Chapter Text
Os granules scattered the chilly floor. Gehenna tore off a thick glove with her teeth, flexing stiffened fingers. As she advanced, hulking skeletal figures quickly formed an entourage, these constructs sporting reinforced arms barbed to the scapula. Their eyes glowed a hellish red deep within their sockets, unblinking. Unlike most constructs, which were deceptively lightweight, these rattled the picture frames dotted haphazardly along the darkened walls. Not her most elegant work, but they would do in a pinch.
Silently, she sent them barreling ahead to a fork in the hallway. As they split into even groups and thundered along into darkness, Gehenna stayed back, watching them advance with a stony expression. When they could only be heard and not seen, she briskly walked in the opposite direction, staying light on her feet. With another flick of her wrist, she conjured yet another skeleton, one with more reasonable proportions, clinking alongside her as quietly as it could manage. Additional augments to her person were in order- the ribcage strapped to her chest writhed and elongated, growing heavy as scaly plates of bone fitted themselves against her mid trunk, unspoken theorems woven into one another to allow as much flexibility as she could manage. The rings at her fingers unbound themselves, snaking across her fists and webbing collagen and marrow until they formed gauntlets. The weight of them against Gehenna’s knuckles reassured her.
In her myriad of reign, of all the things that had gotten her this far, a healthy dose of paranoia was never to be underestimated. Gehenna was acutely aware of the fact that the root cause of the massacre in Pandemonium was still as of yet to be uncovered. All evidence pointed to an intruder- one that remained anonymous. As far as they knew, the guilty party could be stalking the halls of Golgotha among them- not to mention the distinct possibility of cahoots with one of the prospective saints. The rawhide captain, perhaps? He had always given the empress an unsettled feeling, what with the callous attitude regarding his own cavalier- still, she had gone the route of observing them all with equal scrutiny.
A part of her wondered still if it might be best to make her suspicion more overt. Not that she truly believed it was him- not in an evidence-based sense, in any case- but if it might allow the real co-conspirator, assuming there was one, to drop their guard. The Sixth and Seventh had assured her the only ones present on the shuttles had been the heirs and their cavalier primaries, even going so far as to privately catechize the shuttle pilots, none of whom had even exited the crafts.
The pattering of footsteps in the distance brought Gehenna back to reality. The hallway was arranged in such a way where her constructs should have driven the mystery party right back to her, following the circuit. She quickened her pace, never quite surpassing anything more than a brisk march; the skeleton beside her mimicked her stride with near perfection. The thought in the front of Gehenna’s mind was leading her to scan the corners of the ceiling and gaps where the floor had eroded with time, identifying the best way to ward this place more efficiently. Some time ago, much longer than she cared to remember, some fit of neurosis had driven her to cover the whole east end with meticulous bone wards. With some urgent prodding, Gehenna had been persuaded to take them down as the number of Lyctors had increased and soon tired of being impaled through the midsection after making a wrong turn. Perhaps it was time to reintroduce the practice. Just to keep them on their toes.
Up ahead, the rumpus of bone against stone echoed against the walls and down the hall. She rounded a corner, resenting one of the limitations of wholly oss based necromancy. They were excellent for grunt work, but utterly shit for proper reconnaissance, lacking any photoreceptors, eyes through which to house them or brains to process the information. Gehenna had felt them engage with something , which was promising.
Any particle of hope that might have blossomed in her chest withered and died when Gehennarchi laid an eye on the sorry sight before her. For the most part, they stood dormant, placid and impassive, no bounty to speak of. All constructs were intact- naturally, it would have taken severe combative prowess to take even one down, let alone in near silence. She watched with mounting irritation as one, now sans skull, lumbered moronically after its own decapitated head, kicking it forward a few feet every time it got close enough to grab it. She watches the pitiful display for a moment or two longer than what might seem appropriate before rending the construct to dust, having served its purpose.
Gehenna lowered her head into her ungloved hand, smudging the paint against her brow with two fingers, manually trying to nurse the migraine mounting in her frontal lobe. As she considered exploding her own skull with enough force to blast a hole in the nearest wall, she sensed something caught in the grasp of one of her minions. Gehenna’s gaze flickered upward, she snapped her fingers and watched as the goliath approached with something golden and tiffany clutched tightly between phalanges as thick as sausages. As soon as it was close enough, Gehenna snatched the fabric from its grasp and inspected it. The cloth was so silky and cold it felt as if someone managed to sew a garment from ice. Rich gold reflected the light from all angles, the reverse side a rich velvety black. Gehenna grimaced before quickly folding the scrap of fabric into a tiny triangle and stuffed it inside her robes.
Nearly a week later, Gehennarchi once again found herself caged by routine diplomacy. “...then barring any significant derailments, of which I am sure there will be at least three, we can wrap things up with the budget,” Saul drawled, furiously editing notes on their tablet. Assembly debriefs were among one of the uncountable frustrations of Gehenna’s station, leading to her saint’s naked shock that she had taken them up on it the first time they asked.
“You have yet to explain why my presence is needed to review the budget,” God snarked, not taking her eyes off of the book in her lap, propped upright against her bent knees. Her charity was born of sheer necessity, and Devotion knew better than to waste goodwill on what amounted to little more than squabbling over recognizing foreign authority for land deals that lay within the system's boundaries. She pinched a waxy page between her fingers, aching from the cold. Wordlessly, Saul adjusted a dial on the heater set between them on the glossy table, the foul stench of kerosene increasing to nauseating levels.
