Praxa­medes accelerated the playback, the voices speeding up along with the actions of the figures below. He returned it to normal speed a few seconds later when Lowensten’s voice could be heard, his hand slamming down onto the table in unison.

‘Enough! I called this council for advice and you give me arguments. Baron Cordaer, it is clear these are not some passing raiders but a significant invasion fleet. They are systematically destroying the outer defences.’

‘We cannot hold them back,’ said a young, uniformed man, his hair swept back by a silver band, a be-ringed hand catching the light as he waved upward towards the distant stars. Aeschelus presumed it was Baron Cordaer. ‘Their weapons are too powerful. Perhaps if the Invigorous was to intervene?’

‘One naval ship won’t swing this battle. We need to send for help.’ This came from an elderly lady with an attendant at her shoulder, who was feeding some kind of elixir into a catheter at her temple.

‘The Imperium is in upheaval. The warp-storms are everywhere.’ Lowensten sighed and sat back. ‘Who would come in time?’

‘Then we must buy ourselves time, commander,’ said a short, broad-shouldered man in grey robes. A ranking Administratum envoy or ­liaison? ‘The Imperium will respond. It falls to us to survive long enough to benefit from that response.’

‘Surrender?’ said the older woman, almost choking on the word.

‘Negotiation,’ said Baron Cordaer. ‘If we can agree a ceasefire it gives us time to defend the orbital palaces.’

‘Or evacuate,’ said a woman out of the view of the recorder.

‘We have nothing to bargain with,’ said the Imperial commander, wiping a hand across his face. His fatigue was obvious. ‘What do we offer them that they cannot take?’

‘An easy victory, perhaps?’ said the administrator. ‘Our greatest defences are on the orbital palaces. Our exports are expendable. Let them take what they want without dispute. Crops will grow again. People still have babies to replenish the population.’

‘What of this soul-draining effect the astropaths report?’ said a grey-bearded councillor almost lost at the periphery of the recording. ‘Would we have our minds dulled?’

‘The palaces are proving more resistant,’ said the older woman. ‘Better to act while we can. If we resist we shall be slain, from which there is no return. If we are to succumb to this deadening, we shall not know of our misery, it seems. And if help arrives we might yet be delivered from it.’

‘A season lost seems a small price to pay,’ reasoned Lowensten, looking at his advisors. ‘Our strength lies in this chamber, in these palaces. If we can preserve that, Orestes has not truly fallen.’

‘We need to be of single purpose,’ said the older woman. ‘I am in favour. Who else?’

A chorus of affirmatives rung around the table. Aeschelus noticed a couple of the nobles remained silent, but none voiced objection. Perhaps they were too minor in standing to be counted.