Kaluqa Plaza, Orsolya

Cudgels drummed upon riot shields borne in an unbroken rank stretching four-hundred feet between Insani Way, to the north of the plaza, and Annach Street, leading south towards Lutufeyo. Tents, windbreaks and marquees dominated the cobbles around the multi-tiered fountain in the centre of the plaza. Painted signs bobbed above heads. Xenos whispers fill the Lord Commander's ears. Say NO to Slant-ears! Our children will not be xenos slaves! One human, one empire, one Emperor!

Damp cloth clung to Ovi van der Beek's nose and chin. A mask hid all but his eyes and a transparent visor shielded his face. All along the line, officers beat their shields. Observers crowded windows and rooftops. An OSEC Valkyrie hovered two-hundred feet above the line.

"Control, this is Rinat Street barrier west. Aggro from the crowd, over here."

"Rinat, Control. Are you receiving aggro?"

"No. It looks like they're gearing up a counter-protest. They're throwing bricks, stones, bits of wood at the crowds nearer the nucleus. Definite aggro on the western side of the plaza. Please advise."

"Rinat, Control. Baton guns only. Maintain your defensive posture. Out."

The Valkyrie above Ovi's head dipped its nose and flew over to the western side of the plaza. Counter-protest? Are we beating our chests here all morning, or are we cracking skulls?

"Does make you wonder!" The officer at Ovi's right elbow shouted.

"What?"

"D'you think they'll remember what they were even protesting about, when they go home?"

"Hey, they go home, we go home!" Ovi jabbed his cudgel at the peaceful crowd on their side of the plaza then brought it back against his shield. "Just a few more in the hospitals. Who cares?"

"And a few more shipped off-world, you mean!"

"Are we still making arrests?"

The other officer shrugged. "Let some steam off. Break some noses. Who's crying out for these dissidents anyway?"

Sharp pops broke through the noise filling the plaza. Smoking cartridges spiralled over the heads of the counter-protesters. Water jets spat from reservoirs slung beneath the Valkyrie's wings and doused the crowds. Splattered signs were torn from protestors' hands and dashed upon the ground. Soaked tents collapsed beneath stampeding feet. Small gangs wearing masks broke away and charged at the OSEC line. Ovi dug his heels in and set his shoulder in to his shield.

Stones, bricks, and wood thumped against the shield wall. An iron bar clanged upon the ground. Bodies reeled away from the jabbing and swinging cudgels. Thick spittle landed on Ovi's visor and smeared the plexiglass. He brought his cudgel down on a swinging arm. The offender, clutching his wrist, dropped a thick chain and careered away nearly bent-double.

Through gaps in the shield wall, OSEC raised baton guns and launched smoke grenades at the protestors. Sharp hisses followed thuds. Grey smoke seeped from the thick cartridges landing amongst the crowds. Gloved hands seized the cartridges and bowled them back at OSEC. Officers pelted at fallen civilians and dragged and carried them through the shield wall to waiting snatch vehicles and bundled them inside cages. A glint in the sky caught Ovi's eye. Many thousands of feet up, aerial observation held orbit.

Maretuka Naval Base, Imperial Guard Quarter

Bright light illuminated a flickering projector screen pulled down over the orders board. Green-tinged footage played to the briefing room, swelling with NCOs, SNCOs, officers, and commissars. Tiny figures scooted between the smoke spreading throughout the plaza and the thin police lines, trading blows and hurling objects at OSEC. Squidged in with the other lower-ranking NCOs at the sides of the room, I brought my cigarette to my lips and inhaled.

A lieutenant general got up from a chair on the front row and picked up a remote control from a podium to the right of the projection. "Because of rising civil unrest in Orsolya, we are stepping up the deployment phase of our mentorship liaison teams from one week to twenty-four hours from now. Orsolyan security forces have requested assistance, and we oblige." The general clicked his remote. The live footage froze and a table filled with names replaced it. "If your name is on this list, you are on the deployment. You will be going in to Orsolya tomorrow morning and reporting to your respective barracks."

The table showed twenty-four names – all with the rank of sergeant up to warrant officer class two. Four columns of six rows divided the twenty-four in to six teams; each with the title Mentorship Liaison Team. Larn, J – Sgt. My name sat in the last column of MLT4, behind Sadoon, Y – Sgt, Thamer, L – SSgt, and Phang, B – WO2.

I leaned down to an ashtray built in to the arm of the seat nearest to me and stabbed out my cigarette, earning me a glare from the colour sergeant sitting in the seat.

"Lucky little bastard, you are, Larn."

"Jealous, Colour Sarn't?" I smirked.

"Would you want to police a platoon of bastard kids or a wife?"

"Hur-hur, hur-hur. I'll leave the ball and chain wi' you."

"On a more upbeat note," said the general. "At fourteen hundred today, an Astartes company will be accompanying the Trooping of the Colours. For those who are interested, they are a new template of Space Marine kindly provided by Archmagos Belisarius Cawl of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Attendance is mandatory. Those on the liaison teams with questions, please see Major Sehler. He will be taking the briefing from hereon. Thank you, all."

The projector died and the light returned to the briefing room. Those seated stood up and waited for the general and his retinue to depart before beginning to file out. Phang, Sadoon, and Thamer. I hung around with the two-dozen noncoms and warrant officers crowding the major on the stage. My eyes jumped between nametags attached to breasts. Come on, where are you?

"Youness."

"Oh, er, James." I spun and shook the thick hand of a man in his early thirties wearing a brassard on his arm with sergeant's stripes. His skin was darker than Lusia's and his moustache longer and thicker than mine. The nametag on his breast read Sadoon. "Sergeant Sadoon?"

"Youness. They call me Yoo."

"Nah—hahaha. I'm not calling you Yoo. Can you imagine the confusion?"

"Ahh, there's no pulling the curtains over you." Youness's lips split. "Ha-ha!" He opened a cigarette packet and shook one free.

"Aw, better not. I do 'alf a dozen a week. Spread 'em out a bit."

"Aha. Better control than I have." Youness stuck his cigarette in his mouth. "When they get you, they get you."

"'Ere." I flicked my lighter open and held the flame up to Youness.

"Mm, thank you."

"Don't it concern you? They're roping us in 'cause bloody OSEC can't do what they're s'posed to be doing. This is internal security's job, not ours."

"Yeah, absolutely. Corruption's eating them from the inside out. Has been for years."

"Yeah? Who's your source?"

Youness slipped his hand in to his breast pocket and brought out an OSEC shoulder patch and rank tabs. "Nine years. Mustered out a major and completed my masters."

"What in?"

"Microbiology."

"You did your masters then enlisted?"

"Mm-hm."

"Well, longest way up, shortest way down. Welcome to the Crotch."

"Haw—Crotch!"

"Whose crotch is this?" A warrant officer class 2 holding a sealed folder came over to us. "If it's turning green, seek help."

"Hello, sir." Youness shook Warrant Officer Phang's hand. "Youness."

"Hello. I'm Basam Phang." Phang stood seven inches taller than me, and four Youness. He had heavy-lidded eyes, as dark as Youness's, and curly brown hair. The area around his right cheek was concave, like a dented mask. "Call me Q. I'm just quartermaster sergeant major. I'm not scary, I promise." Phang's broken, yellowy teeth showed.

"Hullo, Q." I shook Phang's hand. "I dunno… those teeth could send anyone scarpering."

"Hah! Sweets. My one weakness."

"I didn't think sergeant majors had weaknesses," Youness said.

"Only to our wives."

"I thought married men weren't allowed to go in't Orsolya."

"Divorced." Phang fixed his eyes on my nametag. "Larn."

"James."

"Stay single as long as you can, James." Phang tapped his nose. "Bit of Q wisdom there."

"Ah, our fourth…?" Youness swung his arm at a staff sergeant with the sides of his head shaven to the skin. "C'mere, Loay, let's be a happy crowd." Youness ruffled the wavy hair on Loay's crown.

