Текст книги "Deliverance Lost"

Автор книги: Гэв Торп

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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

Guild forces were pouring into the city, thousands of warriors clad in armoured environment suits. The distant crackle of las-fire and thunder of heavier weapons cut through the sound of flames and the panicked shouts of the surging throng. Here and there, the fabric of the streets themselves exploded from below as indiscriminate mole mortar fire raked the city from the outskirts.

Screaming and shouting erupted with renewed fervour as the Magnus Caseilifted its foot and stepped along the broad boulevard between two smoking hab-blocks. Defence turrets atop its buttressed and crenellated carapace barked into life as the vapour trails of aircraft cut through the sky above the city.

Amongst the surge of fleeing civilians, Omegon had perfect cover. He stepped from the doorway of a forgehouse and into the crowd, head wrapped in a thick scarf, heavy robes concealing his immense frame. He had discarded his armour, sinking it into a chem-pool in the wastes; it was stealth and not physical defences that would protect him now.

Allowing himself to be pulled along by the stream of people, he flowed with them to where the boulevard broke into a large plaza. There the crowd began to fill the square and their panic grew. Squads of the Mechanicum’s soldiers – the skitarii – were blocking off the exits, forcing back the refugees with electro-staves and warning shots from their autoguns. Tracked weapons platforms were positioned at the intersections, their cyber-augmented crews alert for danger.

It was simple enough for Omegon to use his bulk to force a path through the throng, heading for one of the other roads leading into the plaza. Shouldering aside a tech-priest, he strode to the skitarii cordon. He was met by a company leader, the plates of his carapace armour engraved with Mechanicum runes. The officer looked up at Omegon with mechanical eyes, lenses reflecting the flames consuming the cloudscraper behind the primarch.

‘Captain Vertz of the Talons, let me through,’ snapped Omegon, not allowing the officer a chance to speak. ‘I must report to Ravendelve.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said the officer, waving for his men to drag aside part of the barricade they had erected across the street. ‘There is a column from the sixth district assembling at Foundry Arc, responding to a request from your primarch. You might want to join with them.’

‘Thank you for the information,’ said Omegon, stepping past the skitarii leader. He was genuinely grateful for the knowledge, as it would mean the next phase of his plan would be made a lot easier.

He broke into a run, heading out of the city towards the edges of the rad-wastes.

THE CRASH OF falling masonry announced the destruction of another turret. Ravendelve’s main building shook with the impact as the lights flickered and warning sirens screeched. Agapito had no time to wonder about the significance of this development as he pounded down a flight of stairs towards the armourium.

He was met at the next landing by a squad of Raptors, who were assembling a multi-laser on its tripod. For the last few days, he had spent much of his time with Captain Noriz, taking his advice on the basic defensive strategies his Legion employed. Agapito’s mind was brim-full of attrition ratios, specific killzones and interlocking deployment patterns.

‘That’s no good there!’ he snapped. ‘If the enemy get this far in, it’ll make no difference. Move it to the south transept for a decent field of fire.’

‘Yes, commander!’ replied the squad’s sergeant, even as Agapito continued on his hurried course.

Besides, he thought, I still need an escape route open to me if things get out of hand.

AS AGAPITO ENTERED the armourium level he found the area almost deserted. A few servitors trundled back and forth, hauling ammunition onto the bed of a bulk carrier. They paid him no heed as he ran past. Hearing voices ahead, the commander sidestepped into one of the practice ranges. Footsteps rang on the floor outside and then passed away.

When the sound of the legionaries had faded, Agapito emerged into the main corridor, checking that he was not seen. If his presence was remarked upon he would surely be called upon to take charge in Branne’s absence, a delay he could not afford. He did not know how long he would have, but every second wasted might see his opportunity lost.

ALPHARIUS ENTERED THE gatehouse with a confident stride to find an assortment of Raven Guard already there. Most were Talons, but a squad of Raptors manned the controls of the lascannon batteries overlooking the approach. There were certainly too many legionaries for him to overcome in the same way he had disposed of Dor and Marko.

