Dio and Lululu both opened their mouths to object, but Peter spoke first. “Fine then, Commander, but we need you to think as well as shoot.”

Anya gritted her teeth but did not respond to the jab. Unit cohesion was already poor, and it was likely they would remain split along the lines she had drawn for the foreseeable future. She could put those lines firmly in place by readjusting the command structure, but that wasn’t a priority now. What they needed was clear: to find out if the heavy weapons were operational.

Colossus was unusable. Even if they had the manpower— which they didn’t— they wouldn’t be able to control the weapon, and with the enemy being capable of assimilating flesh… well, it seemed inadvisable to serve them up a mountain of it on a silver platter. At least in its present deactivated state the weapon was likely more dead than living and thus perhaps less likely to be usable by the necrites. They may even need to destroy the weapon before leaving, now that she was thinking about it, but she’d consider the matter further after dealing with the other weapons.

Judgement was incredibly dangerous, especially now. With Anya having drawn lines between their unit it was likely that the button would kill six or seven of them in one press, and if those remaining objected to its use then it would soon kill them also.

Pleroma, like Colossus, was unusable. Anya wanted to reach out and touch it, but given the weapon was called God-Killer, that seemed like a bad idea. She wasn’t a god or a hero, only a woman. There would be no means to wield it if even the current Emperor was unable.

Which left only Synarchy.

“How do you turn it on?” Peter began, clearly thinking along the same lines.

“We have to open it to the power of our empire.” Lululu answered, familiar with the use of such weapons, yet momentarily forgetting that not everyone was an Emperor-blessed archon of immense power and knowledge.

“Anya has to command it to turn on with the authority vested in her by the Emperor.”

“But I wasn’t appointed by Him? Do I even have that authority?” Anya asked in return.

“By the power vested in me I command you: rise!” Lululu shouted, but nothing happened. “I can’t do it because I’m not in command.”

Peter gave the same words to the same effect while Dio remained silent. Anya supposed the Imperial authority would have been transferred on Raethor’s death. She knew she shouldn’t say this, but couldn’t stop herself from asking:

“How would this have worked if my aim had been true?”

“Don’t think about it.” Lululululu said, but was quickly interrupted by Dio.

“You’d be dead.” He repeated bluntly.

“And who would have the authority now?”

“Who knows?” Lululu continued. “It’s better that you don’t think about it.” She seemed to speak from experience, but it was unclear if this lack of thought was to Anya’s or others’ benefit.

“By the power vested in me by the divine right of our glorious Emperor, I command you: rise!” Anya announced with all the power her voice could command. The air stirred, but the dust long-caked on Synarchy’s flesh attached to its all-too-solid bones remained in place. Anya’s feet shifted in place. Was she not granted the authority Lululululu claimed?

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But then the ground began to shake as the open bones of a machine made to render them liquid responded to the command of its master. Light exploded into the bone dish atop its head in place to receive such power as it regrew the long-decayed flesh that once covered it. Beneath the dish was a once-open body coated in metal for security that had now begun to writhe with life. If she didn’t watch blood pour over every open gray vertical surface in perfect tension she wouldn’t have believed it didn’t pool down below the machine. Perhaps it wasn’t even accurate to call it that. She wasn’t sure “heavy weapon” was sufficient either. Its legs, once thin and emaciated, now found themselves the picture of Raethor in the flesh. Striations and missing skin displayed the teardrops of perfectly sculpted quads, and to match him the entity knowable only as Synarchy wore no loincloth or covering of any kind, though it wasn’t like it had reproductive organs to cover at all. There was only the smooth merging of flesh to flesh and metal covered by flesh. But from the torso Synarchy’s appearance changed from human-like muscle to a writhing mass of blood-vessels that reminded her of some disgusting hybrid of leeches and worms. A handful of them connected every which way to the right arm, but many remained flailing about.

Synarchy rose and displayed itself to be a full two stories high, letting down a vessel to Anya’s feet as the ground finally gave way to stillness in its lacking steps. She boarded it, and soon found herself standing atop the twenty-foot destroyer, her boots squishing in the strangely bloodless flesh.

She shouted downwards, “Bring me Judgement!” But no one moved to obey the command. “We only just watched your hysterics. You’d kill us all!” Jesús whispered to himself.

“You’re on my side Jesús, why do you doubt me?” She yelled back. He whirled his head around, bewildered and pointing to himself like “Me? I didn’t say anything.” But he did and she heard it. “There’s nothing to worry about,” she began, but Peter interrupted.

“You just split us into sides. If we give you the button and you push it, six of us are dead.”

“The alternative is that we all die.” Anya retorted, and she wasn’t wrong. If it came to using that weapon, friendly-side deaths were guaranteed. That was just how it worked. Even if you used it once, that didn’t guarantee a safe second press. Your allies would watch each other die and question your leadership. Sacrifices were always necessary, but rarely were they as salient as watching your superior push a button to directly kill members of your squad. Even if their orders would often accomplish that same end, a meat-grinder operated by someone else was still operated by someone else. It was different to watch your own commander turn the handle that ground you into hamburger by the feet.

“Still, why don’t I hold onto it.” Peter said, knowing Anya would be among the dead if his hand was allowed to rest atop its smooth sides.

“You probably can’t use it.” Lululu chided. “We all tried to activate Synarchy. Do you think I had us do that for nothing? The Imperial Mandate of Command has rested on Anya’s shoulders, and we won’t be able to question it.”

“Even after she nearly killed her own troops?” Dio questioned.

“Yes.” Lululu answered. They were allowed to do that. It wasn’t common knowledge among the reserves she supposed, but on the front line? The blood of the dead flowed in great torrents that often made the groundwater run red. It wasn’t uncommon for a commander to lose half his troops in a single battle. They had it easy here— boredom was such a simple worry by comparison.

But her soldiers did not grant her Judgement, so she repeated again, “Bring me the box!”

“You’ve grown drunk on authority.” Dio yelled back. “We’re not going to march with a gun to our heads.” But he knew it was a mistake to say that from the moment the words left his lips. A heavy blanket of air settled onto his neck, and in that moment he knew that the Imperial Mandate wasn’t a metaphor. There was a heavy scythe resting on him, and though the blade would not cut him down without external force, the force was there and waiting. All he had to do was speak. Dio kept his mouth shut and hung his head. Was this why there had never been a large-scale mutiny? He finally understood why the Emperor and his Most High held such an iron grip on the throne— because no matter where you were and how far away you tried to run, their authority could reach you within these walls. Inside their borders there was no safe space— you were always within reach and they knew it. There was therefore no need for military police or inspections. There was no purpose in keeping a firm hold on doctrine or language when a single rebellious word could be met with instant death.

Peter gave her the box, and Dio felt the air soften. Was it Anya channeling the mandate or the Emperor himself watching them? He didn’t think such an important figure would care about their backwater outpost, but there wasn’t any good explanation for such heavy-handed power. He supposed it wouldn’t matter for long anyway with Anya holding Judgement. His rebellious thoughts would damn him to death and he knew it. The only question was how long Dio had left to wait.