Anarch - Dan Abnett
Page 24
‘Access crypt K of the Gnosis Repository,’ Sindre said to a trio of waiting adepts logis.
‘Crypt K is released and waiting,’ one replied in a synthesised voice.
Sindre led them across the lab. A compression hatch parted with a pneumatic hiss. What lay beyond resembled a detention bay. The deck was underlit and the general light levels were low. Thick pipework ran along one wall, connecting to a complex junction of ducts and vertical pipes at the far end of the bay. Massive hatches lined the other side. Light beading around each hatch glowed red, except for one hatch towards the far end, where the beading shone green.
Etriun entered the bay, followed by one of the skitarii officers and one of the warrior-caste. Sindre followed with Pasha’s team. The other skitarii remained on the lab side of the hatch.
‘Wait,’ said Sindre. ‘This is the Gnosis Repository. The crypt-safes contain their most precious relics. The versenginseer will perform the retrieval.’
The Ghosts halted. Etriun shuffled and approached the green-lit hatch. He hauled on the rail, and the crypt door swung open on galvanic hinges. Etriun paused for a moment, staring into the crypt, bathed in the soft white light that streamed out of it.
His actuator buzzed.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Sindre, stepping forward.
Las-bolts tore out of the open crypt, hitting Etriun in the thigh, groin, chest and head. He wobbled backwards, and fell against the wall behind him.
‘Throne alive!’ Sindre yelled. ‘Close the crypt! Lock crypt-safe K!’
More bolts whickered down the length of the bay. A second shooter, out of sight in the ductwork at the far end. Sindre was hit in the upper chest and hip. He squealed and fell onto the lighted deck. The skitarii warrior beside Elam took four hits and spun around hard, sparks and fluid spraying from its body. It recovered and swung back immediately to re-aim. Gerin, the Ghost to Pasha’s left, took a bolt in the face and collapsed on his back. He did not recover.
‘Suppressing fire!’ Pasha roared. Her side arm, a heavy Tronsvasse service pistol, was already blasting. The Ghosts opened up, raking the length of the Repository with assault fire. The two skitarii began unloading their weapons, advancing steadily. The damaged warrior fired its ancient galvanic. The sleetgun spat hails of micro ’chettes down the length of the bay. The officer’s stave juddered and pumped out invisible bursts of force that rippled the air. Ducting at the far end crunched and buckled.
There was no cover. Multiple hostiles were concealed at the opposite end of the long chamber. The entire length of the bay lit up with a furious cross pattern of exchanged fire.
Ludd ran to Sindre, clamped his hand around the man’s gouting chest wound, and started to drag him backwards. Wall panels shattered. A las-round went through Ludd’s sleeve. Sindre was staring up at him, eyes wide, his mouth gaping. The shot had gone into the top of his chest, almost at the base of the throat. He was soaked in blood.
‘Where the feth are they?’ Pasha yelled, jerking as a las-round clipped her shoulder plate.
Elam was hollering into his link.
‘All sections! We are compromised and taking fire! Intruders inside EM Fourteen! Repeat intruders inside EM Fourteen!’
Two figures emerged from the open crypt hatch. They were hard to see. The bright light shining out of the crypt seemed to attenuate them, making them seem eerily tall and unnaturally slender. One was using the open hatch as a shield and shooting a lasrifle at Pasha’s group. The other dashed across the walkway, grabbed Etriun’s body and dragged it back into the crypt. The skitarii officer drummed a pulse from its stave that dented the crypt hatch. Somehow, the slender man behind it braced it open. He returned fire. The las-bolt hit the skitarius directly in the left eye. There was a minor implosion inside its gleaming chrome skull. It wavered, and dropped to its knees so hard that it cracked the clearplex panels of the underlit floor. Three more shots found it, and blew out its neck with such force, its almost-detached head swung around at a wild angle and hung sideways off a stump of fractured ceramite vertibrae. The stave clattered from its hands. It did not move again.
The fire rate from the far end of the Repository increased. Within moments, two more Ghosts had been killed by las-bolts.
‘Back! back!’ Pasha bellowed. ‘We are dead in the open!’
