Ursarker E. Creed Station, Caira's Rift

Sunlight, peering around the purple gas giant Rexephi 11, seeped through the filtered vision slit in Andalusia van Callet's helmet. Magnetic clamps locked her boots to turbolift rails running up UEC's exterior to the communication's array; a single life-support dome eight-hundred feet above the station.

"Rad spike." A scratchy voice spoke in Lusia's ear.

Lusia took her gauntlets off the rails and rubbed frost away from a square screen embedded in her right sleeve. "Rad levels are stable on my counter." She let her momentum carry her upper body back far enough to check on her teammate seventy feet below her. "Marco, have that suit's rad counter checked out when we're back inside."

"Hmm… seems to have smoothed out. I'll book a full diagnostic for this one. You never know what's going to pop next on these old rigs." Enginseer Class Four Marco Grewz fitted insulation to the brand-new wiring Lusia had already laid. "How's your length?"

"About a quarter of the coil left to play. We're past the halfway mark, at least." Lusia aimed a power tool attached to her gauntlet at the rail. The diamond-tipped head drove itself in to the rail. Lusia retracted the tool, held a thin bracket embracing the wire over the hole, and punched a nail in to the plasteel.

"Nice the Administratum sends us up here instead of its inhouse personnel. Y'know, the ones they actually pay to be out here."

"All those years of outsourcing." Lusia played out wire from a coil attached to her suit. "Keeping the costs down. And effort."

"Cracks all over the horizontal stanchions."

"Just the one?"

"It's all the way up."

"All those years of outsourcing."

"Hmph-hmph." A fading torchbeam swept across Lusia and carried on up the shaft. "See my light?"

"I see it." A buzz ran through the rail and along Lusia's fingers. Lusia tapped a button on the side of her visor. Spotlights bathed the array's underbelly. The tingling reached her hand and danced along her arm. "Marco, tools down."

"Lusia? What's the matter?"

A turbolift rushed down the shaft towards Lusia. Four-hundred feet, five and a half metres a second. Twenty seconds tops. Lusia killed her clamps and wrenched her boots away from the rail. Gauntlets gripped the rail and dragged her down the shaft towards Marco. "Marco, I need you to activate the turbolift's emergency stop." Marco's lights flew up to the descending turbolift. "Don't look at me. Find the circuit box, please."

"Where—where is it?"

"On the outside of the shaft. I'm coming down to you." Lusia broke the clip holding the wire reel and let it go. "Deactivate your clamps. Look for a yellow triangle with a lightning bolt running through it."

"I—I can't see one."

Triangular gaps between the struts whipped past Lusia. Fifteen seconds. The rail trembled beneath her fingers. Marco's speck grew larger in her vision slit.

"Got it." Marco thrust his head and shoulders through a gap between struts. "My… my tank. It's not coming through."

"Withdraw your head and shoulders. You'll need your head and one arm through."

"Ohh… c'mon, c'mon." Marco's legs kicked. "It's got a code lock on the cover."

"Smash it." Vibrations surged up to Lusia's shoulders. Ten seconds.

"Okay… ahhh the handle's frozen."

"Use your blowtorch."

"It won't work—we're in vacuum."

"That is an order, Enginseer!" Lusia reached Marco's squirming body, wedged halfway out of the shaft. "Marco? Marco?" A shadow rolled across her. The vibrations in the rail settled.

"Did it work?" Marco wriggled back in to the shaft. Solid globules of fuel seeped from the miniature blowtorch fitted to his wrist.

"Heh—you'd be a whole lot shorter if it didn't." Lusia patted Marco's shoulder. "Good job."

"Ohh…" Marco's helmet light bathed the underside of the array's turbolift barely fifteen feet above. "Omnissiah, my heart's pounding..."

"Yeah…" Lusia poked Marco's helmet. "What was that chemistry then, Enginseer?"

"Chemistry…?"

"You bet I'll be putting that in my accident report. Enginseer Class Four Grewz failed to apply his chemistry knowhow in the face of certain dismemberment—haha!"

"Oh, the blowtorch…?"

"Yeeeaahh… What makes it go pchooo?"

"Errr… Aahhh…" Marco slapped a gauntlet on his helmet's bumpy dome. "Oxidiser—of course, the torch has its own oxidiser!"

"Brilliant. Think about the name on the way down. We'd best check in with the supervisor, let him know what's happened."

Lusia and Marco coasted down the shaft to a pressure chamber hatch. The diagonal halves parted and allowed them through. Air gushed in to the chamber and their boots banged on the deck. "Good?" Lusia stomped over to Marco. "Marco?"

"Y—yeah, uh… What happened up there?"

"What was the name of the fuel your torch uses? You remember, with the oxidiser."

"Chamber pressurised. Oxygen supply replenished." A sharply-intoned female voice spilled from speakers in the ceiling. "Faith keeps the Omnissiah's machines running."

"In this case, it's the lowest common bidder keeping everything running." Lusia and Marco stepped in to a bare room with metal nozzles in the ceiling.

"Standby for decontamination." Water blasted the two Enginseers for a solid minute before shutting off and leaving the room filled with steam. "Decontamination complete."

Out in the changing area, Lusia popped the seals on her helmet and twisted it off. "Phew" She peeled the cloth cap covering her head off and tugged on her bun. "Ahh…"

"Lusia, I can't…" Marco's arms hung at his sides.

"The answer…" Lusia removed Marco's shining helmet and set it on a shelf beside other helmets. "…Is Hydrazine. Tell me what's useful about Hydrazine."

"Mm…" Perspiration covered Marco's flushed skin. Pink surrounded the pale blue ocular embedded in right eye socket. Lusia steered Marco over to a bench and sat him down.

"What does Hydrazine contain? It helped us, just now."

"P—P—Pchooo." Marco's lips made an O. His right hand began shaking.

"Yep, and what made it go pchooo?" Lusia kneeled and took hold of Marco's hand and squeezed.

"Mmm…" Marco's chin drooped. His organic eye twitched. "Oxi—Oxi—Oxi—" Lusia nodded her head and beamed at Marco. "Oxidiser."

"Yes, yes, Marco." Lusia rose and drew Marco in to her embrace. "You did everything right out there—everything."

"Did I?"

"Omnissiah's blessing, you did her proud." Lusia's hands settled on the wet plates on Marco's shoulders. "You make us all proud."

"Thanks, Lusia." Marco ran a wet gauntlet beneath his nose and sniffed.

"Need a hand getting this off?"

"No, no I can manage."

"Alright. I'm over here if you need me." Lusia clomped along the changing room's aisles to a public service unit mounted to the wall beside the exit. Her gauntlet pawed at the receiver and lifted it out of its bracket. "347652 van Callet and 668993 Grewz reporting a Class Five accident, UEC communications array turbolift shaft. Operational turbolift forced cessation of rewiring task designation Kappa 112 Delta. Time of accident was 14:39 UEC Standard. Time of logging Class Five accident is 14:47 UEC Standard." Green paper whirred from a thin slot and kept whirring until it dangled eighteen inches below the unit.

