The latter was simple to deduce: this was a mission that could not be entrusted to the common soldiery. But then why was I permitted to accompany them? I had not questioned this prior to departure, but now, two alternatives presented themselves. One, that whatever secrets this mission involved were so beyond me that I posed no threat of uncovering them. Or, two, I was certain to die, thus eliminating Wing Commander Prospherous’ little problem.

I shifted, trying to relieve my aching buttocks, and found my gaze meeting the cold, hard eyes of one of the Scions. A third option suddenly presented itself. On completing their mission, the team would simply dispatch me and leave my corpse for scavengers. After all, I had signed a Warrant of Sacrifice.

I wondered if a short pict would be made celebrating my work. It was fairly common for propagandists to honour their peers in this way, though given my current luck it would probably be given to Propagandist Capsula, a man infamous for describing the glorious heraldry of the Adeptus Astartes as ‘too garish for the pict screen’.

The vox crackled into life.

‘–more of that God-Emperor cursed wine,’ I heard Shard mutter sourly, before putting on a slightly more positive tone. ‘Greetings, all. We are a couple of miles from the rendezvous spot and should be there in a few minutes. Might I enquire what to expect on arrival?

Silence.

‘Anyone?’ she asked. ‘If we are expecting a squadron of ork aircraft it would be nice to know in advance.’

More silence, though a couple of the Scions exchanged glances. Then again, given their seeming inability to form human expressions, I am not sure what this was supposed to convey.

‘Still waiting,’ Shard persisted. ‘I wasn’t even supposed to be flying this morning. Not until that idiot decided to get himself shot down. What was his name? Peckared? Pekari? Oh, I remember now – I don’t care.’

One of the Scions glanced to Tempestor Taton. ‘Sir?’ he said. It was the first word they had spoken since I embarked.

Taton glared in the direction of the cockpit.

‘Hello? Is anyone actually in there? If this is some jest and I’m carting around an empty cargo hold I shall be most displeased.’

‘Mission is retrieval,’ said Taton, clipped and pointed. ‘One package to collect. Secondary objective is to rescue our operatives, but they are expend­able if required, as are we. Now be silent and get us there before I have you shot for insubordination.’

Her laughter crackled across the vox.

‘Relax. We have arrived.’

The rear ramp suddenly spilled open, the daylight blinding. I shielded my eyes, but the Scions were unconcerned, unfastening harnesses and snapping helmets into place. I could barely hear them over the roar of the Valkyrie’s turbofans, and the fresh stench of swamp water nearly turned my stomach.