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  As I stepped out, Lucius threw me an enormous grin and clasped my shoulders. ‘Welcome back.’

  A flood of beige and black poured down the steps. Flavius, Paula, Treb, little Nov in the front. There must have been a couple of dozen more. Then I heard a well-known pattern of boots clattering down the steps and a distinctive voice reached me.

  ‘Oh, for Jupiter’s sake, clear out the way,’ Daniel shouted as he barged through. He stopped in front of me and looked me up and down. ‘Gods, you look tarted up ready for an orgy, or have you just come from one?’ He grinned, glancing at my sling.

  As the mess doors opened, the noise slammed into me. The acoustics were lousy. But I heard a cheer go up as I entered. A glass of champagne was thrust into my good hand. I felt humbled. These tough soldiers rarely showed such open approval. People milled around, gossiping, talking shop, a little too frenetically, I thought. Julia Sella smiled at me like she was a proud big sister.

  I spotted Paula and waved her over. She hesitated, her face blank as she assessed my polished appearance. I knew what she was seeing: patrician, cousin to the imperatrix, heir to one of the great houses of the Imperium, not her comrade in arms. I’d seen it in other people’s eyes. I cursed under my breath as she stopped a little distance from me.

  ‘Hey, Paula, it’s me. Bruna.’

  She blinked and shook it off, her shoulders relaxing.

  ‘How are they?’ I asked.

  Her normal expression reappeared. ‘All on the mend. Atria and Livius will be discharged tomorrow. Maelia came round quite quickly, but needed a procedure on her leg, so she’s stuck in the infirmary for a while.’

  I grimaced.

  ‘She’ll be all right. Just weeks of physio.’ Paula adopted a pragmatic approach, so coped with most things that came her way. Maelia would suffer or make those around her suffer during her convalescence. I looked around. ‘Let’s get out of here. I feel awkward in these clothes.’

  Paula nodded towards the far end of the bar area. ‘Kitchen service door?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  We smiled our way to the back edge of the drinkers and made for the far end of the bar counter, blanked off by a short wall. In the corner, a service door opened onto the back kitchen corridor. We paused for a second or two by the door. I could only hear the buzz of talking, some laughter, a shout or two, clinking of glasses. Until I picked up Conrad’s voice. He must have stopped at the far end of the bar, away from the others, just around the corner from us. Crap. I really did not want to talk to him in front of the others. I touched Paula’s shoulder and shook my head. If we moved, he would hear us. We were stuck.

  ‘Well, Lucius?’ I heard Conrad ask crisply.

  ‘Legate. I missed you when you arrived.’

  The two men had been not merely friends, but comrades for ten years, saving each other’s backs literally and figuratively many times. While Conrad was the nervy risk taker, Lucius held everything together. Lucius had been the first of Conrad’s fellow officers he’d introduced me to when I arrived over seven years ago, and I was reasonably well tuned into him.

  ‘You’ve recovered well,’ Lucius said. His tone was awkward and tense.

  ‘Yes. The body heals when it’s not being continuously abused for days on end.’

  ‘Look, Conradus, I’m sorry we didn’t do anything more quickly than we did. After Galla, well, you know…’

  ‘I’m visiting her mother tomorrow.’

  I heard a glass placed on the bar.

  ‘After a while, your only existence is pain,’ Conrad said. His voice was low, mechanical almost. ‘When they start again, all you feel is pressure and points of exquisite agony.’ A pause. ‘I stopped caring after a while. If Carina’s gangsters hadn’t extracted me, I would have died within a day or two.’

  I edged up to the corner and risked a peek. Only a metre away from us, they were looking back to the noisy crowd.

  Lucius looked agonised. Conrad met his gaze. The unsaid message that passed between them was blurred, both men breaking contact after an uncomfortable exchange.

  After a few minutes’ silence, Lucius coughed. ‘You’ll let me know how you want to set up post-action meetings tomorrow? I’ve cancelled today’s evening report.’

  ‘Whatever you think best, Adjutant,’ came the cold reply.

