Lady Sharrow had set up a temporary office on board a Navy ship, up in parking orbit over Minoris. This ship was a converted freighter. It was only lightly armed, and it couldn't land. It was reliant on shuttles to ferry people back forth. And they were being ferried in great number. Every available ship was being put to use for evacuation. Lady Sharrow had said she wouldn't return to the planet's surface. She had announced that she wouldn't block a seat on the way out for someone else. Alaster also wondered if perhaps she didn't want to be on the planet's surface, given what was happening down there.

Since she was here, the Space Marines had felt it prudent to set up a command post aboard this ship too. Since the strike cruisers were now assigned to the cordon around Majoris, it was probably a wise choice.

'Right – who next?' Lady Sharrow said.

There was a scrum as people pushed and shoved to come forward.

The office was a seen of crowding and barely-controlled chaos. The Inquisitor was sat behind a wide desk at the back of the room. It was a small space, and certainly too small for all the people who kept bustling in and out. There was no carpet, just dull metal decking. Fat ducts snaked overhead. The space was lit by an actinic striplight running through the middle of the dull grey ceiling, and also by an incongruous baroque lamp sat on the Inquisitor's desk. Where she'd produced that from Alaster had no idea. The sculpted, gilded stand and the green shade were completely incongruous to the Spartan efficiency of the room. The desk itself was a dull plastic grey. The lamp spilled a pool of clear white light across the piled-up mound of documents on the desk.

Elbows were jabbing, voices were shouting and hands were waving. 'Me!' one person said. 'No, me!' someone else yelled. Someone else demanded that the plebeians get out of their way, insisting that their noble birth meant they should take priority. They were abruptly cut off by an elbow to the stomach. Another person shoved in front, only to be grabbed and dragged back into the pocket throng.

The sound was deafening. Over the shoulders of the struggling plaintiffs, Alaster looked at Lady Sharrow. She seemed tired and exasperated. The room was packed to capacity.

Part of the crowding came from the presence of five Space Marines in the. There were four on guard in the room – Alaster and Nasty, who were stood in opposite corners in front of the Inquisitor's desk, and Fegust and Sandrer on the opposite side of the room behind her desk. Kodos was stood guard in the door, keeping an eye on the people coming in and out. Under normal circumstances an Navy ship should have been one of the most secure places imaginable, but not now.

Behind Kodos's bulk Alaster caught a glimpse of the corridor. It was heaving with dishevelled people. It made the cabin look almost empty. People were being bussed up from the planet as fast as possible – or at least, they had been until the situation down there had apparently collapsed. The late rush of people was flooding through every ship. The chatter from the corridor was loud – people talking, feet scraping on the floor, arms waving in complaint and raised voices snapping at each other. There was a stink of sweat, unwashed clothes and fear. A horde of angry and upset people had a distinctive scent.

It was unpleasant and threatening. Alaster found that his hand kept tightening on the grip of his pistol.

As the crowd bickered, Lady Sharrow reached down, behind the desk. Over the noise, Alaster just made out the scrape of a drawer being opened. From it she drew a flat-bottomed ship's decanter. It was cut with elaborate decorative patterns. They gleamed in the light. Inside, a transparent liquid sloshed as she lifted the decanter.

There was a wine glass on her desk, a matching piece of crystal with elaborate decoration and a long, fluted stem. It was sat beneath the desk lamp. Little rainbows of refracted lamplight glinted on the desktop around its base.

With a quiet squeak, she pulled the stopper from the decanter. There was a tinkle as she poured herself a drink. An alcoholic scent wafted past the crowd.

Lady Sharrow picked up the glass. People pushed, shoved and shouted. She ignored them all. She regarded the glass, then shrugged. Alaster watched in disturbed fascination as she then downed the entire contents. It was a disgusting spectacle. It was not the first that he had seen her drink today.

She put the glass down. Then she raised the decanter and refilled it. 'I'm going to need a drink by the end of today,' she observed. 'Right, who wants to waste my time next?' She put the decanter down to one side, on top of some papers. A few droplets slid down from the neck. They spread in little darkening stains on the papers underneath. Lady Sharrow didn't appear to even notice them.

