Steel & Oil: Warhammer 32K

Because the ork gravity weapons lacked real power, the evacuation of civilians through the spaceport went reasonably smoothly.

A portion of the underhive levies withdrew first, boarding the three cruisers. The rest waited on the assorted vessels Vladilena had requisitioned in an Inquisitor's name; they would ride those transports out alongside the upper hive civilians who had not yet been corrupted.

Zebyrean coordinated the withdrawal with the Inquisitor — until word that Lin could not evacuate in time changed everything.

As the Chapter's representative, Zebyrean had to race up to the cruiser and hold Lansung's fleet in place while bargaining hard with them, before this glory-hungry admiral fired a single salvo and blew his own Chapter into the void.

But politics had never been an Astartes strength.

"The Imperial Fists and the Exemplary Fists are on the Battle Moon?" Lansung plainly did not believe it. "And how exactly did you get up there?"

"By psychic teleportation, of course."

Lansung turned to the Master Psyker at his side. The man, well aware he could manage no such thing himself, shook his head.

"I don't believe your Chapter is capable of a psychic translation onto the Battle Moon, Captain Zebyrean. Where is your evidence?"

"You need evidence? Our warriors are turning the Battle Moon upside down as we speak!"

"No one can prove that the disturbances aboard the Battle Moon were caused by Astartes."

"Of course they were! I swear it upon my honour — every word I speak is truth! Lord High Admiral Lansung, are you questioning the word of an entire Chapter?"

An ordinary admiral might have given that some weight. But Lansung's standing as a High Lord left him unafraid of the pressure a single Codex-strength Chapter could bring to bear.

"If that is how you wish to see it, then by all means see it that way. After all, a Chapter that champions the reunification of the Legions has little foundation left on which to convince the Imperium of anything."

Zebyrean started to reply, and found he had nothing to say.

That damned Ultimate Wall again.

Oaths of honour and warnings — the two blunt axes of Astartes diplomacy — were both spent. What remained in a Chapter's usual toolbox was force.

But… boarding half the Solar Fleet?

He looked at the main battle line arrayed before him, four battleships strong, then at his own small flotilla with its two combat-capable cruisers. Zebyrean was not yet mad enough for that.

On the other end of the vox, the admiral read Zebyrean's predicament and drawled, "Naturally, if you can furnish proof, I might consider standing down. But if you cannot, then it is your Chapter being unreasonable here, is it not?"

Proof.

Zebyrean glanced back at the Thousand Son sorcerer straining to work his craft, and could do nothing but grind his teeth.

What proof could he offer? Trot out the Thousand Son as an exhibit?

That would truly finish them.

The shame of missing the battle and the helplessness of failing to stop the Solar Fleet piled onto Zebyrean's shoulders until he could barely breathe. He found himself wondering how the Chapter had arrived at this — standing off against an Imperial fleet.

First the illegal founding of the Ultimate Wall, now a boarding action on the Battle Moon carried out alongside traitors. If he had held harder to the Codex Astartes from the beginning, would things look entirely different now?

The fleet stalled in his silence. Seeing that the Astartes made no move, Lansung simply ordered his ships to ignore them and press on toward the Battle Moon.

An Astartes Chapter swearing on its honour did carry credibility. Lansung believed the Imperial Fists and the Exemplary Fists were fighting aboard the Battle Moon at this very moment.

Given the moon's convulsions, he suspected the two Chapters working together had inflicted damage severe enough to threaten the whole world.

But what he believed was beside the point. The sheer improbability of the thing handed him a "reason" to disbelieve.

So what if he played the fool while knowing better? What waves could two already-gutted Chapters raise?

Even if it was proven afterward that they had been up there, it would never outweigh the credit for shattering the Battle Moon and ending the ork crisis.

The fruit of glory hung within reach. Picturing how Terra would receive his triumph left Lansung flushed and restless. He urged the fleet to full speed — and then the astropath punctured the dream again.

