Zarkaniy, Zuccollo Cluster

Urgraf in respirators moved through the gutted mess, the bodies of their brothers swinging from their arms. Extinguishers squirted across the blaze devouring the kitchen. Tables and chairs had piled on one side of the mess, leaving an open space littered with Urgraf casualties.

"AdMech." Richard Sorge nudged a body in red with his toe.

"What the hell is that on its arm?" Innes Barakat lifted a severed tube away from pale, stringy liquid coating a red sleeve. Other tubes protruded from the thing's head, akin to dreadlocks. "Thank the Emperor Urgraf apprehended them, I say."

"Soldier?" Sorge caught an Urgraf stretcher-bearer by the arm. "The Obrist?"

"I don't know, sir. We carried him and Captains Hutnik and Ostapenko out first. Excuse me, sir."

"Of course." Sorge stepped to one side and let the bearers past.

"Richard?" Innes bent over a table lying on its side at the foot of the pile.

"Be a crying shame if the Obrist were to come a cropper, what with the major missing too." Sorge shoved an upturned chair aside. "Who does that leave in command now?"

"Richard, it's James."

"Ah."

"Throne of Terra, he's a mess." Innes pulled a Merotech out and passed it back to Sorge. "Take this would you, Richard?"

"Safety off, full-auto." Sorge moved the selector back to the safe position. "Our boy meant business."

"There's another man here—Urgraf."

"Leave him for the vultures, Innes. We—" Hands coated in dried blood shot at Innes's throat.

"Eugh, James!" Innes seized James's wrists. "James!"

Sorge balled his fist and struck James's temple. James's grip slackened and his arms fell. "Alright, it's alright, Innes."

"Eugh, God-Emperor, I thought he was dead." Innes wrapped his hand around his throat and tilted his head down. "Erm-hmm."

Sorge shook his hand and ran his fingers across his knuckles. Not what the God-Emperor thinks. "Let's—Let's drag the table back first."

"One sec." Innes fumbled for a corner. "Right, got it."

"Okay, pull!" Metal edges scraped against the floor. "Fold these legs and let it down gently."

James lay on his side with one arm flung out and the other trapped beneath his body. A shock baton nestled in an Urgraf ammunition belt around his waist. "Is that his blood?"

"Who else would it belong too?" Sorge pulled James's arm around his shoulder. "Up you come."

"Richard, your back."

"Ahhh, it's nothing." Sorge wobbled underneath James's weight.

"Wait, let me…" Innes slid the belt around James's waist and released the buckle. "I see what you mean." Innes wound the loose belt around a holstered sidearm and the baton.

"Stretcher for you, sir?"

"No. Soldier, I want these AdMech treated for their injuries."

"Our people come first, sir."

"I understand, but I don't want them left here in a pile."

"No, sir. Our people come first."

Sorge tottered after Urgraf orderlies and stretcher-bearers. He and Innes left the smoky mess and descended a deck to a recreational facility. Military tents occupied a sports hall and foldout beds covered varnished floors. "Captain Bukharin?" Sorge approached one of the captain's surgical team standing outside a tent.

"She's seeing the Obrist right now, sir, and we have other officers to operate on after that." The surgeon raised a hand. "I'm sorry, sir."

"If possible, could you examine a party of AdMech. They're—"

"Excuse me." The surgeon backed in to the tent and swiped a curtain across the entrance.

"Why, Richard?"

"Think, Innes! There's dirty work afoot here. Come on." Sorge carried James through injured Urgraf lying in beds and less seriously injured queued up for treatment. "Maybe once we're at Haven we can start getting some decent food in you." Sorge bent his knees beside an empty bed in the corner of the hall. "A hand please, Innes."

"I've got him." Innes got a hand around the back of James's head and laid him down. "Poor fellow. D'you think we might have gone a bit far, Richard?" Innes loosened his respirator and pulled it clear.

Sorge lifted his own respirator off and wiped his sweaty face down. "If he wishes, he can keep believing and acting like he's a damned noncom from behind bars."

"Richard." Innes brushed muck from a single pip pinned to James's shoulder tab.

"Fine." Sorge put his fingers inside a slit on James's sleeve and widened the gap, revealing a bandage. "God-Emperor, there was no way in the Warp I was organising another exercise like that. Bloody waste of time."

"Those pips say otherwise."

"Yes, precisely. He's started acting his age. Next step, get him to act like the officer and the gentleman he's supposed to be."

"Baby steps first, surely. He's crawling now. Why don't we let him find his feet before anything else happens?"

"Mm, fair point. Let him defuse. A day's rest, then I'll debrief him."

"If he doesn't want to listen?"

"He will." Sorge straightened up and pressed his fingers in to the muscles in his back. "Right now, I'm his only hope of survival if Urgraf kick off a witch-hunt."

"This wasn't his fault though, strictly speaking."

"No, I put him on that blasted station." Sorge swiped his hands across his thighs, leaving mucky marks on the grey cotton. "How in the God-Emperor's name was I supposed to know he had AdMech friends there. Bloody cocked things up." Sorge noticed Trabant Ulman assist an injured friend in to the hall. "Innes." Sorge bore down on Ulman. "A word, Trabant."

"Er, yessir." Ulman scratched an eyelid. "Sorry, we've got a bit of a handful here—"

"I'm aware of the current developments, Trabant. Let's talk outside."

Ulman followed the officers out of the sports hall and up the stairs. "Well, sir, we've got injured coming in from all over the ship—"

"Your major, Trabant. Has he been located?"

"No, sir." Ulman's forefinger tapped on his Merotech's receiver.

"And who's in command then?"

"Err, should be—should be Captain Kreber now, sir."

"And where can I find Captain Kreber?"

"Either the bridge or the CIC, sir. It's where I saw him last."

"That's all, Trabant. Commander?" Sorge turned his back on Ulman.

"Oh, sir, have you seen Lieutenant Larn?"

"See to your people's safety, Trabant. I'll see to mine." Sorge trotted up to the mess deck. "Now, I have a sneaky suspicion this Kreber is unaware of the current developments."

"Shouldn't we catch him up?"

"No. No, I think it's time for another change in hands, Innes. How do you feel about being my Officer of the Deck?"

"But how does Urgraf feel?"

"Were it not for me, Urgraf would still be trapped on that dust-ball with the enemy and dying of thirst to boot. They owe me everything."

Stretcher-bearers carted injured past the officers in a near-unbroken file. All this. A single party of AdMech. They had better be alive. I want answers. "Soldier, I'm requisitioning this transportation." Sorge strode up to Urgraf unloading injured from a tram.

"You'll have to speak to the captain, sir. We've still got injured coming in from different sections."

"I've spoken to Captain Kreber. Now, I must reach Operations and assess the overall damage to the ship." The Urgraf's eyes, all that were visible behind his ballistic goggles and facemask, fixed on Sorge. Others stopped to watch. "Commander, take the time, and I'll take your name, soldier."

"Sir." The Urgraf tilted his head. The Urgraf inside the cars hastened out with the remaining injured.

