Out of Time

Book 6: The Time Police

by Jodi Taylor

Genres: Space Exploration; Crime & Mystery; Time Travel

Synopsis

'Jodi Taylor is quite simply the Queen of Time' C. K. MCDONNELL

The nail-bitingly tense, rib-crackingly funny new TIME POLICE mission from the million-copy bestselling author of THE CHRONICLES OF ST MARY'S.

The Time Police don't think twice about jumping to the past. But, this time, the past has come to them...

What connects a dead dinosaur in Wales with Romulus the founder of Rome, a plot to murder the Princes in the Tower and a shocking cover-up at TPHQ?

It sounds like a joke. It isn't.

The Time Police are determined to find the answers, helped - and occasionally hindered - by a certain wayward member of St Mary's and a recently reunited Team 236. Will they succeed before Time runs out?

And, as if all that wasn't enough, something somewhere in the Timeline is wrong. Very, very wrong. What is the Time Map trying to tell them?

BOOK 6 IN THE TIME POLICE SERIES. FOR FANS OF TERRY PRATCHETT, RICHARD OSMAN AND DOCTOR WHO

***

Readers love the Time Police:

'I do love Jodi's books - now waiting impatiently for the next episode....'

'Please, Ms Taylor, never stop writing these books'

'Brilliant, blistering, read, the action is relentless.'

'An excellent read, I'm just sad I'm going to have to wait some time for the next one'

'This got five stars only because I couldn't give it six!'

'I don't think I've ever laughed out loud so much reading a book'

Release date: December 2, 2025

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 464

Sample

Previously on the Time Police . . .

Luke and Jane have finally escaped the clutches of the Zanetti Train and the 19th century’s ideas of ‘enlightened treatment for the insane’. Several days have passed, during which Matthew’s broken arm has been set for the second time and Luke and Jane have more or less recovered from their physical injuries.

However, owing to their recent dysfunction, Team 236 is to be placed under supervision. They are not happy about this.

Luke is struggling – in as much as he struggles with anything – to come to terms with the realisation that he’s rather fond of Jane. He is unaware of the fact that Imogen Farnborough is struggling to come to terms with the realisation that she’s rather fond of him. Tears and tantrums ahead, probably.

Messrs Hooke and Sawney, ex-­Time Police officers and very naughty people, have been arrested over their part in the Zanetti Train incident and are currently being held at TPHQ, awaiting interrogation.

The Pod Bay is still not fully functioning owing to the discovery of something mysterious when the wall fell down. Well, when the wall was knocked down, actually, during the course of one of Mikey’s experiments. The Senior Mech is wrestling with his conscience. And a ton of plasterboard.

 

Jane and Grint have still not done the deed. Blame the unit-­wide recall imposed at just the wrong moment.

Speaking of unit-­wide recalls . . . a dead dinosaur has washed up in Wales, land of the dragon, so it’s surprising anyone has actually noticed. But they have.

The Time Police are assembling a force to investigate.

To pass the time until the Pod Bay is fully functioning, the Time Police’s technical advisor has been putting the finishing touches to her patented poo-­packaging thingy. Chipolatas are involved. SPOILER ALERT – they do not fare well.

Now read on . . . if you dare. 

 

Prologue

It was a trap. If they hadn’t all been exhausted from their third major mission in as many days, they might have tumbled to it sooner. But they were exhausted and it was a disaster. That’s the way the dice fall sometimes.

The ravine was narrow and rocky. The sky was clear – stars twinkled overhead but there was no moon. Perfect conditions for the ambush they didn’t know they were walking into.

‘Night visors,’ ordered Lt Hahn. ‘Normal stealth formations.’

He led the way along the western side of the ravine with Team 94 behind him.