Lusia hung the receiver on its hook and pulled the receipt away. Receipt for Class Five accident, 347652 van Callet. A second receipt spat from the unit, as long as the previous. Receipt for Class Five accident, 668993 Grewz. Lusia ripped Marco's receipt off and squished it against hers. She turned away from the unit, teeth clamped together. "Ugh!" The unit disgorged a third receipt, reaching all the way to the floor. I hate the Administratum. Lusia bundled the warm paper together and dropped it in the nearest bin.

"Marco, you okay back there?" Lusia hung her suit on a rail with others and zipped up her patched, UEC bomber jacket. A Perspex panel slid across the suits and all were whisked away through a hatch. "Marco?" Lusia flicked her hair down her back then bound it up. "Marco?"

"Hey." An ashen-faced Marco, wearing a burgundy jerkin, rounded the aisle. A redness tinged his left eye.

"All good?"

"Mmm."

"Come on then. You don't have to say anything to the supervisor. Just let me do the talking." Lusia stopped by the bin and dug out the receipts. "This…" She showed them to Marco. "…Very, very bad."

"They've always done that…"

"No, no, binning. We're AdMech, Marco." Lusia stuffed the paper in to a jacket pocket. "We recycle."

Thick steel bars ran around the office of Supervisor Roann Grinevicus, a hunch-backed techpriest bundled beneath layers of tatty, crimson robes. A deep hood shadowed pale-green flesh sagging beneath a moisture-smeared vocaliser. Spindly, metal fingertips clattered on one another. Rapid-fire beeps resonated from his vocaliser.

"Supervisor, can we skip the bullshit, please?" Lusia placed her hands on her hips and stuck her head down at the square opening in the bars. "My colleague and I had a turbolift come down the shaft while we were working there. Any chance of an explanation?"

"Translation function… Low Gothic." An ear-grating voice warbled from the vocaliser. "Responding to Class Five accident. Enginseer Class Two van Callet, your charges stand at eighty-four Imperial Thrones for activation of turbolift emergency breaker, loss of wiring roll, loss of insulation, and profanity directed toward superior. Please recite your unit serial number and await further orders."

"Supervisor, we requested you provide notice to the watchman of the service period between the hours of fourteen and fifteen hundred UEC standard! So, no traffic inside the shaft at all during that hour! C'mon, how hard is it to pass a few words on to the array? We narrowly avoided losing our lives up there, and you're waving a fucking bill at us?"

"Enginseer Class Two van Callet, your charges stand at one-hundred and fourteen Imperial Thrones. Further threats will increase charges and incur period of formal suspension unpaid hours." Supervisor Grinevicus planted his hands on the counter. "The Omnissiah regards languor with the direst contempt." Bright green orbs blazed beneath his hood. Lusia's eyes jumped to the shutters. Her hands flew up and wrenched them on to Grinevicus's hands. Claws curled inwards and gouged marks along the thin alloy counter until the shutters could bang down. Drapes whisked across the bars, shutting the office off.

"Lusia…" Marco clutched a hand to his head.

"He's everything that's wrong with the—" A receipt spooled from a slot beneath the sealed shutters. "Fraaahh…" Lusia swiped the receipt. Period of suspension sixty days unpaid.

"Come on. Let's let UEC's guys finish the job." Marco wobbled on the balls of his feet.

"He's everything that's wrong with the AdMech, the Administratum, the whole damn lot."

"He's just getting between one time-card punching and the next. It's all monotony. Everyone has to do it, day in, day out."

"Yeah, well that's precisely why UEC's falling apart. Nobody's putting in the effort to run this beast." Lusia took Marco's arm and steered him through the iron grey corridors around the maintenance subdeck and up to the station's outer ring, a vast circuit housing gigantic rail lines arranged four abreast for cargo and passenger trains. Pale green light leaked from weak lanterns dangling in brackets. On the stone platform, techs held menials together by chains fitted to collars on their necks. Electrified batons dangled from the former's belts.

Up a staircase the enginseers trudged. A good hundred feet above the platform, they turned and crossed a bridge spanning the lines. Lusia caught Marco by the shoulder and pointed at a menial sitting on a wooden bench hanging by two chains over the rails. The menial dipped a paintbrush in a pot beside him and slathered a pillar the staircase hugged. Grey paint glistened in jagged cracks running deep inside the ferrocrete. Every pillar along the bridge bore the same cracks.

"Here." Lusia squatted on the edge of the platform furthest from the maintenance subdeck. Her finger tracked along the nails hammered in the thick, rust-coated rail. For every one nail, three or four were missing. "Just gotta look closer. See the cracks."

Marco's head drooped and he brought his hand up to his crown and scratched the black stubble. He wobbled on his haunches and laid his backside on the stone and sat cross-legged. "Thought I was having a nightmare trapped out there in the cold. And the second that turbolift hit, I'd wake up and everything would be fine." Marco's chin wrinkled. "This is the nightmare, isn't it? Men like Roann Grinevicus. They can't see the cracks, can they?"

Lusia drew her knees to her chin and hooked her arms around them. "Now your eyes are open."

"God-Emperor, I'd take ignorance over this any day." Head sagging, Marco dug out his AdMech medallion from where it hung around his neck and ran his thumb over it. "Omnissiah…"

A growing roar drove Lusia and Marco back from the platform's edge. Both rubbed their numb backsides and wandered further down to the other AdMech and UEC personnel spilling from the waiting hall. Dry air blasted from a thirty-foot-high locomotive chugging up to the platform. A long scoop sliced the air above the rails. A single headlight blazed in the boiler's rounded nose.

AdMech and UEC lined up before rivet-covered hatches marked 'Entry'. A near-mummified techpriest, head and spine embedded in the outside of the train carriage, fixed a bright green eyeball on each passenger and initiated a scan. UEC fed identification cards in to the techpriest's mouth and boarded. AdMech plucked removable appendages off and interfaced with the scrapcode aboard the train. Lusia let the techpriest scan her organic eye then rolled up her jacket's sleeve and held a two-inch-wide, transparent interface unit embedded in her arm up. The techpriest blinked its approval in Binary cant, and Lusia stepped aboard.

Church pews, arranged in neat rows in the carriage, bent Lusia's spine. Lowest common bidder. She folded up her jacket on the hard wood and laid her numb buttocks on it. Marco, next to her, clutched his hands in his lap. A muscle twitched in his jaw. His lower lip wobbled then his head lurched forwards. A sob leaped from his throat. Lusia's arm snaked around the pew and drew Marco's shaking head down on her shoulder. Not a single person in the carriage looked their way.


