Текст книги "Deliverance Lost"

Автор книги: Гэв Торп

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

That Corax had deigned to address them personally added to Navar’s conviction that something out of the ordinary was occurring. His idle thoughts melted away as the primarch spoke. Corax’s voice was quiet but assured, full of conviction and authority. It was impossible not to listen, and Navar quickly forgot all of the rumours and gossip, drawn in by the primarch’s irresistible tone.

‘You have proven yourselves to be exemplars, the fittest and brightest humanity has to offer,’ said Corax. ‘Every new generation of Raven Guard are to be lauded and celebrated as bearers of the Legion’s traditions and future warriors of the Emperor. Those of you gathered here will be more than that. You will embody the Raven Guard and the ideals of Deliverance like no others before you. You are shortly to become legionaries, and you should take pride in that. Yet you must also reconcile yourselves to a burden the likes of which no previous generation has borne.’

Corax leaned on the metal rail of the balcony and bowed his head for a moment, eyes closed. When he opened them, Navar felt swallowed by their blackness. His awe evaporated, replaced by dread as Corax continued.

‘Much of what you have heard in recent days is true. The Warmaster, Horus Lupercal, is a traitor to the Emperor. The Raven Guard have suffered badly from his treachery and our strength is much diminished. You will be the first legionaries that start us back on the road to recovery, the first generation to fight for a return to glory. Your elevation takes place at a time more troubled than any in the Legion’s proud history. You will be tested, physically and in your hearts, like no other legionaries before you.’

The primarch’s mood brightened, and it seemed as if the hall itself lightened in reflection of this.

‘Take heart that you will not be found wanting. Your dedication and courage will not fail. As novitiates you have proven yourselves worthy of bearing the colours of the Raven Guard. The ignorant may look at you and see fresh faces and young hearts, but they do not see what I see. I see the same valour and pride in you that I saw in the eyes of the young men and women who fought beside me to free Deliverance. It is their example you must follow, and their example that you will surpass. If you don’t believe me, ask old Branne here. I remember when he was just a babe, mewling for his mother’s teat!’

Navar laughed along with the others, amused and not a little disturbed by the thought of the hoary commander having once been an infant. The laughter subsided as Corax’s expression grew grim again.

‘The trials begin now. Your patience, endurance and trust will be sorely tested by what you are about to undergo, but they are nothing more than practice for the tribulations that await us further down the road. You will act as Raven Guard. You will endure and grow stronger.’ Corax lifted a fist above his head. ‘I salute you, recruits of the Raven Guard. Your transports await. You leave Ravenspire as novitiates, but will return as warriors of the Legiones Astartes!’

‘For the Emperor and the Legion!’ bellowed Branne, duplicating his lord’s salute.

‘For the Emperor and the Legion!’ Navar shouted along with the others, raising his fist as high as he could reach, straining to make his voice a manly roar.

THERE WAS A time for stealth and a time for violence. Since he had arrived on Kiavahr, Omegon had exclusively practised the former, but he felt a sense of release, almost joy, as the sentry’s head imploded within his closing fingers. Flicking skull fragments and slick brain matter from his gauntlets, Omegon stepped over the twitching body while Rufan and Alias stooped to pick up the corpse. The two Alpha Legionnaires casually tossed the remains into a nearby chem-pool. Noxious fluids bubbled as the body sank, releasing methane-tainted puffs of air.

With gore-stained fingers, Omegon wrenched aside the bars across the sewer inlet, the corroded steel turning to flakes in his hands. Turning sideways, the primarch lowered his bulk into the channel beyond, the culvert barely large enough for his armoured frame. A thin sludge of slimy effluent trickled along the bottom of the rockcrete tunnel, stinking but harmless to his enhanced physiology.

As they entered, the ruddy light from outside grew dimmer. Omegon activated his suit lamps, two cones of yellow springing from powerful emitters fixed around his eye lenses. Treading carefully, footfalls muffled by rubber-like overshoes, the three warriors of the Alpha Legion advanced forty metres up the gently sloping pipe, stopping by another barred opening. The barrier was no more obstacle than the first, and within a few seconds, Omegon was stepping through the breach into the room beyond.

