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  The Iron Hands' commander turned artificial eyes on his fire control officer, Khrysaor, glinting yellow in the dim light glowing from the panels and screens of the strategium.

  'Sergeantatarms, why have we not opened fire?'

  'Forgive me, but our firing solution has been compromised. I was attempting to recalculate.'

  'Compromised? Explain.'

  'Our companions, spearheadcenturion. The Salamanders' vessel has moved into close orbit, coming between us and the surface of Praestes. If we open fire they will be in the path of our ordnance.'

  'They are in the way? Is Ari'i an imbecile? Does he realise what he is doing?'

  'I would suggest, commander, that he is entirely competent from our recent experience. Adjusting for navigational error would not bring the Hearthfire so close. I would have to conclude that the intercession of his ship is deliberate.'

  'Blocking our fire on purpose? I see. Truly the flesh is weak. Ari'i is mad, not stupid. Let us see if sanity can prevail.'

  ON BOARD THE frigate Hearthfire Pyre Warden Ari'i of the Salamanders considered the possibility that he had just sacrificed the life of nineteen fellow Space Marines, as well as his own, in a pointless gesture. It was an outcome not lost on his secondincommand, Sigilmaster Aka'ula.

  'With much respect, my lord, we have no guarantees that the Iron Hands will not simply open fire regardless.'

  'I do not recall the pyre warden offering guarantees when he asked that we remain with him after Isstvan,' answered Sergeant Hema from the navigational controls. 'Can not even the most prodigiouslytalented artisan find that his final blow quite unexpectedly shatters the blade he has diligently forged?'

  'They will not fire,' Ari'i assured them. Not yet, he added silently.

  'They have no sense of brotherhood, my lord, not as we understand it. They cannot be trusted to act in a rational manner.'

  'A grave error, Sigilmaster,' replied Ari'i. 'The Iron Hands are exceptionally dedicated to their code, and reason and rationality are prized amongst Medusa's sons. I am hoping that my irrational act will force them to reconsider. I take it as a good sign that we are still alive to have this conversation.'

  The command chamber of the Hearthfire fell silent as the trio of Space Marines waited for the Iron Hands' response.

  A shrill tone drew their attention to the sensorium controls. Hema was closest, turning from his position to tap out an inquiry into the console's keypad.

  'Aggressive sensor sweep, localised,' he announced.

  'From the Phorcys?' asked Aka'ula.

  'Yes. It's a target lock.'

  'A bluff,' Ari'i told them, having not moved a centimetre from his place at the central command array. 'Centurion Kratoz must know that we realise he has enough firepower to destroy us in a single salvo, even without a dedicated target lock. He is simply making a point of it.'

  'Detecting energy surge in the Phorcys's weapon batteries.'

  'SPEARHEADCENTURION, I submit that it is inadvisable to open fire at this juncture.'

  Kratoz ignored his subordinate's protest and considered having Khrysaor replaced. He offered the sergeantatarms one last opportunity.

  'All power to starboard armament, weapons officer. Prepare to open fire on target vessel.'

  'As you command, spearheadcenturion.' The screens flashed with the redistribution of the main reactor output to the starboard energy grid. 'I submit that we cannot conclude one hundred per cent that the Hearthfire will not have opportunity to return fire. Salamanders vessels are famed for being uparmed.'

  'They have nothing that can penetrate our shields.'

  'I further submit that our target on the surface is stationary and hence not going to depart any time soon. You could request that they remove themselves from our line of fire.'

  Kratoz could no longer glare, not with artificial eyes, and it was an expression he missed on occasions such is this.

  Despite his borderline insubordinate tone, Khrysaor was correct in his assessment. 'Very well. Comms officer, hail the Hearthfire.'

  The commslink display situated to Kratoz's left crackled into life, the screen filling with static for several seconds until the connection was established. A blurry, monochrome image appeared on the display, becoming more focused after another few seconds. In grainy grey and white, Ari'i's pitchblack skin seemed flat and unmoving. The hoop of ornamentation he wore through his right brow was like a ring of white and his eyes a light grey, though in reality Kratoz knew they were a disturbing scarlet. There was a four millisecond delay between Ari'i speaking, white teeth showing on the screen, and his bass voice coming from the speaker grille beneath.

  'Centurion Kratoz, I trust there is a solid reason for why your ship seems to have locked its weapons onto my vessel.'

