‘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.