An Astartes warrior had nodded in respect as Petronella despondently travelled along the upper decks of the ship towards her stateroom. She had made to nod back, before realising that the Astartes had been paying his respects to Maggard, not her.
A scroll upon the Astartes's shoulder guard bore a green crescent moon, marking him out as a veteran of the Davin campaign and thus no doubt aware of Mag-gard's fighting prowess.
Indignation surged to the surface, but before Petronella said anything, an idea began to form and she hurried back to the stateroom.
Petronella had stood Maggard in the centre of the room and said, 'It's so obvious to me now, shame on me for not thinking of this sooner,’
Maggard looked puzzled, and she moved closer to him, stroking her hand down his moulded breastplate. He seemed uncomfortable with this, but she pressed on, knowing that he would do anything for her in fear of reprisal should he refuse.
'It's because I am a woman,' she said. 'I'm not part of their little club,’
She moved behind him and stood on her tiptoes, placing her hands on his shoulders. 'I'm not a warrior. I've never killed anyone, well, not myself, and that's what they respect: killing. You've killed men, haven't you Maggard?'
He nodded curtly.
'Lots?'
Maggard nodded again and she laughed. 'I'm sure they know that too. You can't speak to boast of your prowess, but I'm sure the Astartes know it. Even the ones that weren't on Davin will be able to see that you're a killer.'
Maggard licked his lips, keeping his golden eyes averted from her.
'I want you to go amongst them,' she ordered. 'Let them see you. Inveigle yourself into their daily rituals. Find out all you can about them and each day we will use the mnemo-quill to transcribe what you've discovered. You're mute, so they'll think you simple. Let them. They will be less guarded if they think they humour a dolt,’
She could see that Maggard was unhappy with this task, but his happiness was of no consequence to her and she had sent him out the very next morning.
She had spent the rest of the day writing, sending Babeth out for food and water when she realised she was hungry, and trying different stylistic approaches to the introduction of her manuscript.
The door to her stateroom opened and Petronella looked up from her work. The chronometer set into the escritoire told her that it was late afternoon, ship time.
She swivelled in her chair to see Maggard enter her room and smiled, reaching over to pull her data-slate close and then lifting the mnemo-quill from the Lethe-well.
You spent time with the Astartes?' she asked.
Maggard nodded.
'Good,’ said Petronella, sitting the reactive nib on the slate and clearing her mind of her own thoughts.
Tell me everything,' she commanded, as the quill began to scratch out his thoughts.
The Warmaster's sanctum was silent save for the occasional hissing, mechanical hum from the exo-armature of Regulus's body, and the rusde of fabric as Maloghurst shifted position. Both stood behind the Warmaster, who sat in his chair at the end of the long table, his hands steepled before him and his expression thunderous.
The Brotherhood should be carrion food by now,’ he said. 'Why have the World Eaters not yet stormed the walls of the Iron Citadel?'
Captain Kharn, equerry to Angron himself, stood firm before the Warmaster's hostile stare, the dim light of the sanctum reflecting from the blue and white of his plate armour.
'My lord, its walls are designed to resist almost every weapon we have available, but I assure you the fortress will be ours within days,’ said Kharn.
Той mean mine,’ growled the Warmaster.
'Of course, Lord Warmaster,’ replied Kharn.
'And tell my brother Angron to get up here. I haven't seen hide nor hair of him in months. I'll not have him sulking in some muddy trench avoiding me just because he can't deliver on his promises,’
'If I may be so bold, my primarch told you that this batde would take time,’ explained Kharn. The citadel was built with the old technology and needs siege experts like the Iron Warriors to break it open,’
'And if I could contact Perturabo, I would have him here,’ said the Warmaster.
Regulus spoke from behind the Warmaster. The STC machines will be able to counter much of the Mechan-icum's arsenal. If the Dark Age texts are correct, they will adapt and react to changing circumstances, creating ever more cunning means of defence,’
'The citadel may be able to adapt,’ said Captain Kharn, angrily gripping the haft of his axe, 'but it will not be able to stand before the fury of the XII Legion. The sons of Angron will tear the beating heart from that fortress for you, Warmaster. Have no doubt of that,’
'Fine words, Captain Kharn,’ said Horas. 'Now storm that citadel for me. Kill everyone you find within,’
The World Eater bowed and turned on his heel, marching from the sanctum.
Once the doors slid shut behind Kharn, Horas said, 'That ought to light a fire under Angron's backside. This war is taking too damn long. There is other business to be upon,’
Regulus and Maloghurst came around from behind the Warmaster, the equerry taking a seat to ease his aching body.
'We must have those STC machines,’ said Regulus.
'Yes, thank you, adept, I had quite forgotten that,’ said Horas. 'I know very well what those machines represent, even if the fools who control them do not,’
'My order will compensate you handsomely for them, my lord,’ said Regulus.
Horas smiled and said, At last we come to it, adept,’
'Come to what, my lord?'
'Do not think me a simpleton, Regulus,’ cautioned Horas. 'I know of the Mechanicum's quest for the ancient knowledge. Fully functional construct machines would be quite a prize, would they not?'
'Beyond imagining,' admitted Regulus. To rediscover the thinking engines that drove humanity into the stars and allowed the colonisation of the galaxy is a prize worth any price,’
'Any price?' asked Horas.
These machines will allow us to achieve the unimaginable, to reach into the halo stars and perhaps even other galaxies,’ said Regulus. 'So yes, any price is worth paying,’
Then you shall have them,’ said Horas.
Regulus seemed taken aback by such a monumentally grand offer and said, 'I thank you, Warmaster. You cannot imagine the boon you grant the Mechanicum,’
Horas stood and circled behind Regulus, staring unabashedly at the remnants of flesh that clung to his metallic components. Shimmering fields contained the adept's organs, and a brass musculature gave him a measure of mobility.
There is little of you that can still be called human, isn't there?' asked Horas. 'In that regard you are not so different from myself or Maloghurst,’
