But then, a bullet whipped past his ear and all sense of order was lost.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Wait ‘til they hit the top of the ramp,” Markham was shouting, the noise of the gunfire threatening to drown him out.

  LaCruz was still trying to work out what had happened. The sight of Webster going down in that opening salvo had shocked her to the point where she had yet to shoulder her weapon. Things were turning ugly real quick.

  The only positive so far had been that almost as soon as the elevator doors had opened some kind of safety over-ride had kicked in and began closing them again. That had seemed to surprise the mercenaries and while they had desperately tried to squeeze through the gap not all had made it through.

  She estimated that no more than a hundred and fifty of them had made it out. That gave the Marines a ratio of 3:1. Normally, those would have been acceptable odds but it this instance there were other concerns which might prove to be the deciding factor.

  As she assumed her firing position, her visor automatically began selecting possible targets and she allowed herself to slip back into her old, familiar habits. But then reality hit and she remembered what it was she was actually working with.

  A Boomer. The sort of weapon she wouldn’t have been happy using in a training exercise, much less a live fire scenario.

  But she was stuck with it now.

  She immediately deactivated the targeting software and switched instead to a simple range finder.

  Over to her left one of the troopers went down but she resisted the urge to look – she didn’t have time to be distracted. Without her sniper rifle she was just another ground pounder and so, if they were to have any hope of surviving this they were all going to knuckle down, stick to their training and learn to work as a unit. Though that still didn’t explain why Markham had yet to give the order to fire.

  The trooper beside her let out an involuntary gasp as he was hit in the chest. The man took a couple of steps backwards and nearly dropped his gun before he was able to regain his position.

  Good news. The enemy didn’t have armour piercing rounds. That was something she could work with.

  LaCruz planted her feet and selected her first target: a group of three figures hoping to flank them on their right.

  “Make those shots count!” Markham said over the link. “Open fire!”

  The air vibrated around LaCruz as the weapons were discharged one after the other but she was unable to fire herself because the three figures had disappeared behind a stanchion. She had to wait several seconds for them to reappear and this time there was no hesitation.

  There was no obvious recoil from the weapon so she was more than a little surprised to see that two of the figures she’d been aiming at had been knocked off their feet. Her relief didn’t last long however as the uninjured figure helped the other two back to their feet.

  All around the room, the mercenaries were regrouping. One or two of them appeared noticeably more affected than the others with some bleeding profusely from the nose and ears. Other than that however, they appeared relatively unaffected by the Boomers. “Okay,” Markham said. “Alpha Team, fall back and take up covering position. Everyone else, you know the drill.”

  LaCruz suddenly found herself exposed as the front line melted away. A volley of shots cut through their lines and she braced herself for the anticipated impact, her breathing coming short and fast.

  If these guys ever get their act together we’re going to be in serious trouble.

  In the moment it took to check and re-set her weapon, one of the troopers to her right pitched over backwards. She kept her eyes locked on the enemy. They had to stick to their training now. Certainly, if they wanted to survive the next few minutes, that had to be their priority.

  Bullets were zipping past her.

  Surely, we should be falling back, now, she thought. Looking to find some cover. But her squad net remained silent.

  If they were wearing their full battle armour things might have been different, but they weren’t. All they had were impact plates front and back. Enough to protect you against a direct hit to the upper torso but everything else was badly exposed.

  “Okay, Team Beta,” Markham said. “I want you to pick your targets. When I give the word, I want you to fire and then fall back to that first intersection. Once there, assume a blocking position.”

  Markham’s calm was unnerving. It was always an act of faith falling back in actual combat. You had to trust that your teammates would cover you while secretly hoping that the enemy wouldn’t shoot you in the back. Without meaning to, LaCruz glanced across at the fallen trooper. One of the medics was attending to him but it didn’t look good. Half of his jaw was hanging off and she could see his teeth where his cheek used to be.

  LaCruz carefully selected her target. Then she opened a direct line to Markham.

  “Sarge, we can’t hold ‘em off with these pop guns forever.”

  “Don’t you think I already know that?” he replied curtly before switching to the squad link. “Open fire!”

  The figure she was aiming at jinked to one side just at that moment, causing her to miss and there wasn’t time for a second shot. She ran back towards the intersection, working the re-charge handle, accompanied by a cacophony of small arms fire from behind.

  A trooper to her left spun and went down but she didn’t stop until she’d reached the intersection. She squatted down behind an over-turned table and waited while her weapon re-charged. It seemed to take forever. But then, when she was ready to fire, she saw a clear target: a guy getting ready to throw something. Her shot, kept low, took the legs from under him and as he fell he dropped something.

  Whatever it was, it bounced away and she lost sight of it.

  Next, there was a huge explosion with bodies hurled into the air.

  “Okay, tighten up in the back,” Markham said. “No point getting sloppy.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Faulkner woke a few minutes before the alarm. He had slept only fitfully. He decided to forego a shower, dressed quickly and headed to the bridge.