“Normally, I wouldn’t bother,” Saul explained, their stylus scribbling so fiercely Gehenna could easily imagine it bursting into flame from friction. “It wasn’t even my idea, if I may be frank. However, it’s actually a rather large discrepancy, and barring more practical reasons, the Fifth would feel far more comfortable with your presence so nothing gets lost in translation.” Gehenna’s saint is hunched over in their seat, shoulders so tense they nearly graze their ears. Their glasses keep slipping down to the tip of their nose, prompting Saul to absently push them back up every other minute. The tic would still be there regardless of the useless frames, but their presence makes it look much less ridiculous. Then, much quieter, “That aside, it's a matter of morale.”
Gehenna arched an eyebrow and dog-eared her page in the book, setting it aside in the space between her crossed legs. The tension headache consolidating in her neck had slowly begun to creep up her scalp, making the skin tight and her face shiny with sweat despite the chill. She’d been going over the same passage for about an hour now, with no signs of advancing. Saul only looked up long enough to express a tinge of disdain for her treatment of its pages. “Morale?” she asked cooly. “What’s next on the docket? Mettle?”
Propping their head up against a sturdy fist, Saul paused their incessant tapping at the screen to meet her gaze, seeming almost serene. The library had high ceilings and poor insulation, yet they betrayed no signs of being affected. No stiffened muscles nor trembling lashes, their hands did not encircle one another the way Gehenna felt compelled to so frequently. Their robe hung loose from their lithe frame, open in the front, unbothered to an almost comical degree. Gehenna sniffed harshly, the cold air stinging her nostrils. They reeked of fresh blood. She could have sat there and manually padded her fat reserves, but what would be the point? Internal augmentations never lasted long- not for her. When her mind slipped, she’d just be back to square one, freezing her ass off.
Saul tilted their head, their face giving way to a particularly trying expression. One that wished it was sorry about what Saul had to say, but valued comprehension above theatrics. “Mors thought it best to have the initiates sit in on this. They’ll have to eventually and it will be good for them to familiarise themselves with how you operate.” The Empress’ eyes unfocused for a moment, contemplating this development. The Lyctor opposite of her added, unhelpfully, “They’ve been told to keep to themselves unless they have something of worth to add.”
“I’ll be looking forward to their silence,” Gehenna grunted, already returning to her book. Still, the change in topic wasn't a complete waste. It reminded her of something she had wanted to discuss.
Wordlessly, she reached inside her the folds of her robes and procured the scrap of fabric her construct had brought her days earlier. Still reading, she slid it across the table towards the Sixth, not bothering to check their reaction. The frigid air congealed around them. An icy cloud of breath escaped Gehenna’s nostrils, her mouth kept in a resolute line.
The silence cracked when Saul said dryly, “The Seventh is far more adept with mending textiles.”
The Sixth was far too practical to bother with playing stupid. Staunchly refusing to look up, she finished reading the final paragraph on the page and casually flipped the page of her book, angled just so they could spot the title.
It had taken ages to locate a book on the Ninth. It was a House that presided primarily in enigma, a site of holy mysteries. As far as the Empress had ever concerned herself, it housed relics- ancient, precious things that could not afford to be lost to time or war. Cloistered off to the edge of the Necropolis where neither the light of the Empyrean nor the attention of God could reach it. By design, of course- she was famously prone to regrettable passions.
This blunt acknowledgment did little to nurse her ego. Being self aware did little in the ways of mitigating a myriad of guilt. After ransacking her office for any scrap of paper that may have betrayed a hidden edifice of the dark star of her empire, God instructed the Fourth to dig up any pertinent materials regarding the Ninth, its lone settlement Costoburg and any significant locals of note from the last odd few millennia. It might have been more efficient to task Demise or Malady with such a research minded project, but they’ve always been eager to please and asked minimal questions. There was no telling if the Seventh would share Gehenna’s sudden interest with the Sixth- who in many ways acted as a close confidante- and collaboration with the Fifth invited her ill advised and poorly timed attempts at comradery. This was work for a dogsbody, not a scholar.
While Enyalius’ efforts had not been for naught, their final output had noticeably underwhelmed. Of all the books in all the studies and libraries of House Golgotha, private or otherwise, they had unearthed less than a dozen books. There was also a hefty stack of archival material that amounted to little more than meticulously well maintained supply runs to the Ninth, census records, a sparse few correspondence with whatever heir had been running things at the time and a notable number of commendations for service in the Cohort. They dropped off severely some time after the turn of the eighth millennium, and have been in steady decline ever since. If anything, it's a marvel they’ve lasted this long, giving Gehenna the clear impression that the Ninth must be receiving auxiliary support of some kind. Most likely under the table to save face. It’s what she would do, at least.
She’d arranged her notes along a wall in her cell. Gehenna frequented it far less often than her study, but her apartments had been warded to the teeth and she felt far more comfortable arranging her data somewhere tucked far from potential tampering. Before she would retire, Gehenna would scan the vast expanse of mostly unconnected paperwork, jotting down any potential points of contention in her notebook for later reference to follow up on. She’d gnaw the butt end of her pen, blinking bleary eyed up at the scattered puzzle.
A black calcified nub where she assumed all shame manifested in her brain in lieu of the dorso-lateral prefrontal cortex scraped at the inside of her skull incessantly. There was always the chance this was just another one of her fixations- a passing obsession with some inert appendage of her empire.
