Zarkaniy, Two Weeks Later

Five pairs of boots, four Urgraf, tramped through the containment wing. "This one?" Richard Sorge flexed his tingling fingers. Where each of his fingernails had nestled, there was now only hardened flesh that prickled whenever it touched something.

"Yes, sir. Three pilots."

Sorge peered at a grainy screen set in the bulkhead. One of the women sat widthways on the cell's single bed, another did sit-ups with the third standing on her toes. "Code?"

"5974, sir."

"Two of you, with me." Sorge stepped through the door. Heads turned and the pilot doing sit-ups rolled over and got to her feet. "As you were. Which one of you is Yulia?"

"Sir?" A broad-shouldered, short-haired woman spoke.

"Get dressed."

"Sir." Yulia pulled on a grey jacket over a sweat-stained tank-top. Circular ports were embedded in her flesh, from her wrists, all the way up to her shoulders.

"Sir, where are you taking my pilot?" Marais said.

"To her station, Flight Lieutenant."

The other pilot, Palla, hugged Yulia's shoulders from behind. Marais touched Yulia's shoulder on the way past. The Urgraf stood, two pairs on either side of Yulia in the carriage. Sorge, seated opposite her, lifted a gold locket from his pocket. "Yours?"

"I trust you'll mail it to my husband, Commander." Yulia's hands remained clasped between her legs.

"You can give it to him yourself."

"Impossible given present circumstances, sir. Our retirement was inevitable since the master will not be leaving Cadia."

"What did you think of him; the master?"

"A… kind word here and there. He would never remain for long in our company. A shame we did not see a different side to him."

No, you certainly would not have liked that. Sorge's heel tapped on the floor. Let's leave that side of him buried deep and forgotten. "Cold?"

"Professional. I am proud to have served faithfully." Yulia lifted her chin. "Now, there is only the Emperor."

"Mm. His holy light shines brightest on the most faithful subjects."

"Did you know him, sir?"

"I met him, you know. Met him at a party a couple of months past. I suppose the public side of him shrouded the real man beneath. A conduit of entertainment, he seemed, and a magnet for a certain type of specimen of the opposite sex."

"A professional on duty, I can assure you, sir.

"Of course. Some secrets shall remain with him in death too, I suspect."

"Goes for us all, Commander."

Urgraf manned every station of the bridge bar the depression in the centre where the three pilots' seats sat cold and empty. Bulky 319 sets occupied the flat tops of consoles. Wiry forests sprouted from the backs and criss-crossed the deck. The Obrist, a steaming mug filling a leathery hand leaned against the side of the Navigator's chair with crossed legs. "Ah, morning, Commander. Not sure I've had the pleasure."

"This is one of the pilots—"

"Co-pilot, sir."

"Er, co-pilot. Flight Lieutenant Yulia Singh."

"Alright, bring us back to reality then." The Obrist tilted his head at the cockpit.

"Sir?"

"Go on, Lieutenant."

"Sir." Yulia sidled past the Urgraf crowding the bridge and climbed in to her seat.

"Don't remember there being leather seating on my old posting." Sorge smirked. The Obrist's nose wrinkled. Yulia's faceplate slid across her face and she leaned back in to the seat. Cables slid in to the ports on her body. Thin, glowing panes surrounded Yulia. She reached for the one nearest her left elbow and began tapping.

The Obrist tipped his mug up and slurped the last of the granules. "How were the rest?"

"Didn't check."

"If we are to make a profit for them, hadn't we better avoid Imperial outposts?"

"The bureau will cover all costs, Obrist. No loose ends. No. Loose. Ends."

"PDF I have no problem with. Inquisition blood will bring the cyberhounds sniffing. We keep them with us for now."

"My terms, Obrist, not yours."

"Tssh! You walk a fibre-thin tightrope, Commander. How about I ransom you, that greybeard, and the Tross to Chaos? Such a high-ranking Intelligence officer is worth his weight in gold at a time like this."

"I'll be having that Pluvian Obsidian back then, Obrist, and the millions within the bureau's coffers."

"Sneaky bastard." The Obrist twisted the ring on his third finger. "All this fucking subterfuge. Doing my eye in."

"It's what I do." Sorge linked his hands behind his back. Before him and the Urgraf, shutters covering the bridge's viewport rose. "Belis Corona Naval Base, gentlemen."

"Good God-Emperor Almighty…" The Obrist pressed a hand against the angled ceiling and leaned towards the viewport. Fiery blotches dotted the surface of a brown planet entirely devoid of water.

"Can we get a blown-up image of the planet?" Sorge turned on the holo-map. "The upper right quarter."

"What's there?" The Obrist ducked back from the viewport.

"Was there." Sorge pinched his chin. "See that tube?"

"What, you mean what's left of it?" A spire stretched from the planet's surface, up to a vast network of dockyards in stationary orbit above the dust-bowl, only broken sections, kilometres in length spiralled on their own, leaving nothing holding the rest of the span together. "I mean, there isn't much for it to fall on down there if the worst does happen."

"Ten points. Everything's stored underground. One can only hope it doesn't fall in to the enemy's hands in bulk. Reduce intensity. Pan left."

"She's a biggee," the Obrist said.

"The dockyard or the cathedral?"

"Both! You Imperials, you love your cathedrals, don't you? Bigger the better."

"Hmph. I suppose you've never seen one large enough to accommodate a battleship, have you?"

"The—the cathedral?"

"Yeah, the entrances in the central station can berth four battleships at a time." The view settled on a fortress-cathedral in the centre of the shipyard, with four long transepts of equal length and a dome in the centre. Spires ending in sharp points rose around the dome. Monorail lines zipped between the station and the smaller dockyards further away. Wiry gantries and skeletal girders surrounded berths, vacant and occupied. Far away from the dockyards, capital ships, nothing more than specks, traded broadsides with the enemy.

Pink stained the vacuum. Sorge bit down on a knuckle. It can't be. How's that possible?

"Commander, do you—?"

"I see it."

"Obrist, how has it spread?"

"Sir?"

"Gentlemen!" Sorge clapped his hands. "If I could have eyes on the fleet action. I need to know who is who, whether there are any Inquisition or Marine callsigns present. I'd like a hail sent to Bravo Cain too, let them know who we are."

"Sir?"

"Pilot." Sorge squatted above the cockpit.

"A scan would break our cloak, sir. At present velocity, we are completely dark. Any outbound communiqués will be picked up by our direction-finders and traced.

"Just fly the ship, girl!" The Obrist slammed his mug on a surface.

"Obrist, please. Take us closer, Lieutenant." Sorge rose and went over to the Obrist. "A moment?"

Outside the bridge, the Obrist rounded on Sorge. "Is there a problem, Commander?"

"Out there, that's my problem. Cadia was the floodgate, Obrist. Now the bastion is breached, daemon and degenerate alike are free to spread their unclean tide across the galaxy. There's no problem in here."

