V3 Chapter 109: Where Are the Minotaurs?!
Master of the Administratum Ilthor Cimotrion was, at this moment, consumed with anxiety. This High Lord, who had once stood above billions upon billions, had never felt such an intense unease before; it was as if the entire Palace itself were simply waiting for the moment his power slipped away.
He paced back and forth across the vast Supreme Administrative Hall, his footsteps echoing without pause. Unprocessed decrees and files were stacked high along both sides of the chamber, scribe-servants knelt before their workstations, and mechanical arms continued transcribing documents according to their set routines regardless.
Every official and attendant present kept their heads lowered, and no one dared make an unnecessary sound. They'd already noticed the Master of the Administratum's volatile mood, and knew all too well that a storm capable of reshaping Terra's entire balance of power was closing in.
Guilliman's order stripping him of office had already reached the Administratum. The Imperial Regent demanded Cimotrion's every power be frozen, his communications and movement restricted, and the Administratum's core archives placed under protective lockdown.
Cimotrion found the outcome almost impossible to accept. He had held the Administratum in his grip for a century; in the eyes of countless worlds' rulers, a single word from him could alter a planet's tax rate, or decide the fate of billions for decades to come.
And now, he'd become nothing more than a prisoner waiting for his shackles.
The thought of fleeing Terra had crossed his mind briefly, and he'd forced it back down almost at once.
The Tower of Hegemony had already taken over every key transit node in the Outer Palace. Every spaceport and military transit lane was undergoing renewed authority verification, and he had no way of guaranteeing he could even reach orbit.
More importantly still, the moment he attempted to flee, it would amount to a confession that he'd taken part in the conspiracy. So long as he stayed within the Administratum, he could still claim he was upholding the Imperial Council's proper procedure, and keep working to win the support of the other High Lords and the offices beneath them.
Cimotrion gradually came to a stop, and turned to the scribe standing beside him.
"Record the order." he said, low. "The Imperial Regent's command has not yet completed Council registration; its legality still requires deliberation by the Council of High Lords. Until that deliberation concludes, every Administratum office is to defer execution of any new order issued by the Regency."
The scribe's fingers trembled once, then moved quickly across his data-slate. Several servo-skulls rose into the air, recording Cimotrion's words, and preparing to relay them outward through the Administratum's dedicated channel.
"Activate the administrative continuity protocol." Cimotrion went on. "Seal every core archive tower. Cut the connection between the central Cogitators and the outside network. No one lacking authentication from the Master's own office is to be granted entry."
Once the order went out, low alarms began sounding throughout the hall. Heavy blast doors started to close, the archive lift-shafts ground to a halt, and the combat servitors guarding the Cogitator array stirred, one after another, out of dormancy.
But the data terminal in front of Cimotrion soon began throwing up a string of refusal messages. Several Administratum offices had already accepted Tyrion's administrative authentication, and started carrying out the Regency's orders around the Master's own office entirely; a number of archive towers, meanwhile, refused to recognise Cimotrion's supreme authority at all.
Cimotrion stared at the crimson text, the muscles of his face twitching several times. For the first time, he understood with total clarity that the vast administrative machine he'd once taken such pride in was slipping out of his control.
"Bring the Deputy Master, the Chief Archivist, and the Keeper of the Authority Seal to me at once." He shut off the terminal, his tone carrying a barely-suppressed fury. "Tell them this concerns every one of our lives."
The three arrived in the hall soon after, stopping a little over ten metres from Cimotrion, bowing to him in turn, their faces betraying a tension none of them could hide.
These three were the confidants Cimotrion could still trust absolutely. They'd had a hand in drafting the execution rider themselves, and had drawn considerable power of their own from this Master's rule; their fortunes had long since become bound to his, for better or worse.
"Move the scribes and cipher officers who took part in altering the order down to the Ninth Underground Archive Sector." Cimotrion walked up to the three of them. "Cut off every one of their connections to the outside. Destroy every record from the execution rider's drafting process. Keep only the final version bearing the High Lords' joint authentication."