A man in fine, gold-chased robes pushed his way forward. It was the man who had shouted about noble birth, Alaster realised. He had a haughty expression and he looked vaguely familiar. He was at most in his mid-twenties. A noble of some description. Alaster wondered why he looked familiar.

The young man regarded the room with refined contempt. 'I am Prince Harrel of House Sarrack,' he announced with lofty disdain. 'Second son of His Lordship the Governor.'

Oh. House Sarrack. The Governor's son, Alaster realised. Or one of them, anyway. He wondered who Sarrack's wife was – and he realised he felt sorry for the poor woman. Whatever had she done to deserve a fool of a husband like that?

Lady Sharrow glared at the newcomer. 'What, exactly, do you want? And how did you even get on this ship?'

'Uh, a private shuttle, ma'am,' one of the crew said. 'They said they had messages for your Ladsyhip, and they had government-level codes. And they said they had to speak to you.'

Lady Sharrow nodded, sighing. 'So of course you let them through, I suppose.' She fixed Sarrack the younger with a glare. 'All right, since you've got this far, here's your chance to hang yourself. Say your piece, then get outt.'

'I am here,' the younger Sarrack said, ignoring the crewman, 'to demand security.'

Lady Sharrow looked perplexed. 'Whatever for?'

'For my family's noble claim to Minoris,' he replied.

Lady Sharrow looked baffled. 'No-one's taking the title deeds off you, if that's what you mean. I can't promise that it'll be any use to you, but-'

'But my family's rights and privileges have been ridden roughshod over!' the young man shouted. Under his helmet, Alaster lifted an eyebrow. The idiot dared to interrupt an Inquisitor? What a fool. 'I demand that this undignified treatment end! We expect the privilege which we are entitled!'

The room became quiet. Lady Sharrow's eyebrows were twitching, Alaster noticed. She opened her mouth.

There was a motion near the door. Kodos pushed his way forward. 'Let me deal with this,' he told her. He turned to the young man and produced his plasma pistol. The man opened his mouth, only for Kodos to shove the pistol right in his face. The glow of the vents played over his face with an unsteady, flickering blue light. 'This is a plasma pistol,' Kodos told him, sounding casual, towering over the hapless noble. His voice was casual but his face was belligerent. 'And in case you hadn't noticed, it's plugging your big mouth. I get the impression you're just here to waste our time. Well, for the record, your esteemed family are partly responsible for this skak-up. If you'd spent your taxes better – better roads, better guns, more troops – maybe Minoris would've put up more of a fight. And maybe we wouldn't have got into this desperate mess. Maybe we'd have been ready for the Nid ship when it arrived.

'But you didn't. You squandered the money. You wasted it all on pretty jewels and luxury foods while your people went hungry. You danced the night away in glittering balls, while potholes ate the roads outside your palace. You enjoyed chandeliers and bright lights, while your capital city was on rolling black-outs.

'Now, I'm a Space Marine. In case you didn't understand, that means it'd be easier for me to kill you right now. I think you and your family are despicable wastes of meat. And I'm not sure how you think you have a right to even breathe the same air as us here on this ship – let alone waste our time with your self-indulgent skak!

'Now get out of here. Or I'm sure my squad here would like some target practise!'

There was a stain spreading across Sarrack-the-younger's breeches. A sharp, acid scent drifted through the air. His eyes were wide, terrified circles. He'd wet himself, Alaster realised.

No sooner had Kodos's rant ended then the young man bolted the room.

Lady Sharrow watched him go. Another full glass had appeared in her hand. She looked puzzled. 'I wonder what all that was about?' she mused. 'He wasn't trying to secure passage, he was wittering about land rights. Doesn't quite make sense.' She shrugged, then downed the glass. 'Right, who next?' The glass clinked as she dumped it back onto the desktop.

A familiar figure walked in. It was the businessman, Galbalen. He looked as manicured and self-confident as ever.

Lady Sharrow actually looked surprised. 'Mr Galbalen,' she said. 'What in the Imperium brings you here?'

