'Why do you ask?'

You called him by his forename, not by any honorific or rank.’

Sindermann smiled at her. 'I think Captain Loken might be considered a friend of mine. I'd like to think so, anyway. You never can tell with an Astartes. They form relationships with mortals in a curious way, but we spend time together and discuss certain matters.’

You're his mentor?'

'His tutor. There is a great difference. I know things he does not, so I am able to expand his knowledge, but I do not presume to have influence over him. Oh, Mistress Keeler! This one is superb! The best, I should say.’

'I thought so. I was very pleased with it.’

'All of them together like that, and Garviel kneeling so humbly, and the way you've framed them against the company standard.’

That was just happenstance.’ Keeler said. They chose what they were standing beside.’

Sindermann placed his hand gently upon hers. He seemed genuinely grateful for the chance to review her work. That pict alone will become famous, I have no doubt. It will be reproduced in history texts for as long as the Imperium endures.’

'It's just a pict.’ she chided.

'It is a witness. It is a perfect example of what the remembrancers can do. I have been reviewing some of the material produced by the remembrancers thus far, the material that's been added to the expedition's collective archive. Some of it is... patchy, shall I say? Ideal ammunition for those who claim the remembrancer project is a waste of time, funds and ship space, but some is outstanding, and I would class your work amongst that.’

You're very kind.’

'I am honest, mistress. And I believe that if mankind does not properly document and witness his achievements, then only half of this undertaking has been made. Speaking of honest, come with me.’

He led her back to the main group by the window. Another figure had joined them on the observation deck, and stood talking to Van Karsten. It was the equerry, Maloghurst, and he turned as they approached.

'Kyril, do you want to tell them?'

You engineered it, equerry. The pleasure's yours.’

Maloghurst nodded. 'After some negotiation with the expedition seniors, it has been agreed that the six of you can follow the strike force to the surface and observe the venture. You will travel down with one of the ancillary support vessels.’

The remembrancers chorused their delight.

There's been a lot of debate about allowing remembrancers to become embedded in the layers of military

activity.’ Sindermann said, 'particularly concerning the issue of civilian welfare in a warzone. There is also, if I may be quite frank, some concern about what you will see. The Astartes in war is a shocking, savage sight. Many believe that such images are not for public distribution, as they might paint a negative picture of the crusade.’

.’We both believe otherwise.’ Maloghurst said. The truth can't be wrong, even if it is ugly or shocking. We need to be clear about what we are doing, and how we are doing it, and allow persons such as yourselves to respond to it. That is the honesty on which a mature culture must be based. We also need to celebrate, and how can you celebrate the courage of the Astartes if you don't see it? I believe in the strength of positive propaganda, thanks, in no small part, to Mistress Keeler here and her documenting of my own plight. There is a rallying power in images and reports of both Imperial victory and Imperial suffering. It communicates a common cause to bind and uplift our society.’

'It helps.’ Sindermann put in, 'that this is a low-key action. An unusual use of the Astartes in a policing role. It should be over in a day or so, with little collateral risk. However, I wish to emphasise that this is still dangerous. You will observe instruction at all times, and never stray from your protection detail. I am to accompany you - this was one of the stipulations made by the War-master. Listen to me and do as I say at all times.’

So we're still to be vetted and controlled, Keeler thought. Shown only what they choose to show us. Never mind, this is still a great opportunity. One that I can't believe Mersadie has missed.

'Look!' cried Borodin Flora.

They all turned.

The stormbirds were launching. Like giant steel darts they shot from the deck mouth, the sunlight catching their armoured flanks. Majestically, they turned in the

darkness as they fell away, burners lighting up like blue coals as they dropped in formation towards the planet.

BRACING HIMSELF AGAINST the low, overhead handrails, Loken moved down the spinal aisle of the lead storm-bird. Luna Wolves, impassive behind their visors, their weapons locked and stowed, sat in the rear-facing cage-seats either side of him. The bird rocked and shuddered as it cut its steep path through the upper atmosphere.

He reached the cockpit section and wrenched open the hatch to enter. Two flight officers sat back to back, facing wall panel consoles, and beyond them two pilot servitors lay, hardwired into forward-facing helm positions in the cone. The cockpit was dark, apart from the coloured glow of the instrumentation and the sheen of light coming in through the forward slit-ports.

'Captain?' one of the flight officers said, turning and looking up.

What's the problem with the vox?' Loken asked. 'I've had several reports of comm faults from the men. Ghosting and chatter.’

We're getting that too, sir.’ the officer said, his hands playing over his controls, 'and I'm hearing similar reports from the other birds. We think it's atmospherics.’

'Disruption?'

Yes, sir. I've checked with the flagship, and they haven't picked up on it. It's probably an acoustic echo from the surface.’

'It seems to be getting worse.’ Loken said. He adjusted his helm and tried his link again. The static hiss was still there, but now it had shapes in it, like muffled words.

'Is that language?' he asked.

The officer shook his head. 'Can't tell, sir. It's just reading as general interference. Perhaps we're bouncing up broadcasts from one of the southern cities. Or maybe even army traffic.’

'We need clean vox.’ Loken said. 'Do something.’

The officer shrugged and adjusted several dials. 'I can try purging the signal. I can wash it through the signal buffers. Maybe that will tidy up the channels.

In Loken's ears, there was a sudden, seething rush of static, and then things became quieter suddenly.

'Better.’ he said. Then he paused. Now the hiss was gone, he could hear the voice. It was tiny, distant, impossibly quiet, but it was speaking proper words.

'.. .only name you'll hear....'

'What is that?' Loken asked. He strained to hear. The voice was so very far away, like a rustle of silk.

The flight officer craned his neck, listening to his own headphones. He made minute adjustments to his dials.

'I might be able to...' he began. A touch of his hand had suddenly cleaned the signal to audibility.

'What in the name of Terra is that?' he asked.

Loken listened. The voice, like a gust of dry, desert wind, said, 'Samus. That's the only name you'll hear. Samus. It means the end and the death. Samus. I am Samus. Samus is all around you. Samus is the man beside you. Samus will gnaw upon your bones. Look out! Samus is here.’

The voice faded. The channel went dead and quiet, except for the occasional echo pop.

The flight officer took off his headset and looked at Loken. His face was wide-eyed and fearful. Loken recoiled slightly. He wasn't made to deal with fear. The concept disgusted him.

'I d-don't know what that was.’ the flight officer said.

'I do.’ said Loken. 'Our enemy is trying to scare us.’