"James. James, can you hear me?" A shape in black fatigues glided down from the sunlight. "Call to me."

"Knew you'd find me." Sand clogged my ears and hair. "I never gave up."

"Call out to me, James!"

"I done a bad thing." I touched my right elbow. "Tried to do right but…" The shape reached the ground. Gold eyes glinted beneath a hood. Feet tiptoed across the sand. "Only gone and done my arm in."

"Let me see." The shape got down on its knees and reached for my arm.

"Nah—AGH!"

"Broken." Hands scooped out sand around my body. "Any bleeders? Wiggle your toes for me."

"Ticklish." I wiggled my toes.

"What?"

"That's where you liked it. Bottom of your feet."

"Lift your head. Any blood?" Fingers sifted through my hair.

"S'just my arm."

The shape turned its head up to the incision in the sand. Light caught its chin. "Ulman, I've found James."

"How d'you know his name?"

"How do I know his name?" Bandaged fingers clicked in my face. "Snap out of it, James. It's Commander Sorge."

"Urgh—ugh?" I blinked and wiped sand from my eyes. "Sir?"

"Richard Sorge. Bloody stupid wandering off. What's there to find down here, eh?" Sorge unzipped a medical pouch. "Hold still."

"What you doing?"

"Splint and sling. Anywhere wet?"

"Trousers count?"

"What's that about your trousers? Thought I was rescuing a hardened killer."

"Eurgh. I'm a grunt." I patted my crotch. "Nothing wet, nah."

"Not the one you expected coming down that rope. Something about feet, did I hear?"

"Aw, don't pay anything to that. Babbling on…"

"Sit up." Sorge tied the sling around my shoulder. "How's that for tightness?"

"Yeah, fine."

"Done something to your hand too?"

"Bit o' glass. S'nothing."

"Alright, I'll tie this 'round your waist and Ulman will pull you up." Sorge tugged on the rope. "Ulman? Ulman!" Slack rope played through his hand. "ULMAN!"

"Tell you what. Don't reckon we're any nearer getting in those hangars."

Sorge let go of the rope. "Why?"

"Solid walls on both sides, sir. We're in a trench."

"Trench…" Sorge lifted his lasgun and pressed a switch on the body of a torch attached to the handguard. "You're right."

"Got a fag?"

"Hm, fag?" Sorge dug in to a trouser pocket. "Officers are supposed to buy their own cigarettes, just so you know."

"Mmm, fine." The cigarette jerked around in my mouth. Sorge flicked open an engraved lighter and held the flame beneath the butt. "Nice crest. Yours?"

"Family." Sorge lit a second cigarette. "Very, very few would know me as McVean."

"That your real name, sir?"

"No harm in letting that on." Sorge closed the lighter and pocketed it. "Never a dull moment in the McVean household."

"Was that where you was born, sir?"

"Eigg. Horrid, horrid place. Huge old estate, no central heating, and an army of aunts and only one Richard. The Matriarch, bless her golden heart, forbade me to sit in her presence, said it encouraged indolence. No laughter, no playing games. If you're cold, run around the house."

"Pfft! Right shithouse that."

"Would've been no Richard Sorge otherwise. They made me, my aunts did. Well, that and swimming the lakes every morning, wind, rain, or snow."

"What about your mum and dad, sir, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Split up. Guess long-distance marriages run through the McVeans. My parents, their parents, and my other half."

"Didn't know you was married, sir."

"A bigamous affair."

"What's bigamous?"

"Ah-ha. Bigamy is—most certainly—an offence. It's where you marry somebody whilst already being wed to another. Though with many it's a person. Mine is with the bureau unfortunately for her."

"You don't see her much then?"

"Oh, she sees other men. Keeps her happy."

"W—what?"

"Hah! You'll see." Sorge patted my good shoulder. "Together we made each other unhappy. Sometimes it's better to be apart."

"But, err…"

"James, you're in such a good position right now. Don't let grief send you on a downward spiral. It's happened to everybody—everybody! Moping will crush any prospects of promotion. You want a pension, don't you? You want to reach retirement? Stand by my side. Sign the agreement and you've a clear slate to start afresh."

"Is that it? I'm signing my life away, second time 'round."

"You can go back to prison then."

"Haven't got a choice, have I?"

"You have. But I know you'll pick the right one."

"Susannah and Trip come with me."

"Done."

"And you'll see her medical costs are paid in full."

"Of course, though you understand the dog was in Master Kernow's care, and he has made clear that it is property of his master."

"Who's not around to collect."

"Susannah may find it difficult to find a place in society now. Attitudes towards Cadians will be at an all-time low. Keep that to yourself. There's a good chap."

"Susannah and Trip."

"Susannah and Trip. And I'd like your apology to Captain Bukharin tendered once we are off Henna-Morata. You'll write it yourself and hand it over to Captain Bukharin, bearing yours, mine, and the Obrist's signature. Then you will take her out to dinner. Show me you're an officer and a gentleman."

"Sir, I can't… I—I don't know how. W—what if she refuses?"

"She won't. The Obrist will be watching. But, more importantly, I will be watching." Sorge lifted his hand. "I'm glad this was me and not you or Innes."

"Why are we working with them after they did that to you?"

"We haven't a choice. James, forget being an NCO, forget Cadia and forget what may and may not have happened there."

My chin sat on my breast. "I got Susannah's men killed."

"That's none of my business."

"No, it isn't."

"Then why are you telling me?"

"I confess to the murder of Imperial servicemen."

"I didn't hear it."

"I conspired with an enemy alien and stole classified data—"

"That's enough, James!"

"'Ere." I pushed my fingers inside my boot and pulled out the data-stick. "Got it all 'ere. Worthless junk now."

"Our friend from Grendel, yes?" Sorge held the stick in two fingers and blew it clean. "Really quite delightful for a xenos. Vivacious, headstrong, tall. I had not a fault to find with her person—urgh!" Sorge's head reeled back. I shook my hand. Red lines crossed my knuckles. "Surprised that punching bag survived three months' pummelling." Sorge massaged his chin.

"I'd go behind bars if it brought her back. Or any of them back. But don't for one second think you can talk about her in my presence, lifer bastard."

"A romantic. Well…"

"How 'bout you tell me why your thugs blow up brothels with Imperial soldiers inside."

"…Nothing to do with me."

"Tell me. We're at war with our own side, aren't we?"

"Mmph…" Sorge scratched his neck. "Grendel was… Grendel was different."

"Yeah, I thought you'd say that."

"Do you know why you and the rest of the Light Air Defence Regiment and Joparr Five-hundred were on Grendel?"

"To protect the people from…"

"Not the people, the Obscura. Raw, unrefined Obscura is Grendel's main export. Straight on the black market. You had no idea, did you?"

"I don't—I don't care. Why did a bomb go off? Why did Art die?"

"It happened all the time." Sorge covered his eyes. "James, there are so many more layers to the story, and I confess, I had little idea of what was happening with the factions in the city. All I was told by the admiral was to make the Imperial Guard's presence politically and logistically unsustainable."

"Why?"

"More and more of Grendel's product was being shipped home secretly by servicemen. Not just guns or other war booty, drugs. And once Obscura gets out on the street in sectors hundreds of lightyears away and vermin become hooked, demand rises. It's how the rich control the masses. Through addiction. If a general uprising could shake the planetary governor's resolve enough then maybe it might have forced a withdrawal of the Imperial Guard. Ideally we wanted Astartes on the streets for a short time. Put the fear of the Emperor in the masses. It's why we turned to xenos pirates for weapons."

