Waiting for them at the foot of the steps was a small group of police officers in iridescent urban combats, led by a sergeant who looked like he spent most of his off-duty hours in the gym. The man waited until everyone had gathered before saluting.

  “Captain Faulkner,” he said. “I am Sergeant Pivarro. I have been assigned to escort you and your party to the governor’s palace.”

  They followed Pivarro towards two military transports specially reinforced front and rear to absorb all manner of explosive ordnance. Faulkner went to get into the lead vehicle and was momentarily surprised when Silva broke off to join him. But of course, she was right. As Morton’s replacement, Silva was, for the purposes of this visit, Faulkner’s senior advisor. It would have looked irregular for her to have sat anywhere else.

  Faulkner was going to have to calm himself if he wanted these talks to be a success. Everything about this young woman surprised and irritated him in equal measure but he still couldn’t work out why.

  The convoy of vehicles took the road bridge across to the main concourse where he saw a large number of military personnel herding groups of citizens into a long processing facility. Silva had seen it too but, although they exchanged a look, neither of them said anything. Until they knew otherwise, they had to assume that the interior of the vehicle had been bugged.

  There was a lot of military activity around the entrance to the port, patrol cars were in abundance with one or two of the heavier armoured vehicles parked up on the corners of the busier thoroughfares with the express purpose of discouraging anyone from lingering at the intersections.

  As they pulled out onto the main highway towards the city, they passed a squat, fortified building with tank traps arranged in front. Faulkner caught a glimpse of heavily armed men moving around behind the traps. It looked like they were preparing for some kind of mass assault.

  Silva produced a small tablet from her bag and offered it to Faulkner for his perusal. It contained potted profiles of the various diplomats and civic leaders who were likely to be at the meeting. The section on Sigrid Ardent stretched across numerous screens. Her family had started off running a small transport business but it had been her who had recognised a gap in the market and had moved into shipping rare minerals before then expanding into operating their own mines. That’s why she had been drawn to the Allegra system in the first place. As an unchartered territory it presented her with everything she needed to expand her operation. The fact that this had helped her generate a sizable fortune seemed hardly to matter.

  From there it was a small step into politics as she mobilised the system’s investors into raising the astronomical sums necessary to have Blackthorn Station designed and built. Having a modern station was a sure sign that a system was in the ascendancy but operating one successfully was a mammoth undertaking. The fact that Ardent had managed to do so while making it look relatively easy was a huge testament to her skills. It had come as no surprise to anyone when she had been elected system governor.

  Faulkner flicked through her personal profile but there was little to warrant his attention. She had been married three times: one male partner and two females.

  Then he turned his attention to the other dignitaries who would be in attendance. They were a fairly predictable bunch of the great and the good: various lawgivers and leaders in their respective fields. The sources ranged between hastily compiled clippings from the various newsfeeds to corporate hagiographies which omitted more than they included. The exception to this was the file on Rajendra Parnashikan. His P.R. team had obviously invested a lot of time and effort into compiling it. There were pages and pages just on his charitable activities alone and Faulkner noted with interest that as a young man he had risen to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel in the armed forces operating out of Earth Prime.

  There were several shots of him partaking in various extreme sports. All high end stuff. One image showed him performing a space jump with the planet a blue ball in the background. And while there was a long list of the companies he currently owned there was precious little detail on how he’d actually accumulated them.

  Faulkner angled the screen towards Silva.

  “What do you make of this guy?”

  Silva arched an eyebrow. “Parnashikan? Yes. He’s an interesting one to say the least. He has a wide variety of interests but the bulk of his wealth comes from rare metals – particularly trillium.”

  Faulkner couldn’t hide his surprise. “Really? Isn’t that the one the Yakutians have had all those problems with?”

  “That’s right. It’s key element in a lot of their implants mainly because it can be treated so that the body won’t naturally reject it. There’s a couple of others but trillium is the most reliable.”

  “And he mines this stuff down on Iscaria?”

  “Parnashikan is mining on Iscaria. Whatever’s going on down there he either owns outright or he’s got shares in it.”

  “And what do the other mine owners think about this state of affairs?”

  “Not much but they don’t have much of a choice. Parnashikan runs security for the whole planet. He’s got his own private army - Mercs mostly. Nothing happens down there without his go ahead.”

  Faulkner pulled a face and then turned back to the tablet. “Says here that he’s also Chief Yeoman of the City Guard, whatever that means.”

  “That means that he’s the one looking over Ardent’s shoulder. On most stations the yeomanry are a strictly ceremonial honor guard but things are a little different here. The Chief Yeoman represents the interests of the companies who actually built Blackthorn. That’s an interesting little tweak. I imagine there’s very little that crosses Ardent’s desk that Parnashikan doesn’t know about.”

  “Which probably explains why she was so touchy about suspending all civil flights – she’s worried about the backlash.”

