Nothing happened at first. I worried the mechanism was damaged, that there was no means to realign the weapons. But then the bolters swung about, Mizar framing them against our pursuer. We had re-entered the atmosphere, and I watched flames licking against its fuselage. None seemed to reach the craft, shielded as it was by a crackling field of green lightning. It was so close I could pick out the strange nodules and gubbins bound to its hull. On its nose was a device resembling a pincer with a glowing spear tip clenched between its jaws.

It fired, and the energy arced across the sky like a poorly tamed lightning bolt. It was an inaccurate weapon, and this is what spared us immediate destruction, but even the backwash was enough to play havoc with the internal systems. And the ork only had to be on target once.

I had no idea how to fire the heavy bolters, or even if I could. Via the interface I could perceive pictographs representing Mizar’s sensors. I sought anything unfamiliar as the images shifted, the seer-skull’s and Hephaestus’ systems struggling for supremacy. All the while the Green Storm was charging its weapon, power coursing along the fuselage and coalescing at the spear tip. I swear I could feel it even from within Hephaestus, my palms itching and teeth tingling as the power waxed bright.

I ignored it, cycling through the symbols, cursing that I was not a tech-priest.

There. A flickering pictograph I could barely make out, as though Mizar was equally perplexed by its meaning.

I engaged, and the heavy bolters spat a hail of shells. I could not direct them, but this did not matter as Mizar treated the targeting sights as just another picter, and sought to train them on our pursuer. But the bolt-shells burst about it, warded by the energies engulfing the craft. The power still coalesced at the weapon’s spear-like tip, forming a pulsing ball of blinding light.

With supreme effort, I compelled Mizar to focus directly on this point.

Right when the weapon fired.

There was a small explosion, accompanied by the faintest flicker in the energy field as if something had shorted out. The shield failed, and suddenly the ork was exposed to the heat of atmospheric re-entry. Its hull glowed red, then white as it tumbled. Seconds later it was nothing more than a cloud of molten metal.

I disengaged from Mizar, slumping in my chair, exhausted. My hands were shaking, and I could not find a way to stop them. Shard said nothing as we levelled out, reducing speed and peeling the rebreather from her face before she glanced at me from over her shoulder.

‘That was you?’ she asked.

I could only nod.

‘Good work,’ she said, but her voice was flat with no hint of the bombastic fighter ace.