To any observer, it would have been an eye-wrenching sight. Space seemed to open, the very fabric of reality twisting to reveal a monstrous tear, nigh on half an AU across, edged with glowing light in colours that described description. At the centre of this rip appeared a monstrous spaceship, dwarfed by the rip-writhing opening that centred itself about her, but somehow enhanced rather than diminished by it. Her lines were Imperial, yet not, plain where Imperial vessels were ostentatious, clean where crenellations and gargoyles and towering decorative spires would be expected, and with a flared bow which resembled the ploughshare of Imperial warships reversed. Yet the overall form was unmistakably human in origin, as if some great ocean had taken an Imperial warship and rolled it in its tides like a pebble, wearing smooth the decoration until all that was left was cold precise functionality. The vessel was somehow menacing and reassuring simultaneously. But there were no observers, only cold machines which recorded the entrance of a ship into their domain and reported. Purple lightnings flashed around the great ship as the tear in reality closed itself. Eyes of the Phoenix re-entered realspace.
On the bridge, the small crew looked at each other. Sara broke the silence with a business-like comment.
"Re-entry complete. Warp transit successful." Her calm tone couldn't quite hide the relief.
Sedreth stood. "You and I had better get down to the cargo bays and ready the ores for transport. I have no intention of letting some nameless dock crew aboard."
She smiled. "Me neither. Janey, I have all standard courses laid in. It should be exactly like the sim runs. The autopilot should be able to take us into dock unless there is a serious problem. If you're worried, call me, okay?"
The girl grinned back at her mother. "Okay, mummy. An' I'll remember to use the voice filter so I sound older."
The two adults nodded. "We're counting on you, Janey. Be sure to call us if anything at all unusual happens," said Sedreth.
She nodded, very serious. "I promise." A light blinked on the comms board and she turned to it.
"Eyes of the Phoenix, comm officer speaking."
The other two looked at each other as Janey waved a hand in dismissal, then, smiling at each other, headed for the lifts.
Sub-controller Harbin Gottshalk noted the beacon indicator. An unscheduled arrival. He reached for the supervisor alarm. Not that supervisor Mittel would bother. As usual. Once again he cursed the luck that had stuck him in this backwater straight after graduation. He'd thought that applying for the Exploration Service arm of the Controller's Guild would give him a chance of the unusual and exciting. What he'd got was a three-year tour on the mining colony of Devspart IV, set up only a generation ago. Set up, he reminded himself sourly while cursing the blank ident screen, with minimal funding and obsolete equipment.
He reached for the com, and spoke into the pick-up.
"This is Devspart control to unidentified vessel. Please transmit your ident."
A voice came back, female, and quite light. A young woman, he guessed. Perhaps she'd be good-looking and her ship here for a while. "Devspart control, this is rogue trader vessel Eyes of the Phoenix, standard registration epsilon-76, 0001-delta, 29-sigma, gamma-79, captain Sara Tarken commanding, requesting docking clearance. We have ores for trade and request the assistance of an assay team equipped for Iridium-group metals."
Gottshalk blinked. Epsilon? That was a warship code. He buzzed Supervisor Mittel again and spoke into the pick-up. "Acknowledged, Eyes of the Phoenix. Take standard lane three to dock at berth four-alpha."
"Devspart control, we copy that. Lane three, berth four-alpha. Reducing speed to insystem standard, point one seven c. Estimated arrival at dock six hours and forty-three minutes. Phoenix out."
Gottshalk sat back and looked at the screens in front of him. He reached for the intercom to supervisor Mittel.
Captain Ashfer Sernye sighed at the pile of paperwork sitting obstinately in his in-tray. No matter how many reports he filed, there were always more. The Guard ran on reports almost as much as on energy cells. Reluctantly, he called up the reports menu system, the familiar fields waiting patiently for his input. The com-light blinked and he opened the channel with a sense of relief. Supervisor Mittel's chubby balding face appeared onscreen, looking worried.
"Captain Sernye? Supervisor Mittel, traffic control here. We have a suspicious vessel in approach. It is registered to a rogue trader captain, one Sara Tarken, but appears to be a warship."
Sernye looked at the information on his screen. Registration number epsilon-76, 0001-delta, 29-sigma, gamma-79. Hmm. He knew epsilon meant a warship and sigma meant astartes. He didn't recognise epsilon-76 though. He looked back at Mittel. Yes, the man was definitely worried.
"Any unusual communications?"