It certainly wasn’t sustainable - the blackouts had taken a noticeable turn for the extreme, increasing in both length and severity. Only able to use her journals and Saul’s recollection for reference, the last time they had been this unmanageable had been nearly three thousand years ago, which meant absolutely fuckall in the grand scheme of things. Gehenna’s notes had grown sparse in her mental absence, sometimes missing entries for years at a time. Out of an abundance of caution, she noted this on her disconnected mess of a wall as well.
Regarding the books, they were little more than reference material, the sparsest notes one could take on the ninth House without falling into outright speculative territory. They had been the last of the Houses founded- naturally- with the initial generations composed of almost entirely pilgrims. As suspected, just about everything reiterated that it functioned much like a repository for hallowed paraphernalia. Some of the most notable entries rang a distant bell in Gehenna's head, but for the most part it appeared to be stocked with items of personal import to the Houses as a sort of neutral zone. Furthermore, no record of what exactly was contained within them was publicly available. This shouldn’t be a problem for God, but the most scrupulous records were kept buried in the archives of the Library, a labyrinth of exacting bureaucracy. The preliminary request forms alone were thicker than Limos’ hair and colour coded. It would be at least another month before they got back to her, the obvious factor notwithstanding. Academia hurried for no God or man.
Other than that curious detail, the main point they all reiterated was a fascinating prestige with cavaliers. Gehenne recalled Theorigo corroborating this point as she skimmed barebones passages alluding to their contributions to the Cohort. They had even gone so far as to establish their own unit; the Oiorpata . Gehenna liked the feel of the word against her tongue.
Specifics were few and far between. Necromantic vocations never went more than a vague allusion to spirit work- understandable, given how fucking unhinged the actual methodology was. Only a few names appeared more than once, only necromancers of note- Coras and Anastasias, Michaels and Jedidiahs, Lethes and Doloreses and Cassandras. She noted an unspoken pattern unfolding of obfuscating the names of cavaliers, though given how reluctant the books were on usable information it was entirely possible they had been lost to history. None of them had been published within the past five centuries.
Gehenna consumed what was available and painstakingly pasted it together in some semblance of ordered logic. Double checking with the boy was right out. She’d briefly contemplate summoning him to her office and probing him, then ultimately decide to shelve the idea for a more urgent situation. At most, Gehenna would prod him a little over the rare meal they were both present for. She’d watch as he balefully picked at whatever was on his plate and tossed an, “Oh, you know how it is,” her way while carefully wrapping dinner rolls inside of a napkin. She did not, in fact, know how it was. If she were the type to be petty enough to say, keep a mental ranking of some sort for her saints, every time they spoke Theorigo Nonettorian would drop a point or two.
Gehennarchi continued her accursed crusade to read without going blind in one eye from sheer agony. She pursed her lips, wondering to herself if that might actually help. From her peripheral, she watched Saul pick up the scrap of the Ninth’s robes and inspect them, running the silky fabric over their fingers.
“Would you like me to call him in, then?” they asked. From the way the light hit the cloth in their hands, the bottom of their face was lit up in a brilliant golden glow.
“What I’d like,” she answered, blood dribbling down the back of her throat from the nasal passage, “is for you to shed some light on the Ninth’s preoccupation with me.”
Saul made a pulpy klik from the inside of their mouth. “Respectfully,” they began, interlacing those long fingers into the spaces between each other, “I’d remind you I am your mouthpiece for ceremony and convenience. On occasion, liturgically. You live in the same building.” Everything but why not ask him yourself ?
“Not so simple. I got that from a recent stalking incident. It’s bad enough getting a straight answer from him now as it is- further provoking might lead him to shutting down. Was the Ninth always so high context?”
“I can only imagine where they got it from. Stalking?” Snide remarks from your right hand aside, something fascinating had happened to their body when Gehenna had snuck in the aside about being followed. Like someone had dropped a fat slug down the back of their shirt. That dim pinprick of a pupil had almost disappeared in a sea of glassy grey. “You’re certain it was him?”
Gehenna’s frown deepened minutely. “Don’t be stupid,” she said in that tight, low voice of hers, “Who else would it be?” Saul tensed, mentally wrestling with a hundred different responses. When they opened their mouth again, all they said was, “Of course, my Lady- are you certain you wouldn’t rather address it yourself. He’s just a child.”
“Notwithstanding,” she said with a dismissive wave of your hand. “You remember how formidable the Fourth were when they arrived.”
“I remember you not being particularly impressed,” Saul murmured somewhere to the left of them. Gehenna glared daggers, silently smothering all further interruptions.
“It’s not just about that. The other three came out of that looking as if they had stumbled from their first day on the front. He’s spectacularly unbothered for someone who supposedly narrowly escaped a massacre. I have to wring straight answers from his impertinent mouth and everything that comes out sounds edited. I don’t like him and what’s more, it’s easy to surmise his fellow milktoothed Lyctors don’t care much for him either, for all the good that would do him.”
“So what would you have me do about it?” Saul sighed, “I can’t make you like him.”
Gehenna folded her hands, pointing two gloved fingers in the Sixth’s direction. “What do you think of him, dearest?”
Saul’s thick eyebrows crept up their forehead incredulously. “Oh, don’t look so shocked,” she went on, pinching the rough, leather tip of one glove, “Believe it or not, I care what you think on personal matters- circumstantially. Go on, I’m curious.”