"You're fine with Inquisition blood on your hands, Commander?"

"Little people, Obrist. They should be thankful they have served their masters faithfully. Millions are killed daily without ever having the chance to speak, let alone serve. We are the masters now. When power presents itself, you do not hesitate. Use it to crush your enemies. This is not the time for restraint or mercy."

"Oh, guilty by association guarantees the noose, does it?"

"All are to be retired, Obrist. Then I will rest."

"You're a ruthless bastard, aren't you, Commander? Suppose word were to slip forth in to influential ears…"

"Well, thank the Emperor we are a closed community. Excuse me, Obrist." Sorge stepped around the Obrist and climbed up to the bridge.

Unit One bag over one shoulder, Seroni Bukharin stepped through the carriage's doors and in to Containment. Two Urgraf guarded the entrance. Both wore cloth masks and ceramite. "Hullo, Daniel."

"How did you know it was me, ma'am?" The Urgraf on the left of the bulkhead door lifted his mask and smiled.

"I've known you long enough. There's not much these eyes don't see."

"Ah-huh. Are you here for the prisoners?"

"Just a check-up."

"Are you carrying?"

"Well, if words were my weapon…" Seroni put her bag down on a bench.

"Heh-heh, yeah." Daniel tilted the brim of his ceramite back. "You don't mind if I...?"

"Go ahead." Seroni unzipped the bag's sections.

"Thanks." Daniel sifted through the bag. "Hello, I recognise this." Daniel brought out the Cyvox. "Didn't old Den Ulman have one of these?"

"Mm-hm, and on-loan currently. Den passed the Cyvox to a Guard subaltern currently residing in this facility, who passed it on to a Cadian sergeant – a friend of his – who passed it on to me. I am bringing it back to the subaltern, who'll pas it back to Den once he's done." Seroni grinned. "Ha-ha-ha!"

"Aw, wow, that has changed hands." Daniel smiled back and replaced the Cyvox and zipped the bag up. "I, er, didn't know the Guard were aboard."

"Thank you very much. Oh on, I don't require a chaperone."

"Obrist's orders, ma'am."

The commander's more likely. Seroni shouldered her bag and followed Daniel in to Containment. "I welcome the company."

"Everyone pulling through alright?"

"Tar's on the mend, Daniel."

"Aw, brilliant. Sorry, just been on my mind these few weeks. Too many of us were lost in that storm."

"Not a single failed operation. We can thank the Emperor for that."

"That's great news."

"Mm-hm."

"Now we can be rid of these wastrels." Seroni's smile faded. "First cell's just here." Daniel tapped on a keypad mounted in the bulkhead.

"God, they're…" Seroni peered at a grainy screen above the keypad. "They're not sharing that one cell, are they?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Yes, ma'am? Four adults to a single bed."

"Ma'am, I should go first."

"Who's responsible?" Seroni strode in to the cell in front of Daniel. Four Inquisition sat on the edge of the single bed, a single chair, and against the wall. Dirty whites hung from a hook.

"You are, ma'am."

"No, I…" Seroni took off her bag and sat it on the deck. "Had I known your conditions, I would have come sooner."

"Who are you?"

"I am the MO."

"Where's Bill Beyts?"

"In another cell, I presume."

"God-Emperor, it's everyone." An Inquisition linked fingers behind his head and leaned against the wall. "So, I guess correspondence is out of the question."

"Any of you have ongoing prescriptions? Are you taking anything?"

"Listen, love, we're just cooks. Nobody's told us anything. We don't know anything."

"No aches or pains anywhere?"

"Are we here because of the master? Rumours travelled that he never left Cadia."

Seroni zipped up her bag. "I shall speak to my commanding officer about improving your accommodation."

"And our release, ma'am?"

"That matter is out of my hands, I'm afraid. Sit tight for now."

Outside the cell, Daniel said, "Ma'am, they're dangerous."

"Why should they be brought down with their master? It wasn't their fault."

"I dunno. Maybe it's better to just let this regime die. It's forty-odd personnel."

"Daniel, that's not the Urgraf way. And this wasn't us."

"But it… oh."

"Do I have your confidence?"

"Always."

"And your silence?"

"Yes."

"Then let's keep this quiet." Seroni touched Daniel's arm.

"I don't trust anybody that isn't us. Thank you anyway."

Two women, both pale-skinned and short-haired, rose from bed and chair. "Our companion. They took her."

"Who? I'm sorry, I don't know." Seroni took her bag from her shoulder. "I am Seroni. Can you let me know of any physical ailments or any medication you may be on, please?"

"No, neither of us are. We want to know about our colleague Yulia. A man in naval uniform came to take her away."

Seroni's hands froze on the bag's zip. "Commander Sorge. Trust nothing that comes out of his mouth."

"Please find where he took Yulia."

"Mm, I will. And I promise to have you moved to better accommodation. Those four cooks had one room to themselves. That really won't do."

"Four to a room…" The women looked at one another, worry in their eyes.

"This really won't do," Seroni said to Daniel.

"Their welfare isn't our concern, ma'am."

"Daniel, why so callous? It's not weak, you know."

"We don't know how dangerous even one of those Inquisition are. I'm not going to go pet an animal with sharp teeth and claws, even if it is furry. Please don't underestimate them, ma'am."

"I just don't see how they warrant such punishment for faithful service. Wanton cruelty…"

"Good God-Emperor!" The Chirurgeon colonel, Beyts sprang from his bed. "Thought you'd forgotten all about us down here."

"Hullo, Colonel." Seroni entered the cell Beyts occupied by himself.

"Bill. Please, call me Bill." Beyts offered Seroni his hand.

"Keep—keep your hands to yourself, sir." Daniel flicked his Merotech.

"It's alright, Daniel." Seroni clasped Beyts's hand and shook. "How are you feeling, Bill?"

"Never mind me. What about your people in the infirmary?"

"It's all in hand. We've worked around the clock to get through the operations."

"Any…?"

"None."

Beyts grinned. "You're a credit to your people, ma'am."

"Seroni. I have my team to thank and your facilities as well. I've never seen such a well-stocked unit."

"Could've used them on Henna-Morata," Daniel said.

"I, er, wish to apologise for the discord between our people. Perhaps Urgraf and Inquisition were not meant to mingle."

"No, no, this was at the order of the commander. He and I will be having words very shortly."

"That's very kind of you but I don't really see the worth in stretching our existence out any longer."

"No, that's no way to talk. You're a chirurgeon colonel. We need every practitioner out there putting his and her skills to use, especially now that Cadia's gone. Bollocks, I say. That's defeatist."

"Even in death, the master makes his presence – or lack thereof – known. I wish you and your people the best of luck in the future."

"Defeatist? They didn't have a choice, ma'am," Daniel said when the door sealed.

