Chapter 129: The Logic of the Macro-Cannon
Negotiations had been a total failure. Kian Voss trekked back to the Hive and reported the situation to the Canon-Preceptor.
"The Secessionists are stubborn, Your Eminence," Kian said, leaning against a cold stone pillar. "They claim to still follow the Creed, but they refuse to let a military-escorted delegation pass. They demand you and your acolytes enter their territory unarmed. Effectively, they want your lives held at their mercy."
The Canon-Preceptor's brow furrowed for a moment before smoothing into a look of terrifyingly calm resolve.
"If the heretics bar the gate to the physician," the Canon whispered, "then we must deliver the medicine via the heavens. If they will not let us walk upon the rot, we shall cleanse it from afar."
Kian was curious about this "alternative purification," but the Canon merely offered a cryptic smile and a silent blessing. Seeing he was being dismissed, Kian returned to his Mid-Hive distillery.
Production was moving into a rhythm. The first batch of Voss Sanctified Vintage was finishing its initial press. One ton of rebel grapes had yielded seven hundred liters of high-sugar spirits. Big Joel and his wife, Sansa—now looking far more respectable in their new Mid-Hive citizen robes—oversaw the process.
They spent the day hauling seventy Birch-Heart Casks into the deep cellar. Each barrel was sealed with wax and dated. They would sit in the dark for three cycles (months) to develop the "smoky gothic" notes the Spire-Lords craved.
Kian paid out the ten temporary workers—families of the 109th PDF regulars—handing each man a 100-scrip note before kicking them back to their hab-blocks. He loved the "Temp-Labor" meta; pay for a day, vanish for a week. Overhead was minimal, provided you had a few loyal "Officers" like the Joels to guard the keys.
He was just about to cycle his Survey Crawler to head back to the surface for more grain when a Cenobite from the Cathedral intercepted him at the gate.
"Master Voss! Blessings of the Throne! I am fortunate to find you!"
Kian sighed. "What does the Father want now? I've already done my recon."
"His Eminence requires your presence at the Sovereign Bastion. He has news regarding the Purgation."
Kian turned the crawler around. He followed the Cenobite's lead, but as they drove, Kian realized they weren't heading for the Cathedral's nave. They were heading for the outer shell of the Hive.
The residential blocks gave way to gargantuan industrial conduits and ceramite support pillars the size of mountains. They entered a high-security transit tunnel that bored through the Hive's outer skin for over a kilometer. When they emerged, the view was staggering.
They weren't on the ground. They were on a massive weapons-platform built directly into the Hive's primary wall, eight hundred meters above the surface.
The car hissed to a halt. A PDF officer in a crisp, high-collared uniform stepped forward to open the door. Kian checked the man's shoulder-boards and nearly choked.
A Major.
The Major looked at Kian and froze. Kian was wearing his PDF Corporal fatigues—the standard "Working Class" camo he used to move through the Mid-Hive.
A Major opening a door for a Corporal was a violation of every military logic-circuit in the man's brain. But seeing the Church's livery on the vehicle, the Major swallowed his pride and stood at attention.
Kian stepped out, his eyes immediately locking onto the "Gothic Beast" behind the officer.
It was a Fortress Macro-Cannon.
The weapon was a mountain of steel and reinforced concrete, welded directly into the Hive's skeletal frame. Kian had seen the heavy artillery in the "Northern Trenches," but this was on a different scale entirely. This was Gustav-pattern ordinance. The barrel was over a thousand millimeters in diameter, a black void pointing directly into the clouds.
Secundus-496b had hundreds of these batteries ringed around its circumference. Each had a range of over two hundred kilometers and was capable of launching ten-ton shells into the upper atmosphere to strike low-orbit warships.
The Canon-Preceptor, looking radiant in his ceremonial vestments, stepped out from the shadows of the loading bay.
"Major Breylin," the Canon greeted. "Warrior of the light, are we prepared to excise the cancer?"
The Major performed the Sign of the Aquila. "Your Eminence, three Macro-batteries are hot. Target coordinates for 'Equine Reach' are locked. We only await your final benediction on the ordinance."
"Show me the tithe," the Canon commanded.
Major Breylin led them into the Loading Vault—a space the size of three football stadiums filled with massive gears and chains.
Kian's jaw dropped. In a universe of voidships and plasma-reactors, the loading process for this world-ending cannon was... manual.
He watched as five hundred labor-thralls, their bodies corded with sweat and grime, pulled on massive chains. Slowly, a ten-ton iron shell—the size of a small house—was dragged from the armory toward the breech.
These men were gasping for air, their muscles screaming under the weight. It took twenty minutes of agonizing human effort just to move one round into the firing position.
"Praise the Omnissiah," Kian whispered. "Why build a motor when you have a thousand cheap lives?"
He looked at the shell, realizing that the "Purification" was going to be a lot louder than he'd expected.
☆☆☆
-> 20 Advanced chapters Now Available on Patreon!!
-> https://www.pat-reon.co-m/c/Inkshaper
(Just remove the hyphen (-) to access patreon normally)
If you like this novel please consider leaving a review that's help the story a lot Thank you