Aftermath

by Simon Challands

an Élite story
     Overhead point lights illuminated a semi-circular table and the five people sat around it. They were sitting around the curve, dressed in the stark military uniforms of Her Majesty's Space Navy, bearing no indication of their true position in the service, that of agents of Naval Intelligence. The chair at the flat side of the table was placed upon a slight platform, and was currently unoccupied.
     The man who entered to take the chair was older and was dressed in a richer uniform with admiral's stripes around the cuffs. The five stood to greet him.
     "Please, sit." He sat and continued "I'll be brief, because that's all I can be with our present knowledge. The Constrictor dilemma has reared its ugly head again. It was a remarkably well-built ship, not only in its shielding but also in its hull, and it appears that its destruction wasn't total. Various pieces of unusual duralium recently appeared in a scrap sale. GalCop always keep an eye on the trader in question and fortunately they recognised that there was something odd here. They passed on the metal to us and it as been positively identified as coming from the Constrictor. The scrap merchant confessed to having obtained it from a known pirate who was then traced by GalCop. It turns out that the pirate was killed a month ago. And with him went the last known link to the debris. We don't know if there was any more of it and where it might have gone, although judging from the state of the pieces we recovered it is quite possible that someone somewhere has some."
     The admiral stood and walked to the wall behind him. Pressing a pad on it caused a portion to illuminate. "This is the TS-ComDirect footage from the Cobra that destroyed the Constrictor." The screen showed the mysterious vessel swerving around trying to avoid the incessant military laser from the pursuing vessel. Its screens having nearly failed the stolen craft's only hope was to try and outrun the slower but more manoeuvrable Cobra. The laser fire caught the Constrictor again, penetrating the now-failed shields. The explosion of the doomed ship lit the screen but the victor had rolled his ship out of the line of sight before the aftermath of the Constrictor's destruction had died away.
     The admiral continued, "The Cobra did not stay to investigate any further. Image analysis was indeterminate as to whether or not significant solid debris was left behind but the likelihood was considered low and the matter was not pursued. Upon its return to a station we had the Cobra's logs of the event wiped as a precaution. The commander of that vessel is believed to be trustworthy but unfortunately we dare not risk interviewing him at the moment since he is involved in the current Thargoid campaign and drawing attention to him at this moment in time would most definitely not be a good idea."
     "I guess we're to track down whatever may be left of the Constrictor, then?" asked one of the five.
     "Correct. Its technology must remain secret. It was impressive enough on a ship that size. If it were to end up on a full-sized warship the results could be catastrophic for the Co-Operative. A transport will leave here at 1600 to transport you to Orarra. Vessels have been made available for you there. Good luck."

     There must be some genuine concern that some critical aspects of the Constrictor had found their way into the wrong hands to warrant this treatment. The Navy was usually too busy caught up in engagements with the Thargoids to spend much effort on slender-seeming risks such as this. The five agents thought so too and were pondering events as they waited for the transport vessel to leave the naval base at Xeer. The uniforms had been put away and they were now dressed casually. Four of them were human, the other an alien with a slight feline appearance, a native of the world Diso, unusual in an organisation dominated by the Old Earth species.
     A slight movement in their ship signalled the start of its flight. The giant gantries and arms of the Xeer New Devonport Naval Docks were seen drifting by as the the craft was slowly manoeuvred towards clear space. Xeer was a major naval base and shipyard and was bustling with more activity than would usually be seen outside the busiest civilian space station. To the left the skeletons of three half-completed Asp MkIIs lay enclosed by a web of metal. Small points of light showed where robotic construction equipment worked on the ships. On the opposite side was a squadron of new Sidewinder Scout craft that had just arrived from Onrira Orbital. Alongside them was one of the Sidewinder's heavier squadron leader ships, the Bushmaster (an oversight in its naming resulted in it being given the identical designation to the common mining vessel).
     The transport cleared the structure of the central shipyard station, bringing into view the planet of Xeer itself, a huge crescent below. On the visible slice grey cloud covered the plains from which most of the planet's agricultural wealth was obtained. A few concentrations of light could be seen in the dark area, mostly cities but two of the odder-appearing ones were the result of huge numbers of luminescent marine creatures that accumulated at two nights of every year making one of the more impressive natural sights in the galaxy. Up in space a Coriolis station span near to the main yard. This was where some of the more secret construction projects took place. It was rumoured that the Navy were developing their remote- controlled fighter in there, and the Constrictor had certainly been built within it, hidden from prying eyes. Until it was stolen.
     The theft of the Constrictor was still something of a mystery, even to Naval Intelligence. The thieves had never been identified. The project had been top secret but all those who were supposed to know of it had been accounted for. Despite much looking no evidence had ever been found of a leak. Since the theft to the time of destruction the thieves had remained as much out of contact as possible, destroying most of those they encountered. The only contact had been the delivery of a galactic hyperdrive and even then it was only seen fleetingly. The crew who went in to install it never came out again and the vessel departed before anyone came looking for them.
     Two of the team looking for its remains had been involved with trying to sort out the original fiasco. After a couple of months of futile searching it had become apparent that more help was needed, and with most of the Navy's resources directed against the Thargoids they were forced to turn to the public for assistance. It had been conceded that a hard-bitten trader who had survived numerous pirate attacks and knew all the tricks in the book, and a few more besides, might have better luck when it came to fighting the thing anyway. Angus Williams was one of the two agents trying to locate the missing ship. He had eventually traced the Constrictor to Colesque and managed to contact the last surviving independent trader on its tail. Williams had caught up with it too soon, flying the wrong craft, and was lucky to have escaped with his life. After that the somewhat embittered man was reduced to pointing the pursuing trader in the right direction, until he eventually managed to catch up with and destroy the Constrictor.
     The Disian was the other member of the group involved with the original chase. His task had been to try to find out who had stolen it in the first place, and his failure to do so had preyed on his mind ever since. The number of criminal organisations who might have liked such booty was high, but the death rate amongst them was also high in their high-risk business. GalCop had lost track of a number of them at the time of the Constrictor's destruction. Besides, the theft of a top-secret Naval ship from a heavily-guarded base was too daring for most of them. A number of planets throughout the galaxy were engaged in on-going wars. Those within the Galactic Co-operative were confined to fighting themselves but there were a large number of planets outside its jurisdiction fighting interstellar battles. Most of them had too few resources to attempt such a mission as the theft. The most deadly enemies of all, the Thargoids, were not known for their subtlety and when they wanted something they were more inclined to wade in with guns blazing to seize it by force.
     Then there was the even more puzzling question of how anyone knew about the ship. Security was tight at the shipyard and there was no indication of where it might have been breached. Grudgingly the case had been closed unless someone discovered new information.
     Of the remaining three one of them had lived in the region of the galaxy of Colesque, the area in which Orarra was located and had extensive contacts there. The two others had no particular knowledge or involvement with the Constrictor, and had been selected simply for being people good for the job who were available at the right time.
     They had now left the dockyard complex and were headed towards the co-ordinates for Witchspace entry. Numerous craft, both civilian and military, thronged the area. Police patrols, freighter convoys, private lone- wolf traders, and probably a number of pirates and a few bounty hunters masquerading as tradecraft were all present, and for the time being obeying the rules. Until they were as out of sight as could be managed and where everyone had to live on their wits.
     As a priority military mission SysCon had granted them immediate departure into the Faraway jump. The transport slowed, awaiting final hyperspace permission. When it came the ship moved forwards again, slowly, angling for the theoretically perfect position to make hyperspace as risk-free an event as could be possible. There was nothing else to indicate that the single-use galactic hyperdrive motor was powering up, that could send them hundreds of times further than the standard drives, into a completely different area of the galaxy. As a military model it had far greater precision than those available to civilians (which could only lock onto a random system when the craft was almost in the area) and had been targeted on Orarra, the last known location of the Constrictor. And in an instant it engaged, and the ship vanished.

     They emerged from hyperspace several days later. The planet Orarra was a scorched red-brown disc in the distance, burnt by its distant and hot sun. A few minutes later two more specks of light appeared. They slowly resolved themselves into Viper-class fighter ships, the escort for the relatively unprotected transport.
     The planet was reached without incident, and before long the task group was sitting in the quiet bar of the hotel where accommodation had been provided for them in the station Dodec Four. There were four stations orbiting the planet. One of the team would go to each whilst the fifth would contact the planetary authorities in the hope that they had any knowledge of what was going on. Not that there was much hope that they would have, but since only the space stations and not the planet were directly controlled by the Galactic Co- Operative the Navy had no official authority on the surface. Unofficial enquiries were only generally made after the gestures towards legality had been completed.
     Emily Barbeth was the member of the team to visit Orarra Station Three. Early next morning a shuttle flew her over. Moving away from the landing platform towards the information displays lining the walls at its back was a map of the station. The stations were built as a standard shell with the essential facilities included but the rest of the interior differed depending upon the local needs and resources. The headquarters of the Orarra Corporation, who controlled all interstellar trade at the planet, were located some distance away at the address of Carrock House, Sarros Square, Facet 4. Outside the spaceport and its jostling crowds of humans and aliens Barbeth found a taxi to take her there. The small autonomous vessel lifted off into the central void of the station. The walls and ceiling of the taxi were transparent and through them the interior of the station was an impressive, if dizzying sight. Straight above, three quarters of a mile distant the interior of the opposite face was a blaze of light in the sky. Curving around to meet it were walls no less impressive. The pentagonal facets of the station were difficult to discern under their covering of buildings, parks and farmland and the appearance was more of the interior of a sphere. The Dodo and Coriolis space stations found in orbit around all planets of the Galactic Co-Operative were more than just trading posts, they were small worlds in their own right.
     The taxi was heading towards one of the "walls". Since it was station daytime the whole interior was well illuminated, but the dense network of lighting still made the area ahead show up as being a largely built-up area. Numerous other taxi craft darted to and fro from the complex to the rest of the station, amidst them was the occasional larger bus or supply van.
     The taxi landed in a square in front of Carrock House. It was an imposing building as befitted the importance of the organisation it housed. Flags from poles jutting out the front proudly displayed the Corporation logo and its name was emblazoned above the doorway.
     Inside the building Barbeth was greeted with the usual unimaginative "How can I help you?" from the receptionist in the foyer.
     The permission to review the trading logs and more importantly the security video footage of the docked craft loading and unloading their cargo was obtained by means of a borrowed GalCop pass that Naval Intelligence had obtained for the job. It was unlikely that anyone carrying such a "hot" cargo would allow themselves to be seen like this, more probably they had left the system without going anywhere near the planet itself - if they knew what they had found.
     The man who arrived to assist her was smartly dressed, somewhat in contrast to his wild hair. He introduced himself as Darhil Peyers, one of the numerous managers of the Corporation. Bad publicity was something that they were keen to avoid and tried they usually tried to persuade someone reasonably high up in the organisation to deal with anything that looked like an official enquiry.
     Barbeth took his hand. "Nobody is checking up on you," she reassured him with a slight smile. "We just need to make use of your records to try to track down someone who might have passed through here."
     Peyers grinned back. "We just try to be of service as best we can. I'm here to help, not to put a good face on for what might be someone poking their nose into our business."
     "Should someone be?" Barbeth said.
     Peyers laughed. "Please come with me," he said, leading her into the heart of the building. "What is it you are looking for, then?"
     "Some salvaged scrap that might have passed through here recently. Anything that looks like it was just picked up from space."
     "You'll have a lot of searching to do then, I'm afraid," Peyers told her. The room they entered was equipped with a variety of computer interfaces. A couple of chairs were sat at a desk, a coffee machine stood in one corner. Barbeth looked at it curiously.
     "It's an antique," Peyers said. "It's not very valuable, though, and getting coffee for it is pretty difficult. I wouldn't bother trying it anyway if I were you. It's a traditional 'Makes undrinkable ditchwater' model."
     "Some things never change. I've got everything I need here. Thankyou for your assistance." She waved Peyers out, ignoring his slightly indignant expression at being so swiftly dismissed.
     The scrap merchant who had led them onto the trail of the debris had received it two months ago, and it would have taken a minimum of another four weeks for it to have reached him from here. At the other end of the scale the Constrictor had been destroyed two years ago. The amount of debris so far accounted for suggested that it had not had a chance to drift too far away from the place of destruction. So, anywhere within a twenty-one month period was the possible time-frame, probably nearer to the start of it than later. With hundreds of spacecraft passing through the system a day that was a dauntingly large time. The search parameters were entered into the computer. If nothing could be found she would know about it in an estimated three hours time.