"Wasn't their fault their master died at Cadia. It was his own damn fault. Leave the subordinates alone." Seroni checked the screen on the adjacent cell.

"I think that's…" Daniel's eyes widened. "I think it's best you leave that one alone."

"The young lieutenant. Why?"

"He's been standing there most of the night."

"I'll see him. Alone, thank you."

"Are you sure, ma'am?"

"Well, just be ready, Daniel."

"Very well." Daniel tapped the keypad.

"Lieutenant Larn? It's Captain Bukharin. Seroni Bukharin." Larn stood in the centre of his cell staring down at bedsheets balled up on the mattress. "How does your arm feel? Better?"

"Don't."

"Don't?"

"It's in there."

"In where?" Seroni sat her bag down and unzipped it. "The bedsheets?"

"Mmm…." Pale lips trembled.

A bad nightmare most likely. Seroni rolled up her sleeves. "Alright then. Close your eyes."

"Hm?"

"Close your eyes and I'll get rid of it. Close them, please." Seroni gathered up the sheets and took them outside. "Daniel, dear, can you take care of these sheets, please?" Daniel sniffed at the sheets. "I… really shouldn't leave you alone, ma'am."

"I think I can handle one traumatised lad." Seroni returned to her bag. "D'you want to sit down, Lieutenant?"

Larn's fists, held by his sides, opened and closed. "Is it gone?"

"Completely. Sit down, Lieutenant." Seroni brought out the Cyvox and put it on the table. "Trabant Ulman loaned this, did he? D'you mind?" Seroni popped in the tape with Tusks on it and pressed the rewind button. "I do like Tusks."

"What are you…?" Larn, perched on the edge of his mattress, winced and pushed his fingertips against his ears.

"Can you hear me?" Seroni touched her ear.

"What?" Larn's head jutted forwards.

"Listen." Seroni pointed at the ceiling. "They can hear us."

"Uh?" Larn rubbed at his sling. "What?"

"They listen."

"Er, Tr—Trip. Susannah."

"Susannah is fine. She's resting right now."

"Is she happy?"

"I can't tell. You'd have to ask her."

"Trip. Where's Trip?"

"With me. Washed and de-flead."

"Ohh…" Larn sat back and cocked his head to one side.

"Well?"

"Thank you, ma'am."

"You'll see Susannah when you're out. She'll still be waiting for you."

"Nah, it's not—it's not like that."

"Oh?"

"No, I have to be there for her. I have to be there." Larn leaned across to the table and clicked the Cyvox's stop button.

Seroni unzipped her bag's midsection and brought out a fresh sling. "Your sling needs changing, Lieutenant. If you don't mind…"

"Nah." Larn shifted to face the bulkhead and tilted his head down.

"I wouldn't have done it, you know." Seroni tore the Velcro strips apart. "On the platform, I wouldn't have done it."

"You frightened me."

"Well, you frightened me when you dragged Susannah in to my unit. Will you accept a formal apology?" Seroni worked the sling around Larn's shoulder and tightened the strips.

"Stuck my foot in it there. I should be saying sorry, not you. Sorge says I've got to write a letter, proper formal-like."

"Hmph." Seroni smirked. "I wouldn't read it. I know you're sincere, Lieutenant, and had I known what you had gone through on Cadia, I wouldn't have been so harsh to you or Susannah."

"She's not a bad person, ma'am."

"Of course not. You were very brave going to her then."

"Just didn't want anybody else hurt."

"Discreet. Gentle too. Far too many loud voices in our family."

"They're a family too, y'know." Larn swivelled around. "Those lot in the other cells."

"Who put you here, Lieutenant?" Seroni leaned against the table and crossed her thumbs in her lap.

"Same person what put the others away." Larn scratched his wrist. "Told me he was putting Trip down so I threw my drink in his face."

"Threw your drink in his face? I'd have just punched him."

"He'd prob'ly throw me back in prison for that. Wash his hands of me."

"Back?"

Larn waggled a finger. "I like this song. I'd recognise it if I 'eard it. Just don't ask me what it's called."

Seroni held her finger over the stop button. "Are we done here?"

"Wh-wh-hold on. Where are we?"

"Should be nearing Belis Corona, I presume."

"Got a fag?"

"I don't think you should be smoking. Just—can I make a suggestion? Would you give up smoking for Susannah? I'm not sure she smokes."

"Erm…" Larn sucked a cheek in. "Well, calms me down, don't it?"

"I don't know. Does it calm you down?"

"Yeah, I guess. Just sorta peer-pressure, y'know. Er, c—can I confide in you, ma'am?"

"Mm, very well. I am a combat stress instructor so…"

Larn leaned forwards. Scars on his face stretched. "I go—I got Susannah's men killed."

"Alright, I see." Seroni put a hand on Larn's shoulder. "Rest now. Get that arm back in shape. That's an order."

"You're—you're not leaving?"

"I have to, Lieutenant, I haven't been 'round to everyone."

"If you find Kernow, tell him Trip's in good shape."

"Well, I wouldn't say good shape exactly. He'll need at least two walks a day when we reach BC."

"Am I—am I allowed to own a dog now?"

"I don't see why not."

"Don't let him put Trip down."

"Of course not."

"He don't deserve it. None of 'em do."

"I'll—" The tape squeaked. "I'll mention to the Obrist. I think the money went to his head."

"Is that why you do it?"

"Hm?"

"The money? You're a merc. It's your bread and butter."

"It gave me a job away from the rules and regs. Do you want to be in a bad boss's shadow all your life?"

"Haven't got a choice."

"There's always a choice. You stood up to Sorge, and now you're here. That's a choice a free man makes, not a body burdened by olive grey."

Larn's feet touched the deck. He reached over and clicked the stop button. "Can you leave the rest, please?"

"Here." Seroni stacked the other tapes up. "That Rogue Servitors made good listening."

"Both sides?"

"Both."

Larn nodded. "Thank you, Captain."

"Should be another week or two then you'll start your muscle exercises. Get you back in shape. Take care now."

Two Urgraf guarded the open blast door separating the bridge and a wide companionway. "Hullo, Jas. Connor."

"Good morning, ma'am."

"The Obrist?"

"Up on the bridge, ma'am."

"Thank you."

"Keep trying, Dano!" The Obrist leaned over the back of a seat occupied by a signaller. "Lockdown, my eye."

"Nice to see you, Captain." Commander Sorge smiled at Seroni. "Might I enquire as to my deputy?"

"Fine. He's fine, Commander."

"I look forward to when he steps out of those doors. You've my eternal gratitude, madam."

"Call me captain please, Commander."

"Every man not on something critical I want bombarding that station with hails." The Obrist clapped his hands. "And don't stop 'til we've got an actual human replying."

"Obrist?"

"Captain. What can I do for you?"

