The door to her stateroom opened and Petronella looked up from her work. The chronometer set into the escritoire told her that it was late afternoon, ship time.
She swivelled in her chair to see Maggard enter her room and smiled, reaching over to pull her data-slate close and then lifting the mnemo-quill from the Lethe-well.
'You spent time with the Astartes?' she asked.
Maggard nodded.
'Good,' said Petronella, sitting the reactive nib on the slate and clearing her mind of her own thoughts.
'Tell me everything,' she commanded, as the quill began to scratch out his thoughts.
The Warmaster's sanctum was silent save for the occasional hissing, mechanical hum from the exo-armature of Regulus's body, and the rusde of fabric as Maloghurst shifted position. Both stood behind the Warmaster, who sat in his chair at the end of the long table, his hands steepled before him and his expression thunderous.
'The Brotherhood should be carrion food by now,' he said. 'Why have the World Eaters not yet stormed the walls of the Iron Citadel?'
Captain Kharn, equerry to Angron himself, stood firm before the Warmaster's hostile stare, the dim light of the sanctum reflecting from the blue and white of his plate armour.
'My lord, its walls are designed to resist almost every weapon we have available, but I assure you the fortress will be ours within days,' said Kharn.
'You mean mine,' growled the Warmaster.
'Of course, Lord Warmaster,' replied Kharn.
'And tell my brother Angron to get up here. I haven't seen hide nor hair of him in months. I'll not have him sulking in some muddy trench avoiding me just because he can't deliver on his promises.'
'If I may be so bold, my primarch told you that this batde would take time,' explained Kharn. 'The citadel was built with the old technology and needs siege experts like the Iron Warriors to break it open.'
'And if I could contact Perturabo, I would have him here,' said the Warmaster.
Regulus spoke from behind the Warmaster. 'The STC machines will be able to counter much of the Mechanicum's arsenal. If the Dark Age texts are correct, they will adapt and react to changing circumstances, creating ever more cunning means of defence.'
'The citadel may be able to adapt,' said Captain Kharn, angrily gripping the haft of his axe, 'but it will not be able to stand before the fury of the XII Legion. The sons of Angron will tear the beating heart from that fortress for you, Warmaster. Have no doubt of that.'
'Fine words, Captain Kharn,' said Horus. 'Now storm that citadel for me. Kill everyone you find within.'
The World Eater bowed and turned on his heel, marching from the sanctum.
Once the doors slid shut behind Kharn, Horus said, 'That ought to light a fire under Angron's backside. This war is taking too damn long. There is other business to be upon.'
Regulus and Maloghurst came around from behind the Warmaster, the equerry taking a seat to ease his aching body.
'We must have those STC machines,' said Regulus.
'Yes, thank you, adept, I had quite forgotten that,' said Horus. 'I know very well what those machines represent, even if the fools who control them do not.'
'My order will compensate you handsomely for them, my lord,' said Regulus.
Horus smiled and said, 'At last we come to it, adept.'
'Come to what, my lord?'
'Do not think me a simpleton, Regulus,' cautioned Horus. 'I know of the Mechanicum's quest for the ancient knowledge. Fully functional construct machines would be quite a prize, would they not?'
'Beyond imagining,' admitted Regulus. 'To rediscover the thinking engines that drove humanity into the stars and allowed the colonisation of the galaxy is a prize worth any price.'
'Any price?' asked Horus.
'These machines will allow us to achieve the unimaginable, to reach into the halo stars and perhaps even other galaxies,' said Regulus. 'So yes, any price is worth paying.'
'Then you shall have them,' said Horus.
Regulus seemed taken aback by such a monumentally grand offer and said, 'I thank you, Warmaster. You cannot imagine the boon you grant the Mechanicum.'
Horus stood and circled behind Regulus, staring unabashedly at the remnants of flesh that clung to his metallic components. Shimmering fields contained the adept's organs, and a brass musculature gave him a measure of mobility.
'There is little of you that can still be called human, isn't there?' asked Horus. 'In that regard you are not so different from myself or Maloghurst.'
'My lord?' replied Regulus. 'I aspire to the perfection of the machine state, but would not presume to compare myself with the Astartes.'
'As well you should not,' said Horus, continuing to pace around the sanctum. 'I will give you these construct machines, but as we have established, there will be a price.'
'Name it, my lord. The Mechanicum will pay it.'
'The Great Crusade is almost at an end, Regulus, but our efforts to secure the galaxy are only just beginning,' said Horus, leaning over the table and planting his hands on its black surface. 'I am poised to embark on the greatest endeavour imaginable, but I need allies, or all will come to naught. Can I count on you and the Mechanicum?'
'What is this great endeavour?' asked Regulus.
Horus waved his hand and came around the table to stand next to the adept of the Mechanicum once more, placing a reassuring hand on his brass armature.
'No need to go into the details just now,' he said. 'Just tell me that you and your brethren will support me when the time comes and the construct machines are yours.'
A whirring mechanical arm wrapped in gold mesh swung over the table and placed a polished machine-cog gently on its surface.
'As much of the Mechanicum as I command is yours Warmaster,' promised Regulus, 'and as much strength as I can muster from those I do not.'
Horus smiled and said, 'Thank you, adept. That's all I wanted to hear.'
On the sixth day of the tenth month of the war against the Auretian Technocracy, the 63rd Expedition was thrown into panic when a group of vessels translated in-system behind it, in perfect attack formation.
Boas Comnenus attempted to turn his ships to face the new arrivals, but even as the manoeuvres began, he knew it would be too late. Only when the mysterious ships reached, and then passed, optimal firing range, did those aboard the Vengeful Spirit understand that the vessels had no hostile intent.
Relieved hails were sent from the Warmaster's flagship to be met with an amused voice that spoke with the cultured accent of Old Terra.
'Horus, my brother,' said the voice. 'It seems I still have a thing or two to teach you.'
On the bridge of the Vengeful Spirit, Horus said, 'Fulgrim.'
Despite the hardships of the war, Loken was excited at the prospect of meeting the warriors of the Emperor's Children once again. He had spent as much time as his duties allowed in repairing his armour, though he knew it was still in a sorry state. He and the Mournival stood behind the Warmaster as he waited proudly on the upper transit dock of the Vengeful Spirit, ready to receive the primarch of the III Legion.
Fulgrim had been one of the Warmaster's staunchest supporters since his elevation to Warmaster, easing the concerns of Angron, Perturabo and Curze when they raged against the honour done to Horus and not them. Fulgrim's voice had been the breath of calm that had stilled bellicose hearts and soothed raffled pride.
Without Fulgrim's wisdom, Loken knew that it was unlikely that the Warmaster would ever have been able to command the loyalty of the Legions so completely.
He heard metallic scrapes from beyond the pressure door.