"Aghh, had to be you, didn't it, Yoo." Loay pried Youness's arm off."Hi, Sergeant Major, sorry about my friend. He's got wandering brain."

"Better than wandering hand, I guess." Phang shook Loay's hand. "Basam Phang. I'm a quartermaster. Q's fine."

"Q? Alright then. I'm Loay Thamer. Tay'll do." Thamer's eyes passed from Phang's to mine. "Not seen you in the mess before."

"Must be in high demand then." I grinned at Thamer and clapped my hand around his and shook firmly. "James."

"No nickname yet then, lad?"

"Well, it's alright for you, you've got a good name for that. Try giving me one."

"…Jam." Thamer waved a finger at me. "Yoo, Q, Tay, and Jam. We're Malt 4."

"Malt 4?" Phang's neck jutted forwards. "Any… objections?"

"What's malt?"

"Malt whisky," Thamer said. "Can't beat it."

"That's a drink…?"

"Can't wait to get you drunk…" Thamer rubbed his hands together.

"Loay!" Youness's brows deepened. "Easy now. We're all friends here."

"That goes for you, Youness, and you, Sergeant Major. Us four, tonight, no escape."

"Well, as long as we're out by the depot for—err—zero-three-thirty tomorrow, I don't see why we couldn't make that appointment." Phang closed his folder and pressed the snap in to place. "Make sure you've all got a copy of the itinerary when you leave. It's for the next four months of our deployment. If you've got downtime today, please familiarise yourself. I'll see you later on."

Four months? I scratched my nape. You're joking. Do I still get to book leave? I swiped a folder from the pile on the podium and tucked it under my arm and left the briefing room.

Over on the Navy side of the base, I passed between two food chain outlets packed with Navy grunts and followed an alley lined with waste containers down to a collection of white pods standing on stilts. Hard rubber matting with holes in it covered the hallway floor and cables, throttled by zip-ties, ran along the walls. I flipped open a tray cover beside a hatch and tapped the intercom. "I'm collecting donations for the mechanically-challenged. Any Rako to spare?"

The lock disengaged. I stepped underneath the rising hatch, in to a kitchen unit. Every inch of surface was covered in tech, either whole or in pieces. Wires sprouted from loose units. Power tools dangled from hooks over a hob. Stains and smears coated the cooker's dials and buttons. A microwave door hung open and dried flecks of food stuck to the inside. Empty ready-meal containers were stacked on the worktop next to a sink filled with brown water. I dragged a stool out from beneath a table and sat down at a table heaving beneath a broken cogitator, cabling, a dataslate, and an empty stubber with a full-length rail. Belted ammunition hung from the last hook in the row.

"James!" Lusia trotted in to the kitchen and dropped an open dataslate on the table's edge. Her hair fell down the shoulders of a thick, yellow sweater peppered with holes. Black dirt had found a home beneath her unpainted fingernails. "Mechanically-challenged! You arse."

"One of these days, I'll remember the code."

"I never told you the code." Lusia lifted a tray from the stool on the opposite side of the table and set it on the mats. "Wet?"

"Ta." I reached in to a nest of sticky notes posted on the unit above my head and peeled one off. "484, 282."

"Did I...? Urgh, bollocks." Lusia plucked the yellowed note from my fingers and screwed it up. "Yeah, even I forget things."

"Human thing, that." I set my folder on the table's edge and undid the clasp. Lusia picked two AdMech-branded mugs from the sink and ran them beneath a tap.

"Milk?"

"Yeah, go on." I parted the pages on the document. Lusia filled a measuring jug with enough milk for both of us and stuck it in the microwave.

"Do you mind decaffeinated bags? They're all I've got."

"Nah, decaf's fine."

"Something up?" The microwave whirred behind Lusia. She moved around the fat cogitator one way.

"Lusia—?" I stuck my head around the cogitator the other way.

"Let me…" Lusia swooped at the cogitator and got her hands around the edges. Cables dragged across the table.

"Hold on." I swiped the dataslate and levered the stubber's butt out of the cogitator's path.

"D'you like my stubber? It uses constant-recoil. A real blast to shoot—agh!" Lusia bent her knees and set the cogitator on the floor and worked the loose cables in to a rough knot. "I'll show you."

"Lusia, I'm—I'm leaving."

The microwave dinged. "You'll love it." Lusia bustled over to the microwave, brought the steaming milk out, and shouldered the door shut. She tipped the jug in to the mugs. "That one you've got there is the six-five version. Lighter than anything you've ever carried."

"Lusia, I'm leaving for Orsolya tomorrow."

The mugs clacked on the worktop. Lusia's hands settled on the edges and she spread her arms. Her head dropped. "For certain?"

I turned the file around and dropped it on Lusia's side of the table. "Have a look."

Lusia left the mugs on the worktop and climbed on to the stool. She planted her elbows on the table and leaned on her folded arms. "The Obrist remembered me. If he remembers me, he'll remember you."

"D'you want to…?" I nodded at the file.

Lusia thrust the file back at me. "I'm worried about civilian casualties once the Obrist finds out you are in Orsolya."

"Oh, you're worried 'bout civvies—?"

"—He hasn't forgiven! God-Emperor, he hasn't forgiven. Urgraf will happily level building after building, civilian casualties not a concern, if it covers up their murders. Their death squads are out on the streets right now."

"There's thousands on the streets rioting for God-knows reasons. The Crotch want us in there 'cause OSEC can't do their job properly."

"No! Do not trust OSEC, James. They and the PDF are corrupt throughout."

"Not much I can do, is there?" I brandished the file. "Four-month-long deployment."

"Don't trust a soul down there. Not civilians, not OSEC, not military. We don't know who's on whose payroll."

"Sorge will."

"That bastard Sorge!" Lusia's teeth slammed together. "There he is, the spider at the centre of it all spinning his web."

"Hey."

"What?"

"Should be just about brewed now I reckon."

"Oh, the tea." Lusia swivelled off her stool and carried the mugs over.

"You're the one person I've seen make their tea like that."

"The only way."

"Tss-hur-hur. Dunno 'bout that." I swirled the pale tea. "The Navy makes a mockery of their brew."

"How dare you. This is AdMech's own brand." Big eyes narrowed over the bright red rim. Olive skin crinkled at the corners.

"Available for purchase at all known outlets?"

"Hah! Imagine the money we'd make from selling our own brand of tea." Lusia set her mug down and backed off her stool. "Did you know, the Adeptus Mechanicus pays us nothing?" Lusia picked her way through the mess and disappeared in to another section of the hab. "Our payroll is handled solely by the Adeptus Fidicius."

"Well, it's a religion, innit?" I sat the stubber upright and snapped its bipod legs down. "Followers of the Machine God."

"Did I mention the scrapcode?"

"Yeah, you mentioned it." I got up and poured the rest of the tea in the sink.

"Everything that was designed to run with an embedded AI – toasters, nuclear missiles, singularity drivers – has been repurposed to allow human input. Your basic machine spirit is just reams and reams of corrupted code."

"I'd imagine you'd get even more charlatans preaching if the AdMech started paying their staff for it."

"Scumbag!" Lusia's voice rolled through the hab. "They're my people, James!" Lusia stormed back in to the kitchen, one hand clenched behind her back.

"Number ten." I sat myself back down and turned to face Lusia. "You're one of us."

"Okay, close your eyes."

"Can I eat it?"

"Close 'em." Lusia's brows shot up. "You'll eat what I feed you."

"Hunh-hunh."

"C'mon, hold your hands out, scumbag—both of them." A small, circular container touched my hands. "Open."

A blue flower sat inside a transparent cylinder. "What's this?" I flipped the container around.

"The seeds. You asked me to grow them two years ago. Blossomed in to something veeery cute."

"Hm, cute. I can't take this to Orsolya." I pushed the container back at Lusia. "Kind of you to think of me."

"Come on, it was the only one that survived. Take it. It's the lucky one." Lusia planted the container on the table and shunted it down to me. "Take it."

"What's the catch?"

"Catch? There's no catch."

