by Gav Thorpe
The sight of Agapito bathed in the ruddy glow, guiding a squad into the right-hand elevator, triggered an altogether different kind of memory.
THE SECURITY ALERT lighting flickered orange and red, in time to the slow warning klaxons ringing along the corridor. Twenty inmates, dressed in their standard coveralls and heavy boots, gathered in a group beside the tower transit shaft. They carried an assortment of wrenches, picks, hammers and other tools – improvised weapons that had been carefully stashed after the work-shifts for the last thirty days.
‘Are you sure this is the right way?’ asked Nepenna, his grease-covered face screwed up with consternation, blond hair matted with oil. The ex-engineer knelt beside the open mechanical access hatch, his kit of handmade tools spread out on the bare rockcrete floor next to him. ‘If we don’t shut down these lifters, the guards will be here in minutes.’
‘It is the right way,’ Corvus assured him. The layout of the entire facility was etched on his memories. He could not explain to his companions how he had managed to explore the maze of corridors and mineworking unseen by the guards, but they had to trust him. ‘The diversionary riot in the hangar block will take the security forces away from the guard block above and along to the transit hub two miles towards the spire. That is why I chose the hangar area to catch their attention.’
‘What if you are wrong?’ This came from one of the youngest prisoners, a youth barely in his teens called Agapito, a third-generation internee. His skin showed the characteristic sallowness of those who had spent their entire lives in the artificial habitat, his eyes dark and brooding.
‘Has he ever been wrong?’ Dorsis was the team leader, a middle-aged political poet appointed by Corvus for his steady head and creativity. The others looked up to him and took comfort from Dorsis’s calm demeanour. ‘We all know the plan. The guards evacuate the block up-tower, we break into the arms lockers and take ammunition. In and out, nothing fancy.’
The patter of feet alerted Corvus to the approach of Ephrenia. She was three years older now than at their first encounter. They had shared a few months as friends when he had been found, but his swiftly maturing mind and body had left her far behind. Even so, she was devoted to Corvus, a nimble-minded and -footed messenger who was adept at using crawlspaces and service ducts to elude the pickets of the sentries.
‘The fire has been started on deck four of the north hangar,’ she reported breathlessly. ‘Danro and the others have holed up in the maintenance bay like what you said.’
‘Good,’ said Corvus, ruffling the girl’s hair. Her smile sent a shiver through him, of joy and despair in equal measure. Joy that he might be the one to free her from this life of bondage; despair that he might get her killed in the attempt.
It was not good to think about such things. Corvus knelt down beside Ephrenia.
‘There will be guards on the overhead monitoring gallery,’ he told her. ‘You know which way to go?’
‘Yes, Corvus, of course,’ she replied, in a tone children seemed to reserve for patronising adults. ‘I’ll pass by the kitchen flues, the ovens will have been damped at first alert.’
‘Good,’ Corvus said again, sending the girl on her way with a paternal smile. ‘Get something to eat.’
She nodded and ran off down the corridor.
‘Come on, come on,’ muttered Standfar, a white-haired old-timer who had been chosen as lockpick on the mission.
‘Relax,’ said Dorsis. The team leader glanced at Corvus and then at the battered bronze chronometer he had been given. ‘At least another two minutes until the next patrol.’
Corvus nodded in agreement. He needed no timepiece, his internal clock as accurate as anything that could be fashioned or stolen by the prisoners. They waited in tense silence as the rumble of the lift grew louder and louder.
With a heavy thud, the elevator arrived. Nepenna was packing his tools into a soft leather cloth, placing each into its pocket in the fabric. Agapito and Laudan grabbed the concertina doors and hauled them open. The others had their tools raised, ready to fight.
The elevator was empty.
