He turns his smile on me. His teeth are brand-new fibreglass and shimmer, like oil on water.
‘You must be Low.’
‘Now look, man,’ Silas starts.
‘Stow it, Silage.’ With his free hand, Moloney digs into the pocket of his long leather coat and produces a thin wallet, tossing it down at Silas’s feet. ‘There’s your fee, as agreed. We’ll take it from here.’
* * *
Gilli cowers behind the bar, her pistol gone. Eight Rooks, all in greasy black leathers, are busy looting anything of use and smashing what isn’t. The place stinks of unwashed bodies and spilled liquor and engine oil.
I walk stiffly, pushed along by the mouth of a pistol, sick with fear and rage at my own stupidity. The hope I felt earlier in the day curdles into bitterness as I look at Silas.
‘What you going to do with them?’ he begs Moloney, following at his heels like a dog.
‘What do you care?’
‘They’re wanted alive, you know.’
The bandit smirks. ‘One of them is.’
‘Maggot,’ the General spits at Silas. ‘You didn’t even have the decency to take us in yourself. How much did you get for this?’ When he doesn’t answer, she turns to Moloney. ‘What bounty have the Accord put on my capture?’
He seems amused by the question. ‘Ten thousand credits, ma’am.’
‘I’ll better the offer. Twenty thousand for my freedom.’
Moloney laughs, a noise like cracking plastic. ‘Poor Silas.’ He reaches out to pat the younger man’s cheek. ‘Sold the pair for two hundred credits when you could have had twenty thou. How much gear could you have bought with that?’ Silas jerks back as the Rooks laugh too.
Two hundred credits. And I had thought of taking up with him. I turn from him in disgust.
Moloney scratches at his face with the mouth of the charge pistol. ‘You know, I’m thinking on it. What if I said forty thousand? You owe me a ship, little lady.’
‘Thirty-five.’
‘Haggling for your life?’
The General snorts dismissively, and I can tell what she’s thinking. Whatever might be left of it. ‘I’ve played higher stakes.’
The bandit nods in appreciation. ‘Souped that brain up good, didn’t they? Alright, sweetheart, it’s a deal. But I want my money now and if you try anything, you’ll wish I killed you quick.’
He spits oily foam onto his palm. In disbelief, I watch as the General does the same, as she clasps his hand in agreement.
When she looks at me, her blood-smeared face holds some expression I can’t fathom.
‘You lied,’ she says. ‘All that talk of wanting me alive… what was it for? So you could use me?’
‘You don’t understand—’
The world spins and I stagger, grabbing onto a shelf. Something goes tumbling. I blink but can’t focus. What the hell is wrong with me?
‘You gave it to her?’ Moloney asks, and dimly, I see Silas nodding. The mezcal burns my throat, threatening to come back up. Not just mezcal, I realise.
‘Don’t worry, Low,’ Moloney drawls. ‘Just a little sedative. We heard the stories about you. About what you used to be. This way you’ll be nice and quiet, all the way to Otroville.’
Even as the drug scrambles my system, something within me freezes.
‘Otroville?’ That’s Silas’s voice. ‘But Ten’s only wanted in the Barrens, look—’ The sound of paper, being unfolded. ‘Here, it says: “Wanted, the Woman Low, for theft, attempted murder and the kidnapping of a child”.’ He stops as Moloney laughs. ‘What’s so funny, Dru?’
‘Her name ain’t Ten.’
I look up, my vision blurring. Three Rooks stand between me and the door. I take off, running low like I was trained to, but the world tilts like a craft in a storm. A hand grabs my shoulder and I duck and twist, lashing out, landing a blow in someone’s stomach, but from nowhere a fist smashes into the side of my head, sending my hat flying; a kick drives the air from my lungs and I fall to my knees.
No, I try to cry out as Moloney stands over me.
‘Her name ain’t Ten,’ he says. ‘It’s Life.’
* * *
Life.
The word pulses in the air; a bullet stopped short of its target. I glare at the bandit through streaming eyes. I would have cut out his tongue to stop him speaking and he knows that. Savours it.
‘What do you mean?’ the General is asking. ‘Who is she? Who the hell is she?’
Moloney kneels, taking my chin in greasy fingers. ‘She’s Prisoner 00942X. Life W.P. Lowry. That’s Life, Without Parole.’ I try to wrench my head away, but he grips tighter. ‘Escaped from a max-security hulk, what, eighteen months back? Killed half a dozen guards and a couple of inmates and took off in an escape craft before they could stop her. Gotta hand it to you, sweetheart, that took stones. In another world, where we accepted women, I’d ask you to join.’
I close my eyes against the horrible clash of memories: blood on the infirmary floor, gunfire ricocheting from the metal walls of the prison, the sickening drop down three gantries, firing point blank into the stomach of the guard who tried to stop me at the airlock… I attacked the way I had in the Pit, no mercy, no hesitation, as if there was only one clear path and I had no choice but take it, whatever the cost.
What are eight lives against thousands?
Fighting the drug, I raise my head and spit at Moloney. He just smiles and wipes his hand on my jacket.
‘Life?’ I hear Silas ask, incredulous. His voice sounds distant. ‘For what?’
Moloney shrugs. ‘Spying, treachery, murder, you name it. Dedicated agent of the FL, this one.’ His blue eyes narrow. ‘Don’t pay to be on the losing side, huh?’
My lips shake with anger. It was war. I did what I had to.
But then comes the pain, the terrible crushing guilt that never grows old, that drove me to madness in my cell. You had a choice. You could have walked away.
‘This can’t be
