Stealing Light

Fourteen

A day later, they finally rendezvoused with the coreship.

As they made their approach, its bulk filled every available screen on board the Hyperion. Dakota sat in the interface chair on the bridge, her Ghost channelling to her reams of data concerning the energies flickering in great sheets around the Shoal vessel.

The coreship itself was spherical in shape, perhaps a hundred kilometres in circumference, like a world in itself. Its surface was pockmarked with gaping holes through which the hollow interior could be glimpsed. Beneath the vessel’s vast curving roof, supported by huge pillars a kilometre thick, could be found a far greater habitable environment surrounding the central core. And deep within that core could be found the mysterious transluminal drive that pushed the craft through space at enormous multiples of the speed of light.

Rumour had it the core contained a liquid environment-a lightness, abyssal ocean in which resided the craft’s Shoal crew. Some trick of its planet engine prevented it from exerting any significant gravitational pull on the Hyperion as Dakota followed a standard docking manoeuvre.

Even though she couldn’t see them directly through the interface chair’s petals, Dakota was nonetheless aware of Arbenz and Gardner paying close attention to the bridge’s monitors while she focused on the multi-layered data passing through her implants.

She could feel the weight of their attention being focused on her through the petals, judging and appraising her piloting skill. If she screwed up in any way, automated guidance systems would kick in and dock the Hyperion automatically.

But she wasn’t about to let that happen.

She merged with the Hyperion’s primitive intelligence and guided the frigate’s vast bulk through one of the kilometre-wide apertures in the coreship’s hull. The bridge was temporarily under zero gee, the gravity wheel having been stopped for the duration of their voyage aboard the coreship. The bridge now sat at the bottom of the stilled wheel.

Dense layers of rock and compacted alloys appeared to rush towards and then past her on either side. A moment later the curving interior surface rose above her viewpoint, and the Hyperion was falling, on a cushion of shaped fields, towards the outskirts of a sprawling city.

A flicker of warning data -

A burst of violent energy shot through one of the aft drive bays like a muscle spasm, pre-ignition processes flickering with exotic fire deep within the engine cores.

Not good. Not good at all.

Dakota fully melded with her Ghost, making full use of its intuitive algorithms as a heavy, rattling vibration passed through the frigate. She was distantly aware of Gardner cursing and muttering somewhere beyond the petals of the chair.

There, she had it: a software failure. Something Dakota couldn’t possibly have missed, unless…

The Hyperion was starting to push against the shaped fields that bore it downwards, as the main drive threatened to self-activate, the hull screaming in protest at the unexpected stresses. Dakota rerouted fresh instructions past the problem-a kind of logjam of erroneous data -and the drive finally powered down. Then it was a natter of clever calculations and sheer guesswork to steady the Freehold vessel as it continued to descend.

Whatever had gone wrong, at least it was over. Dakota finally let out a long, shuddering sigh, and tasted the sweat on her upper lip.

The Hyperion continued to drop slowly down towards a landing cradle, from which grasping, cilia-like constructs reached upwards like hungry anemones. The frigate rumbled again as the cilia moulded around its hull, cradling it with ease. One or two other ships-not quite on the same, grandiose, old-fashioned scale as the Hyperion-were similarly cradled a few kilometres distant.

Dakota shut off her dataflow and stared into the darkness surrounding her. Throughout the whole docking procedure, the Hyperion had practically become an extension of her body. It would have taken a crew of at least half a dozen non-machine-head technicians and engineers to carry out the same rendezvous, but Dakota had done it on her own without so much as moving a muscle.

She reached up with one hand and tapped the manual release button, standing as the petals surrounding the interface chair unfolded around her to reveal the bridge.

‘Did you cause that glitch?’ she asked the Senator. ‘Or do you let just anyone mess with the engine systems?’

Arbenz grinned. ‘You coped very well.’

‘Do you have any idea how dangerous it is, altering base routines like that?’

‘There were backups, just in case. I could have shut the engines down in a moment, no harm done.’

‘Because you wanted to see if I screwed up?’

Arbenz shrugged, looking smug and self-satisfied. Dakota felt a deep urge to violence.

‘But you didn’t screw up,’ said Arbenz. ‘You did very well. I’d even say you’re about as good as Josef Marados said you were.’

‘Don’t ever try something like that again,’ she spat at him. Gardner listened impassively to their exchange, with arms folded.

Arbenz spread his hands in an open gesture. ‘No more surprises, I promise.’

She nodded in silence. As satisfied as Arbenz seemed with her performance, she would have loved to be able to see the look on his face when he realized she wasn’t going to stick around.

‘Let me get this clear,’ Dakota railed, several hours later. ‘Unless I heard you wrong, I can’t leave the Hyperion at all for as long as we’re on board this coreship?’

She had tracked Gardner down in one of the mess halls in the gravity wheel, where he’d been engaged in conversation with the Senator while Ascension news feeds scrolled down one wall. The other walls of the mess were decorated with Spartan images of valour that fitted in appropriately with the whole Freehold value system. Broadswords certainly appeared to be a popular motif.

Gardner looked up at her with the kind of expression normally reserved for unruly children. ‘We made it clear from the start that we’re on very sensitive business. As long as we’re on board this coreship we’re wide open to the outside scrutiny of anyone who’s curious to know what we’re up to. Remember, there are mercenary fleets who specialize in jumping contract claims by keeping tabs on the movements of frigates like this.’

‘So you need to keep me locked up in here, because that way there’s less chance they’ll figure out what you’re up to when they see a giant fucking warship sitting on the horizon.’

Gardner’s face was blank for a moment, while Arbenz merely chuckled without looking up.

‘Listen,’ Gardner replied angrily. ‘You’re a valuable asset, one we paid a lot of money for. There are people out there who’ll happily snatch you off the streets of Ascension and take your skull apart to find out what you already know about us. We also paid to have this core-ship make a special diversion to our destination, which is as good as advertising the fact we’re trying to set up a new colonial contract. Do you have any idea how expensive all this has been? How much it cost me personally, and also the Freehold?’ Gardner waved at Arbenz with a fork. ‘It’s your job to protect us against anyone who gets too interested.’

