Bodies beneath the sand, each one a line carved in the metal cell wall. Each one unable to be measured.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I do.’

‘I propose an accord,’ the General shouts. ‘I will give up Low, and you will revoke whatever termination order there is upon me, allow me to live freely, for however long I have left. You’ll let me look for a cure.’

Commander Aline smiles pityingly. ‘You are not in much of a position to negotiate, Ortiz.’

‘You want her alive.’ Desperation creeps into the General’s voice. ‘And she knows things, about the Seekers and the forces here that people are afraid of. She can control them!’

Fear, greater than the threat of the gun sweeps through me. ‘No,’ I begin.

‘Landgrubber stories,’ Aline dismisses, but beneath the cool expression is another, one of intense interest, almost hunger. The General’s instincts are right. The military know about the Ifs. And they want to know more.

‘Grant me clemency,’ the General says, ‘or I kill the traitor and everything she knows goes with her.’

Slowly, Commander Aline inclines her head.

‘Very well. I am willing to talk terms at least.’ She motions two of the soldiers forwards. ‘Stand by while we secure the prisoner.’

With a strange noise the General removes the gun from my skull. ‘You’ll live. You’ll be a prisoner, but you’ll live, damn you.’

I turn to grab her but beyond the two soldiers, I see Commander Aline raise an army revolver and know – too late – what is about to happen.

‘No!’ someone screams as she pulls the trigger.

* * *

I open my eyes. Yellow light falls thick into my vision, like bitter honey, illuminating endless sand and a heavy, unchanging sky.

There was somewhere else, before I was here. A place of terror, the sound of a ship crashing to earth, a scream. I feel my skull. My hand comes away coated with blood, but there is no pain.

The General… As I think her name there’s movement, a grey shape shifting in the distance. I walk towards it. With each step, hands worm their way out of the sand to collect the blood that drips from my skull. They are welcome to it.

At first I think the shape is Moloney trapped in his endless parade, but I stumble over a leg protruding from the edge of the dune and realise there are others here. I bend down and brush at the sand, uncovering black hair matted with blood, a face that saw too much too soon. The General.

I shake her, wanting her to wake up, to blink and laugh at me for crying, but she is gone. Through tears, I look up. The Charis is a wreck, shot to earth. As I watch, another piece of trash flutters through the shattered windshield. Silas is there, dead.