The crew was under the same alert status as they would be when travelling through gate space.. There might be no discernible threats but that didn’t mean that something untoward couldn’t happen if given the opportunity. Faulkner knew from long experience that the crew would respond best if they were already alert to any possible dangers.

  What concerned him most was the issue of Blackthorn’s jurisdictional status. While the station had declared its loyalty to the USDC on numerous occasions, it had yet to complete the process of becoming a full member of the Confederation. Normally, this was little more than an administrative issue as it could take up to a year for all the paperwork to be finalised. But, as his diplomatic team had been only too keen to point out in their reports, Blackthorn appeared to have been going through these motions for the past three years.

  So, while the situation was less than ideal, Faulkner hoped that once he’d met with the governor face-to-face, he’d be able to get a clearer picture of what was going on.

  As he accompanied Morton through the ship’s corridors, their progress was slowed by the amount of attention they received, with Faulkner’s dress uniform making him even more conspicuous than usual. And he couldn’t say that he didn’t take some enjoyment from the way in which his crew greeted him. The sharpness of their salutes spoke of the pride they took in carrying out their duties, something which couldn’t have been said before their run-in with the enemy ship. They were all battle hardened now, a different people compared to the ones who’d shipped out of Lincoln Station a few weeks earlier.

  “He doesn’t want you to go, you know,” Morton said as they approached the turbo lift.

  “You’re talking about Commander Webster, I take it?”

  Morton said nothing.

  “You surprise me,” Faulkner said. “Webster always struck me as the sort to do his own dirty work.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said before she could check herself. She lowered her voice. “My apologies, captain. For the record, Commander Webster didn’t ask me to say anything. Quite the reverse, in fact. I just thought you ought to know: he thinks it’s a mistake for you to leave the ship at this particular time.”

  “Yes, and normally, I’d agree with him. A captain’s place is on the bridge – which is exactly where I’d prefer to be right now.”

  “So, what’s stopping you?”

  “Governor Ardent. She didn’t take kindly to the idea of us closing down her commercial airspace and I can’t say I blame her. She’ll be under an awful lot of pressure to keep things going just the way they are but that’d be a mistake. In order to keep her onside it’ll probably help if she can sell this to her people as something that’s been agreed as part of some tough negotiating rather than as a directive from some all-powerful starship dictator.”

  “I take it that in this scenario you have cast yourself in the role as the all-powerful dictator?”

  Faulkner grinned as he stroked the sleeve of his uniform. “There’s a reason I dress to impress.”

  They arrived at the turbo lift and, after the usual exchange of salutes the various crew members made a poor attempt at ignoring their commanding officer and his companion. He tried not to notice Morton’s discomfort. Rumours surrounding the captain’s personal life were rife on any ship, Faulkner was used to that by now. In the eyes of many, he and Morton would make an obvious couple if only because there were so few women on-board anywhere near his age. Indeed, the only positive thing likely to come out of Morton remaining on-board would be to possibly stifle a few of those rumours.

  The annoying thing was that he did indeed spend a lot of time in her company. He tried to justify this with the idea that, with his medical history, he needed her to keep an eye on his health, but even he wasn’t convinced by that one.

  In many ways, he valued Elsbeth Morton’s opinion even more than that of his executive officer. She’d lived through the Long War. She’d experienced loss, both professional and personal. If there was anyone he was going to confide in it would be her. And his people weren’t stupid. They could sense the rapport between them and, in that sense at least, the rumours were justified.

  He folded his arms then, as if annoyed at having to wait for the lift but really he was annoyed with himself. He’d allowed this relationship to develop and was now having to pay the price. Perhaps that was the real reason Morton had decided not to accompany him. She just didn’t relish the extra scrutiny.

  But then, that wasn’t like her either. If she had something to say, she’d just come out and say it.

  When the lift eventually appeared the waiting crew stepped back to allow him and Morton to go ahead but by that stage he was too embarrassed to be able to thank them properly. He just grunted and got in.

  Morton waited until they were alone before she spoke.

  “Is that the only reason you’re going? To boost the governor’s opinion polls? Or is there another reason?”

  Faulkner leaned back against the handrail. “My intention was to brief you fully when we were on-board the shuttle.”

  Morton winced at that. “So, now that I’m not going, you can’t tell me what’s really going on.”

  “Well, you’re not making this easy, that’s for damned sure,” Faulkner said, but then he continued. “It’s going to get out eventually so you may as well know: the two engines we were having problems with are going to need replacing. Davitz has done his best but there’s only so much he can do.”

  “I see. But isn’t that a bit of a coincidence – both engines needing replacing?”

  Faulkner grimaced “That’s what Davitz thinks as well. Says the chances of both of them going at the same time are so small as to be not worth thinking about.”

  “So, what are we talking about here? Sabotage?”

  He gave her a hard stare. “That’s looking more and more like a possibility.”

