Zahariel reached up and rubbed his forehead as the transport exited the tunnel into the afternoon sunlight. He couldn't imagine outright dissent within the Legion, but the thought still nagged at him.

The Librarian clenched the message tube tightly. If he earned the primarch's wrath, so be it. This was far more important.

It took almost an hour to travel from the mountain to the chapter training facilities in sector forty-seven, passing through successive rings of defensive walls and checkpoints before pulling up at the edge of a broad parade ground surrounded on three sides by barracks, firing ranges and combat simulator centres.

Zahariel sat bolt upright as the transport rolled to a stop, his brow creasing in a worried frown. The square was empty.

He checked his chrono again. According to the embarkation schedule, there should be a thousand Astartes in full combat gear waiting to board a transport for high orbit. 'Wait here,' he told the servitor, leaping from the idling vehicle and striding swiftly to the chapter master's quarters. Zahariel keyed the door open and rushed into the ready room to find the chapter master conducting an informal briefing with his newly-trained squad leaders. The young Astartes turned at the Librarian's approach, failing to conceal the bemused looks on their faces.

'Chapter Master Astelan, what's the meaning of this?' Zahariel said, his voice calm but stern. 'Your Astartes should be mustering for embarkation this very minute but the square is empty.'

Astelan's eyes narrowed on the advancing Librarian. He was one of the few Terrans serving with the Legion on Caliban, having been sent to Aldurukh some fifteen years after Luther and the rest of the training cadre. He was a veteran warrior who'd risen quickly to command of a chapter in the years following Jonson's ascension to primarch and his sudden reassignment was every bit as baffling to Zahariel as his own. He presumed that Luther was aware of the circumstances, but if Astelan had been exiled from the expeditionary fleets like the rest of them, the Master of Caliban hadn't made that fact public. Instead, he'd immediately assigned the Terran to lead one of the newly-reorganised training chapters, and treated Astelan with all the respect and esteem that he showed his other battle brothers. Luther's charisma and leadership quickly won him over, and now Zahariel would be hard-pressed to name another member of the Legion more loyal to the Master of Caliban.

'The muster was cancelled two hours ago,' Astelan said in a deep voice. He had a bluff, square-jawed face and deep-set eyes shadowed by a brooding brow. A fine white scar bisected his right eyebrow and stretched across his forehead up to the edge of his scalp. When he'd arrived on Caliban he'd worn his hair in long, tightly-knotted braids, but within the first few days he'd shaved his scalp and kept it that way.

'By whose order?' Zahariel demanded.

'Luther, of course,' Astelan replied. 'Who else?'

The Librarian frowned. 'I don't understand. Your warriors were certified for deployment. I saw the report myself.'

Astelan folded his arms. 'This has nothing to do with my Astartes, brother. Luther has cancelled all deployments offworld.'

Zahariel was suddenly conscious of the message tube clutched in his left hand. 'That can't be right,' he said. 'It's not possible.'

Astelan's scarred eyebrow raised slightly. 'Luther appears to think otherwise,' he said. One of the squad leaders chuckled, but the chapter master silenced him with a sidelong glance. 'He's in command here, is he not?'

Zahariel ignored the challenge in Astelan's tone. 'Why did he cancel the deployments? The fleet is depending on those reinforcements.'

The chapter master shrugged. 'You will have to ask him, brother.'

Biting back a sharp reply, Zahariel spun on his heel. 'I will, Astelan,' he said, heading for the door. 'You can be assured of that.'

He found Luther high in the fortress's topmost tower, at work in the Grand Master's chambers. Jonson and Luther had shared the huge working space in better times, shaping the future of first the Order, then the Legion. As ever, scribes and staff aides bustled through the adjoining rooms, performing the countless daily tasks of Imperial rule.

Luther's desk was a massive bastion of polished Northwild oak, solid enough to stop a boltgun shell even before the heavy hololith projector and cogitators were installed. He used it as a bulwark to keep visiting bureaucrats out of arm's reach, as he often joked.

Just behind the desk stood a narrow archway that led to a small, open balcony. Zahariel saw Luther out in the sunshine, glancing thoughtfully up at the cloudless sky. He rounded the desk and stepped to the edge of the balcony, reluctant to intrude even under the current circumstances. 'May I speak to you for a moment, brother?'

Luther glanced over his shoulder and waved Zahariel forward. 'I take it you've heard about the deployments,' he said.

'What's going on?' Zahariel replied. 'Has there been some word from the primarch?'

'No,' Luther said. 'More's the pity. There have been… developments here on Caliban.'

Zahariel frowned. 'Developments? What does that mean?'

Luther didn't reply at first. He leaned against the balcony's stone railing, staring down at the industrial sprawl thousands of feet below. Zahariel could tell that he was troubled.

'There have been reports of unrest in Stormhold and Windmir,' he said. 'Worker strikes. Protests. Even, some cases of sabotage at the weapon manufactories.'

'Sabotage?' Zahariel exclaimed, unable to conceal his surprise. 'How long has this been going on?'

'Several months,' Luther said darkly. 'Perhaps as long as a year. It began with a few isolated incidents, but the problem's worked its way through the outer territories like a reaper vine, digging deep into every chink and crevice. Now it's bleeding us in a hundred places. Work stoppages have cut ammo production by fifteen per cent.'

Zahariel shook his head. He held up the message tube. 'That can't be right. I prepared the reports personally. We're over our quota.'

Luther smiled ruefully. 'That's because I've been making up the shortfall by drawing lots of ammunition from the fortress's emergency stockpiles. Now we're dangerously low.'

The Librarian let out a long breath. 'The emergency stockpiles were held in reserve to defend Caliban from enemy attack. Jonson would be furious if he knew they'd been cleaned out. What about the constabulary? Why haven't they put a stop to this?'

'The constabulary have been less than effective,' Luther said, glancing meaningfully at Zahariel.

'You mean they're helping these… these rebels?'

'Indirectly, yes,' Luther said. 'I have no proof, but I can think of no other way to explain it. There have been few detentions, and little progress on attempts to uncover who is organising the dissenters.'

Zahariel considered the implications. 'The upper echelons of the constabulary are filled with warriors from the defunct knightly orders,' he mused. Once again, the sense of foreboding tingled at the back of his mind. He pressed the fingertips of his right hand to his forehead.

'I was thinking much the same thing,' Luther said. 'There are many former nobles and powerful knights who broke with the Order when we swore our loyalty to the Emperor. Many of them possess considerable wealth and influence in their former domains.'

'But what do these rebels want?'

Luther turned to Zahariel. This time, his dark eyes glinted coldly. 'I don't know yet, brother, but I intend to find out,' he said. 'But I'm going to need warriors I can trust, so I've cancelled all deployments until further notice.'

Zahariel leaned against the balcony. The decision made sense, but he feared that Luther was striding along the edge of a precipice. 'The primarch needs those warriors in the Shield Worlds,' he said. 'If we delay them, it could lead to disastrous consequences.'