"Always a catch…" I gripped the container and twisted the halves. A grey stick, no thicker than my finger, hit the table and bounced on to the floor. A folded-up note dropped out. The flower stayed on the table. I kicked a broken filter aside and picked the stick up. A piece of tape had been stuck to one side. A Gift.

"Second present?" I twiddled the stick between fingers. "Not the kind of gift I'd want, is it?" I reached for the note and unfolded it. "The Obrist."

"You would have borne Lilli in to the Urgraf infrastructure. She'd be there, waiting, for the Obrist and his staff to be together, preferably in one room." Lusia's eyes, bereft of warmth, fixed on mine. "Clean sweep."

"My turn." I slipped the stick in my pocket. "Close your eyes. Hand out."

"Okay." Lusia closed her eyes and offered her hand. I placed the stick in Lusia's hand and closed her fingers around it.

"Last time I did something for a woman, it didn't end well. You know better than anyone else."

"James…"

"Lusia, it's been two years." I planted my other hand on Lusia's and squeezed. "I tell everyone I found the Emperor inside those walls and that he changed me. I believed—I wanted to believe so much that Cyrano and Olen and Callum died for something. It's taken me two years to understand that they died for nothing."

"You served the Archmagos—"

"—We killed Cadian servicemen, Special Forces, Inquisition. I could've stopped what was happening at any point. I had every opportunity to say no."

"That's not how I remember it. We had a purpose—the pylons!"

"That's not how I remember it…" I flexed my tingling hand and scratched at an old scar crossing my palm. "D'you not want to move on? D'you not want to let Cadia go?"

"It's not that easy…" Lusia reeled away clutching her head. "Every time I reupload, I lose memories. I can't control which. Whether it's my children's birthdays or—or Desh. It could be you next. I'd lose you."

"If you go after the Obrist, you'd be falling in to that grave alongside him. Let it go. I've been seeing my guys' faces for two years. Every night, they talk to me. Always, always talking to me. When I wake, it's just me and the cell. Yeah, it's hard for me, Lusia. It's hard for everyone. I'm begging you now, move on!" I sat back down on the stool, planted my elbow on the hard surface, and propped my head against my closed fist.

Lusia toed boxes to one side and took her own stool. "So, the evil in men triumphs once more because good people choose to do nothing." Lusia held the stick over her mug in her thumb and forefinger.

"There's only one good person in this room. It's the bundle of cheer opposite me." I collapsed the stubber's bipod, laid it on the floor, and reached over to take Lusia's hand. "You've been the biggest bundle of cheer in my life for a long, long time." My thumb caressed Lusia's skin. "I want to hear more of your funny stories, drink more weak tea…"

"Weak tea!" Lusia wiped at her eye. "You never had it so good."

"I'll get leave as soon as I can. Come back up 'ere."

Lusia's eyes fell. "I won't—I won't be here." Hairs on my arms and neck stood on end. "The Archmagos passed summons. I must answer his call. I'm sorry it's so sudden. I only found out at breakfast."

"Nothing to do with the parade, this afternoon, is it? I was hoping we could…"

A lump bobbed in Lusia's throat. Deep lines cut between her eyebrows. "The Primaris Marines are scheduled to board their landing craft at fourteen-thirty. My seat is already booked."

"Will you be there? The parade?"

"Of course."

"Don't mind me seeing you off, do you?"

"Hmm, course not."

"And Lilli…?"

Lusia dropped the stick in her tea. "Just an imperfect offshoot. Lilli never left the cruiser."

"Well, I hope she's happy." I moved my empty mug to Lusia's mug. "And I hope you're happy too."

"To happy hearts." Lusia nudged her mug against mine. "And to moving on."

Weak sunlight fell upon the shortest of Tuka's four runways, cordoned off to air traffic. Huge stands supported the seated officers and their families watching the Naval and Guard personnel, all turned out in their No.1 uniforms, parading to the sounds of the brass band. In the right of the line stomped the Space Marine company. Each over two and a half metres tall, the Marines marched in loose formation, out of step, and fully armed. Glossy blue paint shone on each Marine's armour. Officers, at the head of each platoon, rested longswords on their shoulders. Wind caught the edges of purity seals and flapped the crimson cape of the OC, alone at the head of the company. He alone held his sword in salute of the highest-ranking officers and commissars filling the tallest box in the stands.

At the far end of the paradeground, the Guard and Naval formations peeled left, while the Marines curved right towards a kilometre-long lander resting lengthways across the runway with its bay doors open and engines idling.

The companies marched off the runway, through Tuka's streets, and back to their assembly areas. On the command, the company I marched with fell out. Grunts dispersed and made their way off the grass verge. I parted the metal clasp holding my high collar tight around my neck and hitched up the sagging pair of trousers I wore. Toecaps, polished to a mirror-sheen, stared up at me. I peeled my cuff back from my chrono and doubled in the direction of the runway. 14:27. Still time.

"THAT MAN THERE!" My heels sprang together and my thumbs crashed against the seams of my trousers. Hobnails clacked behind me. Bristling in his No.1s, a warrant officer class one prowled in to my field of vision. His armpit held an RSM's swagger stick and his upper lip an immaculate, grey moustache. "Out." The swagger stick tapped my stomach. "Up." The swagger stick rose to my chin. "When you retire from the paradeground, Sergeant, you retire to your billet and assume your general service uniform in order to carry out your duties, be they administration or drill-related. I do not expect to see a schoolboy shy his first fumble skipping down the street with his collar undone."

"Sorry, sir." I fastened my collar.

"You will be sorry. A sergeantcy at your age does disbelief to my eyes, which do operate a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degrees. You should know better, Larn."

"I wanted to say goodbye before she left, sir."

"To whom?"

"Lusia, sir. She's leaving with the Marines, sir. AdMech, she is, sir."

"When?"

"About ninety seconds, sir. It's sad, sir."

"Well, you'd better do something, hadn't you?"

"Yes, sir." My neck remained rigid.

The RSM's stick returned to his armpit. His peaked head lowered. "Off you go," he muttered.

"Thank you, sir."

Robed and hooded AdMech queued inside a tunnel leading out on to the runway. Servitors hunched over hover-sleds piled with luggage. Roaring air from the lander's engines blasted my hair back. "Lusia? Lusia!" I wrenched shoulders around. Goggles with bright green lenses covered eyes and damp piping protruded from mouths. Vocalisers burbled and screeched. "Lusia?"

Five spaces back from a checkpoint, an AdMech with a travel sack over one shoulder twisted its hooded head. "James!"

"Fucking parade…" I bulldozed through the chittering techpriests and made it to Lusia's shoulder. "C'mon, you don't want to hang around with these losers. I'm a much more fun drunk." I unscrewed my beret and stuffed it in my belt.

"Heh-heh. Oh…" Lusia's hand crept around mine. "I saw you marching. Took a picture."

"I had a run-in with the Stick Man, just now. Dodged a fizzer from his highness."

"Lekker. Is that how you say it?"

"Yeah, that's how they say it."

"Who?"

"Maybe I'll tell you 'bout me and the Roaneks, next time. Show you my tattoo."

"Yeah, maybe you will." Lusia's smile faded.

"Lusia." My hand rode up Lusia's arm.

"Don't let any more innocents die."

"We'll do all we can." My shoulder touched Lusia's. "Techo-witch."

"Hunh." Lusia's cheeks coloured. "I'm a…"

"You're a hug person. I know."

"By decree. This body is forbidden from recreational use."

My lips touched Lusia's cheek. "Decree shattered."

"Ahaha." Lusia's hand curled around my neck and drew my head in to her hood. Her bag dropped to the ground and crumpled. Our foreheads pressed together. "You're a finer man than you think."

"I wanted to make the next step."

"James." Lusia's nose brushed mine.

"I couldn't reach you."

"Hm…" Lusia's chin wobbled. She broke away from me, leaned down, and scooped up her bag. One hand over her mouth, Lusia passed her ID over to the Armsmen at the checkpoint. I stepped out of the queue and stood at the side of the tunnel. My thumbs ran across dry skin on my palms. I rocked on my heels.

