This extra layer of admin immediately caused problems with people turning up to use the elevators finding that they couldn’t walk straight through security. This lead to several angry stand-offs so, eventually Webster was forced to set aside a small tech team in order to show the civilians how to best to access the ticket allocation website.

  Even with this in place, he soon got the idea that they were fighting a losing battle. At one point, four busloads of people turned up at the same time, triggering an influx of groups, large and small, who appeared to be arriving from all over the station. What started out as an orderly queue quickly descended into an ugly mob. Fights started breaking out all with Markham resisting using the Boomers for the simple fact that there was a large number of children present and he simply couldn’t guarantee their safety. What was a low shot with an adult would invariably risk hitting a child in the head. Eventually, the problem solved itself with people simply giving up and going home.

  The frustrating thing for Webster was that they could have probably handled the numbers if the ticketing had been sorted out earlier. Most of the fights had started over this very issue. He resolved to speak to someone in government before they resumed work the following day.

  Just as he was pondering this dilemma, a large group of young men appeared exhibiting all the signs that they’d been drinking. Webster was pleased to see how quickly the Marines responded to this new threat, securing the gate and then despatching a fire team to deal with them. The maneuver worked perfectly, the sight of armed troopers proving enough to send the new arrivals packing.

  The plan had been that the Marines would be relieved after ten hours by station security but that time came and went. The station had switched over to night-time status and the place was as dark as any city street on Earth Prime. When Webster tried to contact the local government offices for clarification about their relief he found that the offices were closed and would be until the following morning.

  They’d been on duty for nearly twelve hours when an APC pulled up to one of the planters and a group of security personnel stepped out. After a quick scan of the area, they held their own little meeting before Governor Ardent was brought out and ushered straight towards the checkpoint.

  When her security detail beckoned Webster over, he said, “I wasn’t told about any visit.”

  “After what happened with your Captain Faulkner, we’ve been restricting details of the governor’s itinerary.”

  Webster was struck by how young Governor Ardent looked up-close. She tried to put him at ease by apologising for arriving unannounced but Webster was not so easily won over. He was bad tempered and tired and wasn’t in the mood to deal with politicians and their entourages. All he wanted to do was go to bed. So when she and asked to be shown around he almost refused. But then he thought about what Faulkner had said about working together so he relented.

  Webster led them through the first checkpoint and while the bulk of her team spread out in an attempt to secure the area, he took Ardent across to a small sculpture park. He was anxious about how his troopers would respond to this influx of visitors but Sergeant Markham seemed to be on top of things. For now, at least.

  “How is the operation going, in your opinion?” Ardent asked.

  Webster was unsure how to respond. Normally, when working with civilian governments, he would hold the upper hand. If things weren’t going as he hoped he could always threaten to withdraw but here, things were different. Faulkner had sent Webster and his men to be at the governor’s disposal. He didn’t have the option of pulling out.

  Ardent must have sensed his dilemma. “Please, commander, I know that this is a difficult situation for you and your men, but I’m here for a reason. I’m not here for some kind of P.R. stunt, I genuinely do want to know what’s going on and how we might work to make things better.”

  Webster nodded, looking over to the far gate. “Well, we seem to be on top of things for the moment - just. My main worry is that you haven’t gone public about this new threat posed by the Da’al, or whatever. I’m concerned that once word gets out, we’re going to be faced with a stampede. These gates need reinforcing with a proper compound set up if we’re to avoid some kind of mad rush. My men are good but they can only do so much.”

  Ardent considered this. “I’m not sure we are going to get those kind of numbers. The response to the evacuation have been disappointing so far but I’ll see what can be done.”

  “You don’t think that people will try and leave when they know the full story?”

  “People are gathering at all the main ports. Thousands of them. They think that their best chance of escape is on-board one of those cruise ships. They’re hoping that we’ll cave in and let them ship out for free.”

  “But even if you did that, you’d need a hundred times the number of ships you’ve got.”

  Ardent blew out her cheeks. “And even that wouldn’t be enough.”

  “It’s never going to be enough. We need those people to start using this facility while there’s still a chance. Currently, each elevator we’re sending down is only a quarter full.”

  Ardent’s frustration was evident from her expression. “And now we’ve got a new problem. There’s been a security breach down on the ground. Somehow, a large group has managed to get on-board one of these elevators – I don’t as yet know how. They’re due to arrive here in the next couple of hours.”

  “How many?” Webster asked. “Are we talking about a handful of people or what?”

  “I’m not sure and neither are the people dirtside. The number that’s been bandied around is four hundred but I’ve no idea how accurate that is. I’m not sure what to do for the best.”

  “Well, that’s fairly easy: we don’t let them leave the elevator. As soon as they arrive, we send them straight back down. Let dirtside security handle it.”

  “But that means we won’t be able to use it to for any evacuees.”

  Webster shrugged. “Better that than giving in to them. If one group gets through that’ll only encourage the others. It might take a little longer but it’s our best option.”