On the eastern side, Team 88 moved equally silently. Ideally, a third team – Team 101 – should be acting as backstop, but there had been an accident the previous week. A disaster. The door of their pod had come off mid-­jump. Apart from one survivor – Lt Hay – everyone had died. She had been discovered under a pile of her melted colleagues and was now in MedCen on suicide watch as she attempted to come to terms with what had happened to her team – and to herself. So no backstop tonight. They’d just have to manage.

No one had actually mentioned that there were thirteen officers on this particular operation. Lt Hahn, Officer Sharron, five members of Team 88 and six members of Team 94. ­Thirteen in all.

 

Lt Hahn was young and inexperienced. Overpromoted, of course, because the Time Police were so desperate for manpower these days. Some reassurance was provided by the presence of Officer Sharron – never knowingly undersold in the ball-­busting department and widely referred to, with typical Time Police imagination, as Ball-­buster Sharron. No one messed with her. Not for long, anyway.

The night was bitterly cold and the air crackled around them. Other than the occasional muttered curse as a loose rock moved underfoot and someone turned an ankle, the officers moved silently through the night.

Eventually Hahn threw up his hand and called a halt. They pressed back against the ravine walls, seeking shelter in the shadows. Hahn looked about him. ‘Have we missed them somehow? Sharron – anything behind us?’

Sharron took her time scanning the ravine from wall to wall, up and down and back again.

‘No lights. Nothing moving. No figures silhouetted against the skyline. Nothing on my proximities.’

To check her equipment was working properly, she turned and scanned ahead of her. Various grainy green lumps resolved themselves into her colleagues.

‘Negative, sir. All clear above and behind. All equipment functioning as per.’

‘Have we overshot? Or have they been and gone?’

Several officers rose to their feet, consulting their visor read-­outs.

 

Dikstrom from Team 88 had just got as far as, ‘Something’s moving, sir . . .’ when, without warning, the trap was sprung.

Sharron, standing slightly apart from all the others, felt her head swim. Violent nausea swept through her and her legs buckled. She fell heavily to the rocky ground – which almost certainly saved her life.

Ahead of her, closer to the source of the attack, two of her colleagues burst into flames, standing for a moment like giant, human-­shaped candles before collapsing to the ground. Very dead.

Shit – this had to be the very latest weapon on the black market. A lethal combination of blaster fire and a sonic cannon. Even the Time Police

didn’t have these yet. But there was one here now. Possibly two.

Slowly Sharron became aware of shouting and screaming around her. Above everything, she could hear Lt Hahn.

‘Fall back. Fall ba—’

Another arrow-­straight stream of blaster fire roared through the night and his voice was abruptly cut off.

She lifted her head, pushed up her visor and tried to see. Blaster fire had destroyed her night vision. And not just hers. Half-­blind officers were running into each other. Chaos reigned as everything turned to shit around them. Drones criss-­crossed the night, raining down lethal fire. Nasty – but only until the surprise had worn off. Officers dropped to the ground, rolled on to their backs and began the satisfying task of shooting them out of the sky.

Now that they’d recovered from the initial shock of the ambush, the tide of battle was beginning to turn their way. And there had been no repeat of the sonic cannon; they took some time to recharge. If officers could consolidate their position – dig in – was there a chance they might actually get out of this after all?

 

Probably not. This was some quality opposition. Certainly not the usual combination of slightly unbalanced fanatics temporarily allied to those trying to make a quick buck. These were true professionals – on resuming fire, they were canny enough to change the angle, blasting great lumps of burning rock out of the cliff walls to fall on the hapless TPOs below. If officers didn’t move now, they could find themselves becoming a permanent part of the landscape.

The lieutenant was gone. That left Sharron.

‘To me, to me,’ she shouted. ‘Regroup to my position. We’ll fight our way back to the pod. To me. To me.’

The night was still full of green and purple after-­images but her vision was slowly returning. She could make out her colleagues’ shadowy figures flitting

from rock to rock. Not as many of them as there should have been.