Merchant Shipping Vessel Castor Vostrekova, Caira's Rift

Three weeks later…

Shivers wracked the shoulders of two clean-shaven recruits clad in double-breasted, Cadian khaki. One's head lolled on the other's shoulder. Drool stuck to his chin. "Ugh!" The recruit's head jerked upright. Shaking hands pawed at his arms. Moist eyes flew across the passenger compartment to me. I locked eyes with the wild-eyed youth over my notebook. His friend clutched at his chest and opened his eyes.

"Oh… Oh, God-Emperor…" The recruit rubbed a hand down his sweaty face. "Did you…? Did you see them too?" His friend scrabbled at the clasp holding his collar tight around his neck and unhooked it.

I uncrossed my legs and stretched my back. Pipe in hand, I crossed the compartment and crouched before the recruits. "Boys. You have just experienced the discomfort of Warp-transit slumber. Not a pleasant first outing, is it?"

"Wha—you knew? You knew and you didn't tell us…?" Shaven brows dipped over bleary eyes.

"Everything your drill instructors tell you, you believe?" The recruits exchanged glances.

"Yeah, of course."

"And a civilian?" I tapped my pipe to my breast. "A stranger, would you believe him if he warned you not to sleep during Warp transit?"

"Uhh…"

"Did they warn you of sleeping in Warp transit?"

"N—no, no they didn't. It's a thirty-hour hop. What else were we supposed to do?"

"Whatever these tell you to." I aimed my pipe at the youth's foreheads. "Talk, read, write, exercise, masturbate in the corner—you stay awake." My knees cracked. I stood up and planted a hand over the old gunshot wound in my chest. "Just stay awake."

I fell in to my own seat and folded my arms. My chin touched my breast and my eyelids drooped. "Sir…?" Black leather boots struck the deck. One of the recruits held my notebook out. "This is yours."

"Mm?" I lifted my head and plucked the teeth-mark-covered notebook from the recruit's hand. "Get some sleep."

"You said we were to stay awake." The recruit tugged on the hem of his jacket.

"Now's as a good a time as any to switch off, lad." I stretched my legs out and crossed my ankles. "Still two hours out from UEC."

"It's Jerusha."

"Welcome to the Crotch, son."

"…Hah! Haha!" Jerusha plugged his mouth with the back of his hand. "Kollek, did you hear what he just called the Imperial Guard?"

"No." Jerusha's friend's head bobbed up. "What d'you say, old man? You laying the lash to our family?" Kollek rolled over to me. "We can report you for that. String you up, like. Where's your silly little book now, yeah? Yeah…?"

I flipped my notebook shut and set it on the adjacent seat. "You will learn a whole new language while you're in khaki. Hopefully, you'll learn a few new skills to carry over on your return to civvy street."

"I—It's for life. They told us we must serve the God-Emperor for life." Jerusha ran his thumbs over his knuckles. "No greater devotion than serving Him."

"Ye—ye—yeah." Kollek nodded.

"You believe everything your drill instructors tell you?" I brought a leg up and rested it on my knee.

"Did you?"

I snapped a finger and jabbed it at Jerusha. "You are smart young lads with heads filled to the brim with fanatical nonsense. That which you have learned in Phase One, you must forget before you are sent on active deployment which, in these times, you undoubtedly will."

"What do you mean forget?" Jerusha perched on a seat two down from mine. "Six weeks' training. We've nothing to forget."

"Six weeks…" My eyes fell to my chest. God, they must be getting desperate for recruits. I had sixteen.

"Sir, tell us everything you know."

"You can fuck the sir off, for starters." I clamped my pipe between my teeth. "Fifteen minutes after we debus at UEC, you'll forget everything I tell you. All you'll remember is what I told you earlier. What did I tell you earlier?"

"Not to sleep during Warp transit." Kollek's sullen eyes drooped to the deck. "Is that all this so-called veteran can say to us? Or is it stolen glory?"

"Shuddup, Kollek," Jerusha growled. "Sorry for that."

"Listen to your team leaders. Do what they say, when they say it. Do not volunteer, do not be brave, do not think, and do not be yourself."

"Do not be ourselves?" Kollek's eyes rose from the deck. He plucked at his brown beret squeezed in to his shoulder tab. "What d'you mean?"

"Your only worthwhile lessons will be learned in the field. Those that know, those who are better than you will be there nurturing your development. They will shape you in to beings wholly inhuman and utterly unrecognisable to the specimens with me here. What they cannot teach you is how to not be unlucky." I dug my fingers beneath my navy sweater and undershirt and lifted. An eight-inch-long scar, deep red and L-shaped, cut across my chest. Jerusha's hand settled over his mouth. Kollek's lips parted and he dropped to a crouch and bit a finger. "Do not be unlucky, boys." I returned my pipe to my mouth, tipped my head back, and closed my eyes.

A dull clunk jerked me awake. Ah, damn. My pipe lay on the deck at my feet. I scooped it up and blew on it. Across from me, Kollek and Jerusha sat with their kitbags at their feet and berets screwed on to their shaven heads. Both looked near-identical. I hooked a foot around my own backpack and slid it out from beneath my seat. "Best of luck to you, lads."

Neither recruit met my eye. They heaved their packs on their shoulders and moved in to a separate compartment. Odd. I stuck my leg out and rolled an ankle. Don't even get a thank you, goodbye? Thuds rang on the ship's hull.

"Attention, attention. All passengers, please make your way to the aft airlock. The aft airlock, all passengers."

Backpack hanging from one shoulder, I draped my jacket over my arm and followed the other passengers down a companionway and towards an open hatch. Civilians and military personnel tramped along a circular passageway connecting the ship to UEC. Inside the airlock, bright white tarpaulin coated the bulkheads and floodlights blazed at one end of the passage marked by construction signs and cordoned off by striped tape, forcing the new arrivals in the opposite direction.

"Welcome to Ursarker E. Creed Station." A female voice rang from overhead speakers. "As named after the late Lord Castellan Creed of Cadia." The same words slid across a wall-mounted display screen in an arrival lounge overlooked by an Imperial Aquila fixed to the ceiling. Straight-backed, latticed benches stood back-to-back on the deck. Grey banners marked with the letters UEC hung thirty feet off the floor.

Castor Vostrekova's passengers streamed around me on their way through the lounge to the station's transit hub. A few stopped to take in their new surroundings. Been in a spot of bother already, lads? Kollek and Jerusha, in the far corner of the lounge, stood with three men in blue-grey body armour with UEC-SEC marked on their bulging shoulder pauldrons. Bulbous helmets covered the three's faces and angled eye-slits glowed bright red. Sturdy batons dangled from their utility belts. Kollek's shoulder swung round and his arm rose. A finger pointed straight at me.

Oh, boys. My backpack slid from my shoulder and thumped on the floor. The UEC-SEC trio whipped their batons out and shoved passengers out of their path. I dumped my jacket on a seat and straightened up with a grin. "I hope I caused no permanent offence." Gloved hands seized my arms and twisted them behind my back. A boot scraped down my calf. The passengers scattered before the UEC-SEC hustling me out of the lounge and through a sliding door marked 'Authorised Personnel Only.'

