CHAPTER XII: Grand Council
Imperial Core, Imperatoria Sector, Terra
Aesajinj
In Terra’s distant city-scape she saw Fortress Praxia rise among the bottomless towers and barely in visual range was the frame of the great cathedral. The city-world brimmed with millions of lights that shined in the darkness. There was a chill in the air as winter was upon them. Her purple head-tresses of tendrils flowed down the back of her regal robes. Her chin was adorned by shorter versions of her head-tendrils. She rubbed her four black eyes in turn before turning on her heels and facing the entrance to the council chamber.
Two women had entered the chamber’s dual doors. Both were in their fifties, one garbed in an elegant yellow and blue dress while the other wore a blue Arbiter’s service uniform with gilded pauldrons. They bowed their heads to her and she returned the gesture.
“Lady Aesajinj, pleasure as always,” the woman in the dress lied pleasantly.
“Same to you, Proconsul Vivaldi.” Atia Vivaldi was the governor of the Imperial Core region. Her cousin Beatrice was more honest in her greeting. Beatrice Vivaldi was the head of law enforcement on Terra.
“Chief Arbiter, I heard there was a riot,” Aesajinj said.
“A minor incident on the lower levels,” Beatrice Vivaldi responded. “It was quickly handled. People get less law-abiding the further you go down the levels.”
“A pity they can’t understand the concept of service for the greater good,” the Proconsul said with faked sympathy.
“Indeed,” Aesajinj remarked, looking at her with hard eyes.
They took their seats at the Grand Council’s table and were soon joined by the head of High Command, Consul Najibullah. He was an old man that was almost in his nineties. He had served as Consul for decades and the empress was pleased with his efforts, evident in the fact that he still held the office. He always seemed tired to Aesajinj. Mayhaps it was because of his unwillingness to do any proper augmentations to strengthen his ailing body. In comparison to the old, tired Consul was the Grand Inquisitor, a man not even half Najibullah’s eyes.
“How is the Inquisition doing these days?” Proconsul Vivaldi asked. “Crucified any puppies today?”
The Grand Inquisitor was garbed in black robes that were so common for his Order. His sharp, chin-less face was unamused by her quip.
“Nothing that requires mentioning,” Grand Inquisitor Marius Saar Voorst stated plainly, ignoring the later part entirely. If his accent hadn’t given it away, his surname perfectly placed him as Marsborn, a child of the ever greener planet. “It’s been a surprisingly quiet few months for the Inquisition actually,” the man added.
“How wonderful,” a low hoarse voice answered. Heads turned in surprise to see the Director of Imperial Intelligence. Aesajinj was the only one that had seen him enter. He entered the chamber silent like a mouse and moved like a shadow-like he always did. It was impressive for a human of eighty. Especially since his legs were reinforced by an exoskeleton after an accident. “Though I wonder if that’s because of the same reason you do.”
“How do you mean, Director?” Saar Voorst inquired.
“I mean it could be because you’re Inquisitors are slacking.” He carried a smug smile on his face. Before Saar Voorst had answered he added, “I’m sure the Political Bureau will pick up the slack. I’m sure they don’t mind picking up a few more duties of yours.”
Saar Voorst didn’t dignify that with a response.
Momentarily they were joined by the rest of the councilmembers. The representative of the Political Bureau and the head of the Imperial Church. The Senator-Commissar was a man in his forties, by his mannerisms clearly a former marine. One could be forgiven for thinking him a rank-and-file soldier rather than space marine officer he’d been. She had long since forgotten the real name of the Imperiarch. It didn’t matter though. As Imperiarch he had taken up a new name. He was Imperiarch Faithful, the Third of that name. A man in his sixties she realized that it made him the youngest Imperiarch in Imperial history.
“I, see that the Industria Manufactoricus’s representative has not graced us with his…presence,” the overweight Imperiarch said with disdain. His double chins rippled as he spoke. It was clear to Aesajinj that he had chosen not to use a less pleasant word. Of course, as far as the Imperiarch was concerned the Lord of the Industria was a heretic.
She felt that she had waited long enough. “We’ll start without him.”
Nods circled the table. First to speak then was Proconsul Vivaldi. “I presume that her majesty has departed Terra by now?”
The empress’s seat at the table was also empty. “The Peace-through-Blood left the system an hour ago.” She turned her eyes to the Grand Inquisitor. “Master Saar Voorst, you have the first point on the agenda I believe.” It was actually the second but the owner of the first motion wasn’t present yet.
“Thank you, my lady.” The man straightened and eyed the Proconsul.
“I matter of publicity I suppose you could say,” she stated.
Aesajinj made no move to show her surprise. They rarely agreed on anything and here they were united regarding whatever the matter was.
“A concern regarding the practices of the Imperial Templars Legion,” Saar Voorst explained.
At that, she did raise an eyebrow. What problem could they possibly have with the guards of the Imperial Palace? Those who the empress had personally led into thousands of battles. Seeing that she waited, they continued.