"Blow it up."

"Y'know, that's exactly what she did. Would have created a mighty uproar if every farm went up like that."

"Why didn't you? That would've solved your problem."

"Hmph-hmph. Both blunt instruments." Sorge raised a finger. "That's your common ground."

"Grunts, sir."

"I wish shooting or blowing things up solved problems, truly I do. If it did, I imagine there'd be far fewer in the galaxy today—ah!" Tension built up in the rope.

"Commander?" A faint voice came from above the fissure. "Commander, can you hear me?"

"What was it we were talking about? Can't for the life of me remember. No, the last ten minutes have gone blank—LOUD AND CLEAR!" Sorge jerked the rope. "I don't suppose you recall what we were on about, do you, James?"

"No, sir."

"Good man." Sorge tapped his nose.

"I'm sending the medic down."

"Not needed!"

"Say again?"

"NOT NEEDED!" Sorge untied the knot around his waist. "I'm sending James up. James, wrap the cord around your arm and hang on. Ready, Ulman?"

"Ready!"

"Hold tight, James. You got it?"

"Yeah, I've got it."

"Pull!"

"Umph." I gritted my teeth. "Argh, God…"

"Tell Ulman not to send anyone else down."

"Yep." Sand poured inside my shirt. I squeezed my eyes shut and closed my mouth.

"He's coming up. Pull him in." Gloved hands seized my shoulder. "Careful."

"Pfft!" Urgraf dragged me up the slope.

"Up you come." Ulman pulled me over the crest. "Medic!"

"Don't send anyone else down."

"What?"

"Don't send anyone else down. It's a dead-end."

"Dead-end, why?"

"We're between two hangars."

"Well, can't we cut our way in?" An Urgraf hammered a stake in to the sand.

Another Urgraf hammered in a second stake. "Yeah, I'll check upstairs for the plasma cutter. Or maybe I left it out in the conservatory."

"Can we lift the commander out, please?"

"Oh, d'you hear that? He said please."

"Marlantes, take over." Ulman played the rope out and coiled it. "Shout if you need a hand. You, Lieutenant, take yourself back to the CP and take that animal with you. No arguments please, sir."

Trip's wet nose nudged my hand. "Hullo, Trip."

"We've got everything in hand here, Lieutenant."

"Yeah, you're right." I held a hand over my eyes. Bright lights filled the sky. "Come, Trip."

Tail wagging, tongue quivering, Trip trotted along beside me across the dead ground. Bloodstains turned the yellow grass brown. Flies buzzed around. They're not half efficient, these mercs. Policing their stiffs. Cleaning up after themselves.

Trip whined. "Glad I found you, pal." I kneeled and ruffled Trip's neck. "Let's go find some water, eh?"

"Doing alright there, sir?" Ulman and Marlantes heaved Sorge out of the crevice.

"Perfect. Never better, Trabant." Sorge shook sand from his vest. "Lasgun and med-pouch—check. What happened there?"

"Sorry, sir. Some Satwa came up on us suddenly. I had to let some cord out."

"I didn't hear any shots."

"None were carrying, sir. About thirty in total. They said they were scavenging in the city but were too afraid to return to base after hearing the ruckus. I guess they must have left their arms behind."

"How did thirty men sneak up on the two of you?" Sorge plucked the knot loose.

Ulman took the Merotech from Sorge and fastened his med-pouch to the empty loops on his vest. "How did James wander off without any of us noticing?"

"Good point—pfft! Blasted sand. I'll never go near a beach again so long as I live."

"I hate the desert. Plays tricks on you. At least you can see and shoot at Zeke."

"Well, won't be here for much longer, Trabant."

Ulman extended his arm. "Here."

"Obliged." Sorge gripped Ulman's arm and got up.

"He's no fool, your young protégé. I wouldn't trust those men in grey either."

"Would you trust me?"

"Ah, I'm still on the fence about you, sir."

"Even after this?" Sorge held out a cigarette.

"Mmm, I don't smoke. Thank you anyway."

"No, sensible."

"Couldn't help but hear the throat in your voice, sir. Raspy."

"Yes, well I might overdo it at times. Hah-hah!" Sorge stuck the cigarette inside a squashed box. "Kill for a whiskey right now."

"On the rocks, sir?"

"A true gentleman." Sorge shook Ulman's hand.

"Well, the smoking thing might not necessarily be true. I've a thing for Oloko cigars."

"Never tried them. I know a man on the street."

"Oh, now I know I can't trust you, sir."

"Ha-ha-ha!"

Sorge, Ulman, and Marlantes descended the dunes, climbed through a shell hole and followed the wall on the inside of the perimeter. A single file of civilians, old and young, stretched around a corner. The queue led to a water distribution point presided over by Urgraf. 0.3 0.2 litres per day.

I'll be glad to be rid of these mouths. Sorge brushed sand from his collar. Soldiers should never have to govern the masses. It only widens the gulf between civilian and serviceman. "Officer coming through!"

"Wait, who are you?" An Urgraf officer sitting at a table stamping ration cards stood up. "Halt and identify."

"It's alright, Captain, Commander Sorge is here with the Obrist's permission," said Ulman.

"ID!" The Urgraf rested his hand on his hip holster. The mercenaries around him turned weapons on Sorge. Sorge passed over the Obrist's note with a smile. The Urgraf snapped the folded paper open and surveyed the note with pursed lips. "If you're not after water, move along." The Urgraf crunched the note up and thrust it at Ulman.

"Charming," Sorge said once out of sight and earshot.

"I'd be kicking up a stinker too if I was saddled with admin like that," said Marlantes.

"Yeah. Maybe those in line are the lucky ones." Ulman nodded at civilians gathered in a mob behind a chainlink fence. "Least they're on the right side of the fence." Fingers clung to the rusted iron. Urgraf sentries stood where the Satwa had so recently stood. "Rather them than me."

More of Satwa's civilian populace gathered at the front gate and the surrounding concertina wire. Urgraf manned weapons inside the bunkers and two eight-wheelers were parked at angles just inside the gate. Remote-controlled .50-calibre weapon systems faced the civilians.

"Soldier, where is your commanding officer?"

"In the east bunker, sir," said an Urgraf.

"Permission to enter?"

"You got any water?" An Urgraf officer muffled by a scarf shook an empty plastic can at Sorge. "Nothing all morning."

"The Obrist is preoccupied with organising the embarkation."

"Oh, I wish he could see it from here. Look at those rats out there, Navy!" The officer dropped the can and booted it over the far side of the bunker. Two Urgraf manned a tripod-mounted .50-cal. Steel links and brass casings poked out of the sand.

Sorge sniffed the air. "You've fired that gun. Captain, what were you engaging?"

"They were crowding the barricade. I had to move the crowd."

"You used a point five on civilians?"

"No, my gunners fired over their heads. We're not Satwa, Commander."

"You fired over their heads, right. Did you try talking to them first? See what they wanted?"

"Water, food, medicine. Who knows…"

"Right, I'm going out there to talk to them." Sorge removed his laspistol and ceramite and passed them to Ulman. "Back me up if there's trouble."

"Roger."

"No shooting." Sorge took off his Urgraf vest. "Captain, no shooting please."

"Authorisation of lethal force is up to the Obrist, Commander."

"Captain, you're in command on the ground here. It's your call."

"It's up to the—"

"The Obrist can't see what's going on out there. You can. Make a good decision." Sorge, Ulman, and Marlantes left the captain in the bunker and headed across to the gate. Armed Urgraf guarded both sides. "Open the gate!" Sorge threw up his arm.

