He imagined that few people alive could even contemplate the joy he’d experienced when eating that apple. It never failed to bring home the importance to him of those things we tended to take for granted.

  Fresh air, the love of another human being, freedom.

  People tend to only realise how precious those things are once they’ve lost them.

  But not Faulkner. He’d learned that lesson the hard way.

  Whaites had launched a second salvo against the enemy half an hour ago. Forty-eight warheads this time, though Faulkner wasn’t holding out much hope that they’d be any more successful than the last lot.

  What was that definition of madness?

  Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.

  No. If they were to have any chance of damaging Loki, enough at least to slow her down significantly, they were going to have to come up with a different approach. The question was: what?

  He sent a direct request to Katherine Schwartz.

  And, while he was waiting for her to respond, he watched the missiles on his display incrementing slowly towards their target. With the ship’s sensors damaged, their read-out displays were all going to be pretty basic from here on in.

  The countdown told him that the missiles were less than five minutes away from their target.

  Schwartz’s image appeared on his HUD.

  “Are you following this?” he asked.

  “I am, sir. I think it’s interesting what Tactical is trying to do.”

  Whaites was concentrating the bulk of his destructive power at the smaller of the two concentric circles hoping to overwhelm it totally.

  “You think it’ll work?”

  Schwartz hesitated before replying.

  “I’d like to give it an unreserved ‘yes,’ but something tells me that the people who built this must have considered this approach.”

  “I know what you mean. The Da’al are clearly conscious of how vulnerable they are from the rear so they’ve put their heads together and come up with this. And so far, they seem to have done a first-rate job.”

  “I’d agree and I’m sure Khan would as well. He seems really taken with the idea of these heat sinks they must have come up with. To say that he’s a big fan would not be an over-statement.”

  It was out of character for her to speak about her partner in such a positive manner. Normally, the two of them were the height of professionalism whenever they were around one another.

  “But the fact that we haven’t come across one of these things before suggests that this is new tech, even for them.”

  “And is that significant?”

  “It might well be, especially if the idea is so advanced that they don’t have the technology to fully support it. The idea for the cell phone had been around for an awfully long time but they had to wait for someone to come up with a battery that was small enough to make it truly portable.”

  “You’re saying, you think it has a weakness?” Schwartz let out a measured sigh. “Just a pity we don’t know what it is.”

  “Must be nice not to have to bother with any defensive missiles,” Faulkner mused. “Just rely on those lasers.”

  “It’s a clever enough system, I grant you. But it only works because it’s such a relatively small area they have to defend: the aft section. It wouldn’t work for the whole ship. Wouldn’t be practical. Must soak up a ton of energy.”

  The clarity of that observation struck him like a thunderclap.

  “Just like that Sloth Gun Admiral Winterson’s been experimenting with. Really clever idea but with lots of in-built problems. Like a lot of these high-risk projects: they’re only awesome if they work.”

  Faulkner had an idea forming but it relied heavily on a fragment of memory which, for the time being, eluded him.

  “Okay,” he said. “Help me out with this. Imagine that you’ve just got command of your own ship.”

  Schwartz rolled her eyes. “Yeah, like that’s going to happen anytime soon. I’m going to have other responsibilities soon.”

  At first, Faulkner was confused then he realised that she was talking about her pregnancy.

  “Okay, fine, just indulge me a little. You pick up your new ship only to discover it has no capacity for firing defensive missiles. None whatsoever. Instead, you have a point defence system like the one the Da’al are using here.”

  “Over the whole ship?”

  “Exact same system: these concentric circles everywhere. What’s your main worry?”

  The action of her tongue rolling around inside her cheek told him she was thinking.

  “Response times. Obviously, lasers are only really effective over a fairly short range. So, that means you’d be waiting ‘til the last minute before opening fire. Your response times would need to be first rate and that’s going to put an awful lot of stress on your crew.”

  “Yes. Stress. That’s good. And what else would I have to do to increase that level of stress?”

  “Get in close, I suppose. Get in close and fight dirty. Pummel me with body shots. Try to get me to drop my guard.”

  Faulkner found himself nodding along. The boxing analogy worked perfectly for him and he suspected Schwartz must have known that when she’d used it.

  “Then that’s it,” he said. “That’s just what we’ll do.”

  “What? Get in close?”

  “Yeah. Take things up a notch. Bring the fight to them.”

  *

  “Sir, I’m not sure that this is such a good idea.”

  Whaites looked tired and sounded anxious, his previous excitement seeming to have deserted him. Even after the first salvo had been stymied, he’d appeared resolute. As if it were only a matter of time before they came up with a solution but, with only three missiles getting through in the second salvo, and two of those failing to detonate, he was starting to lose faith.

  In different circumstances, Faulkner would have taken him to one side and explained to him how the frustrations he was feeling were really a big part of what actual warfare was like. Deeply frustrating because you were forced to acknowledge that you could never quite do enough. That sometimes you might hold the initiative but, largely, it was about managing your own expectations and accepting the small victories, when they came, as a vindication of what it was you were trying to achieve.