‘Then perhaps you’d care to tell me exactly where it is we’re going? Or are you saving that for a birthday surprise?’

Gardner glared at her. ‘You’re just being dramatic.’

‘I’ve just found out I’m being literally held prisoner here, and you’re surprised by my reaction?’

‘Miss Oorthaus, you’re not a prisoner,’ said Arbenz mildly, finally putting down his fork and leaning back.

‘Then why did Kieran Mansell just stop me on my way to the airlocks, and tell me I’m not allowed to leave the ship?’

Gardner wiped his mouth with a cloth and pushed his plate to one side. ‘Look-’

‘No, it’s all right,’ said Arbenz, studying Dakota keenly. ‘You can go-but not alone.’

Gardner turned red. ‘Senator-’

‘No, Mr Gardner. We’ll attract even more attention by never disembarking at all. Are there other machine-heads here, Mala?’

‘Yes.’

‘Because you can sense them from a distance, and they can sense you?’

Gardner looked nonplussed.

‘So really, anyone who wants to know we have a machine-head pilot on board already knows. Our secret is already out, Mr Gardner.’

Gardner remained unpersuaded. ‘It feels like too much of a risk.’

‘Only if she goes out alone.’ Arbenz turned back to Dakota. ‘Yes, you can go, but only with Kieran. We’ll all be operating under a strict curfew when it comes to departing this vessel. I have some business to conduct here too.’

‘Udo, not Kieran,’ she insisted.

Arbenz held her gaze for several seconds. ‘Any reason for the preference?’

‘He’s marginally less ugly.’

‘I’m surprised by that.’

‘Why?’ Dakota replied.

‘I heard about what happened on the bridge.’

‘I don’t recall receiving an apology from any of you.’

Gardner leaned forward. ‘If you’re thinking of trying to get back at him for attacking you, then I’m afraid it’s not up to you to decide what-’

Arbenz put up his hand to shush Gardner, an amused look on his face. He thinks this is funny, Dakota reflected: Udo getting into fights with some skinny little girl.

‘No, it’s not her decision,’ Arbenz agreed, without even looking at Gardner. ‘But it would be good to have Udo off the ship for a while, don’t you agree?’

Gardner looked caught. ‘What exactly is your business in Ascension, anyway?’ he asked her.

‘I’m going to see an old friend. Another machine-head. If I don’t show my face at all, he’ll start wondering why I never leave the Hyperion. Given it’s owned by the Freehold,’ she continued with a shrug, ‘any machine-heads in Ascension might draw the conclusion I’m being held prisoner, don’t you think?’

She got her way.

Dakota immediately made her way straight back to the aft airlocks. The frigate had been designed with coreships in mind: a wide lip had extruded itself from the hull, below the airlock, so passengers could simply step outside and feel a fresh breeze against their skin.

It was like standing inside a roofed canyon the size of a continent. As she looked up, Dakota saw fusion globes dotting the underside of the coreship’s outer crust. A couple of dozen metres below where she stood, a floor carpeted with grassland extended all the way to the outer suburbs of the city of Ascension, a sprawling metropolis that filled half of the space allocated to humanity. But instead of solid walls separating them from the rest of the vessel’s interior, there were instead sheets of faintly flickering semi-opaque energy that were anchored beneath the ceiling’s massive supporting pillars.

She turned to see Udo step out through the airlock, accompanied by Lucas Corso.

‘I want to take a look at Ascension,’ Corso explained, on seeing Dakota’s annoyed expression. ‘I didn’t even get the opportunity to explore the last coreship I was in.’

Dakota cocked her head to one side, puzzled. ‘Why not?’

Corso shrugged, and she guessed he wasn’t comfortable talking about himself. ‘Too busy with my work.’

And wouldn’t I like to know just exactly what you’re doing here, Mr Data. Archaeologist.

‘Your first time anywhere other than your homeworld, and you were too busy?’

Corso flicked a glance towards Udo, who glared back at him in response. Neither of them replied.

‘I don’t have time to play tourist guide,’ Dakota snapped at Corso. ‘I have…’ Further words stalled in her throat.

Udo gave her a toothy smile. ‘People to see? Places to go?’

Fuck you. ‘What do you think I’m going to do then, run away?’

‘You could, but I can run faster.’ Udo laughed at his own bad joke. ‘What’ve you got against my brother, anyway?’ he added. ‘Seeing as you asked for me specially.’

‘How does it feel being such a shithead, Udo?’

‘It feels great, Mala.’

‘You’ve visited this particular coreship before?’ Corso asked her, clearly trying to break the current thread of conversation.

‘I’ve been in Ascension a few times in the past, yeah.’

And I’m not the only one who’s familiar with this place, she thought, shooting a glance at Udo and remembering what she’d discovered.

She spared him a thin smile.

An air taxi had been hovering in the vicinity of the Hyperion ever since it had docked. Udo beckoned it down, and made a show of getting in first and taking the front seat directly behind the dashboard unit that housed the craft’s cheaply manufactured brain. He wasn’t as subtle as Kieran, either, Dakota reflected. There was too much of a swagger in Udo Mansell.

Ascension was soon spread out below them in all its seedy blackened glory. If the view from a couple of hundred metres up was anything to judge by, it had changed little since her last visit there.

She surveyed a landscape of grey and black concrete interspersed with open areas of patchy green-fire zones from the civil war of fifty years before. In the further distance the city came to an abrupt halt against the shaped fields that kept humanity separate from other species inhabiting the coreship, but with different atmospheric and gravitational requirements.

These days, two-thirds of the city was back under Consortium control, while a few remaining warlords still claimed control over a few outlying districts. The Shoal didn’t appear to give a damn what went on inside their coreships, at least up to a certain point. Fission weapons remained a big no-no, even though there were a thousand urban myths about people somehow stumbling into otherwise forbidden alien sectors of the coreships and finding there only sterile, irradiated ruins.