'Your Ladyship.' He oozed charm. Alaster found himself reminded of a relic-seller who had used to hang about outside his family's church in Colvin. The man had made his trade peddling faked relics to the more gullible members of the town's various congregations. He'd had the same sort of self-confident smirk.

It wasn't a welcome memory.

'Your Ladyship,' Mr Galbalen said, 'I'm here-'

'You came on the same ship that Sarrack did, didn't you?' she said suddenly, cutting him off.

Mr Galbalen just nodded.

Lady Sharrow looked at one of the Navy people. 'Take a memo, please,' she said. 'From now on, check with my staff first before allowing people to board on the pretence of "bringing me messages".' The Naval crewman nodded, hurriedly jotting something down on a slate.

Dismissing him from her mind, Lady Sharrow looked back at Mr Galbalen. 'Give me one reason why I should put up with your time-wasting.'

'I'm here on business critical for the sector's future,' Mr Galbalen said smoothly.

'And that would be?'

'I represent a consortium of financiers,' he said. 'We're a newly-founded venture, yes, but we have a strategic plan to exploit the industrially-vital resources that will soon be uncovered on Minoris. We believe these will be-'

Yet another full glass had appeared in Lady Sharrow's hand. She stared at its contents, then at him. 'Is this stronger than I thought,' she asked the air, 'or is he talking complete rubbish? Mr Galbalen, unless you've forgotten, I had your wife abducted and jailed just to shut you up. So why are you here now?'

Galbalen looked irritated, but waved a hand as if dismissing the past. 'Yes, but that was then. I'm sure you agree that we must look to the future.'

'What future? There's an out-of-control giant meteor about to pulverise your homeworld.'

'Yes, yes, yes. But that's not the issue. The issue is mineral rights. When the crust is cracked open, it was expose all the rare heavy ores in the mantle. The mining futures alone will be worth billions!'

Lady Sharrow stared. 'So,' she said, 'that's what young Sarrack's visit was about, I suppose. You and financier friends – you're trying to do a hostile takeover on the planet, aren't you? You're trying to buy it out from underneath House Sarrack's feet. That's why you were on the ship with what's-his-name.'

'We made the House an offer,' Galbalen said, 'but they lack vision. In return for them signing over the fief, we'd have given them ten billion in cash up front, plus a full point five percent stake in the venture. But he said no. Which is crazy. We made a very generous, given the circumstances.'

'Oh really?' There was a dangerous glint in the Inquisitor's eyes. Apparently Galbalen didn't notice it.

'House Sarrack,' he said, 'owe the Administratum seven hundred and forty-five billion Crowns. Subject to a lending agreement, we'll gauarantee those debts. If we can negotiate a suitable interest rate with the Administratum, we believe we can pay them down within a decade. The heavy elements! Your Ladyship, this is the industrial opportunity of the century! Now if we could gain your support, this great endeavour could move forward. And I assure you, we are businessmen. We appreciate the need for adequate remuneration. Put simply, we know your time is important. This can be worth your while. I'm authorised to offer you a stake of up to five percent of the gross-'

There was a scrape from the chair. Lady Sharrow stood up. She looked furious. Kodos stepped forward.

'No, Brother-Sergeant!' she barked. 'Stand down!'

Her voice brooked no dissent. It didn't allow for the possibility of disobedience – not even as a theoretical idea. Instinctively, Alaster snapped to attention.

Kodos stepped back, looking perturbed.

Lady Sharrow glared at Galbalen. 'Mr Galbalen,' she said, 'I'm appalled by this. You have the temerity to interrupt a strategic meeting, and in such a brazen manner! For nothing other than private gain! And you then compound it by offering me a bribe!' For a moment it looked like rage would win on her face. She visibly struggled for control. When she spoke again her voice was flat and angry, controlled but only barely. 'Mr Galbalen, I am appalled by this hubristic impiety. The planet hasn't even burned yet, and already you and your compatriots are dividing up the spoils! More than a quarter of a billion people will die in less than a day's time, and all you can worry about is carpet-bagging mineral rights!

