She’d laughed when she’d first heard the rumor that Faulkner was planning to use the Renheim as a battering ram. Strangely, that didn’t seem quite so funny now. He was keeping something from her, that was true. She just wished she knew what it was.

  *

  “What’s taking them so long?” LaCruz asked.

  Markham didn’t even look up. “They’re building a bomb. I’m no expert but I expect these things take time.”

  They were down in the bowels of the ship in a maintenance corridor which led down to the sewage processing unit. That way, they hoped to avoid any casual visitors. Just around the corner Hegazi and two others were working inside the makeshift tent they’d constructed.

  “It’s been three hours.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Markham suddenly sat up straight, his head swivelling in her direction. “But there’s nothing else for it. We’re just going to have to wait and see.”

  “But the raiders are going to notice we’re missing. They’re going to come looking for us.”

  “I know, but that can’t be helped. Rush these guys and there’s every chance they’ll blow the whole place up.”

  “But sarge, I’ve promised these women …”

  “Let me stop you right there, corporal,” in one sinuous move, Markham was on his feet. “It’s not your place to promise people anything. We have our priorities and we’re going to stick to them. We can’t afford to underestimate these people. Not after what happened to the Motar.”

  LaCruz just stared at him. What was he talking about?

  “You talking about the double-cross?” she said.

  “Call it what you like but targeting her like that. Any way you look at it, that’s cold.”

  “You saying that they fired on the Motar?”

  Markham bent forward to better scrutinise her.

  “I thought everyone knew. Sorry. Half an hour after the last shuttle left, they opened fire. Can’t imagine they’d have known much about it. She was a tough old ship, but she wasn’t built for combat.”

  LaCruz’s first thought was for Ferguson. He was a little rough around the edges but she’d liked the man. And now he was dead.

  “What about the brother? Noah. Do you think he had anything to do with it?”

  “Hard to say,” Markham reflected. “But, that Saratova woman … what was it that Ferguson called her?”

  “The Widowmaker?”

  “Yeah, well. Ain’t that the truth?” he looked about him as if unsettled by their surroundings. “Which is all the more reason to let these guys get on with their job.”

  LaCruz was starting to have a bad feeling about this and she suddenly remembered the way they’d gone about executing the people in the cargo bay. Barnes in particular. And now, by taking the key card, she’d put Sylvie’s life in danger too, because as soon as they realised that the chemicals were missing they’d make a beeline for anyone who’d had access.

  She may as well have just painted a big target on Sylvie’s back and left it at that.

  They’d want to know everything that had gone and wouldn’t be particularly concerned about how they extracted that information. LaCruz felt like she’d just given the other woman up. Used her for her purposes before abandoning her to her fate.

  A betrayal of trust, pure and simple.

  There was no other way of looking at it.

  Though, perhaps, there was some way of putting that right.

  “What about the Marsh woman?” LaCruz said.

  Markham’s eyes lit up at the mere mention of her name.

  “She’s not implicated in this, is she?”

  “She’s in the cells with all the others. I can’t see the raiders leaving her out of this once they start asking questions.”

  Markham’s face darkened and for a second, LaCruz thought she might have over-played her hand.

  “She’s an intelligent woman. She’ll be sure to tell them what they want to hear. Besides, she’s not involved in any of this.”

  LaCruz went up to him.

  “C’mon, sarge. Can you hear yourself? Look who we’re dealing with here: kidnappers, murderers and rapists. They don’t need a reason to beat on these women. That’s the sort of thing they do just for kicks.”

  Markham was angry now. “Then you should have thought about that before you got her involved.”

  She couldn’t work out what was happening. She’d never seen him like this before.

  “I don’t get it. What’s this woman got over you? You sweet on her or something? Is that it?”

  Markham grabbed her wrist and the next thing, LaCruz had her knife drawn.

  The pair of them stood glaring at one another before Markham released his grip.

  “That’s not important now. All you need to know is…” Markham searched around, trying to find the right words. “Okay, very simple. This woman represents a very valuable asset to the Confederation and, as such, needs to be protected.”

  LaCruz nodded as she returned her knife to its sheath. It was a reasonable explanation and, who knows, ten minutes earlier she might have accepted it. Only now, she’d seen the truth of the matter. This had become personal for Markham and nothing he could say could alter that.

  “Okay,” she said sullenly. “I get it.”

  “I don’t come up with this stuff, Jackson, I just do as I’m told.”

  LaCruz opened her eyes wide, as if clearing her thoughts.

  “So, where does that leave us? You want me to stick around here, or you want me to go grab Little Bo Peep?”

  Markham walked around for a while, lost in thought. Something was playing on his mind, that much was certain.

  “Okay. I still need to keep an eye on things here. So, go and get Marsh and, if you can, bring her back here.”

  “But what if I can’t? What if they’ve already laid hands on her?”

  “Then get back here asap and we’ll take it from there.”

  They’d been at General Quarters for nearly four hours now and people were starting to get restless.

  Schwartz had spent the bulk of her time going over the weapons packages they intended to use against Thor. Whaites had been as good as his word, attempting to utilise all the data Vincenzi had sent over and, while his ideas looked good, Schwartz couldn’t help thinking that they were going into this a little under prepared.

