Helsreach

manipulation to coax open. At one point, Grimaldus had been certain they were thwarted. He hefted his crozius in both hands, triggering it live, ready to vent his anger on the unopening door.

'Don't,' Jurisian said, without looking up from the controls.

'Why not? You said this might be impossible, and time is not our ally down here.'

'Do not apply force to the doors. These are, as you have seen, each no less than four metres thick. While you will eventually hammer through to the other side, it will not be a rapid endeavour, and such violence is likely to activate the installation's significant defences.'

Grimaldus lowered his mace. 'I see no defences.'

'No. That is their strength, and the primary reason no living and augmetic guards are required.'

He still did not look away from his work as he spoke. Four of Jurisian's six arms all worked at the console: hitting buttons, pulling clusters of wires and cables, tying them, fusing them together, replacing them, tuning dead screens. His lower servo-arms were now coiled close to his back-mounted power pack, carrying his bolter and power sword.

'There are,' Jurisian continued, 'twelve hundred needle-thin holes in the walls, spaced ten centimetres apart, in this corridor alone.'

Grimaldus examined the walls. His visor locked onto one immediately, now he knew they were there.

'And these are…?'

'A defence. Part of one. The application of force, no matter how righteous, brother, will trigger the machinery behind these holes - and the same holes in many other corridors and chambers throughout the complex - to release a toxic gas. It is my estimation that the gas would attack the nervous system and respiration above all, making it especially lethal to fully biological intruders.'

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

T

he 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, a xenos war-clan that would soon be hurling itself into battle.