Babel Clash

Dan and I have talked at a bit about how we get together with the other authors and editors to plan out the kinds of stories and characters we want to tell, the wheres the whys and the whos, but today I’m going to take a meandering look at the first meeting we had. Why? Well because that’s the one where we laid out the rough shape of the playground and some of its basic rules in which those stories would operate. The High Lord of Terra (previously encountered as Alan) spoke to a crowded room of writers and editors about what the crucial differences were between the Heresy era (30K) and the Age of the Imperium (40K). As you might imagine, this turned into a very long day, with a million and one ideas born in that melting pot. But crucially, the best thing we took from that meeting wasn’t specific storylines, but the mood and feel of the place. Where 40K is a shabby palace with shuttered rooms and dusty white sheets covering the furniture, inhabited by faded ghosts and ancient old men, 30K was going to be the first days of that palace, where armies of servants threw open the windows to let the light in, and the owners were stepping into their new home with boundless enthusiasm to admire the crisp new décor.

This is key to what made the stories different, made them special. It’s what separates them from 40K books by more than just the names and the characters, it’s what let’s you know you’re not reading a 40K book, you’re reading a Horus Heresy book. We wanted readers to know they were reading a 30K novel as soon as they opened the book and read its first few pages. To that end we looked at what 40K was, how it came to be the way it is and what probably existed before. The early days of the Great Crusade were a time of hope, optimism and enlightenment, were humanity had stared into the abyss of extinction and was about to leap in when the Emperor pulled it back at the last moment. That’s not to say it was the happy family of the Federation of Planets, not even close. Unity had a painful birth, but one that showed the vast majority of people all they could achieve if they just embraced it. Not only that, but there was actual hope that the things humanity aspired to achieve could actually be reached. The light at the end of the tunnel wasn’t a speeding train, it was the promise of an empire of mankind based on learning, growth and progression.

(That’s an idea I went back to explore in Mechanicum, the notion that the Priesthood of Mars were on the brink of changing from a monolithic organisation built on tradition and repetition to one of exploration, discovery and scientific advancement. This borrowed from the conceit that science has freed us from so much pain and death, but also has the potential to destroy us all – either in the fires of awesomely destructive weaponry, or the more Lovecraftian realisation of our own utter insignificance amid terrifying vistas of infinity. That change could have made all the difference to the future course of the Imperium, but, alas, it wasn’t to be.)

Of course no empires are ever built without bloodshed, and that’s where the Astartes come in. The Astartes are warriors so far removed from humanity that they are, for all intents and purposes, no longer human. Astartes were always going to be at the core of the Horus Heresy story, as the rebellion began as an inter-legion civil war and spread from there. But it was always going to be more than that. It was going to be about people and what it meant for them. In 40K, the people of the Imperium are little more than footnotes, tally marks on a bureaucrat’s ledger, resources to be expended and tithes to be claimed. Whole worlds can vanish, in the fires of invasion or in clerical typo in the dusty halls of the Administratum. It’s a cruel place, a dark place, a place you would never, ever, want to visit. Human life is cheap, and it’s the one currency the Imperium has in almost limitless abundance. And it’s not shy about spending it. We often throw civilians into the mix of 40K novels and then horribly slaughter thousands of them, but they’re little more than straw men to be cut down in droves to show the awfulness of the galaxy. In short, they often don’t matter.

That’s not the case In 30K. People do matter. When people die in 30K it matters because they’re the ones building the Imperium, the ones spreading out into the stars to reclaim what was lost in the hell of Old Night (a lovely term coined by Mr Abnett, I believe). And talking of people brings me to the remembrancers, another great invention that feels wholly natural in the broad tapestry of the Heresy books. No, these guys and girls aren’t genetically-engineered post humans with biceps like boulders and guns that are basically rocket launchers, they’re just fleshy bags of meat and blood that break easily. And that’s what makes them compelling characters to add to the mix of a Heresy novel. In 30K we see interaction between humans and Astartes through their eyes. It’s still a big deal for mortals to be around Astartes, to meet and talk to them, but it happens. They can even become friends. Just look at Loken and Karkasy, Ahriman and Lemuel (what do you mean you haven’t read A Thousand Sons yet? Okay, okay…I’ll talk about that tomorrow…). The point is, that the horrible divisions wracking 40K haven’t yet split the Imperium into its factionalised state. Mortals still matter to Astartes, and the two exist, side by side, in a – more or less – united front in 30K. All that is lost when the Astartes make war on one another. The bond of trust between humanity and the Astartes is severed, and no-one will ever look at them in the same way again. Gav Thorpe’s excellent audio drama, Raven’s Flight, explores this idea more fully, so if you haven’t already checked it out, do so with all possible speed.

To my mind, it’s the humanity that makes 30K such a sea change from 40K. People care about things that you and I can identify with. Happiness is a possibility in 30K, where in 40K you’re every waking moment is concerned with worshipping the Emperor, working in whatever hellish manufactory you’re stuck in or worrying about being killed by a daemon, xenos beast, piratical raider or even your own rulers. It’s a world where everyone lives in fear, and conventional wisdom tells us that fearful populaces are easier to control. I imagine it’s like living under the constant surveillance of the Stasi or KGB, compared to living in a utopian society where the human spirit is to be celebrated, not crushed. Not a fun place to be.

The Heresy is, as has been said many times, a tragedy, an epic fall from grace brought about by the fatal flaw of its protagonist. But it’s about so much more than just Horus’s downfall, it’s about the terrible waste of a wonderful idea that never came to fruition. Who knows what might have been achieved if Horus hadn’t been seduced by Chaos, or if the Astartes hadn’t turned on one another like rabid dogs. The ultimate success of the Emperor’s grand dream was within touching distance when it was snatched away. You could see it, you could smell it, but just as you were reaching for it, a clawed hand snatched it away and smashed it into pieces that can never be put back together, no matter how hard you try. You might have all the broken shards, but without the glue to hold it in place, you’re always having to stand there holding it so it doesn’t fall apart again. And that’s not progress, that’s stagnation. The watchword for 40K.

30K is progress, 40K is stagnation. That’s about all I need to say.

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