He was standing in the sentry section of the Governor’s palace having only just finished getting changed. There was a burn mark on the front of his shirt where the defibrillator had struck but he sincerely doubted that anyone would notice, least of all the guard lying unconscious at his feet.

  The one whose clothes he was now wearing.

  Webster was cinching the belt at his waist when his ear bead came to life.

  Markham.

  “Is there a problem?” Webster asked.

  “You could say that.”

  “They’re not coming?”

  He looked out the front of the cabin. The grounds directly before him were made up of perfectly tended lawns. Any other vegetation, which was likely to impede the guards’ view of their surroundings, had been removed up to a distance of two hundred meters away.

  “No. That’s not it. They’ll be with you shortly. Problem is who is coming.”

  “Sergeant, you’re not making any sense. Is Ardent with them?”

  “That’s correct, sir. But she’s accompanied by Blackthorn security, not the mercs we were expecting.”

  Webster let out a tight sigh. That put a different spin on things. The troopers had been looking forward to the opportunity of clashing with Parnashikan’s mercs after what had happened earlier. They had a score to settle and had planned to catch them in a simple crossfire. Now, with Blackthorn security involved, things had suddenly become much more complicated.

  “Is everyone in place?” Webster asked.

  “Affirmative.”

  “How long have I got before they turn up?”

  “’Bout ninety seconds.”

  “Okay. I just need a moment.”

  Webster tucked in the back of his shirt while he cleared his thoughts. This was what happened when you went into a mission poorly prepared: things fell apart. Taking out a group of mercenaries was one thing, taking out soldiers who had previously been loyal to Ardent was something else entirely.

  He couldn’t risk this turning into a blood bath. They were just going to have to stand down. He’d wave the cortege through and they’d just have to think of something else.

  Though the disappearance of the two sentries was bound to be noticed at some point.

  Damn.

  The earbud squawked again.

  “Sir, Corporal Jackson here requesting permission to speak.”

  What was Jackson up to? She was supposed to be on over-watch for this mission.

  He was distracted by the sight of headlights coming through the trees.

  “Jackson, I want you to hold your fire.”

  “Sir, it’s not about that. If you’ll give me a second, I can explain.”

  *

  The lead vehicle pulled up to the sentry post and stopped.

  Webster ensured that the peak of his cap was pulled low over his eyes before stepping outside. He was only vaguely aware of the other three cars pulling in behind the first. Markham had told him that the man he needed to speak to was in the second car and that was where he headed.

  He was taking a huge risk. If they refused to cooperate – if the leader simply refused to open his window – then the plan would fail before it had even begun.

  If I’ve misjudged this, he thought, I may well die out here.

  The passenger window on the second car opened and a head leaned out.

  “What’s the matter?” the man was in his forties, sporting an impressive moustache. “Is there a problem with the house?”

  Webster ducked down beside the passenger door in a seeming act of deference when really he was just opening up possible lines of fire.

  “Before I answer that, I just need to check a few things,” Webster carefully produced a tablet. “Inspector, could you please confirm the date that you entered the service.”

  The inspector relaxed, resigned to the idea that these petty checks had to be made. “The day I was first commissioned?”

  “That’ll do.”

  The inspector gave him the date, confirming that he’d spent twenty-three years in the service.

  Webster nodded as if in confirmation when in reality he had no information on this man at all. He just wanted an assurance that he was who he purported to be. If he were one of Parnashikan’s mercenaries in disguise he would have struggled to come up with an answer.

  “Now,” the inspector indicated the gate. “If you’re finished…”

  “Just one more thing,” Webster fished an ear bead out of his pocket and passed it over.

  The inspector took it disdainfully but, after some prompting, inserted it in his ear.

  “Who is this?” he asked.

  The colour slowly drained from his face as he listened. When he’d finished, the inspector took out the ear bead and tossed it to the floor. All the while, his eyes were nervously searching the surrounding area.

  “How do I know that you are who you say you are?” he said to Webster.

  Webster pointed to the three doves grouped on one of the lawns.

  “Pick a bird,” Webster said.

  The man looked baffled but, slowly, realisation dawned.

  “The middle one.”

  Webster bent to pick up the ear bead. “Did you hear that?”

  The middle dove exploded in a shower of blood and feathers, sending the other two birds off.

  Webster stood up. “Inspector, if you’d like to come with me?”

  The inspector spoke briefly to his driver before getting out. His eyes blazed and his breathing was becoming increasingly laboured.

  “I could shoot you myself, you know,” his hand brushed against his holster.

  “But we both know you’re not going to do that.”

  The man’s eyes returned to the dove’s bloodied remains.

  “What do you want from me?”

  When he’d told him, Webster accompanied the man back, not to his car, but to the third in the row. The inspector bent to speak to the driver who quickly climbed out of the vehicle. The other two security officers also got out, directing confused looks at the inspector. He largely ignored them simply indicating for them to take a seat in the second car.