"A word, perchance?"

"Make it a quick one."

"Trouble?" Seroni followed the Obrist down from the bridge and in to the empty star-map suite.

"Blasted station's on lockdown. We've just been getting the same looped message over and over again." The Obrist leaned against the map table and pinched his nape.

"Robert, I've been to the cells."

"And?"

"Did you know there are multiple incarcerated sharing the same cell? The commander threw groups in together. They've been packed in for two weeks. Enough to make anyone go mad."

"I cannot let them out."

"I'm not asking you to let them out, I'm asking—as a friend—for better accommodation for the crew. I know the commander's got you swinging by the strings."

"Seroni, that's our lifeline! We've had nothing since our last job—even longer now when our previous employer shot his bolt. I want to be paid just as much as you—"

"No, not as much as you. Rogue PDF we can get away with but serving members of the Inquisition will spin heads. Don't let yourself be seduced my money, Robert. Putting your trust in a spy puts us on a very dangerous path. What if he's lying?"

"Then I've damned us all. We're alive though, and the galaxy's a very big place. You want those vagrants given individual cells? Fine, I don't see the problem."

"The chirurgeon colonel, Beyts, I want returned to duty."

"Not possible, I'm afraid." Commander Sorge, hands in pockets, stood at the foot of the companionway. "Their retirement is scheduled and will be met."

"Retirement? Is that what you call it?"

"Professionally, I prefer it to culling." Sorge took small steps towards Seroni. "Personally, I would harbour no feelings for any acolytes of the old regime."

"Not one survived Cadia, Seroni. We found Zarkaniy drifting on auto-pilot," the Obrist said. "That's what happened."

"And your lieutenant. Up for retirement too?"

"My officers are my concern, doctor."

"Commander, address me as a fellow officer. I won't be talked down to."

"Commander, my CMO has concerns on the wellbeing of the incarcerated. More than two to a cell is too many."

"You've been down there, Captain?"

"And I'm appalled, Commander. I thought you above petty grudges—"

"Captain!" The Obrist moved between Seroni and Sorge. "I've decided these measures shall be carried out immediately. I'll loan you Trabant Ulman."

"Thank you, Obrist." Seroni stepped backwards. Her eyes passed over the Obrist's shoulder and on to Sorge.

"Oh, Lieutenant Larn's had long enough. I'd be indebted if you'd let him know." Sorge winked and turned to the bridge. "Good morning."

"BC Naval Base, this is Inquisitorial Cruiser Zarkaniy. Clearance Code Zeta Epsilon 98-972-53. Request docking permission."

"Anything, Major?" Sorge stopped by the Urgraf Major's side.

"The base or the battle?"

"Anything changed?"

"Nothing. Not a peep."

"Lieutenant?" Sorge knelt over the cockpit. "At present velocity, how long will it be until we can positively identify the combatants?"

"Thirty-four minutes approx, Commander, depending on their velocity and current heading. Be aware, a progressive scan will break our cloak."

"That'll be a last resort, if contact can't be established."

"Why not bash on to Haven regardless? If we take the lane reserved for military traffic, we can be there in two weeks."

"How many jumps?"

"Seven with one halt at Malusov Station."

"What's that?"

"R&D plus habitation."

"How far?"

"7.43 lightyears to Malusov Station, Commander. Another 4.2 to Haven."

"Will our fuel last?"

"We have stocks for three years if we average flank speed, five for cruising."

"I see. I needn't enquire on our provisions then, Lieutenant."

"No, sir. We'll be fine."

"Any changes, Commander?" The Obrist's boots appeared beside Sorge.

"None, Obrist. Lieutenant Singh here knows of a route to Haven."

"Haven? You were angling to disembark here, Commander."

"And then find another ship to take us on to Haven. My headquarters is based there, Obrist. Honestly it looks like another two weeks' voyage—"

"Two weeks!"

"Along with a stop-off about two-thirds of the way there at an R&D platform."

"I'd like to see this route."

"Lieutenant Singh, can you project your proposed route to the map table on the deck below, please?"

"You'd have to ask Cento. He plots our routes for us."

"Who?" The Obrist's brows wiggled together.

Cables popped from Yulia's arms. "In fact…" Yulia's faceplate receded in to her helmet. "It's probably better if I speak with Cento on the matter."

"Is he aware?" The Obrist's eyes narrowed when he noticed the black eye in the centre of the Navigator's forehead.

"Not there, Obrist," Sorge said.

Yulia clambered up from the cockpit and unfolded a screen attached to an articulated arm next to the Navigator's seat. "Cento is aware of other presences. He may not take kindly to intruders making outright demands." Green light shone in Yulia's face. "Hello, Cento." Sorge moved around to Yulia's shoulder.

Little yellow letters shot across the upper screen. Intruders.

"Lord, she's actually talking to the mutant," the Obrist muttered to the major.

"Guests, Cento. Garvin picked up some soldiers stranded on Henna-Morata by a storm. We now have a full company aboard the bridge. How is the sight?"

Waning.

"Really? Oh, no. Is it the distance between us and the Astronomican or something else?"

Warp currents surge through the galaxy in to places that have never before seen the horror. The beacon's light shines faintly. I am not sure whether I can protect our family.

"So, the Eye of Terror's spread further than we thought." Sorge met the Obrist's eye. "Cento, I am Commander Sorge of Naval Intelligence. Can you chart these currents? Show us where they are so we can navigate around them."

"Stand back, please." Yulia threw an arm in front of Sorge. "Can I have some space, please?"

"Obrist, can we have the deck?"

"You most certainly can't—" Green light flooded the bridge. Shapes sprung from a holographic map, cutting off the Obrist's and the major's legs.

"Here we go." Yulia and Sorge retreated to the hazy rim of the galactic map. A tiny red square blinked in the galactic north and a little to the east of the Eye of Terror.

"No, that's not possible. How can it?"

"How can it what?" The Obrist and the major backed up to the rim on the opposite side of the galaxy.

"Oh, my…" Sorge aimed a finger at the purple maw, now completely enveloping Cadia and the surrounding systems. "God-Emperor, what the hell happened on Cadia?"

"It's worse, Commander." Yulia covered her mouth. "Lord…"

A rift ran from Segmentum Obscurus, all the way to the Eastern Fringe, effectively cutting the galaxy in half. The jagged line was not the only anomaly inhabiting the galaxy, other breaches in the materium glowed brightly in every sector.

"Oh! Oh-ho-hoh!" The Obrist squashed his beret against his crown and tilted his head upwards. "I can't even…"

"Sir?"

"Every single one. Every single Cadian I want swinging from the end of a rope. We've got Chaos running loose in the galaxy 'cause those purple-eyed malingerers couldn't do their fucking jobs!" In the silence, every Urgraf watched the Obrist, frozen at his station.

