Armour maintenance

Lucius wrenched his arm free, dropping the shards of metal clutched in his fist to rattle against the deck plating. ‘It is nothing. My armour, a slight malfunction.’

Cesare’s head tilted. ‘You have had no need of the artificers aboard this ship in all the centuries that we have dwelt upon it.’ His voice could not mask the coldness of his tone, even through the lion’s purr of his helm’s vox-speakers. ‘Another gift from the warp’s generous benefactors.’

***

Lucius: The Faultless Blade, I.XI