Some humans lived their entire lives on board a core-ship, never seeing beyond these narrow slivers of apportioned living space. The coreship might travel the length and breadth of the galaxy, but once it left the minuscule portion of the Milky Way humanity was permitted to see, the surface ports were sealed until it returned to within Consortium space. Whatever lay beyond would therefore always remain a mystery even to its most long-term inhabitants.

‘What happened to this place?’ asked Corso in awe, peering down through the taxi’s wraparound windscreen. They were passing over occasional pockets of devastation, now half overgrown with weeds.

‘Power struggle,’ Dakota replied. ‘The Consortium won, but only just.’

‘So the Consortium is still in charge here?’

Dakota shrugged. ‘Nobody’s strictly in charge. It depends which part of the city you’re in.’

Corso looked disbelieving. ‘But someone must be in charge of keeping this place in order-the Shoal at the very least. It’s their ship, so where are they anyway?’

‘Corso, they don’t care about anything but their trade agreements.’

‘Well, then-’

‘No one is in charge here,’ Udo muttered, his voice full of distaste, ‘because no one here has the honour or strength to do something about it. This whole place is a monument to the very worst aspects of human nature.’

‘-what exactly do the Shoal get out of all this?’ Corso continued, despite Udo’s interruption. ‘With all their technology, all their advanced might-as-well-be-magic science, what do we have they could possibly want from us?’

‘That’s the eternal question, Corso,’ Dakota answered. ‘Nobody knows, and the Shoal aren’t telling. Maybe they just like being in charge, full stop.’

‘But they’re just, just… fish!’ Corso cried. ‘How in God’s name do fish come up with all this?’

Dakota shrugged again, but offered him a small smile. ‘Same answer.’

The air taxi had now dropped below the level of the tallest buildings surrounding the city centre. The rooftops of some of these buildings stretched all the way to the coreship ceiling, where they were securely anchored. Dakota noted some of the lower structures still retained Consortium gun posts on their rooftops, their weapons aimed permanently towards the rebel districts beyond. The momentary brush of their security systems against her implants came to her like a faint mental tickle.

Severn. She sensed him again, as she had ever since they’d docked, somewhere out there among the grimy streets and half-rotted buildings of downtown-the site of much of the worst devastation from the civil war. He’d have sensed her too, of course. It was all part of the eternal joy of being a machine-head.

The air taxi changed course, obeying Dakota’s unspoken command. At this, Udo looked around wildly for a moment before his gaze finally settled on her.

‘I’m in charge of this craft,’ Udo snapped. ‘Relinquish your control.’

‘You’re here to keep us safe,’ Dakota snapped back. ‘Not to tell me what to do.’

Corso sat to one side of Dakota, looking baffled by their argument. The air taxi began to drift downwards on its cushion of energy. ‘You’re taking us outside of the Consortium-controlled sector of Ascension,’ Udo hissed tightly. ‘This is a lawless area.’

‘Anyone looking for trouble isn’t going to be swayed by whichever part of town we land in. And there’s someone here I haven’t seen in a long time.’

She spared a quick glance at Corso, remembering their conversation after Udo had attacked her. Corso was still part of the Freehold, and there wasn’t any reason to believe for one second he’d be anything but loyal to Senator Arbenz. But what he’d said to her on the bridge had nevertheless appeared to contradict that.

The taxi settled down with a soft thump near an open marketplace. As soon as Udo cracked open the taxi’s hatch, the smell of cooking assailed Dakota’s senses: tear-inducing spices mixed with the smell of roasting meat and the fresh smell of newly cut vegetables. Animal brains sizzled in pans suspended above smoking braziers, while dogs whined and barked in cages next to an open-air restaurant, awaiting their turn for slaughter.

Messages flashed through the air in a dozen languages, letters rearranging themselves into Chinese dragons above one establishment, or fat-bellied smiling chefs above another. An Atn-its enormous metal carapace painted with symbols and scratchy alien art -lumbered its way through the throng of pedestrians crowding the walkways, its thick metal legs moving with almost liquid slowness. People automatically gave it a wide berth, knowing the creatures stopped for nothing.

Hunger hit Dakota with appalling ferocity as they stepped out of the taxi. Udo looked twitchy enough to try and down anyone who so much as glanced in his direction. Corso seemed a little dazed. She’d brought them to Chondrite Avenue, a long thoroughfare that traversed the eastern district, filled with a dense population of squatters and refugees from a dozen Consortium-space conflicts, many of them sleeping and living directly off the street. During the civil war it had been a sniper’s alley no one dared enter, unless suicide was high on their agenda. But those days were long gone, hopefully.

Dakota headed straight for a roadside grill, and a few moments later returned to join Corso and Udo, chewing at a kebab of peppered meat dripping with grease. She grinned at them widely, pleased to see Udo looking seriously pissed off.

Corso took her by the arm, leaned in towards her and whispered quietly enough not to be heard over the hubbub: ‘Mala, I can tell you’re up to something. Whatever it is, please don’t.’

Dakota just gave him a quizzical smile as if she had no idea what he was talking about. ‘C’mon,’ she said, taking Corso’s arm, and pointedly ignoring Udo, ‘we’re both a long way from home, and we’ve got a lot of time ahead of us. How about I play tourist guide after all?’

And maybe you can answer some questions.

Dakota made sure to stay in the lead, pushing past Udo who was doing an excellent job of radiating menace at other pedestrians. She tried to ignore the queasy, nervous feeling building up inside her ever since she’d decided that making a break for it was her best chance of survival. So very much could still go wrong.

She led them away from Chondrite and down Yolande, a narrow alley between walls still pocked with bullet holes. Banners declaring allegiance to General Peralta hung down from windows and balconies all round, some of them trailing in the mud underfoot. Flies and the smell of rotting food filled the air. She kept expecting Udo’s hand to reach out to restrain her, and almost gave in to the urge to turn round and check out the expression on his face.

But she didn’t dare. Not yet. Instead she kept going, adrenalin pumping through her bloodstream. By now he had to have guessed where she was leading them.

The alley widened suddenly and became quieter. Up ahead was a dead-end, with a door set in one wall. It was plain, unassuming and unmarked. Several armed men stood before it as they habitually did and, as ever, they wore Peralta’s colours on their arms, scarves tightly knotted around the biceps.

