“Oh really,” Ardent had heard the name but couldn’t put a face to it. “Any particular reason?”

  “Captain Faulkner held you in high regard, governor. He’d never forgive me if I let anything happen to you.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  “Nevertheless, I’ll tell Acosta to take good care of you. Any ideas what you’re going to do now?”

  “Well, I’m not completely useless, so I’m sure I’ll be able to find something,” she was preparing to leave when a thought occurred to her. She turned to address Silva directly. “This Captain Meyer – what’s he like?”

  “Captain Meyer,” the conflict between candid disclosure and professional tact was clear on Silva’s face. “His scrupulous attention to protocol can be – how best to describe it? - quite challenging at times.”

  Ardent considered this. “But other than that – he’s reliable? A man of his word?”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “What’s he like with women?”

  Webster deferred to Silva at this point.

  “Well … the most I can say is that he’s quite – I don’t know – traditional in his views.”

  “Oh good,” Ardent pushed her hand through her hair. “I’m looking forward to meeting him already.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Webster stood with his back against the inner wall of the pressure chamber. The trip back to Dardelion had flown by and now he was starting to have second thoughts about his current plan of action.

  “I don’t know what else I was supposed to do.”

  Silva was standing in the centre of the cramped space, the fingers of one hand interlaced with his.

  “Look, Alex, I’m not saying that this is a bad idea. It’s just that, with a little more time, we might have won Meyer round. Farnese was already sympathetic to what we were trying to do. I just think that with a little more pressure Meyer would have come around to our way of thinking.”

  Webster scowled. “I’m not so sure. He’s a contrary sonofabitch at the best of times but he was in no mood to listen to me.”

  Webster opened his mouth wide as the chamber re-pressurised to match the internal pressure of the Dardelion. Silva watched him, seemingly unaffected.

  “I think we might have underestimated Farnese’s level of influence. Every time he spoke, Meyer listened.”

  “Yeah, well I’m not so sure. Meyer made all the right noises but he’s got no real interest in helping us out. The only thing he’s interested in is saving his own skin. I must have spoken to him for nearly two hours but do you know what really got his attention? The arrival of those Da’al ships. I’m telling you - If it came down to him saving the entire Mantis crew or saving himself, Meyer’d save himself everytime.”

  Green lights flashed, telling them it was safe to leave the airlock. Silva waited a moment until she was absolutely certain that they weren’t about to step into a vacuum before hitting the door release. The Dardelion’s combination of burning machine oil and body odour was strangely comforting. They were surprised to be met by one of the Marine corporals, toting a heavy-duty tablet. The sort that will still work after you’ve rolled an APC over it.

  While Silva attended to the air-lock’s safety programmes, Webster held out a hand.

  “Something I can help you with, corporal?”

  The corporal handed him the tablet. There was a long list of items for Webster to check, none of which he was familiar with.

  “What is all this?” he asked.

  The corporal looked nonplussed. “The second shuttle, sir. The one that transferred all the pods over. Well, it came back, and when it did it was packed with all sorts of stuff we weren’t expecting. Sergeant Markham’s holding off unloading it until you’ve given it the all clear.”

  Webster raised an eyebrow at Silva. “Did you know anything about any of this?”

  “Who authorised it?” she asked, taking the tablet and scrolling down to the bottom. “Farnese. See, I told you he was pulling for us.”

  “I’m sure, but I still don’t know what half of this stuff actually is. What’s with this Armoured Infantry marker? Seems to be on everything.”

  Silva pulled a face. “Probably something to do with those new orders of yours.”

  Part of the deal with Meyer was that Webster wouldn’t open his orders until they were back aboard the Dardelion. Silva had urged him to open them while they were still on the shuttle but Webster had been adamant and still had them in a sealed document pouch. Webster had developed a fatalistic attitude as far as the orders were concerned. They were never going to contain good news but he felt that so long as the deal guaranteed the safe recovery of a lot of those pods then it had been worth it. He was just glad that Meyer would be deprived of the pleasure of seeing the look on his face when he opened the envelope.

  “I take it that everything’s been accounted for,” he said to the corporal. “No surprises?”

  “No, sir, no surprises. Checked ‘em all myself, sir. Can’t tell you exactly what they are but it all appears to be there.”

  “Looks like a lot of gear.”

  “That’s right, sir. Crates and crates of the stuff. Just as well we were able to off-load our pods, otherwise I’m not sure where we’d have put it all.”

  “Very well,” Webster scrolled through the list, authorising each one individually before signing off at the end. “Is that everything?”

  The corporal reclaimed his tablet. “Almost everything, sir. Sergeant Markham sends his regards and advises you that your guest is waiting in your cabin.”

  Webster turned towards Silva who just shrugged. “Guest?”

  “That’s right, sir. Sergeant didn’t know where else to put him. Don’t worry though, sir. We’ve put a guard on him, just in case.”

  Webster was growing more and more uncomfortable with each passing minute.

  “Thank you, corporal.”

