Horus Rising (40 page)

Behind the slender soldiers, as a further escort, came heavier forms. Shorter, and far more thick-set, these men were similarly armoured, though in browns and golds. Loken supposed them to be heavy troopers, their bodies gene-bred for bulk and muscle, designed for close combat, but they carried no weapons. There were twenty of them, and they flanked five robotic creatures, slender, silver quadrupeds of intricate and elegant design, made to resemble the finest Terra-stock horses, except that they possessed no heads or necks.

‘Artificials,’ Horus whispered aside to Maloghurst. ‘Make sure Master Regulus is observing this via the pict feed. I’ll want his notes later.’

One of the flagship’s embarkation decks had been entirely cleared for the ceremonial meeting. Imperial banners had been hung along the vault, and the whole of First Company assembled in full plate as an honour guard. The Astartes formed two unwavering blocks of white figures, rigid and still, their front rows a glossy black line of Justaerin Terminators. In the aisle between the two formations, Horus stood with the Mournival, Maloghurst and other senior officials like Ing Mae Sing. The Warmaster and his lieutenants wore full armour and cloaks, though Horus’s head was bare.

They watched the heavy interex shuttle move ponderously down the lighted runway of the deck, and settle on polished skids. Then hatch-ramps in its prow opened, the white metal unfolding like giant origami puzzles, and the envoys and their escorts disembarked. In total, with the soldiers and the meturge players, there were over one hundred of them. They came to a halt, with the envoys in a line at the front and the escort arranged in perfect symmetry behind. Forty-eight hours of intense intership communication had preceded that cautious moment. Forty-eight hours of delicate diplomacy.

Horus gave a nod, and the men of First Company chested their weapons and bowed their heads in one, loud, unified motion. Horus himself stepped forward and walked alone down the aisle space, his cloak billowing behind him.

He came face to face with what seemed to be the senior envoy, made the sign of the aquila, and bowed.

‘I greet you on—’ he began.

The moment he started speaking, the meturge players began sounding their instruments softly. Horus stopped.

‘Translation form,’ the envoy said, his own words accompanied by meturge playing.

‘It is disconcerting,’ Horus smiled.

‘For purposes of clarity and comprehension,’ the envoy said.

‘We appear to understand each other well enough,’ Horus smiled.

The envoy nodded curtly. ‘Then I will tell the players to stop,’ he said.

‘No,’ said Horus. ‘Let us be natural. If this is your way.’

Again, the envoy nodded. The exchange continued, surrounded by the oddly melodied playing.

‘I greet you on behalf of the Emperor of Mankind, beloved by all, and in the name of the Imperium of Terra.’

‘On behalf of the society of the interex, I accept your greetings and return them.’

‘Thank you,’ said Horus.

‘Of the first thing,’ the envoy said. ‘You are from Terra?’

‘Yes.’

‘From old Terra, that was also called Earth?’

‘Yes.’

‘This can be verified?’

‘By all means,’ smiled Horus. ‘You know of Terra?’

An odd expression, like a pang, crossed the envoy’s face, and he glanced round at his colleagues. ‘We are from Terra. Ancestrally. Genetically. It was our origin world, eons ago. If you are truly of Terra, then this is a momentous occasion. For the first time in thousands of years, the interex has established contact with its lost cousins.’

‘It is our purpose in the stars,’ Horus said, ‘to find all the lost families of man, cast away so long ago.’

The envoy bowed his head. ‘I am Diath Shehn, abbrocarius.’

‘I am Horus, Warmaster.’

The music of the meturge players made a slight, but noticeably discordant sound as it expressed ‘Warmaster’. Shehn frowned.

‘Warmaster?’ he repeated.

‘The rank given to me personally by the Emperor of Mankind, so that I may act as his most senior lieutenant.’

‘It is a robust title. Bellicose. Is your fleet a military undertaking?’

‘It has a military component. Space is too dangerous for us to roam unarmed. But from the look of your fine soldiers, abbrocarius, so does yours.’

Shehn pursed his lips. ‘You laid assault to Urisarach, with great aggression and vehemence, and in disregard to the advisory beacons we had positioned in the system. It would appear your military component is a considerable one.’

‘We will discuss this in detail later, abbrocarius. If an apology needs to be made, you will hear it directly from me. First, let me welcome you in peace.’