There was a commotion at the other door as Sergeant Nestil entered, flanked by two warriors from his squad.

‘Activate landing beacons,’ the sergeant ordered. ‘Reinforcements are arriving. Be ready to open the sub-gate to let them in.’

Checking a snarl of frustration, Alpharius moved away from the massive doors of the main gate. His task had been to secure the gates and open them for the arrival of more Alpha Legion troops, but with even more Raven Guard arriving it seemed like a foolhardy move. The implant in his skull was ticking madly, telling him that another Alpha Legionnaire was close at hand, probably within the bastion of the gatehouse. He could not risk arousing suspicion by revealing himself just yet.

Under Nestil’s instruction, the lock bars on a smaller gateway set inside the huge slabs of adamantium-sheathed ferrocrete were disengaged. The postern opened on hydraulic rams, revealing a view of the landing apron between the gatehouse and outer wall. The gatehouse was soon going to be very full, so Alpharius headed up the stairwell leading to the observation gallery that ran above the gates themselves. He found himself in the company of five other Raven Guard, sitting in the cradles of the quad-heavy bolters mounted along the gallery’s outer wall.

Ignoring them, Alpharius looked out of the metre-thick glasteel window. The flare of ramjets descended through the ruddy murk and he recognised the shape of an approaching Thunderhawk, another a hundred metres behind. Touching down on the apron, the black-armoured drop-ship lowered its ramps to disgorge several squads of legionaries moving at the double. As soon as the last Raven Guard disembarked, the Thunderhawk pilot gunned the engines and took off. The second touched down as the first wave of reinforcements filed towards the open postern gate.

At a loss, Alpharius glared down at the two lines of black-armoured figures jogging towards the gatehouse. He watched the second Thunderhawk lift off again as the first wheeled around a few hundred metres from the wall. Something struck him as odd about the Thunderhawk’s manoeuvre and he paid closer attention to the gunship’s approach.

Increasing the magnification of his auto-senses, he zoomed in on the gunship and saw that the locking arms on its missiles had been disengaged. It was about to make an attack run.

He sprinted back towards the stairwell. Four near-simultaneous blasts filled the gallery with flying shrapnel and fire, the shockwave hurling Alpharius through the doorway to send him clattering down the first flight of stairs.

Head ringing, he pushed himself to his feet as he heard the report of bolters from below. The vox was suddenly alive with shouted warnings, before being cut off by deafening static. Two Raven Guard backed into the stairwell beneath, one blazing with his bolter, the other sending a stream of burning promethium from his flamer at some unseen enemy in the main gatehouse.

Alpharius levelled his bolter and opened fire, cutting down the legionary with the flamer. His companion turned in surprise, weapon lifting towards Alpharius. Before he could fire, a ball of plasma screamed through the doorway, exploding against his left side, incinerating half of his body in an instant.

Holding his bolter in one hand to pull free his looted chainsword, Alpharius advanced slowly down the steps, eyes fixed on the doorway. He stopped as he reached ground level, hearing the sounds of fighting lessening. Bolter held out, he stepped around the edge of the arch. The ticking in his head was near-constant now.

He saw Sergeant Nestil striding through a pool of burning promethium, almost on top of Alpharius, flames licking from his breastplate and left arm.

Alpharius readied the chainsword and sprang at the sergeant, sweeping the weapon towards his throat.

Nestil saw the attack and pivoted, catching the side of the chainsword with his forearm to deflect the blow onto his shoulder plate. Monomolecular teeth screeched, churning through paint and ceramite.

‘Hydra!’ Nestil yelled, bringing up his combi-bolter.

‘Effrit,’ Alpharius replied instantly, the counter-signal. He stopped mid-swing, letting the chainsword drop to his side. Nestil also lowered his weapon.

