Ardias punched the speaker and resisted the urge to grin savagely as fragments of plasteel tumbled past him. Even in wanton destruction there must be discipline.

“Aal... nds to re... borrrrrrr... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzkk.”

“I heard the first time.” he grunted.

The assembly of company sergeants and veterans chuckled under their breaths, arranged in a perfect line. He turned to face them, gratified that their mirth instantly hardened to resolve.

“Brothers... Do you stand ready for battle?”

“Aye!” they chorused, clashing weapons against breast plates in perfect unison, faces glowing with martial pride.

“The company?”

Veteran-Sergeant Mallich took a clipped half step forwards. “It stands ready, brother-captain. Chaplain Mulvarius is intoning battle rites as we speak.”

“Good.” It had been a hundred years since his elevation beyond the rank of sergeant, but Ardias slid back into the posturing, parade-ground-inspection routine with ease. He kneaded his knuckles thoughtfully. “Brothers... In consulting with Admiral Constantine I have made a troubling discovery. We are not alone in our secondment aboard this vessel.” A few brows dipped, confused. “A full company of Space Marines of the Raptors Chapter, it would seem, shares our assignment.” He sighed, annoyance palpable to the listeners. “I neither understand nor care why we were kept ignorant of this, but questions will be asked of the Navis Nobilite, you may count upon it. One does not attract the Ultramarines with claims of goodwill, then insult them by bolstering their strength with lesser warriors. I know little of the Raptors, brothers, but their reckless disregard for the Codex is legendary.”

The veterans shook their heads angrily, muttering beneath their breaths. The Codex Astartes — composed by their Chapter’s primarch Roboute Guilliman — detailed the correct conduct and attitude of a Space Marine in any given circumstance. To Ardias and his kin it was more than a behavioural manual; it was sacred.

“They have been petitioned by the admiral to guard strategic points of the vessel. Engines, generarium, command deck and so on.”

The veterans’ discontent grew, flashing angry glances at one another, clearly insulted. “Captain? Why them?”

“A pertinent question, Sergeant Mallich — and one to which I have no answer. The Raptors were clearly forewarned of whatever trouble these navy fools have landed themselves in. They requested — and were granted — operative duties, before I was even made aware of the situation.”

“They’re unreliable, brother-captain!”

“I share your ire, brother, but we must be calm in the face of this insult. We must demonstrate that one does not garrison a company of Ultramarines then ignore them, Emperor’s tears!”

The veterans’ chant pounded at the air. “Aye!”

Ardias narrowed his eyes, voice suddenly cold. “When the Raptors make mistakes — and they will, brothers, have no doubt — we must be there to lead the way. We must show the children of the Imperium that a single Ultramarine, with his mind and heart filled with the words of blessed Guilliman, is worth any twenty firebrand Raptors.”

The storm of assent was deafening, the officers roaring and calling out prayers in the Emperor’s name, ringing their fists against their armour. Ardias basked in it, letting it wash over him.

“I want squads positioned at strategic points throughout this ship. Stay in contact and avoid confrontation with the Raptors. If you find yourself challenged, refer them to my vox. True warriors of Macragge brook no interference from loose cannons with no respect for the Codex! Is that clear?”

“Aye!”

“That’s all, brothers. Courage and honour! Move ou—”

Wait!

Ardias turned to the doorway with a frown. He disliked interruptions.

Librarian Delpheus staggered into the briefing room clumsily, supporting himself against the wall. His face was pale and wan, sweat collecting on his cable-pocked brow. The psychic hood glowed dully, like a faltering illuminator. Ardias’s ire turned immediately to concern and he rushed forwards to support his comrade.

“Delpheus? Brother, what’s wrong?”

“Another vision...” The librarian was gagging on his words, eyes rolling. Ardias had never seen him like this. “M-more signs. More pictures. The masked fiend, revealing itself...” He was sweating, suit’s thermal regulators struggling to equalise his temperature.

“Brother... I don’t understand. You’re not making sense.”

“The masked fiend. The masked fiend. The masked fiend...”

Ardias glanced at the sergeants, watching the display with a mixture of fascination and revulsion. Delpheus’s goggle-eyed loss of dignity was far removed from the Ultramarine way of life, and suspicion towards mutants — even those of incalculable value to the Chapter — was deeply ingrained in the creeds of the Codex.

“Delpheus,” Ardias hissed, uncomfortable. “You must control yourself.”

The Librarian’s oscillating eyeballs fixed on him, clarity returning with a jolt.

“It’s. The ship, yes. There’s something aboard...”

“We know that, brother. Throne-damned xenogens! We must purge th—”

“No! No — something more! S-something else...”

“What?”

Sergeant Mallich, a look of profound distaste creasing his features, lost his patience. “Captain? We should fall out, yes?”

“No!” Delpheus cried, finally dragging himself upright unaided. His eyes, ringed and sunken, prowled from face to face. He settled his gaze on Ardias and nodded, some semblance of reason returning to his features.

“Brother-captain... You must allow the Raptors their commission.”

“But—”

“There will be need for us afterwards. There are worse than tau aboard... I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it, don’t you hear me? I have seen it!”

“Seen what, by the Emperor? Talk sense!”

Delpheus leaned in close to Ardias’s face, feverish lips trembling. His voice was almost inaudible, psychic hood turning the air greasy.

“Old friend,” he hissed, “if you’ve ever trusted me... If ever you’ve believed my words, hear me now. A darkness approaches. There is... The Ultramarines, throne bless their thousand souls... They’ll be needed. Let the Raptors fight these tau, if they must. Win or lose — it doesn’t matter. We must be ready for the aftermath. We must steel ourselves for the masked fiend...”

Ardias stared deep into his old friend’s eyes and saw, as ever, the aching pain of the psychic curse, a lonely voice of sanity crying out from beyond a boundary of warp-spawned madness. But there was an inviolable core of certainty there as well. He took another glance at the sergeants. They weren’t remotely convinced.

“What would you have me do?” he asked his shivering comrade.

“Just... be ready... they come. They come...”

The librarian sunk to his knees, eyes rolling into his head. He collapsed to the deck with a groan and lay there unconscious, breathing heavily.

Sergeant Corlum broke the expectant silence. “Sir?”

Ardias didn’t take his eyes off the Librarian, gritting his teeth. “Cancel all previous orders.” he said. “Have the men standing by.”

“But sir! You can’t believ—”

“No arguments, brother. I want the men ready. Weapons loaded and armed. Distribute ammunition evenly. It seems we must wait for action.”

“Sir.”

“Fall out.”

The sergeants stamped out, shaking their heads and muttering. Ardias regretted their discontent, but could hardly blame them. He stared at the librarian, feverish breaths slowly normalising, and wondered what he’d meant.

They come... they come...

The other shas’las were in awe of him, he realised. Oh, they tried to conceal it, keeping pace with him, twittering professionally, taking turns to cover the rear or to take point. He’d decided to let them try and keep up, if they must. They were judging themselves along parameters for which he had no use.