"Admiral Lansung, I think you should see this."

The auspex display showed one large and four medium warships closing on them fast. Reading the keel identification codes, Lansung frowned.

"The lead vessels are the Caustic and the Glory?"

"Yes, sir. A Strike Cruiser and a battle barge — flagships of the Castigators Chapter and the Soul Drinkers Chapter respectively."

The dossiers on both Chapters flickered through Lansung's mind, and he realized they were both sons of Dorn.

He had a problem.

"Full speed ahead!" He clung to one last hope as he gave the order. "Pay them no attention. We must take up position in the Battle Moon's orbit first!"

But those two Chapters had come for him specifically. Trading on the agility of a strike fleet over line warships, the Soul Drinkers and Castigators vessels cut straight across the Solar Fleet's bow. Every macrocannon port stood open. They were plainly ready to fire.

Daenyathos, Chapter Master of the Soul Drinkers, opened a channel to Lansung.

"Honoured Lord High Admiral, I suggest you reconsider your decision."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Lansung tried.

"We would not object to discussing it face to face. Though the manner of the meeting might prove somewhat rough."

Lansung's expression shifted through several weathers.

Three cruisers under Lin's banner he could dismiss without a thought. But raise the stakes to a battle barge and six cruisers, and the price of ignoring the Astartes could be steep indeed.

In a polity as loose as the Imperium, the biggest fist was the only real argument.

"They cannot prove the Exemplary Fists and the Imperial Fists are on the Battle Moon."

"Then let us verify it together," Daenyathos answered.

The three cruisers Zebyrean led folded into the Astartes strike fleet. They held a close but wary distance from the Solar Fleet, and the warriors of the Soul Drinkers and Castigators were already mustered at their boarding torpedoes. At the first irregular move from the Solar Fleet, they would launch.

Lansung slammed a fist onto his command table.

"Absurd! Astartes sworn to defend the Imperium, threatening a High Lord — a representative of the Imperium itself — with violence?"

Fortunately, the ork fleet handed Lansung his opening. The ork warships that had dropped their boyz down onto the moon still retained basic fighting strength. Led by two ork battleships, they threw themselves at the Imperial fleet.

Robbed of the Battle Moon's support, they were no match for the Imperials — but they could tangle things up for a while.

The Solar Fleet swept the orks before it away with massed fire. The Astartes, short on point-defence, found themselves in a grinding fight against ork boarders. Watching the strike fleet that had been shadowing him become unable to disengage, Lansung recognized what might be his last chance.

How much room he had to maneuver afterward depended entirely on how much nerve he showed now in making a fait accompli.

"Prepare the Vortex Torpedoes," he told his adjutant. "Watch me send these things into the Warp one by one."

The order was interrupted before it could be carried out — by an unexpected guest.

"That would be blasphemy against the Omnissiah, Admiral Lansung."

Lansung turned. Inquisitor Pavonis stood on the bridge with his adjunct Urquidex, arrived at some point without announcement.

His gaze was fixed past the bridge on the churning ork Battle Moon, and he made no effort to hide his hunger for it.

"I can feel the machine-spirits surging through that world. The knowledge it holds is far too precious to destroy so carelessly. Admiral Lansung, this is precisely the purpose of the bargain I struck with you."

Lansung was startled to see the Inquisitor here of all places.

This cogboy Inquisitor, who claimed to have come at Mars's request, had earlier traded with him by restoring production at the shipyards.

Lansung had waited ever since for the man to name his price, only for the Inquisitor to vanish so completely he might as well not have existed.

And now he resurfaced here — to stop Lansung from delivering Exterminatus to the Battle Moon?

He stared at Pavonis. "You — or rather, Mars — want the Battle Moon? And the xenos technology aboard it?"

"I never said any such thing, Admiral. Besides, xenos technology is expressly forbidden by Mars."