  “Was this done back at Lincoln?” her eyes darted as a new thought occurred to her. “Or is there a chance that one of the crew…”

  “We’re looking into that right now. No one can know about this, of course.”

  “I understand. So is that the real reason you’re going to see the governor? The engines.”

  “It’s not the only reason,” Faulkner said. “But it is a very good one, especially now Chief Davitz has started stripping out the old ones.”

  Morton’s mouth fell open. “You mean to say that we’re currently without our main engines?”

  “I’m afraid so. Which makes us incredibly vulnerable to attack. But I’d rather act now than press ahead and hope for the best.”

  “Of course. I had no idea.”

  “And neither has anyone else. We’re going to be docked here for a few days so my intention is to persuade the governor to gift us a pair. It won’t be easy, but I’m hoping that with two new engines, we won’t have a repeat of the problems we had coming out here.”

  Morton beat her palms against the panelling as she considered this.

  “Do you know that they’ve even got a suitable set of replacements on Blackthorn?”

  Faulkner gave her a tight nod. “I’m not a hundred percent certain, no. I guess I’m going to have to wait ‘til I get down there to find out.”

  “And then get the new engines up and running,” the more she thought about it the less she seemed to like it. “Who else knows about all this?”

  “Other than you and me? Webster knows of course, and then there’s Davitz and his team.”

  Morton’s eyes went wide as she considered the implications.

  “Are you absolutely certain it’s a good idea for you to be leaving the ship right now? When we’re in such a vulnerable position. What if the Da’al were to return suddenly? Can’t you just send Commander Webster instead?”

  “No, it has to be me. Whatever threat the Da’al pose, it’s going to take them at least a week to get here even with that advanced propulsion system of theirs. And as far as Governor Ardent is concerned, I have to approach her the same way you’d approach any other politician: if I want something from her, I have to have the good grace to go down there and ask her myself. Sending anyone else would be interpreted as an insult. Webster would be lucky to get in to see her before the end of the month. Don’t forget, we’re asking her to supply us with two highly advanced engine systems and we want them fitted yesterday! No, this is the only way this is going to work, unfortunately.”

  “Couldn’t you just come clean with her? It is her station we’re protecting, after all.”

  Faulkner shook his head. “I’m not sure she’d see it that way. No, there’s nothing else for it. I’m just going to have to go down there and beg. That way, she gets to help me out while I act all grateful and she gets a boost to her approval ratings. Politics. Course, it would help if I had a strong woman alongside to seal the deal with me. Help build some kind of connection.”

  He reached across and took her hand. She looked down and smiled, as if considering the offer.

  The elevator doors opened at that moment and Faulkner instinctively dropped her hand. There was no one waiting to enter the lift and Faulkner felt like a fool for over-reacting.

  From there, it was only a short walk to the cargo bay.

  Morton said coolly, “You’re right, of course, about taking a woman along. Ardent’s built her reputation by promoting women into key roles. That’s why I’ve organised for Joanna Silva to accompany you.”

  “Lieutenant Silva?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant Silva. She’s a young, bright officer with a solid career in front of her, though the main reason you should take her is because of her background.”

  Faulkner nodded, he’d studied her files. “Her mother’s a senior politician herself.”

  “Leader of the House back home. And her brother’s lining up for a role as junior governor. The whole family’s been involved in politics going back generations.”

  “And yet she chose a career in the navy? Signed up as a pilot initially.”

  “And a pretty good one as well,” Morton said. “If she hadn’t been taken out in that bizarre friendly fire incident she’d no doubt be flying still.”

  “But, instead, she decided to retrain as a navigator.”

  It went without saying that you didn’t get to the role of Chief Navigator unless your mathematical skills were outstanding.

  “Like I said: she’s a very accomplished young woman.”

  “And you think that it would be a good idea for me to take her along?”

  “I met her mother once – liked her a lot. And I think that in young Joanna’s case, the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree.”

  Faulkner was suddenly forced to stop. A familiar pain was flaring in his hip, despite the fact that Morton had been slowing her pace in order to match his own. It hurt his pride to admit that she was more mobile than him. Which was why he pushed himself to keep up with her. Now he was paying the price for his stubborn pride.

  They had to wait for the pain to subside before continuing. When they were able to move on, he did so gingerly. He had his pain killers with him, of course, stashed in his jacket pocket but he was loathe to use them. They tended to make him drowsy and he’d need his wits about him when meeting with this new team. Of that he had no doubt.

  *

  Commander Webster was waiting for them in the shuttle bay, standing apart from the diplomatic detail. Joanna Silva stood at the rear of the group wearing the same dress uniform as the others, her hair pinned back under her cap and yet still she managed to distinguish herself, her face and bearing marking her out as a member of one of the grandest houses in the Confederation. She brought with her a natural self-assurance which the other officers couldn’t help but defer to. Her very presence made Faulkner feel uneasy – she appeared far more composed than he’d ever been at her age. And while he had to concede that Morton had been absolutely right to choose her for this mission - she was just the sort of woman Ardent would feel a natural affinity for – that didn’t mean that he warmed to her himself.