Thin-lipped, Lusia scrunched up the strap on her bag and held it tight to her shoulder. Head bowed, Lusia snatched her ID and strode off to the boarding ramp. Gut aching, I hovered on the spot and watched Lusia join the embarking AdMech. The last few embarkees crossed the tarmac and followed Lusia up the ramp and inside the open hatch. Alone in the tunnel, on the wrong side of the checkpoint, I brought both hands up my forehead and scraped my fingers through my hair. The lander's engines grew to an ear-numbing roar. Ramps retracted and hatched sealed. Hands clamped to my crown, I squinted at the boiling air and the lander's slow rise in to the sky.

Beret dangling from my fingers, I wandered along a grass verge at the side of a road. Lorries crawled past. Mud clung to my soles and rode up the backs of my trouserlegs. Fumes belched from exhausts. I swayed sideways. Dewey grass soaked through to my knees and droplets clung to my squished beret. Clutching it to my chest, I brought my nose down to the earth and squeezed my eyes shut.

INI HQ

Keys, fitted to an iron ring, bulged in Ben's coat pocket. A latrine seat creaked beneath his numb buttocks. Sat in darkness, Ben touched the shoulder buttons on his chrono; 22:28. He eased himself up from the seat and arched his back. "…Aghh." Teeth locked together, Ben bent over. "Ohh… God-Emperor."

Needles dancing along Ben's spine, Ben side-stepped up the stairs. A wet floor sign remained in the corridor on Fourth. Ben held beside the silent lift doors and listened. Pipes groaned. A radiator murmured. An old-fashioned keyhole grated against key after key. Ben slid the dozenth key around the ring and fed the thirteenth in to the keyhole. The lock gave way and Ben crept inside and pulled the door to behind him.

Soggy cigar butts crowded an ashtray. Dark dregs clung to the inside of a tumbler sitting on a square mat. Finger marks covered a dormant cogitator's keyboard. Okay. Ben rounded the desk. What's so important to Sorge that he forbids the cleaners from entering? Ben's gloved hand tried the drawers. All refused to budge. Cabinets behind Ben were all likewise locked. His keyring only held the keys for office doors and the main entrance. Ben kneeled by a fat safe, wedged between two cabinets. A combination dial protruded from the thick door. Bugger it. Ben got off his knees and scratched his head. All a waste of time. Shredded paper overflowed from a waste bin beneath the desk. Waste…

Ben shuffled in to the tiny space on his knees and pulled the bin out. Now, where's your…? The shredder sat on the other side of the room next to a glass cabinet housing a model ship. Even better. Ben unfolded the shredder's tray and popped the lid off. The last sheet to be processed still sat inside the machine, shredded but readable.

Beneath a desk lamp, Ben laid the thin lengths out and moved them together. Shipment #2247 Flight Plan. An authorisation stamp left by the Administratum covered the header and dates and locations filled the rest of the sheet. Why shred this when it's been approved? Ben dove in to the bin and pulled out clumps of shredded paper. With the flight plan shifted to one side, Ben began laying out strips.

23:00 came, then 24:00. The midnight hour struck. At half-past, Ben tore his eyes from the blurry strips and fell in to Sorge's chair. Ah, Izuru. Ben tipped his head back and let the chair spin slowly. His foot tapped a floor cupboard door. Hinges creaked and it swung open. Full bottles filled the shelves. You and me. Ben scooped up a bottle of Inouye's Blood-brandy and nudged the door shut. Smiling to himself, Ben set the brandy on the desk.

Five-hundred…? Ben rearranged some strips. Five-hundred Kazalak automatic rifles, two-hundred Krupnok .50-calibre, seventy-five rocket-propelled grenade launchers, two-thousand fragmentation grenades, half a million rounds. Where is this all going to? Ben returned to the flight plan. His finger tracked down the list of destinations. All had been crossed through with the exception of Haven. God-Emperor almighty. At the very bottom of the inventory was a printed name followed by a hand-written signature beneath that. R. A. C. Sorge.

Thick fog gathered around Ben's face on his way out of the building. The one key he clung on to secured the front door. Frozen earth crunched underneath his feet. His own parking space lay empty, his Siluvi being left in the guest parking lot on the level above. Quarter to one. Ben dumped his bag in the passenger's seat and keyed the ignition. Izuru will be worried. Cold air blasted at the mist on the windscreen. Angry even.

Ungritted ice lengthened Ben's ride out of Elek. His wheels hit the Ariko circuit and brought him up to the warm underbelly of Lower Gorev. Precious little traffic rode the circuit; long past curfew as it was. Multicoloured lights flashed behind Ben and a siren wailed. Damn. No luck tonight. Ben indicated left and pulled over to the side of the road. He reached for his identity card inside his jacket's inner pocket. Cold air continued to seep from the vents. Has my heater stopped working?

Two OSEC patrolmen, gauntlets resting on sheathed batons, grew in Ben's door mirror. Ben wound his window down and held his ID out. "Good evening, officer."

"Good evening, Mister Vantorout," an officer said without taking Ben's ID. "Still trying to keep away from the wife as much as possible?"

"Hah! I feel like the whole city knows at this point." Ben slipped his ID back in to his jacket. "Yeah, you guessed it."

"Is 453 still in service?" The officers leaned on Ben's roof.

"Oh, very much so. I, er… I dip my toe from time to time."

"Don't we all—haha!" A gauntlet slapped Ben's roof. "You have a good evening now."

"Yeah, you too." Ben wound his window up.

"Oh, watch out for ice on the side roads! They haven't been gritted yet."

"Thanks for the warning." Ben let the patrol car pull away before starting up. He rode the circuit all the way past Avramides in the north and down to Eastern Lower Gorev, near the river cutting Lutufeyo off from the middle-class districts, and turned off and drove down in to the lower streets. Dead streetlamps crept past the windows. Frozen patches of ground caught the Siluvi's wheels. The headlights swung across a sign for Mareth Way. Ben braked, brought the Siluvi to a halt, and turned on his interior light.

Hands clamped inside her armpits, Izuru shifted her dead shoulder away from the alley wall and put her back to the pockmarked brick. White clouds gushed from her nostrils. Her chin and nose had long since numbed. Hurry up, Ben. Izuru pressed her puffy sleeve to her lips. The stolen chrono on her wrist read 01:04.

A vehicle's engine cut through the silent district. Headlights ghosted along the uneven walls and askew lampposts. Izuru put her nose to the stone and tilted her head around the corner. Fifty feet down the street, a Siluvi in ugly, beige paint coasted to a stop and killed its engine. The hum died and a lamp inside the car turned on. A shadow sat behind the steering wheel.

Izuru tugged her watch cap further over her ears and shambled out of the alley. Her fingers let go of an empty bottle she held by the neck. The bottle hit the ground, spun, and rolled over. Izuru's other hand, deep in the pocket of her pressure suit, held a spring-loaded knife.

Ben raised a hand and indicated the ajar passenger door. "D'you know what? I'd love to have some work down on my car now. You haven't seen a young woman anywhere near here, have you?"

Izuru shoved Ben's bag off the seat and flopped in it. Her numb lips thinned and she arched an eyebrow. Ben's full-coloured cheeks shone. "Is your…?" Izuru held her hand over the vents on the dash. "Urgh, it's freezing."

"Sorry." Ben grinned. "You looked like a back-street bodger, from out there."

"I've been called worse…" Izuru held her closed fist to her breast and sat her chin on it.

"Ah, d'you like a vehicle service? How 'bout some new oil? Freshly sanctified."

"Ben…" Izuru lifted her chin and fixed Ben with another cold stare. "I'm freezing."

Ben's gaze dropped to the gearshift separating them. "Mind that."

Izuru lurched across and seized Ben's shoulders. Ben's hands caught Izuru's arms and worked up and down, rubbing all over, plucking at the thin tubes running along Izuru's sleeves. Izuru's bare hands clawed at Ben's jacket, undid buttons, and delved beneath the wool layers. Her nails dug in to Ben's shirt and drew lines.