  “You think it’s as simple as that: just don’t let them off.”

  “It’ll have to be handled properly but we can’t afford to let them off. But I’d like my people to over-see it. We don’t know who they might have recruited to help them on the station staff.”

  “Are you suggesting we can’t trust our own people?”

  “I’m saying that we have to cover every possibility.”

  While Ardent clearly wasn’t happy with what he was suggesting she was careful not dismiss Webster’s concerns out of hand.

  “Alright, I’ll see what I can do but I’m going to have to speak to a few people,” Ardent said as she pressed a finger to her ear bead.

  She walked around the little grassy area deep in conversation with someone while Webster tried his best not to listen in. After a few minutes she returned.

  “Before I make my decision, commander, let me ask you one thing: how vulnerable do you think we are to this so-called alien attack?”

  “You saw yourself what they did to Meridian and Nantucket. I’d say you’re extremely vulnerable.”

  “But how can that be? We’ve spent billions on defence. Our laser battery alone would be the envy of most battle cruisers.”

  “But those battle cruisers would have the ability to maneuver and, if necessary, make a run for it. You don’t have either of those options. In the face of an organised and sustained attack – it’s not looking good. Things will start happening very quickly once this ship gets within range. People will start to panic and that means your decision-making cycle will get shorter and shorter. You have to act now while you still can.”

  Her initial annoyance slowly transformed into grudging acceptance. “You really think it’s that bad?”

  “It’s like what happened at Vesuvius. The people of the town had been watching that volcano erupt for days, weeks, and they did nothing. They stayed where they were thinking they were safe. They were wrong.”

  “How will we know?” she looked washed out. “When it’s too late, I mean.”

  “Your friend the Vice Consul is still aboard the Serrayu, I take it? Once he realises what’s going on. That Blackthorn can’t be saved, you won’t see him for dust. And that’s when you’ll know.”

  They watched as a family of four went past, heading for the terminal.

  “This is brutal,” she said. “But tell me one thing: if the situation’s so bad, why are you still here?”

  Webster had to suppress a smile. It was an honest question. He wanted to say something incisive about Blackthorn being members of the Confederation and him having a responsibility to protect them but that wasn’t it.

  “Captain Faulkner asked me to come.”

  “And yet, he’s not here himself.”

  Webster let out a long sigh. “Captain Faulkner has his own problems.”

  *

  Faulkner was not in a good mood. He’d hadn’t slept since returning to the Mantis and he was still seething from his first meeting with Engineer Davitz. The man could be frustrating at the best of times but, of late, he had become infuriating. It was an open joke among the crew that Davitz considered the Mantis to be ‘his’ ship. Certainly, it was true that he’d spent years over-seeing the vessel’s refit but lately he had begun to cross the line, showing scant regard for the normal chain of command and – by association – Faulkner.

  And it wasn’t as though he wasn’t sympathetic to the man’s plight. As well as over-seeing the repairs to the ship’s hull, Davitz was trying to install engines which had never been intended to be fitted to a ship with the Mantis’ dimensions. Faulkner had hoped to propose a compromise whereby the responsibility for repairing the damage to the hull could be given over to one of his assistants, but Davitz was having none of it, complaining that Faulkner was trying to have him side lined, undermining his position with the rest of his team.

  After a bad-tempered exchange on both sides, Faulkner had decided that a tactical withdrawal was the best thing he could do under the circumstances. They were both tired and it was clear that nothing would be achieved by continuing the debate further. The only assurances that Davitz was prepared to give was that that the engines would be operational by the time the Da’al came within range.

  Faulkner left feeling as if he’d completely wasted his time. Nothing worthwhile had been achieved. But one thing was for sure: the situation could not be allowed to continue - things would have to change.

  As a result, Faulkner travelled back to the bridge in something of a daze, determined that, here at least, he would be able to make some headway.

  Desperate for some good news, he quickly gathered a core group of officers around the main console. The tactical officer, Lieutenant Commander Bertran, was there as well as the main comms officer, Lieutenant Yamada, along with a few other junior officers. The strain was obvious on all their faces.

  No one needed to say anything, they were all thinking the same thing: what’s going to happen in three days if our engines still aren’t working?

  “Any updates since our last meeting?”

  Yamada glanced briefly at the young ensign at his side.

  It was Bertran who spoke first. “I’ve been trying to work with the various arms suppliers who trade out of here. They do have the armaments we need but, invariably, they’re all part of some bigger government contract. I’ve tried to explain the seriousness of the situation but they know they’ve got us over a barrel and are insisting that we pay their ridiculous prices.”

  “They’re very strong proponents of a healthy market economy,” Faulkner mused. “So, what have you managed to get?”

  “We’ve had some luck with our long-range missiles but we’re still negotiating on prices for the rest. It is insane. They’ve sent a small number over for our approval but it’s nothing to get excited about.”

  “What about nukes?” Faulkner asked.

  Nuclear weapons had proven particularly effective against the last Da’al so far.

