by Gav Thorpe
Arcatus had no reply to this and turned away without further word. Agapito remained, and he spoke with concern in his voice.
‘Whatever the rights and wrongs, I can’t say, lord,’ said the commander. ‘But Arcatus speaks the truth when he says that this is dangerous. We cannot let knowledge of its existence spread too far.’
‘What are you suggesting?’ said the primarch. ‘The only man on this expedition who is not a Raven Guard or Custodian is Orlandriaz, and the Sigillite vouched for his presence.’
‘If we return to Deliverance with this technology, it will not go unnoticed by those outside the Legion,’ said Agapito. ‘The fewer that know of its existence, the better. I think we must learn a lesson from the Emperor here. It will require facilities and technicians to perform the work to unlock the gene-secrets. If such a place is heavily guarded it will attract attention. We know there are still guild sympathisers on Lycaeus, and despite our best efforts they still have the means to know what passes in the Ravenspire. We must avoid rousing their curiosity.’
‘You make a good point, commander,’ said Corax. ‘I have been so focused on the retrieval of the genetic archive I have not considered how we should house it. Your plan has merit, I will consider it.’
‘And do you really think it is possible to create a new form of legionary?’ asked Agapito, his voice touched by awe. ‘One that is as good as any of us, in a fraction of the time?’
‘I do not only believe it possible, I guarantee it,’ said Corax. ‘With Horus poised to strike, we must retaliate in some fashion. Unless we have the means to perpetuate the Legion for the war to come, we cannot risk our current strength in such an attack. The Emperor has placed his faith in me and I will not fall short of the mark. The Raven Guard will have a part to play before the matter with Horus is decided.’
‘I am sure of that, lord,’ Agapito said. ‘What of the Custodians? Do you think they will cause further problems?’
‘Arcatus overplays his objections,’ said Corax. ‘He must attend to his duties as he sees them, but I think he understands what we will achieve. I believe I have convinced our companion that we pose no threat to the Emperor.’
THE EXIT FROM the vault was far less fraught with danger than the entry. Having secured the contents of the inner chamber, the precious stasis capsule of primarch material included, the Raven Guard loaded up their supply carriers and heavy servitors to extract their spoils to the surface.
They worked in shifts, escorting lines of cases and crates back through the dormant Labyrinth to the waiting shuttles on the ice shelf at the entrance. Data crystals and storage units were carefully sealed within protective boxes. Larger pieces of equipment, the purpose of which was lost on all except the magos and Corax, were secured to the tracked trolleys that had brought in the expedition’s ammunition and food. Only the incubators and a few power generators were left behind.
It took the best part of a day to ferry everything to the surface. During that time, a signal was sent to the Raven Guard ship waiting in orbit. Drop-craft from the Avenger arrived as the last of the expedition emerged from the vault, together with the most precious treasures, which were watched over by the primarch himself, Orlandriaz and Arcatus.
Alpharius, along with the rest of Sergeant Dor’s squad, again found himself hefting boxes onto the drop-ships while the commanders discussed what was to happen next. Alpharius dawdled as much as he was able, to hear snippets of the discussion, though he learnt nothing that he would not have expected.
‘Be very careful with that,’ said Agapito, as Alpharius took the handles of a frost-rimed crate, Velps at the other end. A blinking energy monitor on the side of the box indicated the below-zero temperature within. ‘Break that stasis generator and we’ll have gone through all of this for nothing.’
‘Aye, commander,’ replied Velps.
They carried their cargo onto the ramp of the closest Stormbird, treading carefully through the drifts of snow. Alpharius was quietly amazed at the contents of the container: the stuff from which the primarchs had been created, from which the Emperor had engineered the Legiones Astartes, and ultimately the gene material that had turned him into an Alpha Legionnaire.
Odd thoughts crept into his mind as he hefted the box over the lip of the entry portal. How long had the Emperor laboured to create the contents of the stasis chest? Decades? Centuries? Perhaps even millennia? For untold generations he had waited, and when the Emperor had shown himself to the galaxy, it was at the head of the Legiones Astartes, his chosen warriors. The Alpha Legion had fought alongside the others for many years during the Great Crusade, seeing time and again their companions reunited with their genetic fathers while they fought on without the guidance of their primarch.
