“From what Lieutenant Commander Bertran is saying, it seems to be a problem of fuelling levels. In order to approach the target from the rear, we’re asking the missiles to fly off in one direction before coming almost to a dead stop. Then they have to double back on themselves in order to complete the final phase of their mission. It’s a very inefficient way of going about things.”

  Bertran couldn’t even look at her. He was standing with his hands on his hips.

  “That may well be the case.”

  “But what if our missiles approached Tom Thumb from another angle? One of Iscaria’s moons, say. I take it that they’d have enough fuel then?”

  Bertran looked at her sceptically, as though this was some kind of trick question. Iscaria had five moons of vastly different sizes but what did that have to do with anything?

  “Yes. Only we don’t have that as an option. There are no launch facilities on any of these moons.” Then he added brusquely. “So, what is your point?”

  “What would happen if, instead of firing our missiles directly at the enemy ship, we fired them at a different target? Say, this moon here.”

  She went over and pointed at one of the moons on the display. It didn’t have a name, just a coded identification: I0X-379.

  “I don’t understand what you’re asking me …”

  One of the other officers interrupted, “She’s talking about using a slingshot effect.”

  “But, surely that’s going to require even more…”

  As the implications of what had been said hit home, murmurs broke out all around the room.

  Roberts gave a self-deprecating shrug. “Starships do it all the time: using the gravity well of a planet to change direction without sacrificing speed. It would make a much longer journey for these missiles but the advantages might well be worth it.”

  Bertran went over and scrutinised the moon. “Doing it that way we’d use our initial boost phase just to get to the moon.”

  “Yes,” Roberts said. “But you’d be accelerating all the time. That way, you can delay your second boost until you’re much closer to the target. You’d already be behind them.”

  To demonstrate, Roberts clicked onto one of the missiles and walked it around IOX-379 and back towards the rear of Tom Thumb.

  Faulkner tried to calculate the extra distance involved but had to give up. It seemed too bizarre to actually work but he figured that if Bertran could determine the possible trajectories there was no reason why it shouldn’t.

  “We’d have to be spot-on with our calculations,” Bertran said more to himself than anyone else. “I’m not saying that it would work but I’d be willing to run the figures.”

  A nervous looking comms officer had appeared at the back of the room. He was subtly trying to catch Yamada’s eye.

  “If I might be allowed to add something,” Roberts added. “There is one very obvious problem here.”

  Bertran’s head dropped to his chest. “The time delay. Even if it could work, it may already be too late. We’re talking about a much longer round trip for these missiles to travel. There’ll be an optimum amount of time needed to cover that kind of distance and we may already be too late.”

  “Then we need to be absolutely sure,” Faulkner said. “Ensign Roberts, I’d like you working with Mr Bertran on this one.”

  As an afterthought, he turned to Yamada, “If you’re amenable to that?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  The young comms officer had started moving into the main body of the room.

  Faulkner eyed him warily. “Can’t it wait?”

  The officer took a breath and tried to compose himself. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s the Serrayu. The captain’s set up a direct link and he’s demanding to speak with you.”

  *

  As they drew closer, LaCruz started to wonder what had happened to their ride. The RV’s front windscreen had been smashed in and the driver’s door was wide open. The sides had been spray painted with various gang tags but the vehicle itself was largely undamaged.

  She imagined that there had been some attempt to steal the thing because the immobiliser had been activated but as soon as she proffered the key, the engine purred into life.

  She and Grimes hadn’t spoken since they’d left Webster.

  “He’s sleeping with her,” LaCruz said as they pulled out into traffic. “You know that don’t you?”

  “What are you going on about?”

  “Commander Webster. He’s sleeping with the lieutenant.”

  Grimes turned to look at her in mock surprise. “I’m going to have to stop you right there. That’s our officer commanding you’re talking about.”

  “That’s as may be but it doesn’t change the fact that the pair of them are breaking regulations.” “And you know that, how?”

  LaCruz turned to him in frustration and let out a low growl.

  “Exactly,” Grimes said. “You know that because, for some reason, you decided to plant a tracker on the commander, which is, like, totally against regulations.”

  “I was concerned for his welfare. I thought he might be in danger. He was in danger.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t justify you bugging him and listening in to the pair of them going at it.”

  “We saved his life, didn’t we?”

  Grimes let out a tortured sigh. “Yes, we did – which was a good thing. So, let’s not mess that up by pointing the blame at someone. Particularly not a senior officer. Understood?”

  LaCruz was shaking her head, leaning low over the steering wheel. “Did you listen to the way they were talking to one another? It was all ‘commander, this’ and ‘lieutenant, that’. Like nobody knows what they’re up to? It’s pathetic.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that someone was jealous.”

  “Of the commander?”

  “No. Of Lieutenant Silva.”

  LaCruz couldn’t get much power behind the blow, because of where she was sitting, but she hit him hard enough to make him wince.

  “Oh! You really are jealous.”

  “I’m being professional. Which is more than can be said for anyone else.”