Sorge leaned over to Yulia. "Lieutenant, can you ask Cento if he'd be so kind as to plot a route to Haven for us?"

"Cento?"

Much anger courses through that one's system.

"Would it be safe for you to plot a seven-stage jump to Haven for us?"

Safe? The Warp is never a safe passage. Risk, always. Peril, guaranteed.

"Is it possible?"

For you and Palla and Marais, yes.

"Thank you, Cento." Yulia folded the screen away. Around her and Sorge, the map faded. Cento's bony fingers tightened around the knobbly arms of his chair. His third eye, partly hidden by his hood, glinted.

"Well?"

"We've got a win, Obrist."

"A win? That's optimistic."

"Did you see the route of the rift? Our plot should keep us to the galactic north. We should be in business then."

"We're still cut off from most of the galaxy though. Your navy should know about this."

"Two and a half weeks since Cadia so chances are they probably do know about this rift. Weren't planning on meeting up with anyone at BC, were you, Obrist?"

"Commander." Yulia made her way back to the cockpit.

"Forgot to book the table, truth be told. Well, if it keeps the lads away from strong drink for another couple of weeks, that's fine in my book. Once we're planetside, they can trash Haven to their heart's content. Oh…" The Obrist clicked his fingers. "Trabant Ulman, you're at a loose end. I want you to go down to the holding deck and sort the prisoners in to individual cells. Can't imagine who'd cram four men in to a one-man cell."

"Roger that, sir."

"Want some company, Trabant?"

"Nar-har-har! Now he realises."

"Bad day for the bureau, huh, Commander?" Ulman said on the way down to the transit hub.

"Don't you start, Trabant. Had enough lip from the Obrist." Sorge waved away three Urgraf. "Not needed. I want to talk to Larn about his future. Hopefully a very short talk."

The tram shot back through the ship's bowels. By themselves in the carriage, Sorge and Ulman sat on opposite sides. Ulman flicked the rear lense cover of his optics on and off with a fingernail. "Speaking of Larn, I haven't seen him for a week or two."

"A punishment served, Trabant. Let's talk no longer on the subject." Sorge lifted his foot, wrapped his hands around his ankle, and rolled it. "Damn the Obrist and damn his cataract."

"I'm gonna have to report that slight against my commanding officer, sir." Ulman grinned. "Hur-hur. The old tank has his days."

"Hmph." Sorge eased his foot down from his knee. "History, Trabant. We will never witness a more tumultuous happening in our lifetime."

"Cadia falling, you mean, sir?"

"The Warp rift. Did you not see the map?"

"Don't mind a widening rift, sir, long as it's beneath me and willing."

"Er—merc humour?"

"Heh-heh."

"Hope you don't address our good doctor in that manner."

"Ahh, Seroni's one of the lads. There aren't really that many women in Urgraf but they're perfectly fine with it. Just keep your hands to yourself, sir. Wouldn't want any more broken wrists."

"Is that a threat, Trabant?"

"Hah! Second-experience. I feel sorry for the poor chumps, I really do. If you tangle with one of our family, you'd better be prepared to deal with the lot of us."

"Close?"

"Damn right we're close."

"Well, I wish it were that way in the Navy or the Guard."

"It's not a pleasant institution, is it, sir?"

"The Guard or the Navy?"

"Both."

Sorge balanced an elbow on his knee and rested his chin in his hand. "D—depends on… well, which branch of service first of all."

"It's not a caring institution, I mean. There's no positive energy in it."

Sorge frowned. "…No. Not—not for your basic, down-on-his-luck draftee, be he on decks or on the ground."

"Have you ever been there, sir?"

"On decks?"

"Drafted. Sir."

The tram slowed. "I know someone who does." Sorge stood up and moved to the doors. "Why don't you ask him?"

"Maybe I'll ask him who put him behind bars too."

Careful, Trabant, that's classified. Sorge waited for Ulman to pass then followed him on to the platform.

"Morning, lads." Ulman approached two Urgraf guarding the entrance to Containment L – 01. "Here with Commander Sorge. We're splitting the crew up in to individual cells."

"Hi, Den. Right now?"

"Eh-heh, they won't like that. Being moved after two bloody weeks!"

"'Fraid so, Daniel. C'mon, off we go."

Sorge trailed Ulman and Daniel in to Containment. God, this better not take all morning. I'll pin that Urgraf doctor down and spank her bloody for her insolence. The leather on Sorge's gloves creaked when he made a fist.

"First cell, sir. Two pilots."

"Just—just get on with it, please." Sorge took a hanky from top pocket and unfolded it. Eurgh, still sandy. Tiny grains fell to the deck.

"Commander?"

"Lieutenant, down the corridor please. Any empty cell you want is yours."

"Oh…" Marais folded her arms. "I had hoped we were to be released."

"False assumption." Sorge blew in to the hanky.

"Yulia?" Daniel pushed Marais along. "Commander, what have you done with Yulia?"

"At her station."

"And then?"

"Inside. Go on, in you go." Daniel pressed against Marais's back with his palm.

"Commander, if you—" The door shut in Marais's face.

"Commander?" The other pilot, Palla, hovered by the door to her cell.

"Stay there please." Ulman blocked Palla. "Ma'am, stay there."

"But I—"

"Stay there!"

"Seal it, Trabant. Moving on."

"Ma'am, step away from the door." Ulman pushed at the air in front of Palla. "Last warning."

Palla made the Aquila and backed away. "Have mercy, sir."

Ulman sealed the door and tapped the keypad. "Harsh."

"What's that, Trabant?"

"I said I think it's a bit harsh, all this."

"You're not paid for sentiment, Trabant. Muscle keeps its mouth shut. Now, where's the lieutenant's cell?"

Further in to Containment, Sorge entered the four-digit code at James's cell and stepped inside. James sat across the bed with his feet hanging over the edge and his chin resting upon his breast. Greasy strands stuck to his brow. Blond stubble coated his jaw. "Hello, James."

"Looks familiar." James hid a pict inside the breast pocket of his crumpled medical garment. "Second chance, is it?"

"As a matter of fact, I do believe in second chances." Sorge slid a square object holding music tapes along the cell's table and sat on the edge. "I am not convinced I made the wrong choice pulling you out of that hole on Grendel, you know. Don't you think you've developed since then? Don't you want to develop further?" Sorge glanced at the door. "It's open. You've a commission and a clean slate. Very, very few your age can count themselves as fortunate as you. What can I do for you, James? What is it you want?"

"Right now, I want to fucking hurt you."

"Try it. You already have one bad arm. Let's not have another month out of action, now. Alright? No more attitude, no more bluntness. You're an officer and a gentleman."

"Number ten."

"No, James. You'll demonstrate it to the letter this evening when we eat with the Obrist and his officers. Captain Bukharin will be there. Take that as an opportunity to apologise formally."