Cameras flashed at the sign I held in the booth. Hands propelled me along and batons whacked my shoulderblades. Boots kicked me through a pressure door in to a bare cell with an unfurnished ledge to sit on. I caught myself before I could slam in to the wall and spun and linked my fingers behind my head. Oh, boys. I am so sorry they conditioned you like that. Dizzy, I sunk and spread my knees. My palms lay flat on the floor. God-Emperor Almighty, heed my plea. Deliver those boys' souls from repression, from hate. Squander not their innocence. Keep their sparks alight so that we may regard one another with familiarity, with warmth and compassion, and rise above suspicion in this darkening hour. Yours is the power, the honour, and the glory. I brought my clasped fists up and pressed them to my lips. For ever and ever.

Sore knees dug in to the hard floor. My dry knuckles pressed against my nose. Thuds approached my cell. The door ground open and boots stamped inside. "We'll teach you to besmirch the good name of the Astra Militarum, stealer of glory." A cudgel smacked a palm. "Pray, pretender. Sooth your spirit. We'll see your body gets its just-desserts."

"I am content in my profession." I brought my hands down to my sides and raised my chin at the three U-SEC. "So, vent your insecurities on an unarmed man." A fist smacked the door release. The boots surrounded me. I closed my eyes and relaxed my shoulders.


A/X-19A Zurvan Interceptor, Deep Space

Barbs pierced Izuru's heart. She flew upright in her tiny bunk and rolled over the edge. Her knees cracked on the deck. Shivering, Izuru clutched her arms to her chest and curled in to a ball in the Zurvan's narrow living space. Short, sharp gasps escaped her tightening throat. Damp strands of hair stuck to her cheek. Chest heaving, Izuru peeled her twitching arms away and ran her thumb down a blue vein and over a small bruise. Isha…

Izuru tugged her sodden tank top away from the deck and lent her weight on a slick palm. From a storage unit in the bulkhead above her bunk she swiped the tube of anti-depressants. Only two left…? How can there only be two left? Izuru shivered and swallowed a single lozenge with a gulp of lukewarm water. I need more.

Cold leather rubbed Izuru's legs. The Zurvan's unlit buttons and switches surrounded her. Battery connectors must be cold. Izuru flipped the Zurvan's heads-up display switch on and off. The green interface faded in, flickered, then solidified. The screen beneath the Zurvan's undeployed manual gunsight cast bright green light in Izuru's eyes. Gothic letters spooled across the screen. MK. XXXIV Thermonuclear Device: Yield 0.9Mt.

Status: Armed.

00:04:59.

Izuru's hands latched on to the corners of the screen. No, cancel! She ran her fingers along the endless switches around the display. Safety, safety, safety. A panel above her left knee read Armament. A black dial protruded beneath the letters WPN type. Izuru twisted it. The screen stayed dead. She seized the control stick, hooked her middle finger around the trigger, and squeezed. Bright yellow streaks whizzed away in to the vacuum. A buzz shot up her arm. The rotary cannon's ammunition counter spun.

00:04:36.

Izuru's thumb settled on a circular knob, pushed it out of the slot marked Guns, and pushed it up to Missiles. Nothing lit up the Zurvan's exterior. Vaul's blood, where it is? Izuru dug her fingers in to her temples. Uncle, Father.

00:03:59.

Izuru's eyes snapped open. Payload. Her bare feet hit the deck and pattered aft through the living space to a hatch sealing off the Zurvan's bomb bay. Come on! Izuru heaved the hatch's manual release down and stuck her head through the widening gap. That's it…? A twelve-inch-long, egg-shaped object nestled in a thin bracket above the sealed bomb doors. White letters were printed on a gunmetal body: Imperial Navy TDD. Above it, four screws held down a flat panel marked Control Access. Bright green letters glowed on the device's narrow display screen. Device armed.

00:02:59.

Izuru lurched out of the bomb bay and scrambled over to a line of storage cupboards beneath the bunk and flung them all open. Screwdriver. She scooped the tool out and thrust her head and shoulders back through the hatch. The screws gave way and fell on to the doors. Izuru dug the flat head in the gap and levered the panel off. Multi-coloured wiring ran around board slots occupied by three keycards. I am sorry, Father. Izuru dug her fingers in to the leftmost card and pried it free.

00:00:17.

Please insert Emergency Override Device.

"Ohh…" Izuru's chest sagged. Her dry mouth slackened. She brought her hands to her face and drove sweat beads up in to her hair. A golden, three-inch-long card marked EOD sparkled on the deck. "Ulthyr…" Izuru laid her hand over the card and slid it over. "You bastard."

A tremor shot through Izuru's knees and rocketed up her spine. She fell spreadeagled on the warm deck. Bangs sounded on the hull outside. Get up, get up, get up. Izuru scrunched her fingers in to fists and pushed her body off the deck.

Meteors showered the Zurvan's viewport. Hammers played staccato on the hull. Harness halves crushing her chest, Izuru twisted the ignition. Roars flared behind her. Come on, come on, come on. A green power bar inched across the lower display. Give me everything you've got. Izuru flung the Zurvan's throttle forward and jerked the juddering control stick back. Blackness edged in to her vision.

Headlights swung over gigantic asteroids shadowing smaller, starship-sized chunks. Gods, there's no end to them. Izuru rolled the Zurvan on to its port wing and coasted around a planetoid-sized rock. This wasn't on the charts. She levelled off in a clearing in the field and triggered the autopilot. Beneath the cockpit, Izuru unfolded a table attached to the underside of the Zurvan's navicom and switched the screen on. Her eyes flicked between the physical start charts provided by Vermora and the three-dimensional system the navicom displayed a green-tinted, grainy image of.

It should be Caira's Rift. Izuru wet a thumb and swiped the chart aside. Each quadrant, every planetoid was labelled beneath the name granted by the Eldar. I am in Soghomon. Izuru frowned down at the system near-identical to the human display. Soghomon is Caira's Rift, but there is no rift. An asteroid impact drew Izuru back up to the cockpit. Father, Uncle, guide my way. Izuru returned the Zurvan to manual control. Gods, I have never felt so lost.

A wavering dial on the instrument panel caught Izuru's eye. Two separate gauges beside it marked L and R displayed the left and right tanks' capacity. Oh, no. The digits beneath both gauges flicked steadily downwards. Asteroids couldn't inflict such damage on both tanks, surely. Izuru clasped her hands over her nose. I left with grace, Ulthyr. Could you not let our past go? The dull roar of the engines receded. Izuru eased the throttle all the way down to zero then killed the engine power and switched over to the Zurvan's batteries.

Warning. Batteries at 31%.