"No, captain, but the library doesn't recognise the registration. And while we don't have a visual, we have a mass reading. It's the size of a light cruiser, about fifteen million tonnes."
Hmm. The normal size range of rogue trader vessels was around a fifth of that even at the top end of converted warships. No wonder Mittel was worried. The thing was half the size of the station. If it was an actual warship and hostile they were in trouble.
"Anything else about it?"
"Well, captain, as I recall it, the first digits of the third pair indicate the year of manufacture. If I'm right," he paused, and Sernye looked at his hesitant vid image for a second before indicating he should continue. Mittel was usually right; there was very little the man didn't know about ship codes. "If I'm right, that ship dates from the 29th millenium. It's almost older than the Imperium."
"Sigma indicates a space marine vessel, doesn't it, supervisor?"
"Yes, captain, it does. But I've had some dealings with space marines before; they've never failed to inform traffic control in my experience. Usually the ranking officer will make contact. And I've never heard of space marines trading before."
"You suspect pirates?" Or worse, he thought. A ship dating from the Great Crusade, perhaps. That could mean..., he felt his pulse quicken and only training and discipline kept the horrified thought from his face. "Very well. I'll alert my company. Bring the station weapons to readiness, but do not fire without my express authorisation. I shall contact the governor."
So much for boredom.
"Mr Morgan?" Janey's voice came over the internal speakers; she was using the general address.
"Yes, Janey?" He answered to the air, knowing the audio pickups would catch and relay his reply.
"Mr Morgan, the station is showing a large power spike. I ran general scan. It says they're powering weapons. What do I do?"
"Hmm. Are we on course?" asked Sara.
"Yes, mummy. Standard lane three to external dock alpha-four. Should I do anything else?"
Sedreth looked at Sara's questioning expression and shook his head. "No, Janey Continue on course. But you can contact traffic control and report that our scans indicate a power spike and do they require assistance?"
Arnos Mittel watched the vid image intently. Wavering and fuzzed it may have been, consequence of the equipment available to an underfunded and young mining colony, but it was unmistakeably a warship. Devsparts being far off the beaten track and devoid of habitable worlds it was rare that Mittel was required to deal with traffic incidents; the only military ships in the system were half a dozen light interceptors – good enough for police duties but irrelevant against the monster on his vidlink – and a handful of miner craft which bobbed about the star system's three asteroid belts, some of which had self-defence weaponry. An Imperial Navy corvette made regular monthly visits, but in effect system defence was limited to the antiquated weaponry of the station itself. Which, he reflected, would barely scratch the shields on a warship that size.
He looked round at a flurry of activity in the normally near-deserted corridor outside the equally empty station scan section. Half a dozen of the station's regular Guard garrison took up position at the entrance as their commander walked in with a business-like brusqueness. Mittel rather liked the young captain; Sernye was competent and sensible, paid attention to his job and his men, and mostly left the running of the station to the governor and the administrative staff. Which meant that, unlike some previous garrison commanders, he rarely got in Mittel's thinning hair. Now, however, he could see that behind the professional exterior captain Sernye was worried.
"Supervisor Mittel," nodded the man by way of greeting. "The governor has given me full authority to handle this. Have you more information on this mysterious warship?"
"No, captain. They queried us about the energy spike when the station's weapons came online, but have not – that we can detect – powered up shields or weapons themselves. So far their approach has been immaculately normal."
"I see. Do we have visual?"
"Yes, captain." Mittel indicated the image he'd been watching. He didn't interrupt the other man as he took a long look at the source of their mutual worry.
"It's definitely a warship. Have they transmitted this Tarken's rogue trader licence?"
Mittel looked questioningly at sub-controller Gottshalk. That worthy shook his head. "Not yet, sir. They're normally presented at dock."
"I think we should ask for it, then. Even if they're legitimate, I want to see who would hand over a ship like that to a rogue trader captain. And if the licence is faked, we can open fire. I have the interceptor squadron at ready."
Mittel nodded. "Do it." Gottshalk hurried to obey.
Janey listened to the control tech's voice. "Acknowledged Devsparts control. Stand by to receive securitised transmission."
She called up the menu on the comms station, pleased that mummy and Mr Morgan had thought of this in advance and that she knew how to do it. She hit the control key with a small smile, feeling very grown-up.
"Thank you, Eyes of the Phoenix," said Gottshalk. "Stand by for affirmation."
Mittel looked at the boy. Barely out of training. Still, he was remaining calm and sensible. A good point to go in his next assessment. If there was a next assessment. He called up the signal file and keyed in his authorisation; Gottshalk didn't have one for securitised transmissions yet. He blinked. That couldn't be correct. He ran the sequence again. By the Throne!