  Silva looked out of her window. They had entered a landscaped area with long green lawns and even the odd tree. This came in stark contrast to the grimy industrialised units which had predominated around the docks area. It was brighter here too, the ceiling consisting of interlocking glass panels which made for a very passable ‘sky’ effect, just so long as you didn’t look directly at it. The pavements and walls here were of a brilliant white to make the most of the ambient light while also bringing out the green in the surrounding shrubberies. Along the tops of the perimeter walls were white garlands highlighted in gold.

  Their little convoy turned right, heading down a long driveway with a checkpoint located at the midway point. After a cursory check of the occupants, they were waved through.

  “I imagine that the governor’s coming under some quite considerable pressure right now,” Silva said.

  Faulkner didn’t appreciate her tone. If her intention was to caution him she was doing a bad job. She was coming across as badgering him.

  “Are you speaking from experience here, lieutenant?”

  She deflated a little at that. “You’ve read my file, sir. I know first-hand how difficult it can be to balance the worlds of politics and commerce.”

  “Can’t have one without the other,” Faulkner said.

  “My mother would be inclined to agree with you on that, sir. She’d argue that there’s a fatal attraction between the two. That if either one were to go unregulated it would naturally conspire to destroy the other. It takes a lot of legislation to keep the two of them co-existing side by side.”

  “I like the sound of your mother,” Faulkner said, momentarily distracted by a flash of movement over in the gardens. “But what about Governor Ardent? Do you think she can convince the city fathers to let us get on and do our job?”

  “The governor is operating outside of her comfort zone right now,” Silva said. “She could do with an ally. It’s really our job to support her and reassure everyone that things will turn out for the best.”

  “Even though we can’t guarantee that it will.”

  “Like I said, sir. The governor needs reassurance. If you can convince her of the validity of what we’re trying to do – the idea that we’re trying to protect all of her people - then she’ll have no choice but to support us.”

  Faulkner turned to face Silva directly. “Your mother ever have to face something as big as this? You don’t have to answer that, by the way, lieutenant. I’m just curious.”

  “No, that’s fine. My parents were both junior ministers in Parvalan when the war broke out. I was four at the time. The Yakutians bombed the city. The Confederation offices were targeted directly. My mother took charge of the evacuation. Four million people made it out alive.”

  “Impressive. What about your father?”

  “He was in one of the state buildings when it was hit. He didn’t make it out.”

  Faulkner cursed himself - that hadn’t been in her file.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise. That must have been terrible.”

  “It was all a long time ago. A lot’s happened since.”

  “And you weren’t tempted to follow your parents’ example – to go into politics?”

  “No, I was always the tom-boy in my family. Since as long as I remember, all I wanted to do was to fly fighters.”

  “But that didn’t work out for you?”

  Silva visibly composed herself, sitting up straight in her seat. This seemed for her a more difficult topic than the loss of her father.

  “No, sir. It didn’t. But I have no regrets.”

  Faulkner resolved that when he got back to the Mantis he was going to have to apologise to Doctor Morton. While he might find Silva to be somewhat prickly at times, there was no doubting her devotion to the cause.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but is that a water fountain?” Silva asked, edging forward in her seat.

  Faulkner followed her eye line and was rewarded with the sight of a miniature waterfall sparkling in the mid-morning light.

  All sources of water on a space station were carefully contained because of the threat they posed should the facility suffer a sudden loss of gravity. Faulkner marvelled at the level of bureaucracy one would have to negotiate to have such an obvious indulgence authorised.

  They pulled up outside the palace but when they got out, instead of being ushered inside, they were taken down a side path which led out into the palace’s extensive gardens. The fountain they’d just spied was off over to their right and although their path took them away from it now they could still hear the soft tinkling of water in the background. Then as they came to the top of a flight of steps, they found themselves looking down on a Japanese water garden complete with large ornamental pond. This was enough to stop Faulkner and his crew dead in their tracks. Such an ostentatious show of wealth tended to have that kind of effect on people.

  He noted, with some amusement, how patiently their escort waited while they took all this in, hands held precisely by their sides. Clearly, this was part of the routine for them. They had no doubt witnessed this response from visitors on countless occasions. They stood until their guests had composed themselves before continuing.

  A fine-looking pagoda was located over on the far side of the garden which was only accessible via the central bridge. It had all been carefully landscaped with pine and maple trees in the background, calculated to have maximum impact. The bridge was built of solid oak which stifled the sounds of their footsteps as they crossed. They then only had to negotiate two short flights of stairs to bring them up to the level of the pagoda itself.

  It was dark inside and it took a moment for Faulkner’s eyes to adjust to the lack of light. A figure drifted towards them, as white and ethereal as any ghost. It was Sigrid Ardent.

  She looked impossibly young, younger even than in the images he’d looked at earlier but then that was almost to be expected from members of the super-rich. Although cloning was still illegal, every life extending treatment was available and clearly Ardent had availed herself of a great many of them. There were no obvious flaws in her appearance, even her neck - so often seen as a reliable indicator of a person’s true age - seemed to be that of a woman in her late twenties. But, despite her obvious attractiveness there was something off about her appearance. Her face was almost too symmetrical - too perfect.

