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“That damned Hurker! He had the neck to suggest to me today that he could find a buyer for our plant—if he was made a partner!” “I hope you told him what to do with that suggestion!” “I did. Told him I wasn’t selling, but if he wanted to buy a share he should talk to my legal adviser.” Marcus straightened in his chair and wiped his hands across his face. “And he told me that I had forty eight hours to reconsider my answer, or shipping might prove very difficult—and that there would be some queries initiated over my use of a dome now owned by CalBank!”

“He doesn’t look a violent type—so polite, and so patrician. You never hear him raise his voice.” She thought about it. “No, you don’t, do you?” It struck her that the Captain exuded an air of quiet command. His ‘orders’ were always delivered in polite terms, but very few people made the mistake of not carrying them out immediately. “I expect he doesn’t usually have to though.” She laughed. “You don’t get appointed to command a ship like the Vanguard unless you know how to get people to do what you want them to.”

“The lights came up as Dylan Raddeck walked nonchalantly into the room. As expected he stopped, staring at his killer … Eyes fixed on her target, Bast hesitated as James Heron appeared behind him. For a fraction of a second too long, she wavered, unable to decide her target, then she snarled, and fired a series of the needles at Radeck, seeing them strike exactly at her aiming point. The only problem was that he didn’t go down. Nor did Heron. Instead they stepped nimbly aside and an armoured figure behind them got off an accurate shot. It wasn’t a killing shot. It was intended to disable and disarm her—Mr Brown was specific, he wanted her alive. Unfortunately the prosthetics she wore to disguise her anatomy absorbed most of the paralysing agent. She screamed in frustration as she went down. With an effort, she turned her needle projector on herself, and fired.”

“I understand your feelings, James, but I can’t allow it. If it helps, I’m not finding it easy either.” The Admiral paused, considering his words. He wanted to take out these Pantheon agents, every last one of them, and he knew which he was up against. But it looked like the price would be high. “Mars is like a bloody rabbit warren. The early settlements tunnelled all over the bloody place looking for water, mineral deposits, and, of course, to create habitats for themselves. They didn’t have the equipment to create the shields we have there now. Most of them gave up when habitable planets became available, and the attempts at greening the place fell through—and now we have squatters in some of the abandoned areas, and all sorts of questionable activities turning up.”

“On the other side of the room, Bast cursed her luck. Damn. She couldn’t wait now. It took time to set up a switch like this. She would have to take the second option. A pity, the Rowanberg woman was the right size physically, and the facial adjustment would not be difficult, nor the hair, and she was one of the targets on her list. Option Two was slightly taller, but she would have to do.”

“James Heron stepped from the personal transport as Herbert, the family’s outmoded android butler, opened the front door of Scrabo Farm. There were infinitely more efficient and newer model android servants available, but neither James Heron nor his sister Niamh L’Estrange would dream of scrapping the mechanical attendant that had served the family so well, and enlivened their childhood with its fussy care of them both. “Hello, Herbert, is my sister home?” Answering in the slightly mechanical voice that James had liked so much when he was a boy, Herbert said, “She is in her study, Captain. I have alerted her to your arrival.”

“They’re into a bit more than assassination,” said the Admiral, aka Mr Brown, “and not all of them are top agents—the ones that use the names of gods and goddesses to identify themselves. Some are called daemons, and they serve as apprentices to the top players. They’ve a large number of people in the mix. Same arrangement. A team of professional killers, safe crackers, explosives—you name it —round each one, and they’re not afraid to sacrifice members for the objective, or to protect the goddess or god heading it. Every time we get close to them we lose people. It’s as if they’re playing with us. We’re pretty sure they’re all very well connected, and some of them indulge in what they call ‘hunting’. Some poor bastard is abducted and dumped somewhere remote without the means to defend himself. Then he or she is hunted by one or more of the Pantheon. They’re psychopaths—but, as I said, they’re very well connected.”

“James climbed into the transport vehicle, and the moment Felicity’s eyes met his was practically charged with electricity, the attraction was so strong. Her smile was just the balm he needed. “Here I am, Captain, alive and well, never better. I think I even lost a few pounds in my enforced confinement!” “Felicity, good to see you. You look great as always. But I have to ask, do you usually resort to such extreme measures when you want to stand up a partner for a dinner date?” He saw the tease in her eyes as she smiled at him. “Only in exceptional circumstances—or when someone leaves me no option.”