Kais lurched awake with a hiss, hands clawing at the air to ward off the nightmares. Cool air brushed across his skin with a bizarre freshness: a sensation of newborn helplessness. He realised slowly that his helmet was gone, his gun had disappeared and he lay in—

He blinked.

The room was gue’la, unmistakably. All the usual ugliness was apparent: a tumbling intestine of tubes and pipes infesting the ceiling, grille-striated walls of bleak gunmetal, stone block recesses surrounded him on three sides and the usual damp, musty smell of humanity (now unfiltered by the helmet’s breathing systems) hit his senses like a fist.

But there was something different about this place. As he levered himself upright his hooves made contact with a soft, spongy floor covering, momentarily unset-ding him as he ascertained its solidity. Here and there plush crimson tapestries and drapes decorated the bulkheads, spiderlike icons of meaningless heraldry blistering their surfaces. The chamber was better lit than any he’d seen aboard the Enduring Blade thus far, giving it a sense of cleanliness and regality that was out of place in such grim surroundings.

There was a conversation going on, somewhere.

Someone said, “I see... so... You expect us to retreat, is that it?”

Kais turned his head towards the sound, still shaking off the torpor. The fourth wall of the room was a window. Bathed in the light from whatever luminous chamber lay beyond, standing with colossal hands on hips, a Space Marine stood and stared. Kais felt the panic rising in his belly.

He straightened with a hiss, frantic sleep clouded thoughts racing, eyes seeking out a weapon, a hiding place, anything!

“Relax.”

The Marine was staring at him, helmetless features grizzled and scarred. It cocked an eyebrow and gave what, to Kais, seemed an insincere, unimpressed grimace.

“I thought you might appreciate seeing this.” The figure jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the window and turned away. A disembodied voice, relayed through a small speaker set above the window, said: “In essence, admiral, yes. His Eminence feels there’s little to be gained from continuing our hostilities.” Kais, staying alert and wary of traps, edged towards the window, curiosity piqued. “Our resources,” the voice continued, “are more than enough to overcome your own, highly effective though they undoubtedly are. We feel, nonetheless, that even in victory there would be great cost to all concerned. We’ve demonstrated our seriousness, and offer our gratitude that you agreed to negotiate... despite the initial delay.”

The window looked out onto a wide circular room full of standing figures. Kais crept closer, expecting a trap, throwing furtive glances at the Marine. The figure, clad in blue armour with inverted hoof-arch icons on its shoulder guards, maintained its appearance of dismissive nonchalance.

The voice went on after a pause, its pleasant pitch undoubtedly tau in origin. Kais clung to the certainty that others of his race were nearby, letting the words themselves — disguised behind a friendly, trustworthy tonality — wash over him. “His Eminence wishes to make it clear that breaches of the Dal’yth treaty and other hostilities will no longer be tolerated, and that the mercy we have demonstrated this rotaa will not be repeated in future.”

“This is your idea of mercy, is it? Seizing my vessel and demanding my surre—”

“We would remind you that the attempted seizure of our vessel preceded yours, and his eminence suspects that, had you succeeded, a surrender on our behalf would have fallen on deaf ears. You should consider yourselves lucky, he believes.”

The figures beyond the glass began to resolve as Kais drew nearer. He spotted a domed pol-hat — characteristic of water caste diplomats — and began to understand.

“They’re negotiating for peace?” he murmured, more to himself than the scowling Space Marine. The figure turned his way nonetheless and fixed him with another imperious glare.

“That’s the idea. Your diplomats are to be congratulated, alien. They posture and make threats, all the while managing to sound as friendly as you like. The Codex approves of shows of strength — when properly executed.”

Kais felt utterly bewildered. To be so close to one of these vast killing machines, unarmed and unprepared... he ought to be dead, not standing discussing morality like a lecture-hall por’el.

The wall speaker said, “Lucky? Ha!”

“What’s going on?” Kais muttered. “What’s happened?”

The Space Marine gave him an appraising stare, pursing his scarred lips. “Just watch.”

Kais crept closer to the window, fighting the screaming nerves. The wide chamber on the other side of the window was packed with figures, divided along a central line into human and tau groups. The gue’la looked angry, various officers hissing into one another’s ears, waving their hands expressively. A row of storm-troopers waited silently along one wall. At the table was the same tall, grey-haired man he’d almost garrotted earlier, frowning in distaste.

He turned to the Marine quickly. “How long since...?”

“Since you wrecked the bridge? About an hour.”

A didactic memory at the base of Kais’s mind chipped in efficiently, identifying an hour as two thirds of a dec. Things had moved quickly since he was knocked out.

“Who are you?”

“Ardias. Captain Ardias of his Imperial Majesty’s Ultramarines.”

“Why didn’t you... Why aren’t I dead?”

“Call it a sign of goodwill.” The assurance was not convincing. Ardias turned away.

Kais returned his eyes to the window, staring down at the tau group. At its head, dressed in gue’la-imitation robes, a phalanx of water caste diplomats led by Por’el Yis’ten stood and whispered to each other calmly. Kais had seen El’Yis’ten once or twice aboard the Or’es Tash’var before the rotaa’s madness began: if anything the grim angular surroundings of the gue’la vessel exacerbated her already stunning looks. Shas’las and shas’uis were arranged carefully against the wall behind them, watching their human counterparts suspiciously.

Kais wanted to beat his fists on the window and scream: “Don’t trust them! Get out! Get out!”

Ardias glanced at him shrewdly, as if reading his thoughts. Kais frowned at him, uncowed by the human’s stare. They returned their attention to the assembly simultaneously.

Aun’el Ko’vash stood in thought, eyes wide with ancient wisdom, leaning on his honour blade. In Kais’s eyes he wore a corona of power and focus, a halo of intellect that eclipsed the brightness of the room’s artificial lights. He leaned down gracefully to whisper something to the por’el. El’Yis’ten turned to the admiral, smiling.

“His eminence wonders why you chose to parley so abruptly, when all our previous attempts to communicate met with failure.”

Kais could see the admiral was frustrated at having to converse with the ethereal via El’Yis’ten, tired eyes flicking from one to the other as he prepared his answer. Kais wondered vaguely whether such conduit conferencing was normal, or carefully designed to distract and disorient. The water caste were as notorious for their cunning as their diplomacy.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the admiral barked, caught off guard.

“Merely a matter of interest.” El’Yis’ten purred, her grasp of the human tongue far in advance of Kais’s, smiling in a remarkable impression of a cheerful gue’la. “His eminence would be disappointed to discover this little conference was a pretext to bring him aboard. He is aware of his value to your... ah... ‘tech-priests’.”

The admiral, Kais thought, looked furious. The Marine beside him grunted. “Tell me — is paranoia prevalent throughout your race?”

Kais didn’t answer.

“How dare you!” the admiral neighed in the boardroom, indignant. “The very suggestion is—”