Private business takes the risk so that governments can profit.

  And it was ever thus.

  Which was probably why she felt so elated about getting through to this stage. And why shouldn’t she be? Hadn’t she spent years preparing for this moment? No one had a better overall grasp of this project than she did. Not the engineers, the executives, the workers, no one. Yes, they might have their own unique area of expertise but she was the one who truly understood the enormity of this whole endeavour. It was something which had consumed her every waking moment for seven years.

  She handled the transition from weightlessness to the 0.8 gravity generated by the Von Braun wheel with practised ease, dropping lightly down onto the walkway. Then, to help her better adjust to the concept of ‘walking on the wall’, she took a couple of experimental steps.

  She was over an hour early and yet seemed to have arrived late. Her team was assembled on the dais dressed in the same jumpsuit and tunic that she was wearing. Parnashikan was standing on his own, off to one side looking out through one of the portals. He turned at her approach only to look away again. He was her co-presenter and had come in for a fair amount of criticism himself the previous day. His sullen response to her now suggesting that, in some way, this had been Ardent’s fault.

  Parnashikan had, she’d discovered over the weeks, an interesting take on teamwork. While he expected her to provide him with whatever information he required, she was under no illusion that he wouldn’t. He’d be the first to trade her away to the execs from Apex if he thought that it might gain him some advantage, however small.

  And Ardent was fine with that. Expecting no loyalty from that particular quarter she wouldn’t be surprised when she received none. Fine.

  The journalists were corralled over in their own section of the main hub and Ardent went over to greet them. She’d got to know most of them in the last few days although some better than others. One or two returned her greeting but the majority were too busy completing last minute pieces to camera. It was unusual to have so many journalists gathered in one place – normally, physical distances made such a thing impossible - but this inauguration was an event decades in the planning. Apex had been adamant from the start that the people entrusted with covering this should experience the full scale of their endeavours first-hand. View screens just couldn’t do it justice.

  And the gamble appeared to be paying off. They seemed genuinely excited about what they’d seen so far, and she’d lost count of the number of journalists she’d seen simply standing at the windows staring into space. Cut off from their news desks, they had proven to be largely compliant, sticking closely to the itinerary of events which had been prepared for them. It hadn’t hurt that the number of genuine ‘exclusives’ had been carefully spread out amongst the various news organisations. Apex had been particularly keen to avoid the accusation that any one group might be receiving preferential treatment.

  The press-packs which Ardent had put together were so detailed that often, all the individual journalist had to do was to think of a snappy headline, add their name and post the story virtually unchanged.

  “Not long now!” a voice behind her called. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

  It was Asha Panjar a news anchor for the Indus Broadcasting Company. She and Ardent had shared a couple of cocktails the night she’d arrived. The two of them had got along great but, Ardent had to keep reminding herself that, first and foremost, Panjar was a journalist. For her, the story would always take precedence.

  Luckily, even with a few cocktails inside her, Ardent had been sober enough to debunk Panjar’s finely wrought conspiracy theories.

  Although, in one case, Panjar’s musings had been pretty much spot on. There was a huge hole in the project’s overall security which left it vulnerable to a well-planned terrorist attack. Very few people knew about the implications and, thankfully, those that did had all been subject to water-tight Non-Disclosure Agreements.

  The project was vulnerable long-term and that was a major problem. Because, as the budget had spiralled out of control, corners had needed to be cut. The solution had seemed obvious at the time.

  Security for a project of this size came courtesy of an exclusive battle fleet which answered directly to Apex head office.

  Eighteen ships in all. But such fleets are exorbitantly expensive to maintain and so the obvious solution to these budgeting problems was to agree to down-size the fleet over time. Ardent had been a key player in these negotiations which would see, over a ten-year period, the fleet reduced first to nine ships then to four.

  And now it couldn’t be avoided.

  The deal had already been done. Signed and sealed in digital ink.

  The ships had been sold to the Yakutians for twice what they would have fetched from the Confederation.

  And the new owners would be looking to take possession of the first nine ships in just over five years’ time.

  It had been Ardent who had overseen this particular deal with the devil. The main thing she had to do now was to ensure was that the story never got out. Because if the truth ever did get out, that would put an end to her political aspirations once and for all.

  Her one hope was that, by the time anyone realised what was happening, the media circus would have already moved on. The spotlight would have shifted, and no one would care where the ships ended up.

  She just had to keep everyone distracted long enough for that to happen.

  It was a risk, but Ardent hadn’t got where she was by simply playing by the rules.

  She walked with Panjar up the steady incline and away from the main body of journalists.

  “No one here from the president’s office, then?” Panjar said.

  “That was never part of the plan.”

  “And getting all this set up through private investment. That was always the goal?”

  “Of course. Soon as you start getting government involved that complicates things. They’re going to start putting restrictions in place.”

  “As well as taxes.”

  “As well as taxes.”

