The Beast Arises

For the first time in days, Haas no longer heard Mesring’s summons. Another voice spoke to the assembled volunteers. Massive pict screens, fifty metres on a side, rose above the edge of the Fields at regular intervals. They all showed the same recording. Juskina Tull towered over the recruits in all her magnificence. Mesring was the voice of the call, but hers was the voice, and hers was the face, of the Crusade itself. It was her vision that had been given material form. She wore robes of purest black, and a diagonal sash of deep crimson. She gave the impression of being in uniform, though the design did not belong to any regiment. She was regal, yet humbled by the people who were making her plan come to pass. She was imperious, her profile cold in its perfection. In her bearing, she was a colossus, presiding over the shifting formations of insects below. Her voice was the ringing iron of command. But in her words, she was welcoming, she was warmth, she was the delight of triumph.

‘Warriors of the Proletarian Crusade, I thank you for the struggle you are about to wage.’ She paused. Her smile became ferocious. ‘I thank you for the victory to come!’

The Fields of Winged Victory echoed with the roar. Haas had faced the great scream of the masses when the orks had arrived. Now she was swept up by their desperate challenge to the enemy. There was an edge of hysteria to the joy, but it was real all the same, and Haas joined in.

She and Kord were now a few steps away from the Administratum officials controlling the flow at the end of their street.

In the recording, the Speaker for the Chartist Captains paused, her smile becoming almost gentle. The illusion was perfect. It seemed to Haas that Tull really saw the masses, and listened to their cry, and waited for the people to have their moment. Then she spoke again.

‘You are not trained soldiers. But you are warriors. The ships that you will board are not warships. But they will wage war. And know that you will have at your side the strength of the Imperial Guard.’ She turned her head, as if focusing on a different group in the grounds below her projection. ‘Let yourselves be heard, heroes of the Astra Militarum! Granite Myrmidons! Auroran Rifles! Jupiter Storm! Eagles of Nazca! Orion Watch!’

As each regiment was called, another roar went up, from different regions of the Fields. The bulk of the Astra Militarum contingents were not mustering here. They were being transported directly from their barracks to the Armada. But entire companies from all of them were present. They were being attached to the civilian formations to give them direction and boost their bravado even more.

Haas understood the purpose behind the integration. She could see how perfectly orchestrated the operation was. And she found it very hard to care, because it was all necessary. If the Proletarian Crusade was to be successful, the participation had to be massive.

And it had to succeed, she thought. The consequences of failure were so dark that she couldn’t consider them. No one of faith would dare.

She barely noticed that they had passed the Administratum checkpoint and been channelled towards a registration station three rows up and ten aisles over. The queue was long but moved steadily. Haas couldn’t take her eyes off Tull, couldn’t turn away from the message being vox-cast across the Fields of Winged Victory. She had difficulty remembering why she had come here in the first place. To observe? Really? What was she thinking?

What sort of faithless coward came to observe the heroes and martyrs, and then walked away?

She brought her hand to her belt. She tapped the handle of her shock maul. More than a weapon, it was her staff of office. It represented the task to which she had devoted her life. She had to be sure that she was not abandoning her duty for the sake of selfish adventure. She closed her eyes for a moment. She could still hear Tull’s speech, which had looped back to praise of the Chartist Captains. She was shielded, though, from the sight of the Speaker’s overwhelming charisma.

She knew what she wanted to do. She had to know that it was the right thing to do.

Movement ahead of her. Kord walking forward. Eyes still closed, she took another step. Still thinking.

‘You’re coming. You know you are,’ Kord said.

She kept her eyes shut. ‘I don’t know. I refuse to be derelict.’

‘When have I ever been?’

‘Never,’ she admitted.

‘I’m going because I…’ His voice trailed off.

A hush falling on all sides. Like a cold wind blowing over the Fields of Winged Victory. Tull’s voice carrying on, but sounding less convincing without the answering shouts. Sounding hollow.

Tull opened her eyes. Everyone was looking up. The blood had drained from Kord’s face. So had the fire in his eyes.

The ork moon had risen.