A/N: Again, no review responses due to no time, but here is the second of my chapter posts this weekend. Have a good weekend, and thanks for reading and reviewing.
Chapter Ten: Et Aperti Sunt Oculi Amborum
"Why Himilazia?"
Uwoma posed the question half in jest, but only half.
The location chosen by the Emperor for the capital of his newly won Unity made her curious. It was so very remote and inhospitable, with bitter, constant cold and storms that caused a constant string of mechanical failures among the machines that even now were building the palace around them. The expense and amount of work already undertaken just to survey the ancient mountains made Kallender, the first Chancellor of the Estate Imperium, wince during one of the early public broadcasts announcing the creation of a new Terran capital.
His replacement did not even blink an eye. "Because that is where the Emperor chose it to be. You've made quite the name for yourself here, Uwoma. Surely you take no issue with it?"
"The air gets thin, especially when warlords and dictators use it all up to defend their crimes. I am unaccustomed to the cold."
Uwoma Kandawire was still adjusting to her role as senior provost of the newly commissioned Arbiters Guild that was, even then, determining the guilt or innocence of the many warlords conquered by the Emperor and his armies in the name of Unity. It was, to an old refugee from the Banda Confederacy of ancient Afric, a strange turn of events. More than once, thinking back to the little compound where she was born and raised, she wondered how she had arrived on the literal top of the world.
Through the windows of the chambers where the summons had brought her, the sun became lost in yet another blinding, sudden snowstorm.
Pelops Dravagor, the second Chancellor of the Estate Imperium, stood abruptly from the table. Uwoma followed suit, and turned to see who entered. She felt no surprise when Noum Retraiva entered the exquisitely decorated chamber, with its real wood paneling and portraiture of historical figures from before the dark ages even began.
What did surprise her was when Noum entered side-by-side with Kli-San Weia, newly promoted Lord General of the Emperor's vast army. The tall, oak-skinned figure towered over the Master of the Adminsitratum of the Imperium, and even more so over the short, rather squat figure of Uwoma Kandawire.
But it was not these two personages which pulled Uwoma's eyes like moths to the lamp. Behind them came an ancient-seeming figure in a brown robe cinched by a fine cloth-of-gold belt, staff in hand like a wizard from the stories Uwoma's father told her when she was young.
Servants came from behind Malcador the Sigillite, bearing flasks of wine and trays of food. "We shall work while we eat," Malcador announced in a voice that sounded as vibrant and powerful as any general on the field. "We may be here for some time."
Uwoma considered her questions, but Malcador seemed to anticipate them. "My friends, it is time to memorialize the civilian governance of the Imperium. The Emperor has decided, initially, on four divisions of authority. My dear friend Noam here, as you know, is Master of the Adminsitratum. Pelops, you shall retain your role as Chancellor. General Kli-San, however, shall assume the title of Lord Commander Militant. And you, Uwoma, shall assume the role of Provost Marshal. Under you shall fall the execution of the Lex, and those arbiters who shall enforce it. You are now the High Lords of Terra, and the task of civilian governance for this world will fall upon your shoulders. Sit, eat. Let us get to work."
~~Revelation~~
~~Revelation~~
There was never, at any point in Uwoma Kandawire's career with the Imperium, the pretense of freedom or democracy. The so-called Emperor chose his name for a reason, just as Tang called himself a Cardinal, and many others called themselves "Ethnarcs". For the decades and even centuries that the "Imperium'' grew, gobbling up the various techno-barbarian polities, he was just another in a long line of warlords.
It wasn't until the Emperor walked unarmed into the Witenagamot of the Albian Clan Lords, wearing white and gold like an ancient priest, that Uwoma thought he might be different. Because with words alone, the Emperor ended almost a century of war between his nascent Imperium and one of the strongest of the Techno-Barbarian states with the sheer power of his vision and the eloquence of his words.
It was that vision that pulled Uwoma from the refugee camps of the failing Banda Confederacy, itself having succumbed to the Zooipa savages that continually raided into the loose confederation of people trying to survive in the nuclear-blasted lands of humanity's birth. It brought her, and a lifetime's worth of indignation at the cruel injustice of life on Terra, to the Emperor's service as an arbitrator of the growing body of Imperial law, the Lex.