"Captain, you better take a look at this. You wanted to know who would authorise a warship like that to a rogue trader captain? There's your answer."
Sernye leaned over. "This can't be right?"
Mittel gave a twisted smile. "I ran it twice. That seal cannot be faked, as far as I know."
Sernye looked at him. "Have you seen it before?"
"No. But I have seen something similar, on a courier vessel. This captain Tarken must be an agent of the Ultramarines."
"That ship could carry a whole company of space marines."
Mittel's smile grew wider, partly in relief. "Then you had better arrange to meet their commander. And inform the governor."
Sernye paused. "They asked for an assay team?"
"Yes, they said they had ores for trade. Iridium group metals, sir," said Gottshalk.
The Guardsman thought for a few seconds. "Then they are travelling incognito. Relatively. They have not indicated the presence of space marines or asked for our assistance. So we shall act as if they are a perfectly normal trader-ship. I will keep the station weapons powered up and ready, and some of my men will be out on the dock, but let's keep this as low-key as possible for as long as possible."
Mittel nodded. That was sensible. But if that ship was what he feared it might be,... he shook himself. No. Lord Commander Calgar's personal seal was not fake-able. The ship was genuine. An agent of the Ordo Astartes. He found his pulse racing.
Janey sat on the comfy cushion she'd added to mummy's pilot chair, watching the lines on the screen as the numbers counted slowly down to the next course change. She was so engrossed by the read-outs that she barely paid attention to the system and the upcoming station orbiting its ball of ice and rock. She was receiving the station beacon now, the guidance signal that would ensure Phoenix docked precisely, machine talking to machine faster than any human could hope to.
She smiled as the numbers reached zero and hit the control; the engines rumbled far away and the ancient ship started to slow rapidly, from tens of kilometres per second to kilometres per second to the metres per second needed to guide its mass precisely to the external docking connections without wrecking the station.
Janey opened the comms again. "Devsparts control, this is Eyes of the Phoenix. Entering final approach."
A new voice came back. "We copy, Eyes of the Phoenix. Please stand by for customs check at dock."
Customs check? Oh, right. "Acknowledged, control. Customs check on docking. Phoenix out." She cut the connection and opened the intercom.
"Mummy, they want a customs check when we dock."
Mummy's voice came back over the speaker. "Alright, darling. Are we in final approach?"
"Yes, mummy. Nine minutes to dock."
"That's fine, darling. Can you handle the umbilicals?"
She nodded, forgetting that mummy couldn't see. "That's menu four just like you tol' me. Yes, mummy, as long as they're standard. We're receiving final guidance now, an' all systems are green. An' there's no alert showing. So I think they must be."
"Right. The two of us are in lower main now. We'll meet the customs inspectors once we're locked down."
"Okay, mummy."
Sernye stood on the dockside watching the mysterious vessel inch into its assigned dock less than two hundred metres in front of him. Emperor, but it was big. He'd served on capital ships before, but he'd never watched one dock from this point of view, or from this close to. The massive hull bore almost no decoration, just an enormous aquila on the high control tower and a highly unusual prow which resembled a bird in flight rather than the ploughshare of a normal warship. He took a few seconds to realise that the usual ploughshare bow was there, but had been turned upside down and carved into a raptor-shape, with a great eagle's head and flared wings. The typical architectural decorations and gothic installations appeared to have been removed as well, but the rows of heavy artillery along the long broadside appeared to be intact, from what he could tell, retreating behind a sequence of closing armoured hatches as the ship extended two enormous grapples from its bow, almost like the claws of some enormous bird of prey. The blank metal eye of the figurehead seemed to meet his gaze with idle, contemptuous power and he shivered slightly. Whoever had designed this ship had meant it to impress.
The deck under his feet trembled faintly as a ship massing half the station touched with a feather-touch perfection. Perfect dock, precisely perpendicular to the station. Whoever the pilot was, they were superlative.
He walked forward with a squad of his best troopers as the umbilicals locked into place, cables extending to offer water and oxygen and power, and to take off wastes and exhaust gasses. A long ramp extruded itself from the ship's prow. There was a pause of several seconds before a section of the bow split apart. A slender brown-haired woman wearing a headset and casual jacket over slightly dusty overalls strolled down the ramp and looked round. She looked a little tired and sweaty, with a faint patina of rock-dust lightly darkening her skin.
