“Yes!” Nash exclaimed. “But that’s only the half of it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Morton had to force herself to slow down and take her time. The soldiers guarding them had quickly become used to the daily routine of the camp, so they knew the precise route she was supposed to take every morning as she conducted her rounds.

  To depart from this routine in any significant manner was a guaranteed way of drawing unwanted attention, so she had to resign herself to going through the exact same process as she’d followed on previous occasions.

  This was particularly vexing now as she was aware that their time was limited. The temptation to go straight over to Hermendal and start asking him questions had been enormous but she’d wisely decided to bide her time and was close to her goal.

  All she had to do was to complete the dressing on the young man’s arm – he’d burnt himself when he’d tripped carrying a pan of boiling water and was lucky to have escaped more serious injury.

  “It’s alright, doctor,” the nurse said. “I can finish this.”

  Of course you can , Morton realised. What was I thinking ?

  Hermendal was next on the list and dutifully pulled up the edge of his sari. He never wore trousers, not that the Yakutians appeared particularly concerned – they no doubt put it down to some personal religious observance rather than Hermandal’s eccentric behaviour.

  “It’s my leg,” he said, a little too loudly.

  Hermandal did indeed have a minor skin irritation. Normally, Morton would have given the patient a tube of ointment and sent him on their way. Not so with Hermandal.

  “Oh, yes, that looks quite serious,” she said, opening her bag. “We don’t want that to get infected now, do we?”

  She fussed over him, producing yards of bandages which she started wrapping around his thigh. This time when the nurse offered to help, Morton sent her to attend to the next patient.

  “How did your meeting with Sunderam go?” he whispered. They were still mindful of the threat posed by listening devices.

  “You know about that?”

  “They sent the Scarpa to collect you. Only Mahbarat and Sunderam have that kind of clout and I very much doubt Mahbarat even knows that you’re here.”

  “He’s got enough to worry about.”

  Hermandal ignored the comment and went on. “Did he question you?”

  “Of course he did. He knew I’d been out the previous night.”

  “I see. Did he mention me at all?”

  “No, and neither did I,” Morton began to wind the bandage a little too tightly to be comfortable.

  “Did he say anything about having part of the Mantis’ bridge on-board?”

  “You knew?”

  “No, I had to work that one out for myself. It was the serial numbers: there must have been something there that you recognised.”

  “The first five figures of the Mantis’ ID code. They appear on all the ship’s formal communications. I must have seen that number a thousand times.”

  “What about the bodies? What’s he done with them?”

  Morton looked nonchalantly about her. “Nothing. They’re not dead. I’ve seen the x-rays. There’s four of them. They’ve been flash frozen but they’re in a bad way.”

  The pair of them exchanged anxious glances.

  “Let me guess,” Hermandal said. “He wants your help thawing him out.”

  “Yes, he does,” Morton tied the bandage off firmly. “Do you know everything?”

  “Why else would he go to all this trouble? Faulkner’s no good to him in a freezer. Sunderam needs your help because of your medical background. He figures that if everything goes wrong and Faulkner dies, he can blame you.”

  Stupid, Morton reflected. She hadn’t thought of it like that.

  “Not that this makes a blind bit of difference with the Da’al on their way,” she said. “I take it that you’ve seen their ships by now?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, sulkily.

  Morton was confused and frustrated. “Why ever not?”

  Hermandal lifted his chin, turning his head away. “You know exactly why. The way they see it, I’m just another part of their property like a holdall or a pair of gloves. They’ll want to reclaim me and when they do they’ll give me a truth balm.”

  “What’s one of those?”

  “It’s a muscle relaxant. They use it as part of their religious ceremonies. It helps you to achieve a state of emotional well-being where problems can be shared in a non-judgemental state. All they’ll have to do is ask me what I’ve been up to while I’ve been away. No detail will be spared.”

  “But they can’t make you talk can they?”

  “It’ll be obvious if I try to resist.”

  At that point, one of the guards came over and stood directly behind Hermendal’s cot, frightening the life out of her. He didn’t do anything, it was his way of letting her know she’d spent too long with this particular patient.

  And yet there were still so many questions she needed answers to.

  She reached into her bag and took out a pack of vitamins.

  As she leaned in to give it to him she whispered under her breath, “You’ve seen something, haven’t you?”

  But Hermendal ignored her, too busy straightening his sari.

  Morton climbed to her feet, hefted her bag over her shoulder before moving on to her next patient.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Webster had to admit that the Marines had done a good job of stowing the crates away. With the escape pods gone it was surprising how much room they had spare. He hadn’t realised just how much space they’d been taking up. He’d liked to have thought that Meyer would now be scratching his head over where he was going to store them when, in reality, he knew that it would be Farnese who’d be dealing with it.

  Webster was happy to get clear of the flight deck where Silva was in the process of making a series of course adjustments. In order to get the most from the fuel they were carrying, she had decided to implement a series of slow burns to get them up to maximum speed. Webster didn’t understand the details other than that it required a lot of complicated calculations and he had been glad to leave her to it.