They backed towards the laboratory hatch, making their own cover with streaming las-fire. Ludd was dragging Sindre. Trooper Setz ran to help him.
The remaining skitarius did not retreat. It advanced steadily and remorselessly into the storm of shots. Its sleetgun whined as the voltaics cycled to power, then cracked as the galvanic charge launched a cloud of micro dart rounds. It got off four shots and almost drew level with the open crypt before sustained las-fire finished tearing it apart. It fell, its robes ablaze.
Pasha’s survivors backed into the gleaming lab space. Shots shrieked after them. Elam and Kadle stood in the hatch frame and hosed with full auto while Pasha found the activator for the compression hatch and slammed it shut. The four skitarii who had remained in the lab were advancing, match-step, towards the hatch.
‘Wait! You, wait!’ she yelled at them. ‘They just cut down two of your kin! And four of mine! That’s a kill zone in there!’
The skitarii halted. Binaric code bursts snapped between them.
Ludd and Trooper Setz dragged Sindre to one of the chrome benches and laid him on it. They left a long trail of blood all the way back to the hatch. Setz tried to maintain compression, while Ludd opened his field kit with bloody fingers.
‘Keep him still!’ Ludd cried.
‘How the living feth are they in there?’ Pasha demanded, storming towards the nearest adept. The adepts logis in the lab seemed to have frozen in disbelief. A logic problem had made them cycle.
‘We do not understand,’ one said. ‘The Repository space is secure. There cannot be danger within a secure space–’
‘There must be another access point!’ Pasha snapped. Her upper arm was bleeding. She ignored it.
‘No,’ said another adept. ‘The Gnosis Repository is a sealed section. One access.’
‘One access my backside!’ cried Pasha.
‘The thermal vents,’ said the third, arriving at a viable hypothesis. ‘If hostiles entered via the thermal vents–’
‘Impossible,’ replied the first. ‘They would never have made it through the geotherm system alive.’
‘Well, they fething did!’ snarled Pasha.
The adept wardens strode into the lab through the iris valve, followed by Criid’s first section and a squad from Theiss’ company.
‘What the feth is happening?’ Theiss asked.
‘Compromised!’ said Pasha. ‘Their fething security is compromised to shit! The enemy is in the vault! They have the fething stones!’
‘They cannot exit,’ said the remaining skitarii officer in a grinding voice that echoed from its chest plating. It and its three kin aimed their weapons at the compression hatch in neosynchronous unison. ‘We will cancel their lives as soon as they try.’
‘Do this,’ ordered the adept wardens in unison.
‘They can get out the same way they fething got in!’ Pasha roared.
‘Not possible,’ said the adept wardens.
‘Stop telling me that,’ said Pasha. ‘This vent system. This ge-o-thermal vent. Is there a way into it?’
‘There is access at several points within the complex,’ said an adept logis. ‘The geothermal substrate is a network that supplies power to all aspects of this facility, and to all other forge sites on Urdesh. It underpins the city, connecting a subterranean duct network that draws heat and pressure energy from the natural volcanic–’
‘Don’t give me lecture!’ Pasha cried. ‘Show me way in! Show me fething access point!’
‘Turbine Hall One is the closest,’ said an adept logis.
‘We will show you the location,’ said one.
‘We will mobilise the remainder of our skitarii complement from cryonics,’ said the other, ‘and activate all automata gun slaves.’
‘Tona!’ Pasha called out. ‘Go with this pair of… of… wardens. Ready a strike group. Prep to go in fast, cut the devils off!’
‘Get flamers up front, Criid!’ Elam added.
Pasha looked at him.
‘Flamers? Not fething flamers!’ she exploded. ‘These devils came up through fething ge-o-thermal system! They are fething fire-retardant!’
‘There’s something about them, that’s for sure,’ said Kadle. ‘I’m certain I clipped one in the firefight. One of the two who came out of the crypt. It didn’t even jolt him.’
‘Tona? Tona, go!’ Pasha yelled. ‘Shoot them, kill them with sticks, fething kick them to death! Whatever! Get in and cut them off!’
Criid was already yelling orders into her link as she followed the adept wardens out of the lab.
