A technician wearing a face mask greeted them at the end of the corridor, pulling the door back to allow the wheelchair through.

  Ardent hesitated at the door, feeling as if she’d made some terrible mistake. In the middle of the room, the auto-doc was starting to hinge open, revealing a full set of gleaming metal teeth.

  *

  The next time Kate Marsh went above ground for her rec. break, Webster went with her.

  The weather had taken a turn for the worse and as soon as the first winds buffeted him he was glad that he’d taken the time to wrap his lower face against the elements. No one would dream of going outside without wearing their goggles but it was only recently that they’d found it necessary to cover the mouth and chin. The wind was more than capable of flash freezing your skin and because it tended to numb the flesh first, you probably wouldn’t realise what was happening until you got back inside.

  As it was, there was no way either of them was going to manage to stay outside for the full thirty minutes. Even Markham’s Marines had had to reduce their watch slots to forty-five minutes after one of them had become hypothermic and, in his confusion, had struggled to find his way back to camp.

  Visibility had been reduced to less than ten metres and, when he first came through the hatch, Webster had to search around for Marsh who was bent over and seemed to have dropped something.

  “Need a hand?”

  She glanced up and then went back to what she was doing.

  “What brings you all the way out here, commander?”

  “Just thought I’d take the air.”

  “Anyone ever tell you, you’re a terrible liar?”

  She stood up, holding a roll-up to her lips. She puffed at it a few times, in an attempt to get it going but didn’t seem to be having much luck.

  “Is that what I think it is?”

  “That’s right. Some of the finest weed you’ll find this side of the system.”

  Finally, she seemed to get it going, using the hood of her jacket to protect the flame from the wind.

  “You smuggled that all the way out here?”

  “My private stash. We were allowed eight kilos of private cargo. Picked this lot up from a guy on Blackthorn, though I’m running a little low at present. You wouldn’t happen to have some you could let me have, would you?”

  Webster smiled underneath his face mask. Back on-board ship their urine was constantly being sampled for any traces of narcotics. First positive test and you were on your way out of the service.

  “’Fraid not.”

  “So, what’s up? If you’re not here for a smoke and you’re not trying to hit on me, there must be some other reason for you to be out here. What is it?”

  Webster was thrown by her direct nature but resolved not to let it discourage him. When the temperature dropped below minus 20 degrees Celsius there was little time for social niceties.

  “Back in the conference room. Nash asked you what it was that you were hiding.”

  “So?” she took a long drag of her smoke, taking care to grip it firmly with her gloved fingers.

  “You started to say something.”

  “Like I said. Just thinking out loud. Never a good idea when your boss is in the room.”

  “Kekkonen?”

  “Well, I wasn’t talking about Nash, was I?”

  “Suppose not.”

  “Is he like that all the time? Nash. Uptight, I mean? Kind of guy who sleeps with a gun under his pillow.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Funny, I thought you might. You military types like to stick together, don’t you? Cold showers, first thing in the morning – that kind of thing?”

  “I think you’ve got me mixed up with someone else. We navy guys don’t tend to go in for hardship, as a rule. I’m only interested if there’s cocktails involved.”

  “Heay, if you’ve got any cocktails going begging, you can count me in.”

  “Supplies are running low at present, I have to admit. But I’ll see what I can do. Anyway, back to Nash: what is it you’re not telling us?”

  “About the ship?”

  “About the ship.”

  “Round here, we call it the ghost ship.”

  “I didn’t see any ghosts when I was in there.”

  She finally gave up on the spliff, stubbing it out on the back of her glove before slipping it back in her pocket. But when she tried to pull up her scarf she found she couldn’t find it with her gloves on.

  “Here let me.”

  Carefully taking the edges of the scarf between finger and thumb he managed to work it up until it covered her nose.

  She said, “Commander’s got some skills.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. Now, what about that ship?”

  “We used to camp inside it at night. In these temperatures, it seemed like the sensible thing to do.”

  “So, what stopped you? Ghosts?”

  She tried to shrug but in her over-sized coat it barely registered.

  “Weird things kept happening. Like, one night, I needed to pee. We’d set up mobile latrines and as I started down the corridor all these lights just came on. It was the weirdest thing. Whole sections of the wall just lit up. Lasted for about fifteen minutes before they went off again. Never could get them to do it again, though.”

  “Okay, so there’s some kind of residual power stored in the batteries. That’s hardly the same as being haunted.”

  She turned to look at him, her eyes dwarfed by the size of her goggles.

  “That was the thing. When the lights came on, it felt as though I was the one being studied. I can’t explain it any other way.”

  “That’s interesting,” he mused.

  “So, you believe me, then.”

  He hesitated, not wanting to patronise her but, in a way the idea of being studied tallied with his take on the ship. The sense that there was a presence there which wasn’t wholly benevolent.

  “I believe that the lights came on if that’s what you mean.”