     As expected the Orarra government was not particularly helpful. Ahcal Jalsa had spent four hours being told that the matter would be under the jurisdiction of some other department until the planet's more senior authorities dumped the problem onto their local police force. This was not a helpful start since planetary police were usually relatively small organisations, their influence extending no further than the world's surface, having little to do with interplanetary issues. As the local expert he had expected no less.
     The inspector who talked to Jalsa was clearly unhappy at being thrust into meeting with a Co-operative official, and began by insisting that there was very little chance of him being in a position to provide any information. To be fair to him his department had been quite thoroughly scrutinised at the time of the original incident.
     "Then give me everything that you gave us last time," Jalsa told him. "And see if anything else has happened." The policeman gave him an exasperated look and passed the orders on through his intercom.
     "Give me your number and I'll call you back when I'm done," he said. Jalsa did so and terminated the link.
     It was whilst he was waiting that three of the group returned, having found nothing. Barbeth arrived back half an hour later.
     "Some debris from the Constrictor definitely passed through here," she informed them. "It looks like the scavenger who found it had no idea what he was carrying and tried to sell it in the general market."
     "Any luck in tracing the purchaser?" asked Kirrik, the Disian.
     "Yes and no. She left for Tiriusri but never made it. She could have been the victim of a random pirate attack. Tiriusri's listed as a feudal state."
     "It's an unusual place," Jalsa intervened. "It's much safer than most such worlds. The ruling family has a history of being keen on working for the planet and kept good order before it even became a member of the Co-Operative. I think such an attack could easily be more than coincidence."
     "Perhaps." Barbeth continued with her information. "There's more alarming news, though. In amongst the debris was more than just pieces of hull plates and bulkheads. Nothing was complete enough to identify from a visual recording but there were several bits that could have been critical technology."
     "We'll have to find out what as soon as possible," said Erain Kalangu, the final member of the group.
     "All in good time," replied Barbeth. "Tiriusri might be the next place to look at, though."
     "Chasing around after hints?" said Kirrik. "That didn't get us very far originally, and I can't see it getting us anywhere now. We need something substantial, as soon as possible, not just flying around to see what we can pick up."
     Kalangu looked over at him. "So what do you suggest?"
     "We've still to wait if Jalsa's police can dig out anything. Furthermore, we still do not have any idea who may be behind the whole scheme. Find that out, and we find the Constrictor."
     "To find them we have to find the Constrictor," retorted Kalangu. "A vicious circle if you approach it in that manner."
     "Only to a certain extent. So far nobody appears to be suspicious enough or powerful enough to be implicated. That leaves someone we don't know about."
     This statement was considered more seriously than might be expected. In so large a universe the old rule "expect the unexpected" was the only reliable guide. Some powerful group, hiding their tracks and biding their time... It was not a completely unreasonable hypothesis, but one that would be very difficult to follow up on.
     Kirrik continued, "I'm not suggesting that we waste time on pure speculation, but I would suggest we don't dismiss anything slightly unusual we might find."
     From another room an "Incoming Message" tone sounded. Jalsa stood up. "Excuse me, please."
     As expected the message was from the police. "There's one bit of information I've found for you," he said. "Garhan Jersisallam."
     "Didn't him and his business vanish after the Constrictor's destruction?" asked Jalsa.
     "Yes. No trace of him ever found, but about eight months later a James Tebay, an employee of his, appeared briefly. Boarded a ship with a few others who had arrived with him and left but to where I haven't any idea. There's no record on the people with him, but they must have been crew for the ship."
     "What sort of ship was it?"
     "I don't know. You'll have to check System Records," came the unhelpful reply.
     "When exactly did he appear?" demanded Jalsa.
     "Third of March by Co-op dating. I've nothing else, I'm afraid."
     "Thankyou for being of help. Goodbye." The inspector looked relieved as he closed the link.
     Jalsa hurried back into the main room where they had been meeting. "When did the scrap turn up here?" he asked.
     "Second of March," Barbeth replied. She looked up at him. "What have you heard?"
     "Another coincidence that probably isn't one." He told them the news.
     "I remember the name of Jersisallam from the enquiry," said Kirrik. "He'd been suspected of dealing in experimental technology acquired by dubious means and selling it to those who probably shouldn't have it. We put in a lot of effort trying to find him but he's vanished completely."
     "It looks like nobody put two and two together when this Tebay appeared," said Jalsa. He sighed. "That's the problem with the bureaucracy of this place. No two departments talk to each other that much and information from one has to filter through to another in its own time."
     "I'll see what System Records has to say," said Williams. "We might as well head for Tiriusri, unless anyone has any better ideas?"
     Nobody had. "We'll meet you at the ship, then," said Kalangu.
     Williams caught up the the group as they were boarding the ship. It was a modified Ghavial, large enough to accommodate them and contain an impressive array of weaponry. As well as its two-man crew they had further accompaniment in the form of three Navy Iguanas, set up as heavy fighters with hyperspace capability. Whilst this flotilla was leaving the station Williams told the others what he had learned. Apparently Tebay had acquired a second-hand but well-maintained Fer-de-Lance Lightspeeder, a potent weapon in the hands of an experienced combateer. GalCop had no record of it either being destroyed or abandoned (although a deserted ship in deep space was never likely to be found again). What, if anything, could be found at Tiriusri remained to be seen.

     There had been no record of the ship docking at any space station in the Tiriusri system. The most likely possibility was that it had destroyed its target and hyperspaced out again straight afterwards. There was a slim chance that the attack had been witnessed, though, and with this in mind Kalangu found himself with a pile of police reports for the day the missing ship disappeared.
     After a couple of hours of reading about mostly inconsequential encounters he came across a statement that sounded a little more interesting. A police patrol had noticed two ships on long-range scanners, both moving erratically as if in combat. The distance had been too great to determine the nature of the vessels and it was all over before the patrol made it into range. The report noted that the slower vessel had vanished from scanners first, followed a few seconds later by the other one. When they reached the site they found the wreckage of a Cobra MkI and the particle residue of a hyperspace jump. The hull IR signature of the victim had been partially destroyed and no definite identification was ever made. Just another pirate incident, and GalCop hadn't made any more than a cursory look into it. Murder was a serious crime but unfortunately far too common to be fully investigated due to the tiny chance of success. Unless you were rich, famous or influential the officials were unlikely to pay your death too much attention if it didn't happen in front of everyone's eyes, and the best you could hope for was an "Offender" tag on your killer.
     The interesting thing in this case was the remnants of the IR signature. There was about a one in three chance that they were the remains of the unfortunate trader who had found the Constrictor's remains, and the police had accepted that conclusion. The scrap from the Cobra had been collected and sold off, leaving only a few samples for the record. Routine analysis of these remnants suggested that the weapon used against the unfortunate Cobra was a beam laser, probably a powerful one. As might be found on a Fer-de-Lance. But so what? It all fitted the speculation, but provided no clue as to what to look for next.
     Kirrik was somewhat more doubtful if that was all there was to it. "If they wanted the cargo that badly, I can't see them destroying the holding vessel," he stated. "There wasn't time to scoop up all the debris from the Cobra, and there was no trace of anything unusual in what GalCop discovered. And a Fer-de-Lance hardly has enough cargo capacity to carry what the Cobra was holding."
     "So what do you suggest happened?" asked Kalangu. "That the Cobra had already offloaded its cargo?"
     "Probably bullied into jettisoning it, and then destroyed anyway. There must have been other ships in the area to take the cargo."
     "I don't think so," Barbeth said. "The Fer-de-Lance followed the Cobra here, and certainly left on its own. There wouldn't have been any time for it to call for other forces to meet it here."
     "That doesn't matter," replied Kirrik. "It could easily have sent a cargo ship to collect the junk when it reached wherever it was going. That works out quite well, actually. The pick-up ship would probably have arrived fairly soon after before the debris dispersed, so it must have come from somewhere fairly close."
     "The original debris had had plenty of time to drift, and that was picked up," Barbeth pointed out.
     "That was found by chance. We aren't talking about people who leave much to chance."
     "There's no record of Tebay appearing in any registered settlement, or the Fer-de-Lance."
     What this meant was almost certainly a deep space outpost. System space was too well-monitored around civilised stars for a hidden base to remain so for long. In the immediate vicinity of Tiriusri the least stable system was Esgebi, but there an even greater watch was kept on every planet, asteroid and comet as the various powers there watched each other.
     Finding a deep space location was no easy job, which was exactly why they sometimes existed. Safely hidden in the vastness of space such a base was all but undetectable. The time taken for any careless radio transmissions to reach civilisation would provide ample time to move the base. Transmission via Witchspace would certainly not be made as it would very likely be picked up by relay probes sitting in the hyperspace channels. The Fer-de-Lance had probably not sun-skimmed at Tiriusri, otherwise it would have lost its prey. The distance between Orarra and Tiriusri was 2.7 lightyears. That left nearly six lightyears worth of fuel in an unmodified Fer-de-Lance. An impossibly large volume of space in which to find anything. The proverbial needle in a haystack was simplicity itself compared to space.
     Unless it survived in complete isolation, though, contact must be made with civilised space occasionally. That was the weak link.
     "I think it's time to investigate the affairs of this mysterious Jersisallam again," Jalsa said. "He used to have ships going to and from all over the place. A good candidate for supplying a hidden base."
     "More sifting through countless records. Wonderful," sighed Kalangu.
     "OK, we're leaving back for Orarra straight away," Williams announced.