"Bluffing, Richard?" Innes said once the doors had sealed.

"I wasn't walking the length of the ship. Take forever." Sorge's hand hovered over a collection of buttons beneath an emergency door release. "Bluff, confound and confuse, Innes. Let the little people worry for the little problems. Our jackets button up over issues far greater than a few injured mercenaries."

"The AdMech."

"What are they to our young protégé?" Sorge sat opposite Innes and lifted his knee. "You know, I have never worked with the followers of the Machine God. Odd crowd. Too interested in smearing oils over everything from Mark Seven tanks down to toasters. Well, too enamoured in maintaining obsolete tech more importantly. Give us a new infantry weapon, for Throne's sake, or even just an automatic toothbrush."

"They're scared, Richard. I don't think anybody wants to be the first to test the water for nibblers. And besides, the first one who does invites ostracism then dismissal for heresy."

"Heretek." Sorge dragged a fingernail along stubble on his jawline. "Yes, but it's only heresy if you get caught."

"Richard!"

"Everybody—everybody's crossed that line at some point, Innes. Even a pinkie or a little toe. I exceed speed limits, I don't always pay for parking, and I go for one-night stands."

"Huh-huh! God-Emperor, at your age, Richard."

"Well, the wife certainly plays fast and loose with our vows too."

"Both guilty then."

"Hmph. I've never caught her, and she's never caught me. We know though. It's there on the wall."

"Still a wayfaring cadet at heart?"

"Take me all the way back to Grukan. Sneaking out with the lads. Drink and women every night."

"I know how this ends."

"Hunh. A million different girls and that one had to fall in to my lap that night." Sparks zipped across the car's windows and the tram slowed. "How would the admiral's temperament fare if he discovered this catastrophe orchestrated by us?"

"I'd be more worried about his blood pressure at his age."

"Or he could just do us all a favour and have a stroke."

"You'd only be writing reports for another admiral after a week, Richard. Wouldn't get your hopes up."

Sorge pinched his thigh and stood up and pressed the door release. "Any time this month, please." The doors parted, leaving a foot-wide gap for a second then they slammed together. "God—!"

"Richard, I think…" Innes pointed at the ceiling. "The—the machine-spirit."

A consciousness without a mouth. "No, this one's not in-house. I think we're dealing with something entirely different."

"Rogue artificial construct?"

"Ssh!" The doors opened without a sound and Sorge stepped on to the platform outside Operations.

"Halt, identify!" Two Urgraf raised their Merotechs.

Sorge and Innes raised their hands. "Commander Sorge and Lieutenant Commander Barakat to see Captain Kreber. We're unarmed, soldier."

The sentries lowered their weapons and stood aside. "Go on. Captain's in Ops."

"Twitchy-twitchy," Innes muttered to Sorge once they were out of Urgraf earshot.

"If you thought the ship had turned sentient, you'd be on edge too."

"True."

Blank map tables greeted the officers on entry to the operations room beneath the bridge. An Urgraf lay on his back with his legs sticking out from underneath a holo-chart. Wires and unscrewed panels surrounded him. Urgraf signallers balanced a few 349 sets around the narrow rim of the holo-chart, their headsets pressed to their ears. Bits of casing and dead crystals sat in piles at the base of the chart's dais. The only officer present, his back to Sorge, leaned against the chart's rim. A lighter flicked open and a cigarette-end glowed.

"Captain Kreber, what's our situation?"

"Ugh? Oh, you're that Navy man—"

"Officer. It's Commander Sorge and Lieutenant Commander Barakat. What's been happening these past few hours?"

"What, weren't you present?"

"Ashore. Catch me up." Sorge leaned on the edge of the chart. "Well, Captain?"

"It's all up the shitter, Commander. Everything not directly connected with the ship has gone haywire. All we've got are our Clansmen and half of them need replacement parts, so we've had to cannibalise the duff sets."

"How many good sets?"

"Four."

"Could the Obrist do with one? Captain Bukharin may need one in an emergency too."

"Pfft! Damned Inquisition is still blocking our signals though. What's the point?"

"No harm in trying, Captain," Innes said.

"Errr, you'll have to speak to the major."

"What if the major's indisposed?"

"Well, then the Obrist."

"We've just come from there, and it looks like he could do with some comms. Your decision, Captain." Come on, you oaf. Do something proactive. "We're heading up to the bridge."

"You can't."

"Why?"

"Come up here." Kreber led Sorge and Innes up a set of stairs out of Operations and along to a sealed blast door. Sparks spat from a plasma cutter inching along the seal. Urgraf Close Protection crouched on both sides of the connecting corridor.

"Any of yours in there?"

"Just the Navigator and that woman."

"The pilot."

"So. Any ideas, Commander?"

"Withdraw."

"Tssh! Don't be absurd."

"As opposed to go at the problem with a hammer and hope you can beat it in to submission? Let's try a different approach, Captain. You needn't risk any of your men."

"Risk them how? It's one bloody Inquisition." Kreber flicked ash across the corridor. "Soon to be no Inquisition."

"The ship's machine spirit, Captain. Do you want to risk offending it?"

"We've got the guns, Commander."

"Best of luck with that, Captain."

"Dano, how's it coming?"

An Urgraf slapped the cutter's shoulder. "Whassat?" The cutter powered the torch down and lifted a welding mask.

"How's it coming?"

"Nowhere with this torch, sir. The layer's just too thick to properly separate. I'm skimming the surface here. There's no way, sir."

"Captain?" Sorge said. "Your call, Captain."

Kreber removed the cigarette from his mouth and held it between his forefinger and index. Ash fell to the deck. "Stand down, Dano. Back down to Ops, the lot of you. I want signallers establishing links with their sets and heading out to Medical."

"Medical's a no-go. Captain Bukharin has set up her unit in a recreational facility a deck below the officers' mess."

"Er, right. Move 'em out." Urgraf filed past Sorge and Innes, the smell of burned alloy trailing them. Kreber, the last to move off, unbuttoned the clasp on his holstered sidearm and passed the butt to Sorge.

"Firearms won't help. Thank you anyway, Captain."

"Hunh. Imperial Navy's even dumber than the Guard." Kreber snorted and shoved his sidearm away. "Best of luck without, Commander." Kreber squished his cigarette butt and sauntered down to Operations.

"Richard…"

"It knows, Innes. It's listening." Sorge turned to the glowing line burned in the blast door. "Well, well, well." Hydraulics hissed and the blast door grated on its wheels. Four separate layers rolled back. The cutter had not even sliced through the top layer. Sorge swallowed and stepped on to the unlit bridge. "Flight Lieutenant? Flight Lieutenant Singh?" Light bloomed across the empty stations. Humming consoles returned to life.

"No damage," Innes muttered.

"Permission to enter the bridge, ma'am?"

"State your name and purpose."

Sorge and Innes glanced at each other. "Commander Richard Sorge, Imperial Naval Intelligence, accompanied by Lieutenant Commander Innes Barakat, my deputy. We request permission to walk the bridge."

