Beko sucks her teeth. “Whether it’s a tiny skiff like the Rowdy or the same size as Lagos, we still have to stop them.”

“You’ll go down in history as the person who brought combat to space.”

“Better than dying in the Brink. And technically, it would have been Yan Maxwell who brought combat to space,” says Beko, though she is unconvinced of this. History has a way of simplifying things.

“I have an idea,” says Awe.

Chapter Thirty

Clandestine: Aaron

On the bridge of the Clandestine, Aaron is laughing. He does not know how long he’s been staring at the screen. He and the captains of the Pica and the Rowdy have a wager going, and this delinquent ship is the prize.

“Is that it?” he asks.

“I’ve already told you,” says Clandestine.

“Tell me again.”

“That is the Ragtime.”

“Tell me the rest.”

The long-range scan returns and the visuals from the external cams merge.

“Well,” says Clandestine. “That’s the Decisive attached to it, the ship Governor Biz took with him. That other ship is broadcasting its ID as the Equivalence. Bloodroot shuttle. The Ragtime’s broken. It’s a mess.”

“I know. And I love it.” He’d theorised major damage and he imagines the burn on the other two captains when he turns out to be both first and right.

The passengers must be in the toruses, without a doubt. The truss seems to have taken some damage and is open to space at one end, although a door of some sort forms a partial seal.

“There’s something weird about that truss detachment,” says Aaron. He’s already calculating what he will do with his winnings. So what if he burned a little solid fuel on the way? The Clandestine will make it back to Lagos on ion alone, speed not being a factor.

Aaron eyes the truss, speculating. It’s possible to remotely open an airlock, but the manual fail-safes make it impossible to traverse a hatch from outside without help from the inside.

“Can you open that section?” asks Aaron. “It looks to be a simple door.”

“I’m sure I can try,” says Clandestine. “The Ragtime is shy. Not responded to any of my overtures.”

“Excellent. Latch on to the fore truss. Signal the Rowdy to take aft. I, in the meantime, am going for a walk. Lagos wants us to eyeball the dead and bring back our governor.”

There are many kinds of fears, and Aaron thought he had experienced them all. He feels a new fear, the fear of getting what you want. The fear of being so close that it’s a heartbeat away, within striking distance, an all-or-nothing fear that tells you on a primal level that you’re either fucked or about to have your dreams come true.

“Any movement from Bloodroot? Any response to us?”

“Nothing. No communications either.”

“All right. I’m going.”

“Keep in touch,” says Clandestine.