Finally, she felt Udo’s hand clamp down on to her shoulder. She turned at last.

‘This stops here,’ he hissed. ‘We are not going inside.’ He nodded towards the guarded entrance.

‘Going where?’ Dakota asked him with faked innocence.

For a moment she thought Udo was going to deck her; he trembled with barely suppressed rage, then spoke again, clearly forcing himself to remain calm. ‘We are going to turn around now, and-’

‘No, Udo. I know all about you. And don’t dare ask how.’

‘I’m warning you-’

‘But you won’t do anything, will you? I know you need me for much more than just piloting your ship. You just about said so yourself. “If I only knew”: remember?’ She leaned towards the Freeholder, relishing the strangled look on his face. ‘That means you don’t dare let anything happen to me.’

She turned and moved towards the door.

‘Stop-’

Udo reached towards her. The men guarding the entrance tensed in response. Dakota prayed Udo wasn’t quite as stupid as he sometimes acted. Loud music thudded from beyond the door.

He pulled back his hand, eyes fixed on the guards, his face full of contempt and hate.

One of the guards, a heavily muscled individual with a shaven head, pulled the door open with a nod. The music soared to ear-splitting levels.

‘Severn’s expecting you,’ he bellowed in Dakota’s ear, barely audible over the racket.

‘I know,’ she yelled back, and stepped inside.

Severn’s bar had remained intact through the civil war, surviving under Peralta’s patronage. The interior was dark, apart from the lights above the counter, and illuminated cages against a far wall in which forms more animal than human moved and howled. Men and women sat in deeply shadowed alcoves all around, their faces glistening occasionally in seamy light. She didn’t need to turn around to know that both Corso and Udo were right behind her.

Dakota felt a light pressure against her thigh. Udo had angled his body, leaning in against her, so the knife that had suddenly appeared in his hand remained almost invisible.

‘There are a thousand ways I could kill you right now and nobody would even guess,’ he hissed in her ear. ‘Tell me what you’re trying to do.’

‘I know you come here for the mogs,’ Dakota replied, her voice tight with terror. ‘I know all about it. I want to know where the Hyperion is going, and why.’

The pressure increased. She imagined the wickedly sharp blade cutting through her flesh. Udo’s other hand gripped her shoulder like a steel vice.

‘And in return, you don’t talk? Is that your deal? Let’s sit down then,’ Udo hissed, guiding her towards an empty alcove. Corso followed, looking bewildered.

Severn was close, very close. As she sat down, she could sense him somewhere nearby. She glanced around and spotted him standing behind the bar counter, only a few metres away. He stood with his muscled arms folded, an amused expression on his face. He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows as if asking a question: Dakota responded by shaking her head. Not yet.

Severn had acquired more tattoos since the last time she’d seen him, a few years after the incident at Port Gabriel. They now spread up his shoulders, across his chest where they were clearly visible beneath his shirt, and then curled around his neck.

Unlike many others, he chose not to hide the fact he was a machine-head. His scalp was still shaven, the skin on the back of his head tattooed with diagrams that mirrored the machinery that lay hidden underneath the flesh and bone.

Looking at his skull and face, only an expert would have been able to recognize the reconstructive work done after he’d shot himself, long ago, as Dakota had watched.

Yet despite being one of the most easily recognizable human beings alive, almost no one outside of a very exclusive clientele had even heard of him.

Corso sat down facing the pair of them in the alcove, his hands tightly gripping the edge of the table. ‘Please tell me what’s going on here,’ he urged quietly.

Dakota ignored him. ‘Udo, listen to me. I know the man who runs this place. He’s a machine-head, same as me. We look out for each other. Anything happens to me now, I can guarantee you won’t walk out of here alive.’

Udo glanced over and caught Severn’s eye. The bar owner held Udo’s gaze and moved his head slowly from side to side.

Dakota wondered if she’d pushed the Freeholder too far. ‘Udo, I don’t give a damn what you do in your private life. But you and the rest of the people on that ship sure as fuck don’t do a great job of securing private data.’

‘You have no right looking into those files-’

‘Udo, it’s hard not to look at the files. You’ve been caught before. There was nearly a scandal back on Redstone. We both know just how nasty it’d get for you back home if the truth ever got out.’

Udo pulled his knife back a little, but kept it angled towards her thigh. She was entirely aware that if he cut her the right way, she’d be dead in seconds from blood loss.

‘The only reason you’re still alive,’ he growled, ‘is because it’s my job to keep you alive for as long as we need you.’ The knife twitched against her thigh and Dakota suppressed a gasp. ‘But accidents happen.’ He laughed, the sound not entirely sane. ‘What the fuck made you think you could blackmail me?’

‘Udo.’ It was Corso. He’d seen what Mansell hadn’t. ‘Udo, put the knife away.’

‘Stay out of this,’ Udo snapped back. ‘Or I’ll skewer you where you sit.’

‘Udo, look behind you.’ Corso nodded over Mansell’s left shoulder.

Udo turned his head slightly and stiffened at the sight of the rifle barrel aimed at a spot just below his left ear. One of Severn’s men was standing diagonally right behind him.

‘Evening,’ murmured the guard.

Udo turned back around and gave Dakota a look of baleful hatred.

‘I’m sorry, Lucas,’ said Dakota. ‘But I’m going to have to ask you if there’s anything concerning your expedition I might not already be familiar with.’

Corso sighed as if a burden had settled on his shoulders. ‘Planetary exploration.’

‘And?’

‘And that’s it.’

She turned to Udo, who shook his head. ‘I’ve been threatened by people a lot more dangerous than you,’ he said slowly.

Dakota turned back to Corso with a smile. ‘Did you know your friend here likes to fuck mogs?’

Corso looked between the two of them, as if not quite sure what he’d just heard. ‘Excuse me, what are…?’ he shrugged without finishing, clearly baffled.

‘Udo here has a thing for mogs,’ Dakota repeated, nodding towards the lupine shapes writhing in cages at the far end of the bar.

Corso flipped his gaze between the cages, Dakota and Udo, opening and closing his mouth several times. ‘What… are those things mogs?’

