Hellsreach - Aaron Dembski-Bowden [46]
The Master of the Forge nodded pointedly to Cyria.
Grimaldus’s crozius went dead as he released the trigger. ‘Have there been other defences that escaped our attention?’
‘Yes,’ Jurisian said. ‘Many. From automated las-turrets to void-shield screens. Forgive me, Reclusiarch, this code manipulation requires my full attention.’
That had been three hours ago.
Finally, the doors opened to the fourth sublevel. To Cyria, the air was painfully cold, and she pulled her stormcoat tightly closed.
Grimaldus failed to notice her discomfort. Jurisian merely commented, ‘The temperature is at a survivable level. You will not suffer lasting harm. This is common in Mechanicus facilities that are left on minimal power.’
She nodded, her teeth chattering.
Ahead of them, the corridor widened to end in a huge double doorway, sealed as every other door had been so far. On this one, etched into the dull, grey metal, was a single word in bold Gothic.
- OBERON -
This was why Grimaldus hadn’t noticed Cyria’s shivering. He could not take his eyes off the inscription, with each letter standing as tall as a Templar.
‘I was right,’ he breathed. ‘This is it.’
Jurisian was already at the door. One of his human hands stroked the surface of the sealed portal, while the others accessed the wall terminal nearby. Its complexity was horrific compared to those stationed at the previous doors.
‘It is so beautiful…’ Jurisian sounded both hesitant and awed. ‘It is magnificent. This would survive orbital bombardment. Even the use of cyclonic torpedoes against nearby hives would barely harm the protection around this chamber. It is void-shielded, armoured like no bunker I have ever seen… and sealed with… with a billion or more individual codes.’
‘Can you do it?’ Grimaldus asked, his gauntleted fingertips brushing the ‘O’ in the inscribed name.
‘I have never witnessed anything so complex and incredible. It would be like mapping every particle within a star.’
Grimaldus withdrew his hand. He seemed not to have heard.
‘Can you do it?’
‘Yes, Reclusiarch. But it will take between nine and eleven days. And I would like my servitors sent to me as soon as you return. ’
‘It will be done.’
Cyria Tyro felt tears standing in her eyes as she stared at the name. ‘I don’t believe it. It can’t be here.’
‘It is,’ Grimaldus said, taking a last look at the doors. ‘This is where the Mechanicus hid the Ordinatus Armageddon after the First War. This is the tomb of Oberon.’
As they returned to the surface, Cyria’s hand-vox crackled for her attention, and a signal rune pulsed on Grimaldus’s retinal display.
‘Tyro, here,’ she said into her communicator.
‘Grimaldus. Speak,’ he said within his helm.
It was the same message, delivered by two different sources. Tyro had Colonel Sarren, his voice more of an exhausted sigh than anything else. Grimaldus heard the clipped, imperious tones of Champion Bayard.
‘Reclusiarch,’ the champion said. ‘The Old Man’s predictions were correct, as you suspected. The enemy is annihilating Hades Hive from orbit. It is crudely done. Standard bombardment, with mass drivers to hurl asteroids at a defenceless city. A dark day’s work, brother. Will you return soon?’
‘We are on our way back now,’ he said, and killed the link.
Tyro lowered her communicator, her face pale.
‘Yarrick was right,’ she said. ‘Hades is burning.’
CHAPTER IX
Gambits
The enemy did not come on the second day.
The defenders watched from the walls of Helsreach as the wastelands turned black with enemy vessels and clans of orks establishing their territory, making primitive camps and raising banners to the sky. More landers brought new floods of troops. Bulk cruisers disgorged fat-hulled wreck-Titans.
Upon the enemy banners, thousands of crudely painted symbols faced the city, each one depicting a bloodline, a tribe,