     Searching through the records on Jersisallam was indeed a tedious and time-consuming task. As would be expected with his dubious reputation much information was missing, and much of it was doubtless fabricated. More reliable were the logs of ship departures and arrivals at various nearby systems, all of which had to be collected and correlated. On top of that it was considered wise to include as many ships that had, or were believed to have had, frequent contact with Jersisallam or anyone associated with him. Even with significant computing power at their facility, it was still over a week before the Naval team had any results.
     "We've several possible candidates for supply vessels," Jalsa told them one morning after he had looked through what the computer had reduced the data down to. "There was a handful of Pythons and an Anaconda freighter that often arrived at their destination a little later than would be expected. During most of these delayed journeys they were still carrying almost a full hold of registered cargo, though."
     "And nobody had much to say about these delays?" Kalangu enquired.
     "They weren't great, a few hours at most. Could have been due to pirate attack or equipment problems."
     "Or a diversion to a base just far enough away not to be detected," Barbeth added.
     "The same thought had crossed my mind. It's even less of a coincidence when you consider that about two-thirds of these delayed vessels were flying from Esdi."
     "If they were nearly full of registered cargo, and it was there at the other end, there wouldn't have been much room for supplies and equipment for a base," Kirrik reminded them.
     "They could have increased cargo space by leaving out some of the standard compliment of landing craft and shuttles," Williams pointed out. "Removing five Worms from an Anaconda gives you quite a bit of extra cargo space."
     "True. Unfortunately all those ships and most of their crew disappeared with Jersisallam," Jalsa said.
     "And the crew that didn't?" asked Barbeth.
     "All dead bar one. She was arrested for supplying convoy information to pirates and then hijacking an escape pod when they attacked. Unfortunately for her the pirates were intercepted by the police, and this Natalia Marchero is now sitting in prison. She's had two assassination attempts on her since then. Lucky to be alive, really. Probably would have been dead by now anyway except that she wouldn't say a word when questioned about Jersisallam's disappearance. She's kept under high security right in this system."
     "In a local or GalCop prison?" asked Kirrik.
     "GalCop. Does it make any difference?"
     "Only that we've no authority over the local one. We could arrange something for her if she's being looked after by GalCop," Kirrik pointed out.
     "They won't want to let her go, Kirrik," Jalsa replied. He looked at Kirrik enquringly. "What were you thinking of instead?"
     "Release into a low security facility if she won't co-operate. She'll probably be dead within a couple of months then. We might want to offer a change of identity when she's released if she is helpful."
     Williams smiled grimly. "If she was working for them then it serves her right."
     "I don't approve," Jalsa said. "However, I've no better ideas."
     "I'll see her tomorrow then."
     "Not on your own, Williams. I think I'll come with you," Jalsa informed him.
     Williams half rose. "You don't trust me?" he demanded, half-way to a shout.
     "You've had the same training as the rest of us. You know what the rules are when you've been personally involved in a case," Jalsa reminded him.
     Williams stayed half-stood. "I've never met this woman before. I've never had anything to do with Jersisallam before. How am I personally involved?"
     "You were attacked by the Constrictor. Your grudge against the pilots of that ship, and everything to do with them, is fairly well known. You know what the Constrictor's destroyer said about your opinions in his debriefing."
     "I think calling that thing a 'son of a bitch' was quite justified after it nearly killed me. But point taken," he said, sitting back down with a hint of a smile on his face.

     The prison was a converted orbital station located above Orarra's third planet. It had once been the link between space and some mines on the surface, but they had been abandoned after the conditions on the choking carbon dioxide-wreathed globe below had proved too tough. Whatever amenities it had for miners escaping from the hell beneath it had largely vanished.
     The shuttle carrying Jalsa and Williams approached the prison from straight above the planet. It appeared as random collection of boxes, joined by a maze of twisting tubes. The structure looked tatty, years of hard solar radiation having taken their toll on the surfaces. Contrasting bizarrely with this mess were the large arrays of solar panels around the periphery, which doubtless had to be replaced on a regular basis. Rolling below this was the cloud-covered inferno of Orarra III. It presented as unwelcoming a view as could be expected for its purpose, and anyone who still had not caught the hint was reminded by the constant patrol of a squadron of dart-shaped Viper Police ships hovering around it.
     The shuttle moved closer. The docking portal was visible now, a circular opening in one of the outer boxes. Lights flickered around it, barely visible in the sunlight. There was a harsh hiss and a crackle of static on the viewscreens as they passed through the protective field. With a gentle bump the ship touched down. Two clangs echoes through it as the docking clamps took hold. The light from above was suddenly cut off as the portal doors closed. A few seconds later there was another slow hiss as the shuttle's air pressure equalised with the base's.
     The landing bay appeared deserted as they left the shuttle, although it would be watched by dozens of cameras and covered by dozens of lasers in the walls. A line of gravplates lined with barriers lead to a doorway in the wall, providing a disconcerting two thirds G in the otherwise near zero G environment.
     Awaiting Williams and Jalsa at the door were numerous security checks, identifying a dozen biological features and analysing every minute detail of their ID cards. There was a further delay as their appointments were confirmed not only against the computer database but with the chief warden. When these were completed the door opened into a small compartment. Here scanners searched for concealed weapons, narcotics, or any one of a hundred miscellaneous items forbidden within the prison.
     When these scans were complete the wall opposite the entrance slid open. On the other side was a reception area, clean and tidy but stark with bare white walls and smooth floor. A screened desk occupied the back of the room, with doors to the left and right. A few chairs stood against the other walls. Heavily armed security guards stood in pairs at each door and at the desk. As the two entered this room they stumbled, caught by the sudden change to one G gravity. The guards motioned them to the desk.
     "State your names, organisations and business here," the man behind the desk told them.
     "Again?" asked Williams.
     "Yes."
     Williams shook his head slightly. "Angus Williams, organisation confidential to you but has been cleared, here to speak with Natalia Marchero. And you should have been informed that you are to to cause us no inconvenience whatsoever and to render every aid possible."
     The receptionist's face darkened. "I have been told. I will, once I'm happy with your credentials. Your name, organisation and business, please," he said, turning to Jalsa.
     "Ahcal Jalsa, and the same as my colleague. His point about your manners should not be ignored"
     The receptionist scowled at him, but made no further comment on the matter. "Please take a seat. You'll be called for in a few minutes." He disappeared through a doorway behind the desk.
     Jalsa sat down, but Williams started pacing back and forth across the room. The guards were watching him carefully.
     Eventually Jalsa said to him "Just sit, will you? You'll just get us into trouble, and one bad-mannered receptionist isn't worth that. Report him later."
     Williams stopped pacing and stood still, tense, for a few seconds before ungracefully dropping onto a chair. "Right," he muttered.
     Ten minutes later a woman entered from the door to the left of the desk to inform them that Marchero had been moved to an interview room, and that she was ready to talk to them. They followed the woman back through the door and into a bare corridor beyond. Apart from the door they had entered and a matching one at the far end it was completely featureless, bare white walls and the same smooth floor, the ceiling panels evenly lighting it. Quite claustrophobic, and very impersonal.
     The far end door opened on to a short platform, at which was waiting an internal tram. After they boarded the woman escorting them took out a card and placed it on a panel in the front of the tram. It immediately moved off. Moving into further into the prison it slowly passed through more identical corridors, eventually entering high in an open area. Thee other tram tracks emerged from the walls, crossing the space to disappear through holes on the far side. Steps led down from platforms at each track, and pairs of guards stood on each platform. The tram continued without stopping. Below were rows of tables, sat around them were dozens of men and women wearing identical grey prison overalls, eating.
     Once through the dining area there were more corridors. After passing an open area where several tracks converged, with more of the ever-present guards watching over the platforms their the tram entered a different corridor. Through small windows in its side the planet below could occasionally be glimpsed, and just visible was the wall of another section of the station.
     The tram had not travelled far in this section before coming to rest at a stop almost identical to the one where they had boarded it. "Easy to become lost in here," noted Jalsa.
     The woman nodded. "Helps to keep prisoners where they are supposed to be." She led them off the tram and into yet another corridor. This one contained more doors, was wider and featured a few notice boards on the walls. Still more guards stood outside one of the doors.
     Their escort pressed her card against against the door lock. It slid open. "Here you are." From a pocket she took two small devices bearing only a single white button, and passed one to each of them. "We've had the monitoring turned off as requested, but if you have any trouble pressing the button will turn it back on and call in the guards."
     The interview room was more comfortable than the rest of the prison they had seen, it was carpeted. Two padded chairs sat at one side of a table. On the other, on a bare metal seat, sat Natalia Marchero. She was in her late thirties, dressed in the same prison overalls they had seen in the dining area. Black shoulder-length hair surrounded a harsh face that stared at the wall, paying no attention to the two men who had just entered the room and sat down opposite her.
     "Hello," Jalsa tried.
     No response. No sign that she had heard them.
     Williams ventured "You'll have something to say soon."
     Once again, nothing.
     "Or you'll probably wind up dead," he added.
     This time there was a slight shrug and a twitch of the mouth that might have been a sarcastic smirk.
     "Not from us," Jalsa pointed out.
     "We've an odd situation here, you see," Williams mused. "Normally, cooperation might result in you being given greater privileges, transferal to a lower security facility, that type of thing."
     "In this case failure to help will result in that move," Jalsa told her.
     This seemed to be taken more seriously. Marchero spoke for the first time. "So you say."
     "Believe me, we have the authority to do that," said Jalsa. "Do you think we would be here if we didn't?"
     "Perhaps."
     "You going to talk, then?"
     "About what?"
     "Jersisallam."
     "I conspired with pirates to steal from him. You should already know that."
     "Come on, you know we don't care about that. We're more interested in why you are here, watched around the clock."
     "I suppose he holds grudges."
     "To the extent of trying to have you killed twice? It's not as if he even lost much that time."
     "Some people aren't very forgiving."
     "Or don't like people on the loose who know things someone doesn't want known," Williams pointed out. "You were on one of his ships. It sometimes made diversions to somewhere when travelling from Esdi. Where?"
     "Yeah, right," Marchero snorted. "You saying that because it was late? That ship was a badly-maintained flying bucket. The cargo loaders on Esdi are are clumsy and lazy, and often damaged things in the process. The damage claims against them are probably on file somewhere. Damaged ship equals late ship. OK?"
     "Not really. Low security still beckons," Williams said.
     "Oh, fine, I'm a witchhunt victim. Drowned to prove I'm innocent, just because your guesswork falls short of reality. Enough!" She stood up and threw her chair back.
     "Sit down!" Jalsa barked at her.
     "Why? I've lost all incentive to do a thing you say. You're going to get me killed anyway."
     Jalsa held up his hand as if signalling Marchero to wait. "You've only heard one side of our offer so far," he said in a carefully controlled voice, not very successfully concealing impatience and anger. "The other side is out of prison altogether. With a changed identity. In any part of the galaxy you care to name."
     Marchero did not sit back down, but went and stood leaning against the corner of the room. "You're still assuming that I know whatever it is you're after."
     "True. But I think it's quite safe to assume that the ship was late for a better reason than carelessness on behalf of some drunken Groigans or unreliable robots. Unless Jersisallam was the type to become really upset with late ships."
     She stood straight now, and although she didn't say anything her expression was clear.
     "Everyone who had worked on any of these suspiciously late craft is dead. Apart from you. Stretching coincidence just a little, isn't it?" Williams informed her.
     Marchero half staggered back to the table. She pulled the chair back up and sat down, her head bowed and almost resting on her hands. "Not coincidence, no," she almost whispered.
     "So why, then?" asked Jalsa.
     Marchero looked up. "For a reason that I won't tell to you."
     "What? Was our threat lost on you?" Williams exclaimed. "And your only chance to get away? Even if you stay here for now they'll get you as soon as you come out of prison."
     "They might. If I'm stuck in low security they might. But if I were to give you one tiny clue as to who, what or where then might becomes definite. I'm not keen on joining my friends in death."
     "Friends? Who you betrayed to a bunch of pirates for a little money?" Williams said scornfully.
     "Those weren't friends. I only knew the captain of the Anaconda, and he was a thorough bastard. There were enough escape pods for most of them to get away, anyway."
     "I'm sure that must have been a great relief to whatever conscience you have," Williams retorted. "But it's irrelevant now. And we've offered you a chance."
     "Not a good one," Marchero said wearily. "You would have to be pretty impressive to convince me that you could hide me well enough. Besides, and this is almost more than I dare say, it's no good if they come along and blow this place up, and me with it, while I'm waiting to leave with my new ID. And yes, I think they are capable of doing that."
     "Then you'll come with us," said Jalsa.
     Williams stared at him in astonishment. "That's crazy! She's already demonstrated that she's a greedy opportunist with no respect for life. That's why she's here!"
     "Those pirates?" Marchero intervened. "That was personal, not greed. Part of the bargain was that only the captain's pod would be shot down. Nobody else would have been killed. Except from bad luck." Marchero shook her head. "Coming with you would be little better than staying. Police, Navy, whoever you are, I can't trust you."
     "Nor me you," Williams declared. "Seems like the safest thing to do would be to stick you in a shuttle with no drive and announce your location."
     "Then we're stuck, Angus. Have you any better ideas?" Jalsa asked.
     "No," Williams admitted.
     "Then she comes."
     "If she can be persuaded to, and if she's of any use. We're not certain of that yet."
     "Are you?" Jalsa demanded of her.
     "I'm wanted dead for what I know. Is that enough for you? Is it enough for me to help you?"
     Williams leant over to Marchero. "Perhaps you don't trust us. But I think that our success is the only chance you'll have of living. Even if you think it's a slim one, can you afford to miss it?"
     She sat silently for a while. "No, I don't suppose I can. Very well, I'll come with you."

