The flare descended out of sight, plunging the hold into grayness again. I invoked Witness , adapting my eyes to the ambient light again instantly.

Kuwale said, “Andrew! Listen!”

There was a deep rhythmic pulsing sound coming through the hull, growing steadily louder. I’d finally learned to recognize an MHD engine – and this one wasn’t ours.

I waited, sick with uncertainty. My hands were beginning to shake as badly as Kuwale’s. After a few minutes, there was shouting in the distance. I couldn’t make out the words – but there were new voices, with Polynesian accents.

Three said quietly, “You keep your mouth shut, or they’ll all have to die. Or is Violet Mosala worth a dozen farmers to you?”

I stared at him, light-headed. Would the rest of the ACs think like that? How many real deaths would they have to confront, before they admitted that they might be mistaken? Or had they surrendered completely to a moral calculus where even the smallest chance of the unraveling outweighed any crime, any atrocity?

The voices grew nearer, then the engine stopped; it sounded as if the fishing boat had pulled up right beside us. But I could already hear another one in the distance.

I caught snatches of a conversation: “But I leased you this boat, so it’s my responsibility. The emergency system should not have malfunctioned.” It was a deep voice, a woman’s, puzzled, reasonable, persistent. I glanced at Kuwale; vis eyes were shut, vis teeth clenched tight. The sight of ver in pain cut me up badly; I didn’t trust what I was beginning to feel for ver, but that wasn’t the point. Ve needed treatment, we had to get away.

But if I called out … how many people would I endanger?

I heard a third ship approaching. Mayday … false-alarm code … mayday … flares. The whole local fleet seemed to think that was strange enough to be worth looking into. Even if all these people were unarmed, the ACs were now completely outnumbered.

I raised my head and bellowed, “In here!”

Three tensed, as if preparing to move. I fired the gun into the floor near his head, and he froze. A wave of vertigo swept over me – and I waited for a barrage of automatic fire. I was insane – what had I done?

There were heavy footfalls on the deck, more shouting.

Twenty – and a tall Polynesian woman in blue coveralls – approached the edge of the hold.

The farmer glanced down at us, frowning. She said, “If they’ve threatened violence, gather your evidence and take it to an adjudicator back on the island. But whatever’s gone on here – don’t you think both sides would be better off separated?”

Twenty faked outrage. “They hide on board, they intimidate us with firearms, they take a man hostage! And you expect us to hand them over to you, so you can let them go free!”