‘It’s a nasty little fetish,’ Dakota added. ‘Not quite bestiality, but close enough.’

‘Not quite? They’re animals, right?’ Corso demanded, his voice rising. ‘Or… what else are they?’

Beside Dakota, Udo sat stock-still. The knife now lay on the table before him, and both his hands were placed palms-down on the tabletop.

‘They’re illegal half-human gene-jobs,’ she explained. ‘Low intelligence, vicious, dumber than an ape but smarter than a dog. There’re a lot of cross-species hacks out there, but that’s the most popular by a long shot. Some are made for fighting, some for sex. In a place like this it’s mostly sex.’

Corso studied Udo with a distinctly different expression from that of a moment before. Dakota was no expert on Freehold culture, but she knew they were deeply conservative in most respects. On Redstone, homosexuality was punishable by a violent death, and the vast majority of art created by the human race throughout its long history was considered part of the corruption the Freehold had set out to escape.

But when it came to a fully fledged Citizen copulating with half-human monsters, Dakota didn’t even want to think what Udo’s own people would do to punish him.

Corso looked like he was turning green. ‘And the Consortium allows this?’

‘Of course not.’ Dakota sighed. ‘But we’re not in Consortium-controlled territory right now. The warlord who rules this district turns a blind eye to certain practices if there’s an advantage to it.’

Corso shook his head. ‘I can’t believe this. It’s… there aren’t words. I can’t even begin to think…’

‘Even if you could prove a word of this,’ Udo snarled, his eyes now drilling into Dakota’s, ‘who would believe you?’

‘I already told you that I know the owner of this place. Severn, right?’

Udo nodded, clearly recognizing the name.

‘Well, he’s a machine-head, you idiot. Our kind stick together, remember? I mean, how do you think he managed to stay alive this long out in the open, if it wasn’t by keeping records on everyone who walks in here?’

Dakota had a strong sense that she could only push Udo so far before his instinct for vengeance would outweigh his sense of self-preservation. His nostrils flared with every breath, and his entire body was trembling with rage.

‘Now here’s the deal,’ she said, glancing at both Freeholders in turn. ‘Tell me the truth, right now, or I walk out of here and neither you nor anyone else on the Hyperion will ever see me again. And I’m prepared to bet you don’t want that.’

They remained mute, so Dakota stood up slowly, making sure Severn’s men could clearly see she was unarmed. ‘Then it’s goodbye, gentlemen.’

‘Wait.’ Udo put up a hand. ‘There’s nowhere you can go, Oorthaus.’

Dakota laughed. ‘Yes there is, Udo. I could jump ship a dozen times and you’d never find me. The Freehold are a spent force, and half the Consortium is going to breathe a sigh of relief when you’re relegated to history. Your own people have got better things to do than come after someone like me.’

‘We found something,’ said Corso, so quietly it took Dakota a moment to register that he’d actually spoken.

Severn stepped across to the alcove, leaning over the table to speak to her, pointedly ignoring the others. ‘You know, whatever favours I owe you-and there’s a lot of them, don’t think I ever forgot-I just paid every one of them back twice over, starting from about five seconds after you walked through that door.’

Udo started to jerk up out of his seat. The guard behind him pulled back his weapon and slammed the stock of it into the back of the Freeholder’s head. Udo’s head twisted around under the impact and he slid over to one side, one hand pressing down against the seat.

Severn stood back and nodded in his direction. ‘What’s your friend’s name?’

‘Udo Mansell. And he isn’t a friend. The other one’s Lucas. I reckon he’s harmless.’

Severn stared down at Udo, who was slowly pushing himself back upright, his eyes focused somewhere far beyond Dakota’s hovering presence. ‘Udo, I want you to stay here for now. Me and…’

He looked at Dakota.

‘Mala,’ she replied.

‘Me and Mala are going to have a little talk. Next time you try something, Grigori here will use the end of his gun that shoots bullets.’

Dakota slid out of the alcove, following Severn as he made his way through a door at the far end of the main bar and into an anteroom beyond. She could hear the sound of mogs yelping and of people yelling beyond another door ahead of them, all mixed up with the loud throb of angry, discordant music. This was where the mog pits lay-and where Severn did his real business.

The instant the door had closed behind them, Severn turned and slammed her against a wall.

‘Whatever the fuck this is all about, Dakota, start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out.’

‘Nice to see you, Chris. How long’s it been?’

‘Not nearly long enough, judging by that little scene. What in the name of all the stars in the sky made you think you could pick my establishment to start a flicking war in?’

‘I didn’t have a choice. The one called Udo-’

‘I know who he is, Dakota!’ Severn bellowed. The rage seemed to go out of him a little then, and he took a step back, rubbing his face with his hands. When he next spoke, he sounded calmer.

‘If people think they can’t come here and be safe, then every machine-head within a couple of hundred light years has a serious fucking problem. You know that, don’t you? I’ve gone to a lot of time and effort to make sure this is one of the few safe places all of us can go-’

‘I’m in trouble,’ Dakota told him baldly.

‘Aren’t we all.’ Severn nodded. ‘Want to tell me how?’

‘You really don’t want to know’

Severn shook his head. ‘Just as much of a fuck-up as you ever were, then.’

‘Look, I got hired by a bunch of Freeholders. They want me to pilot their ship-that frigate that just docked a few hours ago. They told me it’s a standard system evaluation, but I don’t believe them. They won’t tell me where we’re going, and I know they’re hiding something.’

‘Freeholders?’ Severn stared at her disbelievingly. ‘Freeholders hired a machine-head?’

‘The one who’s been here before, I mean Udo, if it came out he likes mogs, he’s a dead man back on Redstone. I needed to get some leverage on him to find out what they’re really up to.’

‘And so you thought it’d be a really good idea to bring him here, because then he’d crumble and confess everything. So tell me, how’s that little plan working out?’

‘Not so well, because neither of them will talk,’ Dakota admitted. ‘I drink my only real option is to disappear.’

Severn looked at her with pity. ‘You’ve sunk a long way, Dak.’

‘I know.’ She grimaced. ‘You don’t need to tell me.’

