Right from when she had arrived here, five Earth years ago, things had been going wrong. Those who had been due to return on Traveller VIII had discovered that their space plane, the plane that had deposited Var and her fellows on the surface, did not have enough fuel to lift off again. Traveller VIII meanwhile had swung round Mars and, without delay, headed back to Earth. The delivery of new supplies had also been a fuck-up. Yes, the tonnage had been shipped, but half of the things they most needed here had not. Instead of the required soil biota, furnaces and replacement injectors for the fusion reactor, they’d received two shrink-wrapped shepherds and a tonne of aero-fan spindles. This had been ascribed to the usual bureaucratic fudge which could be corrected with the next delivery, but, no, it seemed things were already winding down even then. This was how projects got abandoned: increasing screw-ups as each government department involved withdrew, until the inevitable announcement of restructuring, reallocation or, in this case, ‘We’re going to leave you to die now, sorry and all that.’

‘Bitch!’ Var repeated, then her attention strayed to a com light blinking on the console. ‘Miska?’ she queried. Still no response via the coded channel they had been using, so perhaps something had gone wrong with that and he was now trying to talk to her through the crawler’s com. She hit the respond pad, but it wasn’t Miska’s face that appeared on the screen.

‘Ah, at last,’ said Ricard. ‘Miska shut down your com channel, and has been reluctant to provide me with the code.’ Ricard turned to look down to his right. ‘Haven’t you, Miska?’

Var heard Miska’s voice followed by a fleshy thump – probably an enforcer’s boot going in. Ricard swung his gaze back to Var.

‘You killed Gisender,’ was all she could say.

‘It was necessary to neutralize Gisender until certain protocols were in place.’ He paused, shrugged. ‘Hard decisions have to be made, Var. With your expertise, this is something you must understand.’

Var let that go for the moment and instead asked, ‘So you didn’t think we needed to know Le Blanc’s last message?’

‘As I suspected, you’ve seen it. That’s unfortunate.’

‘How long, exactly, did you think you could keep it from us?’ Var asked.

‘As long as necessary. Such an announcement might have led to incorrect behaviour, and even disorder.’

‘Incorrect behaviour,’ Var repeated woodenly. ‘We could all die here and you’re still fretting about that. Are you fucking mad?’

‘And disorder, Var,’ he said gravely. ‘Disorder could lead to the destruction of government property – property it has cost billions to transport here. It is my remit to ensure this base remains functional and staffed, ready for when the supply route is re-established.’

‘You are fucking mad.’