‘One never really leaves the Officio, sir,’ Wire replied, with a half-smile.
‘No need for the sir,’ said Vangorich.
Wire shook his head.
‘I think so. You are a man of a certain position in life and the world, and I am another, of another position. The inequality of our states seems to indicate I should call you that.’
‘It’s good to see you, Beast,’ said Vangorich.
‘And you, sir.’ Wire grinned. ‘Damn, I haven’t been called that in a long time.’
He walked to the side cupboards and poured two mugs of thick, black caffeine from a jug. He handed one to the Grand Master.
‘Social call, is it? Been a couple of decades, about time I visited Esad?’
‘I’ve wanted to before, many times,’ said Vangorich with surprising directness. ‘Never been appropriate.’
‘Is it now?’
‘No, but I did it anyway. I needed to get out. I needed to… converse with someone who wasn’t anything to do with anything at the Palace.’
‘Find a priest,’ suggested Wire. ‘A confessor.’
‘The priests all have agendas,’ replied Vangorich.
‘So… you’re here. Go on.’
‘Little men,’ said Vangorich, taking a seat at one of the monitor stations and sipping his caffeine. ‘Little men, playing at being High Lords. Personal ambition is in danger of costing the Imperium very dearly. I tried to block it, but the Officio doesn’t have the clout it once wielded, and I got played.’
‘Lansung. Udo. Mesring,’ said Wire quietly.
Vangorich smiled.
‘Well informed.’
‘There’s little to do here, sir,’ said Wire. ‘I fill my time with the data-slates and the court reports. I do like to keep up with the reported business of the legislature and the Senatorum. Politics has always been an interest of mine. My old dad used to say that politics is what determines who lives and who dies, so though the business of parliaments sounds dull, it pays to keep an eye on what those idiots are up to.’
‘Published Senatorum records don’t show the half of it,’ said Vangorich.
‘They show enough to see that Lansung’s after Lord Commander, and Udo’s happy to facilitate that succession. Mesring and Ekharth will go along for the ride and lend their weight, if they get rewarded on the other side. Or is that read too simplistic? Am I just an armchair amateur?’
‘Good enough,’ said Vangorich. ‘It’s the usual power play.’
‘But?’
‘They’re so busy playing, they’ve taken their eyes off the board. The Fists have gone to address the situation, but they’ll probably need support. Navy support.’
‘The Fists will need support—?’ Wire began.
‘Let’s skip that for now. It’s a threat. The Inquisition says so.’
Wire whistled.
‘How far out?’
‘Far too close. We need the Navy, and we need the Guard, and if we need the Guard, we need the Navy anyway. But Lansung doesn’t want to get his toys broken.’
‘So make him look good.’
‘I tried that,’ said Vangorich. ‘We brokered a little persuasive block vote to make him commit his fleets, but which allowed him to look like the hero of the hour. And he took it, but he played us. He said that if the Fists needed full support, they should be allowed to commit their entire reserve. He made ships available. Even the wall-brothers have gone from their eternal posts. For the first time ever. The whole Chapter. There isn’t an Imperial Fist left on Terra or on the Phalanx. It’s as if he’s handing them glory, as if it’s his to give. Of course, by making it possible for the entire Chapter to deploy, he’s reduced the commitment of fleet and Guard forces he needs to field.’
‘That’s not right,’ said Esad Wire. ‘You don’t commit a whole Chapter in one go. That’s basic.’
‘You do if you’re an idiot with dreams of a de facto throne. You do if you put yourself above the needs of mankind. And you do if you’ve become so complacent after decades of peace that you think nothing can ever harm us again. Beasts arise.’
Wire laughed, though his face was troubled.
‘They do,’ he agreed. ‘When you least expect. First lesson they ever taught us.’
‘And the reason for your nickname,’ said Vangorich.
‘That belonged to someone else,’ said Wire, losing the smile. ‘I’m a respectable civil servant now.’
He looked at Vangorich.
‘When did this happen?’
‘Six weeks ago. It wasn’t publicly announced. A matter of security. The reinforcements should reach the main force very soon.’
‘That close?’
‘Oh yes.’
Wire shrugged.
‘So, may I ask, sir,’ he said, ‘what was this visit? An opportunity to vent to a sympathetic ear? Or did you think that I could somehow offer a solution to help an entire Chapter of Adeptus Astartes in trouble?’
Vangorich smiled.
‘Back in the day, I would not have put such a task beyond the powers of Beast Krule.’
‘Beast Krule’s long gone,’ said Wire.
Vangorich stood up.
‘Anyway, no. Not at all,’ he said. ‘I don’t expect you to have a solution, and we don’t need one. It’s the entire Chapter of Imperial Fists, plus support, Beast. They will quash this threat very quickly. Very quickly. Then no one will notice or remember how close we came to being stupid.’
He faced Wire.
‘That’s the real crisis. That’s why I came to ask your opinion. It’s not what’s happening now. What’s happening now is an act of strategic idiocy sanctioned by men who are too busy chasing the highest office. It’s ugly and ham-fisted, but it will resolve itself, and all will be safe. We can trust the Fists. But in the long term, we are left with men who made it happen, let it happen, and thought it was absolutely fine that it happened. And that presents us with the possibility of what might happen next time, and the time after, and the time after that, until such acts of idiocy really start to cost. These men are not fit, Beast. But they represent a seamless power bloc at the heart of the Twelve that cannot be unshaken or dislodged, even with the most radical tactical voting from the rest of us. The Senatorum Imperialis is theirs and will remain theirs.’
Wire nodded ruefully.
‘I came, old friend,’ said Vangorich, ‘because there is a possibility, with all other options exhausted, that one day soon I might have to ask you to go back to your old job.’
‘Glory,’ Wire whispered. He took a deep breath. ‘I can’t go back, sir. Not after all this time… I mean, that’s not me any more. I left the Officio…’
Drakan Vangorich looked at him without pity or humour.
‘Beasts arise, Esad,’ he said. ‘And besides, one never really leaves the Officio.’
Fourteen
The translation bells were sounding along the quarterdeck of the Azimuth.
Daylight rose to his feet from the arming block, took his helm off the rack, and lowered it over his head. The neck seals hissed and whirred into place.
An attendant approached, dressed in a yellow gown.
‘I heard,’ said Daylight before the man could speak.
The Imperial Fist methodically placed his bolter in its clamp, selected a gladius and sheathed it, and mag-locked a combat knife to his chestplate. Then he finally adorned his head with the laurel wreath that marked him as the senior Imperial Fist in the reinforcement detachment. The laurel symbol had already been painted on his shoulderplates.
He turned and walked from the arming chamber, out onto the quarterdeck space. Hundreds of attendants in yellow robes stopped and watched him as he strode forwards. It was a moment, a singular moment. Daylight was going to war.
Daylight was aware of the significance. He had longed for war, and felt guilty for doing so. Only the best were ever given the reward of wall-brother status, but it amounted to a punishment, because it took them from the zones of glory and made them live out their lives on ceremonial sentry duty in the draughty halls of the Palace of Terra.