  Markham was working with Private First-Class Berardi and Corporal Felix opening some of the crates. The two troopers were the ideal pairing for the job. Felix, skinny and agile, could get into most things while the solidly built Berardi never seemed to tire of breaking open crates.

  Once the packaging had been removed, there was a certain amount of assembly involved and Felix, who had trained as a mechanic before joining the navy, had proved himself to be more than adept at working with them. With Webster helping out at one point, it had taken them less than two hours to get the whole thing assembled.

  “Well, sir?” Markham said wiping the sweat away. “What do you think?”

  Webster had to step back to get a proper look.

  The suit was black and menacing, even without its armaments. Standing three metres tall, it towered over the four men. There were elements of it which looked like parts of a tank and others which looked like they belonged on an aircraft. Whatever it was, it exuded pure, unadulterated malevolence.

  “How much do these things cost?” he asked.

  “More than I’ll ever make,” Markham observed. “I can think of a few Armoured Divisions who would kill to get their hands on one of these things.”

  “I’m sure. And how many have we got?”

  “Well, we’ve got twenty-eight crates of this. If they’re all like this one, we’re looking at fourteen suits in total.”

  “Seriously? What are we supposed to do with them once they’re built?”

  Markham looked around the storage facility. “If we had a little more room we could have done some basic training but, as it is…”

  Webster was on the verge of telling them to disassemble it and put it back in the box. There was no use getting it out if they couldn’t use it no matter how bright and shiny it might look, but the Marines seemed to have other ideas. Markham had hardly been able to control his excitement as the last sections had been fitted and Felix and Berardi both seemed equally excited.

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” Felix approached him with a small case. “But these things come with their own VR trainer. Let’s you learn the basics before you kill anyone.”

  Webster opened and the case and marvelled at the quality of the VR headgear inside. It had all the appearance of a very expensive Christmas gift.

  “I don’t know, sergeant. What do you think?”

  “The navy wouldn’t have given us these things if they didn’t want us to use them, sir. But I take your point about the suits themselves. Reckon they could do some serious damage if things got out of hand.”

  Felix looked crestfallen at that.

  But he persevered, “What about we give the VR stuff a whirl, though, sir? You never know, we might find one or two of us who take to it straightaway. Even if it doesn’t work, it’ll give the troopers something to do. It’s not like there’s an awful lot to do until we get to Tigris, anyway.”

  Webster wasn’t sure that Markham would agree, but he could see the yearning in Felix’s face.

  “Okay, but we need someone to run through the training apps first, make sure there’s no niggles in the system. Felix, you up for that?”

  Felix looked like he’d swallowed his tongue.

  “Sir, yes, sir,” he spluttered. “I won’t let you down.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  They had come for her at night.

  There were three of them this time. Two Scarpa guards and a translator she didn’t recognise.

  He told her that there was a problem with the shipment of medical supplies she’d ordered. She thought at first that they might simply have lost her original order – it couldn’t have been their highest priority. But when the translator insisted that she personally accompany him to the pharmacy, she started to become more concerned.

  Those concerns only increased when they insisted that she not speak to anyone about where they were going.

  Her first thought had been that they were going to execute her but then she questioned why it was they’d go to the trouble of sending along a translator? Or was that just to keep her from panicking - to ensure that she went quietly?

  They passed very few people on the way to the pharmacy, a small smattering of crew. It was noticeable that not a single one of them was female. She found herself wondering what it was they did with their women folk. They couldn’t all be at home minding their children, could they? If that were the case, Morton reasoned, then the Yakutians were missing out on a whole separate skill set.

  Details like that might prove significant if they were to go up against the Da’al.

  The pharmacy was so brightly lit that it would have been hard not to notice it. It stood out because all the other lights had been dimmed to a night-time operating level. But then, illness didn’t stick to normal office hours and if you’re sick you’re sick. The dispensing area was deserted as she was led through and out into the main storage area. They stuck to the side entrances in order to avoid the dispensing robots which swished back and forth at dizzying speed. They were designed to stop completely if they detected someone in the area but the Scarpa clearly didn’t want to take the risk.

  They took her up a set of steps to an office. Situated on the second floor, it had a good view of the entire pharmacy. The two Scarpa took up position either side of the door.

  “He’s inside,” the translator said.

  The door opened automatically and they went in. The room was largely empty other than a collection of display boards, a broad central desk and some chairs.

  Seated at the head of the desk was Sunderam, looking very out of place in his blue and red uniform. He stood up as she entered and indicated for her to take a seat.

  She did so with great relief. Her legs had begun shaking as they’d climbed the stairs and she felt that if she didn’t sit down she might very well fall down.

  “Commander Sunderam,” she braced herself on the edge of the desk. “This isn’t like you. Why all the subterfuge?”

  “I’m sorry?” he didn’t seem to understand. “Subterfuge?”

  “All this secrecy. Dragging me out of my bed in order to bring me here, for a secret meeting.”

