“Under normal circumstances, I’d agree with you,” said Lemuel, “but two of my best friends have been admitted to this facility, and my usual good manners are in short supply. So please indulge me.”

“It’s all right, Lemuel,” said Camille. “You know me, if there’s news to be told, I’d rather hear it first-hand. Say what you have to say.”

Lemuel swallowed. Having to voice his suspicions to Camille’s lover was bad enough; admitting them to her face was almost too much to bear.

“The psychneuein I told you about, it turns out they lay their eggs in a rather unorthodox manner.”

Camille smiled, the muscles on her face relaxing.

“It’s okay,” she said, “none of them stung me. Khalophis kept me safe. If anything, you should be checking him out to see if he’s going to become a mother.”

Lemuel sat on the edge of the bed and shook his head. “That’s not how they reproduce, Camille. As I said, it’s rather unorthodox…”

He explained what Ahriman had told him of the reproductive cycle of the psychneuein, trying to emphasise that it wasn’t even certain that she was in any danger. Chaiya’s expression told him he wasn’t doing a very good job.

“You think that’s what this headache is?” she asked.

“It might be,” he said. “I don’t know. I hope not.”

“You hopenot? What kind of lame answer is that?” snapped Camille. “Get me a damn brain scan or something! If I’ve got some alien’s eggs in my head, I bloody well want to know about it.”

Lemuel nodded and said, “Of course. I’ll see what I can do.”

“No,” said Chaiya. “I’ll do it. I have friends in the Thousand Sons. It will be better if I ask.”

“Yes, yes,” nodded Lemuel. “That sounds wise. Very well, I’ll… I’ll wait here shall I?”

Chaiya leaned over and gave Camille a kiss.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said before heading out of the room. Left alone with Camille, Lemuel took a seat and smiled weakly, crossing his hands in his lap.

“I’ll never make a physician, will I?”

“With that bedside manner? Not anytime soon, no.”

“How’s your head anyway?”

“Still sore.”

“Oh.”

“I did get a bumpy ride in Khalophis’ speeder. I banged my head pretty good on the seat.”

“I’m sure that’s it then,” said Lemuel.

“Liar.”

“All right,” he snapped. “So what do you want me to say? That I think alien eggs are going to hatch in your head and eat your brain while you’re still alive? I’m sorry, I can’t say that.”

She watched him silently.

“Yeah, definitely need to work on that bedside manner,” she said.

Her forced humour broke the dam within him, and he buried his head in his hands and wept. Tears flowed freely and his chest heaved with sobs.

Camille sat up.

“Hey, I’m sorry, Lemuel, but I’m the one in bed here,” she said gently.

“I’m sorry,” he managed eventually. “You and Kallista, it’s too much. I can’t lose you both, I just can’t.”

“And you’re not damn well going to,” said Camille. “We’ll figure this out. If there’s going to be any tinkering done with my head, there’s probably no better planet to be on, is there?”

Lemuel wiped his wet eyes with a sleeve and smiled.

“I suppose not. You’re being very brave, you know that?”

“I amon some pretty strong meds, so I wouldn’t give me too much of the credit.”

“You’re braver than you think,” said Lemuel. “That counts for a lot. Believe me, I know.”

“Yeah, me and Kalli are going to be fine, you wait and see,” she said.

“Yes,” said Lemuel bitterly. “That’s all I ever do.”

Camille reached out and took his hand, letting her eyes drift closed.

“No,” she said. “That’s not true is it? You did all you could to save her.”

Lemuel pulled his hand free. “Don’t. Please.”

“It’s all right,” said Camille. “Tell me about Malika.”

HE BEGAN HESITANTLY, for it had been many years since he had spoken of Malika. The words were too tangled in grief to come easily, but he haltingly told Camille of the brightest, most beautiful woman in the world.

Her name was Malika, and they had met at a fund-raising dinner held by the Lord of the Sangha district to procure monies that would allow him to purchase a quarry’s worth of Proconnesus marble from the Anatolian peninsula to donate to the Imperial Masonic Guild. The current Guildmaster, Vadok Singh, had promised a prominent location for the statues that would be crafted from the blocks, perhaps even the Emperor’s Investiary, and rumour had it the commission had been awarded to no less a sculptor than Ostian Delafour.

Such things took money, and the wealthiest citizens of the district had been summoned to show their devotion financially. Lemuel was a rich man, and had built a sizeable estate, thanks to a combination of business acumen and the ability to read people’s auras to know when he was being played false. He owned property throughout Mobayi, and was well-liked, having turned much of his wealth to philanthropic works.

Malika was the daughter of the Lord of the Sangha district, and they had fallen in love that night beneath the stars and over a bottle of palm wine. They were married the following year, in a ceremony that cost more than many of the families living on Lemuel’s lands made in a year. Lemuel had never been happier, and as he spoke of the first seven years of marriage, his face lit up with golden memories.

The first signs of Malika’s diminishing health came with severe migraines, unexplainable blackouts and short-term memory loss. Physicians prescribed pain balms and rest, but nothing helped alleviate her symptoms. The diagnoses of the finest medical practitioners from all across the Nordafrik districts were sought, and eventually it came to light that Malika had developed a highly aggressive astrocytoma, a malignant brain tumour that he was told was incredibly difficult to treat.

Surgery alone could not control the tumour, as its cells had extended their cancer throughout her brain. Radiation therapy followed numerous surgical procedures alongside aggressive chemotherapy in an attempt to control any further tumour growth, but the physicians told Lemuel that the heterogeneous nature of her ailment was making it difficult to treat. As one cell type was destroyed, they said, others lurked in the wings to take over the job of destroying Malika’s brain.

Lemuel watched his wife fade away and there was nothing he could do about it. Such helplessness was anathema to him, and he turned to ever more esoteric methods in his attempts to save her, despite the futility of their likely effect. No treatment was too ridiculous, for Lemuel was willing to try anything to save his beloved wife.

Any chance was better than none.

Lemuel employed homeopathic and naturopathic experts to administer holistic courses of herbal treatments, while Ayurvedic practitioners placed equal emphasis on the wellbeing of her mind and spirit. Qi gong, acupuncture, controlled breathing, hypnosis and orthomolecular therapies were all tried, but none of them had any effect whatsoever.

Lemuel refused to give up. His researches had led him to the farthest corners of knowledge, and he uncovered many texts that spoke of forces beyond human understanding. In these books he recognised his own abilities and read of others that could heal the sick, raise the dead and call forth powers that were unearthly and abhorred.

That didn’t matter. He would do whatever it took to save his wife.

She begged him to stop, but he would not listen. She had made peace with her mortality, but Lemuel could not. He wept as he told Camille of how she had watched from their roof veranda as he left on an expedition to the mountains of the Himalazia in search of hidden masters said to have achieved mastery over body and mind.

If anyone could help, it would be them.

Laden with all his wealth, he and his followers travelled far into the mountains and almost died in the frozen winds that scoured these highest peaks. It proved to be a wasted journey; the builders of the Emperor’s palace had long since displaced any hidden masters that might once have lived in these mountains.