  The only blip in the plan came when the inspector made to get into the driver’s seat of the third car. Webster tapped the roof on the passenger side. The inspector gave a laboured sigh but then did as he was asked.

  It was only once he was behind the wheel that Webster allowed himself the luxury of looking into the back.

  Ardent was sitting in the middle seat, her lips pursed.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. “Am I being kidnapped?”

  Webster didn’t know how to respond. He exchanged a look with the inspector who raised his hands as if to say, ‘don’t look at me.’

  “Yes,” Webster said, struggling to turn the car around. “I suppose you are.”

  After several attempts, Webster managed to turn the vehicle around so that it was facing back the way it’d come. As they drove past the final car in the convoy he was aware of the people sitting inside watching them, though none was foolish enough to get out and try to stop him.

  Webster gunned the engine all the way to the treeline.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The bridge crew stood and watched the images being beamed to them directly from the Serrayu. They showed views of the various missiles as they closed on their target – the enormous mass impactor which was on a collision course with Blackthorn.

  Faulkner thought that this was one of the worst things about space combat: the waiting. The distances involved were huge so that there was always a time lapse factor to be considered during any conflict. Frequently, knowing what was coming your way gave a captain time to consider his options as he attempted to dodge enemy fire. But, all too often, circumstances conspired against you, leaving you in the unique position of being able to see what was inbound while being completely powerless to do anything about it.

  Today, Faulkner very much occupied the second position.

  If the Serrayu’s warheads failed to destroy the mass impactor they’d come to know as Big Daddy, then they would have just a few hours to prepare for whatever came next. Under normal circumstances that would be terrifying enough but without recourse to her main engines, the Mantis would struggle to clear the impact zone. If they couldn’t acquire the services of one Blackthorn’s tugs then they faced the very real possibility of being destroyed along with her.

  He had spoken about his concerns with Chief Davitz by video link. The other man had looked tired beyond belief, his face slack and uncommunicative. Davitz was as aware as anyone of what was at stake but that didn’t change the seriousness of their situation. The engines were still not ready. Davitz struggled to give clear answers to Faulkner’s questions and, under other circumstances, Faulkner would have not hesitated to have ordered him to the bridge, but these weren’t normal circumstances.

  Faulkner needed a breakthrough in the next few hours or they were going to have to consider some drastic measures. He just hoped that Davitz was able to deliver on his earlier promise. Other than that, there was very little else for him to do.

  Faulkner edged across to Sturgess, the Intelligence Officer in charge of monitoring the Blackthorn’s media outlets.

  “Any word on Commander Webster and his team?”

  Sturgess said, “Nothing much has changed. We’re still being told that Commander Webster and Lieutenant Silva were arrested trying to plant a bomb in the government chamber.”

  “Ridiculous! And the Marines?”

  “According to one source, the Marines had taken civilian hostages in the elevator’s terminal building. All of our men were supposedly killed when the security services stormed the building.”

  “Of course,” Faulkner mused bitterly. “And if you believe that you’ll believe anything.”

  While he had no doubts that the stories had been fabricated, he was concerned about what the implications of that were. What had happened to those troops? With Parnashikan in control, Blackthorn was now being administered by a government hostile to the Confederation.

  An argument could be made that, instead of defending Blackthorn, Faulkner should take a leaf out of Captain Mahbarat’s book and simply leave them to it.

  But that would mean abandoning those members of his crew who were still alive down there.

  He turned to Sturgess again.

  “If Commander Webster and Lieutenant Silva had been arrested, where would they mostly likely have been taken?”

  “There are three possibilities,” Sturgess said. “We’re currently monitoring all of them via audio and computer interfaces. So far, there’s been no mention of either of the commander or the lieutenant being brought in.”

  “That’s not to say that they aren’t holding them and it just hasn’t been logged.”

  “But we’ve got no way of knowing that, sir,” Sturgess said.

  “Alright, stay on it,” Faulkner said keen not to betray his growing sense of frustration.

  *

  “What do you think, sir?”

  Markham was kneeling on the floor of the ambulance looking up at Webster. The deep lines around his eyes suggesting how tired he truly was, though he showed no signs of flagging.

  After leaving the governor’s mansion, Webster had driven for a mile before dumping the inspector at the side of the road. Then he’d doubled back to meet up with Markham whose men had requisitioned an ambulance.

  Which was where they found themselves now.

  They’d been sitting in traffic for the last forty minutes and Markham had used the time to trawl through the piles of clothes heaped on the floor.

  He handed Webster a blue and white hospital gown which had been sprayed with blood.

  “I think this one probably needs a wash,” Webster said. “Where did you find all this stuff, anyway?”

  “Corporal Travers tracked it down, sir, when he found the ambulance. The clothes had been left in a dumpster. Looks like they were just going to get rid of it all. There’s lots of stuff: doctors’ gowns, nurses’ uniforms. You name it.”

