Securing his bolt pistol within a locking clamp that formed part of the bionics of his left leg, Gdolkin took hold of his adapted helmet with both silvered hands and gave it a twist. There was the hiss of released air, as the environment seal of the armoured suit disengaged. The Iron-Father lifted the helm from his heavily augmented head.

'I am Iron-Father Gdolkin,' he snarled, his voice much quieter now, audible only to the tech-priest and those closest to them, and as a result sounding more blood-chilling than his bullish bellows, 'child of Medusa, son of the great Primarch Ferrus Manus and devoted servant of the Omnissiah and the Emperor. Who are you?'

The tech-priest stared into the augmented face of the Iron-Father, his mouth agape in awe.

There was a moment in which no one moved, the silence broken only by the ticking of the cogitators and the hiss of static over the vox-comms.

Then the chief representative of the Machine Cult stepped forward, his knee-joints hissing underneath the thick, fire retardant fabric of his robes with exhalations of compressed gas.

'I am Magos Ludd of the Adeptus Mechanicus.’ he stated coldly, resolutely unabashed. The tech-priest had an air of age and machine-oil about him. He had probably outlived many Imperial commanders in his overseeing of Fornax Orbis Majoris and would see many others into their graves before it was his turn to join with the machine soul of the Omnissiah.

Apart from the heraldic embroidery of his robe, the most obvious thing that marked Magos Ludd out as a representative of the Machine Cult was a chrome-plated lower jaw and a set of immaculate, steel teeth. The Omnissiah-only-knew what was hidden under the folds of scorched cloth.

'Where is Magos Thule?' the Iron-Father demanded.

'I am the senior Mechanicus representative here,' Ludd retorted, obviously unhappy with the Space Marine's aggressive attitude.

Gdolkin saw something squirm beneath the tech-priest's crimson robe. Mechadendrites no doubt, he thought.

'I said, where is Thule?' The Iron-Father's roar reverberated through the tense stillness of the bunker.

There was a metal cracking sound as the Iron-Father flexed and clenched his left hand, bunching the metal fingers into a fist. His imposing servo-arm mimicked the action. The magos's abrupt alteration of his manner suggested that Gdolkin's expression of barely suppressed rage had done the trick.

'M-Magos Thule is not here.'

'Enough of this! Why are the acolytes of the Adeptus Mechanicus always so clandestine about everything? Do not answer by telling me what I can already see patently well for myself.’ Gdolkin snapped, tapping a robust adamantium digit against his augmented right eyepieces. 'We have been ordered to come to this Emperor-forsaken world by the great clan council of our holy Chapter, abandoning our sacred horneworld of Medusa to the predations of the Chaos hordes spilling out of the Eye of Terror that are even now throwing this sector and a dozen others into turmoil, solely to rendezvous with one Techno-Magos Omega Thule.

'Are you telling me that having ran the gauntlet of the Chaos fleet orbiting above this heretic-infested world, and having fought the minions of the foul Plague Lord, only to be told that the one we seek is not even here?'