Light blinding me, I stumbled down a sharp slope. The sun reached out from behind a cloud and glinted off the edges of glass towers. Rolling dunes surrounded a vehicle park. Sand-coated razor coils topping a stone wall ran around the compound.

"Oh…" Up to her waist in sand, Sanna folded her arms against the edge of a breach in the wall and leaned against it. "Oh, my eyes. Offworlder, where are you?"

I slid the last few feet on my backside and climbed through the breach. "Here." Against the nearest corner, four-wheeled Pythons and six-wheeled Chariots stood. Paint flaked off beneath my finger, exposing the underseal and naked armour plating beneath.

Sanna spat. "Eurgh." A brass aquila sat in front of the entrance to a square building. Sand and glass fragments covered steps leading up to the doorway. Each of the windows at the front of the building were without glass. "Water."

"Come—come 'ere. Sanna?"

"Pfft—don't!"

I took Sanna's arm and guided her down to the Chariot. "Siddown. I'll find water." Dirt plastering my hair and brows, I searched through the vehicle park. Every armoured vehicle had had its paint peeled away. Sand swallowed flat tyres, filled punctured fuel tanks, and clogged the bores of the Chariots' pintle and turret-mounted stubbers. Vision ports were shut and rear doors and turrets hatches sealed. A ferrocrete stump holding a pivot lay on its side by the gate. The barrier itself lay forty feet away. Lamp posts slouched. Cables and cloth scraps dangled from the necks. Coiled wire ensnared a sign sitting askew. Evacuation Point. Beneath it, a cruder sign was nailed. No Water.

Glass crunched beneath my heels. Pictures lay on the floor. Inside offices, desks were cloven in two. Radiators sat cold and empty. Sand piled in corners. A reinforced door barred me from an armoury at the back of the building. I pressed my face against the glass partition and peered in to the room's corners. Dust coated an empty gun rack and cartridge boxes scattered across a counter.

Around the back of the building, refuse packed large bins coated in rust. Withered apple cores, crumpled tins, and empty packets spilled from black bags. Flies flew around. "Mmph." I dropped the lid, pressed the crook of my arm against my nose and stepped back. The ground flexed. What's this? I pushed down on a fibre board and lifted it away with my toecap. A steel lid hid beneath some planks and a tarpaulin. I dug up a ring-pull and worked the lid off. Urgh, fuel. Beneath the fuel was a packet of biscuits, a foldout knife, a tourniquet, and a compass.

"Water! Water?" Sanna lunged for the can.

"It's fuel."

"Uh?"

"I—It's fuel."

Sanna spat. "Can you drive?"

"Doesn't matter. It's all US."

"Pour it." Sanna unbuttoned her jacket.

"Okay, stand still." I slung the can on to the Chariot's front mudguard and nestled it between the headlight and a smoke launcher. "Bend down and stick your head out. Close your eyes."

"I have had stranger requests in my time…" Sanna pulled a grey tank top over her head and bent down against the Chariot's front wheel.

"Hold still." Fuel trickled through Sanna's hair, down her neck, and across her back. The brown liquid stained a grey dressing circling her chest.

"Oh, oh, God-Emperor." Sanna rubbed a hand across her face. "Bleurgh! Pff."

"Good, Sanna?" I tilted the can up.

"Y—yeah." Sanna bobbed her head and rubbed the fuel from her face. "Uhh…"

"Number one." I screwed the cap in to place and dropped from the mudguard.

Sanna sat back against the wheel, her shoulders rising and falling. She spat and rubbed saliva across her face. "It's Susannah."

I kneeled next to Susannah. "Arvin."

"Pff! What?"

"James is my middle name."

Susannah's nose wrinkled. She picked her tank top up and flapped it. "I wish you many sleepless nights, Offworlder. Live with what you've done."

"I never meant to hurt anybody. None of our lot, I mean."

Susannah tugged her top on. "No. No-one ever does. After every action exists a consequence—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

"And your conduct on Cadia—"

"—Was shameful. I hated it, Susannah, hated it."

"All because of her—that wretched xenos—wasn't it?"

"She…" I swallowed. "She didn't make it—"

"Good! Thank the Emperor you are free of her. Disgusting creatures wearing our skin." Susannah buttoned her jacket. "Take a lesson away from Cadia and keep it to heart."

"That chest wound okay?"

Susannah's fingers froze. "…It's no concern of yours."

I stood up and offered Susannah my hand. Susannah pushed away from the Chariot and got up unassisted. "Why in the name of the God-Emperor, blessed be His guiding light, did a vagabond like you survive Cadia when so many good, pious soldiers of the Emperor did not?"

I opened my thigh pocket and took out the biscuits. "D'you want one?"

"I… I don't have a dog. Where did you find that?"

"Around the back of the building. Buried stash."

"Any firearms?"

"No." I stepped over the barrier and headed for the gate. "Can you run?"

Susannah touched her side. "I can run. Don't change the subject. What did you take?"

"Fuel, compass, tourniquet, knife, dog bickies."

"Hand me the knife and compass."

"Number ten."

"Number what?"

"Nothing doing, Susannah. Which way's the Satwa camp?"

"The what camp?"

"Satwa."

"Satwa!" Susannah's mouth dropped. "You landed at the Satwa camp?"

"…Yeah."

"The Satwa took us prisoner. They were the ones who caused all this."

"What, the storm?"

"The deportations, the executions, imposing martial law, all of it came after the planetary government fled. Have you seen soldiers try and govern a civilian populace?"

"We… we didn't know. We're just stopping off 'ere for the changeover to Haven."

"Well, you are lucky you didn't land at the starport."

"We just followed a beacon. I think they wanted help getting off-world."

"To the platform?"

"No, I think the enemy wasted that. Satwa wants out the system before Zeke get here."

"And now they have your commander."

"Looks like it. That lot didn't seem half bad honestly. There was a Cadian major of Signals leading 'em."

"Turncoat."

I lifted my shoulders. "I dunno. I want to try the starport though."

"And stroll back in to the Satwa camp?"

"No other way off this dust-bowl, is there? How thirsty are you gonna be tomorrow?"

"I…" Susannah rubbed her throat. "Could you hand me the compass?"

"Course." I dug in to my trouser pocket and brought out the compass. A clear plastic bag fell to the road surface. "Oh, shi—" I fell down and scrabbled for the bag.