Wild strands had come loose from Izuru's bun and shot over ears. Her bare head rested in Ben's lap and her drooping eyes twinkled. Ben moved his head down to Izuru's stretched lips. Warm flesh met cold. Izuru widened her mouth and worked her jaw up and down. Her hand cupped Ben's cheek.

Ben pulled his head away. "You've been drinking."

Izuru sucked in her upper lip and flicked her eyes upwards. "You think one slab is enough to finish me off?"

"…Slab?"

"Those multi-packs you humans sell." Izuru grabbed her seat's headrest and clambered upright.

"How many?"

"Urgh…" Izuru worked a palm in her eye.

"Come on, Izuru, how many?"

"Honestly…" Izuru hunched her shoulders and let them drop. "Less than it would for a simple zip to lay me low." To that, Izuru found the two diagonal zips on her suit and zipped them all the way up to the collar. "Ben." Izuru's cheeks coloured and she giggled. "I couldn't get past the second can, it was… vile, just vile. How can anybody drink such substance?"

"…Okay."

"Fine. If you don't laugh at my jokes, I won't laugh at yours." Izuru picked up her cap from the footwell and pulled it over her ears. "Are we doing it here or at Sasimo?"

"Something better…" Ben dragged his bag from beneath Izuru's boots. "Can you lift your…? Thanks."

"Better than sex? Surprise me."

"Better than sex…" Ben fished inside his bag. "How does a bottle of Inouye's Blood-brandy sound?"

"Wouldn't you rather sense be heightened than numbed?"

"Well, in that case, how does five-hundred Kazalaks, two-hundred Krupnoks, seventy-five rocket-propelled grenade launchers, two-thousand fragmentation grenades, and half a million rounds sound?"

"Heh—hahaha!" Izuru dragged her sleeve beneath her nose. "Ahaha—Ben! Ohhh, I'm sorry I didn't laugh at your joke."

"Izuru, I've got it all here." Ben held up a square device with a round lense embedded in the face.

Izuru's eyebrows lowered. "What did you do?"

"It's Sorge. He's been running guns to Haven—breaking the arms embargo! Everything—everything we need is on this camera. In fact…" Ben dug the film cartridge out of the bowels and thrust it at Izuru. "This can do more damage than all those bullets, grenades, and bombs combined."

"Why?"

"Why? It's Sorge, is why! He's—he's got me by the leash. I'm dancing his tune before I even know the song's playing. He—everything—everyone is an asset to him. I drove a young noncom around not long ago and he called me just the sort of lackey Sorge likes having around. Any danger to his career, you're disappeared. One bark for yes, two for no. Sit, stay, rollover—" Ben shoved his fist against his mouth, stifling his cracking voice. "I had no idea. I had no idea what sort of man Sorge was until he…"

"I mean, why sell guns here? There must be another angle."

"Greed. Just human greed."

"Greed is the same in all languages." Izuru eyed the cartridge. "As is treason."

"Do you want to while away the rest your days without a purpose? You failed as a Ranger; do you want to fail as a human being?" Ben slapped the cartridge in to Izuru's hand and closed her fingers around it. The Siluvi's engine turned over and kicked in. Ben switched off the interior light and flicked his headlight switch. "I told you about my father, didn't I?"

Izuru's elbow rested on the door panel and her head dropped in to her hand. "Ben, I want to feel your bare skin on mine. No more past or future, please. Let's just live tonight."

"D'you know what a slow suicide is?"

"I don't want to know."

"D'you want the short or the long answer?"

"I don't want any answer."

"Just look at the bottom of the bottle. My father didn't see it until it was too late. Maybe not even then."

Izuru reached across and squeezed Ben's arm. Ben took a hand away from the steering wheel and rubbed Izuru's hand. "I'm sorry. I'm just… tired."

"Let me drive."

"Not a chance."

"Hah! Not too tired to jest."

"I've always got something witty for you."

"Mm-hmm. Calixor Hereditus Grome."

"Have you read it? Do you like it?" The corners of Ben's mouth twitched. He threw a glance at Izuru.

"I do."

"Good enough for children?"

"Mmm. It will be for her."

"Hm?" Ben looked away from the headlights' arc. A red light flew past the window.

"You just drove through a red light."

"Oh, s—sorry—" Ben slapped his jaw. "Bleurgh. Beg your pardon." Ben braked at the next red light. "Sorry, you mentioned a her?"

Izuru rubbed her fingertips together and touched her lips. "I see things. That which was, and that which has yet to pass."

Red changed to green. "I believe you." Ben let off the handbrake and fed the Siluvi in to gear and accelerated across the junction. "Really, I believe—"

Ben's door caved inwards. Glass exploded across him and Izuru. The Siluvi skewed sideways and spun around, metal tearing, tyres screeching. Izuru's head smacked her window. Her body slipped in to the footwell and slackened.

Smoke stung Izuru's nostrils. A knifepoint dug in to the top of her spine. A wetness coated her legs. Broken glass slid from her body and gathered on the floor. Pieces cut in to her palm when she pushed herself up on the seat. A hunched shape sat over the cracked steering wheel; its blood-covered face pressed against the torn-up cover. Izuru's outstretched arm found a trouserleg. Her fingers tugged the hem then slid up to the knee and patted it. Limp fingers pawed at the thigh and cut in to the material.

Glass cascaded out of the passenger door and tinkled on the road. Izuru walked forwards on her hands and slithered out of the Siluvi and rose to her knees. Blood crystals oozed down her forehead and split in to two trails, running either side of her nose. A loose tooth grated beneath her tongue. Mucus filled her nostrils.

Izuru ran her hands along the Siluvi's frame and pulled herself around the bonnet. Steam drifted from the torn grill. Headlights warmed her knees. Izuru gripped the socket where the driver's wingmirror hung by a few wires. Bright red streaks ran down from Ben's scalp. Glass had embedded in his cheek, forehead, and right eye. Both arms hung limp.

Ben. Izuru jiggled the door handle. It broke off in her hand and hit the glass-strewn road surface. "Mmn." Izuru ducked through the window and shook Ben's shoulder. "Buh… buh…" Shaking hands snaked around Ben's shoulders. Izuru buried her nose in blood-clotted hair. Pink crystals seeped down her cheeks and oozed in to Ben's hair. "Ben."

Steam hissed from the crumpled engine of a car sitting thirty feet away. Glass littered the road. A split hubcap lay upside down. "He—hello?" Izuru tottered against the twisted flank. "Hello?" A man and a woman in civilian clothing sat in the front seats, their necks askew. Izuru jerked the door handle. Metal groaned. The car rocked.

Hands sliding across the rent body, Izuru slumped over the passenger door. Blood darkened the spotted pattern on a toddler's seat. A little hand rested on the edge. "Hey." Izuru stuck her arm through the window, knocking glass fragments off the frame, and touched the child's hand. "Hey." The limp hand slipped from Izuru's fingers and fell upon a body obscured in the shadows. "No." Izuru's chest fluttered. "Please…" She stretched her arm out to its fullest. Her fingertips brushed a tiny shoe.

Glistening footprints circled Izuru. She swept her cap off and wrung it and crushed it to her mouth. Strands of hair clung to her cheeks. Bloody crystals and mucus smeared her lips and chin. Bright eyes swung around a corner and bore down on her. Izuru lifted her dirtied cap and flapped it. "He—help."

Brakes squeaked. A door popped open and a human in a thick duffel jacket ran around in front of the car's headlights. "Are you alright?"

Stooped, Izuru lifted her head. "…No."

Glass crunched underneath the human's feet. His shoulders twitched and his arms came to his sides. "Get away…" The human reeled back. "Slant-ear!"

"Slant-ear?" Doors flew open and two more humans climbed out.

"Please, he's trapped in—" Izuru's head snapped backwards. A stone struck the road at her feet.

