Vittar made an unconvinced noise in his throat. ‘Luc Krane is tasked with keeping all of House Brobantis safe, Chetta. I hope that his report won’t differ from what you’ve just said, should I demand an update from him. I’d hate for you to be seeking to gain a political advantage by keeping me in the dark.’

Chetta smiled humourlessly at him. ‘I assure you, Vittar, we are all in the dark on this one.’

The Emperor’s Ascension

The Emperor’s Ascension

The Feast of the Emperor’s Ascension was the greatest public holiday across many worlds of the Imperium. Chetta could say that with some authority, since her service with the sector fleet had taken her to quite a few, not to mention the times the Feast had been celebrated on board ship and the diverse local traditions for the day amongst the various crewers had come together to create a riot of noise and colour, festivity and devotion. Vorlese’s relative proximity to Holy Terra meant the Ecclesiarchy held strong sway over the hearts and minds of its citizens, and the fact that the capital was named Ascension City had not been an accident. Vorlese might not have the purity of faith of a cardinal world, but it certainly didn’t lack enthusiasm. The great cathedrals that topped some of Ascension City’s hab blocks had unfurled mighty banners, some of them hundreds of feet high, that depicted the victories of the Emperor and His greatest heroes, while bells the size of tanks tolled in a never-ending peal of worship. Cherub automata, held aloft by busily beating wings and anti-grav technology, circled around the rooftops, along the connecting processionals and into the internal halls, all the while broadcasting hymns and prayers from inbuilt vox-speakers.

And the parades! Tens of thousands strong, as the population of Ascension City was granted brief respite from the drudgery of their servitude, and dressed in their best clothes to march and declare their undying devotion to the Master of Mankind. Sometimes, through poor planning, bad luck or simple spite, the parades ran into each other. Then they might join together to create impromptu street parties of love and fellowship. Or, if tempers flared, accusations of malicious obstruction could fly, or declarations of superior piety, at which point the proctors had to descend swiftly to prevent the eruption of what would essentially be a small-scale civil war. Even below, down in the Smog Deeps, worship of the Emperor was not forgotten by many. Every now and then primitive fireworks would blossom to briefly illuminate the grey-brown clouds from within, or sometimes even clear them completely before bursting into showers of sparks around the level of the lower Mids.