It was the Imperiarch that spoke, making it clear that all three were in agreement on this. “The recruiting practices of the Secunatus Rexionis are not only practical but good for the public to behold, to know there is the tiniest of chance that their children could be chosen – if they live on the right planet. We feel that the process must reflect Imperial standards, the empress’s grace.”
“Are, you…are suggesting the Templars do not?” She wasn’t sure where this was going, still.
Saar Voorst spoke next. “Recruiting initiates is an important part that adds a constant extra trickle to the yearly production of clones,” he said. “It is problematic that the Templars recruit initiates from the lower levels of Terra. Street urchins, orphans. You can see the problematic image, my fellow Primus Inter Pares, you see the problem with this.”
“No,” Aesajinj told them flatly. She folded her arms under the chest. “I sincerely do not.”
The Imperiarch and Proconsul almost seemed surprised that she had said that. Were they truly so out of touch with the common citizenry?
“Recruiting the…poor elements of society-” Saar Voorst began.
“Is problematic to Terra’s one-percent,” she finished for him. “For the common people, it means that anyone could truly become an angel of the empress. People do certainly not look down on it.”
She saw the Senator-Commissar nod in agreement. Chief Arbiter Vivaldi and the Director of Imperial Intelligence didn’t show what was on their minds but Aesajinj read the slightest changes in body language and knew that the director agreed and the Chief Arbiter was on the fence, but she at least leaned in the direction of logic.
“The empress understands this,” she continued. “I’m sure she will be happy to explain to you when she returns from Ephraganos.”
That remark made them look rather uncomfortable, as intended.
Then finally, the master of the Imperium’s industries, the lord of the Industria Manufactoricus graced them with his presence. The Industria had been founded to oversee the main industrial capacity of the great Imperium the empress had built. They governed the industrial worlds that kept the Imperium’s war effort steamrolling ever onward. They had started like that at least, for in the following centuries they had grown in their tasks, they had first maintained security forces and then a military branch separate from High Command. Their own ground forces and navy elements. They had even moved their headquarters to the industrial world of Terra Secundus. It lied a mere few minutes in Darkspace from Old Earth and by now was effectively an unofficial second capital.
“It pleases me that you join us today, Arch-Fabricator Saar Manzerch.
The slow, bulbous frame of Remeus Saar Manzerch approached the council table to take up his chair-less seat. He was garbed in a grey cowled robe with a gilded pattern along the front and rim. The pattern was of cogs and wires. His eyes had been replaced with optics and a cybernetic replacement for his nose. His pink fleshy arms hanged limp, their functions replaced by two lanky cybernetic arms. He had visible wires that were attached to his flesh-bound body and his robotic lower part. While his upper body was mostly human his lower body was another monstrosity entirely. His lower body had been completely replaced with the two-meter long robotic, bulbous form of a slug. It covered no more than a decimeter or three above the marble floor, carried toward by six cybernetic insectoid legs. The lanky arachnid-like legs carried his uncomfortable form. While the Imperiarch was offended by his “enhancements” and Atia Vivaldi was repulse, Aesajinj merely found his appearance somewhat uncomfortable. She wished she was not but it was deeply embedded in her extinct specie’s culture. A part of her was even ashamed of it. As long as his religious beliefs regarding body-modifications harmed no one then what right did she have to judge a sanction religion followed by billions?
The Arch-Fabricator’s six legs tapped against the marble floor as he placed himself around the table.
“Ave, Primus Inter Pares,” he greeted them. His voice was half natural and half mechanical. “I apologize for my tardiness. I had an important holo-call with the Mother of Machines, blessed be her knowledge, on an important matter.”
Faithful III sat on the same side of the table but at the opposite end. It was an attempt by him to ensure that he could not look at the Arch-Fabricator without making the effort. She supposed it was painful for the man to share a table with a man he considered a heretic to the Imperial Faith, a traitor to the church of the Imperium. But those were zealots for you, she thought. She was confident that the Arch-Fabricator’s augmentations were not only out of religious fervor but also a desire for immortality. It seemed to be a desire many humans possess, to prolong your lifespan.
“Why did you speak to her Imperial majesty?” The question sounded almost accusatory from the fat lips of Faithful.
The Arch-Fabricator’s optics looked down the table to the Imperiarch. ”Production efficiency,” he said.
“I thought you said it was something important.”
With a flat half-mechanical voice Saar Manzerch said, “Production efficiency is monumentally important.”
Faithful looked somewhat abashed at that while Aesajinj knew – as did most around the table – that the matter discussed was not for their ears. No doubt most of the others were thinking about what it could be they are not privy to and how to figure out how to learn it. Then again it truly could have been a simple discussion about production efficiency and he was throwing his fellow councilmen for a spin. Thankfully she was above all the petty politics and scheming of the Grand Council.
“Lord Secundus, your motion. It is next on our agenda.”
