The cabin was in almost complete darkness. Haas fumbled for the light switch, but it failed to respond to her touch. Whatever had interfered with the door controls, might have shorted the lighting circuit too. Only the discreet glow of the lights in the corridor offered any kind of illumination, and at first there seemed to be little wrong, but as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Haas began to see the unmistakable signs that her gut had been right.

The cabin had been searched. A crooked cushion on one of the sofas, the door to the drinks cabinet slightly open. Even the corner of one of the floor rugs had been turned over. They could all have been left like that by Sewati before he retired for the night, but Haas knew the Ambassador was fastidious in his habits. He would also have had no reason to touch the framed Safian landscape displayed between the cabin's two portholes. It was hanging at a slight angle, as if someone had looked behind it. The sweet smell of Uiban brandy filled the air, suggesting whoever had broken in had knocked over a bottle in their haste to locate whatever they had come for. They must have realised they had little time, that Haas wouldn't be gone for very long. Had someone been watching her, or at least watching the cabin? Had she been that careless, that deceived by the Laurentic's luxury and rich guest list, that she hadn't noticed the potential for danger?

Haas made her way past the sofa, where she had left Sewati enjoying his brandy the night before, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpeting, anger and fear bubbling in the pit of her stomach. Her own bedroom door was open, just as she had left it, and a quick glance inside told her the room was empty. Still, there was a chance the intruder was still nearby, and concern for her father's old friend pushed her on, beyond the puddle of light spilling in from the corridor, until she stood in full darkness, and could only sense, rather than see, Sewati's bedroom door ahead of her. It too was slightly open, but not enough for her to squeeze through. She called Sewati's name, but there was no response. Of course it was possible he was still asleep, and oblivious to the fact they'd been burgled, but Haas had never been that much of an optimist. Allowing her guard to drop for a moment, she gripped the exposed edge of the door. It's simple hydraulics were no match for the power of her prosthetic and it offered little resistance, beyond the squeal of metal on metal as she shoved the door to one side. Still there was no sound from the bedroom beyond. Raising her sidearm again, Haas stepped inside.

At first it seemed like nothing was amiss. The bed was unmade, but there were no obvious signs of violence. A reading pad lay on one of the pillows, its screen giving off the warm pink glow that suited M'Nean vision. Haas moved to retrieve it, there was a chance she could use it as a makeshift torch, and it was as she was bending down that she heard it. A tiny, gurgling cough.

"Sewati?" She peered into the shadows on the far side of the room.

In his black sleeping robe Sewati would have been easy to miss, had the light from his reading pad not caught the liquid glint of his eyes. He was jammed in the space between the closet and the wash cubicle. Torn between relief that she had found him alive and concern that he might not be that way for very long, Haas scurried around the bed. Sewati was trembling, even in the warmth of his bedroom. His eyes, which appeared black in the diffuse light from the reading pad, were pained and unfocused. A thick trickle of inky blood flowed from the corner of his mouth.

"Shit." Haas cursed. She hurried to holster her sidearm, then scrabbled for the comms point on the bedside pedestal. It would connect her straight to the ship's steward and the Laurentic's on board medical team.

"Neylan." Sewati's voice was thin and pinched with pain, but his hand on her wrist was iron firm. "It will be of no use."

"You just need to hang on." Haas grabbed the comms point receiver and flipped it open. The line was dead. Had their mysterious visitor disabled that too?

"OK, we need to get you out of here." She tried to lift the little man in to her arms but he batted her away.

"No, Commander Haas." He murmured, and a bubble of dark blood broke against his lips. His eyes were wide with desperation. "You leave me here. Get off this ship! As fast as you can."

"What are you talking about?" Haas replied, frustrated. She'd never had much of a bedside manner. "Who attacked you? What did they want?"

"You must find her, Neylan" Sewati hissed. "Agashe Sett. Get the book to her." His voice was growing weaker. "It's more than I realised, than your father realised."

Haas pressed her hand to the pocket on her trousers. The strange little notebook, still hidden inside, now felt like a snake coiled against her skin.

"Sewati, why would anyone want it?" She asked. "Who were they?"

"Solarian. Male. I don't know," Sewati seemed frustrated now, clinging on to every breath. "But all the evidence he left will suggest it was you."

"Me?" Her brain scrambled to catch up with Sewati's words. "But why the hell would I...?"

