One last push for atonement, one last push for Vostroya, one last push for the Emperor.
The smog is thinner than it once was, the manufactories still roar with the strike of the anvil, but now the firstborn of Vostroya labour at a new service. Neither the finely wrought plasma guns nor the filagreed plasteel breastplates were enough when the Administratum came to settle the bill.
Could Vostroya not see the sacrifice that the Master of Mankind had made for them? Were they not grateful for His sacrifice? Did they believe the traitorous Warmaster’s cause just? How better to honour their saviour than to serve him now as they had failed to do when he called? The Vostroyan Firstborn would pay for forgiveness.
‘Push, Malishka.’
The world was a haze of pain and fear. But she pushed, she knew she must.
‘Again now. Push again now.’
Any dolt could slave at the manufactory, furnish the newly gilded empire with arms and armour, but only the women of Vostroya could correct the past.
‘Khek, she’s kicking her way into the world. Don’t push.’
She couldn’t stop now, not when she was so close. Not when her firstborn was so close.
‘Push up, we have them routed!’
Lasfire pummelled the rubble they’d been using for cover. A sprint across the dry earth was the only option. Hunching low over the rifle from home, she dashed forward towards the latest crater that pockmarked this foreign world. The commander crashed down next to her. Followed by her three remaining squadmates.
‘You! Name?’
‘Ushka, sir.’
The commander thrust a pair of binoculars at her ‘Congratulations, Ushka, you just became our scout. Time for the next push.’
Malishka’s breath steamed in the cold of her dorm block. She could feel new life rupturing through her. But it didn’t hurt any more. Malishka clenched her calloused hands around the crude Aquila she had been given the day that she reported her pregnancy.
A preacher had been outside in the slush, intoning the divinity of the Emperor. He’d seen her scurrying from the giant doors of the Techtriarchs’ office and called out to her.
‘You carry our salvation inside you,’ the preacher dropped his voice. ‘Is He not great? To offer us the hope of forgiveness. Our Techtriarchs faltered when they denied Him our strength or blood. But you honour him with yours.’
Malishka drew closer.
‘He will welcome you into his eternal court, life bringer, oath keeper. You will live forever in His forgiveness.’
Malishka had been bundled up in as many layers as she owned. She was all on her own, no man to give it away, no family left to celebrate. This preacher couldn’t possibly have known she was with child. And yet.
‘For our newest offering,’ he’d said as he handed her the idol she now clenched in her palm.
‘Malishka, child, you can’t push yet. The little one’s not ready yet.’
But Malishka was ready. She could feel a golden warmth spreading from where she held the Aquila. There was no such thing as warmth on Vostroya, simply an absence of biting cold. But this was a true warmth.
‘I push now!’ she barked.
Ushka shimmied up to the lip of the crater and poked the binoculars over the edge. The view was grainy, and she had no idea how to focus the heavy lenses. Everything was a greenish blur. Even so, she could tell when a blur was shooting at her.
‘They’ve pulled back to a pile of scrap, sir. They’re still shooting at us,’ she called down to the commander.
‘Yes, we can hear that. What about numbers? How many of the dogs are there?’ came the reply.
She was already fucking up her first promotion. The Vostroyan Firstborn did not fuck up their promotions. She’d been saved from a life at the production line for this; if the late-born menials could forge the commanders’ carapace, then she could count blurs.
Ushka took a deep breath and looked again. The blurs weren’t actually behind the pile of scrap like she’d first thought, but crouched around it.
‘Five, sir. And they’re no longer in cover,’ she reported, much more confident now.
‘You hear that, guardsmen? We do not cower from five heretics who don’t even have the sense to find cover. We scrub their betrayal from this poxy planet. They’ll not get away again. One more push and we’ll be back at the Rhino with glory in our hearts and the Emperor’s name on our lips!’ The commander surged towards the lip, the rest of the squad on his heels.
Caught up with the commander, Ushka followed, dropping her newly acquired binoculars. The traitors came into sharp focus now that the world was no longer green. They still didn’t move behind the hulking pile of scrap, red now that the world had returned to its proper colours.
‘One last push, for the Emperor,’ she roared. The red scrap pile moved.
Malishka pushed, the golden light no longer warm but burning. It seared through her. The pain had returned, and the preacher’s words were a distant memory. How could this be her salvation?
‘She’s nearly here, Malishka. Your daughter is nearly here.’
Malishka could hardly hear now. Blood roared in her ears as now even the burning left her. A lonely cold crept in to replace it.
‘One last push. One last push for the Emperor.’
Malishka did as she was bidden and gave a final push for her daughter. For her Ushka. At least there was no more pain.
The scrap pile coalesced into blood-red ceramite and death. The World Eaters’ chainaxe chewed through the commander. The last of her squadmates died around her. Ushka reached beneath her crimson greatcoat and clutched at her mother’s Aquila.
‘One last push. One last push for the Emperor,’ she breathed, for her mother’s sacrifice. The chainaxe bit and all was pain.