  “Can I let the sergeant know that we can start unloading? Only he’s keen to get rid of that shuttle.”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Webster shooed him away, eager to get rid of him.

  The man scuttled off, his tablet tucked under his arm.

  “What the hell is going on!” he said, once the man was out of earshot.

  “Before I answer that, can you do me a favour: can you tell me what time Farnese authorised that shipment.”

  Webster had to take out his own tablet then to track down the information.

  “Just over three and a half hours ago,” he said. “Wait, that can’t be right. We only agreed to this a little over ninety minutes ago.”

  “Which suggests he knew the way this was going to go as soon as those Da’al ships started to appear.

  “He knew Meyer never had any intention of fulfilling his mission brief. Meyer was pretending to hold out knowing that the ticking clock would force our hand.”

  Webster wanted to complain but he had suspected as much. “But why authorise this consignment before the agreement was made, he could get into a lot of trouble for anticipating the orders a senior officer.”

  “Like I said, Farnese was on our side. He did it so that we wouldn’t have to wait around for the consignment to be delivered. He did us a favour.”

  “So why is it that I feel like I’ve been played?”

  The pair of them were moving quickly towards Webster’s cabin. The sooner they got under way then, the better.

  “And what’s this about a guest? I was expecting some kind of payload, but not this. Who in their right minds would want to go to Tigris at a time like this?”

  “You mean, other than ourselves?”

  Markham was waiting for them when they arrived. He’d also posted two Marines on guard duty.

  Webster pulled Markham to one side.

  “So, what have we got here?”

  “You tell me. Male, mid-thirties. No rank insignia on display though he clearly knows his way around a spaceship.”

  “Some kind of spook, then?”

  “Either that or Special Ops, though he were I’d have expected more of them. That’s why I put him in your cabin. Outside of the flight deck, it’s the only place with a decent lock.”

  “Okay. What about computer access?”

  It didn’t matter where they put him if he could access their systems he’d still pose a major threat.

  “It’s alright, I disabled them.”

  Webster indicated for Markham to open the door. Then the pair of them, with Silva bringing up the rear, stepped inside.

  The visitor was sitting at Webster’s desk looking calm and relaxed. He was contemplating his glass of whisky and only looked up when Webster cleared his throat.

  He got up and came around the table without saluting.

  “Commander Webster. A pleasure.”

  They shook hands.

  “Sergeant Markham and I have already met. So I have to assume that this is Lieutenant Silva.”

  Silva was the calmest of the three of them, both Webster and Markham were tense as though they expected to be attacked at any moment.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Webster said. “But I’m afraid you have us at an advantage.”

  “The name’s --- Nash, I’m attached to Special Weapons at the moment.”

  Some part of Naval Intelligence, then. The fact that he came equipped with no discernible rank suggested he out ranked all of them.

  “I helped myself to a glass of your whisky, commander, hope you don’t mind. I was expecting to be kept in here for a while longer.”

  “You’re quite welcome,” Webster said warily. “Only I thought I’d put that bottle back in the safe.”

  “Oh, you did. But I have a real knack for sniffing out the good stuff.”

  Webster had the distinct feeling that he was being out-maneuvred.

  “I haven’t had time to go over our orders. As you can see, we weren’t expecting any new personnel.”

  “Well, don’t let me stop you,” Nash indicated Webster’s document wallet.

  Webster took them over to his desk where he proceeded to read them.

  The three others stood in the middle of the room. Markham was still wearing his side arm. Webster wondered absently how effective that might be against someone like Nash.

  Silva said, “Can you just clear something up for me? The Renheim received their orders by drone I understand.”

  “Yes?” Nash drained his glass. “What of it?”

  “There was no mention of another ship, so where did you come from?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “You were on the drone?” Markham said.

  This amused Nash who declined to either confirm or deny Markham’s suspicions. Instead, he went and placed his glass back on Webster’s desk.

  Webster looked up from his orders. “I assume you’ve seen these?”

  Nash indicated that he had but then looked pointedly over at Silva and Markham.

  “Let me worry about operational security,” Webster snapped. “You think there’s anything in these reports? Anything worthwhile, I mean?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out.”

  Silva said, “Sir, would you like us to leave?”

  “No. I think we’ve all been kept in the dark for far too long. Mr Nash – if you wouldn’t mind.”

  Webster stepped out from behind his desk and, produced three mismatched chairs, beckoned for Silva and Markham to come and join them. For the first time since Webster had met him, Nash seemed unsure of himself.

  “I’m not used to public performances,” he said. “Gives me a dry throat.”

  He indicated the whisky bottle and Webster nodded his assent. Nash poured himself a generous glass and then spent a few moments uploading the memory stick included in Webster’s orders onto the cabin’s system.

  Webster gave Markham a disapproving stare.

  So he’d disabled the system, had he?

  Two satellite images of a planet’s surface appeared side by side on the screen. One showed a barren rockface while the other showed a sparsely vegetated vista with a narrow river running through it.

  “Notice anything?”