Under the hard light inside crypt K, Corrod looked down at Etriun. The versenginseer was lying on his back, fluids leaking from his multiple wounds. There was a spark of life in him, machine life at least. His electoos had gone a cold blue colour.
Ulraw entered the crypt. He had been clipped on the arm during the exchange, but the bolt had barely broken the skin.
‘One casualty on our side, damogaur,’ he said. ‘Ekheer. Struck by flechettes. He’s healing. The enemy has withdrawn to the lab level and closed the hatch.’
Corrod nodded. ‘Bring the others up,’ he said.
The Qimurah had entered the Gnosis Repository through a spur in the thermal vents that rose through the sub-levels of EM 14. As they drew close, Corrod had been able to smell the eagle stones, and feel their pull. He had been preparing a device to unlock the crypt hatch when the light surrounding it had gone green. Like a gift. The shapers of the dark had granted him a boon.
He had known what it really meant. Someone was approaching. He had sent the bulk of his force back to the vent access at the end of the bay to take up firing positions, and then entered the crypt with Ulraw.
The stones were lined up on either side of the crypt. Eight stone tablets, each encased in a sterile plastek cover and set in an illuminated alcove. The Glyptothek removed during enemy action from the College of Heritance on Salvation’s Reach more than ten years earlier. An heirloom of past eras, prized beyond any other thing by He whose voice drowns out all others. They were Enkil Vehk, the key of victory. Not just victory over the scum of the Throne, but victory over the bloated Archon, Urlock Gaur. Anarch Magir Sek would crush both of them. He would drive the crusade of blighted Terra back into the stars, and he would claim his rightful place as Archon of the Sanguinary Tribes.
Ulraw returned with several of the others. They gazed at the tablets.
‘Remove them carefully,’ Corrod told Ulraw. ‘We’ll be moving out quickly.’
‘The enemy will counter-attack within minutes,’ said Hellek. ‘They are not fools, sad to say. They will have realised we used the vents. They will block them or attempt to flush them.’
‘Which is why we will move with haste, Hellek,’ Corrod said. ‘And why I will create a suitable distraction.’
Ulraw began to remove the stones from their alcoves. Corrod knelt down beside the dying adept.
Ordinate Jan Jerik had provided him with all the technical support he had demanded: access to the vents, schematics, pass keys, system codes. He had also supplied, at Corrod’s request, a data plug of Mechanicus pattern loaded with a tailored code he had called Berserker. It was, Jan Jerik had explained with pride, sanctioned codeware dating back to the Dark Age of Technology, a machine plague that would poison and corrupt any system it infected. This, he had promised, would scramble and deactivate even the most secure Mechanicus holding crypt.
Corrod hadn’t had to use it. The crypt-safe had been unlocked for him. But it seemed such a waste.
‘Friend,’ he said to Etriun, speaking in the Imperial tongue.
Etriun’s eyes fluttered. Soupy fluids gurgled out of his mouth.
‘I have something for you,’ Corrod said. ‘A gift from me, and from the Anarch whom I serve. You will share it with all of your kind, so they may delight in its wild ecstasies.’
Corrod yanked several cables out of the plug ports behind Etriun’s left ear. The versengineseer shuddered and emitted several shrill, buzzing calls of despair. Corrod fumbled with the ports until he found one that matched the data plug. He pushed, and the plug connected with a snap.
Berserker initiated. The tech plague streamed from the data plug into Etriun’s amygdala and cyber-cerebral implants. It flooded his micro-cogitators. It burned what was left of his flesh. It was feral code, magnificent in its ferocity and aggression.
Etriun spasmed. He was dying, but his neosync connections to the EM 14 noosphere were still open.
Kolding entered the laboratory space.
‘There!’ said Captain Elam, pointing to the workbench where Setz and Ludd were fighting to keep Sindre alive.
Kolding opened his kit and assessed the man’s wounds. ‘Keep pressure there,’ he told Setz. ‘I’ll try to seal and then pack the wound.’
‘I think he’s bleeding out,’ said Ludd.
‘He is bleeding out,’ replied Kolding simply. ‘That’s what I’m trying to prevent.’
Pasha glanced at Theiss. ‘Are they there yet?’
