I nodded, for I had no words. That a soldier could complete his mission despite such injuries, only to succumb to Bacchus’ toxic filth, was obscene. Vile. But I recalled the Scion from my first mission, the lesions that infested his flesh after a mere day’s exposure to the swamp. At least Plient had been in the cockpit, his wounds shielded from the foetid waters. That surely counted for something.

‘Is there anything else?’ the chirurgeon asked, tone brisk. I once again suppressed the urge to snap at him. Instead I looked away, gaze falling on the medi-slabs and cots where the fallen lay in various degrees of infirmity. The medicae had a job to do, I reminded myself. My presence was disruptive to it, and the only assistance I could provide was departing.

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Please inform me if his condition changes.’

The chirurgeon nodded in response, before turning away, intent on his next patient.

My gaze lingered on Plient. Without that well-meaning smile, his face looked older, haggard. Then again, I probably looked the same. I glanced to the doorway, expecting it empty, but Shard still lingered, seemingly intent on the far wall.

‘You think it was deliberate?’ I asked.

‘You mean the orks shooting at him?’ she replied. ‘I expect so, they’re a disagreeable bunch.’

‘I meant the orks targeting our reinforcements,’ I said. ‘The same thing happened when I arrived. As soon as we broke atmosphere they were on us.’

‘Impossible,’ she said. ‘The orks are a bunch of slack-jawed savages who can barely get airborne and are incapable of strategic planning. There are senior officers who would take great offence at any suggestion otherwise.’

‘Is that what you think?’

‘Flight Commander Lucille von Shard’s duties are to maintain the family’s good name and standing, and to bring death to the God-Emperor’s enemies,’ she replied. ‘She is not obliged to think. In fact, it is actively discouraged outside of combat scenarios.’

‘That’s all you have to say?’

‘We all have our duty, propagandist,’ she replied. ‘Mine is to rule the skies. Yours is to extol my virtues. And since visiting hours are concluded, I suggest you get on with extracting that skull-thing of yours from Hephaestus, and go back to making your little picts.’

‘It’s called a seer-skull. Its designation is Mizar,’ I said. ‘You must know this. Why do you insist on pretending otherwise?’

‘I don’t answer to you,’ she said with a sneer. ‘Get back to the hangar. I’ll round up some mechanicals to assist you.’

‘No, I do not think I will,’ I replied. ‘Mizar is powered down and will be quite secure. I cannot imagine Hephaestus will be fit to serve any time soon. I will make do until Plient can assist me.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she began, but I pushed past her, continuing along the corridor.

She called after me.

‘I know how dependent you are on those trinkets.’