     Williams rapped on the door. It was opened by the security officer outside. As he moved to enter the room Williams held out his arm to stop him. "Leave her there for a while, please."
     Jalsa continued, "Call the warden for us, too. Ask him to meet us here."
     The prison warden arrived fifteen tedious minutes later. "We need a word in private, please," Jalsa asked him.
     "In here," the warden said, showing them to another nearby room. This space was set out in the same way as the interview room Marchero was currently sitting in. The warden flicked open a panel in the wall and spent a few seconds pressing buttons and pushing cards into various slots. "I've disabled the mikes, what did you want?"
     Jalsa told him. "We want to take Marchero with us." The warden looked surprised, but didn't say anything. "Do you have any problems with that?"
     "I'm not happy with the idea, of course. I acknowledge your authority from the Co-operative, but I'll need to have some idea why before I authorise this."
     "You'll have to accept that she's a necessary part of our investigation," said Jalsa.
     "What investigation?" the warden asked bluntly.
     "I'm afraid I can't say."
     The prison official was starting to look understandably suspicious. "Can I have this request confirmed in writing?"
     "Very well. Although it would be much more preferable if you were to avoid making any fuss about this. Marchero will be at risk when she leaves here. Don't make that risk any greater," said Williams.
     "I'll escort you back to the landing pad personally, then. There are routes where you won't be seen with your passenger, although it won't be very long before word gets around in here that she's gone."
     The warden produced a datapad to record the request, and Jalsa and Williams signed it with their IDs. When they were back in the corridor he spoke briefly one of the guards, who gave him his rifle and left with his companions. They re-entered the interview room to find Marchero sitting on the edge of the table staring into space in a manner similar to that when they had first seen her. Minute differences in her posture and face gave a somewhat different impression than her couldn't-care-less attitude of earlier, though.
     "On your feet," the warden ordered. He gestured with the rifle. They followed Marchero out of the room and back to the tram station. The route back to the reception area took longer than it had on the way here, but passed through no communal areas, during which Williams dropped several hints about his opinions on the receptionist's behaviour. The warden dismissed the now nervous-looking receptionist and personally cleared the three for exit. There was a further delay whilst the shuttle returned to the landing pad, but eventually they were back aboard ship.
     Williams escorted Marchero to a secure room aboard the ship, but Jalsa headed off towards the bridge. "Call in the escort craft," he instructed the pilot. "Have them stand a hundred kilometres outside scanner range. Send the order via upsilon code." The pilot spoke the order to the computer and keyed it to transmit encoded on top of one of the standard navigation frequencies. This took a while as the message was sent out heavily encrypted and in tiny chunks at seemingly random intervals.
     They had been an hour from the prison when a short range transmission was received from the lead vessel of the group of three Iguanas that had been escorting the group to and from Tiriusri. They took up their positions and then vanished from long range scanners as they shut down main power to follow the shuttle as it coasted to its destination. Four hours later, and about half way into the flight the long range sensors located the output of a ship or ships running at high power in order to decelerate and intercept the shuttle. The shuttle fired up its engines, blinding out the image of the incoming ships but alerting the escorting Iguanas that it was concerned about the approaching vessels.
     It was fifteen minutes later before the unknowns were detected by the standard short range scanner, and from then on they could be tracked even with active engines. High magnification visual monitoring revealed two ships, a Cobra MkI and an Ophidian. Not serious opposition to the three Iguanas, and probably third- rate bounty hunting opportunists. Such types were known to occasionally make attacks on vessels leaving prisons in the hope that they would be credited by parties who didn't accept that a period of incarceration had been sufficient punishment or who hoped for public recognition by taking out a particularly despised criminal. These indiscriminate killers were usually regarded in much the same way, and their life expectancy was never great.
     The two ships were approaching backwards, engines exhaust flaring as they attempted to match velocities with the shuttle. They remained almost side by side, the faster Ophidian clearly not daring to fly far ahead and be left on its own. The Ophidian now raced ahead of the shuttle, loosing off a couple of laser shots in the process that had little effect. It circled round in a wide arc, its computers busy talking to its engines and directional controllers as it attempted to simulate inertialess flight relative to the chosen velocity.
     The slower drive of the Cobra had failed to achieve quite as good a velocity match, and despite having turned to face the shuttle it had overshot and was still moving away as it attempted to bring the velocity difference down to a level where it was capable of inertialess manoeuvring.
     This mistake left the Ophidian on attack approach whilst its companion was still trying to set up its run. It sported weak lasers, and on its own couldn't hope to make a quick kill. The shuttle swung around clumsily as it tried to evade the attack, but it was a slow and ungainly vessel. Normally an unarmed ship, this Naval version had been lightly armed and loosed a couple of pulse laser blasts at the Ophidian as it shot past.
     By now the Cobra was fully under control, and attacking at a slower speed. Several laser blasts caught the shuttle, some of their energy leaking through the shields to lightly mark the hull. The Cobra accelerated again as the shuttle turned to face it, and jinked aside slightly to pass its target. At its closest the Cobra released a missile, but its attack angle was too shallow from this point and its speed too great for the missile to hit on that pass. Before it had time to turn again an ECM burst from the shuttle sent the missile into an erratic spiralling path before it exploded harmlessly against nothing.
     The Ophidian was standing off, waiting for the Cobra to rejoin it so they could attack simultaneously when suddenly all hell broke loose around the Cobra. Unobserved by the would-be bounty hunters, two of the Iguanas had appeared, at high speed. Ahead of them was one of their missiles, which smashed straight into its target. Military laser fire played briefly from each attacking Naval ship before they rolled slightly to avoid collision. Behind them they left a wreck, just recognisable as a Cobra MkI but clearly crippled. Whatever was still functioning sufficiently to contain the engine safely finally failed, and the Cobra disappeared in a blinding flash.
     The two Iguanas had been moving far too fast to remain in the fray but the destruction of its companion had clearly rattled the Ophidian pilot. It was heading back to the shuttle, but this time continually accelerating as it attempted to flee. It shot as it passed the shuttle, but missed completely. Before it had managed to escape fire blossomed around it, a missile hit from the third Iguana that had now joined in at combat speed. The Ophidian tumbled, loosing its acceleration, and before it could regain control the Iguana was there, more military laser fire tearing into the damaged ship. Another explosion and the Ophidian, too, was gone, leaving nothing behind larger than small metal flakes.

     The three other members of the team viewed the arrival of Marchero without much surprise when they met up again in a room back at Dodec Four on Orarra proper. Marchero was left with two soldiers outside whilst Jalsa summarised the result of the prison meeting before bringing her in.
     "So, start us off with some general details, please," Barbeth said.
     "I was on a ship that made several runs to a deep space base about a quarter of a light year from Esdi," she began.
     Kirrik interrupted her. "I hope you've got better precision than that."
     "Not very. We jumped about two hundred AUs from Esdi on course for our destination, then re-orientated and jumped again. The best I can give you is estimates of the re-orientation angles."
     Williams rolled his eyes.
     "Upon exiting hyperspace we followed a nav beacon to the base. I've better details for that, since my post was in-system navigation. The beacon sent out a pulse every ten minutes on a time-determined frequency. Range of about twenty-five AUs."
     "We should be able to find it, then," Kalangu announced. "A high gain network of interferometry probes will give us sufficient range to detect and locate the signal if we're in the right general area."
     "You'll have to be quite persuasive to HQ for that type of resource," Barbeth laughed.
     "I will be," Kalangu told her. "I'll tell them we're looking for Thargoids. Most of those pen-pushers panic every time you mention the word."
     "What of the base itself?" Kirrik asked Marchero.
     "It's on an interstellar ice-rock asteroid. I think they're on it to use the ice for water and hydrogen. I've never seen more than a few small fighters nearby, but it looks big enough to hold quite a few more ships. I can't tell you a thing about static defences. I also once saw a couple of half-built ships on the surface."
     "What type?" Barbeth queried.
     "Probably Geckos. It looks like they've the equipment to build larger stuff, though."
     "And what of the people who own this base?"
     "I've no idea. Someone Jersisallam worked for. I honestly can't tell you a thing about them beyond that. I haven't a clue what they want, who they are, or what they are doing." Marchero said.
     "Take her out," Kirrik ordered one of the soldiers. He waited until Marchero was out of the room and the door closed before speaking further. "Our next step after finding this base?"
     "The choices would seem to be to infiltrate it or destroy it," Jalsa said. "Attacking it without knowing more would be extremely foolish." There was a murmur of agreement. "On the other hand, how do you get anyone close enough to infiltrate the base?"
     "We borrow something off GalCop," Kalangu said.
     "What?" demanded Williams.
     "They're working on a 'stealth device'. I believe they've got a prototype."
     "Oh, come on," Williams retorted. "The cloaking device has been a fictional tool for a thousand years."
     "And hyperspace was for the first few hundred years of them. GalCop seem quite confident that they are on to something. It's not a 'cloaking device', as you put it, anyway. I believe it works by masking out tell-tale EM signatures and analysing active scanners on other vessels and jamming them. It's still visible to the eye, though. You could always paint your ship black if that bothers you."
     "And you can persuade GalCop to lend it to you?"
     "You already want me to get hold of the probes. Why don't you try them?"
     "I'll do it," volunteered Kirrik. "I've got connections in the police."

