She winced at that. Wanted to challenge him over it, but recognised that now was not the time. They travelled in silence until they reached their floor.

  Again she stood back to allow him to move out first. His steps were slow and precise, like someone testing a new high wire.

  As she stepped out of the elevator the music swelled to greet them. The crew were all in their best dress uniforms and someone had gone to the trouble of putting up decorations.

  She stepped in close and he allowed her to take his arm.

  “See, isn’t this lovely. They’ve really made an effort.”

  “Which means that I should too.”

  She smiled as someone recognised her.

  “Look, Robert, this can go one of two ways but the only person who can decide which is you.”

  “Which is a polite way of saying cheer up you miserable old bastard.”

  “Now, you’re getting it,” she trilled.

  He stopped walking and placed his hand on hers.

  Her heart sank.

  He’d changed his mind.

  “Governor Ardent. Sigrid. Can I start by saying how ravishing you look tonight?”

  She made to laugh but then realised that he was being serious. She indicated her sober dress. The last time she’d worn it was to Grimes’ funeral.

  “Well, that’s very kind of you.”

  She felt stupid just saying it. That’s what her father had taught her to say when he’d first introduced her to company. It’d been a way of masking her nerves.

  But why was she feeling that way now? This wasn’t her command.

  They were met by his XO Lieutenant Commander Katherine Schwartz who was unrecognisable in a sleeveless purple dress. Ardent thought she was attractive in a mumsy sort of way, but then that was hardly surprising considering her condition. Schwartz had made an effort to make the most of herself and had let her hair down, her blonde curls brushing her bare shoulders, though the thing which surprised Ardent was that she was wearing lipstick. It just seemed odd on an officer of her standing.

  She was the perfect hostess, taking Faulkner by the arm and introducing him to the ship’s other senior officers. If her pregnancy was taking a toll, she didn’t show it. Schwartz and Faulkner made a charming couple. There was none of the tension she’d detected previously when Meyer and Farnese had been in post and it took her some time to realise why. Because this was an informal event, there were none of the usual salutes which might potentially stymie such an event. No one was standing on ceremony. In fact, although Schwartz introduced each officer by name, she never once referred to their rank or even the area of the ship in which they worked.

  Faulkner and Schwartz seemed very relaxed in one another’s company and she seemed eager for him to enjoy himself. She guided Faulkner over to an area where champagne was being served. There was orange juice set to one side and Ardent half expected Faulkner to go for the non-alcoholic version but, to her surprise, he took the glass of champagne which was offered to him.

  They were joined by a group of officers who each took a glass and stood around sniggering as though they’d never tasted alcohol before.

  Schwartz clinked her glass against Faulkner’s.

  “Here’s to you, sir.”

  “To Captain Faulkner,” the officers toasted.

  This amused Faulkner who seemed genuinely touched by the compliment though he drew the line at toasting himself.

  “To the Confederation,” he said and drank.

  *

  Another application of the joystick and LaCruz banked sharply to the right, taking delight in the way her legs swung out as a natural counterbalance.

  While she was acutely aware of the idea that someone was attempting to draw a bead on her, she wouldn’t allow herself to panic. She had to stay focussed on her primary target knowing that any element of surprise she might have had had just as swiftly evaporated.

  And, if she had any doubts on that front, they were quickly dispelled when a hailstorm of small arms fire erupted along the line of her suit. She swore quietly under her breath as she was forced to twist first this way and then that in a frankly desperate attempt to throw off their aim.

  So distracted was she that she missed the moment that the Da’al launched their main weapon. The first she was aware of it was when she saw the thin white contrail streaking off towards the main engine, and her heart sank. It was followed, ten seconds later by the hollow crump of the missile detonating deep within the engine proper.

  The pitch of the engine immediately switched from a deep and efficient burr to a high-pitched headlong shriek. Then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, thin wisps of smoke started streaming out of the side vents.

  “Okay, girl,” LaCruz said to herself. “You going to sit there and let that upset ya? Or you goin’ to do somethin’ about it?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “What the hell is going on?” Tomas demanded. “I just lost thirty percent of my power from the main engine.”

  “Don’t worry,” Noah reassured him. “The sergeant is working on it.”

  “What are you talking about? Who is this sergeant?”

  “Markham. He’s American, I think.”

  Noah was talking gibberish now, anything to try and deflect his brother’s anger. He was terrible at it, he knew. If anything, he made matters worse.

  Not like their father. He would have known exactly what to say at a time like this.

  Only, where was he now? When they needed him.

  “What about the commander? Let me speak with him.”

  “Commander Webster?”

  “That’s the one. Put him on.”

  “I don’t know where he is. Not everyone made it back to the ship in time.”

  “What? Was he injured then? Killed?”

  “I don’t know. We haven’t been able to draw up a proper manifest. We were in too much of a hurry.”

  “You mean, you panicked.”

  “Yes, alright, I panicked. I just needed to get us into the air.”

  The confession was hard for Noah. The other roughnecks despised any show of weakness but it was the simple, unvarnished truth. He’d found the intensity of the bombardment absolutely terrifying.