Sernye stepped forward to the crew-woman. "I am captain Sernye, Imperial Guard. Where is captain Tarken?"
The woman smiled briefly. "I'm Sara Tarken, captain. I presume you are here regarding the customs check?" She met his eyes with a sardonic humour.
He blinked, then nodded. "Indeed, captain. If you could have your crew," he paused as a huge purple-armoured figure walked down the ramp followed by a series of trolleys – he recognised ammunition transports – piled with containers of rocks. The space marine ignored him and his men, stepping onto the station deck and deftly marshalling the little train into a perfectly straight line.
Tarken spoke quietly. "We are not intending to stay, captain, and I was not entirely sure about your local regulations, so I had the trade goods brought to dockside for your inspection. However, I don't want to further misuse the munitions loaders. Is your assay team at hand? I would like to be rid of these ores as quickly as may be." She suddenly grinned. "Assuming I can get a decent price."
Sernye looked at her, not understanding her sudden humour. "I am sure that the assay team will be here directly, captain. Might I enquire as to where you got these ores?"
A deep voice spoke from behind him. "Pirates, captain. Pirates who will no longer trouble the innocent. Where they got them in the first place is a matter of conjecture."
He turned to the towering space marine. "I see. Uhm."
"Brother-sergeant Sedreth, captain Sernye. Captain Tarken, I shall remain on guard until you are finished here."
The woman nodded. "Of course, brother-sergeant. Thank you for your assistance."
The warrior's helmeted head nodded once and he walked – marched – up the ramp and took position at the ship's still-open entranceway, his bolter held crosswise across his chest, facing down the ramp towards the dock. Sernye noticed that the man's armour bore a great white feather, affixed to the front corner of his left shoulder-plate by a huge, glittering ruby. He wondered what it signified. He turned his attention back to the woman waiting politely at his side.
She held his gaze without threat. "The customs check, captain? "
He nodded. "Of course. Most thoughtful of you, captain Tarken. How long do you intend to remain in system?"
"No more than it takes to sell the ores. I have business elsewhere, specifically a special treat for my daughter on her birthday. She has never seen the ocean and the resort in the Plett system is famed for its beauty."
Plett docking fees ran to thousands per day, Sernye knew. "That is your next intended port of call?" This woman must be wealthy; no surprise there.
She nodded. "Unless something dictates otherwise."
"You are a long way from Ultramar, captain."
She nodded again, the brown eyes unreadable. "Yes. Are there any administrative formalities I need to go through?"
Sernye shook his head. "No, captain. The customs check was merely an excuse to determine your bona fides. Welcome to Devsparts."
"Very well. In that case, the sooner that assay team arrives the better." She looked along the dock. Two distant groups of figures were heading in their direction, one on foot, and the other, larger, group on a liveried transport sled. That group wore the guild robes of Merchants and Traders. She looked down at her casual jacket with a rueful expression and spoke into her headset.
"Janey, can you look out my dress uniform? I appear to be underdressed." She smiled briefly. "I shall return directly, captain."
Sernye nodded in instinctive response and watched her walk up the ramp, past the armoured sentinel and into the dark opening. The space marine followed. Interesting. He watched the guild transport approach with well-disguised loathing. Parasites. He schooled his face to immobility as the vehicle pulled up and disgorged its be-robed passengers. The foremost looked round, then came over to speak with him. He eyed the fat balding man without expression.
"Captain Sernye."
"Guild member Cathkert."
"I was given to understand that a trader captain had docked with ores for sale?"
"Indeed. The ores are there," Sernye gestured, "awaiting the assay team. Captain Tarken had to return to her ship for a moment. That is the vessel."
Cathkert did not look pleased and turned to face the ramp. His mouth opened slightly. Credit the man, he recovered swiftly. "I see. We passed the assay team on the dock. I do hope this captain Tarken will not keep us waiting."
Sernye said nothing. Cathkert returned to his group of hangers-on and flunkies, throwing dark looks at the silent vessel.
It was not, in actuality, very long before Sara Tarken walked back down the ramp to the dock, though from the Guild representatives' expressions it could have been a lifetime. She had however clearly dressed to impress, in a sleek black jacket and trousers with matching silver-trimmed cloak. She was also armed, a heavy hand-gun in an open thigh holster all chased in silver and embossed with a single golden wing on the dark leather grip. Sernye recognised an astartes-issue bolt pistol, although he doubted if any of the traders and money-men behind him would. Her hair was brushed back and her face clean, though devoid of cosmetics. He noticed that she had a faint scar on her left cheek; it did nothing to detract from her physical beauty, but added to the air of cold martial competence.
