“Sounds great,” said Grisham, without inflection. “How are the believers planning to bring about such wonder?”

  “Honestly? I don’t give a damn,” said Danner. “Praying most likely. Or maybe they spend every day in a state of orgiastic lust and hope the energy they give to the universe—” He broke off and sighed. “Xaros, economically insignificant it might be, and with a population of fewer than ten thousand, is formally part of the Human Federation. And that means we’ve got to check out what – if anything - is keeping the inhabitants off-comms.”

  “How long has it been?” asked Grisham.

  Danner’s expression was inscrutable. “More than thirty days.”

  “And we only just realised?”

  “It takes eight days for a civilian comm station to push a transmission that far. Then eight days back. Plus the time it took relatives to get worried enough to contact the military and then a few more days for escalation and—” Danner cut himself off mid-sentence, grimacing at an unspoken thought.

  Grisham didn’t need it spelling out. It sounded like Xaros was so far from any other major population centre in the Human Federation that if anything went wrong, the people living there were effectively screwed.

  It was time to ask the all-important question.

  “So, what now, sir?”

  “You’re going to check things out,” said Danner. “It may be that the Xaros comms hardware failed, in which case you’ll supply the people there with a replacement unit. More likely, Metz ordered them all into a state of extended meditation, in order that their transcendence might—” Danner took a breath, his expression indicating he’d be more than happy to abandon Metz and everyone else on Xaros. “I’m sure you can imagine how pleased I am to have been given the task of dealing with this, what with everything else that’s happening in the Federation.”

  “Is there any chance Metz decided to communicate with the Kijol?” asked Grisham. “Maybe to invite them out to Xaros so they could discuss the means by which this everlasting serenity could be found?”

  “The planet’s comms system is set up to route through the main comms hub on Kanis,” said Danner. “If Metz or anyone else had attempted contact with the Kijol, the transmission would have been flagged.”

  “What about—”

  Danner raised a hand to forestall the question. “We’ve been through the records of the people living on Xaros and there’s nobody with the declared skills to modify the comms hardware. That’s not to say it hasn’t happened, just that it’s unlikely.”

  “Sounds like a mystery we don’t need at the moment,” said Grisham. “Couldn’t we just…forget about Xaros for a couple of months? There must be a thousand other worlds like it in the Federation and we’ve never promised them blanket protection.”

  “That was the first question I asked myself, Captain.” Danner opened a drawer and withdrew a piece of paper. He looked at it with distaste and then put it away again. “It turns out that Ivey Metz is well-connected in the Senate. Orders are for an investigative mission to commence immediately.”

  “What about the Kijol, sir?” asked Grisham. “If they have other spaceships with the same upgrades as that destroyer at Tambus—"

  “Believe me, I’d rather not tie up a fleet warship on a mission like this. Not even a Tibor class.” Danner cleared his throat and looked as if he were contemplating saying something more. “We’ve already run into those other spaceships,” he said at last. “One was an Eternus battleship and the outcome for two of our Nexus heavies was not positive.”

  “We lost both?”

  Danner nodded. “Reports are the enemy vessel hardly broke a sweat. You’ve heard rumours?”

  “Yes, sir. Mostly concerning the Landol sector, but nothing concrete about new enemy tech.”

  “Whatever the rumours are saying, the reality is probably a hell of a lot worse.” Danner stared across the desk, with his pale grey eyes. “However, your road leads to Xaros.”

  “Is there no other officer, sir?”

  “I have options, but I chose you,” said Danner. “Anyway, I thought you’d appreciate some time away from the heat.”

  “I can take the heat, sir,” said Grisham, trying not to let his anger show. “How bad is it with the Kijol?”

  “They’re pushing us, Jed, and it’s not just the new tech. It’s like they suddenly discovered another five hundred warships someplace they’d forgotten about, and decided to send them against our fleet.” Danner fell quiet for a moment and then cursed. “The Kijol are suddenly twenty years ahead of us. Maybe more.”