  “You did the right thing.”

  Noah thought at first that he’d misheard.

  “Really?”

  Tomas never complemented people. Ever. It was kind of a running joke.

  “One hundred percent. Sitting on the ground like that, you’re just asking for trouble. No, you did absolutely the best thing: get everybody out. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  “Okay,” Noah said. “I won’t.”

  Noah took a moment to trim his engines, taking a subtle pride now in everything he did.

  “Not that any of this matters a damn if this engine gives out.” Tomas was suddenly all business.

  “How’s it looking?”

  “Currently – not good. Initially, I thought we’d got away with it. Now, I’m not so sure.”

  “What you going to do?” Noah asked. “Shut her down?”

  “That would be the sensible thing to do but then we wouldn’t have enough power to get us into orbit.”

  But if he didn’t shut the engine down and something went wrong…

  “Okay. So, it’s your call. In the meantime, what do you want me to do?”

  “Get in touch with that sergeant of yours.”

  “And what should I say?”

  “Just make sure this thing doesn’t get any worse.”

  “I’m onto it.”

  *

  Hoyt let out a huge sigh, running his hands back over his buzz cut.

  “I don’t mind telling you, sir, I was a tad concerned for a moment there.”

  “Multiple missile traces incoming,” PWO chanted, in case anyone had forgotten.

  “Launching defensive missiles, now,” the Tactical Officer said.

  Twenty-eight missiles in all and Winterson hoped to God that that would be enough. They were still reeling from that first attack and he knew that they couldn’t afford to be overly extravagant with their defensive measures. There was no telling how long this might go on for.

  Their point defence lasers were already starting to track the incoming missiles.

  “Battle stations,” the PWO announced, as alarms blared and LED lights flashed all over the ship.

  The sheer number of missiles sleeting towards them was enough to give Winterson pause. After that first attack, no one could be under any illusions about what they were facing.

  As the counter missiles raced to address their targets, the people in the Operations Room were powerless to act. The first few missiles were picked off easily enough but then, Winterson, mused that was probably part of the plan. The Da’al had indeed learned from that last attack, leading with heavy ordnance designed so that, as they were intercepted, they threw out an exaggeratedly wide debris field. In this way, they hoped to disorientate The Spur’s defences, and it was a technique which appeared to be working, seeing off at least five of their highly sophisticated weapons. It was sobering to see them haring off in all directions, their internal navigation systems completely scrambled.

  Winterson knew they were in trouble as soon as the defensive lasers opened up. The incoming contacts, rather than continuing along their projected course suddenly split into two very distinct groups. In doing so, they managed to give the impression that they were actually flying away from their prescribed target, but Winterson wasn’t fooled. He’d seen the tactic once before and knew how effective it could be if timed correctly.

  It was designed to confuse the lasers’ automated defences by fooling them into thinking that the danger had passed and that the missiles had missed their target when really something much more insidious was happening. After fanning out as wide as possible, the missiles then began the difficult trick of arcing back in again at such tortuous speeds that even the most dogged of defence missiles struggled to match them.

  At this point, Winterson didn’t need to rely on the computer-generated images in front of him, he needed only to watch the port and starboard screens as the missiles raced in to attack them in what was still classed as a classic ‘broadsides’ assault.

  Amazingly, in this instance, it was the slightly out-dated one-megawatt lasers which proved most effective at destroying these intruders and, in the end, only six missiles managed to get through. But from the enemy’s perspective, that was more than enough, since, by targeting the more exposed side armour, they were able to find a wider range of credible targets.

  Winterson had a moment to appreciate the skill with which their opponent had so effectively beguiled them – whoever had planned this assault was as cunning and accomplished an adversary as he’d ever encountered.

  He felt rather than heard the enormous explosion as one of The Naked Spur’s six main engines detonated, ending the lives of countless crew members.

  It had been a ruthless plan, superbly executed.

  Rather than go in for the kill, the Da’al had plumped instead to disable her, knowing full well that the destruction of one engine would leave The Naked Spur’s engineers with no choice. They would be forced to shut down the ship’s other five engines rather than risk a radiation breach which would threaten the lives of everyone on board.

  But, in doing so, they would leave the ship with no viable means of propulsion.

  The words of one of Winterson’s old Academy instructors came back to him in that moment: if you can’t move, you can’t fight.

  If we get through this, he thought, I’m going to have that inscribed on the wall of every ship in the fleet.

  Lest we forget.

  The very last missile which appeared had defied all efforts to plot its approach. Technically, it had already aborted its run having had its targeting computer scrambled by The Spur’s electronic counter measures. Indeed, it was this which accounted for its wildly contorted flight path. None of the counter missiles had come close to intercepting it and the lasers never fired a shot as it sliced through the hull at an obtuse angle detonating against a bulkhead a mere sixty metres below the main Operations Room.

  What wasn’t destroyed in the resulting blast was consumed by the fireball which followed.

