Steel & Oil: Warhammer 32K

"The Orks' Battle Moons are already pressing against the very gates of Terra, and the High Lords' choice is to look the other way?" Kurande sighed. Once he realized just how foolish those lofty grandees were, he no longer even had the will to be angry. "Abandoning Port Sanctus, leaving Terra's gates wide open?"

The importance of Port Sanctus had never lain solely in its being Terra's gateway. As a Navy fortress world, this system also held several shipyards under the direct command of the Navy—shipyards capable of producing warships of battleship grade.

According to the Olympia Accord, the Adeptus Mechanicus nominally held the right to manufacture, maintain, and reclaim all machinery and technological equipment within the Imperium's borders, but how exactly that right was exercised ultimately came down to whose fist was bigger. The grease-monkeys could ignore the Imperium at will, and so the Imperium could naturally set up hive-cities of industry and shipyards beyond the Forge Worlds that fell outside Adeptus Mechanicus control.

This capacity for self-production was the backbone that let the Astra Militarum and the Imperial Navy stand up straight and speak to the Mechanicus as equals. Although the Forge Worlds' output still accounted for over eighty percent of the entire Imperium's critical technological equipment, so long as one was not wholly at another's mercy, there remained room to negotiate rather than simply capitulate.

Thus Port Sanctus, with its several Navy shipyards, carried far greater practical significance than the other gateway worlds of Terra. And yet, for so vital a piece of ground, the Imperium not only failed to send reinforcements—it had even withdrawn the troops already stationed here?

Kurande could not fathom what those High Lords were thinking. Lin, however, had a guess.

"That they could pull the fleet away only proves that a fierce power struggle is erupting on Terra right now. It isn't that Port Sanctus is unimportant—it's that, before they can hold Port Sanctus, they must first hold the seats beneath their own backsides."

In an Imperium plunged into chaos, what could better define one's voice in the political arena than command of soldiers?

There were no fools among the High Lords. Even Hays, the Astra Militarum commander who constantly stressed that he had been forced into the position, was a quick-witted, clever man. But cleverness was a matter of where it was applied.

If their desire to preserve the power of themselves and the interest blocs behind them outweighed any consideration for the Imperium as a whole, then the cleverer they were, the more foolish they would seem in the eyes of the soldiers who truly fought for the Imperium.

Kurande looked anxiously at the unruffled Lin.

With barely three hundred Astartes, their plan had been to come to Port Sanctus and turn the local situation to their advantage—but Port Sanctus offered no advantage to borrow.

Without a fleet, with what were they to clash against the Orks' Battle Moons?

Even if they meant to make a drop onto the surface of a Battle Moon, that too would require a fleet's gunfire to clear the way first!

He could not help asking, "Lin, do you have any ideas?"

"The problem is dire, and panicking won't help." Lin waved a hand. "Let's go to Port Sanctus first and see the situation up there before we decide."

"True enough." Kurande sighed. "Let's just hope the planetary governor here isn't an idiot."

Compared with the shipyards, which had already ceased operation, Port Sanctus itself was still running normally. Only, the vast spaceport that could berth several main fleets now looked utterly deserted, and as the three vessels sailed into the empty docks, the workers responsible for receiving ships fell into an almost unimaginable frenzy.

"It's the Emperor's angels! Wonderful—the Emperor hasn't abandoned us!"

"They'll surely drive off those greenskins—we're saved!"

The crowd gathered spontaneously at the spaceport's docking quays. Though the military had cordoned off the roads, they still knelt and saluted the Astartes of their own accord from beyond the line.

Sorn shook his head. As a warrior who had come all the way from the Great Heresy to the present day, he greatly disliked this feeling of being treated as a demigod, worshipped in reverence.

But this was the result of the spread of faith in the Emperor throughout the Imperium of Man, ever since the state church had won a permanent seat among the High Lords.

Although the Imperial Truth had not yet entirely fallen from favor, compared to the rigid dogma of the Imperial Truth, the currents of thought within the Imperium of Man had already shifted inexorably toward religion.

After all, religion was the thing most people could understand.

Admidel felt this even more keenly than Sorn. Compared to the years of the Great Heresy, when faith had already begun to rise, the era of the Great Crusade had seen thought almost wholly dominated by the Imperial Truth. He said bluntly, "I do not like these ignorant people."