  'Why in the name of the Gorgon are you getting in my way? Move aside and allow the Phorcys to open fire on the target.'

  ' I cannot do that at the moment, my ally. I am still not convinced that yours is the justified course of action.'

  'You are not convinced? I have gigatonnes of destructive potential pointed at your vessel, that is all the convincing that is required. Move your ship out of my way!'

  The browpiercing swayed as Ari'i frowned.

  'You misunderstand, spearheadcenturion. Perhaps you have forgotten in the six months since our introduction, so let me remind you that I am a praetor of the Emperor's Legiones Astartes. I do not explain myself to officers of a captain's rank, no matter how impressive their battlehonorific. Or is it the case that the Iron Hands no longer care for chainofcommand and rank protocol between Legions? Has the loss of your primarch also stripped you of any adherence to the discipline and order for which your Legion was rightly famed?'

  Ari'i's words burned like the acidetched geometric designs on the back of Kratoz s hands, deliberately spiteful and yet utterly vindicated. Kratoz touched the fingers of his left to his forehead in apology.

  'My error, kinsman. I spoke in anger. As the Gorgon taught us, the flesh is weak. Shall we let more rational, calmer heads prevail over the vagaries of the heart? I would very much appreciate if you would come aboard the Phorcys to discuss the ongoing action against Praeneste.'

  'Your invitation is welcome. Both of our vessels will hold station for the moment. I will prepare to come aboard at once.'

  Kratoz nodded and signalled to the comms officer to cut the link. The screen stuttered into grey and then turned blank, reflecting the spearheadcenturion's gaunt features where Ari'i's face had been moments before. His eye lenses looked like circles of pure white against a haggard mass of creased skin.

  'Prepare to receive the pyre warden and his party,' Kratoz told his command crew, before his voice dropped to a mutter. 'Perhaps in person he'll be more tractable.'

  KRATOZ INSPECTED THE conclave chamber, ensuring nothing was amiss or out of place. The Thunderhawk had already docked and the Salamanders were making their way under an escort led by Khrysaor. The main table was a long rectangle of chrome polished to an almost blinding sheen, gleaming in the pale blue light of the strips overhead. At the table's centre was a plate of diorite carved in representation of the Iron Hands' Legion icon. Kratoz took a moment to consider the faceted whiteandgrey stone. Harder than granite, it had been chosen to represent the unyielding nature of the Gorgon's code, a code that Kratoz had tried to uphold in the months since he had left the Isstvan System, his primarch dead, slain by the traitor Fulgrim.

  It was difficult. To confide in his subordinates would be an unseemly act of weakness. It was his rank to lead, to be not only the spearheadcenturion but the spearhead itself. Where he went the others would follow. But who could he follow? The Gorgon was dead. The Legion... Was there a Legion without its primarch?

  There had been anarchy, conflicting orders, death and destruction everywhere. He had acted. He had led. The preservation of warriors and materiel had been his primary concern. Warriors and materiel that was now of use in the fight back against Horus.

  So why did he fee
l guilty? Why did he feel like a coward?

  'The flesh is weak,' he whispered, running his gauntleted hand over the diorite.

  'We shall be at the chamber in thirty seconds,' Khrysaor warned over the vox. ' In attendance with Lord Ari'i, Captain

  Sigilmaster Aka'ula and Sergeant Hema.'

  'These Nocturnean names make me worry I'll choke on my own tongue.' Kratoz took his place at the head of the table and sat down. 'Very well, I am ready.'

  He waited, immobile, quelling the doubts and frustration with the straightforward facts he would present to Ari'i. In the last few seconds before the Salamanders arrived he was settled again, confident that he pursued the correct course of action.

  The doors slid open and Khrysaor entered first. Like Kratoz he was clad in battleplate of black, trimmed with silver.

  The sergeantatarms had extensive bionic remodelling of his left arm and shoulder, replacing the limb that had been lost fighting orks on Duraseth. Although Khrysaor always maintained that he was perfectly integrated with the artificial limb, he sometimes had the habit of clenching and unclenching his robotic fingers repeatedly in times of stress, as he was doing now. Kratoz thought again of dismissing his subordinate but chose not to better that he had some moral support against the three Salamanders than none at all.

