If Ardent had really wanted to keep him from his ship all she’d need do would be to have him and his team arrested as soon as they set foot upon the station. Why go to such lengths to solicit his opinion when she could, just as easily, have him locked up?

  No, this was just an unfortunate coincidence, nothing more.

  He started back towards the sunken garden, grimacing as his hip started to complain. Perhaps Ardent had gone back down there in order to enjoy some peace and quiet.

  Still, it was a great relief when he finally caught sight of Ardent’s security team on the stairs leading down to the ornamental pond. As the group disappeared behind a bank of pink rhododendron bushes, Faulkner followed on behind, a look of grim determination on his face. In his eagerness to get down quickly, he misjudged his footing prompting a familiar shooting pain to lance up through his leg before exploding into his hip. He tried to ignore it as best he could and hobbled his way down the rest of the flight.

  He stopped at the next level, long enough to draw his breath and pick out Ardent leading her security detail down.

  Steps. Three more flights of them. This was something he didn’t miss living on a starship.

  Each ensuing step was an agony for him. He cursed the designers who had put so much effort into laying out this garden only to overlook the installation of a simple handrail. What he’d give for one right now.

  He had to transfer his weight from the higher step to the lower one with utmost care because to jar the foot in any way was to guarantee more suffering. It was a slow process and one not best suited to a chase scenario. He briefly considered shouting after Ardent but in the end he didn’t. Ardent had precious little regard for him as it was, he couldn’t afford to risk turning himself into a laughingstock.

  He used the boughs of some over-hanging trees to better negotiate his way down the next flight of stairs but when he stopped momentarily to catch his breath, he saw that someone in Ardent’s party had drawn her attention to his presence. She was now re-tracing her steps, coming up to meet him, her face a mix of annoyance and amusement. Her aides didn’t attempt to follow.

  Faulkner watched her ascend. He’d been an idiot trying to chase after her. He might have made it down to the pond but there was no way that he would have been able to make it back up to the top under his own steam. It was just as well that Morton wasn’t around to see this, or, worse still, Webster.

  He waited for Ardent to draw level with him while endeavouring to regulate his breathing.

  “You don’t look well,” she said.

  “I’ve just had some bad news.”

  She didn’t react. Showed not the slightest indication that she knew what he was talking about.

  “Governor, I fear that you haven’t been entirely honest with me.”

  She looked offended. “In what sense?”

  “Just over an hour ago, a Yakutian ship entered your system.”

  “Is that so surprising?”

  “You’re saying you didn’t know? That your staff didn’t alert you.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  Faulkner made an effort to stand more upright as he reappraised the situation. “So, you’re not surprised. By their arrival?”

  “Not at all, no. I was more surprised by the arrival of your ship.”

  “I can’t think why, USDC ships pass this way all the time.”

  “Scientific vessels on their way to Tigra, perhaps. But warships like yours? Blackthorn hasn’t had an official visit in over four years. Even the Renheim didn’t bother to stop. Captain Faulkner, I may be the elected representative for this station but I’m also a realist. When we applied to join the Confederation we did so for purely selfish reasons. We hoped that the Confederation would help us to bolster our security arrangements. So far, that hasn’t happened.”

  “So, you didn’t join out of any sense of allegiance to the Confederation, then?”

  Ardent’s patience was growing thin. “We’re a long way from Earth Prime out here, captain. Our circumstances force us to be pragmatic on a whole range of issues, and this is one of them. What good is being a member of an exclusive club if you never get to visit the clubhouse?”

  “Isn’t our presence here enough to show how seriously the Confederation takes your long-term security?”

  “That might be the case,” Ardent spread her hands. “But only if you can assure me that the defence of Blackthorn is the sole reason you’re here.”

  She knows, Faulkner realised. Somehow she knows that our real mission lies elsewhere.

  Traveling to Tiagra and locating the president’s daughter. Ridiculous though it seemed now, that had been their main mission. So sensitive was that particular piece of information that he hadn’t, as yet, chosen to share it with any of his crew. Not even Webster knew.

  When Faulkner didn’t reply, Ardent said, “Well? Can you? Reassure me, that is.”

  A thousand vague platitudes died on his tongue.

  “No, governor, I can’t.”

  “Honesty!” she laughed. “At long last. Perhaps the Confederation does have something to recommend it, after all. That’s been one quality that’s been in short supply over the last few months.”

  “I’m not here to deceive you, governor, but I do have my orders. And in order to despatch them, I’m going to have to ask you for a favour.”

  “A favour?” she gave him a cold smile. “From the woman who, ten minutes ago, you thought was at the centre of some Yakutian trap. That’s rich.”

  Faulkner braced himself for a flat denial. He’d messed this one up big style. If he’d had any hope of securing those engines when he’d landed, those hopes had been dashed now.

  As they stood facing one another, Faulkner was aware of birdsong coming from the other side of the lake.

  “I’m a little tired,” she said eventually. “I think we both are. I’m perhaps not in the best frame of mind to listen to your proposal right now, would you mind?”

