‘A bomber is not her preferred assignment,’ he conceded with a wry smile. ‘But do not let that concern you. She is still the best, irrespective of the craft.’

‘I do not doubt it,’ I said. ‘Wing commander, I wish to thank you. I know my presence is an imposition. I am grateful for your indulgence and support.’

‘I was too harsh when we first met, and the circumstances were not ideal,’ he replied. ‘But since then, I have realised my error, and how much you have to offer. Your vision is a vital part of the war effort, and I thank you for it.’

I nodded, too dumbstruck to reply. He smiled again and motioned me on board.

As Hephaestus soared skywards I synced with the seer-skull and, for the first time since my arrival, Bacchus was truly laid out beneath me. Admittedly, it was a rather uninspiring spectacle, a world of burnt orange threaded with black vines, but all I saw then was possibility. More possibility than Plient had intended, it transpired, for I quickly discovered Mizar was directly interfaced with the bomber. I could not only view the world through its lenses, but also each of the gunner’s sights, though without picters I could not capture actual footage through the targeting overlays.

I decided to remain quiet on the matter. For Plient’s sake, I told myself.

As we ascended the mire faded into a featureless blob, an expanse too vast for even Mizar’s sensors to capture as anything but a blur. Ahead, a violet band of light separated Bacchus’ atmosphere from the void. I shifted my view to the upper turret, watching through its targeting lens as stars blossomed into view.

Yet still we climbed, assuming that is the right term. I do not know at what point altitude ends, and one merely becomes an object floating in the void. But I know we passed this barrier, for the weight eased from my frame. I would have drifted from my seat were I not restrained by the flight harness. The sensation bore a stark contrast to my arrival on Bacchus, where we near burned a hole through the atmosphere. This was akin to sliding into water.

I shifted my view through the craft. From the upper turret, I could just make out the sun glinting from Orbital Station Salus. At this distance it resembled three silver blades suspended on a golden halo, the point of each directed at the planet below. Those were the launch bays, from which a fresh squadron was promptly departing, the craft glowing like embers as they pierced the sky and descended into the storm gathered below.

I was reassured by Salus’ presence. It was a reminder that the Imperium spanned countless stars, and the world below was but one in the billion, the ork horde nothing more than a terrestrial threat. If all else failed, we could always flee, let them enjoy the foulness that was Bacchus.