Genevieve and the Miracle
In the empty dark of the cockpit, Genevieve screamed. At first, she had screamed because of the pain, the broken bones and psychostigmatic injuries that matched the damage to her knight armour. Then, she screamed because of fear, at not being able to open the escape hatch, at not being able to goad her knight into action. Now, after hours, maybe days locked in the pitch black of what she had accepted as her coffin, she screamed with rage. She hammered at the inert slab of the hatchway panel with her fists, roaring curses and damning her own inadequacies. She cried out the names of her sister and her uncle so they could come to her aid, even though they must surely share her fate, or worse. In the empty dark of the cockpit, she finally fell silent, and began to sob. What an ignoble way for a Knight to die. Brought low by rabble armed with crude elctromagnetic pikes, they swarmed her, shorted her systems and left her there. They would be back, with las-cutters and melta torches, and they would cut her from her knight as a nobleman would tear the meat from a clam and take the noble suit for themselves. The sounds outside were muffled to the point of inaudibility. Even the ghosts of her predecessors had gone quiet. The cockpit of a dead knight suit was the perfect sensory deprivation chamber, and she was going to die in it, away from everything that ever mattered. Alone with her shame, she cried into the dark.
At first, when it began to blink, she didn’t believe the little lumen on her console. She thought it was a hallucination, or the last of her knight suit’s energies bleeding away into a random system. But it continued blinking. She stared at it, trying to will away what she thought must be her mind playing tricks.
At first, when it began to blink, she didn’t believe the little lumen on her console. She thought it was a hallucination, or the last of her knight suit’s energies bleeding away into a random system. But it continued blinking. She stared at it, trying to will away what she thought must be her mind playing tricks.
Blink blink blink.
It was the light signifying an incoming communication.
Blink blink blink.
Maybe, she thought, maybe if I press the rune, it will go away, and leave me in peace.
Blink blink blink.
She reached out a quivering hand, and touched the rune underneath.
Blink.
Blink.
The light was solid now, and Genevieve almost jumped as the crackle of static came over the vox. Her eyes went wide as the signal cleared up, and she heard a faint voice.
“Hello? Are you there, my lady?”
“Hello? Are you there, my lady?”
Genevieve paused, in shock, unable to respond. Her knight was dead. Nothing worked, not even the vox. And yet, there it was. Working.
“My lady? Please respond?”
“My lady? Please respond?”
“I… yes! I’m here. By the Emperor I’m here. Who are you? Where are you? My knight is…”
“Glorious! I feared the Emperor had taken you, I am glad I was mistaken.” The voice was calm, and pleasant. It reminded Genevieve of her older sister. “Can you rise, my lady? Goad your armour back to strength?”
Genevieve tried the control interface. It remained unresponsive, unable to reactivate the neural links to her Throne Mechanicum. “No, I have been unable to move, unable to do anything, rather, for… hours now,” she replied, bitterly. “The sacristans will need to administer their skills to get me moving again. Are you Imperial? Are you with reinforcements?”
The voice on the other end of the line laughed. Not mocking, but oddly reassuring. Genevieve had a memory of her sister running a hand through her hair, reading her a story when they were children. “My lady, fear not, I am assuredly under the Emperor’s grace, and yes, reinforcements are here. And I would so dearly wish for you to join them. Please, try to rouse your knight once again.”
Genevieve sighed, and despite her reservations, tried the interface once more. There was a beat, then a whisper. A sussurus of voices at the edge of her mind. She gasped, and tried the console again, more forcefully, with conviction. The whispers grew louder, she could make out individual voices urging her on, words of encouragement spiking through the hiss. Men, women, those who came before. Her uncle. Her sister. She cried out as she put everything she had into the interface, screaming vengeance into the dark of the cockpit as she willed, against everything, for the dead knight to rise.
And the sussurus became a chorus, a choir singing their love for her, their support for her, willing her on. She saw their faces in the dark, smiling and cheering and laughing. The inside of the cockpit blazed with light as systems reactivated in a cascade of machine life. Sensors pinged the ruins around her, occulum systems captured pict feed and vox thieves brought the sounds of battle rushing back into her ears. Reports came in from everywhere as the knight suit roared back into life. Green across the board, in better shape than it had ever been before.
“Praise the Emperor! Well done my lady, I knew you could do it. Now rise, Knight. Your duty is not yet done.”
Genevieve willed her knight suit into a crouch, urging it to push itself up with its gauntlet, balancing on its cannon arm. Righting a fallen knight suit was tricky at the best of times, almost impossible after the disorientation of a total system restart, but she handled it with a smooth grace that didn’t entirely feel her own. She took a step, then another, and upon finding her feet strode over to a pile of fallen masonry and hurled it aside. She laughed, a joyous, beatific laugh, and went back to the vox.
