Deliverance Lost

by Gav Thorpe

  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 Avenger to 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.

  TWELVE

  Brothers in Conflict

  Mark VI

  Creation of the Raptors

  SITTING ON A shallow chair in his rooms, Branne stared at the data tablet laid on the table in front of him. A perfunctory knock on the metal bulkhead preceded Agapito’s entry. Branne glanced up at his brother and waved him to the couch opposite.

  ‘What is it, brother?’ asked Agapito, choosing to stand. ‘Lord Corax tells me there has been a significant development in the gene-project. We are to accompany him to Ravendelve.’

  ‘Yes, I heard,’ said Branne. He glanced at the digital chronometer on the table next to the data-slate. ‘We have a little time.’

  ‘You seem preoccupied,’ said Agapito. He lightened the comment with a smile. ‘Is Commander of Recruits proving more of a challenge than you thought?

  ‘I keep having to put myself between Sixx and that magos, with the primarch constantly demanding updates. But that’s not what I want to talk about.’ Branne handed the slate to his brother, the transmission data highlighted. ‘Can you explain that?’

  Agapito looked at the tablet and frowned. He glanced at Branne and then looked back at the data-slate.

  ‘That is my command channel,’ said Agapito.

  ‘I know,’ replied Branne.

  ‘I don’t recognise the transmission code, though. Some kind of glitch in the system?’

  ‘You tell me, brother.’

  Looking sharply at Branne, Agapito dropped the tablet back on the metal table with a clang.

  ‘Those are ominous words, Branne,’ said the commander. ‘I detect accusation behind them.’

  ‘Just interest,’ replied Branne. ‘Call it my curiosity. Tell me, why is there an irregular transmission from your channel, broadcast on a non-Legion frequency?’

  ‘I do not know, brother,’ said Agapito. ‘If you have some charge to
make, then speak it plainly; your crude hinting is testing my patience.’

  Branne stood up and met his brother’s gaze directly. He folded his arms across his chest and regarded Agapito for a few seconds, gauging his expression. The commander of the Talons looked genuinely confused and upset.

  ‘You offer no explanation for this?’ said Branne.

  ‘None,’ replied Agapito, his tone belligerent. ‘Do you offer any explanation for your suspicion?’

  Breathing in deeply, Branne considered his next move. It was likely that Agapito was genuinely ignorant of the transmission, which gave him a bigger problem: someone had accessed the command communications without authorisation. Branne was not sure which was the worst scenario.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I will have Ephrenia look into it more closely. Maybe it is a glitch.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Agapito. ‘Don’t you want to take me down to the Red Level and subject me to a more rigorous interrogation?’

  Branne snarled, offended by the implication. The Red Level was where the punishment cells had been located during the years of Kiavahran suppression. They had had a bloody reputation back then, and the thought of the tortures that prisoners had undergone in that dark place set Branne’s teeth on edge even now.

  ‘Sorry, brother, that was uncalled-for,’ said Agapito, offering out his hand in apology. Branne took it after a moment’s hesitation.

  ‘I don’t understand you, brother, not since Isstvan,’ Branne confessed. ‘It worries me.’

  ‘No need for it,’ said Agapito, with a grin that Branne could clearly see was forced. ‘You have plenty of concerns already without adding me to the list.’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Branne, with another glance at the chronometer. ‘We had best get armoured, the primarch will expect us at the dock soon.’

  ‘You can talk to me, brother,’ said Agapito. ‘About the recruitment project, if you need to. I have not been able to pay half as much attention to it as I would like, not with all of my time taken up with the Legion reorganisation.’

  ‘How are the Talons shaping up?’

  ‘Good. Better than expected, given the circumstances. A few discipline problems now and then, but nothing I can’t straighten out. They’ve had a hard time of late.’

  ‘Don’t go easy on them, brother,’ said Branne, indicating for Agapito to head for the door. ‘It’s going to get a lot harder.’

  As he watched Agapito leave, Branne could not shake off a question that he wanted to ask but could not bring himself to voice: why are you lying to me, brother?

  IN AN ANTECHAMBER of the infirmary in Ravendelve, Corax waited with a mixture of anticipation and foreboding. Cabinets lined one wall, shelves laden with a mass of medical devices on the opposite side. Metal benches had been cleared of other equipment to serve as seats. It had been four days since he had authorised the first implantation sequence. Vincente Sixx had been cautious in his advice, but Orlandriaz had been adamant they were ready to proceed to the next logical stage.

  Agapito and Branne waited with their primarch. Sensing his mood, they had said little, but Corax detected an undercurrent of tension between the two commanders. Corax was sure it was due to disagreements about the gene-project.

  A scrape at the door caught the attention of all in the room. Corax took a sharp breath, but let it out when he saw that it was Solaro and Aloni. They offered terse greetings and sat themselves next to their fellow commanders.

  ‘Let’s hope this has worked, eh?’ said Aloni.

  ‘Nothing to lose,’ said Solaro. ‘If it does not work, we are where we started out.’

  ‘It will work,’ said Corax. He had spent every moment he had to spare on the gene-seed manipulation, combining his own knowledge and fragments of the Emperor’s memories with the research of Sixx and Orlandriaz. The primarch had scrutinised every gene-sequence and permutation and was convinced the Chief Apothecary and tech-priest had found the solution.