Captain Theiss was listening intently to his bead. He nodded.
‘Yes, mam,’ he said. ‘Criid and Obel have reached the vent access. They have squads with them. Preparing to enter.’
‘Word from outside?’
‘Major firefight at the gate,’ Theiss replied.
Pasha paced. Waiting was always the worst. She’d give the vent parties ten minutes, then she’d re-open the compression door and storm the Repository bay. Cut the devils off at both ends.
She eyed the room. The four skitarii still stood motionless, weapons aimed at the hatch. Two of the adepts logis had left to activate the facility’s automata weapon servitors. The one who had remained seemed most concerned that Sindre was leaking pints of blood onto the polished, sterile surfaces of the laboratory zone. Elam and the other Ghosts were just waiting, checking weapons and slotting fresh powercells. The firefight had keyed them up. They didn’t want to crash. They wanted to manage the stress so it was ready the moment the fighting resumed.
She knew how they felt. She’d lost four men. Four fething men. And the Archenemy devils had reached the stones before her. She would not allow them to leave the site with such a precious cargo.
She would not allow them to leave the site alive.
Several of the laboratory’s wall screens suddenly fluttered and started to crawl with odd, rapid lines of code script.
‘What is that?’ she asked. ‘Is that data? Do we have new data?’
The adept logis stared at the screens.
‘I do not recognise the code,’ he said. ‘I do not recognise it. Non-standard. Source unknown. Type unknown. Codeware has entered neosync. Codeware has penetrated internal cogitation. Codeware has penetrated the machine-spirit core. Codeware has–’
‘What?’ asked Pasha. ‘Codeware has what?’
The adept logis didn’t reply. He turned to look at her. There was something very wrong with his eyes. Watery blood was trickling from his sockets and the augmetic optic implants had hazed with roiling fields of static. A substance like treacle was oozing out of his breather mask.
‘Berserker,’ he said in a flat tone. ‘Berserker. Berserker. Berserk. Berserk. Zerk. Zerk. Zerk. Zerk–’
He headbutted her with savage force. It took her by surprise, and she fell, clutching her face. The adept logis knelt on h
er and began to throttle her. He started screaming a high pitched stream of obscenities.
Asa Elam rushed forward and tried to pull the adept logis off her. It was like trying to shift a boulder. The adept logis had locked solid like a piece of machinery. His grip on Pasha’s throat tightened. Her eyes bulged. Her tongue, protruding from her spittle-flecked mouth, went blue.
Elam smashed the butt of his rifle into the adept’s head. The adept went limp and let go. Elam wrenched him off her. Pasha lay on her back, gasping, trying to breathe again. There were red hand marks around her neck.
The sagging adept logis suddenly came to life again and broke Elam’s sturdy grip. Screaming further obscenities, he lunged at Elam and clawed at his face.
‘What the feth is wrong with you?’ Elam snarled, trying to fight him off. He threw a fast punch, the snap-jab special that had seen Asa Elam triumph in many garrison sparring bouts. Elam cursed as he broke a finger on the adept’s brass faceplate.
‘Throne’s sake! Help me here!’ he yelled.
The other Ghosts, aside from those fighting to save Sindre, were already hurrying to his side.
‘Shit!’ said Kadle.
The robot arms on all the benches had suddenly started to twitch and writhe. Blade limbs and cutter dendrites gouged blindly at the steel work surfaces, making metal-on-metal squeals that hurt their ears.
The four skitarii at the hatch turned. Facing into the lab, they started shooting.
The first sleetgun blast exploded Kadle’s head and upper body in a cloud of meat and bone. The second, another tight cloud of micro flechettes, blew a hole through Mkjaff’s torso, almost removing his entire right side. Gore painted the wall screens behind him. He gazed down in disbelief at the missing part of his torso, then his spine splintered and he folded and fell.
The others ducked for cover. There was little of it. A galvanic shot-cloud grazed Captain Theiss, and stippled the wall beside him with a thousand tiny punctures. He blinked and saw he was bleeding from dozens of small wounds across his right thigh, hip, and right arm. The pain was excruciating. The micro ’chettes were still boring into him. He began to scrape frantically at his skin.