Enough to start an armed revolt.

  “Why didn’t they use those things against us?” Webster wanted to know.

  “Strikes me that these were just the delivery boys. I’d guess that most of them didn’t even know what it was they were carrying. But whoever was expecting all that stuff is going to be more than a little annoyed.”

  “What happened to them – the trucks, I mean?”

  “We had to hand them over,” Markham sounded pained by the admission.

  “How come?”

  “The head of station security turned up with his people. Guy called Rainier. Didn’t seem surprised by what we’d found, either. Almost like he’d been expecting it.”

  Webster cursed under his breath. There was no doubting it now – they’d been completely set up. The Boomers, Henenlotter, the mercs. And everybody had been in on it – even the head of station security. The whole thing stank.

  Markham would have had little choice but to turn over the shipment of arms. That would come under Rainier’s remit as head of security. The question now was: what was Rainier going to do with it all? To say that Webster had lost faith in station security would be a massive under-statement.

  “Okay,” Webster needed time to think things through. “What about the elevator? What shape is it in now?”

  “The casino’s been completely gutted but apart from some smoke damage, she’s good to go. I’ve got a couple of teams in there now stripping out everything but we should be ready to start shipping them out again by this afternoon at the latest.”

  Webster thanked him and closed the link, enjoying an odd sense of contentment at the thought that things would soon be getting back to normal. Perhaps he could afford to relax a little. In light of that, he led the others out of the building and onto the steps before filling them in on what he’d just heard.

  “Where to next, then?” Silva asked. It was clear that there was very little chance of locating Governor Ardent using official channels. There was just too much going on.

  “I don’t know. For the time being, we need to concentrate all our energies on keeping that elevator up and running. That’s still our best chance of getting these people to safety.”

  “I agree,” Silva replied. “The big problem is convincing everyone else.”

  She indicated the seething mass of people heading towards the spaceport, their faces all showing that same mix of hopefulness and weariness.

  Irritated, Webster folded his arms, his broken fingers sticking out awkwardly. She was probably right but other than going down there and supervising things himself he couldn’t think what else to do.

  He turned to Grimes and Jackson.

  “Okay, there’s nothing we can do for the time being so I need you two to report back to the terminal.”

  Jackson said, “Sir, I’d prefer it if…”

  Webster cut her off. “I know. You’d like to stick around but we’re both fine now and Sergeant Markham is going to need all the help he can get.”

  Jackson made to argue her case but was undermined by Grimes coming to attention, forcing her to do the same.

  Webster took charge of Silva’s wheelchair and they both watched as the two Marines disappeared into the crowd.

  “You sure that was wise?” Silva asked. “We’re going to need transport and I don’t see you hot-wiring a ride anytime soon.”

  “We’ll think of something. Besides, I still want to track down Ardent. See what she has to say about all those weapons flooding in. Let her decide how far Parnashikan is wrapped up in all this.”

  “Him?” Silva wrinkled her nose at the mention of his name. “Is he your biggest concern?”

  Webster scanned the city skyline, picking out the pall of smoke which still hung over the hospital.

  “I was concerned enough about Parnashikan’s involvement beforehand. Now I’m convinced of it. He’s the one constant in all of this. Ardent is only useful to him so long as she goes along with his plans. If she refuses then he’d have no further use for her. But if he wanted to get rid of her he’d need some serious clout and that’s what I think that arms shipment is all about.”

  “And he’d risk destabilising the entire station just for that?”

  “Why not? Someone like Parnashikan has to take his opportunities where he finds them. Our problem is that we have no way of tracking Ardent down, much less of contacting her.”

  Silva rubbed at her wrist. “Well, that might not be completely true.”

  She indicated something on the wall behind him. Webster turned to see that the wall screen had a Breaking News update.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The helmsman was having a difficult time maneuvering the Mantis out of her hard dock. Because of the restrictions on movement, every available docking facility was occupied meaning that there were several major vessels hemming them in on all sides.

  It had taken three hours to get the authorisation for the Mantis to depart and even then they’d had to wait for a tug master to rendezvous with them. Faulkner had grown more and more frustrated as the day had worn on. Even with the threat of an enemy attack hanging over them, it was proving almost impossible to co-ordinate Blackthorn’s various port authorities in order to get anything done.

  No one had said anything but everyone was acutely aware of the countdown clock telling them how much time they had before Big Daddy’s arrival. Bertran had been testing a variety of approaches with a view to taking out Tom Thumb. For each one, he had to factor in the velocity of the various launch stages, issues with maneuverability and various other problems concerned with how differing payloads would affect the missiles’ overall speed. Once he was satisfied with his solution he would have to enter all the variables into the main frame only to be told that, for whatever reason, his plan wasn’t viable. The stumbling block in most instances was that in order to hit Tom Thumb from the rear, the missiles themselves were going to have to embark on a ridiculously circuitous route, all the while cutting into their ever-diminishing time frame.

