‘I… There is something in the water.’

He did not acknowledge my words.

‘It’s hard to see,’ I continued, as Mizar drifted over the seemingly arbitrary spot in the swamp where the energy registered. ‘I can’t tell if there are life signs. But there is a bubble, and something inside it. A power source, maybe, but… I don’t know. I can’t make sense of it…’

I lapsed into silence. I am not a priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus and only profess a passing knowledge of their arcane science. But I saw through Mizar’s eye often enough to know the shape and texture of Imperial technology. The green light was wrong. It was raw and primal, though no less potent for that. The power was unstable, more an inferno than a hearth.

I thought Taton had not heard me, until he gave a barked command and two of the squad suddenly convened on the spot where Mizar loitered, sinking deeper into the water. The lead handed the other his weapon, his shoulders barely above the swamp now, before unsheathing his knife and diving into the quagmire. He seemed submerged for an age, only his helm permitting him to breathe. The remainder of the squad were still, watchful.

The vox crackled into life. Shard’s voice, but without the sardonic edge.

‘We have incoming. Couple of miles out. But getting closer.’

‘Aircraft?’ Taton murmured.

‘No. Ground-based. Assuming this sinkhole qualifies as ground.’

‘We need more time.’

‘No problem. I’ll just engage our chrono-field and construct some more time for you. Would you like a couple of minutes, or shall we mosey back a few millennia and watch the Unification of Terra?’

He did not respond. The Scions sank lower into the swamp, only their heads and weapons visible, as their submerged colleague continued his labours. Through Mizar, I saw him hack at the blue bubble, his blade struggling to pierce it.

Something moved within.

‘They are accelerating. Two minutes until they are on top of us.’

I compelled Mizar upwards, scanning the surrounding swamp. An oppressive layer of mist clung to the gnarled vegetation, and the seer-skull’s lenses struggled to pierce it until it was above the brackish canopy, surveying the horizon.

I saw smoke. It rolled from the mists in great belching clouds that dirtied the sky. I employed Mizar’s telescopic lenses, and caught the silhouettes of crude airboats propelled by massive turbofans, not dissimilar to those outfitted to the Valkyrie. There was no unity of design; each seemed assembled from repurposed scrap, but there was no doubting their speed. Between the spray and smoke it was difficult to identify the occupants. They were far broader than a man, and I saw flashes of green skin.

‘Orks,’ I whispered.

I did not think anyone was listening to me. But the vox crackled into life.

‘Come again?’