You decide that the arguing men can wait. Destroyer Six will make an appearance at some point, and you can figure out what it is armed with and how it plans to use it when it does appear. The Epistolary on the other hand… perhaps he could give you some glimpse into the past of your new Power Armor.

You follow the Epistolary into the training chamber. He nods you a greeting and moves to one set of sparring-servitors. Each is two meters tall and equipped with six multi-jointed arms tipped in a variety of scything claws, crushing flails, and swords of all descriptions. You return the nod and activate one sparring servitor, restricting it to a single sparring circle, and setting it to a relatively low-tempo half-hour ‘workout’ regime. The blades are still sharp, the servitor is still out to kill, but it is restricted to low-speed strikes (blade speed of no more than twelve meters per second) and will automatically power-down when the regime ends.

The Epistolary activates three servitors, locks them in a separate sparring circle, and removes all other restriction on their actions. Even as you dance with your servitor-partner, you note that the three fighting the Epistolary all have the blinking light of a networked pack-link and are coordinating their attacks with brutal efficiency.

You have worked up a light sweat by the time your servitor opponent winds down. You step from your sparring circle to the control lectern and send it back to the charging-rack. You look over at the Epistolary’s control lectern and are utterly shocked by the setting you see on it. You had noted the pack-link, but hadn’t contemplated that a single space marine, even an Epistolary, could stand against three sparring-servitors imitating Tyranid Warrior-Primes in a free-flow tac-link with absolutely no inhibitors on their actions.

And the Epistolary looks bored somehow, and if he isn’t even giving his full attention to the fight. Seeing you standing slack-jawed, he breaks contact with the servitors, castually shearing four scything blades in half as he does so, and steps out of his sparring circle.

“Epistolary, that was impressive. Three Warrior-primes?”

“Poor imitations of the real thing, Scout-Sergeant Marcellus, but still a challenging workout. I can see that you have questions, so I will do the best I can to answer them.”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Have you come across any references to a ship called the Khamsin in your work? On my last deployment my kill-team recovered Space Marine relics from a ship pearing that name, a nova-class frigate, but none of us could recognize the chapter insignia present.”

“The Khamsin? Phoenix and Sunburst icons?”

“The same.”

“Where?”

“Fused into the outer layers of the Space Hulk Capitalis Congestus. My kill-team had been forced back from a tyranid ambush and were still coated in Lictor tracker-spores and Grot-Ripper ichor. We had noted the presence of a space marine frigate earlier, but had not boarded it before. We did so at that time, seeking to use the refractory facilities to purge ourselves and our gear before returning to our base of operations.”

“And you found these relics on or near the bridge?”

“In what looked to be a repurposed Navigator’s sanctum yes.”

“Then what I know I can not share with you. Not by choice, understand, but because it comes from the depths of the Restricted Data-Crypts.”

“What can you reveal Epistolary?”

“First I must ask: what colors were the quarters painted?”

“The sanctum? No particular color. The relics themselves echoed the Chapter Iconography of brass on red.”

“Then I can say only that those were not Chapter markings, but Legion markings… now abandoned by the worthless alkhawna who use the same name.”

“That puts me ill at ease.”

“There is nothing more that it is within my power to tell you. But you will have the chance to learn more. Our shuttle departs for the Capitalis Congestus in an hour.”

“In that case, welcome to Alpha Squad Epistolary…?”

“Tayib.”

You shake his hand, forearm to forearm in the tradition of the Space Marines, and head for the hatch.

“Scout-Sergeant?”

You pause in the doorway, “yes Epistolary Tayib?”

“You wear that armor well. May it serve you better than it did me.”

The hatch closes behind you. You have an hour in which to gather you things and make any requisition you deem necessary for your return to the Capitalis Congestus.