  If all went well, Whaites reckoned they’d need approximately twenty-eight missiles to breech Thor’s shields, which left them with only fifty-nine missiles with which to mount their offensive. Of those, only something like one in four had any real chance of getting through to their target, meaning that they were relying on thirteen missiles to determine their fate.

  Thirteen.

  Unlucky for some.

  That was the main reason they hadn’t yet launched anything - though that didn’t explain why Thor hadn’t.

  “Don’t you think that’s odd?” she said.

  “Their failure to engage?” Faulkner said. “No, not particularly. We’re not their prime objective. They’re focussed on the gate. If that was me, I’d be more worried about the sort of defences I’d face once I got there.”

  “And that’s the thing,” Schwartz said. “Apart from a few weapons platforms, the gate has precisely zero defences.”

  Faulkner turned to look at her. “I find that very hard to believe.”

  “Really? Perhaps you should have asked Governor Ardent about it before she left.”

  “I hardly see how this affects her,” he said, sounding impatient and frustrated.

  “She was the one tasked with protecting the gate when it was first opened. Of course, it had its own defensive fleet then. Twelve ships, I seem to recall.”

  “And what happened to them?”

  Schwartz felt suddenly uncomfortable. “She sold them all. To the Yakutians.”

  A pained look came over his face then. “I had no idea.”

  “Hardly the sort of thing you’d care to advertise, but that’s what happened. No doubt while you were still … incarcerated.”

  “Yes. Yes, I suppose that makes sense.”

  Faulkner’s eyes swept the bridge as though searching for something he’d mislaid. He suddenly seemed out of his depth up here.

  “I imagine it must have been difficult,” Schwartz said, her tone softening. “Maintaining a standing defence force when the threat level doesn’t warrant it.”

  “I suppose that’s the difference between politicians and the military,” he said with regret. “For us, defence must always be paramount.”

  “Yes. Not that that changes things. If Thor does manage to get to the gate, a handful of defence platforms isn’t going to stop them.”

  “You think they’ll target the nodes?”

  “I’m not sure what their intentions are, exactly. All I do know is that they think they can destroy it. Otherwise, why go to all this effort?”

  “Sir, we’re picking up another incoming vector,” one of the comms officers said.

  “They haven’t launched weapons, have they?”

  “No, sir, it’s not coming from the Da’al ship. It’s coming from the spinward side of Iscaria, of all places.”

  Faulkner and Schwartz exchanged glances.

  “A ship of some kind, I take it?”

  “That’s correct, sir. They have a number of heavy freighters currently in orbit but with our scans compromised I’m, as yet, unable to identify her.”

  “Thank you, Ensign,” when the man had gone, he turned to Schwartz. “What’s a freighter doing coming all the way out here?”

  “Civilian contractor who wants to help?” she mused. “A Johnny Come-Lately who didn’t manage to get away with Admiral Winterson’s first lot.”

  “I suppose. Perhaps their owners tried to prevent them. Only, now the captain’s decided they’ve got nothing to lose.”

  Schwartz didn’t like this development. Didn’t like the idea of dealing with amateurs.

  Especially plucky ones.

  Faulkner said, “Until we know otherwise, we have to assume that they’re friendly.”

  “Yes, sir. I just hope they’re not going to get in the way.”

  *

  LaCruz was running out of time.

  It was seventeen fifty-three and the general curfew was due to start at eighteen hundred hours. Anyone who was out of their cells after that time would begin drawing all kinds of unwanted attention. The mission had been a bust from the get-go. The women had been taken, that much she did know, but other than that, she may have been staring at a brick wall. There was a possibility that if she chose to head off now, she might be able to get back to Markham before the curfew began. She’d be safe then but everything that they’d achieved up to this point would have all been for nothing.

  She hadn’t even been able to get back to her old cell block. There had been a group of maybe five or six raiders stationed on the corner from where she was who weren’t letting anyone through. As long as she kept moving, LaCruz was safe - lots of people were hurrying back to their accommodation so she didn’t stand out but the longer she delayed making a decision, the more likely it was that she’d be picked up.

  She had to make a decision. Haul ass back to Markham and go with the main plan or take a risk and try to track down the women herself.

  While she was considering her options, someone came up behind her.

  “What are you doing out here? Why aren’t you in your cell?”

  LaCruz didn’t turn around. She cowered and affected a frightened tone.

  “My cell’s down there,” she said. “But they’re not letting anyone through?”

  The woman stepped up beside her. It was the woman known as Deetz, complete with dreadlocks. She took one look at LaCruz and then grabbed the flesh on the inside of her arm in a well-practised pinch.

  “Is that right? Okay. I think it’s best if I escort you.”

  But, instead of taking her towards the cells, she started dragging her in a completely different direction all together.

  She was taller than LaCruz and, up close she could see that the woman’s head was shaved on either side. She had a prominent tattoo on her neck which looked to be some kind of sea monster. She also had a kind of retro-military look about her which LaCruz found intriguing. Like she’d made up her own branch of the services and then dressed appropriately.