  “Just a shame they didn’t put it through the laundry first.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers. There must be enough here for at least thirty outfits.”

  “And what about everyone else?”

  There were forty-nine of them in a convoy of seven vehicles.

  “We’re just going to have to improvise once we get to the space port. Hopefully, get our weapons in disguised as medical equipment.”

  Webster nodded. “Sounds like you’ve thought of everything.”

  Markham picked up a medical gown and threw it at one of the troopers.

  “Right. Get that on.”

  The gown caught the trooper in the face and he angrily snatched it away. For a moment, Webster thought he was going to tackle Markham but then the moment passed. Tempers were becoming frayed. The closer they got to Terminal 3, the clearer it was becoming that a good many people had had the same idea as them: get off the station as soon as possible.

  Webster left the troopers to distribute the clothing amongst themselves and moved to the front where Silva was sitting facing Ardent across the aisle.

  “Everything alright?” he asked.

  Silva’s expression told him that this was far from the case.

  “You’re going to have to let me out,” Ardent said. “I’ve got things I have to do.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” Webster said. “You’d not only be jeopardising your own safety but also that of my troops.”

  “You don’t need to worry about that. I’ll keep my head down until I’m well away from here.”

  “I’m sorry, no. Besides, I don’t know what good you think you can do out there.”

  Outside the transport, all they could see was a press of bodies going off into the distance. There were thousands of people out there all, seemingly, with the same intention.

  “The people need guidance at a time like this,” she persisted. “We can’t let Parnashikan win without putting up a fight.”

  Webster squatted down so that he was face to face with Ardent. “If what we’ve been hearing is true, then that’s the least of your worries. This station is going to come under attack in the next few hours. And there’s nothing either you or I can do to stop it.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I disagree.”

  Silva leaned forward, “You can disagree all you like, governor, but we’re in an impossible situation here. As soon as the people outside recognise you, it’s only a matter of time before you’re arrested. It won’t take a genius then to link you back to us.”

  “Parnashikan made a mistake in not having you killed earlier,” Webster said. “He won’t make the same mistake again.”

  “No,” Ardent was shaking her head. “I can’t believe that of him. He’s ruthless, I’ll grant you…”

  Webster cut her off.

  “Let me assure you, governor: he’s more than capable. Who do you think organised for all those mercenaries to suddenly appear? Six of my men are dead now because of him. I know it’s difficult, governor, but you have to recognise that this whole situation has changed. You’re no longer safe on Blackthorn.”

  Ardent looked first at Webster than at Silva. For a second, Webster thought that she was about to try and make a run for it. But then the moment passed and she slumped back in her seat.

  “I suppose you’re right,” she scowled. “But what happens next? We have to do something!”

  “Agreed,” Webster said. “The people may very well trust you, but first, we have to get you to safety. And that means the Mantis. You’ll have access to first rate communications equipment and from there, you’ll be able to reach out to your people - ensure that your side of the story gets aired.”

  Joanna Silva placed a hand on Ardent’s arm. “You won’t be the first leader to be forced to work from exile. And once this crisis is over you’ll have a real chance of re-establishing your government. But none of those things can happen if you’re already dead.”

  Ardent growled angrily at the harshness of Silva’s words. Then she said, “Alright. You’ve convinced me.”

  “Good,” Webster clapped his hands together. “That’s settled. But first we need to get into that terminal building.”

  All eyes turned to the side window where a mass of bodies swarmed outside.

  “And that might take a while,” he admitted. “Seems to be a case of too many people trying to get onto too few ships.”

  Ardent sat bolt upright.

  “But what if that wasn’t the case? What if we had a ship of our own, what then?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The bridge crew had to follow the trajectories of the last two missiles via the animated computer simulation. The two nukes were their last hope. The array of officers had nearly worn their eyes out staring at their ever-diminishing contrails.

  They had been able to watch the moment that the four lead missiles detonated against the surface of Big Daddy in extreme definition. That had come courtesy of the cameras mounted on the two chasing nukes. Now, all those cameras showed was a grimy image of their enormous target in numbing close up. Faulkner reflected that they might as well stare at the desk in his office for half an hour – it would make about as much sense.

  Watching the two big missiles detonate on the display was something of an anti-climax. The only difference being that when the nukes impacted, instead of just disappearing like the other missiles, the impact points were marked by individual cones of light, warning of the looming radiation threat.

  Then, without warning, Big Daddy simply blinked out of existence.

  In the background, someone hooted.

  “Enough!” Faulkner barked. “Mr Bertran, I need answers. What just happened?”

  Bertran was bent over his console. “I’m not exactly sure. I’m just updating our long-range scans now to see whether that was just a computer glitch.”

  “We should expect interference of some kind,” Yamada said. “An explosion of this nature is bound to disrupt our readings. We’re looking at the detonation of a hundred million tons of high explosive, after all.”