I swallowed hard and wished I hadn't. The taste of acid in my mouth and the burning sensation in my throat almost set me off again.

Anyone who says they're okay with death hasn't seen it up close and personal. I mean, sure, we've taken out fleet patrols, marines, and shiploads of pirates who actually pirate for a living in our time. But there's a hell of a difference between killing and murdering, if you get my drift. Anyone shooting at me deserves whatever they get, and that's how most of us handle it.

What I don't do - what nobody on the Arcadia does - is kill without a reason.

Yes, there was a bad time in the past, under the last captain, where maybe we could find a good reason listed under "in our damned faces" but it only ever applied to military ships, and in our defence, The Captain had sold us all on this "we're going to reboot time itself" plan he had, and it felt like a cheap video game - you know - just hit a button to restart the level, no harm, no foul.

In hindsight I'm really not too proud of it. And it's not something the new captain encourages, although a few things will make him go all zero-tolerance.

This, for example. He came skidding in behind me, guns akimbo, in response to my girly shrieks and almost tripped over me.

'Fucking hell.' His voice held that soft, very quiet note it gets just before all hell breaks loose.

I heartily seconded the sentiment. There must have been two dozen bodies in the room, piled up like so much discarded meat. The blood I was kneeling in was still slightly warm, so this had happened recently, but I guessed before we'd started our escape. They'd been killed here, because there was no trace of blood outside the room - that, we'd have seen on the way in, since we'd had our noses to the ground finishing off the clockwork creeps.

'They're still warm,' I told him. I took the outstretched hand that helped me to my feet, and only just avoided bringing us both down again. 'Whoever did this made their move not long after the damn auction - I recognise some of these kids, Harlock - why the hell would someone do this? It's like a fox ran rampant in a bloody henhouse! Why destroy their own merchandise? I doesn't make any sense.'

'That depends on whether or not the person - and I use the term loosely - responsible thinks they have a bigger agenda and can write off the losses,' he mused. There was a quietly savage undertone in his voice that never boded well.

'It's sick.'

'It's calculated,' he corrected me softly. 'It makes perfect sense if whoever did this wants to shock, disorientate, and really, really piss me off.'

'Lazarus.' I wasn't going to dignify the bastard with any other name. The captain had enough problems right now. We both did. 'There's nothing we can do for these poor bastards, but we left that prick upstairs - I vote we go back and get him, and pull his arms and legs off.' I looked around at the carnage, my fingers curling so tight around the butt of my pistol the fingernails were digging into the palm of my hand. 'Shit, Harlock - there's not a one of them a day over twenty-five. Even on this shithole of a planet they had some chance of a future better than this.'

'I know,' he said shortly, and checked the charge on his guns. 'Now if I'd planned this, I'd have a group on standby with orders to ignore any mayhem, which suggests our odds against getting out of here just grew exponentially. I'd planned on getting us to the flyers where we landed, and that means we need to reach the main corridor. You did make sure not to bring down the ceiling along our route, I hope?'

I gave him a hurt look. No faith, sometimes.

He smiled at me, a little weakly. 'Fine. How many more charges did you set?'

'Six. I tried to set them where they'd hopefully slow down the pursuit and cause the most disruption, but I only had that partial plan to work with. Apart from that lucky hit on the power lines and their lube store, there weren't many places I could get to that would cause much structural damage. At least from where we were - I might be able to set a few more as we go, but they'd be mostly flash-bangs and shrapnel.'

'How many left to set?' He'd moved to the doorway to check for activity. Thankfully we were still all alone.

'I've got seven left.' I'd clutched the satchel tight when I'd fallen, and thankfully it hadn't landed on the hard floor, so its contents were undamaged.

He eyed the bulging bag sceptically. 'Looks a bit heavy for only seven,' he opined. I didn't answer and he let it go, albeit not without narrowing his eyes at me. Somewhere along the way he'd lost the makeshift patch. 'I'm expecting to run into a ton of trouble at some point on our way out. Stay sharp.'

'As opposed to what?' I muttered sarcastically, gesturing to the corpses littering the floor around us. My borrowed togs were sodden and squelched when I moved, and he didn't look much better.

'Playtime's over, Ali,' he told me in that quiet, scary voice. 'I mean it. If Lazarus has my brother's memories, we're in trouble.'

'Last captain handled him,' I pointed out. 'He's not invincible.'