“Are you still there? This is amazing! A miracle! I thought I was going to die in that ruin!”
“I am still here my lady. I am overjoyed that you are back with us!” the voice responded. “My sisters will be here soon. Would you join them?”
“I would, my friend, I would. Sisters you say? You are Sororitas?”
“Yes! You may call me Sister Arabella, if it pleases you. Now go, my lady, and carry out His will.”
Genevieve nodded, laughing through tears of joy, and strode out over the fallen masonry into the streets beyond.
She continued forth, down through the maze of rubble and ruin. The streets were quiet, raiders and insurgents had since moved on. She would come across crude graffiti, heretical slogans which she found herself scouring away with a blast from her meltagun. Before, she might have simply left it for someone else to deal with, but not now. The lumen on her vox blinked again and she activated it with a smile, eager to speak to her new friend.
“This is Sister Madeline of the Order of the Sacred Rose,” came the voice on the other end, harsher and older sounding than Arabella had been. “All loyalist Imperial formations please respond.”
“This is Lady Genevieve Cairngrayl, of House Cairngrayl, in the Knight Paladin Rock of Light” Genevieve responded, forcing herself to sound a little more formal for this newcomer. “I have already made contact with one of yours, a Sister Arabella. Are you the reinforcements she mentioned?”
“We have no other forces planetside yet, my lady, our ship has only just got into deployment position in orbit. What did you say her name was?”
“Arabella. Sister Arabella. She helped me find the strength to get my armour operational again. I assumed she was part of a vanguard force.”
“Arabella… most interesting.” Genevieve could almost hear the hint of a smile in the Battle Sister’s voice. “I’m sure the Canoness would like to speak to you about that. Tell me, my lady, where are you relative to these coordinates?”
Genevieve noted the grid position that had been sent to her. Not far. “The old park? About five kilometres out. I can see it from here, I’m up a hill overlooking it. Held by the enemy, I can see their staging grounds.”
“Glorious! I feared the Emperor had taken you, I am glad I was mistaken.” The voice was calm, and pleasant. It reminded Genevieve of her older sister. “Can you rise, my lady? Goad your armour back to strength?”
Genevieve tried the control interface. It remained unresponsive, unable to reactivate the neural links to her Throne Mechanicum. “No, I have been unable to move, unable to do anything, rather, for… hours now,” she replied, bitterly. “The sacristans will need to administer their skills to get me moving again. Are you Imperial? Are you with reinforcements?”
The voice on the other end of the line laughed. Not mocking, but oddly reassuring. Genevieve had a memory of her sister running a hand through her hair, reading her a story when they were children. “My lady, fear not, I am assuredly under the Emperor’s grace, and yes, reinforcements are here. And I would so dearly wish for you to join them. Please, try to rouse your knight once again.”
Genevieve sighed, and despite her reservations, tried the interface once more. There was a beat, then a whisper. A sussurus of voices at the edge of her mind. She gasped, and tried the console again, more forcefully, with conviction. The whispers grew louder, she could make out individual voices urging her on, words of encouragement spiking through the hiss. Men, women, those who came before. Her uncle. Her sister. She cried out as she put everything she had into the interface, screaming vengeance into the dark of the cockpit as she willed, against everything, for the dead knight to rise.
And the sussurus became a chorus, a choir singing their love for her, their support for her, willing her on. She saw their faces in the dark, smiling and cheering and laughing. The inside of the cockpit blazed with light as systems reactivated in a cascade of machine life. Sensors pinged the ruins around her, occulum systems captured pict feed and vox thieves brought the sounds of battle rushing back into her ears. Reports came in from everywhere as the knight suit roared back into life. Green across the board, in better shape than it had ever been before.
“Praise the Emperor! Well done my lady, I knew you could do it. Now rise, Knight. Your duty is not yet done.”
Genevieve willed her knight suit into a crouch, urging it to push itself up with its gauntlet, balancing on its cannon arm. Righting a fallen knight suit was tricky at the best of times, almost impossible after the disorientation of a total system restart, but she handled it with a smooth grace that didn’t entirely feel her own. She took a step, then another, and upon finding her feet strode over to a pile of fallen masonry and hurled it aside. She laughed, a joyous, beatific laugh, and went back to the vox.
“Are you still there? This is amazing! A miracle! I thought I was going to die in that ruin!”
“I am still here my lady. I am overjoyed that you are back with us!” the voice responded. “My sisters will be here soon. Would you join them?”
