Well, if that was what people wanted to think he wasn’t going to disabuse him of such thoughts. He liked the idea that some people still thought him capable of such recklessness.

  And, if it helped to keep them on their toes that could only be a good thing.

  Keeping them on their toes.

  That was it!

  “Mr Whaites,” he said. “Do we have any missiles loaded by any chance?”

  Whaites looked at him blankly. “Missiles? But their point defence systems …”

  “Are completely off-line. Don’t you see - this is our chance. Whatever you’ve got, I want it ready and in the air in the next few minutes.”

  Whaites bent over his console, wiping through the various screens.

  “Sir, I have a number of firing solutions for you to review.”

  Faulkner batted his objections away. “No time. We need to act now.”

  Whaites stared at him blankly.

  “Just launch ‘em,” Faulkner spat. “Everything you’ve got. Right now.”

  “Er, yes, sir.”

  Whaites looked at his screen and, after a brief pause, pressed ‘Launch.’

  Then he went to the next screen and did it again.

  And again.

  Faulkner was distracted by the sound of someone clearing their throat.

  He turned to see McNeill standing on his chair, knees wedged against the back brace. If he was trying to catch Faulkner’s attention, then he’d succeeded.

  “Alright, Mr McNeill,” Faulkner said. “I get it. Once Mr Whaites’ birds are all under way you may start your deceleration, though not one second sooner. Is that understood?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  By the time Webster arrived at the dining room to meet Dalbiri, their dinner had already been served.

  The food looked enticing enough - chicken pie with heaps of mashed potato and corn - but when he took his first bite it was hard not show his disappointment. The food had a not unpleasant chemical taste to it but he imagined that if he closed his eyes he wouldn’t be able to say that it was chicken that he was eating. Its texture had more in common with some beef substitutes he’d experienced.

  None of this seemed to have occurred to Dalbiri who was happily tucking into his food.

  “You enjoying that?” Webster said after a while.

  “Yeah. Hot and filling,” Dalbiri said. “Just the way I like it.”

  Webster continued to eat for a while but, without the sensory feedback of the different flavors, he quickly lost interest and gave up.

  “I’m surprised to see you’re still here,” he said. “Thought you might be off somewhere with Maria.”

  Dalbiri grimaced at the mere mention of her name. “Yeah, I was meaning to say something about that.”

  “Go on,” Webster prompted, sensing a change in Dalbiri’s demeanour. “What’s wrong?”

  Dalbiri put his cutlery down. “It’s a bit embarrassing to say it but I think I might have been mistaken. About Maria and everything.”

  “That’s interesting. What’s prompted all this?”

  “I don’t know. At the time, it all seemed so real. She’d aged and everything. But now I’m not so sure.”

  “I get it,” Webster said, though secretly he was delighted that the other man had come to his senses. “We’ve been under a lot of stress lately. Only natural that our brain copes with it in different ways.”

  The sense of relief that he was no longer having to deal with this situation on his own was acute and he immediately decided to tell Dalbiri everything he’d learned so far about the relationship between the Anjharan Da’al and the Drasin.

  “Sort of figures, I guess,” Dalbiri said once he’d finished. “They’d be keen for any opportunity to overthrow their old masters.”

  “Only now that the Da’al have finally tracked them down, it seems that the Drasin have somehow managed to regain their technological edge. And now they’re on their way to hunt down another Da’al ship. Seems that this feud could go on and on.”

  And here they were, caught in the middle of things.

  Webster waited until Dalbiri had finished eating before speaking again. He wanted to get Dalbiri’s take on the conversation he’d overheard between The Pilot and the other unidentified sub-mind.

  “Don’t you think that’s odd?”

  Dalbiri pushed his empty plate to one side.

  “Actually, I do,” he said, his eyes sharp and bright. “I think I know who this other guy might be. The one with the ponytail. I met him briefly. Said his name was The Engineer.”

  “Yeah, that figures.”

  “So, that’s three sub-minds accounted for,” Dalbiri was starting to sound more like himself again. It was like someone emerging from a fog. “Which kinda begs the question: what’s happened to the other three. I certainly haven’t seen them.”

  “And, if we did get to meet them, would they just be different facets of the same person?”

  “Which is the part I don’t understand,” Dalbiri said. “I mean, I ‘ve heard of them using these so-called synthetic brains before on deep space probes but the whole point there is that you ideally want to model them on people with as wide a range of scientific backgrounds as possible.”

  “Physics and chemistry,” Webster pointed to Dalbiri. “Horticulture.”

  “That’s right but, more importantly, you want different schools of thought, different ideologies, experiences. You want minds that’ll come at a problem from a whole range of directions. No point doing it if they all agree with one another.”

  “Different aspects of the same individual.”

  “Yeah, who just so happens to be the same old white guy!” Dalbiri laughed. “Who knew?”

  “Same reason every ship needs a First Officer,” Webster said. “Because every once in a while, you’re going to need someone to contradict what the captain’s thinking. Unchallenged, they’re going to get complacent. Start to miss things. Become predictable.”