He nodded to her as she walked past him towards the be-robed guildsmen. She gave an equally formal nod before Cathkert hurried forward.
"Captain Tarken? I am Sedajou Cathkert, and I represent the Guild of Merchant Bankers. Welcome to Devsparts. I am given to understand you have items you intend to trade here?"
"Indeed, banker Cathkert," answered the woman gravely. "As you can see, I have a small quantity of Iridium-group ores which I wish to dispose of. I requested an assay team be available once we had docked."
Cathkert nodded, and indicated the small group of overalled and slightly grubby workers standing holding various complex-looking instruments. "Accredited with the Guild of Miners, captain. Being a mining colony, we have a constant need for their expertise."
Tarken smiled briefly as she walked the balding fat man over to the dozen transports. "Excellent. Our own scans indicated that the ores were of more than one planet, and varied in estimated yield between 3 and 4.2 percent Iridium with elements of Platinum and less useful metals varying from point four to point eight percent. I was fortunate that brother-sergeant Sedreth felt the need for some extra exercise, so we have sorted them by approximate yield, from farthest to nearest as we stand. Obviously, we had only standard scans rather than your peoples' specialised equipment, but we thought it might be useful, not knowing the level of technical expertise available at such a new colony."
Cathkert, waddling along beside her rapier-slim elegance, nodded. "Most thoughtful of you, captain. Am I to gather you did not mine the ores yourself, then?"
She shook her head slightly. "No. They were once in the possession of pirate raiders. In this case, of course, the raiders in question are no longer a threat." Her tone was dismissive, and Sernye wondered where she had gained such sang-froid so young. Cathkert, however, looked alarmed.
"You are certain?"
She chuckled. "Oh, yes. That particular raiding group is very very dead. However the sale of their loot will off-set our munitions costs. Marginally."
Cathkert looked marginally less worried. "And did you contact the Navy, captain?"
She looked at him. "Of course not. Another raider more or less is a minor matter. But I would not worry myself, Banker Cathkert. They were far away from here. Now, can we begin the assay?"
The Banker nodded, his jowls wobbling. "Of course, captain. This is assayer supervisor Dev of the Miner's Guild, and techpriest Aknetrin of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Gentlemen, this is captain Tarken, whose goods will be examined here."
Both men nodded politely, the robed and hooded techpriest seeming to take her in at a single glance, the miner more open and less suspicious. The ship captain was detached and polite, watching with quiet attention as the assay team went about their business.
Sara watched the assay team as they moved swiftly and efficiently from load to load. The techpriest, Aknetrin, stood beside her, also watching closely, although she could feel his attention on her. Miner Dev supervised his team with quiet commands; it was obvious he'd done this many times.
It was Aknetrin who broke the silence. "Captain, those are very unusual loaders."
She looked at him. "Munitions loaders, regrettably pressed into service. I do not carry ores on a regular basis."
Cathkert broke in from behind her, a writing slate in his hands and a glitter of greed in his eyes. "It is a great pity, captain. Those ores might prove expensive to refine, but offer a good yield to those with the facilities. More would offer a considerable profit."
Aknetrin looked at him. "You are correct, Banker Cathkert." His voice was faintly metallic, courtesy of the rebreather built into his throat. "The ores contain in total three point seven three four eight five six tonnes of Iridium recoverable with the facilities at this station." He paused for a moment, as if consulting elsewhere. "The Adeptus Mechanicus will offer two point two four three credits per gram on refinement, or one point three nine two credits unrefined," he said matter-of-factly.
Sara nodded and looked enquiringly at Cathkert who was suddenly sweating profusely as he fiddled with his data slate. The banker looked unhappy. "I am sorry, captain, I cannot match that offer; the refinement charges prevent it."
She nodded again and looked at the techpriest. "Five million one hundred and ninety-nine thousand, more or less. Hmm. Call it five million two hundred thousand for the ores, honoured techpriest, and you have a deal."
"That is acceptable. Banker Cathkert, you will witness the transaction."
"Honoured," said the fat man, looking unhappy.
Sara smiled briefly. "I will need to partially re-provision; fresh fruit and vegetables and fresh meat. I presume that you can direct me to a suitable chandler or agent, Banker Cathkert?"
The banker brightened slightly. "It will be a pleasure, captain. Will you require a credit line? The Adeptus Mechanicus payment will take few hours to process and I believe you mentioned munitions?"