Even then, having accepted his rule and subjected herself to His service, she knew better than to ever think the Emperor was anything other than a tyrant. His will was manifest through his gene-spliced Thunder Warriors and the golden giants called the Custodes. But that Will, even if it did not bring true freedom, at least ended the millennia of war and started building again. He had a breathtaking vision of the future, and anyone who looked would be swept away in it.
It was at times like this, reviewing the latest case files with her quickly growing contingent of arbiters, that just reinforced the fact that she had become a weapon against individualism.
"She's not even a priestess," Elandale argued. "All she has to do is renounce her pagan god and accept the Imperial Truth, and she'd be free."
Quin Elandale was Albion by birth, born after the Unspeakable King was overthrown by the Clan Leaders, but before they abased themselves to the Emperor. He wore the heavy iron plate of an arbiter judge but had his helmet off to reveal classic Albion features–flaming orange-red hair, high cheeks and a belligerent chin. "We have almost a hundred of these people in custody," he continued. "And there are probably tens of thousands more in the Merican arcologies. It was their state religion for thousands of years."
"She must have been born into the faith," Siose Zhu-ang declared. "She's not yet twenty, and the last church was closed down twenty-two years ago by the Emperor personally. Do we have evidence that they're purposely spreading their faith?"
"The numbers would imply yes," Quin said. Then: "But I've not been able to find evidence."
"We're going to have an influx of new prisoners from the latest Boetia revolt," Uwoma told her staff. "Murderers, genehanced mercenaries and flesh-stitchers. Peaceful cult initiates don't concern me, except as a tool to find the mastermind."
She took the file for the initiate in their cells atop the Himilazia. Just a girl, one who looked out from her ident pict with an angry, yet tired expression. "Subdermal tag. Her and the others, then let them go. If they lead us to the ring-leader, this so-called Pythia, then we can act. For now, we have other more pressing matters to attend to."
Elandale nodded, then grinned. "That's why you're the boss, boss."
No one commented when Uwoma took the file when the long meeting adjourned.
~~Revelation~~
~~Revelation~~
Uwoma found her oldest friend Ophar in her chambers sitting with her newest aide-de-camp, Armina. The slight woman made a startling contrast to Ophar. He was an old man, with long, gangly limbs and steel-wool hair. His skin was dark and craggy with his age. Armina, on the other hand, appeared slight of build and near perfectly proportioned, with pale Albion skin and straw-like hair. And yet she listened attentively as Uwoma's old friend guided her in the use of the newly re-invented dataslate and Uwoma's preferred formatting.
Both looked up as Uwoma entered. Armina stood to stiff attention, stifling a brief expression of fear. "Sit, girl," Uwoma said. "I'm going to steal Ophar for a time. Order some food, please."
"Yes, Lord," Armina said.
"And include some cocoa," Ophar added. "The Lord needs the warmth against this climate."
"Of course," Armina added, still too unsure of herself to hazard if Ophar was joking.
He wasn't, of course. Uwoma's love of cocoa was one of the many factors that contributed to her rather rotund stature. He followed her into the anteroom of her chambers, but frowned as soon as the door closed. "It is official, then? That meeting you took yesterday?"
"It's official," Uwoma said with a snort. "'High lord.' If they have to keep adding prefixes to the word 'lord', it means there are too many lords to begin with." She tossed the file to him. "You know more about the old Telosian church than I do. Can you tell me if they're still proselytizing?"
She took off her coat, and then the heavy chain of her new office, and only then realized that her old friend had not answered. Turning, she saw that Ophar had sunk down onto a chair, a tear in his eye as she stared with gaping jaws at the file pict.
"What? Old friend, what is it?"
His jaw snapped shut and he blinked his tears away. "He never made you go to Temple, did he?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Your father. You never went to the temple. The Banda surrendered to the Imperium early, and it was one of the Emperor's first edicts. Faith was to end with your father's generation. So they never took you. You never saw."
"Saw what?"
Ophar turned the photo around until she was looking at the photo of the angry, tired young woman who refused to renounce her faith for Unity.
