'Maybe,’ replied Loken, 'but others will stand against you,’

Then they will die too,’

'THANK YOU ALL for coming,’ said Sindermann, overwhelmed and a little afraid at the number of people gathered before him. 'I appreciate that you have all taken a great risk to be here, but this is too much,’

Crammed into a dark maintenance space, filthy with grease and hemmed in by low hissing pipe work, the faithful had come from all over the ship to hear the saint's words, mistakenly believing that she was awake. Amongst the crowd, Sindermann saw the uniforms of Titan crewmen, fleet maintenance workers, medical staff, security personnel, and even a few Imperial Army troopers. Men with guns guarded the entrances to the maintenance space and their presence served as a stark reminder of the danger they were in just by being here.

Such a large gathering was dangerous, too easily noticed, and Sindermann knew that he had to disperse them quickly before they were discovered, and do it in such a way as not to incite a riot.

You have escaped notice thus far thanks to the size of your gatherings, but so many cannot avoid notice for long,’ continued Sindermann. You will no doubt have heard many strange and wonderful

things recently, and I hope you will forgive me for putting you in harm's way'

The news of Keeler's rescue had spread quickly ? through the ship. It had been whispered among the grime-covered ratings, it had been communicated through the remembrancer order with the rapidity of an epidemic and it had reached the ears of even the lowliest member of the expedition. Embellishments and wild rumour followed in the wake of the news and tales abounded of the saint and her miraculous powers, incredible stories of bullets turned aside and of visions of the Emperor speaking direcdy to her in order to show His people the way

'What of the saint?' asked a voice from the crowd. 'We want to see her!'

Sindermann held up a hand and said, 'The saint is fortunate to be alive. She is well, but she still sleeps. Some of you have heard that she is awake, and that she has spoken, but regrettably this is not the case.'

A disappointed buzz spread throughout the crowd, angry at Sindermann's denial of what many of them desperately wanted to believe. Sindermann was reminded of the speeches he had given on newly-compliant worlds, where he had used his iterator's wiles to extol the virtues of the Imperial Truth.

Now he had to use those same skills to give these people hope.

'The saint still sleeps, it's true, but for one brief, shining moment she arose from her slumbers to

save my life. I saw her eyes open and I know that when we need her, she will come back to us. Until then we must walk warily, for there are those in the fleet who would destroy us for our beliefs. The very fact that we must meet in secret and rely on armed guards to keep us safe is a reminder that Mal-oghurst himself regularly sends troops to break up the meetings of the Lectitio Divinitatus. People have been killed and their blood is on the hands of the Astartes. Ignace Karkasy, Emperor rest his soul, knew the dangers of an unchecked Astartes before any of us realised their hands were around our throats.

'Once, I could not believe in such things as saints. I had trained myself to accept only logic and science, and to cast aside religion as superstition. Magic and miracles were impossible, simply the invention of ignorant people struggling to understand their world. It took the sacrifice of the saint to show me how arrogant I was. I saw how the Emperor protects, but she has shown me that there is so much more than that, for, if the Emperor protects His faithful, who protects the Emperor?' Sindermann let the question hang. 'We must,' said Titus Cassar, pushing his way towards the front of the crowd and turning to address them. Sindermann had placed Cassar in the crowd with specific instructions on when to speak - a basic ploy of the iterators to reinforce their message.

We must protect the Emperor, for there is no one else,’ said Cassar. The moderati looked back at Sin-dermann. 'But we must stay alive in order to do so. Is that not right, iterator?'

'Yes,’ said Sindermann. 'The faith that this congregation has displayed has caused such fear in the higher echelons of the fleet that they are trying to destroy us. The Emperor has an enemy here; of that I am sure. We must survive and we must stand against that enemy when it finally reveals itself,’

Worried and angry murmurings spread through the crowd as the deadly nature of the threat sank in. 'Faithful friends,’ said Sindermann, 'the dangers we face are great, but the saint is with us and she needs shelter. Shelter we can best achieve alone, but watch for the signs and be safe. Spread the word of her safety,’

Cassar moved through the congregation, instructing them to return to their posts. Reassured by Sindermann's words, they gradually began to disperse. As he watched them go, Sindermann wondered how many of them would live through the coming days.

THE GALLERY OF Swords ran the length of the Andro-nius like the ship's gilded spine. Its roof was transparent and the space beneath was lit by the fire of distant stars. Hundreds of statues lined the gallery, heroes of the Emperor's Children with gem-stone eyes and stern expressions of judgement. The

worth of a hero was said to be measured by how long he could meet their gaze while walking the length of the Gallery of Swords beneath their unforgiving eyes.

Tarvitz held his head high as he entered the gallery, though he knew he was no hero, simply a warrior who did his best. Chapter Masters and commanders from long ago glared at him, their names and noble countenances known and revered by every warrior of the Emperor's Children. Entire wings of the Andronius were given over to the fallen battle-brothers of the Legion, but it was here that every warrior hoped to be remembered.

Tarvitz had no expectation of his visage ending up here, but he would strive to end his days in a manner that might be considered worthy of such an honour. Even if such a lofty goal was impossible, it was something to aspire to.

Eidolon stood before the graven image of Lord Commander Teliosa, the hero of the Madrivane Campaign, and even before Tarvitz drew near he turned to face him.

'Captain Tarvitz,’ said Eidolon. 'I have rarely seen you here,’

'It is not my natural habitat, commander,’ replied Tarvitz. 'I leave the heroes of our Legion to their rest,’

Then what brings you here now?' 'I would speak with you if you would permit me,’ 'Surely your time is better spent attending to your warriors, Tarvitz. That is where your talents lie,’

You honour me by saying so, commander, but there is something I need to ask you.'

'About?'

The death of the Warsinger.'

'Ah,’ Eidolon looked up at the statue towering over them, the hollow eyes regarding them with a cold, unflinching gaze. 'She was quite an adversary; absolutely corrupt, but that corruption gave her strength.'

'I need to know how you killed her.'

'Captain? You speak as if to an equal,’

'I saw what you did, commander,’ Tarvitz pressed. That scream, it was some... I don't know... some power I've never heard of before,’

Eidolon held up a hand. 'I can understand why you have questions, and I can answer them, but perhaps it would be better for me to show you. Follow me,’

Tarvitz followed the lord commander as they walked further down the Gallery of Swords, turning into a side passage with sheets of parchment pinned along the length of its walls. Accounts of glorious actions from the Legion's past were meticulously recorded on them and novices of the Legion were required to memorise the many different battles before their elevation to full Astartes.

The Emperor's Children did more than just remember their triumphs; they proclaimed them, because the perfection of the Legion's way of war deserved celebrating.