The whine of the chainfist died and Praetor let his hammer fall to his side with it. But then he moved in close, ramming the cleaved edge of his storm shield under Tsu’gan’s chin and bringing him to his feet.

‘Are you with us?’ Praetor asked.

Tsu’gan’s tongue was paralysed. The world around him was only just making sense again. The others were looking on, weapons primed.

Praetor pressed the shield up harder, lifting Tsu’gan’s head. ‘Are you with us?’

‘Yes…’ It was a rasp, but the sergeant heard and believed it.

Nu’mean was not so quick to stand down. He levelled his storm bolter.

‘It’s finished,’ Praetor told him, stepping into the other sergeant’s firing line.

‘The warp–’

‘Infests this ship, this entire hulk, Nu’mean. It’s done.’ Praetor ushered Tsu’gan away to be cursorily examined by Emek. A side glance at Hrydor told the Firedrake to go with him and keep watch.

Nu’mean lowered his weapon.

‘How can you be sure?’ he asked, when Tsu’gan had moved away.

Praetor leaned in close.

‘Because I saw things too,’ he whispered. ‘This floating wreck is alive with the sentience of the warp. Something is channelling it, into our minds. Tsu’gan was taken off guard, that’s all.’

Nu’mean fashioned a snarl. ‘He is weak, and not to be trusted.’

‘He passed through the gate of fire and endured the proving-forge – he is one of us!’ Praetor asserted. ‘Can you say this mission, this ship, has not influenced your behaviour in some way? I have seen it plainly but will you admit it, Nu’mean?’

Nu’mean didn’t answer him. He eyed Tsu’gan as their Apothecary conducted a bio-scan instead. By now the other Firedrakes were securing the chamber, checking each of the cells in turn and the hub annexe. ‘You made a mistake with that one, brother.’

‘There was no mistake. Guilt masters him for now. Know this: his destiny is with the Firedrakes. I won’t abandon him–’

Nu’mean spat back with anger. ‘As I abandoned others, is that what you are driving at, brother?’

Praetor moved in close. ‘Get a hold of yourself, or I shall assume command of this mission. Are we clear on that, sergeant?’

Though he simmered with rage, Nu’mean conceded and gave the slightest nod before stalking away.

Praetor let him go, using the few seconds to gird his own emotions. He looked back at the portholes that lined the infirmary and his ire bled away, replaced by regret.

‘I won’t abandon him,’ he repeated solemnly to himself.

There were faces staring at him from the portholes that only he could see. Gathimu and Ankar, slain on Sepulchre IV; Namor and Clyten, killed on Scoria, and a dozen others whose names blended into memory but were still his charges.

‘We’ve already lost so many.’