  Panjar looked over at the executives. “Well, seems like your people got one thing right.”

  “They’re not my people.”

  “Oh, Sigrid, I think you’ll find that they are. You might have got out from under the shadow of the Confederation, but you can’t build something like this without acquiring a whole new set of playmates. It’s a fact of life.”

  Panjar laughed and poked her in the arm to suggest that she’d been joking but they both knew the truth of the matter.

  Panjar moved across to one of the Euclid’s main observation windows and waited for Ardent to join her. But Ardent hesitated.

  “Come on,” Panjar said. “Promise I won’t bite.”

  Ardent stepped up her breath momentarily blossoming against the glass before the dehumidifiers got to work. For a second, Ardent thought the woman might put an arm around her and was relieved when she didn’t. That would no doubt come later, at the bar.

  They stood next to one other as they viewed the spectacle in front of them. The space station they were looking at was still in active construction and, after twelve long years, far from complete. But it was there. Made up of a frail lattice work of connecting beams silhouetted against the white sun, it brought to mind a vestigial bird’s nest, long since abandoned.

  It was both there and not there all at the same time. The only thing keeping it together was the ceaseless activity of an army of construction workers and their countless service vessels. It would be three years before the main superstructure was complete and another five before they could begin work on the interiors. In a bid to make the place finally habitable, they’d begin with the station’s lower levels where the workers would eventually be housed. From there they would slowly build upwards. The luxury accommodation would come last, the spires rising up through the plumes of venting atmosphere, the vast glass towers soaring high into space.

  The plan was that the station would eventually be put into orbit around Iscaria, with its own space elevator carrying goods and personnel down to the surface. But that was still a long way off.

  They took all this in as the Euclid’s centrifugal wheel carried them away from this station and around to the main marvel of the day. A lot of thought had gone into where they had positioned the Nueva Esparta. Any closer and they wouldn’t have been able to appreciate the sheer scale of what it was they were currently seeing. Any further away and they might well miss it entirely. Because distance, the altered space and the limitations of their own senses, would at first make it difficult for them to fully grasp what it was that they were seeing.

  It made Ardent uncomfortable to stare at the construct for too long. It seemed to exert some kind of latent force on the viewer, threatening to pull them towards it. But it was similarly difficult to look away, the enormity of it all making her brain feel sluggish, her instincts suspect. In comparison to this, everything else she’d ever marvelled at now seemed inconsequential.

  Even the canopy of stars, coming together in their loose constellations, appeared secondary to what it was they were witnessing: a gaping, ink black hole in the middle of space into which anything and everything seemed to be falling.

  It was an illusion, of course, but a powerful and disconcerting one which was hard to reject. It was as if a large section of the sky had vanished to be replaced by a grainy nothingness.

  “Still gives me goosebumps,” Panjar said.

  “A wormhole will do that to you every time.”

  “Do you think there’ll be any difficulty? Establishing the gate, I mean.”

  The wormhole had been open for fifteen years but without the stability provided by an active gate, it could close at any time. Which was why they’d all taken a huge gamble just by coming here.

  “I hope not. But if the scientists have got this wrong…” her voice trailed off.

  “We’ll be stuck here. Cut off from everything. How long would it take? To get back to Lincoln, travelling conventionally?”

  “In our fastest ship? Two hundred and thirty-seven years.”

  “Yikes!” Panjar grabbed her arm. “Let’s hope that this works, then.”

  Their eyes locked together in fright. “Yes, let’s.”

  “So, everything’s still on track, I take it? No big surprises?”

  Ardent eyed Panjar warily. She’d reverted back to her professional stance.

  “Should there be?”

  “I’m not sure. I was just wondering: why the sudden change in itinerary?”

  “There’s been no change. Itinerary’s still the same.”

  Panjar frowned. “You clearly haven’t checked your alerts recently.”

  She handed her tablet across. “Says right there: special guest speaker. Who’s that?”

  Ardent felt her insides turn to liquid.

  “I have no idea.”

  Panjar inclined the screen and began to scroll down.

  “And what about this?” Panjar inclined the screen so that she could see. “Your slot with Parnashikan.”

  “What about it?”

  “I’m afraid, now it’s just him. Sorry, Sigrid. Looks like you’ve been bumped.”

  *

  When the press conference began at 19.00 hours, Ardent found herself confined to an ancillary role. Still on the stage but with little to do other than read from the prompter. When she’d confronted one of the executives about the changes they’d simply shrugged and said that there had been concerns about the timings.

  The truth of the matter became obvious as soon as Parnashikan took to the stage for the Q and A session. They wanted a man in charge. Someone with the right level of gravitas. The set-up was identical to the one they’d been rehearsing for the last couple of days, only this time, Parnashikan was the sole person answering questions.

  Ardent managed to maintain her professional demeanour throughout most of this. It was only when Parnashikan started lifting responses to questions which she’d spent months perfecting that she felt her façade start to crack.

