'I know this sits badly with you, Serj,' said Pascal, offering some conciliatory words as he saw the defeat in Casuaban's face, 'but you know you're doing the right thing, don't you?'

'The right thing?' said Casuaban. 'I don't even know what that is anymore. I thought I did when I served with the Falcatas. I'd seen too many young men and women blown apart by your bombs, listened to them scream and cry for their mothers, to do anything but hate you. I hated the Sons of Salinas and everything you stood for. I had the certainty of hate.'

'Then came the Killing Ground,' said Pascal.

'Then came the Killing Ground,' repeated Casuaban. 'After that, I was lost. I watched Leto Barbaden order the attack and I knew it was wrong, but I didn't say anything, not until it was too late.'

Pascal drained the last of his raquir and placed the glass down on the desk.

'When you and Cardinal Togandis are ministering to the needy of Junktown tomorrow, leave the supplies in the marked Leman Russ. You'll see the signs.'

An awkward silence descended. 'You haven't asked about… him,' said Casuaban.

Pascal licked his lips. 'He's still alive?'

'He is,' confirmed Casuaban. 'Did you even doubt it?'

'Sylvanus Thayer always was a tough bastard,' said Pascal, glancing nervously towards the stairs that led back down to the wards.

'Do you want to see him?'

'No,' said Pascal, 'not even a little bit.'

Casuaban watched as Pascal made the sign of the Aquila across his chest.

He laughed. 'Now that's irony,' he said bitterly.

Uriel looked out over the city as it slipped into darkness below. From this height, it looked peaceful, but the ambush this morning had given the lie to that impression. Barbadus was a city at war with itself, held by Imperial forces, but wracked by dissent and insurgents who fought their rightful rulers every step of the way.

Though Uriel did not like Leto Barbaden, he was the rightful ruler of Salinas and no amount of insurgency would change that. Salinas had been won for the Imperium by an army of conquest and the world was theirs to rule in the name of the Emperor.

Yet something nagged at the back of Uriel's mind, a suspicion that all was not as it seemed, that secrets lurked beneath the surface and would radically alter his view of this world's dynamic were he to learn them.

He turned from the shimmering, shielded window and returned to the quarters that had been assigned to them. As far as places of confinement went, it was a great deal more comfortable than some he had been forced to occupy. Two beds, large by any normal measurement, yet small in comparison to a Space Marine, occupied opposite walls and two footlockers sat empty at their ends, though neither he nor Pasanius had anything to put in them.

'You see anything interesting out there?' asked Pasanius.

His friend sat on the floor, idly rubbing the stump of his arm and watching him as he paced the length of the room. Pasanius appeared utterly calm and Uriel envied the sergeant's ability to find a place of stillness within himself, no matter what their circumstances.

'No,' he said, calmed by the very act of watching Pasanius. 'It all looks peaceful now.'

'Then sit down for the Emperor's sake, you'll wear a groove in the carpet,' suggested Pasanius, lifting a bronze ewer from the floor beside him. 'Have some wine. It's not as good as the vintages bottled on Calth, but it's eminently drinkable.'

Uriel lifted a goblet from a table beside the bed and sat on the floor opposite Pasanius. He held out the goblet and Pasanius duly filled it. He took a long drink, enjoying the taste, despite Pasanius's reservations.

'Not bad,' said Uriel.

'It'll do,' said Pasanius. 'Ah, but do you remember the Calth wines?'

'Some of them,' said Uriel. 'Why the sudden interest in my home planet's wines?'

'A wonderful dialect they spoke in the caverns,' continued Pasanius. 'I remember the first time I spoke to you. I could barely understand a word you said.'

'It had its own character,' admitted Uriel, beginning to see where Pasanius was going.

'I remember it took years for you to shake that accent,' said Pasanius. 'Do you still remember any of it?'

'Some,' said Uriel, switching to the heavily accented dialect of the deep cavern dwellers of Calth. 'It's the kind of thing that never really leaves you.'

Uriel had been six years old the last time he had spoken like this, but his enhanced memory skills allowed him to access the language centres of his brain as though it had been yesterday.

'That's it,' laughed Pasanius, also switching to the same Calthian speech patterns, a dialect that no one outside Ultramar would have any hope of understanding. Certainly any eavesdroppers on this conversation would be lost and even the most sophisticated cogitating machines would struggle with so specific an argot.

'Subtle,' said Uriel, raising his goblet in a mock toast to Pasanius.

'I have my moments,' replied Pasanius.

'I remember the last time we sat with a drink like this,' said Uriel.

Pasanius nodded. 'Aye, on the Vae Victus, in the Tarsis Ultra system. A grand victory that was.'

'I suppose,' agreed Uriel, 'but won at a cost, and look where it got us.'

'There you go, always looking for the clouds instead of the silver lining,' said Pasanius. 'Look where it got us? We saved Tarsis Ultra. We saw the daemon creatures of Honsou destroyed and we're on the way home. Think of the good we've done, that we'll go on to do.'

Uriel smiled. 'You're right, as always, my friend. You have a rare gift for cutting through to the heart of things.'

'It's a well known fact that sergeants are the real brains in any army,' said Pasanius.

'Then what's so important that we switch to Calthian dialect?'

'We have things to talk about,' said Pasanius, suddenly serious, 'things best not heard by others, things we need to have clearly stated between us.'

'Very well,' agreed Uriel. 'Things like what?'

'Like the Unfleshed. When are you planning on mentioning them to Barbaden?'

'I don't know,' admitted Uriel. 'I had thought to say something once we'd established our credentials, but having met the man, I'm not sure.'

'I know what you mean,' agreed Pasanius. 'I don't think Leto Barbaden would be too understanding.'

'He'll kill them as soon as look at them.'

'Then what do we do with them?' asked Pasanius. 'You can't just leave them out there. I know you're holding on to the hope that the blood of heroes in their veins will restrain their more animal qualities, but even if it does, it won't be forever. Sooner or later they'll become what they were on Medrengard.'

'Perhaps,' said Uriel, 'but I can't abandon them. They gave everything to help us against Honsou. Most of them died in that fight. We owe them.'

'Aye,' nodded Pasanius, 'that we do, but let's be sure we don't get them killed trying to repay that debt.'

'Perhaps we can make an approach through the cardinal?'

Pasanius looked sceptical. 'The fat man? I don't think Barbaden takes much notice of him. I don't think he takes much notice of anyone, if you know what I mean?'

'I do,' said Uriel, taking another drink. 'I've seen his kind before, commanders who divorce themselves utterly from the fact that they're commanding soldiers of flesh and blood. To men like Barbaden, notions of honour and courage are fanciful things, ephemera. To them war is about numbers, logistics and cause and effect.'

Pasanius nodded. 'Aye. Dangerous men.'

'The most dangerous. That kind of commander doesn't care how many men die to achieve his goals, so long as he gets a victory.'

'So how did a man like that get to be in charge of a planet?'

'The Falcatas were an army of conquest,' said Uriel. 'The right to settle a conquered world is the highest honour the Imperium can bestow upon a Guard regiment that's fought for decades. Barbaden was the colonel of the regiment, so the governorship would naturally be his, and I'd be surprised if the majority of the planet's hierarchy weren't ex-Guard.'