  Grimes leaned in, his face only inches from LaCruz. “If you’re so professional, why are we not heading back to the elevator?”

  LaCruz grinned. “Oh, you noticed that did you? Look, he didn’t tell us we had to return directly. Besides, there’s something I need to check out.”

  “Such as?”

  They came to a junction and LaCruz brought the vehicle to a stop. She turned to face Grimes directly.

  “Security will have taken those mercs to one of their precinct houses for processing. We need to get our hands of one of them before they disappear into the system. Apply a little pressure and find out what’s really going on.”

  “Is that such a good idea? Markham’ll have us up on charges if he thinks we’ve gone AWOL.”

  LaCruz dropped her head onto the steering wheel. “We’re not going AWOL, we’ll be back before he knows it. Besides, I want to find out who put those bastards up to taking pot-shots at us.”

  “The lights have changed,” Grimes pointed out and he watched as LaCruz struggled to pull away. “If the sergeant finds out what you’re up to he’ll have us busted back down to private.”

  “Only the sergeant isn’t going to find out about it – is he?”

  Grimes held up his hands as if in surrender. “Just cos he doesn’t hear it from me doesn’t mean he ain’t gonna hear about it.”

  “You let me worry about that, okay.”

  *

  The hologram of Captain Mahbarat was so real that the only indication that he hadn’t been beamed directly aboard the Mantis’ bridge was a slight translucence around the edges if he moved too quickly. It had been twenty years since Faulkner had encountered a hologram of any description and he found the life-like nature of this one quite disturbing.

  In an attempt to disguise his unease, he strode over to the image and gave it a sharp salute. The pause before Mahbarat returned it might have been down to the time delay between ships, but Faulkner doubted it.

  “Captain Mahbarat, I have been trying to contact you for several hours. I became concerned when I couldn’t get a reply.”

  “I thank you for your concern, Captain Faulkner, but I’m afraid I had other more pressing matters to attend to.”

  “More pressing than two alien ships heading our way at full speed?”

  “Captain, I speak with the utmost seriousness. A few hours ago, our sister ship, Bharu Ren, entered our system. I am sure that your crew have informed you of this.”

  Faulkner nodded but Mahbarat didn’t respond.

  Faulkner said, “My apologies. I am nodding my head as a sign of assent.”

  Either the Serrayu’s captain hadn’t been fully briefed on Earth Prime protocol or his scanners weren’t picking up the nuances of Faulkner’s response.

  “The Bharu Ren is what you would describe as frigate class. She has only just been commissioned and her captain is yet to determine her full capabilities.”

  Faulkner was careful not to interrupt him. In formal encounters, the Yakutians were keen to assert their status early. It was their form of self-validation. The true reason for this communication would perhaps become clear later.

  “The captain of the Bharu Ren is here on a matter of great importance. He is ordered to depart immediately with the Vice Consul and his staff. There are major issues which require his presence back on our homeworlds. It’s a matter of some urgency.”

  “I wish him a safe journey,” Faulkner said.

  “I’m not sure you will once I tell you the reason for his recall. The Vice Consul is to assume his place as part of the Renzin-daza.”

  “Renzin-daza? I’m sorry, you’ll have to explain that.”

  “It’s the name of our War Council.”

  The atmosphere in the room changed immediately.

  “What are you trying to tell me, captain,” Faulkner pressed. “As a fellow officer, I would appreciate your candour at this time.”

  “Very well. The Bharu Ren isn’t here simply to collect the Vice Consul. It also came to deliver grave news. As of 7.16 c.t. on the 4th day of Pantook, the Emperor declared that a state of war now exists between the Grand Empire of Yakutia and the peoples of the United Space Defence Confederation.”

  For a moment, Faulkner felt as though his mind was beginning to unravel.

  He had been here before, twenty-eight years ago to be exact, at the start of The Long War. He wasn’t sure that he had the capacity to face that again.

  It felt as if he was on a sand bank, at night, waiting for a storm to hit, the waves already threatening to carry him away. There were times in his life when he might have surrendered to those waves, forgetting his responsibilities - his loyalties both to his country and to himself. Times when he had recognised the futility of continuing onward and had prayed for a swift death.

  But that hadn’t happened and he had been denied the absolution that that might bring. And it was the fact of his own survival which had, belatedly, strengthened his resolve. His time had not yet come. There was still more to do – what that was, he didn’t yet know. But he would find out. He had felt cheated when his captors had decided not to execute him. They had chosen instead to keep him alive, fearful, he supposed, that their hatred could only mellow in his absence. They needed him alive as a whetstone on which to sharpen their spite.

  And it was that which had given him the drive to persevere. Knowing that he was so completely despised, made him obdurate, helped give him a purpose. Initially, he had been driven to survive precisely because of the contempt they had for him but after a while it also came to define him.

  First let them fear.

  There was nothing that these people could do that hadn’t already been done to him. They’d taken his youth, his health, the life of the only person he’d ever truly loved. After he’d faced that, what else was there?

  “Are there any details of what’s happened? How this all came about?”