'Harlock shot him in the back,' he replied sharply. 'And the only reason he didn't wipe us out at the Pluto defense line was because Nami sent me his plans. Don't toy with him, don't talk back to him, don't get cute. Shoot first and take him down.' He'd readied both pistols, one in each hand. I would have pointed out that two-gun mojo when you only have one eye was a bit stupid, but let it lie. They'd still have to duck even if he couldn't hit shit.

'You're that certain this ain't your brother? Just a copy?'

'Consciousness isn't recordable, Ali. Soul ring tech is different - though I still have my doubts. Lazarus might think like my brother, even think he is my brother, but that doesn't make it so. You can copy a singer performing the most beautiful song you ever heard, listen to it forever and a day and enjoy it, and it'll be what it is - but what it won't be - what it can never be - is that first, unique, once in a lifetime performance.'

Well… there was a philosophical can of worms for a long night over a nice bottle of hundred and twenty year old scotch. But at least it meant I might not get my ears chewed off if I shot the bastard in the face. I checked over the charge on my own pistol. Still hovering around the half-way mark. 'Fine. Less talk, more action. And if we don't make it, save your last charge for me - I don't want to go back to Tabito without you, and it'll save me a painful dismembering at Kei's hands…'

At least I could still make him laugh. Except I bloody well meant it…. 'Daft bastard.' he told me, the corners of his mouth twitching. 'I'll take point.'

'Erm…' I began to protest. Then stopped. Honestly, why bother? Either they pick us off from behind - in which case we were fucked. Or we'd run headlong into an ambush - in which case we were fucked. Either way…

'Quit mumbling,' he snapped at me as we left the room. I hadn't realised I was whimpering out loud. 'The attack will probably come from an angle we least expect.'

'Oh… you're filling me so full of confidence,' I muttered at his back.

'Well at least it'll replace the shit I usually have to contend with,' came the cheeky reply.

I deserve a medal for not just shooting him between the shoulder blades somedays. I really, really do…

Two against… aw hell, I lost count. We'd faced worse odds, but on those occasions there were usually more of us around to act as targets. Safety in numbers isn't something to sneeze at. If the guy next to you is getting shot, someone missed you.

Okay, maybe that's unfair, coz it makes it sound as though I'd leave a mate to take fire, and I wouldn't. Not even sarcastic, snarky, cheeky, fly-by-the-seat-of-yer-pants charge-into-the-fray-spraying-and-praying captains deserve that.

And gawd… he's a one-man wrecking ball when he does that… I'd heard the stories from the guys he'd led on the charge boarding the Oceanos the day we saved Earth (and the Universe. You know - by dint of deciding to not blow it up…) and his tendency to grab a weapon and run headlong into trouble hasn't abated much over the past few years. And as I can testify, he hits like a freight train, for all he doesn't look that solid. Tougher than he looks, our captain.

I placed blasts into what I hoped were key areas of the three he'd just downed like skittles, grabbed their weapons and caught up with him further down the corridor. He'd stopped to get his breath, in a lull between firefights, leaning against the wall at a corner.

Ahead of us was - unless I'd gotten totally turned around - the hallway, and the front door. I handed him one of the guns, and he dropped the depleted firearm he held, and cradled the new one. 'Thanks.'

'Figured you were getting low when that last one didn't go down until you shoulder-charged him.'

He rubbed his shoulder and flashed me a rueful grin. 'That might have been a mistake…'

'Looked spectacular,' I said, trying my best to be all supportive. 'Especially the bit where it had its hand around your throat and you were gurgling whilst you shot it repeatedly in the chest…'

Oooh… the look I got for that. I grinned at him - one of my best shit-eating specials. 'See anything?'

'Looks empty.'

I grunted. 'So: "not" then.' That hallway was massive - and flanked by a double staircase, which led up to a balcony. I had a word for it: killing ground.

He heaved a world-weary sigh, and not totally theatrically. He looked and sounded tired. His eyes were slightly bloodshot - even the good one, and he was sporting a good couple of days growth of scruffy facial fuzz. I had a feeling I didn't look much better. 'I hope you held onto a few surprises.' He looked pointedly at my still-bulging satchel.

'I figured we'd need to clear the decks a bit.' I slung the strap for the carbine I was carrying over my other shoulder and reached in for two devices. 'Question is, where do you want me to aim them?'

