‘I can’t trust her. This all started with her. She gets her funds from the Terashova Combine. They’re the ones who kicked this off, and they’re the ones that wanted it all to play this way. I’m not saying Vongella’s involved. I’m saying that she won’t act. If I go to her, she’ll shut it down.’

‘So what’s the point?’

‘Because I want to know the truth. Because I want to make what happened count for something. Because I hate – I ­fucking hate – cell-draining.’

Draj thought about that. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I hear that.’

Zidarov took a deep breath. ‘Then, are you with me?’

Draj didn’t reply for a long time. Zidarov began to think that he was doing it on purpose. Or maybe it just took him a long time to think of the right words.

‘Tonight,’ he said, bluntly, going back to cleaning his weapon. ‘And there’d better be something to break.’

Zidarov nodded. ‘Thank you. I mean it. And don’t worry – there will be.’

By then it was late afternoon. Zidarov’s headache had only got worse, and his reactions felt poorer than they’d ever been. He wasn’t only getting out of shape, he was getting old. He needed to try to get at least a couple of hours’ sleep, or he’d be no use to Draj at all.

He pondered taking a look at the feed from the personnel tracker, and decided against it. It hadn’t had time to generate anything yet, in all probability, and he didn’t fancy fighting his way back to the Bastion to review holo-footage. In any case, his hab was closer, and it made sense to head back there, take a shower, scrape the stubble from his chin, try to get a little downtime, before all the hells kicked off again. As he drove back, he could feel his lids getting heavier, his empty stomach growling. The hab-towers passed like blurry smears of grey, their edges feathered by the rain on the glass. The downpour had already stopped being welcome, and had become an irritant. It made everything difficult. Bring on the dry season again.

He reached his hab-tower, and wearily pulled in. He slumped his way to the elevator and leaned against the chipped interior as it rattled its way to his unit. By the time he reached the door, he was walking like a drunkard.

As soon as the door slid open, he knew he wasn’t alone. His hand snapped down to the grip of his Tzarina, and he tensed. His heart rate picked up, and he crept down the tiny hallway.

Then Milija poked her head around the door of the kitchen, saw him, and rolled her eyes.

Zidarov let out a long breath. That had been stupid. He was getting stupid.

‘What brings you back here?’ she called out.