One Minute to Midnight

The Solar Guardian Array stretched outwards, forming an intricate and seemingly random coil of plas-steel and adamantium throughout the Sol system, though it was anything but random. Guns bristled from every surface, control towers dotting its surface to control each individual section of the array, or the mighty star forts that lay beyond its main bulk.

Shaaa had spent close to six decades working on the array, the last five under the strain of a burgeoning galactic civil war none could have predicted, but he had not set foot within this particular tower for years. The void, usually so quiet, seemed to echo impossibly with the clammer of preparation, sixty years leading to this moment.

At the heart of the SGA hung Terra itself, her battered orb shone before the oculus of the central coordination spire. In a few precious places, the fragile signs of rebirth engineered by the Emperor clad Terra’s tired greyness in a fuzz of green, and the blue mirrors of infant oceans painstakingly coaxed back into being reflected Sol’s light.

The sun shone as it always had, and would for a billion more years. Man had little purchase upon its fiery orb, but the world that was Earth had suffered under mankind’s dominion, and what little reparation had been made was at risk.

“The Emperor’s work is under threat as never before,” Shaaa’s voice rumbled, pointedly not using the word father that many of his brothers used to describe the Emperor of Mankind. The choice would not be lost on the sole other occupant of the room, Malcador, Imperial Regent in the stead of the Emperor. “Almire is coming, he will arrive in the system soon and bring his host against our defences. The end is drawing near, one way or another.”

The Oculus on the top of the Spire formed its own deck, a wide, circular floor with an unbroken window the height of several men making up the majority of the wall. So clear and perfect was the glassite compromising it that if the bronzed plasteel dome was ignored, it seemed that the chamber was open to the naked void.

“Apt as always, though I fear you are right on all counts though,” replied Malcador, his voice carrying a levity that seemed at odds with the dire situation they found themselves in.

“How you retain a light spirit in all this is your greatest gift,” Shaaa grimaced, his already ruined face twisting more as he turned to face the ancient man.

“I do try,” Malcador allowed himself a small smile and a slight nod at the comment.

“I had noticed.” Shaaa’s next words were spoken with utter certainty. “There is nothing we can do to further delay or stop Almire reaching the system, not from here. If any of my brothers still remain loyal, then we may have a reprieve, else we shall face the combined host with what we have here. Had we a more definitive location on the Warmaster’s fleet, then perhaps the Beta Garmon system could be reinforced, but without our eyes...”

Shaaa trailed off, a heavy sigh slipping from his lips. Malcador knew Shaaa’s displeasure at the seeming lack of information available to the Sol System, the astropathic relays unable to discern anything through the subspace scream that had engulfed the Solar System in recent months, and Malcadors networks of spies, usually so omni-present, were now absent, or at least their words were never reaching the Praetorian.

“On ancient Earth, at the dawn of their nuclear age, they had a way to describe our impending situation,” Shaaa finally spoke again, turning back to face the void. “A clock, one hand pointing towards upwards, the other drawing ever closer to striking twelve, signalling the end of the world.”

“The Doomsday Clock, I believe it was called,” Malcador nodded.

“An overblown name, but it gets the point across well enough,” Shaaa agreed. “They believed themselves close to the end of all things, unable to think beyond their small enclosed minds of the time. In all my readings, I have never heard of the clock being set past two minutes to midnight.”

At this, Shaaa looked down at the frail body of his companion.

“We are at one minute to midnight, Malcador. My sons stand ready, they will do their duty, as will all those who man this array, but I fear they will not be enough. Whether it is five legions, or ten, or even all seventeen, our forces will pale in comparison to what we now must face.”

“Ah, but we have the advantage of your defences,” Malcador pointed out.

