‘And Commander Krole,’ added Diocletian. ‘Can no one reach them via holo?’
The Terminator gestured again, indicating a portion of the rotating map on the tunnel’s ‘ceiling’. If the host of flashing runes was anything to go by, the fighting was thickest there.
‘The Sister-Commander has led the forces defending the main entrance to the city’s catacombs,’ said Zhanmadao. ‘The greatest concentration of defenders stands with them.’
Diocletian didn’t need to be told why. If the foe broke through to the catacombs, it was a short journey from there into the Mechanicum’s sections of the webway. And then, on to the Dungeon itself.
‘I am present, as well.’ This from one of the skitarii alphas, manifested as a hololith. The figure was seated on an unseen slab that failed to project into the image. Hands moved in and out of the holo as tech-adepts worked on the augmented warrior’s damaged limbs. A shattered chordclaw was being machined out from his wrist. The hydraulic musculature of his right thigh was being hastily reworked. A scorched chestplate sigil marked him as Echo-Echo-71.
‘Has there been word of Ra?’ asked Zhanmadao.
‘Probes have been dispatched to reach the tribune. He is engaged with the forward elements. The fighting here is spire to spire. Dense. It occludes individuals. Tracking becomes a trial.’
‘I am inloading no vision-data from alpha units present near enough to Tribune Endymion or Sister-Commander Krole to relay accurate streams back to me,’ said the Archimandrite. The robotic chassis lowered on growling hydraulics, seeming to Diocletian suddenly threateningly ursine. ‘Casualties are severe.’
‘Acknowledged and confirmed,’ the skitarii warlord replied. The four mismatched lenses that served as his face within the hood rotated as they refocused.
This is war without orbitals, cursed Diocletian. It had been different in the tunnels for all those years. Jetbike outriders carried messages and reports to and from the barricaded passages, maintaining easy if frantic lines of communication. But with a whole city spread open and besieged, chaos reigned.
This is one of the webway’s principal hubs. Can we afford to lose it? How many years will its loss put the Great Work back?
‘What of any updated evacuation contingencies?’ he asked.
One of the hololiths spoke, a Titan princeps hardwired into an armoured throne. His faceplate was modelled into the same snarling visage as the Warhound he piloted.
‘Prefect Coros! We bled for a year to take this city.’
Diocletian turned to the man’s image. ‘And that year was merely one of the five we have been consigned within the web. If we are forced back into the Unifiers’ passageways, so be it. It doesn’t change our duty. What matters above all is that we defend the Mechanicum’s tunnels. The enemy must not reach Terra.’
‘We can hold the city,’ said another hololith. One of the robed and hooded sicarii, the skitarii elite echelon. He, she, or indeed it – it was impossible to know with many of them – cracked its taser goad into life. ‘Any rumination of evacuation must bear the following factors into the final equation. Primaris – that once abandoned, there will be an infinitesimal probability of retaking Calastar again without significant reinforcement, far beyond what currently stands within the garrisons of the Solar System. Dislodging an entrenched enemy here would be a prospect of mathematically ludicrous possibility. Secundus – the Scion of Vigilant Light cannot flee. Evacuation would necessitate the dismantling and reconveying of the god-machine in its component pieces.’
Zhanmadao shook his head. ‘No time. You know there’s no time, Protector. The Scion would remain, either with its crew evacuated so they might fight another day, piloting another Titan… or ensconced, allowing the Scion to fight as part of the rearguard.’
Several of the princeps and skitarii alphas present shared canted exchanges through their linked vox-melange.
‘I assure you,’ the Custodian Terminator vowed, ‘I’m well aware of the sacrifice that your Legio would be making.’
‘Ignatum cannot accept these terms,’ said the aged princeps of the Empiris Crescir. ‘The Scion cannot be abandoned.’
We are already falling apart, Diocletian thought.
‘Look at me,’ he said slowly. ‘Forget the pride of your Legio, Kaleb Asarnus. Forget the battle-lust of the war machine singing inside your blood. Forget the last five years we’ve waged war together, the banners of heraldic glory that sway from your Reaver’s weapon limbs and the companions we have all lost. Look at me, look at the colour of my armour, and remember whose authority I speak with.’
The princeps’ features were masked behind his ceremonial helm. But he nodded.
This time, the Archimandrite growled a retort. ‘The Mechanicum has committed resources far exceeding acceptable parameters, sacrificing the retaking of Sacred Mars, in order to defend Calastar. It was made clear to us that this was a focal point within the webway. A spoke-nexus. A route-hub. Our participation in the Great Work on this scale came with the condition of keeping the Aresian Path open for a possible invasion of our homeland.’
‘We are doing all we can,’ Zhanmadao pointed out through gritted teeth.
‘You see those of us among the Cult Mechanicum as lacking emotive responses, but that is base ignorance. All souls, augmented and unaugmented, fight harder with something to fight for. The retaking of Sacred Mars galvanises us, as well as being promised to us. Summation – the Impossible City must not fall.’
‘You should have agreed without the need for such assurances,’ Diocletian replied, feeling the first stirrings of real anger. ‘I suggest you watch your words, priestess. Your Omnissiah has need of you. The covenant between Mars and Terra takes primacy over all else.’
One of the Archimandrite’s eye-lenses rotated, projecting the crisp, miniature hololithic image of Sister Kaeria. Diocletian knew at once what the image file was: an archived file from the internal picters of Fabricator General Zagreus Kane. The recorded voice overlaying the image confirmed it.
‘The Mechanicum will supply your war on this single condition – the Omnissiah Himself once spoke of a route within this alien webway that reaches back to Sacred Mars. Adnector Primus Mendel named it the Aresian Path. No matter the cost, no matter the effort, you will see it reinforced and held, ready for use once the Omnissiah’s Great Work is completed. Even if thousands of other routes and passages must fall, you will ensure that the way to Mars remains in Imperial control.’
The image of Kaeria signed her agreement, and blinked out of existence.
‘As evidenced,’ the Archimandrite said, ‘assurances were made.’
‘Made when holding Calastar was practically guaranteed, Martian. Now I say again, we will do all we can, but we all have a duty that stands above personal desire. Evacuating the Unifiers and their supplies takes priority. They are the Emperor’s own adepts and apprentices. We will begin a convoy but it will need defending at all times. The enemy is likely to infiltrate the Mechanicum’s tunnels through any number of capillaries.’
Several of the Mechanicum’s officers – skitarii, princeps, Unifier priests and priestess – looked at one another. The air fairly thrummed between them. Diocletian wondered just what noospheric communion was taking place that the unaugmented present weren’t privy to. It felt argumentative, though Diocletian only had the subtlest of body language reactions to judge by.