Luca would have had to dredge for the word if he hadn’t been studying this specific area of deviancy. ‘It is a chapel,’ he said. A chapel of the dead, he thought, whose names are inscribed here. He glanced up at the arch’s span. There was writing up to the limits of his vision. Hundreds of names, then.

‘Yes, a chapel.’ Dolo walked up to the single trooper standing under the arch. She held her place, but returned the Commissary’s scrutiny apprehensively.

Teel said, ‘This is Bayla.’

‘The one on the charge.’

‘She faces a specimen charge of anti-Doctrinal behaviour. Similar charges will be applied to others of the unit here depending on the outcome of the hearing - on your decision, gentlemen.’

Dolo looked the trooper up and down, as if he could read her mind by studying her suited body. ‘Trooper. You understand the charge against you. Are you guilty?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Tell me about Michael Poole.’

Bayla was silent for a moment, visibly frightened; the visor of her skinsuit was misted. She glanced at Teel, who nodded.

And so Bayla stammered a tale of how the great engineer of ancient times, Michael Poole, had ridden one last wormhole to Timelike Infinity, the end of time itself. There he waited, watching all the events of the universe unfolding - and there he was ready to welcome those who remembered his name, and honour those who had fallen - and from there his great strength would reach out to save those who followed his example.

Dolo listened to this dispassionately. ‘How many times have you ridden the Rock?’

‘Twice, sir.’

‘And what are you most afraid of, trooper?’

Again Bayla glanced at Teel. ‘That you won’t let me back.’

‘Back where?’

‘To ride the Rock again.’

‘Why does that frighten you?’

Because she does not want to abandon her comrades, Luca thought, watching her. Because she is guilty to be alive where others have fallen around her. Because she fears they will die, leaving her to live on alone.

But Bayla said only, ‘It is my duty, Commissary. A brief life burns brightly.’

Teel said, ‘Simply say what you believe, trooper; it won’t help you to mouth slogans.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Luca walked back to the arch, for now Teel was standing under it, running her gloved hand over its surface. ‘It’s beautiful,’ he essayed.

She shrugged. ‘It’s a tribute, not a work of art. But yes, it is beautiful.’

After his foolish remark about weakness he wanted to rebuild his connection with her. ‘The names.’ He glanced up at the arrayed letters over his head. He said boldly, ‘To record the fallen may be non-Doctrinal, but here it seems - appropriate. If I had time I would climb this arch and count all the names.’

‘It might take you longer than you think.’

‘I don’t understand.’