“Okay,” Saratova said. “So you picked up on that, did you? Which is good.”

  “Sort of obvious really.”

  Saratova nodded a few times as she weighed up her options.

  “She’s Ezra Samuels’ daughter.”

  “Ezra Samuels?” it took LaCruz a moment to process this. “What? As in President Ezra Samuels?”

  Any doubts LaCruz might have had about the veracity of that statement instantly vanished once she’d taken a look at Kate Marsh. Her reaction said it all.

  “She’s the only reason we didn’t torpedo the Motar straight off,” Saratova went on. “She is very valuable, yes? No matter what we do in past, she is an excellent – what do you call it? - bargaining chip. Guaranteed to protect us from prosecution. Wipe all our records clean, no?”

  LaCruz looked at Markham.

  To think that he’d known all along.

  Saratova seemed to have read her thoughts.

  “It’s not nice to be kept in the dark,” she said, swinging her gun around so that now it was aimed at her. “So, now’s your chance to get even.”

  LaCruz nodded numbly and slowly raised her revolver.

  Markham tried not to react but LaCruz could see the tension in his face.

  “Perhaps next time you’ll treat me with a little more respect,” she said.

  Then, she jinked the barrel to one side and shot Saratova in the stomach.

  The other woman squeezed off a shot, but by then it was too late. LaCruz had hit the ground and was already moving out of the line of fire.

  Saratova fired three more times, each one going wide as she clasped her side.

  “You shot me in the gut!”

  Meanwhile, LaCruz was scampering across the deck, heading towards a re-fuelling vehicle. She reckoned she might have one more bullet left though she couldn’t be certain without checking.

  “You should have gone for a head shot,” Saratova was screaming. “Only way to be sure. Face it, bitch: you messed up.”

  Saratova stood looking at the blood staining her hand. She was wearing body armor across her chest and shoulders but it barely touched her mid-section. By the time she’d got her thoughts in order, Markham had disappeared and the remaining women were sheltering behind various pieces of machinery. Only two of her men remained, and now, with her wounded, they seemed unsure as to how best to precede.

  She waved them over in the direction of the shuttle. “She’s over there somewhere. Find her and drag her out. Or do I have to do everything myself?”

  It was only as they started to move that they remembered that they were armed. They looked at their blasters with suspicion before starting over towards the shuttle.

  LaCruz watched all this with a growing sense of unease.

  She’d just checked her revolver to find that she had one bullet remaining.

  There was no way that she could hold out for very long with just that and, once they’d finished with her, there was no doubt about what would happen to the others. Saratova would have them all killed.

  All, that was, except for Marsh.

  It was only as they started moving around the front of the shuttle, that the beginnings of a plan started to present itself.

  Largely, that was down to the way the two men were sticking together. In a situation like this, with the shuttle as the only hurdle, it would have made sense if they’d split up, coming at her from different angles. But for some reason, they had chosen to stick together.

  Which gave her something of an advantage. They’d be approaching her head on. Except she now lacked the ammunition necessary to capitalise on their error.

  But then, battles weren’t won with weapons. They were won by exploiting the enemy’s weaknesses.

  With that in mind, she placed the revolver on the deck and kicked it under the shuttle.

  She squatted down to look underneath and watched as the weapon slid across the floor causing the two men to panic. They’d clearly been expecting a grenade to appear and had simply over-reacted.

  She used this delay to her advantage, sprinting alongside the shuttle to reappear on the other side. Someone started shooting then, but she ignored it and kept on running until finally she drew level with her target: the main cargo bay doors.

  Once there, she turned and raised both hands to show that she was unarmed. Only the men couldn’t see her, the shuttle still blocking their way.

  “What are you doing?” Saratova screamed at them. “She’s over there. Go get her.”

  Despite her admonishments, the men approached slowly, fanning out as they got closer.

  “Alright, that’s close enough,” LaCruz said and, to her surprise, the men stopped. “Call off your dogs, bitch, so we can talk.”

  “I’m done with talking. Bring her to me. I’m going to sort this out myself,” but then Saratova grew cautious. “But search her first. No telling what she might have on her.”

  The guy nearest her indicated for LaCruz to raise her hands higher before turning around.

  LaCruz did exactly as she was asked, stretching her hands as she slowly revolved. Only, as soon as she was facing away from them, she fell forward bracing herself against the bulkhead.

  One of the men came forward and began patting her down, LaCruz spreading her legs so as to accommodate the search.

  And then, while he was frisking her torso, she opened out her arms, spreading them wide.

  Only no-one seemed to notice that now her right hand was mere inches from the keypad. The one which operated the main doors.

  That was until she reached across and tapped in the code.

  The code Sylvie had given her.

  As the hazard lights started to flash and the door started to open, Saratova managed to squeeze off a couple of rounds, both of which went wide.

  The next thing, LaCruz’s ears popped as the whole room started to de-pressurise.

  “What the hell have you done?” the man behind her said.

