Darien knew he shouldn't have done it, but he couldn't help himself. His whole body ached to know what Smith would be able to extract from their captive and, he had to admit, a small part of him was grimly curious about how in Space their commander planned to get that information. So he slipped down to the detention wing where he knew Brock was being held.

The station had never been designed as a prison so there weren't many cells, only a handful of solitary high security holding areas for priority targets and prisoner transfers. The marines guarding the door to the detention wing looked taken aback when he strode into the hallway clad in his casual Blink fatigues, but they didn't stop him.

He was getting close to the holding cell itself, but the screams that suddenly came reverberating down the hallway arrested his progress. The sound dug into his ears like a physical thing and he stopped dead. Another scream echoed past him, muffled by the thick walls of the holding cells, but coldly audible nonetheless.

It seemed the interrogation wasn't over.

When a marine guard came striding around the bend in the passage he was still there, listening. The screams had finally stopped a few moments ago, but Darien's mind spun with the implications. He recognised Corporal Barker; the man wore a grim expression and his skin looked a little drained of colour.

"Flint?" Barker stopped. "What are you doing here?"

"Where's Smith?" Darien asked, ignoring the question.

"He just finished up with your man."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What did he find out?"

"I don't know." Barker shrugged. "I wasn't in the room. Smith went in alone and he disabled the security feeds."

Darien felt a chill go up his spine. "So there's no record?"

"Oh, I'm sure Smith's got a recording of it somewhere but no one else knows what just happened in that room."

"Is that...can he do that?"

"He just did."

Darien knew well enough what that meant. Whatever methods Smith had resorted to in order to drag the required information out of Brock, he didn't want them on display for the world to see. Plausible deniability. Brock might have been a dangerous traitor, but torturing prisoners was still banned across the length and breadth of colonial space. The Blink organisation was meant to uphold those laws, not break them.

"I need to see him."

"Well you can wait here if you want to," Barker said, shrugging off his rifle. "I'm going to get a drink." And with that he marched off down the hallway and out of sight. Darien watched him go, then looked grimly back down the passage that led to Smith. A small part of him wondered if he really wanted to know what lay down there.

Shrugging off his apprehension, he squared his shoulders and set off down the passage, his boots thumping dully against the station's deck plating. Before long his ears picked up the sound of a commotion echoing towards him: mens' voices shouting; a crash. It wasn't long before he found the cause.

When he rounded the final bend in the corridor he found four marines wrestling Tannis Brock onto his stretcher, but the Ghost was fighting back with an almost feral energy. Even from the distance between them Darien could see the wild look in the man's eye. Eventually one of the marines smashed a heavy fist into Brock's face, stunning him. As he slumped back onto the stretcher another marine tugged a volt gun free and shot him for good measure. Brock's body twitched spasmodically for a moment, then went limp.

"Get him out of my sight," someone snapped. A moment later Smith appeared from the adjoining room. His silken jacket was gone and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up. He wiped something from his hands with a white cloth. He still wore his spectacles, and behind them his eyes were as bright and dangerous as ever.

As the marines wheeled Brock's unconscious form away Smith started walking. He spotted Darien but didn't make any measurable reaction until he stopped right in front of him, a questioning look on his face.

"Are you down here for a reason?" Smith asked, his voice resting at its usual laconic calm.

Darien hesitated. "Brock...I wanted to see the interrogation."

"No you didn't."

"What did you do to him?" The question was out before Darien could stop it. A morbid curiosity swept over him. He had never seen Smith taking a hands-on approach to anything. However, the look he received in answer to his question made his blood run cold.

"There are things you do not need to know," Smith said quietly. "You're a good Blink operative, Darien, but I'm the one who will do the unpalatable things that others are unwilling to. That is my role."

Darien cleared his throat, feeling a prickle of unease on his skin. "Did you get the information you needed?"

"That remains to be seen." Smith looked at him thoughtfully. Then he motioned down the corridor with a flick of his head. "Come with me."

*

Alone with Smith in the man's office, Darien couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that hung in the air like an invisible smog. He stood awkwardly just inside the door while Smith poured himself a drink of a crystalline liquid, clearer and sharper than any water. Sitting down behind his arc of computers, Smith beckoned him forward.

"Take a seat," he said. Darien did as he was bidden pulling up one of the two chairs that sat on the opposite side of the desk. Lowering himself into it, he tried to relax, clasping his hands together and leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees.

"What I'm about to tell you," Smith continued. "Is a matter of the highest security."

"I can keep a secret." Darien winced as the half-hearted joke slipped out of his mouth. He didn't get nervous very often, but right now Smith's grim demeanour had him on edge.