     Kalangu managed to acquire the probes without much difficulty. Kirrik spent several frustrating days trying to influence people to pull the right strings and dropping subtle hints about blackmail possibilities before he had any results. It was three weeks later before the thing arrived, during which time the probes searched for the base and the rest of the group discussed plans, slept, ate, and became increasingly annoyed with Marchero, whose insolent nature had apparently only been temporarily curbed.
     "That's it?" Barbeth said incredulously when they met in a secure area of the station's docking bay to view the device. It consisted of a small grey box, several bundles of wire and two things about two feet high, roughly cylindrical in shape and apparently made up of random electrical and electronic components stuck to a central coil.
     "Apparently so," Kirrik replied. "The box is an interface to the ship's computer, the other objects are fixed to the scanner and shield generator. It works by actively modifying shield output."
     "If this is only a prototype I suppose there must be some down side to it?"
     "Er, yes," he confessed. "It's the first thing they've actually built for the project. It only works with a Viper, and makes the shields very unreliable for actual defence. It hasn't yet been properly tested for use over long periods either. GalCop think they've solved these issues in theory, but it will be at least six months before they make a better one."
     The most obvious of these disadvantages was that the Viper was a non-hyperspatial vessel. With the stealth device fitted to a hyperspace capable craft it could jump in quite close, but to carry a Viper a much larger ship would be needed. This would be detected if it ventured too near to the base, but jumping in at a distance from the target was not entirely safe either. It would have to wait for the Viper to return to it, and remaining in the area for some time would put it at risk of being found. The position was uncertain to within five AUs anyway, so a vessel without military grade receivers might jump in too far from the base to pick up the beacon's signals. With some reluctance the Navy agreed to provide a light carrier to transport the Viper after being convinced that a civilian-design ship would be too vulnerable to detection and attack.
     Not long afterwards the probes returned, having found very weak navigational signals being transmitted from a point in interstellar space within the search area. In the hope that the mission would reveal something about the original loss of the Constrictor Kirrik was to pilot the Viper, accompanied by Marchero. The Viper rendezvoused with the carrier outside the station, and then they left for a place close to Esdi.

     The carrier emerged from Witchspace into darkness. Esdi's star stood in bright yellow splendour but provided hardly any illumination. The Viper was held on an external docking clamp, its surfaces just a slightly lighter area masking out the stars behind, and only visible as a silhouette without eyes that had been resting in the dark.
     Marchero and Kirrik were still on the bridge of the carrier, Marchero sat at the navigation station searching for the beacon. The receivers could scan a huge number of channels simultaneously and were incredibly sensitive, but there was no guarantee that they would be looking at the right frequency at the time of the pulse.
     After half an hour Marchero announced "I've found it. Signal strength suggests it's at about eighteen AUs from here."
     "Right, up you get then," Kirrik ordered her.
     "Impatient cat," Marchero chided him. "We leave now and we might never find it again. I need to detect the next two pulses before I can predict the frequency."
     "Well be a bit quicker about it," Kirrik growled. "Can't you make estimates of the next frequency?"
     "Yes."
     "Do it then, before I loose patience with you. And if you haven't anything useful to say in the mean time then keep quiet." Marchero chuckled to herself and turned back to the console.
     It was another half hour before two more pulses were detected. Marchero insisted on spending another twenty minutes in order to find the next two so as to be certain she was predicting them correctly. Finally she was satisfied.
     "Right, let's go," she told Kirrik. "And it might be an idea to change speed a bit. We're not close enough to see any movement in the signal position but the pulses are slightly Doppler shifted from their rest positions. Our radial velocity is several hundred kph backwards relative to the beacon."
     They left the bridge, leaving the crew to make the speed adjustments and headed to the airlock between the carrier and the Viper. As they were about to climb through Marchero announced "I'm flying."
     "No chance," Kirrik retorted.
     "Single-pilot craft. There isn't room for both of us in the seat, and that's where I'll need to be to navigate."
     "Fine. You want to stay awake for several days in one go? I can navigate just as well as you. Give me the frequency predictions and stay out my way as much as possible."
     Marchero groped around for some retort to this, but failing to find any grumbled "In you go, cat."
     "Stop calling me 'cat'. One more problem from you and I'll keep you sedated until needed." Marchero scowled back at him.
     The airlock opened through a disconcerting ninety-degree change of gravity, between the carrier and the Viper. Both of them squeezed in to the narrow entrance. Kirrik pressed a button and the iris airlock door closed above them. The space they now stood in was bare save for the airlock and doors leading to the bridge and the living quarters. Kirrik almost shoved Marchero through the latter, and locking the door behind him moved into the bridge.
     Through the bridge door there was a ladder descending to the pilot's chair. The bridge itself was tiny, and would more accurately be described as a cockpit. The bulk of the forward part was taken up with the main monitor. Around the sides were the controls and indicators for rest of the ship's systems, navigation, communications, life support and so on.
     Switching them on turned the bridge from claustrophobic dullness to brightness. The monitor flicked into life, just showing the hull of the carrier marked by flickering lights. Kirrik activated the comms to request launching clearance.
     "Docking clamps released. Move away at twenty kph until you are two hundred metres clear," a robotic voice instructed.
     With barely a shudder the Viper's engines came to life, slowly pushing it away from its mothership. Kirrik spun the Viper until it was facing away from the carrier and nudged it out. Switching the monitor to rear view the dark shape of the carrier's hull gradually receded. About forty seconds later the comm came to life again, this time with a human voice.
     "You're cleared to depart. Good luck!"
     The ship turned again, now pointing towards the source of the nav signals, and hopefully therefore the target base. The ship started to vibrate slightly as the engines came on full power. For Kirrik the acceleration was almost unnoticeable as the artificial gravity changed direction and strength to compensate. Satisfied that the ship was safely on course he activated the stealth device. There was no change to the on-board conditions, and although the instrumentation announced it was working correctly he asked the carrier for confirmation.
     "That's affirmative, no active scanner image. The passive sensors are just picking you up, though. Try throttling back on the engine." Kirrik did so, slowly reducing the power. "You're gone," the carrier announced when the Viper's drive was operating at approximately two-thirds of maximum. "Recommend that you accelerate at maximum power but brake at reduced levels."
     "Acknowledged. There will be no further communications until our return. Over and out."
     Kirrik turned the comms off and flicked the controls to automatic. He had to twist around uncomfortably in the confined space to grasp the ladder to climb out of the cockpit. Pulling himself up and out he went aft to check on the accommodation.
     The Viper was designed to carry ten passengers, but this meant more that the life support was capable of handling them rather than there was enough space. GalCop didn't really mind cramming their prisoners into close proximity. Narrow bunks allowed six of them to sleep at any time, the rest had a small patch of floor to sit on. There was a separate room for the pilot, but this was not much better. An uncomfortable, narrow bed and very basic washing facilities, but at least it was private. Designed as a short-range "hunter-killer" it was rarely necessary to spend more than two or three days in it.
     Kirrik was not surprised to see that Marchero was not in the communal section, and resigned himself to her complaints when he tried to kick her out of the private cabin. She had locked the door, but the ship's computers had been programmed to give him complete access and the lock was easily overridden.
     Marchero was sat on the bed rummaging through a bag she had brought on board. She looked up when Kirrik entered, clearly unsurprised to see him.
     "Right, now you're going to try to order me out of here, eh?" she said sarcastically.
     "Yes."
     "Well, I think I'll stay. I've had enough of being bossed around by you lot."
     "Hah," Kirrik snorted. "What did you expect with your attitude?"
     "You haven't exactly shown much gratitude for my assistance, have you?" She turned her back on him and went back to searching the bag.
     Kirrik started to gesture behind her back, but thought better of it. He walked round the bed until he was in front of her and hauled her to her feet. "The way you act I wouldn't be grateful for anything you did," he snarled into her face.
     "Let go," she shouted at him. She tried to push his arms away but he was much stronger than her.
     "When you've listened to me, and hopefully for once you'll pay attention." Marchero stopped struggling and stared at him with a look bordering on hatred.
     "This is going to be a long trip. It's eight days there and eight back. There isn't much room in this ship to avoid each other. It's almost certainly going to be a dangerous trip, too. If we make it there alive it's going to get worse. Being bloody-minded and confrontational will get us killed. Have the cabin, but in return remember that I'm in charge. If you haven't anything worth saying, shut up." He shoved her back down on the bed, and started to walk out of the room.
     At the door her turned back, and grabbed Marchero's bag.
     "Give it back!" she yelled at him. "What's in there is none of your business!"
     "That's what I want to be certain about."
     Marchero jumped up to snatch back her back, but Kirrik leapt through the door and had hit the close panel before she could reach him. He locked the door under his codes, and ignoring the hammering on the door and the yelling coming from behind it he emptied the bag's contents onto one of the bunks in the communal area.
     The contents consisted of a change of clothes, some washing gear and two information pads. Kirrik eyed them suspiciously but upon examining their contents saw that they contained nothing but a couple of novels, and a surprisingly good taste in literature considering his general opinion of Marchero. As a precaution he hooked the pads up to the Viper's computer to search them more thoroughly for hidden files, but they were clean. He flung everything back in the bag.
     Quickly opening the door, he threw the bag through. "Here," he called into the cabin, and closed the door before Marchero had time to react.