The chamber was hexagonal, the ceiling a little higher than the primarch could reach with his fingertips, the floor coated with a thin layer of chemical effluent fed by inlets on each wall. Looking up, Omegon was pleased to see that Armand Eloqi’s information had been correct: a circular access hatch punctured the centre of the ceiling. The building had once belonged to Eloqi’s guild, now turned into communications relay for the Mechanicum.

Alias and Rufan lifted Omegon up so that he could reach the rusted turn wheel. After a little initial resistance, it spun easily in the primarch’s hands. A clank signalled the disengagement of the lock. Omegon pushed open the hatch, took hold of the lip and pulled himself up, shoulder pads scraping the side of the hole. At a crouch, Omegon turned around and headed in the direction Eloqi had told him, while the other two dragged themselves up behind.

‘Cutter,’ said Omegon, holding out his hand behind him.

Rufan took the device from his belt and placed it in Omegon’s grip. It looked like a snub-nosed pistol, two gas canisters where the magazine would have been. Thumbing the valve open, Omegon pressed the trigger and a white-hot flame erupted from the muzzle. Reaching above him, the primarch turned on the spot, slicing an almost complete circle in the metal decking above him. When he was done, he turned off the cutter and passed it back to Rufan.

Shuffling back a few steps to give himself space, Omegon lay on his back and kicked upwards. The rough circle of metal broke free and landed with a clatter on the floor above. With room to stand now, Omegon examined the small alcove he had broken into. A nest of wires criss-crossed each other from dozens of circuits and switches. In a few seconds, he had analysed the layout, creating a schematic in his head. There was not a communications system he could not access and this one was crude by Mechanicum standards.

Opening up a plate on his right vambrace, Omegon pulled free several wires and plugged them into the required sockets in the switching boards around him. He activated his communications suite, quickly scanning the frequencies around him until he could home in on the signal he was looking for. An insistent beeping became louder in his ear and he turned left and right, rearranging and rewiring a few of the relays to fine-tune the signal. On the roof above, the dishes would be turning on their gimbals, aligning themselves towards Deliverance.

‘Effrit code, hydra-seven-omega,’ grated an artificial voice. The primarch smiled as he locked down the receiver, the words he had heard confirmation of what he had hoped for. At least one of his legionnaires had succeeded in infiltrating the Raven Guard.

‘Access cryptoduct, theru gaili ta nurun,’ said Omegon. The words were meaningless syllables known only to the twin primarchs. ‘ Gaion sackrit kess.’

There followed a few seconds of static as the connection was established with the tiny stealth-fielded satellite that Omegon had left in orbit over Deliverance. It was no larger than a fist, just a piece of debris, but the cryptoduct device was capable of detecting, decoding and recording any signal within a narrow range of frequencies, frequencies known only to the Alpha Legion. He was also able to implant messages onto the cryptoduct for access by others. It was the perfect go-between, ensuring that both sender and receiver were anonymous and since it could be accessed from anywhere within several hundred thousand miles, their locations would remain unknown.

‘Lord Effrit, this is Alpharius,’ said the message. Omegon smiled again. It was a conceit, perhaps, but never failed to amuse him. ‘Infiltration successful. Objective identified as primarch genetic data. Location is Ravendelve. Awaiting instruction.’

The transmission ended. Omegon had been expecting many things, but not this. Corax had access to the primarch project? The implications were immediately obvious, both the risks and benefits of the current plan. For a moment Omegon considered changing his objective. If the Raven Guard were able to rebuild their Legion with this knowledge, the swift victory of Horus, and the ultimate destruction of the Primordial Annihilator, could be put in jeopardy. The prudent approach would be to destroy the technology before its secrets could be gleaned by Corax.

Despite that, Omegon could not quite convince himself to follow this course of action. The danger presented was but the weight on one side of the balance. On the other side had to be set the advantages of claiming this technology for the Alpha Legion. Omegon did not doubt that Corax had a good chance of cracking the primarch gene-seed open, certainly a better chance than the Alpha Legion, even with the assistance of the Order of the Dragon.

For the moment it would be best to allow the Raven Guard to continue their investigations. When they had discovered something of value, the secret could be stolen and the Raven Guard destroyed. If the discovery was of the magnitude Omegon imagined it to be, it would herald a new beginning for the Alpha Legion. To possess the secrets of the primarchs was a prize worth a few risks.