  Bertran was sitting slouched in the command chair chatting to one of comms staff. The woman’s demeanour changed as soon as she saw Faulkner. She broke off their conversation and returned to her station. Bertran waited until Faulkner was virtually standing over him before he deigned to surrender his chair.

  Faulkner fought down his irritation at the man’s tardiness.

  “Anything to report,” he asked.

  “It’s all in the log, sir.”

  The man seemed incapable of giving him a straight answer.

  “What about the engines? Any word from Chief Davitz?”

  “Nothing as yet, sir. Would you like me to contact him?”

  Faulkner shook his head. That would only make matters worse.

  He eased himself into his chair and immediately started reviewing the log. Mostly, it was a break-down of the repairs that were currently taking place all over the ship. Progress was slow but at least the work was getting done. There was precious little detail coming up from the engine room other than the names of the crew members currently on duty. Faulkner flicked back through the most recent duty rosters, finding Davitz’ name on all of them.

  This was getting ridiculous. The man had to rest.

  He was considering sending a message to that effect when he noticed that the setting on the main security console had been set to amber.

  “Mr Bertran, has there been some mistake? When did we upgrade to an amber warning?”

  Bertran checked his read-out. “Three hours and forty minutes ago, sir. Seems that one of Doctor Morton’s patients has ‘escaped.’”

  Faulkner scowled. “I wasn’t aware that any of her patients were under restraint.”

  “Just the one patient, sir. Listed as Patient Y. No other details. I’m assuming it’s a mental health issue?”

  Faulkner didn’t comment. Patient Y was the code name for Hermandal, the man they’d freed from the Da’al. Faulkner had wanted him questioned in order to extract as much information as they could about their new enemy but Morton had dissuaded him. She was concerned that Hermandal might try and kill himself if he felt threatened. He’d grown more and more morose since his arrival.

  Only four other people knew of the man’s existence: the two Marines who had captured him, Commander Webster and Doctor Morton. Even the nurses treating him only had the vaguest idea who he might be.

  “Is everything alright, sir?” Bertran inquired. “I’ve been in contact with security. The matter’s fully in hand.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Faulkner snapped. “Just next time, I’d like to be kept informed of all such developments. I shouldn’t have to keep track of them myself.”

  Bertran nodded, suitably admonished. He’d had the perfect opportunity to alert Faulkner during the handover but had stayed silent.

  Faulkner contacted Doctor Morton’s office only to be told that she was already on her way to see him.

  She arrived wearing full dress uniform but there was something odd about her demeanour. She seemed strangely agitated.

  “What’s this about Patient Y?”

  “I tried to contact you earlier,” Morton struggled to hold eye contact. “He’d asked to spend time in the library. I saw no problem with that, so long as he was properly supervised. He’s been down there before – no problem. Only, today, despite having two nurses with him, he somehow managed to give both of them the slip.”

  “What did they have to say for themselves?”

  “Not much. Neither one of them could come up with a decent explanation for what happened. Seems that earlier, he’d asked one of them for the security code for the main door and she – well, she gave it to him.”

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I hope you put this woman on a charge.”

  “It’s not as simple as that. When the other nurse saw him attempt to leave, Hermandal simply asked him if he’d help him find a particular book. The man did as he was asked but by the time he got back, Hermandal had disappeared. He’s done similar things to me before now. He asks you for something - nothing big. And for the life of me - I don’t know how he does it - you find yourself giving in to him.”

  Faulkner viewed her sceptically.

  He could sense Morton’s discomfort but he needed to make sense of all this. “What sort of things?”

  “The other day, during one of our sessions, he asked me where I’d got the earrings I was wearing. And I told him. Everything. Normally, during a session, I try very hard not to reveal any personal information about myself. But when he asked me about these earrings … I don’t know. They were a present from my husband …”

  Morton covered her mouth, visibly upset.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

  “That’s okay, you don’t need to say anymore.”

  “But that’s what’s so upsetting: I’ve never told anyone that story - and certainly not a patient.”

  Faulkner nodded. Morton’s discomfort was as much about her lapse of professionalism as it was about anything else.

  He said, “Do you think I should be concerned?”

  “About what? Hermandal? No. He’ll be fine.”

  “I’m more concerned about whether or not he might still entertain some sense of loyalty towards his former masters. It’s possible. What if he should do something to threaten this ship’s operational status?”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “Imagine him strolling up to the bridge. He asks me for all my launch codes. As a favour. Do you think I’d give them to him?”

  Morton looked hurt by the implication. She took a moment to consider what Faulkner had said. “I’d like to say ‘no’ but I can’t be certain.”

  “Oh, I see,” Faulkner sat back.

  That wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting – which was worrying. If Morton considered that such a thing could happen, even as a very remote possibility, then he had to take the threat seriously. He’d encountered so much that was completely new and alien to him in the last few days that he didn’t feel that he could dismiss anything out of hand.

  “Okay, Elsbeth, I need you to do me a favour. I need you to take charge of this search. We need to track down Patient Y and sooner rather than later.”

