“Clearly, you had very different instructors at the academy to the ones I had,” he said. “Was it not drilled into you that you had to conserve your tactical advantage? To keep your assets together, to avoid being pulled out of shape? These people are looking for us to show some clear leadership. Take The Spur out of the equation and what are you left with? Chaos. With each captain thinking that he knows best.”

  Kerrigan pursed his lips. As master of his own ship he was finding it difficult to take criticism from a mere commander, though the fact that Vincenzi was Winterson’s personal assistant left him with little choice in the matter that didn’t mean he had to enjoy it.

  “You’d better answer him,” Winterson prompted.

  “I think that, in these circumstances, it’s important that we react boldly and efficiently. The Thor poses the greatest threat, therefore its destruction has to be our number one priority.”

  “Yes, but if we go after her without first dealing with Tyr, what’s to stop her from leaving our other ships behind and coming right back at us? We can’t force her to stay and fight. And, in such a scenario, we’d have the worst of all worlds. We’d might be pursuing Thor but, at the same time, we’d be leaving ourselves vulnerable to an attack from the rear.”

  Kerrigan had finished his drink and stood awkwardly holding his cup.

  “I doubt very much that’s going to happen,” he said flatly.

  Duvall took a long and noisy sip of his tea.

  “But if we’re to avoid such as eventuality,” Winterson said. “What are we to do?”

  Kerrigan looked from Winterson to Vincenzi and then back to Winterson again. This was not dissimilar to being asked a key question in one of his staff college exams. He had to juggle all the variables and come up with the most workable option.

  “I think Commander Vincenzi might have a point. The fleet is still untested in battle and if things started to go awry against the Tyr then, with no clear chain of command, the civilian ships might quickly come unstuck and start working against one another.”

  Winterson was relieved that he’d finally seen sense. “And what about Thor?”

  Kerrigan winched at the name.

  “As tempting as she is as a target,” he looked at Vincenzi. “I wouldn’t be fulfilling my role as captain of the flagship if I didn’t consider the safety of the fleet. Hopefully, if we can work together to defeat the Tyr we can build on that experience to better deal with Thor.”

  Winterson nodded, “Thank you Captain Kerrigan. That will be all.”

  Once Kerrigan was gone Winterson turned to Vincenzi.

  “Well? What do you think?”

  Vincenzi opened his eyes wide as if just coming awake. “He recognises how vulnerable we still are in certain areas, so he’s not quite the simpleton I took him for. But he does seem to think that victory over Tyr is assured whereas I’m very much in the opposite camp. I think it’s going to be tough and bloody.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “What are we looking at?” Faulkner wanted to know.

  “The navigators have been studying Loki’s intended flight path.”

  Faulkner felt the adrenalin beginning to flood his system.

  “Are there other ships? Is that it?”

  She looked sideways at McNeill who was working hard to correlate the flood of incoming data.

  “Not ships as such, no, but there is something out there we need to be cognizant of.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “A meteorite. Coming in from our port side and due to cross our path in the next three hours.”

  Faulkner looked at the faces of those around him. They looked sullen and defensive as though he were responsible for this. And yet he knew from long experience that the threat from a meteor strike was infinitesimally small. They were, generally, very easy to avoid.

  “And that’s a threat to us how?”

  Schwartz rolled her eyes in McNeill’s direction. “Fin, you want to answer that one?”

  Faulkner noticed for the first time that McNeill’s chair had been specially adapted for his use. It had been built up to bring him up to the eye-level of everyone else on the bridge but it looked fairly precarious with a back brace to stop McNeill from tipping out of it. It looked like it would take a great deal of effort to get in to or out of.

  McNeill seemed dismayed by what he’d found.

  “It’s not so much us who has to worry about it,” he said. “It’s the Loki, sir. Currently, they’re set on a collision course with this thing.”

  McNeill brought up a computer animation which showed the trajectory of both Loki and the oncoming meteorite. They watched as the two smashed into one another, crippling Loki and sending her off into a punishing tailspin. The meteorite, meanwhile, continued along its original course largely unchecked.

  “Are they aware of what’s happening?”

  “Seems too much of a coincidence for them not to be,” McNeill said. “Plus, it ties in with that course change I told you about earlier. Looks like they’ve gone out of their way to orchestrate this.”

  “Which doesn’t make sense. Why track halfway across the system just to make a date with a lump of space rock?”

  Schwartz stepped forward, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “McNeill does have a theory about all this, sir.”

  McNeill turned awkwardly, using his backrest to pull himself around, his legs twisted under him.

  “It was the course change which alerted us to this,” he said. “I could be wrong, but I strongly suspect that when they first saw this, someone on-board saw it as a unique opportunity. I don’t think they intend to meet this thing head on. I think they’re trying to set us up so they can use it against us.”

  “What? Try and direct this thing into our path somehow. Use it as some sort of kinetic weapon?”

