Chapter 2

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Most of the surface of Mars had long been hidden beneath an artificial cover, where the factory complexes, launch pads, electromagnetic launch catapults, power transmission lines, and pipelines were linked in an endlessly complex network. Strings of communications ran away from the multistage terminals, and the tracks of the three superheavy trains rolled relentlessly along with them. Only a few sections of the ancient surface seemed abandoned, wild. Cliffs covered with reddish sand, cut by weak winds, as they were before the advent of man. One of these reserves, reminiscent of the pristine Martian nature, remained the Tharsis Bulge.

The enormous table rose from the stony desert into the low, yellow-clouded sky. On closer examination, the single structure appeared to be assembled from a multitude of supports connected in seeming randomness, replete with asymmetrical transitions and fractal geometry. The cyclopean structure pierced the atmosphere, connecting the planet to the orbital network. It was also an antenna, part of the planet's defense system, and performed about fifty other basic functions, most of which were either undefined on Gothic or kept secret for reasons of utmost secrecy.

Here some specific rituals of Omnissia service were performed. Here holy hermits dissolved in contemplation of the beautiful, ideal embodiment of pure mathematics. The great philosophers 1100010110 0000011101 0000101110 1111010001 1000001111 0100001011 0110110100 0010110101 1101000010 1111011101 0000101110 0011010000 10110101 comprehended through intense reflection the hidden facets of His Universal Majesty and discovered new aspects of pleasing machine spirits. Here were held certain mysteries, events, and encounters which were to remain hidden from any outside view. Or on the contrary, revealed to the city and the world, as is the case today.

The elevator platform was due to descend in less than an hour.

The Manipuls of the Twelfth Legion of Tharsis stood like statues for the fourth twenty-four hours since the "Throne Forge" arrived at the outer docks of the Tsiolkovsky Olympic Tower. The red cloaks of the skitarians hung heavy as if cast from metal. So that they could not be moved even by the endless wind, which drove clouds of fine dust along the grandiose pillars.

The Fabricator-General of Mars was returning home.

The occasional spectators who appeared in the outer square looked at the frozen warriors without much interest. Only children and young acolytes occasionally approached the statues to examine their galvanic armor and the original nuances of their equipment from a respectful and safe distance. However, even if children, like their peers from worlds disfavored by Omnissia, began to climb onto the 'statues' heads, the statues would remain motionless. Only a direct order from the lord of Mars or the Fabricator-locum could move the iron fighters. According to tradition, the full legion had to escort the Fabricator-General's transport in full foot formation to the Temple of All Knowledge, and only then go to recharge, check, and feed.

"Not according to tradition," corrected himself (or rather eliminated the defect of evaluation) the bulky mechanicus, observing the static picture of the respectful vigil of the wanderers on a rather primitive video panel of general use.

"By standard protocol," he corrected his initial assessment. The corners of the metal body under the robe formed a bizarre configuration, showing how far the mechanicus had gone on the road blessed by Omnissia to abandon the original, imperfect human form.

"Are you suggesting to reconsider it?" The second interlocutor, who looked more like a centaur with a bundle of technodendrites instead of the lower half of his body, was interested.

"The Ql12/I43 protocol has interdependencies with one hundred and fourteen Tharsis Twelfth Legion support protocols. There are also direct connections of the first level of attachments to the systems of twenty-eight support units of Olympus. Making changes and adjustments to the linked algorithms without compromising the effectiveness of the Forge will require eighteen thousand four hundred and forty-six man-hours of adepts and standards control operators."

The angular mechanicus paused for a full three milliseconds and then demonstrated that he was still capable of what people call a 'sense of humor:

"Therefore, I will submit this concept for consideration when I find one guilty enough to punish him with so worthless a job, every second of which offends the Omnissiah in the absence of further justification for doing it."

The room where the two men had their binary conversation was a sort of combination of a service room and a cell. Here they often found peace and tranquility in prayer, aware of themselves as part of a God-like mechanism, a cog in the cog which is the beginning and the end of all movement, of all progress.

"Our partners from Terra consider the process quite solemn and majestic. Having conformity with the algorithms of the Imperial Cult," the "centaur" did not argue, but rather provided objective information.

"Our partners still believe that each time the Fabricator General descends to the surface of Mars on a special platform eighty-three hours and eleven minutes after completing his solemn visit to Terra. Thereby repeating the return of the Martian envoy ten thousand years ago."