  He went over and greeted them all individually before they boarded the shuttle. Then he turned to his XO.

  “Is there anything else we can help you with?” Webster looked sour.

  “Not for the moment. No doubt that will all change once we’ve met with the governor.”

  “You think she’s preparing for a mass evacuation?”

  The arrival of all those passenger ships seemed to suggest as much.

  Faulkner pursed his lips. “It’s certainly looking that way.”

  “Would that be such a bad thing?” Morton interrupted.

  Webster and Faulkner exchanged a glance.

  “It’s just not something we can allow to happen,” Faulkner explained. “It would put us at too much of a disadvantage if the station were to be attacked.”

  Webster said, “Think about the security implications afforded by a transport packed with civilians. You’d need half a battle fleet just to defend one of them properly. The enemy couldn’t fail to target it, forcing us to fight on two fronts. Never a good idea.”

  “Only the enemy is long gone,” Morton argued. “Any transport would likely be away and through the gate before they had time to return.”

  “But, what if they were able to track those transports back through the gates?” Webster said. “Who’s to say they haven’t already planted surveillance drones? They’d no doubt be able to track any ship preparing to leave. We could be responsible for leading the aliens right back to Lincoln Station. Maybe even to Earth itself.”

  “He’s right, of course,” Faulkner said. “The transports would pose too big a target. The only way that we can guarantee the safety of those colonists is to encourage the governor to get them down onto the planet’s surface. It’s not ideal but it’s the best we can hope for in the short term.”

  Morton was incredulous. “But what about the hundreds of thousands of people all hoping to leave? How are they going to respond if we cut off their only viable means of escape?”

  But Faulkner had already made up his mind: the only way to control the situation was to contain the populace. Basic military protocol: keep them contained.

  “Which is why we need the governor’s help,” Faulkner said. “Persuade her to work with us. If she doesn’t stay on top of this, we could have a rolling disaster on our hands.”

  By the look on Morton’s face, he could tell she wasn’t convinced. But there wasn’t much he could do about that now.

  CHAPTER TWO

  As the shuttle approached the station, Faulkner got a good look at some of the ships docked there. As well as the normal commercial craft he counted five passenger transports, two of which were super-cruisers, The Merry Widow and The Galaxian, both capable of carrying up to five thousand passengers each. But, besides, even with both ships filled to bursting point they would be capable of carrying no more than twelve thousand passengers between them: a fraction of the seven hundred thousand currently residing on Blackthorn. And, once those transports were away, it wasn’t difficult to predict the levels of panic that would be triggered in those left behind.

  No, the key to resolving their biggest problems lay with the umbilical which they’d observed on their approach. The umbilical provided a direct link between the planet and the space station. It was what made trade between the two not only possible but also extremely lucrative. Housed inside the umbilical itself were two rapid transport elevators, one designed for the transportation of goods while the other was for passengers. And while Faulkner was unclear on their capacity, he was convinced that they could both be utilised to shift vast numbers of the populace down to the surface with relative ease.

  While everything looked calm from the outside, with passengers and crew effectively stranded, unable to go about their business, Faulkner could only guess at the frustrations bubbling away underneath. The better-connected travellers would be shielded from all this, of course. They’d be able to find themselves some form of accommodation, albeit at greatly inflated prices. Everyone else was going to have to scrabble around for whatever lodgings they could secure in the meantime. Market forces would always come into play with people willing to out-bid others in an attempt to gain some small advantage for themselves and their families.

  It was an atmosphere Faulkner had encountered before, one which could easily lead to a build-up of resentment within the populace. The station had been on lock-down for a little over two days now. Faulkner estimated that they had another forty-eight hours before things turned violent and the governor was faced with full-blown riots.

  Not that that was immediately apparent as they approached the docking area, the obvious lack of commercial activity giving Faulkner a distinct sense of unease.

  The vast airlock the shuttle had to navigate its way through looked the same as every airlock he’d ever seen: dirty, grey, scuffed. Once they had negotiated their way ‘inside’ it became easier to get a sense of the scale of the place. Large hangers extended away from them on either side for several kilometers. It was even possible to make out the tiny figures of maintenance staff as they scuttled about the various craft checking essential services. The shuttle eventually came to a halt in front of its allotted position and hung there for several minutes as the pilot waited for instructions from the control tower.

  When they finally received their clearance to land, a burst of thrusters propelled them towards the docking collar. The whole ship shook as the collar snapped shut but Faulkner waited until the lights came on before unclipping his harness. Twenty years ago, he’d have been the first out of the airlock. Not anymore.

  Joanna Silva appeared in the doorway. “May I take your bag, sir?”

  Faulkner’s first thought was to dismiss her but he managed to suppress the instinct. Silva was probably right. As the first representative of USDC to come this way in a long while, it wouldn’t do for him to turn up carrying his own duffle.

  “Thank you, lieutenant,” he grunted.