The guns on the walls track us, but don't immediately open fire. First hurdle crossed: if they're willing to listen to you, you're halfway there.

  When we get close, Agni gets down and roughly pulls me out of the back of the trike. She gives me a prod and I walk in front, while she follows with her hands raised. We cross the churned no-man's-land in front of the gate. Beside the huge ship-doors there's a small iron postern, which opens at our approach. A half-dozen soldiers spill out, wearing the same black-and-red Outer Court uniform as Agni, and form a semi-circle of rifles with us at the center. Behind them, a heavyset sergeant saunters up and peers at us.

  "What the ," he says, "have we got here?"

  "Survivors, sir," Agni says, affecting weariness. "I was aboard the , scheduled to transfer here."

  The sergeant frowns, bushy mustache twitching. " was due two days ago."

  "It's gone, sir. Ambushed by raiders and destroyed. Everyone's dead."

  "Except you?"

  Agni straightens up a little. "Yes, sir. I killed a raider scout and commandeered her vehicle."

  "Did you?" The sergeant hums thoughtfully and taps his chin. "And who's your friend?"

  "My assignment, sir. Special prisoner transfer. I'm meant to stay with him." She hesitates, as though uncertain. I'm impressed with her acting. Agni's a natural for my profession. "There were sealed orders, sir, but they were carried by my lieutenant on the ship. He's raider-food now."

  "I see." The sergeant looks me over. "He dangerous?"

  "Not particularly, sir. Some kind of agitator, I think."

  The big man snorts. "We get plenty of those. All right, bring him in. The commandant will want to see you."

  I try not to look visibly relieved. Agni gives me another ungentle prod, and the guards part to let us through. We walk through a sandstone tunnel and out into the main courtyard, which is emptier than I expected. Apart from the single tower, there's only a couple of military-style buildings -- a barracks and an armory, if I have to guess -- and a storage warehouse. Behind the barracks there's a big timber frame with some machinery attached, but I can't get a close look.

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  We head for the tower. A sentry salutes and opens the door. Inside there's a tight spiral stair and a number of small rooms; the sergeant stops in front of one of these and points at me.

  "Put the prisoner in there for now," he says to my escort. Two of them immediately take hold of my arms.

  "Sir!" Agni turns. "Apologies, sir, but I was explicitly instructed not to let him out of my sight."

  "Your attention to your duty will be noted," the sergeant says dryly. "But you've delivered him, so you can consider yourself relieved. The commandant will decide what to do with him now."

  "But --"

  Two more of the soldiers step between us, and Agni is escorted politely but firmly to the stairs. My own guards shove me through the door into what amounts to a closet, featureless except for a single high window only a foot wide. From the sound of it, they both remain just outside.

  I force myself to keep calm. Something goes wrong. We'll have to hope Agni can handle it.

  ***

  Time passes. Too much time. Something has happened. I try to engage the guards in conversation through the door, asking for water or at least a piss-pot, but they don't respond. All I can do is watch the suns swing past the window. I have the strangest feeling that everything from the moment I jumped off the ship has been a dream, some escapist fantasy my mad brain concocted, and that I've actually just been delivered to my fate right on schedule. I press my fingers against the cuts I've accumulated from raider harpoons and flying shrapnel to reassure myself that it was all quite real.

  This is a terrible plan. Why did I think this was a good plan?

  "Sir!" the guards bark in unison. From their sharp tone, I'm guessing this isn't just the sergeant returning.

  The man who opens the door is surprisingly young, whip-thin and pale with dark hair in an asymmetric cut. His uniform, though similar to the one the guards wear, is expertly tailored from expensive cotton and adorned with gold braid. Most tellingly, he wears a single earring: a glass sphere that glows a gentle blue from a drop of water-of-life within. Even without looking at his rank insignia, I know this must be the commandant; he's every inch the court man, doing his term in the service of the Princeps as family honor requires.

  "This is the prisoner, Captain Temovite?" he says, voice dripping with just as much court sneer as I'd given my invented persona.

  "Yes, sir," Agni says from over his shoulder. I'm confused -- that's not the pseudonym we'd agreed to, nor was she supposed to pretend to be a captain. Surely it would be to convince them commandant that she was a lost officer --

  She won't meet my eyes.

  "He looks fit enough," the commandant says carelessly. "Bruun, take him below."

  "Yes, sir," the sergeant barks.

  "You've done well, Captain. I'll note that in my next report."

  "Thank you, sir. I'm eager to get to work."

  "Excellent. Second knows we need more hands." The commandant waves a hand. "Bruun, get her quartered and update the duty roster."

  "Yes, sir!"

  Without another word, the commandant turns away. Two soldiers grab my arms and pull me back into the hallway with Agni and the sergeant. Agni still won't look me in the eye, but I've seen all I need to.

  Temovite must be her last name. And there was no mention of a court-martial.

  Owain had been a guard on the . And in the fight against the raiders, he'd called her .

  Agni was never a prisoner. She lied to us.

  Now she's back where she belongs. And I'm .