‘You are right, we cannot save Orestes. We must change the para­meters of victory to incorporate these latest developments. Our lives only have value in the cause of success, so we shall chart a course to victory that can be achieved.’

The Chaplain lifted a truncated arm, its end cauterised, sealed with a long-bladed ceramite cap. ‘I am heartened to know that we can still fight with purpose and glory.’

‘Purpose, yes.’ Aeschelus sighed. ‘I think we may be short on glory, but that is no longer a matter of concern.’

He broke away from Exelloria and found the Imperial commander deep in discussion with the magos and general-duke, concerning the evacuation of the orbital palaces.

‘What cowardice is this?’ Aeschelus demanded.

‘Not cowardice,’ replied Hosul. ‘Expediency. We have more chance of surviving on the surface.’

‘That was not your assessment when the necrons first attacked,’ said the captain. ‘It is flawed logic now. The palaces are still a sizeable defence in their own right. You will not abandon them.’

‘Captain, you are not in command,’ replied Hosul, flinching as Aeschelus turned an unforgiving stare on him. He wilted under the silent glare of reproach but made one last attempt at defending himself, voice barely a whisper. ‘The further from the enemy, the lesser the effect of this ­terrible mind-numbing.’

‘We are all dead,’ Aeschelus told them bluntly. ‘There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. None of your ships or astrotelepathy escaped the system. My brothers and I are here by the grace of the Emperor and desperation. Nobody is coming to save us.’

Lowensten swallowed hard, lips trembling. Aeschelus could not believe how easily he had been deceived by the pretence of self-sacrifice offered in the audience hall. He was of a mind to do now what he should have done then and his sword arm lifted.

‘Please, give me a chance,’ said the Imperial commander. There was strain in every feature as though a war waged inside him. Teeth gritted, blinking repeatedly, Lowensten met the captain’s harsh stare for a few seconds, pleading with a look. But it was a different kind of fear. A self-loathing flashed across Lowensten’s face, as though he knew his weakness but could not control it.

The captain remembered how much more vulnerable to the necron soul-dampening the unaugmented humans were. The bolstering effect of the Space Marines was no longer enough to keep it at bay. Something was making it stronger.

Something, perhaps, that could be destroyed…