‘My dear friends. And I mean both of you,’ she said, to laughs from the crowd. ‘Young Plient tells me my Lightning will require extensive repairs, so I intend to take some leave and continue the celebrations in my suite. I would invite a few of you to join me, but you’ve already begun to bore me.’

A cascade of boos and catcalls followed. She offered a low bow in response before departing, the crowd trailing after her. Behind me, I heard the servitors finally wrench the cockpit open. Flight Commander Gradeolous erupted from within, spewing curses in Shard’s wake.

‘You thrice-wretched cur!’ he spat, gesticulating wildly. ‘Come back here and face me! Coward!’

But she was long gone, and the other soldiers were returning to their duties, even as he continued to curse her name.

It was not the most auspicious of introductions.

Chapter six

CHAPTER SIX

I slept poorly, awaking in the early hours with frost crystallising on the shattered pane. Though I bound myself tighter under the blankets, sleep would not come that night.

Everything was falling apart before it had even started. I had utterly failed to engage with Shard, or any of the aces. I had no footage of worth and, worse than that, could not think how to obtain it if the pilots refused to speak to me. Even Mizar’s sophisticated sensors could not track the aircraft with any reliability once in flight. How was I supposed to capture their aerial battles without their assistance?

Perhaps my predecessor was right. Perhaps it was better to splice images together, create preposterous scenarios where lascannons snipe orks and aces offer salutes to children. Better that than trying to barter with entitled pilots who thought themselves above me.

I rolled onto my side, my back to the window. I could feel the draught, the cold somehow penetrating the mounds of fabric.

I could not stop picturing her face. That disdainful expression, her scarred lip twisted into a sneer. She had looked through me at first, then regarded me with contempt. The rejection had stung, for I had envisioned our introduction in a different setting, some festivity or other event. I imagined her being excited at the prospect of the pict, flattered that I had chosen her as the focus. How stupid I had been. The whole thing was absurd. She was a soldier, her record speaking for itself. Her family had been loyal servants of the Imperium for generations. She was not a lowly civilian inspired to enlist by a stirring pict. It was likely she had never heard of me, and if she viewed a letter from her brother with such disdain, why should I expect any different?