‘That is why I am here,’ Gradeolous snapped. ‘I am to be the subject of the piece, as agreed.’

‘I’m not sure–’

‘Governor Dolos insists,’ he said, cutting me off, his gaze falling on Kikazar. I had no doubt he could simply snatch it, and I could not allow that, for there were days of footage I needed to see.

‘Wait,’ I said, retrieving the recently liberated Mizar. ‘Take this one. It is fully charged.’

I did not want to surrender it. But I had backed up Mizar’s memory already, and I needed to know what other secrets Kikazar had uncovered.

Gradeolous reached for Mizar, but it surged from his hands, hissing, its sensors flaring a warning red. He jumped, startled, before rounding on me, cheeks flushed.

‘Make the device compliant!’ he blustered.

I called the seer-skull to me, murmuring words of reassurance.

‘Do your duty,’ I said, before whispering the liturgy of compliance. It relented, the light dimming as it dutifully fell into place beside Gradeolous. The fighter ace still glared at the machine, suspicious.

‘Do you need assistance?’ I asked.

He bristled at the suggestion. ‘Of course not. One of the mechanicals can make the installation. Just be ready to put the pict together when I get back.’

As he marched from the room, I knew somehow I would not see Mizar again.

I suppose that also meant I would not see Gradeolous again, though I cannot pretend that concerned me.

As the door closed I glanced back to Kikazar. ‘Resume,’ I said, and the seer-skull obliged whilst I busied myself making a cup of recaff.

The footage began with it still loitering outside the wing commander’s quarters. There was little activity. Occasionally it would detect a voice, its advanced audio sensors zoning in on the sound. But it never heard anything important, just servants going about their business.

As I listened my gaze was drawn to the activity outside the window. There were still days of footage to review, and I did not know how long I had left. Aircraft were scrambling in the quagmire below, their landing gears chewing up what remained of the grounds. It was chaos, fighters being dragged into the path of bombers, the limited ground crew relying on servitors for the heavy work. Though capable of performing the tasks, the machines could not organise themselves. In a strange way, the chaos reminded me of the orks. Except they were increasingly well coordinated, whilst we devolved to their level.

It took two pilots squaring up on the runway for me to realise the extent of my naivety. For it had always been that way. Only our conflicts were usually resolved behind closed doors in clandestine chambers, where military needs were weighted against the nobles’ coin. Perhaps the ork way was better: disputes were settled face to face by blade and blood, the strongest ruling by right of conquest.