"Murderer!" The humans scooped up stones and hurled them at Izuru. Another struck her stomach. "Killer!"

Izuru careered away from the humans, hunched over and clutching her stomach. Stones slammed in to her spine and cut bloody slices through her ears. Bellows pursued her down an alley. Rats skittered out of her path and fled beneath frostbitten waste hampers. Icicles plunged down from gutters. Voices flitted from the shadows.

Why is she running?

Only the guilty flee.

Guilty.

Killer.

Murderer.

Stone steps tumbled away beneath Izuru's feet. She fell on all-fours on a ledge before a river. Light shimmered across the water. A red face bobbed over the ledge and thrust itself at Izuru. I can see you. Yellow eyes shone. Vertical, black slits bored in to Izuru's eyes. Now, open up. You know what is inside.

Izuru plunged her face below the surface and clamped her hands over her ears and twisted her neck. Bubbles streamed from her open mouth. Water muffled her scream.

A fist crushed my stomach. I opened my eyes and snapped my head around. A damp blanket slipped down my chin. Grey filled the sky outside the Wolf's window. Melting snowflakes edged across the glass. Packed kitbags trapped my legs and pressed against my shoulder.

"All good, my friend?" Basam Phang's dented cheek twitched. Squished in amongst the team's kitbags in the other passenger seat, Phang leaned over to me holding a lidded cup. "Bad dream?"

"Ta." I sipped from the tiny opening. "Mm, fuck me, that's strong." I swung the cup over to Phang. "Lost my bit of rough."

"…Bit of rough?"

"She's gone. Nunnit I could do 'bout it."

"There'll be another time."

"Not with her." I tugged the blanket over my chin and turned my head away from Phang and fell back in to a doze.

"James? Is James awake, back there?"

"James?" Phang's hand rubbed the blanket.

"Fuck yourself, Q, I'm hungover."

"Wrong answer." Phang pulled the blanket off. "C'mon, sergeants can handle their drink better than that."

"601s, gentlemen," Youness said from the driver's seat. "Loay, find mine."

"Thought we'd be there by now…" I gathered up my personal kitbag and opened a side compartment.

"Youness?" Phang pushed his military ID over Youness's shoulder.

"One, two…"

"Oh, funny!" Thamer pulled a black, plastic penis from his kitbag. "Guys, guys, I'm funny." Thamer waggled the cock. "Guys!"

"Little bit of home." Youness snorted. The penis belted him on the shoulder and bounced off the gearstick. "Ha-ha-ha!"

"Open." Thamer held his ID horizontal and flew it around to Youness. "Open wide!"

"Get the fu—!" Youness jabbed his elbow at Thamer.

"It's that or the shaft."

"Throat me, you throat the lot of us. Look!" Youness's hand flew at the windscreen. A spiked trap lay across the road ahead. PDF in flapping raincapes milled around six-wheeled, armoured lorries parked behind concertina wire. Pintle-mounted batteries tracked the incoming Wolf.

"Oi!" I tapped my own ID on Youness's shoulder. "Bin this flirting off, yeah? It's hurting me sensibilities."

Youness halted before the spikes and wound his window down. A PDF trooper wearing a ceramite cover and goggles took the four IDs from Youness and carried them over to a superior behind the wire.

Thamer's seat creaked. "Before we find any more surprise gifts, I'd just like to say, I put that ferro-block in your pack, Yoo."

Youness's fingernails danced on the door panel. "Tay, the next time you leave a building, I want you to look up."

"Oh, you'll be coming down on me like a ferro-block…?"

"It will be the ferro-block. How much of you d'you think will be left if I drop it from the roof?"

"Enough for me to not have to pay for the funeral costs—heh-heh."

"It'll leave a lovely staff-sergeant-shaped stain. Your piece is flapping loose, Tay, pick it up."

"Wish it was as big as my piece." Thamer dumped the penis down the throat of Youness's kitbag.

"Not mine, yours!"

Dozing in the back, I looked across at Phang. "She's rattling again, Q."

"Your head?" Phang unzipped a medical pouch and rummaged.

"Mm."

"Two of these, every six hours." Phang passed me a small, plastic bottle. "Water."

"Ta."

The four IDs returned to Youness. In front of the Wolf, the spikes slid out of the road and a gloved hand urged Youness on. "Good morning to you too." Youness guided the Wolf through a chicane. "I'd stay awake if I were you, James. We'll be able to catch sight of Upper Gorev, come the sunrise."

"Is that where the nobs live?" I stretched my legs out and wheezed. "Couldn't pay me to watch some blue-blood pad I'm never gonna see. G'night."

Knuckles rapped on my window. My head shot off the seat. I sat in an empty car bathed in sunlight and bare of kit. "…The fuck?"

"Sir, can I take your bags, please?" A lad in a bright red uniform stood with his nose near the glass. "Sir?"

I lowered my window an inch. "Fuck off."

"Yes, sir." The lad ducked back.

"Oi, hold on!" I spun the handle.

"Sir?"

"Where am I?"

Kitbag slung over my shoulder, I slouched through a foursome of gold-engraved doors and across a sweeping entrance hall after the lad. My PDF boots clacked on the shining, chequered tiles. Curving staircases bracketed by marble statues flanked a long desk screening a row of cogitators.

"Er, hold on, where you going?" I said to the lad.

"I'm taking your bags to your room, sir." Burdened beneath my kitbags, the lad swung around on the first step.

"Just—just leave 'em 'ere. I'll do it meself." I stumbled over to a receptionist. "S'cuse me, I'm—I'm with a group of soldiers. Don't know if they checked in 'ere or not."

A bright blue ocular grafted over the receptionist's right eye dilated. "Room 412, sir." The receptionist laid a keycard on the counter and slid it across to me.

"I 'aven't paid, I haven't booked anything."

"We hope you enjoy your stay, sir."

Keycard grasped in my fist, I picked up my bags and climbed past the statues. Marine life swam in glass tanks following the stairs up to the first floor where a balcony overlooked the hall. My soles trod purple carpets leading over to four sets of lift doors. My thumb touched the button for the fourth floor. Above my head, stuffed animals hung from the ceiling. Plants with spiked leaves sprouted from pots filled with tree bark. Henna-Morata. Stones rattled inside my stomach whined.

Doors ghosted open on Fourth. More purple carpets led away down corridors lit by sprawling chandeliers. Framed portraits and landscapes covered walls. Four-twelve. I dug the keycard from my pocket and pawed the sensory pad. 412's door rose. I lurched inside and dumped my bags just inside.

"Fucking hell." I thrust my face at an unfolded mirror on a small set of wooden drawers. Red patches covered my cheeks and brown stubble had sprouted along my jawline and on my chin. I ran my fingers over the bristly hairs and made an O shape with my mouth. "Trip?"

Big, black paws pounded the carpet, two sharp ears twitched and a long muzzle sniffed at my trouserleg. "You booked this room all for yourself, pal?" I squatted and ruffled Trip's shoulders. A big tongue slathered my nose. "Mmm, gissa kiss." I turned my ear to Trip and Trip licked it. "Gissa kiss, lad—ha-ha!"

Trip trotted at my heel in to a sleeping area fitted with a double bed and tied-off drapes. Tall wardrobes and desks stood against the cream-coloured walls. Drawn curtains covered a doorway leading on to a small balcony and a very wide and completely flat telescreen faced the bed.

"Who pays all this for a sarn't?" I flopped on the edge of the bed and fell back on to the covers. Trip stuck his head up and rubbed it along my knee. I scratched his ear. "Been keeping well, I hope? Still single? Yeah, me too."

