Studying the ancient scars on the hands and face of the Freehold doctor, it had occurred to Megan that if the man had ever visited a body clinic, he hadnt been back there for a very long time indeed. It wasnt really until her guard cuffed her to the cot, giving her an opportunity to notice that one of his ears consisted of little more than scar tissue, that she understood how little access these people had to modern medical technology. All they had were primitive, half-forgotten surgical and medicinal techniques that spoke of dreadful deprivation.

She glanced towards the nearby operating table and shuddered to think of what they might have done to her if her injuries had been more serious.

Megan awoke some hours later, to hear the distant booming and hissing of what might be machinery, or equally well some subterranean river coursing through the bowels of the Montos de Frenezo.

Someone nearby cleared his throat, and she stifled a grunt of shock when she saw Tarrant sitting on the edge of a cot next to her own.

Hello, Megan, said Tarrant. Long time no see.

He had changed since she had last seen him: any fat on his face had diminished with age, leaving him hollow-cheeked and hungry-looking. But his eyes remained just as startling as on their first encounter aboard the Beauregard.

Gregor, she acknowledged haltingly. Come to gloat?

There was no sign of her guard or anyone else. They were all alone.

Anil made the mistake of underestimating you when he left you alone on that dropship, he said, then shook his head slowly. He wont make that same mistake again, and neither will I. The only thing keeping him from killing you is his loyalty to the General.

That girl . . . said Megan. The one who came out of the truck with you . . . ?

Is none of your business, Tarrant replied. He stood up and came to stand beside her, reaching down to stroke her cheek with one finger. She flinched away.

Do you know, Megan, he said, how very easy it would be for me to kill you right now?

She squirmed as far away from him as she could get, given she still had one hand cuffed to the cots metal rail. You had something to do with what happened to the Demarchy, didnt you? she asked him. Thats why youre working with the Freehold. Youre even more of a murderous, deceitful, untrustworthy son of a bitch than I thought.

Mr Tarrant cant take all of the credit for the Demarchy, said another voice, coming closer.

Megan twisted the other way to see a man with bristly white hair approach from out of the shadows. Anil Sifra and several heavily armed Freeholders followed in his wake.