Susannah glared at me. "I didn't have you pegged as a junkie."

"It's… it's seed."

"Seed?"

"I'm growing it. I—I made a promise." I tucked the packet in to my boot. "Which way is it?"

Glass towers blocked the sun from shining down upon the carriageway. Even in the shade, sweat seeped down my nape and dampened my t-shirt. "Offworlder." Susannah, her jacket draped over her head, swung her leg over the barrier and slithered down the slope. I vaulted the barrier and followed Susannah beneath a bridge. At the far end, an overturned bus covered in bullet-holes blocked the road. Susannah slumped against the cool slope and wiped her jacket across her stained brow. I lay on the slope a bit further down and rested on one elbow.

"Fifteen minutes? Susannah?"

"Eyes." Susannah drew the pocket knife and opened the blade.

"Where?"

"Ssh."

A large, muscular canine with pointed ears nosed through a narrow gap between the bus and a ferrocrete pillar. A long tongue protruded between its teeth. Dust covered a black fur coat.

"He's found us." Susannah's brows knitted together. Her knuckles grew white around the tiny pocket knife.

"Who?" The dog sniffed at the road and padded towards us.

Susannah shuffled away from the dog. "That is his hound."

"Whose?"

"The Inquisitor's!" Susannah's shoulders hunched. "He's found us. Run!"

"No. No, no, no, no, no, he never left Cadia. Susannah, he's gone I swear. He can't hurt anyone anymore." I wriggled down the slope on my backside.

Susannah's mouth opened."You killed him. God-Emperor, you killed him!"

"Not me. Put a round in his head. That weren't enough..."

"You killed him. A representative of the Emperor…"

"I didn't kill him." I took the biscuits from my pocket and broke the seal. "Someone else."

"Who?"

I put a finger to my lips and tilted my head at the dog. "What's his name?"

"Name…" Susannah frowned at her lap. The dog's head lowered and its ears flattened.

"Susannah?"

"Wait, I… I think I remember."

I kneeled and placed a biscuit in my palm. The dog showed its teeth and growled. "Susannah…?"

Susannah pressed her balled hands against her brow. "I'm thinking, I'm thinking."

"Hey, boy. Are you a boy? Show us your knackers." The dog's muzzle stopped inches from my hand and sniffed. "Want a bite, my lad? Take the bickie. The hand's not on offer."

"Trig."

"Trig? S'no name for a dog. She can do better than that, can't she, mate?" The quivering nostrils darted over the biscuit and the jaws closed around it. Leaving slobber behind on my palm, the dog chomped the biscuit down. Crumbs tumbled from its chops. "There's a good boy." I rubbed the dog's ears. "Who's a good boy?"

"Trip," Susannah said. The dog twitched and cocked his head at Susannah.

"Trip? Awww, why you on your own then? Did you escape Satwa?"

"He was lucky." Susannah sidestepped down the slope. "They would have eaten him."

"Won't let that happen, will we?"

"It is Inquisition property."

"Nah, you're your own man now, Trip." I ruffled Trip's neck. Trip panted. "Thirsty? Yeah, me too." Trip poked his muzzle in to the packet. "Oi!" I squeezed the opening in my fist. "Nah, you gotta earn that."

"We need to move on."

"Hang about…" I straightened up and picked a biscuit from the packet. Trips sat up. His nose followed the biscuit. "Down." Trip sat on his belly. "Now, roll over." I drew a circle in the air. Trip rolled on to his back and curled his front paws. "Haw-haw!" I rubbed up and down Trip's belly. "Good boy. Good boy. Here you go." Trip wolfed the biscuit down.

"Can we go now?"

"Hmm-hmm… Looking for a new home? Yeah, we are too." Trip bounced to his feet and galloped around Susannah and I. "Water, shelter. Sound good, Sarn't?" Susannah looked sullenly down at Trip. Trip wagged his tail. "C'mon, pal, lead off. Find us some shelter, yeah?"

Winding, sandy paths choked the lower levels of the glass towers. Chunks of building had sunk in to the sand. Wind launched dry, dead leaves on bent-over trees lining an avenue in to Susannah's face. She and the offworlder stepped over a long, jagged fissure running the entire length of the avenue. Trip hopped over behind them.

"They won't forget that, Offworlder. Such an organisation will pursue you to the fringes of the galaxy, to the edges of reality itself."

"Glad he's gone. Why d'you think he stopped himself from slotting you?"

"Growing up on Cadia, you grow used to unwanted attention. It doesn't bother me."

"Death or dignity?"

"Ermph…"

"If we hadn't taken him down, it would have been mine and the lads' families."

"Treason."

"Treason, murder, theft, out of bounds, aiding and abetting the enemy, heresy…"

"Throne of Terra, may you never see the sun rise again, Offworlder."

The offworlder stopped and faced Susannah. Deep lines creased his forehead. "I'd take that if it'd just bring one of them back; just one. Callum, Ral, Olen, Cyra—" The offworlder's jaw tightened and his brows steepled. Bowing his head, the offworlder shambled after Trip. Susannah spat between her teeth.

A telescoping ladder mounted to the roof of a lorry with large tanks on its back jutted over a thirty-foot-wide gap. "What d'you reckon?" The offworlder tapped the tank.

Susannah got on all-fours and peered underneath the vehicle. "Barren."

"How 'bout this?" The offworlder worked himself through the narrow gap between the tanks and up to the roof. "Trip, come!"

Trip pelted through Susannah's legs and leaped up to the offworlder. "How wide are the gaps between rungs?"

"Should be alright for him if he goes careful. 'Ere." The offworlder kneeled and extended his arm.

"And the other side?" Susannah clambered up. Her shoulder pushed the offworlder's hand away.

"Not too high. Trip, stay 'ere. I'll toddle over. Eyes peeled, yeah?"

"Dog. Stay." Susannah glared at Trip.

"Oi, say his name."

"It is Inquisition property. How can you—?"

"It's a bloke thing, alright?" The offworlder tottered across the first few rungs, his arms spread out. Trip whined.

"Silence." Susannah locked eyes with Trip.

"Don't stare. He thinks you're challenging him."