‘Dikstrom, take the lead. Get the wounded out. No one left behind. I’ll bring up the rear. Barber, you and Coyle are with me. Move. Before they start with that sodding cannon again.’

They moved. Slipping and stumbling on the rocky slopes. Sharron, Barber and Coyle laid down covering fire for their colleagues and themselves, all the time moving back. The retreat was orderly. Controlled. Textbook. Sharron experienced a surge of hope. They could do this.

Gunfire up ahead. What now? Had the illegals somehow got around them in the dark? Or was there another group out there somewhere? Or more drones? Which would be a bitch. What a shitstorm this was turning out to be. When they got back, she’d be demanding a twenty-­four-­hour standdown for all of them. All the ones who made it back, that was. Officers couldn’t keep going like this. They were all exhausted, and exhausted people make mistakes. A hot meal and some rest and Albay could just suck on it.

 

A huge explosion ahead recalled her to the moment. ‘Barber, Coyle, go and lend a hand getting the wounded into the pod. I’ll cover you. Leave me your big blaster.’

The ravine narrowed here. She could hold them off for a while. Coyle’s blaster held a full charge. She settled back behind a handy rock and . . .

They came out of the dark. Far more of them than the briefing had led her to believe. What the hell had been going on in this God-­forsaken part of the world? Their preliminary survey had shown no electronic activity. And there was certainly nothing of any value around here. A few goats, perhaps . . . Unless . . . The truth hit hard. There was nothing here but this less than welcoming committee. They’d been set up.

Something moved in the dark. Gritting her teeth, Sharron laid down a blanket of fire, sweeping the narrow ravine from left to right. She heard shouts in the dark. And some screams. Good. With luck she’d done some damage. Not giving them a chance to regroup, she shut down the blaster, heaved it over her shoulder and set off after her colleagues.

She found Singh propped against a rock. Dead. His weapons were empty. Both of them. She stumbled on. The silence behind her was not reassuring. In these circumstances, that usually meant hostiles were building up to something big.

Worst of all, her teams were only just around the next 

bend. Pinned down by the sound of it. Shit – she’d been hoping they were back at the pod by now. She took a moment to think and then moved to her left. If she could get behind whoever was . . .

 

At least there was no longer a need for silence. Between the shouting and the weapons discharge, no one was going to hear one solitary officer working her way slowly through the night. And her vision was almost restored to normal. She could get behind them. Take the bastards down. Go home. Grab a quick drink on her way. Find an opportunity to slap the stupid sods whose intel had been so useless. Then another drink. Then sleep.

Good plan.

She opened her com. ‘Dikstrom, I’m behind you and working my way to your left. Do not shoot me or I will come after you. Get everyone together and head for the pod. Forget dignified retreat. Just shift their arses. On my word.’

She checked the charge on her blaster. She wasn’t that far away – not according to her proximities. One final effort and they could all go home.

‘Now.’

She eased herself off the rock, firing as she went. Activity to her right. That would be Dikstrom getting them back to the pod. She changed the blaster setting to wide beam, backed against the cliff wall and sprayed from left to right. Right to left. Left to right. Don’t stop. Don’t give the bastards a chance to regroup. Keep them pinned down. Keep firing. Keep firing.

A voice sounded in her ear. ‘Sharron. We’re at the pod. Get your arse over here now or we’ll go without you.’

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Like you could find your way home without me.’

She could hear firing up ahead. Slinging the blaster over her shoulder again, she picked her way over the rough ground. There were bodies here. None of them TPOs.

 

‘Dikstrom here. I’m just ahead of you. Your two o’clock. I can see you.’

‘Yeah – I can see you, too. Everyone back OK?’

‘We have wounded, but yeah.’

The explosion knocked them both off their feet. The air above their heads seemed to contract and then expand. Sharron hit the ground hard. What felt like half a mountain fell on top of her. Someone was shouting her name. Hands pulled at her. Lots of hands. If those stupid bastards had left the pod to pull her out, then she’d be dragging them round the back of TPHQ to kick the living shit out of them. And then probably buy them a drink afterwards. But the kicking would definitely come first.