  “Well, that’s more than anybody else did.”

  “That’s scientists for you. They need all that evidence. Comes from all that testing. You never know, perhaps the lights’ll come on when someone else goes inside.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not the point. Sometimes you have to take something on trust.”

  That last comment, said with such vehemence, surprised him and stopped him from saying anything else that was dismissive.

  “Okay then.”

  They stood like that for another couple of minutes, the wind howling around them.

  Then Webster said, “Perhaps we should go back inside.”

  She touched his arm. “In a second. I just wanted to ask you something.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Did you never think: what happened to the crew? I mean, like, where are they? We didn’t find anything. No signs of clothing, no bones even, no traces of DNA. Nothing.”

  “Perhaps it was a mass suicide thing. You know. Finally just got sick of being so far from home. Couldn’t see the point of going on, so one day they all decided to jump out the air lock together. It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.”

  “That’s true,” she conceded. “But if it came to that - them all killing themselves - ask yourself this: who landed the ship?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Hermendal led her around to the front of the big exhibition centre. It boasted a huge, double fronted entrance in the Palladian style and had long queues on both sides. But Hermendal ignored these, heading up the centre until he was finally challenged by a lieutenant dressed in the highly effective Yakutian camouflage fatigues. Morton stood behind Hermendal who spoke to the lieutenant animatedly in Coptic. Then, without saying a word to anyone, the man walked up to the head of the queue and retracted the safety barrier just enough to allow them through. As Morton passed, the man gave her a little nod before becoming involved in a major altercation with his colleagues.

  “You’re going to get somebody into a lot of trouble one day.”

  “Yes, and it’ll be me,” he said as they waited for the automatic doors to admit them.

  Inside, the place was laid out as a vast concert arena and, already, half the seats had been taken. The aisles were thick with people trying to find their place and it was only then that she remembered the orange tag she’d been given earlier. She took it out of her pocket to see that it had a seat number printed on the back.

  She’d never seen anything like it on a starship. Overhead there was a number of giant display screens showing some grandiose public relations film praising the efforts of the Yakutian navy. She was so taken with this that she nearly missed the significance of the large platform still under construction at the far end of the room. Her first impression that it was some kind of special stage designed specifically so that Sunderam could assert his newfound authority but then the penny dropped and she saw the truth of the moment.

  What she was looking at was a large gallows.

  Large in the sense that it was built to accommodate more than one victim. In all, there were five nooses all equally spaced.

  The realisation stopped her dead in her tracks. Even when she’d managed to partially regain her composure, she found that she could progress no further despite the press of people behind her. Hermendal was halfway down the aisle before he realised that he’d left her behind.

  He turned to look back up the aisle, raising his hands in consternation when he saw her, but still she wouldn’t move. He had to virtually fight his way up the aisle to reach her. He took hold of her wrist, meaning to pull her forwards but she resisted, remembering the look on the faces of the prisoners gathered mutely in the foyer.

  With that realisation came anger, as tears of fury blurred her vision and she pushed Hermendal aside. Now it was his turn to follow as she made her way towards the front, the press of bodies easing as they got closer.

  “Doctor Morton,” he was saying. “Our seats are this way.”

  But she wasn’t listening. Her blood was up and all she could think about was putting an end to this farrago before it could get going. There was a set of steps leading up to the stage proper and she was almost at the top before Hermendal managed to stop her.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he said, indicating the arena behind him. “You can’t go up there.”

  “No?” she snarled. “Just watch me.”

  Then she was away, skipping across the stage and threading between groups of electricians putting the finishing touches to a front row of spotlights. The fact that no one sought to prevent her only added to her sense of devilment and she moved confidently under the shadow of the scaffold itself looking for some access to the backstage area. She decided to follow a couple of technicians who first led her down a side entrance before turning left, bringing them out in the main backstage area.

  She strode straight ahead whilst carefully scanning from side to side. There was just too much going on back there for her to be able to spot one individual but she knew what she was looking for and, eventually, she found it.

  Standing against a backdrop denoting a set of rural festivities, she saw Sunderam who was deep in conversation with a group of senior advisors. Morton made a beeline straight for him ignoring any attempts to discourage her. That was until Sunderam’s bodyguards stepped into the fray.

  “I need to speak with him,” she repeated. “Let me through.”

  But the guards were having none of it and so it was left to Sunderam himself to come to her aid.

  “Doctor Morton,” he said, waving the guards away. “It’s good to see you again. If you’d be good enough to give me a minute…”

  “No commander, I must insist. I have to speak with you now.”

  Sunderam spoke to his advisors who seemed indignant at being interrupted like this. Sunderam’s smile never slipped as he took her by the arm and endeavoured to lead her away.

  “What are you doing?” she said, keeping her voice low. “Having those gallows built? What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking that my hold on power is still not certain. I have to act quickly if I am to discourage those who might see fit to challenge me.”

