Freyda shook her head, then sat down with her legs crossed, her back resting against the wall.

‘Only when I see you, will I believe it’s really you,’ she replied.

Aphran chose an image matching her appearance when held captive aboard the Occam Razor, and projected it into the room.

Freyda frowned and waved a dismissive hand. ‘Projection. I suppose whatever is talking to me now was constructed out of information reamed from Aphran’s mind before they killed her.’

‘Skellor killed me. You remember Skellor, don’t you? He actually burned me to death.’

Again the dismissive hand gesture.

Aphran allowed her form to change into that now more commonly seen by those aboard the NEJ. This elicited more of a reaction, Freyda’s eyes growing wide. She stared for a long moment before shaking her head.

‘I am a memcording—that’s all of me remaining,’ Aphran told her. ‘Is this what you would like to be? You have information that may be vital and you are surrounded by people who are very much lacking in patience. They’ll use an aug to interface with your mind, make a copy of all it contains, then that recording will be taken apart by this ship’s AI. You personally will then be of no use. This cell can easily be opened to vacuum.’

‘You’re no Aphran I know. You would have died rather than serve them.’

‘But I did die.’

Freyda grimaced and stared down at the floor.

Aphran went on, ‘This is an Aphran with her eyes opened wide. Your cause is hopeless, pointless and destructive. But then I think you came to realize that even before you recruited me. Once you genuinely believed all that humans-to-rule-humanity crap, but in the end you just enjoyed your own sense of importance . . . and killing people of course.’

‘If I do talk, what do I get in return?’

‘Whatever we can give you, but within reason.’

Freyda snorted contemptuously then said, ‘I would rather like to stay alive.’’

‘Is that within reason?’ Aphran shrugged. ‘Hard or soft—your choice. From here you’ll be transported back to Earth, which will require about fifteen runcible transfers. There you’ll face a judicial AI and be sentenced for your crimes. This does, however, mean you’ll live a little longer.’

The fifteen transfers were the key, for Freyda would still believe there might be a way out of this for her. Aphran only felt sad when registering the furtiveness in the woman’s expression.

‘I want to be allowed certain freedoms during that time,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to be put into coldsleep.’

‘Granted.’

Again that look of furtiveness. ‘I’ll need time to think about this ... in a better location than this. I am not an animal to be caged.’

Aphran allowed herself to begin to fade. ‘You have no time.’

‘Okay,’ said Freyda quickly. ‘Okay . . . what do you want to know?’