  “Those mountains in the background,” Silva said. “They look very similar.”

  “Very good,” Nash smiled. “Well spotted. They are the self-same range of mountains. Same landscape, only the picture on the right was taken a few months ago while the picture on the left was taken a hundred and seventeen years ago.”

  “That’s terraforming for you,” Markham said. “Slow but steady wins the race. I take it this is Tigris we’re looking at?”

  Nash turned to Webster. “Commander, I’m impressed. I can see why you wanted these two to stick around.”

  Nash took a sip of his drink, waiting for Webster to respond. When he didn’t, Nash went on.

  “Okay, so far so predictable. Obviously, there’s thousands of similar pictures but these are the ones that have generated most interest. The exploratory team were asked to chart all kinds of things mostly biological ones but there are some geological concerns as well.”

  Silva said, “Isn’t that what we’re good at: finding natural resources and then stripping them out?”

  “True. But let’s not forget, it’s that kind of asset stripping which helps keep the navy in new ships. But I digress. This most recent photograph varied enough from the original that when the people back home saw it, they were quick to send out an investigative team.”

  “Okay,” Webster said. “And what did they find?”

  Nash went around to the other side of the desk and started adjusting the controls.

  Meanwhile, on-screen, the image was going through a dizzying, jolting series of enlargements. The changes were so dis-orienting that when he’d finished they looked at one another in a daze.

  “So what exactly are we looking at?” Silva sounded irritated.

  Nash approached the screen. It was currently showing part of a mountain range. He tapped a section of the foothills, enlarging it further.

  They were looking at a long section of rock which had the appearance of having toppled over.

  “That’s it?” she said. “That’s what everyone’s so excited about?”

  “I take it that this thing is not in the original photo,” Webster said.

  “And you’d be right. At first, the analysts were convinced it was some kind of geological disturbance which is why they had the team go out and look at it.”

  Another image of the raised land mass flashed onto the screen only this time taken from ground level.

  Silva left her seat to get a better look. “And how long is this?”

  “Approximately nine hundred metres in length. Roughly sixty metres in height.”

  “You sure it’s not just some column of rock that just keeled over? It’d be a lot less obvious if it was standing straight up.”

  “Only that’s not the case,” Nash said. “Spectrometer readings make it clear that it’s made up of a lot of different metals. Some of which are completely unknown to us.”

  Ah, so that’s what this is all about , Webster mused. Some kind of precious metals. That put a different spin on things.

  “No chance it could just be a meteorite?” Markham asked.

  “Most meteorites contain very little in the way of metals,” Nash went on. “Some iron ore, perhaps some trace minerals. But these are sophisticated alloys were looking at here. Also, we can’t find any evidence that this thing crashed. There should be some signs of destruction if that had been the case – we’re only talking about a hundred years. Not enough time for those signs to have been erased by the elements. If it was a crash, then it was a very controlled one.”

  “Wait a second,” Webster got to his feet. “Is there a chance that this is why the Da’al are here?”

  “What do you mean?” Silva said.

  “Could this be one of their ships?”

  The others surveyed it critically. It didn’t look like any ship they’d ever seen but then, neither did the other ships in the Da’al fleet.

  “Supposing it got into difficulties,” Webster said. “They decided to land on the planet but then didn’t have the components to make repairs. Perhaps that’s why the Da’al are here.”

  “A little late if they were hoping to rescue anyone,” Markham said.

  “Perhaps it’s not the crew they’re interested in,” Silva said.

  “Why go to all this trouble to rescue a downed ship?” Markham said. “Doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Truth is, nobody knows,” Nash said. “But the powers that be are clearly interested enough to send someone out here to investigate. If there’s a chance they can harvest something from this then they’re only too keen to get involved.”

  “Retro-engineering more like,” Markham mused. “For all that we managed a 3-D analysis of the engines on that first Da’al ship, we needed the real thing. Study one of their engines up close - could be a game-changer.”

  “Only that’s not it, is it Mr Nash?” Silva went over and took his whisky glass off him. “You’re not interested in the engines, are you? What branch was it again that you say you worked for?”

  Nash stood his ground, staring at Silva.

  “Advanced Weapons, ma’am.”

  “You’re hoping to get your hands on some kind of alien super weapon, aren’t you, Mr Nash?”

  “That’s only part of my brief, lieutenant.”

  “And the other part?”

  Webster stood behind her, his eyes fixed on Nash. “Some of those crates we took delivery of earlier might just give us a clue. There’s an awful lot of explosives on that list.”

  “Please, give me a little credit,” Nash said. “You don’t need crates full of explosives to destroy something like this. One decent sized nuke should just about do it.”

  Webster said, “So, your job is to get down on the planet and see what can be reclaimed. But then, failing that…”

  “We have to ensure that the Da’al don’t get their hands on it. If they have gone to all this trouble to track it down, it must be important to them. Better neither of us have it than they do.”

  “And we have a four-hour window of opportunity to get all this done,” Silva said incredulously.