Her question went unfinished as the little man collapsed in a fit of wet coughing. The edge of his sleeping robe fell away from his body, finally revealing the cause of his injury. The handle of a knife was protruding from high on his belly. The wound was deep enough that she knew immediately it would prove fatal, whether she called the medics or not. Any attempt to remove the knife would also be instantly fatal, and the Laurentic was not equipped with a full surgical suite. Even if they rushed him to M'ech he'd be dead long before they reached a hospital.

Sewati's fate was inevitable, no matter what she did, and for a moment that realisation paralysed her. He was her father's oldest friend, and she'd been responsible for him. How could she have been so careless? She shook off the self-recrimination. Now was not the time. Sewati was dying, and the attack on him had left her with a problem. Even in the dim light there was no way she could fail to recognise the murder weapon. It was a standard issue Admiralty blade, just like the one she kept with her at all times. Hers was in her room, in the rucksack she had bought with her from the Abilene. Or was it?

She had less than a second to regret not having performed a more thorough search of her own room before the breath was crushed violently from her body. The hand that clamped around her neck was large, male, and backed by terrifying power. It shoved her down on to the carpet, crushing the air from her chest. She tried to kick her assailant, but couldn't make contact. A second hand grasped her left wrist, twisting her prosthetic back hard against her spine. Pain burst behind her eyes. She tried to gasp for air but couldn't. The motors in her elbow whined, but in such an unnatural position they were useless. Blood pounded in her ears as her attacker put his full weight on her back, making it impossible for her to throw him off. She had no leverage, and no voice with which to scream.

"Half-breed bitch," the man growled, breath rank against her neck.

Haas kicked desperately with her feet, making only the slightest contact with her assailant's behind. He grunted, and the vice like grip on her throat was released. Haas hauled air into her lungs, desperate to take advantage of her attacker's fumble, but he had no intention of letting her go. Instead, he drove his knee down hard in to the base of her spine, crushing the air from her lungs once again, and with one hand now free, he reached down to her hip and drew her sidearm. Haas scrabbled with her free hand, but pinned to the thick carpet all she could do was flail at their air. Not that her predicament should have been the end of the world. The intelligent grip was programmed to respond only to her prosthetic. Her sidearm should have been nothing more than lump of useless metal in someone else's hands. So when the trigger guard flashed green, when her assailant fired, Haas couldn't believe what her senses were telling her. The man's marksmanship was not as good as hers, but at such close quarters it was as good as it needed to be. The gun cracked, and the bullet sped from the muzzle in a blinding cloud of amber light. It struck Sewati square in the chest, and the little man sank back against the wall of the cabin, his breath rattling from his lips. Haas tried to meet his gaze, to scream her apologies, to beg him to hold on, but there was no air in her lungs and no life left in Sewati's eyes. Somewhere, a bell began to ring, or was it just in her head, an illusion created by a panic stricken brain? If she didn't take back control of the situation soon she would black out, and there was a distinct possibility she wouldn't wake up again. Sewati's last words came back to her.

"All the evidence he left will suggest it was you."

A dead diplomat. Her knife. Her gun, and all the opportunity in the world. All that was left was a motive, and Haas was starting to think her attacker would have that base covered too. He tossed her sidearm to one side and wrapped his hand around her throat. She clawed at his fingers, but it had no effect. Haas felt his breath again, this time on her cheek.

"Shame I have my orders," he hissed. "I've never fucked a mongrel whore like you."

Haas scrabbled frantically for anything to grab on to. He had no plans to leave her alive, and she was running out of options, and air. Finally, her hand made contact with something warm and soft; her assailant's ear. She dug her fingernails in hard and yanked. The man grunted and shook her off, but the pain had caught him by surprise. His grip on her prosthetic loosened, and Haas reacted. Ignoring the pain from her shoulder, she hauled her left arm free, clamped her hand around her attackers wrist, and as he tightened his grip on her throat even more, and the room began to tunnel away to nothing, she squeezed.

Haas wasn't the only individual with a prosthetic. When you moved in the kind of circles she did, limb loss was an occupational hazard on both sides of the law, and her own arm had been lost in a fire fight on the Procyon frontier two years ago. However, she was the only one who wore her prosthetic naked. No layers of bio-skin and no synth-muscle meant there was nothing to cushion the force created by the servos powering her joints. She didn't even have to put all her strength in to her assault, before she felt something give. The bones in her attacker's wrist crumbled, and with a howl of pain he released his grip on her throat. Air surged back in to her lungs, the room swam back in to view and Haas rolled free, her only thought; to put the bastard down..

