Others lost the will to fight, and pledged themselves to the war effort in other ways. Some died. Those whose failure was absolute were blacked out and expunged from the records.

It was brutal, but Cadia had been a military state. War was its past, its future, its religion and its function. A Cadian had one duty in life, so people liked to joke: to die for the Emperor.

The memories of her childhood kept coming up as Minka lay on her bed.

Her home city of Kasr Myrak was a fortress. Each hab was a bunker, each street a kill-zone where any enemy intruders could be gunned down. Each dawn began with drill. Each night ended with the Cadian Prayer. Not a supplicant’s prayer, but a soldier’s appeal to the ultimate high commander.

Before Minka was born, her mother had birthed five children already, their fathers either killed or sent off-world. She had still had one more child to raise before she fulfilled the quota she had given herself. She had shown her zeal by producing two: Minka and her little brother, Tarli.

Her parents’ coupling had not been a result of a love-marriage, they had not believed in that. Just two young healthy and fertile warriors breeding the next generation.

Minka’s father had manned the southern polar defence station and been called up for off-planet service in one of the Imperium’s many wars when she was young. He was now just a vague shape in Minka’s mind: a restless, lean-faced man who had taken her out to learn field-craft.

Minka had been ten when she was put into the draw for which Whiteshield unit she would join. Like everyone else, she had wanted to join the 17th – the Kasr Myrak elite. When she had been given her token stating her enrolment with the 76th instead, she had locked herself away and wept. A posting like that wasn’t worth half a credit.

Her mother had come up with many reasons why the indignity of the 76th was not the worst thing that could happen to her, and on the day of the Gathering Minka had refused to cry. She would not show emotion. She would join them and better them, and make sure that they came top in the next year’s annual assessment.

The night before her posting had been her cousin Jorden’s Liv­ing Wake. He was six years older than her. He had gone away to military camp a boy and come back a man with strong jaw and broad shoulders. Minka was hungry for his calm, his experience, the studied look in his violet eyes. He had been toasted many times that night, and had held his drink down well. When it had been her time to salute him, he had poured her just a drop of spirits, and clinked his glass to hers.

‘Which unit are you joining?’ Jorden had asked.