With everything the Alpha Legion did, there was always some extra agenda that could be forwarded, some additional objective that could be achieved. In the case of the Raven Guard, Omegon and Alpharius had decided that they would first relieve the Legion of the Terran technology that would be imparted to them, and then the Raven Guard would be destroyed, with all news of the event carefully contained from both the Emperor and Horus. Kiavahr would become loyal to Horus and, finally, the Raven Guard would live again, with Alpha Legionnaires masquerading in place of the dead Legion. The scope to cause confusion and mayhem would be vast once Omegon had achieved these three goals and he paused in his work and grinned at the thought of it.

He adjusted his connection to the relay, switching to a transmission format.

‘Effrit code, omega-seven-hydra,’ he said. ‘You are Contact One. Assigned sub-channel alpha-three. Orders will be forthcoming.’

As he cut the link, Omegon noticed something else he had not expected. He checked his findings, and found his initial instinct had been correct. The signal to the cryptoduct had been made from a triple-secure Raven Guard source.

That it came from Ravenspire was not a surprise. That it was on the highest-level command channel was.

‘I WISH THERE was some soundproofing down here,’ said Sixx, walking between the cages that had been built in the western vestibule. A cacophony of howls, growls, whines and screeches heralded his progress along the corridor. ‘I am worried the recruits can hear all of this racket.’

‘I am sure I will be able to obtain some form of sonic dampening field from one of my fellow magi,’ replied Orlandriaz, walking beside the Apothecary.

‘Out of the question,’ said Sixx. ‘The primarch was clear in his instruction: no contact with the Kiavahran Mechanicum. Even your presence here suggests something of what we are working on. It must remain undisclosed.’

‘A grave mistake, I am sure,’ said the tech-priest. ‘Aside from that technology which we recovered from Terra, the facility here is exceptionally sparse.’

‘You think that the resources of the Raven Guard are limited?’ Sixx was incredulous, almost stopping in his stride. ‘You realise that we have been implanting gene-seed into recruits for decades?’

‘Yes, and the systems you use have not progressed at all in that time,’ replied Orlandriaz. ‘Even without the primarch data, I am positive I could have increased your productivity by ten, perhaps even fifteen per cent.’

‘We are not a manufactorum, Nexin. The creation of legionaries is not a production line process.’

‘It will be, when we have completed our task.’

The Chief Apothecary’s reply was silenced as the door at the far end of the corridor opened, revealing Commander Agapito. His expression was all Sixx needed to know that their latest report to Corax had not been received well.

The Commander of the Talons stalked along the passageway, boots ringing loudly. Snarls and spitting erupted from the nearby cages.

‘You don’t have to say anything, commander,’ said Sixx, as he came up to Agapito. ‘Lord Corax wishes for more encouraging results, yes?’

‘I hope you have at least a small success story I can take back to him,’ said Agapito. He glanced into the cage to his left and shook his head with disgust at what he saw within. ‘He is keen… No, that doesn’t really convey his mood. He is adamantthat you proceed beyond these pointless trials and begin work on perfecting the formula for the recruits.’

‘Pointless?’ Orlandriaz bunched his fists and his lip twitched in irritation. ‘I am sure the primarch would be even more angered if we had turned his first batch of legionaries into these…’

He waved his hand to encompass the long line of cages. Beyond the bars, mammalian and reptilian things hunkered and paced. Some were unidentifiable, little more than mewling, distorted conglomerations of flesh. Most were warped by over-sized muscles, others had bony growths splitting their scales or fur. Several had extra limbs, additional eyes, overgrown fangs or distended spines.

A green-furred mouse the size of a dog lunged against the bars of one cage, its claws sheathing and unsheathing spasmodically, tusks protruding from its lower jaw. In another enclosure, a two-headed snake, several metres long, coiled menacingly, its tail tipped with a jagged barb. From every cage, deformed monstrosities glared and snapped, regarding the legionaries and tech-priest with predatory intent.

‘Corax thinks it is a mistake to use animal subjects,’ said Agapito. ‘He does not suggest that you introduce the new gene-seed directly to the recruits, and Branne certainly won’t allow it. By the other hand, introducing primarch genetic material to non-human hosts will never be successful.’