  “No luck at all. There’s a treaty out-lawing their use in this system, so we’re going to have to look elsewhere for those.”

  “I see. Well, keep on trying. We must have a full complement of weapons – nukes excepted – within the next three days.”

  Bertran was about to protest but something changed his mind.

  “I’ll do my best,” the Frenchman said.

  “I’m sure you will.”

  “Now, what about, comms? Any change there?”

  Yamada had come prepared. Referring constantly to his tablet, he talked at length about the activities of the Serrayu, which suggested everything and nothing. It was only after he’d given a breakdown of the movements of Blackthorn’s various patrol vessels that he turned his attention to the approaching ship.

  “We have had some difficulty agreeing on what it is we’re actually facing, sir,” Yamada’s diction was clear and precise. “There have been several discussions about whether we’re dealing with a warship or some kind of stealth weapon but to be honest a lot of its guesswork. In many ways, its readings have more in common with a meteor than a standard vessel. Also, the size of the thing doesn’t correspond with anything we’d normally expect to find. The truth of the matter is that it’s enormous.”

  “Okay, I understand,” Faulkner said not wanting to get into that. “This is your best guess then?”

  “It’s as accurate as we can make it, but yes. I don’t know how else to describe it –it’s huge. Much bigger than any supercarrier.”

  He swivelled his tablet around to give Faulkner a better look. He swiped through a series of images which were little more than blurry silhouettes. There was no real sense of scale.

  Faulkner gave a small nod, “I see. What’s their current ETA?”

  Yamada did some quick calculations.

  “If they continue on their present course and speed we can expect them in another three and a half days.”

  They stood around in their little group, individually absorbing that.

  Much bigger than any supercarrier.

  Faulkner was the first to break the spell. “Any other news?”

  He wanted to say ‘good news’ but that would have made it sound desperate. He became aware of the young ensign from earlier trying to get Yamada’s attention though he was doing his best to ignore her.

  “What is it, ensign?” he asked impatiently.

  “Roberts, sir,” she said, still looking at Yamada. “I was hoping to bring something to your attention.”

  Yamada, though clearly vexed, indicated for her to continue.

  “Sir, I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, but I did have a conversation with Commander Webster about this before he left.”

  Faulkner indicated for her to continue. He recalled that Webster had said something about this during the hand-over but he couldn’t for the life of him think what it was.

  “Ensign Roberts was the first one to detect the vessel,” Yamada said flatly.

  “I see,” he glanced at Yamada here. “And you felt that this was a significant enough sighting to approach Commander Webster directly?”

  “That is correct, sir.”

  The career of many a young officer had been irrevocably stymied by their inability to observe the strictures of the chain of command. Roberts was walking a thin line.

  “If I may, sir,” Yamada interjected. “Roberts did an excellent job in bringing this to our attention. The emissions on this thing are virtually non-existent. It’s a miracle she picked up anything at all.”

  Faulkner hadn’t been expecting that. It’s not often that a senior officer admits to being wrong.

  Roberts stood a little taller after that.

  Faulkner rested his forearms on the console, and squinted down at Roberts. “Has something happened to suggest that this is anything more than a wayward comet?”

  “We’re still gathering data, sir. But that wasn’t what I wanted to speak to you about.”

  “Ensign,” Faulkner growled. “I trust that what you’re about to say is in some way significant.”

  “Sir, I think it is. The object is following the same trajectory but what I didn’t realise until a few hours ago – and I can’t believe I missed this - is that it isn’t alone. There are two of these things – whatever they are - and they’re both headed this way.”

  Faulkner looked at Yamada, his lips drawn tight.

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s too early to tell, sir, but it’s highly unlikely that these are military vessels in any conventional sense of the term. We don’t believe they have crew on board.”

  “Is that because of their speed?”

  “Exactly. The stresses they’d be subjecting themselves to – you simply can’t expose a crew to that kind of punishment for a sustained period. It’s just not feasible.”

  Faulkner mused for a moment, then nodded. “Whatever these things are though, we can’t afford to ignore them.”

  He pushed himself upright, having made his decision. “Very well, Mr Yamada, I would like you to switch all your processing power to analysing these two new threats. Mr Bertran, I want you to put together a couple of launch packages. If there are no more questions, I think we’re done here. Ensign Roberts, a moment of your time, if you please.”

  As everyone else drifted off, Roberts stayed where she was, nervously adjusting her collar.

  “Ensign, you’ve done well to bring this to our attention. While I don’t applaud your methods, I must say I admire your tenacity. So, unofficially, well done.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Roberts’ held her salute a little longer than was customary and then went back to her station.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  LaCruz was enjoying a short break. The seats in the departure lounge on level two were extremely comfortable and it was nice to just be able to relax.

  People had come around with coffee and sandwiches and she’d helped herself to both. Then, when one of their corpsmen had started handing out stim packs, she’d taken a handful of those as well. Of course, she had her own supply, but it was hard to resist a freebie.