A shape wearing a face-concealing helmet rose from the cockpit. Cables popped free from the ports on its arms and back. "Where are Andalusia and James?"

"The latter, able-bodied, the former, I could not tell. But you have my word, you will be informed of your colleague's condition. My word, Flight Lieutenant."

"Meaningless to me, Commander. As are both your lives."

"A valid point, Lieutenant—"

"Liselotte. The other is gone now."

"A valid point, Liselotte. Now, I will not pretend to be a good man or an honourable man, but I am of my word, and my word carries weight within the Bureau."

"Yet you lied to the mercenary earlier and his officer just now. If you are not an asset, you are a liability."

Sorge spread his arms. "Madam, already I can see you are an entity worthy of respect—"

"Do you find that works often, Commander?"

"We are in that business, madam. We bluff, confound, and confuse. Our war is conducted from behind a desk via field assets. My job is to separate the assets from the liabilities and apply said assets' talents in the field of information-gathering. Now, I paraphrase here, but soldiers win firefights, information can win wars."

"Apply your partitioning to me."

"Madam?"

"You heard. Now see." Seals popped and a visor retracted, revealing glowing blue eyes. Innes made the Aquila and bowed his head. "The predecessor welcomed it, Commander, seeing as you tore her from her family."

"Lady Liselotte—"

"Stuff the flattery, Commander." Liselotte threw her leg over the cockpit's edge. "Ermph." Her knee buckled.

"Was this all you, Liselotte?"

"Some minor scuffles with the ship's scrap-code." Liselotte flexed her fingers and tilted her head from side to side. "I don't enjoy beating up old men, but that geriatric scrotum left me little choice."

"Richard." Innes knelt at the foot of the Navigator's chair. A tiny piece of pink flesh lay on the deck. Blood and saliva stained the Navigator's chin.

"You didn't kill him, did you?"

"And leave us stranded to the enemy? Commander, the old man's problems equate to a soiled robe and a severed tongue."

Sorge knelt beside Innes and picked up the tongue with his thumb and forefinger. "Damn fool wet himself too."

"Thought I could smell something." Innes stood up and clicked his fingers just below the Navigator's chin. "Unconscious?"

"Fainted." Liselotte peeled her tall collar away from her neck and peered inside her shirt. "At his age, it's amazing he didn't go in to cardiac arrest." Liselotte frowned and stuck out her lower lip. "Hmm. What are those for?"

Sorge took a clean tissue from his pocket and wrapped the tongue up in it. "Madam, am I right in believing that you are able to becalm the storm holding this ship hostage?"

"A poet, Commander?"

"Actor. Trust me, I was never any good with rhymes."

"Not all poems must rhyme." Liselotte tugged at her left ear and folded it down. "Ballads don't."

"I fancied a sonnet more myself."

"Ballads tell a better story."

"My sonnet against your ballad."

"Impulsive, Commander. If you wish to wrest control of the ship from me via the power of wordplay, you can go stuff it, as my mistress would say."

"Yes, I'd very much like to meet with your mistress, madam. We can discuss our future co-operation over char."

"Er, what?"

"We'll chat with a wet one."

Innes cut in, "Madam, my superior wishes to talk with your mistress and have a cup of tea whilst doing so."

Liselotte's hands flew to her head. "Eurgh, be quiet all of you!"

"Madam?"

"A hundred voices, all without mouths. Shrieking, tearing at their bonds." Liselotte's helmet thudded on the deck and rolled. "Have you—ANY IDEA HOW HARD IT IS TO DO THE PUZZLE WHEN NONE OF THE PIECES FIT!"

"Madam, how can we assist you?"

"Rep—urmph—repair my mistress or I fly us in to a black hole."

"We shall at once, madam. Commander?"

Sorge pocketed the severed tongue and followed Innes off the bridge. Once the blast doors had sealed, Sorge patted his breast pocket and slid a cigarette out of his packet. "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, one for me too, Richard. I've a few more choice words which I think I'll keep to myself."

Smoke streamed from Sorge's nostrils. "Aahhh."

"I don't believe for one second she was joking there."

"On our heads be it."

"On the block. That's where our heads will be once word gets out a rogue construct hijacked an Inquisition cruiser."

"Don't—don't use that term, Innes. We obliterated the remnants for a damned good reason. Their names are nothing."

"What, rogue construct or…?"

"Yes, the other."

Muzzles turned on Sorge and Innes down in Operations. "Commander, what happened up there?" Kreber motioned the Urgraf to stand down. "Any trouble?"

"The ship's machine spirit has had a tussle with a foreign body designed to compromise the system. Everything is in order now. The Navigator is unconscious but should come to soon."

"W—what, who? Who brought the foreign body aboard?"

"That is what I intend to find out now, Captain." Sorge touched a 349 set. "I'd like to borrow this voxcaster if you're not using it."

"Now see here, Commander!"

"See what? You're out of communication with your commanding officer, Captain. Have you any idea what's been happening fore and aft of this station?"

"Well, it looks like…"

"Bad news. That's what it looks like. The Obrist is injured and in a serious condition. Captains Hutnik and Ostapenko are too. Your major is also missing. You have command of Urgraf. Sort your comms out!" Sorge pulled the straps of a 349 carrier over his shoulders. "I'll return this as I found it."

Sorge and Innes left the stunned captain behind and headed over to the platform. "Richard? Richard, can we talk about what happened on the bridge?"

Sorge tossed a glance at the Urgraf sentries. "It's happened. We're rolling with the blow. Nothing else we can do."

"But our careers, our associates, our families…"

"Innes…" A slow grin spread across Sorge's face. "I smell an up and coming asset."

"But the Bureau. The admiral."

"I'll bring the old man around." The car doors refused to open even after repeated jabs of the button. "Come on. Come on."

"Richard? If you smile at a Glowing Borewyrm, it's going to smile back. Teeth and all."

"Say please." Liselotte's voice echoed around the platform. The Urgraf sentries' heads twisted.

"Please."

Den Ulman circled a torch around a sleeping berth clogged with smoke. "Is this the last one?"

"Everyone else is out, Trabant."

"Right." Ulman slit a length of tape from a thin roll and made an X-shape on the bulkhead door. "Everything from this bulkhead on is off-limits. Let's go."

Signalman Cramer jogged up the companionway. "Trabant, Lieutenant Haber is asking for a headcount."

"Thirteen smoke cases on this deck. Five with light injuries."

"No VSIs?"

"Nothing serious."

"Roger."

"Hold on, I'll come down with you, Jon." Ulman sidestepped past Urgraf helping smoke cases down the stairs. "D'you know what happened in the officers' mess?"

"Gas explosion. I dunno…"

"Any dead?"

"Dunno, I wasn't in there. Lot of DA boys out for the count though."

On the deck below – the mess deck – Ulman lurched out of the way of three stretcher teams. Each one had suffered third-degree burns. "Jon, let 'em through."

"Jamie? It's Jamie!" Cramer reached down and touched Jamie Marlantes's arm and followed him. "What—what happened?"