‘Nestil?’ said Alpharius, not quite able to believe that the veteran sergeant was really an Alpha Legionnaire.

‘I am Alpharius,’ the sergeant replied. ‘Ort?’

‘I am Alpharius.’

‘So am I,’ said a voice behind the pair. ‘What a coincidence.’

Both Alpha Legionnaires turned.

‘You?’ said Nestil, shaking his head. ‘One of us is a commander?’

SIXTEEN

The Bombardment of Kiavahr

Ransacked

Sixx’s Revenge

THUNDERHAWKS AND STORMBIRDS were already soaring away from High Dock as Corax entered the landing area. Controller Ephrenia ran to keep up with his long stride, relaying the flow of information being sent to her by the command chamber.

‘Fighting is localised to two cities, lord,’ she said breathlessly, the vox-unit held to her ear. ‘Supreme Magos Deltiari says that he has mobilised the Legio Vindictus to respond. A corps-strength column of skitarii has been despatched to assist in the defence of Ravendelve. The Mark VI manufactorum is under heavy attack but holding out. Guild-loyal forces have besieged Prime Forge and are moving to occupy the old guildhouse at Santrix Tertia. Captain Noriz is already aboard the Wrathful Vanguardwith his Imperial Fists, and is requesting permission to join the counter-attack on Kiavahr… One moment, lord, receiving direct transmission from Ravendelve. Routing it through.’

She handed the receiver to Corax and he stopped at the ramp to his Stormbird.

‘Commander Branne?’ he said. ‘Report.’

‘Not Branne, lord, it’s Vincente Sixx,’ came the reply. ‘Commander Branne has not arrived yet. Commanders Agapito and Solaro are here, though I cannot contact either at present.’

‘Understood,’ said Corax, pushing aside for the moment the question of where Branne was and what was occupying the other two commanders. ‘What is the situation?’

‘Lord, we are under fire from Warhound Titans, as well as several mobile artillery platforms. There’s a guilder column only half a kilometre from the compound, with battle tank and heavy weapons support. I think our defences have been breached, but I cannot confirm that. What should we do?’

‘What do you mean?’ snapped Corax. ‘Defend Ravendelve!’

‘The gene-template, lord,’ said Sixx. ‘We cannot allow it to be taken by guilders. Who could say whose hands it might end up in?’

Corax stopped himself from replying immediately, forcing himself to evaluate the situation objectively.

‘If we destroy the gene-template and research, we condemn nearly a thousand legionaries to a miserable existence,’ said the primarch. ‘We need that template to reverse the effect of the gene contamination.’

‘I understand, lord, but can we risk it?’

‘You will have to use your own judgement, Chief Apothecary,’ said Corax. ‘Lock down the implantation facility and round up some legionaries as a final guard. Have charges set, ready to destroy the gene-template and all associated material. It’s up to you to decide when the risk is too great. I will be at Ravendelve in ninety minutes.’

‘Understood, lord,’ said Sixx. ‘We’ll do everything we can to protect it.’

Shutting off the connection, Corax gave the receiver back to Ephrenia. Her words were lost in the roar of a Thunderhawk taking off a short distance away.

‘What did you say?’ said Corax.

‘Commander Agapito, lord,’ the controller repeated. ‘There have been several potential security breaches connected to Commander Agapito. I brought them to the attention of Commander Branne. That may account for their current incommunicado status.’

‘I don’t have time for a full explanation,’ said Corax, stepping onto the ramp. ‘Send an order to Ravendelve for Solaro to find and detain both of them.’

‘Understood, lord,’ said Ephrenia. ‘I will ensure that any important developments are relayed to your Stormbird channel.’

‘I know you will,’ said Corax, turning back to carefully lay a hand on her shoulder. A smile creased her elderly face. ‘My commanders might be absent with their own agendas, but I can always rely on you, Nasturi.’

He ran up the ramp, calling to the pilot to take off. Seating himself in the custom-made harness in the main compartment, the primarch stared out of the window. The Stormbird shuddered as its engines growled into life, the black of the landing apron dropping away.