Before the word 'partners' the cubic-angular mechanicus gave out a long and meaningless series of zeros. This could be interpreted in various ways, from mild irony to a clear indication of the place and role of the said servants of the Emperor. An indication understandable only to a pure mind, sanctified by proximity to machine perfection.

Both servants remembered, without deeming it necessary to mark it 'aloud,' by any form of communication, that in those early days both contracting parties wanted to sign the treaty. And at the same time to get away from unnecessary memories of the previous era, when the Explorers collected forgotten Terran technology, burning out all the Terran barbarians they encountered in the same Arizona desert. So Mars was represented at the negotiations by a man, though born on the red planet, weakly augmented, almost indistinguishable from the average Terran. The gravity of the Mother of all planets of the Imperium undermined the envoy's health, so returning home required specific manipulation. And laid down traditions that outlived their creators for centuries.

"He's here."

Again it was not a question, more exchange of mutual acknowledgment.

Adeptus Mechanicus, in a scarlet robe without insignia, entered the room, clattering on the steel floor with the metal shoes' soles. In the mirror-polished surface, the visitor's reflection slid like a large blot of blood. The newcomer was tall, but that's not what attracted attention. For his position, which gave him access to this room, he seemed surprisingly human. Almost as human as an ordinary mechanicus of the lowest rungs of initiation.

The unbuttoned breathing filter hung loosely from one strap, revealing a lean face completely devoid of functional augmentations. Only the very correct, symmetrical features would seem unusual, and that only to an extremely attentive observer. Four segmented, insulated outer cables ran down his back, disappearing into the folds of his cloak at the waist, encircled by a wide brass technobelt. And... that it. The guest might well have been mistaken for an Astartes who had decided to devote himself to the mysteries of Omnissia, to sustain the spirits of the chapters' machines. Assuming, of course, that the Emperor's angels could be so short and thin. However, the dozens of well-coordinated 'Crusaders' accompanying the Martian immediately dispelled misconceptions about his status and true nature.

"Fabricator General," the angular mechanic bowed as much as his design allowed. He greeted the highest person aloud, as he was accustomed to doing by a long-standing habit, unregulated, but also numbering four digits of years.

"Lexico Arcanus of the Parliament, Doturov," the newcomer replied without expression.

The Lord of Mars was in a position to communicate regularly with those who were not blessed with access to encryptors or even the simplest technolingua. And his very position implied honed diplomatic skills, the ability to condescend to any level of communication.

The "Centaur", Mars Fabricator-locum, did not change position by even a hundredth of a millimeter. It showed no visible reaction. Everyone present already knew that he considered the use of infinitely primitive human speech a voluntary act of regression. There was no point in emphasizing it once again. After waiting ten milliseconds to convey his protest and rejection exhaustively, he pulled out a tentacle that looked like a thin cable in a ringed braid and pulled back the hood on his robe, which might more properly be called a technical protective covering rather than a garment. The cylindrical antennas of interference generators protruded from what in humans would be called the base of the skull. They protected against any unauthorized access to the local noosphere of the Fabricator-General.

To the uninitiated, it might have seemed amusing that the fabricator-locum thought the speech reprehensible, but informed the completion of the procedure in the same anachronistic way, raising the manipulator with his finger outstretched. A strange parody of the very old and so human "okay" gesture...

"Geller's fields are stable," Doturov reported with the hexacode. "I'm ready."

"We're listening."

It was not a dialogue, it was not an amalgamation of consciousness. In general, any definition given in the categories of any advanced human language could reflect only an infinitesimal part of a process, driven not by logic, but by mathematics.

Information. Evaluative categories. Variants of development. Complex multivariate sequences of events. Solution pathways. Acceptable impact categories and acceptable outcomes in a complex interaction.

Dozens of Terra intelligence agencies have sought to penetrate the heart of Mars. At least imagine who and how the fundamental decisions are made. To see not what is on display, but the real underside. None of them could have imagined that these efforts were in vain. The strategic planning of the Great Forge did not involve any organ, assembly, or at least a regulation understandable to man. Technically, Mars' top leadership did not "plan" at all, as did the Lords, the Munistorum, or any other Imperium structure. The flow of information revealed by Doturov filled the unified triple consciousness into a single system. The noosphere, Mars' greatest achievement in information exchange (of course, irretrievably lost during the Great Schism) allowed not just the awareness and verification of vast amounts of data, it prevented even the shadow of the possibility of alteration, reduction, or distortion of the data.