"Ali Orto, Mik Tierden. Where's Otus, Otus Jopnell?"

"I don't know, Trabant. It was just the three of them in there."

That's not like Otus.

"Jopnell's dead," a passing assault team member named Osei said.

"What, in the fire?" Ulman slipped after Osei. "Osei, was it the fire?"

"Err…"

Ulman cornered Osei and took hold of his arm. "What happened?"

"Erm…" Osei's nose wrinkled. "Shouldn't really say but…"

"Then write it down." Ulman pulled a pen from a loop on his body armour and handed Osei a small notepad. "You told me nothing."

The Obrist.

Ulman folded the yellow paper and tore up. "Get where you need to go, Osei. You didn't tell me anything."

Alone, Ulman entered the officers' mess. Grey smoke curled around him. Fire had completely engulfed the kitchen. So strong, the force of the explosion had shunted every table and chair in the mess against the opposite wall, forming a mountain. The edges of Ulman's respirator clung to his skin. Embers floated through the open hatch and settled on three corpses lying atop one another. Red fabric scraps fluttered in the air. AdMech? Ulman nudged the body on top with his Merotech's muzzle. Hullo… Ulman shifted his Merotech around to his hip and rolled the body off. You're still alive. Been left to rot, have you?

At the foot of the mound, Ulman found an Urgraf boot sticking out from around a bench. Oh, that's not right. Blackened cotton and boiled flesh surrounded a deep cavity in Otus Jopnell's thorax. Melted ribs and organs, liquified, stunk. What happened to those bloody sprinklers then? Ulman squinted up at the dead sprinklers.

His Merotech swinging from its sling, Ulman carried Otus out of the mess on his shoulders. A figure in khaki shambled down the corridor towards him. "Wha—James?" Ulman spun. Otus's legs swung around. "James, don't!" Bare-headed, James gripped the edge of the mess hall's door and propelled himself inside. "Shit!" Ulman squatted and let go of Otus's wrists.

James shoved the body on top of the pile aside and worked his hands beneath the arms of the body beneath. "Eurgh-heurgh!" He spat on the deck and hauled the body backwards.

"James, out-out-out!" Ulman wrapped an arm around James's neck. An elbow slammed against his stomach and Ulman and James fell backwards. "Urgh!" Ulman rolled over and pressed his forearms against James's neck. "Calm down. Calm down. James, think. The smoke." James bucked beneath Ulman. "You'll suffocate. Don't be a fool." Ulman gathered James in his arms and bundled him out of the mess and set him down next to Otus.

Eyes streaming, James coughed. "Eurgh… Lusia. Lusia. I've got to get—" His hand flew to his throat. "Get her out."

"Not from there, you're not."

"Den, please." James wiped at his eyes.

"Damn it." Ulman set his mask straight and headed back in to the smoke. Which one?

"James, is this her?" Ulman positioned an AdMech body in front of him and set the head straight.

"…Dunno."

"Shit." Ulman left the body and scooped up another. "This one?"

"Err…"

"Fuck's sake…" Ulman's fingers closed around the last body. Red scraps and white flesh slid away from wires and cybernetic joints. Milky liquid leaked from severed tubes attached to the back of the AdMech's head. "Well? Money?" Ulman dug his fingers in to the nest of tubes and straightened the head. James scrabbled for the AdMech's hand and squeezed it. "Three out of three. All fighters."

"Den, I need—"

"What?" Ulman pulled his respirator off.

"I need your help."

"Help, how?"

"Get me three gurneys and a guy you trust."

"Korne."

"Why Korne?"

"Young enough and dumb enough."

James spat and wiped his face down. "Yeah, that's my whole sorry existence in a sentence. I, er… I did a bad thing."

"I didn't see it."

"Den, I k—I killed—"

"All the more reason to get you off this station then." Ulman stood up and brought his Merotech around. "You don't want to be here when the Obrist wakes up."

"Is he…?"

"We've a wager going. Only thing that's gonna kill the old tank is age."

"How much?"

"That's Urgraf knowledge." Ulman opened a pouch on the back of his vest and handed James a water carrier. "I'll be quick. Sit tight."

Bloody hell, James. Ulman rushed over to the sports hall. "Move. Coming through."

"Trabant, we've located the major." An Urgraf pointed at a gurney pushed against the wall. "His neck's broken."

Ulman tugged a sheet back, revealing the bald head of Major Zeljko. "Oh, hell. Anybody else with him?"

"Two of ours and the old man. All out cold."

"Right. Fine, fine. Any word from Captain Kreber yet?"

"Nothing, Trabant."

Ulman clicked his tongue. "Okay, we've got all our people out of Medical, yes?"

"Yes, Trabant. Sleeping berths are clear too. Parties are still bringing in injured from Engineering, Ops, and Gunnery."

"The Obrist?"

"They're still working on him."

"Alright, as you were. Well done, boys."

"Trabant, we…"

"What?"

"Those three AdMech…"

"Wasted. Sorry, but it looks like the Obrist won't get a chance with them."

"Let's take the lander and fly on over to the station and waste every last one of the Cogs. Come on, we owe that to the major and—and all of our brothers."

"And leave our injured? Listen, there's far worse aboard than those three Cogs. What else did you think caused all this trouble? They snuck a package aboard that's driven the ship's spirit nuts. We've got to take it down."

"Wh—how do we stop a—a rogue consciousness?" Fearful eyes flitted around.

"Well, maybe the Obrist should have thought of that before he took hostages." Ulman pushed through the little gathering and headed over to the trauma theatre. "Hey." Ulman touched an orderly on the shoulder. "Lieutenant Korne around?"

"Err, should be in our storage tent, Trabant. Just over on your left."

"Right, thank you." Ulman swept a flap aside. Folded stretchers, gurneys, medical crates, and satchels filled the warm interior. "The buffs of being a junior."

"Huh? Oh, hahaha." Alec Korne dumped folded blankets at the base of a pile. "Yeah, that'll be me in half a year, Den, doing something good."

"You can do something good now, Lieutenant. I need three gurneys wheeled over to the officers' mess. We'll make two trips and pick up blankets on the second."

"Errr, who's this for?"

"D'you want to be a junior all your life?"

"Well, no."

"Then do as you're told, fella."

"But what are we doing, Trabant?"

"I dunno who he is. I'm Den." Ulman gripped a gurney's steering bar. "Your job's to save lives. Help me save a couple more."

James sat with his back against the wall and an AdMech's head in his lap. Ulman, leading, positioned his gurney against the opposite wall. "Park it just behind me, Alec."

"…James?" Korne stopped in the middle of the corridor. Smoke crept out of the mess further down. "Eurgh, God-Emperor." Korne clapped his hand over his mouth. "Hey, who are they?"

"They'll be stiffs in half an hour. Come on, get 'em loaded up."

"Hello, James." Korne stuck out his hand. "Not seen you around much." James slipped his hands beneath the AdMech's legs and shoulders. Muscles stood out in his neck. "Here, let me."