  In order to disguise his surprise, he simply stuck out his hand. Silva’s reaction might have alerted him to his rashness in this regard as she failed to reciprocate. Then, as if to labour the point that he should keep his hands to himself, two plain clothes security personnel edged forward.

  Still, Faulkner kept his hand extended.

  Ardent contemplated it for a moment, a tiny smile pricking the corners of her mouth. Dismissing him, she clasped both hands together as if in prayer.

  “Captain Faulkner, so good to see you.”

  Silva cleared her throat and, when Faulkner looked, he saw that a swarm of newsfeed drones had appeared and were now jockeying for the best shot.

  *

  After the photo op had passed, Ardent introduced him to the members of her cabinet and the representatives of Blackthorn’s major business concerns. Then Faulkner and his staff were taken to the rear of the pagoda where a large buffet had been laid out. Faulkner was keen to get Ardent alone long enough that he could bring up the issue of the engines – the sooner they could get underway with that, the sooner the Mantis would be back to her full defensive capabilities. But, at every turn, he found his progress blocked. The emphasis for the day was on mingling with the other dignitaries who assured him that any discussions would have to take place before the evening’s formal dinner celebrations. Finally, in frustration he told his diplomatic team to split up in an effort to get some sense of the level of resistance that Ardent’s policies were currently facing.

  All the while, the governor’s security team arranged themselves around the edges of the gathering, observing, their hands clasped behind them, serious and silent.

  The food was fresh and tasty. Faulkner had enjoyed Japanese cuisine on numerous visits to Sapporo, where all the major bio-tech companies were based, and so lost himself now in the gentle art of filling his plate with a variety of tiny delicacies.

  “You must try the wasabi.”

  The man indicated a small dish with a red label on the front of it. Faulkner picked it up and examined it but the print was too small for him to read. He dipped a spoon into it and applied it to the side of his plate.

  “Have you had wasabi before?” it was Raj Parnashikan. He was wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled back to reveal the dark tan of his forearms. “It’s not for everyone - something of an acquired taste.”

  Faulkner continued to tend his plate. “I’ve had wasabi before, yes. Good for clearing out the sinuses, but thanks for the warning.”

  “You’ll have to forgive the governor, she’s got a lot on her plate. If you’ll forgive the pun.”

  “I understand that, which is precisely why I have to speak with her.”

  “She’ll find some time for you this evening, don’t worry about that.”

  Faulkner popped a colourful sushi ball into his mouth and tried to hide his frustration. He didn’t have time for all this – certainly, he had no desire to stay overnight. He just wanted to get back to his ship and have done with it. From there he could at least monitor everything that was going on in the system. Down here, without direct access to his regular communications, he felt oddly cut-off, out of the loop.

  “I had rather hoped to speak with her before then, Chief Yeoman.”

  Parnashikan snorted at the use of his title.

  “No need to be so formal, captain. It’s Raj.”

  “Very well, Mr Parnashikan. I was wondering if you might be able to use some of your influence with the governor. Move things along a little.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve over-estimated my importance in all of this. The role of Chief Yeoman is largely a ceremonial role nowadays. I tend to get invited to a lot of opening nights and banquets,” he patted his stomach, “but that’s as far my role goes.”

  Faulkner bridled at that. Parnashikan had a good line in self-deprecation but Faulkner wasn’t fooled for an instant. The longer he spoke to this man, the more he started to question where the real power in Blackthorn resided. He decided to take a different tack.

  “I’m just surprised how calmly everyone seems to be taking all this.”

  “You mean the No-Fly zone? Of course, the airlines are up in arms but that’s always the way with them.”

  “That’s not the only issue here.” He was starting to wonder how much of the battle with the Da’al warship had been relayed to the people on the ground.

  Parnashikan said, “It’ll be several weeks before supplies on the station start to run low but this blockade on free movement between here and Iscaria has to end; at least for key personnel. Perhaps you could discuss that with the governor?”

  “I wasn’t talking about the blockade. I was talking about the attack. The ships that were destroyed: the Nantucket and the Meridian.”

  Parnashikan blew out his cheeks and stared back at him, as though he found the whole thing irrelevant. “You’re talking about those pirates, right? That was quite a rough time you had back there. We heard you lost some of your people.”

  “That’s nothing in comparison to the tens of thousands we could lose if they attacked again.”

  “You think they’re coming back? Is that what you’re suggesting?”

  For an instant, Parnashikan’s demeanour changed and he gave Faulkner a calculating look. Just as quickly, it was gone.

  The change was enough to make Faulkner consider what he said next. “I can’t tell you what’s going to happen next but the chance of them returning is looking more and more likely.”

  Parnashikan levelled a finger at his chest. “Captain, if you wouldn’t mind staying there for a moment. I think the governor needs to hear this.”

  The man put down his plate and moved off into the crowd. Faulkner watched him approach Governor Ardent. She was sitting talking with two women in ethnic dress. Parnashikan went and stood opposite her and when she looked up he put his hands together in the same greeting she’d given Faulkner earlier. After a brief conversation, she made her excuses to the women, stood up and followed Parnashikan over. It seemed that he did have some influence after all.