‘Thank you for telling me these things.’
‘What we said will remain secret.’
‘Of course.’
‘Not that there’s much cause for secrets now.’
She turned to leave. Just as she did so, I felt a sudden surge of irritation. It might have been building for weeks, prompted by my recent failures, or maybe triggered by the exhaustion infesting my system. Whatever the cause, it was most unlike me, but it spilled out nonetheless.
‘We’re not done yet, Representative,’ I said, causing her to turn back to face me. ‘I’ve had my aides tell me we’re done for fifty years, but we’re not. There are daemons on Terra? There were before. Damn them. Damn them all. This is our home.’
I couldn’t decipher her expression then. Was she amused? Contemptuous? Confused? Maybe all of those things. In the end, though, she just nodded.
‘It is at that,’ she murmured.
Then she was gone, leaving me alone in the chamber I had spent my lifetime beautifying. I looked around at the fine things, the objects that had given me such pleasure. I could no longer summon enthusiasm for them. They were fragile. Collecting them seemed more like an indulgence than ever, the compensatory occupation of a weak man who should have been stronger.
But then my comm-bead clicked, and a dozen new bulletins ran down my retinal-feed.
So I started walking. Work called. As always, work called.
At least I had direction now. We called it the Arx Doctrine, the strategy of reinforcing the essential core of the planet: the Sanctum Imperialis, the Palace perimeter, the still-dormant Fortress of the Astronomican and the other capital structures of the Administratum. I spent my time shuttling from High Lord to High Lord, cajoling and persuading and bribing so that dissension was minimised.
Some saw the necessity of it from the start. Oddly enough, Haemotalion was my staunchest ally in those days. He was sufficiently cold that the sacrifice of billions to save the inner core of the Imperium never seemed like a difficult choice to make.
Others resisted. I could understand why – we had not yet been invaded in any significant numbers, and the unrest across the planet was, while disturbing, hardly critical. Pereth in particular was loath to see the standing defence orders unravel, for she commanded the vast resources of the Imperial Navy within the Sol System, and perhaps was seduced by their huge potential. We had fully equipped squadrons in orbit, including system-destroying battleships stuffed with whole regiments of shock troops. We had thousands of regiments garrisoned across the world’s surface, plus three full Titan maniples, huge volumes of Mechanicus forces, an entire company of Imperial Fists, plus scattered representatives of other Space Marine Chapters.
So we were hardly defenceless, but neither were we facing normal foes. The madness within the citizenry spread quickly, fuelled by starvation and loss of belief. Reports of daemonic incursions erupted with staggering frequency, and our resident inquisitors were soon run ragged trying to eradicate them all. The failure of the Astronomican meant that the steady run of cargo ships, already interrupted by our defence arrangements, dried up completely. It had long been a maxim that the loss of three meals was enough to send a man feral. For our already starving population, cowed by disease and the incessant whispers of spirits in the night, it didn’t take that much. And, above all, two words were on all our lips, never uttered but always there – The Despoiler.
So the Arx Doctrine took shape. Regular regiments were pulled back to the walls, ceding control of massive urban tracts to the Adeptus Arbites. Many of those regions swiftly descended into full disorder, while others only retained a semblance of control.
I found the experience painful. You can imagine what it felt like to listen to the comm-feeds from desperate sector prefects, pleading for support as their command citadels were swamped by starving mobs of heretics. There was one exchange I remember keenly even now – a young-looking woman with a bloodied forehead and damaged armour, begging me to send reinforcements to her outlying fief.
‘There’s no assault on the Palace!’ she cried, outraged. ‘Your walls are secure! By the Holy Throne, what reason do you have not to help us?’
I could only look at her, powerless to intervene. What could I say? That we knew even worse was coming? That the greatest of our kind believed the End Times were upon us and the Emperor’s halls themselves were at risk?
‘Remain stalwart, prefect,’ I said, hating the sound of my voice. ‘Help will be