Salamander

impossible for him not to.

'We are heading away from the bridge,' Emek whispered to Dak'ir, one eye on their battle-brothers in yellow. Brother Emek was the only one not engaged in weapons maintenance, instead using his time to conduct brief examinations of his wounded brothers. He had lingered by Dak'ir on his rounds in order to converse without drawing too much suspicion. 'Whatever they are here for, it is not to find out what happened to this ship, or to search it for survivors, either. I thought you should know, brother-sergeant,' he added, before moving on his way to check on the wounded.

Battlefield surgery was one of the Salamander's many skills, useful in the absence of Fugis. Seeing Emek work reminded Dak'ir of the Apothecary and their last exchange before departing for the Hadron Belt and his assignment to reconnaissance aboard the

Fire-wyvern.

Fugis had remained with the rest of 3rd Company on the

Vulkan's Wrath.

Though his place was with N'keln, it was unlike him to eschew frontline duties. Dak'ir wondered if Fugis had lost more than just his captain when Kadai had been killed; he wondered if the Apothecary had lost a part of himself too.

The hot glare from Brother Harkane's plasma-cutter spat suddenly, arresting Dak'ir's reverie. The Techmarine made a slight adjustment and the intense beam returned to normal, the light it cast flickering over Dak'ir as he checked and reloaded his pistol's last energy cell. Despite the Salamanders' obvious paucity of ammunition, the Marines Malevolent had neglected to supplement them. The fact that their guns were so antiquated that neither the drum-mags nor the individual shells would have been suitable for their bolters made the point moot.

'Their weapons are practically relics,' whispered Ba'ken.

Dak'ir masked his sudden start - he hadn't even heard the bulky Space Marine approach. Ba'ken eyed the Marines Malevolent warily as he set his multi-melta rig down, enabling him to sit with his brother-sergeant. The Marines Malevolent showed equal distrust, swapping furtive glances and watching the Salamanders through the corners of their helmet lenses.

'The old drum-feeds are prone to jamming,' Ba'ken continued. 'I'm surprised one hasn't misfired in their faces before now.'

'They are certainly not wasteful,' agreed Dak'ir, 'But aren't all our weapons relics to one degree or another?'

Ba'ken was one of those who had removed his battle-helm during the brief abeyance and his lip curled up in distaste.

'Aye, but there are relics and there are

relics,'

he said, obliquely. 'These guns should have been stripped down for parts and re-appropriated years ago. A warrior is only as good as his weapon, and these dogs with their patchwork armour and archaic ideas are ragged at best.' He paused, turning to look his brother-sergeant in the eye. 'I don't trust them, Dak'ir.'

Dak'ir agreed, reminded of Emek's suspicions, but was not about to voice the fact aloud. Whether they liked it or not, the Marines Malevolent were their allies for now - tenuous ones at that. Any comment that supported Ba'ken's views would only foster greater dissension between them.

'I wonder what their purpose aboard this ship is.' Ba'ken concluded his line of thinking during his brother-sergeant's silence. Again, he echoed Emek's unspoken thoughts.

'I suspect they would ask us the same thing,' said Dak'ir.

Bak'en was about to reply when he noticed Sergeant Lorkar approaching and kept quiet.

Lorkar waited, battle-helm clasped beneath one arm, until invited by Dak'ir to sit down with them. He nodded gratefully before setting his helmet on an adjacent crate.

'The earlier hostility,' he began, 'was regrettable. We acted with suspicion and without honour. Such behaviour is beneath fellow Astartes. Allow me to make amends.' It was an unexpected move. Certainly not one that Dak'ir had foreseen.

'Unnecessary, brother. A misunderstanding is all.'

'Even still. Our blood was up and things were said not befitting one Astartes to another.'

'Apology accepted, then.' Dak'ir nodded. 'But we were as culpable as you.'

'I appreciate your magnanimity, Brother…' Lorkar leaned forward and tilted his head slightly as he searched for the name, '

… Dak'ir?'

The Salamander nodded again, this time to indicate that Lorkar was correct. The Marines Malevolent sergeant eased back, perpetuating a mood of camaraderie, but it was strained and false.

'Tell me, brother,' he said, his tone leading, and now Dak'ir knew he would get to the motivation behind Lorkar's sudden contrition. 'There is no campaign in the Hadron Belt, what brings you here?'

Lorkar was cunning. Dak'ir couldn't tell for certain if the sergeant's enquiry was merely to idle away time and build confidence or if something deeper lurked behind his words. He wanted to say that his timing was uncanny, but kept it to himself.

'Retribution,' returned Tsu'gan, his voice like a blade as he approached them. Evidently tired of his pacing, the Salamander sergeant had fixed upon the conversation between Lorkar and Dak'ir. 'We seek assassins, those who slew our captain in cold blood - renegades who call themselves the Dragon Warriors.'

'A matter of legacy. I see.' Lorkar rapped his plastron. 'This section of plate came from my dead sergeant's armour. I wear it to honour his sacrifice. Two of my slain brothers once wore this vambrace and pauldron—' He held up the pieces in turn '—before my own were shattered beyond repair.'

Tsu'gan stiffened at some unseen slight, but allowed Lorkar to continue.

'Do you bear your dead captain's armour still?' he asked.

Dak'ir weighed in on his fellow sergeant's behalf. 'No. It was incinerated, rendered to ash in keeping with our native customs.'

Lorkar looked nonplussed. 'You destroyed it?' His tone suggested consternation. 'Was the battle-plate entirely beyond repair?'

'Some could have been salvaged,' Dak'ir admitted. 'But instead it was offered to the mountain of fire on Nocturne, our home world, so that Kadai could return to the earth.'

Lorkar shook his head. 'My apologies, brother, but we of the Marines Malevolent are unused to such profligacy.'

Tsu'gan could restrain himself no longer. 'Would you have us bastardise our captain's armour instead, as you do?'

The Marine Malevolent glared back at him sternly. 'We only mean to honour our fallen brethren.'

Tsu'gan straightened as if stung. 'And we do not? We pay homage to our slain heroes, our lamented dead.'

The churning report of the blast door finally prising open prevented any caustic reply from Lorkar. Instead, the sergeant merely got to his feet and went to his Techmarine.

'And what is

your

business here, Sergeant Lorkar? You haven't told us that,' said Dak'ir as the Marine Malevolent was leaving.

'My orders stay within the Chapter,' he replied tersely, ramming on his battle- helm and rejoining his battle-brothers.