  “Such details are hard to come by at the moment, captain, although I am reliably informed that the first engagement took place off Piatra.”

  So, Admiral Paige had finally been granted his wish. There were whispers all around as the severity of the situation took hold.

  “All right,” Faulkner said. “What happens next?”

  “My immediate orders are to engage any and all USDC units in the area but only once they have been given the opportunity to surrender.”

  Faulkner took a moment to look at the faces of his bridge crew. What were they making of all this?

  “Well, thank you for the offer, Captain Mahbarat, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline.”

  Mahbarat glared back at him.

  “I expected that would be your response. But I have been told that you have been known to change your mind on occasion. Surrender or no surrender, captain? What’s it to be?”

  The jibe was clumsy but it struck home, nonetheless.

  “Have you finished?”

  “Not quite. It doesn’t require any particular skill on my part to see that you are currently operating without the aid of your main engines. While you might be arrogant enough to believe that you could defeat the Serrayu under normal circumstances, even you can’t expect to do so from the deck of a crippled ship.”

  “This offer of surrender,” Faulkner said, changing the subject. “I will need some time to consider it fully, especially as I have not yet had the opportunity of speaking with my superiors.”

  For the first time, Mahbarat seemed unsure of himself. The thought of receiving Faulkner’s formal surrender must have seemed very tempting indeed.

  “You have exactly three hours.”

  “Three hours, eh?”

  Could Davitz get the engines up and running in that time? He doubted it.

  “You are aware of the alien ships approaching as we speak? Could I ask what your response would be if, during this period, I decided to launch missiles in their general direction?”

  Mahbarat gave Faulkner a withering look. “Anything which might be interpreted as an act of aggression on your part will be met with immediate and overwhelming force on mine. I would not relish taking such action against a crippled enemy but be assured that I will not hesitate to do so if I feel that my ship’s safety is in any way jeopardised.”

  “Do you propose then that we should sit idly by while these aliens simply destroy Blackthorn and everyone on board?”

  “While I am no diplomat, captain, I would remind you that Blackthorn Station is still a member – albeit a junior one – of your Confederation. Nothing has changed in that regard. If Blackthorn were to have joined the Empire then things might have been different. I might well have been charged with defending her myself. As it is, I am currently tasked with doing nothing. You have precisely two hours and fifty-seven minutes, standard time, to make your decision. You must either surrender to me or prepare to be destroyed. Don’t think for a moment that you can hide in Blackthorn’s skirts. Good day to you, captain.”

  And then, like a bubble bursting, Mahbarat’s image was gone.

  Faulkner turned to look back towards Bertran and the others. Not one of them had moved from their initial positions.

  “Mr Bertran,” he barked, snapping them out of their reverie. “I need your calculations, and I need them now.”

  *

  LaCruz was back behind the wheel of the RV. They’d managed to locate the station house where the mercenaries had been taken with relative ease. It was a medium sized precinct house called Collingwood. The detective dealing with the prisoners wasn’t on duty and no one seemed interested in locating him.

  After a lot of hanging around, they’d finally managed to speak to someone about whether the mercenaries were going to be held there or taken to some other facility. The woman in charge, assuming that LaCruz was in a relationship with one of the men, told her that they’d all been released a few hours earlier. It seemed that a lawyer had turned up to stand their bail and that they had then been released into his care.

  But when LaCruz later contacted his law firm she was told that the man had been on extended leave and wasn’t expected back in the office for several weeks.

  That put them back at square one.

  “We’re just too late,” Grimes reflected. “We’re not going to hear from these guys again. They’ve just disappeared.”

  “But how can that be?” LaCruz wanted to know. “They killed six of our men.”

  “Isn’t it obvious: one of those big corporations is behind this and they’re trying to protect their own interests. They can’t afford to let any of these guys be questioned – so they’ve pulled a few strings legally to ensure they disappear.”

  “That’s a lot of bail money.”

  Grimes rolled his shoulders. “That’s peanuts to them. They’re only worried about their reputation. They can’t risk being directly linked with any form of civil unrest.”

  LaCruz sniffed. “You’ve got this all figured out, haven’t you?”

  Grimes folded his arms and settled back in his seat.

  “I’m not going to be in the Corps forever. I’ve got plans.”

  LaCruz struck the wheel with frustration. They were stopped again. Traffic was approaching gridlock.

  “But where do you think they’ve gone, though? They can’t have just disappeared.”

  “They’ll be around somewhere. Whoever was behind this wanted them to stir things up a bit. Undermine the rule of law.”

  “But why would they want to do that?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? They’re here to undermine Ardent’s leadership – to suggest that she doesn’t have what it takes to govern effectively. Once they’ve established that idea in people’s heads then it’s only a small step to getting rid of her altogether.”

  LaCruz hadn’t considered that.

  She said, “You think Parnashikan’s behind all this then?”

  “I don’t pretend to be an expert on Blackthorn politics but yeah - he’d be top of my list.”

  “But what’s he done with them all? There must be a hundred and forty of them all told. You’re not going to be able to hide them that easily.”