Noah had been expecting it. In many ways, Tomas was a very capable leader but in other ways he could be quite naïve and that had nearly cost them when they’d been negotiating their fee. Winterson had only five ships left in his battle group with Frans Jacobs’ Blackbeard and Travis Swann’s Molly Maguire serving as his main fighting ships. That left him with only the Charles W. Morgan, the Hudson and the Santiago. Though they might look formidable enough, particularly with the armaments they’d recently had added to their hulls, they’d be no match for a traditional battle cruiser.

  Winterson had agreed to let the Peter the Great accompany them for one very good reason. He was worried that if he didn’t, Noah and Tomas would simply refuse to go. And there was some truth in that.

  No point having all that money in the bank if you weren’t going to live to spend it.

  Noah was secretly delighted that, of all the ships he could have sent to guard them, Winterson had chosen the Peter the Great. Her captain, a woman by the name of Elina Saratova had something of a reputation for testing the limits of legality. Rumour was that she’d made the bulk of her money from ripping off refugees from Earth Prime. She’d pick them up from some space station promising to take them wherever it was they wanted to go before taking their money and dumping them out in the back water somewhere. Andrey had a story that one time the evacuees had rioted and tried to seize control of the ship. Supposedly, Saratova had all the ringleaders rounded up and dumped out the nearest airlock.

  Noah had heard the same story six months earlier but this time the captain had been some Yakutian trader who’d had all the passengers executed. It showed that you never could trust the stories you heard in space bars.

  Saratova sounded interesting, if a little daunting but he’d be relieved to have someone with that kind of reputation on his side. They’d need someone like that to watch their backs in the coming days. Someone who wasn’t afraid of making the wrong decision – just as long as that decision involved the destruction of any Da’al ships in the area. Someone ruthless, that’s what he wanted. Someone they could count on when things got out of hand.

  He was thinking this when Benny Slidak came in to review the traffic control checklist, looking smarter and more focussed than Noah had ever seen him. He’d even had a shave. Odd how just the thought of all that money tended to sharpen people’s application to the job. Of course, Benny could have reviewed the checklist from anywhere on the ship, he didn’t actually need to come to the cockpit himself.

  But Tomas had sent Benny along to remind Noah that he was still checking up on him.

  Noah got the point but didn’t appreciate the fact that it was Benny of all people doing it. It was generally agreed that Benny couldn’t find his ass with both hands. Tomas had hired him as a pilot, the only problem being that Benny was on some kind of medication which prohibited him from flying, yet Tomas still held onto him.

  “What do you think about them sending us out with this Saratova woman?” Noah asked. “She’s the one dumped those migrants out the air-lock.”

  Benny finished checking his figures before responding.

  “Really? Is that what Andrey told you?”

  “Andrey says he knows someone out of Earth Prime…”

  “Andrey knows a lot of people. And they’re all idiots.”

  “Hah! They’re not all idiots.”

  Benny gave him a withering look and left.

  Noah couldn’t help squirming a little after that.

  If even Benny was getting his act together, that raised the pressure on him. He was going to have to start taking things seriously, or at least start pretending to take them seriously. He could get away with a lot with Tomas but if he pushed his luck too far, there would be consequences. And he couldn’t afford for those to be financial.

  Not if he hoped to get a ship of his own.

  No, he was going to have to stop fooling around until this job was over.

  Which probably meant no drinking.

  Or at least drinking only every other night.

  *

  “Peter the Great hailing the Montezuma, are you reading me, over.”

  Noah wasted no time responding to the call.

  “This is Montezuma receiving you, over.”

  He sat back feeling very pleased with himself for not having fallen asleep. The person at the other end was still fiddling with their screen.

  A woman with incredibly pale, blue eyes. They seemed to sparkle like chips of ice. Her hair was blue, worn in braids pulled back of her face contrasting with skin so white it appeared to be translucent. The skin covering her neck and arms had been transformed into an artist’s sketch pad as it was literally covered with hundreds of tattoos, inked in with rich reds, blues and greens. She even had a few on her face, a shimmering teardrop under her left eye and a five-pointed star over her right.

  She adjusted herself for the camera, pulling at the strap of her crop top and giving Noah a perfect view of her cleavage.

  It had been a long trip and Noah hadn’t spoken to a woman in months.

  “Who is this I’m speaking with, please? Is that you, Tomas?”

  “Er, no. It’s not Tomas, it’s me: Noah. I’m his brother.”

  “Ah, the little brother. I can’t believe how similar looking you are.”

  Noah rankled at that. Tomas was dark and nearly bald. They didn’t look anything alike.

  “So, you do know Tomas, then?”

  “He hasn’t told you? No, I suppose he wouldn’t. Not so shy, your brother, I think. Not when he’s got a drink inside him. How is your father? He is well?”

  Noah pulled a face. How come he hadn’t been told any of this?

  “Dad’s been furloughed. Doctors won’t let him fly.”

  “Ah, his chest again. Yes? This is a pity. I wish him well.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll tell him. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “Not really, I just want to check that your comms is up and running, and I see that it is. Did you get your delivery from The Spur? Did it arrive in time?”