  He pushed her to one side and started desperately trying to over-ride the procedure. Only he couldn’t.

  He looked at her in dismay.

  “We have to close this,” he said simply.

  “Sorry. I only know the code to open the doors.”

  For a moment, she thought he might shoot her.

  Then he yelled, “Everybody out!”

  Next thing, he was off and running.

  LaCruz looked over at Saratova. She looked magnificent standing there covered in blood, watching the doors open, a look of total incomprehension on her face.

  “What have you done?” she said. “You’ll ruin everything.”

  In the background, with klaxons blaring and warning lights flashing, LaCruz could see Markham in the background silently urging the female prisoners to get to their feet. They did so slowly, their eyes locked on the mercurial figure of Saratova, afraid she might turn on them.

  But Saratova had enough to worry about.

  There was less than two metres separating the vast doors but already items of packaging and empty crates had started to slide across the floor as if desperate to honor a pre-planned appointment.

  LaCruz forced herself to look away but as soon as she’d done so she was almost side swiped by a giant packing case which was bounding end over end towards the doors. In its ungainly way, it crashed against one of the doors, smashing itself into a thousand pieces, all of which were quickly siphoned off into the darkness.

  It was already becoming hard to stay upright and LaCruz found that she had to lean into each step in order just to keep going. Added to that, she was having difficulty drawing breath as the bay was slowly being stripped of its atmosphere. Ahead of her, she could see Markham pushing the women towards the safety doors which were rapidly starting to close. Once they were sealed, there’d be nothing for it. No one else would be getting out of here.

  She pressed ahead now more through instinct than any real hope of escape with each step becoming more and more challenging. It was like trying to climb a steeply pitched roof. One slip and it would all be over.

  The roar of departing air was disconcerting and as she chanced to look up she saw the bodies of Saratova’s loyal foot soldiers begin to slide across the floor, compelled by the pull of the vacuum. She couldn’t make out who was who but one of them was clearly still alive, waving their hands in the air as if calling for help. Help which would be a long time in coming.

  LaCruz, realising that time was running out, tried to pull herself along the side of a refuelling truck but then when it started to tip sideways, threatening to crush her, she was forced to throw herself to the floor and scuttle across the floor to get out of its way. The whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion, the truck pitching over onto its side before continuing onto its roof and then over again until it hit the doorway. But it was too wide to go through initially and just stayed there until a tumbling generator knocked it clear.

  LaCruz had happened across a thick cord of electrical cabling which had been inset into the floor and she held onto this as best she could. The idea was to use this to pull herself forward but she just didn’t have it in her. She might have discovered a secure handhold but she was now trapped, lacking the strength to go either forward or back. The realisation of that seemed to free up a part of her brain that she didn’t know she had. It separated her mind off from what was happening to her, allowing her to view her present predicament dispassionately, it was like watching someone else’s last desperate moments rather than her own.

  It was a thrilling new development, she realised, as her brain started to struggle with the first signs of oxygen deprivation. At which point she just happened to look across and see Elina Saratova.

  The woman must possess a ferocious survival instinct, she thought. She was lying on her back, having lashed herself to one of the powerful foot lights. Her only problem was that, like LaCruz, though she was safe for the moment, she was going nowhere.

  The wound in her side, where LaCruz had shot her, had started to split, leaving an enormous tear down one side of her stomach which she was trying to contain with her one free hand while the other clung to a knot hole in the deck.

  She watched as the shuttle on her left arced through the air and disappeared into the blackness while over to her right, the other shuttle was preparing to follow. It was only the magnetic clamps in the floor which were preventing this from happening. But it was only a matter of time, the sound it made as its under-carriage was dragged across the floor, setting her teeth on edge.

  Something big and black struck the shuttle from the rear and she watched as the grav clamp holding it in place was lifted clear out of the deck. In fact, the only thing which was keeping it attached were the lines of electrical circuitry which normally supplied its power.

  Meanwhile, Saratova seemed to have lost her footing with the binding holding her affixed having slipped so that now it cut into her under the armpits. And something odd looked to be happening with her stomach. She was trying to keep hold of what looked like a long coil of rope.

  Slowly, understanding began to assert itself and LaCruz realised what it was that she was looking at. Saratova was struggling to keep large sections of her intestine from slipping through her fingers. But there was just too much of it, bunching around her hands like so much slick red rope as she was slowly being pulled inside out.

  LaCruz had to look away. Her head was starting to hurt and her eyesight was narrowing to a pinpoint. She realised then, with absolute clarity, that she only had a few seconds to do something before she passed out.

  *

  LaCruz’s thoughts were interrupted by an enormous tearing sound as the front part of the shuttle’s fuselage tore itself away from the grav clamp that was the only thing keeping it in place. The shuttle then fell backwards and might have disappeared entirely if it hadn’t landed against one of the doors. A few more seconds and it would be gone for good and her only chance of survival would be gone with it.

  If she could somehow get inside it, she might have a chance.

  This was it.

  All or nothing.

