Ciaphas Cain: Choose Your Enemies

From here, one can pass through the very highest stratum – both of infrastructure and society, since the mansion of the planetary governor occupies much of the highest habitation level, the rest being given over to gardens and statuary open to all for the payment of a modest fee.

From this point, the discerning wayfarer may descend to a level commensurate with their means and status, although these may not entirely coincide.

The highest kilometre or so of the spire is given over to the wealthiest and best connected of the local aristocracy, then the minor noble houses, most prosperous entrepreneurs and the like. Here accommodation may be rented for quite reasonable rates, should a traveller wish to retain an establishment of their own for the duration of their sojourn.

Descending further brings the wayfarer to the lowest stratum where a comfortable stay is assured, where the villas of the well-to-do trading classes nestle comfortably among wide boulevards, copiously endowed with emporia of all kinds, a wide variety of restaurants and other such amenities, and many forms of entertainment, such as theatres, music halls and public holo displays.

Those in search of less wholesome pastimes will be constrained to seek them in the lower levels, where the artisan classes gather, and where the ambience is commensurately less pleasant and reassuring.

Below these are the manufactoria, which are of no interest whatsoever, reportedly issuing vast quantities of effluvia, noise and noxious vapours, which the discerning wayfarer will avoid having to experience.

In common with most such Imperial habitations, below these the underhive begins, a wretched sink of villainous and debased humanity in which it is most unwise to even contemplate venturing. Though intrepid travellers from the upper levels do occasionally find themselves compelled to enter this dark nether world, driven by necessity or the desire for profit, they do so only in armed bands, escorted by professional guards of the roughest and most uncouth sort, returning with occasional items of value and stories scarce to be believed.

In short, this is a system in which the weary traveller may find the time to rest and recuperate in reasonable comfort, but which offers little in the way of inducements to remain for very long.

Eleven

My first impression of the governor being a man far more astute than he liked to pretend was borne out the following day, in the form of a summons to brief him properly about our plans for the defence of his planet. Although it was worded as a polite invitation, there was no question that he expected anything other than a prompt acceptance. I could have told him to go frak himself, of course, but under the circumstances I decided to go along with it; there was nothing to be gained from hacking the man off, and after the gubernatorial indifference we’d faced on Drechia, dealing with a specimen of the Emperor’s anointed who actually seemed to be taking an interest was a welcome novelty. Besides which, I’d been favourably impressed by both his cellar and his kitchen the previous evening, and welcomed the excuse to explore both in greater depth.

‘I could go,’ I said, raising my voice over the clamour of our new command centre, which was still in the process of being set up. A gaggle of cogboys was bustling about plugging equipment in, stringing cables which were not so much trip hazards as potential booby traps, and occasionally electrocuting themselves (which, to be fair, didn’t seem to discommode them much, given how high a proportion of the average tech-priest tends to be metal – some even seemed to enjoy the experience), while others chanted benedictions, affixed the appropriate prayer scrolls to the control lecterns, dripped sanctified lubricants into the brass cogs of their cogitator banks, and disappeared behind clouds of choking incense. Around them, the troopers supposed to be manning the place were doing their best to get their own jobs done, firing up the newly installed vox and auspex equipment, lugging boxes and furniture about, drinking tanna and recaff, and arguing about whose fault it was something still wasn’t ready yet.

In other words, business as usual at this stage of a deployment, and, despite the noise and untidiness, one I found strangely reassuring. I knew from experience that before long order would emerge from the chaos around us, and the information we needed to face the enemy and, Throne willing, prevent them from gaining a foothold on Ironfound, would begin to flow. In the meantime there wasn’t a lot I could do here, beyond routine paperwork I’d already delegated to Jurgen.