‘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 gene-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.
‘I feel good, Lord Corax. Strong, healthy.’
‘Ready to fight?’ asked Branne.
‘Yes, commander,’ said Diaro. He banged a fist against his heavily-muscled chest. ‘Ready to kill traitors.’
THE INTERNAL COMMUNICATIONS chime disturbed Corax’s study of the latest test reports on the new legionaries. He paused the flow of information across the three screens in front of him and activated the receiver.
‘Lord Corax, your presence at the command chamber is required,’ said Ephrenia. The primarch thought he could detect barely-suppressed laughter in her voice. ‘We have a situation that may need your intervention.’
‘Please be more specific,’ said Corax, reaching out to a mug of water balanced on the edge of his metal desk. He realised he had been cloistered in the study room for more than twelve hours.
‘We have detected two Imperial Fists vessels approaching Deliverance, lord,’ Ephrenia explained.
‘Report to me when you find out what they want,’ said the primarch. He took a gulp of water, savouring it as if it were fine wine. ‘The watch commander can surely handle this?’
‘Branne is on watch command, lord,’ said Ephrenia. Her smirk was almost audible. ‘The Imperial Fists vessels are under the command of Captain Noriz. The exchange is getting quite heated.’
Corax sighed, switched off the data screens and stood up.
‘Very well, I’ll be there soon,’ he said. ‘Make sure Branne doesn’t do something hot-headed, like opening fire.’
‘Yes, lord, I’ll do my best,’ said Ephrenia, trying not to laugh.
Running fingers through his thick hair, Corax stretched his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. It had been six days since gene-seed implantation had been completed on the first recruits and there was a stream of genetic data and physiological examination reports for him to digest if he wanted to take the project to its next stage. Whatever the reason for Noriz’s arrival, it was inopportune at best, and suspicious at worst. Was Dorn sending his man to keep an eye on the Raven Guard?
The primarch made his way to the conveyor and rose up through Ravenspire to the command chamber close to the pinnacle. As he entered, he could hear Captain Noriz’s voice over the vox. Branne was hunched over the communications console, a vox-link clasped in his gauntleted fist.
‘Your security protocol makes no sense, commander,’ Noriz was protesting. ‘I can see no benefit to such a delay.’
On the other side of the chamber, standing pointedly in front of the weapons armament panel, Ephrenia caught Corax’s eye. He walked over to her as Branne stabbed a finger into the reply switch.
‘You cannot enter Deliverance orbital space without prior authorisation, captain,’ said the commander. ‘Observe proper protocol and we will proceed.’
‘Commander Branne is demanding that the Imperial Fists leave orbit and request permission to approach,’ said the controller.
‘I have already explained the reason for not doing so,’ said Noriz. ‘You are compromising our mission here.’
‘Branne!’ snapped Corax. The commander spun around, obviously having not noticed the primarch’s arrival. ‘Explain.’
‘The Imperial Fists sent no hail after entering the system, lord,’ said Branne. ‘Our protocols dictate that they stand out from the vicinity of Kiavahr and request permission to approach. At the moment, Ravenspire is within range of their weapons.’
Corax crossed the room, forcing Branne to stand aside at the console. The primarch took up the transmitter.
‘Captain Noriz, this is Lord Corax,’ he said. ‘Why did you not declare your approach to Deliverance?’
‘As I told Commander Branne, Lord Corax, I wish knowledge of our presence here to be minimised,’ said Noriz after a slight delay. ‘A long-range hail would have announced our presence as surely as chorus of blaring trumpets. It is imperative that I speak with you. I have messages from Lord Dorn and the Sigillite.’
‘Commander Branne is correct,’ said Corax. ‘Please withdraw by one hundred thousand kilometres and prepare your ships to receive boarding parties. Commander Branne will meet you in person aboard your vessel to hear what you have to say. If he deems it necessary, he will then grant you authority to approach Deliverance and send a delegation to Ravenspire.’