  Kratoz hated himself for momentarily questioning his authority on his own ship, and it was perhaps his sour expression at this that greeted Ari'i as the Salamanders commander crossed the threshold. Taken aback, the pyre warden stopped a stride inside the doorway, head tilted slightly to one side in surprise.

  To cover his momentary embarrassment. Kratoz rose to his feet and bowed, right fist held to his forehead.

  'Welcome aboard the Phorcys, my lord,' he intoned solemnly as he straightened, glad that his artificial eyes could not further betray his flustered mood. Kratoz gestured towards the empty bench that ran down one side of the narrow table facing the briefing displays.

  'My aidesdemilitant,' said Ari'i as his two companions joined him. The first was nearly a head taller than any of the other Space Marines, his flesh like carved ebony, crisscrossed with scars that covered almost every part of the exposed skin. He wore a tabard of scaled reptilian hide over his dark green armour, mottled dark red and brown like dried blood.

  'Sigilmaster Aka'ula.'

  'Sigilmaster? I am not familiar with the rank,' said Kratoz, inclining his head towards the Salamanders legionary.

  'Mostly an honorific,' Aka'ula replied, seating himself close to Kratoz. 'I was a recordkeeper. My rank is as company captain.'

  'And this is Sergeant Hema,' Ari'i continued, indicating the third member of the visiting party. Save for his broader cheeks to Kratoz the sergeant was physically indistinguishable from his officer. His armour, on the other hand, had been heavily modified, based on an old Mark III suit with external reinforcement, additional plates and visible boosted musdesystems and pneumatics.

  'You like it, my friend?' said Hema with a grin, raising his arms and turning first to one side and then the other to show Kratoz the battleplate. 'They call me a superstitious fool, but I could never abandon this armour. It saved me many times before they introduced the Mark Four and I couldn't part with it.'

  'Impressive,' Kratoz conceded. 'And the internal systems?'

  'Fully upgraded to the latest autosensor suites and black carapace interface, my friend.'

  'Perhaps when this current situation has been successfully resolved you might spend some time with my armourers.

  I am sure they would be intrigued to learn more about what you have done.'

  'Of course. What I know you shall know.' He cast a pointed look at Kratoz as he sat down. 'We are on the same side, are we not?'

  Kratoz ignored the question as he sat. The conference was a delay he would have preferred to have avoided. Every minute before they acted risked the success of their mission at Praestes.

  'We were agreed that the World Eaters facility on Praestes had to be destroyed. I believe you said it was an ideal target for our next mission.' Kratoz held up a hand as Ari'i looked to interrupt. The praetor nodded for Kratoz to continue. 'I do not wish to throw your words back at you, kinsman, that is not my intent. There is a threat here. It must be neutralised. Not only is the recruiting citadel creating the World Eaters that we will face on the fields of battle in the future, they have begun to use their psycholobotomisation techniques and cybernetic augmentations on a wider swathe of the populace. The creation of legionaries is a timeconsuming process but all too soon Praestes will flood the galaxy with tens of thousands, perhaps millions of augmented, merciless, fearless human soldiers.'

  Ari'i listened to this with an intent look and when Kratoz was finished the Salamanders commander stood up, placing his hands on the table.

  'I do not object to the destruction of the citadel, but to the manner employed. The main structure is shielded against laser and teleportation, we know that much from our earlier scans. Using weapons batteries and torpedoes will cause immense collateral damage to the surrounding area. To destroy the World Eaters you would annihilate the city of Taurius and kill millions of Imperial citizens.'

  'Citizens in league with the World Eaters,' countered Kratoz. 'Praestes has been a fief world of Angron for decades.

  Do you think they will stop supporting the World Eaters if we merely ask them?'

  'I know for certain they will not support us if we kill their families and flatten their capital!' Ari'i banged a fist on the table, leaving a sizeable dent. Kratoz took a deep breath, resisting the urge to berate his superior for such offhanded vandalism. 'When Horus is defeated, every world we turn against the Emperor must be brought back to the Imperial Truth. We can neutralise the threat at Praestes without turning three billion people against the Imperium.'

  'I am only a simple spearheadcenturion,' Kratoz said, also rising to his feet. 'I will gladly leave such lofty matters of strategy to you, my lord, but I must apply myself to the immediate concern.'

  'Which is?' asked Hema.

