And such a time would not be long in coming. With the destruction of the hive ship, the Shadow in the Warp had lifted from the Tarsis Ultra system and a flood of astropathic communiques were received by those telepaths who had not been driven insane by the tyranids' infernal psychic noise.

Imperial Navy vessels were less than a week away, ponderous battlecruisers and vast transports bringing in fresh troops to bolster the weakened defences.

The Mortifactors had left Tarsis Ultra yesterday, Chaplain Astador offering to take the mortal remains of the fallen Ultramarines and inter them within the ossuaries of the Basilica Mortis. Learchus, who had taken command of the surviving warriors of the Fourth company, had politely, but firmly, declined.

Inquisitor Kryptman and the Deathwatch still prowled the ruins of the city, gathering alien carcasses for Magos Locard to study. The gene-poison might only have worked on this hive fleet, but there was still much to learn about the tyranid race.

Volunteer kill teams were being assembled to hunt down the surviving tyranid monsters that had gone to ground in the depths of the ruined city and caves of the high valleys. The shadow of destruction had been lifted from this world, but Pasanius knew that there would be trouble with the tyranids for many years to come if his experiences on Ichar IV had taught him anything.

The winds from the plain were cold and Pasanius extended the silver fingers of his right arm, the metal gleaming and pristine.

Already more than one tech-priest had commented on the skill of the artificer who had repaired his bionic arm following the battle on the hive ship.

Pasanius shivered, closing his eyes as he tucked his arm inside the fabric of his chiton.

He could tell them nothing, because there had been no artificer.

The arm had repaired itself.

There was pain. He supposed pain was good, it meant he was still alive.

Uriel opened his eyes, gummed with so long spent unconscious. He blinked away the residue and tried to push himself upright, but fell back, exhausted, unable to do much more than turn his head.

He lay on a sturdy bed in a stone chamber with a vaulted roof. It was warm and he felt a comfortable numbness that could only be the result of pain balms. He pulled back the sheet to look at his bandage-wrapped body. Scars crisscrossed his chest and he could feel the ache of recent surgery. Whatever had happened to him, it had been serious.

Uriel drifted in and out of consciousness for several hours until he was aware of a figure standing beside his bed, adjusting a drip feed attached to his arm.

He tried to speak, the words coming out as little more than a hoarse croak.

'You'll find it hard to speak for a while, Uriel,' said a voice he recognised as belonging to Apothecary Selenus. He managed to say, 'What happened?'

'You were poisoned by tyranid phage cells that attacked the Larraman cells in your bloodstream. The poison caused your blood to clot on a bodily scale and your hearts failed, clogged with agglomerated blood. Clinically, you were dead, but the Deathwatch were able to get you back to the Thunderhawk in time for Brother Damias to administer a massive dose of anticoagulants and begin infusions of fresh blood. Pasanius almost killed himself providing you with enough blood to keep you alive long enough to get you here. You are lucky indeed to have such a friend as he.'

Uriel nodded, trying to take in the information, but drifted off into unconsciousness. When he awoke again it was to see a man in the uniform of the Erebus Defence Legion with his arm in a sling sitting beside him. He wore a Space Marine purity seal pinned to his breast.

'You're awake,' he said, standing and extending his hand.

'Yes,' managed Uriel. 'You're—'

'Pavel Leforto, yes. You saved my life in the trenches.'

Uriel smiled in recognition. 'You saved mine too as I remember.'

'Yes, well, I was lucky with the missile launcher. On any normal day, I'd probably have hit you,' said Pavel.

'Well, thank you anyway, Pavel.'

'You're welcome, Captain Ventris. Anyway, I just came to say thank you, but I have to report to my unit now. You know, plenty more work to be done,' said Pavel.

Pavel came to attention and saluted before turning and marching from the room.

Uriel watched him go, thinking back to the picture of his family Pavel had had when he had lain injured.

When it came time for Pavel Leforto to die he would have the legacy of his wife's memories and his children's lives to proclaim that he existed, that he had enriched the Emperor's realms for a brief span with his labours.

What would Brother-Captain Uriel Ventris leave behind?

A lifetime dedicated to the service of the Emperor, to the service of Humanity, even though he was no longer part of it? He only dimly remembered his parents, they had been dead for almost a century now, their memory a distant shadow, eclipsed by decades of devotion to the Chapter and the Emperor. There was nothing left to remind him of his humanity, no family and few friends. Once he was gone it would be as though he had never existed.

Uriel had sacrificed his chance to experience such a life the instant he had become an Ultramarines novice.

And knowing this, would he have been so willing to become a Space Marine had he realised the enormity of what he was sacrificing to become one of the Emperor's elite?

Uriel smiled, his features softening as the answer was suddenly so clear that he was amazed he had even questioned it.

Yes. He would have. In giving up the chance for a normal life, he had gained something far greater. The chance to make a difference. The chance to stand defiant before the enemies of Mankind and hold back the tide of degenerate aliens, traitorous heretics and servants of Chaos that sought dominion over the Emperor's realm.

That was something to be proud of. His strength came from ancient technology that made him stronger, faster and more deadly than any warrior had ever been before. He had sacrificed his chance to be truly human and, yes, he stood apart from the mass of Humanity, but countless lives would have been lost but for his sacrifice.

That was a noble gift and he was thankful for what and who he was.

Uriel smiled to himself as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Snowdog winced as he limped over to the bed where Silver lay asleep. His side hurt like a cast-iron bitch and the swelling on his face didn't seem to want to go down. He pulled the blanket up over Silver and brushed a strand of white hair from her face.

She stirred, opening her eyes and reaching up to touch his braised face.

'Hey,' she said.

'Hey, yourself. How you feeling?'

She groaned as she pushed herself upright. 'Terrible. Next dumb question?'

Snowdog leaned down to kiss her, his cracked ribs flaring painfully.

She saw the pain in his eyes and chuckled.

'Some time, huh?'

'Yeah,' he agreed, 'some time.'

'So what's next for us, then?'

Snowdog didn't reply immediately, glancing over his shoulder into the front room of the abandoned hab-unit they'd commandeered as a temporary base. Lex and Tigerlily played dice and Jonny Stomp snored loudly on a bed of rolled-up coats.

He'd lost most of what he'd lifted from the wreck of the crashed ship and as he looked at the shotgun and lasgun lying on the floor he smiled.

'Looks like it's business as usual, honey,' he said. 'Business as usual.'