Alpharius remembered the discovery of his namesake, the last of the primarchs to be found. It had been as joyous for the Alpha Legion as the same event had been for the Luna Wolves, or the Iron Hands, or the Raven Guard. Each had been celebrated by all of the Legions as a momentous occasion. Yet the reunification with Alpharius had been a muted affair, almost overlooked by the other primarchs and Legions. That the nature of the twin primarchs was deemed a secret not to be revealed had only deepened the lack of celebration. It had rankled Alpharius that his Legion had been all but dismissed by those who had found their primarchs. It had been an afterthought, a niggling gap that had been filled, rather than being seen for what it truly was: the apex of the Great Crusade when the last of the primarchs had been brought back into the Emperor’s armies. Alpharius’s discovery was the culmination of the Emperor’s plans, not the mundane arrival of a latecomer.
With the aid of Velps, Alpharius slid the stasis container into a locker beneath the decking. They secured it with tightened straps so that it would not move, and lowered the deck grating over it, stowing it away for the journey to orbit.
‘Makes you thankful, doesn’t it?’ said Velps, pointing down at the container.
‘Thankful about what?’ replied Alpharius.
‘Thankful for the Emperor,’ Velps explained. ‘I don’t know why Horus has turned, or those others, but it confounds me. The Emperor created us. I mean, literally he made us what we are. He gave us weapons and armour and a galaxy to conquer and let us free. He made us the future of humanity, and that is something to be thankful for, deep in the heart. We were right there, it was almost finished. That bastard Horus, he had everything thanks to the Emperor and now he’s turned his back on him. There’s no forgiving something like that.’
Alpharius did not argue, though he was stung by Velps’s words. He could say nothing in defence of the choices the Alpha Legion had made. He did not fully understand why the twin primarchs had sided with Horus, but he trusted them to know what was for the best.
‘I’m sure everyone will get what they deserve in the end,’ he said, slapping a comradely hand to Velps’s shoulder.
It left Alpharius unsettled as they made their way back down the ramp. The rest of the expedition was already tramping onto the shuttles and drop-ships. Sergeant Dor and the others were waiting to board, not far from Agapito and Corax. Alpharius and Velps joined the squad just as Arcatus approached the primarch.
‘I have spoken with Malcador,’ the warrior announced, ‘and he agrees with me. I and my Custodian Guard will travel with you, in order that this cargo is protected properly.’
‘That is not necessary,’ said Agapito. ‘Your presence will arouse suspicion. Besides, we don’t need your help.’
‘My commander is correct, if blunt,’ said Corax. ‘A group of Custodians will attract unwarranted attention, and it is with secrecy that our cargo is best protected.’
‘We come with you, or you do not leave,’ said Arcatus. ‘I leave the choice up to you.’
Corax sighed and nodded.
‘Very well, Custodian, have it your way,’ said the primarch. ‘You will travel with me. Be warned, space is already pushed aboard the Avenger. You will have to billet with my warriors.’
�
��That will not be an issue,’ said Arcatus.
‘Not a problem,’ said Agapito, with some satisfaction. ‘The Raven Guard will be happy to extend the same hospitality to the Legio Custodes as they gave to us.’
The group parted, leaving Alpharius and the rest of the squad in the snow. Alpharius looked at the golden-armoured warriors accompanying the primarch and felt on edge. With the vault contents in their possession, the Raven Guard would be more vigilant than ever.
A slap on the shoulder guard snapped Alpharius from his distracted thoughts. Sergeant Dor jabbed a thumb at a nearby drop-ship.
‘Get on board,’ said Dor. ‘We’re heading back to Deliverance.’
