The Beast Arises

He was feeding Koorland a mixture of truth and outright lies. The limitations he described were accurate. The goal was not. There was no sign that the range of the device could reach beyond the near orbit of the astronomical body on which it was based. To teleport the ork moon away, it would be necessary to install the instrumentation on its surface. What had been constructed on Mars spanned many kilometres. To be used elsewhere, it would have to be transported in massive sections and rebuilt. Such a project would be difficult enough without being attempted in a warzone. And not only was the machine incomplete, it had not been duplicated. It must remain on Mars. Kubik would not compromise the means of the planet’s escape from the Sol System.

And yet.

He spoke the lies, and it was difficult to do so. He caught himself beginning to speculate about other possible uses for the technology, ones that did not involve the escape of Mars. He detected a sensation in his chest that had been so long unfamiliar to him that he did not recognise it at first.

It was regret. He was conflicted. The uncertainty was new, and distressing. Since his ascension from the limitations of the flesh, his being had been defined by a perfect focus and a precision of purpose. Now the phantoms of his shed humanity were reaching for him, summoned by Koorland and the fact that Kubik’s allegiance could not be reduced to Mars alone.

If Koorland doubted Kubik’s explanation about the teleporter, he gave no sign. He was more concerned with the other truth.

The time had come to speak of it.

‘Ullanor,’ Koorland said.

The word hung in the air like the toll of a great bell.

‘Yes,’ Kubik said.

‘The origin point of the greenskin invasion is Ullanor.’

‘Yes,’ and though he had known for some time, Kubik could manage no more. The truth punched though the protective coldness of the machine to the human core he retained. The world belonged to a realm other than mere reality. It was a legend. It marked the pinnacle of the Imperium’s glory, and the origins of its tragedy. It existed as a myth. It should not exist as a destination. And the thought of it being overrun by greenskins was beyond obscene. It was absurd, a fever dream.

‘There is no doubt?’

‘None.’

Kubik wished there were, and he knew Koorland did too.

Koorland sighed. ‘You must have known what we must do. Why keep that information secret?’

‘We keep secrets very well in the Adeptus Mechanicus. It is a vital skill. Necessity has made it into a way of life.’

‘You mean you are now secretive by instinct.’

‘Instinct is foreign to the machine,’ Kubik said. ‘It is more accurate to say that secrecy is our default condition.’

‘You have not yet answered my question.’

‘The secrecy was subject to ongoing evaluation. Revelation depended on many variables. The progress of efforts against the Veridi. Visible levels of determination within Imperial forces and leadership. The means to act.’ All of this was accurate, but there was more. The retreat into cold evaluation had also been an attempt to turn away from the import of the truth. ‘Query, Lord Commander — what will be the effect of the propagation of this knowledge?’

Koorland grimaced. ‘Turmoil,’ he said.

Kubik opened his right hand, spreading his multi-jointed fingers wide, suggesting the spread of disorder. ‘A site of such significance become home to the xenos invader. The populace will not receive the news calmly. Nor can one expect the information to remain within the circle of the High Lords.’

‘True,’ said Koorland.

‘I do not believe the rest of the Council will react well.’

‘You are correct. But there comes a point where secrecy serves no purpose. The truth must be confronted.’ Koorland gestured to the casement and the glow of the ork moon. The light of Terra’s fall spread over the roofs and spires of the Imperial Palace, a slick the colour of bleached bone, and of final defeat. ‘The truth confronts us, after all. Relentlessly.’ The Space Marine’s face twisted in hate and horror.

Kubik’s cool fascination with the base had crumbled. It can end us all, he thought. The Veridi can end everything.

Kubik inclined his head once more. ‘Do you have the determination to take the course of action this information dictates?’

‘I do.’

‘And the means?’

‘Not yet.’

Koorland thought about the means. He thought about the path he must walk. The thoughts were painful. They were reminders of what he had lost, of the burden he had shouldered, and of his own unworthiness and presumption. It was arrogance enough to put himself at the head of all the Imperial Fists Successor Chapters. The course upon which he was preparing to embark was sheer hubris.

But he had no choice.