Yaz was losing the fight against her own impatience. Each station they landed upon, she prayed it was the last link in the chain. But no, each time, there was another one waiting ahead of them through the gulfs of space.

It wouldn’t be so bad but she knew there was nothing she could do. The Doctor and Squidget had their coordinate-cracking double act down pat. All Yaz could do was watch and distract with no-use questions: Can’t you wipe the next set of coordinates from the station’s data drive so Aquillon can’t follow us? (‘Nope, data’s deadlocked.’) Can’t we steer this station somewhere else so Aquillon can’t find it? (‘Nope, controls are deadlocked.’) Can’t we check for a pattern in these first few stations and work out the last one in the sequence from that? (‘Nope, because there is no pattern … and if there was, it’d be deadlocked.’) In turn she was distracting the Doctor who tried to make her feel better by setting her little tasks. She’d already called in her tag as a false alarm to the Peace Corps on Hondopel, and listened in on comms to and from the Astingir Herdworld for possible updates.

‘Seven we’ve done now!’ she cried, slumped against a wall in the TARDIS console room. ‘Seven Wraith stations!’

‘Yeah, I’d noticed,’ Graham said, rubbing his eyes with tiredness.

‘How many more can there be?’

‘Don’t matter, does it?’ He crossed to Yaz, crouched beside her and squeezed her hand. ‘We’ll keep on going till we get to the end.’

They both jumped as a gabble of voices squawked from the TARDIS speakers, unintelligible.

‘Something rattling them horsies’ chains?’ Graham wondered.

Yaz got up, grateful for something to do, and studied a readout. ‘Translating now,’ she reported, and Graham rose stiffly to join her.

The gabbling voice had been recorded, only now it spoke in strangely accented English. ‘The activities of Legate Aquillon can no longer be tolerated. Hondopel outrage is … final straw. Squadron Triumphalis, under Section 9, Article 15 of Peacetime Enforcement Legislation, will proceed on seek and contain mission …’

‘Aquillon’s in trouble with the boss,’ said Graham with satisfaction.

‘About time something went our way!’ Yaz agreed.

‘I reckon this is just the start,’ Graham said. ‘The tide’s changing. Here’s where we come out on top!’

The Doctor burst in with Squidget, who was drooping in her arms. ‘The next station in the chain.’ She looked ashen-faced. ‘It’s been destroyed.’

‘What?’ Yaz and Graham chorused.

The Doctor plonked Squidget on the console and got busy at the controls, calling up the sky scanner, zooming in on a cluster of star systems. ‘Yes … would’ve been just about there. Now it’s burned up in the atmosphere of Obsidian Four …’

Graham groaned. ‘How come?’

‘The Astingir?’ Yaz hazarded.