Victory Pointless

Klotophis remembered standing on a hill, much like this one, looking up at a starry sky, much like this one.  Long, long ago.

The other children had made fun of him for his nascent love of astronomy, had stolen and smashed his small homemade telescope over and over again.  He had patiently reassembled it, over and over again.  They had been destined for short, brutal lives as thugs, thieves and killers.  Even had his sickly and spindly frame allowed it he would not have wished to join them.  Science not only fascinated him, it offered him a way up and out of the slums, to the palace-city that glittered on the horizon, to the court of King Shakha and even to the stars themselves.

Now, he needed no telescope.  His enhanced ocular could pick out the stars clearly, even through the smog and dust of Sangua Terra’s polluted atmosphere.  However, he was not studying the cosmos.  Instead, his focus was on the familiar Night Scythe transport rapidly descending towards him.

He tutted in annoyance then assumed his habitual servile posture as the craft’s translocation beam flared across the ground in front of him.

“Lady Farreskh.  What a pleasant surprise.  Again.  I had flattered myself that you had finally heeded my advice to remain aboard the Reaper of Eternity…”

“Hello, Klotophis.  No, just a brief respite for you, I am afraid.”  She seemed cheerful, Klotophis noted.  Worrying.  “I merely wished to consult something in the ship’s Library.”

“Ah, well, the texts there contain much wisdom.  I wrote several of them myself.  Might I ask what in particular caught your interest?”

“I have been studying the Triarchal Codes.”

“Oh, indeed, Majesty?  Rather dry and boring, aren’t they?  You know, I read a collection of ninth age sonnets the other day that I rather enjoyed.  I would be more than happy to recommend-”

“In fact I found them fascinating.  They say that when the ruling monarch is incapacitated through poor health – either physical or mental – the next most senior member of the royal family may be appointed as regent to rule in their stead.”

“Ah, yes.  Clause 2,237,537, Subsection 89,204, Paragraph 8.  I am passingly familiar.  But if you consult Paragraph 13-B you will note that only the ruler’s Royal Physician may make judgement as to said ruler’s incapacity.”

“And the Royal Physician is…?”

“A currently vacant position, I’m afraid.   As I’m sure you can appreciate, the value of biological medical expertise has somewhat lessened since biotransference.  After, ah, what happened to the last incumbent, a replacement was never appointed.”

“In that case we must-”

“Appoint one?  Only His Majesty the Phaeron may do that.  I will of course raise it with him but I doubt he will consider it a priority.  Most regrettable.  Still, I thank Your Majesty for braving a dangerous warzone merely to bring this matter to my attention.”

“Oh, I’m not here to see you, Klotophis.  Where is Executioner Thatop?”

“Executioner Thatop?”

“Yes.  As I said, I have been studying the code, and I anticipated this issue.  Fortunately, clause 3,563,001, subsection 27,478, paragraph 108 states that should a relevant official of the dynastic court be unavailable to render judgement in any dispute a duly appointed officer of the Triarch Praetorians may be asked to adjudicate instead.”

“That… clause is in a section dealing with agricultural tithes…”

“Indeed it is.  However, there is no specific measure which limits its applicability only to that section.”

The Chronomancer’s features blurred and jerked.  “…It… appears you are correct, Your Majesty… Very well.  Let us go and consult the noble Executioner immediately.”

“You… have no further objections?”

“Of course not, Your Majesty!  This is a matter of vital importance and obviously I wish to see it resolved as quickly as possible.  Follow me.”

***

The Praetorians were the firm hand of the Triarch on the shoulders of the Necron dynasties – attached to the courts of Phaerons and Overlords but not bound to them by anything other than courtesy.  Their first duty was to ensure the actions of Necron royalty were both honourable and in accordance with Triarchal law.  They had the power to punish those which were not.

The Shakhana had been assigned only a single Praetorian representative – a signifier of the low esteem in which the dynasty was held but also a concession to the fact that even the Triarch occasionally found the Shakhana’s less honourable and code-compliant services to be of use and did not wish to burden them with too much oversight.  There were some places the Triarch’s eyes found it convenient not to look.

Farreskh had met Thatop on a few state occasions prior to the great sleep but had never really sought the man’s company, finding him rude, boring and oblivious.  She rather suspected that he may have offended his superiors in some way and been assigned to the Shakhana as punishment.

Klotophis lead her through the Necron encampment to the corner where the great insectile war machine of the Triarch Stalker stood ready.  As she got closer, however, she noted that Thatop did not appear to be sitting in the command throne, which was instead occupied by a large cylindrical sarcophagus surrounded by a mass of cables connecting it into the body of the Stalker.

“I don’t understand,” she said.  “Where is Executioner Thatop?”

“There, Your Majesty.”  Klotophis indicated the sarcophagus with a wave.  “I’m afraid the Executioner may not be quite as you remember him.  You see, the Praetorians did not sleep as we did – they stood vigil.  I’m afraid after sixty million years of solitude Lord Thatop’s engrams had degraded to the point where he was not even able to sustain his own body.  He was locked into a perpetual cycle of reanimation.  Kajakh was forced to construct an external support system to encase the Praetorian and keep him stable.  He can still pilot the Stalker, although I’m afraid he’s not much of a conversationalist.  Still, you are welcome to put your case to him.”

Farreskh stepped forwards.  “Greetings, noble Lord Executioner.  Perhaps you remember me – I am Lady Farreskh, consort to the Phaeron.  I come to you today with a matter of great-”

“GUILTY.”  The voice thundered out of the war machine.

“Ah.  Do not be offended, Majesty.”  Klotophis interjected.  “He says that to everyone.  It seems to be all he can say, as a matter of-”

“GUILTY!”

“You see?”

Farreskh pressed on.  “My husband the Phaeron is taken with the Destroyer sickness.  His ability to lead the dynasty has been compromised.  The code demands that as next most senior member of the-”

“GUILTY!  GUILTY!  GUILTY!”

“Apologies, my Lady,” Klotophis said, his voice loaded with barely-concealed glee.  “I’m afraid you are unlikely to get much sense out of him in his current condition.”  He shrugged sympathetically but unconvincingly.  “I do not think he will be able to pass judgement on the matter before us.  Sadly.  Perhaps, if the tales are true and the device we are searching for can indeed repair corrupted engrams we may be able to restore his mind as well as the Phaeron’s.  But, until then…”

“A pity.  I had hoped we might expedite the process, but it seems we will have to wait for the others to arrive.”

“We must press on and continue our search for- others, what others?”

“The other Praetorians of course.  I already dispatched a message informing them of the current situation and summoning them to settle the matter.”

“You WHAT?!?  You called more Praetorians HERE?  You… you… you brainless daughter of an incontinent swine!”

No.  No.  Calm.  Rewind.

“-summoning them to settle the matter.”

“A… most meritorious idea, Your Majesty.  I… look forward to their arrival immensely.  Now, if you will excuse me, I have an urgent matter I must attend to.”

Bowing deeply, he scurried away.  Farreskh and Thatop watched him leave.

“GUILTY!”  Boomed the entombed Praetorian.

“Yes,” said Farreskh, “I think you may be right.”