‘What of it?’
‘The psychic and technological advances we have experienced are not the complete picture, captain. Biological and cultural advances are also highly likely.’
‘What do you mean? That there are types of orks out there that we might not have encountered before?’
‘Precisely, whether physically or relating to cultural role. The Beast, whatever it is, may be an ork of a different order to anything we have experienced. Increased psychic activity denotes a shift of parameters that eclipses any expectations we might already possess.’
‘You don’t think the Beast can be killed?’
‘I am sure it can be eliminated. However, I am not sure that whatever plan of action you appear to be initiating will be capable of the feat.’
Koorland stepped back, rocked as if struck. Laurentis’ cold declaration had hit him harder than a bolt-round, bringing home the realisation that the Imperial Fists were no more. Koorland steadied himself with a hand on the bulkhead, gripped by an emptiness he had never felt before.
‘Apologies, captain, I meant no offence.’
‘None taken,’ said Koorland. He straightened up. ‘Your assessment is right, magos. There’s nothing I can do alone that would kill the Beast. And there are no more Imperial Fists for me to command in such an action.’
‘Yet you have an alternative plan?’
‘I do.’ Koorland stepped towards the magos, forcing the machine-man to retreat quickly. ‘I need to speak to an astropath.’
‘A meeting I can facilitate, captain, if you would allow me.’
‘Why would you help me?’ said Koorland with a scowl.
‘It is in the interest of all non-orks that the Beast is stopped. I know that you think me and my kind inhuman, Captain Koorland, but we do have the best interests of mankind in mind on occasion. The Adeptus Mechanicus can no more survive this current onslaught than the Imperium. If you have a plan that will counter the ork threat I am happy to assist.’
‘Very well, lead on,’ said Koorland, waving towards the door.
The two of them encountered only servitors as they made their way aft and up to the top deck of the ship. Here two combat servitors were stationed at the archway that led into the astropath’s crew quarters. The hulking creatures were bigger even than Koorland, with chainblades and gun barrels for fists.
Koorland was relieved when the two behemoths stepped aside at a clicked series of commands from Laurentis; the Space Marine was sure he could have bested the servitors, but it was better that he was able to avoid further confrontation with his Adeptus Mechanicus hosts. They were capable of rendering him comatose or immobile if they wished, and he had no desire to be held in such a way.
Following Laurentis, Koorland ducked under the arch and into the antechamber beyond. A bell chimed as they entered, alerting Astropath Daezen Asarain to their presence. Benches were arranged in a square looking at a dark stone sculpture depicting the Emperor as the messenger, one hand holding a star on an open palm, wings sprouting from His back. Laurentis and Koorland remained standing. Less than a minute had passed when one of the side doors swished open to reveal a surprisingly young-looking man in a dark green robe. His blank eyes regarded the two visitors as though he could still see. They widened in surprise.
‘Captain Koorland! I was not expecting this honour.’
‘I have a message to send.’
‘Um, I am not sure…’ Asarain’s blind gaze strayed to Laurentis. ‘That is, authorisation is…’
‘I am giving authorisation,’ said Laurentis as Asarain’s voice trailed off. ‘Please follow all instructions from Captain Koorland.’
‘If you… As you say, magos.’ Asarain looked back at Koorland. ‘What sort of message, captain?’
‘General broadcast.’
‘Tricky, what with all of the greenskin roaring, and the death-screams are…’ Asarain fell quiet as Koorland’s brow creased into a deep frown. ‘Of course, I will try my best, and we have relay stations to amplify the signal. I just felt you should know that communication is ever more precarious, what with us being located close to the heart of the ork psychic blanket.’
‘The Beast is close?’ said Koorland.
‘Not the Beast, as such.’ Asarain looked awkward, and wrung the tassel of his rope belt in his hands. ‘There are all sorts of strange signals bouncing back and forth through the warp. The Beast, the roar of his coming, is strongest, but it is not the only one. Or it is, but it is echoing back from somewhere else. Or the Beast is echoing back all the other roars. It’s complicated, and we’re not quite sure on the mechanism. Basically, there’s an awful lot of roaring.’
‘Can you send the signal, yes or no?’
‘Yes, I can send it.’ Asarain nodded vehemently. ‘If it’s complicated, any subtleties and nuances might be lost. The reverberations of the ork outbursts mean that we must focus on a simple, strong pulse.’
‘The message is very short. Just three words. I want you to broadcast them as hard and as far as you can. Every relay station, every astropath that hears it is to send it on. I need this signal to break through the ork noise and spread from one end of the Segmentum Solar to the other. Is that possible?’
‘I will add a rebound cadence to the transmission so that it receives further general broadcast. Three words? No sounds? No images? Any cipher?’
‘Just three words, as loud and clear as you can make them.’
‘As you wish.’ Asarain shrugged. ‘The signal should penetrate the green fog without too much effort if that is the case. What are the words?’
Koorland took a deep breath and considered the consequences of his actions. Three words would put into motion a plan laid down by the great Rogal Dorn a millennium ago. Technically, what Koorland was about to do was treason — a gross breach of the oaths sworn after the Heresy War when Lord Guilliman’s reforms were enacted. Koorland did not care. These were dire times. The Imperial Fists were destroyed, his honour already crushed. Fell times called for fell actions.
He fixed Asarain with a stare and uttered the three words.
‘The Last Wall.’
Seven
Of late, the Clanium Library looked less like a library and more like the command bridge of a starship, and not by coincidence. Lansung’s ‘strategic consultations’ were carefully stage-managed affairs, choreographed to make the Lord High Admiral the centre of attention whilst giving the appearance that all of the other High Lords had equal input. Dressed in the full glory of his elaborate uniform, the tails of his dress coat tipped with golden skulls, breast veritably clanging with medals, Lansung cut a striking figure as he paced and pouted, strode and frowned his way through the consultations.
Nearly all of the shelves that had been stacked with books, flexi-discs, crystal data cells and digi-scrolls had been removed, replaced with chronometric displays, tri-d hololiths and quasi-spatial projectors operated by lexmechanics from the same temple as the Fabricator General. Nothing but the best, the Senatorum had been assured. No resource spared during this time of crisis.
It was a charade, of course. All real military decisions, those taken at the highest level, were agreed in advance between the aides of the Navy and Imperial Guard. Matters were far too complex, the logistical arrangements alone requiring thousands of Administratum staff, for discussion in open assembly. The willing participation of the other High Lords perplexed Vangorich. It was as if they reasoned that their own status was elevated by Lansung’s grandiosity. Even those Vangorich had once thought entirely sensible, not as venal as the rest of the Senatorum, seemed consumed now by the desire to be shown to be in control. Having sacrificed their power to Lansung they now crowded close to him so that they might somehow gain a little of it back, reflected by his beneficence.