"Faith does not mean ignorance." Lancelot retorted; the Black Templars were the backbone of the God-Emperor faction. "A firm will toward the God-Emperor can unite every single person as one."

At these words, most of the Astartes drew their distance from Lancelot. Lancelot did not understand why.

"We do not need faith to maintain our unity. We ourselves were born of devotion to the ideal of humanity." Kurande admonished Lancelot in a low voice. "Stay quiet. We are about to meet with those who hold power here."

The portly spaceport garrison commander came trotting up the whole way. Though the epaulettes on his shoulders proclaimed his rank as a major general of the local Planetary Defence Force, the way he dabbed at his nervous sweat with a handkerchief made it very hard to see him as a man of arms.

"Welcome, welcome, angels of the God-Emperor." he said breathlessly. "I am the garrison commander here, and I shall be responsible for escorting you to meet with the esteemed planetary governor."

"Why does he not come himself?" Kurande demanded.

"This... well, the situation is special at present, and the esteemed planetary governor is busy with other matters." The fat man bowed his head in fear and trembling. "Please, my lords, do not misunderstand—we would never harbor the slightest thought of slighting the Emperor's angels."

"I only hope he is busy coordinating the defenses of Port Sanctus. Lead the way."

The fat man lifted his head slightly and looked past Kurande at the more than three hundred Astartes behind him.

"I'm afraid that won't do, my lord. Our planetary governor is willing to receive only the leaders of your Chapters, so those angels behind you..."

Kurande's eyes went wide. At once the garrison commander's knees buckled, and he dropped straight to the ground, shaking his head like a rattle-drum.

"I have no choice, my lord! This is the planetary governor's order—it's not my doing!"

Kurande turned an inquiring gaze to Lin. Lin gave a slight nod, and only then did he grudgingly agree to the request.

"Brother Admidel, I must trouble you to remain aboard ship with the other brothers. The rest of us will meet with the planetary governor."

"This still seems like rather a lot..." The garrison commander still wavered.

"Each man here represents the will of a Chapter."

Hearing Kurande's answer, the garrison commander's eyes went wide. He rose as though he had seen a ghost, and only then did he notice that, apart from the Black Templars, the other yellow-armored Space Marines differed in the fine details of their Chapter insignia.

He dared say nothing more, hurriedly leading the remaining men on their way. Yet from his unsteady, floating steps, it was clear he had suffered no small fright.

They took the spaceport's lifts down to the surface and quickly boarded a luxury vehicle provided by the planetary governor—a luxurious stretch limousine that had never been meant for Space Marines, now refitted to a size suitable for them to ride in. Judging from the marks of the modification, Lin was quite certain that, in the two days since they had given advance notice through the Star Fort, the planetary governor had devoted a large portion of his energies to this very task.

Beside them the hive populace pressed in, cheering still, yet within the vehicle the Astartes wore brows knotted with worry.

"They take us for their saviors." Lin looked out the window at the hive dwellers. These commoners, of mid-hive origins, were at least neatly dressed, but they clearly could not obtain tickets to flee Port Sanctus. "It seems they've made no effort at all on Port Sanctus to contain the news of the Orks' coming."

Add to that a garrison commander as useless as a pig, and the refitted luxury limousine they rode in...

No one held any optimistic faith in the ability of this planet's governor.

But when they reached the planetary governor's manor, their view of the place was rather revised.

"Welcome, esteemed Astartes lords." The middle-aged steward who came to greet them was neither servile nor arrogant. Dressed in blue-black formal attire, he bowed elegantly to all. "And I beg your forgiveness—my master already knows of your lordships' arrival, but being entangled in official affairs, he cannot come in person, so I receive you in his stead."

"Official affairs?" Lin asked.

"Of course."

The middle-aged steward looked toward Lin. He seemed curious about the sole Mechanicus priest among the group, but he concealed his feelings well. "My master had prepared a grand reception ceremony for your lordships' arrival, but unexpected and honored guests have intruded upon us. My master can only receive those visitors first, and so has assigned me to welcome your lordships."

This phrasing clearly indicated that the newcomers' status was even higher than that of the Astartes. And piecing together that abrupt manner of arrival with such a station...

Lin exchanged a glance with the others; in each of their hearts an answer had already formed.

The Inquisition.

