“I see you often clasping that icon which hangs around your neck.”

  Marsh Silas looked at Major Haight as they walked towards Fort Carmine’s gate. The Naval Security officer smiled courteously and pointed at Marsh’s hand. He looked down to see, indeed, his fingers wrapped around the silver Aquila-I token. Smiling softly, he affectionately ran his thumb over it, brought it to his lips, then tucked it back down his tunic collar.

  “A gift from my lost love,” Marsh Silas explained. “She gave this to me prior to the Siege of Kasr Sonnen.”

  The two men strolled slowly down the street, clad in their long raincoats. Marsh’s collar was loose and his peaked cap was low. Major Haight wore a blue coat and no head cover. The day was overcast and misty. Amber street lamps glowed along the irregular, jagged-shaped roads. Ahead, Fort Carmine loomed as a dark shape in the moist gloom. Red and green Valkyrie sidelights drifted overhead and hovered over the Skyshield Landing Pads mounted on the fort’s massive ramparts.

  “A Commissar and a Guardsman,” Haight mused. “I never would have thought such a match possible.”

  “Much like an Inquisitor and a Guardsman becoming friends, anything is possible,” Marsh said pleasantly. “There are as many people in this Imperium as there are stars in the galaxy. It has happened before and it will again. Although, I am unsure if I will ever rediscover a love like that, one which burned so passionately in such a short time. Ah, but what a time it was. I would not change anything about it. Or her.”

  “Despite the pain you endure now?” Haight asked. Marsh Silas glanced at him, looked ahead at the lights cutting through through the murk, and thought. Despite the gloom, the light certainly looked beautiful. The air was cold, but merely gazing at them gave him warmth, and a little strength as well.

  “I was merely wandering through the vagaries of what I believed a good, loyal, and fulfilling life was,” he eventually said. “All of that changed upon a windswept, flowery cape called Army’s Meadow. I came to realize that it was naught but a blind, shambling, groping in the darkness. It was only a few years ago that my life truly began. To really live, I have come to accept that suffering is inevitable.” His violet eyes flitted towards the Major and he smiled. “The pain I feel now shows just how worthwhile every moment I spent with Lilias was. I have no regrets about my time with her.”

  The pair passed under a street lamp. Haight appeared distant but thoughtful. Eventually, the Naval officer gazed back and smiled.

  “I’ve met many Militarum officers before, though none as interesting as you. Warrior, philosopher, benefactor, and savior all wrapped into one.”

  Marsh Silas took out his pipe, scratched some leaves out of the tabac pouch, and struck a match. He remained stoic and even-toned.

  “You humble me with praise of which I am undeserving,” Marsh said. “And you, dear sir, need not speak as if you have no qualities worthy of acclamation. Inquisitive, hardworking, brave, and keen to make a difference. I thank you for your erstwhile aid in seeking these spies and your diligence to help your fellow man.”

  “I would be both a wastrel and a malefactor if I were to repay you with inaction, indifference, and scorn. You saved my life. It was your mission, but the way you spoke of it in the after-days, I realized it meant more to you than that. You believed that saving my life was worthwhile.”

  “It was, and it is. Saving life is always righteous,” Marsh Silas said resolutely.

  “Men speak of their duties but it causes one to ponder how much of their espousals are bluster. When I listen to you, I hear a man whose conviction is complete.”

  Marsh Silas slowed down under another street lamp. A fine rain fell, no more than a mere sheen in the air. Haight paused and turned around.

  “We might dress differently, act differently, look different from one another, we may serve different lords in different institutions. But the Emperor unites us; we are all kin. I believe many across our grand Imperium have forgotten this. We act alone, divided, striking out in the darkness which surrounds us all.”

  Marsh Silas’s gaze drifted from Haight. He watched some of the sentries continue their patrol down the road. Off-duty Interior Guardsmen, Shock Troopers, and even Kasrkin walked between their preferred soldier halls. Auxiliary citizens traveled in droves towards the manufactorum districts while Adeptus Administratum staffers and laborers journeyed to scriptorums, warehouses, and construction yards. All appeared in the lamp light and disappeared in the gray intervals between them.

  His eyes met Haight’s once more. “We must act for one another. Defend each other when the foe breaches our walls, inspire each other when our hopes are dashed, and find one another when we are lost. I believe if I can save one more life, or help them along their path, then they can save someone also. Then, they will save someone, and they aid another also. In that way, we can show everyone their actions, suffering, sacrifices—their very lives—are worthwhile. We will come together as a people who depend and care for one another instead of disparate actors.”

  A peculiar sadness washed over Haight’s face. His mouth opened a little but whatever word he was about to speak withered away before it passed his lips. He shut his eyes tightly and shook his head. Wrinkles appeared at the edges of his eyes and his jaw tightened, as if he were in pain. When he finally opened his eyes, they were awash with sadness.

  “I wish I had met someone like you long ago,” Haight said quietly. “I…wish I could explain.” Marsh Silas looked up at the lamp above them. The misty rain swirled in the light and he felt it spread across his cheeks.