“I would, my friend, I would. Sisters you say? You are Sororitas?”
“Yes! You may call me Sister Arabella, if it pleases you. Now go, my lady, and carry out His will.”
Genevieve nodded, laughing through tears of joy, and strode out over the fallen masonry into the streets beyond.
She continued forth, down through the maze of rubble and ruin. The streets were quiet, raiders and insurgents had since moved on. She would come across crude graffiti, heretical slogans which she found herself scouring away with a blast from her meltagun. Before, she might have simply left it for someone else to deal with, but not now. The lumen on her vox blinked again and she activated it with a smile, eager to speak to her new friend.
“This is Sister Madeline of the Order of the Sacred Rose,” came the voice on the other end, harsher and older sounding than Arabella had been. “All loyalist Imperial formations please respond.”
“This is Lady Genevieve Cairngrayl, of House Cairngrayl, in the Knight Paladin Rock of Light” Genevieve responded, forcing herself to sound a little more formal for this newcomer. “I have already made contact with one of yours, a Sister Arabella. Are you the reinforcements she mentioned?”
“We have no other forces planetside yet, my lady, our ship has only just got into deployment position in orbit. What did you say her name was?”
“Arabella. Sister Arabella. She helped me find the strength to get my armour operational again. I assumed she was part of a vanguard force.”
“Arabella… most interesting.” Genevieve could almost hear the hint of a smile in the Battle Sister’s voice. “I’m sure the Canoness would like to speak to you about that. Tell me, my lady, where are you relative to these coordinates?”
Genevieve noted the grid position that had been sent to her. Not far. “The old park? About five kilometres out. I can see it from here, I’m up a hill overlooking it. Held by the enemy, I can see their staging grounds.”
“That’s the place, very good, my lady. I would ask you to hold position and look to the skies. And my lady?"
“Yes?”
“Brace.”
Genevieve did as she was bid, and turned her oculus array to the skies above the park. High above she could see the sword shape of an Imperial starship in low orbit. She noted a flash. An orbital bombardment? She locked the Rock of Light’s limbs into a braced position, awaiting whatever shockwave was to come. A bright shape fell from the ship like a star, growing brighter and brighter as it came. She stole a magnified glance at the enemy in the park, tiny shapes rushing into dugouts and bunkers, hoping to weather the storm. The falling shape seemed to actually slow and for the first time she began to get a clear picture of it. Retro thrusters burned hard and heat shielding glowed white under the strain. Closer still, rockets corkscrewed out into enemy positions and she watched as nearby ruined blossomed with promethium detonations. Her eyes went wide and the breath caught in her throat as the enormous cathedrum, alabaster spires and polished steel, pummelled into the park with a sound that overloaded her vox-thieves. The shockwave washed over her armoured form, pummelling the knight suit with dust and rubble and debris, but she stood firm. She looked on in awe at the colossal building that now stood proudly in what had once been manicured lawns and trees, now awash with flame and gunfire. The cathedrum, huge black banners marked with a white rose flapping in the heat wash, scoured away the heretics who had survived having a building dropped on them. Genevieve marched toward it, full of newfound zeal and piety, eager to tell those inside of the miracle that had been visited upon her.
“Yes?”
“Brace.”
Genevieve did as she was bid, and turned her oculus array to the skies above the park. High above she could see the sword shape of an Imperial starship in low orbit. She noted a flash. An orbital bombardment? She locked the Rock of Light’s limbs into a braced position, awaiting whatever shockwave was to come. A bright shape fell from the ship like a star, growing brighter and brighter as it came. She stole a magnified glance at the enemy in the park, tiny shapes rushing into dugouts and bunkers, hoping to weather the storm. The falling shape seemed to actually slow and for the first time she began to get a clear picture of it. Retro thrusters burned hard and heat shielding glowed white under the strain. Closer still, rockets corkscrewed out into enemy positions and she watched as nearby ruined blossomed with promethium detonations. Her eyes went wide and the breath caught in her throat as the enormous cathedrum, alabaster spires and polished steel, pummelled into the park with a sound that overloaded her vox-thieves. The shockwave washed over her armoured form, pummelling the knight suit with dust and rubble and debris, but she stood firm. She looked on in awe at the colossal building that now stood proudly in what had once been manicured lawns and trees, now awash with flame and gunfire. The cathedrum, huge black banners marked with a white rose flapping in the heat wash, scoured away the heretics who had survived having a building dropped on them. Genevieve marched toward it, full of newfound zeal and piety, eager to tell those inside of the miracle that had been visited upon her.
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