After taking another moment to let their eyes dart about as if searching for hidden cameras or a banner with the words SHUT UP NERD written in big, blocky font, Saul cleared their throat. “Well- freely speaking- he’s an ass.” They said this dryly and without enthusiasm, as if remaking on a stain in the carpeting.
“Is that all?”
“He’s quite gifted,” they went on, skillfully twirling the pen in their hand around their fingers. “but that just makes him a smartass. He approached me via a third party about- the work, so to speak. He and the Second, Fifth and Sixth had already been collaborating on experiments... adjacent to the ascension process. Nonettorian wanted an honest crack at it, so I gave him one.” They shrugged, giving one final flip of the pen before setting it down. “His work intrigued me.”
“How so?”
“He... one could say the Ninth approached the issue from the inside out. Perhaps he didn’t properly grasp what he was really aiming for, but...” They sat at the edge of their seat, hips forward and elbows perpendicular to the table. Scraping at their cuticles, Saul posited, “Before I say anything, this is in no way meant to sour you to Theo.” Too late. “When I saw what had become of the heirs and their cavaliers- the remaining ones, mind you- I figured... well with his reaction or lack thereof depending on how you spin it... that perhaps that was his goal.”
Gehenna narrowed her eyes. “He wanted them dead?” she urged, lowering her voice. Saul followed suit, thumbs encircling one another.
“Not that , no, I wouldn’t go as far as assassination. I just suspect he might have approached Lyctorhood as more one sided. Consumption, not a union.”
The Empress sat back in her seat, chewing on this. If the Ninth had been leading them all in the wrong direction intentionally, that might explain some of how everything had gone so terribly. Still, that didn’t account for something else.
“His cav,” she blurted, remembering the big wet eyes and poodle hair. “If that was the case, wouldn’t he have eaten his cavalier?” Saul nodded solemnly.
“Precisely what I figured. Outright sabotage doesn’t fit either- the others still ascended just... incorrectly. He’s lent me his notes for review- the preliminaries, before the trial. I dated them myself. The theorems employed don’t seem to lean one way or another regarding the particular endpoint of the ascension. Rather, it seems to closely resemble a series of individual necromantic ventures in a variety of schools relating to, of course, the exploitation of perpetual thanergy. His work is nearly all centred on his own cavalier, but some of his numbers are...”
“Are what?” Gehenna interrupted, ravenous. The Sixth pressed their mouth into a thin line, their hands finally falling still for once.
“I don’t like them,” they said, gravely, as if a personal opinion on contextless numerals meant anything to their Lady. “They’re nonsense.” Gehenna considered pressing the matter, but there wasn’t time. She’d get those notes from the Sixth or Nonettorian or whoever else had them and inspect them herself.
All she said was, “I see,” drumming her fingers along the cover of her book. Saul watched her anxiously, to see if she’d press them on anything further, but she remained silent.
“Would you like me to keep an eye on him?” they offered, already back to tapping at that infernal tablet.
“No.” She had other people for that. Saul was too valuable for babysitting. “Ward his room- and the morgue. I know he favours the priests. I want to know where he’s been and when. Where is his cavalier?”
“What’s that?”
“His cavalier,” Gehenna repeated, wearied. “The girl. She’s not entombed with the others. I want her warded. I think someone’s been moving her- most likely her necromancer. It’s reasonable he’s fallen prey to sentiment, I’ve gotten the impression they might have been more than professional. Worst case, we suppose he waxes thanatophilically.”
Saul makes a sound under their breath that quickly becomes a harsh cough. “Bit of a leap, my Lady. His affection could be harmless. That is, if she really is-”
“Someone is moving her,” God snaps, her voice a razor’s edge. She cannot handle doubt rooting in her mind. Not now. “I’ve yet to see her body yet I see evidence of it up and down Golgotha. I don’t care what he does, only why . Understood?”
In contrast to her temper, Saul seemed to relax, shoulders drooping a few centimetres. They gave her a soft look, not even looking down at their tablet where they still scratched notes against its surface like it owed them money. “Indubitably, my Lady. Your nose is dripping.”
Gehenna roughly smeared blood and paint off of her upper lip. “Remind me to touch it up before we head in,” she snapped, trying to savour the scant half hour or so they had to themselves as time ticked closer to the meeting.
The boardroom was almost identical to the one Gehenna had been in a week prior. The main thing separating them visually was a wall that was almost entirely darkened plex, a view of deep space and the grey, craggy surface of the moon where Golgotha sat. Once, when she was too young to have a single worthwhile thought, she had seen a video of the very first moon landing, and thought it as exorbitant showboating. Now she lived there, ruefully staring up at the installation hovering above her home, the one and only landing pad present embedded into the framework of Pandemonium with a key operated elevator shaft leading down to its ancient bowels. Gehenna still thought it a massive waste, all of it, but it seemed all of her affairs centred buying time she didn’t want.
When she had stepped inside with Saul at her hip, everyone had stood, the dim chatter evaporated into tense silence. Nearly all present were necromancers, thanergy rolling off their gaunt bodies in waves, obviously still unbalanced by the trip though deep space.