PART TWO
RECONSTRUCTION
TEN
Return to Deliverance
Unlocking the Gene-tech
Caesari
THE LANDSCAPE OF Deliverance was dominated by a kilometre-high needle at the centre of the workshops. Once this had been the infamous Black Tower, the main citadel of Kiavahr’s guards. Now it was called Ravenspire. Spotlights from dozens of gantries pierced the black void, shining down upon transportways and sprawling mineheads. Defence turrets studded its surface, guided by gleaming sensor-lenses in armoured niches, arrayed like the eyes of a fly. Corax’s Stormbird descended over the sprawl of the ancient prison towards one of the eight landing aprons that jutted from Ravenspire like grey fungi on a black stalagmite, each surrounded by the pale glow of an energy field.
Looking at the maze of prison wings and guard houses, it would be an observer’s first thought that the moon’s facilities were in disrepair. Rockcrete housings and metal panels covered the surface of the buildings like patchwork, while some areas were left blasted and burnt, open to the airless vacuum of space. Force domes glittered in the starlight, protecting clusters of high-rise cell blocks, fuel storage tanks and ore transport hubs.
The appearance of Deliverance was deceptive. All damage caused during the rebellion and the subsequent counter-attack by the guilds had been fully repaired. Not a crack leaked air nor a door seal was broken. By order of Corax, the settlement bore its scars as reminders of those who had died to free the moon-colony from the oppressive tyrants on the planet below; as long as such affectations did not compromise safety or security.
As Corax gazed down through the port of the Stormbird, he could remember every single rupture and ruin, as if they had been wounds on his own flesh. The drop-ship passed over Wing Eight, where he had lived with Antonu, and where the rebellion had truly begun. The once-majestic Twelfth Gate that linked Wing Eight to the Ravenspire bore the marks of the bombs that had been planted by his guerrillas to trap the guards who had come flowing out of the central spire, welts of darker plasfoam that filled the cracks like scar tissue. Naphrem Solt, a thirteen year-old girl, had sacrificed herself to detonate the last of the charges to bring down the arching gateway on the reinforcements.
Wing Seven was all but a ruin. Burnt-out cells with empty windows stared into the blackness. Four thousand inmates had perished there, scourged by a fireball unleashed when the guards detonated the main gas supply. Corax had not anticipated this, and it was with bitter memories that he looked down at the blackened shell of the prison wing. It had taken more than a year to recover all of the bodies from the ash, babes and elders for the most part, Wing Seven having been a low security administrative complex.
Corax had scoured the security logs to find out the man responsible and had tracked down Corporal Theod Norruk four days later. The primarch’s revenge had been drawn out, a moment he was not proud of, but which had brought him a small sense of satisfaction at the time.
Only one building stood out as much as Ravenspire, connected by a silvery tunnel to the main edifice. The castle-like structure, with peaked roof and corner turrets, gleamed in the light of the setting star, silver and obsidian, a marvel of Imperial engineering. It was formally called the Primary Administration Core, but to the inhabitants outside its shining walls it was known as the Tax Keep. Corax would be addressing those who worked within later that night, but he had more pressing business to attend to first.
The Stormbird passed through the energy canopy of High Dock, Corax’s view becoming one of yellow static for a moment. He turned away from the window as the Stormbird’s jets whined into the final descent.
‘Do you know what you are going to say?’ asked Branne, sitting opposite the primarch. ‘I foresee it causing trouble, lord.’
‘Not yet,’ replied Corax. ‘Not every word. They will have to deal with the reality, there is no avoiding what must be done.’
‘It’s a complication we could do without,’ said the Commander of Recruits. Corax agreed but made no further comment.
The drop-ship touched down with a screech of metal landing pads on the ferrocrete.
‘A necessary action,’ muttered Corax, standing up as the drop-ship settled into place. The door hissed open behind him. ‘One that I would have performed without Malcador’s insistence.’
The pair departed the Stormbird and made their way the short distance to the Carnivalis, a hall near the bottom of Ravenspire that had been used for large gatherings of the Legion. It was part feasting chamber and part reliquary of the Legion’s many victories. Trophies of all kinds – weapons, skulls, armour, banners, even pieces of wall and armoured doors of enemy citadels – were hung upon the walls. There was little organisation to the display, which had once led Iterator Sermis Iconialis to remark that it looked more like the nest of a magpie than a raven.