"That's up to the captain, sir," said a sentry.

"Trabant?"

"He's right, sir."

"Noted." Sorge placed a boot on the rusted metal bar and vaulted over. Civilians got up from the roadside and flocked to Sorge. He approached them with spread arms. "My name is Commander Richard Sorge, Imperial Navy. How can I help?"

"You're—you're not one of them." A woman in a headscarf and black dress held two children against her.

"No, ma'am. They hold my colleagues and I hostage. Is it water you were after?"

"Water, food, medicine, blankets." The woman nodded.

"Water." Elderly struggled forward.

"Water. Give us water."

"Yes, water will be handed out. The camps inside the compound are already filled and overflowing. It simply isn't possible to house and care for you all. I am heading back in now and I will speak to the officer in command to arrange for some supplies to be handed over. It will not be enough for you all though. I urge you to think of the old, the infantile, and the infirm."

"We don't want to be let in." A younger man in a loose vest and wearing a chain of beads moved to the head of the crowd. Several other military age men backed him up. "We know where Satwa hide."

"You know where the other Satwa are?"

"…Yeah. Where Satwa is, water is."

"Why didn't you let Urgraf know before?"

"When I went to the soldiers this morning, they—they said they'd shoot me and tear out my fingernails." The civilian tapped his left ear. "They shot over our heads. Now all I get is eeeeeeee."

"I see. And how many of these enclaves do Satwa hold?"

"Uh?"

"How many of these hideouts do Satwa have?"

"We—we—we know where maybe four are." The civilian glanced at his friends.

"Yeah."

"Yeah, four."

"Four? And if you saw a map you could pinpoint their location?"

"Yeah. Satwa have the food and the water. They shoot anyone who comes near."

"I see. Thank you for your help."

"You go and you tell them without water we start dying."

"I'll come back. I'll bring a map then we'll talk again." Sorge backed away and crossed the barrier.

"Don't forget us!"

"I won't forget you." Sorge slapped Ulman on the arm. "Let's go."

"Something about Satwa, sir?"

"Satwa's sitting plum on supply caches hidden in the city. Those men know where some of them are. Captain, do you have a map?"

"A map? What's going on, Commander?" The Urgraf unpinned a 1:15000 map from a cork board and laid it on a table.

"I'll just need to borrow this for a minute, Captain."

"Borrow? This isn't Urgraf business. I thought we were supposed to be evacuating Henna-Morata now we have the starport."

"If we can't take them with us, I figured the least we can do is make sure the civilians are supplied as much as possible before Zeke gets here. Oh and no, you are right, this is a naval affair."

Pens and map in hand, Sorge returned to the civilians. "Gentlemen?"

"You have a map?"

"I do. What is your name?"

"Gollan. Sir."

"Richard." Sorge spread the map on the sand. "Just Richard." Bare feet and sandals surrounded Sorge. Very few wore proper shoes. "Now, show me where Satwa are."

"If we show you, will you go there and kill them for us?"

"I can't order the mercenaries to do anything. They're not in my chain of command. The Obrist commands Urgraf."

"Then tell your Obrist Satwa will put us back in cages once you are gone."

"We're not leaving until we get those supplies to you."

"And you will protect us from Satwa…"

"We can't protect you. We can set you up with supplies and a place to shelter." Sorge pointed at the terminal buildings. "These barricades will keep Satwa out if you put the effort in to defending them."

"We can't. We're not soldiers."

"Then be soldiers. Do you want Satwa to roll back in here once we have left? Will you lie on the sand and roll over at Satwa command? Stand up for yourselves. Think of your wives, mothers, children. This is still your city." Sorge pressed a finger against the map. "Show me where Satwa hide."

"And your Urgraf kill them."

"I negotiate their surrender. If Satwa feel under threat of direct action they will destroy the stockpiles and no-one gets them. Now, where is the nearest enclave?"

Gollan moved a finger across the map. "Trade Centre Apartments. It is south of the post office."

"Three klicks?"

"Three and a half. It's not the closest but it's the easiest to drive to."

"Drive…"

"You were planning on driving, weren't you?"

"Think you may be on to something there. Can you mark on the map and trace the route?"

Gollan drew a black line between the starport and the apartments. "How do you plan to get in?"

"You have my word it'll be done without firing a shot. I must see the Obrist now. This is up to him."

"Please convince him, Richard."

"I will. Thank you for that information, Gollan."

"What the hell's going on?" Ulman met Sorge on the way back in. "Why we buddy-buddying with the civilians?"

"Got a way of getting those supplies. And it'll be done without a shot fired by either side."

"Commander?" The Urgraf captain leaned out of his bunker. "Where are you going with my map?"

"The Obrist, Captain, the Obrist." Sorge gave the captain a wave. It's all down to the Obrist.

"All of my Firebacks?" The Obrist's head jutted forwards.

"As many as you can spare, Obrist," said Sorge. Innes Barakat, James, and Ulman flanked him on one side of the table. The Obrist and his senior officers occupied the other.

"Nar-hah-hah-hah-hah!"

"If we don't grab the supplies for those civilians, Satwa will roll back in here once we've gone and retake the base. I propose setting up the civilians here with enough PDF arms and supplies to fend off any assault from Satwa. You've cut off the head already, Obrist. Satwa are leaderless."

"Commander, it doesn't matter if the civilians and PDF squabble over the water, not with the enemy falling from orbit as we speak. Not a single Urgraf leaves this base."

"None need to. For this to work, I need as many Firebacks as you are willing to lend, as well as the Satwa senior officer. If he is with me, we can convince the holdouts to surrender without a fight. Once the Satwa have laid down their arms, we load the Firebacks up and roll back here and unload."

The Obrist twisted the map around with two fingers and slid it over to his side. "On whose intelligence is this founded?"

"See the crosses, sir? Those are stockpiles under Satwa control."

The Obrist's brow creased. "Satwa Museum, Deira City Centre, Trade Centre Apartments, Jumaira Tower. And how do we know a company isn't dug in waiting for us with heavy weapons. Why does this line go to the apartments rather than Jumaira?"

"Intact roads, sir. The way to the apartments is safest for vehicles."

"And…?"

"Um, sir?" James raised his hand. "I've—I've been there."

"Tross. Learn to hold your tongue! The adults are in discussion."

"Explain, Lieutenant," said Sorge.

"Susannah—er, Sergeant Senf and I found a Satwa supply base two days ago. Satwa captured us and brought us down here."

"What of the supplies?"

"We found whole pallets of the stuff, all stacked nine boxes high. Twenty-four and forty-eight hour packs. Compo for fire-teams and sections. Boil-in-the-bag stuff too. All with the factory seal on."

"Water?"

"Running water, hot and cold. Still gas for the cookers too."

"And where was this?"

"Don't know. I don't know, sir. We found our way in through a fissure then Satwa took us out with bags on our heads. Couldn't tell you where we were, just that it weren't far from 'ere."

"Is this proof enough, Obrist?"

The Obrist bit a fingernail. "This hinges on Satwa giving in without a fight."

"Yes, sir. The Satwa OC also cannot know that your Firebacks are empty. It's all I ask for, sir. Five Firebacks, drivers to drive and man the guns, and the Satwa OC. Him and I will ride up on deck. I will be armed and he will be carrying a white flag."

Silence filled the CP. 319s chirped and wheedled. The Obrist's eyes scrutinised the map. "My plan remains unchanged. We await the Inquisition's lander. On touchdown we begin embarkation with or without you, Commander."