"Of that I have no doubt. Nonetheless, I have to make the point – no-one outside your current mission can be made aware of this. The implications are...concerning."

Darien nodded. "I understand."

"Tannis Brock, as I suspected, is well-trained in how to withstand interrogation. In my first attempt I was able to extract two pieces of information from him." Smith took a sip of his drink; sucked in a sharp breath. "First, the kidnappings themselves are a means to an end. Brock and his people are part of a much larger plan that aims to destabilise the entire colonial network. Once this plan is completed they will be able to strike with impunity at any target, without warning. You've seen how their ship seems able to appear at any location without warning. Currently there is only one such vessel, but if there was a fleet..." He let the implications speak for themselves. "Specifically what they need these young men and women for, I couldn't find out. Either Brock doesn't know, or he was able to keep that information buried."

"And the second thing?"

"I know who he is working for."

Darien blinked, his eyes going wide. "You know who's running that whole operation?"

"I do."

"Well who is it?!"

"His name is Theodore Logan." Smith swirled the liquid in his glass for a moment, then looked Darien in the eye. "He was a Blink operative."

Silence hung in the air. For a moment all Darien could do was sit and stare. He felt sick. No wonder the group had been able to target the potential candidates so easily. They were being led by someone who knew exactly what to look for.

"You see why this information cannot leave this station," Smith said.

"Damn right I do." Darien leaned back in his seat, rubbing his eyes with both hands. "So what the hell happened? Why has Logan decided to declare a one-man war on the whole colonial network?"

"I'm not sure, but he was always a...volatile individual." He took a gulp of his drink. "We worked together a long time ago. Eventually, as happens with all operatives, when he grew older his ability to Blink diminished more and more. Most people handle it. Logan couldn't. It unbalanced him; made him dangerous. He was discharged for his own safety, and the safety of others."

"Well this mission is a gift that keeps on giving isn't it," Darien sighed. "So now we're hunting a rogue Blink operative?"

"Essentially. And we will find him, Darien. The abilities you and your companions have are a great asset when turned toward the common good. The idea of someone with your gifts running unchecked by law is one that has all levels of colonial government concerned. Our organisation survives because we prevent that from happening. We guarantee control."

Darien nodded his understanding, and the sickness in his stomach faded away into a kind of numbness. Assassins and former operatives, kidnappings, destabilising the colonies – it was all spiralling out into one hell of a mess, and he was right in the middle of it. He took a deep, steadying breath. "So what's our next move?"

Smith opened his mouth to reply.

And then all the lights on the station went out.

They were plunged into a dim twilight for perhaps twenty seconds, but in that time commander and operative looked at one and other.

"Brock," Smith muttered, standing up. He touched two fingers to just below his right ear and Darien noticed the faint but unmistakable throb of blue light from beneath the man's skin. "This is Smith. Status, now!"

Without his earpiece Darien didn't hear the reply, but he saw Smith's face darken with fury. Behind the glasses his eyes narrowed and he drew in a deep breath through clenched teeth.

"Very well," he said in a barely controlled hiss. "Deploy all security personnel, lock down the hanger bays and alert all Blink teams. I'm on my way."

"He's loose?" Darien asked in disbelief.

"It seems so."

"How...?"

"We'll deal with that later." Smith looked at him. "Get a radio and a weapon. I'm heading to the security centre – I want you to take operational command of the Blink teams on the station. Radio me once you're in the barrack room. I'll coordinate between you and the marines." Then he reached beneath his desk and hauled free the biggest handgun Darien had ever seen: a cannon twelve inches long with a revolving cylinder magazine. Smith checked the monstrous weapon's eight chambers then slammed the cylinder back into place. "Go!"

Darien hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded and shot off out of the room. His heart thundered in his chest as he sprinted through the gleaming passages, passing marines and administrative staff as they bustled back and forth to their stations. He realised, however, that the alarms weren't sounding. Whatever power glitch had freed Brock must also have been targeted at the station's internal security network.

Rounding the bend leading to the barrack room he skidded to a halt to avoid crashing into Idas coming from another hallway. The burly teen still wore the tank top and shorts of his casual attire.

"What the hell is going on?" the other boy demanded as they jogged side by side.

"Brock," Darien replied simply.

"You mean he escaped?"

"Looks that way. Station's on lockdown."

"Scunner me."

When they burst into the barrack room they found a dozen operatives already inside, some of them in their black fatigues, others strapping combat vests on over their civilian clothes having been pulled out of their R&R. He spotted Niamh fastening her armour over a long-sleeved crimson top and ripped iron-grey trousers. Her feet were still encased in a pair of old-fashioned heavy boots that reached up to just below her knees, fastened in place with big silver buckles. Each had a flaming skull emblazoned over the ankle.

