“I’ll do my best, sir.” Hurati’s face said that he doubted it, but he’d die trying. He retreated to the office with Hokan, and they rummaged through the cabinets and drawers looking for operating instructions, tools, anything that might be used to release the bulkheads. In one cabinet Hokan found a crowbar. But its edges were too thick to get any purchase in the flimsiplast-thin gap between the two sections of the front door or the lower edge of the bulkhead. He flung it to the floor in frustration, and it clattered across the tiles.

The doors needed a blast of some magnitude. And he didn’t have the ordnance.

Hurati removed the cover from the alarm panel and began poking the tip of his knife experimentally into the maze of circuits and switches. Hokan took out the lightsaber and took a swipe at the bulkhead, more out of frustration than any ex­pectation of success.

Vzzzmmm.

The air took on an oddly ozonic smell, almost irritating in its intensity. He stared at the bulkhead’s previously smooth surface. There was a definite depression.

He made another pass with the blade, more slowly and controlled this time. He pressed his face close to the cooling metal at one edge and squinted across the flat surface, one eye closed. Yes, it was definitely warping the alloy.

But at this rate it would take him hours to cut through. He suspected time was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

Something thudded into the wall of the corridor.

Darman didn’t even hear the shatter gun fire. The Verpine projectile was never in danger of hitting anyone, but he sus­pected they’d have known all about it if it had.

“Wow, that’s some dent,” Atin said. “I don’t think the good doctor is going to come quietly, though.”

“Niner, are you picking this up?” Darman said. “Found her. Just like that.”

There was a faint sound of movement in his earpiece. He’d switched off the video feed. Niner sounded almost relaxed. “That’s the first bit of luck we’ve had.”

“Yeah, but she’s got a Verpine on her.”

“They’re fragile weapons and they don’t bounce. Give her a fright.”

“I’ve got a few frighteners ready.”

“If you need a hand, we’re going to have trouble getting in. I reckon all the emergency doors have shut tight.”

“All quiet out there?”

“Apart from Majestic getting too on-target for comfort, yes. We don’t want to take the whole building out with you still inside.”

“Can you go back for the other ram and try to force the front doors?”

“Do you need us to?”

“We’ll try getting Uthan out via the drains. If we can’t, it’s plan D.”

“Cheer up, still got E through Z plans,” Fi’s voice said.

“One day, Fi, I’m going to give you a good slap.” Darman said.

Atin held up his hand for silence. Darman heard the faint sibilance of whispered conversation, and then the door slammed and the lock clunked. So it wasn’t an automatic safety door. Uthan had company.

“She really doesn’t know me, does she?” Darman said, and peeled off a few centimeters of thermal tape. He checked around the corner with the probe, loath to test his armor against a Verpine. “It’s going to take more than a lock to keep me out, sweetheart.”

He hugged the wall. He was nearly at the door when it opened and he found himself face-to-face with two Tran­doshans who seemed pretty surprised to see him. Maybe it was the armor. It seemed to have that effect.

There was nowhere to run.

There were times when you could pull your rifle and times when you couldn’t, and Deeces weren’t much good at point-blank range unless you used them as a club. Darman aimed an instinctive punch before he thought about what he would do with the explosives in his hand. Even with an armored gauntlet, it was like hitting a stone block in the face. The Trandoshan fell back two paces. Then his comrade came at Darman with a blade. There was a frozen second or two of bewilderment as the Trannie looked at his knife, and then at Darman’s armor.

“Atin, want to give me a hand here?” Darman said quietly, taking one step back with vibroblade extended.

“What do—oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

The nice thing about a fixed vibroblade was that nobody could knock it out of your hand, not unless they took your arm off with it. The Trannie seemed to be considering that as an option before taking a huge lunge, the blade of his weapon skidding off Darman’s arm plate.

Darman ran at the Trannie headfirst and cannoned into him, throwing him against the wall and pinning him there while he tried to drive the vibroblade into soft tissue. He tried for the throat—big blood vessels, quick effect—but the Trannie had his wrist clamped tight. It was taking Darman all his strength to keep the enemy’s blade from his own throat. It seemed like deadlock.

The bodysuit was stabproof. Wasn’t it? He couldn’t see Atin. He had to concentrate on his own predicament, and he wasn’t getting anywhere fast with the Trannie. It was time for one of those bar-brawl tactics that Skirata made sure they all learned. Darman scraped his boot along the Trannie’s shin and brought it down hard on his instep. It gave him the split second of loosened grip he needed, and he plunged the vi­broblade in up to its hilt, over and over, not sure what he was hitting, but noting that the Trannie was shrieking and that the shrieks were gradually getting fainter.

Skirata was right. Stabbing someone was a slow way to kill them. He pressed his forearm against the Trannie’s neck and held him pinned while he slid down the wall. Darman followed him all the way down and finally knelt on his chest to make sure he didn’t move while he jammed the blade up under his jaw and across his trachea.

He waited for him to stop moving, then scrambled to his feet to see Atin standing over the other Trandoshan, still cursing. There was a lot of blood, and it didn’t look like Atin’s.

“I could have done without that interruption,” Darman said.

“Ruins your concentration,” Atin said. “Where were we?”

“About to use my universal key.” Darman retrieved the ribbon charge from the floor, wiped it on his sleeve, and set it with its detonator against the lock. They moved quickly to the hinge side, and Atin drew the Trandoshan array blaster he’d been so unwilling to abandon.

“Atin, it’s capture alive, remember?”

“She’s got company.”

“You make sure you need to use it, then. If they’d wanted her disintegrated they’d have said.” Darman took out the stun grenade and the mini EMP: she might have droids in there, too. He juggled both spheres in one hand. “Okay, I blow the lock, and in these go. They’re down for five seconds. I take Uthan and you shoot anything else still moving.”

“Got it.”

“Cover.”

Whump. The door exploded, showering kuvara splinters, and Darman leaned forward and threw in the surprises. A blinding three-hundred-thousand-candlepower white light and 160 decibels of raw noise flooded the room for two seconds, and Darman was inside before he realized it, pinning Uthan flat to the floor as Atin pumped the array blaster across the room.

The dust and smoke settled. Darman had cuffed Uthan. He didn’t actually recall doing it, but that was adrenaline working. For some reason he had expected a fight, but she was simply making an odd incoherent groan. He’d become used to Etain’s resilience. Uthan was a regular human, untrained, unfit, and—apart from her intellect—nothing special.

Darman picked up the Verpine and aimed it at a wall. It made the faintest of whirring noises, then jammed. Niner was right. Verpines didn’t bounce, or maybe the mini EMP had temporarily fried its electronics.

“Darman here. We have Uthan, repeat, we have Uthan.”

Fi’s whoop hurt his ears. Niner cut in. “Are we done here?”

“Let’s check we haven’t missed anything. Atin?” He glanced over his shoulder. Atin was cradling the array blaster, staring down at four bodies on the floor. It was all a bit of a mess, as Fi would say.