‘I would like to register my disapproval,’ said Agapito. He looked at Corax, and then pointedly turned his gaze to Branne, with an expression of frustration bordering on desperation.
Branne sympathised with his brother’s position, but he had seen first-hand what the Raptors could do, even in their inexperience. To have five thousand such warriors would be an incredible weapon. There was also the question of loyalty to the primarch. Agapito’s strange behaviour since Isstvan gave Branne cause to doubt his motives for opposing Corax’s plan. Perhaps he feared that the Talons would lose honour and prestige. It was certainly the case that the seemingly preferential treatment – the armour and weapons – given to the Raptors rankled at Agapito.
There was another reason to agree with the primarch, a far more personal one. The action at Cruciax had not erased the doubts Branne felt about himself for his failings at Isstvan. It had proved to him more than ever that he needed to redeem himself in the eyes of the Raven Guard who had fought there. A large force of Raptors would make him the pivotal commander at Narsis, granting him an opportunity to prove his worth on a stage far more fitting than a raid on an isolated outpost.
‘It is fitting,’ said Branne, ‘that we extend the chance to become Raven Guard to as many as possible. We fought a war to liberate the people of this star system, so that they might enjoy the benefits of freedom. The Raven Guard prosecuted the Great Crusade across hundreds of worlds to bring that same freedom to others. Now it is time for them to answer our call and repay those efforts with their own.’
‘You’re not suggesting conscription?’ said Solaro.
‘No,’ said Corax. ‘I’ll not have that. I do not think we will be troubled by a shortage of volunteers.’
‘Word will get out, lord,’ said Agapito, gripping the edge of the table tightly. ‘So far we have kept secret our plans and our renewed strength. If you recruit on a scale like this, the news will travel back to the traitors and they will send a force to exterminate us entirely, a force we will not be able to resist. Surprise is our greatest asset, and we will surrender it with this sort of declaration.’
‘It will be too late,’ said Corax. ‘We will strike quickly enough that there will be no time for our enemies to prepare. We will begin with the implantation of the remaining recruits at Ravendelve as soon as possible. Branne will organise the mass induction of candidates and we will make our final preparations for the assault on Narsis.’
‘What about weapons and armour?’ said Solaro. ‘At the moment, we can make Raptors faster than we can manufacture Mark VI suits.’
‘I already have a manufactorum on Kiavahr stepping up production based on the designs brought to us by Captain Noriz,’ answered the primarch. ‘As for weapons, we have stockpiles worthy of a Legion that was once eighty thousand strong. A few thousand bolters are not an issue, despite the losses on Isstvan.’
‘Transportation?’ said Agapito, with the sigh of a man who knew he had lost a battle. ‘The Avengerand surviving ships cannot carry that many into battle.’
‘We will requisition transports from wherever we can,’ said Corax. ‘We don’t need dedicated assault ships, as long as they can launch Thunderhawks and Stormbirds. Whatever problems you foresee, we will overcome them. The Raven Guard will be prepared to attack Narsis within twenty-five days. I have waited long enough, and I can wait no longer. The fight back against the traitors has already begun, it is time to accept that and strike a blow that will make them nervous.’
‘Aye, lord,’ said Agapito, his reply echoed by the other commanders. ‘It will be as you command.’
FROM A VANTAGE point in the irradiated ruins surrounding Ravendelve, Omegon looked at the fortified facility through the magnification of his auto-senses. Contact Three had been able to transmit from Deliverance, warning of a step-up in activity at the Raptor base. Corax was showing no nerves and was plunging headlong into the implementation of his plan, judging by the number of vehicles and shuttles that had been coming and going over the last few days. Mechanicum and Raven Guard attendants in rad-suits had been extending the complex with prefabricated buildings, almost doubling its size.
He considered his options, none of them with any particular favour. The most obvious course of action would be to signal his operatives to destroy the gene-works now, before the Raptors could be increased in size. That almost felt like a failure to the primarch, when his prize was so close at hand.
The insurgents were nearly ready to attack Ravendelve, an army of several thousand. Fifty Alpha Legionnaires were also only three days away, aboard the Betahiding out in the dust clouds beyond Kiavahr. They would be the spearhead of any assault. It was a balancing act. If he committed too early, without the full involvement of the rebels, his warriors would be cut down to no effect. If he waited too long, the Raptors’ ever-increasing numbers would prove insurmountable.
His only hope lay in a swift, decisive strike to secure the gene-tech and then destroy what remained. He needed time, just ten more days, and everything would be in place to see that plan come to fruition.
The scuff of boots on rubble caused the primarch to turn, his bolter ready. A lean, robed figure picked his way through the debris below: Magos Unithrax. It disturbed Omegon that the tech-priest needed no protection against the radiation and pollutants in the air. Looking closer, he saw Unithrax’s sallow face had a half-decayed appearance, only the metal implants holding together the flesh beneath his hood.
‘I have a solution for you,’ said the magos. He dipped a withered hand into his robe and pulled out a canister the size of a grenade. ‘A genetic virus, tailored with the information provided by your operatives. If one of your agents can introduce this to the gene-template being used by the Raven Guard, it will halt their expansion.’
Omegon dropped down to the ground, rubble grinding to powder beneath his weight. He took the canister from Unithrax and looked at it. It hummed softly with a small stasis field, but otherwise looked like a rations canteen used by the Raven Guard.
‘What will it do, exactly?’ asked the primarch. ‘A polluted gene-seed is of no use to us.’
‘Exactly?’ said the magos. He coughed uncomfortably and looked away. ‘I cannot say exactly what the effects will be, though it will be severe. It will be a simple matter to extricate the virus from the gene-strands again once we have them in our possession.’
‘It is a blatant move and will raise the suspicions of Corax,’ said Omegon, tossing the canister from hand to hand. ‘They have already increased security at Ravendelve considerably. I cannot afford for them to lock down the whole facility.’
‘They will suspect themselves first,’ said Unithrax. ‘The virus will mutate the gene-seed from within and it will appear to be an unforeseen side-effect of the implantation process. Unless they specifically look for the viral contagion they will find nothing that cannot be explained by a random but explainable mutation of the genetic material.’
‘I will consider it,’ said Omegon. ‘What will my agent have to do?’
Unithrax produced a small crystal sliver, no larger than a fingernail.
‘This data-chip contains the necessary instructions,’ he said. ‘Pass it along to your operative with the virus container and he will be able to access the data through any terminal in Ravendelve. You should also tell him to destroy both the crystal and the canister on completion of the task.’
‘Of course he’ll destroy it, we are not amateurs,’ said Omegon. He looked at the container again and held out his hand for the data-chip. He slipped both into a pouch at his belt and fastened it tight. ‘How proceeds the work of the Order of the Dragon? Are they in position to act when I give the word?’