Nayl slowly got out from under the cogitator bank. He kept his useless Tronsvasse aimed at Davinch.

Davinch had frozen side-on to him, his laspistols raised. He was staring at Nayl out of the corner of his eye.

‘Really don’t move,’ said Nayl.

‘Just shoot me then,’ replied Davinch.

‘Drop the guns. Do it. Toss them over the rail.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Do it,’ snapped Nayl.

‘Why didn’t you shoot?’ asked Davinch, not moving.

‘Toss the guns.’

‘You had the drop. A clear shot,’ said Davinch. ‘But you didn’t take it. No way you want me as a prisoner. Taking me back for trial and punishment? I don’t think so. So why didn’t you shoot?’

Nayl moved closer.

‘Drop the guns over the rail, now,’ he said. ‘This conversation is beginning to bore me.’

‘You can end it any time,’ said Davinch. ‘One shot. Except you didn’t take the shot. You know what I think?’

‘I don’t care what you think.’

‘I don’t think you can,’ said Davinch. ‘You’d have done it by now if you could. I think your gun’s out.’

Nayl edged a little closer. Another step and he’d be able to lunge and finish the business with his hands. He thumbed back the hammer.

‘Toss the guns,’ he said again.

‘A hammer works even on an empty gun,’ said Davinch. Nayl saw him starting to smile slightly. That confident look he’d seen so many times in his bruising life. A barely imperceptible micro-expression. That tell that gave away the fact a man was about to make a move.

Davinch snapped around to shoot. Nayl was already diving. He slammed into Davinch and body-tackled him against the rail. Both laspistols discharged, sending bolts streaming into the air.

Nayl slammed Davinch’s right wrist into the edge of the rail, and the laspistol tumbled away into space. Davinch tried to bring the left-hand pistol around. He fired again, and two shots scorched into the deck. Nayl put his full strength into keeping the man’s left arm back.

Nayl shoulder-barged Davinch in the chest, pinned him against the rail and drove the heel of his right fist into Davinch’s left thumb.

Davinch screamed in pain. His remaining laspistol went flying down the deck. It bounced and slid to a halt four metres away.

Davinch caught Nayl under the left ear with a jab. Nayl stumbled back, clutching his head. Davinch seized him by the front of his jacket with both hands, and threw him into the cogitator banks. Nayl landed badly, fragile cogitators shattering under his weight. Davinch came in fast, driving punches to Nayl’s face and chest. Nayl raised hasty forearm blocks, stopped two and took a fist in the side of his mouth. He swung hard for Davinch, but missed.