‘I wish you were coming with us,’ said Agapito, as the others hurried into the lift. The youth craned his neck to look into the face of the prisoners’ guerrilla commander, who now stood more than a head higher than the tallest amongst them, his unnatural growth showing no signs of abating. No worksuit would fit him any more, and so his followers had tailored him a uniform out of stolen blankets, wire thread and dyed sheets. Black and grey, it seemed an appropriate yet underplayed mockery of the commandants’ gaudy outfits. The suit fitted perfectly for the moment, but Corvus knew that in only a few weeks’ time his constant increase in mass would have it bursting at the seams.
‘Too much chance that I will be seen,’ replied Corvus, slapping the young man on the arm. ‘If a guard were to see me, our secret would be out. Better that I keep my head down for the moment. I know you will do just fine without me.’
With a nod, Agapito stepped into the conveyor with the others. Corvus slammed the doors closed with a smile and an encouraging wink. Now alone in the hall, he felt very exposed. The clatter of the elevator chains sounded dully from the shaft as the lift ascended towards the upper levels.
It was hard not to get excited. The nascent rebellion was barely started, but momentum was surely building. Corvus had spent a year planning this first phase, travelling far and wide across Lycaeus, invisible to the eyes of the wardens. He had scouted out the forces opposed to him, learnt every step of the complex that housed several million internees. He had established communications cells in each wing and tower, and devised a dead-drop system to pass messages between the groups as the work-shifts changed.
Corvus had watched and noted the guards’ actions when a few small-scale incidents had been staged. A fight here, a sit-in protest there. He had, somewhat foolhardily he realised, sat unnoticed in security briefings and listened to the vice-commandants detail the patrols and schedule the inspections, and with this information he had set up smuggling circuits and hidden caches that avoided the security sweeps.
This exercise was just the latest in the last few days to test out his theories. It would not be wise to act too soon, and every tiny insurrection and discipline breach had been carefully timed not to arouse suspicion. If the enemy had any idea that their charges were building up to something, the patterns would change and Corvus would be forced to start over. Even so, he was committing his followers to a road that would lead inevitably to outright rebellion. The ammunition that would be stolen by the party he had just sent would not be missed for another ten days – he had checked the manifest inspection dates that morning. By then the guards might connect the theft to the weapons missing from Tower Four, and a full-scale security clampdown would ensue.
In fact, Corvus was depending upon it.
When the guards left their blocks, they were vulnerable. Though they outgunned the prisoners, they were hugely outnumbered. When the revolution proper was started, they would be swept away in a few bloody days.
The clump of a boot forced Corvus to retire into the nearby shadow of a support girder. Three guards, one of them a corporal, marched directly past him, their eyes passing over Corvus as if he was not there.
As they were about to turn the corner, the corporal stopped. His head turned towards the maintenance access panel. Corvus could see nothing wrong, but the guards were suddenly wary for some reason. It was then that Corvus saw what the corporal had spotted: tiny flecks of oil spattered on the whitewashed wall.
Unnoticed, Corvus emerged from his hiding place, stepping silently to come at the guards from behind. He flexed his fingers and decided which two of the three would have their necks snapped first. He chose the one on the right and the one in the centre. The third would be silenced by an elbow smash.
It would mean a step up in the timetable. The death of three security men would not go unpunished. Corvus considered his contingency plans as he loomed over the guards.
‘Find out who’s on cleaning rota for this sector,’ the corporal said, jabbing his truncheon towards the offending oil stain. ‘Punishment detail, five days.’
‘Yes, corp,’ replied one of the guards.
Corvus stopped mid-stride, hands moments from the necks of his chosen victims, who were still oblivious to his presence.
The trio moved on and Corvus breathed out slowly, fading back to the shadows.
All was well. The plan was still on track. In forty days from now, Lycaeus would be free.
‘WHAT’S HE DOING now?’
Lukar, as usual, felt the need to give voice to the question that the rest of the squad had not dared ask. Sergeant Dor had Alpharius and the others covering three of the dozens of branching corridors that led away from the chamber at the bottom of the elevators. The rest of the Raven Guard were placed in defensive positions close to the other entrances.
