Genova was genuinely shaken, but just about self-possessed enough to play along. ‘It must have been a system error. I’ll look into it. Once again–’

‘No apologies necessary.’ He grimaced. ‘But, hells, that hurt.’

‘Do you require any assistance?’

Zidarov shook his head. ‘No, no – I’ll be fine,’ he said, now speaking for the benefit of the listening devices again. ‘I think we’re done here, anyway. I just wanted to reinforce the message. We’re on to the Vidora, but if you detect any incursions, no matter how small, you know where to find me.’

‘I do.’

‘And we know they were responsible for the death of Sanctioner Rovach. So the stakes, for us, are personal.’

‘I understand.’

Zidarov got up. He still felt punchy, and the alarm hadn’t helped. ‘I appreciate you seeing me. This hasn’t been an easy time, for any of us.’

She gave him a look then that said she wished he’d never come, she’d be very keen for him to leave right now, and that she earnestly hoped he’d never come back.

‘Any time, probator,’ she said. ‘Always glad to help.’

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Section E was a long way out from the Colossus receiver-cradle. On the way down from Genova’s office, Zidarov walked through the crowds at the reception level, many of them roused from their chambers by the alarm and waiting for clearance to go back to work. The security guards were still prowling, still pointing their guns at things, still looking twitchy. Zidarov wasn’t sure what they thought there was to shoot at – that had never been a great way of putting out fires.

He retrieved his vehicle and headed out from under the shadow of the disc. As he did so, he caught sight of the enormous hull of the Slovo VI as it towered overhead, as big as a building in its own right, now punctured by tubes just as Borodina had been – umbilicals and conveyer-gantries and refuel coils, prepping it for its next take-off even as the cargo was still being pulled from its cavernous innards.

Ahead of him, the transitways looped and swirled around the many bulbous edifices. At times the routes were raised on stilts high above ground level, at others they plunged underground. The constructions around him were all industrial – fuel-storage tanks in immense white globes, refineries burning away amid tangles of pipework, service bays packed with goods haulers in orderly rows, launch pads for atmospheric patrol craft and maintenance rigs. The air tasted almost as bad as it had done in the Scarlands, and he flicked on the filters.