Constantine looked back at the screen. A delicate tracery of silver chains adorned the ethereal’s narrow neck, looping around his shoulders until they became part of the fabric of his robes, a sparkling pattern too fine for the clumsy monitors to represent. A decorous hybrid, somewhere between a bandana and tiara, covered the figure’s elegant forehead, leaving its dark eyes peering from beneath a glittering constellation of jewels and patterns.

“Bloody peacocks...” Constantine muttered, but his heart wasn’t in it.

The tech-priest grunted, motioning towards a second monitor. “They’ve reached the tertiary adjunct.”

Constantine watched the group in silence for a moment, impatience growing steadily. “You’re sure this is wise?” he blurted, finally, not entirely able to disguise the doubt in his voice. Ardias raised an eyebrow.

“There’s a new threat.” He returned, obviously in no mood to justify himself. “I told you that. We need every resource we have.” He nodded at the screen. “These xenogens are of little importance, in the grand scheme of things. Until we’ve identified what we’re dealing with I want this sordid little confrontation stopped.”

“But—”

“No arguments.”

Constantine fumed, unable to restrain his indignation. He cleared his throat noisily and grumbled, “It’s not right, you know... Inviting them aboard like warp-damned dignitaries. They’re scum, not royalty.”

“I don’t recall any ‘inviting’, admiral. Consider the situation logically. Their forces are superior to our own, their units are dispersed across your vessel, their ships outnumber us two to one — and they appear unencumbered by the inadequacies of command that you appear to have demonstrated.” The admiral’s hiss of anger at the insult went unnoticed, the Marine continuing his tirade with finality. “Just be grateful they were eager to parley. They could have finished us if they’d chosen to, and you know it.”

A bubble of aggression burst in Constantine’s mind. “Is it not better to die in service to the Emperor,” he hissed, “than to consort with abominations?”

The Marine’s glare bored into him, his voice suddenly cold. “Do not presume to lecture me on ethics, lord admiral. The tau’s time will come, on that you may rely.”

“And in the meantime th—”

“You would do well to moderate your tone of address! I have seen the true face of our enemy, Guilliman’s oath! These tau are nothing in comparison.”

The room descended into a furious silence, both men turning to watch the strange procession of aliens move from monitor to monitor. Constantine stroked his moustache irritably.

“Any word from Governor Severus?” he barked at the tech-priest, losing patience. The robed figured shook its head, concentrating on the camera controls.

“Perhaps he’s already dead. One can but hope.”

The silence dragged on. The admiral fidgeted.

“It’s time,” the tech-priest intoned, artificial eyes glowing. They will reach the concilium chamber shortly.”

Constantine nodded and threw a sidelong glare at Ardias. “Are you joining us for the negotiations?”

“I think not.”

“Oh?”

“Talking is not my strong point.” He fingered the bolt pistol at his huge waist absently. “I shall monitor events from the Observarius. Our mutual acquaintance is already there.”

“Mutual acquaintance?”

Ardias smiled grimly and pointed towards Constantine’s throat, leaving him self-consciously adjusting the ruffle he’d employed to conceal the ugly wounds on his neck. The admiral remembered the firm alien grip on his shoulder, its accented voice in his ear. He shuddered.

“I thought you killed it,” he muttered.

“You thought incorrectly.”

“It almost murdered me. It slaughtered the bridge personnel, by the throne!”

“Indeed. It is a great warrior.”

“You’re impressed!” Constantine regretted opening his mouth instantly. For a second he really thought Ardias was going to kill him, eyes flashing dangerously, fist clenching with a metal-on-metal groan.

“No,” the Marine said eventually, visibly controlling himself, i am not. “But one does not open a peace negotiation by slaying the enemy’s finest soldiers.”

Constantine didn’t dare reply. The clutching gauntlet looked as though it could mash his head in a second.

“Just leave it,” Ardias snarled, perhaps unconvinced by his own explanation. “I have my reasons. Now get going.”

The Ultramarine turned his huge back and stomped away towards the observation galleries. Constantine watched him go, summoning the shreds of his dignity. He rearranged his dress uniform meticulously and stepped through into the concilium boardroom to await his guests.

Shadows curled claws and tentacles around his face.

Someone, far distant, said “Welcome.”

He was falling, perhaps. Tumbling head-over-hooves into an endless pit.

Someone said, “Please accept the returned greetings of his Eminence Aun’el T’au Ko’vash, who trusts his noble host is well.”

The words made sense, possibly. He struggled to turn over, to stare upwards to the top of the hole as it receded into a distant, impossible point.

Someone said, falteringly, “Many thanks... I am Benedil Constantine — admiral of the fleet. Won’t you... Won’t you take a seat?”

There was light up there, at the entrance to the pit. He thought he could see something moving.

Someone said, uncertain, “Take a seat? A gift, admiral?”

Someone said, “Oh, no... I mean, would you like to sit?”

Behind him, deep in the abyss, something rustled and giggled and hissed.

Someone said, “His eminence prefers to stand, but is grateful for the offer.”

Someone replied, a little too sharply, “I wonder if his Eminence is able to speak for himself?”

The thing behind him, the Mont’au devil (he knew it!), stretched out a scaly hand for him, scythe-like claws grasping upwards.

Someone said, “His eminence prefers to speak through me. I am his tongue and his hand, in this circumstance.”

Someone said, angrily, “And you are?”

He concentrated on looking upwards, willing himself to rise, praying for the world to return to him, for his cascading form to levitate into the light.

Someone said, “I am Por’el T’au Yis’ten.”

The words made sense. They were important, he knew.

Someone said, “Fine, fine. Uh. As you wish. Allow me to begin proceedings, then, by protesting in the strongest terms at the unprovoked hostility demonstrated by your people, that has brought us to this poi—”

Someone said, “Admiral, perhaps you are confused. Our hostilities were the result of provocation.”

You’re asleep, Kais. You need to wake up now.

Someone said, “Well, I disagr—”

Someone said, “Admiral, his eminence is unconcerned whether you agree or not. Let us not mince words. We are in a position of superiority. We have all but seized your flagship and possess the ability to cripple your fleet further still. Let us not waste our time with protests and accusations.”

He could see, now, in the light at the pit’s head. Something opening, breaking apart like mighty doors in the sky.

He could see...

Someone said, voice thick with indignation, “If you’re so convinced that you can defeat us, why are you even here, begging for peace?”

Someone said, “Admiral, we have no great fondness for genocide. A withdrawal is all we desire.”

He could see...

Oh, by the One Path, it was eyes. Great, dark, bottomless eyes; his father’s scowling face filling the sky. Filling the world. Filling his mind with expectation and disappointment.

Flawed, the eyes said. Useless.

The devil behind him cackled and warbled and giggled, and its claws closed around his waist.