The ride down wasn't easy. Even though the power of the Abilene's sub-light engines hadn't been effected by the collision that threw them from HD space, and it was reassuring to feel their force pushing her in to the back of her seat, it still seemed to take an eternity before Ierus' golden surface began to fill the flight deck's windows. Finally though, she was able to make out some of the finer detail of it's landscapes and oceans. They were approaching the planet in full daylight. The upper atmosphere was streaked with bright, feathery clouds but there was enough clear sky for Haas to make out the planet's oceans, and several large continents. The landmasses looked not dissimilar to those back home, the mountain ranges, gorges and lakes all had a comforting familiarity to them. The southern hemisphere appeared to be in the midst of a deep winter, with enough snow coverage on land that only the largest mountain peaks and fastest flowing rivers offered any kind of contrast to the dazzling whiteness, but the north was snow free, decorated with blooms of sparse vegetation that coloured the land in shades of green and orange. There was little indication from the air of the terrible disease that had ravaged the planet, and little sign of large scale habitation either, but from their approach altitude of four hundred kilometers perhaps there wouldn't be. It had been fifteen years since Haas had flown through Pavonian space. She'd been a rookie back then, and in the intervening years everything had changed. The native citizenry of Ierus had numbered fewer than two billion before the Pavonovirus, on a planet the size of Earth. How many were now left, it was impossible to know. The plague had devastated the native population and forced their Circinian rulers in to a hasty retreat.

Nevertheless, she instructed Louie to aim for the largest city they had records for, in the most temperate zone, where the air would be warm and she would be less likely to need her full environmental suit. The course correction added a few extra, agonising minutes to their descent. Haas tried not to think about it, to keep her heart rate down and her breathing steady, but by the time they hit the upper atmosphere she had already exhausted her own emergency air tank and had switched to the co-pilot's supply. It was dwindling rapidly

"First available spot you've got Louie." She yelled in to her face mask. The turbulence of entry was starting to cause the Abilene to buck and shake in new and terrifying ways. Hanging on to her seat with her one functioning hand, her body had become drenched with the sweat of exertion, and she could feel the bruises rising on her hips as she was thrown hard against the unpadded arm rests. Much more of this and she might not make it, even if the Abilene did.

"There is a suitable area about five hundred kilometers straight ahead, Commander." Louis responded. "But we're coming up on the terminator. That means it will be dark by the time we land."

"Well, we were never going to get it all our own way." Haas replied. "Let's just get us on the ground before this tank empties."

In fact the air tank did run dry before the Abilene's landing skids made contact with the ground. When exactly that occurred she couldn't be sure. She'd used her last lungful of air to order Louie to disengage the mag-shields and open all the bulkheads, including the one that had sealed off the flight deck. Their altitude was low enough by then that the air streaming in through their compromised hull would be breathable. The AI had protested that without the shields, the damage to the ship could cause catastrophic turbulence. The Abilene could be torn apart. In response Haas had sworn, pulled off her face mask, and passed out on the flight controls.

When she came round the Abilene was silent and still and wonderfully, miraculously intact. There was a cool breeze blowing on the back of her neck and the air carried the scent of rain, spring leaves and wet earth. She'd never been more glad of bad weather in her life.

"Louie?" She coughed, pushing herself upright. The pain in her wounded right shoulder made an unwelcome return and something warm and sticky was trickling down her cheek.

"The ship is stable, Commander." The AI sounded rather proud of himself. "But I suggest you make her secure as quickly as possible. We are in unknown territory."

Haas hauled herself to her feet and tried to wipe her cheek, forgetting that her left arm was still not functioning. Cursing, she yanked open her jacket and wriggled the useless limb free of its sleeve. If she could tuck it against her chest at least it wouldn't be swinging around, collecting more dents and dings. Unfortunately, Regulator uniforms were designed to be close fitting and accommodating a broken limb had never been a consideration of their design. With her left thumb hooked through the belt loop on her trousers only one of her jacket buttons would re-fasten, but as a makeshift sling it would suffice until she could reach her foot locker, and the spare external battery she stored there. Hopefully, a little extra juice would solve her problems and get her arm functioning again. If not, she was really screwed.