That same individual now waited with one hundred and fifty-six other men and women in the Carnivalis, having been summoned there by Corax as the Avenger had attained orbit. Along with his fellow iterator, Loc Nasturbright, Iconialis was accompanied by Deliverance’s remembrancers. Artists, poets, pictographers, sculptors and journalists gazed at Corax with a mixture of apprehension, suspicion and expectation as the primarch entered the vast hall. The small crowd was dwarfed by its surroundings and had gathered about the stage area and lectern at the far end of the hall, forcing Corax to walk the length of the Carnivalis before he could address them. He strode up the stairs to the stage, easily taking the steps four at a time, and turned towards the assembled remembrancers.
‘You are all to return to your quarters, pack up your personal belongings and prepare to leave Deliverance,’ he said. The announcement was met with shouts of condemnation, groans, pleas and general hubbub. ‘Quiet! I have not finished.’
The crowd was stilled as Corax raised his hand for silence.
‘Take everything. You will not be returning. All materials you have been compiling for the remembrancing are to be handed over to Commander Branne. You and your luggage will be searched thoroughly, do not attempt to smuggle out even a few rough notes or a doodled cartoon. Everything is to be delivered to Branne.’
This caused further outcry, which Corax had been expecting. He caught the gaze of Iconialis, who gave a slight nod of understanding and turned to face the distraught and angry remembrancers. He lifted his hands, stilling the tumult.
‘Pray silence for the noble primarch,’ said Iconialis, his voice clear and precise, cutting through the few lingering grumbles and whispers. ‘I am sure there is good cause for this action. Let us not forget that it is by the grace of Lord Corax that we have remained here.’
‘Thank you, iterator,’ said Corax. He folded his arms and ran through what he had to say. Malcador’s last communication before the Avenger had left orbit had been to dissolve the Order of Remembrancers and send them back to Terra for debriefing, in accordance with the Edict of Dissolution. The Sigillite had made it clear that Corax was not to discuss in detail the events that were currently overtaking the Imperium. He had also acknowledged that some explanation was necessary and had furnished the primarch with a few preferred phrases to convey what had happened. Corax dismissed the suggestions, preferring to say things in his own way.
‘Horus has rebelled against the Emperor,’ he said. There
was no point in keeping the situation secret. Better that Corax told the remembrancers the bald facts than they heard half-truths and rumours. He waited, expecting another storm of surprise and protest, but instead his words were met with shocked silence. ‘You may have heard before Commander Branne left Ravenspire that a force of the Legiones Astartes had been despatched to confront the Warmaster at Isstvan. That confrontation did not end well. The Emperor gathers his forces and the Raven Guard will be amongst them. We cannot offer you protection here, so you will be removed from Deliverance and returned to Terra.’
‘I come from Assyri,’ called out a bearded man with a long cowl and paint marks on the sleeves of his loose tunic. Unlike his warriors and Legion attendants, Corax had never bothered to learn the names of most of the remembrancers, seeing them as an inconvenience at the best of times, and an irritation and distraction at the worst. ‘I don’t want to go to Terra.’
This was followed by several similar protests.
‘It is not for you to decide,’ said Corax. ‘We are not going to shuttle each of you back to your preferred choice of destination. You will all go back to Terra for debriefing by the offices of Malcador the Regent. There will be no exceptions.’
‘Why do you want all of our work?’ asked a young woman with a pictograph unit hanging on a strap around her neck. ‘We’ve worked for years gathering that material.’
‘Intelligence,’ Corax replied bluntly. ‘Many of you have mingled with remembrancers attached to other Legions, particularly the Luna Wolves. We will examine your accumulated material for insights into Horus’s rebellion.’
He did not add that the remembrancers had chronicled most of the Raven Guard’s accomplishments and victories, as well as the defences of Deliverance. He could not risk the ship transporting the remembrancers being taken by a traitor vessel with such information on board.