Vana watched the satellite recede, diminishing from a great orb to a pearl, a sand grain, and then a tiny glowing spark that vanished, finally, in the blackness of space.

Oris swiveled away from the console, his face grey with anxiety. “Where are we going?”

“Away.”

“But this is pointless – you can’t run in this thing. It’s just a shuttle. Basic supplies, limited fuel, minimal shielding…” He glanced nervously at the instruments. “We’re already outside the margins. Carry on much further and we’ll be poisoned anyway.”

“Then we have to think quickly.”

“Why the hell should I help you?” he hissed.

“Because you already have.”

“I had no choice.”

Vana laughed. “You think they would accept that? You’re as good as dead – out of mercy, I should kill you now.”

“Then why…”

“Because I need you.” She advanced on him, bringing the gun to within inches of his face. A flick of her wrist, and it clattered away across the deck.

“And you, Oris,” she said, as the remaining colour drained from his face, “need me.”