  She looked at him askance. “You don’t seriously think that he’s going to ask you for the launch codes, do you?”

  “No, I don’t. What concerns me far more is the idea that he might ask someone to help him communicate with this incoming vessel. We need to find him as soon as possible.”

  Yamada was standing over to his right, obviously waiting to speak with him. Knowing how particular the man was about observing proper protocols, Faulkner guessed that this might be important.

  He contacted security and told them that he wanted the search for Patient Y to be stepped up. Then he turned to Yamada.

  “What can I do for you, lieutenant?”

  “It’s best if I show you, sir.”

  The pair of them went over to the star chart display in the centre of the bridge, where Ensign Roberts was waiting.

  Yamada began with a close-up view of Blackthorn in order to provide some much-needed perspective. Faulkner looked everywhere for the Mantis but couldn’t see her. The sheer number of ships docked around Blackthorn was confusing. The only ship he could identify was the Serrayu, largely because of her size. She stood directly between the space station and the two incoming threats.

  “We’re calling the big one Big Daddy,” Yamada pointed out. “Small one is Tom Thumb. If you’re happy with that?”

  “I’m confused already,” Faulkner said. “Which one’s the big one, again?”

  Yamada gave him an exasperated look then said, “They’ve already got nicknames, if that would help. The big one we’re calling Big Daddy.”

  For some reason, this amused Faulkner more than it should.

  “And the little one?”

  “Tom Thumb.”

  Faulkner nodded and then he went and stood next to Big Daddy. It was flat and round, unlike any spaceship he’d seen previously. He scrutinised it closely from a number of angles.

  “What do you think it is: some kind of warhead?”

  “No. We think it’s too big for that. We think it’s more likely to be a simple impactor mass.”

  Faulkner scrutinised the rear section. “Which makes Tom Thumb what? Some kind of delivery vehicle? Have we got a fix on where it’s heading?”

  A blue line extruded from the nose of the projectile. The trajectory was unmistakeable. The target was Blackthorn.

  Faulkner said, “We need to notify them immediately.”

  “Yes, sir,” Yamada said. “But first, you need to hear everything. There are other factors to consider.”

  Faulkner felt like he was being patronised, but that happened from time to time when you sat in the big chair. He folded his arms across his chest.

  “Alright. I’m listening.”

  “We’re concerned about the threat Big Daddy poses,” Yamada said. “This thing’s tracked halfway across the system and its still coming. Also, considering that they’ve used such a sophisticated propulsion system doesn’t it seem odd that they’re attacking us in such a rudimentary fashion? They’re effectively throwing a rock at us. A big one, admittedly, but it’s still just a rock.”

  “Granted,” Faulkner said. “But this is the first real interaction we’ve had with the Da’al on a strategic level. Perhaps they’ve just underestimated our capabilities.”

  Roberts said, “Or, perhaps we’ve underestimated theirs.”

  Faulkner rubbed at his chin, anxious to dismiss the pair of them and get back to planning his defences. Bertran would no doubt have some idea how best to proceed. All this intel was coming from one person, and an ensign at that. Yamada seemed to be putting an awful a lot of faith in someone so young.

  “Go on,” he said.

  Yamada tapped the front portion of the projectile, triggering a computer-generated animation. “Traveling at these kinds of speeds Big Daddy poses a very real threat. It’s difficult to get an idea of the scale of this thing but be assured of this: it has the capacity to destroy Blackthorn and everybody on-board.”

  They watched as the animation showed the mass generator impact with the space station. Everything was destroyed in a massive explosion of data. It also didn’t escape Faulkner’s attention that the Mantis didn’t survive the conflagration which followed.

  Then Roberts stepped forward and started to play the whole thing in reverse until Big Daddy was stuck halfway between Yamada and the space station.

  Faulkner was sceptical. “But doesn’t this thing also present us with a huge target? One that we should be more than capable of destroying.”

  As if on cue, various missile salvoes streaked towards the target from various locations - most notably the Serrayu - breaking Big Daddy into several large chunks. Then the aerial batteries surrounding Blackthorn opened up and within moments Big Daddy had been turned to dust. The remaining fragments pummelled the face of the space station but the damage, in comparison to what had happened previously, was minimal.

  “Now I’m confused,” Faulkner said. “Are we going to be able to destroy this damn thing or not?”

  “We should be able to,” Yamada said, taking a step backwards. “The question is: do we want to?”

  Yamada went across to the second target which was followed in close behind Big Daddy.

  “You see,” Roberts said. “We have reason to believe that Big Daddy is nothing more than a decoy.”

  Faulkner looked to Yamada for clarification.

  “It’s not as crazy as it sounds,” Yamada said. “Big Daddy’s main job may simply be to distract us. Think about it, sir. By destroying it, we manage to create this huge debris cloud and there’s enough mass there to totally confuse all our long-range scanners. Effectively, we’d be blind to whatever it was that Tom Thumb was doing. With virtually no emissions this thing hardly registers on our sensors as it is. Shielded by all the debris created by the Big Daddy’s destruction, it will be all but undetectable.”