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“Three ships inbound.”

I stand. “Three?”

“How the goryhell are you just telling us?” Cassius snaps.

“Couldn’t pick them up because of the asteroid interference. They must have called in more of them to haul in the Vindabona.”

The crewmembers sense our unease and begin to shudder again in fear.

“What grade?” I ask.

“Military, third class. Two four-gun lancers, and an eight-gun Storm-class corvette. They’re Ascomanni.”

“How can you tell?” I ask.

“They have bodies on their hulls.”

“It’s a gorydamn hunting party.” Cassius curses quietly. We could go toe to toe with one of the lancers, but a Storm-class corvette would rip Archi to shreds. “How long do we have?”

“Five minutes. Haven’t yet spotted me. I suggest you get off that heap.”

I rush to cut the remaining restraints off the prisoners. “Hen, I need you to pop off that asteroid and burn for the Vindabona’s transfer tube,” Cassius says. “We have people to evacuate.”

“They’ll see me if I make an approach,” Pytha says.

“They might have guns, but we’ve got engines,” Cassius replies.

“Copy.”

“Can you all run?” Cassius asks the crew. They stare up at him without answering. “Well, you’re going to have to. The Obsidians are still out there. You see them, you keep it together and get to the tube. Let us fight. You obey everything I say or I leave you to die. I need you to nod.” They do. “Good.”

“What about the Gold?” I ask Cassius. “They could still be alive.”

“You heard Pytha,” he replies. “We don’t have time.”

“I won’t leave someone behind for those barbarians to keep. Especially not one of us. It is not honorable.”

“I said no,” Cassius snaps, almost using my name in front of the smugglers. “It’s not worth the risk of all their lives for one person.” He surveys the wobbling crew before us. “Everyone quiet. Stay together. Now follow me.” Cassius, as always, is first out the door before I can reply.

The prisoners follow quick as they can into the hall back the way we came. I guard the rear, helping along a limping Brown. The bone of his right arm sticks out of a tear in his green jumpsuit. Cassius looks back to make sure I’m keeping pace. We load into the lift we rode up on to take it back down to the third level. But as the doors begin to close, I jump off the lift without a glance back at Cassius.

“Dammit, boy,” Cassius says over the com after the doors seal and the lift carries downward. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What Lorn would do,” I reply, walking back the way we came. He says we don’t have time, but I know how careful he is with me, how cautiously he guards my life. “I’ll be sensible. Make a quick reconnoiter.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and I know he’s reserving his condemnation for later. “Hurry, but watch your tail.”

“Naturally.”

I adjust my hand on my razor and move back down the hall. I take efforts to calm my breath, but every corner I turn I expect to see a savage waiting with bloody teeth and hollow eyes. I feel the fear and remember my grandmother’s words. “Do not let fear touch you. Fear is the torrent. The raging river. To fight it is to break and drown. But to stand astride it is to see it, feel it, and use its course for your own whims.”

I am the master of my fear. I let myself sink into the Mind’s Eye. My breathing slows. A cold, distant clarity settles over me. I hear the rattle of air purifiers clogged by dust, the pulse of generators vibrating through the metal floor into my boots.

And then I hear them.

The low, quiet rumble of their voices drifts down the dark metal hall like a grumbling glacier. My hands sweat inside gloves. Everything Aja and Cassius taught me seems so distant now as the metal grating underneath my boots creaks. I’ve killed Ascomanni before, but never by myself.

At the end of the hall, I peer around the corner. I don’t see the Obsidians. The commissary is round and holds several tables, the centermost of which has been laden with mounds of clothing. I’m about to move into the room when the mound moves and I realize my mistake. Three Ascomanni sit at the center table. Their long, braided hair cascades white and dirty down broad backs. Pale, scarred skin peeks out from under scrap armor. They speak in nagal and are hunched together eating and drinking the foodstores from the ship. Revulsion and fear swirl together in the pit of my belly.