Regan pushed open a heavy steel door and Bastian felt a cold rush of night air. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. The clean air filled his lungs and gave him a renewed sense of hope. There was a light rain falling, almost a mist, that made the decks glisten under the halogen glare of the lights mounted outside. 

'We made it,' he said in a tired voice. 

Regan didn't respond. He could sense she found it bizarre that everyone kept following her. He half expected her to turn on the other prisoners and tell them to find their own way, but she seemed to have decided to simply ignore them. 

The thirteen prisoners stepped out onto the deck for the first time. 

'Holy hell,' said one of them. 

Bastian had to agree. 

The ship was like a vast metal city; a colossal, floating superstructure hundreds of metres long. He guessed that it had started life as a cargo ship. The wide, empty deck in front of them would once have been stacked high with shipping crates. Now, it formed a rust coloured plain that stretched beyond the lights of the bridge tower and disappeared into the darkness. The bridge tower itself rose out of the steel wasteland to loom above them like an ancient temple to a forgotten god. Bastian looked up into the tiny droplets of rain that fell in drifts though the beams light above them. 

'The controls for the ship are probably on the top level of the bridge,' he said. 'If Carver's doing her job, we shouldn't encounter too much resistance.' 

'And if she isn't?' said a barrel chested man in a stained tacksuit. 

'Then you get to have a nice change of scenery before you die,' said Regan. 

'If we can get to the controls, we have half a chance of driving this thing out of here,' Bastian said. 'This is our best shot at survival.' 

'What are we going to do with the crew?' said the man. 

Regan was already climbing the grated metal stairs that ran up the side of the bridge to the level above them.

'I think she's already decided.' 

He ordered the other prisoners to move around the bridge and guard all of the surrounding stairways, then started up after Regan. The bridge was four storeys high with catwalks running around each level. Regan's footsteps were already retreating into the darkness. 

He followed close behind and stopped when he heard her pause on the level above him. For a few moments there was silence, then a sharp intake of breath followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the metal catwalk. Regan's footsteps continued. As Bastian reached the catwalk, he saw a crumpled shape at the foot of the stairs leading up to the next level. He stepped over it carefully and tried not to look. 

As they reached the final staircase, Regan dropped to her stomach and slithered up to peak over the top of the stairs. Bastian copied her movements and crawled up to join her. There was a wide landing in front of them that led up to a wheelhouse. Halogen lamps spaced along the safety railings at the edge of the landing provided a circle of light for the gigantic letter 'H' painted in the centre. 

'A helipad,' said Bastian. 'Maybe we can fly out of here.' 

'Can you fly a helicopter?' 

'Well, no. I sort of assumed--,' Bastian left the sentence hanging. 

'Why would you assume I could fly a helicopter?' 

'Forget it.' 

The wheelhouse was a squat shape in the darkness behind the helipad that ran the width of the bridge. At its centre, a door with a round porthole allowed warm, yellow light to spill out onto the ground. 

'The controls for the ship should be just in there, but after that alarm went off they probably locked the door,' said Bastian. 'What should we do?' 

Regan gave him a searching look that took in his rumpled shirt and frayed suit. 

'It's dark. Just knock.' 

Bastian hesitated. 

'Listen,' said Regan. 'There are alarms going off, but I bet they don't know why. They're stressed and confused and they just want someone to tell them what the hell's going on, and suddenly a guy in a suit shows up with a serious expression. They're going to open the door, even if it's just to tell you they can't let you in.' 

'What are you going to do?' 

'Punish them for their mistake.' 

Bastian tried not to picture what she meant and failed. 'I'm not sure I can do this.' 

'Then go back to your cell and stew in your own cowardice.' 

Bastian pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. His stomach was churning, and the droplets of mist that touched his skin felt like a thousand icy needles driving down into his flesh. He put his hands onto the cold metal of the stairs to steady himself then pushed himself to his feet. As he stood up and walked under the unforgiving lights of the helipad, he felt his heart pushing against the inside of his chest. He tried to rearrange his expression into the harassed, serious face of a man who didn't have time to wait around, but it kept slipping away from him. 

He crossed the helipad after what felt like a millennium and reached the door of the wheelhouse. He could sense Regan's presence in the shadows to his left as she drifted through the darkness as quiet and invisible as a whisper. Bastian wiped his palm dry on his trousers and tried to stand away from the light coming from the porthole as he rapped on the door. 

The face of an old woman wearing a navy blue peaked cap appeared in the porthole. She looked at Bastian then nodded and opened the door. She was wearing a matching blue uniform with a lieutenant's stripes on the shoulder. 

'What's going on?' she said. 'The general alarm has been--,' 

Bastian's breath caught as Regan appeared from the shadows and drove the point of her sword through the lieutenant's chest. Her eyes widened in shock, and Bastian fell back as Regan shouldered past him to drive the gasping, dying officer back into the room. 

'Don't hurt her!' he yelled, but even as he spoke, he knew it was pointless. A futile attempt to assuage the guilt that was already welling up from his stomach like vomit. 

The door swung shut and there was a moment of silence before the screaming started. A splash of blood hit the porthole, turning the light that spilled onto the landing a deep scarlet. 

Bastian got to his feet and felt bile rise in his throat. 

'What's going on?' 

Carver was jogging across the helipad holding a captured katana. There was a dark purple bruise forming on the side of her jaw, and blood was soaking through the fabric of her shirt from a wound in her shoulder. Her narrow face looked drawn and sickly under the lights. 

'Carver, what are you doing here?' 

'Retreating,' she said. 'We had to get out of the engine room. There were too many of them. We pulled back to the bridge because it's the most defensible position.' 

'Where are the others?' 

'They're just behind me on the stairs. They're holding all those Unity guards off our backs, but only just.' 

Bastian shook his head. 'They've pushed us into a corner.' 

'I know,' she looked at the bloody window of the wheelhouse. 'Is that girl in there?' 

Bastian nodded. 

'Are you sure we can trust her?' 

'It's a bit late now isn't it?' 

'I guess so.' 

Carver ran her hands through the tangled grey mass of her hair. She suddenly looked older. Much older. 

'I can't help but feel like she knew all along,' she said. 'Knew that we didn't stand a chance, I mean.' 

Bastian tried to force a smile. 'Better than waiting for death right?' 

Carver gave a humourless laugh. 'How about you ask me that afterwards.' 

She nodded towards the wheelhouse. 

'Come on, we'd better go tell that little psychopath to prepare for a fight.' 

Bastian led the way through the door hesitantly. As he stepped into the room, he had to hold his stomach in check. There were five bodies wearing the same navy blue uniform scattered around the wheelhouse like discarded towels. Blood was splattered across the large windows that ran along the front and sides of the room. It ran in rivulets down the panels that housed the controls for the ship and collected in shimmering pools on the floor. 

Regan was in the centre of the room. She had dropped to one knee with an expression of intense agony on her face. She was breathing hard, and her shoulders moved up and down with each breath as if simply drawing in oxygen was a titanic effort. 

'Are you wounded?' asked Carver. 

'I told you to worry about your own problems.' 

Regan used the side of a control panel to drag herself to her feet. 

'They've pushed us out of the ship and surrounded the bridge,' said Bastian. 'The others are trying to stop them getting through, but they can't hold out much longer.' 

'You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?' said Carver. 

'I told you, I don't care about escape and I don't care about survival.' 

'Then why go to all this effort to cover this ship in blood?' 

'Because now Kessler knows where to find me.'