"Kondedwa, dearest, if you had gone to church you would have seen this face. This is the face of Holy Telos herself, reflected in her mortal saint. This is Saint Taylor, the everlasting. She has returned once more."
Uwoma made some quick calculations–the staff meeting she had finished up two hours ago. She tapped her dedicated vox bead. "Quin, the pagans. Are they still in custody?"
Her subordinate answered immediately. "No, Lord. They received their tags and were let go. I'm at my station, I can…" He voice drifted off at some unseen distraction.
"What?"
"Lord, the implants have already been deactivated. It would take a flesh stitcher to remove them. Shall I submit arrest orders?"
"To my arbiters only," she said. "No communications to local authorities."
"Yes, lord."
She looked back to her oldest friend–the man who carried her from the burning remnants of her old family home before she, like her parents, perished. "Ophar, tell me about this Saint."
~~Revelation~~
~~Revelation~~
Creating a global legal system from scratch was a monumental task. It was a rare day when Uwoma Kandawire did not work sixteen to seventeen hours. Nor was the Lex static–they were constantly incorporating lost vestiges of law from ages past as the need or opportunity provided. In each case, she submitted the suggestion to the Sigillite, and he either approved or dismissed, and the Lex was further expanded.
No legislative process, no peer review. And yet she rarely found her superior disagreeing, and when she pressed further, the Sigillite would simply say, "Show me." If she could, he would accept her recommendation.
"You were chosen for a reason," he told her one time on why he seemed so willing to work with her, rather than just dictate.
It was late in one of those very long days, after she had sent her aide-de-camp to bed, that she received a vox from Quin. "Yes?"
"Word on our missing pagans," Elandale said. "The lead suspect was sighted in the old Bostan Arcology. Arbiters are standing by to arrest."
"What was she doing?"
"Applying for a work license."
"Do you happen to know what field?"
"Historical transliteration for the Bostan Preservation Society. Shall I give the order?"
She considered what Ophar told her, then shook her head. "No, surveillance only. If she's not actively proselytizing, we'll just watch for now."
"Got it, boss."
~~Revelation~~
~~Revelation~~
The Bostan Preservation Society occupied an ancient stone and permacrete structure overlooking the Lantic abyssal plains. It was unusual because it was not located within one of the towering hives of glass and steel that dominated the network of arcologies that were gradually growing together into what would inevitably become a single hive city.
The green space the society straddled was itself an anachronism. Not only was there a lawn of actual grass, but also large, old-growth trees that were allowed to grow in little copses placed at strategic points around the unusually large open space set between a trio of towers that rose above the cloud lines to the north, south and west of it.
It did not shock Uwoma to find the place crowded with citizens of the nearby towers. People craved growing, green things. Even if just to lay in the grass.
As she approached the Bostan Preservation Society, she felt startled to see the empty shell of a Merican 378 heavy tank. The vehicle was considered, at least during those years before the Emperor began his crusade to unify Terra, the finest armored vehicle in production. It went almost as fast as an archeotech hovertank, with a rate of fire still better than the Emperor's standard armament. Only its sheer expense and complexity kept it from being made the primary weapon of the Emperor's legions.
Standing beside it, she did not even reach as high as the ancient tracked wheels. When she walked around the side toward the entrance of the building, she saw how the tank had died. The heavy reactive armor had blown outward, and then something had physically bent the plate to expose those long-lost souls within.
The Preservation Society was a museum, she realized. The name certainly hinted at it, but when she stepped into the building she was surprised at the size of the interior compared to the relatively small exterior. But then again, she should have realized much of it was underground. Wide, carpeted stone steps led down into a vast, open atrium filled with intricate, well-crafted displays worthy of the finest Imperium iterator.
On the ground level, the much more modest space had plaques and holographic displays. Curious, she walked the short circuit of floor space that surrounded the stairs. For the day, she wore a simple dress in non-descript colors, with her personal shield well disguised as costume jewelry hanging around her neck.
Her guards changed into plain-clothes according to the fashion of the region, their weapons well hidden and they themselves hanging far back as innocuous as possible. Most of the plaques were of historical figures from the region. Rochilds, Wastons and the like. The one display that stood out did so not because of the figure, but because of the graffiti that covered it. Traitor was written across the plaque of one Harlus Abinold Stein.
