‘Getting out solves none of that,’ he said, not really sure if he believed what he was saying. ‘They’ll come after you, one way or another. I could tell you to do what the prop-vids say. Rejoice in your work. Learn to honour the Imperium through labour. Find joy in your sacrifice for Him, and reject temptation.’

Then Gertuda laughed for a third time, this time with genuine amusement. ‘Does anyone believe that shit?’ she asked. ‘I mean, apart from the priests, have you met anyone, anywhere, who believed that shit?’

He smiled grimly. ‘I don’t know. Someone must do, I guess. The churches are all full.’

‘Yeah. The churches are all full.’

He reached out, awkwardly, and placed a hand on her elbow. He’d wanted it to be a reassuring gesture, maybe a little bit paternal, though as soon as he did it he wondered if it would come across as creepy.

‘Thank you for telling me what you know,’ he said. ‘I mean it. And… well, don’t assume that no one cares about this. It might look that way. But it might not be true.’

She didn’t pull away from his touch. She looked so hollow, so worn out, that she might not have had the strength even if she’d wanted to.

‘So you say,’ she said, cynically. ‘I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.’

That settled it. Something about Vermida’s smug assurance, his calm belief that this was all wrapped up now and nothing further would be done, snapped the thread of restraint. It was one thing to take advice from Brecht, who despite his habit was a wise old canid. It was another to be bullied into silence by a man who had no qualms about pulling the marrow from living bones. And now he’d seen the fear for himself, what it was doing. He’d have to go quietly, go carefully, but this was not over yet.

Once back in a part of the sector he recognised, he summoned Draj’s veil-link to his iris, and prepared to make the connection. Draj would come with him, back to the warehouse, if he asked him. They could burn that, at least. They might be killed right afterwards, they might bring all the hells down on Vongella’s head, but they could burn it.

He almost did it. The thing that prevented him was an incoming call from the Bastion’s main veil-operator.

‘Probator Zidarov, you have a meeting request.’

Zidarov cancelled the call to Draj. ‘Who from?’

‘Mordach Terashova. He’s requested immediate response, loc-ref to follow. Can you comply?’