The golden light strengthened, as did the astropath’s posture. Words started leaving his lips, almost inaudible at first. It was a stream of seeming gibberish to Praxa­medes, but he knew that in fact the nonsense syllables were identifiers and calibrating terms prefacing the main message.

The astropath’s demeanour changed, straightening, his face assuming a more attentive aspect. When he spoke, Fedualis’ voice was his own – but as though used by another. His mind was subservient to the content of the psychic broadcast, so that his lips and tongue became those of another many light years away. What was even more remarkable to Praxa­medes, when he considered the miracle of astrotelepathy, was the fact that the puppet-master that had sent the broadcast had done so hours or days ago. The consciousness that animated Fedualis’ flesh was a detached thought that had ridden the waves of the warp on its own, to be drawn to the mind of the receiving astropath.

‘Message direct from Battle Group Commander Reghus Nor. For personal attention of Captain Aeschelus, Ultramarines Chapter, or commanding officer of the Ithraca’s Vengeance. Current duties are withdrawn. The Ithraca’s Vengeance is to rendezvous with an incoming Imperial fleet at Duriem Six with all possible speed. Once united, the Ithraca’s Vengeance will liaise with officers of the fleet, designated command group Dacedus. The captain and crew to attend to all support needs of the incoming fleet until further notice under the auspices of Admiral V’dag. I hereby commend this message to the void, certified faithful, astropath-prime on behalf of Battle Group Commander Reghus Nor.’

Fedualis shuddered as the presence receded, his eye sockets dimming again. Praxa­medes shifted his gaze to his brother-captain, who was staring at the astropath with his jaw clenched and brow furrowed.

‘Escort and liaison…’ The captain hissed the words. ‘Commanded by an Imperial Navy admiral.’

‘It must be a significant offensive, if it requires a full cruiser’s complement to attend,’ said Praxa­medes.

‘Did you not hear what I heard?’ Aeschelus shook his head, finding it hard to acknowledge the content of the broadcast. ‘Duriem Six is at least a thousand light years behind the main advance. It is a rear ­echelon station.’

‘As most staging ports are, brother-captain,’ said Praxa­medes, still failing to see the cause for his superior’s reaction. ‘The arrival of a fresh admiral could be significant.’

‘To the Imperial Navy!’ snapped Aeschelus. ‘We are Ultramarines, fighting for the pri­march and the Emperor. You have spent too much time away from the command echelons to recognise a rebuke when you see one.’

This time it was Praxa­medes’ turn to shake his head, opening his mouth mutely, with no further comment to offer and wishing not to argue with his captain.

‘They are taking away my independent command, lieutenant.’