Pavonis spun the lie without missing a beat. "Our judgments proceed from reason, and reason tells us the orks could never have built a construct of that magnitude on their own. By the Mechanicus's calculations, the probability that STC fragments lie in the subterranean facilities of that world is 87.3 percent. Those are sacred relics granted us by the Omnissiah. The Mechanicus has every right to mount a recovery operation."

Words carried different weight depending on the mouth they came from.

The Astartes had spoken the truth, and behind him stood one Chapter. The Mechanicus was lying, and behind him stood the whole of Mars.

Unlike the Astartes, long since carved into Chapters, Pavonis's words merited Lansung's careful consideration.

But Lansung had no wish to surrender an opportunity like this. Reading the facial-expression analysis, Pavonis caught his indecision, and his cognitive core pinned down exactly what the man was fretting over.

"There is no need to fear losing the honours that are rightfully yours, Admiral. All we require is a window in which to deploy Skitarii squads onto the Battle Moon. Once everything is complete, you may destroy this filthy ork nest with your own hand."

But Lansung had not forgotten the Astartes up there. "The Imperial Fists and their allies are still aboard. Destroying the Battle Moon at that point wouldn't be my achievement anymore."

"It will most certainly be yours. Assist us, and Mars will proclaim you the foremost architect of this operation. Who actually performed the deed matters far less than the will of those who hold the mouthpiece. Does it not?"

That struck straight at the heart of a man who wanted only political capital.

If he could achieve the same result without an Exterminatus, he had no objection to doing Mars a costless favour.

He weighed for a moment whether Mars would truly speak for him, then nodded. "How much time do you need?"

"Twelve standard Terran hours."

Lansung was surprised; the figure told him these cogboys had prepared long in advance. "You anticipated that the ork Battle Moon would malfunction?"

"That did not fall within our projections. However, Mars's exploratory fleet has already arrived at Port Sanctus in secret. Even without this accident, we would have requested the Solar Fleet's assistance in raising that probability to one hundred percent."

"…"

Lansung understood then that the cogboys meant to have the xenos technology no matter what. Whether or not they praised his name afterward, he abandoned the notion of destroying the Battle Moon now.

"Do as you see fit. The Imperial Navy will cooperate."

"Praise the Omnissiah. Your decision shall be recorded in the sacred data-archives. May the light of the Omnissiah guide us."

The Solar Fleet made a few adjustments and swept the orbit clear of obstacles. Pavonis at once led his force down onto the Battle Moon in person. When Lin came crawling back out of the Battle Moon's interior, filthy and battered, what dropped down in front of him were drop pods painted in the colours of Mars.

The pods split open, and the first things to emerge were Mechanicus Storm Bolters. The machine-spirit's identification scan swept across Lin and the Space Marines behind him, and finally tagged them amber — neither enemy nor ally.

Modified Servitors and Death-Bound Warriors clambered out and formed a firing line, facing off across the distance against Lin and his Space Marines.

So the cogboys who had turned up at Port Sanctus in the very beginning had finally come to stick their oar in.

Lin was not remotely surprised that Mars had shown up last to scoop up the spoils. He watched the Skitarii coldly, curious what tricks they intended to pull.

The Tech-Priest commanding the Skitarii squad did not share his detachment; at the sight of them the man grew visibly excited. He signalled the Skitarii to stand down and hold position, then raised both hands in a gesture of goodwill and walked over to Lin.

Lin had meant to wave Occam back, in case anyone noticed signs of his collaboration with traitors. But when his eyes settled on Occam, he realized the man had at some point repainted himself in the colours of the Iron Hands.

"Why the Iron Hands?"

"Just seemed more entertaining this way."

A Tech-Priest and an Iron Hand together made Urquidex, closing on Lin, feel entirely at home. "By the Omnissiah! You're the ones who destroyed the Battle Moon?"

"I'd hardly call it destroyed. And you are?"

"Priest Urquidex. Formerly supervisor of the production lines at Port Sanctus Shipyard Three."