  Because, if you were expecting to triumph every time, you were going to be disappointed.

  Unfortunately, they didn’t have time for any of that. They only had thirty-six hours to stop Loki dead in her tracks by any means possible.

  This point had been brought home to them a few hours earlier when the Renheim’s systems had flashed up an alert. Since they were approaching the gate at such high speed, the ship was warning them that if they didn’t reduce their speed immediately, they would effectively over-shoot their intended destination. Either that or risk exposing their crew to the vicissitudes of large-scale deceleration.

  In the end, Faulkner had to ask Khan to look into it, to over-ride the safeties hard-wired into the system for fear that, just as they were getting to grips with the Loki, the ship would act autonomously and start applying the brakes whether they’d sanctioned that or not.

  “I’m afraid that I see no alternative, lieutenant,” Faulkner said. “If we don’t act now it may already be too late.”

  “Sir, I understand our need for urgency but I’m concerned that we may be putting everyone’s lives at risk here.”

  Faulkner looked slowly around the bridge, reminding himself of his responsibilities. His eyes rested on Schwartz who was dealing with another emergency.

  The forward engine’s seals had been damaged when they’d been hit and there was the very real chance of a significant radiation leak. Under normal circumstances, they’d have had to have shut down the engine immediately but these weren’t normal circumstances and they were reliant upon keeping that engine working. To do anything else would be to effectively hand victory to their opponent.

  It was an impossible decision but then, that was what his job consisted of: an endless succession of impossible decisions.

  “I am aware of the risks involved, lieutenant, and thank you for reminding me of them but, as I’ve said, it is imperative that we close with Loki as soon as possible.”

  They had only succeeded in matching velocities with the Da’al ship forty-five minutes ago and still had a long way to go if they wanted to close with her.

  *

  LaCruz stood in the corridor, dressed only in her underwear, her uniform, neatly folded, held in one arm while her boots dangled down by her side.

  The wind whistled past, making goose pimples stand out on her arms. Their whole block had been summoned to the bath house when they’d started playing birdsong over the speakers. LaCruz had wanted to stay behind but had been assured by the others that this wasn’t an option. The guards used the opportunity to search their cells, confiscating anything they took a fancy to.

  “What are we waiting for?” she complained.

  “Like I told you,” Sylvie was standing behind her, the two other women from her cell in front. “Idea’s simple: once a week you have to take a shower. No exceptions. Same time you get your laundry done. But the skanks who run this place like to turn a profit.”

  “What? They charge you for soap?”

  “Trust me. They would if they could. But what’s your biggest concern coming to a place like this?”

  “I don’t know. Getting shanked from behind?”

  Sylvie leaned over and looked at her boots.

  “No. It’s these. Clothes are valuable, so they have a tendency to go missing. You’ll get something back of course but if you want to get your own clothes back…”

  “It’s going to cost me?”

  “That’s right. You just need to slip ‘em something to keep ‘em, sweet.”

  “I left everything back in the cell.”

  This included her knife which she’d hidden inside Sylvie’s mattress though she was wondering now if that had been such a good idea.

  “That’s okay,” Sylvie said. “I’ll sub you for now.”

  Sylvie opened her palm to reveal a roll of dark leaves.

  “What’s that? Weed?”

  “They don’t call it that in here.”

  LaCruz looked across to the line of women against the other wall and found herself looking at Kate Marsh. The woman was tall and pale but looked very relaxed considering she was only half dressed.

  “What’s it to you?” LaCruz snarled.

  Marsh ignored her. “That’s Toochie.”

  “Really? Sounds kinda cute.”

  “I’ve also heard it called Spice. Technically, it’s K-2, a synthetic version of marijuana.”

  “You seem to know a lot about it.”

  Marsh cocked her head to one side. “What do you think I was growing back on Tigris?”

  They were interrupted by one of the bath house staff, recognisable as such just from her flip flops. She waggled her fingers at them and Marsh’s whole line shuffled forward.

  “Who the hell’s she?” Sylvie wanted to know.

  LaCruz couldn’t work out whether she was jealous or simply being proprietorial.

  “Some kind of lady scientist. Let’s just say she has a very high regard for herself.”

  “Yeah, well, she carries on like someone’s liable to take her out.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell her that next time we meet for lunch.”

  As they watched the other line shuffling towards the bath house, it became clear that LaCruz’s line was going nowhere fast. There was a small recess where they were standing so she and Sylvie stacked their clothes there for the time being.

  “You been here long, Sylvie?” LaCruz asked.

  “Eight months. No, wait. I think it’s nearer nine.”

  “What happened?”

  “Same thing as always happens to people like us. You can’t afford top dollar for a seat so you end up havin’ to compromise, know what I mean?”

  LaCruz nodded. She knew all about people traffickers.

  “Let me guess. You ended up on some cheap shuttle flight, and it turned out to be a scam.”