'For the record, Mr Galbalen, your offer is refused. And I am declaring your clique's actions impious.' She snapped her fingers. An aide scurried forward. 'Find out who his backers are,' she said, 'and have all their assets confiscated! Oh, and have this one taken to the brig. I'll deal with him later, when we have time for such things.'

She stared flatly at Galbalen. 'For the record, Mr Galbalen, you can't outbid the Inquisition. And you shouldn't try. I agree that something will have to be done – eventually! – about mineral exploration. But it will not be you or your special friends who will be involved! Now get him out of my sight!'

Two Naval crewmen grabbed hold of the outraged Galbalen and dragged him from the room.

'I need another one,' Lady Sharrow growled, pouring out yet another glass. She sat down. The chair creaked under her. The level of the fluid in the decanter had fallen a lot, Alaster noted. She glugged the latest glass back. 'The planet hasn't even burnt yet – and already the vultures are circling!'

Alaster saw that her hand was shaking. She had an angry tick above one eye. Overhead, the ventilation fans whirred quietly. Alaster took a deep breath. The air smelt of sweat, outrage and cheap alcohol.

An aide stepped forward. 'Uh, ma'am, someone else to see you-'

'Who?' she demanded. 'More time-wasters?'

'They're, uh, they're marines, your Ladyship,' the aide stammered.

He didn't get any further. There was a commotion outside the door. Then it was briefly blocked. A Space Marine shoved his way in. For a moment Alaster was confused as his eyes took in dirty silvery armour and a red kneepad. He'd been expecting blue-black, of course. Then he realised this warrior belonged to one of the other Chapters deployed to Riothria.

The marine walked into the middle of the room. Then he stopped, not a step further forward or a step back. He spoke. He was as abrupt as his arrival. 'We have come straight from the planet, your Ladyship,' his helmet announced. 'The strategic situation is deteriorating. Four of the ports have been stormed by mobs. We have still hold Albatross, but the situation there too is unfavourable.'

Lady Sharrow blinked, clearly surprised by the marine's bluntness. It took her a visible few moments to shift gears mentally.

'So we've lost control?' Lady Sharrow said after the pause.

Since when, Alaster wondered, had Lady Sharrow been slow on the uptake? His eyes drifted by themselves toward the fast-emptying decanter.

'Yes,' the Space Marine agreed. He was one of the Doom Eagles, Alaster belatedly realised. It appeared he'd also seen action not long ago. The marine's silver armour was dirty, scratched and dented in several places. He'd been changing the magazine on his bolter as he had walked in.

'And we're in danger of losing Albatross too? Is that what you're telling me?'

'Yes, my Lady,' the warrior's helmet announced. Alaster noted that the other marine was showing no hint of any kind of emotional reaction. He was describing the bad news much as if he were also reporting the weather.

'This is bad,' Lady Sharrow said. Several heads in the crowded room nodded in agreement.

'Yes, my Lady,' the Doom Eagle – who hadn't even given his name – said. Again he sounded unmoved. He lifted up his bolter, checking it over. Several aides had to duck out of the way. The marine didn't even look at them. If he had clubbed one of them on the head, Alaster wondered if he'd care. Would he even notice?

'So just what is going on down in Albatross?' Lady Sharrow asked.

'The city is orderless,' the Eagle said. The overhead light gleamed on his dirtied shoulderpads. The desk lamp caught the eagle on his bolter with a gilded flash. 'Civil authority has collapsed. The news has leaked out. Mobs are descending on the spaceport.' Done with changing the magazine, he lowered his bolter into an alert grip. It was held in both hands, muzzle angled downwards and to the side, where it could quickly be brought up to shoot. Alaster watched this with professional respect.

'The security forces?' Lady Sharrow asked.

'The local police have joined with the rioters. Most of the PDF forces are mutinying. There's been a rebellion in the capital. Rioters stormed the Palace. There's someone on the public nets, calling himself the new Governor. He doesn't seem to have any control either, just a louder voice. And it's much the same everywhere else. The entire northern continent has descended into anarchy.'

'What about our forces?' she asked.

'We're evacuating the remaining Guard forces through the port,' the marine replied. 'We're holding it with marines, for now. But the crowds keep growing. And there's Tyranid movement, as well. It's not clear if its planned or just a random movement, but there are bug swarms moving north.'