  “You’ll appreciate I haven’t been watching the news channels, sir, but how is this being received throughout the Federation?”

  “The truth is on lockdown,” said Danner.

  “For real?” asked Grisham. “Why, and for how long?”

  “Until we have a clearer picture of what’s happening,” said Danner. “Having our citizens descend into a panic won’t help anyone.”

  “Who made this decision?” asked Grisham.

  “The Senate and military high command are in agreement on this.” Danner clenched his fists, making it clear without words that agreement had not been unanimous or easily won. “Maybe we’ll pull things around before the truth becomes a necessary burden.”

  From the look on the Admiral’s face, it didn’t seem likely there’d be any pulling things around happening soon, and Grisham found a coldness growing within him. Suddenly, it appeared as if the Human Federation was staring at defeat. Maybe not immediately, but in a few years.

  The worst of it was that Danner wasn’t even talking a good fight and the Admiral had earned his station through years on the frontline. It wasn’t like he’d been promoted because he’d kissed ass in the Senate.

  “Only a couple of months ago, the talk was of peace, sir,” said Grisham. “That the war had reached a status quo and that the Kijol would have no choice other than to negotiate, unless they were fighting just for the hell of it.”

  “There’ll be no peace,” said Danner, his face twisting. “Or if there is, it won’t be on any terms favourable to the Human Federation.”

  “Shit and damn,” said Grisham. “I thought I was called here just to be given another crappy mission, and now you’re telling me we’re losing the war as well.” A memory jumped into his head and he asked Danner about it. “Last time I was on the Fremont base, two of the construction trenches were empty.”

  “Up until recently we’ve been holding our own against the Kijol,” said Danner. “For political reasons, there’s been no appetite to move our economies onto a total war footing.”

  “And now?”

  Danner’s expression didn’t change, and he didn’t answer. Grisham took the hint. Doubtless all manner of crap was taking place behind the scenes.

  “So,” said Grisham. “Xaros.”

  “That’s right,” said Danner. “You’ve wrecked one spaceship, but luckily the military has found you a replacement.”

  “A Tibor?”

  Leaning forward, Danner stared directly at Grisham. “You know the score, Jed. You’re a good officer. In my opinion, you’re one of the very best. But you’ll never command anything other than a Tibor. Not unless big changes happen.”

  “I’ve stopped thinking about it, sir,” said Grisham.

  Danner ignored the obvious lie. “That doesn’t mean I can’t pull a few strings. I’ve got you a new-gen. The Marauder is in Bay 2. It’s fresh out of the yard, with bigger engines, thicker plating and more weapons than the one you broke. The warship is yours to command.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Grisham. As far as he was aware, Danner had always been honest with him and it sounded like the man had stuck his neck out in order to ensure Grisham was given command of the Marauder. “I’ll head out to Xaros, make sure everything is hunky-dory and then come home.”

  “I’m glad to see you understand what is required,” Danner agreed.

  The meeting was heading to a close, but Grisham wasn’t yet done. While his report – issued during the wait for rescue - had included details of his findings at Tambus and the subsequent engagement, Grisham had kept something back.

  “My report mentioned the nuke launch against the destroyer, sir,” he said. “But what it didn’t say was that I lacked the authority to order that launch. I had to hand over control to Commander Deneuve in the middle of the engagement.” It was Grisham’s turn to lean forward. “And it damn near cost us our lives.”

  The muscles in Danner’s jaw stood out more prominently for a brief moment. “I’ll have someone check over your security profile.”

  Grisham didn’t drop his gaze. “Someone you trust, sir.”

  “I’ll make sure of it,” said Danner. “And I’ll make sure that same someone watches out for any future changes to the file.”

  “That would be appreciated.” Grisham sat back. “Is there anything else, sir?”

  “No, we’re done here,” said Danner.

  “Then, with your permission, I’ll head to Bay 2,” said Grisham.