Reading through the painted letters that covered the plaque, she learned that Harlus Stein was the Merican General who, due to the deaths of all his superiors, rose up through the ranks of the Merican Federation Army until he came to command the Federation's entire miliary in a last-ditched, desperate battle against the Emperor's newly minted Thunder Warrior legions in the nuke-blasted deserts of the Veda Wastes. After taking horrendous losses, the General chose to surrender not just his army, but the entire Merican Federation, kneeling to the Emperor personally.
"Not again!"
A startlingly young voice muttered angrily from behind Uwoma. She turned and saw an awkwardly tall young woman with dark, curly hair pulled away from a rather homey face. She carried a simple bucket with soapy water and a scrub-brush. "Excuse me, please. I'll get this cleaned up."
The girl was, surprisingly, Uwoma's target. She watched as the supposed saint applied a chemical spray to break up the paint before scrubbing.
"You've worked here long?"
The girl seemed lost in her chore, and didn't answer at first. A second later the question percolated through. "Not long," she said. "It's my third week, really."
The girl was putting genuine effort into her work, and did not slow down in her quest to restore the informational plaque to its original state.
"So, what's your favorite part of working here?"
The girl snorted. "Pay. I don't eat much, but I really miss it when I don't have anything to eat at all."
Owuma laughed despite herself. "Ahh, I of all people can appreciate that."
The girl glanced back at Uwoma's girth before stifling a smile. "Everyone has to eat."
"But surely food isn't the only reason to work at a place like this," Uwoma said. "The museum barely pays the minimum required under the lex. You could make more in a factory. You could triple your salary taking a job with the munitorum. But you chose a museum. So surely there is something you like here. Are you a student of history?"
"History is a nightmare from which I'm always trying to wake," she muttered.
"What was that?"
"A quote I read once. Probably not anyone you've heard from." She finished her task, and took a cloth from her janitorial belt and wiped the plaque dry. "I do feel sorry for Harlus. Mericans tend to blame him, as if it was his fault he couldn't beat a god and an army of psychopathic angels with tanks and guns. He did better than anyone else could have, and his surrender allowed Merican to enter the Imperium relatively intact, with minimal reparations. His kids were treated like monsters too."
While the girl looked young, in that instant she sounded like a teacher.
At the mention of kids, Uwoma looked and saw that General Stein and his wife were murdered just eighty years ago, twenty years after the battle of the Veda Wastes.
"Will you show me your museum, mamzel?"
The question startled the girl. She turned and stared, searching Uwoma's face. "What?"
"I'm not going to be in Bostan long, but I find history fascinating. I also appreciate different perspectives. I'll make it worth your while. A week's wage for an hour of your time, no questions asked."
"I'm just a kid."
"I'm from Afric. I won't know when you're wrong."
The girl shook her head, but smiled despite the gesture. "Fine. Where do you want to start?"
"At the beginning, of course. Your name."
"Rose," she said.
"Rose, my name is Uwoma. A pleasure to meet you. So, lead on, my dear Rose."
Her young guide did just that, and in moments Uwoma found herself entertained by the girl's encyclopedic knowledge of the many historical displays. She also found herself impressed with the museum itself. It had reproductions of picts and portraits going back many thousands of years.
However, she also noticed several gaps where it appeared displays had been removed over the years and never replaced. There were very few people beside themselves, and she also could see that some of the displays were aging with minimal repair.
They came to one empty space and Uwoma decided to ask. "The floor discoloration looks like something used to be here," she said.
The girl shrugged. "Probably Telosian. The Emperor outlawed religion, so we had to remove all the religious-themed displays."
"Why would there be religious displays within a historical society?"
The girl raised a brow at the question, but then quickly shook her head. "Doesn't matter now."
"No, but it mattered then, obviously," Uwoma said.
"The Telosian Church was founded here, nearly thirty-thousand years ago. For most of those thirty-thousand years, it maintained a church around its holy site. At one point almost seventy percent of the human race were a part of that church."
Ophar had told Uwoma something similar, though even he didn't know precisely where the Church had been created. "How would someone your age know that if it isn't written any more?"