They crossed the room toward her as she retrieved her carbine from its cradle. She turned to them, grim-faced.

"Well, there's only one person on the station that could kick up this much fuss," Niamh said. "I take it our friend is making a bid for freedom?"

"We're about to find out," Darien replied, opening up his own locker and slotting an earpiece into place. He tapped it with one hand and started speaking as he geared up. "Smith, this is Darien. I'm in the barrack room with half the operatives on the station. Have you got an update for us?"

"Brock had help from someone on board," Smith replied and he could hear the barely suppressed anger in the Blink commander's voice. "The internal security net has been shunted offline. We've got no internal sensors and no live feeds to track. We'll have to find him the hard way. I'm coordinating the marine security details to seal off the hanger bays and critical systems."

"Blink teams are still arriving. When we're ready I'll let you know." As he spoke, more and more operatives came piling into the barrack room. Uther strode through the throng wordlessly, then a moment later Amber and Hekket arrived, their faces stamped with confusion. Both of them gathered up their earpieces and combat gear before joining the rest of Hammerhead Squad at the head of the room.

"So much for time off," Hekket muttered.

"Suck it up," Darien replied. "Because I'll be damned if after everything we went through to catch this guy he's going to just slip away again."

No one disagreed with that statement. He had to admit that they all looked a little odd with the coupling of their jet back combat gear against the flashes of civilian colour, but they looked ready nonetheless.

In less than five minutes all the active operatives on station had assembled in the barrack room, each and every one of them gazing expectantly at the members of Hammerhead Squad. Right then it hit him: he really had become the unofficial head of the Blink teams. He braced himself for what was to come.

"Darien," Smith's voice sounded in his ear. "Are the operatives ready?"

"As ready as they're going to be," he replied.

"Then get a mapper and I'll feed you the positions of the main marine strong points. Divide your teams level by level. Link up with the marines and we'll sweep this station room by room until we find him."

He nodded as Smith spoke, sweeping up one of the Blink mappers from his locker and thumbing its activation switch. Though the live security nets were down the machine still had a floor by floor lay out of Blink Station Alpha programmed into it. As he keyed in commands Smith continued speaking, updating him on the positioning of the marine units. The bulk of the station's military personnel were concentrating around the armoury, life support and shuttle bay areas. That still left a lot of station for the remaining troops to cover.

"Alright, listen up!" Darien shouted, stepping out in front of his squad to address the other operatives. "We have a dangerous fugitive loose on the station. Under no circumstances can we let him get to a shuttle. Marines are locking down all the major targets but right now we are flying blind. Internal security nets are down so it's all hands on deck."

"Who's the target?" someone asked.

For a moment Darien wondered if they really wanted to know. After all, only two teams on the station were directly involved with the mission. They need to know, the voice in his head told him. His jaw tightened. If he didn't make them fully aware of just how dangerous their quarry was then the consequences would be on his head.

"His name's Tannis Brock," he replied. "He's an ex-Ghost."

A concerted intake of breath told him that most of the other operatives present were familiar with the wet-work organisation.

"I take it you understand the situation then." He cast his hard-eyed stare over the group. "With the nets down this is a very big station. We're going to split up and co-ordinate with the marines to cover as much ground as possible. If you find Brock do not engage. Call it in and keep him in your sights until the marines can back you up. This man will kill to escape – I don't want any of you getting added to his body-count. Is that clear?"

A subdued murmur of understanding greeted his statement.

"Find him, flush him out and let the marines deal with it," he confirmed, and then looked to the display on his mapper.

"Squads Tundra, Viper and Tornado, head to level twenty-four and link up with Lieutenant Morrow's detail outside the main life-support station. Rigel, Bronco and Spectre; level thirteen – join up with Sergeant Duggat at the armoury." He glanced up, running his eyes over the unassigned squads. "Jackal Squad, head to the main gravity junction – Thunder Squad, take the main hanger. Vandal and Panther, you're coming with us."

"Where we goin'?" Taggs asked.

"Maintenance levels," Darien replied. For a moment the other squad leader gave him a confused look, but it made sense to him. If he wanted to evade capture on a station of this size, the maintenance levels were the most obvious choice. Filling the lower levels of the station they were big, cluttered spaces crammed with machinery, gantries, passages and catwalks, the perfect hiding place for someone like Tannis Brock.

"Smith," he said through the comm. "We're ready. Blink teams are dispersing now. I'm taking my people down to the maintenance levels."

"Copy that. Stay in radio contact at all times."

"Will do, Darien out." He looked up at the operatives, determination filling him like electricity. "You've all got your assignments so move out. No matter what happens, Tannis Brock does not get off this station."