  And yet, even as he was saying that Webster was struck by how different the personalities of The Librarian and The Pilot had seemed to him.

  For all that The Librarian had gone out of his way to keep things from him, he couldn’t remember one example where the sub-mind had actually lied to him. He wondered whether they had that ability to deceive programmed out of them. It was certainly an interesting idea.

  If the sub-minds were capable of deceit, how could he rely on anything that they’d told him? Perhaps this was all part of some well-rehearsed narrative they wanted him to believe.

  Webster felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, as if someone had just opened a door.

  Then when he looked round, he saw The Librarian standing behind him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you while you were eating.”

  “It’s fine,” Webster raised his hands. “I’m finished. Dalbiri? What about you?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Excellent. I was hoping that I might be able to show you something. Mr Dalbiri, I think you of all people might be particularly interested.”

  Webster looked to Dalbiri who grabbed his jacket before standing up.

  “I’m in.”

  The Librarian said, “If you’d both follow me.”

  He led them out into a long corridor before stopping, seemingly at random, in front of one of the doors. The door opened and they stepped inside a large room filled with a combination of medical equipment and sample jars. There were a number of animal specimens suspended in preserving jars. Most appeared to be small mammals but there were some amphibian creatures as well. Dalbiri didn’t need an invitation to go over and look at them. Webster had no idea what most of the medical equipment might be used for though he could make some informed guesses. At the far end of the room was an over-sized specimen container, big enough that Webster could have climbed inside, though this one was empty.

  The glass or, whatever it was, was spotlessly clean. In fact, the thing could have been brand new. To have it just standing there like that Webster found to be quite unsettling.

  “This is where we analyse the various life-forms we come across,” The Librarian said.

  Dalbiri was in his element examining life-forms no human had ever seen before.

  “Okay,” Webster said as he continued to look around the place. “Why have you brought us here?”

  “The Pilot tells me you’ve had various encounters with the Da’al.”

  “As you’d know if you’d spoken with him, most of my ‘encounters’ have been with those termite soldiers they’re so fond of.”

  “The Kurran?”

  “That’s them.”

  “So, you’ve fought against them. What’s your take on them?”

  Webster pulled a face. “Haven’t really given it much thought. They seem well disciplined, reasonably well organised, though not the most imaginative of species.”

  He remembered how disconcerted they’d been when he’d approached their camp from the rear.

  The Librarian frowned. “And the Da’al? What’s your attitude to them?”

  “The Da’al are where the real threat lies. They’re the real instigators behind all this. They’re the ones we have to take out.”

  “I’m sorry. ‘Take out’?”

  The Librarian’s confusion seemed genuine.

  “I don’t know. Kill, destroy, annihilate.”

  “Ah!” The Librarian’s eyes crinkled at this outburst. “You feel that strongly?”

  Webster considered this before replying. “Yes, I do. They attacked a peaceful system with no warning. Then they tried to ‘take out’ Blackthorn station in its entirety. Largely innocent civilians who had nothing to do with this conflict.”

  “And is that why you feel so strongly about defeating them?”

  “Sort of,” but then he caught himself. “Actually, no. That’s not completely true. I have my own reasons. Personal reasons.”

  “That’s very interesting,” The Librarian said. “May I ask what they might be?”

  If he’d been smart, Webster would have kept his thoughts to himself but at the same time he welcomed the chance of getting his ideas out into the open.

  “When we first arrived at Tigris, before we’d even made planetfall, the Da’al attacked us.”

  “That was The Dardelion, right?” Dalbiri offered from behind.

  “That’s right. They attacked us without provocation. I was lucky to get out of there alive, but we weren’t all so fortunate. There was another officer on-board. A woman …”

  He wanted to say more but found that he couldn’t.

  “Was that Lieutenant Silva?” Dalbiri said, picking up one of the specimen tanks. “I heard about that. I’m sorry. Must have been bad.”

  No one spoke while Webster attempted to recover his composure.

  “And is that the reason you’re so keen to see them defeated,” The Librarian said. “Annihilated, even?”

  Webster moved over to the large specimen container. “Well, it’s not quite as simple as that. I’m still a Confederation officer. I’ve got a role to play in all this. I can’t just allow my own feelings to get the better of me. It doesn’t work like that.”

  “But why not,” The Librarian said. “From what I understand of your military hierarchy, you’re quite a senior officer. Is that not correct?”

  Webster turned to look at him.

  Where was he going with this?

  “I might be a senior officer on my ship but there’s a whole chain of command above me. People who are far more senior. And it’s my job to follow their commands.”

  “And yet, after the captain, you more or less decide what happens on your ship. Is that not right?”

  “We do have the authority to make unilateral decisions but only in very special circumstances. I can see it’s difficult for an outsider to understand but that’s how it works.”

  “That’s a very reasoned response, commander. And was that how you felt when the Da’al attacked the Dardelion?”