"Hmph. I've nothing to prove." Trip stood up and wagged his tail. "No. Sit." Panting, Trip sat back down. Susannah ran her tongue across her chapped lips and watched for glints. The offworlder's arms wheeled. He caught hold of the side of the ladder and steadied himself. If he falls, that may keep the blood from my hands. What to do with you though? The offworlder's boot slipped through a gap and his kneecap cracked against the rung. Trip whined. Susannah leaned over the edge of the vehicle. How far down does that go?

The ground shook. The vehicle's long nose, suspended over the chasm, dipped. Susannah hunched over. "Not again…"

"Trip?" The offworlder twisted at the end of the ladder and patted his knee. "C'mon, mate, chop-chop." Trip slunk past Susannah and stepped on to the ladder. "Over 'ere, pal." The offworlder stretched his arm out. Trip's muzzle lowered. The claws on his front paw clacked against the first rung. Susannah dug a finger inside her collar and scratched. From his pocket, the offworlder produced a biscuit and held it out to Trip. Trip's ears pricked up and he scampered along the ladder. "Yeah-heah, good boy, Trip!" The offworlder hugged Trip and fed him the biscuit. "Good dog."

Susannah wobbled across. The offworlder and Trip waited on the street below. "Ever seen any trees like this?"

"Why bother? It can't speak." Susannah swung down from the ladder.

"No, I meant you. Not no trees I've ever seen. Not coniferous, deciduous, evergreen. Nothing like it."

"Coniferous?" Susannah tugged the hem of her jacket down.

"Y'know, pine trees. Got a lot of 'em back home. Lose yourself in the woods for a few hours. It's springtime back home. Lovely blossom on the trees. Pink."

"I had you as a hiver, Offworlder."

"Nah, not me. Green fields and blue skies—well, some days it's blue. It's mostly grey."

"Blue skies…?"

"So, why'd they chop all yours down?"

"Chop what down?"

"The trees."

"Deny the enemy concealment and cover."

"Every square inch? What happens when you want to go the beach and you want some shade?"

Wind picked up. Susannah glanced back at the bobbing ladder squeaking in the wind. "You make your own little island and keep it for yourself. Let nothing—no man—make his claim." Trip barked. "What? Offworlder, where did you…?" Trip's nose pointed at a narrow, sandy trench. "Did he…?" Susannah leaned over the crevice. "Wouldn't have seen that 'til he was right on it. Offworlder?" Trip let off another bark. "Ssh. Be quiet."

"Can you hear me, Susannah?"

"How far down are you?"

"'Bout fifteen feet maybe. Watch it, there's broken glass down 'ere."

"Are you hurt?" Susannah bit her lip.

"Bruised ego. Stomach's burbling. Err, the biscuits got smashed."

"Shall I give him a kick on the way down?" Susannah said to Trip.

"Oi, send Trip down first. Don't reckon we can coax him to jump this far."

"Marvellous use of the Gothic language." Susannah clicked her tongue. "Go on. Down there. Jump down, now." Trip cocked his head at Susannah. An ear flicked.

The offworlder whistled. "Trip, I'm down here."

"Go on." Susannah patted Trip's flank. "Go on…" Trip's body tensed.

"Trip, come."

"Good dog." Susannah gave Trip another pat. Trip wiggled his hind quarters and jumped.

"There's a good boy. What's this?"

"I'm coming down. Is there room?"

"Yeah, should be alright to jump."

Perching on the edge, Susannah wiggled forwards and dropped. "Umph! That's more than fifteen feet."

"With my numbers, yeah." The offworlder lay on a purple-carpeted landing amongst glass fragments. Susannah rubbed her ankles and came over. "No, no, never mind me. Check and see if Trip's got any glass in his paws."

"Err—sure." Susannah stroked Trip's back. Trip sat on his stomach and panted. "If you just let me…" Susannah lifted Trip's front paw. "No blood?" Trip pulled his leg back. "No. You're alright, Trip."

"Hard mutt. Harder than me." The offworlder held a clenched hand against his chest. Blood ran down his wrist. "Mmph…" Susannah unfolded the knife and cut at the hem of her jacket. "No, no, cut it from mine."

"Cadian cotton… Seventy per cent more durable than any other battledress in current service."

"Is that the line the Crotch peddles? Cadian stuff's better than everyone else's?"

"Can we pretend that what the Imperial Guard says goes, just for one moment?" Susannah sawed at the last few threads holding the strip. "Hand." The offworlder held out his hand. A red line cut through the dirty skin on his palm. "…Dirty."

"There's alcohol in the compass."

"Hunh. So there is."

"Just as a last resort."

"Well… can't mark you down for that." Susannah wound the strip around the offworlder's hand and tied it off.

"What about that?" The offworlder pointed at the edge of the dressing poking out from beneath Susannah's jacket.

"I'd be more worried about the hand…" Susannah made a fist and worked it up and down.

"Hngh. No luck. Left-handed."

"Does the Guard allow that?"

"Well, left-handed 'cept on parade. Not sure the Stick Man would like that very much."

"The who?"

"The sarn't major."

"The gutter-dweller surfaces. How did such a prestigious organisation breed the language of the rake and the scoundrel?"

"Yeah, we're not all born purple-eyed poster boys and girls for the Crotch. Me—hmph." The offworlder got up and toed glass from his path. "I'm from the school of grass-stains and grazed shins, with a noncom's stripes of hard knocks and a commission of getting the shit kicked out of me."

"Poster boys and girls…" Susannah swept glass out of the way with her heels and beckoned to Trip to walk behind her. "Well, I should imagine the recruiters—or the fellows in charge of poster design—are currently in the market for new faces for the Guard."

"Nah, your lot are martyrs, Susannah. I had a glance at a paper onboard that big ship a few days ago. Said something 'bout the planet breaking before the Guard did. That was your lot, that was."

"My lot. Nomads now, aren't we?"

Susannah, the offworlder, and Trip reached the head of a set of golden stairs curving down to a wide-open floor host to a grand piano, violet pillars, and golden ornaments set in recesses in the walls. Stuffed animals hung from the ceiling. More of the strange trees sat in pots around the edges of the room.

"The rich had it good 'ere. Bet they pulled out at the first whiff of Zeke and left the poor for the storm to swallow. Bastards."

"I never understood why such divisions need exist. All Cadians are born equal, we serve equal terms, and everybody fights at one point in their lives; even if only simulated."