  'The prosecution of the war against the traitors that have sided with Horus,' Kratoz answered. 'There is a valuable target vulnerable to attack beneath us and I will destroy it. You speak of the longer term? If we allow the facility to continue to produce warriors it threatens any chance we have of victory. The traitors cannot be allowed to use the civilians of the Imperium as a means of avoiding vengeance.'

  'Vengeance?' Ari'i said the word quietly, leaning toward Kratoz, his eyes become crimson slivers. 'That is simply another word for revenge.'

  'What of it? Do you not wish to hurt those that have so hurt us? It is not ignoble to strike back at those who have betrayed all we fought for. They have killed our primarchs, destroyed whole Legions of their brothers. You would allow them to escape punishment for a few million people? Do not claim that throughout the whole of the Great Crusade innocent blood never once stained the hands of the ohsonoble Eighteenth Legion!'

  'When unavoidable, we killed the innocent to secure compliance,' Ari'i admitted. 'But only then. It seems to me that perhaps your desire to punish the World Eaters extends, to those that, through no decision of their own, supported Angron's Legion in the past.'

  'You are wrong,' added Hema, glowering at Kratoz. 'About the primarch. Vulkan lives, and when we are reunited with him we will have to look him in the eye and be proud of our conduct in his absence.'

  'What alternative course of action would you submit?' asked Khrysaor before Kratoz could retaliate with more venomous words. 'If we are agreed on the objective, perhaps we should concentrate on the means.'

  The spearheadcenturion allowed his subordinate to quell the tension, taking the time to restore some equilibrium to his own thoughts. It was just too galling for the Salamanders to be so righteous, but there was still potential for them to be useful allies.

  'The praetor does not have to issue explanations, only orders,' snapped Aka'ula. 'Be thankful he has indulged you thus far. You will stand down until you receive
such commands.'

  'I think you overestimate his authority,' Kratoz said slowly, trying hard not to let the Salamander's words goad him into another outburst. 'The interLegion codes were left in bloody tatters in the Urgall Depression. The simple fact is that you have a frigate with twenty legionaries on board, while I have a battle cruiser with more than two hundred, plus considerable materiel.'

  'Such threats are unnecessary, spearheadcenturion,' said Ari'i, sitting down.

  'It was a statement of fact, not a threat. If I wish to conduct an orbital bombardment of Taurius I will do so.'

  'And I cannot force you to do otherwise, but I hope that I can steer your thoughts to another solution.' Ari'i sighed and leaned back, turning his gaze to Khrysaor. 'Did you know that I once met your primarch. Fought alongside him, in fact.''I was not aware of that,' admitted the sergeantatarms. 'It is a great honour for you.'

  'It is, it is indeed. He told me that he admired the artisanship from Nocturne, and that we should be proud of our heritage as makers and warriors. Simple words, but coming from Lord Manus it was the highest praise I had known that had not come from the lips of Vulkan.'

  'And the point of this nostalgia?' snapped Kratoz, who had only briefly met the Gorgon amongst a thousand others during his induction, and never exchanged words with him. 'Do you seek to drag authority from a chance encounter with our dead father?'

  'I hope to help you see that we have more in common than divides us, but you seem intent on confrontation. Tell me, son of Medusa, why do you wish to antagonise me in such fashion? Have you something to prove?'

  Kratoz kept his tone matteroffact, as though he was debating the best way to wire a power unit or strip an engine for maintenance. It helped him to make his points with precision, finding comfort in the exactitude of his statements.

  'It is your condescending manner that aggravates my mood, kinsman. I am afraid your Legion is notorious for its sanctimony on occasion. Today you have demonstrated why that reputation was earned. Mercy and the protection of innocents are worthy ideals to uphold in times of plenty. The Salamanders could choose to sacrifice as many of their own as Vulkan wished to uphold such ambition.' The centurion's voice turned harsher despite his effort, the thought of recent events too much to hold back the emotion. 'The universe has changed! We stand on the precipice of annihi lation and you would have me toss my warriors over the edge for the sake of a few million civilians? We will mourn their loss, but nobody else will. There are trillions more that require our protection. The Gorgon might not have passed on his wisdom to me in person, but I have followed his teachings. He taught us that in war, a pragmatist will always defeat an idealist, because a pragmatist will do whatever needs to be done. We live in pragmatic times, Pyre Warden Ari'i of the Salamanders. We can no longer afford the luxury of ideals.'