The shot was still ringing in his ears when Prassan came out of the interview chamber. The smell of blood was in his nostrils, and when he closed his eyes he could still see the face of the dead man. When Prassan returned to the command centre, General Bendikt was sitting at a camp table with a glass of amasec.

A whole team of adjutants were sitting looking earnest, with notepads in their hands, and a pair of savants were in the corner working through order sheets with surprising speed.

A servo-skull hung in the corner, its anti-grav units giving off a low hum. An unlit lho-stub lay in a small pressed tin bowl. Mere was pacing up and down before him.

Prassan tried to sneak in, but as soon as he entered, Bendikt’s attention seemed to be done. The general appeared glad of the chance to shift the focus.

‘Prassan!’ Bendikt said. ‘Any sign of them?’

‘None,’ Prassan said. ‘Only second line troops. I am told that most of them are ill-educated and poor. Some of them renounced their heresy before the end. Those that did not were suitably punished.’

Bendikt nodded, but kept his thoughts to himself. ‘Well, we’ve dangled the bait before him now. Let us see how he reacts.’

Once the amasec was done, each of the Cadian officers retired to bed leaving Prassan, as the least senior officer, on station, just in case.

The only other people in the room were the savants of the chief logistician. The binharic data streams were just audible from their ear-pieces as their fingers played over their counting beats.

They appeared to be assessing how much the Cadians had captured, and how quickly they could be resupplied and reinforced. Prassan shoved the papers and stencils aside and put his head down on the desk before him, laid his head sideways and just shut his eyes for a moment as sporadic vox-traffic played in his ears.

It was a mix of lists of dead, wounded, missing, techseers asking for long lists of replacement parts, and self-congratulatory stuff as units compared each other’s performances. Seventh Company were the loudest. It was one of theirs that had taken the Lone Redoubt.

Prassan had been asleep for about four hours when the wall alarm rang out. He sat up immediately.

His vox-headset had come askew. He straightened it and started recording the details. Within seconds he was through to Baytov’s command centre, in the upper circuits of the Lone Redoubt.

He was on the line to the First Company captain, Ostanko – something of a legend within the 101st. Prassan had never spoken directly to him before. He felt trepidation as he took down the message.

He paraphrased Ostanko’s words. The details were chilling.

‘The traitors have launched a massive amphibious landing,’ Ostanko reported. ‘Throne knows. That rock must be full of materiel. I counted at least a hundred Gorgons, and they’re crammed with troops.’