"Well, 'ere it is. Mankind's decadence, and nature buried it beneath the sand." Behind Susannah and the offworlder, Trip lolloped down the stairs. "Smell something, Trip? Not water, is it? Enough of that in those tanks."

"Amazing." Susannah squatted over an aquarium in the floor. "I've never seen so many fish before—well, except on ice. Do you like seafood, Offworlder?"

"Never tried it. Never afford it. Fish is expensive down my way. All of it's swallowed up by the nets and then shipped off-world so the rich can have something we don't. Stuff we get is proper inflated-like. Price-wise, I mean."

"So, you've never had any?"

"Nah, well not legally anyhow."

"Thieves and malingerers were weeded out quickly on Cadia. Bullies too. They were the worst."

"Can we…? Can we stop about Cadia?"

"Mm, of course." Best leave it behind us.

The offworlder got down on his knees and hugged Trip. Trip licked his hand. "What d'you reckon, Trip? Music hall? Theatre?"

"There may be rooms backstage. I'm going to check them out."

"Mmm, right." Fish darted about beneath Susannah's feet. Trip skittered after the fish and pounced on the glass. "Won't work, Trip."

Behind the stage, Susannah groped along the wall and flicked a row of light switches. Tiered seating overlooked a sand-covered pit. Spotlights bathed it in white light. Susannah flew forwards and gripped a gold-plated railing. Human bones littered the pit. Manacles hung from chains bolted to marble pillars. Susannah stumbled away and pushed her palm across the light switches.

"Anything down there?" The offworlder leaned over a rail on an upper floor. Trip's head poked through a gap.

"Mm-mm." Susannah shook her head.

"Got something up 'ere."

Rich bastards. Susannah dragged herself upstairs by an engraved banister and followed the offworlder through purple corridors. Decadence. "What is it?"

Rows of running machines crowded the floor below. The window they faced had burst, letting a wall of sand in. "Look at this. Bet they got their own running water too." The offworlder led Susannah and Trip down a spiralling staircase. A sign saying Fitness and Wellness overlooked a rockery behind the running machines. "Poor old Blue-collar Bart never saw any o' this in his life, I reckon."

Trip barked from a room behind the rockery. "Trip?" The offworlder pushed through the two feet of sand covering the floor. "What you found, mate?"

"Eye of Terror." Susannah slumped against the doorframe. "All this…"

Cardboard boxes sat on wooden pallets in stacks of nine. "Still got the factory seal on 'em." The offworlder kicked a box in and climbed to the top. "Twenty-four-hour rats."

"Toss one down." Susannah raised her arms.

"N-no, I'll jump down." The offworlder's heels thumped on the floor. "Here. Foreign aid package. Somebody must've got wind of what was coming."

"Hmm." Susannah unfolded the knife and worked the blade through the tape.

"Twenty-four hours rats, A, B, C, and D." Smaller cardboard boxes landed around Susannah. "Ten-man boxes in 'ere." The offworlder folded the flaps on another box shut. "There's BIB stuff too. All the bells and whistles."

Very soon, open boxes surrounded Susannah and the offworlder. Trip pushed his noses in to one and rootled around. "So Satwa haven't found this yet."

"Nah, s'pose not." The offworlder smacked Trip's flank. "Hoi, nose out!"

"I mean, the civilians at the starport could use this."

"Why, is it that bad down there?"

"Satwa have them penned in camps; little more than cages."

"Well, why not let 'em know the rich had a little surplus going here?"

"And go back in the bag?"

"What d'you mean the bag? They're Crotch too."

Susannah's shoulders sagged. "They spat at me, the civilians, when they saw me. Called me coward and traitor for letting Cadia fall. That was my home…"

The offworlder reached for Susannah's shoulder. "I'm sorry." Susannah leaned away. "I know you fought hard at—at Tyrok and in your Kasrs. I saw in the papers too you got a proper welcome. People praising your efforts."

"And what rights do a displaced people now have? The violet-eyed, objects of derision forever more."

The offworlder picked a 24-hour ration up. "Tell you what, I'll cook. Just one problem."

"What's that?"

"Not vegetarian, are you?"

"Uh-huh." Susannah's snorted and closed her eyes. "These liberties…"

"More scoff 'an you've seen in your entire life, isn't it?"

"And not a drop to drink it with."

"There'll be water. Bet these bastards got their own private supply. Hot and cold."

"Running water." Susannah sucked in her lips.

"How 'bout you see to the water? I'll see to the gas."

Inside habitation areas above the exercise facilities, Susannah found an untarnished bathtub inside a bathroom. Water poured from two golden taps. Hot and cold. The owners can't be long gone. No more than a week at least. Inside a cupboard, Susannah found Vaseline, skin relief, cotton buds, foot powder, razors, soap, and toothpaste. Rich bastards. How dare you hide here, fat and carefree while our planet burns! Susannah dashed the cupboard's contents on the floor.

Trip, standing in the doorway, cocked his head. Susannah drew back her boot. Her eyes locked with Trip. Her leg wobbled then she lowered it. "No." Susannah held up her hand. Bending down, she scooped up the razors and placed them behind the taps. "Out, out." Trip turned in a circle and padded out. Susannah sealed the door and set both taps to full blast. This is on me, Satwa. Susannah filled the bath and flung her khakis on the floor. "Ahhh." Susannah grabbed soap, stood up, and scrubbed.

Up to her ears, Susannah's eyelids drooped. Water closed around her nose. Susannah inhaled and water spouted from her mouth. "Pffft!"

"Susannah!" A fist thumped on the door. "Susannah!"

"Pfff." Susannah wiped her chin and reached for a towel. "What is it? Satwa?"

"Ice or please."

"What?"

"Rice or peas?"

"…Rice."

"Ten minutes."

Ten minutes? Susannah climbed out and dried off. Her scalp itched. Outside, the offworlder laid two steaming plates with meat and rice upon a low table. Glasses of water sit on mats. Trip snored at the offworlder's feet. "Can't be long gone if we've still got gas."

"You didn't have to wait for me—no, no, I don't need you to seat me. That's an officer thing."

The offworlder sat when Susannah did. "They'll make you an officer, y'know."

Susannah picked up a silver knife and fork and prodded at the lightly-browned meat and speared it. "I refuse."

"Couldn't find the seasoning, sorry." The offworlder set a metal bowl filled with water down for Trip. "Trip?"

"No, no, it's good. Um…"

"Lamb."