As foretold, neophytes were present, assigned to a little bench to the right of the long, narrow table that took up almost all available walking space. Nonettorian was sandwiched between the Second and Fifth, with the Eighth hanging off the end. Whatever she had done with her hair must have taken hours, but her face looked as if someone had called her in to chaperone a child’s birthday party. The Ninth tried discreetly to stuff peanuts from his pocket into his mouth, chewing slowly so that no one would call him on it. Cinc seemed as if he’d been dragged to a dozen of these in his life, which he probably had, while the remaining dead eyed man could have been mistaken for being in the early stages of rigour mortis. While his body defied the typical limitations of a necromancer’s, he still was so pinched and wasted of fat it was a wonder if he hadn’t been left to dry out in the desert for several months.
Gehenna took her seat at the head of the table, Saul standing by the chair to her right. Mors was to her left with Limos a single seat down. She’d done a similarly overengineered thing to her hair and for a sickening moment Gehenna was left with the visual of her styling Octavius. Her gold robes did not give her warmth, but instead the smooth, shiny, cold finish of a machine. She did not smile, but always appeared as distinctly amused by the situation.
They all watched her, not blinking, not daring to breathe. Gehenna waved her hand- the attending party collapsed into their seats in unison, as seamless as a hoard of programmed skeletons. The bench to the side squeaked obscenely as all four adjuvant Lyctors settled atop it once more. The only one who remained standing was Mors, just long enough to belt in that clear, leader-of-ceremonies voice of theirs: “Presiding over the proceedings in the ten thousandth year of the Necropolis, our hallowed Lady and God, the unceasing Empress Gehennarchi Solitarius; may she spare our souls.” With a nod in her Lady’s direction, Mors joined the rest of them at the table.
“If I may, Lady?” Saul asked, shifting their glasses up their nose with a knuckle. Another hand wave and Saul was fiddling with their tablet, instructing the plex along the wall to darken until it was opaque, plunging the room into darkness. Everyone with their backs to it had to shift awkwardly in their seats. Another moment and fuzzy, blue tinted images faded into view, bathing the room in a cold, flicking light. The surrounding faces swimming in the dark became ghastly, the peaceful dead. Lensed glasses reflected the light with a blinding glare.
The first projection was a scrolling list of names. At first it appeared as if the list was never ending, but it was obvious that it merely repeated, looping the names of apparently dead Housers. The next was some kind of research facility, one Gehenna could have never guessed the purpose of by sight. A helpful little label off to the side designated it an environmental laboratory. It also noted that the building had been burned to the ground. The picture verified this, fading between images of a pristine, blocky structure and a hollowed out smoking ruin surrounded by ice and ash. The lab had resided on the northwest quadrant of Hyperborea, some foundling ice giant in the middle of nowhere that functioned as neutral ground, with the lab in on an installation orbiting it.
The final images were of eight people who looked exactly like cartoon goons. They were all grubby and wild eyed. Some had strange, misshapen lumps in their skulls or neck. One looked like a small explosive had just gone off in their face. Another looked like half their skull was exposed. The most normal one rested in the top most right corner with a strained, narrow face with an even more strained and narrow expression, the head framed by two thick columns of twisted hair hung over their shoulders. Many possessed the skeletal emaciation of necromancy- then again they could have just been starved. The most striking of the bunch was a large woman with even bigger hair somehow stuffed beneath a ridiculous looking hat. The smile she wore took up almost half her face, brimming with pride, too many teeth. She grinned the way an ape might seconds before taking off your face. Her gaze was so intense it felt as if she knew she was making eye contact with the Empress. None of them had names except her, if you could call it that.
“The Big C,” Gehenna mouthed wordlessly, taking in everything on the screen. Limos informs the congregation in her exceedingly musical voice that as of two and a half days ago, an insurgency composed of paramilitary personnel targeted and ravaged a privately owned and operated lab not regulated or approved by House personnel.
“The entire incident was a little under two hours,” she went on, prompting Saul to click through pictures of the damage from different angles and distances. “Comms were cut at approximately 0700 hours- relative to us, keeping in mind the half hour delay. No survivors, no hostages. Housers and foreign entities both employed as researchers- though I use the term loosely as any payments were obviously not going through us and as of yet to be uncovered. Anyone not incinerated in the blast was lined up outside and executed- a single bullet to the base of the skull, with the exception of this unlucky fuck.”
The picture shifted once again. When the fuzz settled, it displayed a burly man with a shiny bald head. His eyes had that sunken empty look that years of serving the Cohort gave, a few credentials next to his name confirmed he was registered, but not currently active. The second picture is of his body on the ground at an odd angle, laid flat against his stomach. His head has been violently smashed open, the revolting image only dimmed somewhat by being shown in various shades of blue.
“Allegedly, they’re an independent for-hire group utilised for BRCON,” Limos went on, “They’ve had their mitts in a number of slapdash operations on and off for the past two decades. About half a dozen or so various regimes have pimped them out for dirty work against one another, thrown them under the bus when they inevitably get caught and still they magically disappear before their execution date rolls around. As a rule, the faces never stay the same for long.”
Saul tapped a button. The wall was flooded with dozens upon dozens of nameless faces, each as dirty and lumpy as the initial deplorables. A second later, the majority of them were either greyed out or struck through. “Their turnover rate is almost as bad as the Fourth’s!” Limos barked, laughing at her nasty little joke. The singular Fourth operative present must have been used to her particular brand of alleged humour and remained impassive. “This is just about everyone we’ve managed to link to them directly, either through immediate and actionable transgression or collaboration. There's about another three hundred in the maybe pile- nearly all dead or presumed dead, of course. Back to one.”