The man’s optics shifted to her. “It was first on the agenda,” he corrected.
“You late, if you remember,” the young Senator-Commissar remarked.
“I forget nothing. It would be psychically impossible with my augmented memory.”
“My lord,” Aesajinj said pointedly.
He bowed his head to her before he spoke. “Apologize. As Arch-Fabricator of the Industria Manufactoricus I present for a vote that the Ecclesiarch-Mechanica be given a seat on the Grand Council.”
Faithful was the first to react – and to no surprise of Aesajinj – he was outraged. He rose from his chair and pointed a fat finger at Saar Manzerch.
“No man of the Church of the Mechanica will ever sit on this council! Mark my words!” He exclaimed as his eyes blazed with anger.
The old director of the Intelligence Bureau laughed lightly.
“Wha-what is so damn amusing!” Faithful demanded of him.
The man turned his wrinkled face and looked as if the answer was obvious. Which it was.
The Arch-Fabricator presented it to the head of the Emperiarchy. “There already is a man of the Church of the Mechanica here. Me.” The human side of his voice could have been mocking, but it was hard to tell for her and the mechanical side presented a clear unbiased fact. Slowly, Faithful’s face reddened and he sank back in his chair.
“It is only fair that the Mechanica is given the rights of the official church because it is – whether Imperiarch Faithful likes it or not – a sanctioned offshoot of the faith,” Saar Manzerch argued for his motion.
“Is the Imperiarch and Ecclesiarch-Mechanica equals, though?” Questioned Proconsul Vivaldi. “No disrespect to the man intended. While he is the head of the church he is not the head of the faith. That’s the Imperiarch.” She nodded to Faithful who by then said quietly in his seat, eyes on the table. “I think it would confuse the masses and not to mention policy in the church itself.”
“It could be seen as an attempt at a coup against the Emperiarchy,” the Grand Inquisitor voiced his opinion.
“A bit cynical, isn’t it?” Consul Najibullah said. It had been the first thing he’d said this far.
“Hardly.”
“It is not a coup attempt,” the Arch-Fabricator offered plain assurances.
“Maybe not today,” the Grand Inquisitor stated. “But you can say in a generation? Three? Six?”
The Director laughed again. “How do you sleep at night, my lord? With concerns like that in your head. Isn’t it enough to worry about what folk will do their own lifetime but ten generations from now? Lady Aesajinj will be the only one alive then. Even the Lord of Secundus isn’t going to live that long.”
“The enemies of the empress’s Imperium don’t rest and we must always be several steps ahead of them,” the man answered.
Aesajinj sat quietly and listened to the lords and ladies of the council as usual. Director Amir Shahid had a similar way of melting into the background, to be almost forgotten until he chose to speak. She cast an eye on the cybernetic being that was the Arch-Fabricator of Terra Secundus. She remembered when the first man to hold his position – though it was titled Director then – in the four-decade of the Age of War. His name had been Neville Stonnley and he had certainly not been a half-mechanical beast. He lived back before the Industria Manufactoricus became the seat of a tech-cult.
“We will put it to a vote if no one has anything to add,” Aesajinj said when she chose to speak.
Nods of agreement came from around the table. The vote was as one-sided as she had expected. Saar Manzerch stood alone to vote for his proposal.
“The nays have it then. Let us move on to the item on our agenda. A request from the HIGHCOM to change military policy.” She looked at Consul Najibullah. “Consul?”
“Hmm, yes,” he said, his voice raspy and tired. “High Command, believes strongly, that, a change of policy, regarding, the Imperial Military is…” he paused for a coughing fit. “…is required.”
“Specifically?” She inquired, her chin tendrils twitching slightly. She expected this to be another tiresome issue that they she’d heard before.
“They, want a change, in the nature of the campaign command structure.”
A few heads around the table turned to each other in confusion. Saar Manzerch was not confused. The Arch-Fabricator was old enough to understand the nature of this proposal just like Aesajinj.
“High Command holds sways of the military operations and affairs of the Army Command, Navy Command, Marine Corps and Auxiliary Command and answers only to this Grand Council and the Empress,” he stated in his half-mechanical voice.
Chief Arbiter Vivaldi leaned forward and arched an inquisitive eyebrow. “What precisely does HIGHCOM want to change? Enlighten us please, my lord Consul.”
“They believe, that the command structure, is too, fluid, in-,” he said before he was interrupted.
“In that, they are subordinate to the Secunatus Rexionis Legions?” The Grand Inquisitor assumed.
Najibullah affirmed it with a nod.
“The common soldier is honored to support Legion campaigns, to take orders from a Rexionis,” Aesajinj told him. “HIGHCOM should understand that they will never command or be equal to the Archons. If a general gets upset taking orders from a Rexionis Captain he should resign. There won’t be a need for a vote since the empress will never take such a request seriously. If they’re lucky she.”412Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPeG07968QC