The Chief Archivist lowered his head, and asked carefully, "Master, if the Imperial Regent has already backed up part of the material..."
"Then make sure whatever they have is incomplete." Cimotrion cut him off. "Swap the archive reference numbers. Alter the creation timestamps. Purge every authority record that could point back to any of us personally. If it comes to it, activate the purification systems in the core archive sector."
The three exchanged a glance, then nodded and accepted the order. Cimotrion also had them reach out to the Ecclesiarchy, the Adeptus Arbites, the Navy Office, and the War Office, demanding they jointly refuse Guilliman's Regency orders as well.
He needed Slester to mobilise the Ecclesiarchy's propaganda apparatus, and needed Delakhma to keep up the legal pressure. Ashariel and Perez held supreme power throughout the Astra Militarum and Navy command structures; so long as they were willing to cooperate, Guilliman would find it difficult to bring Terra fully under control in any short span of time.
"Also, prepare a route to the secret spaceport." Cimotrion lowered his voice. "Preparation only. No aircraft is to launch before you receive my direct order."
"As you command, Master."
Just as the three were about to leave, Cimotrion suddenly remembered the single most important card still in his hand.
"Wait." He turned back around. "Where is the Minotaurs Chapter positioned right now?"
The Deputy Master of the Administratum stopped in his tracks, and the other two turned their gazes toward him. He opened his mouth, hesitated a moment, then finally answered, "Asterion Moloc has already received the Regency's order, authenticated through the Tower of Hegemony."
Cimotrion narrowed his eyes.
"Go on."
"Moloc has refused to deploy any further reinforcements to Terra's surface." The Deputy Master worked hard to keep his tone level. "Their fortress-monastery, the Daedelos Krata, currently sits at the lunar anchorage. The main Minotaurs fleet has powered down its weapon systems, and is waiting on fresh authentication from the Council of High Lords."
A rare flicker of panic crossed Cimotrion's eyes. The Minotaurs were the elite fighting strength they'd recalled to the Sol System in advance, and one of the few forces capable of standing against Guilliman's accompanying Astartes on equal terms.
"How much have we given them?" Cimotrion's voice rose sharply. "Fleet maintenance, gene-seed replenishment, priority resupply, archive protection — which of those have we ever withheld? And now, at the single most critical moment, they refuse to carry out the High Lords' own decree!"
The Deputy Master kept his head lowered, waiting for the worst of the fury to pass before continuing. "An advance force that landed on Terra earlier is still within the Administratum's core district. They haven't withdrawn yet, and are still carrying out their original facility-protection orders."
Cimotrion's expression eased somewhat at that.
"How many?"
"A hundred and thirty-six Astartes, including a Terminator squad. They also brought a Dreadnought and several armoured vehicles with them, but the ground commander has only agreed to protect the Administratum's facilities, and won't leave his defensive zone of his own accord."
"That will be enough." Cimotrion said coldly. "Seal off external communications for their entire district. Feed them only the security decree the Council issued earlier. Tell them Duvette has taken the Grand Master of the Assassinorum hostage, and is leading Astartes of anomalous identity in an attack on the Imperial government."
The Deputy Master's body went rigid for an instant, but in the end he lowered his head and accepted the order. He understood perfectly well that this command would put the Minotaurs on a direct collision course with the Custodians. But there was no way back now.
The three left the hall in silence, each moving off to carry out their own task. The vast chamber held only Cimotrion now, standing alone among the heaped decrees, listening to the lockdown alarms sounding endlessly somewhere in the distance.
He walked to his own desk and pressed his palm against the supreme authority seal. The Administratum's core district shifted into a state of war at once; more autocannon turrets rose from the walls and building platforms, and the Master's own personal guard began sealing off every road leading to the hall.
Cimotrion raised his head, looking toward the Imperial Aquila hanging at the far end of the hall.
He had ruled this vast administrative machine for far too long.
No one was going to take it from his hands easily.
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