The miscellaneous terrorists disappeared, settling back on the main eight. “Transmissions from security footage were cut shortly after comms, but wireless backups of existing footage before the blackout was enough to identify these mooks.” Limos leaned on the table, inspecting her nails smugly. “ Obviously , alien authorities were reluctant to cooperate but I managed to grease the wheels.”
“Ew,” said Saul, not even bothering to look at her.
The Third sneered, “Don’t be gross. I have other people for that. Most Honourable Saint, if you’d be so kind.” She gestured to Mors before flouncing down into her seat.
“As of now, their whereabouts are unknown,” said Mors loudly, soundly ignoring the theatrics beside her. “They arrived and left in a modified scuttler- we’ve acquired some over the years for a rough comparison, some B-52s, an F-117... wasn’t there the J-20?”
“You’re forgetting the Sukhoi,” said Limos, drumming the little blades she called fingernails against the tabletop. “All the rest are as good as scrap.”
“Yes, thank you - but none within the last millennium. The Cohort’s IPI sent a Red Notice regarding provisional arrests and extraditions on foreign bodies, but given the state of things I’d doubt if any would even bother shipping them back to us if caught. Not to mention how many already have a bounty out for their little gang.” She said it the way a teacher might refer to gaggle of children caught scrawling on the bathroom walls.
A slight man much further down the table raised a hand. “Most Honourable Saint, if I may-”
The Fifth made a quick motion with her hand to silence him. “Oh, drop all that title nonsense for now or we’ll be here all night.”
“Was anything stolen? Equipment perhaps, or personal items from the deceased?”
“Not that we are aware of. Bodies were pristine-”
“Besides the massive holes blown through their craniums,” Limos cut in.
“Besides that,” Mors agreed begrudgingly. “There were no active records kept of equipment on site, and any physical copies that might have been kept in the lab are now presumably ash.”
“Then why bother? Anarchy?”
“Not their MO. They'll do anything, but not for free. Someone hired them with a specific purpose- making a racket. They picked a target that staffed House members, but ones actively collaborating with foreign groups, a lab not directly authorised by the empire. They bothered to shut off the cameras, but not before they were caught on tape and identified. The fire was in no way capable of eliminating physical evidence, and they would have known this. The operation is deceptively sloppy, they gave us too much information and it all leads to nowhere.”
“A fear tactic then,” a woman near the end of the table mused, pressing her fingertips together. Her eyes were smudged with heavy dark paint- raccoonlike in appearance. “This is a warning for something to come.”
“To what end?” countered a woman with striking platinum hair. “Any direct assault on the Houses would be a suicide mission. Surely enough time hasn't passed for them to have forgotten about the Admah Project-”
A shiver slithered down Gehenna’s spinal column when she heard that dreaded name. Swallowing bile, she asked, “What exactly were they doing there? The lab techs, I mean.” The projection on the board stated the planet in question was fantastically out of the way, some chilled wasteland they had apparently abandoned for greener, less frosted pastures. There simply wasn’t the demand or interest to support any sort of long term projects that could have been developed then it was uncovered and thus left dormant. The whole operation smelled of some sort of half baked scheme. If anything, it might have ultimately worked in the empire’s favour if the Housers involved had been dispatched without their intervention. Not that it negated the need for formal investigation, but nothing nearly as severe as Admah. The important thing now was to minimise damage before it escalated. To the end, they’d have to know exactly who they were dealing with. Furthermore, with everything that had happened in Pandemonium Gehenna was beginning to suspect-
“Ice-XI, Lady,” Saul answered, clicking to a new slide. This one was crowded with a dense thicket of paragraphs denoting the production and subsequent short lived use of the stuff before they had cut their losses. Gehenna squinted at the squirming, flickering letters in the darkness as Saul went on, “To summarise, the low temp atmospheric pressure made it ideal to manufacture- could be used for things like large installations and ship exteriors. Normally it can only be made under specific laboratory conditions, but the specific configuration of this planet’s atmosphere made it occur naturally. It was an idea we- well not us , someone further down the ladder, though I cannot truthfully say I disapprove- played with before funding was cut.”
Gehenna wrinkled her nose, scanning the pedantic whataboutisms outlined in the synopsis. “I can see why. Is any of this necessary?”
“It’s not strictly necessary, nor would it hurt to have at our disposal in any sense of the word,” Saul answered in that magical way, where technically they had said nothing at all but it was glaringly obvious what they were implying. She kept peeling off her right glove just to shove it back on again, the insides growing clammy from sweat. Limos inclines her head towards her Empress, her lovely mouth reddened and cracked. Appetence had never once managed a fraction of the geniality that mouth had once held.
“So it’s a waste of time then,” Gehenna snapped, her voice lowered to an icy rasp. “So someone had the brilliant idea to use our money and our machines, consort with our enemies and die a pointless death in the foetid black bowels of deep space all for something we had no need of and no intention of ever using.”
After a long pause, Limos pursed her lips and said, “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”
“It’s treasonous, Your Holy Reprisal. It’s the best thing that could have happened to them.” A gravelly voice arose from Gehenna’s right. Without looking, she knew it was the Second’s captain- though, by now they must have surely replaced him. He was staring straight ahead at the board, paying no mind to Mercymorn, looking as if she might try crushing him the way one might an empty can of soda with her mind. The other two kept their excitement localised to their mouths- trembling at the corners, unsure of which direction they might curl. Gehennarchi stared at his meat and bones and terrifically green eyes fixedly, as if for the very first time.
