We disembark from the air car and are led beneath the bronze arms to two great angels, then through a thick, armoured door. The room beyond is magnificent with twenty floors of books, scrolls, and artefacts beyond the atrium. The atrium is tiled with xenos fossils and many glass cases, filled with artefacts, are dotted about in grand displays. To one side is a sitting area with an open fire, burning genuine wooden logs.
By having Konrad lead us to Modren’s Librarium, is Modren trying to impress me, a Magos Explorator, with his collection of knowledge, or trying to make me feel comfortable? If he is showing off, I really can’t see this as anything other than a targeted insult. I’m more amused than outraged, but what really sets my mind whirring is ‘why’.
Konrad leads us to the sitting area where three men and one woman are sinking into their armchairs and swilling amasec. Servers, in black coattails and pressed trousers, stand silently behind each armchair. All four guests stand as we approach.
Pointing to each person in turn, Konrad says, “This is Commodore Raphael Horthstein and Adjunct Lyre Hamiz of the Imperial Navy. Standing next to them is Governor Mattius Stigstaff, Imperial administrator of Cobalt and Lord-General Mildred Pyrewier of the Cobalt PDF.” He then points to Brigid and I, “This is Magos Explorator Aldrich Issengrund, and Chief Purser, Brigid Issengrund of the Adeptus Mechanicus. I will leave you all to get to know each other. Good day.”
Konrad strides off without a backwards glance.
“Hello everyone,” I shake all of their hands and Brigid follows suit, “Thank you for your polite greetings.”
“Likewise, Magos,” says Mattius. “It is good to put a face to the man who is providing so much to our hard working PDF.”
Mattius is an ageing strong man whose body is swiftly turning to fat. He has a full beard and long, blond dyed hair, carefully ringleted and oiled. Thick furs and leathers with elaborate stitching and ivory toggles cover his bulging frame. Poking out from his jacket is the sleeve of a temperature controlling undersuit.
I smile, “Keen to get your hands on some new hardware, eh? That’s something I can appreciate, though I am curious as to why you ordered our armoured walkers, rather than tracked vehicles, especially when your planet is covered in ice and tanks are cheaper.”
Raphael and Lyre glance at each other and listen in on our conversation.
Mattius says, “What do you know about Cobalt, Magos?”
“This is my first visit. I’ve heard of your walking cities and have a few pics, but that isn’t the same as witnessing it first hand.”
“I should hope not!” says Mattius. “I dare say our world is quite unique and we are rather proud of it. As for your query, I feel that Lord-General Pyrewier is in a better position to answer it.”
Mildred is a short woman at one hundred and sixty-four centimetres. She’s wearing a black, gothic punk jacket with double ivory buttons down the front and silver embroidery, showing bears, seals, and whales. A single platinum ring hugs her middle right finger and is engraved with the Imperial Aquila. Several medals are pinned on her left breast. She gives me a polite smile.
“Magos, to answer your question,” says Mildred, “one must understand the unique environment of Cobalt. Our world is one of oceans and ice. Islands are scarce and the temperature is sub-zero all year round. What shapes our world, however, is not the ice or oceans, but the leviathans that swim across its surface, shattering the hard surface of the ocean during their long migrations and providing other creatures a chance at light and air, or a chance to slip back into the water.”
Brigid performs a dramatic gasp, “How grand these leviathans of yours must be!”
“They’re quite something,” says Mildred. “Some are said to have lived before the Emperor ascended to the golden throne, though no one has been able to prove it. We build our cities upon their backs and within their guts, hiding from the worst of the cold. Our refineries trail behind them, pulled along by their immutable bulk, gathering the rare elements that are dislodged from the ocean floor by their passing. It’s these that you’re here for, yes?”
Mattius clears his throat, “We couldn’t afford the Vanguard armour and your other advanced gear, with just our mineral output. We’re actually paying for most of this with food. Seal and whale meat, mostly. Five megatonnes of biomass, one megaton of rare elements. It’s taken years to collect it all.”
Brigid chuckles and voxes me, “At least we won’t be going hungry anytime soon. Quaani must really like these people to arrange a trade like that.”
“He’s probably still slightly traumatised from his mutations giving him an unnatural appetite and agreed to it without thinking it through.”
“That won’t be a problem,” I say. “It will make for a nice change from shrimp and small oily fish.”
Mildren hums, “To actually answer your question, your walkers are lighter and more nimble than a Leman Russ. They will better fit through the narrow corridors of our small cities and skis will help them move quickly and safely across the ice. We have a low population too and Vanguard Armour needs fewer crew than a tank.
“As for the custom gravpacks we requested, it will allow the Vanguard Armours to jump out of the way of smaller, younger, leviathans who tend to breach the ice whenever they detect something moving over it. They are curious creatures, but for us, their curiosity is quite lethal.
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“You can’t do that with a tank, even if it is much cheaper and easier to maintain. Previously, we’ve always relied on small, armoured snowmobiles with boat-like hulls and limited full immersion capability. They can survive getting swallowed, or sinking, but not always. Much better not to be caught in the first place.”
“I’m surprised your planet isn’t classified as a death world,” says Raphael, slipping into the conversation.
