With an effort, Ah-hotep stopped herself from draining the artificial stars chained into the hearts of the humans’ reactors. For a moment that lasted an eternity, she basked in the plasma cores, knowing what it must have felt like to be a star god. Their secrets were hers now, ripped from the minds of the C’tan by the artifices of the techno­mandrites, their knowledge seized in part-payment for the horror they had unleashed upon the necron people. She drank deep of the reacting particles, every tiny fusion bringing fresh vigour to her aeons-old circuits.

But Ah-hotep was not here to feed; she had a far better purpose.

Tearing herself back from the brink of gorging, she surveyed her surrounds. Her small force was positioned at every approach to her hiding place, holding ground easily against the lacklustre attacks of the station crew. She could feel the thrum of powered armour suits closing in from the nearby levels, though, and knew her minions would soon face a greater test. She did not have long.

Roving through her data tendrils, she could tell by the increased activity that the humans had benefited from her aura invigorating their sensory banks. Data-manipulators loitered at the boundary of weapons control until the very instant she needed them. Panicked by the approach of Tholotep’s flotilla, the humans started arming the station’s cannon batteries and torpedo launchers. Riding their access codes, the plasmancer passed into the barred systems, spreading from battery to battery, launcher to launcher. She carried on, recombining with her carrier waves to spring forth from the orbiting station to the ring of other satellites positioned about the world. Twelvefold she increased, taking over gunnery controls whose human attendants were listless beneath the onslaught of the resonator’s advancing overnull field.

As she infiltrated every aspect of their defence systems, Ah-hotep scoured the sensor readings, tracking the incoming ships of Simut. To her dismay, the overlord had positioned himself beyond orbit, out of weapons range. Rather than support the attacks of his legion on the ground he watched from afar.

Simut’s cowardice was so far thwarting her plans. She needed to do more. As explosive projectiles engaged the first of her Immortals, she brought down anti-decompression bulkheads, slamming them onto one of the attackers, sealing herself and her protectors into the cluster of chambers. Almost immediately she sensed the activation of localised, high-powered radiation cutters.

The quiet of the strategium aboard the Ithraca’s Vengeance was broken by an announcement from the communications officer. Praxa­medes had been revising his plan of attack against the enemy capital ship, ready to issue the final orders to the remaining Orestean ships coming to attendance.

‘Incoming vox from the orbital palaces, lieutenant!’

Praxa­medes saw immediately that the command-channel broadcast carried Captain Aeschelus’ cipher codes.

‘Activate reception.’ He waited for the static of connection to clear. ‘This is Lieutenant Praxa­medes, ship command.’

He heard more crackles as another recipient came on line.