discovery

	A serf with a slung SMG and a vox-caster backpack shoved his way into the tent.  “Lord Arden!  Maximum priority message for you, my Lord!” he said, keeping his voice down after a scathing look from the Secutarii.

	Arden sighed.  “Why doesn’t anybody ever just call me on my gorget vox?” he muttered, reaching for the vox cup.  “Yes, this is Dagger Actual,” he said louder.

	“Dagger Actual, this is Shipmaster Chelaron of the Ultramarine Superbattleship Macragge’s Honor, call Proctor,” a new voice said.  Half the tent looked over.  “How goes your battle to protect the Pseudostar, over?”

	Arden stared up into the sky in shock.  He saw no Superbattleship.  “Er, Dagger Actual here, resolved for now, in the Imperium’s favor, Proctor,” he said.  He quickly ran through his mental listing of all the Ultramarine ships he could think of and could not recall that one.  “Under whose flag do you fly, Proctor?”

	“Dagger Actual, Proctor, our flag is Ultramar Actual Thirteen, Indomitus.  We are dispatching reinforcements to aid your campaign and are moving to engage the Cylinder in orbit over your zone, over,” the voice replied.

	Arden nearly dropped the cup.  The other Daggers tensed and gasped, while everybody else looked confused.

	Arden’s hand shook as he raised the cup again.  “…Acknowledged, Proctor, ground zone is not secure, suggest redirect to Mechanicus command post, confirm, over.”

	“Dagger Actual, Proctor, we acknowledge, have already selected approach route and destination.  Strongly advise, redivert Dagger Actual and appropriate adjutant to Mechanicus command post to consult, ASAP.  Please confirm.  Over.”

	“They’d have to take my legs off,” Arden whispered.  He pressed the button again.  “Dagger Actual.  Acknowledged, Proctor.  Dispatch undertaken once fresh transport is secured, my previous one is battle-damaged and not flight-ready, over.”

	“Dagger Actual, this is Proctor, we acknowledge.  Dispatching additional transports to relieve local pressure from Glasian forces.  Menace Flight shall escort gunship, supply air cover.  Please mount Thunderhawk… Thracian Sun, will provide transit to capital zone.  Proctor, over and out.”

	“Dagger Actual out,” Arden said.  He set the cup down in the hands of the bewildered vox op and did something nobody had ever seen.  He stifled a hysterical laugh for a moment, which was quite a scene in the shocked eyes of the attendant Mechanicus and Guard personnel.

	His Honor Guard watched as he straightened up, as if hundreds of pounds of weight had sloughed off of his shoulders, and grinned to himself before his composure returned.  The tent was an ugly affair of pressed metal and canvas, stretched over the top of a pre-fab concrete box with a few cogitators in it.  Not the place to meet one’s ancient gene-liege, anyway.  Then again, Guilliman had always enjoyed leading from the front once in a while.