‘But you’re still not telling me something.’ He stepped closer to her, almost trapping her against the wall. She put one hand on his chest as if in warning, the blood thrumming in her veins.

He continued: ‘The last I heard you were running illegal shipments in the home system. Now you’re here, trying to ditch the Freehold. Were you there on Bourdain’s Rock when it blew up?’

‘I…’ Dakota felt the blood rise to her face and knew she’d given herself away.

‘Shit.’ Severn stepped back and stared at her like he’d never seen her before. ‘Jesus, Dak, I heard they were out looking for a machine-head. They’re going to kill you, you know that?’

‘I had nothing to do with what happened to Bourdain’s Rock, I swear,’ she said, her voice trembling, ‘but I don’t think Bourdain’s the type that goes for rational argument. The Freehold needed a pilot and for some reason they were desperate enough to use a machine-head. But now I know I’m walking into something bad all over again. I’ve been trying to ignore my instincts, and my instincts tell me they’re up to a lot more than they’re admitting.’

Severn nodded, then glanced off to one side. She could tell from his expression he was receiving a communication.

He raised one hand, palm facing towards her. ‘Wait here,’ he instructed. ‘I need to speak to someone. I’ll be right back, OK?’

‘OK,’ she said miserably.

Severn pushed through the far door leading to the mog pits.

A minute passed, and then another. Then waiting any longer became impossible for Dakota. Her life was at stake here.

She went through the same door to look for Severn. The space beyond was not unlike the bar where they had left Udo and Corso, except that a raised catwalk sliced the room almost in half, and there were more barred cages set into recesses high up on the walls to either side.

Below these were more seating alcoves, full of customers. There were far more mogs evident in this part of the building, and she was mildly shocked to see some being led on leashes along the catwalk by bead zombies. She hadn’t ever thought Severn was the type to use zombies, and wondered just how much he’d changed since the last time she’d encountered him. The sight of those headless monstrosities made her queasy in the pit of her stomach.

The mogs on parade had been trained to walk on their hind legs. Most displayed only a hint of human intelligence in their wide dark eyes set above compact, abbreviated snouts. Harsh spotlights glistened on their polished claws and on the metal studs of their leather collars. Some looked considerably more human than any other mogs Dakota had seen before-which made it all seem so much worse.

Severn’s clientele remained mostly out of plain sight, their faces veiled in shadows within the alcoves they occupied. On the far side of the catwalk various doors led to secure rooms where those same clients could enjoy a few purchased hours with a gene-job-or alternatively go and place a bet in the mog fighting pits beyond.

Then Dakota saw just exactly who Severn was talking to.

Moss.

Dakota stepped back into the shadows, neither of them having yet seen her. They seemed to be arguing, and from the look on Severn’s face she guessed Moss was being threatening in some way.

She had recognized Moss almost immediately despite his changed appearance. A large part of his face looked parboiled, the skin on it blotchy red, stretched and twisted like plastic. All his hair was missing above one ear, and the overall effect was monstrous.

It was the kind of disfigurement that might have been fixed by a week spent inside a medbox, but that was clearly an option Moss had foregone. Perhaps he wanted that hideous face to be the last thing she saw before he killed her.

Finally Moss looked over in her direction and almost did a double take.

Shit. She’d forgotten about his visual augmentations. Hiding here in the shadows wasn’t any use: she might as well be standing face to face with him in broad daylight. His eyes glowed dully, his smile twisting like an open wound.

She slammed back through the door into the anteroom, and then found her way back into the front bar. There was just the chance Severn wouldn’t let anything drastic happen here, in public, or in any place that might hurt his lucrative business.

Udo and Corso were still waiting in their alcove, their faces tense and drawn. Their expressions told her that those few minutes they’d been left alone together had turned into some of the longest in either of their lives.

She heard a commotion from the room behind her, then shots followed by the sound of splintering wood, and something heavy being repeatedly slammed against a wall. Customers looked around wildly, and the murmur of conversation around the bar subsided. Udo started to stand up…

The door Dakota had just come through thudded loudly, and she stepped away from it quickly. She now picked up the alarm and rage that was radiating from Severn’s Ghost, and even caught flashes of what he was actually seeing and hearing. For a moment, it felt like she was in two places at once.

He’s warning me, she realized, but with that warning came the knowledge of just how deeply he’d betrayed her. All in a moment’s mind-to-mind data transfer. It was like hearing his confession just prior to execution.

Moss had got here twenty-four hours ahead of the Hyperion, the coreship having seemed a likely means of escape for Dakota. So from the moment of his arrival, Bourdain’s pet killer had tracked down every possible contact she might have here, and had lucked out with Severn. The deal was simple: all Severn had to do was lull her into a false sense of security, and he got to keep his job, his bar and his life.

Except Moss wasn’t really that subtle in the art of negotiation, and Severn had made the mistake of trying to stop him once it became clear that Moss was hellbent on starting a shooting match. The slamming sound Dakota had heard was from Severn’s body being repeatedly thrown against a wall.

The door in front of her suddenly flew open and she found herself almost face to face with Moss. Lightning gloves in place, his hands were outstretched, sparks dancing between his splayed fingers.

Before Dakota had time to react further, she heard an explosion of sound, and Moss staggered back towards the gaping doorway as a red spray erupted from the side of his skull. She instinctively dropped on to the floor, and began to crawl in the direction of the bar’s entrance. All around her Severn’s clientele were screaming and fighting to get out of the way, the sound of their panic mingling with the still-deafening music and the howls of frightened mogs.

Dakota stopped crawling and looked behind her. To her horror, Moss was starting to get up again, having apparently only received a flesh wound. One of his ears was partly ripped away, and blood oozed down the side of his face.

Despite his injuries, Moss threw himself with inhuman speed right past her, swatting at Grigori with a lightning glove before Severn’s chief guard could fire off another shot. Grigori screamed, and then bullets filled the air as the guards by the entrance opened up. Moss pulled the dying guard in front of him, using his twitching half-cooked corpse as a shield.