The illegals were firing their sonic cannon again, but at the cliff walls this time. Large lumps of mountainside were bouncing and tumbling down to the ravine floor. Their night visors couldn’t cope with the dust. She really had no idea where . . .

The pod. There. Looming up through the murk.

‘Get everyone inside now. Move it. Move it.’

And then she was in through the door – last one in – which slammed shut behind them, and the only sounds were panting officers and small pieces of rock peppering the roof over their heads.

The peppering did not die away. Rather, it intensified. The precursor to an avalanche, perhaps. They needed to move and move quickly.

She pulled off her helmet. ‘Is everyone here? Call the roll.’

Dikstrom responded. ‘Everyone who isn’t dead is here.’

 

‘How many did we lose?’

‘Seven.’

‘Bollocks. Bollocks. Bollocks.’

There was a bang as something hefty landed on the roof.

‘We need to go. Now.’

There was another explosion. The pod rocked.

‘Coordinates . . .’

‘Never mind that. Emergency evac.’

‘But . . .’

‘Do it. Just do it.’

Another bang. They were firing directly at the pod. Any moment now and they’d be hit with an EMP and then it really would be game over.

Dikstrom was at the controls. ‘Pod – emergency evac. Immediate.’

There was a massive explosion. The floor heaved under their feet. Everything went black. Someone screamed, ‘Oh my God,

 I’m—’ His words ended in a hoarse shriek. Everyone was shouting. There was an odd sensation in her left arm. Emergency evacs were the pits. They’d be throwing up all over the pod and then the mechs would complain and . . . God, her head hurt. At some point she must have fetched it a right wallop.

Why was it still dark? Where were the lights? Surely they must have landed by now. Where were the mechs? This pod must be in a hell of a state and it wasn’t like them not to be banging on the door and whinging on for hours about it.

She tried to struggle to her feet, failed badly, and decided it wasn’t important right now.

‘Pod – lights.’

 

The pod remained obstinately silent. Shit – they’d broken the AI as well. IT would be in here yelling at them alongside the mechs.

And still there was screaming.

‘Everyone shut the fuck up,’ she shouted and was slightly surprised when silence fell.

The emergency lights flickered on. Yes – they were on a separate battery. They should work OK. And the door.

Her left arm didn’t feel right but she was able to push herself to a near sitting position and look round.

The silence in the pod was complete. She wasn’t even aware of the sound of breathing. Because this was . . . this was . . . not right. This couldn’t be . . . couldn’t have happened. This was . . . wrong. This was . . .

The lights flickered off again. Which was worse. Because now she’d seen what had happened . . . And somehow it was worse in the dark.

Someone whimpered.

The lights flickered on again.

This wasn’t a nightmare. This was happening. Had actually happened. They’d always been told it couldn’t but it had. It had happened to them. She looked down. It had happened to her, as well.

Someone whimpered again. A tiny thread of a voice. ‘Sharron, help me. For God’s sake, help me.’

The lights flickered off again. 

 Someone was crying in the dark.

From somewhere, she found a voice. ‘All right, everyone, listen up.’ Her voice didn’t sound right. She swallowed and tried again, forcing herself to be calm. ‘We’ve had a bad landing.’

 

‘You think?’ said a voice and began to laugh. The wrong sort of laughter. Hysteria swirled in the dark.

The lights flickered on again.

‘Right,’ she said, and this time her voice was very nearly normal. ‘Who’s nearest the console? Can you contact the Pod Bay? Or anyone still wearing a helmet? Can you chin your mic?’

Barber was nearest the console but his hands had gone and no one else could reach. Dikstrom was still wearing his helmet. He’d pushed up the visor so she could see his face. But his face wasn’t there, either. Not all of it, anyway. Looking around, it was hard to tell who was dead and who was still alive. For the moment.

