'Now I'm a murderer?' he said after a moment's uncomfortable silence. 'I'll rely on you keeping your mouth shut. I'm not going to kill you if you don't come with me, but that's all academic, because you are coming with me.'

'You're making a big mistake, I just know it,' said Friedisch.

'I assure you, I am not,' said Cawl. 'Action is the instigator of success. If we stay, we will die.'

Friedisch's face screwed up with the agonies of indecision.

'Oh, very well!'

'Good. We are going now. We need to cross Momus to the other side of the Heptaligon. Aspertia has her ship in a private dock in Septa station's tube-tether. We've got a lot of ground to cover, and precious little time to do it.'

For the second time in a month, Trisolian found itself under attack. The Space Wolves drove relentlessly to the centre of the Warmaster's fleet, making directly for the Vengeful Spirit itself. As Horus' command ship was moored at the capital, Heptaligon was caught in the centre of the storm. Before Cawl and Friedisch had made it halfway to their destination, the tiny moon and its parasitic stations rocked to the pounding of loyalist guns. Beyond the flimsy walls of the facility the Legion fleets were locked in battle, ferocious as brawling animals.

The tech-adepts abandoned the main ways as soon as the Space Wolves began landing raiding parties, and moved to the lesser tubules linking the massive tube-tethers. These were fragile, but unimportant, and Cawl was banking on them being empty of combatants and therefore safer. His decision seemed erroneous to Friedisch, as the tube they traversed was swaying dangerously, metal and plastek moving liquidly as the tube-tethers it budded from came under bombardment. Friedisch clutched at Cawl's arm.

'We can't get away,' he moaned. 'We'll never be able to steal her ship.'

'We can, now shut up,' said Cawl. He stopped the transit cart he'd liberated, and waited to ride out the ripples in the corridor. The station settled, groaning with metallic pain as its fabric tore under the stress. Breezes gusted over them, carrying the rumour of far-off decompressions.

'Fine,' said Cawl. He set the cart into motion again. Its angled wheels gripped the sides of the narrow tubeway, propelling them down it at high speed. Lights flickered by, blurring into streaks.

An explosion nearby shook the floor. Cawl did not stop this time. Friedisch's face slammed into the roll cage of the cart and he howled in pain. Lumens flickered out. Smoke poured from atmospheric recycling units, hazing the air. Tez-Lar stood solid as a rock on the back of the cart, heavy duty magclamps making him as imperturbable as a statue.

Blood spurted from Friedisch's broken nose. 'That was a hit! A hit on the tube! We should have stuck to the main way.'