Editing The Tales of the Emperasque: Part Ten (section)

==0-046-001-M42==
Terra was teetering on the brink. Hundreds of billions of menials, and tens of billions more adepts, across the entire globe had risen in anger at the proclamation that the Emperor had absorbed a daemon, demanding that the truth be told. No amount of reassuring by the High Lords was going to solve this, and they were smart enough to see it. Entire armies of Arbites had been mobilized in the hive cities where the local law enforcement had been unable to control the problem, which was very nearly a third of the planet. The mere thought that the Custodes themselves might be mobilized in the hives adjacent to the Palace had kept them quiet, but it was more than a thought now. Nearly a quarter of the gold-armored guardians had been dispatched to Hive Aleph Setr, which was nearly sharing a wall with the Palace at the base. The hive had calmed down within hours of their arrival, and the Custodes were fanning out to other hives now, with nearly two million Sororitas in support. The High Lords were, understandably, horrified at the possibility that the Emperor might return to find his throne world in ruins.

The sound of bolter shells and crackling flame echoed all throughout the elevated roads of Hive Beta Solar, as a squad of the Sororitas of the Order of the Sacred Rose advanced against a hail of detritus and stubber rounds. A pack of crazed zealots were hurtling missiles and bullets at them with complete abandon from atop a pile of wrecked aircars. The Sororitas had, wisely, donned their helmets before charging in, with a trio of arbitrators backing them up. The first power armor-clad Battle Sister took a paving tile square in the faceplate and stumbled back, but pressed on, a visible dent in her helmet. One of the Arbites paused his advance long enough to line up his riot gun on the pack of hoodlums, blasting his unfortunate victim back off the trashed vehicles. The frontmost Sororitas took advantage of the sudden decrease in incoming fire to jump the barrier, and land squarely on top of the wrecked car, which buckled near in half under her weight, pitching the rioters to the ground in a heap. Before the other four Battle Sisters could reach them with their sarrissas, the Arbites were on them, lashing out with their shock mauls and suppression shields. The rioters shrieked and tried to scramble off, but found their retreat cut off by the imposing mass of the Sororitas. One of the rioters broke free and charged the Sisters, screaming his anger. “You lying bitches will never take our faith from us! I’ll die in the Emperor’s true name!”

The screaming rioter reached the nearest Sister and lunged forward, but she effortlessly caught him with her augmented arms, and hurtled him clean off the elevated road. His screams echoed into nothing as he plummeted out of sight.

The Arbitrators finished constraining the rioters, and clipped their hands and feet to a bent lamppost on the roadside with the length of plastic one carried at his belt before turning to the Sororitas. “Battle Sisters, are you able to reestablish comms with the Precinct yet?” the leader asked, prying the plastic shield on his helmet up and wiping off a sheen of sweat. The senior Sororitas tapped the side of her helmet and nodded.

“Affirmative, Arbitrator. We have contact with your headquarters now. Can your vox not reach them?”

“Of course not,” the Arbitrator said coolly. “The voxes in your suits are far superior to our comm beads. Are there reinforcements available? We can’t transport a tenth of the prisoners we’ve captured so far.”

“Not as such. However…” the Sororitas trailed off, tilting her head as if listening to several conversations at once. “However, the Convent dispatchers have informed us that…oh my.”

“What?” the Arbitrator snapped. “Are they coming?”

“The Divine Emperor Himself is returning to Terra, to resume control of the planet.”

“Grand,” the Arbitrator muttered. He leaned down to the twitching prisoner at his feet and raised his voice. “Got that, heretic? The Emperor Himself will be judging you. Put your best face on.”


Nearly two hundred kilometers away, in the halls of the Imperial Palace, the newly appointed Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes walked quickly to the Hall of the Golden Throne, with packs of tense guards and Adeptus Terra workers scurrying all around him. From the tops of the towers, one could actually hear the screaming sirens of the Arbites Rhinos as they drove about the adjacent buildings and bridges, and the reports of casualties from the riots was spreading around the palace at the speed of bad news. The Senate of the High Lords had convened several times over the last few days, and though he was not among its members, the newly-minted Captain General knew enough to be worried. The Emperor Himself was returning, apparently after a successful campaign against the Orks on Zargh 3, and the news was sure to escalate the riots.