"Leave off, Alec. Just leave it." Ulman laid another AdMech on his gurney. "I need you to pop back to the hall and grab us another set of wheels. Blankets too. We'll cover 'em up."

"Den, why are we doing this?"

"Hadn't asked myself that. I don't mean to." Ulman straightened the AdMech's legs. "Double-time please, Lieutenant."

James tottered over to Korne's gurney and set the body down. Stains shone on his jacket and little flecks of whiteish flesh stuck to his hands. "He did it, Den." James's head drooped. "He killed them all."

"Who, the commander? Killed who?"

James folded the AdMech's hands over its breast. "Garvin Kernow. The whole bloody lot of them. Den, I've got to get away from him. Everybody's a tool for him to use and drop. Him and the Obrist, peas in a pod."

"Was it you that took Otus Jopnell hostage?"

"I did. Did three of his mates in too. I'm not sorry." James stepped back from the gurney and spread his arms. "Shoot me."

Ulman kept his Merotech at his side. "You've wanted this for a while, haven't you? Not sure I'm trained to euthanise."

A smirk stretched James's mouth. "James never left Cadia."

"Really? And who's this then?"

"Someone else's body. Someone else's commission."

"And would James want you to be standing around whining whilst his friends' lives are in danger?"

James stared at Ulman then gripped the gurney's bar. "Down to the hangar. There's an AdMech ship."

"Which hangar? Oi, hurry up, Alec." Ulman waved at Korne. In possession of a third gurney, Korne wheeled it up to the third AdMech and heaved the body on.

"Eurgh, I'm changing my shirt after this." Korne grimaced at the stains the body left.

"Anyone stop and ask what you were doing? Anybody look at you funny?"

"What? No. No-one."

"Cover 'em up." James wrenched a blanket from Korne and spread it across his charge. "Cover 'em up, cloth-ears!"

"Alright, alright." Korne unfolded a blanket. "Where are we—?"

"Alec, do as James says." Ulman made sure his was covered head to toe before carting it off. Throne, I hope we're not taking them to a funeral. Behind him, James muttered to the body on the gurney.

One deck down from Recreation, Ulman carted his gurney out of a lift in to a corridor linking with the transit platform and pushed it against the wall. "Hold. I'll check if it's clear." James, squeezed in to the lift with his gurney, pushed it out. "I said hold!" Ulman winced at the clattering wheels. Ahead, lamps lit up the tunnel and a muffled howl grew louder. "Clear. We're in business." Ulman signalled to James. "C'mon, wheel her up."

The howl from the incoming tram receded. "Does this go to the hangar?" James stopped his gurney beside a pillar and ran back for the gurney Ulman left. "Den?"

"I dunno, I'm still getting my head around the layout." Ulman paced about. "Ahh, c'mon, c'mon." Two figures got up from seats in the rear car and moved to the door. "Oh, shit. James!"

"Trabant?" Commander Sorge and Lieutenant Commander Barakat left the car. A Clansman set bounced on Sorge's shoulders. "Ah, well done. We'll take the AdMech from here."

"That's for my captain to decide, sir."

"I'm sorry, Trabant?"

"I don't remember you occupying a position in my chain of command, sir."

"Hmph." Sorge's grin disappeared. "Hullo, Lieutenant."

Squeaking wheels faded. James let go of the gurney and, his unblinking eyes on Sorge, stood at Ulman's side. "I'm an office boy, remember? Play-acting another's life."

Ulman's eyes flicked sideways. James's head had lowered a little and his lips had folded inwards, making a thin line. Easy, James.

"They were not to touch you. I ordered them not to lay hands on you, James." Sorge raised his right hand, palm-inwards, and showed the rough, calloused flesh where his nails had been. "This. If this had been done to you or Innes, then I would not have been able to live with the shame. Trabant turn Lieutenant Larn over to me. Any punishment Urgraf wish to inflict on him is to be conducted with proper procedure by the Navy."

"That's Lieutenant Larn's decision, sir."

"Hand the AdMech over, James. This is their doing, and they will undo it."

"Number ten, sir. You're not sending them where you sent Kernow and the crew."

"What…?" Korne's mouth dropped. "You? You murdered the crew?"

"Sir, quiet!" Ulman hissed. His thumb pressed against his Merotech's safety catch.

"Loose ends, son. A dying regime can still bite."

"James." Ulman's thumb twitched. James took a step towards Sorge. "We're taking your friends over to the hangar sharpish, remember?"

"The Warp you are!"

Barakat moved in front of Sorge. "Richard, let's keep an even tone here—"

"Get out of the way, Innes!" Sorge swiped at Barakat's arm. "All of you are conspiring to undermine me!" A gruff, nasal voice broke through the clipped tone.

"James, don't!"

"Everything I've done for you—" James's fist smacked Sorge's nose. Blood shot from it and Sorge staggered back. The Clansman cracked against a pillar.

"Lieutenant, you've just—"

"Fucking prick. You don't give a shit about any of us!"

"Lieutenant, you've just struck a senior officer. Trabant, take him!"

"James, that's enough." Ulman barrelled at James and twisted his arms behind his back. You bloody fool.

"You'll be court-martialled. I'll see you court-martialled." Barakat reached for Sorge's shoulder. "Richard, are you alright?"

Blood oozing from his nostrils, Sorge pinched his nose shut. Through his closed hand, he mumbled, "be here when I return, Lieutenant. That is an order."

"Did you hear that, Larn?" Barakat's lips had turned white. "That is an order. Trabant, keep the lieutenant here and don't let him move." Barakat dug a tissue out of his pocket. "Richard."

"Arggh…" Sorge threw Barakat's hand off his shoulder.

"Richard, let me…" Barakat hauled the Clansman from Sorge's shoulders and set it on the platform. James fell against a pillar and slid down it. He pressed his swelling fist against his mouth and sucked on the broken skin around his knuckles.

"What the fuck were you thinking, James?"

Alec Korne gripped chunks of his hair. "I—I—I didn't see anything."

"Striking an officer's a shooting matter."

Blood seeped from James's knuckles. "Den, listen to me."

"No, James."

"No, just listen!" James made a C-shape with his thumb and forefinger. "Sorge is this close to taking over Urgraf. We've done exactly what he wanted. None of us are safe, Den."

"Look, I can't act against him without the captain's order—"

"—You don't need the captain's order to help me." James flew to his feet. "Sorge does this for a living. Don't you see? He lies, manipulates, then disposes anything he's got no more use of. Den, please. Help us get away from him and Urgraf and I promise you, you'll never hear or see us again. No more bullshit."

"That's for the commander to decide."

"That's on you, mate. Make a good call."

"Yeah, but this won't stop the commander."

"That tape will. The blank-sided one in your pocket. Have you listened to it?"

"No."

"Then listen. You'll understand. On that tape is damn-near enough an honest-to-the-Emperor confession of the Inquisition murders. The tape has to get to someone who can spread the word."

Ulman's tongue rubbed across his bottom lip. "…The admiral?"