Sorge clapped his palms together. "Thank you, Obrist."

"Sir, can I—?"

"James, stay here with Innes and Trip. That's an order. I shan't be long."

"Obrist, permission to accompany Commander Sorge?" said Ulman. "He'll need security."

"Get out. Take Marlantes with you. I want frequent updates cast to my vox."

"Thank you, sir."

A Satwa with slip-on rank tabs denoting him a brigadier was hustled out of a locker containing other Satwa officers below the ground floor. A thick, curly beard obscured the brigadier's lower face. A black beret sat on his balding head at a sharp angle. "Richard Sorge, Imperial Navy." Sorge shook the brigadier's hand.

The brigadier answered in a clipped, high-pitched voice. "Am I being taken to the post? I had hoped to address my men before the blindfold."

"No, sir. You're coming with me."

"You're not one of them."

"No, sir. Shall we step outside?"

"If we must." The brigadier put on a pair of dark-tinted glasses. "What's that smell?"

"White phosphorus, sir."

"Thought it smelt like a war crime. Guillam Riemeck, Officer Commanding Henna-Morata Planetary Defence Force."

"Richard." Sorge led the brigadier outside to the waiting Firebacks and clambered up on to the nose of the point vehicle. His slung Merotech dragged across the armour-plating.

"Sir?" Ulman cupped his hands and kneeled.

"I—I don't understand. I surrendered to your commanding officer personally—umph." The brigadier's knee cracked against the Fireback's flank.

"You're right where we need you, Brigadier." Sorge caught the brigadier's arm and helped him aboard.

"If you intend to bring further violence upon my people—"

"—Brigadier, with you riding, not a single shot will be fired. Please take this flag and wave it aloft when I say."

"I say no."

"I'm not sure the Satwa holdouts in the city would appreciate their OC damning them to annihilation at Urgraf hands."

"Holdouts?"

"Brigadier, the Obrist knows about the Satwa holdouts all across the city. If you cannot convince your troops to surrender and hand over the supplies they sit on to the civilians here, more blood will be shed."

"Tish!"

"Not so. Observe." Sorge took the map out from inside his vest and unfolded it. The brigadier slammed a hand upon the map.

"Who let slip? One of mine? Was it a civilian?"

"One of mine, sir. A former guest of Satwa. Staged a daring escape from the prison camp here and reported in to me with approximate locations. Most resourceful."

"Not one of mine?"

"No, sir. A lieutenant under my command. If we could turn our attention to the location marked on this route…"

"Trade Centre Apartments. How did your officer come by this information?"

"Sir, time's a factor here. It's absolutely crucial these holdouts surrender themselves and their caches as quickly as possible. It is no damned good continuing to resist, not when Urgraf have you hostage."

"You are running…"

"We are leaving Henna-Morata as soon as our transport arrives, which…" Sorge rubbed the face of his chrono. "…Will be in a few hours' time. No arguments, Brigadier. You, your officers, and any personnel of value are now in the care of the Urgraf Quenets."

"Our home, Commander, is Henna-Morata."

"Brigadier, it's for the best leaving the civilians behind to govern themselves. Look, I am not the one to direct arguments towards." Sorge slapped the map. "To give the civilians the best possible chance at the future, they must have those supplies. You can save lives here, Brigadier. We need those men to stand down."

"And what will you do with those men that will not fetch a price? Leave them to their own devices?"

"That's for the Obrist to decide, Brigadier." Damn it, he knows.

"Commander…" The brigadier's mouth thinned.

"No harm will come to your men, Brigadier. Trabant, let the platoon commander know we're on the move."

"Roger." Ulman touched his earpiece. "Legion Four-One Alpha, this is Ulman. We are on the move. I say again, we are on the move."

"An entire mechanised platoon, Commander?"

"Obrist's orders, Brigadier."

The brigadier adjusted his glasses. "Unscrupulous lot, these mercenaries. They'd sell their mother if it made them a profit."

"S'cuse me, sir." Ulman thrust his own Merotech aboard and climbed up.

"Are you the muscle? Here to keep me in line?"

"I'm just here to look hard, sir." Ulman rested his weapon's stock against his body armour and propped a boot up on a headlight. "Handsome too. Not much call for that here, though."

"I see—argh!" The Fireback lurched at the rising barrier. Sorge's, Ulman's, and Riemeck's bodies fell backwards. Ulman waved at the Urgraf sentries on the gate.

"Ahh-hurgh!" Dust swelled across the Fireback's body. The brigadier shoved his forearm under his nose. Civilians rose from their squats at the roadside and watched the platoon pass. Smoke pillars rose from the burning fuel tanks over on the far side of the starport. They'll be burning for weeks without attendance. Glad the wind is in the right direction at least.

Afternoon sunlight sparkled off the glass spires. At ground level, the convoy turned on to a boulevard with a long line of palm trees slouching on the centre island. "This place would have been beautiful—"

"It was beautiful, mercenary! Now look at it." The brigadier, sneering, wiped a cloth across his glasses. "Our only consolation is the enemy did not do this himself—bastards!"

Sorge planted his Merotech's butt against the hull and picked himself up. "Ulman, halt!"

"Legion Four-One, halt, halt." Ulman slid along the Fireback's nose.

"Oh!" Riemeck clung to the hull. "God-Emperor!"

"Gone the wrong way." Sorge stood up and peered over the Fireback's nose at ferrocrete nubs jutting over a chasm thirty feet wide. "Trabant, we need to turn around. Brigadier, down off the track, please."

Ulman jumped down to the road and aimed his Merotech up at the nearest buildings. "Legion Four-One, we need to turn around. Yeah, a full 180 degrees."

"With me, sir." Sorge hustled the brigadier along to the rearguard. "Hurry, please. Keep your head down." Behind them, the lead Fireback ploughed in to the central island, tearing at the sandy stone. Sorge wheeled his arm at the Firebacks further back. "Back up. Back up!"

"What's going on?" The driver of the fourth Fireback opened his hatch and stuck his head out. A visor obscured his eyes.

"Wrong turn. Back your vehicle up and point her astern."

"Point her where?"

"Turn her around." Sorge twirled his forearm.

"That's up to my troop commander, sir." The driver ducked inside and closed his hatch.

"Hah! He's right y'know, Commander."

"Didn't think mercs would play it that much by the book…" Sorge pushed the brigadier down in the shade of a palm tree.

"Now, see here, Commander!"

"I'm getting you to the apartments alive, Brigadier." Sorge crouched next to Riemeck and tracked his Merotech across the destroyed windows looking out across the boulevard. "End this farce. PDF and mercs clashing! You'd all be broken back in to the ranks and ripped if I had authority."

"Urgraf fired first. It is they who started all of this, Commander."

"It doesn't…" The lead Fireback, its body perpendicular to the road, crunched against stone. "It doesn't matter who fired first."

"We were protecting the civilians—helping them!"

"And Urgraf will counter everything you say and say the opposite. We're through with finger-pointing, Brigadier. I suggest you think about what you'll say to your troops. You've got one chance to bring them all in alive. Do something good!"

"We were doing something good."

Ulman jogged along the column and took cover against the island. He pointed two fingers to his eyes then swept them across the surrounding buildings. Sorge nodded and kept his sights on the windows. "You can have the cleanest conscience and the most benevolent intentions. Was it right, imposing martial law?"

"Oh, your heart spills for us, Commander. We're not backwoods idiots. The enemy is hours out from the city. All this is so you don't feel bad at night for leaving the masses to the enemy."