Hours. Days, maybe. Izuru rattled through the shutdown procedure of non-essential processes draining the Zurvan's batteries. Soon, the warmth began to leave the darkened cockpit. Izuru set the Zurvan on 1/3 acceleration on a plane above the asteroids and left it on autopilot. Down in her bunk, she pulled on her socks and boots and zipped up her pressure suit. Her fingers dug in to the bunk's hard edge. Shoulders hunched, Izuru rocked forwards and backwards. Gold glinted in the corner of her eye.

EOD in her hand, Izuru scratched at a rough, square patch on the surface. Curious. A thin panel on the edge moved and a flat, rectangular object slid out. Its surface matched the material on the EOD's patch. Perhaps if two were made one… Izuru moved the two together but stopped a fraction before they made contact. Oh, gods. Izuru returned the piece to the slot. It's a detonator. She threw the card on the mattress and edged away. Her hand clamped over her mouth.

Head and shoulders through the payload hatch, Izuru's fingers brushed the screws lying on the sealed bomb doors. If I cannot fight my way out, I will bargain my way out. Izuru fed the access panel screws back in their holes and screwed them in. Point nine MT. I dare not dwell on the wrath this could inflict upon a vessel, a city, a planet even. Of course, the humans would build such a horror. Izuru caught the last screw and twisted the fat handle. All they care about are their cathedrals, their warships, their doomsday weapons. Nothing is ever built with love.

Wrapped up in a blanket, Izuru watched the Zurvan's battery charge level drop. A caution light flared red. Beside it, an amber warning declared low power. Izuru killed the engines and set the batteries on charge. Her hand hovered over the button activating the Zurvan's distress beacon. Only enemies are out there. Izuru tipped her head back. A rough patch grated beneath her thumb. What am I to do with you? Izuru put the EOD beneath her nose and sniffed. When the time is right. She unzipped her pressure suit down to her belly, hooked a finger inside her tank top, and tucked the EOD inside.


Ursarker E. Creed Station, Caira's Rift

Bloody mucus snorted in my clogged nostrils. Lumps dotted my brow and cheeks. Crusted tracks ran down my lips and chin. A tooth wiggled beneath my tongue. Outstretched legs crossed, I dug a thumb in the red stains darkening the off-white wool on my sweater.

"Prisoner, stand."

Come for another helping, have we? A smirk stretched my swollen lips. I rose and put my nose to the wall.

"Prisoner, spread."

My arms and legs made a star. The cell door ground open and boots thudded inside. Gauntlets ran up and down my arms and legs and around my belly. A hand patted my shoulder then twirled a finger. I perched on the ledge opposite an unmasked UEC-SEC officer in a grey beret. Grey stubble ran over the officer's angled chin. Wires ran from an ocular implant around the back of his head. The officer unfolded a canvas stool and sat. "Not so long ago my daughter saw a toy, a dolly another little girl in her class had. My daughter wanted it. She asked her mother. Her mother said it was too expensive. My daughter persisted. She begged her mother for it, so her mother eventually caved and bought my daughter that toy. A week later, the other girl's parents were arrested, and the girl with the dolly was sent in to care. My daughter had informed on the other girl's parents. She wanted nobody but her to have the toy. Two honest, hardworking parents lost their daughter that day because of a child's toy."

"I would say that speaks more for the system that governs than the nature of one little girl. Hers was selfishness in its fullest, excused only by her infancy. My accusers were driven to inform, believing they were doing right."

"You cannot trust anyone. Not even members of your own family, Guardsman."

"Ahh, that ship has long since sailed. Including the one I served on, bless her curving bulkheads."

"So why didn't you stay, sailor? Think about where you could be now if you had just stayed silent."

"Those lads are smart young boys inundated with ignorance and fanatical nonsense. A veteran offers honest advice, they assume him a fraud, and rat."

The officer peeled a pouch on his belt open and brought out a civilian identity card. "Semirechye?"

"Professional name. Cyrano Semirechye Investigators. Took it after a good friend."

"Noble, carrying on his memory. Your real name?"

I scraped at dried blood beneath my fingernails. "You'd have to bring your boys back in for second helpings before I even begin to contemplate spilling my guts to you. Even then, I wouldn't talk."

"You'll be spared any of my men's insecurities."

"Hahaha!" I threw back my head and bared my teeth. "They had no good punch among them. That cudgel laid in to the floor more than it did flesh."

"I'll make sure to hold that against them."

"So, am I under arrest or not?"

"We hold you here, seventy-five hours minimum. If you walk now, we appear—"

"—Appear to have fucked up." My smirk split a dried cut in the corner of my mouth. "Hard, isn't it? Keeping up oppression. That empty, clinical mask you wear hides it very well, the fear you feel every day that the downtrodden stand up and start pushing back."

"Order." The officer folded up his stool and carried it with him outside. "We keep it every day." The door slammed shut.

Keep an eye on the cracks. I swung my legs up on to the ledge and linked my fingers behind my head. Someday, it's all coming down.

Many hours later, a chute delivered a circular, steel bowl holding a brick of bright pink meat to the cell. A slit in the door opened and two eyes peered in at me. "We're communicating as dogs now, are we? Throw me a bone, why dontcha?" The slit whisked back in to place. "Ha-ha-ha."

Dried meat, now a deeper, redder, pink, stunk in the bowl on the floor long after the chute had delivered it to my cell. "Prisoner, stand." My numb feet laid themselves on the floor. "Prisoner, stand." I slid the bowl aside and rose. My knees cracked. "Prisoner, wall."

More than two words in your vocabulary. My nose touched the wall. I'm impressed.

"Alright, pretender. Hands behind your head." Boots stamped inside the cell. Hands wrenched my arms down. Binders clicked around my wrists. Stone grey corridors filled with sealed doors flew past. A revolving catwalk drew me and my escorts towards a tall laser gate. "Officers K-3579 and G-2241 with Prisoner 9414," one of the officers said in to an intercom. The glowing grid deactivated and the catwalk carried us through to a waiting area overlooked by an office. Surveillance skulls hovered in every corner. Bars reinforced the office windows. A cudgel rapped on my shoulderblades. Both officers pushed my bound wrists in to a slot beneath the office window. Manacles closed around my forearms pinning me in place.

"Eyes front. Be silent." The cudgel's tip stuck my nape. Both entered the office and moved out of sight. A surveillance skull whirred over. Red light stung my eyes. The window tint darkened and text spooled across it.

Semirechye, C. Sedition, possession of a deadly weapon, loitering, resisting arrest, unclean language, insulting a UEC-Security officer. You may be called back to testify in a court of law. Remain on station premises until summoned by your bail officer. Failure to report to said official will result in internment without trial. The Emperor protects the innocent and condemns the guilty.

"Agh!" Needles peppered my fingertips. The manacles snapped open and the binders broke. My fingertips withdrew bloody.

