‘Allow me, Dakota, to give you in turn the means to control his ship at will. Observe.’

Dakota felt that familiar tingle in the back of her head that told her a large piece of data had just been dumped into her implants, whereupon she remembered Moss was himself a machine-head now. She discovered a moment later that she had come into possession of a complete command structure for a Shoal yacht, entirely configurable to her own needs.

She looked at him with an incredulous expression. ‘Why, Hugh? Why are you giving this to me?’

‘Because in exchange you will promise never to return, and to always, always leave me in peace. I believe you will now give me your word, and I will believe you when you give it, regardless of this particular transgression.’

‘No,’ she shook her head, ‘it’s not that simple. There’s something else you’re not telling me.’

He stood up now and looked down at her. ‘Very well, let me put it this way. Trader’s great skill is in surviving by treachery and lies. I’ve come close to catching up with him in the past, but he always finds a way to escape me. When he betrays you – and he will – you will have the advantage. Use it to destroy him, Dakota. Save the galaxy the trouble of letting him live.’

‘And if he doesn’t?’

Moss laughed. ‘Will you promise me something, Dakota? When he turns on you, will you put an end to him so he can never turn on you again?’

‘And you’d let me go?’

‘But of course,’ Moss replied, sounding almost magnanimous. He stepped away from her, and sheathed his knife.

She staggered slowly upright, breathing hard.

‘So.’ He smiled again, in a leathery splitting of his face like the wide yawn of a hungry snake. ‘Do we have an agreement?’

She thought over her options. Would Trader even be able to tell if she was lying?

‘You’re serious about this?’ she asked, licking her lips. ‘Quite, quite serious.’

‘Then I’ll do it,’ she replied, and realized with a shock that she meant it.

Chapter Twelve

Corso glanced up at the sound of helicopter blades cutting through the howl of the wind. He looked at Breisch, directly in front of him, then back up through the transparent window in the roof of their tent in time to see a shape pass across the face of one of Redstone’s moons.

‘Concentrate on your breathing,’ instructed Breisch, without opening his eyes.

They knelt facing each other, on the antique rug spread out beneath them. The tent itself was constructed from multiple layers of highly resilient but extremely light nano-carbon, and was big enough to house up to half a dozen men with plenty of room to spare. Yet, once packed away, it was light and small enough to carry on one man’s back.