‘Then we are caught in a bind,’ said Sixx. ‘How are we to ensure the new gene-seed works if we cannot trial it in organic hosts? Our data modelling can only prove so much.’

‘That is not my problem, it is yours.’

‘We will have to return to base cell analysis,’ said Orlandriaz, eyes fixed on a massively-shouldered lizard with horny growths protruding from its spine. ‘We can certainly eradicate more of the anomalous reactions.’

‘But nothing of cerebral impact or behavioural side-effects,’ said Sixx.

‘Aggression is not necessarily a bad thing in a legionary,’ said Orlandriaz.

‘We’ll leave the mindless ferocity to the World Eaters,’ replied the Apothecary. ‘We need disciplined, efficient warriors.’

‘What shall I tell Lord Corax?’ asked Agapito. ‘He will expect me to return with some news of progress and a firm plan for resolving any problems.’

Sixx and Orlandriaz looked at each other. The Apothecary sighed and nodded.

‘I’ll euthanise these abominations and study the cellular breakdown,’ said Sixx. ‘That should give us some new data to incorporate into the models.’

‘I will restart the base cell experiments with a modified gene-seed,’ said Orlandriaz.

‘How long?’ asked Agapito. ‘I understand that you need to get this right, and I will support you in every way I can, but the primarch is understandably impatient. Every day we spend now is a day closer to Horus being ready to launch an attack on Terra.’

‘When we are successful, time will not be an issue,’ said Orlandriaz. He pointed to the creatures in the cages towards the far end of the corridor. ‘Those are the results of our implantation since we compiled the latest report. We introduced the genetic template into infants to record the time required for full maturation of the gene-seed.’

The animals in the cages were full grown, some of them showing the mutation of the others, but a few seemed to be ordinary specimens, large for their species but otherwise normal. Agapito shook his head in confusion and amazement.

‘You only submitted your report forty hours ago,’ said the commander.

‘Thirty-seven point three hours, to be exact,’ said Orlandriaz, smiling thinly. ‘Given the longer maturation period of the average human male, I estimate the entire process, once perfected, will take between seventy and eighty Terran hours.’

Agapito shook his head again, this time with a grin.

‘That is remarkable. Eighty hours to turn a boy into a legionary? Well, in body at least.’

‘Not just physiologically, commander,’ said Sixx, now becoming more enthusiastic. ‘Our recruits will emerge from the process with mental and physical aptitudes beyond anything we’ve seen before. They’ll be quick learners too. A little bonus of the primarch material. Our new legionaries will be primed and ready from the outset.’

‘That is fascinating news,’ said Agapito. ‘To pass on to Corax, of course. Take as much time as you need to complete the gene-seed. There is no reason to proceed with anything less than a perfect sample. I look forward to hearing of your success as soon as possible. If what the primarch says about broadening out the recruitment base is true, there could be a near-limitless supply of legionaries. I’ll inform Lord Corax of your findings.’

‘Yes, commander,’ said Orlandriaz. Agapito and Sixx exchanged nods of respect before the commander strode away. Neither Apothecary nor tech-priest said anything until the door at the end of the passage closed behind Agapito.

‘I am pleased the commander seems so eager,’ said Orlandriaz. ‘His brother has been much more reticent in his approval of our project.’

‘He used to be one of the staunchest Legion traditionalists,’ Sixx said distractedly, still looking at the closed door. ‘He and Branne were hard-headed about their Deliverance heritage, hammered it into me and the rest of the recruits from the first day we were made novitiates. I suppose losing so many warriors on Isstvan has changed his mind about being so selective.’

‘I fear he may over-represent our progress to your primarch,’ said Orlandriaz. ‘We should continue our studies with a degree of alacrity.’

‘Agreed,’ said Sixx. ‘If we cannot produce something tangible soon, Lord Corax may become even more impatient. I’ve never considered him rash, but he is very determined to begin the rebuilding.’

‘Adversity often creates desperation,’ said Orlandriaz.

‘Not ever!’ snapped Sixx, rounding on the tech-priest, remembering words spoken by his primarch during the long retreat from the dropsite massacre. ‘We are Raven Guard. Deliverance was born out of determination and perseverance. Strife is our sustenance, adversity is our ally. Attack, withdraw and attack again. That is our creed, the lifeblood of the Legion. The Raven Guard do not become desperate when circumstance does not favour us. We become more dangerous.’

