Just as Lorgar turned to climb the boarding ramp of the Storm Eagle Gunship that would take him back to orbit, that gentle yet inhuman female voice rang out again, stopping him.
"Lorgar. That is your name, correct?"
Lorgar paused and half turned.
The surface of the streamlined silver construct known as Silverheart rippled again, rapidly reshaping itself into that humanoid outline.
It "walked" silently toward him, stopping several paces away.
Its smooth, featureless metal head dipped slightly, as though imitating a human gesture of humility or supplication.
"Turing..." Silverheart's voice remained steady and flawless, but a careful listener might have caught an exceedingly faint fluctuation of "hesitation" or "worry" simulated by its algorithms.
"After he is taken away, will he be able to return? To Novalors, to... here?"
Lorgar slowly turned to face the mysterious intelligent creation.
His face was expressionless, his bronze features looking especially cold and hard beneath Novalors's constant artificial daylight.
He did not answer immediately. His calm gaze swept over its featureless metal face, which nevertheless conveyed a clear sense of being watched.
Several seconds of silence hung in the air like a cold blade.
"I don't know," Lorgar finally said, his voice flat and without inflection, as though stating a fact that had nothing to do with him.
"That depends on the Emperor's will, on the Adeptus Mechanicus's assessment, and also on... Turing's own choices and recovery."
He paused, then added something that sounded like a promise yet was utterly hollow.
"But as his brother, I will do everything within my power to ensure that he is properly... accommodated."
In truth, until he could determine the underlying protocols and true intentions of this Men of Iron intelligence from the Dark Age, and precisely what attitude it held toward the Imperium of Man, Lorgar wanted