Her helmet lay just to her right. By hooking one leg around it, she was able to bring it closer and there was just enough movement in her right hand to operate the mic.

‘Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. This is Sharron. Can anyone hear me?’

The response was immediate. ‘Sharron? This is the Pod Bay. Where the fuck are you?’

She forced back a sob. Crying never helped anyone and she wasn’t going to start now. ‘I’m . . . we’re here. But I don’t know where here is.’

‘Typical grunts. All the sense of direction of a small rock. Where were you aiming for?’

‘Emergency evac . . . gone wrong.’

Another voice was shouting something in the background. The first voice sharpened. ‘Sharron – describe your surroundings.’

This time the sob did not go away. ‘Hell. We’re in hell. Help us. Help us. Please.’

 

Dimly, through the com, she could hear alarm bells going off.

The voice had changed. Now it was calm and reassuring. ‘All right, Sharron. We’ll get to you. Keep talking. We’ve got your signature. You missed the Pod Bay – that’s all. By about twenty feet. Not a bad effort for a grunt. We’ll get you out.’

She looked around the pod. ‘No – I don’t think you will.’

‘What’s that? Sharron – stay

awake. Keep talking. There’s a couple of mechs on their way now and we’re assembling medics and rescue equipment. We’ll get to you. Just stay put.’

This struck Sharron as being extraordinarily funny. She began to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. And then to cry.

A new voice. The Senior Mech spoke in her ear. His voice deep and reassuring. ‘Now then, lass, you don’t want to be doing that. I’m here now . . . We’ve found you. You’re right in front of us and . . .’

He broke off. The silence went on and on and on. She could just imagine the shock . . . Because this just couldn’t happen. Except it had.

‘Yeah,’ said Sharron flatly. ‘How are you going to deal with this?’

She could almost picture him pulling himself together. Or trying to. The stunned looks. The silence. The moment they realised what had happened.

‘Sharron?’ His voice was hoarse.

‘Yeah?’

‘We’re outside the pod now. We’re coming in. Is it . . . ? How bad is it?’

‘It’s bad. It’s very, very bad.’

The voice said something she couldn’t catch but she heard the word Albay so clearly they’d sent for the colonel.

 

‘All right, lass, we’re coming in now.’

She pulled herself together. She was in charge. People were relying on her. Turning her head, she addressed her colleagues.

‘OK, lads, the rescue team’s arrived. They’re just outside. They’ll soon have us out of this. Just stay calm and let them do their jobs.’

Someone was still crying. One of the luckier ones.

There were sounds at the door. They were trying to get it open. At least the pod had landed the right way up.

The door jerked open a little way, then a little further, and then, finally, all the way. Four figures stood dark against the lights behind them. There was the sound of snapping lightsticks. Two were rolled across the floor. Two more held high.

The pod had so nearly made it.

They were only twenty feet from the Pod Bay. No more. So near and yet so far. They’d landed in one of the corridors between Pod Bay and security. The pod’s AI had got that right. Everything else was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. Whether as a result of the explosions just as they jumped or whether the emergency evac had gone wrong – none of them would ever know.

The safety protocols had failed. The pod had materialised inside a wall. Or rather, the wall was now inside the pod. They were half in and half out of the corridor. Officers, pod and wall were all occupying the same space. Or had tried to. The wall had won.

Worse – they’d materialised below floor level. Those lying on the floor were now lying in the floor. Coyle was on his back, only his head, one hand and one knee visible. The rest of him was just . . . floor. His one hand clawed uselessly at the air and he was screaming, ‘Oh my God oh my God oh my God . . .’ On and on and on. Endlessly.

 

Barber was simply staring down at his arms, both embedded in the console. Occasionally, he whimpered, seemingly unable to comprehend what had happened to him.