Trip whined. I swung upright. Spots swam around my vision. "It's a moustache, mate. Don't look at me like that." I jammed my fingers in my eyes. "Tell you what, if you've left a chocolate bar for me somewhere…"

A brown package rested on a low cabinet beneath the telescreen. A name had been left in thick pen. "Larn, A? Never 'eard of him." Trip sniffed at the package. "Smell a bomb, do ya?" I tore at the thick paper and tossed it behind me. "Mmm." I sniffed at a black box and pulled the lid up. A red dog collar sat on layers of soft, red paper. "Lucky sod. Thought I had an early birthday present." I clipped the brand-new collar around Trip's neck. Trip flapped his head, sat down and raised his hind leg. "Ah-ah! Don't scratch." Trip whirled away from me. "Chew it off, I'll take it away ye." Grinning, I peeled the paper away. "Y'ungrateful little—"

Paper scraped away from a handgun. Bare steel glinted. Chips covered stippled, wooden grips. Brass nestled inside a single magazine. I bowed my head and dragged my fingers through my hair. Jabs punched at my stomach. Raindrops fell from the ceiling. Thunder rumbled. Excommunicate traitoris. Burning hammers pounded inside my chest. Trip lifted his head and barked. Thuds filled my ears. Excommunicate traitoris.

Grow it.

A fist struck the door. I lay foetal at the foot of the bed. The closed box rested on its side on the floor. Trip's body warmed my back. "Get the fuck."

"James? It's Youness. We're having breakfast. D'you want to come down?"

I turned my face in to the covers. Trip uncurled and slunk over to the door. His nostrils twitched. A paw scraped at the door. I rolled off the bed and clicked my tongue. "Oi." Trip backed off.

"Breakfast?" Youness whipped a menu from beneath his arm and thrust it beneath my nose. "Oh, hello! Where did you come from, friend?" Trip pattered past me and wound himself around Youness's legs. "Haw-haw!" Youness rubbed Trip's chin. Trip sniffed Youness's hand and licked it.

"He's with me."

"So, he is."

"Gimme a sec. Just—just gimme a moment." I found the bulge in a side pocket on my kitbag and removed the airtight container holding the blue flower. It fell, stem first, in to my fingers. I brought the flower to my nose and inhaled. Grow it.

"Everything alright, James?" Youness squatted in the corridor, his arms around Trip.

"Yeah." I took an empty glass from a cupboard and placed the flower inside. "I'm hungry."

Phang and Thamer sat in individual seats around a square table in a lounge behind the entrance hall. Pottery filled shallow alcoves in the walls and writhing plants sprung from long troughs. "James!" Thamer held up a fat pot filled with black recaf. "Just the cure for a hangover."

"Q's orders." Phang lifted a rack holding toast slices and swung it over a round plate laden with ring-shaped bread. "Brown toast, straight up."

"Didn't know they allowed strays inside." Recaf poured from Thamer's pot.

"Oi, Trip's been places you wouldn't believe." I fell in to the chair opposite Phang's and tilted my head back.

"Trip?" Phang unfolded a newspaper and wetted his thumb.

"Uh-huh." My jaw hung open. "Triptolemus."

"What sort of a name is that?" Thamer whirled a spoon inside his recaf.

"Don't ask me. I didn't name him."

"Adadadada!" Youness bundled a tray of buns away from Trip's nose. "Maybe we find you a bone, eh?"

"Pass the bread to James, Tay," Phang said.

"Er, you'd better get munching." Thamer set the brown toast rack on the table's edge nearest to me. "We're off to the barracks soon—hey!" Thamer clicked his fingers. "C'mon, eat."

"If you won't, Trip will." Youness parked his rump on the edge of his seat and smeared butter over his own toast. "James?"

"…Yeah." I plucked a slice from the rack and chomped it down. "Happy?" Crumbs tumbled from my mouth and stuck to my jacket.

"More."

"Could I have butter?"

"More." Youness thrust another slice at me with a smirk. "I've never seen somebody quite as sick as you were."

"When you've been dry as long as I have…" I dropped a crust to Trip.

"Hrgh."

Phang turned his newspaper to Thamer. "Look. If that isn't a bad omen, I don't know what is."

"Oh, not while I'm eating!" Fruit juice dribbled down Thamer's chin. "Do you think we want to know that now?"

"Know what?" Youness tore a sachet and poured brown sugar in his tea.

"They even let them have their own quarter here in the city. Can you imagine that? Slant-ears, the Blueskins, us, all packed together in Orsolya. Now, this happens." Phang dropped the paper on the edge of the table below Youness. "Slant-ear murders reservist and family of three."

"Not like it used to be." Youness scowled at the headline. "Damn sodomites. Savages leeching off our city. Gas them all."

"Heh. Somebody hasn't had his cereal, this morning." Thamer slurped his recaf.

"Drink it properly." Phang slapped Thamer's shoulder. "Specialists slurp. Show some dignity."

"They'll see no dignity from me, will the Slant-ears." Thamer dragged the back of his hand over his lips. "Did they say who it was?"

"Culprit was apprehended in Lutufeyo and is currently in OSEC custody. Identity withheld." Crumbs landed on the front page. "Won't do anything for Lutu's murder rate anyhow." Youness folded the paper and tossed it back to Phang. "What do we say about stepping off?"

"Mm." Thamer set his mug down. "Hope you're settled in, James."

"I'm settling down," I said, mouth full.

"Ha-ha!" Phang rolled the newspaper up and chucked it sideways at me. "Come on, Jam, we can eat in the car."

"Only if he comes too." I prodded Trip's hindquarter with my toecap. Mouth open, Trip cocked his head and wagged his tail.

White graffiti, emblazoned upon naked ferrocrete supports underneath a rail bridge, screamed at me. Where did love go? Split binbags and homeless filled the shadows around the supports. Cardboard signs read homeless veterans, any money, any currency helps.

"This the bad side of town?" My crumpled cap rested between my ear and my shoulder. Trip sat on the seat between me and Thamer, ears twitching.

"This is Elek, the nice part." Thamer lit up.

"Thought it was Lutu."

"No… Elek never looked so bad. Breaks the heart." Smoke streamed from a crack in the window.

"You been here before?"

"I'm home."

"You and Youness…?"

"Phang too. We're all home."

"Wish I could say the same." I patted Trip's back.

"I wish we could welcome you to the most beautiful city on Haven. Nothing but a haven of slag now." Thamer's eyes found a shop front with its windows smashed in and the shelves looted. Unattended fires writhed inside and smoke crept across the street.

"What the hell do they have to riot about?" Youness, in the driver's seat, wound up his window. "They're seeing a crusade in their lifetime – they should be celebrating!"

"The Slant-ears aren't doing themselves any favours," Phang said. "Easy to hate the non-human, especially after the murders here."

"It's any riot, any reason—" Youness, Thamer, Phang, and I jerked forwards. Trip fell on his nose in the footwell and let out a whimper. "Sorry." Youness wrenched the Wolf out of gear. OSEC clad in riot gear bore shields in a continuous line stretching widthways across the street ahead. A roadsign read Kaluqa Plaza.

"Are they still protesting? How long has it been?"

"OSEC can't risk moving in—manpower shortages." Youness stuck the Wolf in to reverse gear. "If they are overwhelmed, there's no-one coming to relieve them. They're controlling the demonstration by keeping it on the plaza. Give it another day, they'll disperse and there'll be arrests—hold on."

Engine whining, the Wolf backed up and turned down a side street. "Now what?"

"Windows up," Phang said. "James, Tay, windows up."

Civilians rushed at the Wolf bearing brand-new cogitators, telescreens, cameras. "Sir, new cogitator?"

"Buy my picts – eighteen Rako a pict!" A fistful of fresh picts hit the window.

"Fourteen-hundred, fourteen-hundred!"

"Ha! Trying to pawn off the same things they stole." Youness blasted the horn and walked the Wolf forward. A cardboard sign slapped my window. Leathery, wrinkled hands held it. We fought for Cadia. Don't forget us. I raised my bent arm against the window and lowered my head.

Several streets on, the looters thinned out. Grey smoke filled the glass-strewn entrance of a four-storey shopping centre. Two children pushed each other around the empty car park in a trolley. Thamer threw a 24-hour ratpack out of the window at them. The children stared at one another. Neither made any move to take the pack.