  Faulkner nodded, despite the fact that he wanted these negotiations over and done with. But he knew that if he pushed his luck on this it was highly unlikely that he would secure the outcome he so desperately needed.

  Far better to make a tactical withdrawal now.

  Live to fight another day, and all that.

  “We can discuss your proposal later,” she said, lifting her elbow towards him in an oddly formal gesture. “In the meantime, I’d be honoured if you would take my arm.”

  Faulkner complied but it was only as they approached the next step down that he realised what her intentions were. She wasn’t asking him to support her. In fact, it was the other way around. She was offering to help him negotiate the steps without having to sacrifice his dignity in doing so.

  Faulkner thought: I’ve under-estimated you, Sigrid Ardent. I’m probably not the first person to have done so and, I would imagine, I won’t be the last.

  “Are we going anywhere in particular?”

  “Yes. There’s someone I’d very much like you to meet.”

  *

  Webster couldn’t relax, he hadn’t been able to since the Serrayu had arrived. And now he felt trapped on the bridge. It had been stressful enough when Faulkner had been on board but now with this latest development he was starting to question his goal of ever becoming a ship’s captain. The vast responsibilities which came with such a job were only now starting to come home to him: his obligation to all those crewmen, not to mention the safety of the ship itself. He couldn’t stop thinking about what might have happened if he’d given the order to attack the Serrayu as soon as it arrived. He could well have started a conflict the Confederation could not step back from.

  While he had been quick to criticise Claus Meyer, the captain of the Renheim, for running in the face of the enemy he was slowly starting to comprehend the unique pressures a starship captain faced.

  The Serrayu still posed a viable threat though and Webster had spent the last few hours receiving briefings from the various department heads, attempting to anticipate what was likely to happen if the Yakutians did decide to engage. As he had expected, none of it was good news.

  The biggest problem now lay with the ship’s engines. The new engines which Faulkner had promised to deliver had yet to materialise while Chief Engineer Davitz had effectively scrapped the two oldest ones. The unease that Webster had experienced since Faulkner’s departure was now being replaced by a sense of dread.

  Until the new engines could be fitted, the Mantis was a sitting duck. The decommissioned ships the USDC sometimes used for target practice were fitted with a rudimentary propulsion system, so in a sense they were worse off even than those. If the Serrayu determined that it was going to attack them then there was now little doubt that it would triumph. As a light cruiser, the Mantis’ only advantage over a ship the size of the Serrayu was her speed and maneuverability. And with both those features compromised, the Mantis wouldn’t last long in a fight.

  All of Webster’s worst fears were slowly becoming a horrible reality. He was so conflicted about how best to proceed that he couldn’t bring himself to even visit the officer’s mess. He couldn’t bear the idea that they were all looking to him for a solution to what was happening. He’d even considered having some food sent up to the bridge. It wouldn’t look particularly professional -Faulkner frowned on eating on the bridge - but he had to eat something. His mind drifted back to his time aboard the Syracuse where you ate and drank wherever you could and he found himself yearning for those simpler times.

  He thought about his old ship then, wondering whether she might have been caught up in the siege of Piatra. It was more than possible. But at least there the rules of engagement would be clear cut. Out here, on the edge of the Rift, there was no such clarity and he found that he was constantly second guessing himself.

  This all contributed to a growing sense of paranoia and it wasn’t just him, he was detecting it in the other officers as well. Only Bertran seemed unaffected. Indeed, as Tactical Officer, he seemed to be relishing his role.

  Webster had made the mistake of contacting Davitz earlier. It had not gone well. The Chief Engineer was preparing for the arrival of the new engines while also over-seeing the repairs to the ship’s hull. It seemed that the damage inflicted was a lot more serious than they’d first thought.

  Webster had tried being sympathetic but that hadn’t gone down very well. Davitz had accused him of being patronising and demanded to know when the replacement engines would be arriving. When Webster had admitted that he didn’t know it had been Davitz who had cut the connection.

  Things were not going well but he refused to feel sorry for himself. The alternative to this was him sitting in a prison cell, reflecting on his glory days.

  No, whatever might be happening, he reminded himself, they could always be worse.

  *

  They left Ardent’s security detachment at the bottom of the stairs and strolled arm in arm around the pond. Faulkner marvelled at the way that the massive water feature had been constructed. Choosing to dismiss his concerns about what would happen if the station lost gravity, Faulkner was eager to discover what it was they’d done to support the pond’s enormous weight. It must have had all sorts of implications for the area directly underneath. Surely, someone somewhere would be having to pay the price for such levels of extravagance, but all Faulkner could think about was how truly impressive the whole thing was.

  To further stress the point, over in the centre of the pond, a carp broke the surface, accompanied by a brief flash of movement over amongst the lily pads.

  There was a small jetty up ahead where a figure stood with his back to them. He was leaning on a handrail gazing down into the water. The man straightened when he heard them approach but made no attempt to turn.