Alpharius glanced quickly to his right to where Corax paced back and forth between the various openings, head bowed in thought. The Custodians stood close to the primarch, helmeted heads turning left and right as they followed his reciprocating course. The Mechanicum contingent were fussing over one of the combat servitors, which had burst several hydraulic lines under the weight of the legionaries that had ridden on it during the half-hour long elevator descent.
‘We’re stuck,’ said Canni, his multi-melta directed down the leftmost of the three passageways. ‘What else would it be?’
‘No, that can’t be right,’ said Sergeant Dor. ‘He must know the way.’
‘Something isn’t right,’ said Alpharius. ‘Everything about this mission has been ad-hoc so far. We’ve barely had a briefing. I’m with Canni, I think we’re trapped here.’
‘We can’t be trapped,’ insisted Dor. ‘There’s only been one way to come so far: one big entrance tunnel and then the elevators. Marko, watch your sector! That goes for the rest of you.’
Marko turned his head back towards the passage with a grunt of apology.
‘But he doesn’t know where to go next,’ said Lukar. ‘Or if he does, he’s taking his time deciding what to do.’
‘Ancient defences,’ said Dor. ‘There must be something up ahead that he’s trying to figure out.’
‘He has a plan.’ Marko’s interjection silenced the others. The heavy weapons specialist did not say much, but when he spoke it was usually insightful. ‘The primarch knows it is going to be dangerous. He is facing a difficult decision.’
‘Aye, that’s it,’ said Dor. ‘Weighing up the different options. Just like that time in Fellhead.’
The Lycaeus veterans laughed. Alpharius, masquerading as Terra-born, knew not to join with their reminiscing from the time of the rebellion.
‘A right bad job that was,’ chuckled Lukar. ‘Do you remember Thaneus getting his finger snapped off by that vent slam-door?’
‘Shouldn’t have been poking around in dark places,’ said Dor. His laugh stopped quickly. ‘Wait, it looks like the primarch’s ready to go.’
Alpharius risked the sergeant’s wrath with another glance towards Corax. He was in conversation with the ranking Custodian and Commander Agapito, finger pointing out one of the arched openings.
‘Squad, stand by for orders,’ said Sergeant Dor.
EIGHT
Akin to Theseus
Dark Alliances
Hidden Defences
THE EMPEROR REMEMBERED this place as the Labyrinth, a name from ancient Terran legend that only had vague meaning for the primarch. Corax knew that it did not matter which of the corridors they followed initially. Each led into a randomly shifting network of passages and bridges that responded to the presence of intruders, directing them away from the inner vault. There were also numerous automated defences, both in pre-planned killzones and wandering the maze. It was a cunning artifice, allowing no strategy because there was no logic to out-think.
Corax remembered that the shutting and opening of doors, the shifting of movable gantries and the spinning of enormous turntables, was directed by the random melting of a glacier on the other side of the mountain, impossibly intricate to predict even for his superhuman mind.
He could have the entirety of his old Legion and not be able to find a route through by trial and error. At first he had been dismayed by the thought of getting trapped in the Labyrinth, but the more he had considered the problem the more Corax had convinced himself that the Emperor had implanted some clue or stratagem that would outfox the random nature of the situation. If not, he had been sent on a fool’s errand, and that seemed equally as impossible as the task at hand.
There had to be a way, and so the primarch wracked every memory he could pull from his thoughts, seeking some tiniest nugget of truth that would provide a solution. The Labyrinth had been activated after the Emperor’s final visit, and so the Master of Mankind had never traversed its depths. There was nothing to be learnt from first-hand experience.
A flash of inspiration had come to Corax. The Emperor had overseen the construction of the Labyrinth, and in that there was a pattern. As ingenious as its operation was, the Labyrinth was not infinite; there were only so many possible configurations it could align itself to at any given time.