Spiked, iron railings bordered a wide yard overlooked by tall, old-fashioned, brick buildings. A blue sign stood outside barred gates. John Serord Grammatical. Rank upon rank of grunts in full kit stood at attention before a flaccid flag at the centre of the yard.

"Hello. School assembly." Phang unzipped a breast pocket and took his ID out. "Lads, passes."

"Good morning, sir." An armed sentry in flak and ceramite slunk out of a tiny cabin. "Are you the liaison team?"

"We're Malt Four. We've come to assess the levels of alcohol in divisional stores." Phang passed the four 601s over to the sentry.

"Yes, sir." The sentry scurried inside his cabin and picked up a field phone.

"There's not a drop of alcohol in Stores, Q. You of all people know!" Thamer snorted in to his hand.

"Yeah, it's all in the Pad and the officer's quarters." Phang bent the wing mirror inwards. "Not for the likes of them over there."

The sentry returned. "Sir, you're cleared to go in. Follow the road around the back of the annex, you'll see a carpark and spaces for guests."

"Many thanks." Phang closed his window and chucked mine and Thamer's 601s over his shoulder. Trip's nose shot out.

"Oi! Drop…" I pried my ID out from Trip's jaws and wiped the slobber off.

Hennus lorries and Wolf cars packed spaces marked by thick, white lines. Fatter and taller IFVs stood in a semi-circle inside a guarded compound doubling for a workshop. Youness crept the Wolf through the PDF motor pool and eased it in one of six spaces marked for guests at the far end just before an L-shaped brick wall and a sign saying general wastage.

Youness, Thamer, Phang, and I wandered around to the paradeground with Trip trotting at my heel. "Is this morning muster?" Phang flipped a cover from his chrono.

"Can't be, it's too late in the morning. They'd have fallen out by now."

"Some greeting, this." I clicked my tongue. "Come." Trip, instead, sniffed at a crotch. The blocky pattern, in various shades of grey identical to ours had a dark stain. "Come!"

"Caught a bit short or…?" Youness leaned his head towards Phang's and lowered his voice.

"Not an officer in sight."

"How long 'ave they been 'ere?" Trip and I joined the others by the flagpole. "They're sweating like fiddlers in a playground. That prick's bottle went."

"Let's find out." Phang led us through a gap and over to a door in the annex. Pale lime walls and a musty green carpet stretched away down a corridor. "Been a while, certainly." Phang twisted a red pin from a notice board and jabbed it through the soft surface. "Caned every week."

"Hargh!" Youness picked up a shiny wrapper, balled it up, and threw it in a waste bin. "I thought you'd be the good one."

"It took the Guard to straighten me out."

"A straight quartermaster…? Let me know when you see one."

"QMs are all bent-refs, James," Thamer said. "They're like labourers – they're all crooked."

"He talks a lot – don't he talk a lot?"

"Heh." Thamer tapped his cheek. "He'll get 'round to telling you soon."

"Psst—oi!" Phang and Youness, a little ahead of Thamer and I, had their eyes to a windowed door. Phang knocked and turned the handle down.

"Hold on, James." Youness raised a palm at Trip. Trip's tail sagged.

"Why we whispering?"

"Ssh! Officers."

Phang shut the door behind him and sidled along the back row of seated officers filling the hall. Light resonated from a projector. Every officer sat motionless until Phang leaned down to a young subaltern and exchanged words with him.

"What the fuck are they watching then?" Glass crushed Thamer's nose. "Can't see."

"Briefing? Porno?" Youness caught my eye and smirked. "If it's PDF, you never know."

"Hurgh-hurgh." I dug in to my trouser pocket and dropped a piece of crust to Trip. "D'you wanna go toilet, pal? Go piss on an officer."

The door handle twisted and Phang let himself out. "It's last season's semi-finals, second half."

"What?! They're watching the Blood Bowl while their men parade…" Thamer spun in a circle, his hands crushing his cap to his head. "How long have they been out there?"

"PM yesterday. That's all I got."

"God-Emperor! And they're still standing?"

"Gonna be a lot of bad backs tomorrow." I tossed another piece of crust to Trip. Trip danced on his hind legs and snatched the crust mid-air.

"Back outside. They're nearly done."

Outside, the PDF company remained statuesque. Light crept across the yard. The limp flag whipped around and flapped. Cigarette butts gathered at our feet. Trip sniffed at the fag ends.

"Hello..." Phang raised a hand at a man with NCO's strips on his brassards just stepping out of the annex.

"'Bout time." I dropped the last of the crust to Trip. Trip spread his hind legs and squatted. "Ooh, you doing a wee now, boy?"

"Get that stray out of here!" The PDF noncom rolled towards us and wheeled an arm. "Is he…?" His hand flew to a sidearm holstered at his waist and popped the clasp. A yellow puddle spreading across the ground, Trip galloped over to the noncom, his tail erect. The noncom's boot lashed out and struck Trip's stomach. "You little…" He clicked his safety off.

"Sergeant!" Phang's fingers found my sleeve. I ripped free of Phang's grasp and barrelled at the noncom, wrenched his gun arm up, and rammed my palm against the underside of his arm. The laspistol fell and the noncom stumbled back shaking his numbed arm.

"Did you 'ave a mother, or did the Crotch just shit you out like it shits out all lifer-bitches?"

"…Little bastard." The bent-double noncom snarled through clenched teeth, his crooked arm clutched to his chest.

"You're a shitty, sordid excuse for a sarn't, an insult to humanity!" I scooped the laspistol, dropped the power pack, and hurled both at the noncom. Trip bared his teeth and spread his front paws. "D'you want to kill me? Because it's gonna be a lot harder than slotting him." I faced the noncom squarely. My eyes stood level with his chin. "Maybe you kick dogs 'cause you don't have a dick." I undid the buttons beneath my trouser belt and dug out my penis. "C'mon, cunt, get it out."

The meathead noncom's eyes dropped to my groin. "Hmph."

"Huh? Aren't you a man?! Why you letting me insult you in front of your men? Are you too scared to get your dick out?" I spun and marched along the front rank. "Any men in this yard? Show this staff-bitch what real grunts carry!"

Fingers worked through buttons. The red-faced noncom mated his sidearm with the ammunition and shoved it back in to its holster. Trip growled at him. Still done up, the noncom slunk away. I about-faced at the end of the front rank and marched back to Phang, Youness, Thamer, and Trip. "Sergeant Major, any men over there?" All unbuttoned, the three NCOs faced the flag, now flying proudly, and saluted. I joined them and saluted alongside.

A quarter of an hour's holding later, officers filed outside. The indignant noncom led a WO1 and a staff officer over to the flagpole. "Colonel, these are the interlopers." The noncom aimed a finger at me. "That is the sergeant who assaulted me."

The colonel twiddled a swagger stick and tucked it beneath his arm. "You're in error, Sergeant, I see no interlopers in my barracks. Your vigilance has been noted."

"Yes, sir." The noncom saluted, backstepped, and about-faced.

"Warrant Officer Class Two Phang?"

"Yes, sir. Heading Mentorship Liaison Team Four." Phang directed his salute to the colonel.

"Stand them ease." The colonel's eyes remained at head-height.

"PARADE. STAND AT… EASE." Boots stamped and arms snapped behind backs.

"Follow me, all of you. Carry on, Sergeant Major."

"Sir!" The sergeant major saluted the colonel. Narrowed eyes flitted around the presentation. "PARADE. DIS-MISS!" PDF hobbled out of formation, some collapsing where they stood. I stuffed my manhood away and worked the buttons through their eyes. Youness threw a wink my way and tapped the side of his fist against mine. "Like to make an entrance, don't you?"

"Would you have stopped me if I'd…?"

"I'd have joined in. You're part of the team now." Youness stroked Trip's neck. "What an entrance that was."

"Yeah, just hope they're up to scratch." I ushered Trip inside the annex after Youness and the others. Following the colonel through the packed corridors, the five of us lined up outside an office with a sign saying Col. S. Ulatash, OC 312 Rgt. Beneath it, a tarnished sign read Headmaster.