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Hob used his ident to open the door to the private lift and ushered Tekton in. Then the door slid across, and Hob’s battered old face was gone.

A ridiculous pang of loss stung Tekton as the lift plummeted to the cargo area of the ship. He might never see the old fellow again, depending how things panned out.

For Crux sakes, suck it up, free-mind barked with passionate concern. We’ve got to get out of here. No time for blubbing.

Concentrate, proffered logic-mind more moderately.

With his Sole-altered minds badgering him, he had no time to dwell on loss. The doors at the other end opened, and he stepped into the ship’s large and gloomy cargo bay. No one took any notice of him; automatons and crew hastened around the hold, shifting and securing payload.

Tekton slipped into a gap between crates and crouched down, Sammy’s suit making slight wheezing noises with his movements. The loading ramp was still open, but not for much longer, he guessed. He must leave now or face being stuck on Lasper Farr’s ship.

That realisation brought an unfamiliar surge of adrenaline-fuelled determination, and Tekton ran with suit-enhanced speed towards the ramp. One of the crewmen saw him and shouted. The ramp light flashed its closing sequence, and the connecting section began to retract.

Heart pounding painfully, legs burning with the effort, Tekton sprinted up the inclining ramp and leapt the distance to the Intel loading facility. He landed heavily, jarring his legs and falling forward onto his hands and knees.

He looked back. Relief lessened the pain. The ramp was almost closed now, and the disorder out on the docks meant that no one would chase him.

Disorder? More like an apocalypse! Free-mind was aghast.

Like an anthill that’s been kicked over, thought Tekton. Scramble and scurry.

But logic-mind gave only questions and warnings. Don’t fall in front of that loader! Look for the exit! Which ship is leaving next? Check the signage.

Tekton scanned the leader boards for each dock, but the ship names and codes meant nothing to him. Something commercial. A captain who’ll accept money and ask few questions, logic-mind instructed.

He walked purposefully through the crowd, his suit lending him agility and speed, praying to avoid an accidental meeting with Commander Farr or Samuelle. Soldiers in a host of differing uniforms swarmed, waiting to be let aboard their ships. Tugs descended to pull the bigger ships to the launch bays. As soon as one left, another replaced it, and the loading continued at a frenetic pace. Tekton could barely make sense of the endless broadcast announcements.

To avoid Farr’s soldiers, he headed to the furthest dock, stopping only to ask random ’esques where they were going, hoping to find a non-military ship. His enquiries were met with either garbled panic or ignored.

‘I’ll pay double your normal fare,’ he begged one harried ship’s bursar.

‘I told you there’s no room, mate. I don’t give a crap about how much you can pay. We’ve got the entire Matamon government aboard, and not enough res buffers to fit them. You come on here, and you’ll likely rattle to death. That’s if we even get out of this damned system in time.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The fucking Extros are coming, mate. That’s what I mean.’

Tekton stepped back from the bursar’s sweaty vehemence. The man was almost harassed enough to pull his holstered pistol and shoot the next person who asked to be taken aboard.

With a growing panic fingering his insides, Tekton watched as the bursar shouted closing instructions for the hold and headed up the ramp.

What will I do? he asked his minds. Wild and dangerous options danced across his thoughts.

Then, unexpectedly, the bursar stopped and ran back down.

‘Look, there’s a ’zoon hybrid scheduled for berth as soon as we pull out. It’s one of the last coming in. Everyone else is in the shift queue or gone in-sys. Hang around this berth and you might get luckier with them.’ He checked his hand-com.