'So Minoris is already burning,' Lady Sharrow said.

The Doom Eagle nodded. 'Yes, my Lady.' He could have been discussing the day's weather.

'This,' Lady Sharrow said, 'is an absolute fiasco.'

With an additional Marine in it, the room felt even smaller.

Lady Sharrow reached out and picked up the stopper for the decanter. She turned it over in her hands, watching it with a distracted expression. 'It seems I was wrong,' she mused. 'The vultures haven't got here first. The planet's already on fire!' Refracted light gleamed inside the glass stopper.

The crowd were watching Lady Sharrow as intently as she was watching it.

Alaster glanced over at Nasty. From the tense way he was stood, Alaster could see that Nasty was feeling the over-crowding too. Being crowded was not a welcome experience for a Space Marine. An attack could come from any side. Alaster was stood with his back to the wall. He kept hearing the vents on his backpack scrape against the metal.

At least from here he could see every angle.

There was a metallic clink from the desk. The stopper was lying on the surface again. She'd put it down. Lady Sharrow was leafing through the heap of papers on her desk. There were bags under her eyes. Some stray hairs hung out from her head. It was striking – her hair was normally icily-perfect. She and everyone else in the room had been conscious since the debacle with the fleet. It was already four hours beyond the human crew's normal shift pattern. The strain was showing, and it could likely only get worse.

'Okay,' Lady Sharrow said, 'you!' She pointed at one of the aides. He'd arrived just a few minutes before the Doom Eagle. He was wearing a naval uniform, Alaster noticed. A sheen of sweat gleamed along his head. The attention of an Inquisitor was clearly not something he wanted.

He twitched, visibly terrified.

'What's the status of the fleet?' she said. 'I've got contradictory reports here. This one-' she waved one piece of paper '-says one thing, and this one-' she waved another '-says something else. I don't understand why you navy types can't get it together. What about this idea?' She waved another piece of paper. 'This blow-the-thing up plan? What about that? I haven't heard any news in nearly an hour.'

The man swallowed. 'Uh, Operation Potato-Peeler, ma'am?'

Nasty and Alaster exchanged gazes. Potato-Peeler, indeed? Either someone at the Navy was going down the black humour route, or maybe they'd just run out of ideas.

'Yes,' Lady Sharrow sighed. She dumped the piece of paper. It drifted to the floor. Another aide dived down to pick it up. Lady Sharrow ignored him. She grabbed the handle of a drawer on her desk and jerked it open. The sliders squeaked loudly. Several people winced at the noise. She riffled around inside. There was a clank and a slosh. Nodding with satisfaction, she produced a bottle and a glass. She dumped them onto the desk. She unscrewed the top. 'Yes, Operation Potato Peeler.' A fresh, stronger scent of alcohol wafted through the room. There was a splashing as she poured yet more clear liquid into the glass.

Alaster noted that her hand was trembling again. And was it just his imagination, or had the tremor got worse?

'Yes,' she said again. 'Operation Potato Peeler. The unlikely and ludicrous scheme to blow this thing up. Has anything happened about that?'

The sploshing finished. She raised the glass and gulped some down. It was big glass. The liquid inside it glinted in the light.

'Uh,' the aide stammered., 'there, uh, there is, uh, a problem.'

Lady Sharrow sighed. 'Funny that. I'd never have guessed that we happen to have a problem. I mean, who could ever have imagined? That anything could be other than rosily perfect?' Her sarcasm had a bitter, cynical edge. 'So what is this problem?'

'We've, uh, we've lost all our big ships. They, uh, they were all in the attack earlier.'

Lady Sharrow became still. Every movement ceased, except the twitch above her eye. The glass was held in mid-air, halfway between her mouth and the desk. It trembled, just slightly. Then, after a tense pause, she lowered it to the desk. It settled down with a slight clink.

The aides in the room breathed again. The Doom Eagle was stood still as a statue. He didn't appear fussed one way or the other by her display of tension.

'I see,' she said, finally. 'So this wonderful scheme involving multiple nova cannon shots isn't going to go anywhere … because we don't have any cannon left?'