'Why don't we go with "wherever the shooting comes from"?' he suggested. He raised a hand towards the door and I shifted forwards until I was in a position to block him.

'That doesn't work for me,' I told him bluntly. 'That's your plan? Run into the room and paint a bullseye on your back so I can throw homemade bombs in the direction of the fire? Running headfirst into a hornet's nest isn't gonna do anything but get us both killed…'

'Do you have a better plan?'

I had to shake my head. 'No.'

'Then don't force me to make it an order.'

'Why is it,' I asked mildly, in my nicest voice, 'that the only time you ever pull rank is when you want someone to let you do something stupidly suicidal?'

'Because he's a romantic fool who thinks he's a hero,' said a horribly familiar voice from behind us.

'Rubber soled boots or just standing on a hover board underneath that cloak?' I snarked as I turned around, to see a large blaster pointed at my head. Several, actually. There were six dialheads pointing weapons at us, including Boss from the city. Standing behind them was a cloaked figure, which pushed its hood back from its face as its lackeys disarmed us and told us to put our hands on our heads. My satchel was pulled off my shoulder without so much as a by your leave and my hands emptied of my IEDs. 'Hey - careful with that!' I snapped at the spindle-limbed twat who juggled the bag hamfistedly as if it was about to chuck it on the floor. 'You should handle handmade explosives with a bit more care!'

A gauge-filled face peered into the bag, and set it down on the floor very, very gingerly.

'Lazarus,' Harlock said softly. 'New body already?'

I stared, but couldn't see anything that suggested that scenario. Same sneer framed by the same stupid goatee. Same stick-up-ass posture… Until I spotted that the hair was shorter. Huh.

'Yama. I see you didn't lose the reminder I gave you on the Oceanos.'

The captain had lost the latex make-up covering his scars somewhere along the way. The long, slightly zig-zaggy one on his face was visible, as were most of the big freckles under his right eye that are actually blaster speckling.

'Reminder? My brother was trying to blow my damned head off. I don't think "lasting memento to remember him by" was his intent,' Harlock retorted.

Lazarus actually looked pissed by the reply. 'Still in denial, little brother?'

'Denial of what? You're a copy. A cheap knock off. And…' he did the dramatic pause thing here - 'I don't talk to puppets. You're not only a recording, you're a coward. Why don't you face me in person instead of pulling the strings on a succession of marionettes?' He topped this performance off with his head to toe dismissive thing that is guaranteed to piss off the recipient, and I wondered what had happened to the "don't toy with your food" advice he'd given me not that long since.

'Puppets?' I was thinking I'd lost the plot a bit here. 'How can you tell?'

'Telemetry's off,' Harlock explained, not taking his eyes (well, eye…) off Lazarus. 'The lip sync's slightly delayed - it's a bit of a give-away. Emeraldas once told me about it - her mother likes to use the same trick, only she uses her clones.'

Boss stepped forward and slammed the butt of his gun into Harlock's stomach. When he doubled up with an "oof", he followed it up by forcing him to his knees. Another kicked my legs out from under me and forced me to the floor as well, so that the pair of us were forced to stare up at the smug shit-eating smirk under that beard.

'Better,' Lazarus drawled. 'I have so many fond memories of seeing you on your knees, snivelling and begging me for something.' He stepped forward until he could stare right down into the captain's face. 'Forgive me. Love me. Explain to me. Listen to me. It was always about you, wasn't it? The spoilt little mummy's boy, everything handed to you on a plate and always wanting more.'

'Memory without context is just words, Lazarus.' Harlock's voice was calm, but I could see out of the corner of my eye the tell-tale little wrinkle at the corner of his mouth. The jab had hit home.

'Seriously?' I looked from one to the other and shook my head. 'His problem is just that you were mommy's favourite and he wasn't?'

Boss slapped me in the mouth, knocking me onto my back. One of his goons hauled me back into a kneeling position and I spat out the blood in my mouth from my split lip. Wires. Ripping. Near future.

'Your pitbull has a mouth on it. Maybe you should keep it on a leash,' Lazarus suggested smoothly. 'You know, when I heard you'd taken to screwing a golden haired, blue-eyed member of the crew, I assumed it was the whore in the dominatrix get-up - not the aging tomcat someone dragged out of an alley.'

'The name's "Ali", you fucktard,' I answered, engaging mouth before putting brain in gear. Boss sniggered and hit me again, this time my nose crunched. Lazarus just looked blankly and then ignored me. That's the military for you - no sense of humour.

