Kikazar chirped a warning, the sound audible only to me. But it was unnecessary. I did not need the seer-skull’s biorhythmic sensors to know she was lying.

Governor Dolos was on good form as we sped back towards the château, her entourage fawning over every attempted witticism. The excursion had gone exactly as desired. The agri-workers had extolled the virtues of her admin­istration and their faith in their produce, despite the fact none of them had tasted it.

Serfs praising their planetary governor was hardly surprising. Similar would have occurred on any well-run planet in the Imperium. But this was a more comprehensive farce, as I was shown vast distilleries where the vine-fruit was pulped into a slurry, and the vats which fermented it into wines and spirits. I sampled the produce as offered, and the fruit was indeed succulent, its flesh firm, juicy and quite unblemished. The workers, though low-born and simple, appeared healthier than one might have expected, given the nature of their labours.

But Kikazar could feel their pulses quicken as they spoke, and a brief scan of the boats waiting to offload told a different story. Those workers’ skin and produce was marred by purple blisters and black swellings.

Governor Dolos was laughing. I glanced across. Her head snapped back as she cackled, spilling wine across the servant standing beside her. There she was, ruler of a dying world. Oblivious or uncaring to its plight.

I did not begrudge her the subterfuge. All citizens sought to present themselves as favourably as possible, she merely had better means than most. No one would care for the deception, for all that mattered was the planet was loyal and paid its tithes. Of course, if the wine was now tainted, paying tithes might become more problematic. But that was her concern, not mine.

I glanced to my glass. Amber liquid glistened within, with no trace of the taint.

That was what irked me. Dolos, like Shard, thought lying sufficient. She must have known how transparent it all was, for she had sent a dozen tainted bottles to my room. But why should she care, for none would dare refute her. My pict would show rustic agri-workers toiling at the vines and proclaiming the orks would never halt their labours. It was a nice touch, even if the delivery felt contrived.

That was the narrative now, whether I believed it or not.

The most depressing thing was I had no better story. At least, none that would appease my superiors.

Another burst of laughter erupted behind me. I did not bother turning, keeping my gaze ahead, Kikazar resting in my lap. I had already thanked the governor for the informative tour, and advised her I would need to process the files on the return journey. It was a small, solitary lie, and therefore easy to tell. Most importantly, it meant I could sit in silence and apart from her sycophants without arousing suspicion.