"Semirechye, C. Turn to your right and follow the white line." Fingers tingling, I turned and followed a white line painted on the floor. Two walkways, one revolving, the other static, ran dead straight in to and out of a processing area. Beyond it, barred, revolving gates led out in to the station.

"Semirechye, C. Collect personal effects from locker seventeen then sign out at the gate. Offer thanks to the Emperor for his mercy."

My jacket and bag nestled inside the locker. Come on, come on, come on. Blood stuck to the hip flask I pulled from my jacket's inside pocket. I flicked the cap off. My shaking hand brought the flask to my lips. A single drop seeped out. "Ohhh…" I scrabbled at my pipe, buried in an outside pocket. Clay scraped together. My hand closed around two broken pieces, stem and bowl. No tobacco remained in the little pouch nestling with the pipe. My head tilted forwards and knocked against the locker.

Bars surrounded a gatehouse occupied by a thin-faced man in round spectacles perched on a swivelling stool. A clipboard clattered in a tray and slid out through a slot to me. A pen hung from a chain attached to the board. "Print and sign," the attendant said without looking.

"I had a Volg thirty-eight automatic on me when I was brought in. Are citizens cleared to carry sidearms concealed on UEC?"

"Print and sign name. Include firearm designation and number of cartridges. Reclaim on departure from station."

Van Callet, A. One Volg .38 hammerless stub pistol, eight .38-calibre cartridges, one magazine. I clicked the pen and shoved the clipboard back in the tray. That'll confuse them.

Bag slung over my shoulder, I pushed through the revolving gate and stepped out on to a boulevard populated by tall trees sprouting from planters arranged down the centre. Khaki-clad Imperial Guard, grey-clad navy ratings, and civilians poured along the streets. A few caught sight of me and steered clear. Children, hanging from their parents' arms, pointed and laughed. I halted before a shop selling UEC branded clothing and closed the gap with the front window. People passing behind me threw glances at the bruised, bearded man in the stained sweater. God-Emperor, that's not good. I'm gonna be back in that cell tonight if I don't fix this.

I shouldered my way in the shop and lifted a black jacket with red stripes running along the sleeves off a peg. "Keep the change." I slapped a handful of Thrones on the counter before the bewildered assistant and ducked in to one of the changing rooms. Hanging my battered leather racing jacket on a hook, I hauled my blood-stained sweater over my head and dumped it on the floor, leaving me with only a thin, short-sleeved shirt and the UEC jacket to wear over it. "Ahh, God…" Purple and yellow lumps coloured my face. Freshly-opened cuts shone. Swollen skin pressed on my eyelids. I leaned my head closer to the mirror and pushed my lips away from my teeth. Thumb and forefinger picked at the wobbly tooth and twisted it loose. Copper soured my tongue. I slipped the tooth in my trouser pocket, bundled the sweater in my bag, and shoved my leather jacket inside my backpack's straps.

"Know where I can rest up? Somewhere I can wash too?" I rounded the shop counter.

"Err, these are yours." The assistant pushed most of the Thrones I had left across to me. "The jacket was only thirty."

"Room, wash, discrete." I drummed a chipped fingernail on the counter. "Keep the rest. I wasn't here, okay? I. Was. Not. Here."

"Um, okay." The assistant swept the Thrones off the counter. "Let me just…" He reached beneath the counter and tore off a piece of lined paper. "U-SEC, wasn't it?"

"Come on, come on." I clicked moist fingers at the assistant.

"They got the wrong person again, didn't they?" A pencil wiggled above the paper.

"Not according to them." I flipped a peaked sports cap with colours identical to my UEC jacket off a hook and jammed it on my head. "Can I…?"

"Take, take—" The assistant shoved the paper scrap at me. "If I were you, I'd run to the flight lounge and grab the next outbound shuttle."

"Really? You think it's not safe here?" I tipped the curving peak at the assistant and backed towards the door. "Got a job to do."

Out in the street, I stuck my hands in my jacket pockets and tugged the peak of my cap down. Civilians and military personnel swallowed me up. No-one so much as gave me a second glance. A procession of scarlet-clad Adeptus Mechanicus followers, walking at their own pace, backed up the crowds. I caught sight of the tatty, red robes and the metal grafted in to greying, necrotic flesh. Don't half cause a stink, these lot. God, do they ever wash? Andalusia took care of herself, at least.

I shadowed the procession for a few streets then peeled off in to an alley and dug out the lined scrap with the shop assistant's handwriting marking it. Herriman Heights, Sikina Road. My nostrils flared. Water, dripping from overhead pipes, soaked through split rubbish bags dumped around a full bin. Must be the bad part of town.

Flies swarmed around me in the alleys just off the main streets on UEC's fifth level. Thick cobwebs filled corners and jagged cracks marked the ferrocrete support pillars supporting the ceiling and underside of level 4. Only the main streets were anything resembling clean, and surveillance skulls and security teams patrolled there. Head down, I sidled up to a holographic map board and ran my eyes over the streets and connecting alleys. Sikina Road. Five blocks over, three along.

Herriman Heights, a peeling placard read. I craned my neck at the sixty-foot-high flophouse scrawled with graffiti. Hardly a height. Tape covered the brown windows in the flophouse's double doors. A loose doorknob rattled. Bells chimed on the way in.

"Single or double?" Fat rolls peered out from beneath a white vest darkened by yellow patches.

"Single." I cast my eyes around a dusty hallway teeming with mould and peeling, yellow wallpaper.

"Long or short stay?" The fat rolls shifted with every word.

"If it's less than a week, does it count as short?" My gaze settled on a square, slab face with chins disappearing in to the stained vest.

"Eight thrones a night. Fifty the whole week."

"Fifty." I played the money from my wallet on to the counter. "Running water?"

"Yurgh, don't drink it." Black fingernails protruded over fat fingers. A sweat stain ran across the counter in the Thrones' wake. "No parties, no drugs, no drain blockage. Keep the noise down." A plastic tag attached to a metal key landed on the counter. I picked the key up and nodded at the owner. Uneven stairs creaked beneath my feet. My knees cracked. Sore thighs ached. Good start to the day. A real good start.


Lavanya's Court, UEC Level 4

High-pitched buzzing filled the AdMech workshop. Sparks cascaded from a circular saw slicing through a hammered-out section of plasteel. Liquid metal bubbled around a weld in a tractor's smokestack left by Andalusia's plasma cutter. She twisted the dial beneath the cutter's grip, and the hissing flame died. Her safety visor squeaked out of her eyes and rose above the tin hat she wore. Behind her, a Magos waited, arms thrust inside her sleeves. Magos Deliria Kinnaird slid a wrinkled hand out from her sleeve and raised it. Lusia held up a single finger; one minute. She coiled the plasma cutter's cable and parted the six-pin socket from a plug in the floor and took the tool across the floor to her workstation. Tight ear defenders released her aching ears and itchy gloves slid free. Lusia brushed the backs of her hands over her smarting cheeks and unhooked a spare tin hat from a hook hanging over the worktop.