"I enjoy history," she said. "The Telosian Church helped found the Merican Federation. The church helped recruitment for the Merican army. Most people alive today at least remember the church, even if they're not allowed to worship or discuss it anymore."
The tour continued, but Uwoma noticed that her guide became more reticent after that discussion. Finally, they reached the last display–a strikingly detailed holographic diorama of the battle of the Veda Wastes. Uwoma watched the battle play out in miniature, recreated from contemporary recordings and testimony.
"Harlus heard about the Thunder Warriors before," the girl said, speaking softly as if to herself. "We'd heard about the battles in the Panpac and Nordafric. But the Merican tank corps was the best in the world. The heavy infantry had mech suits. The Merican's didn't really use genesplicing, but there were a few units with combat stims."
She pointed to the first engagement. "Those were the Emperor's auxiliaries. The Genos. Good soldiers, fanatics. Harlus held them back and managed to maintain the lines. He was even getting the heavy artillery into place to start pounding the enemy supply lines. But then the Thunder Warriors came."
The girl shuddered, as if cold. Below, the detailed hololithic animation zoomed in on the monstrous genehanced warriors as they swept down a plateau to slam into the hastily repositioning flank of the 10,000 strong tank corps.
"They were physically ripping tanks open," Rose whispered. "Laughing. Roaring like animals as they ripped soldiers apart with their hands. We lost four thousand tanks in the first ten minutes of the engagement. Almost a hundred tanks for every Thunder Warrior killed. Harlus knew they couldn't win. So, he surrendered."
"You sound passionate about the subject," Uwoma noted. "Did you have family there?"
The girl snorted humorlessly before reaching down to a hidden display and zeroing in on one of the last tanks to be struck. The surrender must have already been communicated, because crews were climbing out of their machines and falling to the ground with their hands behind their heads.
It didn't stop the Thunder Warriors, not at first. The slaughter continued unabated for several minutes, ending with the last tank that was torn apart, and the crew tossed like ragged toys from their canopy.
"That was me," the girl said, pointing. "Tank Designation was Saint Squad A-4. I was the driver and captain. I could hear Harlus screaming over the vox-coms that we surrendered. Begging the Emperor's monsters to stop. They did, eventually. Spent six months in a coma, and when I woke up, the Emperor ruled the arcologies, and Harlus and I had to go into exile so our kids wouldn't be murdered in the street. Not that it mattered–they got us twenty years later anyway. At least our kids survived."
Uwoma looked around and realized they were alone; the museum was closed. "What are you saying, Rose?"
The girl met her gaze squarely; unflinching in a way no mere teenage could achieve. "You know my name, Uwoma Kandawire. But you needn't worry. I'm not proselytizing any more. The Telosian church is gone. I'm not a saint; I'm not a soldier. I'm just a girl making minimum credits sweeping floors. Just like your Emperor wants."
"Saint Taylor."
A wry grin, but the furrow between her dark brows looked angry. "There are no more saints, High Lord. All the gods wear armor and call themselves Custodes, or Emperor. I'm just Rose."
"And if the Lex requires me to arrest you? To execute you?"
"I'll just pop back a few years later," the child said. "The Church said it was because I was the mortal aspect of Telos herself. But the Emperor has decreed no more gods, so obviously that can't be why, can it? The Emperor isn't a god, he's just a man who can make things happen with his mind, and his Will. Like those Thunder Warriors. Ever wonder where they went?"
"There are still Thunder Warriors, but I assumed they aged and died naturally."
The girl looked down bitterly at the diorama, which had begun playing again. "They were gene-spliced to last a few centuries at least, and he made hundreds of thousands of them. But they're almost all gone now. Poof. But it doesn't matter, because He said it doesn't. Just like he said there are no gods. And no faith in anything but what he decrees. This is the truth I have to live now, just like you. I have no power. I have no genehanced monsters to enforce my will. So, I'll go on sweeping floors and trying to wake up from this nightmare of history. Unless you choose to lock me up or shoot me."
Saint Taylor the Telosian looked back at the display. "Harlus was a good man," she said at last with raw emotion in her voice. "He deserved so much more." With that, she turned her back on one of the most powerful people in the world and simply walked into the shadows of an unlit museum.
More importantly, Uwoma let her.