"Does yours, Brigadier? You are leaving with us. I have no say—"

"—But the Obrist will listen to advice."

"And I said I would speak to him regarding your other ranks and NCOs. I'll make him see the futility of his ways. Satwa can no longer hurt Urgraf."

"Stubborn old grox. A proud streak of the highest echelon runs through that man."

"We'll leave in peace, Brigadier."

"Hmph. Just in time to give the enemy a departing wave."

The lead Fireback bulldozed through the island and slammed down on its front wheels. "About damned time." Sorge waved Ulman over. "Won't follow my orders."

"It's the troop commander's decision, Commander. Sorry about that."

"No worries." Sorge, Ulman, and the brigadier re-mounted. One by one, the Firebacks rumbled across the island and formed up behind the point vehicle.

"Could've been easier." Ulman tapped the driver's hatch with the Merotech's butt.

"Ask your driver to ease up on the—" Riemeck fell against the hull. Ulman smirked.

"Trabant, can you ask the driver to ease up on the throttle?"

Ulman touched his earpiece. "Legion Four-One, our special guest requests an easier pace."

Sorge leaned behind the brigadier and caught Ulman's eye. Well?

"No," Ulman mouthed.

Half an hour later, Sorge eased his numb lower body from the Fireback's hull and dropped to the street. "Oomph!" Sorge clung against the dirt-ridden tyre. "Brigadier, disembark if you please."

"Is this it?" Riemeck backed himself off the hull.

"Mind your feet, sir." Sorge caught the brigadier by the waist. "It's as far as we're rolling."

"We can get a vehicle across the bridge, surely."

"Not risking it, sir. It's both our heads if the Obrist finds out we've written-off one of his Firebacks. Unfurl that flag now, please. Ulman, with us."

"Legion Four-One, proceeding across the foot-bridge with package. Hold fire unless Satwa fires first."

"Can the Obrist hear us?"

"Yeah, Marlantes is passing on to him."

"Raise that flag, sir."

The brigadier bearing the flapping rag between them, Sorge and Ulman escorted him across the footbridge's scarred, uneven surface. "Marksman, fourth floor window, ten o'clock."

"Alright, Trabant. We know they're watching us."

"Stubber team, second floor window, two o'clock."

"Halt." Sorge, Ulman, and the brigadier stopped at the far end of the bridge.

"Satwa officer leaving ground floor entrance. Handgun holstered on his hip." Ulman and Sorge held their Merotechs at the fire-ready position. "Establishing contact."

The Satwa, in khaki and dark-tinted glasses, strolled across a plaza swept with sand and overturned deck-chairs. A black beret poked out of a rank tab. Sorge tapped Riemeck on the arm. "Let's go."

"Amäih, Colonel." Riemeck curled his thumb and two fingers and held his hand over his breast.

"Amäih, Brigadier sir." The colonel, in clipped tones, returned the gesture. "Commander." He looked to Ulman. "Why do you travel in the company of a murderer?"

"Colonel, I order you, your officers, and your men to lay down your weapons and hand over your supplies to the civilians at the starport."

"To Urgraf, you mean, sir?"

"Urgraf are leaving, Colonel. They defeated us in battle. My command capitulated. Yours will too."

The colonel folded his arms. "Commander, why do you keep the company of a murderer?"

"Trabant Ulman is here for our protection, sir."

"I pity your parents, Urgraf. Your children too, should you have any, for they would be sired by a killer of women and children. You shall deny it today, and the next, but you are still human, and one day may the guilt end your suffering."

"Colonel, consider the opposing sides' positions. Behind me, an Urgraf mechanised platoon awaits. If you do not come quietly, they will slaughter your command."

"Mm, fond of slaughter aren't you, Urgraf?"

"Sir, there are five point-five weapon systems aiming at your command post," said Sorge. "Let us end the slaughter. Save lives, Colonel. It's up to you."

"We have nothing but individual rations, Brigadier. We would torch anything of value before handing it over to the civilians."

"Civilians you are sworn to safeguard, Colonel."

"Colonel, Satwa to Satwa." Riemeck took the colonel by the shoulder.

"Sir, what are you doing?"

"Just—just a moment, Commander." Riemeck walked away with the colonel. Out of earshot, he bent his head close to the colonel's.

"Don't like this, sir."

"Give it a moment." Sorge's forefinger tapped the Merotech's body. The colonel, his back to Sorge, shook a clenched fist. Riemeck thrust a finger in the colonel's face. His nostrils flared. His brows arched.

"Sir, it's gonna kick off in a second."

"Standby."

A hand shot out and seized the brigadier's tunic. Knees buckling, the colonel fell against the brigadier's chest and slid down. Riemeck held the colonel by the neck and laid him on the ground. A short handle protruded from the colonel's chest. "God-Emperor rest your soul." The brigadier closed the colonel's eyes.

"Standby."

Brigadier Riemeck drew the colonel's laspistol and pointed it at the sky. Sorge flinched at the shot. "Standby, standby."

"Legion, hold your fire."

"COME OUT!" The brigadier strode up to the entrance, waving the sidearm around his head. "Your commanding officer is dead. Lay down your weapons and walk outside."

"Sir, take cover." Ulman and Sorge dropped behind a low wall and trained their lascarbines on the double doors. "Legion Four-One, if you see a weapon, give them a warning burst."

"Good call, Ulman." Sorge flicked his safety to 'repetition'. "Sir, you're in our line of fire!"

"Do not shoot!" Riemeck spread his arms and turned in a circle. Boots thundered down a staircase. "You're free!"

Satwa, barefoot, in shirtsleeves, and some in nothing but underwear, rolled through the doors. Arms wheeling, cheers ripped from moisture-starved lips. The remnants surrounded the brigadier and pumped his hands. The Brigadier took hold of the nearest Satwa and kissed him on both cheeks.

"Okay, hold your fire." Sorge set his safety.

"Legion, hold your fire."

"Let's go."

"I apologise for my men's state of dress, Commander," said the brigadier. Behind him, Satwa remnants trickled out of windows.

"Is that everybody?"

"Most."

"Can anyone tell me where the supply cache is?"

"Cold-storage, sir."

"Shut up!" A captain slapped the back of the Satwa's head.

"I'll worry about the other holdouts, Commander. You locate the supplies. Volunteers to assist the commander!"

"Volunteers for what, sir?"

"Your supplies need to be loaded in to those vehicles across the bridge. Captain, organise a work detail for me."

"Sir." A captain spat through his teeth and plucked Satwa out from the crowd. "You, you, and you."

Two floors below the surface, the Satwa captain applied a pair of bolt-cutters to a thick chain attached to a door. Ulman, Sorge, and Satwa grunts waited on the stairs above. "Watch him." Sorge tilted his head at the officer.

"Think you forgot about this, Captain." Ulman yanked the officer's shirt up and removed a palm-sized pistol from a waistband holster.

"That's my—" The officer swung the bolt-cutters around. Ulman swiped at the officer's wrist, stamped on his toes, and thrust his head at the him. Bone crunched against bone and the officer's head cracked against the wall.

"Go on, get out!" Ulman wrenched the officer away from the door and propelled him up the stairs. "See that man outside. Make sure the door doesn't hit him on the way out."

Sorge picked up the bolt-cutters and threw the chain on the floor. "Feet, gentlemen." Satwa with footwear linked arms and raised their feet. "One, two, three!" Heels slammed against the lock. Splintering, the doorframe gave way and the door flew inwards.

