She looked at him with the kind of cold, terrified fury that told him she suddenly believed the truth of it.

‘There’s hundreds up there, Udmil,’ he said. ‘Hundreds. And he’s got the slate for hundreds more.’

From outside, he heard the first sounds of movement. They were muffled, but then everything was getting muffled. He couldn’t tell who it was – Draj, hopefully. The Jazc guards from the other groundcar, possibly. Udmil heard the noises too, and hastily grabbed the dataslug, slipping it into her dress.

‘So that’s why you risked all this,’ she said.

‘It has to stop,’ he said, looking her right in the eye. He could barely keep his pistol raised. ‘I can’t touch Lascile. No one can. No one, that is, but you.’

The noises from outside grew louder. There were more than one set of footfalls – the crunch of boots on gravel, moving faster now.

Udmil withdrew her hand, and Zidarov saw that it now gripped a gun. It was just a small thing, a tiny little stinger that fitted nicely into an inside pocket. Knowing her, it would pack a hefty punch.

‘So what do we do now?’ Zidarov asked. ‘My gun’s bigger than yours.’

The bootfalls came up to the door outside. Soon there would be hands at the door.

‘But you’ve just got a flak jacket,’ she said. ‘And I’ve got a personal electro-shield.’

Zidarov smiled weakly. ‘Then I guess that puts you ahead.’

‘I guess it does.’

Then she fired, twice, and that was the last thing he knew about.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

When he woke up again, it was into agony. He lay on his back, hardly breathing, hardly moving, only able to blink a little, and even that was painful.

After a little while, he made some sense of his surroundings. With a pang of recognition, he saw that he was in the Bastion’s medicae-bay. It still smelled just as awful, it still looked as tired. The tiles on the wall were cracked, the machines by his cot looked ready to expire ahead of any patient.

He tried to move, felt the tubes snag under his ribs, and stopped again. His head fell back on the hard pillow, and he had trouble remembering what had got him there.

But then, just as always, he saw the faces in the warehouse, lying just like he was, and it all came flooding back.

After more time had elapsed, Vipa finally came in. The medi­cae looked at him with interest.

‘Awake! Very good. I’ve been expecting it for a while.’

Vipa got him a cup of water, which he drank greedily. Only after the second one did his lips feel supple enough for talking.

‘How long?’ he asked.

‘Almost a week,’ Vipa replied. ‘I kept you under for a few days until we’d fixed what we could.’

‘She shot me.’