Part 5
Silas Xanax strode into the main cargo bay of the transport Honourbalde. In the centre of the huge chamber stood the Mors Mortis, his Warlord Titan. A smile touched the corners of his mouth as he beheld the mighty God-Machine.
Almost the entire Titan was solid, pitch black, the only colour the brass trim around the chest and on the large shoulders. Its head was formed into a snarling skull, the cogwheel symbol of the Mechanicus emblazoned in brass on its forehead. Its two massive arms, each one a dozen meters long, terminated in a huge Melta Cannon and a broad silvery blade, its surface dormant of the crackling energies of its Titan-grade power field. Two bulky Gatling Blasters were mounted on its shoulders, their black, many-barrelled shapes protruding forwards like blades.
Mors Mortis. Death, it meant, in High Gothic. Death was what it brought, and death was what it was. It was a machine, an entity, created solely to destroy in the Emperor's divine name. As Silas stared up at the fifty-meter tall behemoth, he felt the weight of all that death upon him, death that was the bedrock of the Imperium itself.
"Princeps Xanax."
The voice brought Silas out of his thoughts, and back to reality. "Yes?" he said, turning to face the junior Techpriest.
The Techpriest straightened under Silas' scrutiny. A trio of mechadendrites snaked out from behind him, a small data card held in one long pincer. "This device contains an account of the debriefing of Captain Laenoth of In Gloriam Annihilatum. You are instructed to view it."
"Then we have entered the system?" said Silas, taking the data card from the mechadendrite. He pocketed it. "What happened?"
"In Gloriam Annihilatum achieved an entry point within ninety-nine point six percent accuracy of the projected optimal location. As it emerged from the Warp so close to the destination, it encountered a small enemy force. From analysis of the Machine Spirit of the Gloriam, and Captain Laenoth's testimony, this force ignored his offer of peace, and dismissed the authority of both the Omnissiah and the God-Emperor. Captain Laenoth responded with admirable dedication, and destroyed almost all of the attackers."
"Almost all…" said Silas, thoughtfully. "What happened to those who escaped?"
"They fled into the remains of a space station that was destroyed by the Gloriam. They are an insignificant force, a half-dozen tiny craft, and Captain Laenoth deemed it a waste of resources and time to pursue them."
"I see. What is the current status of the fleet?"
"We have entered containment pattern eight-four-beta, at high orbit. A landing area has been decided upon, and operations to begin ground deployment are proceeding to schedule. The Adeptus Titanicus will be deployed last, to ensure their safety while under transportation."
Silas nodded and turned away, his long hair sifting over his shoulders like mist. "I will be in my quarters, or in Mors Mortis if you must contact me further."
The Techpriest didn't reply as Silas strode out of the room, deep in thought. If the ground deployment was ready to begin, then he had to prepare. The Moderatii would need to be informed, plans would need to be made, all the things that made a military operation possible.
Relena Peacecraft stood at the back of a wide stage, framed in front of a broad banner bearing the crest of the World Nation, a pair of rearing unicorns either side of an elaborate shield. Emblazoned across the shield were the words 'In pacis nos es reus'. In peace we are bound.
People began filing into the auditorium, men and women in finely-cut formal wear, a sea of black and brown. They were the leaders of the nations of the world, or at least they had been until the World Nation had subsumed all others. They were the most powerful people in the world, and they were all here for her.
Relena stepped up to the lectern mounted in the centre of the stage. The bright lights reflected from her shimmering blue gown, and her tiara sparkled with light glancing off its bejewelled silver. She looked around the stadium, taking in the thousands of expectant politicians, purposely ignoring the half-dozen stony-faced Romerfeller Foundation members behind her.
"Members of the World Nation," she began, and cheering broke out spontaneously. She waited for the cheering to subside, then continued. "I bring you grave news, for we have been attacked, by a power far greater than that of the White Fang Alliance. The Space Fortress Barge, our last representative in space, has been destroyed. Records from its last moments show an attacker of terrible power entering the solar system. Just one fraction of that enemy's power destroyed the entire White Fang taskforce sent against Barge, nearly a hundred Virgo Mobile Dolls, and callously destroyed an entire Colony. Over ten million lives were lost on that fateful moment."
She paused, scanning the politicians' responses. Horror and shock played openly over their faces, as well as disbelief that such a disaster could have happened. She reached up slowly, and removed the glittering silver tiara that was the symbol of her office, holding it in one white-gloved hand.
"All here know of my opposition to war. All here know that I will not be a part of a government that sanctions such acts. However, this new enemy has such disregard for peace that they fired without provocation or warning. In counsel with my advisors, I have reached the conclusion that they will be extremely unlikely to accept or acknowledge any peaceful negotiations sent on our behalf. It is for this reason that I have decided to step down from my position. I cannot be party to a war of this magnitude. I shall be Queen no longer."
The audience was silent for a moment in bewilderment, then a flurry of questions assailed her, all mixing together into one indecipherable deluge of sound. She raised a hand for quiet, and then gestured to her left.
"In my place, the World Nation shall have a leader more suited for this crisis, a leader with experience in fighting, and winning, battles. I present to you, Colonel Treize Kushrenada."
Treize stepped forwards. He was a tall man, with short-cropped brown hair. His dark blue suit was tailored perfectly to his powerful build, and its white trim stood out in the artificial lighting. A rapier was sheathed at his waist, and it swayed slowly as he walked to the lectern. He stood beside Relena, and raised one hand to the audience.
"I suspect that most of you did not expect to see me again," he said to the stunned politicians. "However, I have returned from my exile, and I have gratefully accepted Queen Relena's offer to lead this newly formed Nation in the coming war."
