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It took Roz a moment to pick the figures out of the background –

six of them, walking in combat suits and HE armour across the shattered walls of the crater.

Roz looked up. The Victoria was a heavy shape high overhead.

‘Sekeris must have told them everything. Dutiful lad that he is.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said the Doctor. ‘Hello!’ he called, switching his radio from near to distant. ‘Can you hear us?’

119

‘I’m Lieutenant Kidjo.’ One of the suited figures waved. ‘Put down any weapons you’re carrying and prepare to be taken into custody.’

‘No problem,’ said the Doctor, ‘but you might like to skip the formalities. If I recall correctly, it takes over fifteen minutes to get through the initial arrest.’

‘It’s a statutory requirement,’ said Kidjo. ‘You know how it is.’

‘Yes,’ said the Doctor. ‘It’s just that the planet’s going to blow up in fourteen minutes.’

120

4

The Victoria

Signals traffic on the back of his eyelid.

DOGFIST

CLAREMONT rend VICTORIA

PETA: 4hr. Offload/Onload ref27681

Confirm: yes/no

Routine, just routine. The fleet supply lighter Claremont giving the regulation Don’t shoot, I’m on your side to the Victoria before burning to match velocity. Cautious, but you didn’t blindside an Empress-class supercarrier – not if you wanted to live long after.

Down in the TacPlan they’d still be tracking the Claremont as she approached, weapons comp spewing out constantly changing interception options. This fighter on that course, this ordnance on that setting. It was standard doctrine, every blip a bogie until proved otherwise. Kept the officers and the techs sharp for when they needed sharp. Besides, you never knew.

Captain Sokolovsky blinked to clear the message and shut down the biode in his left eye. His executive officer would be handling the run-up to docking, issuing the necessary commands to the Claremont to bring it safely alongside. While all the time, the battle comps ticked over in the background dreaming up their kill options and target plans. And TacScan would still be checking, at least four out of the thirty scan 121

stations would be putting the Claremont on the Petri dish, looking for anything out of place, just in case.

Because you never knew.

And it was all too late. The Victoria was doomed, because its captain had decided it would be so. Because it doesn’t matter a damn how good your technology is, or the ratings of your shields or engines. Because a fighting ship was its crew and captain. And if it was betrayed…

Goddess, it was an evil thing he was doing.

Sokolovsky was tall and muscular, straight-spined, beppled to look like an albino. He’d kept the white hair and pink eyes for almost a decade; it had been a prank pulled by some of his fellow officers on the night of his wedding, but the next day, in the field, it had terrified a Caxtarid merc so badly he’d got the drop on her.

He remembered the year of the disaster: 2975, when half the Earth went mad. Watching the news reports in his cabin every off-shift, watching as the random murders increased and increased and the rioting and chaos swelled and the floating buildings began to fall. He had thought he was watching the end of the world.

And he was happy that this world was ending. He kept it from the crew, who watched the news screens in their cabins and wept for their family and friends back home, or who watched in the relaxation lounge, holding someone else’s hand or just gripping the arms of the plastic chairs.

Riding the reports of the killings came the reports of corruption. Corruption in the Order of Adjudicators. Corruption in the Imperial Landsknechte. No one was immune as the revelations blossomed outward, to touch the Imperial Bureaucracy, the fourth estate, even the Imperial Space Navy.

Somehow, for some reason, he’d been convinced that the ISN

was immune. When the Navy courts martial had begun, Sokolovsky had known they were doomed.

But it didn’t go far enough. The Empire didn’t fall. Not all the way, although it fell a long way down. In