  Next morning, back in uniform, my hair contained in a serious plait, I felt more collected, more structured. I looked in my mirror and saw a soldier, ready for at least light duty (despite the sling). But the eyes were full of strain and red around the rims.

  There were only a few in the mess hall, the night shift mostly, eating before they slept. I nodded to them as I passed between the tables on my way to the hatch.

  ‘Eggs and bacon, ma’am?’

  Bless him! ‘Yes, thanks, Glavus.’

  ‘You go and sit down – I’ll do some fresh. Here, take this,’ and he thrust a plate with a warm roll and preserves at me and balanced a cup of steaming coffee on the plate. It smelled delicious.

  I munched the roll and drank my coffee, trying to organise my thoughts. I must visit Maelia in the infirmary, and find Atria and Livius. But the main part of my day would be my report for Daniel. Then I would be free to go home. When I called, Helena had said they were all recovered, but her voice was muted. I desperately needed to see them. Especially my children.

  Just as my eggs and bacon were delivered, bacon sliced up, Conrad slid into the chair opposite.

  ‘Well, you are privileged.’ He mocked gently, watching the cook retreat back behind his hatch.

  I saw he’d had to grab his own breakfast.

  I shrugged. ‘Depends who you know.’

  We concentrated on eating. After around five minutes, he drained his coffee mug, carefully set it down and studied the table.

  ‘You know you’ll have to undergo a long debrief.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose.’

  ‘Then there’ll be a disciplinary hearing,’ he added.

  ‘Great. Something to look forward to.’

  ‘You know it’s not personal, just procedure.’

  ‘Presumably I’ll still have a job afterwards?’

  ‘Fifty-fifty odds, I reckon,’ he said and looked up at me. At last.

  I dropped my knife and fork on the plate, the clatter drawing a few curious looks.

  ‘Fifty-fifty!’ I shrieked. A few more heads turned.

  He frowned at me.

  ‘Is that it? After I saved everybody’s skin?’

  ‘Well, they’ll take that into account.’ He looked up at me. ‘Fishing for a commendation, are you?’

  ‘No. Just some recognition.’

  I knew I reacted badly when I thought I was being treated unfairly. Not very mature, but that’s how it was. He was joshing me – or was he? His face was unreadable. Sometimes he was a complete mystery.

  But what he said hit a tender spot. I had acted like a cowboy when I’d run off. But if I’d done the proper thing and stayed, we’d have both been dead along with Silvia and her family. Now, I was facing the possibility of being thrown out. Daniel would have told me to stop being a drama queen and wait, but a streak of fear ran though me. I would lose the life I loved.

  It took me less than a minute to strike back. ‘If it’s all too much for you, and you throw me out, I’ll go back and work with Apollodorus,’ I said. ‘We didn’t have all this ass-busting procedure there. We knew when somebody had done well.’

  ‘No.’ His face was stretched with fury.

  ‘What “no”?’ I glowered at him, but inside I was nervous of his mood.

  ‘I will not permit it. I’d rather see you in prison than you go back there.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Watch yourself. You may think you’ve saved the world, but you are not immune to the consequences of your actions. Insubordinate doesn’t begin to describe it.’

  I stood up, turned my back on him and stomped out.

  XXVI

  Where did my knack for self-dest
ruction come from? I jumped into the elevator up to the infirmary before they found me and locked me up.

  ‘Morning, Captain,’ the duty nurse greeted me. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I’ve come to see Maelia – she was brought in yesterday. No, night before – sorry.’ I’d lost track of time.

  She scanned my badge and looked at her screen. ‘Ah! You’re due another restorative. Please wait here a moment.’

  Didn’t they have anything better to do?

  She came back in a few moments with a cup of the familiar ginger and malt drink. The gods knew what else was in it, vitamins or something, I suppose, but it accelerated the healing process. The swelling on my arm had almost gone, although the wounds were still seeping. Of course, it ached.

  Like a true officious medic, she watched me until I’d finished. I put the empty cup down, leaving a ring-mark to make her over-tidy counter messy.

  ‘Follow me, please,’ she said.