  “Often, the same thought crosses my mind when I think of my mentor, my Lilias, and many lost friends. But we cannot change what has already occurred, only what we may do in these very moments.” Marsh took Haight by the shoulder. “Courage, brother. We shall do a little good today. The prisoner awaits us, and all we can extract from him will be of use to our comrades.”

  Haight’s demeanor changed with Marsh’s confidence. He smiled, nodded, and they continued walking. As they did, passing by many other Cadians and vehicles on the road, the rain lightened. The steady, soft, sheets faded away, leaving only wet air and the scent of moist rockcrete. Around them, the mist departed gradually, revealing many more lamps and the lights glowing within the many buildings around them.

  Just as they approached the gate, a figure walked out. From the denotations on her coat, she appeared to be an officer of the Interior Guardsmen. She was just leaving, but Major Haight hailed her and she stopped.

  “Knight-Lieutenant Cross, allow me to introduce Major Katerina Manco.”

  Marsh exchanged salutes with the officer, who appeared quite young for her rank. Her lavender eyes were quite beryl, her auburn hair was wrapped into a regulation bun, and she had a long, diagonal scar on her right cheek. The smile she wore was very charming and she appeared courtly.

  “I am honored to meet you,” she said with a bow of her head. They shook hands; her grip was strong. “Major Haight is an old friend and we have made time to see one another again in the coming days; he speaks of you often.”

  “The Major lauds me unnecessarily. I am just another of the Emperor’s scions.”

  “The record sings a different tune, Knight-Lieutenant,” Manco chirped.

  “Does it?”

  “I know you have enough decorations on your chest that they may qualify as armor,” she replied slyly and stepped closer. “I do pray you may join me and the Major for dinner one of these nights. It would be a pleasure to know you better.”

  “If the Emperor allows it, you will find me agreeable to the prospect,” Marsh said politely.

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  “Very good! I beg your pardon, but I have business I must attend to shortly. I bid you good day.”

  She walked briskly from the gate. Marsh Silas glanced at Haight, who smiled charitably.

  “Katerina is a restless woman. She works tirelessly, much like you. I think you would like her. Similar to you, she has come from a noble family. Sadly, she is the only one left. She has told me that she is seeking a suitable husband to continue her heritage.”

  Marsh Silas said nothing as he and the Major flashed their identification papers for the sentries. They passed through the gate and crossed Fort Carmine’s campus. Waiting for them under the flag mast were Hyram and Gabler, both dressed in Militarum raincoats. As they noticed each other, they waved and approached the arrivals.

  “Silas, Major, good day to you both,” Hyram greeted. “I am told the prisoner is still under guard and his psychic manacles are firm.” Marsh and his friend locked hands and checked their shoulders against the other. He and Gabler did the same.

  “Let’s make this interrogation fast,” Marsh Silas said. “It will not be long until the local Inquisition arrives to take the rogue psyker away.”

  “After this, there won’t be much to pass over to the Inquisition!” Gabler boasted.

  The four officers laughed confidently and marched towards headquarters. Just as they passed the flagpole, something exploded above them. All dove to the ground and looked up. One of the Valkyries idling on the Skyshield Landing Pad was on fire. Ground crew personnel staggered away with shrapnel wounds and burns.

  “Those men need help!” Marsh shouted. In a blur, he bolted towards the metal staircasing which led up to the catwalks abutting the battlements. He stormed up the metal steps, skipping three at a time. As he reached the top, he threw off his coat and hat. Fire spread from the ruptured engine of the Valkyrie. Rescue personnel and servitors were already spraying it down with foam and water, but to little effect. Both the pilot and copilot struggled to open their canopy. Flames started to overtake the cockpit.

  Marsh ran over and tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. Inside, the pilot worked hastily to help. In a brief instance, Marsh Silas’s gaze connected with the pilot’s: it was the same one who flew them to Hill 277.

  He drew his pistol and slammed the bottom of the grip against the glass several times, but it would not crack. Marsh knew the cockpit glass would resist even the rounds of his Ripper Pistol. Drawing back, he looked around the ground for something heavy and metal. A maintenance crew had been on the pad and their equipment was scattered by the blast. Among the debris was a large, two-handed hammer.

  Picking it up, he stormed back towards the cockpit and shattered it after several blows. Marsh handed it to Hyram who worked on the copilot’s bubble while he dragged the pilot out. He carried away from the inferno to a safe distance.

  “There’s mechanics in the troop bay!” the pilot yelled in his ear. Marsh put him down and ran back towards the wreck. He grabbed one of the extinguishers brought by the ground crew and opened the nozzle. Working his way through the smoke, he approached the compartment which was blocked by flames. He hosed it down and when the tank ran dry, fetched another one. Hyram, Gabler, and Haight appeared next to him with other handheld extinguishers and, working with the hose crew, fought their way through the fire.

  Marsh didn’t wait for the flames to completely die down. When there was a gap, he rushed through. The men inside coughed badly and some were burned. Fire continued to grow along the fuselage, threatening to overtake them. He grabbed the men and pulled them back down the ramp, one by one. Two of the mechanics, overtaken and weakened by smoke, could hardly move. So Marsh Silas grabbed their collars and dragged them out.

