‘That’s not it. It merely struck me that I should welcome a possible execution for treason, because it would mean we somehow survived this suicidal flight.’

‘Well, now you’re just being hurtful.’

‘You think you can take on a foe that bested three squads of reinforcements? Single-handed?’

‘Of course. You forget two irrefutable facts. Firstly, they were blindsided and thus unable to defend themselves. Secondly, and more importantly, Flight Commander Lucille von Shard is the greatest fighter ace alive. The fallen were call-ups barely considered competent for deployment.’

‘You’re delusional.’

‘We’re both delusional, old chap. Otherwise, why did you tag along?’

‘You said you were leading an assault.’

‘So?’

‘So, I assumed there might be a couple more aircraft involved.’

‘There are two of us and I’m in charge. By definition that counts as leading.’

I knew she was baiting me. And, though it was irritating, I drew some comfort from it, for it meant she was at ease and unconcerned by an impending demise. Perhaps, I told myself, it was not arrogance, but confidence born from skill and experience. I had never witnessed her falter, or show fear.

Except in Hephaestus. Then, for but a moment, her facade had slipped. But that was only after the battle, when the adrenaline faded. During the engagement she was as close to invincible as anyone I had seen.

I synced with Iwazar, its unblinking eye picking out the darkness in muted greens, sensors struggling with the low light. Mizar would not have struggled. But I only needed to capture a little of the conflict. Assuming we survived it.

The storm front swelled as we hurtled towards it, its darkness visible even against the night sky. I have a limited understanding of meteorology, but seeing it so close dispelled any notion the cloud bank was a natural phenomenon. It seemed to spiral, its lower tip forming a few hundred feet above the swamp. As it rose, it grew, a vortex of smoke and shadow, never deviating from its assigned spot, suspended in place despite its size. Dimly, I saw the light of Orbital Station Salus looming above, the storm its shadow.

I expected ork planes to pour from the clouds at any moment.

The vox hissed. ‘We’re getting close. What can your little skull-thing see?’

‘Not much. The light is too poor.’

‘Hilarious, but not the time. What energy emissions are there? Is it the same as the concealed platform?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t tell.’

‘Stop pouting and do your job. We need to know what is in there!’

I shivered, for there was the barest hint of concern in her voice.

‘I cannot tell,’ I repeated. ‘Iwazar’s sensors are nowhere near sophisticated enough to detect anything from this range.’

‘What the hell is an Iwazar?’

‘The seer-skull. It is all that remains of Fiwel Iwazar, a pict-forger who specialised in–’