"Treize is the most able military leader alive today," announced Relena. "If anyone can achieve victory, it is him. I ask you not to bear him any ill will for his past involvements, but instead look upon him as a saviour, a phoenix risen from the ashes of a past life to deliver the people of Earth from the evil of these new agressors."
Relena stepped back, and Treize gripped the lectern. "What is the purpose of our World Nation's existence? Queen Relena said it was true peace, but were the people able to live in peace?" He paused, surveying the room. "The answer to that, is no. People continue to live in uncertainty, and feel threatened. Why is that? It is because the path of pacifism cannot stand up to the wars forced upon us by the White Fang, and now these new enemies. This tyrannical behaviour must not be allowed. I say to the leaders of the world- no, I say this to all the citizens of the World Nation: now is the time to unite as one great force, and fight against this threat from space." He raised his hand to the politicians. "And then, our victory over them shall earn unity and peace for the Earth! Is that not our mission in this life?"
He lowered his arm as cheering broke out. Relena had to admire his sheer charisma. He had not been on stage for more than five minutes, and he already had the world's politicians cheering for him and hanging on his every word.
"It is in this endeavour," said Treize, after the cheers had subsided, "that I wish to ask you all for your aid. All the military forces of the Earth must be organised together if we are to stand any chance against this enemy. Data from Barge shows the horrendous power of just one of the enemy craft, and there have been at least seven more detected. Orbital scans, and transmissions from the remaining Colonies, show that these craft are even now entering orbit around our planet."
Relena turned and slowly walked out, unnoticed as the audience focussed on Treize. She would not be party to war, even if she had allowed it to begin. She could not bring herself to betray her ideals, even for the sake of the Earth. The world needed Treize now, not her.
As she exited the stadium floor, Treize's voice faded until it was just a low buzzing. Her thoughts were turbulent. Despite what she had said, she still clung to the slim chance that diplomacy could end this war before it began. Official sanction would be impossible, though, for such a dangerous and almost certainly futile mission.
She tugged off her gloves as she neared her chambers, folding them together in her hand. It was lucky, then, that the Peacecraft family was wealthy and influential. She had taken action alone before, and had been considering it before this new attack came. Sometimes, official channels were useless, and face-to-face meetings were the only way to get through to people.
The door to her chambers swung open soundlessly, and she stepped inside onto the soft, carpeted floor. The wide window opposite her was open, the white curtains drawn back, and the room was filled with bright daylight. She stepped up to the long table, running a finger along its smooth, polished surface absentmindedly. The phone felt cold in her bare hand, and the buttons clicked sharply as she dialled.
"I need my shuttle preparing for immediate lift-off," she said after it connected, and then put it down without waiting for a reply. She had to hurry, before things progressed too far.
Silas looked up at the monitor, his brow furrowing with thought. He had returned to his chambers, and was seated at his cogitator terminal, pouring over the data stream on the bulky display screen built into the wall. Although Princeps rated extensive space aboard the ship, even one as comparatively small as the Honourblade, his quarters were spare and devoid of ornamentation. Trophies and accolades of battle were won on the deaths of good soldiers, and he felt that displaying them openly would be to dishonour their memory, reducing their sacrifice to a simple piece of metal or fabric.
He tapped through the cogitator's text interface, feeling clumsy and slow outside of the mind-link connection to Mors Mortis. An image flashed up, grainy and distorted by weapons fire. It showed one of the enemy craft that the Gloriam had engaged, and had been captured at extreme range.
It was a humanoid design, and reminiscent of the battlesuits of the Tau, although its size and void-combat capabilities marked it as being of different origin to those. The Gloriam's sensors had measured it as sixteen meters tall, from foot to head, and it was of slender build next to any other comparably-sized craft. Its exterior armour was off-white, and it carried a bulky weapon in both hands.
He flicked through data until he found another image, this one of one of the craft's guns, bordered by a set of damage diagnostics and power estimations. The weapon used some form of plasma technology, although it appeared to be far more stable and controlled than the unruly weapons used by the Imperium. Damage readouts showed only negligible shield depletion, and Silas wondered if the weapons were only weak against shielding, or if they were just underpowered for their size and energy readings.
Then… there were the other enemies, including one that Captain Laenoth had been in communication with. He brought up an image of it, and found that it was accompanied by a set of technical estimations. The craft was larger than the others, approximately eighteen meters, and was a deep red in colour. Its form was harsher then the others, with spikes and angles at every joint.
Its weapons systems were active, and it held a flashing energy sword in one hand, and a flaring whip in the other. The sword had been seen to carve through Fury's with no resistance, and plainly used advanced energy manipulation and shaping technology to hold its form. The whip, however, appeared to have a solid core, and data reading suggested it used a thermal energy field to melt through armour. Fury's recovered from the combat which had been damaged by the whip showed a much greater physical deformation, which indicated that the thermal field took time to burn through its target, time enough that the solid core could make impact.
The craft appeared to be highly manoeuvrable, and was capable of near-instant direction changes. Its reaction times were phenominal, and measured in the milliseconds. Nontheless, the report from Laenoth testified that the Gloriam's lances had scored a glancing hit on the craft, and had done heavy damage.
His thoughts were interrupted when the comm system activated with a burst of static.
"Princeps Xanax to the bridge, effective immediately. Repeat, Princeps Xanax to the bridge."
Silas sighed, and closed down the cogitator, apologising to its Machine Spirit for the abruptness and lack of appeasement. He stood. What could have happened? The Honourblade wasn't due in formation for another three standard hours.