I cross to the gunwale where my Watersport’s floating, and take a couple of moments to secure the small craft with a line. Then I go forward and fire up the Otter’s silent electric drive. I put it in forward gear at dead-slow, less than walking speed. When I’m confident it’s going to keep running—that I didn’t frag it with my gunfire—I swing overboard and straddle the Watersport. I cut the line loose and fire up the Suzuki’s water-jet. Using my own craft, I nudge the Otter onto the course I want. Roughly south, toward the Tir Tairngire shore of the Columbia. Frag knows what the Tir border forces will make of the trashed boat and the bodies, including a senior suit from the Star. But if James Telestrian’s links with the Tir military are as strong as his ties with its business community, the evidence aboard the boat should become a big enough club for James to beat son Timothy into fragging oblivion.