'That's enough!' Seydon growled. 'Bad enough we reel from the orks, I'll not have us fighting ourselves. Petrok, my kind brother, retract your slur to Brother Medes.'
'I will not, master.’ Petrok said. White fury gripped the still-restrained Medes. The other officers glared in dismay at Petrok's insubordination.
Seydon rose. 'The devil is in you, boy.’ he said, stepping towards Petrok.
'Then let's hear what the devil has to say for himself.’ a low, grating voice echoed from the shadows. Seydon looked round and sighed.
He sat down again. 'You're awake, then, master Autolochus?'
'I'm always awake.’ the voice replied. 'Noise you idiots make, it's hard to slumber.’
Hydraulic pistons hissed in the gloom, and the warrior ring parted respectfully to admit the new figure. He towered over them, clomping forward on his thick bionic legs, his huge grey chassis casement draped with ancient, flaking pennants. The venerable dreadnought Autolochus took his place in the ring of warriors.
'I say, let's hear Petrok.’ Autolochus said, his voice gusting dry and toneless from the synthesisers in his bodywork. A veteran captain in his age, Autolochus's battle-mutilated remains had been cased, with honour, in the dreadnought mechanism for perpetuity. An ultimate weapon, like all dreadnoughts, Autolochus was kept in hibernation for most of the year, woken only for triumphs, or ceremonies.
Or crises.
'Yes.’ said Medes, shrugging off the hands restraining him, 'like master Autolochus, I would be intrigued to hear the complexities of Petrok's scheme.’
Autolochus pivoted his huge metal bulk around so that his ocular sensors regarded Petrok. 'Let's go, Librarian. Make it good.'
Petrok nodded to the huge, sentient war machine. 'I have been plagued with dreams this last month. Pivotal dreams, in which the manner of our deliverance... excuse me, the deliverance of the Reef Stars... has been foretold.’
'When a Librarian dreams.’ Autolochus rumbled, 'it pays to listen. If I'd listened to Nector, I wouldn't be four tonnes of scrap metal.’