Clambering over her seat, Haas pushed her way through the open flight deck door, passed a thick bundle of dangling wires and into the forward section of the ship. The Abilene had landed at a slight angle to it's port side. Either the ground beneath them was uneven, or the ship's landing gear had partially failed. The angle wasn't perilous, but it did make walking on the debris littered floor even more difficult. At least the air was fresh, and the steady rain falling through the breach in the hull was cooling on her face, offering a welcome confirmation that she was indeed alive. Which, given the damage to her ship, was quite an achievement.

The galley looked like a bomb had gone off, and where the upper gun deck had once been, there was now only a muddy crimson sky. Sunset was not far away and shadows were already pooling in the cramped corners of the ship. Kicking her way through the debris Haas retrieved a flashlight from one of the few small equipment lockers whose contents were still intact, and turned the beam on to what remained of the upper bulkhead. The Abilene's gun deck had been automated and could be controlled from the flight deck, by the pilots or the ship's AI. The turret, with it's coaxial canons had been mounted on a rotating platform, a huge disc of solid steel whose housing was riveted to the Abilene's sub frame. The sheered ends of the rivets were all that was left. Whatever they had hit, it had been big and heavy.

"That'll come out of my pay cheque." Haas muttered, tip-toeing through a jumble of severed electrical conduit. She was nearly at the midships bulkhead now and the sealed door to the ops room. The rain had eased off, and other than her own laboured breathing, the ship was silent. An old explorer's tale surfaced in her memory. It was a legend her father used to tell her when she was a young girl, of the tentacled monsters that travelled HD space, dimensional demons lurking in the plasma, waiting to devour any vulnerable ship. Her hand hovered over the ops room door controls, as she struggled with the sudden thought that there might be something unpleasant on the other side.

"Is there something wrong, Commander?" Louie asked.

"I'm fine," Haas responded, dismayed at the tremor in her own voice. Gritting her teeth she punched the door control harder than was necessary. The hydraulics whirred, died, came back and finally, with what sounded like their last burst of energy, pulled the door open.

The ops room had survived intact, although the contents of her desk were now littering the floor, and her rucksack was tangled around the legs of her chair. There wasn't a tentacled monster in sight. Haas ignored the mess clustered around her desk, and went straight to the small evidence locker. The door had a few more dings than it had before, but the thin aluminium had held. Haas dragged it open and retrieved the box of chocolates, along with a couple of air tasers, the Hadari skipping root and the canisters of Safian snuff. She couldn't be sure what kind of reception she'd get from any locals still around, so having some tradeable items could only be of benefit. With some effort, and a little swearing she freed her rucksack, added her favourite data pad to her collection of supplies and returned to the galley.

Night had fallen outside, and beyond the hull breach, in the unpolluted Ierusian sky a million stars mocked her with their twinkling promise. There was every chance she'd never be space bound again. Tears warped her vision once more. She swatted them away, gulped the cool air and straight away felt the need to breathe hard.

"Louie, what's Ierusian atmosphere like?" She asked.

"Planetary oxygen levels average fifteen per cent, Commander," The AI replied.

Five per cent lower than the Earth-atmos that was standard on Admiralty vehicles. So much for bartering that Safian snuff, Haas thought, she'd need it herself, just to keep breathing. There was a long walk, maybe even a long stay on Ierus in her future. Assuming she made it through the night, she'd didn't want to spend that time enduring a permanent headache.

"Louie, are the charges for the camo-nets still in place?" She asked, taking one last, bitter look at the sky.

"Yes, Commander," the AI responded. "That circuit is still functioning."

"Fire them, would you."

Camo-nets were standard issue on all small Admiralty vehicles. Photo-reflective and powered by their own batteries, they were designed to hide a craft for several weeks in the event of a landing in hostile territory. And if ever a place could be considered hostile to Regulators, Ierus was it.

"Firing now." Louie announced, although his warning gave her little time to brace. The thump as the charges detonated caused her to stagger and collide painfully with the corner of the galley table. One more bruise to add to the collection, she thought, as above her the stars winked out and the camo-net ruffled in to place. A giant comfort blanket in a cold, empty world.

"Nets are secure, Commander," Louie confirmed.

"Good job, Louie," Haas replied. "Now, let's get our shit sorted out."

The Abilene's cargo hold was unheated, but at least the lights had flickered on when she tried the switch. With a huge hole in the upper deck the cargo bay was now the only part of the ship left that was structurally sound and defendable, should the camo-nets fail to offer enough cover. It would be Haas' bunk room, kitchen and work space for the night. It was a solution that could hardly be considered comfortable. The whole space smelled of straw and gun cleaner, the residues of the last shipment she and Sato had impounded. Strangely, as Haas dragged more of her gear in to the space, she came to find the odours comforting. They reminded her of her partner.