     For the next few days they did their best to avoid each other completely. Kirrik spent most of his waking time on the bridge, Marchero in the cabin. They had spoken only briefly, whilst Marchero told Kirrik the frequency prediction formula for the nav beacon. The tense atmosphere was still there, though, and now the engines had shut down and the ship was coasting the silence exaggerated it.
     It was, however, the boredom of the situation that eventually made them speak again. Unlike Marchero Kirrik had not had the foresight to bring with him anything with which to pass the time. Not surprisingly for a commandeered police vessel the Viper's computers contained very little in the way of entertainment. A little music he didn't like, a film he had already seen and some old police reports to read.
     Tensing himself for another confrontation he knocked on the door. There was quite a delay before it was opened. Marchero stood looking at him suspiciously.
     Kirrik didn't say anything for a few seconds, but eventually blurted out "Look, can I borrow a book?"
     Marchero's expression was one of incredulity for a moment, but then she laughed. "Yeah, OK. If you must." She bent and picked one of the information pads off the floor where they had been lying untidily. "You owe me a favour now," she told him, tossing the pad to Kirrik.
     "I doubt that. Thanks any-" he began, but suddenly an alarm erupted through the ship. "Stay here!" he shouted at her as he ducked through the doorway and almost jumped down into the bridge.
     The monitor was blank except for stars. The scanner showed nothing. But by his right hand another display was flashing a warning message.
     "What's up?" called Marchero from above his head.
     "The stealth device is playing up. I've no idea if we're visible to anything."
     "How far away are we?" she called back down to him.
     "About seven and a half AUs. Nearly time to start slowing down, but if we turn on the engines now I'm fairly sure we'll be detected."
     "What's wrong with it?"
     "Don't know yet, the diagnostics haven't come through."
     There was a nervous minute as the computer attempted to ascertain the damage. Eventually a message scrolled up below the warning.
     Stealth shield interface burnout. Scanner interface offline it informed. Kirrik told Marchero the news.
     "Any more details?" she asked.
     "No, the computer interface to it is down. If we're lucky that's all it will be." He hauled himself up out of the bridge.
     A panel in the back wall of the communal area opened into a crawlway heading into the ship's heart. Kirrik disappeared into it.
     He emerged with a very worried expression on his face.
     "Bad?" Marchero asked him.
     "The shield interface has completely had it."
     "So we're visible?"
     "At seven and half AUs? Not unless they've very long range active scanners. They'll see us when we turn the engines on, though." He lay down on the bunk he had been using, seeming thoroughly despondent.
     "You're giving up?" Marchero exclaimed.
     "No," he sat up and replied. "I'm trying to think." He lay back down whilst Marchero paced the room nervously.
     "Right," he announced all of a sudden. Marchero jumped. "The scanner interface looks fine. I think it was just confused by the demise of the shield one, but I can reset it. The interface isn't down, after all. It's just the wires that had burned through."
     "And your plan?"
     "Hook the scanner interface to the shields as well. We'll just have to hope it can take the strain. The software has backups in the main computer, so it shouldn't be a problem to re-program it. We'll have to loose active scanning, though. It won't be up to modulating that on top of everything else."
     "Any other bad news?" Marchero said. There was a hint of nervousness in her voice.
     "Yes. It probably won't work as efficiently. I'll start braking as soon as I've hooked up the interface, but even at a slower braking rate we may still be seen. We've no way of testing it now."
     "There is," Marchero declared. "I'll take the escape capsule out and check from that."
     "No you won't! Even the motors in that will be detectable without the stealth device. Someone is bound to investigate if they see it pop out of nowhere."
     "Sorry," Marchero muttered.
     "Go down to the bridge. Turn off all scanner functions and wait."
     This time Marchero did what he asked without arguing. Kirrik disappeared back into the equipment level.
     Marchero sat in the cockpit for an hour. The now blank displays might reveal anything were they active - just space, or a group of ships on an intercept course? Eventually Kirrik's voice was faintly heard. "Turn on passive sensors."
     Marchero turned them on quickly. The main monitor jumped back into life. The scanner ellipse illuminated, empty, although that was not a definite sign that you didn't have company when running on passive mode.
     "Start braking," came Kirrik's voice.
     "At what power?" Marchero shouted back.
     "Minimum to get us there, of course!"
     "Which is?"
     "Hang on." Kirrik extricated himself from the equipment level and headed back to the bridge. "Let me do it, then," he called down to her. She climbed out, and Kirrik dropped in. "Fifty-two percent will do from here," he said, after spending a few moments on the computer. The buzz of the engine started again as the Viper started to decelerate to meet the base.
     "Right, that's it," he declared. "If this isn't working they'll know we're here in about an hour."

     If the stealth device had failed any EM signatures would take about an hour to travel seven and a half astronomical units. Any alert broadcast by the target, perhaps to alert patrols, would take another hour propagate out as far as the Viper. How long it would take for any ships to reach them would depend upon the vessel, but would be at least a day. And without active scanners the first sign of company might be the screech of laser fire on the shields. Or death. The effect of the stealth device on the shields was a worrying unknown.
     A new tenseness gripped the small police vessel. Marchero's abrasive manner receded, but instead was replaced by a tendency to become angered by the slightest incident. Kirrik was supposedly trained to cope with pressure, and as a veteran of all sorts of campaigns he had come under it plenty of times before. Dealing with this kind of unknowing wait, though, began to try him too, and he often misread Marchero and heard insults where none were intended.
     Once they tried to put aside differences and discuss a plan, but because neither of them had much of an idea what they were going in to very little was achieved. Marchero produced a probably very inaccurate diagram of the base and they identified a couple of possible landing spots. It wasn't long, though, before they started arguing again. Kirrik was clearly frustrated with the lack of Marchero's knowledge, whereas she was becoming very annoyed with him continuously asking her about things she had already stated she did not know.
     They tried agreeing to avoid each other, but before long Marchero started bickering again. She eventually confessed that she found it less of a strain than sitting around waiting.
     Despite their worries the ship moved closer, unmolested.
     They did, in the event, reach the base safely. A confusion of lights marked its location. They were mostly clustered around one side of a vast, dark mass of the asteroid. Further points of light were ships patrolling the space around the base, or moving to and from nearby platform.
     Sat on the platform was a Python class deep space cruiser, made ugly by the four fuel scoops that had been fitted when it had only been designed for one. It was most likely doing service as a tanker, jumping to a lone, uninhabited system or an outer member of a multiple star group where it could collect Quirium Witchspace fuel without being spotted. Bright lights around the platform edge revealed a multitude of robots crawling in and out of the cargo bay.
     Kirrik was sat in the pilot's seat with Marchero clinging to the bridge ladder, watching the screen. "That's where we had to land," she pointed out, indicating the platform. "AutoShuttles took the cargo."
     "Anything changed since you last saw it?" Kirrik asked her.
     She indicated a structure on the edge of the main complex. "That looks new." As far as could be judged from their current location the new building was a processing station of some kind, perhaps for ice extraction and hydrogen production.
     "Hold on," Kirrik warned suddenly. "There's something coming this way." He nudged the Viper away from the flight path of the approaching ships. They made no move to intercept. Three Copperhead class fighters, barely recognisable in the gloom, swept quietly past.
     "I'm going to put us down on the edge of the base. There's a nice, dark spot where we won't be seen." The Viper started moving again, slowly edging towards the asteroid. Kirrik manoeuvred it away from the concentration of lights on the surface. When he a mere three hundred feet above the asteroid he swung the ship around to approach low from the barren side of the rock. When the first lights appeared over a hill he slowed down even further, now moving no faster than a running man, and dropping down lower until the ship was almost touching the ground. The ship jolted several times as it moved to avoid bumps that were invisible until they were almost crashed in to.
     Landing a ship like the Viper was a tricky business. Designed purely for use in space it usually docked with other ships or space stations, guided to rest by subtle manipulations of gravity generators or docking arms. Touching down in one piece on a high-G planet would be impossible. The comparatively tiny mass of an asteroid would hold it to the surface without it being damaged by its own weight.
     Kirrik managed to bring the ship almost to a stop, and let the feeble hold of the asteroid's gravity do the rest. The landing, when it came, was still uncomfortable. Without any legs to absorb the shock the whole ship was jarred. Marchero lost her grip on the ladder and collapsed on top of Kirrik. Clattering from behind indicated things falling over in the communal area.
     When Marchero had managed to clamber off the swearing Disian Kirrik ran a quick damage check through the ship, but everything appeared to be intact.
     There were two spacesuits secured in a locker in the cabin. Over a millennium of development and the space suit was still an encumbrance. The necessity of self-contained life support, to protect the entire body against the vacuum and intense heat and cold inevitably resulted in a piece of equipment that was a little awkward to use. Emergency systems, such as the RemLok survival mask, could protect against space with an almost invisible film. Similar devices using the same technology were sometimes used by crew making emergency repairs. None of these offered the same degree of protection, and operational time, as a full suit, though.
     Marchero was to leave the ship with Kirrik. Her technological expertise was unknown, and it was felt unwise to leave her alone on board where she might be able to over-ride Kirrik's lockouts. Taking her with him was perhaps an even greater risk. He watched with some concern as she struggled into the suit.
     "How much low-G experience have you had?"
     "A few hours in zero gravity," she replied.
     "Oh." This really should have been brought up earlier. "Zero gravity is nothing like low gravity. Jump too hard and you'll put yourself in orbit here. Not that that would bother me too much, but your body floating around might attract attention."
     She was about to retort when she noticed the grin on his face. "Thanks."
     With the suits on and system checks completed Kirrik hoisted a bag onto his back, and they moved into the Viper's entrance area. Clad in the spacesuits there was barely room for Kirrik to find the controls. With the bridge and communal doors shut tight the air was pumped out. The iris hatch lensed open, and they climbed out of the confines of the Viper.
     Confusing darkness was the initial impression. The ship's monitor had been lightening the scene as much as possible, and even then it appeared near to black. Having just emerged from the bright interior of the Viper their eyes could only make out the stars and the few base lights that were visible over the hill.
     Kirrik stood still on top of their ship, where its artificial gravity still made its presence felt. It was only a few minutes before he was satisfied that he could at least guess at the terrain. Marchero still could not see anything other than the lights.
     Kirrik took from the bag a short, stubby cylinder with a small box on its side.. Pressing a button on it caused it to telescope out until it was about four feet long. He then pulled the box away, revealing a fine filament one end of which was attached to the rod. The box clipped onto ship. The rod went into a power harpoon. Pointing it at the ground Kirrik fired, fixed a suit clip to the filament, and pulled himself off down the slide.
     Marchero followed reluctantly. Left to the asteroid's gravity progress would have painfully slow, if indeed it was sufficient to overcome the friction between the filament and the clip. She could not see the fine wire in front of her, and often flailed around trying to grasp it so as to pull herself along. There was no clear reference point with which to judge distance.
     It may have been because she was moving closer, or her eyes were starting to find some light to make use of, but she began to make out the shape of Kirrik standing at the bottom. With a point to make for she moved forward with greater confidence, and was soon standing beside him at the base.
     The rod Kirrik had fired was stuck firmly into the rock. Both of them undid the suit clips from the wire and re-attached them to the rod. Another button on the exposed end and the box still attached to the Viper came free and was brought back as it reeled in the filament. Kirrik took another cylinder from his bag, this one without a filament box on it. He clipped the box onto it, so the rod in the ground was joined to the new one he had just taken. The new one was fired it towards the hill. The first time the rod returned to him. He aimed a little lower, and fired again. This attempt was successful, and clipping his suit to the filament he moved off.
     Marchero followed slowly, often accidentally pushing herself away from the ground only to be brought up by the attachment to the wire. It was fifteen minutes before she had reached the end, and she slowly sat down on the ground to rest from her exertions. Once again Kirrik released and reeled in the filament, bringing the original rod with it.
     This process was repeated four times before the nearest building was reached. Marchero was exhausted, and Kirrik had to rest for a few moments.
     "See any way in?" he asked Marchero over the suit's very short range radio.
     "Wait a minute, will you?" she replied, leaning against the wall. She stayed there for five minutes while Kirrik examined the side of the building.
     "Over there," he gestured eventually, indicating a marginally darker patch on the wall. Close inspection revealed it to be a window. With no lights on the inside there was no hint as to what lay beyond it.
     The reason there was a window in a place with so little light and so little to look out on was a minor mystery itself. Marchero suggested that it might be an office, as some people found that being able to look out was a psychological boost, even under these conditions. Kirrik cautiously shone a torch through it. There was a room on the other side. Perhaps it had been an office once, but it was bare now.
     Another device from the bag was a probe. Tiny wires burned through the window, sampling the atmosphere on the other side without allowing it to escape.
     "Standard air mixture, nine-ninety millibars pressure, eighteen degrees Celsius temperature," he announced. "We'll go in here."
     The next piece of sophisticated gadgetry was a pouch containing a plasFibre tent. Kirrik sealed it to the window, and they both climbed inside. A small hole drilled through the window let air into the tent until it looked like an over-inflated balloon. Using a high-power laser cutter the window was soon removed, and they scrambled through it into the building. Kirrik fixed the window back in place, sealed the hole, and as a further precaution covered it with another plasFibre layer.
     They removed the suits in the welcome one G environment, folding them into packs that could easily be carried on their backs.
     "Time to find out what's beyond the door," Kirrik said.