  “And that’s it? You’re just going to execute these people without even giving them the opportunity a fair trial.”

  Sunderam kept his smile in place, ever cognisant of the looks of his advisors.

  “I wish we had that luxury. Luckily, when it comes to a dispute between the various houses, it’s quite clear where everyone stands. And besides, I have no intention of executing everyone. I’m hoping to win their minds, if not their hearts. This will stand as a clear message to anyone who’s thinking of opposing me.”

  Morton took her time before she said anything.

  “I think you’re mistaken, commander. You don’t win people’s minds by staging public executions. You have to gain their trust first – convince them that you’ll govern fairly. And there’s nothing about this which is fair.

  “As Yakutian law dictates, this is eminently fair. Stand with me and I will protect you. Stand against me and prepare to suffer the consequences, and these, my dear doctor, are the consequences.”

  “I think you’re making a mistake.”

  “And that’s understandable. You’re a doctor. You’ve dedicated your life to saving people’s lives, that’s understandable. My role is different. I have to be able to provide strong leadership and that’s what I’m doing,” he took hold of her elbow and brought his head down so that he could speak directly to her. How can I be expected to command this ship successfully if I’m constantly having to worry about plots to undermine me? How are my senior officers supposed to get on with their jobs if they’re constantly watching their backs? This ship can’t run efficiently if we have to secure every inch of it to guard against possible sabotage. No, doctor, I have made my decision. The executions will go ahead.”

  Morton looked over to the group of men standing around the table. They were watching the pair of them closely, eager to see how Sunderam was going to deal with this tiresome woman. Even among these people, the ones whose counsel Sunderam had personally sought out, there was a clear sense that he needed to act in order to retain their favor.

  Hermendal had appeared but stood a good way off, uncertain about whether he ought to approach them.

  “I understand all that you’re saying, commander. And I’m not suggesting that they shouldn’t be punished in some way but this,” she gestured in the direction of the gallows. “But this is not the way forward.”

  “This might not be how you might do things on a Confederation ship but we come from two vastly different cultures,” with a sweep of the hand he took in the mix of workers and senior officers milling around. “What do you think their reaction would be if I gave the order to tear these gallows down? Do you think they’d respect me anymore, or less? No, I’m sorry, surgeon captain, while I value your opinion on any number of topics, on this matter we are in clear disagreement.”

  “But what about you,” she hesitated from saying it but she had watched as Sunderam had stood by and watched his predecessor bleed to death. “What you did. You think you can live with that?”

  “Terrible things happen in war, terrible things. Each man’s fate is different but we all have a job to do and I’m afraid you’re getting in the way of me doing mine.”

  Morton looked over at Hermendal, who had his hands raised.

  Well, have you asked him?

  The muscles of her belly started to tremble. Here she was with all these lives hanging in the balance and all she’d managed to do was deliver a moral lecture. For the moment at least, her sense of moral indignation seemed to have abandoned her to be replaced with simple desperation.

  “But what about the youngsters? Some of them are hardly more than boys. Surely you could spare some of those?”

  He laughed. “And you think they’d thank me for it? Sparing them in order that their senior officers might perish. No, doctor, I don’t want to turn anyone into a martyr if I can help it. As I’ve said, doctor, while I value your opinion on any number of topics, on this point we must agree to disagree.”

  And with that, he turned and started to return to his advisors.

  “In which case, I need to ask you a favour, commander,” she waved Hermendal forward but he didn’t look too happy about it.

  Sunderam had only gone a few steps before stopping.

  Without turning around, he said, “Let’s hear it, then.”

  “There is a young man outside I would ask you to spare.”

  She indicated for Hermendal to pass Sunderam the print-out he’d received earlier. Hermendal approached him with all the confidence of a chicken handing the fox a menu.

  “There’s a young boy back there who helped me a great deal when all this was happening. He’s on your list of undesirables.”

  Sunderam turned slowly, his eyes scanning the read-out.

  “And would this be the same individual who helped you to liberate Captain Faulkner, by any chance?”

  Morton was about to deny it before realising the futility of such an action. Sunderam had doubtless followed the whole escape with the help of the ship’s surveillance network.

  “Yes, that’s him.”

  “And you’re proposing that I reward someone who conspired to free a member of the opposing forces. Is that right.”

  “Yes, commander. I have to agree that when you put it like that, it doesn’t make a great deal of sense...” her voice trailed off. “But aren’t there extenuating circumstances here by which you might see fit to granting him a pardon?”

  He tipped his head to one side to examine her afresh, like an adult appraising a particularly demanding child.

  “I’m not aware of any such circumstances.”

  “What about - because I asked you to?”

  Sunderam laughed. “I think not, doctor. It’s not as if I’m particularly in your debt.”

  Morton’s head dropped. Perhaps if she hadn’t been quite so strident at the get go, she might have found some way of winning him around. She might have had to sacrifice her integrity but at least then Bayas would still be alive.