  *

  Now that they were aware of her, the shuttle pilot had brought its nose around in an attempt to protect its own engine from LaCruz’ gunsights. So, where previously it had just been a case of targeting the shuttle’s thermal signature, now things were likely to prove much more challenging. But in the meantime, she had to give the two troopers on top something to think about. They couldn’t be given the opportunity of taking a second shot.

  So it was something of a no-brainer for her to switch to the heavy machine gun. Using the tracers as a way of adjusting her aim, she’d managed to squeeze off a few hundred rounds without even thinking about it. Still, it had the desired effect forcing the two Da’al troopers to duck down, aborting their attempt to load a second missile.

  By the time they re-emerged she had them locked in her sights, firing off a blazing trail of heavy calibre rounds. They ricocheted off the shuttle’s lightly armoured roof leaving a pleasing patina of deformed impacts all along one side as the termites were once again forced to dive for cover. She got slightly carried away with her own firepower though, the resultant kickback from her weapon pushing her slightly off-centre, forcing her to stop firing long enough so that she could re-position herself.

  But before she could open up again, a hammer blow struck her between the shoulder blades and she felt something inside snap. She tensed up then, anticipating the final killshot but it never came.

  Without thinking what she was doing, her hands worked quickly to spin her around. She was expecting to see another shuttle, hastily re-configured perhaps but essentially the same set up as the first.

  What she saw instead was a heavily armored military drone.

  Big black and angry, it reminded her of a scorpion the way it kept darting about, attempting to line up its next strike. No wonder their radar equipment had failed to spot it at first. Chances were that it had piggy-backed a ride on the back of the shuttle, waiting until the last moment to jettison itself into the target area. And, while it didn’t pack the same kind of fire power as the shuttle did, it didn’t really have to. All it had to do was cause enough of a distraction for the shuttle to be able to do its job.

  Checking her video feed, LaCruz could even make out the array of missiles strapped to the drone’s under side. And while it posed no threat to the Montezuma’s engines, it had more than enough firepower to take down LaCruz.

  “Jackson, what in the name of hell is going on over there?”

  “Not now, sarge,” she said quickly muting him.

  She locked her controls into ‘hover’ mode for a moment, just long enough to get a bead on the drone with her machine gun but, as soon as she started firing, the damn thing dropped away to one side, having already loosed off one of its own missiles for effect.

  The speed of its response caught her napping and she found herself unable to activate her counter measures in time. Instead, she had to rely on simply turning her back on the incoming ordnance, hoping to soak up the resultant explosion that way.

  A panoply of warnings instantly illuminated her screen as soon as the missile detonated. Most of these she fully intended to disregard, but there was one flashing yellow banner right at the bottom of her screen that she couldn’t ignore.

  Engine exhaust compromised. Emergency landing advised.

  Shit.

  That made her mind up for her. She was out of time. She had to get the job done, and quickly.

  Ignoring the drone, she took the time to line herself up exactly on the departing shuttle. There was a lot of activity going on with the pilot employing evasive maneuvers but she couldn’t let that distract her, she had to concentrate. Bracing herself for the sudden jolt of acceleration necessitated by her next maneuver, she dropped forward throwing back her arms as if readying herself for a dive. And, as she tipped forward - all her natural senses screaming at her - she hit the ‘boost’ button.

  It was like being hit from behind by a freight train and as she jolted forward, her head snapped back.

  For several seconds she couldn’t see anything and had to rely on her telemetry readings to guide her. The forward thrust was unrelenting and the longer she left it, the more the pressure built up threatening to bend her backwards until she snapped. It came as a great relief when she was finally able to cut the engines. But she’d mistimed her approach, coming in so fast that she struck the side of the shuttle with her hip.

  She skittered across the top of the shuttle, fruitlessly scrabbling for a handhold as her own jets threatened to send her into the void. In a last gasp attempt, she cut the power to her jets to leave her clinging precariously to one side.

  The shuttle was not as stable a platform as it might first have appeared and she failed initially to get any kind of purchase. Eventually, after a great deal of effort, she managed to get her knee over the side and then, as she lifted her head, found herself face to face with one of the Da’al soldiers.

  The thing glared at her, its mandibles flaring as the airsacs at its throat inflated and deflated wildly. As she endeavoured to pull herself forward, the termite started bringing its slug weapon to bear but in the cramped confines of the interior, failed to raise the barrel high enough to get off a clear shot.

  At that distance, there was a good chance that whatever came out of that muzzle would prove fatal, powered armor or no, and LaCruz was not in mood to risk it.

  But at the same time she saw the danger, she also glimpsed an opportunity. Stretching across, she wrapped her fingers around the gun’s barrel and started pulling herself forward. For a split second she was vulnerable and, if her opponent had reacted more quickly all it would have needed to do was to simply let go of its weapon. That way, LaCruz would have been pitched backwards into clear space. But instead, the creature held on doggedly, even as it was being dragged bodily out of its seat.

  With power assisted armour on her side there was only ever going to be one winner, but still, LaCruz was impressed by how much of a fight the creature was able to put up.