He dropped his voice as though about to divulge something forbidden. "Please, don't be modest. I've been studying the Battle Moon for a long while. I don't know how you reached it, but it only began convulsing after you appeared."

Lin had no idea what Mars actually intended, but the Priest's behaviour hardly matched his own introduction. "A production line supervisor, guiding Mars's Skitarii?"

"That's exactly what I want to talk about. The Martians have gone mad! Half a month ago a Magos Inquisitor out of Mars came to my production lines. He restored output and made me his retainer. Only afterward did I realize they never intended to destroy the Battle Moon at all. I can tell this to no one but you — only the men who broke the Battle Moon are worth trusting!"

Even for a secret conference, Urquidex's voice climbed an octave. "Mars wants the greenskins' space technology! The kind that can translate an entire Battle Moon into orbit above a world—"

"Urquidex!"

Pavonis's summons cut the conversation short. Flanked by two Castellax-class Battle-Automata, he strode up to Lin and regarded the pair of them with suspicion.

"What were you discussing?"

"A little academic exchange." Lin was confident Pavonis had heard nothing. "Battle-Automata deployed and everything. Mars really is sparing no effort to 'exterminate' the orks."

The Magos Inquisitor gave a cold snort. "Hardly as devoted as Forge World Huangquan VIII."

His gaze travelled past Lin to the Astartes behind him. The battered throne they were hauling on their shoulders nearly dragged a laugh out of a man who had shed the vast majority of his emotions.

"At the very least, we don't treat a heap of scrap metal as a treasure. And a Magos like you commands the loyalty of an Iron Hand? Well then — does this brother of the Iron Hands wish to reconsider his allegiance?"

Occam had little to say to such a brazen attempt to poach him to his master's face. "I have no intention of reconsidering."

The refusal did not trouble Pavonis. "Perhaps when you visit Mars, the Iron Hands clan stationed there will persuade you to redistribute your considerations. For now, however, the Battle Moon passes wholly into Mars's hands."

"Your reckless fighting has already destroyed a great deal of ork technology that could have been analyzed and countered. Any further interference will be judged blasphemy against the will of the Omnissiah. Magos Lin — what is your choice?"

The Astartes bristled at the Tech-Priest's arrogance. But with their objective achieved, they had no real reason to keep butting heads with Pavonis.

At Lin's signal, the Astartes opened a path for the Skitarii.

Pavonis was satisfied with the choice. "Magos Lin, should you consent to submit to the authority of Mars… perhaps Mars might be lenient about your heresies, and revise its attitude toward you."

It sounded like a hint that he knew Lin had seized Cath Maximus amid the chaos, but the man did not carry the thought any further.

Pavonis took personal command of his Mechanicus force and its Battle-Automata. The lavishly equipped Skitarii out of Mars swept the disordered orks away with astonishing firepower. A few ork Killa Kans attempted a counterattack, and were met by lance fire from the Imperial fleet above.

The Imperial fleet and Mars, Lin concluded, were sharing the same trousers now.

Having finished his provocative display of strength, Pavonis led his column onward. Urquidex, retreating into the Skitarii ranks, kept shooting Lin desperate looks — but with those massed Death-Bound Warriors and the automata marching at the head of the column, Lin chose for the moment to see nothing.

"These Mars types are as insufferable as ever," Thorne said.

"No need to rush."

Their present swagger did not concern Lin. "Perhaps before long we'll have the chance to pull the same job we did a thousand years ago."

Thorne shot him a startled glance.

He knew Lin meant the campaign in which the Imperial Fists sacked Mars during the Siege of Terra. But having lived through that raid himself, Thorne knew it had only been launched after the Fabricator General's rebellion.

What grounds did they have now for another looting spree on Mars?

Lin offered no deeper explanation. He simply signalled everyone to return to the ships.

With that, matters on Port Sanctus were settled, and Lin turned his attention to the next step.

Perhaps the most important step of the entire Beast War.

The Throneworld. Terra.

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