy, a quiet space for high-born ladies to while away an afternoon or elderly officials to catch a short nap where no one would bother them. Around a worn leather chair stepped a young man, with sticky-up hair, one Bryne recognised instantly.
"Bryer!" the Governor cried in relief, "You're alive!"
"So much noise," Bryer said faintly, "So much commotion."
"We're under attack," Bryne exclaimed, "We have to get out of here, we have to find your mother and get to the spaceport. If we can get a shuttle we can seek refuge in orbit."
"Why is this happening?" the youth said.
"I don't know, I don't understand. I'm not even sure who these people are, Traitors, cultists, mutants, it makes no sense."
"Why do they fight us?" Bryer sighed, "This could all be done and over, if only they'd accept it. All they are doing is causing distress and delay, trying to hold back the inevitable."
A cold suspicion began to creep up the Governor's spine but refused to let the thought form as he probed, "Where is your mother?"
"With us," the boy replied coldly, "Soon all data will be with us."
"What…" Bryne swallowed, "What is going on Bryer?"
The boy smiled without any warmth as he said, "While the attacks on the perimeter drew your attention we extended a portion of ourselves into the depths of this facility. We absorbed a few low-ranking units, then a few more, then higher-authority units. Once this unit was replicated we were able to move freely, ensuring the attack would be successful. Eliminating command and control of hostile forces is standard tactical doctrine."
Bryne struggled to breathe as denial fought a terrible realisation and he backed up till his shoulders hit the door. All blood drained from his face as he gasped, "What have you done to my wife, to my son?!"
"All data exists to be collected," the construct-Bryer said dispassionately, "Prepare to be integrated."
The false boy reached out and placed his hands on Bryne's arms, making a connection between them. Bryne had time for one last scream as Nanocytes coursed into his blood and bone, taking him apart from the inside out. Bryne's diffident life came to an end in fear and confusion, his humble existence snuffed out with a touch. Governor Bryne ceased to be, everything he was consumed by an ancient horror he could not begin to comprehend. And so the Hungering grew in size and knowledge, taking one more step towards the consumption of a world.