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assume　that　your　men　have　found　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance？　I　shall　launch　an　orbital　beacon　as
soon　as　I　have　verified　this。”
“No　they　bloody　well　have　not　found　it；”　deViers　practically　screamed。　Purple　veins　bulged　at
his　temples　and　up　the　side　of　his　neck。　His　eyes　were　wide；　and　Bergen　saw　for　the　first　time　that
the　whites　had　turned　pink；　just　like　everyone　else’s　had。
So；　he　thought；　the　old　man　is　suffering　the　effects　of　the　fines；　too。
“Tell　me　right　now；　magos；”　demanded　deViers；　“are　we　in　the　right　place？　Is　this　not　the　valley
in　your　reports？　These　are　the　coordinates　I　was　given！”
“This　is　the　place；　general。　All　our　intelligence　indicated　that　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　was
here。”
“Was　being　the　operative　word；”　deViers　exploded。
“Clearly；　general；”　said　the　magos　with　perfect　self…control；　“if　it　is　not　here；　it　must　have　been
moved。　Do　not　fret；　however。　We　of　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus　come　prepared　for　such　a
contingency。　We　have　the　knoent　that　will　allow　us　to　track　the　movement　of　the
machine。　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　was　possessed　of　a　unique　and　powerful　machine…spirit。
Through　our　ancient　arts；　we　may　still　be　able　to　commune　with　that　spirit　and　learn　where　its　vessel
has　been　taken。”
DeViers　looked　far　from　placated　by　this；　but　his　desperation　seemed　to　bleed　off　a　little。
Bergen；　on　the　other　hand；　didn’t　know　what　to　think。　As　a　lifelong　tanker；　he　had　come　to　believe
in　the　machine…spirits　that　inhabited　each　of　the　tanks　he　had　personally　commanded。　He　had　seen
how　much　better　they　functioned　when　one　observed　the　proper　rites。　He　had　witnessed　firsthand　the
peculiar　techno…sorcery　of　the　Martian　Priesthood　in　action。　There　were　so　many　things　he　would
never　understand　about　it　all。　Was　Sennesdiar　speaking　the　truth？　Could　he　really　commune　with　the
spirit　of　the　revered　machine？
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Tech…Magos　Sennesdiar　let　out　a　piercing　mechanical　shriek；　and　his　adepts　immediately　turned
and　stalked　back　to　their　idling　Chimera　where　it　sat　atop　the　southern　slope。
“My　subordinates　and　I　need　to　perform　a　ritual；　general；”　said　Sennesdiar　to　deViers。　“We　shall
consult　the　machine…spirit　and　bring　you　your　answer。　Have　faith。　I　am　no　lowly　enginseer。　I　would
not　have　opted　to　join　this　mission　in　person　had　I　harboured　any　doubts　about　its　success。　You　will
have　your　prize。”
DeViers’　jaw　was　tight。　He　didn’t　answer。　Bergen　suspected　that　the　old　man　was　simply　too
damned　angry　for　words。　Sennesdiar　didn’t　wait　for　them　anyway。　With　a　swish　of　his　robes；　he
turned　his　massive　bulk　and　headed　back　to　his　Chimera；　leaving　deViers　and　his　senior　officers
halfway　down　the　hillside；　looking　up；　watching　him　go。
“Damned　tech…priests；”　hissed　Killian。　He　glanced　over　at　Bergen；　caught　his　eye；　and　said；
“Sorry；　Gerard。　I　know　you　tankers　are　close　with　them。”
Bergen　shook　his　head。　“Not　really；　my　friend。　They　only　let　us　know　as　much　as　they　want　us
to。　I　don’t　delude　myself　about　that。”
“Do　you　think　they　really　can　perform　some　kind　of　sorcery？”　asked　Rennkamp。　“If　they　can’t；
we’ve　come　all　this　way；　lost　all　those　men；　for　absolutely　nothing。”
Bergen　shrugged。　“I　guess　we’ll　know—”
He　stopped　short　of　finishing　his　sentence。　There　was　fresh　chatter　on　the　vox…bead　in　his　ear。
The　others　heard　it；　too。　He　saw　the　same　expression　steal　over　their　faces　as　he　knew　must　be
present　on　his　own。
“Throne　curse　it　all；”　spat　General　deViers。　“Back　to　your　machines　all　of　you；”　he　ordered。
“The　tech…priests　had　better　perform　their　rites　damned　quickly。”
The　senior　officers　turned　and　marched　at　speed　to　their　idling　vehicles。　The　Sentinel　pilots　were
reporting　orksign。　The　greenskins　were　only　two　hours　out。
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CHAPTER　TWENTY…THREE