  Panjar was on her feet now, readying herself for her time in the spotlight. She looked nervous.

  “You announced earlier that there would be an ongoing toll for those using the gate in the first twenty years. May I ask: what happens after that?”

  Ardent watched Parnashikan on the monitor suppress a smile.

  This had been one of her answers.

  “As has already been pointed out, this is a non-profit making project as far as the Apex Corporation are concerned. Which means that every cent raised during this initial phase will be used to recoup the company’s initial investment.”

  That much was true. But what he failed to point out was that Apex had taken this out as a loan from itself and that they would be enjoying an outlandish interest rate on top of the original loan.

  “You’re right. Our projections suggest that it will take twenty years to pay off the investment but we’re hoping to bring that date forward if possible. And I want to stress again: this is a non-profit concern for us. We’re here for the furtherment of mankind, nothing more.”

  Ardent gritted her teeth. Though no one else seemed to take issue with such a pompous statement.

  Especially as it was blatantly untrue. No company could afford to under-take such an audacious project and not hope to see a sizeable return on their investment. Apex was playing the long game, that was all. Once everything was up and running, they’d have a monopoly on all the trading rights in the whole system. Rights which they would retain long into the future.

  The mooring fees for the station alone would be more than enough to pay for the gate’s construction many times over.

  “And what about security?” Panjar asked. “Ever since the Panama Canal opened in the 19 th century, these kinds of major engineering works have drawn in extremists and agitators of all types, keen to target them as a way of making their own political statement. How do you intend to guard against this, especially in the freeport area? How do you intend to convince people using the gate that they won’t become the victims of a terrorist attack?”

  That question hadn’t been on the list.

  Panjar had skewered him good and proper. The Apex executives were already beginning to look uncomfortable.

  Parnashikan leaned forward, raising his voice despite the microphones.

  “We have to be careful here that we don’t become frightened of the future. Change is here and it’s every person’s right of self-determination to accept that change and pursue their own dreams. The security issues caused by building a monumental structure such as this have been considerable – in many ways the equal of the engineering task itself. Which is why no expense has been spared in protecting that future.”

  This was quickly turning into the Parnashikan Show.

  “But anyone who sees this facility as a soft target will soon be forced to re-evaluate.”

  He indicated the screen to his left. It showed nothing but a dense and empty star scape.

  Someone in the press area cleared their throat.

  Then the Apex company logo flared to fill the screen before the picture cut across to the nine battle ships which were, even now, sweeping past the station.

  This must have been planned months ago, she realised. She didn’t know how Parnashikan had managed to keep this quiet, but he had and, judging by the reaction of the executives, they seemed to approve.

  These ships might not be around for very much longer but, in the meantime, they were going to get full value from them.

  “And that’s not to mention the twelve autonomous point defence platforms,” Parnashikan said with a flourish. “Protecting the gate twenty-four seven.”

  From right over their heads, a small cruiser appeared, only this time it was heading towards the Gate. It was firing off a range of colorful fireworks designed to simulate a full-on assault. On one of the screens, she could even make out a static flag affixed to the ship’s stern bearing the skull and cross bones motif.

  The ship continued on its way, the regularity of its fireworks beginning to tail off just as the laser platforms began firing, their lasers adjusted to a frequency which rendered them non-lethal while at the same time making them highly visible.

  The cruiser was hit repeatedly, with a number of explosive squibs detonating along the hull. The little vessel switched off its running lights one by one until, eventually, it was absorbed by the darkness.

  “And that’s how we deal with unwanted visitors,” Parnashikan had adopted the tone of a carnival barker. “Any vessel which crosses into our exclusion zone and poses a threat to the gate’s security will receive just one warning. If they fail to correct their heading after that then you can see what happens.”

  Panjar still hadn’t returned to her seat.

  “But what if its aim was to take out one of the cardinal nodes? What would happen then?”

  “The designers have strengthened each node to withstand the equivalent of a 10-gig nuclear explosion. Even in the event of terrorists succeeding in destroying one of the nodes, the gate would still be able to function normally.”

  Which wasn’t entirely true. What he meant was that the wormhole would remain stable even with only four nodes operating. That way, anyone traveling between the two gates would have enough time to get through to the other side. But, after that, all bets were off.

  The thought of being trapped between the gates was too horrible even to consider.

  Parnashikan, keen to change the subject, looked across to locate one of the online influencers.

  “Ms Devereaux, you’ve been very patient. Do you have a question for us?”

  Kendall Devereaux was still only twenty-three but had an online following of over two billion followers. Her skirt was so tight that she had to pull it down when she stood up.

  But, before they could get to her question, the whole press contingent rose to its feet. Ardent had no idea what was happening and had to twist around in her seat in order to see what was going on.

  What were they all looking at?

  It was Parnashikan who spoke next.