Praxa­medes spent such spare time as he had re-reading his copies of the Codex Astartes, assembling his own notations on the text. Between that and weapons drill he tried to keep his mind active. A few times he had run tactical simulations with Nem­etus but the other lieutenant always took his losses poorly, complaining that the battle-system orthodoxy did not allow him the full range of options that he would exploit in real combat. He had been quite scathing in his last comments, and though Nem­etus had apologised later Praxa­medes had decided not to conduct any more exercises with his fellow lieutenant.

The doors opened again and it was with some relief that Praxa­medes greeted Astropath Neriem Fedualis. His green robes of office just skimmed the floor, the hood drawn up over his bald, wrinkled scalp. Eyeless sockets, the organs burnt out by the ritual soulbinding to the spirit of the Emperor, regarded the two officers as though seeing normally. He crossed the strategium with short, quick strides.

‘Ah, captain, it is good that you are also here. I was going to ask the lieutenant to send for you.’ The astropath spoke with a husky voice, as though constantly on the verge of trying to catch his breath. He never showed any other signs of ill health and Praxa­medes just assumed it was some congenital or childhood-acquired condition, or another side effect of his psychic tethering.

‘You have news of an enemy?’ Aeschelus said quickly, standing up. ‘A message through the storms?’

‘Messages, yes, of foes and friends,’ the astropath said, clasping his hands together so that they disappeared into the voluminous cuffs of his robe. ‘More precisely, a missive from the grand fleet command and a vision of terrible events.’

Aeschelus rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. ‘I suppose you had best share the message from command first,’ the captain admitted. ‘A call to arms?’

As they spoke, they walked towards the anterium, a smaller chamber that adjoined the strategium on the starboard side. Moving within, the door closed behind them, cutting off the noise of the main bridge.

The chamber was pale grey, lined with secondary vox, control and augur banks, so that the command could operate entirely independent of the main strategium. Praxa­medes settled on a high stool beside the gunnery command console, while Aeschelus stood, arms still crossed. The astropath stepped to the far end of the rectangular space and turned, eyeless gaze fixed on the captain.

‘This is a direct broadcast from the astropathic channel at Battle Group Command, currently located on the Dominus Acastai.’

Fedualis sagged within his robes, head tilting back as his eye sockets started to gleam with golden light, bathing the inside of his hood. His hands fell to his sides, and for a few seconds he swayed, looking as though he might faint.