  She swept me through the swing doors. The hospital smell hit me. Even in this small facility, it ruled. It bounced off the inhabitants as well as the cream walls. There were only half a dozen rooms, and I was ushered into the second one along the short corridor.

  Maelia grinned weakly. She was plugged into a monitor, and her leg was encased in a plastic brace. She looked trapped in the white bed. I pulled up a chair.

  ‘Well?’ I enquired.

  ‘Well, what?’

  ‘When are they discharging you?’

  ‘When my hair grows back.’ She turned and showed me the bald patch with a deep but healing graze. Poor Maelia; she loved her beautiful hair. It was normally a shiny, plentiful waterfall of glossy dark brown. At the moment, it was like a bunch of dark straw, too embarrassing for a scarecrow.

  ‘Yeah, bummer,’ I sympathized. ‘Is it very hard for you now, with the leg, I mean?’

  She gazed at the vase of flowers on the bedside table for a few moments and put a lot of energy in scrunching up the edge of her sheet. She eventually drew her gaze back to me. ‘They see no reason for it not to heal fully, but I won’t be back to full strength for a few months. I have to lie still for two weeks.’ She looked so despondent. Maelia was one of those active fidgets who couldn’t bear to sit still, let alone lie still. Maybe I could bring her into the strategy office when she came back to light duties.

  ‘Too bad. You’ll have to knuckle down and do what they say for once,’ I said.

  ‘Just like you do, Bruna.’ I couldn’t mistake the malicious gleam in her eye.

  ‘Yeah, well, the least said about that, the better.’

  ‘Ah, ha! Do I detect the golden girl is in trouble again?’

  ‘You mind your business, Maelia.’

  ‘How bad?’

  I told her about the row.

  ‘He won’t let you go, you know. You might have a rough time for a short while, though.’

  ‘You know what, Maelia, you are starting to sound like Paula. She thinks she’s my mother.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you need one.’

  I said nothing. My mother had died when I was three.

  We moved on, our conversation rising back up to the superficial.

  ‘I’ll come back tomorrow if I’m not up on a charge.’

  ‘Nah, you won’t be.’

  I tracked Livius and Atria down to the games room. He was half-lying on a couch, beer in hand, cushions supporting his back, the good foot on the ground. She was sitting on a dining chair. Both held controllers and were intent on the screen, alive with movement. The screen flashed bright yellow then cleared completely.

  Livius threw his remote on the floor. ‘For fuck’s sake, how did you do that? You are such a cheat.’

  ‘Don’t be a bad loser,’ came her soft voice. ‘I just used the advantages I had.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  She just laughed.

  ‘Rematch?’ he challenged. I saw him watching her, carefully evaluating her reaction – or was it more than that?

  ‘Glad to see you’re practising your theoretical combat skills,’ I interrupted them.

  Atria rose to her feet, moving awkwardly, her sling matching mine. I waved her back down and dragged up a chair.

  ‘Hello, ma’am, how are you?’ asked Livius. He looked completely at ease, as if he were hosting an exclusive literary salon.

  ‘Good, thanks. Arm’s a bit stiff. You two?’

  ‘Well, I’ve felt better,’ replied Atria. ‘It’s so itchy!’ She moved her elbow out a little way from her body in a circular movement. ‘The gods alone know what drugs they’ve given me to take the pain away, but I expect I’ll pay for it.’

  ‘Well, take your mind off it by choosing the next game,’ Livius instructed her. As she stood up and did so, his gaze followed her.

  ‘So what’s the prognosis on your ankle, Livius?’

  ‘I have to have physio for a couple of weeks, then light duties to the end of the month. If I pass the medical, I can go back to non-strenuous training.’ His mouth turned down at the thought. He watched Atria coming back. She said, too smoothly, she was going to fetch some more drinks.

  Livius turned to me. ‘I wanted to say something private to you.’ His usual cheeky grin disappeared. His scratched and cut face was serious. ‘Up on the parapet…’

  I went to interrupt him.

  ‘No, let me finish,’ he insisted. ‘I was furious at the time when I saw the legate and swore at him. I almost knocked him off.’ He looked away.

