The fleet squadrons reconfigured to reflect their new status. All but a few adjusted their courses for more important sources of technology, infrastructure and territory, given that these were likely now to fall to them without dispute. The flagship squadron turned to set a course for Zyse, the Gzilt capital and home system.

“People were targeted, I tell you, Banstegeyn,” Yegres told him as they walked in the grounds of the trime’s villa in the hills overlooking the city. The parliament building shimmered whitely in the distance, blurred with warm air rising, the Presence a dark inverted drip-shape above it, made tiny by the distance.

A pair of light cruisers, their smooth, kilometre-long hulls silvered, hung in the air ten thousand metres above the city. This was supposed to be reassuring for the remaining populace after the shock of the attack on the Regimental HQ of the Fourteenth at Eshri.

“Targeted,” Yegres repeated, glancing at Banstegeyn. The two crunched along a gravel path, followed at a discreet distance by Solbli and Jevan. Banstegeyn’s chief secretary and aide-de-camp were seemingly muttering to themselves, partially sub-vocalising as they communicated elsewhere. He’d given them the job of continuing to try and find a way to nullify the Scavenger vote earlier. There had been over ten millennia of inherently convoluted and frequently murky parliamentary business, all of it faithfully recorded; there had to be a precedent in there somewhere. It would be a start if nothing else.

Yegres was accompanied by a float-tray. It held a glass and decanter; he helped himself. “Frix was offered an introduction to some girl he’d had his eye on – or Quvarond’s wife or something; I don’t know – Yenivle took a case of Kolymkin … something; some priceless vintage.” Yegres frowned. “Wish the bugger had offered me that. So thoughtless.” He shrugged, shook his head. “Not sure what Jurutre was offered, but seemingly something furtive regarding a child. Not filthy, or even illegal, just … sad … Anyway, it was all terribly well organised. Done with military precision.” He barked a laugh. “Better than that, actually; didn’t miss and hit their own people.”

“And you?” Banstegeyn asked. “What did Trime Quvarond offer you?” He found it hard to keep the sneer out of his voice.

“Nothing at all, dear boy,” Yegres said amiably, waving one hand around. “I voted against you because I just don’t like you.”

Banstegeyn was stopped in his tracks. He heard Jevan and Solbli stop at the same time, gravel rasping under their feet. They’d gone silent, poised.

Yegres wandered on, oblivious, for another couple of steps before stopping too. He looked back at Banstegeyn.