"Good work, lads." Sorge passed the bolt-cutters back and entered the locker. "Glory be…" Cardboard boxes sat on wooden pallets in stacks of seven. How many deep? Five. "I've got 140 of these smaller boxes on here."

"Bigger stuff here, sir." Ulman peered at the label on a larger box on the adjacent pallet. "Ten-man meals."

"They wouldn't let us in here, sir," said a Satwa in vest and underpants.

"What, are they that dumb? Keeping all this shit away and you lot starve on dog biscuits!"

"You men may take one of the smallest boxes for yourself. It's yours and no-one else's. I will need more men if we are to move this all today." Sorge clapped his hands. "Make sense? Grab one for yourself then press as many able-bodied as you can and bring them down here. Each man gets his own small ration. Make that clear."

"Sir!"

"Yes, sir." The Satwa dashed from the locker and back up the stairs.

"What are we doing, sir?" Ulman, alone with Sorge, hopped down from a stack of BIB boxes. "I—I don't understand—"

"Neither do I, Trabant. Nothing's made sense since Cadia."

Drawn downstairs by the rumour of free food, Satwa formed a human chain leading up from the locker, outside the apartments, and across the bridge to the Firebacks. Sorge, Ulman by his side, moved up and down the chain. "Each man will have his own small ration box to himself. Share with your friends or family, that does not matter. If you don't have your own, make your way down to cold storage and claim one. Do it now before you miss your opportunity."

"Sir?" A Satwa in a blood-stained shirt with no sleeves stepped out of the chain. "I—I haven't had the chance to…"

"Head inside, go downstairs and pick a small ration box for yourself. Report back to me when you're done." Sorge took the place of the Satwa in the chain. "Keep it up, Satwa. Let's get these supplies loaded and we can be out of here. Trabant, make sure he finds what he's after."

"What about you, sir?"

"I'll be alright. If I'm downed, you know what to do."

"Roger." Ulman followed the Satwa.

"Is the Navy in orbit, sir?" The Satwa on Sorge's right said.

"No." Sorge swung a 10-man box around to the next man. "I'm little more than a hostage roped in to help your brigadier sort this mess out."

The Satwa returned within minutes with a 24-hour ration box under his arm. "Couldn't decide on the dessert." Ulman grinned.

"Hah, well done, lad." Sorge removed himself from the chain. "How are we looking down there, Trabant?"

"Over halfway now, sir."

"Let's see how the brigadier's getting on, shall we?" Sorge crossed the plaza with Ulman.

"Mm, I could take one of those small rats."

"Nothing stopping you."

"Yeah, I like how every single one has porridge on the breakfast menu. Carbs…"

"Nothing wrong with oatmeal. Most of it's water. Keeps the cholesterol low."

"Hngh. Point, sir. Oh, I'll say this now, the real star of the show, meat spread. I pity the boys in khaki eating that smegma day in day out."

"Smegma, hur-hur!" A bang came from upstairs. "Go!" Sorge and Ulman charged up the stairs. A Satwa fell out of a suite and leaned against the opposite wall in the corridor. Blood and bright pink scraps covered his face.

"Soldier!" Ulman stopped by the Satwa. "What happened?"

"Brigadier?" Sorge raised his Merotech and entered an apartment. Dust coated purple carpets and a gold chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A tiny generator chugged beneath a side table supporting a kettle with naked wires. Mouth open, head tilted back, Brigadier Riemeck sat in front of a humming 319 set. A laspistol dangled from his fingers. Sorge leaned across the brigadier and turned the power off.

"Commander?"

Sorge pried the brigadier's forefinger off the firing stud and worked the laspistol from his hand. Poor fellow got a face-full. Sorge wiped the warm muzzle on the carpet. Blood coated the wall behind the brigadier's chair.

"We're done here, Trabant." Outside the apartment, Sorge passed the laspistol over to Ulman. The Satwa vox operator, his chin wobbling, sat against the wall holding his head. "Any water on you?"

"Just the bladder, sir."

"Right. Clean this man up and see he is supplied. Meet me by the Firebacks when you're done."

"What about the brigadier, sir?"

Sorge pulled the door closed behind him. "We're done here. Help this man and report back to me." Sorge headed downstairs. "Well done, lads. Keep doing what you're doing and we'll be out of here within the hour."

Across the bridge, Sorge knocked on the hull of the point vehicle. "Driver?"

"Sir?" The Urgraf driver popped his head up.

"Marlantes?"

"He's in the back, sir."

"Right, Marlantes…?" Sorge ducked in to the Fireback's troop compartment. "Can we have some space for the goods?"

Marlantes sat on a bucket seat with his 349 on his knees. Half of his headset covered one ear, squishing his beret against his head. "Some space? Where am I supposed to sit?"

"Up on decks with me and Trabant Ulman. We'll be riding the bows on the way home."

"Eurgh. Proper sniper-bait…" Marlantes clung to his 349 and walked a hand across the low ceiling.

"Any update from the Obrist?"

"No, sir, just confirmation they've been receiving my updates." Marlantes slipped his arms through the 349 carrier's slings and hoisted the set on his back. "No ships yet."

Sorge's chrono beeped. "That's fourteen hundred."

"Plenty of scoff then, sir?"

"More than you've ever seen in one sitting, Ensign."

Forty-five minutes later, the last hatch closed and the Firebacks reversed one at a time under Ulman's guidance. "Sir, are you leaving now?" said a Satwa. Behind him, the ragged mob watched the manoeuvring Firebacks churn up the sand.

"That's right." Sorge drew his slung Merotech around to his front. Easy there. Let us leave in peace.

"Take us with you."

"Let us look for our families."

"Sir! Ready to move off."

"We won't be any trouble."

"Are you down at the starport?" Satwa moved towards Sorge.

The captain with the bloodied nose came to the front of the crowd. "We heard about the camps. We are sorry for that."

"Sir, problem?" Ulman ran over.

"No, there's no problem, Trabant."

"If we come with you, can you protect us from the civilians?" said the captain. "We fear they will tear us limb from limb."

"Sir…" Ulman turned away from the Satwa and leaned in. "We've got the goods. We don't need more mouths."

"If you come with us, you do so not as soldiers but as civilians. With the passing of this cataclysm, the God-Emperor made all Satwa equal. Forget the boundaries separating soldier and civilian. Forget the fences and the barbed wire cutting between the two of you. I ask what sort of Satwa are you that look down your nose at your fellow man? Those who have bled and lost loved ones to the sand are now closer than brothers. For you have all stared down death."

The captain reached for a pistol belt around his waist and popped the clasp. An empty leather holster hit the floor and the canvas belt curled around it. Around him, Satwa unzipped ammunition vests and unlatched cartridge belts. Ceramite covers thunked and bandoliers clattered.

Satwa crowding the hulls, the Firebacks motored through the streets and avenues. Sorge, Ulman, and Marlantes perched on the sloping nose of the point vehicle. Now, what do I tell Urgraf when we roll up outside the gate with another sixty-five mouths? Sorge rubbed his thumb across an eyebrow. Should have left them back there. No damned use preaching. They're all going to die come the enemy.

Sorge banged his gun butt on the hull and stood up. "Kill all! Kill all!"

"Legion Four-One. Kill all."

Growls settled to purrs, then the noise died away. Sorge twisted. Satwa muttered to one another. Ulman aimed at nearby buildings. Marlantes' handset cut in to his cheek. Sorge caught a large shadow passing across a glass tower."Let's go."