  After a few minutes of walking, LaCruz was aware of the crowds having thinned out almost completely and found they were in a part of the ship she vaguely remembered. But it wasn’t until they came level with the big pressure doors that LaCruz realised where they were: back at the cargo bay.

  They didn’t use that entrance though. Deetz took her down a side corridor and before LaCruz knew what was going on, she was being propelled towards the door at the end, policed by two enormous guards. From the look of them they might have been brothers.

  If LaCruz had been contemplating the thought of overpowering her captor, her chance had just evaporated.

  “Found this one skulking down by the cells,” Deetz said, holding LaCruz by the scruff of the neck. “I think she might be caught up in all this.”

  “They didn’t say they wanted anyone else.”

  “That’s because this one’s given them the slip. Trust me, they’ll want to speak to her.”

  “What’s it to you anyway?” the one on their right said.

  Deetz wrapped an arm around LaCruz’s neck and forced her forward. There were four of them now in a space less than a metre square. If things turned violent, she was intending to use LaCruz as some kind of shield.

  Deetz said, “You going to let me in, or you want things to get messy?”

  The guy on the right leaned forward, refusing to be intimidated. “The boss said he’s not to be disturbed.”

  “Jeter’s in there?” Suddenly, Deetz didn’t seem quite so sure of herself.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Okay. Then he definitely wants to hear this.”

  The woman pressed LaCruz’s face up against the door while she leaned over and hit the entry switch. The two brothers turned on her but by now it was too late and Deetz frog-marched her prisoner inside.

  By this time, LaCruz was starting to have serious doubts about how this was going down. Previously, all the security she’d seen had been pretty poor but here they actually seemed to have their act together. They weren’t taking any chances. LaCruz began to wonder whether, without a proper back-up, decent intel or even a basic tactical plan, she might not have over-reached herself a little.

  The cargo bay looked different to the last time she’d seen it. Previously, it had all seemed crowded and chaotic but now everything was stripped back. There were two shuttles, one over on the far side and one just in front of her which was being loaded and prepped for flight. Over in the centre of the bay she saw that a small but very familiar group had been gathered together.

  The albino was standing off to one side talking to one of his subordinates, while the female prisoners stood in a circle, overseen by three bored looking raiders. All of them wore side arms but they hadn’t thought to draw - the women looked frightened enough as it was. The only one who wasn’t was Kate Marsh, though her self-assurance took a noticeable dip when she saw LaCruz. Any thought of a last-minute rescue must have gone out of the window at that point.

  Then LaCruz caught sight of Sylvie. There was a large bucket on the table in front of her. Which sort of explained why she had water streaming down her face. It was only then that LaCruz realised that Jeter had removed his jacket and had his sleeves rolled up.

  “This better be good” he said without turning to face them.

  “I found this one down by the cells,” Deetz said. “I recognised her from before.”

  Jeter considered this. “Put her over there with the rest.”

  Deetz didn’t move straight away. This wasn’t how this had played out in her head. She’d clearly been expecting to be commended for her quick thinking. She hadn’t expected to be dismissed out of hand.

  “This is the one who took down Bodih,” she said by way of clarification.

  Jeter fussed with his sleeves as he turned to look at her.

  “And what’s that got to do with anything?”

  Deetz’s frustration transferred itself into the way she was gripping LaCruz’s neck.

  “She’s your main troublemaker, here. And what was she doing roaming around the place on her own? You ask me, if something’s amiss she’s the one you ought to be talking to.”

  It looked like Deetz had been paying attention after all. At least when LaCruz finally did get around to killing her, Deetz would understand why.

  “Alright,” Jeter said reluctantly. “Bring her over here.”

  Deetz shoved LaCruz in the back, forcing her forward. As she drew closer to the main group, LaCruz could see what a mess they’d made of Sylvie’s face and that angered her. One of her eyes was half closed and blood was running freely from a cut on her cheek. LaCruz had no idea what had gone on, but it looked as though her fears had been fully justified. They hadn’t wasted any time picking Sylvie up for interrogation. Whatever LaCruz might think about the discipline of the other raiders, it seemed that Jeter was cut from a different cloth. When he wanted something doing, he rolled up his sleeves and just got on with it.

  Good. She could work with that.

  Jeter pointed at her and then at Sylvie.

  “You two know each other?”

  LaCruz didn’t reply.

  “They were in the same cell.”

  That was the woman with dirty blonde hair. Petey. She’d come forward to stare at LaCruz.

  “Shared the same bunk too by all accounts.”

  If this extra information had been designed to buy her some advantage from Jeter, Petey was to be disappointed. Jeter looked straight at LaCruz.

  “You put your friend up to this?”

  LaCruz scowled back at him. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

  Deetz stepped in close, driving her knee into LaCruz’s thigh. The pain was excruciating causing her to drop to one knee. Then Deetz grabbed her around the throat and tilted her head back.

  “How’s your memory now?”

  Jeter must have given some kind of signal to the two men standing either side of Sylvie. One grabbed her by the shoulders while the other started forcing her head towards the bucket.