‘Why?’ I croak.
He shakes his head. ‘Parents wanted me to take charge of one of the businesses, but I… couldn’t stay. Thought I should come out here, see what life is really like, the places behind the names on all those shipping manifests. See freedom.’
I can’t help but laugh, at my beaten state, at the greasy, brutal ship, at the vomit on the floor. ‘And what do you think of it?’
‘Not exactly how I imagined.’ He tries to smile. ‘You ever been to Jericho, Ten?’
He’s still calling me that. Out of habit, or denial? ‘Once or twice,’ I say cautiously.
‘Then you’ll know how everything there is so vast, but there’s no space. Just the warehouse walls, and a ceiling somewhere miles above with solar bulbs instead of the sky.’ He squints at the ship’s metal walls, as if he can see through them. ‘I used to see those posters of Factus and Brovos, you know, the Land Dev ones. All that openness, it looked so beautiful.’
A hopeless smile twitches the corner of my mouth as I think of the pamphlets and bulletins that led me to leave the Congregations and join the FL. It had all seemed so true, their manifesto; the idea that these new planets and moons should be no one’s property, that they should be shared, places where new laws could be made, new societies that relied on each individual to do what was right, rather than being yoked to a system that failed so many.
But the General was right about consequences, and Silas was right about intentions – and I have seen the depths you can fall to, so long as your actions are justified. And the longer we fought the harder every choice became, until the fire we started to light our way began to consume the future.
I look up, and meet Silas’s eyes.
His face crumples. ‘Ten—’
‘Still talking to the traitor?’
The General stands at the edge of the hold. How long has she been there? Someone has patched up her face with a few sterile strips. One of the Rooks, I suppose.
‘Moloney says we’ll reach Depot Twelve within the hour,’ she announces. ‘He says if you put up any trouble, he’ll shoot you.’
I let my head fall back. ‘We will not make Depot Twelve.’
There must be something strange in my expression. Even Silas draws back a little.
‘Why the hell not?’ the General snaps.
‘Unless Moloney lets us go, he will be dead before nightfall. Tell him that.’
Silas glances uncertainly at the General, but already footsteps are echoing towards us. One of the Rooks, the tall, lanky one with the shaved smooth head, appears at the hold doors. ‘Not a word from any of you,’ he barks. ‘We’re being hailed.’
‘Hailed?’ Silas frowns. ‘By who?’
‘An Accord patrol.’ He smirks at me. ‘Don’t worry, Life, we’ll get rid of them. Moloney won’t risk losing your bounty to a bunch of privates.’
A shiver runs through me, then another. It’s happening. Whatever it was they showed me, whatever path they chose, this is it. I listen hard. After several long minutes I hear the sound of other engines, faint but drawing closer.
‘Screw this,’ the General says, agitated. ‘They’re my people. They’ll listen to me.’
But before she reaches the door, Moloney bursts into the hold. He is sweating, his face red, like meat pearled with fat.
‘Untie her.’ He jerks his head towards me.
One of the Rooks comes forwards, a knife in his hands. ‘What’s going on?’ I ask.
‘We’re making a detour.’ Moloney wrenches open a trapdoor in the floor of the hold. ‘Think I’m going to let some scratchtooth border scouts take the rewards for both of you?’
The hatch clangs open, letting in a roar of wind, the sound of engines, closer now. Outside it’s grey, approaching night.
I gasp in relief as the cords are loosed. Before I can massage my wrists, the Rook is tying them again, this time in front of me. My heart beats hard, blood humming in anticipation of whatever is to come. Moloney stands before me, violent with life. It seems impossible that soon it will be snuffed out. And yet. I’ve seen it…
‘Keep the Longrider on course,’ he orders. ‘We’ll slip away in the shadow.’
Longrider. The wind shrieks through the hatch. It leads down to one of the smaller crafts, I see; one of the oil-black, agile birds that pursued us across the desert.
Moloney turns to me. ‘You try anything and the kid’s got permission to stick you in the spine. Nothing to me whether you get to the Accord in one piece or not.’
Everything is too fast. The images in my mind keep coming. Rushing ground, fire in the night. Hell. I look around in panic and see Silas, his hair whipping in the wind. He reaches out and catches at my shoulder but the Rook rips his hands away.
‘We rendezvous at Depot Twelve,’ Moloney calls, as he slides down into the cockpit. ‘No one do nothing ’til I get there.’
‘Sure, boss.’ The Rook hands the General into the craft. ‘What if they open fire?’
Moloney shows those shimmering, fibreglass teeth. ‘Shoot back. They might be Accord but they’re on their own out here. Nothing but us and the Edge.’ He grins up at me, and the next thing I know I am being shoved down the steps into the rear of the craft. It’s tiny, built for two people and I’m pressed awkwardly against the General. The cockpit hatch slams closed, sealing us in with Moloney and the stench of sweat and grease.
‘Hold on, ladies,’ Moloney says, as he flips switches and starts the craft’s engines. ‘We’re flying.’
* * *
The stars are just beginning to glimmer in the twilight, like rips in the terraform. The winds encircle the craft, slavering at it. I stare at the back of Moloney’s head, at the vein pulsing in his neck. How many more beats does his heart have left in it?
‘Think we shook
