‘Put your armour and webbing in the green circle, uniforms in the blue!’ one medicae shouted. The webber was out now. Varens was afraid how Bolus would react if he were trapped again.

They grabbed at Bolus hard, making the man twitch and wail.

‘Leave him be!’ shouted Varens. ‘He’s not in his right mind – he’s suffering combat stress. Emperor’s teeth, I thought you were healers! Can’t you see? He’ll be alright soon, if you let him alone. Bolus, Bolus, hey!’

The medicae parted enough to let him near.

‘V-v-varens?’ spluttered Bolus.

‘Yes, my friend, it’s me. Do as the medicae say, do you understand?’

Bolus looked at the medical staff suspiciously.

‘Bolus! Come on, do you get it?’

The medicae still had his compact webber out. Bolus was oblivious to the device.

Hesitantly, Bolus nodded.

‘Strip,’ said the medicae. ‘Armour in the–’

‘Yeah, we get it,’ snapped Varens. ‘I heard you four times already. I’ll help him.’ He interposed himself protectively between his friend and the medic. ‘We’ve been together for the last two years, fighting on Espandor. Where’ve you been?’

‘I don’t have to answer you,’ said one medicae.

‘Here,’ said another one. ‘Only here.’

‘Then you don’t know what we’ve been through. Give him his due. If it weren’t for men like him, you and all this would be nothing but ashes and slime. Plague warriors, Heretic Astartes, the walking Emperor-damned dead – Bolus and I have faced them all, while you’ve been having a fine old time in your rubber suits.’

‘We’re saving lives here,’ said the first medicae. ‘By the grace of the Emperor. We all have our roles to play. We are here to help you, but you both need to be processed. If he won’t cooperate, he won’t make it.’

Varens grabbed Bolus by the shoulder a little too fiercely, making him flinch. ‘This man’s saved my life five times. You have a lot of catching up to do if you think I’ll let him die.’

‘Your choice, trooper.’ The webber came up.

Bolus calmed. Some of what had been said must have sunk in, because he was unclipping his combat webbing. ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘No, Varens, no.’ His head jerked hard, barely under control. His armour slithered to the floor in a mess of straps. Mechanically, Bolus undressed.

Varens did the same, watching his friend warily, but no more outbursts came.

Bolus handed over his grubby white uniform. Varens bundled it up with his own. Their bodies, grimy and pale, were exposed to the unkindness of the autumn air.

The medicae finally holstered his webber and passed his auspex over Bolus. It burred to itself, and clunked. A green lumen shone from the top.

‘He’s clean, but keep him calm. This process takes time.’

‘He’ll be alright,’ said the kinder medicae.