Weeping with frustration, Serena had smashed yet another painting, the crack of timber, the tear of the canvas and the pain of the jarring impact giving her a moment's pleasure, but even that had faded within seconds.

She had nothing more to give, her flesh was spent and had exhausted the limit of sensation it could give, but even as the realisation came to her, so too did the solution.

Serena made her way through La Venice towards the bar area, which, though it was late, was still home to a great many remembrancers without the wit to retire for the night. She recognised a few souls, but avoided them, seeking out one who would be least likely to object to her attentions.

Serena ran a hand through her long hair, unkempt compared to its normal shine, but she had at least brushed it and tied it back in an effort to look halfway presentable. Her eyes scanned the patrons of the bar, smiling as she saw Leopold Cadmus sitting alone in a booth nursing a bottle of dark spirit.

She made her way through the bar towards his table and slid into the booth next to him. He looked up suspiciously, but brightened up as he saw a woman joining him. Serena had worn her most revealing dress and a low pendant that drew the eye to her breasts. Leopold did not disappoint her, his red-rimmed eyes immediately darting to her cleavage.

'Hello, Leopold,' she said. 'My name's Serena d'Angelus.'

'I know,' said Leopold. 'You're Delafour's friend.'

'That's right,' she said brightly, 'but let's not talk about him. Let's talk about you.'

'Me?' he asked. 'Why?'

'Because I've read some of your poetry,' she said.

'Oh,' said Leopold, suddenly crestfallen. 'Well, if you've come to be a critic, save your breath. I don't have the energy for another bloody review.'

'I'm not a critic,' she said, placing her hand over his. 'I liked it.'

'Really?'

'Really.'

His eyes lit up and his expression changed from that of a mean-spirited drunk to one of pathetic desperation, where suspicion is suddenly ousted at the faint hope of praise.

'I'd like you to read some to me,' she said.

He took a drink from the bottle and said, 'I don't have any of my books with me, but—'

'That's all right,' interrupted Serena. 'I have one in my studio.'

'You like to work in a mess,' said Leopold, wrinkling his nose at the aroma that filled her studio. 'How do you find anything?'

He ambled around the edges of her workspace, warily stepping over discarded pots of paint and smashed pieces of timber and canvas. He examined the few pictures that still hung on the wall with a critical eye, though she could tell that the images there meant nothing to him.

'I imagine all artistic types work in such disarray,' said Serena. 'Don't you?'

'Me? No,' replied Leopold, 'I work in a small cubicle with a data-slate and a stylus that only works half the time. Only the important remembrancers get to work in studios.'

She heard the bitterness in his voice and it thrilled her.

The blood was singing in her skull and she had to fight to control her breathing. She poured a deep red liquid into a pair of glasses from a bottle she had obtained from a sutler on the lower decks of the ship for just this occasion.

'I suppose I am lucky,' she said, picking her way through the detritus of her work. 'Although I know I really should do something about this mess. I hadn't known I was going to have company tonight, but when I saw you in La Fenice, I knew I just had to talk to you.'

He smiled at the flattery and took the offered glass, looking inquisitively at the viscous liquid within it.

'I… I hadn't expected anyone to want to hear my work,' he said. 'I was only able to come out to the 28th Expedition when the shuttle carrying the poets selected from the Merican Hive crashed.'

'Don't be foolish,' said Serena, raising her glass. 'A toast.'

'What are we drinking to?'

'To a fortuitous crash,' smiled Serena. 'Without which we might never have met.'

Leopold nodded and took a cautious mouthful of his drink, smiling in return as he found the taste to his liking. 'What is this?' he asked.

'It's called Mama Juana,' explained Serena. 'It's a mix of rum, red wine and honey combined with the soaked bark of the Eurycoma tree.'

'Exotic,' said Leopold.

'They say it's a powerful aphrodisiac,' she purred, draining her glass in one long swallow and hurling it across the room. He jumped as the glass shattered, leaving a red stain on the wall as the dregs of the liquid dribbled down.

Emboldened by the directness of her desire, Leopold drained his own glass and dropped it to the floor with the nervous laugh of one who cannot believe his luck.

Serena leaned forwards and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a passionate kiss. He was stiff in her arms for a moment, startled by the sudden move, but slowly relaxed into the kiss. He put his hands on her hips as she eased herself into the curve of his body.

They stood locked together for as long as she could bear it, before she dragged him to the floor, where she tore at his clothes in a frenzy, scattering paint and overturning her easels. The sensation of Leopold's hands on her body was repulsive, but even that made her want to cry with pleasure.

At one point he broke the kiss, blood dripping from his lip where she had bitten it, a look of bemused concern plastered across his idiot features. She pulled him tight to her body and rolled on top of him as they coupled like wild animals in the wreckage of her studio.

At last his eyes widened and his hips spasmed. She reached down to the floor to snatch up her sharpened palette knife.

'What…?' was all he managed before she slashed the blade across his throat. His blood sprayed in an arcing jet as he thrashed in his death throes.

Sticky red fluid covered her as Leopold convulsed, and this time she laughed at the wash of sensation that flooded her body He gurgled beneath her as his lifeblood pumped out of him and his hands clawed at her in desperation. Blood pooled in a vast lake beneath Leopold, and Serena stabbed her knife into his neck again and again. His struggles grew weaker and weaker, while her pleasure heightened to an explosive climax.

Serena remained on top of Leopold's body until his convulsions ceased and his flailing arms fell to the floor. She rolled away, her flesh heaving and her heart thudding against the inside of her chest in a wild drumbeat.

She heard a last rattle of breath escape his ruined throat, and smiled to herself as she smelled his bowels and bladder voiding in death. Serena lay still for some moments, savouring the sensation of the kill, and taking pleasure in the thunder of her blood and the warmth within her.

What wonders might she work upon the canvas with such materials?

On the thirtieth day after the 28th Expedition's arrival in the Perdus Region, a great many of the questions that had arisen following the discovery of the uninhabited paradise worlds were finally answered. Travelling in the vanguard of the expedition, the Proudheart was the first to pick up signs of the intruders.

Word flashed back to the fleet, and within moments, every ship was at battle readiness, gun ports unmasked and torpedoes loaded into their tubes. The alien vessel made no overtly hostile moves, and the Pride of the Emperor surged forward to join the Proudheart over the objections of Captain Lemuel Aizel.

At last the flagship of the Emperor's Children detected the presence of the enemy vessel, though its surveyor officers fought to keep the signal constant, for it kept fading in and out of the display.

Repeated hails were met with walls of static, though the fleet's astropaths reported a curious deadening of their warp vision, similar to that which had long shielded the region from the sight of Navigators and telepaths.