Radimir had paused at that. Imperial citizens on many a world would have no knowledge of what a Navigator was – many primitive planets didn’t even understand space travel, or the concept of the Emperor as anything other than whichever nearby star gave light and warmth to their wretched, void-bound rock of a home. On Vorlese, however, the houses flaunted their power and presence in their incessant displays to their rivals, like jungle-dwelling avians claiming a tree as their own. A Vorlesian, relatively prosperous and well educated compared to many of their fellows across the galaxy, and understanding their place as one Imperial world amongst millions, would likely have at least a fair idea of what a Navigator might look like.

Such lack of caution from his quarry warranted investigation.

And so he was here in the Ascension City mid-levels, sitting on one end of a velour bench-seat worn down to an unappealing dirty red colour, and sipping low-grade amasec that smelled like it had been distilled from grox piss. The bar itself was grimy, the sort of patina that accumulated when sticky alcohol was left to dry and attracted the dirt and dust borne in on the clothes and bodies of its patrons. Nonetheless, it was doing a roaring trade. Burly shift workers in the sturdy, monogrammed overalls of their manufactorums rubbed shoulders with Administratum scribes seeking intoxicating release before their next back-bending, finger-cramping shift hunched over auto-scribers or cogitators. Gaudily dressed merchants, their clothes and jewellery glitteringly fine unless subjected to close scrutiny, huddled in groups where each tried to put a braver face on their fiscal wellbeing than their fellows, while nearby, knots of pierced, tattooed or branded gangers knocked back shots and discussed the next hit on their rivals in hushed tones. Joygirls and thrillboys took turns walking the floor, trailing seductive fingers across shoulders or leaning to whisper into ears before leading their marks away, while those unsuccessful in finding business on this pass returned to their cluster of near-naked companions and the raucous laughter and improbable anatomical discussions that emanated from them – not far from a pinch-faced man in the robes and aquila of the Ecclesiarchy, nursing a flavoured water and probably composing his next sermon on the evils of the flesh.