They passed within range of the anti-boarding defences without any sign of activity aboard the station. Praxa­medes still could not relax.

He had never experienced such tension before, despite nearly a decade of fighting for the Emperor. His first instinct was to dismiss his concerns as symptoms of the soul-deadening; factors that would be negligible in normal circumstances seemed far greater than before. But he could not apportion all of the blame to the strange warp situation. The kernel of his discomfort came from Captain Aeschelus, or more specifically the captain’s decision to place Praxa­medes in charge of this expedition. Aeschelus had told Praxa­medes that the unknown nature of the coming encounter was better met by his more level-headed approach. The lieutenant could not help but think that it was some kind of test, though. How he performed now would influence the captain’s opinion for every subsequent engagement.

Under guidance thrusters, the gunship turned, sliding sideways towards the end of the docking spar so that the front assault hatch would line up with the end of the gantry quay. A screen flickered to life at the co-pilot’s position, showing a basic schematic of the base. There were thousands of blurry dots and lines denoting power systems and life signals.

‘Augur feed from the Ithraca’s Vengeance,’ said Praxa­medes, examining the display plate. ‘Looks like a full staff. Either that or an oversized occupation force. From the working energy grid but lack of defensive fire we can assume that if the enemy are aboard they do not have full control over the weapons systems.’

‘Target at fifty yards,’ reported the pilot. ‘Deploying mag-grapples.’

Two cables snaked across the divide, their tips glinting blue. Coming into contact with the gantry the electromagnetic pads activated with a flash, clamping tight to the structure. The gunship vibrated as powerful winches in its nose started to pull it closer.

‘We are receiving doorlink feed from the station,’ said the pilot. ‘Remote opening enabled.’

‘On your mark, brother.’ The lieutenant moved into the transport compartment where his force of Intercessor squads waited with a trio of Aggressors in Gravis armour. He gestured for the Aggressors to join him, their heavier warplate ideally suited to the vanguard role he required.

Waiting by the assault ramp, Praxa­medes turned on the external vid-feed and watched on a small screen as the gunship closed the distance to the spar’s armoured portal. When they were about ten yards away, the pilot activated the docking systems and a ridged umbilical extended outward, its near end expanding to encompass the nose of the gunship. Illuminated by lights from the craft Praxa­medes could see the main door still closed, the floor of the umbilical forming from hardened slats.

‘Docking complete,’ the pilot told them. ‘Door controls synchronised. Awaiting your command to open.’