Saul and Limos’ faces had shifted at identical moments, though in vastly different directions. Devotion was arrested in a state of consternation, something thoroughly wedged in the gears of whatever kept them running smoothly, while their opposite had developed an undercurrent of hungry enthrallment befitting of their title. The remaining Saint had gone quite still physically, though one could see the machinations of her mind turning from across the room even in darkness. Finally, she spoke quite calmly: “Know this, my beloved brother: be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger.”
The ravenous glint in Limos’ eye only deepened its hunger. Her smile widened as she stood, placing her broad hands on her sister Saint’s shoulder, squeezing them affectionately. “Our Lady’s Demise- my sweet! Now isn’t the time for innuendo. We are as much the Empress’ Holy Fists as we are her Fingers and Gestures. The act was as much an insult as it was a generous favour- indirectly, though it may be.”
The serene aspect of Mors’ face took on the chilly rigidity of marble, as if she’d been carved to look perpetually slightly disapproving. “Cherished sister, we cannot allow such indignity to be elevated to divine judgement-”
“Oh, don’t misunderstand me, brother dearest. The primary objective is and always will be the apprehension of those who wish ill upon our Sacred Beldam and her hallowed Necropolis. If they had merely spat at the feet of one of our people I would treat the situation with the same gravity. Never doubt the lengths I will go to ensure proper recompense.” Limos ran a hand lightly through the bistre thicket of Mors’ hair. She slowly pulled it away and slotted it behind her back as she began to nonchalantly pace the room, each long stride as fluid as a dancer’s, though not one with any natural talent. All that time and she still hadn’t yet properly acclimated. It would be sad, if the Third was not so quite enamoured with the effigy of her own shortcomings.
“This isn’t about what they deserve in some flippant, morally charged sense of the word,” she continued, her voice smooth as silk ribbons. Limos moved about at a glacial pace. Next to those not among the ranks of Lyctorhood, their thalergetic signatures seemed to light up as if festive holiday decor- bright spots of vitality compared to the black hole that slinked behind them without a care in the world. The other nulls watched her go about her circuit with marked interest. “This is business- one that directly involves the integrity of the empire. As the Sixth so helpfully pointed out, the purpose for which such materials could hypothetically be utilised are of negligible use to us, but the fact of the matter is someone still went under our noses to do it, and thus we must assume it was done with some form of ill intent. To what end would a covert operation hope to achieve? Certainly nothing that favours the Reverend Mother, thinking logically here. Offensive measures cannot be underestimated, even if they risk breaking some silly Treaty or other.”
“You’re catastrophizing. The empire has had several lifetimes of peaceable years; years built upon and maintained by not gross overstepping. This is nothing more than baseless speculation-”
“Speculation, yes, but hardly baseless. It’s called being proactive and it’s what our empire was actually built upon, though I cannot fault you for your lapse in memory. I’d never suggest we do a repeat of something on the magnitude of, oh, the Black Terror-”
“Bite your tongue!” Gehenna hissed so venomously Limos did still her pacing for a second or two. No one dared cut in. She had tolerated a fair amount of foolishness thus far, but even Limos wouldn’t have been dense enough to think that one would fly. Just the mere utterance of the Black Terror was undertaken in hushed, terrified tones, let alone by those who’d lived the horror. Limos looked as if she had whipped, and in truth Gehenna wished sorely that she had, that she was left bleeding and shaking on the floor for her arrogance. The Empress’ whole body had gone rigid, the atmosphere thick and poisonous.
Still unable to meet her eye, Limos said tersely, “I beg your deepest apologies, my Lady, I was merely-”
“Keep begging,” God snapped.
The Third had stilled just behind Saul’s chair, her fingers just barely hovering over the back. Her eyes were hot and alive, vibrating slightly, the surface of her cheeks flushed unpleasantly, swollen from indignity. Like a put upon child, once again she had forgotten herself. The fancy clothes and superfluous jewellery only added to the effect, like a girl in her mother’s heels. It was always a sight to see her out of sorts, a cat raising its hackles.
“That aside,” said Saul finally, hustling the conversation along past the massive chasm that had opened beside it, “while I don’t necessarily disagree with our younger brother, escalation risks bringing us to the brink. I say we bury it- any citizens of the Necropolis caught associating with those outside of it on an unauthorised platform will be received as giving aid and comfort, regardless of intent, and dealt with accordingly. The more important issue at hand is securing the integrity of our empire’s future- not dwelling on a sordid history.” They shot Limos a calcifying glare. She took it on the chin, eyes narrowed and brimming with purpose. The Sixth gestured amicably in the direction of their Lyctors left warming the benches. Looking to Gehenna, they gave their Lady a beseeching expression.
“ For truth over solace in lies -” The Third recited with an audible sneer. She just couldn’t help herself. “Except when it’s to win an argument, of course.”
“It’s not a lie, it’s preventing the incitement of mass panic ,” the Ninth erupted suddenly. Saul looked as if they had just swallowed something incredibly bitter. Limos ceased worrying the edge of her robes between her fingers and shot a glacial glance towards where the Ninth sat, who returned it in kind. Something had quietly begun to smoulder behind his eyes, a blaze that threatened to consume the whole of his face.