"Oh really, Enginseer!" Deliria huffed at the wide-brimmed hat Lusia held out.

"Didn't keep you waiting long, did I?" Dry lips parted in a broad grin.

An explosive sigh shot from the Magos's organic throat and she jammed the tin hat down on her frizzy, grey hair. "Only a minute or two. You're getting back in to the swing of things, then?"

"Nice bit of machinery…" Lusia flicked a finger at the semi-built tractor sitting in the bay. Fat tyres kept a wide, low-slung body off the ground. "Easy build when you've got the technical data package on-hand, uh?"

"Mm, keep it up, Enginseer. Such skilled workers are treasured in the Omnissiah's eyes."

Not sure all that frazzled, AI scrapcode tenders anything near a human's views on morality. Lusia dipped her head and ran a finger along the red mark her tin hat's inner liner left on her skin. "Magos, is there a problem? I do have a quota to keep, y'know…"

Deliria clapped her hands. "You'll want to accompany me outside at once. A visitor, official, for you especially." Deliria spun, slipped her hands inside her sleeves, and trotted off.

"Err, is it officially for me…? Or… Is it an official here to see me?" Lusia hastened after Deliria. "Yeah, my ears are still sore…" Lusia rubbed her ears. "Magos?"

"Come, come." Thick, iron gates rolled back before Deliria and Lusia and the two clambered on an electric cart sitting on rails running along beside a road. "Oh…" Deliria tipped her tin hat off and ruffled her hair. "My, my, such a burden on the spine."

"I'll be a hunchback before long." Lusia laid her own tin hat on the seat behind her. Headlights passed the cart on the ride through the tunnel leading to the AdMech temple. Menials clustered inside wagons, their leather collars held by chains. Beneath the temple's main precinct, a platform ended in a pair of stout buffers. Deliria led Lusia off the platform and up stone stairs. Flames flickered in braziers. Tech chants murmured through dimly lit halls clustered with statues of ancient techpriests. The Archmagos Dominus himself, his bloated image captured in stone, occupied a wide dais in a chamber of worship.

"With discretion, now…" Deliria stopped Lusia on a covered landing surrounding the temple's main courtyard on three sides. Both leaned against the wide pillars and peeped through at an outsider waiting in the courtyard below.

"U-SEC?" Lusia lurched backwards. "For me…? What the fuck did I—?"

"Shushshushshush!" Deliria flapped her hands at Lusia. "Omnissiah, Lusia! That mouth of yours has landed you in enough trouble as it is!"

Lusia jabbed two fingers at her chest. "My first day back on the job and there's a blasted U-SEC calling for me?"

"Yes, your first day back on the job! Three weeks suspension unpaid, Enginseer Class Three. I fought against that punishment, brought it down from sixty days. You'll earn that lost rank back in no time now raise your head, smile, and answer the officer's questions in a frank and truthful manner."

"Aahh…" Lusia swiped her hands down her boiler suit, licked a finger, and smoothed her eyebrows. "Any negatives?"

"You're a picture of beauty, young lady. See we are well represented." Deliria stepped aside.

"Phew. Okay…" Lusia dug a white sweet from pocket on her sleeve and popped it in her mouth.

"No, no gum!"

"My breath." Lusia gnashed her jaw. Mint exploded in her cheeks and danced along her tongue.

Broad gauntlets clasped in the small of the UEC-SEC officer's back. His thick-soled boots scraped the rough slate. "Madam Enginseer." Glowing slits turned on Lusia. The officer lifted a flap on a belt pouch and flashed his badge. "I am officer F-1341 from Level Five Precinct. An unlicensed firearm was signed in to our inventory this morning under the name van Callet, A."

Lusia rolled the gum beneath her tongue. Her hands clenched behind her back. "Officer, my supervising Magos can confirm my whereabouts this morning."

"Undoubtedly, ma'am. There is no other person of that name currently on station roster."

"A… a prank? I don't understand why someone would leave a firearm with you in my name."

"They will know you." A finger pointed at the sky. "You will help us. Please, follow me."

"Err, okay." Lusia flung a look up at Deliria peeping at her from the landing. The gum in her mouth slipped past her tongue and dropped down her throat. "Ugh!" Lusia's hand flew to her clogged throat and she tottered forwards.

"Ma'am, are you well?" Officer F-1341 cocked his head.

"Yurgh-hurgh!" Lusia swallowed the gum. "Yes—yes, lead the way, officer."

A wide, clanking elevator with many holes in its mesh walls carried Lusia and the officer down to the commercial sector on level 5. Lusia held her tongue on the walk through the hubbub. Usually, shoulders and elbows were ever-present obstacles out on the streets. With the UEC-SEC man at her side, not even a loose flap of clothing brushed Lusia.

Revolving gates fronting UEC-SEC's level 5 precinct clanged on the way in. Lusia's escort bid her wait in a hall beneath the beady eyes of surveillance skulls and left her alone. I don't believe this. Lusia stalked around a pair of benches sitting back-to-back, hands on her hips. First day back on the job.

"Ma'am, will you come with us?" Two officers stepped out of a door marked Restricted. Both stood on either side of it, gloves gripping their sheathed batons. Their heavy-shod boots clacked behind Lusia down a straight corridor with windowless doors on both sides.

"In here." An officer held an identity card up to a laser scanner built in to a door's handle. "Sit. Wait."

Lusia sat herself on a chair in front of a bare table in an equally bare room with nothing but a single strip-light in the ceiling. She rocked forwards. Her chair remained on the floor. Fat bolts held the feet in place. Warm hands clenched in her lap. First day back. Goodbye, swift promotion. Goodbye, payrise.

The door handle tilted down and another faceless officer entered. He carried a dataslate underneath his arm. "Recount your activities spent during your waking hours, up to the time Officer F-1341 contacted you. Be concise, be frank." The dataslate slid across the table. A stylus nestled in a slot on top of the casing. "Print, sign, date at the bottom."

"Am I under arrest?"

"Your name was leant to paper. You are a suspect." The officer took a pace back. "Knock when you are done." The door clicked shut. Lusia's shoulders drooped. Air rolled from her mouth. Pursing her lips, she plucked the stylus from the slot and tapped the nub on the table.

Lusia's knuckles struck the door. A lock snicked and the handle tilted downward. "Printed, signed, and dated." She passed the slate to the officer waiting outside.

"Follow me." The officer led Lusia to an identical room housing a slide projector. "Faces will be shown onscreen. Should you recognise any one of them, place your hand on the button on the table to your left and press it."

Oh, Omnissiah… White light flared from the projector. In semi-darkness, Lusia sat through a slow slowing of different mugshots. Four-digit prisoner numbers were printed on a sign each man held. You poor bastards. Lusia's chin sunk in to her fist. Her eyelids drooped.