The Stormbird turned and accelerated away from the Ravenspire, bringing Kiavahr into view. Corax eyed the planet suspiciously. Like a thorn he had left to fester in his flesh, the guilds had returned to plague him. He had been so keen to leave, to take up the mantle of primarch and join the Great Crusade, he had underestimated their persistence. He chastised himself for the oversight, and added another reprimand for not expecting them to make a move. They had to have heard of Horus’s treachery and now was an ideal opportunity for them to make their play for power.

He remembered a time long past when he could have ended it once and for all.

‘WE CAN ’T LET them attack again,’ argued Reqaui. ‘They got thousands more troops to send and don’t care none about their losses. It don’t matter that we have an army of men willing to lay down their lives, we just can’t match them. They’ll come again and again and again until we’re dead or back in the cells.’

‘I wish I had never considered it,’ said Corvus, staring at the orb of Kiavahr through the wide window of the guard officers’ mess. The couches were ripped and bloodstained, the ornately carved and lacquered tables and cabinets riddled with bullet holes and scarred by las-fire. ‘It is too extreme. There are millions on that world who labour under the yoke of the guilds as much as we did, and who have committed no offence against us.’

‘Reqaui is right, Corax,’ said Nathian. The sub-commander of Wing Two lay on one of the couches, a decanter of distilled spirits balanced on his chest. He sat up, took a swig from the crystal bottle and pointed past Corvus, jabbing his finger at Kiavahr. ‘The bastards deserve it.’

‘I never said that!’ said Reqaui. ‘Didn’t say they deserved it, said it would be the quickest way to bring peace.’

‘You’re drunk,’ said Corvus, crossing the room in three strides to snatch the decanter away from his lieutenant. He placed it on the ripped velvet surface of a snareball table, noticing that there was a detached finger in one of the net pockets.

‘But I ain’t stupid,’ Nathian replied. ‘Kill all the bastards and there won’t be nobody left to fight. That’s peace, right there.’

‘What do you think?’ Corvus asked, turning his gaze towards Branne and Agapito. The two brothers were seated at a table with a collection of maps of the Kiavahran cities laid out between them.

‘I don’t even know if it’s possible,’ said Branne. ‘How do we get them to the surface?’

‘We’ll drop the first charges down the gravity corridor onto Nairhub,’ said Corvus, but then stopped himself, offering no further explanation. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve decided we can’t do it.’

‘Then we better get the defence lasers charged up again,’ said Agapito. ‘The last bombardment severed the mainline cables to the bunkers protecting Wings Four and Five.’

‘We’ll go down fighting, glorious deaths all around!’ said Nathian, using the opportunity to retrieve the decanter and take another mouthful.

‘If that’s what it comes to,’ said the rebels’ leader. ‘Every one of us is prepared to make that sacrifice.’

‘We have to do it, Corvus.’ Attention turned to Ephrenia, who had not yet uttered a word during the entire debate. She sat on the floor with a bandaged and splinted leg raised up on the remnants of a side table. ‘If we do not win, Lycaeus will never be free, and neither will Kiavahr. You have to survive, Corvus. If you die, any hope of liberty dies as well. Thousands, tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands will be killed, but millions will be freed.’

Corvus couldn’t make that choice. There was no guarantee it would work, and what sense was there in crippling Kiavahr, condemning the population to a slow death of thirst and starvation, if it did not bring victory?

‘Break the power of the guilds,’ urged Reqaui.

Corvus nodded reluctantly. There was no other way.

‘Great,’ said Nathian. ‘Let’s get a move on, no time to waste.’

‘It has already been arranged,’ admitted Corvus. He sank down into the couch vacated by Nathian, long legs stretching out across the burnt carpet. ‘Turman and Wing One have loaded five atomic charges into drop-shuttles. Their guidance systems have been locked on to Nairhub, Toldrian Magna and Chaes. All I have to do is send them the order.’