Lucy Sato had completed her flight accreditation as Haas' co-pilot, on an aid run to the Perdita refugee station. She hadn't quite been top of her class, but then who wants a co-pilot who was top of their class? All they want is your job. The two women worked well together as a unit and Haas had requested Sato be made her permanent partner as soon as she graduated. The differences between them had made sustained space flight much easier to endure. They liked the same music, but not the same food. Sato preferred to shower in the morning, Haas in the evening. Sato appreciated the meditative power of paperwork, Haas would rather be cleaning her gun. Finally Sato knew not to ask Haas about her father. For long stretches cooped up together on the Abilene, they were perfect partners, and in the last two years they had become friends too. If they had been in this predicament together, Haas would feel much more confident about getting out of it in one piece.

The back up battery for her prosthetic was where she'd left it, with the first aid kit in her foot locker, but Haas decided not to plug it in straight away. The process required a little work, and a lot of concentration. It was a job she would much rather tackle behind the security of the cargo bay doors. She decided to leave it til last, but that meant with only one working arm it took her close to half an hour to drag her mattress from her bunk room to the corner of the cargo bay furthest from the outer doors and salvage the few edibles that had survived in the galley. Finally, she went back for her foot locker.

"I have powered down the flight deck controls." Louie announced, as she dropped the locker on to the cargo bay floor and settled herself on to her mattress. "Voice print security has been enabled."

"Thanks, Louie." Haas responded, unable to keep the weariness from her voice. Her body was screaming at her to sleep. Every joint ached, her prosthetic was a dead weight against her ribs, the cut to her cheek was throbbing, and the bullet graze to her right arm was still oozing blood. But as tired as she was, she still had work to do, and it started with her arm.

Wearing her prosthetic naked at least meant she didn't have to deal with peeling back the synth-skin on her bicep to expose the emergency battery port, but she still had to unscrew its protective plate, strap the emergency battery in to a comfortable position and wrangle the tiny connector in to its socket. By the time the power indicator light flashed green to confirm the connection was solid, her vision was blurred and a debilitating headache was drilling its way in to the top of her skull. She located the reset switch in her elbow and pressed it. It would take a few minutes for the power circuits to come back online and run internal diagnostics so she lay back on her mattress, desperate to switch off, even as her arm turned itself back on.

Rest proved elusive though. Her mind raced, repeating the events of the day over and over, hunting for some clue, some hint as to who might be pulling the strings in the murder of Ambassador Sewati. Unfortunately, the information she had to go on was thin. The identities of her attackers were still unknown, the real ones anyway, and the contents of the mystery notebook, now stashed in her rucksack had remained stubbornly indecipherable. All she had to go on was Sewati's dying plea, that she track down his old acquaintance, the archaeologist Agashe Sett.

The fingers of her prosthetic curled and uncurled. A good sign. Full function wasn't far away.

"Louie, what do you know about a Circinian academic called Agashe Sett?" She asked, popping the lid off one of the canisters of Safian snuff. The contents were a deep, glittering green, finely ground and aromatic. The good stuff. Haas held the canister beneath her nose and inhaled hard. The snuff hit her sinuses like a blast of polar wind and magenta stars exploded in showers from the cargo bay lights.

"Agashe Sett had no criminal record." Louie responded after a pause.

"She was working at Wolf 922 when the Pavonovirus broke out." Haas said, prodding at her face with a fingernail. Her cheeks had gone numb. "You might have to go back a few years."

"I cannot locate a date of death for her either, Commander. If you would like me to request her academic record I will need to contact Admiralty HQ."

"No, don't do that just yet." Haas responded with a sigh.

So, Agashe Sett was a dead end, at least for now. With no way to know who exactly she could trust, she'd have to find another source of information.

Her left elbow flexed automatically, then her shoulder. Finally, she was back to full power, and the realisation made her giggle. Unscrewing the lid from a water bottle she'd salvaged from the galley, she gulped down the powdery remains of the Safian snuff that had coated the back of her throat, and returned her attention to her foot locker.

The contents, which accounted for most of her possessions, still looked neatly packed, despite having been thrown around in the crash. She lifted out her dress jacket and trousers. She was unlikely to be attending any award ceremonies in the near future so they were useless for now, but beneath them, her copy of Mikklesen's 'Guide to the Orion Spur' was wrapped in her father's old jacket. She removed them both.