  “I have my reasons, which we’ll come to in a moment.”

  “Can I take it, for the moment, that you’re not going to execute me?”

  “Execute you?” he looked angry at the suggestion. “Whatever for?”

  “Because I refused to co-operate with your plans. I thought that’s what Yakutians did to people who disobeyed them.”

  “If that were true then we’d have no one left to govern. No, I’ve brought you here because I need your help.”

  Morton leaned forward in her chair. “I like the sound of that. Go on, I’m all ears.”

  If this was about Faulkner, as she expected, then she wanted to hear it.

  “As I communicated to you previously, Captain Mahbarat is very keen to resuscitate Captain Faulkner along with the rest of his deck crew.”

  “But as I pointed out at the time – your people don’t have the appropriate cryogenic technology. It’s not something you’ve invested in. You can hardly expect to become experts over-night.”

  “Sadly, everything you say is true – as we have learned to our cost.”

  Morton gasped as though pierced through the heart.

  “What are you talking about? You haven’t gone ahead with it have you?”

  “When the captain sets his mind on something we will do everything in our power to help him realise his goal, though in this case I am starting to suspect that this is an impossible task. One which has had me earmarked for failure right from the start.”

  “Really?” Morton was intrigued, the Yakutians worked hard to project a sense of total unity. Dissension was rarely tolerated in their society. “But why would he do that? You are the commander, after all.”

  Sunderam fixed her with a grave stare.

  “The captain and I are from different houses,” he said, as though that would explain everything. “Traditionally, that wouldn’t pose a problem but Captain Mahbarat has a different approach. He sees the war with the Confederation as a way of strengthening his house. He has a nephew on-board who he has been grooming for high office. With him as his acting second-in-command, Mahbarat would have a lot more freedom in his actions.”

  Morton sat back dumbly, taking this all in. She had heard about the friction between the various houses but to get this kind of insight was fascinating.

  “I see,” she said after a while. “But why are you telling me all this?”

  Sunderam raised his hands despondently, as if he wasn’t sure himself. “I’m just trying to be honest with you. You could use this information to undermine my authority if you so wished.”

  “Be assured, I have no intention of doing anything of the sort. But what has prompted this sudden burst of honesty? What do you hope to gain?”

  “A similar dose of honesty from yourself,” he lifted his head so that he was looking straight at her. “I had the opportunity of reviewing your file earlier.”

  Morton struggled to hide her surprise. “Oh, yes. Anything interesting?”

  “You lied to me when we last spoke. You said that you had no experience in flash freeze resuscitation.”

  What to tell him? There was no way of knowing how much he already knew.

  “That was a long time ago. I was the assistant to the thoracic surgeon. Things have changed a lot since then - the systems are much more sophisticated now.”

  “Nonetheless, you had success.”

  Morton laughed bitterly. “Of the seven crew we managed to revive we were only able to stabilise three of them. Of those, two didn’t last the night.”

  “But the third?”

  She still shivered at the thought of the third. She had known the man vaguely before the incident – she only wished she hadn’t.

  “He survived but the resultant brain injury was significant. Last I heard, he was living in a veteran’s hospital somewhere.”

  “Still, you must have learned a great deal about the actual process.”

  “That aside, you said that Mahbarat is set on pushing this thing through, even though you have no real experience in the field. Is that true?”

  “Yes. Although, the process has already begun.”

  Morton’s breath had become laboured. She was having difficulty formulating her words. “What’s happened? Please, tell me.”

  “A team of surgeons began work three days ago. Initially, the results were good, the patient seemed very responsive but as he moved past freezing point, things started to go wrong. Major organs, once activated, very quickly started to shut down, first his kidneys, then his liver. Yesterday, we took a gamble – I took a gamble. We attempted a full blood transfusion. For some reason that we have still yet to determine, this led to massive and catastrophic internal bleeding. The robo-surgeons did their best to repair the bleeds but there was just too many of them and despite their best efforts the patient suffered a massive cardiac arrest and they were unable to save him.”

  “He’s dead? Faulkner’s dead?”

  Sunderam closed his eyes in order to compose himself.

  “Not Faulkner, no. From what we’ve been able to determine, we think this might have been the helmsman.”

  “God, that’s terrible. And what did Captain Mahbarat have to say about it?”

  “Strangely, he considered the procedure to have been a success. We’d managed to get the heart working and he had regained consciousness, albeit fleetingly. The captain was extremely pleased with what we’ve achieved and has urged us to press on.”

  Morton pushed her chair back and got to her feet. “But this is insane. These men are prisoners of war, you can’t just go around experimenting on them like this.”

  “The captain sees things differently. We are providing them with medical assistance.”

  “But you need specialist facilities for work like this – it’s ridiculous,” she moved around until she was standing a few metres from the Yakutian. “The Confederation has specialist neurosurgeons for work like this and, even for them, the results can be hit and miss. You have to put a stop to this right now, commander, before someone else is killed.”