She chuckled softly. "I shall have to arrange munitioning with suitable Imperial authorities, banker, as Phoenix's main batteries are slightly down on normal capacity and I like to keep stocked up. I doubt if class V and VI munitions are something that a young colony has great store of. I will need to make other arrangements for those. But bolter ammunition and promethium never go amiss, so if such are immediately available I shall place a small order. Assuming that does not degrade your own defensive facilities of course."
"You require class VI munitions?" The techpriest sounded, so far as it was possible to tell, surprised.
Sara nodded, inwardly cursing her slip. "For the main batteries. We used up a fair amount recently."
The man nodded slowly. "Against pirates? They must have been well-armed."
She shrugged casually, and took the data slate from Cathkert, reading the transfer swiftly and nodding. "That seems to be in order." She signed, the light pen leaving a slight trail in her vision, and passed it across to Aknetrin, who glanced briefly at the slate and signed in his turn, affixing a formal seal. Cathkert retrieved it from the metal-augmented hand and affixed his own seal to the slate.
"You perhaps have a personal seal, captain?"
She shook her head. "No."
"Then our business is concluded," said Aknetrin. "A pleasure doing business, captain."
"Likewise. Emperor's grace on you, techpriest."
She watched as the dark-robed techpriest walked over to the loaders with their heavy cargoes. He remained there, unmoving, while several sturdy-looking heavy cargo loaders arrived with their crews and the ores were removed from Eyes of the Phoenix's munitions loaders, then left without a word. She looked to Cathkert, who was busy with his data slate.
"Are your requirements met, Banker?"
"Indeed, captain. A credit line of half a million credits has been arranged, with access to a further half million on demand. Naturally once the credit payment from the Adeptus Mechanicus has passed, a matter of perhaps a dozen hours, you will have access to the remainder."
"That will be adequate. There are several chandlers offering re-supply here; can you recommend a couple?"
The fat banker smiled sadly. "Unfortunately such references are outwith my remit; in fact they technically would break my Guild oath. But I am sure that whichever you select will prove adequate for your needs."
She nodded and accepted the data slate, signing it and receiving the credit note in return. Cathkert nodded at it.
"Highly unusual in most larger systems, captain, but given our facilities here the most efficient. It will take a short time to set up an account here for you, and longer to connect to our local network based on Plett. Your next port of call, you said?"
"Yes. My daughter will shortly turn eight, and she has not seen an ocean. Or rather, has not seen one except from orbit."
"Which is hardly the same thing, I agree. Once your business is completed, please come to our offices and I shall have all the necessary automatic systems set up."
"Most generous, banker. Until later then."
"Indeed. Until later, captain Tarken."
She nodded and walked back up the ramp to the sanctuary of her ship.
"Are you alright, Sara?" Sedreth's voice spoke out of the relative gloom before her eyes had adjusted after the brightness of the dock. She realised he was wearing a slightly different suit of armour, one of the Mark VI sets from the armoury. It made him look sinister somehow, the pointed 'corvus' helmet adding a level of predation that was not present in the Mark V he had worn for millennia. He must have noted her expression because he chuckled softly. "I thought it wise to give the impression of more than one astartes. This suit has never been worn before today."
She nodded. "It's hard. I keep remembering that I'm just a simple farmer's wife. I'm not comfortable with all this." She gestured at her clothing.
"I understand. But remember, they see what they expect to see. They see a warship, carrying space marines, and a ship captain carrying an astartes-issue bolt pistol with familiarity. They see a veteran warrior, not a farmer's wife. And Sara, they see more of the truth than you credit them. You are a warrior of the Emperor."
She felt her mouth twist and schooled the distaste from her expression. "I know. But it doesn't make me feel any more comfortable about it."
His voice was calm. "Being a warrior is not a pleasant thing. But it is a noble one, if the cause is just."
"It's easy to forget that."
"Yes. It is easy to get caught up in the martial aspect of your existence and forget that you are also a man. Or a woman."
"You feel sorry for them, don't you? The ones that still serve chaos."
"Yes. They were fine and noble men once. Killing them is a kindness, an end to a twisted, wretched existence. However, that is a discussion for another time. You need to visit the chandlers and munitions holders. Do you wish me to come with you?"
She shook her head. "No, I can manage. And who knows what archives of the Adeptus Mechanicus might still be held with that armour pattern in them. Safer if you stay aboard."
Sedreth's salute took her by surprise, but she responded by reflex, then smiled slightly and swung around, out the great portal and down the gangway.