And now I had blood trickling down the back of my throat as well as over my face. Oh joy.

'You know, 'Lazarus began again, obviously one of those who likes the sound of his own voice, 'when we dragged that spitting hellcat off the bridge that day she was threatening to tear your head off for betraying them. I wonder what changed her mind. Do you think that if I hadn't marked your face and you didn't need that patch she'd have been so quick to change her allegiance? How does it feel to once again be the second choice? If her beloved captain hadn't let go of his tortured existence, do you think she'd have ever looked twice at you?'

'If you hadn't guilt-tripped your younger brother into risking life and limb doing your dirty work for you and sent him off on every soul-destroying job you could find to build your career on and kept him out of the way do you think the girl in the box would have settled for you?' I snapped back. The way this prick seemed to think he could talk to the captain had by-passed my self-preservation filter a while back. Sure - we diss him sometimes, but there's a line. And that's us. We're his - he's ours.

We take care of our own.

And I really, really ought to remember that pushing machinner buttons ain't always a good idea. Some of 'em have some nasty optional extras.

The finger currently sticking through my left shoulder, for example. Through. As in right into the bone and out the other side. And trust me, that fucking well hurts like a bitch. I might even have let out a very manly scream of agony. If Boss hadn't been holding me down I might have fainted when the tectite talon was retracted.

The captain offered up a sympathetic and worried look, but mercifully refrained from an "I told you so". Which meant he'd be saving that talk up for later. If we had one.

'I'm through listening,' Harlock said quietly, 'unless you actually have something to say.'

'Say?' Lazarus had recalled some of his former dignity and was now trying to match the captain's patient, quiet restraint. Never thought a mech could shake with anger, though, so he was failing miserably. 'No… you're right. Speeches would be a waste of time at this point.'

'And yet,' I couldn't resist adding. 'Your lips are still flapping…'

No hitting that time. Thankfully. Or stabbing with improvised body parts.

'We'll see how long your sense of humour lasts once you start running,' Boss told me, his mechanical voice dripping with anticipation. 'His Excellency has plans for you two, and you should provide a few hours of sport at least.'

Oh-uh. That I didn't like the sound of. The captain cleared his throat, and I glanced over. He wriggled his fingers where they were laced over his head. I recognised the signal, and shifted my weight slightly, hoping I read it right. I'd once mis-read "drop and roll" as "shoot to the left". Not my finest moment, and LeVary was seriously pissed about losing a muttonchop until his facial hair grew back…

'You came planning on taking out my smuggling operation,' Lazarus continued. 'Too bad for you that you didn't know who you were up against. If you had, you wouldn't have turned up with only this idiot for company.'

That, I took serious exception to. But I held my ground, and quietly stretched as though my arms hurt from being held over my head. Which they did, as it happens.

'What makes you think I only had Ali for back-up?' Harlock asked in his most irritating, mild-mannered voice.

Lazarus' sneer grew even bigger - not that I'd thought that possible. 'Oh - did you mean to rely on that micro-transmitter buried in your leg?' he asked, his tone loaded with fake concern. 'If you're expecting help, it won't be forthcoming. We've jammed any signal you could send.'

I didn't dare look at Harlock at that point.

Lazarus leaned over until his nose was only inches away from Harlock's. 'It seems several of my guests - those who weren't too badly inconvenienced by your attempts to redecorate this lodge - are quite keen to have a chance to hunt down and kill the famous Captain Harlock and one of his crew - even if you are just a pale imitation. So you'll be taken from here, and turned loose on the grounds for our entertainment. And Yama - I expect you to do what you've always done so well - run, and try to save your own skin.' The smirk seemed to be a permanent fixture. 'I'll even make sure if we ever catch your whore, we'll mount her next to you.'

Harlock sighed. 'Lazarus. Two things you really need to know about now. The first is that the transmission wasn't the signal. Turning it off was.'

Consternation in the ranks, and not a little confusion. And whilst Lazarus and lackey were looking at each other for answers, I could just hear a familiar sound - right at the edge of my hearing…

I grinned.

'The second,' he added, and now his voice was silky soft. 'Is that I don't run away from anyone or anything - and I certainly wouldn't ever turn my back on you…'

And then there was an almighty sonic boom, just before something blew the front doors right off.