  With that assurance, the commanders waited in silence. Agapito fidgeted, tapping his fingers on his kneepads, stopping when he earned himself a scowl from Branne. Corax wished he could have overseen the final implantation himself, as the Emperor had personally attended to the primarchs’ creation, but his sheer size had made it impractical for him to stay in the sterile chamber where the process was taking place.

  The door opened again, revealing Vincente Sixx. The Apothecary was dressed in surgical robes, a smear of blood across the front. He peeled off a pair of thin gloves and stuffed them into a pocket across his stomach.

  ‘How are they?’ asked Corax, standing up.

  ‘Come and see for yourself,’ said Sixx.

  Corax followed the Apothecary out of the door, the commanders behind him. Stepping into the main infirmary, the primarch was struck by how cold it was. He remembered that the recruits had been placed in a brief cryobiotic state as a precaution against rampant cell reproduction – a stage in the process Corax hoped to eliminate with the next group of recruits if this proved successful. The chill was emanating from the nine men standing bare-chested, close to their beds alongside one wall. They wore loose trousers and soft boots, the air around them filled with faint vapour from their warming bodies.

  All nine were the same physically, as tall and broad as a legionary. Some of their facial structure remained distinct, allowing the primarch to identify each with the recruits he had wished well before their transformation. Their bodies were free of hair still and their skin was pale – almost albino like their primarch. He also noticed that every subject had dark eyes. Not quite the black orbs he possessed, but certainly far greyer than even those of previous Raven Guard.

  There were identical surgical marks on the bodies of all nine, though the scars were already becoming indistinct. The pattern was instantly recognisable to any member of the Legiones Astartes, as was the discolouration beneath the skin of their torso and shoulders.

  ‘They have their black carapaces already?’ said Solaro.

  ‘They have every enhanced organ you possess, commander,’ said Orlandriaz, emerging from behind the group of giant post-humans. ‘The black carapace must still be implanted as before, it being a mostly artificial construct.’

  ‘And the rest are grown naturally?’ said Branne. He took a step closer to the new legionaries, examining them carefully. The recruits stood to attention with eyes firmly fixed ahead, not reacting to the scrutiny of their superiors.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sixx, gesturing for one of the men – Corax remembered his name as Halvar Diaro – to step forwards. ‘Several of the gene-seed implantations will not be necessary when the process is perfected. They serve only to prepare the body for later implants and have no direct effect after maturation.’

  ‘What about the progenoids?’ asked Solaro. ‘Do they mature quickly too?’

  ‘They do,’ said Orlandriaz, with something of a smirk. ‘However, they will also become unnecessary once we have completed our work. Once the modified gene-seed is finished, we will be able to reproduce from source. There will be no need of the antiquated in-host maturation you currently rely upon.’

  ‘We can make as many gene-seed sets as we like,’ explained Sixx. ‘Numbers will only be limited by the availability of recruits.’

  Corax only half-heard the exchange as the commanders continued to ask questions about the recruits’ capabilities and physical enhancements. He was captivated by the nine men, marvelling in their existence. He knew every cell in their bodies better than he knew the Ravenspire, yet to see them in the flesh was breathtaking. They were perfect examples of the Legiones Astartes.

  ‘Where is the tenth man?’ asked Agapito, breaking through Corax’s admiration. The primarch turned a raised brow to the two men who were architects of the project.

  Sixx and Orlandriaz shared a look. The Chief Apothecary sighed.

  ‘A minute defect in the heart, microscopic, was ruptured by the accelerated cell generation,’ said Sixx. ‘It would have happened even with regular g
ene-seed.’

  ‘Avoidable,’ added the tech-priest. ‘More thorough screening will eliminate the problem.’

  ‘I thought the plan was that we would be able to relax the recruitment criteria,’ said Agapito.

  ‘In time, we will,’ said Corax. He walked up to the man who had stepped forwards and laid a hand on his shoulder. He glanced back at the commanders. ‘The next stage of development will be to introduce sequences in the gene-seed that will be retroactive. Genetic weaknesses and minor physical discrepancies will be eliminated by the introduction of the superior gene-seed.’

  There were looks exchanged between the others in the room as they absorbed the full portent of Corax’s words: an almost limitless supply of legionaries.

  ‘If that can be achieved, if the gene-tech can be passed on to the other loyal Legions, those loyal to the Emperor would outnumber the traitors within months,’ the primarch continued, meeting the gaze of Diaro. ‘These nine are the first of thousands – tens of thousands when we have finished. It is for that reason we must do everything we can to force Horus to hold back his attack on Terra. Not only will we gain time for Dorn to build ever greater defences, we buy ourselves the space to rebuild after the losses of Isstvan.’

  The group of commanders circled around the recruits, examining them from every angle. Corax felt a moment of concern, realising the attitude he had towards these newest Raven Guard. They were not just experimental subjects, not just benchmarks on a path to recovery. They were warriors of the Legiones Astartes.

  ‘I have an important question to ask you,’ he said to Diaro, crouching so that he was level with the man’s eyes. ‘Answer it truthfully.’

  ‘Yes, Lord Corax,’ the recruit replied, his voice now deep, edged with a husky timbre.

  ‘How do you feel?’

  Diaro looked at the other newly-created legionaries and they all broke into smiles. Another of them answered the question first.