"Hm?"

"Lamb." The offworlder cut a larger chunk up. "Nice bit o' sauce to sweeten it up too. Shame there's no bread though."

"I refuse." Susannah laid her knife and fork down and leaned on folded arms.

"Don't have to eat if you don't want to."

"A commission."

"Has the Crotch ever accepted no for an answer? They'll have you dead, Susannah, before they let you turn your back on the lie they want you in."

"The Emperor protects good, devout Guardsmen. I am confident of everlasting life, Offworlder."

"I don't doubt that. But what about your career? You—you're from a good unit with honours too. You deserve to wear pips. And anyway, subalterns get paid more than sarn'ts."

"Subbel-what?"

"Subaltern."

"I don't know what that means."

"…Just officer below captain, that's all."

"Offworlder…"

"James."

"Thank you for pulling me out of that tunnel, Offworlder."

The offworlder slurped at his water. "Thanks for missing me. What sorta marksmanship was that anyway? I'd 'ave you putting in some serious time on the range for that shitshow."

"Uh-hunh" Susannah waved a hand. "You—you took me by surprise. I thought Satwa had found me. Too hasty of me. I hadn't seen a soul all day."

"Awake, are you?" The offworlder passed Trip a bit of lamb. "Here you go, pal."

"I've a favour to ask. After we've eaten of course."

"Mm? Yeah, course."

"Have you been scratching?"

"Mmm, depends where you mean…"

"Could you delouse me?"

"What, d'you want—?"

"—After, after dinner I mean."

"How 'bout you, Trip? How's your compliment of gnits?" The offworlder reached down and ruffled Trip's ears. Trip lifted his front paws and planted them on the offworlder's leg. "No, no. Off. Stay down there, Trip."

Susannah slathered her lamb in the sauce. "For a heretic, this is quite good."

"High praise from a Cadian. Just wait 'til you see what's for dessert."

"Pancakes?"

"Pancakes! Nah, you're stuck with fruit salad. Shame it's not homegrown. Lot of our food comes from the garden and the fields. Tomatoes, carrots, kale, rocket, green beans. Better than stuff from Willans Ferry market. Anything homegrown's better."

Susannah finished her dinner in silence and dug in to the packet of fruit salad. "When you're ready," said the offworlder.

"Right." Susannah wiped her mouth and stood up. He stood up too. "No, you don't need to…"

"Uh?"

"Never mind."

A towel around her bare shoulders, Susannah sat with her hands in her lap. The offworlder drew a small comb through her hair. A jar filled with warm water sat on the table next to him. "I'll speak to the commander."

"About what?"

"About taking you on."

"Taking me on? I'm not a blasted apprentice. I'm a sergeant of Logistics."

"Yeah, without her service company. Susannah, what's gonna happen to you and the rest of the Cadians now?"

"I haven't… I haven't thought…" Susannah bit a fingernail. "Don't want to…"

"Bastard—not you." The offworlder dunked a little insect in the water. "I'll talk to Commander Sorge and see if he'll give you a job."

"Why would a naval officer want a soldier working for him?"

"We go back."

"You go back? How far?"

"Commander Sorge is Naval Intelligence. Took me by surprise too when I heard it. I err… I wasn't in a very good place when he offered me the job. I've yet to sign. I'd like you to sign with me."

"Why should I?"

"It's a clean slate."

"And we'd keep our rank? I don't understand how this works."

"Neither do I. Wasn't in a very good place then. It'll work out though."

"Erm, I hope so."

"Buggers." The offworlder dumped a second insect in to the water.

"I'll do you next."

"That's alright. I think I'm okay."

"No, no. This is for the dinner."

"Oh, ta. Anyway, think on. There's plenty of time."

"Not sure I like what that clock says."

"Hm, the clock?"

"Fourteen-hundred. Feels closer to midnight to me."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Shall we doss down for a few hours then?"

"Doss down. You mean sleep?"

"Uh-huh." Trip lifted his head up from where it rested between his paws. His tail thumped against the floor. "Chest doing okay?"

"Fine. They already treated me."

"His men?"

"Yes, his."

"Far cry from a firing squad, innit?"

"Felt like I deserved it after Cadia. Felt like we all deserved it for letting the everybody down. Is your hand alright?"

"Yeah, it's a scratch. I've had worse."

"Not going to start crying on me, heretic?"

"Number ten, Cadian." The offworlder dunked the comb in the pot. "That… that tree."

"The tree? What about it?"

"Did you notice anything odd?"

"Well, it was hard to miss."

"In the trunk…"

"No, there was nothing in the trunk. It was lit up brighter than on Saturnalia, for Throne's sake. I think I would have noticed fruit dropping from it—argh!"

The offworlder lifted the comb away from Susannah's head. "Sorry, Susannah. Sorry."

"Look lively. Switch places and I'll do you."

Richard Sorge's chin nestled against his crumpled jacket. Tape bound his wrists to the arms of a chair. Bandages coated his hands. "Mmnh…" Sorge wiggled his fingers. "So, dress-code violators have their nails pulled—"

An Urgraf fiddling with a Unit One bag on a table jumped and spun around. A mask with a sharpened beak sat beneath the brim of his ceramite. "God—!" His fingers gripped the table's edge.

"Stopped me from biting my nails at least." Sorge grinned and stretched his legs. "Nasty habit. Nice to see I've still got the old toe-nibblers. So, are we continuing here or are we breaking-up for luncheon?"

"Save your breath, Commander. The Obrist hasn't finished with you."

"Obrist? The gentleman in the wooden mask with the horns? Don't think we've had the pleasure. I kindly introduced myself, why don't you?" Sorge scratched his chin with his shoulder. "Urgh, itches…"

The Urgraf filled a plastic cup with water from a dispenser and brought it over to Sorge. "I'm sorry, sir. I can't answer your questions."

"Mmm." Water seeped from Sorge's mouth and down his chin. "Could you take this tape off then?"

"I can't do that, sir."

"Could you fetch somebody who can? Your Obrist perhaps?"

"The Obrist will come when he comes, sir."

"Can you answer any of my questions, soldier?"

"Was it true, what you said about payment, sir?"

"My coat buttons up over matters other than Naval Intelligence. If we are to discuss coin, it will be in the presence of the Obrist. Fetch your Obrist, please. No need for further nail-pulling, old chap." Sorge spat. "Sorry about that. D'you usually use sandboarding as a means of torture?"