Horus turned, and made a signal. The entire company of Astartes, and the plated officers, locked off their weapons and removed their helms. Human faces, row after row. Openness, not hostility.

Shehn and the other envoys bowed, and made a signal of their own, a signal supported by a musical sequence. The warriors of the interex removed their visors, displaying clean, hard-eyed faces.

Except for the squat figures, the heavy troops in brown and gold. When their helmets came off, they revealed faces that weren’t human at all.

T
HEY WERE CALLED
the kinebrach. An advanced, mature species, they had been an interstellar culture for over fifteen thousand years. They had already founded a strong, multi-world civilisation in the local region of space before Terra had entered its First Age of Technology, an era when humanity was only just feeling its way beyond the Solar system in sub-light vehicles.

By the time the interex encountered them, their culture was aging and fading. A territorial war developed after initial contact, and lasted for a century. Despite the kinebrach’s superior technology, the humans of the interex were victorious, but, in victory, they did not annihilate the aliens. Rapprochement was achieved, thanks in part to the interex’s willingness to develop the aria to facilitate a more profound level of inter-species communication. Faced with options including further warfare and exile, the kinebrach elected to become client citizens of the expanding interex. It suited them to place their tired, flagging destiny in the charge of the vigorous and progressive humans. Culturally bonded as junior partners in society, the kinebrach shared their technological advances by way of exchange. For three thousand years, the interex humans had successfully coexisted with the kinebrach.

‘Conflict with the kinebrach was our first significant alien war,’ Diath Shehn explained. He was seated with the other envoys in the Warmaster’s audience chamber. The Mournival was present, and meturge players lined the walls, gently accompanying the talks. ‘It taught us a great deal. It taught us about our place in the cosmos, and certain values of compassion, understanding and empathy. The aria developed directly from it, as a tool for use in further dealings with non-human parties. The war made us realise that our very humanity, or at least our trenchant dependence on human traits, such as language, was an obstacle to mature relations with other species.’

‘No matter how sophisticated the means, abbrocarius,’ Abaddon said, ‘sometimes communication is not enough. In our experience, most xenos types are wilfully hostile. Communication and bargaining is not an option.’ The first captain, like many present, was uncomfortable. The entire interex party had been permitted to enter the audience chamber, and the kinebrach were attending at the far end. Abaddon kept glancing at them. They were hefty, simian things with eyes so oddly sunken beneath big brow ridges that they were just sparks in shadows. Their flesh was blue-black, and deeply creased, with fringes of russet hair, so fine it was almost like feather-down, surrounding the bases of their heavy, angular craniums. Mouth and nose was one organ, a trifold split at the end of their blunt jaw-snouts, capable of peeling back, wet and pink, to sniff, or opening laterally to reveal a comb of small, sharp teeth like a dolphin’s beak. There was a smell to them, a distinctive earthy smell that wasn’t exactly unpleasant, except that it was entirely and completely not human.

‘This we have found ourselves,’ Shehn agreed, ‘though it would seem less frequently than you. Sometimes we have encountered a species that has no wish to exchange with us, that approaches us with predatory or invasive intent. Sometimes conflict is the only option. Such was the case with the… What did you say you called them again?’

‘Megarachnid,’ Horus smiled.

Shehn nodded and smiled. ‘I see how that word is formed, from the old roots. The megarachnid were highly advanced, but not sentient in a way we could understand. They existed only to reproduce and develop territory. When we first met them, they infested eight systems along the Shartiel Edge of our provinces, and threatened to invade and choke two of our populated worlds. We went to war, to safeguard our own interests. In the end, we were victorious, but there was still no opportunity for rapprochement or peace terms. We gathered all the megarachnid remaining into captivity, and transported them to Urisarach. We also deprived them of all their interstellar technology, or the means to manufacture the same. Urisarach was created as a reservation for them, where they might exist without posing a threat to ourselves or others. The interdiction beacons were established to warn others away.’

‘You did not consider exterminating them?’ Maloghurst asked.

Shehn shook his head. ‘What right do we have to make another species extinct? In most cases, an understanding can be reached. The megarachnid were an extreme example, where exile was the only humane option.’

‘The approach you describe is a fascinating one,’ Horus said quickly, seeing that Abaddon was about to speak again. ‘I believe it is time for that apology, abbrocarius. We misunderstood your methods and purpose on Urisarach. We violated your reservation. The Imperium apologises for its transgression.’