Raphael Horthstein looks young. He has purple eyes, brown curly hair, and a short boxed beard. He’s an unaugmented human, one hundred and eighty-nine centimetres tall. His navy dress uniform is fairly tight over his slim and fit body.
Mildred says, “I could say the same about living in space.”
Raphael and Lyre both chuckle.
“You’re not wrong, Lord-General,” says Lyre. “No air is just as bad as air that’s too cold to breathe. We have our share of beasties too, though most of them have two legs, rather than flippers.”
Lyre Hamiz is the opposite of his counterpart. He’s old with a slight stoop and noticeable augments, including two limb replacements and a red, bionic eye.
“Do you have a recent picture of a leviathan with you?” says Brigid. “I’d love to see one.”
Mildred folds her arms and is silent for a moment, “Yes, I believe I do.” She pulls a dataslate from a messenger satchel lying on the recaf table between us and rapidly taps at its virtual keyboard with one hand. Thirty seconds later, she hands me the dataslate. “Here, Magos Issengrund.”
“Thank you,” I take the dataslate and hold it between Brigid and I. Observing the picture, I rapidly calculate the size of the leviathan. It isn’t whale or snake shaped, like I’d expected, but more like a ray with a many segmented shell covering its back and belly. On its back is a series of six armourglass domes, connected by clear tunnels.
The leviathan is pushing through ice over two hundred metres thick with its armoured head. I’m not quite certain from the picture, but it looks like the ice is shattering just before the leviathan touches it, like it’s being shredded by sound, or psychic power.
“Wow, that’s bigger than a Lunar-Class cruiser!” I say. “By volume, anyway. It’s not as long or tall, but much, much wider. Are they all that big?”
Mildred shakes his head, a small smile on her face, “Not at all, Magos. That’s an average sized Leviathan. There are three that are known to be much bigger, on par with a battleship. They seem to live a slightly different lifestyle though, and spend most of their time under the waves, barely moving. We don’t have any settlements on those.”
“A different stage in their life cycle perhaps?” says Raphael, “May I see the image too please?”
I glance at Mildred and she waves her hand towards Raphael. I pass him the dataslate.
“We don’t know for sure,” says Mildred, “but that’s our best guess.”
Brigid says, “What do they even eat? How can such a large creature possibly sustain itself.”
“Everything,” says Mattius, “from heat and radiation, to algae, minerals, and anything else they can sweep up into their colossal maws, much of which they can get by consuming the ice and everything that lives above, within, and below it. We think that they let us form our cities on their backs for the heat they produce and the careful work we put into cleaning their shells and keeping them clear of parasites, barnacles, and other hostile growths, some of which can get quite large.”
“How intelligent are they?” says Lyre. “Surely it causes you problems when they mate or spawn?”
Mattius nods, “We do have to keep a careful eye out for that. Our domes can detach and float in the water, sliding off the backs of their shells. Mating only happens every five-hundred years or so and the leviathans give birth to hundreds of live young. We don’t know what the survival rate is, but some packs of predators will have a go at them when they’re small.
“As for how smart they are, after any courting or mating fights, the leviathans submerge themselves beneath our floating domes so we can reattach them without any prompting from us. They do not communicate with us, at least in any way that we can understand, and they’ve ignored all attempts at communication with them. However, the leviathans do sing to each other constantly, a noise that can send a whole city vibrating. They are clearly intelligent, but how much, or what they really think of us, is a complete mystery.”
“Fascinating,” says Raphael as he hands off the dataslate to Lyre. “I wasn’t planning on visiting the surface of your world, but now I find I would rather like to. Is there time for that in our schedule, Lyre?”
“There is time, Commodore, though we cannot linger long. There are many Governors who require a dash of gunboat diplomacy.”
Mattius loses his genial grin and Mildred scowls.
“Though,” continues Lyre, “I am pleased to state we have found no ruinous taint or unsanctioned organised militant groups upon Cobalt, beyond the usual gangs. There is some evidence of Orks though.”
“Feral Orks,” snarls Mildred, “A remnant of an old invasion by the ‘Undred ‘Undred Teef. We didn’t provide a decade of output to the good Magos just to look pretty.”
I vox Brigid, “What do you think about running some military exercises on Cobalt? We have not fought on an oceanic ice world outside of simulations. It would be a good chance to get some expertise from some native fighters, potentially. Maybe even pick up more recruits.”
“They have a population of five million, I doubt they can spare much. Still, say, half a battalion of ice fighters could come in handy. I’ll float the idea past Eire and Maeve and they can ask Governor Stigstaff at a more appropriate time. Are you sure though, Love? Is this really what we want to spend our resources on? We can’t help everyone.”
“We can use the penal legion for most of the fighting, then rotate our Heralds among them to minimise the casualties and maximise the experience of our more elite troops. A single campaign will exonerate two thirds of the penal legion, letting us integrate them into the Heralds, or Fleet, much faster. More personnel will increase our production, which we desperately need if we’re to build all those vessels for the Space Marines.”
“Oh, that makes far more sense than you just being nice.”
“Well, however I justify it, my personal feelings on the matter have little bearing on the mathematics of it.”
Brigid reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” says Raphael, “What is Vanguard armour? Did you discover something in your Quest for Knowledge, Magos Issengrund? Is there any way you can help my own vessels and crew?”