Six point eighteen hundredths of a second later, the rulers of Mars knew everything that had been collected by the head of the logis of the Martian parliament. A volume of information that would have taken the administrators of the Ecclesiarchy decades to review for the first time alone. The process of processing the data, assessing impacts and consequences went on in parallel, thousands of thousands of simultaneous paths intersecting in incredible ways. What could be called the controlled superconsciousness of the Fabricator-General glided over the interweaving of information currents like a runner on a loom, adjusting the process, ordering it. It debugged the flows, checked the most important algorithms, corrected the inevitable distortions of objective data in such arrays. One of the side threads, a low-priority one, not existing in isolation from the main task, caught the General's attention.

The ruler of Mars has long since experienced nothing even remotely resembling "curiosity". The categories 'interesting/uninteresting' themselves testify to an imperfect thought process, revealing the flawed nature of the mind. Consciousness, being locked in a dungeon of a carbon medium, is catastrophically limited in resources. It is forced to divide processes into categories of subjective priority and to justify the excruciating trap of existence.

Nevertheless...

The General's attention was increasingly focused on the sequence of episodes that took place very far away from Mars many months ago. And the man, who had long ceased to be human, not outwardly, but in his soul, felt interested. Of course, not idle, as most of the higher hierarchy of the Imperium has.

"Why wasn't the object requisitioned? Our mission at the Station had all the resources it needed, from diplomatic pressure to open hostilities."

"According to the data available, deemed highly credible, the object was planned for use in the mid-level internal politics of the Ordo Hereticus."

"An intra-corporate intrigue?"

"Yes."

The noosphere did not imply emotion, but it did not deny it either. The data streams transmitted by Doturov changed slightly, taking on the kind of uncertainty typical of processing complex equations with infinitely large numbers. This could and was interpreted by Fabricator-Generals as a kind of apology, a sense of unease that such nonsensical, humanly irrational motives as a struggle for influence, a status rivalry, had such an important place in the description.

"The extraction with the available forces implied a seventeen point eighty-three hundred percent probability of failure," Doturov continued.

"Acceptable."

"However, if successful, the loosely managed interaction of the assets involved would not allow the conflict to be curtailed. And with a probability of eighty point thirteen hundredths of one percent, it translated to the level of the conclave of the sub-sector Ordo Hereticus and the chapter of Adeptus Astartes, clearly indicating our interest in the object. This would have been undesirable, given the five major interaction programs for the next thirty standard years. Too many unpredictable developments dictated by subjective categories, such as wounded ego, changed the balance of interests, antipathy towards the ministers of Omnissia, and others."

"Reasonable. Continue."

The interception of the information flows of the involved assets of Ordo Hereticus and Adeptus Astartes showed that within approximately two months from the moment of calculation the object is not threatened with physical destruction. This is dictated by the bureaucratic standard and the passage of the mandatory stages of the investigation. Taking advantage of the time lag, our responsible executor reached an agreement that optimally balanced the interests of all parties involved. This allowed us to stabilize the situation and develop an expeditious seizure plan without demonstrating Adeptus Mechanicus' interest.

"The probability that the object will eventually come into our full possession is negligible. The probability of the object's survival is determined to be zero point six-tenths of one percent for the next nine months."

"This is a fact. The specified probability makes it irrational to deploy an independent operation on the extraction of the object. But it is enough to formalize such extraction as a side effect in the implementation of a set of higher-level measures. In the final node, all interaction will be reduced to a small fluctuation of probabilities within the framework of our regular cooperation with Ordo Malleus."

"What kind of collaboration?"

"The "Glass Cat" Project. Geller emitters need field testing. The probability of failure is zero point thirty-two hundredths percent.

"What justifies your interest, Lexic Arcanus?" The Fabricator-Locum, who was watching how the priorities of the information flows were changing, inquired.

"Our investigation included a study of the object's interaction with the cogitator deployed at the ballistic station. Objective evaluation required a comparison of interaction efficiency with the benchmark, i.e. protocols of regular operators. The delta was plus three hundred and six percent. This discrepancy was separately noted in the logs of the cogitator, as well as a direct indication of the spirit of the machine to prefer to work with the object, instead of the regular operator."

"Given the origin, qualifications, and perspectives of the object, its impact is too insignificant to bring the issue to our level."

"According to preliminary estimates, the study of interaction methods with the subsequent refinement of operational protocols will entail a two percent reduction in the average Forge's machine time costs. With a sustained useful result for the next three hundred years. In addition, the object is valuable as a witness to the era when the foundations of our ethics and faith were being established."

"Has the object been oblation of by the Omnissia?"

"An assertion or denial can be made only after the subject has been made available for full investigation with all necessary resources. Until a comprehensive investigation is completed, the allegation can only be accepted as a hypothesis."