Hands grabbed at Dakota. Udo and Corso began dragging her towards the far end of the bar, where the mog cages stood. Those customers who hadn’t yet managed to flee cowered behind the meagre shelter of tables and chairs.

Bourdain was a powerful man with vast resources, and he’d clearly had no problem figuring out where she might run to. She’d been fooling herself in thinking she could get out of trouble that easily.

Whatever the Freehold had in store for her, she understood, it couldn’t be any worse than what she’d have to face if she went on the run.

Dakota twisted around and saw Moss stagger back under a fresh hail of bullets, but rather than falling under the onslaught, he leapt on the three armed men crowding around the main entrance, even as they continued to fire bullet after bullet into his body. Either he was wearing armour of some kind, or he’d undergone the kind of extreme body modification that hardened flesh and bones.

Behind her, Dakota saw Udo was now kneeling by one of the mog cages, studying its lock mechanism. His knife was again gripped in a fist. The cages stood on a raised platform, and she watched as the mogs within them howled and snapped and raged, their claws flashing mere millimetres away from her beyond the transparent cage walls.

As she watched, it became obvious that Udo’s knife was a far from ordinary weapon. Its blade shimmered as he touched it to a lock, the metal casing melting like butter. It wasn’t hard to imagine what a weapon like that could to do to a human being.

Dakota felt a thrill of terror when she realized he was trying to free the mogs, even as she understood why he was doing so. Howling in high-pitched anguish, the creatures inside continued to scratch at the transparent walls of their prisons with their long vicious claws.

The first cage door flew open a moment later, and a mog leapt howling over the tops of their heads, and shot straight towards Moss. Udo moved quickly on, destroying the lock mechanisms on five other cages within moments. Each time, a frightened, angry mog headed straight for the entrance, ignoring them.

The only thing between them and their freedom was Moss who, against all odds, was slowly staggering upright again, shoving aside the crumpled corpses of the guards.

Glassy-eyed, his mouth twisted in a frown, he went down under a deluge of sleek fur and snapping jaws. A moment later came a series of high-pitched screams, sounding far more animal than human, as Moss remained invisible beneath the scrabbling mound of fur.

‘Move!’ Udo yelled, and all three of them stumbled past the frenzied scene.

Any normal human would be dead by now, but Dakota felt aware of Moss following her with his eyes as they fled past.

She collapsed in agony and retched violently as a surge of pain shot through her body. Moss had snagged her ankle with a lightning glove as she stumbled past.

Udo came back and kicked out at Moss’s head. Moss responded by letting go of Dakota and grabbing Udo’s leg instead. The Freeholder crumpled to his knees with a shriek, while Moss used his hold on Udo’s body to pull himself out from under the piled corpses of the gene-jobs.

Events felt as if they were occurring at one remove, and Dakota realized her Ghost had taken over. She was distantly aware of her own body lifting itself on all fours to begin crawling towards the entrance.

She glanced behind her and saw Moss staring after her, his face a demon’s mask of fresh blood. She couldn’t determine if Udo was alive or dead.

Despite his near-supernatural capacity for survival, Moss looked like he was about to run out of lives. Like some half-crippled angel of death, he started to drag his broken body towards Dakota, one arm pressed protectively against his side where he’d clearly been badly mauled.

She had not been consciously aware of Udo’s knife lying nearby, half hidden under the warm corpse of a mog, jaws wide and vicious-looking even in death. Under the control of her implants her hand reached out and took a firm grip of the weapon. A violent vibration surged through its handle and rolled up Dakota’s arm, making her teeth rattle.

Moss was almost on her. He saw the knife too late. Dakota twisted on to her back as Moss hauled himself on top of her. Splaying her fingers across the twisted ruins of his face, she slid the blade cleanly across his exposed neck. A fountain of blood spilled over her.

She had barely applied any pressure to it, yet Udo’s weapon had very nearly severed Moss’s head from his neck. His body slumped immediately, without even a twitch, his gloves sparking and flaring as they came into contact with the damp floor. Dakota gasped and twisted in terror, trying to get away from them.

She started to shake uncontrollably, feeling her body come back under her own control. The music had long stopped playing.

‘Mala?’ It was Corso, dragging her away from the carnage, the sleeves of his jacket splashed red with blood. ‘Are you OK?’

Dakota made a noise that was halfway to a laugh.

‘That man that tried to kill you? Who the fuck was he?’

‘An old friend,’ Dakota gasped. ‘Where’s Udo?’

‘He’s not in good shape, but it looks like he’s still breathing.’

Dakota’s breath grew steadier as her Ghost smoothed out her brain waves, taking control of her nervous system so as to keep her from slipping into shock.

‘Lucas, I have to tell you. I have enemies.’

‘You don’t say.’

‘But so do you, right? That’s what you said earlier, or have I got that wrong? You’re not on this expedition just because you want to be. You said there were people on Redstone…’

The last few of Severn’s clientele had fled, along with those few of his guards who were still standing. They’d pulled the entrance door closed, and Dakota guessed it was almost certainly now locked. She managed to stagger to her feet with Corso’s help.

As he took her by the shoulders, she stared dazedly into his frightened eyes. At some point he’d taken the knife from her without her noticing.

‘Let’s be clear on this, Mala,’ he croaked. ‘I’d rather kill you than see you renege on your deal with us. Arbenz is nothing better than an opportunist using our war with the Uchidans to make his grab for power. But the fact remains he’s in a position to hurt people I care about, so for the moment I really, really want to give him exactly what he wants. Understand me?’

She turned away from him and went to kneel down beside Udo. The stricken man’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, but he looked bad. As she peeled back one of his eyelids, the pupil shrank in response to the meagre light illuminating the bar.

Probably no serious brain damage, she decided. At least, no more than before.

‘I think he’ll survive.’ She slumped back on her heels. ‘And I’m not going anywhere, Corso.’

‘But you said-’

‘All I want is the truth. The only person who’s come near to providing that is you. Besides, someone’s going to have to tell me eventually-right?’

Corso swallowed. ‘Fine. It was a standard system reconnaissance, at least at first, but… we found something there we didn’t expect to find.’

‘Found what exactly?’