“Auggie,” Theorigo went on, undaunted, “what do you recall of the Great Pestis ?” The use of the childish nickname sent a shot of bright pain right behind God’s ears. Though, that could also have been attributed to the intonement of the Great Pestis. Not one of her most favourable moments.
Augustine the Fifth sat up straighter in his seat. Seamlessly, he melted into the bureaucrat the Lord of Koniortos had been bred to be. Picking up on where his brother Lyctor was leading with this, he answered easily, “28th century pandemic. Common occurrence for the time. Nearly gutted three shepherd planets, death toll well into the millions.” He indicated in Gehenna’s direction. “One of our Lady’s nastier concoctions- Mercy, what was that delightful little nickname the locals gave it?”
“ Sufganiyah ,” the Eighth said in a voice that begged for death. “The buboes looked like exploding jam donuts during the final stage.”
Augustine cocked his head to one side. “I thought it was ponchik ?”
“Why would you ask me if you already know?” Mercymorn hissed.
Theorigo held up a hand, silencing the pair. Gehenna took note of their immediate acquiescence. The social structures of children were of very little interest to her, but watching their deference in real time was riveting. She considered briefly what the Ninth had done to produce an heir so comfortable commanding a room of those of equal rank- let alone contradicting his elder sister saint.
“And the ternary amaurosis in the century that followed?” he prompted Augustine.
“Twenty eight radical cells struck with blindness for three days and three nights following an- erm, disturbance in a major entrepôt. Typically painless- these were caused by debilitating migraines. Drove them stark raving mad. Half of them ended up permanently blind by driving anything they could get their hands on through their eyes just to relieve the pressure. Actually-”
Gehenna sniffed sharply. Augustine tapered off into indistinctness.
“Is the history lecture leading to something? I will remind you that only one of us was actually alive for any of this,” Appetence cut in sharply. Theorigo nodded emphatically.
“While they may have been effective for sending a message in the moment, what of the long term reputation of the empire. Hardly an effective deterrent- it’s never really stopped defiance for more than a few decades at a time. It’s not sustainable, all while getting our hands bloody on an interplanetary scale. Eventually, we’ll be cornered into total isolation or, worst case of course, mutually assured destruction. We can’t expect them to take it lying down perpetually, can we?”
The Ninth spoke with his hands. Thrice he threatened to smack the person next to him square in the face. Gehenna’s thumbs wrestled with one another beneath the table in her lap. Limos considered him carefully. Her face cycled through a microcosm of expressions- ones Gehenna could have only noted through several lifetimes of proximity. The light of the projection cast her in a ghastly blue, rending the lovely tan of her skin to an icy pale wash, hollowing her eyes and ageing her at least a decade. Her robes glittered in the artificial light, refracting only the barest hint of that golden hue back up towards the curve of her jaw. “We expect them to listen,” she said through her teeth. “We expect them to bend or break.”
It was Saul who said, restlessly: “I vote we shelve the matter. We’re going in circles.”
Limos struck a pose, leaning an arm heavily against the back of her empty chair. “Let the record reflect that I am surrounded by spineless sycophants.”
“Oh, don’t be such a sore loser,” said Mors, crinkling her nose.
“Let it also show that Limos the Third is the bedlamite and a sore loser.” Gehennarchi said with finality. Saul scribbled something in their notes- trust them to keep a record of just about anything.
“Let’s break,” they announced when they had finished. “My legs are cramping. Limos- a word?”
It was not a request. Limos slinked after them like a disgruntled feline. The present delegates immediately broke into murmurs, trading notes about the current proceedings, most likely to gauge just how quickly things had gone off the rails. Gehenna contented herself with dislocating a few fingers. It was a much less obscene habit than nail biting, and provided a satisfying crack with each digit.
The image of the woman with the stupid looking hat flickered faintly against the screen. Her smile carried barely contained lunacy. Gehenna squinted, zeroing in on the woman’s chin. There were dark markings spilling out from beneath her lip. The waters of Gehenna’s mind clouded with ancient murk. Her mouth turned dry and gummy as she slowly comprehended what exactly she was looking at.
Ten thousand years of carrying a token of a dead world and for what? Just to prove they had been there? That some ancestor had touched the soil, had smelled the salt of the sea, had seen it brought to ruin? The absurdity of it all made Gehenna’s eyelashes tremble. She resumed setting her fingers back in place. She had the only part of it that really mattered- that’s what burned them. They had left her, and now she held everything they wanted.
She looked towards the young Lyctors. From the moment the intermission had been called, Mercymorn and Augustine had descended into some sort of whisper heavy bickering. Mercymorn’s face was nearly the same colour as her hair. Gehenna spotted as Gideon privately elbowed the Ninth in the ribs, then pointed to another end of the room. Demise was looking at him expectantly. Theorigo looked between the Captain (former? It was so hard to keep up with titles) of Trentham and the older Lyctor with a bewildered expression, as if not quite sure what to extrapolate from this. With a grunt, Gideon leaned over and muttered something that Gehenna could not quite hear. Whatever he had said immediately got Theorigo on his feet, scurrying over to Mors. She greeted the boy warmly with a firm hand on his shoulder, before steering him out into the hall.
Gehenna made a mental note to follow up with her on that. Perhaps when her head was pounding with less blood, and her eyes did not sting every time she moved them. There was a strange, clawing sensation in the pit of her stomach, as if she was being gently hollowed out from the inside. It was terribly distracting. Gehenna let her eyes fall shut, hoping it would pass momentarily.