Ephrenia pulled herself up with a grunt of pain and hobbled across the room. She lowered herself to the floor beside Corvus and rested her arm on his knee.

‘Time won’t make it any easier to give that command,’ she said, looking up at him with soft eyes.

With a sigh, Corvus gestured to Agapito, who pulled the radio from his jacket pocket and tossed it across the room. Catching it easily, Corvus flicked the switch to transmit.

‘Turman, this is Corvus,’ he said slowly. ‘Launch the shuttles.’

The guerrilla commander switched off the device and let it drop to the floor. He turned his head to look through the window. After a few minutes, the engines of the drop-shuttles could be seen moving away into the darkness that separated Lycaeus and Kiavahr.

‘Shit,’ said Nathian, flopping into a chair. He raised the decanter in Corvus’s direction. ‘We’re actually going to win, aren’t we?’

‘Branne, I want you on the main transmitter,’ Corvus said, staring at the ruddy orb of Kiavahr. The light of the system’s star was just starting to spread across the continent called Garrus. He pictured the thousands of people who were just waking to report for the first work shifts, thousands who would not finish those shifts. There was no point trying to hide from what he had done, though he knew the innocent would be incinerated along with the guilty. ‘I want you to make a general broadcast on every guild channel when the charges go off.’

‘No problem,’ said Branne. ‘What message should I send?’

‘Tell the guilders that over centuries of subjugation, they stockpiled one thousand three hundred and twenty atomic charges on Lycaeus. I have only used five.’

THE CLOUDS OF Kiavahr filled the view from the Stormbird, streaming past in vermillion tatters. Corax would be at Ravendelve in less than thirty minutes, but to the primarch it felt like it might as well be a century. He flexed his fingers in agitation, frustrated by the course of events that had overtaken the Raven Guard. Superstition was anathema to the Imperial Truth, and he had never been an irrational person, but it seemed as if his Legion had been cursed since they first made planetfall on Isstvan.

He corrected himself. They had survived Isstvan, when other Legions had not. Through determination and courage, the Raven Guard had endured, and would endure their current tribulations.

The chime of the communicator set into the head rest of his seat broke his thoughts, signalling a transmission on the command channel.

‘Establish contact,’ he said, leaning back from the port. ‘This is Corax.’

‘Lord Corax, this is Branne.’

‘Where in the Emperor’s name are you?’ snarled the primarch. ‘Ravendelve is in danger of being overrun.’

‘Lord Corax, you mustn’t land at Ra–’

Another chime interrupted Branne’s reply, and it was Ephrenia that Corax heard next.

‘Lord, we have registered a target signal directed at Ravendelve from orbit,’ the controller said hurriedly.

‘Source?’

‘It’s from the Avenger, lord!’

‘I can confirm that, lord,’ said Branne as the two channels merged.

‘How?’ said Corax.

‘Because I am aboard the Avengerand have four cyclotronic torpedoes loaded and aimed at Ravendelve, lord.’

Corax could scarcely believe what he was hearing. It took him several seconds to digest the information.

‘Why would you be doing that, commander?’ the primarch asked, his tone as cold as ice.

‘If there is any possibility of the guilders obtaining the gene-tech, I will vaporise the entire site,’ Branne said, his voice quiet. ‘Lord, we have made hard decisions before now to protect the Legion.’

‘There are Raven Guard on the surface, commander,’ Corax said, choosing his words carefully. ‘Why would you fire on your own Legion?’

‘Only out of necessity, lord,’ Branne replied evenly. ‘Please do not land at Ravendelve, that would complicate things.’

‘Are you trying to force my hand, commander?’ snapped Corax. ‘Is that a threat?’

‘No, lord, it is a plea,’ Branne replied. ‘If you land at Ravendelve, I will not open fire, but we may lose the gene-seed.’

Corax lashed out, his fist buckling the bulkhead beneath the port.