"Nah, better. A newspaper."

"What, the press?"

"I know a man in Photo." James offered Ulman his bloody hand. "Your call, Den."

Diluted blood ran down Sorge's mouth and chin. Dark red water filled a collapsible basin beneath a tiny mirror. "Aghh. Damn him." Sorge's fingers brushed a piece of offset bone in his nasal bridge. "Mmph."

Innes hovered by the tent's open flap. "How's it looking, Richard?"

"All the kindness, the generosity, the commission and he spits it back in my face—GRRGH!" Sorge pressed the bone back in to alignment. Red phlegm catapulted in to the basin. "Damn him."

"Richard, you won't want to hear this, but I do believe we may have put a foot wrong with James—"

"Dammit, Innes, if I'd known you were an old woman, I'd have left you under the admiral's thumb to wither." Sorge ripped tissues up and plugged his nostrils.

"I am not exonerating him, Richard. He'll see his punishment served—"

"And never wear pips again. Golden Throne! Is it me, the Bureau, or just the whole damned system he has a problem with?" Sorge spread a plaster across his nose. "How in the name of the God-Emperor did he even make it to sergeant?"

"Come on, Richard. You said yourself this can't be ignored or shouted down. It's James and every poor soul who gave their all on Cadia bearing the loss of friends on their shoulders, and that's a hell of a leadweight to carry. I don't think you, I, or anybody understand at all."

"Friends…" Sorge balled up bloody tissue scraps and hurled them at a waste basket. The tissues hit the rim and scattered across the stacked stores. "An Imperial Guardsman does not have friends. There is only the Emperor. Friendship, camaraderie, love, all needless waste. Ignorance and obedience drives this juggernaut along the path of damnation, temptation, and heresy. In the end, only the Emperor's light guides us; the weak. We are the weak, Innes. James Larn is the evil of men."

"Not sure I agree one-hundred per cent there, Richard."

"If I'd wanted a bloody opinion, I'd have brought the wife along!" Sorge wetted his hands and wiped the last of the blood away.

"Richard!" Innes collected the tissues and dumped them in the basket.

"Come on." Sorge stumbled from the tent. "Let the underlings sort it out."

"Richard, you—"

"If you're not an officer or a commissar, you are little people. No sleep will be lost over their inconsequential existence. If James Larn wishes to be a recidivist all his life, he's bloody welcome to the sentence."

Jakob Haber backed out of a tent ahead of Sorge and Innes. A folded medical gown hung from his arm. "Hello, Commander. Is your nose alright?"

"Haven't you got the Obrist to work on?" Sorge pushed past Haber.

"It isn't my turn. I wouldn't worry about the Obrist, Commander. Nobody can understand what's keeping the old tank alive—haha! Will you pray for him, sir?"

"No, I will not!"

"Bit of a misunderstanding, Lieutenant," Innes said. "I shouldn't worry about it. Richard? Richard?" Innes jogged through the tent avenues after Sorge.

"Punishment, Innes. There is a lesson to be learned here, and not one to be forgotten after a week."

"Richard, that's the—" Innes dodged around two Urgraf with burns on their arms and hands. "Officers coming through!"

"Hur-hur. Officers of what?"

Innes scowled at the Urgraf and quickened his pace and caught up with Sorge. "Richard, that's the Navy's decision, not yours."

"As the highest-ranking representative aboard this warship, judgement falls to me."

"Let's keep it between you and the lieutenant, yes?"

"Hmph. Soon to be without rank entirely. Why, Innes?"

"The Cadian and the hound are off the table now."

"When I took you aboard, I did so because you nod and say yes to my every command. Don't think you can suddenly discover a spine and spin threats out of thin air. You are a signature-filler and a knee-bender, Innes."

"Leave the Cadian and the hound out of this, Richard. I'm asking this as a friend."

"Is this the way you wish to take this?" Sorge glared at a passing Urgraf and waited for him to move out of earshot.

"The way of an officer of the Imperial Navy. Honour, compassion, loyalty to your fellow man. Forgotten values, eh, Richard?"

"Oh, don't start. You're too late to grow a spine, Innes." Sorge scattered queuing Urgraf trailing outside the entrance to the sports hall. "GANG WAY THERE!"

"I'm begging you, Richard, we can only trust Urgraf so far to keep their word on what we did to the crew. The last thing we need is a higher bodycount."

"Cadians—traitors every last one of them! They lost their home to the enemy. How much more deserving of liquidation do they need to be?"

"Richard, what's happened to you?"

"Only the cursed AdMech are now screwing things up in to an even tighter knot—thanks for bringing them aboard, James!" Sorge marched on to the platform. "James? JAAAMES?"

"He didn't. He bloody didn't…" Innes leaned over the edge of the platform. "Trabant!"

"So, that's the way you wish to take this, James."

An alarm drew Sorge's and Innes's attention back to Recreation. "What? They're quick on the uptake."

"No, that's proximity alert." Sorge slapped a pillar. "Damn it. At a time like this!"

"The enemy?"

"Imagine that. Imagine the enemy showing up now. As if this day couldn't get any worse!"

"So, we're letting James and the AdMech go?"

"Well, it's them or the ship, Innes." Sorge spread his arms and dropped them against his sides. "When's the next bloody tram coming along?"

Fifteen minutes later, Sorge and Innes entered Operations. Captain Kreber jumped down from a table he was perched on. Idle signallers surrounded him. "Hey, who's wailing the siren then?"

"Proximity, Captain. We're needed on the bridge." Sorge strode past Kreber.

"Are we allowed up there?"

"Right." Sorge spun and came nose to nose with Kreber. "Any man or officer here with previous experience crewing a warship of any capacity raise your hand."

"Er, that would be none of us, I think, Commander."

"Congratulations, Captain, you are the first and last officer I am going to permit to waste my time. Well done."

"Is it the enemy, Commander?"

"First and last!" Sorge jumped up the stairs.

"Navy matter, Captain. Best leave it in our hands." Innes rushed after Sorge.

"Alright, what is it then, Pilot?" Sorge side-stepped through the parting blast doors. A holographic display cast pale blue light throughout the dim bridge. At the centre of the display hung the long body of the cruiser, no larger than a cigar. Malusov Station, three gigantic spires connected via pipelines, girders, and umbilical tubes, loomed over the cruiser. "Is it the enemy?"

"Eleven individual contacts at 72 296 klicks, Commander."

"I can't see them on Auger, Richard."

"I've got nothing here either. Are you sure, madam?"

"Hmph-hmph. Doubt, Commander?"

"You wanted us up here for a reason, madam. Have you eyes on James or the AdMech?"

"James and my mistress departed the premises three point four minutes ago."

"Let's see…" Sorge gripped the display's traversal and panned to the vacuum between the ship and the station and increased the magnification. "Got you." Text blossomed from a tiny dot in transit. "Liselotte, grant me manual control of the ship's tractor beam."

"I am sorry, Commander. I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Liselotte, I require control of the ship's tractor beam. Your mistress is abandoning you. Is that what you want, is it?"