  This was one of the things the Yakutians had tried when they’d first started targeting Confederation colonies. They’d captured meteorites and then re-directed them at the various settlements in a sub-orbital bombardment. There was a lot of maths involved but they had that capacity. They’d even rigged up three enormous custom-built ships to make it all possible. They’d no doubt still be doing it if the Confederation hadn’t wised up and sent in Special Ops demolition teams to destroy the ships in question.

  Schwartz and McNeill exchanged glances.

  Schwartz said, “I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

  “I’ve nothing else planned for the afternoon, why not go for it?”

  Faulkner could see that a reckoning was coming – and soon – but, for the life of him, he couldn’t see how the Da’al intended to go about it. The physics of the whole exercise just seemed plain wrong.

  McNeill said, “Even if they had the wherewithal to make this work - which they don’t - the fact that we’re alert to the danger means they’ve got virtually no chance of hitting us with it. Kinetic measures have always worked best against stationary targets, so, for this to work the Renheim would have to be at a complete standstill and we’re a long way from that.”

  “So how then?”

  “The key element here is surprise,” McNeill said. “They need for us to be almost on top of them if they’re going to try and re-direct this thing into our path. That way, by the time we realise what’s happening, it’ll already be too late.”

  “They’re trying to use our velocity against us,” Faulkner said, turning to Schwartz. “Is that what we’re thinking?”

  “That’s right,” she said. “But what if they weren’t hoping to hit us with the whole meteor?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “What if they were to blow off part of the meteor, just to leave it in their wake? The resultant debris would be enough to block off our route, perhaps even destroy us. At the very least, we’d be forced to change our flight path.”

  Faulkner looked to McNeill. “They’re trying to panic us in the hope that they’ll be able to slip away.” in the ensuing chaos.”

  “That seems most likely,” McNeill said.

  “Okay,” Faulkner said. “The question is: what are we going to do about it?”

  *

  Elina clinked her glass against Noah’s.

  “Marsalla!” she said before downing her vodka.

  “Marsalla!” Noah said. He took a mouthful and then started to gag. “My God. What is this stuff?”

  “Chechen vodka. Very good. Very strong.”

  “You’re right about that. It’s burning my eyes.”

  “Hah! I forget how young you are,” she made to take the glass from him, but he resisted.

  “I’m fine.”

  He drained the glass in one go but then stood there clutching his chest, unable to speak.

  “It is good that you take your drinking seriously but you make big mistake. We must go again.”

  She took his glass from him and started to refill it.

  She’d brought the bottle with her as a peace offering. He’d taken her straight to his cabin. It was the only place on the ship where he could be certain they’d be safe from his brother’s surveillance equipment. He’d swept the place himself the previous day and had found three bugs of varying degrees of sophistication. It was another reason why he’d wanted to split from Tomaz. His older brother had to be in charge of everything so even when Noah was working on his own, he always had Tomaz looking over his shoulder. It was ridiculous.

  Elina passed him his glass, the vodka slopping over his fingers.

  “Again?” he laughed. “Really?”

  “Yes, because the first toast,” she waved a finger here. “It does not count. When you toast someone, you must look them in the eye. To show you have nothing to hide. Like this: Marsalla!”

  She held Noah’s gaze while she downed the vodka.

  To be alone with her like this, in his room, was better than anything he could have imagined.

  Well, almost anything.

  He kept expecting the knock at the door to come, to drag him back to reality. He wasn’t used to this level of freedom. Perhaps this was what it was like to be truly independent.

  “Good. Now you try!”

  Noah took a long breath and then locked eyes with her.

  “Marsalla!”

  This time, the burning sensation in his throat was even worse than before. His eyes watered and he coughed a couple of times but at least he managed to keep it down.

  Once he’d recovered, Noah brought his chair around so that she could sit down while he perched on the end of the bed. He really had not expected her to be quite so intimidating. She was taller than Tomas and sat very upright, reminding him of some strange, exotic animal. Even the smell of her he found captivating.

  “Before we go any further,” she leaned across and touched his arm. “I have to ask have you considered my proposal.”

  Noah could only smile. “I have, yes.”

  “And?”

  “It’s not as straightforward as I first thought.”

  “Why not? It’s only business, nothing personal. Tomas, of all people, would understand that. And besides, what I’m offering here is a partnership. Fifty, straight down the middle. Think about it, that’s not the sort of offer you can afford to walk away from.”

  “Look, I know,” he brushed the hair out of his eyes. “You’ve been really generous. I might even say, too generous.”

  “Nonsense. Look at what you’re bringing to the table: your experience in the salvage business, this ship, your crew. All I’m offering is the haulage, plus security.”

  When she put it like that, she did have a point. The Motar was key to the whole operation – which was kind of weird.

  “You talk as if you’re towing this thing down the road when in fact, we’re talking about a distance of nearly a hundred million miles. Without you, we’d be stranded.”

  “And without you we would have no chance to secure a line. We’d be lost before we started. You’re probably right, on Blackthorn I could pick up ship like Motar, very reasonable price. But we not on Blackthorn,” she leaned forward and grasped his wrist. “I need you and you need me. Partners, yes?”