  It was evident from the man’s dress that he wasn’t a resident of Blackthorn. The fabric of his clothing was thick and heavy, not suited to the humidity of the place. Faulkner dropped Ardent’s arm and came to a halt.

  He might not know who this man was but he certainly knew where he had come from.

  “Captain Faulkner,” Ardent said in crisp, clear tones. “May I introduce you to our illustrious guest: His Eminence Zulu Syashami, Vice Consul to the Yakutian Empire.”

  Faulkner struggled to breathe. Here was the reason for the arrival of the Serrayu. How could he have misjudged the situation so badly? Had a deal with the Yakutian’s already been brokered? In which case, had he been right earlier – was this some sort of joke at his expense? Was he about to be arrested?

  The man appeared to be in his mid-fifties but was probably much older, it was difficult to tell because the lower half of his face was obscured by a Yatubi breathing mask. When he spoke, his words were dull and metallic.

  “Captain, it is my great honour to meet you at long last.”

  Faulkner relaxed a little, “The honour is all mine, Vice Consul Syashami. I trust that you are enjoying your stay on Blackthorn.”

  “Very much indeed. Unfortunately, my time here is almost at an end.”

  But what had been the nature of his visit? Had he been successful?

  “The Vice Consul is here on a fact-finding mission,” Ardent explained.

  Faulkner looked at her for any sign of embarrassment but the politician’s face betrayed nothing. No wonder she had been so scathing of the Confederation earlier, she was seriously contemplating throwing her lot in with the Empire. Things were much worse than he’d thought.

  “Is the Vice Consul aware that Blackthorn is currently a member of the USDC?”

  “A junior member,” Ardent asserted.

  “A junior member but still a member,” Faulkner frowned, then turned his attention back to the Consul. “I thought that the Empire was only interested in colonies which were capable of pledging total allegiance to the emperor.”

  The Empire dealt in absolutes – they didn’t do well with power-sharing.

  The Vice Consul spread the fingers of one hand then closed them again.

  “Normally, that is the case but in exceptional circumstances the emperor is willing to extend his support to colonies that he believes are under direct threat.”

  Faulkner was having difficulty seeing where this was going. Then a sudden realisation dawned.

  “A honeymoon agreement?”

  “That is one alternative,” Ardent sounded embarrassed now.

  Normally, that provision was extended only to commercial mining operations. The Empire would extend military protection to the territory involved, often a moon, sometimes a large meteor, in return for the Empire getting a guaranteed supply of whatever was produced, usually at a greatly reduced rate. It wasn’t an agreement someone entered into lightly since once the honeymoon period was over - usually a period of between five and ten years - the territory ended up being taken over by the empire. Fine if you were a mining company looking to exploit a strike for maximum profit in a minimal amount of time, but Faulkner couldn’t see Blackthorn’s investors – men like Raj Parnashikan – readily agreeing to something like this. To them, Blackthorn was an important asset, one which they would expect to still be paying dividends long into the future.

  It didn’t seem to make sense, and yet Syashami’s presence and the appearance of the Serrayu all pointed to the contrary. It was now up to Faulkner to determine exactly what it was that they were offering and find a way to stop the deal from going ahead.

  Faulkner’s bow, although far from perfect, seemed to please Syashami.

  “I have enjoyed the opportunity of meeting with you Vice Consul. My only regret is that we could not have met under different circumstances. I wish you a pleasant trip.”

  Syashami returned the bow, adding a slight flourish with his tailcoat.

  “The pleasure is all mine, captain. I shall be departing straight after this evening’s entertainment. It is a shame that you cannot attend.”

  All eyes turned to Ardent then.

  “Of course the captain is invited,” she said. “I assumed that you would be eager to return to your ship.”

  “As, indeed I am,” Faulkner said, quickly reassessing his priorities. “But, at the same time my diplomatic team is young and would relish the opportunity to attend such a lavish function.”

  “That’s settled then,” Ardent indicated to Faulkner that they should leave. “Apartments will be set aside for you in the palace. Dinner begins at eight.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  There was a knock on the door and Faulkner cursed.

  He had just over an hour to go before the ball started but he was already beginning to doubt whether he’d be ready in time. After his shower, he had managed to struggle into his trousers but that was as far as he’d got. He had sent his shirt to be cleaned as he was conscious that he didn’t have a spare one. So far, it had yet to be returned.

  There was a knock at the door while he was lacing up his shoes.

  “Who is it?” he shouted. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the opulence of his surroundings.

  “Sir, I have your shirt here.”

  The voice was muffled through the door though unmistakeably that of Joanna Silva. He stood up, trying without much success to squeeze his foot into his right shoe.

  She couldn’t see him like this.

  “Leave the shirt on the door handle. I’ll fetch it later.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t do that, sir. I have strict instructions from Doctor Morton.”

  “Dammit!”

  Faulkner went into the bathroom, found a robe and put it on. Only then did he open the door.