‘Not here.’ Corso shook his head. He looked frightened.

A hand brushed against Dakota’s shin and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She looked down in horror to find Udo’s eyes fixed on her.

‘Mala. Oorthaus.’ His voice was dry and cracked, like a desert rock that had suddenly developed the ability to speak. ‘I challenge you. To the death.’

Dakota started to speak, but Udo shook his head slowly and she fell silent.

‘But not yet. For now I will say nothing. But one day I will meet you with equal arms, and I will kill you.’ He coughed with considerable effort. ‘We were attacked by Uchidan agents. That’s our story, do you understand? Betray me, and I betray you.’

Udo’s head slumped back, a long guttural sigh escaping from his throat as he passed out again.

‘You know,’ Dakota said to Corso a moment later, ‘he meant you as well. He’ll kill you if you talk about what you know.’

‘And what about you, Dakota? Would you kill me if I told Arbenz what really took place here?’

She looked away for a moment, caught in indecision.

The need once again to put her trust in someone reasserted itself. Just holding herself together like this -amid the ineffable loneliness and constant terror of her predicament-was pushing her to the edge of sanity.

Dead, Lucas Corso would be one less witness. The same went for Udo, now prone on the floor. But if she were the only survivor among these three, who would ever believe her story?

‘The man who tried to kill me is called Moss,’ she informed Corso.

He looked like he was waiting to hear more, but she was saved by the sound of voices shouting in the alley outside. Dakota grabbed Corso’s arm and started to tug him back towards the rear door leading into the anteroom. Perhaps they could find a way out through the rear of the building.

Corso followed her, apparently in too much of a daze to resist. ‘I don’t know if I can believe anything you say,’ he muttered.

‘I don’t know how much I can trust you either but, for what it’s worth, right now I’m probably a lot safer on board the Hyperion than anywhere else.’

There was a bright burst of light, and the entrance door blew inwards. Smoke started billowing and tall shapes entered the bar. Kieran Mansell stepped out of the smoke first, closely followed by armed men and women wearing Peralta’s colours.

He surveyed the destruction with a candid eye. ‘Somebody,’ he grated, ‘has one fuck of a lot of explaining to do.’

The post-mortem interrogations took the better part of two days.

Arbenz had meanwhile confined everyone to the Hyperion until the ‘nature of the threat’ could be assessed. Whatever presence the Consortium maintained on board the giant coreship remained noticeably quiet. But, from what Corso understood, the local Consortium officers were adept at turning a blind eye to any activities involving Peralta.

Contrary to his own orders, Arbenz subsequently himself spent a great deal of time away from the Hyperion. Nobody seemed in a hurry to tell Corso what was going on but, from what he gathered, the Senator was busy in some form of negotiations with Peralta, probably by way of damage limitation.

In the meantime Corso paced around inside his quarters, avoiding Arbenz’s cronies as far as humanly possible. He kept his thoughts from loneliness and frequent bouts of despair by diving deep into his research.

It was becoming clear that whoever or whatever the Magi had been, they’d been in contact with the Shoal for at least a couple of thousand years before their sudden disappearance. Contained within the codes recovered from the Magi derelict were tantalizing clues, random hints that might finally reveal where the strange craft had originated.

But so far, these were only hints-barely enough to let Corso make some tentative guesses.

He discovered that the derelict had, for some reason, been fleeing the Shoal when it had crash-landed on the icy moon of a gas-giant-where it had recently come to light. Had the Magi therefore been rivals to the Shoal, a star-faring race that also shared the secret of faster-than -light travel?

Anything seemed possible as he explored further, but all Corso really had so far was speculation.

‘My brother is under deep sedation,’ Kieran Mansell explained to Corso during a lengthy interrogation in private. Kieran paced constantly, hands folded behind his back, while Corso sat on a low chair that forced him to look up at his questioner. ‘He’ll probably remain in a medbox for a few weeks, as the damage to his nervous system is particularly severe. That means he may not regain full use of his faculties for some time, and he didn’t manage to say much before he went under sedation. But what he did have to say was… contradictory. For now, all we have to go on is the joint testimony supplied by you and the woman Mala Oorthaus.’

Corso had become aware that a large part of Arbenz’s current negotiations with Peralta were over the General’s refusal to allow him access to Severn’s surveillance records.

‘Remind me again why you decided to go to that particular establishment.’ Kieran hovered over Corso, violence implicit in his gaze.

‘I… told you, Mala led us to it. It was because she knew a machine-head she expected to be there.’

The disbelieving look Kieran gave him went on for ever. ‘Do you know how very easy it is to tell when someone is lying? My brother, my own brother, lied to me. He told me the man who attacked you was a Uchidan agent.’ Kieran pounded his chest with his fist as he yelled the words. ‘You know,’ he screamed, one gloved finger pointed at Corso cowering in his seat, ‘how important this expedition is to us all. Just one deception could bring all this crashing down.’

Kieran paused and stared at him like he was looking for confirmation.

‘If Udo said he was a Uchidan agent… then I guess maybe he was,’ Corso stuttered.

Face turning red, Kieran took a few steps forward and kicked Corso’s chair over, sending the younger man sprawling. Corso yelled as he hit the floor and put up his hands to protect himself. Mansell stood over him, fists knotted, nostrils flaring. Then he seemed to get a hold on himself and righted the chair, before walking to the far end of the room. Arms folded, he stood staring at the wall as if answers might spontaneously materialize out of its smooth grey surface.

‘Whoever the attacker in that bar turns out to be, it appears his boarding of this coreship was effectively invisible-which implies very powerful contacts. But this… incident has already attracted us too much attention. We’ve been noticed.’

‘What about Mala? What happens to her?’

‘I notice you’re on first-name terms now,’ Kieran sneered, glancing back over his shoulder. ‘What about her? She’s a means to an end, nothing more. But you have your own duty to the Freehold. And to your family.’

A means to an end. As Corso listened to the words he understood the greater meaning implicit in them. He himself was no more important than Mala was in the Senator’s grand plan to save the Freehold.

And he knew there was no reason to think either of them would be allowed to live, once their usefulness was gone.