The naval aide nodded. 'Uh, yes, ma'am.'

She took a deep breath. 'Well,' she said, 'I suppose that nothing else can be done about that, then. In terms of ships, just what exactly do we have left?'

'Uh, really, just the little ones, ma'am.'

'The little ones.' She nodded. 'I should have guessed, shouldn't I? So basically we have a fleet of shuttles and yachts, effectively?'

'Uh, and,uh the Astartes ships, ma'am-' the aide stammered. 'If we could-'

'NO!' She leapt to her feet. The chair was knocked back, screeching loudly. It toppled over behind the desk, falling down with a wooden thump. 'You may not redeploy them! The Astartes cruisers are basically all the fleet we have left! The cordon between Majoris and the Nids MUST be maintained! This is NOT OPTIONAL!'

She was shouting now.

The tick at her head was more of a throb.

She took a deeper breath, visibly steadying herself. 'If the Nids land so much as one spore – one spore! – on the sister planet, then all this has been for nothing. The cordon is not a luxury. It is not up for debate. And since the Navy's little mutiny the other day has cost us our most important vessels, I don't think the Navy has any grounds on which to argue! Unless you're forgetting, ladies and gentlemen, the enemy are doing all they can to get through to the neighbouring planet!'

She grabbed a sheaf of papers from the desk. Anger writ large on her face, she threw them to the floor. 'Damn it, all of you, can't any of you see how serious this is? We are facing defeat here – DEFEAT! This situation just carries on getting worse and worse. People won't do what they're told. They keep insisting on substituting their own judgement for approved plans. I find myself surrounded and stymied by idiots at every turn! Incompetence rots the very decking we stand on! Fools, boodlers, liers and crooks seem to infest every square inch of this system! If this is what the Imperium has decayed to, then we can hope for nothing! And-'

She stopped, looking confused.

'And-' she said again. She looked down and clutched at her chest. Her mouth opened. She seemed to struggle for air. Her eyes were wide and her face was pale – almost bloodless.

With a sick feeling in his gut, Alaster realised she looked ill.

He felt as if he were stood on the edge of a vast precipice. He felt as if they all were. He felt as if the wind was at their backs, pushing them forward. Pushing them toward the drop.

'Aaah,' Lady Sharrow said. Her eyes lost their focus. The tension vanished from her frame. Her face relaxed into blankness.

She toppled forwards.

The room exploded. As people panicked and started yelling and shouting and crying, Kodos dived forward. He caught the unconscious Inquisitor before she could hit the floor. She flopped bonelessly over his arm.

Kodos lowered her to the ground, gently.

'Someone get a skakking medic!' he shouted. When no-one appeared to act, Kodos grabbed his helmet from his belt and muttered something into the microphone.

Alaster had moved without even thinking. So had the other marines. The Raven bodyguard formed up around the desk, pushing the mass of people back. 'Okay,' Kodos said, 'I've called for medical help. Let's get these people out of here. She needs some air!'

The marines herded the confused throng from the room. The so-far nameless Doom Eagle helped them without comment. A few moments later, the room felt much bigger and much quieter. The door slammed shut on the mass.

Kodos had propped Lady Sharrow's head up on a cushion from the chair.

'She's breathing,' he said, 'but her pulse doesn't feel good.' He had his hand wrapped around her wrist, Alaster noticed. 'Thready and weak,' Kodos added.

'Skak,' Nasty said. 'Did she just conk out?'

'Shepherd!' Kodos growled. 'Take a hint and skakking shut up, unless you happen to be a competent medical authority?'

'No Sergeant,' Nasty said, sounding abashed.

'Then skakking well be quiet!'

Kodos looked stressed, Alaster thought. He really did. This was not a welcome development.

A few tense minutes past. Then the door was opened. It stayed open to admit Lakon and Apothecary Ryantum. Kodos glared at the rest of the room's occupants. 'Okay you lot,' he said, 'get out! I want the corridor cordoned off. Let's not have any nosey types sticking their skakking beaks in!'

They got.

