Resuming his task with a weary sigh； as he typed the new set of coordinates into the cogitator；
Ng found himself reflecting sadly on how often the shape of a man’s life came to be dictated by the
happenstance of birth。 If he had been born on another planet he might have been a miner； a farmer；
or even a huntsman。 As it was he had been born on this world — on Libris VI。 A world whose only
industry of note resided in a single enormous Administratum complex the size of a city — one of
many thousands of such complexes the Administratum maintained across the galaxy。 Lacking other
prospects； like his parents before him Erasmos Ng had entered Imperial service； becoming just
another small cog in the vast bureaucratic machine responsible for the functioning — smooth or
otherwise — of the entire Imperium。 A selfless and noble calling； or so they told him。 Though； as
with so much else he had been told in his life； he no longer believed it。
“Coordinate： two one eight point four one zero zero；” the voice — his unseen tormentor — said；
his tone smug and mocking even through the static。 “Coordinate： two two one point one seven two
nine。”
Now； at the age of forty…five and with thirty years of mind…numbing tedium behind him Ng
knew he had risen as far in the Administratum hierarchy as he was likely to go。 Specifically； to the
heady heights of Assistant Scribe； Grade Secundus Minoris。 A records clerk by any other name；
condemned to spend every day of his life hunched over the cogitator at his workstation in Room
312。 His appointed task： to type into the cogitator the never…ending series of numbers spoken to him
by the disembodied voice over his earpiece。 A task he performed seven days a week； twelve hours a
day； barring two permitted fifteen…minute rest…breaks； a full half…hour for his midday meal； and a
single day’s unpaid holiday every year on Emperor’s Day。
Beaten down by the bleak dreariness of his existence； Erasmos Ng found he had long ago
stopped caring what purpose his labours served。 Instead； for thirty years now； he had simply
performed his allotted task； repetitively typing coordinates into the cogitator again and again and
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again； no longer caring what … if anything — they meant。 A lost soul； adrift in a dark and endless sea
of numbers。
“Coordinate： two three three point three three two one；” the voice said； grinding his soul down a
little more with every word。 “Coordinate： two two three point seven seven one two。”
Then； just as he finished typing a new set of coordinates into the machine； Erasmos Ng abruptly
realised he might have made a mistake。 That last coordinate … was it 223。7712 or 223。7721？ But
long past giving a damn one way or another he simply shrugged； put it from his mind； and went on
to the next one。 After all； he consoled himself； it hardly really mattered whether or not he had made
a mistake。 He had long ago realised his labours； like his life； were of no importance。
And； in the end； they were only numbers…
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CHAPTER FOUR
22：57 hours Imperial Standard Time
（Revised Real…Space Close Planetary Approximation）
Curious Orders and Unwelcome Destinations — Exhortations to Duty and Unanswered Questions
— The Lander and Intimations of Falling
Magnified by the enhancement devices cunningly hidden in the transparent surface of the forward
viewing portal the planet looked huge and foreboding； its red…brown bulk reminiscent of nothing so
much as an enormous globule of half…dried blood。 As he stood watching it from his usual vantage on
the bridge of the troopship he commanded； Captain Vidius Strell found himself briefly pitying the
men who would be forced to make planetfall there。 Poor devils； he thought。 I have seen a lot of
planets； absolute hellholes some of them； but there is something about the look of that damn place
that makes you think landing there wouldn’t be pleasant。
“Captain？” he heard the voice of his first officer； Gudarsen； behind him。 “Navigation Liaison
reports we are currently fifteen point three five minutes from reaching orbit。 Gravitational
conditions normal。 All systems running clean and smooth。 We are green for go； Captain。 Request
permission to relay the order to launch control to prepare a lander for planetary descent。”
“Permission denied；” Strell said。 “I want you to check the confirmation codes on that last
astropathic message again； Number One。 Then； report back to me。”
“Aye； sir。 Understood；” Gudarsen replied； before bustling energetically away with what seemed
to his captain a commendable eagerness to follow his instructions。
Left to his thoughts once more； while around him the crew of the command bridge went about
their duties； Strell again turned his attention to the planet looming ever larger through the viewing
portal。 As he did； he wondered if the disquiet he felt gazing at the world before him had less to do
with anything sinister in the appearance of the planet itself and more to do with his puzzlement at
the orders that had brought them to it。 His ship； Inevitable Victory； had been en route with escorts
and another thirty troopships to the Seltura system when they had received orders to break convoy
and proceed here alone。 It had been only a small detour requiring no more than a four hour jump
through the warp； but the precise nature of the mission they had come here to perform was enough
to have the Victory’s captain grinding his teeth in frustration。
A single company； thought Strell。 Why in the name of the Divine would Naval Operations
Command divert an entire starship just to drop a single company of Imperial Guardsmen on some