     The door was unlocked, and opened onto a dimly lit empty grey corridor. Neither direction looked particularly distinguished, but from the outside the main complex had lain to the right. Kirrik shrugged and set off that way, Marchero tagging along behind him.
     They moved along many more corridors, heading in the direction they guessed was the heart of the base as they passed from one interconnected building to another. They had met no-one in the first three, the dim lighting suggesting that it was "night time" there.
     The fourth building was more brightly lit, and they began to move with greater caution. The corridors were often replaced with open areas, an empty canteen and a couple of recreation rooms.
     One of these rec rooms had a separate section behind a glass wall. Randomly scattered around it were comfortable chairs, and in one of them was slouched a human man, apparently asleep. A book lay on the floor beside him.
     Kirrik watched the man for some time, peering around a corner. He didn't move, and his eyes appeared closed. Eventually Kirrik left his cover and slowly walked into the room, motioning for Marchero to remain hidden. He crossed the room without the man in the chair moving. At the far side he signalled to Marchero to re-join him.
     When they were both safely out of side Kirrik peered back around the corner.
     "What are you waiting for?" Marchero hissed at him.
     "Making sure he's not waiting until we're out of site before raising an alarm," he whispered. "Keep an eye on the other direction."
     After five minutes Kirrik quietly said "Right, let's move. I can't afford to keep watch all night."
     "How much longer is all night?"
     "I haven't a clue. Tell me if you see a clock."
     The fifth building was equipped as a sports hall and gymnasium, and was empty.
     At the entrance to the sixth voices could be heard, and the frequent tramp of feet. "So much for night," Marchero murmured.
     "I think we're coming to the central areas," Kirrik pointed out to her. "They're probably running a shift system with different habitats on night at different times. Let's have a peek at them."
     Crouched behind the door he watched the movement outside. In ten minutes about thirty people passed by, mostly humans but there were five humanoid aliens of varying species. They were all dressed differently except for a dark green waistcoat with a curious emblem on it, a star flash with an arrow through the centre.
     From inside his clothing Kirrik withdrew an odd collection of rods and levers. He spent a few minutes screwing them together to produce an undersized looking crossbow. Marchero regarded it curiously.
     "Very handy little thing, this," he told her. "Almost silent, no power cells or explosives to be detected by the sensors and no energy discharge to alert them either. Unrecognisable to the untrained eye when it's in pieces, too."
     "That's official equipment, is it?" Marchero asked him.
     Kirrik laughed shortly. "Unofficially."
     He waited until the corridor was empty apart from one person, and casually shot them in the head with the crossbow. He jumped out into the corridor to pull the body out of site before anyone came looking.
     "Get the waistcoat," he told Marchero, while he turned back to await another victim.
     Marchero eyed the body with some distaste. A fairly young human woman, quite attractive. Or she would have been was it not for the flighted bolt sticking out of the side of her head, holding in all but a thin trickle of blood. She reluctantly removed the waistcoat from the limp torso.
     "Drag the body somewhere out of site," Kirrik instructed her without turning. Before Marchero could protest he hissed "Stop, quiet."
     The person now approaching down the corridor on their own was another woman, older and with a hint of grey in her hair. Kirrik raised the crossbow and fired.
     The bolt was not quite on course, and scraped the side of the woman's skull before clattering off the far wall. The woman yelled in pain and alarm. Kirrik swore and leapt out of hiding at her. The would-be victim recovered incredibly quickly from her surprise, and caught Kirrik's arm as he rushed at her. She twisted round and sent the Disian careering into the wall. Kirrik rolled himself along the wall out of her way as she attempted to kick him.
     As the woman moved to attack again she collapsed suddenly as Marchero came at her from behind and landed a blow at the base of her head. Kirrik started to drag the inert body away when the sound of voices came from down the corridor and around the corner at the far end.
     "Damn," he muttered as he wrenched the waistcoat off. He noted Marchero was already wearing hers, and he shoved her down the corridor away from the voices. A few seconds later he ran after her and jumped around another corner before the approaching people noticed him or the unconscious woman.
     Shouts from behind and the sound of running feet announced that the body had been found. Kirrik removed the spacesuit backpack and stowed it in his bag, and started to put on waistcoat as they moved. They darted round another corner into a much more busy corridor. The green garment fitted Kirrik tightly, but nobody seemed to pay any attention to him.
     Three men came running from behind them. Kirrik and Marchero walked on, ignoring them. Their pursuers were heard swearing as they were unable to determine who was responsible in the stream of people passing this way and that.
     "Now what?" Marchero asked quietly. "Presuming you don't intend to murder everyone here."
     "Look for a computer terminal," he replied. "And stop looking so tense, for goodness' sake. The alarm will have gone up by now. Draw any attention to us and we're dead."
     Such a terminal was nowhere to be seen in the passageways. They wandered around randomly for some minutes until Marchero stopped by a door that looked no different to a dozen others they had passed.
     "What are you doing?" Kirrik demanded.
     "Back down the other end of the corridor I saw someone walk out of here. Didn't see anyone inside, and there's a better chance of finding a terminal in here." Kirrik grunted in response.
     There didn't seem to be any security locking on the door, and it was opened without any problems. The room was indeed empty of people. Electronic constructions of unknown purpose lined the walls and covered two heavy benches in the centre of the room. Also on the benches, enshrouded by strange devices, were three fragments of twisted metal.
     Kirrik tossed a datapad to Marchero. "Find the terminal and plug this into it," he told her, and then turned to the benches.
     Marchero searched through the paraphernalia surrounding the walls until she found what she hoped was a standard SysInf socket. The pad accepted it without complaint. It did nothing for a few seconds, then beeped quietly. "Download complete," flashed on it.
     "Download?" she asked Kirrik.
     Kirrik was hunched over a bench, poking at various switches and studying displays with intense concentration. He either ignored her or hadn't heard her.
     "Download what?" she repeated.
     Kirrik looked up angrily. "I'm busy. Watch the door."
     Marchero scowled at him. "Catch," she called, throwing the pad back at Kirrik. It clattered to the floor.
     Kirrik turned around again. "Just pay attention, all right? And stop messing around."
     Marchero folded her arms and looked straight at Kirrik. "Or what? You'll shoot me, because it's convenient? Cold-blooded murder doesn't seem to bother you, after all."
     "I do what's necessary. If I was to do whatever was convenient you would have been dead a long time ago."
     "Oh, yeah, sure. The end justifies the means and all that," she retorted sarcastically.
     "This, coming from someone who tried to get a convoy shot to pieces to get at one person?" he replied with some surprise.
     "I've explained that several times, and the fact that everyone else would have got away."
     "How very convenient. And how is killing someone in a petty personal vendetta any better than doing it in a greater cause?"
     "That's worrying. I always worry when people start babbling on about 'Greater causes'. They can start justifying any atrocity in the name of the greater good. And if they can officially get away with it then they've got too much power."
     "What a fascinating speech. I suppose if we're attacked then it's fine to kill someone in defence? Possibly several people, even. Or just one or two to prevent that."
     "Hah. What a transparent excuse."
     "So you hold everyone in the universe with a combat rating greater than 'Harmless' in contempt? I can't see you as being quite that naïve. I believe you are 'Competent' yourself." He turned back to examining the bench. "Save your moral arguments for later," he said, not bothering to look at her. "For when we have the time."
     Marchero tried to bite back, but was ignored. Eventually frustrated by the lack of response she finally watched the door.
     It wasn't long before Kirrik stood up. "Found it!" he said, quietly but enthusiastically.
     "Found what?" Marchero snapped.
     "That these are pieces of the Constrictor!"
     "The what?"
     "None of your business."
     Marchero was starting to turn red, her temper clearly about to go again.
     "OK, it was a secret ship that was stolen, and then destroyed. Satisfied?" He picked up the pad from where it had been lying on the floor, and connected it to the computer interface again.
     The answer hadn't told her much, but seemed to have averted another argument. "And the computer?"
     "You downloaded some dataprobes. If Kalangu has done his job properly they should be able to sneak their way into secure data and arrange for it to be collected on this." He waved the pad. "They've also been set to pull out any other useful information. Like a map."
     Marchero raised an eyebrow curiously. Kirrik thumbed the pad's controls.
     "The map's there," he said. He scanned through a little more of the stolen data. "Uh-oh," he muttered.
     "What's up?" Marchero asked quickly.
     "These bits of rubbish here," he said, gesturing towards the metal on the bench, "are just hull plating. They were made with a new technique, but it wouldn't be worth all this effort for them. Apparently a ship is being built, though, right here. And so are some very unusual shield generators for it."
     "Which suggests that was part of your 'Constrictor'," Marchero guessed.
     "Yes," Kirrik replied, looking at her darkly. "According to this they had enough pieces of the shield generator to work out something. The specs aren't as good as the originals, but it's still bad, bad news."
     "So let's get that ship, then!" Marchero announced.
     "I suppose so," Kirrik said dubiously. "It's probably in the most secure area here."
     "Does it say why they want some high-tech shields so badly?"
     "No," Kirrik admitted.
     "Then the answer might be on that ship."
     Kirrik agreed with this. "Wait a minute, though. I need to skim through the rest of this."
     He had only been studying the pad for a few seconds before the door opened.
     The man who had been about to enter the room stopped in surprise.
     "Who the hell are you?" he demanded.
     "Construction wants a check on the hull material," Kirrik bluffed.
     "Right." The tone was sarcastic. "So they send someone who hasn't a clue about procedure." Too quickly for Kirrik or Marchero could react he pressed a button beside the door. Kirrik rushed forward to attack the man. He quickly managed to shove him out of the way, and both Kirrik and Marchero darted out into the corridor before he could stop them.
     Before they could make an escape, though, both ends of the corridor filled with soldiers, armoured plating covering their bodies and laser rifles held ready.

     Marchero reacted without thinking, and darted back to the door they had just emerged from. Kirrik followed her as the soldiers opened fire. Firing from each end of the corridor the soldiers often hit each other, but the weapons were on low power and their armour protected them. Without protection Kirrik and Marchero were vulnerable, and as Marchero dove through the door she heard a yell and a thump from behind her.
     Inside the room the dazed technician had struggled to his feet and was trying to find a commlink. The startled man was caught by surprise by Marchero's rapid return and she knocked him down again before he had time to react.
     Out in the corridor Kirrik was trying to crawl towards the door, one hand held to his hip and blood oozing from between his fingers. The soldiers were fast approaching, and it was clear that he would not make it in time. With his free hand he managed to shove his equipment bag along the floor, then collapsed.
     As soon as the bag skidded through the entrance Marchero shut the door. Quickly hunting around it she found the lock, and having activated it she stood back and kicked its controls as hard as she could. It caved in beneath her foot. The mechanical part of the lock remained in place, holding the door shut.
     A quick look around revealed no means of escape. There were no other doors from the room. A ventilation grille high up in one corner was only about a foot square. She ran around the room, flinging equipment aside and looking under the benches, but to no avail. There was noise behind the door, they were trying to break through.
     The locked door did not last long under that pressure. It soon burst inwards, and the soldiers came pouring in through it. Now trapped Marchero was forced to surrender. She was grabbed roughly by two soldiers and clubbed unconscious by a third.

