‘Commander, what is the problem?’ Corax said briskly.
Agapito kept his gaze firmly on the genetor when he replied.
‘This half-man says we cannot fire our weapons in this place,’ said the commander.
‘Live rounds and explosive contain the potential to inflict irreparable damage to the contents of this vault,’ the Mechanicum agent added, turning his unnatural eyes to Corax. ‘Our quest will be in vain if we destroy that which we seek.’
‘And what do you know of our objective?’ said Corax. ‘What do you think might be endangered by weapons fire?’
‘The Sigillite did not furnish me with much data,’ said Nexin, stepping away from the brooding presence of Agapito. ‘However, given my proclivities and technical disposition, I have compiled my own theory on the issue.’
‘And your conclusion?’ asked Corax, gesturing for Agapito to stand down.
‘I am a genetor, therefore it is logical that we seek an object that is genetic in nature. I do not speculate, but it is reasonable to deduce that this would relate in some way to one of three prior endeavours by the Emperor: the Thunder Warriors, the primarchs and the Legiones Astartes. I do not know which.’
‘Is that right?’ asked Agapito, turning his helmeted face to the primarch. ‘Gene-tech?’
‘A means to rebuild the Legion,’ replied Corax. His gaze moved between the two of them when he next spoke, his displeasure clearly visible. ‘We are the Legiones Astartes and we do not relinquish our weapons. If at all possible, we will act to preserve the contents of this vault. If any life is put in immediate danger, we shall respond without hesitation. With that understood, there is to be no weapons fire in any other situation unless authorised by me.’
‘Yes, lord,’ said Agapito, with a nod.
‘My entourage and I will comply with your policy,’ said Nexin.
‘Agapito, if you have any cause for dispute, bring it to me,’ Corax told the commander, before turning the full force of his glare on the genetor. ‘Understand that I and many of my warriors have no fondness for those who pursue industrial strength or mechanical domination at the expense of lives or liberty. Your presence here is by no means essential, magos.’
‘I wish merely to participate and elucidate where possible,’ said Nexin. ‘Please also understand that I know something of your Legion’s history. Your oppressors were not part of the Mechanicum and it is inappropriate to conflate the misguided tech-guilds of your home system with the great endeavours of Mars. However, I recognise that we all share the same goal and at this time I will ensure that my acolytes are sensitive to any issues your past misfortunes may bring about.’
Not sure whether this amounted to an apology or not, Corax simply turned from the genetor and looked further down the hall. The end could be dimly seen in the ruddy glare: three immense doorways.
The expedition reached the far end of the corridor to find that the three doors each had a keypad set into the wall next to them, with only two buttons on each.
‘Perhaps some kind of binary code is required?’ suggested Nexin, examining the central doorway.
‘Or a finger,’ said Agapito, pushing an armoured digit into the upper button. ‘It’s an elevator.’
The door rumbled up into the ceiling to reveal an enclosed conveyor large enough for thirty or forty men, or ten legionaries with all of their equipment.
‘We will have to descend by squad,’ said Corax. ‘Agapito, I’ll leave it up to you to organise the details. I will, of course, be going down first.’
The order was not as simple to execute as first seemed. Agapito wanted to send down the Raven Guard with the primarch to act as a vanguard in case of danger. Arcatus was adamant that he and several of his warriors were in the first shift. Though the Custodian did not say as much, Agapito believed he did not trust Corax out of his sight. On top of this, Nexin was also insistent that he be included in the first party, but would not be separated from his two hulking gun-servitors.
After some further negotiation, it was agreed that Corax would descend with the Custodians while Nexin and his armoured servitors would accompany one of the Raven Guard squads. Several of the legionaries had to suffer the indignity of riding on the backs of the tracked servitors as there was not enough room for all of them to fit into the elevator.
Corax paid only vague attention to these arrangements, confident that Agapito would find a solution. The primarch searched his memories, trying to work out what awaited the expedition at the bottom of the shafts. Try as he might, he had no recollection of this place, just as he had had no memory of the main door until he had laid eyes upon it. Whatever gifts the Emperor had given him, they were highly contextual. Corax wondered if this was intentional or simply a side-effect of the psychic implantation process.
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.