The High Lords had misjudged the extent to which society would revolt against the Emperor’s decision. The truly pious, the ones who accepted the High Lords’ words without question, and the vast majority of the military had rallied behind the Administratum, and struggled against the tide of discontent, but most of the planet’s population seemed enraged by the High Lords’ proclamations. Not all had risen against the Adeptus Terra, but trillions had, and gradually the entire globe was drowning in anarchy. Making things worse, entire families of the world’s obscenely wealthy aristocracy had apparently taken the initiative to decide that the world was ending, and that it was time to party. Nobles from nearly half the great families were flying into the wealthier spires, soaring serenely over the carnage below.

Now, the Captain-General, and the rest of the Senatorum Imperialis – even those who did not presently have a seat amongst the High Lords – were assembling before the Eternity Gate, where some very anxious-looking Inquisitors, a trio of Grey Knights, and five PDF and Guard Commanders were already fidgeting. The pair of Warhounds guarding the Gate were carefully keeping their weapons pointed anywhere but the cluster of hierarchs. There was only one man missing now, the final representative of the High Lords: the representative of the Chartist Captains. While they waited, the various politicos and warriors chatted amongst themselves.

“So you’re saying he actually fell into the hole?” the Lord Commander Militant asked of the PDF head honcho.

“Yep, fell in like the scummer he was,” the tattooed man replied, his voice somewhere in the range of being able to vibrate rocks on a tabletop. “So of course, the clever little moron jumped right in after him. I mean, how do you forget that YOU’RE the one who filled the hole with spiders? Of course he became acutely aware of his foolishness very quickly, but naturally it was far too late.”

“How does a man that dumb even live that long?” the Lord Commander asked aloud, and the PDF officer chuckled.

“Well, some men are just lucky. Of course he was right back to life in no time, but it was funny listening to his ghost whine for a few seconds.”

“What the HELL are you two talking about?” the Grey Knight asked irritably. “Coming back to life? What?”

“Nothing of importance, Lord Draigo,” the PDF officer said respectfully. “Just killing time until Commodore Romes arrives.”

“Yes, where is he, anyway?” Draigo asked of nobody in particular. “I know for a fact that his ship is here on-planet.”

“LOOK OUT BELOW!” a voice suddenly cried, and the crowd parted as the chartered Captain suddenly landed in their midst with a *clunk*. Several of the group drew weapons and trained them on the man, but before the hall could dissolve into gunfire, the Fabricator-General laughed.

“Romes, I see you haven’t lost your ability to make an entrance.”

“Shut the hell up, General,” the man came back, slowly tottering to his feet with audible creaking sounds. “Those rocket knees you gave me are far too sensitive. I tried to take two steps in a stairwell at a time and I nearly launched myself into the ceiling.”

“Oh, bitch, bitch, bitch,” the nearly robotic Fabricator-General said, waving one of his many, many metal tentacles about. “Most men would kill to have rocket knees.”

“My rocket knees are going to get me killed,” the balding Commodore said. Before the Magos could snap back with something witty, the doors slowly rumbled open.

The group quickly shut up and holstered their weapons, as a group of two hundred Techpriests walked out of the room, pushing carefully sealed crates. The group was trailed by a pair of servitors with a massive piece of golden metal embossed with the seal of Golden Throne in their augmented ogryn hands. The Captain-General nodded. “Just in time, I see. I was hoping we’d get the disassembly done today.”

“My Lord General?” one of the Techpriests asked of the Fabricator-General. “Will you be returning with us? We need to oversee the purge and reassembly of the Throne, and your experience will be vital.”

“Surely I will return with you, Magos, but not for a while yet,” the Fabricator-General said. “There is a meeting I must attend first.” The group of Imperial leaders followed the Captain-General through the Gate before the Companions could close it.

The room beyond was the riot of activity that Draigo remembered. He glanced over his shoulder to see that Haldebrandt and Valentine were still following, and indeed they were, Haldebrandt looking apprehensive to the point of illness, Valentine just looking resigned.

The psykers in the group started shifting and grumbling, some holding their heads. Sure enough, moments later, with a loud *crack* of displaced air and a burst of purple fog, the Emperor appeared. He glanced around a bit, watching the convoy of servitors and Techpriests carrying out the last bits of the Golden Throne, then settled his gaze on the assembled High Lords. “AH, THERE YOU ARE. RIGHT ON TIME.”

The Ecclesiarch bowed low, and most of the others followed suit immediately. “My Divine Emperor, you bless us with your presence again. We are at your entire disposal.”

“I HOPE SO; WHAT’S ALL THIS I HEAR ABOUT RIOTS NEARLY TEARING SOME HIVES APART?” the Emperor roared.

