millenium. Frey could only imagine what kind of treatment he'd suffered at the hands of the Sammies in his lifetime. Almost certainly he'd lost friends and relatives to them at some point. And now, for the first time since his escape from Samaria, he was in the presence of one of his hated tormentors. No wonder he was keyed up.
Frey had never really thought about Silo's life before they met. As far as he was concerned, the Murthian's history began the day he found Frey dying from a stomach wound inflicted by a Dakkadian bayonet, somewhere in the jungle depths of northern Samaria. He'd nursed Frey back to health, and Frey had flown him out of Samaria and out of slavery. They'd been together ever since, in unspoken and unspeaking companionship. Neither asked anything of the other, and each expected nothing in return. By the act of saving each other's lives they'd forged a bond more subtle than any expression of loyalty.
Frey put his hand on the engineer's shoulder. 'Don't let it get to you, Silo. He's got no power over you here. Not unless you give it to him.'
Silo seemed rather surprised at hearing something wise from his captain's lips. Frey was rather surprised himself. He was on good form today, apparently.
Silo took in a long breath and blew it out. 'You're right. I ain't the 'prisoned one now.' He stepped from one foot to the other. Calmer, but still fidgety. 'Sorry, Cap'n. Brings it back, that's all. Knowing there's one of 'em in there.'
Frey patted his shoulder. 'Hold it together, eh?' he said in what he hoped was an encouraging fashion. He walked away, passing Malvery as he did so.
'Keep an eye on him,' he murmured out of the corner of his mouth.
'Right-o,' said Malvery.
Trinica was looking out of the window that gave a view of the refinery floor. She'd been keeping quiet and out of the way since the Century- Knights had first appeared. Frey joined her.
'How're you doing?'
'I'm fine,' she said. 'We should see about speaking to Roke.'
'Better if I do it,' he replied. 'Keep you out of the picture. You're supposed to be a passenger.'
She nodded. 'Do what you can.'
She seemed careless of the presence of the Century Knights. It was as if, without her outfit and her make-up, she really was a different person. An alter ego. One which carried no responsibility for the things done by Trinica Dracken, pirate captain. Given her sometimes fractured state of mind, he wondered if she really had separated one from the other. Perhaps, when she put on her disguise of black clothes and white skin, she put on a colder, harder personality with it. It certainly seemed that every day she spent without them, she became more and more like the young woman Frey had once known. Known, and loved. But maybe he was just being fanciful.
He approached Samandra, who was talking with Grissom. She stopped when he came near. 'Something I can help you with, Captain Frey?'
'I want to see Roke.'
'You do, huh? I wondered when you'd get round to asking. No other reason why you'd be in Endurance that I can see.'
'So, can I?'
'I should warn you, he's not been the most talkative of souls.'
'I can be persuasive when I try.'
'I've no doubt. You're welcome to talk with him, but I'll be in there with you. And no rough stuff. He's a powerful man, and we're the Archduke's right hand. Wouldn't do. You understand?'
'Yeah,' said Frey, vaguely disappointed. Getting answers was so much easier when you could boot your victim all over the room. 'I get it.'
She led him down a corridor to another office. The overseers' area was stark and bare, with as much furniture as was necessary to function and little else. He suspected that the real money-makers in the company had plusher offices elsewhere, away from the noise and stink of a refinery in full flow.
Sitting behind a desk, writing a letter, was Almore Roke. He was an erect, imperious-looking man with a close-cropped salt-and-pepper beard. One eyebrow drooped, giving him an expression that suggested permanent suspicion. He wore a neat suit and silver cufflinks.
'Who's this?' he demanded, peering at Frey.
'Captain Darian Frey of the Ketty Jay,' Frey replied. He stepped into the room, and Samandra came with him. 'I hear you used to serve on Harvin Grist's crew.'
Roke tossed down his pen and sat back in his chair, arms crossed petulantly. 'This again? What of it?'
'I'm looking for him.'
'So is she,' Roke said, jutting his chin towards Samandra. 'Why should I care?'
Roke's accent was a strange mix between the rough, guttural tones of the commoner, and a crisper, fluting aristocratic lilt. A man born poor, now trying to pass himself off as one of the rich. Frey doubted he was fooling anyone.
'I'm wondering if you have in mind any places he might be,' said Frey. 'Hideouts he once used, familiar haunts, that kind of thing. It's very important that we find him.'
'Is it? Why?'
'Because otherwise he might end up killing a lot of people.'
Samandra stared at him in surprise. 'Excuse me?'
'That device he's got. We reckon the Awakeners know what it is. And they seem to think it could cost thousands of lives.'
'I thought it was a power source?' Samandra said.
'So did we. It's not.'
Roke was watching their exchange with amusement. 'I know where he is,' Roke said. 'His hideout. If he's gone to ground, he's gone there.'
'And?'
'And,' said the businessman, stretching his back, 'I'll tell you after I get an apology from her, and on the condition that my guest and I are released and given safe passage to a port of our choice.'
'Your guest? The Sammie?'
'Vulgar term,' said Roke, with a sneer. 'They're a fascinating people, very cultured. A shame the common man can't forgive what's happened in the past.'
'When did you stop being a common man?' Samandra asked.
Roke ignored her jab. 'There's no law against associating with Samarlans, last I heard. Our own Earl Hengar was well known for his dalliances. So why am I treated like a criminal?'
'Because it is illegal to sell them aerium, especially since a lot of folk think they're tooling up a navy to have another go at invading us,' said Samandra. 'And that would make you a traitor. Anyway, you'll be given safe passage when the Navy get here. And you'll be released after you've satisfied our curiosity as to why a man high up in an eminent aerium mining company is so chummy with one of our old enemies from the South.'
'That's not good enough,' said Roke.
'Well, it'll have to be.'
Roke rolled his eyes and looked at Frey. 'Your friend here doesn't grasp the basics of negotiation, does she?'
'She does seem an inflexible sort,' Frey agreed.
'Perhaps you're a more reasonable man to deal with?'
'Hey!' snapped Samandra. 'You're dealing with the Century Knights, not him.'
'Then I'm afraid we have nothing more to—'
Roke was interrupted by a rumble that ran through the building, making the walls shudder. Frey listened in alarm as the refinery began to echo with distant groans, shrieks, and eerie wails, as if some enormous metal monster was slowly shaking itself awake.
'The refinery!' Roke exclaimed. 'They've started it up!'
'Who?'
'The workers! Them and their bloody Underground!' Roke sprang out of his chair, agitated. 'They've got inside.' His eyes widened. 'They're going to overload the machines!'
'That sounds like it'll be a bad thing,' Frey observed carefully.
