“Reclamation Vessel Trouble Dog,” he barked. “This is Admiral Jacob Menderes of the Conglomeration flagship Righteous Fury. You are hereby ordered to cease manoeuvring and disengage all offensive and defensive weapon systems.”

His right eye drooped but his left remained wide and glaring. As he was being projected onto the main screen in high definition and several times larger than life, I could see every capillary in his eyeball, every crater-like pore on the tip of his flattened nose.

My heart was still hammering from the confrontation with the Adalwolf. I cleared my throat and took a deep breath.

“This is Captain Sally Konstanz of the Reclamation Vessel Trouble Dog.” I swallowed hard and moistened my lips. “We have no intention of engaging you in combat, except in self-defence. We are here on a purely humanitarian mission, and ask that you allow us to continue about our business.”

On the screen, Menderes looked unimpressed. He glanced to the side, consulting something I couldn’t see, and said, “Konstanz. You were an Outwarder during the war?”

“I captained a medical frigate.”

“And now you’re commanding a former Conglomeration cruiser?”

“Funny how life works out.”

His face registered annoyance at my flippancy. “Are we going to have a problem?”

I felt the heat rising to my own cheeks. I squeezed my fists. “Only if you try to prevent me finding my people on the surface.”

“You’ll power down and do what you’re told.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I won’t.”

He glowered, but I spoke again before he could interrupt. “We are representatives of the House of Reclamation,” I said, reciting the words I had been taught to use in situations such as these. “And if you impede us during the execution of our lawful business, you will find yourself in violation of the Treaty of Generality, appendix fourteen, articles seven though eleven.”

The admiral’s face darkened by several degrees, until I began to wonder if his head would explode. “Never mind all that legal bullshit,” he snapped. “I have four torpedoes locked onto your ship, and only two questions.”

He leaned in until his face filled the screen, and I fancied I could almost smell his breath.

“Where,” he asked, his hoarse voice enunciating each word individually so there could be no question of misunderstanding, “is Ona Sudak?”

His frown deepened.

“And where is my son?”

Sixty: Ashton Childe

SIXTY

ASHTON CHILDE

There wasn’t enough room in the elevator for Clay to lie flat, but Preston and I removed our jackets and wadded them into pillows to make her as comfortable as we could. Every time Preston’s eye caught the tube protruding from her chest, his face blanched and he had to look away.

“How does it feel?” I asked.

“The painkillers are working.” Clay’s eyes narrowed. “Now, where’s my gun?”

“We lost it.”