‘So, I know that’s not true,’ said Borodina. ‘Silka was up to her neck in something under the suborbital platforms. It was a mini war up there, or getting that way – the thing with the off-world routes. There’s a lot of slate in who controls those. I think she was killed when things started getting out of control.’

‘Do you know who by?’

‘That’s part of what I was working on. I don’t. I heard rumours of an off-worlder, someone who brought some heavy gear down from a void transport. Someone new. Not much to go on.’

‘It’s something.’ Zidarov noticed that she was sweating now. It looked like she was getting tired. ‘Look, I’m going to leave now – you need to get back together.’

Borodina smiled weakly. ‘What for?’ She coughed for a while, then took another sip of water. ‘If I’m right, if my veil-link was cracked, it’s all over for me. You get that? Basic mistake. Who knows what else they heard?’

‘It’s just a suspicion.’

‘Yeah. Just a suspicion.’

Zidarov got up. ‘Don’t think about it. Work on getting back in shape. That’s the only thing now.’

Borodina nodded, making the tube at her neck wobble. The monitor on her forehead began to strobe red, meaning that she was being fed sedatives.

‘Oh, you know what?’ Zidarov said, turning back as he reached the doorway. ‘You could do me a favour. Keep that stuff about Silka to yourself, eh? Just for a while? We’re going to look into this, but I could use a bit of space.’

Borodina nodded, but she was slipping away. It might have registered, it might not have done.

Zidarov smiled wryly to himself. Going quietly, he clicked the door open, and slipped out.

The Bastion was occupied throughout the night, twenty-six hours a day. Every floor was still fully staffed, crewed by menials staring wearily into their terminals. Outside, the rain ran down the armourglass windows, gurgling along the gutters. It was still hot, though that would change soon, once the storms really started. The Bastion’s internal controls were slow to react, as ever, and the whole place felt sticky and damp.

Zidarov headed down to the refectory. He poured a cup of caffeine from an auto-dispenser and browsed across a rack of tepid-looking carb-bars. He picked three, then put one back, then went over to an empty table. He rubbed his face. He yawned, feeling his jaw stretch. He could go home – he might get an hour or two’s sleep. But then home wasn’t as relaxing as it had been, and his mind was buzzing. He still hadn’t had time to act on what Elina had told him, and Borodina had thrown more yeast into the mix. Better, probably, to stay at it.