Nancy kept her rifle levelled at an unarmed man, dressed in the clothes of an orbital dock-worker, who was hiding behind another console, while Perez had his aimed at a man in the uniform of a deck officer, his shoulder and one side blackened from a pulse-rifle shot. The officer was sitting next to a console, a pistol gripped in one hand, but pointed at the deck as if momentarily forgotten.

Simenon, Corso guessed. He looked dazed, as if he wasn’t sure where he was.

Corso trained his own weapon on Simenon’s head, while Perez inched forward, barking at him to drop his pistol and get down on the deck. Instead Simenon seemed to remember where he was and took a two-handed grip on the pistol, but without raising it.

‘Drop the fucking gun!’ Perez screamed.

Simenon breathed hard through his nostrils and shook his head emphatically, even though Corso could see he was completely terrified. ‘You won’t stand a chance when the response teams get here,’ he replied, his voice cracking.

‘It’s over, Luis,’ Perez yelled. ‘Drop the gun, and you can take these people back down. Do you understand? Drop the fucking gun now or—’

Simenon shook his head emphatically, the motion almost like a tic, and he brought his pistol up quickly to aim at Perez.

Corso fired off a single shot that hit Simenon square in the side of the head. There was a distinct crack as his brain boiled, the pressure fracturing his skull.

He tumbled to the deck, his legs folding under him as if a puppet’s strings had been cut.

Corso put his rifle down and pulled off his helmet. The air now smelled a lot worse than when wearing it.

‘You okay?’ asked Schiller, eyeing him. She’d herded the dock-worker over to join the rest.

‘You know what Simenon just did?’ Corso replied. ‘He killed himself.’

Schiller looked confused.

‘With all due respect, Senator,’ said Perez, ‘what the fuck are you talking about?’

‘He was put in charge of a major military asset, and lost it,’ Corso explained. ‘He’s probably got family, and they’d have been left with nothing if he’d just surrendered.’

Perez shrugged. ‘So?’

So it’s wrong. So it’s completely, utterly fucked up, Corso wanted to yell. But Perez was still a Freeholder born and bred, so he just shook his head and dropped the subject.

Corso went over to the three survivors, now lying face-down on the deck, guarded by Schiller and Willis. Perez activated the bridge’s comms console, and a moment later Martinez and Lamoureaux entered and surveyed the scene.

‘You,’ Corso demanded, nudging the prisoner in overalls with one booted foot. ‘What’s your name?’

The man in overalls twisted his head around slightly to face Corso.

‘Inéz Randall,’ he muttered. ‘I’m an engineer,’ he explained, ‘for the—’