"...then you layer the beef, sausage, olives, mushrooms and cheese, in that order. Wrap it in the dough, bake it up, then just try not to eat the whole thing yourself." Stubbs gazed dreamily at the ceiling. If one thing had kept him from lapsing into total despondence during this miserable war, it was the food. "Best damn thing you'll ever taste. I guarantee it."

"I am...not sure," said Caerys. Her tone hovered somewhere between amazement and disgust. "It sounds rather decadent."

Tahril, who had been quietly taking notes, spoke up. "Is that the usual Craftworld dullness speaking? Or is our dear Farseer afraid she'll lose her figure?"

"Silence, druchii," said Caerys.

"Wossat?" asked Gorgutz.

"Pardon?"

"Wossat mean? Droo-chee?"

"'Handsome devil'", replied Tahril.

"Hah! She wuz talkin' to me, den."

"It means 'dark one'!" Caerys snapped. "It is the term we use for his kind. Eldar that have turned to...other methods...to ensure their survival."

"And in the process, learned not to be such dreadful bores." Tahril twirled his pen between his fingers. "What was the temperature for that recipe?"

"Three-fifty," said Stubbs.

Agna sniffed disdainfully. "Frankly, I don't see the need for such fine foods. My sisters and I eat water gruel for every meal."

"Do you? Very frugal of you."

"With simplicity comes purity, General. You would do well to observe the same practice."

"You'll have to send some over," said Stubbs, in his best deadpan. Suddenly, he found himself identifying quite closely with Tahril.

"Pfft," said Gorgutz. "No wonder you lot's so skinny. You needs to get some Grot stew in ya guts."

Silence fell.

"Ya puts some Grots in a pot."

"Nobody asked."

"Den ya eats 'em."

"Lovely."

Or'es'Ka, with just a tinge of horror in his voice, spoke. "These would be...living Grots."

It wasn't a question. He knew the answer.

"Ya can chop 'em up first," said Gorgutz. "If ya just wants a snack."

Stubbs grinned to himself. The downtime between games always brought a feeling of contentment with it.

During a match, the commanders' military discipline came to the fore. If anyone other than Gorgutz talked, it was to discuss tactics, warn of incoming fire or request backup. Otherwise, the conversation could go anywhere, and often did. Here he was in his nice leather chair, having his stomach turned by tales of the Orks' disgusting eating habits, and life was good.

It was a rare moment too, for all eight of them to be present at the same time. Or were there only seven?

"Necron? Are you there?"

Tap.

A rare moment.

"Hmm," said Stubbs.

"Something the matter, General?" asked Agna.

"I was just thinking. We've never actually had an eight-player match, have we?"

The chatter's heart stopped. For one chilling moment, Stubbs heard nothing but the faint barking of the sergeants outside, preparing the men for a combat drill.

He realised, too late, what he had just implied.

"Uh, I don't mean THE eight-player match," he said, quickly. "Just AN eight-player match. A team game. Four on four."

"Oh," said Agna. The frost in the air melted away. "No, I don't think we have."

"Well?" prompted Stubbs. "How about it? We're all here. Doesn't seem like anyone's busy." He swung his legs off his desk and slid his chair forward. "I'll lead team one. Rest of you?"

"Two," said Or'es'Ka. His warrior pride still stung from his last defeat at Stubbs' fingers. The remaining commanders made their calls in quick succession.

"Two."

"One."

"One!"

"One."

"Two."

Or'es'Ka blinked. That last "two" had come from Caerys.

"Team two, Caerys?"

"Yes," she replied. "If you do not object."

"Not at all. I just thought you'd want to be on the General's side."

"...excuse me?" said Caerys.

"Er. Yes?"

"What are you inferring, exactly?"

"I..."

Or'es'Ka trailed off. He knew, from her inflection, that he'd misspoken. He just wasn't sure how.

"Nothing. I just..."

"You just think I need him to compensate for my ineptitude?"

"No! I just...thought you liked playing together. That's all."

Caerys didn't respond. Or'es'Ka sat stock still, as if movement might somehow invite the Farseer's wrath.

He wasn't good at interpreting silences. Was this a "situation defused" silence? An "appease me further" silence? An "I'm not talking to you anymore" silence? How was one to tell without body language? Without facial expressions? Where was a Water Caste diplomat when you needed one?

There was no way out. He'd have to take a shot in the dark. Steeling himself, he placed his finger on the trigger.

"As friends, I mean."

"WHAT?"

Or'es'Ka slapped his forehead.

Some day, he vowed, he would shut up. He would just shut right the hell up.

Loading screen. Background picture of an ill-fated Haemonculus facing a Necron Tomb Spyder.

Team one: Imperial Guard. Sisters of Battle. Orks. Dark Eldar.

Team two: Tau. Chaos. Necrons. Eldar.

Progress bar: Two-thirds in. Stuck.

"Soddin' fing takes forevva," Gorgutz grumbled.

Normally, Stubbs would attribute it to Orkish impatience, but in this case, he had to agree. Software this old should not take so long to load.

Two soft beeps. The game began.

"Um," said Or'es'Ka.

"Holy Terra," said Stubbs, letting his hand drop from the keyboard.

It had seemed innocuous enough to begin with. First, Or'es'Ka said that he couldn't interact with his units or structures. Perhaps Stubbs had allocated a CPU player by mistake?

But no. Soon everyone on team two was complaining of the same problem, or in the Necron Lord's case, making a series of indignant clanking noises. They could see everything taking place, but they had no control. Spectators, all four of them.

Some of the colours were wrong too. Carron's marines wore blue armour with a silver trim; these ones had been dark red. Likewise, the Tau were garbed in sandy brown, rather than the striking crimson of Or'es'Ka's Fal'shia sept.

Ultimately, team one decided to play the match to completion; partly in the hopes of finding out what was going on, and partly because Gorgutz didn't want to sit through another slow-arsed loading screen. And now, in the aftermath, they stared at the message declaring their defeat, none the wiser for it.

They had been slaughtered.

"What happened?"

"Someone must have hijacked the game."

Stubbs frowned. He'd never bothered with passwords or any other protection when hosting a match. They were the only ones in the galaxy who owned the disks, after all. What would be the point?

"Nine copies of the disks exist, correct?" said Agna, apparently reading his thoughts. "But only eight of us remain. Could someone have got hold of the last one?"

"Possibly," said Stubbs. He'd sent numerous scouting parties to recover the missing set, but there had been no trace of it. He just assumed it was destroyed during Carron's assault. "Anything you can offer, Caerys? Any hints? Visions?"

"I have been trying," said Caerys. "I will need more time to perform a proper divination. But I believe Agna's theory is a sound one."

"Let us know if you come up with anything. In the meantime, if anyone's running a match from now on, make sure it's password protected. Hopefully that'll keep it from happening again."

"Who would do that, though?" said Or'es'Ka. "And why?"

No answer was forthcoming.

"Come now," said Tahril. "Must we be so dreary? Surely I am not the only one who enjoyed seeing the good General lose a match."

"What are you talking about?" said Carron. "You were on his team."

"Yes. Your point?"

Stubbs smirked. "Keep practicing. Maybe you'll see it again. Maybe."