  For a brief moment he was there again, standing in that corridor as the Da’al ship opened fire realising that they’d been seriously out-maneuvered. That they’d walked straight into a trap.

  Now, having seen what the Da’al actually looked like, he found that his hatred for them had solidified even further. He pictured himself grabbing one of them around the throat while he punched it repeatedly in the face, the thought of it making him strangely aware of all the bones in his hand.

  Dalbiri had come back to stand alongside Webster. “I’m not sure that this is such a good idea. Going over this stuff.”

  But the Librarian stilled him with one hand before turning back to Webster. “Indulge me, commander. It’s a simple question. If you’d had the chance to return fire, I take it that you would have done so.”

  “Honestly? If I’d have had the opportunity, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I’d have destroyed them completely. But then that would have been permissible. They’d fired first, you see.”

  The Librarian smiled. “As was the case with us. The Da’al ship fired on us and we simply … reciprocated.”

  He folded his arms, surveying Webster as if he was just another one of their specimens.

  “What if your captain gave you an order,” he continued. “Say, he wanted you to fire on someone and you didn’t agree with it. Would you still follow that order?”

  Webster thought briefly about not responding but then said, “So long as it was a lawful order, then, yes. I think I would.”

  “Really?” The Librarian cocked an eyebrow in surprise. “Well, that’s most interesting.”

  *

  Winterson and Vincenzi sat side by side watching the battle play out on the screens. There were seven screens in all, Vincenzi had had them set up so that they could follow every aspect of the battle. But it wasn’t working out as smoothly as Vincenzi had hoped. With over three hundred possible camera angles to choose from, he had a big enough job trying to keep track of everything.

  “I’m still not clear exactly what he’s playing at,” Winterson said for the third time that day. “Why doesn’t he engage?”

  He was referring to Kerrigan who, as captain of the flagship, was in overall charge of the whole battle fleet.

  “He’s perhaps being overly cautious,” Vincenzi said. “Doesn’t want to over commit himself. Hoping that Hudson and Santiago might be able to highlight some gaps in the enemy’s defences.”

  Winterson considered the tactical display which had both ships labelled, erroneously in his opinion, as frigates. Both ships had just launched salvos at the Tyr.

  “That might work against the Yakutians but the Da’al are a different proposition altogether, what with those shields of theirs and everything.”

  “Like I said: he’s just being a little over cautious.”

  “You don’t need to keep defending him,” Winterson said.

  “Oh, but I do. It’s bad enough that he has to contend with the enemy. He can’t afford to deal with you as well.”

  Vincenzi made a good point. Kerrigan was out of his comfort zone. He just didn’t have the experience for something as big as this.

  “I’m not being awkward just for the sake of it.”

  “I’m sure you’re not, sir.”

  “But it’s a valid question. The Hudson is a haulier and Santiago used to be a repair vessel. It takes more than a few missile ports to transform one of these things into a frigate. They just don’t have the firepower for this sort of thing, much less the armor.”

  “True. But what we do have is superiority in numbers.”

  “So, why isn’t he using them?”

  Winterson sat back, exhausted by his little tirade and Vincenzi knew enough not to antagonise him any further. Instead, Vincenzi occupied himself by scrutinising the feeds covering the bridge crews. Kerrigan must have turned off the cameras covering the bridge but they could still hear him issuing orders. He seemed currently to be involved in a heated discussion with Franz Jacobs the captain of Blackbeard which was currently deployed to the rear of the fleet. This was something Jacobs clearly took exception to.

  “Sir, the Hudson’s missiles have a positive lock on the target.”

  That was in itself quite impressive. The Da’al’s shields had frustrated any number of more experienced captains.

  Vincenzi switched over to the long-range cameras. The resolution was poor but good enough for them to be able to see what was happening.

  They watched in silence as, one-by-one, the missiles detonated just short of their target.

  Winterson couldn’t hold back his frustration. “Well, that was a complete waste of time.”

  “Wait a second, sir,” Vincenzi was pointing at something. They watched as the last three missiles exploded. “Just there. Did you see that?”

  “I didn’t see anything. What are you talking about?”

  “Just give me a second.”

  Vincenzi busied himself with his tablet and thirty seconds later they were watching a replay of what had happened on the big screen.

  “There are twelve missions in this salvo.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  Vincenzi was counting off each detonation on his fingers. “But it’s these last three which are most interesting.”

  He got up from his chair and went and placed a finger on the screen. “It’s just here, sir.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t…”

  Vincenzi froze the screen as the last missile hit. “Can you see that? There’s a definite ripple there. You can see it with those other two but its clearest here. Like the shield has short-circuited momentarily.”

  “Show me again.”

  Vincenzi replayed the last three impacts while Winterson sat forward, squinting at the screen. After each explosion, a green sheen of light rippled outwards. Though it didn’t last long it had all the markings of a genuine phenomenon.

  Which suggested that it was repeatable.

  “I agree that there’s something there,” Winterson conceded. “Though how significant that is has yet to be determined. We’ll need to check the payload on those last three warheads. See if they might differ in some way.”