  Noah pulled a face. Was there anything she didn’t know?

  “Yes. Got it all stored away now.”

  She gave him a quizzical look. “You didn’t open it? None of it?”

  “We have this arrangement…”

  “Pfzzz. Arrangement. Who cares about this arrangement? You have to take care of yourself out here. That’s the first thing I learned. No one cares, little Noah. It’s everyone for themselves. Trust me on this. Now, do yourself a favour and open one of those cases.”

  Tomas would never agree to it, of course. He’d given his word.

  But Noah hadn’t.

  “Yeah, okay. I will.”

  “Oh and don’t tell your brother.”

  “No, I was thinking kind of the same thing.”

  “Okay, I’ve got to go. See you later maybe? Oh, and next time: try not to spend the whole time staring at my tits, okay?”

  Then the screen went blank.

  Noah sat back in his chair. Who was this and how did she know Tomas?

  And what the hell was in those crates?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Ardent was fuming.

  She’d gone down to the Convalescent Suite for their usual daily visit only to be told that Faulkner wasn’t there. Seems he’d taken himself off to the observation deck.

  The observation deck!

  Here she was, doing everything in her power to ensure that no one found out that he was on the Renheim and there he was, swanning about the place without a care in the world. Clearly, this situation couldn’t be allowed to continue. It was bad enough that Sands was becoming more and more paranoid, telling her how much pressure he was under and trying to set up covert meetings with her in order that they could ‘talk things over.’ It seemed that Sands thought he was far more important in the big scheme of things than he actually was. And, while she couldn’t deny how helpful he’d been so far, the more demands he made on her the less likely it was that their relationship could be allowed to continue.

  The observation deck was a lot bigger than she’d realised with six independent arms all venting off a long central spine and this meant that she had to explore each arm separately. She couldn’t believe how ridiculously self-indulgent the whole construct seemed. Building viewing chambers on this scale was incredibly expensive, she’d been on luxury cruise liners which had been less well appointed. And the walkways were so long!

  She was forced to walk to the end of each one because they all possessed their own quirky little alcoves leading off from the main drag. Some were equipped with seating while some weren’t. Some were occupied but most weren’t and she found herself having to apologise whenever the people inside, almost always in couples, turned to stare at her.

  She’d already walked down three of the arms and was halfway down the fourth when she finally spotted him. She was hot and sweaty by this point and it didn’t help her mood that she’d come out wearing one of her nicest silk blouses. It was no doubt ruined by now. No point getting it cleaned, she’d have to throw it away.

  “There you are, at last!”

  He sat in his wheelchair, looking out over the whole universe. He was dressed in his usual whites but was also wearing a floppy brimmed hat. She took a moment to realise the hat’s purpose – he obviously intended it to act as some kind of disguise.

  “Lovely, isn’t it?” he cast an arm out, taking in a wide swathe of stars. “You think you’d get tired of seeing it. But you don’t.”

  “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “Didn’t you get my message?”

  “No, unfortunately, I didn’t.”

  She looked around, hoping that this was one of the areas with seating, but it wasn’t. She took off her jacket, her face feeling flushed.

  “Is it wise coming all the way out here?”

  He made a play of examining the entire alcove. “Why? Do you think someone might be spying on us?”

  “You might be seen.”

  He turned his wheelchair round so that he could see her better.

  “What does it matter if I’m seen? I’m supposed to be dead, aren’t I? Leastways that’s what you keep telling me.”

  She didn’t much care for how this was going. She hadn’t signed up to be his carer. All she wanted to do was to keep him safe, and he seemed to be using that against her.

  “We have to work together on this. I can’t help you if you won’t let me.”

  “Is it a crime to want to get out and about a bit? Even if I were spotted, what are people going to say: look at that old fool, he looks a bit like that Faulkner character. The one who killed half his crew.”

  There was no disguising the bitterness in his voice.

  “You know,” she said, carefully folding her jacket over her arm. “There’s a reason you’re here under a false name.”

  “Yes, but it hardly helps that I keep forgetting it. What was it again? Charles, something?”

  “Linz. Charles Linz. It’s written on your bloody wrist!”

  Faulkner glanced down at the patient i.d. tag poking out from under his sleeve. He laughed.

  “Of course it is,” when next he looked at her his whole demeanour had changed. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ve been a silly old fool. I shouldn’t have worried you like that. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “That’s alright,” then she added, “Charles.”

  “Yes, ‘Charles.’ I won’t forget that again in a hurry.”

  “No, because I’m going to have it tattooed on your forehead.”

  Faulkner braced his hands on the arms of his chair, as if contemplating standing up but he was still far too weak.

  “Sigrid, you’ll have to forgive me. I’m not angry with you, I’m angry with myself.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. What have you got to be angry about?”

  “This whole thing with the Mantis crew. I can’t get it out of my head. Since you told me, I’ve not been able to rest. I was looking into it on-line.”