"Water's a precious commodity here, Commander. Theft of water is a shooting matter. Drinking more than your daily limit, shooting matter. Selling or giving away your daily allowance, shooting matter. If there's something Satwa doesn't lack around here it's rounds."

"Aren't Satwa PDF? They're supposed to protect the civilians. And now I'm hearing about martial law and executions."

"Satwa answers to the civilian government. When they fled, the boys in khaki had the millions to govern, and then the storm came. I welcome the enemy to this place."

"How's your coffee-making?"

"My—my coffee-making?"

"Mmm, milk, with or without, sugar or cream, frothy?"

The medic waved a finger. "No, no, you asked about my coffee-making skills, now you're on to coffee preferences."

"That's right. Do me a favour and put one on, would you?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I can't carry out that order."

"It wasn't an order. Two men in a room together having a chat. Could I speak to the Obrist?"

"The—the Obrist isn't here."

"Incorrect assumption, Ensign." The Obrist entered the room. "Re-assess your facts."

"Obrist. I would stand but…" Sorge wiggled his hands. "I'd be doing myself an indignity."

The Obrist's muzzle dipped. "You are excused, Commander."

"Are the masks a part of your culture, Obrist?"

"Coffee, Ensign. Two. Milk or sugar, Commander?"

"Milk and three, please."

"My usual, Ensign. Milk and three sugars for the commander."

"Obrist." The ensign clicked his heels and left.

"These things?" The Obrist loosened a leather strap holding his mask in place. "They put the fear of the God-Emperor up the ordinary folk. Same with the robes. Psy-ops, Commander, it's half the job we do." A bald, middle-aged man with grey stubble pressed against his tear ducts with thumb and forefinger. "Can't see a thing in those masks. Ahhh, cataract's acting up. You'll understand if you reach my age, Commander." The Obrist pulled his robe over his head and folded it. He wore single-breasted field grey fatigues and a black plate carrier with attached grenade, tool, and ammunition pouches beneath the robes. "I must apologise for your initial treatment, Commander." The Obrist drew a short knife from a spring-loaded pouch on his shoulder and sawed at the tape holding Sorge's wrists.

"Aah!" Sorge rolled his wrists. "Mmm." His neck cracked.

"Enemy spies, you understand."

"Mmph… of course."

"Is it true about Cadia?"

"True? You mean what the papers say?"

"Last issue was four days ago, just before the storms. It told of a great victory—"

"It's bullshit. Cadia's gone. The Navy and the Admech scattered after some xenos ships tangled with the enemy in the Cadian System. Most of them are on the run to Belis Corona or Haven. Most of them."

"Most? You're Naval Intelligence, it's your job to know surely." The Obrist seated a maroon beret on his crown and straightened it.

"Erff, well without my source network I am just another down-on-his-luck officer."

"Who do you answer to?"

"Vice-Admiral Curzon."

"He runs the—the unit?"

"If I admitted that, I'd very quickly find a bucket and mop in my hands."

"Well, then I'll assume this Admiral Curzon commands Obscurus' branch of your little think-tank."

"Assume away, Obrist. Cadia is a memory, that I will admit. I used to bite my nails, you know."

"Hmph, did you a favour then."

The ensign returned with two steaming cups. "Sir, permission to enter?"

"Come, come." The Obrist dragged a chair around to face Sorge. "Obrist Robert Bertel Holbein."

"A colonel perchance?" Sorge blew on the surface of his coffee.

"Ten points. Dismissed, Ensign."

"May I smoke?"

"How? How would you do this, Commander? My men were thorough."

"By accessing my reserve." Sorge took a small plastic bag containing a single cigarette out from inside his sock. "There's also a knife concealed in my belt and a lullaby embedded in my tooth. Don't worry, I've no cause to use them."

The Obrist tapped a cigarette packet with a golden seal on his knee. "Roumeli's?"

"I prefer Abelino's."

"Hmm, expensive indulgence."

"Seventy a day, logistics permitting. I intend to die young, preferably with a gun in my hands. There's no withering away in to obscurity on Richard Sorge's headstone."

"All paid for by the bureau, eh?"

Sorge patted his jacket down. "Seem to have misplaced my lighter. Would you be so kind, Obrist?"

The Obrist flicked open a gunmetal lighter. "Urgraf Quenets, Commander."

"Of course. No regular formation would ever flout themselves with those collars." Sorge inhaled and held. Smoke shot from his nostrils. "So, a contract severed and an army without a master." He tilted his head back and rested a leg on his knee. "Let's talk about the future, Obrist."

I sat bolt-upright on the couch. Trip's ears folded back. Feet thudded around on the floor below. "Ssh." I stroked Trip's back. "Come." I tiptoed in to the room Susannah slept in and kneeled next to her. "Susannah?"

Susannah's eyes snapped open. "Trouble?"

"People downstairs."

"How many?"

"Dunno."

"Move." Susannah slipped out of the double bed. Trip growled.

"Ssh, mate." I headed over to the door and listened.

"Help me." Susannah gripped the bedcovers. "Oi!" I rushed to the other side of the bed and helped Susannah fold the covers. "Where did you sleep?"

"Couch."

"Dog hairs!"

"Nah, he slept on the floor. Get your boots on."

"Right."

"Then get under the bed."

"What?"

"Under the bed. Take Trip with you." I listened at the bedroom door. Boots stumped up the stairs. "Get under!" I flapped my hand.

"Hey, dog!" Susannah wriggled under the bed and patted the floor. "Trip."

Damn it, they're coming up. I slid underneath the bed. Trip nestled between me and Susannah. "Hey, quiet." I scratched Trip's ear. Trip's tongue wetted my cheek. Susannah ruffled Trip's neck. On Susannah's side, black leather boots left dusty marks on the carpet. A torchbeam roved beneath the bed. Light blinded us. A shout went up and boots stampeded upstairs. "OUT! OUT!"

I crawled out. Hands seized my arms and dragged me across the floor. Trip barked. "Silence that animal!" A knee pressed against my wrists. Zip-ties bound them together. A butt smacked Trip. He yipped and fell silent.

"Who are they?" Torches shone in my eyes.

"Military. One male, one female."

"Is that the dog?"

"Yeah, that's it."

"Get 'em up."