TWO

Envoys and delegations

Xenobia

Hall of Devices

A
BADDON WAS FURIOUS
. Once the interex envoys had returned to their vessels, he withdrew with the others of the Mournival and vented his feelings.

‘Six months! Six months warring on Murder! How many great deeds, how many brothers lost? And now he apologises? As if it was an error? A mistake? These xenos-loving bastards even admit themselves the spiders were so dangerous they had to lock them away!’

‘It’s a difficult situation,’ Loken said.

‘It’s an insult to the honour of our Legion! And to the Angels too!’

‘It takes a wise and strong man to know when to apologise,’ remarked Aximand.

‘And only a fool appeases aliens!’ Abaddon snarled. ‘What has this crusade taught us?’

‘That we’re very good at killing things that disagree with us?’ suggested Torgaddon.

Abaddon glared at him. ‘We know how brutal this cosmos is. How cruel. We must fight for our place in it. Name one species we have met that would not rejoice to see mankind vanished in a blink.’

None of them could answer that.

‘Only a fool appeases aliens,’ Abaddon repeated, ‘or appeases those who seek such appeasement.’

‘Are you calling the Warmaster a fool?’ Loken asked.

Abaddon hesitated. ‘No. No, I’m not. Of course. I serve at his will.’

‘We have one duty,’ Aximand said, ‘as the Mournival, we must speak with one mind when we advise him.’

Torgaddon nodded.

‘No,’ said Loken. ‘That’s not why he values us. We must tell him what we think, each one of us, even if we disagree. And let him decide. That is our duty.’

M
EETINGS WITH THE
various interex envoys continued over a period of days. Sometimes the interex ships sent a mission to the
Vengeful Spirit
, sometimes an Imperial embassy crossed to their command ship and was entertained in glittering chambers of silver and glass where the aria filled the air.

The envoys were hard to read. Their behaviour often seemed superior or condescending, as if they regarded the Imperials as crude and unsophisticated. But still, clearly, they were fascinated. The legends of old Terra and the human bloodline had long been a central tenet of their myths and histories. However disappointing the reality, they could not bear to break off contact with their treasured ancestral past.

Eventually, a summit was proposed, whereby the Warmaster and his entourage would travel to the nearest interex outpost world, and conduct more detailed negotiations with higher representatives than the envoys.

The Warmaster took advice from all quarters, though Loken was sure he had already made up his mind. Some, like Abaddon, counselled that links should be broken, and the interex held at abeyance until sufficient forces could be assembled to annex their territories. There were other matters at hand that urgently demanded the Warmaster’s attention, matters that had been postponed for too long while he indulged in the six-month spider-war on Murder. Petitions and salutations were being received on a daily basis. Five primarchs had requested his personal audience on matters of general crusade strategy or for councils of war. One, the Lion, had never made such an approach before, and it was a sign of a welcome thawing in relations, one that Horus could not afford to overlook. Thirty-six expedition fleets had sent signals asking for advice, tactical determination or outright martial assistance. Matters of state also mounted. There was now a vast body of bureaucratic material relayed from the Council of Terra that required the Warmaster’s direct attention. He had been putting it off for too long, blaming the demands of the crusade.

Accompanying the Warmaster on most of his daily duties, Loken began to see plainly what a burden the Emperor had placed on Horus’s broad shoulders. He was expected to be all things: a commander of armies, a mastermind of compliance, a judge, a decider, a tactician, and the most delicate of diplomats.

During the six-month war, more ships had arrived at high anchor above Murder, gathering around the flagship like supplicants. The rest of the 63rd Expedition had translated, under Varvarus’s charge, Sixty-Three Nineteen having at last been left in the lonely hands of poor Rakris. Fourteen vessels of the 88th Expedition had also appeared, under the command of Trajus Boniface of the Alpha Legion. Boniface claimed they had come in response to the 140th’s plight, and hoped to support the war action on Murder, but it rapidly emerged he hoped to use the opportunity to convince Horus to lend the 63rd’s strengths to a proposed offensive into ork-held territories in the Kayvas Belt. This was a scheme his primarch, Alpharius, had long cherished and, like the Lion’s advances, was a sign that Alpharius sought the approval and comradeship of the new Warmaster.