The Iron Hands captain looked at the centre pict screen a moment longer. Then he tapped it, freezing the image. ‘It would be,’ he agreed. ‘Normally. But look at the engine.’ He pointed. ‘It’s been modified. I suggest the warp engines have been removed.’ He waved his hand, taking in the whole of the ship. ‘So much patchwork,’ he said. ‘Layers of it. I would say an accretion of centuries. This is a vessel that was rescued from the scrapheap and used for short journeys, by many owners.’

Khalybus glanced back at the Lion only once as he spoke. If he was curious about the primarch insisting on leading the exploration of the wreck himself, he said nothing, and his ruined face was unreadable. If he resented being a guest on the Dark Angels mission rather than leading one himself, he kept that hidden too.

Holguin, though, looked no happier than he had on the ­Invincible Reason.

‘I must see for myself,’ the Lion had told him, putting a stop to the voted lieutenant’s objections. ‘I will verify what I have been told.’

Holguin had opened his mouth to ask, By whom? He stopped himself. His eyes narrowed, though. He knew.

Very well, then, the Lion had thought. So you know why I need to be sure. If the secret of the way forwards is contained in these wrecks, I will not see it through an intermediary.

Now he asked Khalybus, ‘Can you extrapolate what killed the ship?’

‘I see no sign of collision. The engine looks intact. The work on the hull is poor. I suspect metal fatigue. Internal pressure finally burst the hull.’

‘Just as it reached this location. At the same time that disaster befell all these other ships.’

‘I do not trust the coincidence, either,’ said Khalybus.

The Stormbird flew inside the Chorale. The breach was over a mile long and a hundred yards high. Multiple levels of cargo bays were open to the void. The gunship came in for a landing in the most sternward of the upper bays, the closest to the ship’s superstructure and bridge. The Lion donned his helmet and pulled open the Stormbird’s side hatch as the retro exhaust nozzles vented gas, manoeuvring the ship to the deck in the absence of gravity and atmosphere. The Lion pushed himself down. His boots maglocked to the bay decking.

The five-man squad selected by Holguin spread out, bolters ready. Holguin’s helm lights were the first to pass over the inner wall of the bay. ‘This is an enemy ship,’ he said.