Julius stood and said, 'Because they can't. They're trapped in this system.'

'Trapped?' asked Gabriel Santar from across the chamber. 'Trapped how?'

'I don't know,' said Julius. 'Perhaps they have no Navigator.'

'No,' said Fulgrim, 'that's not it. If they were without a Navigator then the 52nd Expedition would have caught them long ago. It's something else. What?'

Julius watched as the officers of both Legions contemplated the question, sure that his primarch already knew the answer.

Even as the answer came to him, Gabriel Santar stood and said, 'Fuel. They need fuel for their fleet.'

Though Julius knew it was foolish, he felt a stab of jealousy at being denied the chance to answer his primarch and glared angrily at the weathered face of Iron Hand's first captain.

'Exactly!' said Fulgrim. 'Fuel. A fleet the size of the Diasporex must consume a phenomenal amount of energy every day, and to make a jump of any distance they will need a great deal of it. The fleet masters of this sector's compliant worlds do not report any significant losses of tankers or convoys, so we must assume the Diasporex are getting their fuel from another source.'

'The Carollis Star,' said Julius. 'They must have solar collectors hidden somewhere in the sun's corona. They're waiting to gather enough fuel before moving on.'

Fulgrim turned back to the centre of the chamber and said, 'That is how we will bring the Diasporex to battle, by discovering these collectors and threatening them. We will draw our enemies to a battle of our choosing and then we will destroy them.'

Later, after the war council had disbanded, Fulgrim and Ferrus Manus retired to the lord of the Emperor's Children's private staterooms aboard the Pride of the Emperor. Fulgrim's chambers were the envy of Terra's master of antiquities: every wall hung with elegantly framed pictures of vibrant alien landscapes or extraordinary picts of the Astartes and mortals of the Crusade.

Antechambers filled with marble busts and the spoils of war radiated from the central stateroom, and everywhere the eye fell, it alighted on a work of unimaginable artistic beauty. Only the far end of the room was bare of ornamentation, the space filled with part carved blocks of marble, and easels of unfinished artwork.

Fulgrim reclined on a chaise longue, stripped out of his armour and dressed in a simple toga of cream and purple. He drank wine from a crystal goblet and rested his hand on a table upon which lay the silver hiked sword he had taken from the Laer temple. The sword was a truly magnificent weapon, hardly the equal of Fireblade, but exquisite nonetheless. Its balance was flawless, as though it had been designed for his hand alone, and its keen edge had the power to cut through Astartes plate with ease.

The purple gem at the pommel was of crude workmanship, but had a certain primitive charm to it that was quite at odds with the quality of the blade and hilt. Perhaps he would replace the gem with something more appropriate.

Even as the thought arose he dismissed it, feeling suddenly as though such an exchange would be the basest act of vandalism. With a shake of his head, Fulgrim put the sword from his mind and ran a hand through his unbound white hair. Ferrus Manus paced the room like a caged lion, and though scout ships were even now hunting the Diasporex fuel collectors, he still chafed at this enforced inaction.

'Oh, sit down, Ferrus,' said Fulgrim. 'You will wear a groove in the marble. Take some wine.'

'Sometimes, Fulgrim, I swear this isn't a ship of war anymore, it's a flying gallery,' said Ferrus Manus, examining the works hung on the walls. 'Although, these picts are good: who took them?'

'An imagist named Euphrati Keeler. I'm told she travels with the 63rd Expedition.'

'She has a fine eye,' noted Ferrus. 'These are good picts.'

'Yes,' said Fulgrim. 'I suspect that her name will be known throughout the expedition fleets soon.'

'Although I'm not sure about these paintings,' said Ferrus, pointing at a series of abstract acrylics of riotous colour and passionate brushstrokes.

'You have no appreciation of the finer things, my brother,' sighed Fulgrim. 'Those are works by Serena d'Angelus. Noble families of Terra would pay a small fortune to own such a piece.'

'Really?' said Ferrus, tilting his head to one side. 'What are they supposed to be?'

'They are…' began Fulgrim, struggling to put into words the sensations and emotions evoked by the colours and shapes within the picture. He looked closely at the picture and smiled.

'They are recreations of reality formed according to the artist's metaphysical value judgments,' he said, the words leaping unbidden to his lips. 'An artist recreates those aspects of reality that represent the fundamental truth of man's nature. To understand that is to understand the truth of the galaxy. Mistress d'Angelus is aboard The Pride of the Emperor, I should introduce you to her.'

Ferrus grunted and asked, 'Why do you insist on keeping such things around? They are a distraction from our duty to the Emperor and Horus.'

Fulgrim shook his head. 'These works will be the Emperor's Children's lasting contribution to a compliant galaxy. Yes, there are planets yet to conquer and enemies yet to defeat, but what manner of galaxy will it be if there are none to appreciate what has been won? The Imperium will be a hollow place if it is to be denied art, poetry and music, and those with the wit to appreciate them. Art and beauty are as close to the divine as we find in this godless age. People should, in their daily lives, aspire to create art and beauty. That will be what the Imperium comes to stand for in time, and it will make us immortal.'

'I still think it's a distraction,' said Ferrus Manus.

'Not at all, Ferrus, for the foundations of the Imperium are art and science. Remove them or degrade them and the Imperium is no more. It is said that empire follows art and not vice versa as those of a more prosaic nature might suppose, and I would rather go without food or water for weeks than go without art.'

Ferrus looked unconvinced and pointed to the unfinished works that lay at the far end of the stateroom. 'So what are these ones then? They're not very good. What do they recreate?'

Fulgrim felt a flush of anger, but suppressed it before it could show.

'I was indulging my creative side, but it is nothing serious,' he said, a traitorous kernel within him seething at his handiwork being dismissed so lightly.

Ferrus Manus shrugged and sat on a tall wooden chair before pouring himself a chalice of wine from a silver amphora.

'Ah, it's good to be back amongst friends,' said Ferrus Manus, raising his chalice.

'That it is,' agreed Fulgrim. 'We see too little of one another now that the Emperor has returned to Terra.'

'And taken the Fists with him,' said Ferrus.

'I had heard,' said Fulgrim. 'Has Dorn done something to offend our father?'

Ferrus Manus shook his head. 'Not that I'm aware of, but who knows. Perhaps Horus was told.'

'You should really try to get into the habit of calling him the Warmaster now.'

'I know, I know,' said Ferrus, 'but I still find it hard to think of Horus that way, you understand?'

'I do, but it is the way of things, brother,' pointed out Fulgrim. 'Horus is Warmaster and we are his generals. Warmaster Horus commands and we obey.'

'You're right of course. He's earned it, I'll give him that,' said Ferrus, raising his chalice. 'No one has a greater tally of victories than the Luna Wolves. Horus deserves our loyalty.'

'Spoken like a true follower,' smiled Fulgrim, an inner voice goading him into baiting his brother primarch.

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Nothing,' said Fulgrim with a shake of his hand. 'Come on, didn't you hope it would be you? Didn't you wish with all your heart that the Emperor would name you his regent?'