As the Imperium's supreme covert apparatus, the Inquisition's power stood above nearly every other political entity in the Imperium. Although the Imperium's loose structure often meant that the exercise of the Inquisition's power depended on the personal prestige of its individual Inquisitors, the standing they symbolized demanded that everyone show them, at the very least, the proper courtesies on the surface.

"It seems the lords have already made their own deduction." The steward chuckled. "Please follow me, my lords. I shall lead you on a tour of the manor, and then arrange at the earliest opportunity for the governor to meet with you."

The steward before them was impeccable in his etiquette, clearly possessed of an extraordinary familiarity with the Imperium's intricate noble lore. Under his guidance, the company began their tour of this manor that resembled a work of art.

The corridors on either side displayed rare treasures from every world; works of art wrought from gemstones gleamed under the lights, and the marble-paved floors were carved with intricate pictures. Lin gazed thoughtfully at these carved images. From his logic-analyzer he interpreted them as telling the tale of a mortal family that had followed a Space Marine Chapter to war and at last received this planet as a reward.

"Art is the proud tradition of the Horst family, originating in the era of the Great Crusade, a gift bestowed upon the Horst family by a great son of the Emperor." the steward at the front explained to all. "For over a thousand years, the Horst family has maintained its tradition of collecting art, and every planetary governor has been an outstanding master of the arts."

"As a Navy fortress world, I would have thought this place would be more martial." Lin said pointedly.

"This world became a Navy fortress world long after the Horst family came to govern it. Naturally, the Horst family has always been loyal to the Imperium, and we have no complaint about it."

The tour was nothing but a tedious way to pass the time. The steward led Lin's party round and about the place, until at last they came face to face with another grease-monkey clad in red robes.

That grease-monkey seemed to be installing some manner of device; seeing the steward arrive with the Astartes, he hastily packed his things away.

He turned to face the steward, and from his vocoder array came an electronically synthesized voice tinged with anger: "You let outsiders in while the Inquisitor is here on his visit? Is this the Horst family's way of treating guests?!"

An Inquisitor?

Lin gave him an extra look. At the collar of those red robes that symbolized Mars, he saw the rosette that marked an Inquisitor's identity.

So it seemed a colleague from Mars had joined the Inquisition.

It was not unheard of for a grease-monkey to be drawn into the Inquisition, only exceedingly rare. These worshippers of the Omnissiah lent their unique standing to serve the Imperium's special domains, and at times they became an extension of the shared will of the two great political entities.

"My apologies, esteemed Inquisitor." The steward made no mention of the other's furtive activity. He simply inclined his body, a perfectly measured fear upon his face. "I did not know you were here..."

"Did not know? My logic rather doubts that you possess any clear awareness of an Inquisitor's authority."

This grease-monkey seemed to want to step forward and teach the steward a lesson, yet at the same time he was wary of the Astartes behind the steward. The situation thus fell into an uncanny stalemate of mutual glaring.

Did he think the Astartes would stop him from disciplining a governor's steward?

No—it was more as though Mars already knew of what they had done on Cath Maximus.

Once one factored in the premise that the other side regarded them as enemies, Lin could understand why this grease-monkey of the Inquisition was so hesitant to act.

Yet he had not openly turned hostile. Lin did not yet know whether it was because he himself dared not, or because Mars had no intention, for the moment, of pursuing these matters.

"Pavonis."

A woman's voice broke the standoff between them. A coldly composed woman in military uniform stepped out from the depths of the long corridor. The grease-monkey reacted to her call; he turned to look at that white-haired Inquisitor, and though Lin could not see his expression, he was quite certain the man breathed a sigh of relief.

"That's enough." the white-haired Inquisitor said. "Our visit is already over."

Pavonis nodded as though granted a reprieve. He released Lin's party and trotted back to the woman's side.

Lin studied her, and she likewise studied Lin. After a brief moment of mutual gazing, the woman gave Lin a courteous nod, then led the grease-monkey away from the place.

"Inquisitor Vladilena Milizé." Watching her vanish, the steward, who had been bowing in apology, straightened up and explained. "She is the one who led this sudden visit. I do not know what she discussed with my master, but I imagine it was nothing good."

Lin cast a glance at the steward, whose composure had already returned. "That Pavonis was right about one thing. As a steward, you overstepped."

"That is because, compared to the Inquisitor, we rely far more upon the strength of you lords."

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