All her father's other possessions had been with him on the Champlain when it disappeared. The jacket and the book were all she had to remember him by, and even though the Mikklesen pre-dated the book ban, and was now decades out of date, she still treasured it, and read it regularly. Putting both items to one side she pulled out her thermal survival suit. She had not had cause to wear it for some time, but it was just what she needed for a cold night in the Abilene's hold. She unfastened it, unstrapped her sidearm and tugged the suit on over her clothes, relishing the warmth provided by its fine, quilted fabric. Moments later, with an extra blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her sidearm within easy reach, and an open box of Sato's taste free health food bars resting against her thigh, she opened the Mikkelsen.

Usually the time she spent with her father's favourite travel journal was leisurely, enjoyable, an indulgence for those brief moments when he found herself off duty. But now she was looking for something specific. Flicking through the well worn pages she reached the final chapter, Mikkelsen's observations of the Outer Banks, and the legend of the Madu Chasm. At the time the guidebook had been written the Madu Chasm was terra incognita to Solarians. For Circinians, the spacefarers whose home world was closest to the Outer Banks, it was the Devil's Triangle, a region of space that was best avoided if you planned to return home to your loved ones alive and in possession of your sanity. Some theorists suggested the region was home to a so far undiscovered spacefaring race, one that made a sport of hunting down anyone who strayed in to their territory. Others thought it was proximity to the Expanse that was to blame, that gazing in to the vast emptiness separating the Orion spur from the Perseus Arm of the Milky Way was enough to send entire ship's crews fatally mad. Mikkelsen's description of the region contained several accounts of missing ships, of crews who made it back swearing never to return, but the author also included the observation made by statisticians, that the Madu Chasm was no more dangerous than any other region of space. Insurance claims for losses in the area proved that much, and besides Admiralty Explorer Branch was mapping more of the area every year. Traffic was increasing and with it their knowledge. The old Circinian tales would soon be proved to be nothing more than ghost stories. That had been her father's opinion too, and perhaps that explained his interest in the little book. It, and the derelict he'd found it on, proved that ships didn't go missing in the Madu Chasm, they merely got lost. Then of course the Champlain itself had disappeared. The Admiralty flagship, with its most accomplished Commander in charge. It had been a huge embarrassment and after the initial search and rescue operation, no Explorer Branch ship had ever returned to the area. It seemed to Haas that the ghost stories had, in the end proved more persuasive than the statistics.

She puffed out her cheeks. Thanks to the Safian snuff her headache had melted away, but her lips were now numb, and the chances of getting any sleep were almost nil. Haas flipped to the back cover of the Mikkelsen. Tucked inside was a small piece of card. She drew it carefully from it's hiding place and flipped it over. It was a photograph of the bridge crew of the Champlain with their families. Her father was at the centre of the little gathering. Tall, handsome, clean cut, the poster boy for the Admiralty Explorer Branch. There was a little girl stood by his side, her delicate hand clutched in his. How old had she been when that photo was taken? Perhaps five, or six maybe. Too young to join her father on one of his expeditions, but old enough to cling to him, knowing that when she finally let him go, he would be gone for months. Standing behind the young Neylan was Myra, her mother, a woman who was as enigmatic to Haas as she was to almost everyone else who had known her. Pale and haughty, with her neatly plaited hair and unsettling gaze, her fine Circinian features were free back then, from the disease which would eventually kill her. She scowled at the camera, as she always did. Photography, Neylan, is art for those who lack a soul. That's what she'd always said.

Haas turned away from her mother's image, not wishing to dwell on the resemblances between them, and turned back to the image of her father. Had he really needed Sewati's help to decipher the little notebook, or had he realised possessing it was potentially dangerous? Haas couldn't believe her father would put his oldest friend in harm's way without at least being honest with him, but whatever his motive had been for handing the book to Sewati, that danger had now claimed him, and was now creeping, vampire like through the shadows towards her.

"Do me a favour, Louie," Haas said. "If anyone tries to reach us on your comm lines before sun up, play dead."

"Commander?" Louie was not used to defying his protocols.

"I'm not sure what's going on right now." Haas carefully placed the photo back in it's hiding place and added the Mikkelsen to the contents of her rucksack. "But until I can be sure otherwise, we trust no-one. Not even the Admiralty."