  “True, but there’s other people we need to consider.”

  “I understand. Your crew are loyal towards brother. I understand this.”

  “But some of these guys have been with the firm since the get-go.”

  She gathered his hands in hers and pulled him towards her.

  “But they have to ask themselves question: would they rather be here with you and fortune or back home with Tomaz and nothing?”

  From where he was sitting, Noah could look straight down the front of Elina’s blouse. To say that he found this distracting would have been an under-statement.

  “It’s bound to cause resentment,” he protested. “And then there’s the people on the Monty. What are they going to think?”

  “I’m sure you’re right? Have you spoken to your brother about our little deal?”

  Noah laughed nervously.

  “This is funny?” she said.

  He dismissed her concerns with a wave. “He was just weird, that’s all. Said that I’d regret ever going into business with you. That there were things about you that I ought to know.”

  She shrugged. “What are these things?”

  “Doesn’t matter. He’s jealous, that’s all.”

  Elina eased herself out of her chair and came to sit beside him on the bed.

  “What has he got to be jealous of?”

  Noah found it hard to be in such close proximity with her, especially as he could feel the swell of her breasts pressing against his arm.

  “I don’t know. You and me, I suppose. Working together.”

  “It’s not going to be all work though, is it?”

  She reached up and ran a hand through his hair. Noah was suddenly aware of the sound of his own breathing. A gentle pressure from her was all it needed to ease him back onto the bunk and it took all Noah’s resolve not to just grab hold of her.

  “He’s afraid of change, that’s all,” she said as she pulled his head around to face her. “New opportunities frighten him. You’re not afraid of new opportunities, are you Noah?”

  “Er, no. No, I don’t suppose I am.”

  “Good.”

  She brought her face down to his, her lips touching his mouth. Her body arched against his and then he felt the weight of her lips crushing his own.

  Noah couldn’t remember the last time a woman had kissed him but he definitely enjoyed the sensation.

  When she broke away from him, he tried to sit up, moving towards the door.

  “I’d better lock it,” he said. “Don’t want your men walking in on us.”

  “Don’t worry about them. They know better than to interrupt me when I’m in the middle of sensitive negotiations.”

  With that, she started to unbutton her blouse.

  *

  Faulkner had toyed with the idea of switching off the main screen, or at least showing something other than the vast sprawl of space but then he’d realised that to do so would be simply dishonest. These were Confederation officers he was dealing with, after all. These people were willing to put their lives on the line for him, the very least he could do was to be honest with them.

  So, instead he ordered that the screen focus on the meteorite in question. Truth to tell, there was very little to see: a virtually black object flying against a star speckled background didn’t make for the most thrilling viewing but at least it gave the crew something to focus on – let them know what they were up against.

  The Da’al had cut it very close when it came to avoiding the meteorite. That way, they hoped to be able to cover their tracks, waiting until the very last second before boosting, thereby throwing everything into forward thrust.

  They only had to wait another ninety seconds for the second part of the plan as Loki launched two conventional missiles straight at the meteorite.

  The first detonation was something of an anti-climax and for a moment Faulkner wondered whether the Da’al might not have got this one wrong. That their plan might not work. Because only small chunks were blasted off the meteorite and he watched with a real sense of relief as the comet continued along its original path, largely unaffected by the impact. On reflection he thought that the meteorite must have encountered thousands of similar impacts on in its journey through space. Why should this one be any different?

  It was the second missile which did the damage, catching the meteorite towards the tail end and succeeding in blowing off an entire section. In a sobering display of destructive power, the missile had succeeded in shearing off slightly less than a quarter of the thing’s overall mass. And Faulkner had seen the analysis. The meteorite had been assessed as possessing a mass of several hundred million tons. A quarter of that, moving at speed, would be more than enough to kill every single person on-board.

  *

  The sound of gunfire woke LaCruz and she immediately reached for her weapon.

  But before she could locate it, a rifle barrel poked her in the chest.

  “What the hell?”

  She pushed the barrel to one side and tried to sit up. The gunman stepped back, bringing the rifle up so that it was pointing at her face.

  She rubbed at her eyes while she tried to work out what was going on. She had a terrible headache and was having difficulty thinking straight. She couldn’t, for example, remember what had happened prior to her turning in for the night.

  The lighting in the cargo bay was stuck in night-time mode and so apart from a few lights around the walls, it was difficult to see much. She guessed they were still in the early hours of the morning. The perfect time for a surprise attack like this.

  But what had become of the sentries?

  Then she remembered the gunfire.

  It took her a while to recognise the guy standing over her, largely because he was wearing a respirator. He was one of the men who’d come over from the Peter the Great earlier. He had some ugly scarring round his right eye and a nose that had been broken multiple times. He tried to poke her with the rifle barrel but she batted it away.

  “Try that again and I’ll show you where you can stick it.”