"What about the letter?"

"That's for you to fill out today."

"W—what do I say?"

"Just keep it short and to the point. Describe what happened, your mindset, and that you are sorry and at Captain Bukharin's service."

James's hand pressed against his pocket. "Sir."

"We've another few weeks warpside. Use it to recuperate and get that arm back in shape." Sorge turned the tape player around. "Funny thing. I don't remember you bringing this aboard."

"That's Den's."

"Whose?"

"Trabant Ulman's."

"Rogue Servitors? Never heard of them." Sorge sifted through the small stack. "Hm. A fair selection."

"I like him, sir."

"Good. That's good to hear. Up you get, Lieutenant."

James hopped down from the bed and reached for the Cyvox. "It's my choice, sir."

"That it is. Again, you are allowed to choose when so many others are not. Whether you leave through that door or remain here is entirely up to you."

James gathered his tapes and walked towards the door. Sorge allowed himself a small smile. Good boy.

Far fewer Urgraf occupied the beds in the ward. A trolley with a soup pot on it sat unattended. I lifted the lid off and dipped the ladle in. Stone-cold soup touched my lips. Eurgh. I lowered the ladle in to the soup.

"Been there all morning, pal," the nearest Urgraf said. "Not very popular 'round here."

"Oh, what a shame." I replaced the lid and left the trolley behind. Further in to the wards, Urgraf lounged about reading magazines and books. I approached an Urgraf with his lower leg in an elevated cast. "Cadian got her face in a cast. Familiar?"

"Hunh. Follow your nose, mate."

Follow my nose. Great. Least it doesn't smell of gone-off cheese in here.

Gauze coated half of Susannah's face. Head swallowed by her pillows, Susannah's chest rose and fell. Sorry for the two weeks. I touched Susannah's wrist. I'll come 'round again when you're awake. From the drawer in the bedside table, I took the seed packet. What was this plant called again?

Cyvox and tapes I laid beside my bed. Mattress springs pressing in to my back, I rolled on to my stomach and dropped the packet inside my boot. Trip.

Outside the ward, I followed the corridor leading down to storage. A surgeon, the younger member of Captain Bukharin's team, slowed. "Oh hello, James." He stuck out his hand. "Wondered where you'd got to."

"Er, left-handed. Sorry." I shook the surgeon's hand. "I've forgotten your…"

"Korne, Alec Korne." Korne smiled. "And you've just given yourself away."

"Uh?"

"Only enemy spies would dare shake with their left hand."

"Er, heh-heh. Yeah." I broke eye contact. "Captain Bukharin?"

"Down at the far end in the office."

"Which—which one?"

"The room marked Chirurgeon—Chiurgeon?" Korne scratched his chin. "Hngh. Who's ever heard of a Chiurgeon anyway—haha!"

"Ta." I wandered down to the office and pressed a button beneath a round speaker.

"Yes?"

"Ma'am, it's Lieutenant Larn. Was wonderin' if I could come in."

"Come." An electronic lock clicked and the door moved upwards. Claws pattered on the deck.

"Aw-haw!" I knelt and gave Trip a one-handed hug. "Glad you're alright, mate."

"Well-fed and restless." Captain Bukharin pushed a chair back from a desktop cogitator and spun to face me. "He's desperate for exercise."

"Need a tatz do ya, boy?" Trip followed me past empty desks and rubbed his face against my leg.

"Susannah is—you've seen Susannah, I take it?"

"Mm, yeah."

"She'll be with us for another month before we re-evaluate her condition." Bukharin wheeled her chair over to her desk. "If we think she's improved, we'll prescribe her and turn her loose."

"Did-did you give her what she asked for?"

"What was that?"

"A new face."

"Well, at a stretch, but we successfully applied the grafts. Her scars will remain but she will be able to look at herself in the mirror again."

"That's great news. I'm—I'm really pleased. You're a lifesaver, ma'am."

"Just so you know, Susannah's time in the field is over."

"Why?"

"Lung and kidney damage from lethal chemicals. It's not something several weeks' rest can heal. She'll carry those scars with her for the rest of her life."

I fell in to a chair and pressed my thumb against the bridge of my nose. "That's me. I did that."

"Now don't for one second think you were to blame, Lieutenant. How could you have predicted the bombardment? You were lucky to escape, and Susannah even luckier to survive."

"Yeah, but I couldn't save her."

"Trip's smiling at you."

I scratched Trip's chin. "Hope you're not scratching too much."

"Anti-flea treatment." Bukharin opened a drawer and held up a clear bottle. "Worked a charm."

"Didn't give the captain any trouble, did you, fella?"

"A few indiscretions last week. I think he missed you."

"You've not had Commander Sorge around, have you?"

"Commander Charm-the-paint-off-the-walls? I ran in to him earlier up by the bridge. I wonder how many people fall for his boyish charms?"

"That's… that's just like his nephew." I pinched my cuff and twisted the material. "I'd hoped he was better than him. He hides it well, y'know. Suckers you in with promises."

"Who, the nephew?"

"The commander. He's not the one who…" I bit my thumbnail. "If he'd got his hands on me…"

Bukharin looked up from her screen. "So, that's why Sorge has you."

"It's not—it's not like that." The door buzzed. I jumped and spun around in the chair.

"Ma'am, meeting." A voice crackled over the intercom.

Bukharin pressed a button on her desk. "Give me twenty minutes, Haber."

"Sorry. Did I make you jump?" I reached down and scratched Trip's chin.

Bukharin shut her screen down and folded it in to the desk. "Talking about it will help. Even if only a little."

"You won't rat me out though, will you?"

"Everything you say from here on will be held in the strictest confidentiality. It is illegal to disclose details of conversations between doctor and patient, Lieutenant."

"Can you call me James?"

"Very well. I am Seroni. How do you feel?"

I hunched my shoulders and leaned forwards. Trip's muzzle brushed my hand. "Angry."

"What made you feel this way?"

I shook my head and pressed my thumb against my tear duct. "What's the point anyway?" I sprang out of the chair.

Seroni propped her elbows on the arms of her chair and linked her fingers. "You approached me. It's a brave man that talks about his fear openly, and braver still that man went to Susannah and talked her down without regressing to violence. Don't you think that speaks of your qualities?"

"Just don't want anyone else hurt 'cause of me."

"I think you don't give yourself enough credit, James. You survived Cadia where millions did not, and you walked out with a commission."

"Seroni, what you don't know here will protect you. If—if you knew that…"

"Knew what?"

"I put the crew in the cells. I put 'em there." I pinched my nose. "It's my fault."

"How? What happened between you and the Inquisitor?"

I wet my lips and swallowed. "Umm…" My chest shook. "Err…"

"Deep breath. Take a deep breath. Hold and count to three."

"I couldn't save her."

"Susannah?"