"Legion, move out." Ulman sat back against the hull. Sorge adopted a squat and turned his eyes to the cracks of sky between the glass towers. His chrono gave a beep, signalling the passing hour.

My thumb and forefinger closed around a bullet-shaped speck in the sky and held it until it grew larger than my hand. Sweeping in from the ocean side of the city, a lander slowed its velocity and lifted its nose. Air from directional thrusters blasted across the dead ground between the starport and the Urgraf command post. From the underbelly extended four flat skids. A grey letter I covered the tubular mid-section. I dropped my cigarette and ground it in to the dirt. Trip, sitting next to me, sniffed at the smoke.

"Shoe's on the other foot, mate. They was shooting at us last week." I approached the Urgraf sentries guarding the ground floor entrance of the CP, Trip close behind.

"Only gone and done his arm in—ha-ha!"

"Now what it is, boy?"

"Water… he—he needs water."

The sentries' heads turned on the panting Trip. "Well, you can come in. The hound stays on the doorstep. We've been through this."

"But you—"

"You can bring water out to him. The captain would kick up a shitstorm if she saw an animal in her unit."

"I'm an officer."

"Yes, sir. An officer of the Imperial Guard."

"Well, not to look at him. Hmph."

"Ehh, got a point. Never seen an officer so scruffy. No kit, no tac-flashes, no gun. What sorta hole did you climb out of?"

"Gentlemen." Blistered, and with his right arm in a sling, Garvin Kernow came out in to the sunlight. "Mid-afternoon pow-wow?"

"Sir, we've told him he can go in but the hound stays out here."

"Triptolemus is a member of the Ordo Hereticus. Respect the rank please, gentlemen."

"Ordo-what?"

"Hereticus," the other sentry said. "He's above the law."

"Lieutenant?" Kernow smiled. "You too, Trip." Head down, I trudged up the steps to the boundary wall after Kernow and Trip. "Smoke?" I stared at the cigarette in Kernow's hand, a slight frown on my face. With the roar of the lander's engines dying, the nose split in to three mandibles and widened, exposing a large storage bay and an upper deck for personnel. "For your help in finding Trip, I uh—I would give thanks."

"Woof!" Trip raised his head and pushed at my hand. His clawed tap-danced on the stone.

"And um, while you're here, I wish to tender an official apology. I'm sorry for—for my master putting you through the, er…" Kernow's face twitched. His hand hit the wall. "Beg—beg pardon." Kernow perched upon a curving crenellation. His mouth turned downwards. "That—that storm, the bombardment too… that wasn't nearly enough of what we deserve." Kernow dabbed at the pink mess on his right brow. "There's no honour in what we do. Terrorising the weak and the defenceless. Who cares if Gudron or Oliver or Benjamin disappear from their beds overnight? That man was innocent—oh no, the Order is never wrong. Never ever wrong. The tapping of keys and the scratch of the quill turn innocents traitor. I'm a—ashamed to have been a part of it now." Kernow widened the rips in his jacket, exposing the burned flesh beneath. "Privy to my master's thoughts I was not. You were damned from the very moment he laid eyes on you, Lieutenant. I am sorry for your treatment." Kernow dug out a cigarette and a lighter. "Oh…" The lighter fell from his fingers. I bent down and picked up the polished steel. I shook it clean and flicked the wheel. A spark jumped and flame touched the butt of Kernow's cigarette. "No business of mine, I know, but does your companion fare well?" I turned my back on Kernow and wandered away along the wall. "Lieutenant?" Kernow shuffled after me. "Before you go, could you take care of Trip for me? I'd ask you to treat him as you would a friend." I met Kernow's eye, nodded, and patted my thigh. Trip sauntered down the steps after me.

"We're going inside," I said to the sentries. "Both of us."

"Try us."

"I'll bring the Obrist down here—"

"—No need, Tross." The Obrist barrelled down the stairs. Officers and signallers trailed behind him.

"Sir, water for the dog, please."

"Let them through."

"Thank you, sir. Trip, heel!" I stepped aside and pointed a finger at my foot. Trip fell in beside me and sat down. His tail thumped on the sand. "No, no. Inside, Trip." Trip bounded upstairs behind me. "Good boy."

Orderlies bearing surgical kits and folded stretchers hastened down from the second floor. Full packs bounced on their shoulders. "Clear the way! What's that animal doing in here?"

"Sorry."

"Watch where you're going!" An Urgraf carrying the front end of a stretcher case bumped in to me. Other medics carrying out wounded followed on behind him.

"Trip, c'mon." I ducked behind a foldout screen. "Susannah?" The Cadian's eyes opened. "It's James." Susannah closed her eyes and turned her head away.

"Are you supposed to be here?" Urgraf fastened Susannah down and carried her stretcher after the others.

"Susannah…" I reached out for Susannah's hand. She clenched it and tucked it beneath her leg. I strayed after the Urgraf. Trip whined. "Sorry, boy. Um…" Very few Urgraf remained in the ward. "S'cuse me?" An Urgraf medic, his back to me, shoved bags of blood plasma in to a container. "S'cuse me?"

The Urgraf shot a look over his shoulder. "You're too late. We're packing up."

"No, I'm after some water for Trip."

"For who?"

"My dog."

"And who let that thing in here?"

"The Obrist."

"Balls he did. Go and see the captain."

"Captain…" I pulled the screen aside.

"Watch where you're walking!" Urgraf carrying gurneys with the wheels folded loped past. Each one's load-bearing vest and pack bulged. Lasguns hung from shoulders.

"The captain? Where's the captain?"

"Back of the theatre. You're too late, mate."

I shunted a screen aside. Four Urgraf tossed disposable gloves in to waste bins and replaced surgical tools inside trauma kits. Open backpacks sat by their feet. Blood stained the floor. "Moving in ten, Lieutenant," said an Urgraf with a large brown bun sticking out beneath a blue cap.

"Yes, ma'am." A male Urgraf turned around. "Who are you?"

"Are you taking the piss?" Captain Bukharin tugged her mask down. "What did I say, Lieutenant?"

"Erm, water. Trip needs water."

"I tell you to leave my theatre and you bring a wild animal in?"

"Ma'am, he's wounded."

"And what the hell did you do to your arm?"

An Urgraf with a grey buzz and a hooked nose lifted a 1-litre water bottle from his pack and broke the seal. "Here, have some of mine."

"Lieutenant, I forbid you!"

"Ma'am, I am unable to refuse a wounded soldier." The grey-haired Urgraf held the bottle out. "Here, lad."

"Lad! He's an officer, Haber." Captain Bukharin swept over to me. "An officer and a liar." She slapped my forearm.

"GRGH!" My teeth slammed together.

"Captain!" A younger surgeon joined Haber.

"Grrrr." Trip spread his front paws and lowered his head.

Captain Bukharin bustled back to her pack. "Gentlemen, as you were."

"S'alright, pal." I put my arm around Trip's neck. "Sshh."

"Ma'am, I protest. This poor boy—"

"—Then protest. It's your right to exercise, Korne."

Haber unscrewed the water bottle's lid and placed it next to me. "Seroni, I think you owe the lieutenant an apology."

"Here we go. Have some of this, Trip." I clamped the bottle inside his armpit.

"No! That's not going to end well." Haber snatched the water and poured some in to his hand. "Name?"

Trip lapped at the water in Haber's hand. "Trip."

"Your name is Trip?"

"He's Trip."

"Haber, you don't know where that animal has been." Captain Bukharin stretched the flap of her pack and fastened the clips. "Hurry now."

