Right from the beginning I knew that it was never going to be an easy task, interviewing Hudson. Most of the time, so the orderlies tell me, he is in a near-catatonic state, just sitting there, knees drawn into his chest, pressed as tightly as he can manage, in the corner of his cell. He stares at seemingly nothing. He mumbles, he drools and he soils himself and any sense of dignity he might have once had has long since been stripped and disregarded.

He opened his eyes and judged that to be a big mistake. The daylight flooded in through a gap in the curtains just so and hit him square in the face. It assailed his retinas and they began to throb in time with his aching head. He let out a soft moan and fell back among the cushions and pillows that were scattered on the floor. A slender arm flung itself over his chest in a gesture that was half-protective, half-possessive and he turned his head slightly to the right.

“Boarding team, complete preparations and ready yourselves. We deploy in five minutes.”

The voice resonated through the low buzz of the Saxon scout rotor, cutting through the stifling air like a boat through water and every single person paid attention. The words continued.

“Now then, all of you! Look sharp! I don’t deny that we’re going to have one hell of a fight on our hands with the squareheads. But I am absolutely and completely sure that each one of you extraordinary people will give it your all…