Moments later, the room felt much more peaceful. The noise from the corridor had abated. It was replaced only by muffled echoes and the quiet rumble of the fans above. The door was shut. Kodos and Lakon stood to one side while the apothecary ran some instruments over the prone form of the Inquisitor. With so many fewer people in the room, the temperature had fallen and the clammy sense had vanished from the air.

'When was the last time she ate?' Ryantum asked. The lights caught the apothecary's insignia on his shoulder pad.

Lakon and Kodos looked at each other. Kodos shrugged. 'I can't recall,' Kodos said, 'when I last saw her eat.'

'I've seen her snack a couple of times,' Lakon said, 'but not much more than that in the last few days.'

Ryantum looked at the desk. He noted the glass and the decanter. 'Has she been drinking a lot recently?'

'Yes,' Lakon said. 'Is that a factor?'

'I take it she hasn't been sleeping either,' Ryantum observed. 'I suppose that her ladyship has been trying to use the alcohol to balance the stress of her position?'

'And it hasn't worked?' Lakon asked.

Ryantum nodded. 'Indeed. I believe she is suffering from nervous exhaustion, compounded by inadequate nutrition and excessive consumption of alcohol, as well as lack of sleep. If I'd known sooner, there would have been more I could do.'

'What about drugs?' Lakon asked.

'In her weakened condition? A bad idea. Her body is a mess. Drugging it will only make it worse right now. I suspect also dehydration may be playing a large role. If all she's drinking has been this…' Ryantum leanded over and picked up the decanter. He considered it before putting it back down again. 'She will need intervention to rehydrate. Possibly also to detoxify her blood. Additional physical stress is not a possibility at this stage.'

'So,' Lakon said, 'we have no choice but to commit the Inquisitor to bed.'

'Yes,' Ryantum said bluntly.

'Brilliant,' Lakon said. 'The chain of command just lost its key link. She's about the only thing that's been holding this mess together.'

'What do we tell them?' Kodos asked, jerking a thumb at the door.

Lakon considered it. 'We can't have it get out that the Inquisitor's keeled over,' he mused. 'That won't do morale any favours. And if people think no-one's in charge, things will just fall apart. And we don't need that. Not now.'

'There were witnesses,' Kodos said. 'They saw her go down. We can't pretend nothing's happening.'

'Wait … I've got an idea. We'll tell them it was an assassination attempt -someone poisoned her. We'll say we're looking for the culprit. And that she's recovering in hospital. That way, people will be too scared to put a foot out of line. You don't want to stick your head up when someone's tried to take out an Inquisitor!'

Kodos nodded. 'When someone's tried and failed, as well. I see. And we can justify surrounding her with marines – we can trust out brothers to keep their mouths shut, but I don't know about the Navy.'

'We need to get her onto one of our cruisers,' Lakon said. 'As soon as we can, that is. In the meantime we'll have to manage things here.'

'With your permission, Brother-Captain,' Ryantum said, 'I'll call for a stretcher. We need to get her to the infirmary as soon as possible.'

Lakon nodded. 'Okay, do that. And that lot outside can accompany it down.'

'Not ideal,' Kodos observed, 'but I guess that's the best we can do for now. But what about the news from the planet?'

Lakon's face was grim. 'We can't lose Albatross,' he said. 'We've still got some forces down there. We need to keep the port open so they can get out. But I guess we can only count on our own forces now. What's the status of your squad, Brother-Sergeant?'

'Patreus isn't going anywhere any time soon,' Kodos said bluntly. 'Karo can at least walk now. Nasty's okay, he's only got skakking bone inside that skull of his. Nothing to damage. The rest of them are fine.'

Lakon nodded. 'Okay. I've got a defensive plan in mind, but the heavy weapons teams are going to need covering. Do you think your squad can do that sort of thing? Realistically they won't need to do much – just stay in place and deal with anyone who tries to get to the Devastators.'

'And Magos Kelso's orders? She wants Karo off his feet.'

'Countermanded,' Lakon said bluntly. 'If they can walk, they can fight.'

Kodos looked around the room. 'Okay. Your call, my Lord.' The fans hummed behind the grills overhead.

'It's not like we have much choice,' Lakon said.