Another officer lay face down on the console. Sharron amended that to face down in the console. Slowly dying. His face and the console were one. His hands were beating a violent tattoo as his body fought to breathe. Even as she watched, his movements grew weaker and weaker. He was going. He was dying. Right in front of her.

‘Get him out,’ she shouted, knowing it was useless. ‘He’s dying. Someone get him out.’

No one moved in the doorway. They stood silently, taking in the scene.

Part of Murphy’s face was pressed into the wall. She could see one eye and one ear. And his nostrils flaring wide as he struggled to breathe.

She looked down. Her own left arm was embedded in the floor almost to her elbow but both legs and her right arm were free. Somehow, she was the least injured.

Still no one had moved from the doorway. Four men stared and stared and stared. Then one stepped back out of sight. She could hear him vomiting.

There was a commotion behind them. The medteam had arrived.

‘Get out of the way,’ said the doctor, shouldering his way through.

Everyone willingly stepped back.

 

The doctor stopped dead. Sharron could imagine his brain struggling to make sense of what his eyes were seeing. Where to begin? What could possibly be done?

There was another voice. Colonel Albay had arrived. Now they’d get some action. He’d think of something.

Albay stood on the threshold, gazing into the pod. After long moments, he looked over his shoulder, saying, ‘Where’s the Senior Mech?’

Lt Callen had pulled himself together. ‘Gone to organise rescue gear and cutting equipment, sir.’

‘Stay off your com. Go and bring him back here. Quickly.’

Callen left at a run.

Taking a deep breath, Colonel Albay stepped into the pod. No one spoke. Eyes watched him as he stepped carefully over Sharron – who was nearest the door – and moved from one officer to another. The silence gathered.

Still without speaking, he stepped back over Sharron and left the pod, closing the door behind him.

Outside the pod, the doctor was busily unpacking his kit. Without looking up, he said in an undertone, ‘I can save Sharron. Amputating her arm will free her. And I think Aziz and possibly Barber as well. If they survive the shock, of course.’ He looked up at Albay. ‘How could this happen? What went wrong? Should we be grounding the other pods while we run checks?’

‘No,’ said Albay decisively. ‘We don’t stop. We can’t afford to stop. If word of this gets out, then we’ve lost the war.’

The doctor was laying out his equipment. ‘Well, as I said, I can definitely save two of them. Probably three.’

‘That’s no good to us. They won’t be able to fight.’

‘Not really the point, Colonel.’

 

‘It’s exactly the point, doctor. We’re fighting a war.’

way. I’ve halted all pod activity and . . .’

‘Belay that order.’

‘But at the very least, we have to ground the other pods until . . .’

‘No.’

‘But . . .’

‘Doctor – you are dismissed. And take your team.’ Albay stared around. ‘Out. All of you. Except for the Senior Mech. And you, Callen. Everyone else wait for me in the Pod Bay.’

The doctor stood his ground. ‘What are your intentions, Colonel?’

‘Carry out your instructions, doctor.’

The doctor lowered his voice. ‘There are people needing urgent attention or they will die.’

‘That’s an order, doctor.’

The doctor stared at him for a long moment.

Albay laid a hand on his blaster. ‘Collect your equipment and go.’

The only sound was that of the doctor’s harsh breathing as he bundled his gear together and departed, his team following on. Their footsteps faded into silence.

Colonel Albay re-­entered the pod and closed and locked the door behind him, shutting out the Senior Mech and Lt Callen.

Sharron twisted around to watch him. ‘Sir . . . ?’

He ignored her and bent over Coyle, still not quite dead. Pulling out his blaster, he checked the charge, placed the muzzle against Coyle’s forehead . . . and fired.

 

‘What are you doing?’ shouted Sharron in disbelief, struggling to tear her arm free from the floor. It was no use. Blood began to pool as her efforts rubbed her arm raw. She didn’t notice. ‘You shot him. You killed him.’

