In the dark bay, lit only by the winking lights of machines at their work, Justinian’s comrades were outlines edged in green and red. His view was restricted by a massive jump pack. The warrior before him was Solus, his friend, though only the Baalite red of his plate, blood dark in the drop hold, gave his identity away. His back was high and round like that of a monstrous beetle, the backward-pointing nozzles a pair of steel-toothed maws. Solus was so still, and his suit so large, that from the rear he appeared wholly robotic. No trace of the man inside could express itself through the layered ceramite.

‘Exloading mission data. Prepare armour cogitators for cant reception,’ said Sarkis. Justinian’s earpiece chimed. ‘Activate drop overlays. Mission active.’

The overlay obstructed more of Justinian’s limited view. Pulsed lasers flickered at the edge of his eye-lenses, projecting a false-world faceplate display directly upon his retinas. The giant reticle of a drop pelorus blinked in front of him – two stationery circles contained by cross hairs, all divided by fine rules of measurement. The mission count glowed a dull orange, all eight digits at zero.

‘Programme drop coordinates. Beta-7987-3872, Kappa-0031-4822. Confirm,’ said Sarkis.

The overlay took up the whole of Justinian’s sight. Though it existed only in the witch world of the squad’s minor noosphere, the pelorus seemed to hang solidly in the air before him. Using the neural links connecting his nervous system to his suit and its cogitator, he brought the coordinates onto the grid. The display’s large wheel turned within its twin, shifting through three dimensions as the Rudense ploughed its way towards their drop point and his armour tracked Justinian’s position. A faint roar came from the ship’s engines, the vibrations conducted directly to Justinian’s armour by way of the drop claw. The gentle pushback of oppositional forces grew stronger as the craft accelerated. The Rudense always came in fast.

‘Confirmed,’ said Justinian. Indicators on his display blinked green as he homed in his suit’s auto-senses and cogitator on the drop zone. Paired runes flickered to the same colour in the top left – his squad was also locked on. ‘Squad confirmed.’

The other sergeants acknowledged mission readiness as their own suits processed the drop data.

‘Thirty seconds to planetary drop,’ said Sarkis. ‘Final weapons check.’