"And yours?"

"James."

"Well, James, we're just about to move house. You'd do best to follow us."

"Mm."

"Water?"

"Ta." I sipped from the bottle. My stomach gurgled. Water dribbled down my chin. "Need help carrying something?"

"That will not be necessary, Lieutenant." Captain Bukharin sat a black ceramite on her head and picked up a lasgun from a table. "If you want to moan, direct it to your Cadian friend." Bukharin bucked her pack higher on her shoulders. "I doubt she'd listen to you either. Move out, gentlemen."

"Sorry, lad. We need both arms from you," Korne said. He and Haber hung around with Trip and I.

"How did it happen?" Haber passed Korne his ceramite.

"Fell down a rabbit hole."

"A what?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Oh, wait you were the one who…" Korne placed a hand over his mouth.

"Flew off the handle a bit, yeah." I rubbed a warm patch of skin inside my collar. "Is your captain normally… like this?"

"Ah." Haber hoisted Korne's pack on to his shoulders. "We all have bad days."

"Just not this one." Korne balanced Haber's pack on his knees and helped him in to it. "Finally get off this dust-bowl and get paid. Our last employer ran out on us. That or the storm swallowed him up. How is your commander, James? Decent chap?"

"Yeah. Don't really know him that well." Trip and I followed the two Urgraf down to the courtyard after the bulk of the company had traipsed through the archway and over to the landing zone. Eight-wheelers mounted ramps in the lander's mandibles and rolled on to the lower deck. Urgraf lined up before a hatch in the mid-section, exposing both upper and lower decks. Satwa PWs sat in a group on the sand with their hands on their heads.

"Last in the queue." Haber dumped his pack on the sand and sat on it.

"Far cry from Kasr Krest." Korne plonked his pack next to Haber's. "We heard there were riots down at Kasr Kraf. People mobbing the ships. Every man for himself."

"Alec?" Haber leaned over Korne. "Leave off, yeah?"

I broke away from Haber and Korne and skirted the Urgraf crowding the lander. Wispy smoke rose from the remains of the refugee camp. A burned smell carried over from the smoke rising on the far side of the starport.

Trip thrust his nose beneath a collapsed tent. "Oi, away!" I whipped the crumbling canvas back. "Out!" A tattered sleeve was wedged in Trip's jaws. I pulled at the sleeve. Cloth crumbled and flesh slid off bone. "Urgh!" Blackened scraps stuck to my skin. I dragged my hand through the sand. Trip dropped the arm and cocked his head. Civilians, separated from me by a fence, clung to the mesh. Dull eyes stared at me.

"James!" Innes Barakat, bandaged and grinning, walked up. "I say, your arm."

I wiped my hand against my trouserleg and got up. "The commander back yet?"

"He is. I was just coming to find you. We are due aboard… James, where are you going?"

Refugees laden with cardboard boxes disembarked from APCs parked inside the gate. Compo was stacked inside the troop compartment of all five eight-wheelers. "That's it. Take them down to cold-storage, lads." Commander Sorge pointed a civilian inside the terminal. "Through there."

"Sir?" Trabant Ulman waved. "Your lieutenant."

"James, Innes." Sorge pointed at a stack of 24-hour rations. "Pick one for the three of us to share. Find something with fruit in."

"Can't believe you pulled it off, sir. No shooting?"

"Not one round, Innes." Sorge shook the hand of a Satwa in a loose red vest. "This is yours, Gollan. You must ration it and make sure everybody gets equal share. Now Satwa have laid down their arms, you are free to head to the enclaves and stake your claim on the stockpiles. Have no fear. The brigadier broadcast the order to stand down."

"These men in khaki…"

"They are your brothers. The storm made you all equal. It's up to you to keep your people safe now."

"Thank you for helping us, Richard." Gollan shook Sorge's hand.

"Apple flakes, James?"

"Err, yeah, yeah."

"Or would you prefer instant soup?"

"Just—just, whatever, sir. I don't give a…"

"Hmm, there's hertogesh too."

Civilians pressed against the fence. Their fingers reached through the gaps. "Sir, can we head off?"

"Yes-yes. Innes, take James over to the lander, would you?"

"Don't mind apple flakes, do you?"

"No, not at all. I'll finish up here and come find you. Take care."

"I'll just…" I picked up the ration.

"Oh, you'll be alright taking that?"

"Yup, fine." A woman carrying a baby in a blanket caught my eye. Pale blue eyes followed me.

"James, what are you doing?"

"Hello." I stopped by the fence and weighed the ration in my hand. The woman's fingers curled around the links.

"Milk. Please, sir."

"There's milk in here. Should be good for the little one. Can you catch?"

"Um…" The woman shrunk away from the fence.

I shunted the ration up and over the fence. "James, what the hell are you doing?" Barakat rushed forwards and pulled me away. "You cannot help these people!"

"Best bloody thing I've done in my whole rotten career."

"No. Look, look!" Barakat spun me around. A group of young men snatched the ration out of the mother's hands and began pushing and pulling at one another. The cardboard ripped and the contents flew out. Torn sachets of powdered milk disappeared in to the sand beneath stampeding feet. The mother sat alone cradling her child.

In the lander's shadow, the Obrist muttered with his staff, two deep lines cutting between his grey brows. Eight-wheelers rolled inside the lander's jaws and parked in secure bays set in depressions in the hold. Barakat led me around to the side hatch and we fell in line with the Urgraf waiting to board the telescopic catwalk. Satwa PWs, still under Urgraf guard, sweated on the sand.

"Nothing we can do, James. Best forget and move on."

How did we end up eating from the Inquisition's hand, Trip? I rubbed Trip's chin. Ironic, isn't it?

The queues inched forwards. Commander Sorge and Ulman joined Barakat, Trip, and I at the tail-end. "Phew, that's the lot now, Innes."

"Well, that's wonderful news, sir."

"And the civilians now have access to enough firepower to make a stand should the Satwa remnant attempt anything."

"Enough to get us out of the hot sun?"

"Yes…" Sorge rubbed his scarf behind his neck. "I've never felt such an urge for a cold shower in my life."

"Probably forgotten the feel of cold water, that lot," Ulman said.

"Yes, what—what's happening with Satwa, Commander?" Barakat said.

Sorge itched grey stubble on his chin. "…Still on the fence. The Obrist is still deciding."

"Sir, can you—"

"James, it's out of my hands. Let it go."

"Hey." Ulman pushed a 24-hour ration at Barakat and I. "Think you dropped this."

"Thank you, Trabant. Ah, cocoa."

The Obrist planted a hand on his breast and leaned at a subordinate. Scars on his face widened. Lips stretched, revealing yellow teeth. The Obrist waved his fore and index fingers at his subordinate.

"What's the matter, sir?"

"I don't know, Innes. It's down to the Obrist."

The argument continued up to when my feet touched the catwalk. Inside the dim hold, Urgraf packed eight rows of seats in the centre and two other rows against the bulkheads. Barakat pointed me to a seat closest to the bulkhead and he and Sorge took the seats behind me. "Don't mind Trabant Ulman sitting with you?"

"No." I slumped in the seat and brought half of my harness across my chest. Trip sat on his stomach at my feet and put his head between his paws. Ulman propped his lasgun in the gap between our seats and fastened my harness.

"All good?" Ulman gave a thumbs-up and saw to his own harness. "Hats off to the Inquisition then."

The lander's mandibles bent inwards, shutting out the light. The Obrist and his staff were the last to board and behind them, the catwalk retracted and the hatch sealed.