  Faulkner hadn’t spoken about his concerns when Bertran had gone over the initial figures with him. It would have been tempting just to ignore the plan and blast Tom Thumb head on but that might well prove costly in the long run. As the time ticked down it became more and more obvious that they were only going to get one shot at this. If this assault failed then they wouldn’t be given the luxury of a second chance.

  Their situation wasn’t helped by the state of affairs down on Blackthorn. While Faulkner hadn’t spoken with Commander Webster directly, he had been kept informed about what was happening with the elevators and so far there had been a frustrating lack of progress. While they had succeeded in transporting some two thousand people down to the planet’s surface, station security, had declared one of the elevators unsafe after a fire and had subsequently shut it down. Having effectively halved their capacity, it looked like being a long time before the situation could be fully resolved.

  All this came at the same time they’d started hearing unconfirmed reports that the Marines had been involved in some kind of firefight. Details were sketchy but it seemed that there’d been heavy casualties on both sides.

  Similarly, on the station itself, events appeared to be reaching a tipping point with the captain of The Merry Widow making clear his intentions to sail. The idea that he would attempt to forcibly remove himself from his docking area without clearing it with the port authority first was virtually unheard of. When pilots of much smaller craft had attempted something similar, they had invariably been arrested but that was going to be a much trickier proposal when dealing with a cruiser of this size. Just getting aboard could prove problematic for the authorities. While, technically, the captain risked being fired upon if he went through with his plan there was little chance of that happening with civilian passengers on board.

  There was no doubting that the captain involved would finish his career if he made good on his claims but then there was every chance that, after the payday he’d earn off the back of it, he’d probably never have to work again. Faulkner had spent much of the last hour devising a way in which his Marines might gain access to the ship, capture the captain and thereby avoid a potential disaster, and he didn’t doubt that his men were capable of carrying it out. In reality though, he had no way of contacting Webster and, if the rumours were true, it looked as though he had enough to be getting on with.

  No, he was just going to have to sit this one out and hope that Governor Ardent could organise something on her own.

  “Captain?” Yamada was standing next to him. Faulkner forced himself to sit up straight, wondering just how long his Head of Communications had been standing there.

  “What is it lieutenant?” he asked sourly.

  Yamada arched his eyebrows. “You asked to be informed about any ships entering our system.”

  Faulkner rubbed his eyes in an attempt to rouse himself. “That I did. What are we talking about Mr Yamada, surely not more Da’al ships?”

  “No, sir. Not the Da’al. I’ve sent the details over to your console.”

  Faulkner managed to activate the display without help but became confused when an image of the Serrayu flashed up. But then the optics began shifting into close-up and finally he could see what it was he was supposed to be looking at.

  “Another Yakutian ship?” Faulkner was now very confused. From the look of her she was somewhat smaller than a conventional frigate but much sleeker. “But not one that I recognise.”

  He was hoping that he was wrong, that somehow he’d misinterpreted what he was seeing. It was unheard of for a ship of that size to sail without an escort of some kind.

  “That’s the Bharu Ren, sir. One of their next generation light frigates: very small, very fast.”

  For some reason, this information unnerved Faulkner even more than the arrival of the Da’al.

  “Okay, but what’s it doing all the way out here?”

  “I’m afraid we don’t have enough information at this time. All I can say is that she’s been in close communication with the Serrayu ever since she emerged from N-Space.”

  “No idea what they’ve been talking about?”

  “They’ve been using a tight beam which changes frequency every few seconds. Very frustrating, but we’re working on it.”

  As Yamada returned to his station, Faulkner let out a frustrated sigh. He still hadn’t got used to the modern mind-set where officers were so wary of speculation that they would rather say nothing than propose an idea which might later prove to be wrong. He assumed that it was something to do with the way the modern officer climbed the ladder of promotions during peace time, but it was proving extremely galling now. He was starting to miss Webster’s presence on the deck. He was the only one of his senior group that Faulkner felt he could readily bounce ideas off.

  Faulkner slumped back in his chair, the display still bright, the frigate seeming to sparkle with ill-disguised intent.

  “Sir,” it was the helmsman. “We’re about to leave Blackthorn’s Safe Operating Zone. The tug is already in place. They’re asking for permission to extend a line.”

  “Thank you, Helm. You may proceed.”

  They all watched the display as the tug’s umbilical snaked across towards them. It was fascinating to watch. The umbilical was only as thick as a man’s arm yet strong enough to tow a starship. The sheath which housed Blackthorn’s elevator was made of the same stuff. What was so fascinating about watching the operation was that the umbilical was totally autonomous. It would seek out the main anchor point on the Mantis and attach itself before extruding a membrane which made the attachment so secure that for the course of the operation the Mantis would be under the tug captain’s complete control. There was nothing then that they could do until the moment they were released.