  “Permission granted,” said Danner. “I’ll have someone contact your crew and tell them to get their asses in gear. The mission documentation will be loaded onto your command console, not that you’ll find much in it.” His gaze went distant. “When you make it to Xaros, I hope you won’t discover it’s now home to the Church of the Dead. I don’t know Ivey Metz and I’m damned if I have any time for happy hippy shit like this, especially in the middle of a war. But I don’t want them dead.” He raised his head. “Good luck, Jed. Find out what happened and come home safely.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Grisham.

  With that, he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

  Chapter Five

  Upon exiting Admiral Danner’s office, Grisham paused briefly in the corridor outside. The alloy walls were grey and unadorned, the air cold, and the low thrum of Bastion Station’s massive propulsion was a soothing reminder of technological solidity.

  A few personnel – dressed in uniforms of varying drab hues – hurried by, holding tablet computers and keeping their heads down. He sensed the agitation in everyone and realised he’d noticed the same on the way to Danner’s office, though he’d been too preoccupied to pay attention at the time. Maybe the lockdown on truth wasn’t as effective as high command and the Senate hoped. Rumours were often little removed from reality and Grisham was sure hearsay was rife in every branch of the military.

  Since his arrival at Bastion a short time ago, Grisham’s optimism for the Human Federation had taken a beating. Nevertheless, he had a job to do.

  Turning left from the Admiral’s office, Grisham headed towards the bank of airlifts at the end of the corridor. Stopping in front of the three airlift doors, Grisham touched his fingertip on the control screen for the centre lift. Silently, the car arrived, and the door opened with a scarcely heard hum of its motors.

  Having entered the lift car and selected his destination, Grisham was carried through two thousand metres of the space station in a few seconds, the feeling of acceleration being the only indicator of motion.

  “Level 7T – Bay 2 Access,” spoke the androgynous tones of the Bastion computer.

  Grisham stepped out of the lift into another corridor. It was busier here and most of the personnel wore the blue uniforms of maintenance technicians. A sign on the wall reminded Grisham of which direction to turn and he went right, entering the flow of human traffic heading the same way.

  A doorway at the end of the corridor led into a much larger space, two hundred metres along each wall and with a fifty-metre ceiling. It was colder here than elsewhere, as if the vacuum outside was leeching heat through the enormously thick armour plates which clad Bastion.

  Gravity vehicles – open-topped, boxy and uninspiring in design – carried personnel across the floorspace, into and out of the two thirty-metre corridors that entered through the left and right walls. Four-metre storage crates were stacked in the far corners, and technicians stood in groups, poring over schedules and inventory lists.

  One of the many personnel entrances to Bay 2 led through the opposite wall and Grisham strode towards it.

  “Sir?”

  Turning, Grisham found Commander Deneuve hurrying towards him from the same corridor he’d just exited. The barrel of the gauss rifle she had slung across her back protruded over the top of her shoulder. In her left hand, Deneuve held her suit helmet and in the other, a communicator device.

  “You found me,” said Grisham.

  “I got the message to embark, sir,” said Deneuve, raising a hand to show him the communicator. “The Marauder. Sounds like a warship that can kick some ass.”

  “Did you hear anything else, other than it was time to embark?” asked Grisham.

  “Only that we’re heading to Xaros.” Deneuve gave a wherever the hell that is kind of shrug. “I thought maybe we’d have at least a twenty-four-hour standard day with our feet up.”

  Grisham gave a short laugh. “You really thought that?”

  “Hell no, I’m not that dumb, sir,” said Deneuve. Her smile faded. “Is this another bad one?”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” said Grisham. “We’ve lost contact with the planet. The place was claimed by the founder of a church and now its habited by a few thousand people who’ve been praying for peace between humanity and alienkind.”

  “We could do with some of that peace right now, sir,” said Deneuve.

  “What makes you say that, Commander?”

  “Just what I’ve been hearing, sir. We lost a bunch of warships out in Landol a week ago, and some others in Golor. Word is, we’re in real trouble.”

  “We only docked with Bastion a couple of hours ago. You heard all that?”