Stepping over Coyle, Albay made his way towards a struggling Barber, still part of the console. Again, he checked the charge on his blaster.

Barber began to scream, striving frantically to tear his arms free.

‘Leave him alone,’ shouted Sharron, still wildly fighting to free her arm. She kicked out, missing him by feet. ‘You bastard – you can’t do this. Albay, I swear I will . . .’

Again, she strained every muscle to pull free. Her weapon was just fractionally out of reach. If she could just somehow gain an inch or two . . . The pain in her arm was massive and intense. She gritted her teeth and stretched . . . her fingers scrabbling for her blaster . . .

Albay had moved behind Barber who, as far as his trapped arms would allow him, was twisting in his seat to see what was happening, begging for his life. Begging to be spared. Curses . . . entreaties . . . appeals . . . threats . . . Sharron’s throat was hoarse with shouting and crying. Her eyesight blurred with tears.

‘He can be saved,’ she shouted. ‘You can’t do this.’

‘I have to,’ Albay said calmly. ‘Think about it, Sharron. There’s no way we can get you out. The rescue would kill you. We’d have to drill you out of the floor. Or the wall. Without drilling through you. It would take hours. None of you would survive the shock. And the effect on your colleagues would be devastating. We’d never get anyone in a pod again. I can’t have that. So you have to die. I’m sorry. I regret the necessity, but it’s a kindness when you think about it.’

 

Albay’s blaster whined. Barber slumped forwards.

Silence fell. Sharron scrubbed the tears from her eyes and watched Albay approach Murphy. The blaster fired again.

Sharron spoke between gritted teeth. ‘You’re a murderer, Albay. A fucking, bastarding murderer. You’ll pay for this. And all those other cowards hiding out there pretending this isn’t happening.’

‘Just you, now,’ said Albay without emotion.

She glared up at him. ‘You piece of filth. I swear I’ll get you if I have to wait until the end of Time itself.’ Her voice rose to a scream. ‘Murderer.’

He checked the charge on his gun, saying quite normally, ‘I’m sorry, Sharron, but you must see this can’t get out. We’re down to less than fifty officers.’

‘Even fewer now,’ said Sharron hoarsely. ‘Thanks to you. You can’t cover this up.’

‘I can and I will. No one will ever know you’re here. I’ll have the corridor bricked up. You’ll be classified MIA. You never made it back. Sad, but no time 

to mourn. We have a war to fight.’

‘I swear, Albay, on behalf of those you murdered today . . .’

‘What, Sharron? What exactly do you swear?’

‘This will come out one day. One day the world will know what you’ve done here. That you murdered your own people.’

With wild thoughts of cutting off her own arm, she tried to grope for her knife.

He shook his head. ‘This pod’s dead. And so are you. I’m sorry, Sharron. You were a good officer.’

 

He walked around behind her. She tried to twist around to watch him and held out her free arm, although whether in accusation or a pitiful attempt to defend herself was not clear.

‘Rot in hell. Murderer.’

The blaster whined. She refused to close her eyes. ‘I’ll get you for this if it’s the last thing I—’

He pulled the trigger.

The lightsticks were beginning to fail. Darkness crept across the pod.

Unlocking the door, Colonel Albay stepped outside and carefully closed it behind him.

The Senior Mech seized him from behind and threw him against a wall. ‘You bastard. What have you just done?’

‘What I had to. You know that, Senior.’

‘You’ve killed them all?’

The Senior Mech was a hefty man but Albay shoved him away with very little effort. ‘I saved them hours of agony and a painful death. Cutting them free would have killed them. You know that. The doctor knew it – that’s why he left. And if you had any balls, you’d have helped me. My only regret – and it is a regret – is that we’ve just lost twenty-­five per cent of our remaining officers.’

Callen raised a clenched fist. ‘They were people, not a percentage.’

‘They were doomed. There was no way we could ever get them out without chopping them into pieces. ...