“Yes, we do,” Shaaa murmured, rattling off figures memorised by heart in an instant. “The Solar Guardian Array is nearing forty two point three percent completion, the work on Ceres is completed but Mercury still stands idle. One hundred and ninety four thousand, nine hundred and twenty three Star Guardians man its defences, alongside one hundred and fifty three cohorts of the Hydra Auxilia, two hundred and six cohorts of the Solar Auxilia, seventeen regiments of the Tupeliov Lancers, alongside hundreds of other regiments, tens of thousands of warships, Mechanicum Tagmata, Titan Legio’s. We even have aid from a smattering of the Ashen Crows, though their main strength is absent and as with all other voices, silent. We are blind, and yet even now, we lack two of our critical defences.”

Shaaa’s grimace had turned into a glare as he looked down at Malcador, the wisened man knowing what was about to be asked.

“The Emperor has been silent for years, the Legio Custodes and the Silent Sisterhood both hidden away beneath the Imperial Dungeon in my creators Great Works. I am no fool as to believe I know precisely what he is doing down there, though I have a relatively good idea, and yet all will be for naught if Terra falls from without. His project will not survive without the throne world, and the throne world will not survive without the Ten Thousand and the Sisterhood.”

“The threat beneath the palace...” Malcador began, but Shaaa cut him off.

“Almire, is a threat!” he roared, the sudden outburst catching Malcador off guard, though he showed no outward sign of it. “And he is just the tip of the iceberg. Artellion is a threat. Gaius is a threat. Abner is a threat, and those are merely the ones that we know. What of Khnum and his Watchers or Bartosz and the Palatine Wings? Do we know if either of them still stand with the throne world? The only legion we have any true inkling of is the Ashen Crows, and half of their number follow my insane brother, the other half in their infinite wisdom give chase, as if Galvarian is the greatest threat in the galaxy. How many other Astartes stand against us? The Hounds? The Blight Wardens? For all we know two and a half million Astartes are bearing down upon our pitiful two hundred thousand, who knows how many mortal soldiers stand with them, or what these new allies they supposedly have thrown in with will represent. I am expected to defend this system against all threats, and yet our greatest asset lies silent!”

Shaaa seethed, before taking a deep breath in, forcing his anger to recede, his face returning to its normal, stony demeanor.

“I am fully aware that the Emperor has given his orders, and the importance of his Great Work beneath the palace, if those orders see this system bereft of his talons then so be it. We must look to the future and use what we have, not what we wish we had or we could have had. However, as it stands, we will not win this encounter.”

“Is that defeatism I hear, Lord Commander, Praetorian of all Terra, Breacher Lord?” Malcador asked, his words too belaboured to be entirely genuine, Shaaa not rising to the gentle barb.

“It is a fact, mathematically calculated and ratified to be a certainty,” Shaaa replied bluntly. “We lack the manpower to defend this system indefinitely. Our defences stand as yet unfinished. We face forces that outnumber our own by, at best, four orders of magnitude, at worst, significantly more. My sons will defend this world until the last. We will stand until there is nowhere left to stand, we will bring Terra to ruin before we allow Almire to have it, but as it stands, have it he shall.”

“Then I shall leave you to your planning,” Malcador bowed slightly, though Shaaa was under no illusion that there was a lack of meaning behind the gesture. “I must return to the Imperial Dungeon. The Emperor will be needing my council.”

“Go then,” Shaaa gestured with his head, turning back to stare into the void. “And when you see him, ask him how long he plans to stay down there tinkering with his project. The Auric Host is sorely needed, Malcador. I would know what soldiers will stand ready to defend the Sol system.”

Without another word, Malcador left the oculus, leaving Shaaa alone looking out at his works, the mighty defensive lattice that criss-crossed the void stretching out further than even his genehanced eyes could see. Nothing wrought by Imperial hands came close to its complexity or magnitude and even still it was not enough. Shaaa did not know if it was to be a week, or a month or a year until he arrived, but he would arrive, and when he did, he would deliver a war the likes of which Terra had never seen directly to his doorstep, Shaaa, his sons, the entire throneworld burning to ash and ruins beneath the fury of his treacherous ambition.