‘Why did you not wait for instruction from me?’ he demanded.

‘I feared you would overrule my decision, lord,’ Branne said. ‘Your desire to rebuild the Raven Guard has consumed you of late, and weighs on your ability to make clear judgement.’

Corax threw off his harness and stood up, seething.

‘Corvus, you have known me for many years and I have never been anything other than loyal to you,’ Branne’s voice continued through the speaker. ‘We will find another way to survive if we have to. Please do not land at Ravendelve. The Legion, the Emperor and the Imperium, need you to stay alive. I await your orders.’

The words cut through the primarch’s anger. It was the same voice that had been with him when Lycaeus was freed and Deliverance born. It was the voice that had calmly relayed his orders over a hundred battlefields. It was the voice that had welcomed him back after the nightmare of Isstvan.

It was a voice he trusted.

Corax was breathing heavily, blood surging through his body, his thoughts a whirlwind. A face appeared in his thoughts, contorted with hatred, black eyes filled with venom, the face of a creature prey to dark passion. The face of Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter, whom he should have slain.

He could not let love of his Legion destroy him, the way hatred had destroyed Curze.

‘Very well, commander,’ he said. ‘Remain on station and await my order. If Ravendelve is to be destroyed, it will be by my command.’

Caught between several courses of action, Sixx had begun the lockdown process but not finalised the protocols. He needed to secure some thermal charges from the armourium, but every squad seemed to be occupied in defending the curtain wall. Neither Solaro nor Agapito could be raised, leaving the Apothecary in a quandary: should he leave the infirmary to fetch the explosives himself?

He decided that the infirmary was not under immediate threat, so he would have to risk making the trip in person. Sealing the outer door with his command key, Sixx hurried along the corridor to the conveyor. It was not there and he urgently pulled the call lever.

He stepped back in surprise as the elevator doors slammed open just a few seconds later, leaving him standing face-to-face with Commander Solaro. He was flanked by a handful of legionaries, their black armour glinting in the blue glow of the commander’s drawn power sword.

‘A great mercy!’ said Sixx. ‘Commander, I need you t–’

Solaro lanced his blade through Sixx’s chest without a word. Blood bubbled up the throat of the Chief Apothecary, turning his exclamation of shock into a gargling flurry of crimson bubbles.

Solaro pulled the power sword free, leaving Sixx to drop face-first to the ground.

‘Get the digi-key,’ said Solaro, heading up the corridor.

Sixx could do nothing as one of the legionaries crouched down and tore the chain from around his neck. As blackness swept over him, Sixx’s last thought was of the terrible mistake he had made.

‘WHAT’S THE DELAY?’ demanded Nexin Orlandriaz as he threw open the top hatch of his crawler. He swivelled in the cupola to glare back down the column of tanks and transports snaking back into the mist. His lungs stung in the acrid air, but the pollution was nothing his modified body could not process.

The skitarii corps consisted of two thousand cybernetically enhanced warriors travelling in eight slab-sided Dominator mobile fortresses, another five hundred marching alongside. Around the armoured behemoths were several more of the small recon crawlers, hidden behind a rag-tag assortment of tanks that had been gathered together to provide further protection: Imperial Army Leman Russ battle tanks and Falchions, Predators that had been destined for the Raven Guard and three Iron Angel-class heavy walkers that stomped along on four legs, their hulls bristling with anti-personnel weapons.

‘Some of the praetorians got bogged down,’ a ballistae sergeant shouted back from the back of his four-man self-propelled assault gun. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to where large figures were emerging from the fog.

Each was as large as a legionary or bigger, vat-grown for the purpose, and each of the dozen combat servitors was armed with an assortment of chainguns, rocket pods and multi-lasers. Some weapons were carried on armoured harnesses, others replaced limbs or were riveted and welded into the artificial flesh of the praetorians.