“The planetary population did not believe our statement that you had returned in the guise of a daemon, O Divine One,” the Ecclesiarch said contritely. “They have, after all, heard us say for millennia that the ways of Chaos are the most foul and corrupting in all of the galaxy. They think that we’re making a cover story about the Palace being attacked. The people are-”

“The people are scared and resentful,” the Grand Marshal Provost broke in. “Hell, most of the people we’ve fought so far aren’t even committing heresies, just property damage.”

“RESENTFUL FOR WHAT, PRECISELY?” the Emperor asked reasonably. An awkward silence followed his question.

“Imperial worlds across the entire galaxy have been taxed to the hilt to pay for the increasingly intense battles against the Tau, Tyranids, and Necrons, my Lord God,” the Chancellor said. “Resentment among the families of PDF troops who were tithed up to the Guard when they didn’t want to be is spreading. Quickly.”

“Under the circumstances, you can see why, I hope, my Emperor, the people are growing restless and angry. Then, we tell them a fantastic tale about how the Emperor, whose benevolent protection ensconces the Imperium, is now…inside a daemon, and well…the dam broke,” the Provost said nervously.

“I SEE. HOW DISAPPOINTING,” the Emperor said pensively. “I ASSUME THAT THE PDF AS WELL AS THE ARBITES HAVE BEEN MOBILIZED?”

“Indeed, my Lord God,” the PDF commander said, looking a bit overawed. “Most of the men are just hive gangers with a uniform and a little indoctrination, but they’re getting the job done, with the help of the regional law enforcement and the Sororitas.”

“THEN IT SEEMS I HAVE LITTLE CHOICE. HOW CLOSE ARE THE RIOTERS TO ACTUALLY SUCCEEDING?” the Emperor asked.

“They can’t really ‘succeed’ if they don’t have a goal, my Divine Emperor,” the Ecclesiarch said with trepidation. “There is nobody directing these hooligans, from what we can see.”

“I MEAN, HOW CLOSE ARE THEY TO ACTUALLY DESTABILIZING ANY OF THE HIVES?” the Emperor asked patiently.

“Some hives aren’t rioting at all, my Emperor,” the Provost said. “Others are on the brink of anarchy, and entire battalions of Arbites Enforcers have been sent in and lost.”

“THEN I THINK IT’S TIME FOR THE NUCLEAR OPTION, SUCH AS IT IS,” the Emperor said, eliciting some alarm from the assembled politicians. “DEPLOY ANY UNCOMMITTED ARBITES AND OTHER LAW, AND IF POSSIBLE, DISPATCH THE REMAINING SISTERS OF BATTLE TO SPEARHEAD POLICE ACTIONS IN ANY HIVES THAT NEED IT.”

“We shall, my Emperor, though I should say that there aren’t many more Arbites we can deploy that aren’t guarding prisons or courthouse Precincts,” the Provost said carefully.

“I SHOULD HOPE NOT, CONSIDERING THAT DEPLOYING THE ARBITES IS THE BEST MOVE YOU COULD MAKE AGAINST THE RIOTERS,” the Emperor thought/spoke. “THESE FORCES, HOWEVER, SHALL BE THE MERE VANGUARD. I AM SENDING THE CUSTODES INTO THE HIVES TO RESTORE ORDER.”

The cluster of people erupted in buzzing that the Emperor silenced with a single impatient glance. “I KNOW IT’S ALL BUT UNPRECIDENTED, AND I KNOW THAT THE CUSTODES, FOR ALL THEIR POWER, RARELY ACTUALLY ENTER BATTLE THEMSELVES, BUT IT NEEDS TO BE DONE. IT WILL SHOW THE PEOPLE THAT I AM STILL VERY MUCH ALIVE AND VERY MUCH IN CHARGE.”

“As you so will it, my Emperor,” the Captain-General said. “How many of the Custodes shall be dispatched?”

“AS MANY AS CAN BE SPARED FROM PALACE DEFENSE, PLUS HALF THE COMPANIONS,” the Emperor said, surprising the assembly. “I WILL BE PREPARING A SPEECH TO THE PLANET, TO BE READ AS SOON AS IT’S FINISHED. AFTER IT’S DONE, THE CUSTODES-LED FORCES WILL ADVANCE ON THE SEDITIOUS HIVES, AND TAKE CONTROL. I EXPECT SOME WILL STAND DOWN WHEN THEY HEAR MY SPEECH. THE REST WILL BE BROUGHT AROUND TO A MORE PROPER WAY OF THINKING BY THE CUSTODES. THE SIGHT OF THE COMPANIONS PERSONALLY LEADING A CHARGE WILL BE ENOUGH TO COW SOME, THEIR TACTICAL SKILL WILL CULL THE REST.”