Fabricator-locum "remained silent", or rather refrained from appropriate influence on the flow of information, because Doturov's thesis was true. In fact, the decision had already been made, it was only necessary to detail the course of action.

"The outlined plan has a significant amount of probabilistic operands. Who will start the implementation in the sector?"

"I intend to supervise the operation personally. I request the permission of the High Lord of Terra and the Fabricator General of Forgeworld Mars to use the "Naglfar" type courier and temporarily reassign the XJ-9 Squadron of Basilicon Astra.

If an ordinary person could perceive the information flows of the hexacode, he would estimate the form of Fabrikator-locum's reaction as a surprise.

"In my lifetime, the Lexic Arcanus of the Parliament had not yet left Mars."

"My last flight outside the Iron Ring was three thousand two hundred and sixty-one years ago. But the successful implementation of the proposed plan I consider significant enough to the purpose of the Omnissian cause to deprive the planet of my valuable presence for the time being."

"Irony is the refuge of an insecure mind," said the General, aloud. And in parallel, or rather far ahead of the fluctuations of the air produced by the imperfect vocal apparatus, he summed up:

"I authorize the implementation of the proposed plan."

The Fabricator-General shook his head, indicating a nod, exactly as another protocol, originally designed to communicate with unworthy technolingua, prescribed. But after a vanishingly small digital moment, he still decided to clarify one question-the hexacode, like the noosphere, did not allow for lies, but the experienced mechanicum was able to operate on the priority of information process evaluation.

"Lexic Arcanus of Parliament Doturov, do you have any other reason to be interested in taking the object?"

"I have." he agreed. "It's less important to me than optimizing the current operator protocols."

"The code to unlock the third "Naglfar"," the array of encrypted data was additionally protected by Doturov's crypto-key and transmitted along with the exact location of the ship in the Oort Cloud and the digital sigil of the High Lord of Terra. "In thirty minutes this area will be cleared during the exercise of the expeditionary legions."

"Your junior Monitor tried to scan the conversation," said the "centaur", adding a touch of untranslatable digital humor to the remark.

"Curiosity is a necessary quality for becoming a logis," Doturov replied. "I will decide on the necessity of his further existence after the completion of the project. Removing the blocking fields."

Moments later, the Fabricator General disappeared. Of course, the lord of Mars was not about to waste time - eighty-three hours and eleven minutes - returning from orbit. He teleported straight from the Iron Ring, dealing with pressing matters while the elevator descended with fitting solemnity to the surface, laden with the gifts of Allied Terra. When the descent was complete, the Lord of Mars would move back to solemnly step onto the surface of the God-sanctified planet. Where the General had teleported from for this meeting and where he was headed now, Doturov did not know. It did not matter. The efficiency of the machine that controls thousands of Forges and Knight Worlds of the Galaxy did not depend on the physical location of its controlling mechanisms.

Left without a master, the Crusaders synchronously changed formation and scattered across the complex. The ancient machines would be worthy opponents for the skitarians ready for the assault. Mars had always known how to keep a secret. An ancient instruction, preserved in the personal archive Doturov, said: "If the future is the emptiness of the happened, then the past must be made the same emptiness." When the brief exercise was over, the chosen warriors of Mars would become even more effective and deadly, and the electronics of the combat robots, which might contain fragments of the binary code of the meeting, would turn to molecular dust. The same fate, without exception, awaited all who, by their misfortune, found themselves within scanning range of servitors and inferior mechanicus. Alas, the virtue of information - its tendency to leave imprints on all aspects of the universe - sometimes proved to be an unfortunate disadvantage, justifying costly measures.

The Fabricator-Locum quickly headed for the exit of the bunker, where an empty 'F' series transport capsule was waiting for him. Most likely also equipped with a passenger teleportation system - its speed did not allow it to leave the range fast enough.

As for the young, ambitious Logis, who had only recently reached Monitor Malevolus status, Doturov already had quite definite plans for him.

Preparing for departure, Lexic Arcanus turned to the memory bank, recalling all the collected images of the object. Using a small fraction of his mind's computing resources, he derived an average version. Then he compared it with the basic phenotypes of the Imperium population, seeking as an exercise for the mind to determine the changes that had befallen humanity along the paths of galactic wanderings. It didn't take long, and Doturov moved on to charting the engagement and adjusting the plan schedules of his current tasks.

The operation of the divine machine of government once called the Martian colonial empire, could not depend on the state of one of its cogs.

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