"Up. Stand up!"

Hands hauled me up and hustled me downstairs and through rooms filled with soldiers. Satwa? "Susannah, they're Satwa."

"No!" A hand struck the back of my head. Cloth came down over my eyes. Boots thundered up and down stairs around me. Cool wind blew up the corridor. Soon, the hard steps gave way to sand.

"Load up." Hinges squeaked and a tailgate clattered. Vehicle engines spluttered in to life. Shoulders squeeze me in. The floor vibrated beneath me.

Brakes screeched. The bag swept from my head. Pink stained the eastern skyline. Large terminal buildings draped with fabric screens rose up on both sides of bunkers surrounding a gateway. Concertina wire ran around at the foot of the bunkers. Muzzles poked out from slits in the stone. A sign standing on legs said, Property of Satwa. No trespassers beyond this point.

A Satwa swathed in scarf and goggles took me by the shoulder and pushed me to the open tailgate. Another reached up and sets me down on the road. "There." The Satwa pointed me towards the gate.

"Open the gate!" The bar swung up. Armed irregulars watched me from inside and outside blockhouses. Is this the starport?

"In there." The two Satwa escorts steered me down some steps and inside one of the terminal buildings. Sand drifts had poured through the ground-floor windows, leaving it uninhabited. Up a set of revolving stairs, steel barriers guided us through a collection of military tents housing personnel. Two dark-skinned, bareheaded officers sat behind a desk inside an office. A cogitator with broken wires poking out of the back took up most of the desk. Both officers held clipboards and pencils.

A finger prodded me in to the office. Both Satwa remained on guard outside. Cigarette smoke rose from an overflowing ashtray. Black stubble covers the officers' jaws. "Attention." I rubbed the edge of my tongue along the inside of my teeth. An ulcer bulged. "Stand at attention when an officer addresses you, Guardsman. Do you understand my words? Can you understand me?"

"Think he may have a mental condition."

"Name and rank. Are you a Cadian?"

"Not with blue eyes he's not."

"What is your unit? Where is your insignia, Guardsman?"

The other Satwa shook his head and leaned over to the other. "The boy's salked. Let's just turn him loose and send him down to the others. Won't do any harm."

"Very well. Guardsmen, take him to the PW cage."

The Satwa escorted me through the military bivouac inside the terminal and through a passage connecting the buildings. Planks and sheet metal covered up holes in the floor. Dirty glass cracked underneath hobnails. Down another of the revolving staircases the Satwa took me. Suitcases and holdalls, all empty, lay in piles. Money, jewellery, fur-lined jackets, high-heeled shoes, all of it bore sand and dirt. Outside, a civilian charter vessel lay on its side on the tarmac with one wing ripped away and its paint blasted off. Cloth screens flapped in the wind.

Outside the terminal, the Satwa took me along zig-zagging passages bordered by steel barriers. Chainlink fences encircled tents covered in dust. Dozens of empty water containers were stacked in towers. Wooden hovels held half a dozen families. Those without tents or hovels sheltered inside walls of boxes set up as windbreaks. Beside a locked and guarded gate was a sign. Rationing 0.5 0.3 litres per day.

A roofless cage set in a manmade depression housed six large transformers. A gentle, ten-foot slope ran up to a fence all the way around the cage. Far fewer tents stood there, and all were occupied. Two Satwa guard the door only door in and out.

"Hey." My escort slapped me on the arm. "Yours?" He held out a pict. I nodded and clutched the pict against my breast.

"Before he goes in…" One of the Satwa guarding the entrance said, "Jefferis wants another on KP."

"Alright, stick him on KP then."

Rag in hand and up to my elbows, I worked the sodden cloth around a stainless-steel cooking pot. Other PWs, men of pale and dark complexion, stood at tables with bowls of water in front of them. Stacks of mess tins and spoons, belonging to Satwa, sat in piles ready for cleaning. A Satwa pushed back the tent flap. A whistle tooted and fell from his mouth. "Tools down!" The other prisoners left their half-cleaned plates and lined up against the far wall. I tacked on to the end of the line and raised my arms for a pat-down.

"On the command… March!" The prisoners trooped out in to the early afternoon sun. I squinted and shielded my eyes. In single-file, the KP unit marched through the civilians bivouacking outside the terminal buildings and back to the cage. A second group, also under Satwa guard, passed me.

"Any of you seen a Cadian sarn't? A woman."

"Pfft." Spit landed on the sand.

"A dog? Black with pointed ears." Sneers met my eyes. Heads turned away.

"Oi, enough!" A Satwa prodded me in the back. The wire gate slammed behind me and a padlock and chain jangled. I rolled my sleeves down and ducked through tents. PWs snoozed on foldout cots. Outside, grunts sheltered beneath sagging awnings. A lone Satwa patrolled outside the fence.

"—watch who you're shoving."

"Get out the way then, Corporal."

"Who d'you think you are, Cadian?"

"Let go of me!"

Susannah! I rushed over to a long-nosed soldier in stone-grey fatigues and a collar of avian feathers. His nose wavered inches from Susannah. Meaty paws held her collar. Four other large, ugly men with similar collars backed up the belligerent.

"Cadians turned our men away from the ships! REFUSING WOUNDED SOLDIERS!"

"Oi!" I stopped by Susannah's shoulder. "She's with me. It weren't on her. Let go."

"Back off, boy."

"Sergeant Senf's working for me. She made a mistake. Let go."

"Oh, you want some of this, do ya?"

"Save it for Satwa. My OC's with them. If I talk to them, I promise I'll have you released and RTU'd."

"Bollocks." The man's grip on Susannah tightened.

"We've a ship in orbit. A destroyer. Let go of Sergeant Senf. I'm Lieutenant Larn. I work for Commander Sorge of Naval Intelligence." I offered the man my hand. "Work with me."

The man's eyebrows bristled. His grip slackened. "Don't want to see you 'round here again."

"It's a cage."

"Yeah." The man glared at Susannah. "Just watch where you're walking." Susannah met the man's eye, held it for a moment then bustled away.

"We're sorry." I raised a palm and held it out. "New 'ere, alright?"

"Fucking Cadians."

"Bloody waste of space."

"Shoulda stayed and burned with their planet."

"Sergeant?" I trotted after Susannah. "Susannah!"

"Lost your planet, Cadian?"

