Alias and Rufan lifted Omegon up so that he could reach the rusted turn wheel. After a little initial resistance, it spun easily in the primarch’s hands. A clank signalled the disengagement of the lock. Omegon pushed open the hatch, took hold of the lip and pulled himself up, shoulder pads scraping the side of the hole. At a crouch, Omegon turned around and headed in the direction Eloqi had told him, while the other two dragged themselves up behind.
‘Cutter,’ said Omegon, holding out his hand behind him.
Rufan took the device from his belt and placed it in Omegon’s grip. It looked like a snub-nosed pistol, two gas canisters where the magazine would have been. Thumbing the valve open, Omegon pressed the trigger and a white-hot flame erupted from the muzzle. Reaching above him, the primarch turned on the spot, slicing an almost complete circle in the metal decking above him. When he was done, he turned off the cutter and passed it back to Rufan.
Shuffling back a few steps to give himself space, Omegon lay on his back and kicked upwards. The rough circle of metal broke free and landed with a clatter on the floor above. With room to stand now, Omegon examined the small alcove he had broken into. A nest of wires criss-crossed each other from dozens of circuits and switches. In a few seconds, he had analysed the layout, creating a schematic in his head. There was not a communications system he could not access and this one was crude by Mechanicum standards.
Opening up a plate on his right vambrace, Omegon pulled free several wires and plugged them into the required sockets in the switching boards around him. He activated his communications suite, quickly scanning the frequencies around him until he could home in on the signal he was looking for. An insistent beeping became louder in his ear and he turned left and right, rearranging and rewiring a few of the relays to fine-tune the signal. On the roof above, the dishes would be turning on their gimbals, aligning themselves towards Deliverance.
‘Effrit code, hydra-seven-omega,’ grated an artificial voice. The primarch smiled as he locked down the receiver, the words he had heard confirmation of what he had hoped for. At least one of his legionnaires had succeeded in infiltrating the Raven Guard.
‘Access cryptoduct, theru gaili ta nurun,’ said Omegon. The words were meaningless syllables known only to the twin primarchs. ‘ Gaion sackrit kess.’
There followed a few seconds of static as the connection was established with the tiny stealth-fielded satellite that Omegon had left in orbit over Deliverance. It was no larger than a fist, just a piece of debris, but the cryptoduct device was capable of detecting, decoding and recording any signal within a narrow range of frequencies, frequencies known only to the Alpha Legion. He was also able to implant messages onto the cryptoduct for access by others. It was the perfect go-between, ensuring that both sender and receiver were anonymous and since it could be accessed from anywhere within several hundred thousand miles, their locations would remain unknown.
‘Lord Effrit, this is Alpharius,’ said the message. Omegon smiled again. It was a conceit, perhaps, but never failed to amuse him. ‘Infiltration successful. Objective identified as primarch genetic data. Location is Ravendelve. Awaiting instruction.’
The transmission ended. Omegon had been expecting many things, but not this. Corax had access to the primarch project? The implications were immediately obvious, both the risks and benefits of the current plan. For a moment Omegon considered changing his objective. If the Raven Guard were able to rebuild their Legion with this knowledge, the swift victory of Horus, and the ultimate destruction of the Primordial Annihilator, could be put in jeopardy. The prudent approach would be to destroy the technology before its secrets could be gleaned by Corax.
Despite that, Omegon could not quite convince himself to follow this course of action. The danger presented was but the weight on one side of the balance. On the other side had to be set the advantages of claiming this technology for the Alpha Legion. Omegon did not doubt that Corax had a good chance of cracking the primarch gene-seed open, certainly a better chance than the Alpha Legion, even with the assistance of the Order of the Dragon.
For the moment it would be best to allow the Raven Guard to continue their investigations. When they had discovered something of value, the secret could be stolen and the Raven Guard destroyed. If the discovery was of the magnitude Omegon imagined it to be, it would herald a new beginning for the Alpha Legion. To possess the secrets of the primarchs was a prize worth a few risks.
With everything the Alpha Legion did, there was always some extra agenda that could be forwarded, some additional objective that could be achieved. In the case of the Raven Guard, Omegon and Alpharius had decided that they would first relieve the Legion of the Terran technology that would be imparted to them, and then the Raven Guard would be destroyed, with all news of the event carefully contained from both the Emperor and Horus. Kiavahr would become loyal to Horus and, finally, the Raven Guard would live again, with Alpha Legionnaires masquerading in place of the dead Legion. The scope to cause confusion and mayhem would be vast once Omegon had achieved these three goals and he paused in his work and grinned at the thought of it.
He adjusted his connection to the relay, switching to a transmission format.
‘Effrit code, omega-seven-hydra,’ he said. ‘You are Contact One. Assigned sub-channel alpha-three. Orders will be forthcoming.’
As he cut the link, Omegon noticed something else he had not expected. He checked his findings, and found his initial instinct had been correct. The signal to the cryptoduct had been made from a triple-secure Raven Guard source.
That it came from Ravenspire was not a surprise. That it was on the highest-level command channel was.
‘I WISH THERE was some soundproofing down here,’ said Sixx, walking between the cages that had been built in the western vestibule. A cacophony of howls, growls, whines and screeches heralded his progress along the corridor. ‘I am worried the recruits can hear all of this racket.’
‘I am sure I will be able to obtain some form of sonic dampening field from one of my fellow magi,’ replied Orlandriaz, walking beside the Apothecary.
‘Out of the question,’ said Sixx. ‘The primarch was clear in his instruction: no contact with the Kiavahran Mechanicum. Even your presence here suggests something of what we are working on. It must remain undisclosed.’
‘A grave mistake, I am sure,’ said the tech-priest. ‘Aside from that technology which we recovered from Terra, the facility here is exceptionally sparse.’
‘You think that the resources of the Raven Guard are limited?’ Sixx was incredulous, almost stopping in his stride. ‘You realise that we have been implanting gene-seed into recruits for decades?’
‘Yes, and the systems you use have not progressed at all in that time,’ replied Orlandriaz. ‘Even without the primarch data, I am positive I could have increased your productivity by ten, perhaps even fifteen per cent.’
‘We are not a manufactorum, Nexin. The creation of legionaries is not a production line process.’
‘It will be, when we have completed our task.’
The Chief Apothecary’s reply was silenced as the door at the far end of the corridor opened, revealing Commander Agapito. His expression was all Sixx needed to know that their latest report to Corax had not been received well.
The Commander of the Talons stalked along the passageway, boots ringing loudly. Snarls and spitting erupted from the nearby cages.
‘You don’t have to say anything, commander,’ said Sixx, as he came up to Agapito. ‘Lord Corax wishes for more encouraging results, yes?’
‘I hope you have at least a small success story I can take back to him,’ said Agapito. He glanced into the cage to his left and shook his head with disgust at what he saw within. ‘He is keen… No, that doesn’t really convey his mood. He is adamantthat you proceed beyond these pointless trials and begin work on perfecting the formula for the recruits.’