Like every one of her soldiers, she too bore a sheathed falcata. A golden eagle medal shone brightly on her uniform jacket.
The woman halted beside her sergeant, clearly surprised to see two such warriors standing before her. To her credit, her surprise lasted for only the briefest of seconds.
'Who are you?' she asked.
'I am Uriel Ventris and this is Pasanius Lysane,' answered Uriel.
'You are Adeptus Astartes?'
It was asked as a rhetorical question, but Uriel nodded and said, 'We are Ultramarines.'
Again, Uriel saw surprise, but just as quickly it was masked. 'Ultramarines? You are a long way from home. How did you come to be here?'
'With respect,' said Uriel, 'we do not even know where here is. What planet is this?'
Ignoring Uriel's question, the female officer said, 'You are trespassing on prohibited ground, Uriel Ventris. To enter Khaturian carries a penalty of death.'
Uriel shared a shocked look with Pasanius. The sheer physical presence and legendary prowess of a Space Marine was enough to render most mortals speechless with awe and reverence, but this woman seemed unconcerned that she faced two of the Emperor's finest.
Anger touched Uriel and he took a step forward.
Immediately, a host of lasguns snapped up, and the soldiers' posture of vigilance was instantly restored.
'We are Space Marines of the Emperor,' snarled Uriel, the frustrations of the time they had spent exiled from the Chapter boiling to the surface. He gripped the hilt of his sword and said, 'We are warriors of the Fourth Company of the Ultramarines Chapter and you will show us some damned respect!'
The woman did not flinch from Uriel's outburst, but her hand flashed to her falcata.
'If you were to try to draw that weapon, I could cut you down before it was halfway drawn,' promised Uriel.
'And you would be dead a moment later,' she promised.
'Maybe so, but at least I would have silenced your insolent tongue,' snapped Uriel.
He felt a restraining hand on his arm and turned to see Pasanius, a look of resigned amusement in his eyes.
'Remember when I asked you how we were going to play this?' asked Pasanius 'You said, ''Carefully''. Does this fit any definition of careful?'
Uriel's anger vanished and he smiled at the absurdity of his behaviour in the face of so much firepower. He released his sword hilt and returned his gaze to the female officer, who glared furiously at him with her hand still held firmly on the grip of her weapon.
Pasanius stepped between her and Uriel. 'Look, before this gets out of hand and someone gets killed, let's everyone take a breath and we'll start again. We are strangers on this world and didn't know that to come here was forbidden. We're just trying to get back to our Chapter and could really use your help. Can you at least tell us what planet we're on and who's in charge?'
The woman relaxed a fraction and released her weapon. She took a deep breath, smoothed the front of her uniform jacket and laced her hands behind her back.
'Very well,' she said. 'I am Colonel Verena Kain, commanding officer of the Achaman Falcatas, and this world is called Salinas.'
'Who's in charge?'
'Governor Leto Barbaden is the Imperial Commander of this world,' said Colonel Kain.
'Can you take us to him?' asked Uriel.
'You'll have to travel under armed escort until your identities can be verified.'
'Verified?' asked Uriel. 'You don't believe we are Adeptus Astartes? Are you blind?'
'Trust me,' snapped Kain. 'I have spent decades fighting the Emperor's enemies, and some of them looked just like you, so you'll forgive me if I don't entirely trust that you are all you seem.'
Uriel was about to retort when Pasanius said, 'Colonel Kain has a point, Uriel. Come on, what does it matter anyway? We're going where we need to go.'
'I suppose so,' said Uriel.
'You'll travel in the back of a Chimera,' said Kain, gauging their bulk. 'It will be cramped, but you can squeeze in I'm sure.'
'Indeed,' said Pasanius, leading Uriel forward under the watchful gaze and lasguns of the Guardsmen.
As they marched towards the waiting Chimeras, Pasanius turned to address Colonel Kain one last time. 'One other thing,' he said. 'What year is it?'
FOUR
The light coming through his threadbare curtains and the sound of the city coming to life woke Pascal Blaise long before he heard the metal door to his home banging open. He rolled over and reached under his pillow for the pistol that was never more than an arm's length away from him. He checked the load and flicked off the safety catch as he heard excited voices from downstairs.
From the tone of the voices and the lack of further commotion, he knew it wasn't Daron Nisato's enforcers kicking down the door, but didn't put away his pistol just yet. These were uncertain times and the deadly games he and the Sons of Salinas were playing demanded caution.
He ran a hand over his shaved scalp and tugged at the twin forks of his braided beard, as he always did when thinking. He recognised the voices below; one belonged to Cawlen Hurq, his shadow and bodyguard, the other to Rykard Ustel, one of his intelligence gatherers.
Pascal rolled his head, loosening muscles that had cramped during the night. He was alone and the room smelled faintly of engine oil, but that was inevitable given that it was sheeted with plates cannibalised from the rusted hulk of a Leman Russ battle tank.
Satisfied that there was no immediate danger, Pascal slipped from the bed and pulled on his clothes, a faded grey work tunic and a wide leather belt. He pulled on his boots and was lacing them up when he heard a soft double knock at his door.
'Come in, Cawlen,' he said, his voice strong and authoritative. It was a voice used to giving commands, but had once been more used to calling out tithe numbers, accounts and scribe roll calls.
Cawlen Hurq pushed open the door and nodded respectfully towards him, his every motion controlled and unencumbered by unnecessary effort. He was a big man, broad of shoulder and threateningly built. Nature had made him unsuited for any role in life other than the infliction of violence. Like Pascal, Cawlen wore a simple tunic, but he also carried a short-barrelled lascarbine and bore a scabbarded blade at his hip.
'Rykard Ustel's here,' he said.
'I heard,' said Pascal. 'What does he want?'
'He's got word of troop movements.'
'And he has to bring it to me this early?' asked Pascal irritably.
'It's the Screaming Eagles,' said Cawlen, 'in company strength.'
Pascal's irritation vanished along with any lingering tiredness. The Screaming Eagles were the most hated of all the Imperial forces on Salinas. Their reputation for brutality and indiscriminate violence was well deserved and everyone on Salinas had cause to hate them for what they had done to Khaturian.
'It gets better,' said Cawlen.
'How?'
'Kain's leading them.'
Pascal finished tying his boots and rose from his bed. Verena Kain.
'Oh, but it would be sweet to take that black-hearted bitch down.'
'That's what I thought,' agreed Cawlen with a wicked grin. 'Where are they?'
'Rykard said they set off towards the north,' said Cawlen. 'Said it looked like they were heading towards the Killing Ground.'
'Do we have anyone there?'
'No; at least we shouldn't.'
'Then why is she leading a company there?'
'Who knows, but Rykard said they didn't have any supply vehicles with them, so they'll be back soon. We should get shooters in place.'
Pascal nodded. 'Send runners to the ambush cells. Six teams of missiles. We'll assemble at the Iron Angel and deploy from there. Go.'