  She released her hold on the cable and was immediately struck with the sensation of falling.

  It was as if the whole ship had tipped over onto its side and she was falling straight out the door.

  Panic gripped her for a second and she threw out her hands in the hope of arresting her fall but that was never going to happen.

  The shuttle was maybe ten metres below but she was coming up on it very quickly now.

  She managed to get her feet up in front of her so they took most of the impact when she hit, her knees being forced up to her face, threatening to knock her out. She hit the side of the shuttle so hard she was in danger of rebounding off into space but luckily her foot caught in one of the mooring wires and it pulled her up short. That left her lying on her back, her head hanging over the abyss while her brain began the process of shutting down.

  There was an explosion somewhere behind her which swung her back and forth, jarring her shoulder against a jagged piece of the fuselage. In an attempt to steady herself, she grabbed hold of some webbing. If her memory served her right this was just where the rear ramp locked against the main hold.

  A wild idea came to her then and she managed to hook her arm through the webbing with the idea of pulling herself along. But her strength was dwindling and the fact that the ramp was securely locked dissuaded her. Even if the ramp had been open, she doubted she’d have the strength to pull herself inside. But then she saw something.

  Not a foot from her face was a small rubber socket cover. On it, written in clear white letters was: DANGER RAMP and then in smaller letters. Manual Override.

  Working with one hand, she managed to raise the cover in order to reveal the switch which lay beneath. She pressed the switch down and it was immediately illuminated.

  But then she felt the whole shuttle start to tremble.

  This is it, she thought, and immediately took in her last breath.

  Only the shuttle didn’t seem to be moving.

  Instead, the rear ramp started to slowly open. The rumble must have been caused by the hydraulics.

  A shock of adrenalin flooded her system then and suddenly she was scampering over the webbing. The lip of the shuttle was covered in a fine layer of oil but she didn’t let that dissuade her as she pulled herself up to the edge. Seeing that the interior was illuminated gave her the reassurance that she needed. Bringing up her elbows to rest against the side of the fuselage, she managed to twist around so that her knees dropped down and she swung her lower half through the aperture. She mis-timed her release so that she landed flat on her back, half in and half out of the shuttle and had to work to pull herself round.

  She felt the cool rush of air against her cheek and knew that she was nearly there.

  Just find a way of closing the ramp again and she’d be safe.

  But then the shuttle lurched wildly and she was thrown against the wall, cracking her head.

  And then, nothing.

  *

  Schwartz met up with Khan at the turbo elevator. The entrance to the elevator was ringed with people going about their duties. But, when the elevator arrived, they all stood back, indicating for the two senior officers to go first. It was a display of respect which Schwartz was still getting used to.

  Once the doors had closed behind them and they were on their own, he wrapped his arms around her before kissing her on the forehead.

  “Now, what’s going on?” Khan said. “Rumor is that old man Faulkner has finally lost it. Has he?”

  “No,” she said with a decisiveness which she didn’t feel. “Of course not. It’s just that he’s put me in charge of this rail gun thing, and I don’t want to let him down.”

  Khan stepped back from her but still held her arms.

  “He wants to use a rail gun on that thing and you think he’s still of sound mind? Really?”

  “I know. It sounds crazy, right?”

  “No. On the contrary. It sounds inspired.”

  She gave him a quizzical look. Now it was her turn to be confused. “I can never tell whether you’re joking or being serious.”

  “Oh, I’m being serious. I love a good rail gun. Just the sound of it firing. That’s awesomeness on a completely different level!”

  She stepped over to the wall. “Will it be quite so awesome when we’re going up against a battle cruiser?”

  Khan gave her a sly grimace. “Depends how close in he can get. What’s happening about those shields?”

  “Don’t worry about those,” she said dismissively. “They’re being taken care of.”

  Khan made to ask how but she shook her head to warn him off. They might be having a baby together but she was still his senior officer.

  “So? Do you think you can help?” she said. “With the ammunition, I mean?”

  He gave a non-committal shrug. “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

  Then he took something from out of his pocket and held it out to her.

  “What’s that?”

  “Tungsten tetrahedron,” he said smugly. “Have a feel.”

  He gave it to her and she almost dropped it. “Wow! That’s ridiculous. Where’d you get that from?”

  “It’s something that Captain Meyer had us put together. In case of pursuit, we were going to spread these things in our wake. Originally, he wanted to rig them with some kind of explosive but they’re so dense there’s no need. Fifty of these traveling at speed would be enough to shred most ships.”

  “Because of how dense they are?”

  “Tungsten. Works every time.”

  “How many of these do we have?”

  He took the tetrahedron and tossed it into the air.

  “About thirty thousand,” he said before catching it again.

  She looked at him incredulously.

  “But will the rail gun be able to cope with these?”

  “They can fire anything: projectiles, rocks, bowling balls, you name it. But these things? It’ll be insane.”

  The elevator dropped them on Deck D. When she got out, she started down towards the Mag-lev line, an automated transport system which ran the length of the entire ship.