‘Fast? That bucket?’ Moloney barks a laugh. ‘Hold on!’

He smashes the booster, throwing us back against the seat. The General disentangles herself from me, trying to see through the rear window.

‘They’re following!’ she cries.

‘They can’t be.’ Moloney glances at the radar, where the point is closing in once again. ‘What the fuck?’

The craft roars above us, the noise of its engines deafening.

‘Wait,’ the General yells. ‘Wait, I can see the insignia. It’s not a normal scout. It’s Air Fleet. Company Four, the Spindigo Drift…’

Her voice falters, and something within me lurches. Spindigo. I stare in horror through the fibreglass roof at the dark shadow of the ship, like a huge bird of prey. Spindigo. Hell.

Realisation strikes.

‘Hel,’ I murmur.

‘I don’t give a shit which company they are,’ Moloney is bellowing, ‘we got to lose them.’

‘You don’t understand,’ the General shouts back, ‘when I was at Landfall I saw the notice: Company Four have been missing in action for over a year. They’re dead.’

‘That’s not the Accord,’ I call. ‘It’s the Seekers.’

* * *

We hurtle across the sky, burning with fear-heat, with the quickness of a hunted beast, sinews straining an inch away from death. Bullets and charges strafe the darkness, sending the Rook wheeling crazily.

‘What do they want?’ the General yells.

‘They want your heart, your guts, your tongue.’ Moloney’s face runs with sweat. ‘Mine too, and they won’t stop there—’

He lets out a cry as a blast shakes the ship, and we plummet rapidly, before he rights us again.

‘We can’t outrun them,’ I shout over the roaring of the engine, the shrilling of the instrument panel, ‘they’ll push the engines until they burst.’

The bandit’s face is livid. ‘Then we have to outfly them.’

He sends the Rook into a nose-dive, hurtling towards the earth.

‘They’re still coming!’

A hail of charges rains down, and this time there’s a sickening explosion, a hissing of smoke.

‘We’re hit!’ the General yells. ‘Damage to the starboard wing spars.’

Moloney swears over and over again, trying desperately to stabilise the craft. I stare into the darkness, lit by the flash of charges.

You and the dead General must walk to hell.

‘Bastards!’ Moloney screams as something shatters. In the reflection, I see his eyes open to the whites. ‘Quick, one of you.’ He stabs a thick finger at the nav screen. ‘See a bank of interference to the right?’

I scramble forwards with bound hands. ‘Yes.’

‘How far off?’

Fear shoots cold through me as I realise what I’m looking at. ‘But that’s the Edge.’

‘How far dammit!’

‘Twenty klicks.’ I’m shaking, the cords around my wrists slick with sweat. ‘You can’t.’

‘I can.’