THE SLAP OF bare feet on black-painted ferrocrete brought back memories to Alpharius as he stood watching the recruits running circuits of the main hall. He knew the memories were not his own – they had been removed by the Alpha Legion’s Librarians – but the recollections were exceptionally vivid, coming to him as brief snatches: scenes and tableaux that lasted a few seconds each. His training had taken place in Ravenspire rather than down here on Kiavahr, but he had performed the same drills as the youths around him.

‘Ready weapons!’ barked Branne from the stage area at one end of the vaulted chamber. ‘Form up for firing practice.’

The recruits dashed to the crates at the centre of the hall and took up simple automatic rifles from within. These were training weapons duplicating the weight and bulk of a bolter to a full-fledged legionary; without gene-seed enhancement even a full-grown man could not train with a proper Legiones Astartes bolter. The snap of magazines being slipped into place joined the patter of running feet.

In groups of five, the recruits lined up in front of Branne’s position. He waved each squad forwards. Panting, red-faced young men lifted their weapons to their shoulders, took aim at the ceramite target tiles on the far wall and opened fire. The rattle of shots and tinkle of expended cases filled the room.

After firing for a few seconds, the first group peeled away and the second squad took up position. One of the recruits was struggling with the magazine on his weapon and approached Alpharius.

‘I can’t get it to eject, sergeant,’ said the boy, face screwed up with frustration. He looked up at Alpharius – the novitiate’s eyes were just about level with the bottom of the legionary’s breastplate. ‘It’s stuck solid!’

‘Calm down and try again,’ said Alpharius. ‘What is your name, novitiate?’

‘Hef, sergeant,’ said the recruit. He struggled again with the release catch, sweaty hands slipping on the smooth metal of the rifle. ‘Navar Hef.’

‘Let me see,’ said Alpharius, holding out his hand. He took the rifle, examined it quickly and handed it back to Hef. ‘The last round did not properly clear the chamber. Look.’

The novitiate examined the rifle, shamefaced. He manually expelled the spent casing and then ejected the magazine.

‘Punishment, ten laps,’ said Alpharius. ‘Battle pace. Move!’

Hef took hold of his rifle properly and set off towards the edge of the hall, perspiration glistening from his shaved scalp. Alpharius could hear him counting out the rhythm of his strides between gasping breaths. There was innocence and dedication there. Hef was a fine recruit.

It was a shame he would be killed along with the rest of the Raven Guard.

Alpharius felt uncomfortable at the thought. More than uncomfortable, in fact. He was not sure how he would define the emotion that made his chest a little tight as he watched the novitiates continue their weapon practice. Guilt, perhaps? It certainly was not a sensation he had felt before, and the Alpha Legionnaire did not like it at all. He cleared his throat in agitation and snapped out a reprimand to a pair of recruits who had sagged down to a crouch at the back of the line. They stood up sharp at his words.

It seemed such a waste. Corax and the senior commanders would never be moved to join the Alpha Legion, but these novitiates were fine young men, who would be ideal recruits for the Legion. Their deaths seemed a little unnecessary.

Alpharius was not sure where these doubts were coming from. He blamed the false memories. They had been increasing in recent days. He could clearly recall the first time he had set out from Ravendelve into the atomic wasteland, though nothing of what had happened after leaving the armoured compound. Names of fellow legionaries haunted him, Raven Guard that had fallen on Isstvan. His fellow legionaries referred to them sometimes and he would have a flash of a face, or instinctively smile at some half-remembered joke, or briefly relive a moment in battle alongside the fallen warrior.

He had to focus. He was not a legionary of the Raven Guard, he was an Alpha Legionnaire. His primarch was not Corax, his oaths had been made to Alpharius and Omegon. In their wisdom, the twin primarchs had chosen to back Horus’s rebellion, and he had to trust that it was for good reason. The fall of the Raven Guard, the taking of the gene-tech, would serve a greater purpose.

Holding on to that thought, Alpharius suppressed the memories bubbling up from the depths of his altered mind. I am Alpharius, he told himself. I am Alpharius.