  A lot of ships captain’s hated being towed but Faulkner wasn’t one of them. He found the whole process very calming as, for a brief time, there was nothing for him to worry about.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Only when the Mantis was in position did Faulkner allow himself to consider the implications of the Bahru Ren’s arrival. As if he didn’t have enough headaches dealing with the Serrayu. It felt as though he’d just gone from playing chess with one wily opponent, to suddenly playing against two. It was an unsettling experience but the last thing he wanted to do was to convey his disquiet to the rest of the crew.

  The tow had gone reasonably well but, once they’d been released, what no one had anticipated was how difficult it was going to be maneuvering the Mantis solely on her thrusters. While they were perfect for the tiny adjustments needed in a docking situation, they simply lacked the necessary power to perform adequately out in open space. And it was crucial for Bertran to have a stable platform from which to calculate the trajectory of his missiles.

  In the end, they had compromised with a staggered launch. The first four missiles would target the enemy’s defences, such as they were, leaving eight other larger missiles, two NC-201s and six smaller Thresher missiles to deliver the main payload. This represented a considerable proportion of the ship’s capacity but everyone was mindful of the fact that they’d only get one shot at this. The problem that Bertran was yet to solve was how the missiles were going to be able to get around the rear of Tom Thumb without sacrificing both speed and power.

  With Bertran beginning to feel the pressure and his frustrations starting to show, Faulkner decided to convene another meeting in his state room. They were fast running out of time and he hoped that, by getting away from the bridge, they’d be able to generate some fresh ideas. He had asked for Morton to be present as she brought a calming presence which he thought might be useful. She’d just left a meeting with Hermandal, who had now been found, and on an impulse he suggested that she bring him along as well providing he were amenable to the idea. He was after all, their resident expert on all things Da’al. In that spirit, when he’d spoken with Yamada, he’d suggested that he might like to bring along Ensign Roberts as recognition for her contribution so far.

  These two were the first to arrive and Roberts’ delight was obvious when Faulkner greeted her by name.

  Morton and Hermandal arrived next. Morton took a seat on Faulkner’s right while Hermandal took a place at the far end of the table. His eyes looked red and puffy and he projected a sullen demeanour as if he resented being there. Matters weren’t helped by the fact that the other officers who attended all sat as far away from him as possible. Bertran was the last to arrive, looking harried and accompanied by Ensign Williams.

  It was Williams who made the presentation. As the first wave of missiles approached Tom Thumb, they split apart in order to present a more oblique target to the enemy. Two of the missiles were taken out by enemy fire. The second wave then swept in, executing a series of evasive maneuvers during which only one missile was lost. Then the missiles struck home, destroying Tom Thumb entirely.

  “Pretty impressive, non?” Bertran asked as he stood up. He went over and entered a new set of information. “I’d like to thank Ensign Williams for organising this little demonstration. The problem is that it’s completely and utterly wrong.”

  Williams went bright red but said nothing while Bertran started a second animation running, only this time all the initial missiles failed to find their target. One drifted off into space while the others simply ran out of fuel. The story was the same with the eight missiles in the second attack – none of which managed to find the target.

  “I don’t understand,” Morton said. “How can two simulations vary so greatly? In one it works and in the other it’s a complete failure. How is that possible?”

  “The first simulation is based on the data provided by the weapons’ manufacturers. It looks impressive, I’m sure you’ll agree. It’s taken from data produced in lab-based experiments. The second set are based on our observations of how our missiles performed during our last engagement with the Da’al. The problem lies in the second boost phase. The manufacturers have exaggerated their fuel efficiency figures by up to twenty percent. That’s not an issue if you’re following a direct trajectory as the missile is already accelerating, but it makes a huge difference if you want the missiles to follow a more complicated trajectory, as in this case.”

  They were quickly running out of time but Faulkner didn’t see any justification for labouring the point.

  “So, these missiles will simply run out of fuel. Is that it?”

  Bertran rested his knuckles on the table, scrutinising the surface as though the grain itself would give him his answer.

  “Our current firing solution is flawed. And you’re right, if we attempt to implement our agreed plan we run the risk of exhausting our missiles’ fuel supply. They’ll simply fizzle out long before they reach the target.”

  Bertran could suffer the reproachful looks for only so long. It was obvious that he felt that he’d let everyone down.

  Then, he rapped his knuckles against the tabletop. “The only answer, it seems, is to revert to our original plan.”

  “A forward assault?” Faulkner said. “But Chief Davitz has already warned us against this. If he’s right and Tom Thumb’s front shields are fully functional then there is every chance that they’ll simply shrug off such an attack. We saw that happen with the last Da’al ship we encountered. Our missiles were rendered completely useless.”

  “Only, we don’t know that Tom Thumb has any such shields,” Bertran persisted.

  “But are you willing to take that risk?” Faulkner asked.

  Morton spoke up, “I’ve always been told to hope for the best and prepare for the worst. Surely, there has to be some other way of doing this.”

  In the silence that followed, Ensign Roberts raised a hand but froze when all eyes turned in her direction.

  “Go ahead, Ensign,” Faulkner said. “We need everyone’s help with this. If you think you have something to offer, then please...”

  Roberts looked for Yamada’s blessing before continuing.