“You are sure they were not followed?”

  “What? Yes,” said the pilot. The man wore a crisp Lucean flight suit that seemed out of place in his filthy surroundings.

  Miles sat on a crude metal stool. A bowl, empty save for the spoon he had used to scrape it clean, rested on his lap. He had not realized just how hungry he was till they had arrived. Now, with the edge of his ravenous appetite blunted, he felt exhausted. The physical strain of spending nearly eighteen standard hours awake was partly to blame. The emotional weight of the past day, however, was far worse.

  It was the middle of the night cycle and a keening wind was audible beyond the manufactorum’s rusted walls. A jaundiced glow emanated from the space’s glow globes, mingling with the light of several portable heaters.

  “I performed a complete scan of the stolen lighter,” the pilot continued. “I found no sign of any tracking transponder.”

  The Children’s leader nodded. She was a short woman, wrinkled with age, her left eye saturated with the white milk of degeneration. She smiled at Miles. One of her front teeth was missing. “Well, Miles, you’ve really put your foot in it this time. Months of work wasted. We’ll never get another shot at the Reliquary now.”

  A chuckle emanated from the corner of the room. A large man, dark-skinned and coiled with muscle, shrugged as the woman’s attention turned towards him. “I doubt we’ll need it, Suna. Fire-suppression crews are still pouring into the complex. I’m not sure what there would be left to bomb.”

  The woman, Suna, shook her head, plainly annoyed. “That’s not the point and you know it. We had more than a hundred operatives involved in that mission. Now it’s scuttled. What do you think that will do for morale?”

  Miles looked up defiantly. “And what will a Space Marine do for morale, mother? How will things change now that an Angel of Death has come to join the fight?”

  “That remains to be seen,” replied Suna. “Constantine, bring in the Space Marine.” As the man left the small foreman’s office, the old woman sank into her chair, placing her hands on the worn surface of the desk in front of her. “I’m proud of you, Miles. I know you don’t think it’s true, but I am. You handled yourself well, given the circumstances.”

  “Then why do you berate me in front of Constantine?”

  Now it was Suna’s turn to shrug. “You already know the answer to that.”

  Miles laughed dryly. “You’re so worried about showing favoritism. As if we’re structured enough for that kind of thing to matter.”

  “That is precisely the point!” Suna shouted. Miles started and the old woman composed herself. “What happens if we win? If Marius falls, the entire planet will plunge into chaos. Who will set things right, then? You?”

  “Melancthon can—”

  “In the hours that Space Marine has been on this world, he’s done nothing but destroy everything in sight. No, Miles, we cannot simply shoot our way out of this problem. If we want to restore Lucean Prime, to restore the people’s faith in the Emperor, then we must first be able to govern ourselves. And we’re still a long way from that point.”

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  Miles was opening his mouth to respond with the door to the room opened. Constantine entered and the Space Marine ducked in behind him. Suna studied the warrior with her good eye. He was not a handsome man. His face, in particular, had suffered some serious deformity in a past conflict. Miles rose from his seat, offering it to the Space Marine. The giant looked dubiously at the little stool, then ignored it. Sighing, Miles sat back down. Suna did not rise to greet her visitor. “My son tells me that you single-handedly dealt with an entire platoon of Lucean guardsmen,” she glanced at the weapons on the warrior’s hip. “I cannot say I’m reassured to meet you myself.” The Space Marine said nothing. “Your name is Melancthon?”

  “Elezar Melancthon.”

  “And you are, I take it, a captain within your order?”

  The Space Marine’s mouth twitched. He seemed amused. “I hold the honorable rank of Brother.”

  “I see. I want you to tell me everything about how you came here. Depending on how you answer, I may choose to introduce you to our…founder…or I may order for you to be killed.”

  The Space Marine glanced at Constantine, measuring him. Suna’s first officer was one of the more formidable warriors on the planet in her estimation. He looked it, too. The Space Marine, however, did not seem troubled by what he saw. “I will tell you what has transpired,” he said laconically. “After that, I shall require some information.”

  “Very well, then. Proceed.”

  The Space Marine told her everything. He spoke in a clipped, spartan fashion, embellishing nothing. There were no accounts of glorious battles or daring escapes. Just cold, brutal facts. Locations, kill counts, strategic observations. Listening to him speak, Suna realized just how far the Children had to go before they achieved anything like the military professionalism she was witnessing. “That’s quite a story, if it’s true.”

  “I see no reason to lie.”

  Suna steepled her fingers. “You could be working for the Duke. He’s a cunning creature. I wouldn’t put it past him to put on a good show for the benefit of an infiltration mission,” she was about to say more when she found herself staring down the barrel of the Marine’s bolter. His other hand held his melee weapon, a bulky chainsword. The tip rested against Constantine’s throat. “I am not an Alpha Legion cur to waste time on intrigue and deception,” he said, his voice grating. Throne, Suna had barely seen the man move. She tilted her chin in a nod, trying not to tremble. “You’ve made your point. I apologize.” The Marine lowered his weapons.

  “You said you wanted information. What do you want to know?”

  “Your organization, what is its strength?”

  Suna laughed. “In terms of manpower? Who knows. We have thousands of agents, I’d guess. Only one person knows how many exactly. There are many more sympathizers, certainly, who would fight for us if they thought we had a chance. Not everyone on Luce Prime wants to worship…well, it’s better that we not speak about such things. What else do you want to know?”

  The Space Marine bombarded her with a litany of questions. She answered some, refused others, and honestly told him when she was ignorant—which was often. After half an hour, she raised her hand. “I’m afraid there’s not much more I can tell you. If you want more answers, you’ll need to speak to someone else.”

  “The subdevil?”

  “That’s what the Duke’s men call him, yes," she replied. She thought the Space Marine looked curious.

  “It is a man?”

  “I…” she paused, unsure how to answer. “I’m not precisely sure what you would call him. To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure if I would call you a man.”

  “How soon can a meeting be arranged?” All facts and data, this one.

  “As a matter of fact, he’s on his way now. He said you meet him once before, on sublevel Q29. He said the meeting was ‘most engaging,’ whatever that means.”

  “You’ve met it?” Miles blurted. Shock turned the boy’s face red.

  Constantine raised a hand to his ear, shielding his small commlink implant. “Suna, he’s here.”

  Suna smiled. “Well, Elezar Melancthon, we had better head out to the factory floor. Your ‘subdevil’ won’t exactly fit in here.”