Convict in a ship’s hold… A wild cacophony of screams and shrieks from the dark hold where a maniacal group of women rolled together in a frenzied struggle.

          Lieutenant Andrew Maclay could see that one of them, almost hidden beneath the others, was fighting alone. "Silence!" Andrew roared. The mob slowly quietened. "Is there a woman here called Sara Dane?" he asked. The lone fighter struggled to her feet. Slim and straight, the skin of her throat and face was unlined, but the dirt of the stinking hold covered whatever beauty she might have possessed. She wore a hacked and tattered gown many sizes too large; but she wore it with an air of cherished grandeur. She lifted her head proudly. "I am Sara Dane," she said…