  Ardent had to control her temper. “I really wish you wouldn’t do that. If someone really is trying to track you down…”

  “A hundred and thirty-eight survivors, though. That’s over three hundred people we’ve lost. I’m sorry, I still can’t get my head around it.”

  She gently rested her hand on his shoulder. “Robert, if you look at those reports you’ll see that the recovery operation is still on-going. These people aren’t dead. It’s just going to take longer than we’d hoped to recover them.”

  “Do you honestly think they’re going to recover them all? Since you told me, I’ve been checking the Blackthorn site every day and the numbers haven’t changed.”

  Ardent dropped her head. “That’s understandable. Everyone’s rushing round trying to rally support against the Da’al.”

  “Which I completely understand. But, still, it doesn’t change things. Those people on the Mantis, they trusted me. So, when I gave the order to abandon ship, they didn’t hesitate. They did as they were trained to do: they followed orders. But if I’ve betrayed that trust … if I don’t do everything in my power to ensure that they’re recovered safely … Then what good am I to anyone?”

  She squeezed his shoulder gently, wishing she’d never mentioned the Mantis.

  “You can’t dwell on that now. We have to concentrate on getting you well again. That’s the most important thing.”

  He placed his hand over hers. “I’m sorry. You must think me incredibly ungrateful. You’ve gone to all this trouble and here I am, still the same old pain in the ass I’ve always been. But I have to be honest with you. I think I’m done. Truly, I don’t think I’ve got much more to give. Like one of those old vintage cars. You can spend all your time polishing the bodywork but, if the engine’s gone, you’re simply wasting your time. And I don’t want you wasting any more time on me.”

  She wanted to argue with him, convince him that he was wrong. That it was still very early days, that things would change. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  There was something about his smile which was different. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it but there it was.

  She shrugged her way back into her jacket.

  “I’ve got to be going.”

  “I know. I’m sorry if I’ve wasted your time – I know how busy you must be.”

  “I’ve always got time for you,” she bent so that she could tease out the i.d. from under his sleeve. “Charles.”

  As she walked back to the main concourse she had to wipe away a tear. It was starting to look like she might have misjudged this whole thing.

  Perhaps Faulkner couldn’t be fixed, after all. In which case, they were in a lot more trouble than she’d care to admit.

  *

  Noah hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol for days. Andrey had called round the night before last but Noah had put him off. Told him he was busy, which actually wasn’t that far from the truth.

  He wanted to put his newfound sobriety down to his own sense of self-discipline but the truth was that he was scared. Shit scared. And the closer they got to Tigris, the worse it got. He was having trouble sleeping and even when he did manage to doze off he invariably woke up in the middle of some terrible nightmare, soaked in sweat. Not that he could ever recall the full substance of his nightmares. All he could remember on waking was that there was something terribly wrong with the ship and the whole place was deserted. There was no one he could turn to for help.

  When he’d mentioned this to his brother, Tomas had thought the whole thing was highly amusing. “Yeah, that would be a total nightmare: you in charge of the ship.”

  So, he’d stopped talking about it. He imagined that everyone had their own worries to be getting on with. They just looked to be coping with them a lot better than he was.

  At several points in the last few days he’d seriously considered going up to Tomas and suggesting that they turn back. Spin the Montezuma round and head straight back to Blackthorn. They’d have to hand the money back, of course, but they’d still have their ship. Winterson hadn’t agreed to pay them such a vast sum out of the goodness of his heart. No, the chances of one of them getting themselves killed were worryingly high and Noah couldn’t dodge the feeling that this was an all or nothing job.

  Either they’d all walk away telling each other what a great job they’d done, or none of them would.

  It was as simple as that.

  He, Tomas and Coach had squashed into the cockpit the previous night to run over the arrangements with Saratova. There was no denying that Noah had been looking forward to seeing her again. Not that she was remotely his type. Too old, for one thing, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about all those tattoos. But there was definitely something there and it wasn’t simply down to the fact that she had a great body either.

  Although, obviously, that couldn’t hurt.

  Problem was that she appeared to be a lot more interested in his older brother than she was in him and he couldn’t figure that out at all. Tomas really should have been settled down by now with his own family and perhaps that might have been the case if he hadn’t had to take over the running of the business. But, if he was going to settle down, it wouldn’t be with someone like Saratova anyway. Besides, she didn’t look like the settling down type.

  If he’d been distracted by Saratova’s appearance the first time they’d met, he had an impossible job ahead of him the second time. She was wearing her hair in two plump ponytails and was dressed, if he could call it that, in a single strap of black material which barely constrained her breasts. She had some weird Yakuza type tattoo on her ribs which he hadn’t seen the first time. It hadn’t helped that Coach had been sitting between the two brothers and kept turning to Noah to pull a face which roughly translated to: are you two guys seeing what I’m seeing?

  “I don’t see any problems with that,” Tomas had said. Up to that point he had been the one running the meeting. “As long as you’re happy with everything, Elina?”

  “I’m happy if you’re happy, Tomas.”

  She had this way of drawing out the last syllable of his name so that it sounded like coke escaping from a can. Not that Tomas seemed to notice.