I dug in to my pocket and thrust the pict at Seroni. Seroni pushed the pict back at me. "That is none of my business."

"We did Sorge's nephew in. The—the—the pylons too. That was us. Some bloody half-cocked AdMech plan went sideways. Destroyed Cadia. I dunno…"

"I want you to recall a happy memory, be it a moment, a meal, or even a piece of music, and hold on to it."

A spork passed between hands sharing a ration can. "I've—I've got one. A meal. Best meal I ever had."

"When you are in a bad place, I ask you to think of that moment. Ask the same of Susannah. Your shared experience bridges the two of you. Now more than ever is the time to strengthen ties. You are not alone, James. Just look down." Trip's big brown eyes met mine. "Trip, Susannah, Den too. Build bridges, James, that is my order to you. Let others in and talk about it. Leave this lonely island you've built."

I sniffed and wiped my nose on the back of my fingers. "It's not that easy."

"It never is. I would be happy to see you at dinner tonight. The Obrist and Commander Sorge will be there. Show them you've developed. Surprise them."

"Hm." I rubbed Trip's brow. "Couldn't have asked for better."

"Can I give one more word of advice?" Seroni reached across the desk and shook my hand. "Relax."

"Not that easy. I'm terrified someone will find out."

"Sorge knows. He'll protect you."

"I didn't want his protection—I didn't want the bloody commission either!" My fingers dug in to the arms of my chair.

"What—what sort of music, James?"

"Huh?"

"What sort of music do you like?"

"Rezin." I touched the warm skin on my brow and pushed hairs upwards.

"Think of Rezin."

"…'Kay. Okay. Err, can you—can you mind Trip for me, please? Just 'til my arm's flapping about again."

"Deal."

"Thank you, ma'am." I got up and stretched. "My clobber clean?"

"Should be. Might need an iron and a sew-up before you wear it again."

"Ta." I eyed a loose pile of blank sheets inside a tray next to a slot. "Not using that paper, are you?"

"Why…?"

"Just need something to write on."

"Fine."

"I'll need a razor as well. How else am I gonna look like a proper officer?"

"Razor?"

"You suggested it."

"Mmm…"

"Why, what's the problem?"

"It's not really proper practise letting a patient at a blade."

"D'you want to watch me? If you want someone peeping over me shoulder it's alright. I don't care."

"Korne can do it. You know Alec Korne?"

"Yeah, the young fella."

"If you let him know I gave approval, he'll take you to the washroom."

"Be good, boy." I ruffled Trip's ears. "Just another few hours and we'll be on our way to BC Naval."

"Oh, oh didn't you hear? The enemy reached the system before us. The navy's engaging them in BC's orbit so the dockyards are on lockdown currently."

"Where's that leave us then?"

"Another few weeks in the Warp. Sorry to break it to you."

"Ohh, sorry 'bout that, Trip. Be good, pal. I'll see you soon."

"I…" Seroni wheeled herself to a cabinet. "I found something in the cargo pocket of your trousers—two things in fact." From a drawer, Seroni took a pair of wooden identity disks and a carving of a horse. "I'm very sorry, but the horse has lost its leg."

"Oh." I grasped the tags and squeezed them in my fist.

"A friend?"

"Mm."

"It's a lovely carving." Seroni set the horse on the desk and turned it towards me.

"Thought I'd lost it."

"Did you carve it?"

"No." Someone better did.

Under the eye of the junior surgeon, I laid a razor on the shelf above a sink and set a tube of shaving cream beside the wooden horse. "Are you…? Do you need assistance, James?"

"Nah, mate. Done it before." I pressed my elbow against the full tube and caught the cream before it could squirt out. With the cream covering my jaw, I took the plastic cover from the blades and raised the razor to my chin.

Start at the top of your cheeks and work down. The blades carried the cream down my cheek and off my chin. Just give everything a run-down then go back up. I flicked cream from the razor and eased it down to my neck. What are you doing? Stop. Stop!

Blood stained the razorblades. I turned it around and dropped it in the sink and leaned on the shiny porcelain. "Are you alright?" Korne came forwards with a towel. "Nicked yourself a bit there."

"S'all good, mate." I wiped the excess away. A hair-thin red line stung my jaw. "Done 'ere."

"Thank you." Korne sealed the razor inside a plastic bag and took the tube away with him.

Rueben Gale. I wetted my hand and splashed my face. Didn't deserve it. None of them did. Water dripping from my nose, I rubbed my thumb across the base. Beneath it were the initials CAS, Atreides Cavalry.

Dinner, at 1900, was served in a mess separate to the Urgraf NCOs and other ranks. The Obrist and his twenty officers occupied a long table in the centre of the room. Commander Sorge and Lieutenant Commander Barakat sat one table along from the Urgraf. Their grey was almost identical to Urgraf fatigues. My Zeke jacket, cleaned and with new buttons sewn, stood out in the grey sea. "Evening, sirs."

"James! Sit down, man." Barakat patted the bench he sat on.

"Let him get his dinner first, Innes." Sorge pointed behind at the counter. "Give the cooks a shout, James."

The Urgraf cooks piled vegetables upon a mound of steaming rice and passed a tray over to me. Water quivering in a foam cup, I took the wobbling tray over to Barakat and sat down next to him. "Shaved, James?" The smiling Barakat set a plate bearing flat, wafer-like bread next to my tray.

"Brand new buttons too, I'll warrant." Sorge tore a hunk of bread off and drove it around his plate.

"Ahaha, found yourself a batman already?"

"Sir, was wondering if you'd…" I dug out a folded piece of paper from my breast pocket.

"Mm, course. Tuck in, James, I'll take a look once I've had my recaf."

I prodded at the vegetable mix with my fork. Barakat said, "easy enough. Don't even need to cut it up."

Yeah, but where's the meat? I lifted a soggy bit away from the rice.

"That's courgette, James. It's all good for you."

Rather have some cold compo than this mess. I dug in to the rice and shovelled a forkful in to my mouth. Seroni sat at the far end of the Urgraf table with Korne, Haber, and the other surgeons oblivious to us.

"Who are you looking for?"

"Er, no-one, sir." I turned back to my dinner.

"Want some, James? It's got sultanas in it," Barakat said.

"What are sultanas?"

"Dried grapes."

"Pfft, never had grapes. Expensive down my way."

"Oh, which way was that?"

"Nice little market town."

"Orsolya has an older quarter with a market every two weeks."

"What's that?"

"Orsolya's Haven's capital."

"You've been there before, James. Thought you'd remember." Sorge laid his cutlery together.

"I was in hospital." Bloody running for my life after that.

"Wounded on Nemesis Tessera, Innes." Sorge carried his tray over to the hatch.

None of your business, that. My grip tightened around my fork. You weren't there.

"Recaf, Innes?"

"I could stoop."

"Had enough, James?" Sorge frowned at my near-full plate.