backwater； Emperor…forsaken world？
Aggravated by the thought； Strell cast an ill…humoured eye over the printout of the ship’s
transport manifest held in his hand until he came to the listing for the offending company。 6th
Company； the 14th Jumael Volunteers； Company Commander： Lieutenant Vinters。 There was
nothing out of the ordinary in the company’s listing on the manifest。 Nothing to explain why he and
his crew had been diverted from their duties and the protection of the convoy to ferry two hundred
men to a planet that； in galactic terms； might as well be in the middle of nowhere。
Perhaps there is more to this than meets the eye； thought Strell again。 Perhaps the manifest
listing is only a cover； and they are special troops on a secret mission。 Why else would we have
been sent here？ The only other reason could be if some mistake had been made but the Imperium
does not make mistakes。 Yes； a secret mission。 It is the only explanation that makes any sense…
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Satisfied at last that he had found the answer； Strell turned to see Gudarsen hurrying towards
him once more； holding the text of the astropathic message gripped tightly before him。
“All confirmation codes read correct； captain；” Gudarsen said。 “The specifics of our mission are
confirmed。”
“Very good。 You have my permission to relay instructions to Launch Control to prepare a lander
for launch。 Oh； and Number One？ This is strictly a ‘drop…and…depart’ mission。 Tell Liaison to have
the navigator plot a new course for Seltura III。 Once the lander has dropped its passengers planetside
and returned to the ship； I want us to underway within the hour。”
“Orders received and understood； captain；” said Gudarsen； ending with a standard phrase of
acknowledgement as he hurried away to carry out his duties。 “The Emperor protects。”
“The Emperor protects； Number One；” Strell echoed； already turning to redirect his gaze
towards the planet once more as he waited for the lander to be launched so he could watch its
descent。
Yes； he thought。 A secret mission。 That’s the only thing it could he。 If Operations Command has
decided we are to be denied information as to the nature of that mission； so be it。 It is like they used
to teach us in the scholarium。 Then； he allowed himself a small smile of nostalgia as his mind turned
to the half…remembered wisdoms of long ago days。 How did it go now； he thought。 Ah yes； it was
something like：
“Ours is not to reason why。”
“Ours is but to do and die。”
“It is better to die for the Emperor than live for yourself！” the vox…caster screamed； drowning out the
sound of trampling feet and shouted orders as the men of 6th Company ran through the troopship’s
cramped corridors towards the launch bay。 “The blood of martyrs is the seed of the Imperium！ If
you want peace； prepare for war！”
The vox…caster blared on through the bowels of the troopship； on and on in a pre…recorded loop
of exhortations to duty； as Larn ran stumbling with the others under the weight of the heavy pack on
his back。 Barely three hours had passed since Sergeant Ferres had at last relented and dismissed
them from training to return to their quarters。 Three hours since； exhausted； Larn had finally been
allowed to go to sleep。 Only to be roused blearily from his slumbers two and a quarter hours later by
the wail of sirens as Sergeant Ferres had ordered the men of the platoon from their bunks and told
them to make ready for a planetary drop。
“Be vigilant and be strong！” the vox…caster shrieked ever louder； harsh echoes rebounding from
loudspeakers set in the metal walls and ceiling all around them。 “The Emperor is your shield and
protector！”
Now； three quarters of an hour’s worth of hurried preparations later； Larn found himself running
in full kit as he and the rest of his company were herded like sheep through the troopship’s maze of
corridors。 Here and there they passed naval crewmen who paused from their duties long enough to
cheer them on； offering half…heard words of encouragement in place of the sardonic laughter that
had greeted their earlier training exercises。 With the prospect that their erstwhile passengers might
soon be seeing combat； it seemed the normal antipathy between the Navy and the Guard had
abruptly given way to mutual respect。 With a sudden tremor in the pit of his stomach； Larn realised
he was about to go to war。
“You shall know no reward other than the Emperor’s satisfaction！” the vox…caster continued。
“You shall know no truth other than that which the servants of your Emperor tell you！”
This is it； Larn thought。 After all the training and briefings； all the preparations； the moment for
which it was all in aid of is here at last。 I am finally going to war。 As much as that thought filled his
mind； he found himself distracted as a second thought pushed itself insistently to the fore。 Three
weeks； he thought。 Three weeks； maybe four。 That is what the naval officer said in the briefing only
yesterday。 He said it would be at least three weeks before we saw any action。 Confused； Larn
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wondered what could have changed in the meantime。 If yesterday they were still three weeks from
combat； how was it today they were about to make their first drop？
“The mind of the Guardsman has no place for questions；” the vox…caster screamed unnervingly。
“Doubt is a vile cancer whose symptoms are cowardice and fear； steel yourself against it。 There is
room for but three things in the mind of the Guardsman： obedience； duty； and love of the Emperor。”
Abruptly； as though the blaring of the vox…caster was somehow the sound of his own
conscience； Larn f