  “Got it in one.”

  “Which surprises me, you know. Intelligent woman like yourself, I thought you’d be the first to realise something wasn’t right.”

  “Normally, I would but I wasn’t myself that day. I’d hooked up with this guy and we were meant to be heading off to Paros together. Lots of nice places out there, we were sure to pick up some work.”

  “But that didn’t happen.”

  “Didn’t even make it onto the flight. Thing is, they had some issue with the ticketing system, so the only way you could buy tickets was to go to the space port. But, when we got there, the place was rammed and we had all this stuff.”

  “So, he volunteered to go in and buy the tickets, leaving you with the cases.”

  “Left me with the bags, that’s right. Only trouble was he didn’t never come back. Took my cash card, everything.”

  “So, how did you end up here?”

  “I still had some money. Not enough to get to Paros but I could afford to get to Delos. Figured I’d start off there, earn some money and then move on. Only, the people running the flight had no intention of taking us there. First thing I knew I was waking up with a gun in my face. Anyone under thirty had to get off. Some young kids too. The first ship they put us on – I wouldn’t even call it a ship. Had all these massive crates crammed in. Nowhere to sit. We were just standing up mostly. Then after three days, the ventilation system started packing up. People dropping like flies. There must have been over two hundred and fifty people got on that ship and I heard that only a hundred and ninety managed to make it off.”

  LaCruz nodded her head. It was a familiar story.

  “And they brought you here?”

  “Yeah. But only a few of us were allowed to stay. Not sure what happened to the others. Nothing good, I’m guessing.”

  LaCruz pumped her arms up and down. She was starting to get cold. If she’d have found herself in that kind of situation she didn’t know what she’d have done. Try and make some alliances, she guessed. Though that would all depend on the calibre of people she was stuck with. Couldn’t expect much from people with young families. They’d have too much to lose to consider resisting and the traffickers would know it. Yeah, that was a tough one.

  She felt herself getting more and more angry at the injustice of this whole situation. And how had she, of all people, come to end up like this? She looked at her boots which were roughly at her eye level. She’d spent half an hour that morning trying to polish them with items she’d scrounged from the others. It hadn’t gone well. And now she was wondering what she was capable of doing if some decided they were going to try and steal them.

  If only she’d have had the foresight to leave the boots back in her cell. But then the guards would probably have taken them. This was all getting way too complicated.

  So she took the weed when Sylvie offered it to her.

  “Stick it under your arm,” Sylvie lifted her arm and showed her how to press it up into her armpit.

  “Toochie,” LaCruz said experimentally. “You sure this is going to work?”

  “You let me worry about that.”

  It was another few minutes before they were allowed into the bath house and then they had to queue up at a small window to surrender their clothes.

  The man behind the window looked distracted but seemed to perk up when LaCruz appeared.

  “Nice boots,” he said, passing her a numbered bracelet.

  “Yeah, and they better be just as nice when I come to collect ‘em.”

  She pealed the toochie leaves from under her arm and slapped them on the counter. He took them without a second glance.

  The air became more humid as Sylvie led her through into the tiled changing area. A woman stood next to an incinerator which had seen better days.

  Sylvie didn’t say anything, just started stripping off.

  After a moment’s hesitation, LaCruz did the same. She was used to a lack of privacy in the Corps but had become increasingly aware of Sylvie’s appraising glances. Nothing too creepy but enough to keep her on her toes.

  Maybe she was checking out LaCruz’s gang tats. They never failed to grab people’s attention.

  LaCruz had expected that they’d be handed at least a towel by this stage but nothing was forthcoming so they had to line up almost naked. By this stage she was really looking forward to her shower. At least it’d help warm her up.

  That was what she was thinking when she heard the screams.

  Sylvie was standing right in front of her and LaCruz grabbed her arm.

  “What’s going on?”

  “If someone’s got a score to settle, then this is usually where it happens.”

  “Sounds like someone’s being murdered.”

  And from the look on the faces of the other women, she wasn’t the only one thinking that.

  LaCruz left the queue and started moving forward only for Sylvie to follow her.

  “What d’you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m gonna take a look, that’s all.”

  “Stay here. No one’s goin’ to thank you for stickin’ your nose in.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  The next room had a sodden reed mat in the centre to keep people from slipping over and LaCruz bounded over it, ignoring the press of women who stood there immobile, as all the while, the sound of screaming echoed off the walls. Undeterred, she pressed ahead. Beyond this was a short dog-leg corridor ankle deep in water. She started down this and had just reached the corner when she caught sight of someone coming the opposite way.

  She’d been too busy looking where she placed her feet to get a really good look at the woman who bundled into her. All she could make out was that the woman was wide hipped and solidly built. LaCruz held up a hand to try and stop her but the woman just barged past, crushing LaCruz up against the wall.

  By the time she’d regained her footing and managed to turn, all LaCruz could be sure of was that the woman was black, her dark hair was piled up in a bun and she had decent muscle tone.