Brigadier Heth glances between the Space Marines, then clears his throat gently. "If you'll follow me, my Lords, I'll take you to the Genetor."
As Heth leads the kill-team through the corridors, he introduces himself in passing to Artemis and Camael. "I've been appointed Ambassador-Martial to Aurum, my Lords, so I'll be joining you planetside once we reach it. As I told your companions, I can't say how pleased I am that the Deathwatch has taken an interest in the planet. It's been an intractable mess for ever since rediscovery. . ." Heth is a slight man, short of stature even by normal human standards, but the ribbons and medals adorning his uniform tell of a deadly and valorous career at odds with his appearance. He wears chainsword and laspistol on his hips. The grips of both weapons carry the shine of great use.
Down in the bowels of the ship the team goes on and on. The cherub and leaf motif that Lan seems to favor gives way by bits and pieces of Mechanicus iconography; cogs and springs, lightning bolts, and the skull-and-cog. Even on the ships, the Cult flaunts its personal sovereignty, legacy of the ancient compact between the God-Emperor and the Martian Priesthood.
Lan leads you to a door emblazoned with the double helix in beaten bronze. It shivers open to a wide chamber, vaulted ceilings strung with long cables and hoses. The hoses flow into canisters of bubbling fluid.
"Astartes," a voice booms, thundering from every direction. "It is a rare honor to meet one of Mankind's most fabled genetic creations in the flesh, so it were. And I suppose I'm pleased to see you too, Brigadier Heth. To what do I owe he honor?"
"Hiding again," Heth mutters. "I swear, nothing worse than a tech-priest with a sense of humor."