"I am many, Commander."

"Innes!" Sorge flicked a finger. "Get over there!"

Innes reached for the manual override lever. "AAGH!" He yanked his hand back and shook it. "Agh, God-Emperor!"

"Do that again and I cast your bodies in to the void. See how you like it, Commander."

Innes clutched his hand against his chest. "Ahh, needles…"

Sorge leaned over the map display, closed his fist, and pressed it against his mouth. I'll come back for you later then, Lieutenant. Don't think you're getting away with this.

"Is that it? Are we prisoners then?"

"Liselotte, you are aware this ship cannot operate at optimal combat efficiency without human input."

"The human interface element? Surprising, how easy it was to eradicate."

"Have you experienced a combat situation in zero-g before?"

"Are you really questioning my knowhow, Commander?"

"A brilliant mind. Of that I have no doubt, but are you versed in ship-to-ship combat in a multi-dimensional environment?"

A blip shot from Zarkaniy's flank. An annotation tacked on and followed in its wake. "Ramshead Seeker. One fired."

"Madam, what are we engaging?" Sorge doubled-tapped the seeker. A grainy, two-dimensional image sprung from the display, showing the seeker's flight through the vacuum. "There's nothing out there."

"Patience."

Sorge clicked the shoulder buttons on his chrono and started a timer. "How long until the seeker's fuel runs out, Innes?"

"How should I know? I haven't been on a combat tour since I was thirty-three."

Thank you for that contribution, Innes. A second Ramshead left its launch tube, then a third, a fourth, and a fifth. The chrono's numerals ticked up to four minutes. On the fifth minute, the chrono beeped twice.

"Asteroid belt, Richard. The first seeker's at the edge of the cluster."

"I see them."

"Not a chance it's making it through."

"Wait…" Sorge expanded the seeker's feed, revealing a planetoid-sized rock. "Wide enough to hide a fleet behind."

"Ten points, Commander."

"Impact, Richard."

Sorge swiped to the fifth seeker. "How much explosive force d'you think is needed to shift that asteroid?"

"Oh, oh, pick me, pick me."

"Ram two impact, Richard."

"Clever, Liselotte. Clever."

Chunks of asteroid burst outwards. The fifth seeker's feed grew fuzzy then dissipated altogether. "Five hits, Richard. Effect on target unknown."

"Hunh. Well, Liselotte? We're in your hands now."

"The fleet has broken formation. Just as planned, Commander."

"Good. What's our next move?"

"Hahaha, full speed ahead."

"Full speed ahead—? Liselotte!" Sorge ran up to the edge of the cockpit. "You'll cause a burn-out. Gradual acceleration only!"

"Or what, Commander?" Liselotte smirked.

"What I said! Compressor stall will cause a flame out. Ease on the thrust." Sorge twisted and shook his head at Innes.

"May I make a suggestion, Liselotte?" Innes tapped a laser pointer on the edge of the display. "I plot us a three-stage course that brings us around the thickest ring of the asteroids and upon the fleet's aft flank. We're best off engaging the enemy as far away from the station as possible—here." Innes spun the point of his laser around the third waypoint of a vector he had plotted.

"I see no necessary revision to that vector, Commander."

"Richard?"

"Execute."

Vacant stations around the bridge lit up. More holographic displays powered on, showing the ship's structural integrity, fuel reserve, oxygen, and ammunition counters.

"I'd be feeling emasculated were I in your position, Commander." Liselotte smiled. "Do you?"

"Permission to review our armaments, madam?"

"Granted."

"Oh, and gradual acceleration, please." Sorge stepped down from the cockpit and pushed a warm hand up his forehead. "I can feel the hair receding, Innes. The grey's not far away. I can feel it."

"You've got decades left under your belt, Richard." Innes scratched his beard. "Going grey's not the end of your life."

Sorge scrolled through Zarkaniy's armaments. "Thirty-eight tubes. Every single rack is full bar the spread we fired earlier. Ramshead Seekers. Chain-guns for point-defence. Groza triple-linked lance batteries, dorsal and ventrally mounted. Throne above, they weren't messing around when they commissioned her."

"Might as well make use of them."

"Hmm…" Sorge moved around to Innes's side of the display table. "I'd be happier if it was a human finger on the trigger."

"Well it is. Sort of."

"It's too much power. A damned good reason why we don't do this anymore."

"Gentlemen? I've opened access to Engineering. I need one of you to take control of the ship's power supply and route where necessary."

"Roger. Innes, keep me updated on the enemy's disposition." Sorge sat himself at a cogitator and fitted a headset. "Diverting resources from our void shields to propulsion. Easy on the acceleration, pilot."

Two men and a damned Abominable Intelligence. It'll be mine, Innes's, and James's commissions for this. Our lives too.

AdMech Tender TX-4660

"James? James, to the bridge!"

The AdMech respirator box banging against my chest, I climbed up to the empty bridge. "What's going on, Lilli?" Bright streaks shot from the cruiser's chin. "Shit, they fired. Is that at us?"

"Negative. My other holds dominion over the cruiser."

More than one Lilli? I wriggled up on to the console and moved far enough forward for my respirator to thud against the tender's viewport. "…Two, three, four, five."

"Their heading places the point of impact on the fringe of the cluster."

"Fringe of what?"

"Asteroids. More than sizable enough to conceal a fleet departing the Warp."

"Zeke?"

"I do not know, James."

Light sprung from the rear of the cruiser, where the engine nacelles protruded from the hull. "Lilli, how many ships can the cruiser fight at once?"

"That I cannot answer, James. There are too many individual factors to provide a calculated answer without running multiple simulations beforehand."

Fog spread across my lenses. "They're really gunning it, aren't they?"

"Affirmative."

"Lilli, you're sounding different."

"Affirmative. My being is aboard the Scythe Class cruiser. I am a simple offshoot without any of my other's… quirks."

I crawled back from the viewport and dropped on to the deck. "How long are we flying, Lilli?"

"For another twenty-nine and a quarter minutes."

"Come on, Lilli, you can do better than that. That's your mistress and her friends down there, for God's sake!"

"Do you wish to reach Malusov Station in one piece or eight-hundred?"

A light flashed on the console beneath me. A beep accompanied it. "Err, is that the station calling us?" I touched the button and leaned down. "H—hello, Malusov, this is—"

"James, direct traffic to the speaker installed in the console by your right shoulder."

"AdMech Tender Talon X-Ray 4660, you are entering Malusov airspace. State your clearance codes."

I stepped back from the console. "Lilli, help."

"Let me handle this, James."

"Ta."

Lusia, Purvi, and Stef occupied three shelves attached to the bulkhead on rails. Straps fastened their burned bodies down. Hold on, Lusia. I sat down on a hard bucket seat and made a fist with my hands and pressed it against my respirator. My Emperor. Though I have not served you well. I beg thee. Deliver this kind, generous soul. She who has shed blood for another. Reward her with salvation and a new life free from my wretched suffering.

