In exchange for holding the meeting on the Renheim, Meyer wanted to have a hand in the planning stages and expected to be able to veto any suggestion made by the others while all the time refusing to commit either himself or his crew. Ardent had hoped that by involving him in the negotiations he would eventually agree to take some part in the rescue mission, no matter how small, but that agreement still seemed some way off.

  “Perhaps we all need a break,” Farnese said.

  “I’d love to,” Jacobs said. “But I’m not sure that we have that luxury. I told the other captains I’d get back to them by zero six hundred, either way.”

  Ardent got up from her chair and went to get another pot of coffee.

  “No way we can push them back a little on that?” Ardent asked. They were all tired but a fresh cup of coffee might well help them push through.

  “’Fraid not Madam Governor,” Jacobs said, pushing himself back from the table and stifling a yawn. “When I last spoke to them they were starting to get rambunctious. My worry is that if I go back to them now without a deal then that’ll be the end of it.”

  Ardent moved around the table with the coffee starting with Meyer who had remained in his place at the head of the table throughout. Aware of how sensitive he could be, she couldn’t risk him taking offence if she failed to serve him first.

  She needn’t have bothered. Meyer covered his cup with his hand as though the pot was loaded with whisky and she was trying to get him drunk.

  Instead, she went over to Jacobs who was only too keen to get a refill.

  Meyer said, “Perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. I mean, if the commercial vessels decided not to go ahead with this.”

  “Oh, I didn’t say that” Jacobs said. “They’re going ahead with this, no matter what. Before I came over here, I had to have a word with Scotty Johnson. He wanted to go out there and sail straight into one of those things. The loss of The Merry Widow hit some of us harder than most. Scotty was great pals with Pat Lambert, the captain. Not everyone got along with Pat - he had a reputation for being quite forthright with his opinions - but he had a lot of respect within the community. You take down one of us, you’d better be prepared to take on the rest.”

  “But that’s absurd, Mr Jacobs. These are commercial vessels we’re talking about, they’re not military craft. What sort of threat are they going to pose to these Da’al ships? Most of them aren’t even armed.”

  Jacobs visibly stiffened at this rebuke.

  “I don’t think we can say that they aren’t armed, sir,” Farnese said, eager to avoid further conflict. He quickly punched up the stats on the ships’ various armaments. “They do have some weaponry at their disposal.”

  “I understand that” Meyer said sensing that he was losing the argument. “I have no intention of offending either yourself, Mr Jacobs, or the people you represent – they’re all brave men and women - but what we have here are a number of defensive lasers, a few masers and the odd fusion canon. These weapons are all intended for close quarters combat. Admittedly, you have a number of rail guns but their accuracy is questionable at best. They’re not going to be able deter anyone for very long.”

  When Ardent came around to fill Farnese’s cup he momentarily lifted his eyebrows and then darted his eyes in Meyer’s direction. He was suggesting that Meyer was the problem when really she felt Farnese was equally to blame. So long as he kept propping up his captain, Meyer was going to carry on doing what he did best: dodging his responsibilities.

  Her feelings for Farnese had cooled of late precisely because of the impasse they’d arrived at. If Farnese really did think that she was doing the right thing then he needed to start supporting her, but that didn’t seem to be happening.

  “And that’s the point I’m making,” Jacobs continued. “We need to think ahead. If we rely on simple brute force then this thing will be over before it’s begun.”

  “Which is the point I’ve been trying to make for the last hour,” Meyer said.

  Ardent slammed the coffee pot down on the table and that seemed to get everyone’s attention.

  “Gentlemen, we need to listen to one another. Let me reiterate the proposal that was put in front of us at the start of this meeting, namely, that we work together to organise a mercy dash for the people stuck on Laax. Get as many of them out as we can.”

  “I can’t see how we’re supposed to agree on this if we can’t even agree which ships are going to be involved in the convoy?” Meyer said.

  “That’s not what the lady’s saying,” Jacobs said. “It doesn’t really matter which ships are involved. That’s just spit and sawdust. Of course, it could make all the difference in the end but that’s not our concern now.”

  Ardent said, “The question is: can we agree to work together, civilian and military, to put such a plan in place?”