Alongside them strode the herakli, more vat-grown giants clad in thick robes and cowls covered in Mechanicum sigils, chests and shoulders protected by plates of ceramite. They hefted multi-barrelled cannons and heavy lasers as easily as a skitarii carried his lasgun. One of the herakli stopped beside Orlandriaz’s crawler, staring up at him with his face hidden by the shadow of his hood. This caused the others to pause and gaze at the magos.

‘Taskmaster! Keep them going forwards,’ Orlandriaz bellowed.

A functionary in heavy coveralls and visored helmet barked orders at the servitors and they lumbered on again.

They were only half a kilometre from Ravendelve; Orlandriaz had met them at the two-kilometre cordon to escort them in safely. Two Warhound Titans were blasting away at the curtain wall to the west, scourging the rockcrete with Vulcan bolters and turbo-lasers. The booming of artillery fire was near-constant, as was the ripple of detonations slowly cracking apart the thick outer shell of the main compound. Orlandriaz could see nothing of the new buildings, but the thick columns of smoke billowing up from where they had been erected did not bode well.

Sinking back into his command chair, Orlandriaz barked an order into the metal ear of the pilot servitor. The crawler lurched forwards and then settled, tracks churning through the slick dirt. The magos pulled back his hood and slipped on the communicator headset.

‘Colonel Kuerstandt, have half the Dominators redirect against the rebels,’ the magos said.

‘I’ll send the tanks too, they’ll be no use inside the wall,’ the skitarii commander replied. ‘What about the rest?’

‘We go in through the main gate and into the central courtyard. I am trying to raise a contact with a Raven Guard commander, but there is no response at the moment. However, our alliance broadcast is being received and secure approach signal has been sent back, so we are safe to enter.’

‘Affirmative, magos,’ said Kuerstandt. ‘I will personally command the counter-attack against these Omnissiah-damned traitors.’

‘Of course,’ said Orlandriaz. ‘With all speed, colonel. We must ensure the guilders do not breach Ravendelve.’

TWO OTHER DISGUISED Alpha Legionnaires guarded the door while Solaro, Nestil and Ort gathered up everything they could that was related to the gene-tech project. Ort and Solaro scoured the archive databases, copying thousands of files onto crystal chips while Ort used Sixx’s key to access the gene-template sanctum.

Nestil knew exactly what to do, and opened the stasis chamber. He still had the stasis container that had held the gene-virus, and into this he slipped the glassite tube containing the primarch material. It looked different now, darker and thicker.

‘Delete everything,’ said Solaro, slipping a data crystal from its slot in the main archive bank. ‘Let’s not leave anything to be found.’

Ort moved from console to console, activating the scour programme as Nestil started picking out test slides from a micro-analyser, gathering them into a belt pouch. Solaro powered up a vacant terminal and punched in the command access codes.

‘The Thunderhawks are still on the landing pad,’ he said. ‘That will be our extraction point. The others have formed a cordon to stop the skitarii reaching us. When we arrive, we’ll fall back by squads and then get out of here. I will signal Betato begin her run into orbit for the rendezvous.’

‘Just because you’re pretending to be a commander, doesn’t put you in charge,’ Nestil said with a laugh.

‘Have you got a better plan?’ snapped Solaro. ‘We don’t have time for games.’

‘Calm down,’ said Nestil. ‘The Raven Guard don’t have a clue we are here. Let’s just move to the main gate and not draw attention to ourselves.’

The bead in Nestil’s ear crackled into life.

‘Effrit-hydra-omega. All contacts, report progress.’ The primarch’s voice was distorted and muffled.

‘Contact Three reporting,’ said Ort. ‘All three contacts have met with assistance forces. Mission accomplished. Establishing our exit route.’

‘You are a credit to the Legion, all of you,’ said the primarch. ‘You are ahead of schedule, so I have one final task.’

‘Yes, we’re ready,’ said Ort.

‘The Raven Guard moved their gene-seed store to Ravendelve to aid in the implantation process,’ said Omegon. ‘It is located in a vault adjacent to the infirmary.’