"Nah. S'cuse me?" I leaned over the counter. "S'cuse me? Could I get a pot for this stuff?"

"Soldier?" Sorge's louder voice carried through the kitchen to the staff. "A pot and lid for the lieutenant, please."

A sullen-looking Urgraf in whites spooned the vegetables in to a small plastic box, leaving the rice alone on the plate. "Ta." I pressed the lid down and carried the box back to the table.

"Recaf, James?"

"No thank you, sir." I drew the folded paper and laid it in front of Sorge's place.

"What's that, James?" Barakat said.

"Just… just need a signature, is all."

"I'd be happy to—"

"Number ten, sir. It's for Commander Sorge."

A smiling Sorge brought two recaf mugs over to the table. "Brand new packet, Innes. Can't get any better than that."

"If only the veg wasn't so soggy."

"Err, what's this then?" Sorge unfolded the paper. "Ah! Good…" Sorge's eyes followed the untidy scrawl. "Thank you, James." With a flourish, Sorge added his signature to the bottom.

"Thank you, sir. If you'll excuse me."

"Of course. Glad you're back with us." Sorge raised his mug in toast.

"Obrist?" I approached the Obrist with the letter. "Sir, would you take a look at this, please?"

"Tross?" The Obrist slurped from his cup and slapped it on his tray. "Give me that."

"It's lieutenant, sir." I held the letter away from the Obrist. "I'm an officer."

"You think pips make you an officer? Ever commanded soldiers in the field, boy?" The Obrist snatched the letter and clicked the butt of a pen. "Here's your damned letter, Tross." The Obrist held the letter up but kept a tight grip on to it. "There'll be no commander to save you next time. You understand?"

"Sir." I took the letter and walked down to Seroni. "Hello, ma'am."

Seroni lowered her spoon in to a soup bowl. "Hello, Lieutenant. Is your arm feeling better?"

"Yeah, little bit, ma'am. Was wonderin' if you'd be kind enough to take a look at this?"

"Yes, of course."

"Ooh, secret?" Korne, sitting opposite Seroni, grinned.

"Alec…" Haber nudged Korne.

Seroni unfolded the letter. Her eyes skimmed across the letter. "Mm-hm, I see. A lesson learned, Lieutenant."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Will you be needing that?" Seroni nodded at the box in my hand. "I know someone who might."

"Err, read my mind. Ta." I put the box on the bench.

"Enjoy your evening, Lieutenant."

"And you, ma'am." Warmth flowing through my cheeks, I went back to Sorge and Barakat.

"Good, James?"

"I want to speak to you, sir. Privately."

"Make it twenty-two hundred. I'll be available then."

"Sir. Am I excused?"

"You are."

At a few minutes to ten, Barakat found me in the ward and took me on the tram across the ship to the cabin requisitioned by Sorge. After bidding me goodnight, Barakat left me outside the cabin. "Sir?" I held down the call button beneath the speaker. "Sir, it's Lieutenant Larn."

"Come."

Sorge sat behind a desk in a position much like on the destroyer Kyriacou. Smoke rose from an ashtray, golden liquid sat in a glass, and papers occupied a tray beside a cogitator. The desk though was polished and marked with gold trim. Carpets covered the floor and oil paintings the walls. A wooden bracket held a planet on four legs in the corner of the room. "James, do come in." Sorge slid sheets from his desk and slotted them in to the tray. "Aha, caught your eye, has it?"

"The—that?"

"Open it."

It opens? I dug my fingernails in to the planet's equator and lifted the upper hemisphere. It swung up on hinges, revealing eight bottles inside. Some tall, others narrow, fat, or square.

"Augustus has fine tastes. He won't mind if we dip in."

"I'm not thirsty, sir."

"Oh, take one anyway. Go on, take one."

What's Old Snake? I picked up a square bottle with blue glass.

"Shots only, I think. Try Baster's. That's the green bottle. Might be more up your street."

I set the bottle of Baster's on the desk and drew a chair up. A long list printed on a green sheet of paper lay in the middle of the desk. Wet ink shone. Tiny tick boxes bracketed names. Yulia Singh? I read the name upside-down before Sorge could snatch the sheet away and slip it inside the tray. "Wrong doc. Here's yours." Sorge set a document with a blank dotted line running across the foot before me.

"Sir, could I have a bit of scrap paper?"

"What's this, James?" Sorge pushed some notepaper across to me.

"My conditions, sir. In case you forgot."

"Mind and body are still sharp, James. I'm not out of the game yet."

"Yeah, I'd like your signature 'fore I sign your agreement, sir."

Sorge frowned. "What's this about…? Who's Ilona Savage?"

"Widow of a friend o' mine, sir."

"Widows are entitled to forty per cent share of the deceased's pay."

"Only if I can prove they're KIA, sir."

"Well, can you?"

The wooden tags, inside my trouser pocket, pressed against my leg. "No, sir."

"And you're asking for sixty per cent here. The Guard will never-"

"If the bureau can pay Urgraf well, you can pay the widow too. The Guard will pay her shit-all. You know that, sir."

"We are not a charity, James."

"I'd like closure for him and for her. Most of all for her. He begged me to find his wife when he lay in my arms. I don't think you understand, sir, 'cause you've never been that close to a person. Never felt so powerless to stop what's coming. I'd like you to agree to my terms before I put my name on the dotted line. Once my name is there, I promise I will sign up for every educational course provided and improve my smarts. Become a proper officer, so to speak."

Sorge twisted a stylus in his fingers. "You are already a proper officer."

"Nah, it's like the Obrist said. Pips don't earn you the right. That you can only find out there in the bondo."

"So, Nemesis Tessera, Cadia didn't bestow this right upon you? Those are your qualifications, James. Never downplay such feats. It'll only lead you to being passed over for promotion and a diminished chance to further your career. That is your primary target right now; better yourself."

"Sir, I'm saying there's loads better than me—people who oughta be wearing pips."

"It's the same with every career, military and civilian. There are always better men and women out there who are more suited in a role, they just haven't found it, or will never find it. Take what you have and make the most of it."

I scrawled out my initials and surname on the dotted line and pushed the sheet across to Sorge. "Night, sir."

"Goodnight, James. Are you taking your bottle with you?"

"I don't—I don't…"

"Take it. You did a good job on Henna-Morata. If you can survive all that, you can survive anything."

"Sir." Bottle under my arm, I took the tram back to Medical. I'll get this to you, Ilona. I drew the horse from my pocket and fingered the broken leg. Needs a repair first. The Baster's leaned on the seat next to me. Smiles and bribery. Is that how the bureau works?

The office the surgeons occupied was empty on my return. This one's for you, Captain. I placed the Baster's on Seroni's desk and turned the label to face her chair. That's my life signed away second-time around. Hope I can make something of it this time.