Five
The days passed. The orks did not come. The star fortress hung in the sky above the Imperial Palace with dreadful imminence. It refused to change its threat into action.
The orks hardly needed to bother invading, Vangorich thought as he walked towards the Great Chamber. The panic the moon’s appearance had created had killed hundreds of thousands, and brush fires of frenzy continued to ignite despite Vernor Zeck’s massive mobilisation of enforcers. Give us enough time, Vangorich wanted to tell the greenskins, and we’ll do the job for you.
He had never felt more helpless. In the depths of sleepless nights, he faced the idea that, once the threat had arrived on Terra’s doorstep, the Officio Assassinorum had become irrelevant. Why should he worry about influencing the political life of the Imperium or checking its excesses when there would soon no longer be any politics left?
He didn’t like questions he could not answer. He would not stop fighting for the Imperium until he no longer drew breath. But all his struggles over the last months had been worse than useless. He had failed to forestall the crisis, and the crisis was on a scale he would have dismissed as laughable. He had been guilty of the same complacency as the rest of the vain puppets who called themselves the High Lords. His sins were, by some measure, even greater. He had been pleased to believe he knew better.
He’d been an arrogant fool. And now here he was, off to take his place like a good puppet on the stage for what might be the last performance before the curtain was brought down.
The uproar that greeted Vangorich as he entered the Great Chamber was tremendous. If this was indeed the final performance, it was going to be a spectacular one. The great scream had finally reached the ears of the High Lords. The Chamber was full for the first time in decades. In their tens of thousands, the lesser lords, petty governors and bureaucrats with leverage filled the tiers. They had come, ostensibly, for answers. But they weren’t listening. Every voice was raised in argument, hurling questions, demands and meaningless threats. Some were weeping. Others had abandoned all pretence at dialogue and their shouts had become inarticulate howls. Vangorich walked the gold-inlaid marble avenue towards the dais. It was like making his way through the maw of a wounded, raging beast. The Chamber, to his grief, no longer held a government. He hoped that what replaced it was not the death cry of a civilisation.
A phalanx of Lucifer Blacks guarded the approach to the dais. On either side, the floor was a roiling ant hill of serfs and messengers. They rushed on errands whose meaninglessness was disguised by urgency. Vangorich was surprised when Veritus’ power-armoured form emerged from that press, brushing past the startled Blacks to walk by his side the rest of the way.
‘There are less inconvenient ways of meeting,’ Vangorich said.
‘I had other business.’ He gave Vangorich a hard look. The eyes in that aged, lined skull burned. ‘You have been interfering in matters that don’t concern you.’
‘Have I?’
‘I am doing you the rare courtesy of giving you a warning.’
Vangorich stopped walking. He was delighted to find that he could still laugh. ‘Really? You’re warning me. And here I was looking forward to a long and prosperous retirement, reading by the light of an ork star fortress. Anyway, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’
‘The Inquisition won’t tolerate intrusions into its affairs.’
‘You speak for the totality of the Inquisition, do you? And by the way, have you officially taken over as Inquisitorial Representative?’
Veritus glared.
Vangorich shook his head. ‘Inquisitor, if you can’t stay on top of your internal politics, I don’t see how you can expect the rest of us to do so.’ He started walking again.
Veritus strode beside him. ‘I am trying to speak to you, Grand Master, because I know that you, at least, are not a fool.’
‘I’m tempted to interpret that as meaning you do not have a high opinion of the High Lords.’
‘I do not.’
‘All such opinions may well be moot.’ Vangorich wondered if he sounded as tired as he felt.
‘I don’t believe that. This obsession with the orks is a mistake.’
Vangorich kept his face straight. ‘I can’t imagine why the orks should be commanding so much of our attention,’ he muttered.
They reached the dais. As they took their seats, Ekharth went through the motions of calling the session to order. There was too much uproar for anyone beyond the circle of chairs to hear him, but the sight of the debate beginning brought a measure of calm to the Great Chamber. Half a million people strained to listen. Vox-casters carried the debate to all corners of the vast space.
Vangorich gestured at the mass assembly. To Udo he said, ‘I rejoice to see the Great Chamber so lively.’
‘As do I, Grand Master.’ The Lord Commander sounded quite genuine.
Vangorich swept his gaze over the Twelve. He judged that some of them, like Lansung, would have preferred the council to be private still. The High Admiral, in particular, was facing massive public humiliation. Others, Udo among them, apparently saw the involvement of the full Chamber as a way of spreading the blame for whatever happened next as widely as possible. The High Lords were behaving as if they were facing nothing worse than an especially acute political crisis, not extermination.
Then again, the orks had not attacked. Every other system where a star fortress had intruded would have long since been burning or enslaved.
The anomaly wasn’t lost on the other Lords. ‘Why haven’t the greenskins invaded?’ Ekharth asked Lansung.
The High Admiral shrugged. Defeat was corroding him further each day. ‘I have no idea,’ he said.
‘Perhaps the Fabricator General can enlighten us,’ Vangorich said.
‘We have no satisfactory answer to give,’ said Kubik. ‘The behaviour is anomalous. One can construct scenarios wherein the means necessary to transport a body of that mass to the heart of the Imperium are such that the Veridi giganticus must rebuild energy stores prior to further action. But this is mere speculation, an inevitable result of our lack of data. Since this behaviour does not conform to any previously seen in the orks, the inevitable conclusion is that it is not simply their technology that is undergoing dramatic evolution. Perhaps even cladogenesis is possible. We can rule out nothing. The situation is an interesting one.’
‘Does that mean there will be time for the fleet to return?’ Ekharth’s wistfulness was childlike. It was picked up by the assembly. The murmur of hope was loud as thunder, fragile as gossamer.
‘Unknown.’ Kubik’s brief response was as close to a shrug as the Fabricator General came.
‘The orks will let us know,’ Lansung said.
The crowd rumble grew discontented.
‘Is that what you propose?’ Juskina Tull asked. ‘That we wait to find out? That is not acceptable.’
‘Do you see an alternative, Speaker?’ Some of Lansung’s old sneer came back.
‘We take the fight to the orks.’
Now Lansung laughed. The sound was ugly with contempt and despair. ‘But of course. How idiotic that no one else thought of that. I suppose you have a brilliant way of doing this in the absence of the Imperial Navy.’
‘Yes.’
The one word shut down Lansung’s response and brought everyone up short. The silence of a collective breath being held fell over the Great Chamber. Tull rose from her seat. As she began to speak, she walked along the perimeter of the dais. Her robes were a magisterial red and black. She orated with one bare arm outstretched and punctuating each point with sweeping gestures. She held her left arm across her waist, a fold of her robes draped over it, and she strode the stage of the assembly as if born for this moment.