Guilliman was waiting while the latest in a line of nervy architects bobbed and fussed over his plans, preparing them for the primarch’s inspection. A pile of blueprints held in place with carved stone weights had already accumulated on the deactivated chart table. Rather more sober were the military engineers awaiting their turn. Upon their devices, the complexities of the new Chapter Fortress to be raised over the Iron Warriors stronghold were stored.

‘My lord.’ A sculptor with a fixed, terrified smile approached Guilliman. The primarch turned from the low, angled windows to view a hololith of a frieze for the arch. The man stuttered and mumbled his way through the presentation. His talents in design were great, those in interpersonal communication less so, and Guilliman was glad when Captain Felix came into the cramped room. The artists were almost as scared of Felix as they were of Guilliman, and scattered before him. Felix coughed, beckoned, and whispered into the primarch’s ear when he bent his head. Guilliman frowned, and nodded.

‘Gentlemen, this will have to wait until later. I will see all your plans today, I promise. Please, while you wait, Captain Felix will arrange some refreshments for you.’

Felix’s brows drew together in consternation. The crawler’s provisions amounted to tepid recycled water and emergency biscuit rations. Guilliman trusted him to organise something. If anyone could source suitable vittles from nowhere, Felix could. The expression on Felix’s face was almost comical. Guilliman resisted the urge to reassure him. The Primaris captain had to learn to trust his own abilities.

‘This way,’ Felix said, herding the artists into the crawler’s small stateroom. ‘I shall see if we can find some wine.’

The artists and architects filtered through the door with unsure glances behind them. When they were all through, Guilliman addressed Felix.

‘Thank you, captain. I shall not be long.’

‘He is outside, my lord.’

Guilliman left the crawler deck. The machine was a civilian construction pattern intended for large-scale works. Comfort had not been a high priority in its design. It was cramped enough for a standard human, and Guilliman had to stoop to negotiate its corridors, bending almost double to squeeze his way through the doors.

Outside the sound-screened command deck, the thunder of the machine’s inner workings made itself known. Guilliman’s ears buzzed to the sound of thumping pistons. The crawler was idling at that moment. The din it made while it was in motion was almost astounding in volume.

Guilliman stopped outside the master’s cabin and knocked on the door. The master was made of sterner material than the artists, and looked only mildly surprised to see the Imperial Regent standing outside his private chamber.

‘We have not finished, Master Fulpin,’ said Guilliman. ‘I have received a visitor.’

‘My command deck is yours as long as you require it, my lord,’ said Fulpin with a smart bow. ‘I welcome the rest.’