Snatching her sidearm off the floor, she lunged for her assailant, striking him hard with the grip. The crack as it made contact with his jaw brought a satisfied sneer to her lips, and a final kick to the man's groin sent him sprawling to the floor. He was a big man, Solarian, as Sewati had said, dressed in the uniform of a Blue Star Line security officer. Haas scrambled over him, pressing one knee in to his bruised genitals, and the business end of her sidearm against his cheek.

"Who sent you?" She hissed.

The man laughed, despite the pain in his wrist.

"Forget it sweetheart," he said. "You may as well shoot me."

The guy had obviously been through the wringer before. In the murky light she could make out the heavy scars that furrowed his neck and right cheek.

"A Safian rake," Haas whispered. "Nasty weapon. Who'd you piss off to take one of those to the face?"

A flicker of something, a bad memory perhaps, passed across the man's features, but he wasn't about to crumble that quickly. She leaned hard on the man's groin until tears sprang from his eyes.

"What were you looking for?"

"Some half-breed arse," the man growled. He was starting to become numb to the pain she was inflicting.

Haas had heard similar comments from thugs and thieves her entire working life, especially when she was arresting them, or testifying against them in court. In fact it was perfectly possible that he was someone she had put away in the past. There were so many she couldn't remember them all. But whoever he was she wasn't about to give him the chance to insult her for a third time. They might have a reputation as cowboys, but Regulator Branch still had procedures they followed.

"You're right," she said, eyes trained on her captive as she holstered her sidearm. "I should just forget it. Let Head Office sort this one out."

And with one last knee to the man's groin she drew back her fist and punched him with a single left hook to the jaw.

The man's body went limp, but he wasn't dead. Haas would have to hurry. Retrieving her smart cuffs from their pouch on her belt she secured them to the man's wrists. Satisfied he wouldn't getting out of the restraints without an Admiralty pass-code, Haas searched his pockets but found no identification other than a ship security pass, and no possessions except for a small data pad. The pass listed her attacker's name as Matias Alvizo. It was probably fake but she still pocketed it. If nothing else she might get lucky with a fingerprint. The data pad was password protected, but there were ways around that, so she slipped that in to her pocket too. Finally, she returned to Sewati, but the little man was long gone. With as much care as she could manage she smoothed out his sleeping robe. His eyes were still half open. She pressed them closed, not so much out of concern for his dignity, but to assuage her own guilt. His lifeless gaze was more than she could face.

The discarded comms link still lay on the carpet. She knew she should call someone, alert Captain Nagy at least, but Sewati had been right. At first glance all the evidence would point to her. Regulator or not, she would be detained and searched. The little notebook would be confiscated. A notebook her father had been trying to translate before he disappeared, and which Sewati had now died to protect. Her first priority was to ensure the book's safety, and there was only one place to do that.

The light on Sewati's reading pad was beginning to die. The battery was running out, but Haas picked it up anyway, and made her way silently back to her own room. It too had been carefully searched. Her rucksack was where she had left it, stowed in the small closet, but a quick check revealed her suspicions had been correct. The sheath for her knife was empty. Haas checked the rest of the bag's contents but everything else was as it should be, although here was a missed call on her comm set. It was Louie, the Abilene's AI. Haas re-dialled.

"Your sidearm registered a shot fired." Louie explained, as soon as the call connected. "Are you injured Commander?"

"I'll live." Haas muttered, hastily closing her rucksack. "But the comms are down in my cabin. I'll need you to patch me through to the Laurentic's bridge."

"Certainly, Commander. Any terminal in particular?"

Haas didn't have many choices. The Laurentic was a civilian vessel. In terms of law enforcement, right now she was all there was, but she had no plans to get caught on unfamiliar territory, by people she didn't know. Sewati had begged her to get off the ship, and she planned to follow that instruction before doing anything else.

"Try the head of security." Haas replied. "But don't place the call until I get to the Abilene. Ambassador Sewati is dead."

There was a pause on the line. Louie would be analysing the stress patterns in her voice, calculating all the possible scenarios for their situation. It felt like an eternity in the gloomy silence, with only her own growing sense of guilt for company, but finally the AI spoke again.

"Are we in some kind of trouble, Commander?" He asked.

Haas hefted her rucksack on to her shoulder.

"Yeah Louie," she said, heading back through the darkened cabin. "I think there's a very real possibility we are."