Prisoner 9414. Lusia's heart rocketed in to her throat. Her chin left her fist. Oh, my God.

"Ma'am?"

Shit. Lusia held her twitching hand against her stomach. Oh, James, you didn't…

"Ma'am, please concentrate. Any persons you may be familiar with, may have seen before. If they know you by name, please speak."

"I know none of them, officer. I have been confined to my quarters these past three weeks, interacting only with my brothers and sisters."

"That is no concern of ours. Please, concentrate."

Just let me go. Lusia swallowed on a drying throat. Thumps pounded her ears. A spasm seized her cheek. Wait a minute, I've already seen this one. 2012? 2360 as well. Lusia twisted in her seat.

"Any persons you may be familiar with…"

They will pick one regardless. A fist dug in to Lusia's stomach. It'll be James. Serves him right, the bastard. Why would he use my name—why? Lusia's tongue wet her lower lip. "2360."

"Officer D-4462, marking Prisoner 2360 for reclamation as of 11:18 UEC Standard." The projector died and the lights returned. "Wait here. You'll be escorted out." The officer left bearing a dataslate.

James, what have you done? Lusia's head tipped in to her hands. 2360, I'm sorry, whoever you are.

UEC citizens streamed around Lusia outside the precinct. Wearily, Lusia stuck her hands in her suit's zip pockets and joined the wandering masses. Seven years and you show up here of all places. Lusia's pace slackened. Where would you go right after leaving the cells? Lusia threw a look back at the holographic signs. Flight lounge…? No, you never ran before. You'd find a hiding place, somewhere discreet.

A store selling cheap UEC merchandise caught Lusia's eye. Yep, that's dead-stock, all right. She pushed the door inward and strode through the jumbled clothing racks. Inconsistent stitching and loose thread dotted UEC jackets. Loose labels hung down from the inside of collars. UEC crap. Lusia stuck out her lower lip at the shop assistant behind the counter. "He's cheating, I know it. The second he rolls out of that cell he asks the nearest shopkeeper for the most discreet flophouse on level 5 he can make his bloody love-nest!"

"Err, madam…?" The assistant's pudgy lower lip wobbled. "I—I'm not actually the shopkeeper. I just stand on the till. C—can I interest you in one of our discount offers?"

"My boyfriend! He's my height—thinks he's six foot! Mid-twenties, gorgeous blue eyes—about the only thing gorgeous about him, I tell ya. Suckered me in good and proper, did baby blue eyes!"

"Um, if you have a concern, we can bring it to my manager. Would you like to speak to him? We can arrange a deal just for you."

Lusia's hand shot out and pinned the assistant's wrist to the counter. "I know you helped a man just out of that U-SEC dungeon. Street, hab, floor, room number, quick. I'll bring the boys over if you're not."

"Madam, UEC-SEC is right next door—"

"—Which is where you'll find yourself if you don't…" Lusia walked her fingers along the counter. "Paper and pen. Chop-chop."

An hour's walk through and out of the commercial district, Lusia tore up the piece of paper the assistant had scrawled on and dropped the fragments in a bin outside Herriman Heights. Inside, Lusia approached the owner, a massively overweight man with blubber sagging around his waist.

"Single or double?"

"Single." Lusia dug a red leather wallet out and fished inside.

"Long or short stay?"

"Short."

"Eight thrones a night."

"Sure." Lusia laid the thrones on the counter.

"No parties, no drugs, no drain blockage. Keep the noise down."

"I was meeting a friend here. He checked in earlier. Could I have the room next to his, please?"

"Hrgh!" The owner's fat fingers ran along the rows of keys hanging on hooks to a single, bare hook. "Keep the noise down."

"Thanks." Lusia dropped the key in her pocket and climbed to the fourth floor. Should be the only occupant on this floor. A floorboard gave a loud creak on the stair. Ahh, don't want to scare him. He jumps easily. Lusia trod slowly, feet outwards, along the unlit landing. UEC really skipped the bill on this one. Feels like a hive. Smells like one too.

Light shone through the narrow crack beneath a door. There you are. Lusia's closed fist rose to the wood. I'd rather not get my head blown off if I knock. Lusia bent down and peeped through an old brass keyhole. Anybody home?

A hand snaked around Lusia's mouth and snapped her head back. Her shoes dragged across the floorboards and in to the room behind her. Rough hands lifted her off her feet and dumped her on a mattress face-first. A knee ground against her spine. Fingers held her head down. "Awful curious about what a man gets up to behind closed doors." A voice squirmed. "Adadadada!" The fingers dug in to Lusia's scalp. "You will want to relax. Make simple noises in response to my questions. Understand?"

"Mm-hm."

"Now. Are you U-SEC?"

"Mm-mm."

"Are you on U-SEC's payroll?"

"Mm-mm."

"Did you know I was here?"

"Mm-hm."

"Are you Roanek?"

"Mm-mm."

"If I roll you over, will you scream?"

"Mm-mm, mm-mm, mm-mm." The knee left Lusia's spine. The hard points digging in to her scalp slackened. A hand gripped her shoulder and rolled her on her back. Tendons cracked in Lusia's jaw. Her stomach tensed. Dry lips parted. "Oh, James…"

Livid red, yellow, and purple marks discoloured James's face. Ugly mounds rose in the scraggly hair running along his jaw. Swollen skin half-closed one eye. Red filled the other. Wide nostrils flared. Cut lips folded inwards and blood-crusted eyebrows edged towards one another. "Why've you gotta see me like this?" James scuttled back from Lusia and perched himself on the edge of the bed with his back to her. "You can't see me like this." His fists smacked his hung head. "I used your name. I used your fucking name."

Lusia slid over to the edge of the mattress and set her feet on the floor. She got on one knee in front of James. "I'm sorry this happened to you."

"They know your name." James ground the base of his palm in his reddened eye. "Those bastards know your name."

"Those bastards. How could they do that to you? A veteran!"

"Some helpful advice taken the wrong way. They believed they were doing right by informing on me, these two recruits; clever lads." James's hands flopped over his knees. "I prayed for them in that cell. Prayed for their innocent souls and an end to suspicion, to hatred, to fear."

"Noble." Lusia smiled up at James. She took a hand and caressed it with her thumb.

"I feel I have only ever been given two choices in life; fight or run. Today, I did nothing. My body suffered. Spirit quailed. Too much of me I've squandered to hatred, to fear. Those fleeting feelings of passion that have come and gone in too short a period only leave me feeling emptier. My name is gone. My friends, gone. Lovers, gone. All I have left is hard purpose, a shell I call Semarek, after a name I couldn't even spell." James inhaled and held. "I cannot see another young spark vanish." His jaw trembled. A fat lump bobbed in his throat.

"James." Lusia brought James's hand to her lips. "You're with me. I'm here." Fat tears oozed down his cheeks. His chin touched his breast. "I'm here."