  Everyone pulled away from the wreckage. Marsh, blackened by soot and wet from the hose, waited with the injured until Medicae personnel arrived. He helped convey one fellow onto a litter and grabbed his hand.

  “You’ll be alright, brother,” Marsh said to him.

  “Thank you, sir…” the man croaked back, squeezing his hand. Marsh let him go and issued similar remarks to the other men as they were taken away. But the pilot refused to be handled and ran up to the platoon leader.

  “Sir, you must hear me!” he cried angrily. “I did a full systems check after we landed and everything was nominal. I was looking right at my instruments when the starboard engine exploded. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could have triggered a combustion like that.”

  “Engines just can’t explode like that!”

  “That’s what I’m bloody telling you!” the pilot screeched. He stressfully grabbed his red hair and shook his head. “They’re going to blame my copilot and I for this. They’ll shoot us!”

  “What’s your name?” Marsh Silas asked, grabbing the scrappy fellow by his shoulder. Surprised, the man let his hands drop and looked up.

  “Foxley.”

  “I remember when you flew my platoon to that hill; you were wild but brave, and quite deft. If there is to be an inquiry, I will speak on your behalf.” The pilot’s eyes widened, but he regained his composure and nodded thankfully.

  “Knight-Lieutenant!” Marsh whirled around to see Fremantle bolt to the top of the metal stairs. “The prisoner! He’s dead!”

  The four officers ran after the Commissar. They rushed into regimental headquarters and stampeded into the dungeons of Fort Carmine. It was dark and dank; the air smelled of damp rockcrete. Weak, amber lights hung from the ceiling, creating intervals of shadows between them. Light and dark, light and dark, the cadre appeared and disappeared as they ran.

  Turning a corner, they raced into another corridor of the prison designated for dangerous or important captives. There was shouting. Astra Militarum and Naval Intelligence personnel, Kasrkin, and Naval Security operatives were all arguing. Several Kasrkin from Bloody Platoon were trying to maintain order and stop those who attempted to press into the cell. Several Kasrkin from Bloody Platoon barred the cell door, their personal weapons drawn. Honeycutt was on the ground, inspecting a RFSF security Kasrkin’s head wound.

  “You can’t keep me out, I’m a bloody major!” Osniah shouted in Walmsley Major’s face. A credit to his uniform, the Master Sergeant did not retaliate and maintained the stoic professionalism expected of his station.

  Marsh Silas felt anger surge through him. He was not sure what he was going to do to Osniah for that, but he did not have to find out. Haight stormed ahead of him, grabbed the officer by the lapels of his coat, and shoved him back.

  “You do not speak to these men in such a manner!” the Naval Security officer shouted. “The rest of you, stand down at once! Is this how the Navy behaves!?”

  “Don’t you try to stand firm before me, Haight,” Osniah snarled as the group of personnel behind him backed up. “I do not have to suffer slights and insults from a Navy officer.”

  “It is only frail, feeble, and fumbling fools who find slights in every word,” Haight snarled. “Back away, Major, this prisoner is not in your charge.”

  Osniah huffed and marched off. Marsh Silas watched him go, his violet gaze deadly. Drawing breath, he went to the viewing glass beside the entrance. Fremantle held up his hand as Marsh then attempted to open the door. “Wait, I’ve got Jacinto in there right now inspecting the body. I want to make absolutely sure it is safe before we enter. Only the Emperor knows what deviousness even a dead psyker can commit.”

  Jacinto’s white locks fell over his focused gaze. He circled around the body, chanting something in another Low Gothic dialect Marsh did not understand. Incense burned in a small, silver chalice he often wore around his neck. Now, he held it in his hands as he walked around and around the cell. The psyker was restrained to a chair bolted into the rockcrete floor. It was reclined and had metallic binds for the ankles, wrists, and neck. Hanging from the ceiling was a contraption carrying a metal hood. Needles were inside and tubes connected to the shell. This was a dampening tool used to reduce a psyker’s power and keep him subdued with various drugs.

  Eventually, Jacinto raised the chalice. With a wave of his hand, the fire within gently rolled out. It weaved around his hand like a string. He raised it up, inhaled, and then released a breath. The little flame went out.

  “I-it is s-safe.”

  They opened the door and brushed by him. Commissar Fremantle stood by Jacinto and looked at him sternly. After a moment, he offered a quick nod.

  “Well done,” he said stiffly. “You took a risk coming in here.”

  “J-just following y-y-your or-orders, s-sir.”

  “Nonetheless, it is…appreciated.”

  “T-thank you, C-C-Commissar,” Jacinto said shyly, looking down at his boots.

  Marsh Silas, Hyram, Haight, Fremantle, and Gabler leaned in and inspected the dead psyker. There were no signs of a physical struggle nor evidence that the machine had been damaged or tampered with. All they could find was a precise knife-stroke across the throat. Blood had seeped from the neck over the torso, staining the ratty garb he’d been given. A few drops fell into the small puddle pooling on the right side of the chair.

  Standing back up, all the officers exchanged perplexed and nervous glances. All except for Marsh Silas, who turned away and slammed his fist on the door as he passed by.

  “Fuck!”