"Susannah, umph—" My boot knocked over a bucket, scattering ashes. Steaming cinders rising in my wake, I ducked under a hanging flap. "Susannah?"

Susannah flopped on a foldout stool. Shoulders drooping, she leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. "I'm the only one."

"No—look you're not the only one. Course there's more of yours out there."

Susannah ran her fingers through her stubble. "Were we denying wounded soldiers passage?"

"I dunno, I weren't there."

"And all this blither-blather about a commission…"

"Wouldn't have made any difference. I'm not any different sarn't or subaltern, am I?"

"No, there's just as many bodies surrounding you, Offworlder. With or without commission, you're still a heretic and worse."

"I am."

"And there's nothing you can do about it."

"No. We walk on together. I'd like us in prayers tonight with those beauties you bumped in to."

"We've nothing to pray for."

"What about getting out of this cage?" Susannah lifted her head. "Let's ask around. Dig up some gen. Come on, Susannah, no use sitting on our arses feeling sorry for ourselves."

"You think a commission absolves you of your sins?"

"No, no, can we—can we close that lid for now? Let's focus on getting us and Trip, and everybody else off-world before Zeke gets here."

"I have no idea where the beast was taken."

"Trip."

"Maybe to the kitchen?"

"His name's Trip!"

"Triptolemus?" A shadow swept the tent flap aside. Susannah leaped up and raised the stool above her head.

"No!" The shadow showed his hands. "I enquire only to the hound's whereabouts." A man in grey fatigues and black combat boots edged in to the tent. A tiny black letter was tattooed beneath his left ear.

"Who are you?"

"Can you…?" The man's eyes fixed on the stool.

"Susannah, let's—let's have that on the floor please."

"Where are the others?" Susannah's lips pressed together.

"My three companions are outside. They won't come in unless I call them. I heard the name spoken and I would know of his whereabouts."

"What's Trip gotta do wi' you?"

"Garvin Kernow. I serve Triptolemus's master, Inquisitor Osvat Radu Zeleska. Please can you lower your stool, Sergeant Senf."

Susannah lowered the stool and fell on it. "Bastard."

"And you are Larn. Interesting file. Will we be seeing the master again?" A muscle played in my jaw. "No, I guess not." Kernow squatted and linked his fingers. "And Trip?"

"Satwa have him," Susannah said. "They picked us up at one of their haunts early this morning."

"Bring the others in." I perched upon the edge of a box.

"You want the others in?"

"Bring 'em."

Three more in grey entered the tent and formed a group around Kernow. "Dashiell, Spane, and Whiterock."

Susannah sat with me on the opposite side of the tent. "Grunts with the collars, who are they?"

"Urgraf Something. Nothing more than well-armed gangers out for money."

"Yeah? Let's bring 'em in for a Punchayet. Them and any officers or NCOs from any other unit in the cage."

"You want to talk to them? They're mercenaries. Soldiers of coin without a paymaster."

"D'you want to be 'ere when another of those sandstorms blasts your hair and skin off? Or what about when Zeke arrives? There won't be any Fists riding in to carry you away. No cavalry charging to the rescue. Just a lot of dry mouths and Satwa with itchy trigger-fingers."

The Inquisitor's men put their heads together. Susannah hugged her knees and rocked.

"Alright, Sergeant, we're in."

"Why would I want you?"

"My master's vessel holds orbit on the far side of the planet—"

"Your vessel now, mate."

"Liar. What of the master? Tell us he will save us."

"I'm sorry, Kez."

"Emperor protects!" Dashiell fell to his knees, bowed his head, and made the Aquila. "Emperor protects."

"No more of this now. It's done and gone. Let's have us and the guys from Urgraf 'ere knocking our heads together. We'll find a way out of here," I said.

One by one, the four left the tent. Kernow, the last to leave, said, "I never thought it would be you, young man."

"Wish it had been. It wasn't quick, y'know. It weren't honourable."

"No, I thought not. There's no honour in what we do." The tent flap drops, leaving Susannah and I alone.

"Bastard-rats." I cracked a finger joint. "Was it true about the ship?"

"Mm-hm."

"What they brought you down here for anyway?"

"I may have fibbed a bit and said I was my unit's medic. Curious, I wasn't entirely a captive yet they did allow me a little autonomy."

"Don't trust 'em."

"Perhaps without the Inquisitor's influence…" I thumped my fist against a cardboard box. Susannah leaned away from me. "Alright then, Offworlder."

"All offworlders 'ere."

"Well, can I offer a suggestion to the subaltern? Don't antagonise them."

"Hngh."

"Even headless, a beast still has claws." Susannah stood up and folded the stool. "Let's walk the wire."

Grunts, sheltering from the early afternoon sun, watched Susannah and I. "Exactly seventy-five paces from corner to corner."

"Yeah, only one guard on each side too."

"She's not worth it!" A grunt shouted through cupped hands.

"You've been outside the cage, Offworlder. Any viable route out of here?"

"Mmm, surrounded by civvies. Dunno how sympathetic they'll be."

"Yeah, you might have the edge there. What about trying when on KP?"

"I don't know when I'll next be up. Might be random chance. Don't think they'll let us both do it." I chewed on the inside of my lip. "Nah, it's got to be from inside 'ere whilst it's dark. Best case scenario is when one of them dust storms kicks up."

"That could be weeks. If we leave it that long, the enemy will throw us all in the bag for good."

"Did they fleece you?"

"Fleece me?"

"The pat-down, y'know."

"No knife, no compass. Anything useful on you?"

I stooped and tightened the laces on my right boot. Inside, a slim stick holding the stolen data rubbed against my sock. "Nothing."

"Still got those bloody seeds on you?"

"Fat lot of good they'll do 'ere. No earth."

"Common or garden flower or something special? I'm interested."

"Special." I ran a finger around the ring of sweat inside my collar. "Wire cutters."

"Wire cutters. Yes, of course."

"Susannah, I'd like you to lead the evening prayers."

"They won't listen. We're no better than heretics. They barely listen to you, Offworlder."

"If you do this, and we break out, I'll refer you to Commander Sorge, and refer you in such a way it won't be refused."

"I don't need your appraisal, Offworlder."

"No, but you need me if you want to get off on your own two feet."

"We lead the prayers together. Lead the prayers together?"

"Hm." I nodded. "Tonight?"

"Tonight."