  But it was Conrad who had reacted and Livius who had fallen.

  I felt uneasy at what was coming. What was Livius thinking? As a member of one of the Twelve Families, he was perfectly entitled to challenge Conrad on equal terms, according to the Families’ Codes. He was younger, fitter and quite deadly. Conrad was no slouch, but Livius was in peak combat condition – well, apart from the ankle, of course. But he was my comrade in arms, part of my personal team, so he couldn’t challenge a member of my family. Gods, what complicated connections we made for ourselves!

  ‘You could have been killed,’ I said. ‘And we were on a Strat8, which would have been successful anyway.’

  He shushed me, taking my hand. ‘We did succeed. That’s all that’s important. Don’t give him a hard time. He was only trying to save his child,’ he said softly.

  This was from the man who’d been pushed off four floors up by Conrad.

  ‘I know, but—’

  ‘No, finish it here or it’ll sour everything. For both of you and for the unit.’

  He looked at me steadily. I was disconcerted by this serious Livius, but he was right. In the end, I looked away and hunched in the chair, not knowing what to say back to him.

  ‘Captain Mitela?’

  We looked around and saw one of the custody guards. Had he come for me?

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We’ve had a, well, you could call it a special delivery, for you.’

  ‘What kind of delivery?’

  ‘The driver said it had to be handed to “Bruna” or “Flav”. He said he needed a receipt from either of you.’

  Few, very few, outside knew my nom de guerre. I flicked on my mouth mic. ‘Flavius, Mitela. Meet me in the custody suite in five.’ Pause. ‘Some delivery or other. Either you or I have to sign for it.’ Pause. ‘Not a clue. Out.’

  Atria came back at that point, with a steward in her wake carrying a tray with drinks and sandwiches. She was one of those people who always had immediate, sparkling service from an assistant, a waiter or a steward when the rest of us couldn’t even see one.

  ‘Hope it’s not a bomb,’ Livius commented and grinned.

  ‘You’ll know when it goes bang,’ I said.

  I hadn’t been entirely honest with Livius. If only Flavius or I could sign for this delivery then there was only one possible sender.

  When I met Flavius on the stairs leading down to the custody area, he didn’t say anything, just looked at me.

  ‘Well, I don’t know either,’ I said.
‘But let’s not make a big production out of it.’

  We emerged into a wide, cream-painted hall. After negotiating the security gate which slid shut behind us, we passed through the body scanner which hummed but did not beep.

  As we approached the desk, the duty sergeant deigned to look up and nodded. ‘Ah, Captain Mitela, Sergeant Flavius, please come this way.’ He handed over to his deputy and led us through another secure gate into the garage area. A standard long wheelbase occupied the far end where the sloping driveway flattened out to enter the garage, but there was no sign of any driver, just a door gaping. Not good. We all tensed – maybe Livius was right.

  ‘Back. Now!’ shouted the sergeant. We fled to the other side of the security gate, and the impact shutters crashed down.

  An EOD bomb squad appeared within minutes of the alarm call. They wore Nomex bomb suits, with only their faces visible through the polycarbonate masks. They waited for five long minutes while their commander assessed the vehicle, then opened the small shutter door and gingerly entered the garage, keeping to the back. A small robot deployed, circling the vehicle with extended camera, sensors and bioscanner. The EOD commander frowned into his el-pad. No reading for explosives, gases, mechanisms, plastic – nothing, his disembodied voice reported, only five life signs on the bioscan readout.

  I grabbed a spare helmet and mask. I left the body armour – it didn’t fit around slings – and stepped through the shutter door.

  Sure enough, five glowing bio signatures showed on his screen. He sent the robot around again. Same result. Breathing more regularly, he signalled a couple of his troops in to look closer at the vehicle. Kevlar shields held in front, they scanned for electronic traps as they advanced centimetre by centimetre. All it needed was a perimeter sensor to trigger and they would be scattered in shreds of flesh across the garage. The robot’s arm lifted the canvas cargo cover and slowly pulled it back. The robot camera arm snaked in over the metal tailgate and swung slowly around.