Praxa­medes thought in terms of logistics; Nem­etus was always concerned with individual action. The truth was something else: vision. The lord pri­march had created the most effective fighting force the galaxy had seen for ten thousand years, but that was not enough for the uncountable dangers that threatened the Emperor’s domains. Roboute Guilliman could not lead every fleet, could not command every battle. In Aeschelus had been placed the kernel of the lord pri­march’s animus, his gene-seed accompanied by his most important principles.

The Codex Astartes was a beginning, not an end. Aeschelus was the embodiment of the lord commander’s will, just as he in turn was the embodiment of the Emperor’s will.

A will that was shortly to be made manifest.

The captain found that his thoughts had wandered from the established doctrine, but it did not matter. His own mental journey had taken him to a place of inspiration. He longed to repay the debt he owed to the powers that had raised him to this position.

A sudden three-blast alarm cut through his reverie, accompanied by a surge of sickness in his gut that even his modified physiology could not wholly suppress. A nausea he knew well gave him several seconds of discomfort.

Warp jump.

‘Emergency warp translation enacted,’ blared the servitor warning. ‘Realspace transition completed.’

‘Strategium officer!’ he barked, activating the chamber’s vocal pick-up. ‘What is happening?’

‘Unknown, captain,’ replied Nem­etus, his voice issuing from a grille in the wall behind Aeschelus. There was a pause of a couple of seconds before the lieutenant continued, ‘The Navis Nobilite contingent are requesting your presence at their quarters.’

Aeschelus growled. He was not finished with the armouring ceremony but it felt as though the situation demanded immediate attention.

‘Direct the Navigators to attend to me in my arming chamber,’ he announced.

There was some delay during which the voxmitter hissed, crackling loudly as it attuned to a new channel.

‘Captain, this is Navigator Kosa. An incident has occurred, incapaci­tating one of my kindred. We cannot leave him. Please, come to the pilaster as soon as you are able.’

Aeschelus held back his first retort. Even through the distortion of the internal vox-system the Navigator’s distress was obvious. There was a limitless number of threats the Navigators encountered in the course of their duties. Kosa’s vagueness was perturbing in the face of the potential dangers posed by the warp.

‘Very well, I will be with you shortly,’ Aeschelus replied. ‘I want a full explanation on my arrival.’

The servitors and adepts had paused during the conversation, some with pieces of armour still in clawed grips, others with oils at the ready to anoint his warplate. Caught part-armed, his battleplate was not yet fully functional but it would take longer to remove what was attached than to continue.

‘Finish,’ Aeschelus commanded, assuming a neutral pose once more.

The tech-priest clacked an affirmative and the servitor choreography recommenced.