  Deneuve shrugged. “I keep my ear to the ground and there’re lots of guys out there keen to talk.”

  “Yeah,” said Grisham sourly. “From speaking to the Admiral, it sounds as if a hundred billion tons of cosmic shit is heading straight for the HF fan blades.”

  “Is there anything specific Admiral Danner told you, sir?” asked Deneuve.

  “Nothing specific,” said Grisham. He hesitated. “Danner spoke like we’re already beaten.”

  “It’s that bad?”

  “Seems like.”

  The personnel entrance to Bay 2 was controlled by an airlock. A couple of soldiers flanked the door, gauss rifles in their hands and gauss pistols in side holsters. They didn’t speak and Grisham didn’t attempt conversation. A side panel next to one of the soldiers controlled the outer door and he activated it. In the few seconds before the door opened, a dozen or so technicians who also planned to enter the bay, arrived and stood close by, talking loudly about maintenance jobs.

  When the outer airlock door opened, Grisham strode into the space beyond, that being a room twenty metres square, with a multi-armed, cylindrical medical bot floating near one wall. The bot was stationed here for emergencies. Accidents were rare, but working on Bastion was not without its risks.

  The entrance door closed once everyone was inside and the room became bathed in red light. Moments later, the red light turned to green, and Grisham pressed his hand onto the activation panel. The second door opened, allowing him access to Bay 2.

  Bay 2 was not currently in a vacuum – it was pressurized at all times, except for when a spaceship was entering or departing, and the Marauder was the next vessel scheduled to leave. The bass hum and drone of immense propulsions – both from the Bastion station and the vessels in the bay – produced a throbbing in the air, and the scent of raw tech was sharp in Grisham’s nostrils.

  A few steps out of the airlock, he halted for a moment to look around and remind himself what a technical achievement the Bastion station was.

  Bay 2 was an immense space with a circular floor and curved walls except for where the straight wall directly behind Grisham cut across in a secant. The ceiling was fifteen hundred metres overhead and the lighting was a cold, even blue. Directly opposite, the double doors leading to the space outside were themselves feats of incredible engineering.

  “There’s the Marauder, sir,” said Deneuve in a non-too-subtle hint that Grisham should move his feet.

  The warship was one of three other Tibor-class vessels in the bay, and it was parked flank-facing about a thousand metres away. Grisham narrowed his eyes and sized up his new vessel. This new gen Tibor closely resembled the old gen in appearance, though bulked up, like it had put on another twenty million tons of mass.

  “Let’s get over there,” said Grisham.

  Many thousands of people were busy in Bay 2. Vehicles in all shapes and sizes sped in every direction. A half-dozen construction bots floated over one of the other warships, while a gravity crawler carried a replacement missile cluster module which had been brought up from the storage area below on one of the huge cargo lifts.

  A couple of spare gravity vehicles were parked nearby, but Grisham had an excess of nervous energy and he broke into a steady run. Deneuve kept pace, asking questions about the coming mission which Grisham couldn’t answer.

  “I appreciate your enquiring mind, Commander,” he said. “But unless there are some revelations in the mission documentation, we’re going to have to wait until we reach Xaros.”

  “There’s a stench about this one, sir.”

  Grisham slowed to a jog, with the Marauder still five hundred metres away. He’d been thinking the same himself, but voicing those thoughts to Admiral Danner would have made it seem like he was being jumpy for no good reason.

  “What makes you say that, Commander?”

  “Just getting the feeling, sir.”

  “In a few days, we’ll find out if you’re right.”

  As he approached the Marauder, Grisham studied the lines of the warship. At five hundred metres and with an approximate mass of 160 million tons, the old-gen Tibor-class were the smallest dedicated combat vessels in the HF fleet.

  The Marauder was clearly larger than the Castigate had been, and that was even more apparent from up close. Grisham reckoned his new warship was closer to six hundred metres and he revised his earlier mass estimate upwards by another twenty million tons.