Everything is too fast. The images in my mind keep coming. Rushing ground, fire in the night. Hell. I look around in panic and see Silas, his hair whipping in the wind. He reaches out and catches at my shoulder but the Rook rips his hands away.

‘We rendezvous at Depot Twelve,’ Moloney calls, as he slides down into the cockpit. ‘No one do nothing ’til I get there.’

‘Sure, boss.’ The Rook hands the General into the craft. ‘What if they open fire?’

Moloney shows those shimmering, fibreglass teeth. ‘Shoot back. They might be Accord but they’re on their own out here. Nothing but us and the Edge.’ He grins up at me, and the next thing I know I am being shoved down the steps into the rear of the craft. It’s tiny, built for two people and I’m pressed awkwardly against the General. The cockpit hatch slams closed, sealing us in with Moloney and the stench of sweat and grease.

‘Hold on, ladies,’ Moloney says, as he flips switches and starts the craft’s engines. ‘We’re flying.’

* * *

The stars are just beginning to glimmer in the twilight, like rips in the terraform. The winds encircle the craft, slavering at it. I stare at the back of Moloney’s head, at the vein pulsing in his neck. How many more beats does his heart have left in it?

‘Think we shook them,’ he calls into the comms, and wheels the craft, correcting our course. ‘We’ll skirt the Edge far as we can, then cut east. Double back around to Depot Twelve.’

For all the relief in his voice, my own heart hasn’t slowed. I feel as if I’ve been thrown into a river, swept along by a current too strong to fight.

A flicker of movement, and I see Moloney’s eyes, reflected in the cockpit glass.

‘You’re too quiet,’ he says. ‘If you got a plan to cut my throat you can forget it.’

‘She reckons her invisible friends will save her,’ the General calls, mocking.

To my surprise, Moloney only grunts. ‘You mean the Ifs? You seen them?’

‘I’ve felt them.’

‘You and that mad Augur both.’ He shakes his head. ‘Charlatan predicted my death once, you know. With a dead bird.’

He looks at me in the glass. Something – wordless – passes between us.

‘What’s that?’ the General’s voice is sharp. On the radar screen, a moving point appears, closing in on us from above.

‘Shit,’ Moloney swears.

He stabs at the controls, preparing to boost the ship, but there’s a high shrilling noise.

‘They’re hailing us.’ The General peers up through the roof. ‘Binoculars?’

‘They can hail all they like,’ Moloney yells, throwing a pair back to her. ‘I ain’t answering.’

‘Then they’ll open fire after three attempts, that’s protocol.’ The General trains the binoculars on the sky. ‘There, I see it. A mark-seven Swift. They’re fast ships—’