     She awoke, but could see nothing. She tried to stand but the effort nearly made her vomit. As she lay gasping on the cold, metal floor the only noises were her own breathing and a distant hum of ventilation pumps.
     She lay shivering for some time. The darkness grew no lighter, and there was nothing new to hear. She tried to stand again, and this time managed to make it to her feet. She tried to take a step forwards, but the after effects of the blow to her head and the complete lack of any visual reference brought her crashing down again.
     She tried edging her away along the floor. She soon touched a wall, as cold and bare as the floor. With something to lean against she attempted to stand for a third time. With a shoulder against the wall she slowly moved along it.
     The wall did not end. There were no markings, no hint of a door. She leaned face on against the blank metal, and spread her arms out. Her arms pushed her shoulders back slightly more than they should. The wall curved. It was impossible to tell how much, though, and if the room was elliptical and not circular it wouldn't mean much.
     Marchero slid to the floor again. If the idea of stepping away from security of a vertical edge to cross the room had occurred to her she had dismissed it. She sat staring into the darkness, and eventually fell asleep.
     When she awoke nothing had changed. Once again she sat and watched nothing. Time dragged by, without any means of determining its passage.
     She started to fidget, aimlessly tugging her clothes or feeling the lump on her head where she had been hit. Soon she was kicking at the floor and wall. This pointless exercise eventually caught her attention, and she managed to hold herself still.
     Still nothing happened. As time passed she dozed, went back to fidgeting, or even incoherent yelling. But there was not change in the circumstances.
     This remained true long enough for her to sleep several times, and for the confinement to start to effect her body as well as her mind. Her occasional mutterings became more and more harsh as her throat dried out. The cell began to stink, although she wasn't really coherent enough to notice.
     When there was a faint clank above her she yelped in alarm. Nothing happened for a few moments. Then their was a mechanical groan from somewhere above her head. A thin crescent of blinding light appeared, gradually growing larger and brighter as the ceiling moved back.
     The cell was finally revealed as being circular, and about twenty feet in diameter. Apart from Marchero and its now soiled floor it was indeed completely featureless. Its height had been impossible to determine in the darkness, but was now shown to be at least half again as high as her.
     Marchero was huddled against the wall, shielding her eyes with her hands and moaning quietly. A ladder was lowered into the pit. She ignored it.
     "Up you go," a voice called down from somewhere above her. She didn't move. "Come on," the voice ordered impatiently. After waiting for a few seconds without a response the voice sighed. It was heard talking to someone else nearby. Two figures climbed down the ladder, and dragged Marchero over to it. After much pushing and shoving she slowly climbed out.
     The room above the pit was nearly as blank as the cell had been. A small balcony surrounded the near edge, a railing marking it off from the downward opening. Two buttons were mounted on the railing, there were hooks on the wall to hold the ladder, and a door out.
     When Marchero had managed to drag herself clear of the pit the two figures followed her up the ladder. Once on the balcony they hauled it up after them, and secured it to the hooks. One pressed one of the buttons, and what was now the floor ground shut.
     The two figures who had brought Marchero out of the pit were nearly as untidy as she now looked. Both were men, unshaven, and wearing tattered clothes. Neither of them bore the green waistcoat that the base crew had been wearing. They said nothing to Marchero, she said nothing to them.
     One of them left the room, the other prodded Marchero to follow. She stumbled out after him.
     They moved for some time through an apparently deserted part of the base until eventually they moved into a room. The floor was covered in cargo canisters, and more hung from the ceiling. With a great deal of effort the men managed to drag one of the canisters away from the wall. With a nominal loaded weight of one tonne, it must have been empty for them to be able to move it at all.
     Behind the canister was a narrow wall panel. One of the men tapped on it, and it was pulled open from the inside. Marchero was pushed through. When they were all in one of them picked up a clamp attached to a rope, fixed it on to the canister, and they dragged back. After releasing the clamp the panel was fixed back into place.
     Behind the panel was a steeply sloping rock tunnel. Gravplates lined the floor, but the walls and ceiling were rough. A row of lights hung from a wire that was suspended from the wall by a series of bolts. The man who had opened the panel for them looked pointedly at Marchero, and asked "Just her?"
     "Apparently not," one of the others replied.
     Once they had moved away from the entrance the passageway appeared level, the gravplates imposing their sense of direction over the feeble one provided by the asteroid. It carried on for about a hundred yards, ending at an imposing metal door. This opened into a vast cavern. It appeared to slope upwards, merely by contrast to the apparent level surface of the passage to it. Rough buildings were scattered at random around the cavern, and much of the rest of it was filled with piled junk. The whole was dimly lit by a few lights around the walls, but brighter light shone out from some windows.
     Marchero was escorted to one of the smaller buildings. The door was locked behind her, but this prison was much more comfortable than the one she had just left. The room she was in was carpeted with various scraps of material, and several soft but battered chairs were scattered around it. At one end an area had been curtained off. On a crude trestle table stood a pitcher, a couple of mugs, and a loaded plate and bowl.
     The pitcher was full of water, and she drained half of it quickly. The food was simple, bread, some dried fruit, and the bowl was full of some unpalatable processed mush. She didn't seem to notice the taste, and crammed it in.
     Feeling light-headed from the effects of overdoing the food and drink she made her erratic way to the curtained area. It contained five bunks and a proper door. Sitting on one of the bunks was a pile of clothes. Through the door was a cramped bathroom, just managing to contain a shower, basin and toilet.
     She showered, despite the apparent lack of soap, and left the shower running with her clothes sitting in it. There was no dryer, which she compensated for by pulling a rug off one of the bunks and using it as a towel. The clothes on the bed were tatty and baggy, but they were clean and dry. Lying down on the conveniently placed bunk she quickly fell asleep.
     Voices from the main room woke her up. Struggling to her feet Marchero parted the curtain to see what was causing the noise.
     The two men who had brought her in earlier had returned, dragging a limp form between them. Marchero started in surprise when she recognised Kirrik. Whatever she had gone through must have been nothing compared to his suffering. Crude bandages covered much of his torso, limbs, and head, speaking of injuries other than the one he had sustained when they had been captured. His head was hanging down too far for it to be seen whether or not he was conscious or not. Only shallow breathing indicated that he was alive.
     The two men carefully lowered him onto one of the chairs, then left the room. Marchero sat down and watched him.
     Kirrik gradually raised his face to look at her. One eye was swollen completely shut and the other could barely open. He whispered something, but too faintly for Marchero to hear. She moved over to him.
     "Who's this lot?" she managed to hear, as he whispered again.
     "I don't know. They've barely said a word since bringing me hear."
     Kirrik sighed and leaned back against the chair. "What's happened to you," Marchero asked him, but he did not reply.
     It was not long before the door opened again. Only one man entered this time, a different person to the two who had brought them in to the room. He was carrying a case from which he produced various medications and clean bandages.
     Marchero said nothing whilst Kirrik was attended to. When he was done, though, she spoke to him. "You're just going to put on a few bandages?" she demanded.
     The man scowled at her. "We're very short on medical supplies. I've used some regeneration accelerant on the worst wounds and cleaned the rest. That's the best I can do."
     "And why?" she queried him.
     "You'll find out shortly," he replied, and departed before she could question him further.
     For three hours nothing happened. Kirrik slept, and Marchero nibbled some more food, and with the lack of any other way of passing the time dozed herself.
     When the tedium was broken it was by the arrival of a group of three people. Standing at their head was a man who looked at least sixty, with grey hair and a scarred face. He was dressed in richer and less ragged garments than the other people Marchero had seen in the cavern, and sported some pieces of jewellery in the form of gold cuffs. The two people accompanying him, a man and a woman, were younger and as untidy as the rest of the people here had been. In their hands they held pistols, currently pointed at the ground.
     The older man sat himself down in one corner of the room. One of his guards gently shook Kirrik awake.
     Kirrik slowly looked around the room, as if seeing it for the first time. When he noticed the grey haired man he managed a half laugh.
     "Long time no see, Kirrik," the man said. "Looking about as good as the last time I saw you, though," he added wryly. Marchero stared at them in confusion.
     The man noticed her puzzled look. "You haven't a clue what's going on, have you?" he asked.
     Marchero shook her head.
     "So what are you doing with this pirate, then?" He nodded his head in Kirrik's direction.
     "Pirate?" she replied in amazement.
     "Yep. Him and me. Had a ship called the Sai Pas." Kirrik was growling at him, but he ignored it. "Spent our time hanging around anarchic systems blasting other pirates and traders foolish enough to venture there."
     "He was one of the Sai Pas?" she replied incredulously.
     "Ah, you've heard of us. The price of fame. Or infamy." Infamy indeed. Being on a pirate vessel that had destroyed a Galactic Co-Operative vessel on its way to Rabedira with real hope of ending its civil wars. Which meant that at one time Kirrik was on of the most wanted men in the Co-Operative.
     "So what's he doing here, then?" she demanded.
     "Why don't you ask me?" Kirrik told her. He spoke loud enough to be easily heard, although his voice still sounded strained.
     "Would you tell me?"
     Kirrik shrugged slightly. "Might as well. If I won't Aeyris will."
     The man, Aeyris, grinned at him. "Go right ahead."
     Kirrik tried to cough, then spoke. "To put it quickly, I was on his ship. We misread the signs and tried to attack a Naval patrol, and were shot to pieces. Aeyris shoved me in one escape pod, and I haven't seen him since. I was picked up by the Navy. You can guess the rest."
     It was now the turn of Aeyris to be startled. "You work for the Navy? Heaven help the security of the galaxy. Still, I suppose it explains why you're here."
     "Perhaps," Kirrik replied. "And you?"
     "I stayed on the ship when it was attacked. They thought it wrecked and left it. I managed to survive long enough to be picked up by another of my ships. Then I continued with piracy. I found this asteroid and started up a nice, hidden base here. Things were going quite well until those bastards showed up and killed most of us." He leaned back in his chair. "And now the survivors are marooned here, until they find this place too."
     "And you picked us up for old times' sake?" Kirrik returned.
     Aeyris shook his head. "I didn't know who you were until I walked in here. It's about time I had a pleasant surprise, though."
     "Why rescue us then?" Kirrik pressed.
     "Because your presence suggests someone official has decided to do something about that lot. We've tapped into their security system, and saw your capture. It's a pity I didn't recognise you there, or I might have tried finding you earlier."
     "Thanks," Kirrik muttered.
     Aeyris sighed. "It would have been too dangerous to try. I would have had to wait until you had been left alone anyway."
     Marchero responded angrily to this. "What about me, though? If you were going to rescue both of us why leave me to go crazy in that pit first?"
     "If I had you plucked from the oubliette before I could rescue Kirrik the commotion it would have caused would have probably made rescuing him impossible."
     "They might have come and killed me anyway!" she retorted.
     Their new captor shook his head. "That particular hole lives up to its name. When they shove people in there they leave them to rot. Just the occasional bit of food and water to prolong it."
     Marchero grimaced at the fate she had nearly been left to. "Then they wouldn't have known I was gone."
     "They would. They quietly check every now and then to see if you are dead yet." Aeyris sat up straight. "That's enough reminiscing, though," he announced. "Now it's time for you to convince me that saving you is going to save me."

     Kirrik groaned. "Look at me. I'm hardly in a fit enough state to do anything for myself, let alone you."
     "Too bad," Aeyris replied. "You'll have to pull through, and soon. It won't be long before your absence is discovered, and then its going to be very difficult to do anything."
     "I can barely walk