‘No representation from the Adeptus Astartes?’ Gaunt asked Beltayn quietly as they walked.
‘They seem constantly occupied, sir,’ Beltayn whispered back. ‘It is reported to me that the Iron Snake spends all his time in relentless combat practice, and the Silver Guard does nothing but study schematic simulations.’
‘What about the White Scar?’
‘No one knows, sir. He seems to be roaming the ship.’
‘And no representation from Spika’s crew?’
‘I think they’re busy doing ship-y things, sir.’
They came out onto the main platform ahead of the review, and Rawne, his eyes front, barked out a stern order. The regiment seamlessly came to attention with one ringing clash. At this signal, Sergeant Major Yerolemew raised his golden pace-stick, and Trooper Perday tilted her head back, raised her helicon, and blasted out a pure, clean, solo fanfare.
Gaunt winced slightly. The playing was fine. In fact, it was perfect, and the sound remarkably uplifting. He just wondered when the Tanith First had become that sort of regiment, and when he had become that sort of commander. It had never been about ceremony.
He stepped up on to the elevated platform, made the sign of the aquila and told the regiment to stand easy.
‘With this new strength,’ he said, in a voice that was used to carrying effortlessly, ‘already welcomed into our fold, we stand together for the first time.’
His eyes drifted across the sea of faces. They were attentive and still, but only a few betrayed any emotion. Ban Daur could never hide that earnest hint of determination. Major Zhukova, a new face for Gaunt, was positively glowing with pride. There was something wry and mischievous in Hlaine Larkin’s eyes, and it was a distinctive and familiar as the ever-present hint of dissatisfaction on Viktor Hark’s.
Then there was Meritous Felyx Chass. He was in the front rank of E, behind Meryn, flanked by Dalin Criid. Dalin or Ludd had procured a set of Tanith blacks and a camo-cloak for him. He looked breakable and frail, like a child dressed up as a soldier. It was almost as if Dalin had brought his little sister out onto the parade ground. Chass looked a good ten years younger than the youngest members of the company.
With a slight pang and a curious sensation of surprise, Gaunt realised who Chass reminded him of. With that expression of resolution not to fail or let anyone down, Chass looked like a boy, the Hyrkan Boy, the cadet in the corner of regimental picts of the fighting Hyrkan 8th, standing between Sergeant Tanhause and Commissar Oktar.
‘We have embarked, and are underway,’ said Gaunt. ‘And, isolated by the shift, we no longer risk the dangers of loose talk in a home port. I can now tell you a little of the mission we are undertaking.’
No one moved, but he could sense their expectation.
‘From the accompany bonds, you know this endeavour will be direct and risky. We will be making a shipboard attack on an enemy facility. That facility is located in the Rimward Marginals, at a place called Salvation’s Reach. Specialism briefings will begin immediately after this address, and section leaders will be informed of specific mission requirements. We have, according to the revised estimate, about a week of lead time before we translate and begin deceleration approach of the target area. However, an estimated twenty-three hours from now, we will translate to effect a conjunction with other Battlefleet elements at Tavis Sun. This resupply is expected to last just a few hours, and is ship to ship. Unless this mission is altered or aborted, we will not see a friendly port until this work is complete.’
He raised his head slightly, regarding them all.
‘I expect only the very best of you. I can’t pretend I can guarantee you will all return. But I ask you the one question I have always asked you. Do you want to live forever?’
There was a sudden, rousing cheer of approval from the ranks, like a close shell-burst, that made the double-headed eagle up on its perch flap its wings.
‘Now get to your stations and begin preparation,’ said Gaunt. ‘Dismissed.’
As the congregation began to dissolve, Pol Cohran stepped out of the back rank of the band section and headed towards the nearest exit. A spray of synthetic skin had sealed his cuts and disguised the discoloration, but he had no wish to be in the company of others for longer than was necessary.
Now he had information, and it was essential he used it.
Beside the elevated platform, Gaunt turned to Hark and Fazekiel.
‘The men seem to be in good spirits,’ he remarked, watching them disperse.
‘They were inactive on Balhaut for too long,’ said Hark. ‘And the newcomers are keen to prove themselves.’
‘We are indeed,’ said Fazekiel.
‘By the way,’ said Gaunt, ‘where’s Edur?’
‘I haven’t seen him since the start of day-cycle,’ said Hark.
Vaynom Blenner walked into the infirmary section that had been reserved for the regiment’s use. There were another three infirmary units aboard to administer to the crew. This suite was old and poorly maintained. It was clearly a back-up facility. The chrome and stainless steel surfaces and wall plates were stained with limescale deposits and other, less appealing, residues. Autoclaves chugged like poorly maintained generator engines. The central examination room radiated into a ward, two surgical theatres, and some side chambers for storage and supplies, along with private office spaces for the medicae personnel.
There was no sign of anybody. Blenner walked into the ward. One cot was occupied. Trooper Fulch from N Company had torn his shoulder unloading munitions boxes.
‘Where are all the doctors?’ Blenner asked.
‘They were here just a minute ago, sir,’ said Fulch.
Blenner walked back out into the central examination room. Kolding suddenly emerged from one of the rear chambers. He was looking for something. He saw Blenner.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked.
Blenner stared back at the albino levelly.
‘Where’s Dorden? I deal with Dorden.’
Kolding stared back at him. His eyes were unreadable behind those damn tinted lenses. He was worse than that damn native partisan Ibram insisted on keeping around.
‘Dor-den,’ said Blenner, elaborately separating the syllables as though Kolding was a simpleton.
‘You’ll have to come back,’ said Kolding.
‘Throne I will! I want to see Dorden now!’
‘Kolding, what’s taking so–’
Curth emerged from the back with an urgent demeanour. She stopped short as soon as she saw Blenner.
‘Commissar.’
‘I want to see Dorden,’ Blenner said.
Curth looked quickly at Kolding. She took something out of a cabinet drawer and handed it to him.
‘Go on,’ she told him. ‘I’ll be right there.’ Kolding disappeared back into the rear of the infirmary.
‘That man needs training in interpersonal skills,’ said Blenner.
‘How can I help you?’ asked Curth.
‘And you need training in basic comprehension,’ said Blenner. ‘I want to see Dorden.’
He realised instantly that she wasn’t in the mood for playful scolding. Her mood was hard and prickly, even by Ana Curth standards.
‘There’s an emergency,’ she said. ‘He can’t attend you just now. How can I help you?’
Blenner pursed his lips. He wanted Dorden, but he quite liked the excuse to have to deal with her. His business with Dorden could probably wait.
He took the little bag Wilder had given him out of his coat pocket and tossed it to Curth. She caught it neatly, one-handed.
‘What are these?’ she asked.
‘That’s what I want you to tell me.’
She opened the bag, tipped a couple of the tablets out into her palm and squinted at them.