Slowly an image formed in the primarch’s thoughts, of passages being delved and bridges erected. He saw the great engines being sunk into the rock that would power the Labyrinth, the power channels that linked those engines to the sensor beneath the glacier, the pneumatics and gears that drove the whole machine.
Just like the mosaic behind the door, there was a formula to be discovered, a single equation that could sum up the immense operation of the Labyrinth. Corax could not compose such an equation in his head, it was too vast, but from what he could now remember of the construction it was possible to make a start.
As the workings of the Labyrinth unravelled in front of his mind’s eye, Corax saw a weakness. It was possible to present the Labyrinth itself with a dilemma it could not solve, requiring it to respond in contradictory ways that could not be physically accomplished.
The Labyrinth could be tricked into jamming itself open.
‘I need three exploration teams,’ he told Arcatus and Agapito, speaking quickly. ‘Take the sixth, eighteenth and thirtieth corridors.’
‘Is it wise to split our force, lord?’ asked Agapito. ‘You warned us of defence systems.’
‘We must split our force, commander. The squads must be on full alert.’ Other memories were becoming fixed in Corax’s mind. ‘They will encounter mobile sentry devices as well as fixed gunnery emplacements. They employ laser weaponry and solid shot cannons, easily powerful enough to penetrate Legiones Astartes armour. These devices use broad spectral analysis, heat and vibration detectors, and proximity trips. Blind grenades and plasma discharges will render them inoperational for short periods. Tell the legionaries to look for sensor plates, they are likely to be mounted on the weapons themselves as well as at points on the walls. Do not forget to check the ceilings and floors.’
‘Destroy the sensors and the guns will be blind?’ said Arcatus.
‘Best to destroy the guns as well,’ said Corax. ‘There may be redundancies and cross-weapon networks in the defence grid. Warn your warriors that the battlescape will be changing constantly. The area they are about to enter is highly active, capable of transitioning from one format to another. They will come across meeting points between the elements of the maze, likely doorways and bridges. Crossing the threshold of these points will activate a transformation of the layout. Our warriors must also be prepared for environmental and gravitic changes?’
‘Gravitic changes?’ said Arcatus. ‘What sort of place is this?’
‘Some of the tunnels can invert, and there are chambers set with gravity devices counter to the standard field,’ continued Corax. ‘Also beware of thermal and atmosphere changes. The maze is hazardous, but it contains nothing that our troops cannot surmount.’
‘This sounds like a nightm
are,’ said Agapito. ‘How are we supposed to get any kind of force through that? And what about those who get left behind?’
‘I know how the maze will react, and every action will be guided by me. All movements and contacts are to be reported directly to me across the command channel. All orders from me must be acted upon without delay. Arcatus, you must be my spearhead.’
‘I am under orders not to leave your side,’ replied the Custodian.
‘I must remain here to coordinate the mission,’ Corax told the gold-armoured warrior. ‘I need your group, there are not enough Raven Guard to unlock the Labyrinth. I need your warriors, Custodian, and their complete obedience.’
‘My orders were specific,’ said Arcatus, shaking his head. ‘Who can say what will happen to us in that maze?’
‘You must trust me, Arcatus,’ said Corax.
‘The Legio Custodes cannot afford the luxury of trust,’ came the reply.
The primarch searched for an alternative, eyes settling on the cyborg creations of the Mechanicum. He dismissed them. The servitors were too slow to respond to orders, and would be more of a liability than an asset during this part of the operation. Corax turned back to Arcatus.
‘I am asking for your help, Custodian,’ said the primarch. ‘Your orders may be to watch me, but your role is to protect the Emperor. With the secrets held beyond the Labyrinth, I can forge a new Raven Guard Legion. That Legion will fight against Horus. If the Custodians wish to have such allies, you must aid me now.’
Arcatus remained silent for a while, the mask of his helm hiding any thoughts and expressions.
‘Do you require all of my men?’ he asked.
‘Preferably,’ said Corax, making quick calculations. ‘Fifteen may be sufficient.’