Creased and with the corners curling, the pict stared up at me, its inhabitants frozen in time. I can see their faces. My fingers rubbed along my eyelids and squeezed my nasal bridge. Who have they got left? Who's going to raise them now? God-Emperor, I'm so sorry, boys.

Air rushed through the widening gaps between the hatch and the seals, blasting my hair back. Skitarii rushed aboard with weapons raised. I stuck my hands up and flattened against the bulkhead. "Wounded! Wounded for treatment!"

The Skitarii swarmed past me up to the bridge. A follow-up squad jammed muzzles in my chest, spun me around, and clipped binders around my wrists. "Oi, they're wounded! Don't leave 'em—ugh!" A Skitarii pushed me against the deck and shoved a knee in to my back. "Aargh! They're wounded. They need the surgeon right-fucking-now! You deaf?"

Clawed feet stamped around me. Oil dripped from steel bodies and joints grated. "Are these the ones?" Static burbled. A red hem swept across my shoulder. "And who is this?"

"I'm the fucking Omnissiah with a rusty bone to pick—eeurgh."

"Release." The foot eased off and clunked on the deck. "You in the uniform of the enemy. Speak or be thrown from the premises."

"Don't these pips don't mean anything then?"

"Stand up." Mouldy cheese wafted from beneath robes piled on a bulky, hunched-back body. Steam shot from chugging pistons and a square voice-box rasped. "Why does an officer of the Imperial Guard wear the uniform of the enemy, traitor?"

"No-no, that's Andalusia there. She's hurt bad."

"Andalusia van Callet, Purvi Varsani, Stefani Amit." The AdMech stabbed a staff topped with a mechanical skull against the deck. "Now you."

"Second Lieutenant Larn, Eight Brigade, Fifty-Fifth Cadian Division. Sort your wounded out!"

"There are no Cadians with eyes of blue, liar. Alpha, take the bodies away."

"Bodies? They're not stiffs, they're kicking!"

"Take the boy with you. Find him a cell."

A Skitarii jerked the binders up and hustled me down the tender's ramp. Armed Tech Guard surrounded me. Staves, lances, and pikes protruded from the mob which parted and left a corridor. Glowing eyes and the clod of heavy feet followed. Prods from the Skitarii's weapon directed me through the station and down many decks to corridors lit only by red auxiliary bulbs. The Skitarii unlocked the binders and a final prod pushed me in to a cell two metres wide and two tall. I slumped on the bare floor and leaned against a damp patch of wall. My hand settled against the pict in my breast pocket. Thud-thud. Thud-thud.

Food came and went through a hatch. Stubble sprouted across my jaw. A collection of bitten-off nails gathered in the far corner. Every time food came, I asked, "how is Andalusia?" No reply came.

An arm beneath my head, I murmured, "how is Andalusia?"

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant?"

"Uhh…" I lifted my head. "Wh—who are you?"

"Second Lieutenant Larn? Are you Second Lieutenant Arvin James Larn?" A man in navy grey stood in the open doorway. A beret sat on his head and a holstered sidearm bulged on his hip and a baton hung from a loop. Gold insignia shone and leather boots, reaching up to the knee, creaked.

"Uh-hunh."

"Lieutenant Larn, I'm First Lieutenant Golan, Imperial Naval Provost Company C-for-Cobalt. I've been assigned to escort you to a naval detention centre on planet Haven for offences against a superior officer. Your charges will be read in-transit. Come with me."

"Am I—am I dreaming?" My mouth hung open.

"Negative. You've been here nine days. Get the lieutenant on his feet."

Baton-armed provosts entered the cell, gripped me underneath my arms, and hauled me to my feet. My heels dragged across ferrocrete and up iron stairs. Light bored through the cracks between my eyelids. "Alright, alright, let me—let me walk."

"Let the officer walk."

The provosts let go and stood at my shoulders. "Where we—where we going?" I peered at the provost officer through my fingers.

"A Nimbus transport vessel, Lieutenant, for the flyover to Haven, and another leg in a Valkyrie to the NDC. Your commanding officer is accompanying you until the changeover. Any questions, please direct them to him. I am an assigned escort only."

"Right." I trudged after the provost officer. The provosts' boots stamped upon the deck behind me. Lasgun-toting provosts stood on either side of the Nimbus's lowered ramp. T-shaped visors obscured their faces.

"Commander Sorge, sir, I have Lieutenant Larn here with me. I am noting the time and location."

I stopped partway up the ramp. Richard Sorge sat in the transport's troop bay. "Very good, Lieutenant." Sorge took the tablet offered by the provost officer and fitted a pair of glasses. "Approved. Let's get underway." Sorge scribbled on the screen with a stylus and handed the tablet over.

"Yes, sir." The provost officer stepped back, saluted, and held until Sorge returned it. "I'll notify the pilots at once."

Sorge folded his glasses and fitted them inside his breast pocket. "Welcome aboard, Lieutenant." Sorge indicated the seat opposite. "Sit yourself down. I have your charges here."

A hand pushed me up the ramp and inside the troop bay. I took the seat at the far end of the row and fitted the harness across my chest. The provost team boarded and occupied the seats nearest the hatch. A deep red blot covered Sorge's nose, and the skin around his right eye had turned a shade between purple and grey.

"Second Lieutenant Larn, you are formally charged with the offence of striking a superior officer as well as…" I blotted out the charges and leaned my head against the bulkhead and closed my eyes. "Lieutenant? Lieutenant, are you listening?"

I did not look Sorge in the eye at all during the many hours aboard the Nimbus. Changeover left me alone with the provosts inside a Valkyrie on a landing pad at the edge of an airbase on Haven. Pink stained eastern the sky. Lights blinked in the distance.

"Stretch your legs?" The provost officer tugged on a pair of pilot's gloves. "No?"

I leaned forwards and tucked my hands inside my armpits. The rear hatch remained open on the final leg of the flight. A helmeted Armsman surveyed the passing peaks below with a mounted bolter. Low cloud left only the snow-capped mountains visible. I rubbed my elbows and put my chin against my breast. Clouds shot from my nostrils.

A crew chief held up two fingers and pointed at the deck. The provost officer nodded and mouthed to me, "two minutes out."

Two minutes of freedom left. I rubbed the tip of my nose. No, there's no such thing. Assets or liabilities, that's all we are. I felt inside my top pocket and took out my pict. With two-thirds of it torn off, only the centre remained. Two figures stood in front of a building peppered with shell holes and bullet scars. Small arms lay in a pile three feet high behind them. The figure on the left held a ceramite with cloth sacking and was fiddling with the chinstraps, a frown on his dirty face. The other, the taller of the two, wore a bare ceramite, far too large, leaving the eyes in shadow. But there was no mistaking the pale, heart-shaped face, and the strong jaw. Us. Together. A lie?

I held the top edge of the pict between my thumb and forefinger and tore it in half then half again. The scraps fluttered down to the deck and wind whisked them out of the Valkyrie's hatch, in to the dawn sky. Goodbye, Warrior Woman.

- Act I -