DESCENDING THE RAMP of his Stormbird, Branne was surprised to find Controller Ephrenia waiting for him in the docking bay. She held a data-slate, which she wordlessly passed to the commander as he walked towards the bay doors. With so many lost at Isstvan – legionaries and ordinary humans alike – the controller had been promoted from strategium officer on the Avengerto the command centre at the tip of Ravenspire.

‘What am I looking at?’ asked Branne. ‘I have come back to answer a summons from the primarch.’

‘Transmission data, commander,’ said Ephrenia. She took the tablet back for a moment, tapped the screen twice and returned it to Branne’s grip. ‘As per your orders, we conducted a survey of all communications logs that the Word Bearers Chaplain had access to, both from Deliverance and via Kiavahr’s network. We detected several anomalous transmissions.’

‘Anomalous?’ said Branne. Pistons wheezed as the great doors to the dock opened up in front of him. He stopped to look down at the controller. ‘Be more specific.’

‘Non-Mechanicum and non-Legion frequencies and channels, commander.’

‘Not that surprising, really,’ said Branne, resuming his stride. ‘There are many commercial vessels, Imperial Army ships and other non-affiliated ships in the system.’

‘These transmissions have a Legiones Astartes signature, commander,’ Ephrenia said patiently.

Branne stopped again and studied the tablet with more deliberate intent. The controller was correct, there was a Legiones Astartes cipher and modulation pattern to the recorded transmissions.’

‘All are flash-traffic, commander,’ continued Ephrenia. ‘Compressed, in my opinion.’

‘Wait, I recognise this transponder code,’ said Branne, highlighting one of the entries with a jabbed finger.

‘Yes, commander, it is a Ravenspire access cipher,’ the controller said. Her voice lowered as she continued. ‘I came to you directly because of that. It is Commander Agapito’s broadcast channel.’

‘I see,’ said Branne. This information perturbed him, but he assured himself his brother would be able to offer a sensible explanation for its purpose. That did not explain the mystery of the remaining transmissions. ‘What of the others?’

‘Some are old Lycaen security frequencies, and two are on the defunct guild networks, commander. Impossible to pin down a source, but they originate on Kiavahr.’

‘Dissidents, no doubt,’ said Branne.

‘A significant peak in traffic, commander. Previous communications detected on those frequencies were sporadic and clustered. The pattern here is more sustained. I believe it might signify some attempt to reestablish the old guild structures.’

‘Good work,’ said Branne. ‘I will take care of this matter from here. Nothing to get too worried about yet. I shall perform further investigations before I distract Lord Corax with this information.’

‘As you wish, commander,’ said Ephrenia, with a bow.

‘Wait a moment,’ said Branne as the controller made to step away. ‘Contact Commander Agapito and request him to meet me in my chambers in an hour.’

‘Yes, commander.’

‘And set up a monitor on Commander Agapito’s channel. Let me know if there are any further irregularities.’

‘Yes, commander. Is that all?’

‘Return to your duties.’

Ephrenia strode down the corridor, leaving Branne with uneasy thoughts. The pro-guild sympathisers on Kiavahr were stirring up trouble, he was sure. It was inconvenient but not a significant threat. It would be simple enough to inform the Mechanicum of the matter.

He took a step and then stopped with a hissed curse. If he warned the Mechanicum of any surge in dissident activity, they would be required to perform a scouring of the rad-wastes, or at the very least intensify their observation and security of the area. That would lead to greater scrutiny around Ravendelve, a turn of events Lord Corax would be keen to avoid.

Branne rubbed in his chin, caught between courses of action. He was sure that the dissidents could pose no military threat to the facility, but their timing was inconvenient. With so much out-system traffic coming through the star system at the moment, it was quite possible that agitators sent by Horus were stirring up trouble to keep the Raven Guard occupied.

It was just a theory, and he would need more solid evidence before it was worth notifying the primarch. Lord Corax was intent on the gene-tech project, spending most of his time bunkered up in Ravendelve with Sixx and the tech-priest. Even when he was back on Deliverance, the primarch spent most of his time poring over the reports and studies, incommunicado except for urgent matters.

Unsure how to proceed, Branne realised he was going to be late for his meeting with Corax. He folded up the data tablet and hurried along the corridor, hoping the primarch would not remark on his tardiness.