  That was the big question.

  “I’m sure we can,” Meyer conceded. “My only question is what purpose does it serve if we haven’t got the fire power to back it up? You’ll just be lining up your ships and waiting for the Da’al to take pot shots at you. It makes no sense.”

  “And again, Captain Meyer, you’re not listening to what I’m saying. What we got here is a situation like what happened to my daddy with that dog of his. Jake was his name. Jake was the runt of the litter so he wasn’t much to look at and when my daddy took him on, folks kinda figured he’d gone soft. But that dog had the meanest bark you ever heard on a dog. Now we had a big old yard at the time with all kinds of junk in there and every once in a while these folks would climb the wall looking to help themselves. That was until he stuck old Jake in there. That dog sure did make one hell of a racket.”

  “And you’re suggesting that something similar might happen here?” Meyer’s smugness seemed ingrained. “You really think that these ships are going to deter a fleet of this size? We don’t even know what their ships are capable of, yet.”

  “And that’s kind of my point,” Jacobs said. “We have no idea what they’re capable of but the same holds true in reverse. Same way we’ve never seen anything like them before, they’ve seen anything like us. Just like those yard rats and that there dog. It’s not a matter of what the dog is capable of – it’s what they think he’s capable of.”

  “And whether we look the part,” Ardent went on. “If we approach them like we mean it, operate with a certain degree of military discipline, perhaps that might be enough to convince the Da’al to back off long enough for us to get those people clear.”

  “But what happens if you’re wrong?” Meyer wanted to know. “What happens if they decide to engage? What happens to those ships then, not to mention their crews?”

  “You let me worry about that, captain,” Jacobs said. “These people know the risks. They want to make a difference. You can deputise them or whatever you like but they will follow orders, you have my word on that.”

  Artfully done, Ardent thought. But, in order to follow orders there had to be someone in charge.

  “The plan is simple enough,” Ardent said. “We organise a convoy, we get in, we get out again.”

  “Though the make-up of that convoy is still to be agreed on,” Meyer said.

  “That is true. But if you’ll agree to lead it then the Renheim could be our flag ship.”

  “Which would make you their commanding officer,” Farnese said, shamelessly playing to Meyer’s ego.

  Seeing the effect that this was having on him, Ardent decided to push her luck even further.

  “And, as such, you would be the one who would determine the exact timings for the operation.”

  Jacobs looked as though he was about to object but Ardent raised a hand to silence him.

  “Just so long as that’s alright with you, Mr Jacobs.”

  Jacobs, his hands braced on the arms of his chair, looked from Ardent to Farnese.

  Without his blessing, nothing was going anywhere.

  “Yes, well, I suppose that might be acceptable,” Jacobs eased himself back in his chair. “So long as Captain Meyer here agrees to lead the convoy. Yes, we could live with that.”

  All eyes turned to Meyer. He was hardly the most inspiring of leaders but, still, he was a Confederation officer. He must, at the very least, be competent.

  Meyer’s nostrils twitched once, then twice.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Governor. Mr Jacobs. While I appreciate the faith you have in me, I’m afraid that I will have to decline. It would be remiss of me to condone such an action when I am unable to entertain any likelihood of a favourable outcome. I’m sorry, but my final answer must be, ‘No’.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  They left Camp Colditz before it was light with Webster and Nash travelling with the scientists while Markham and the rest of the Marines brought up the rear. The scientists were more than a little nervous around their uninvited visitors and Webster, not wanting to exacerbate the situation, had decided it would be best if they split up. He would stay in touch with Markham via regular radio contact.

  Eldridge Dabiri, the chief archaeologist, dressed in a bright orange survival suit, led them in a wide arc around the base of a mountain. They had been marching for two days as what had looked like a short hike on the map had turned out to be fifty kilometres over rough terrain. Dabiri followed a line around a huge crater which transpired to be all that remained of a previous volcanic eruption.

  Webster could have done with a little bit of volcanic lava now as a way of warming himself – he’d not felt properly warm since the day they’d landed. No matter how effective their cold weather gear might be, there was no getting away from the planet’s biting cold and the thought of spending another night out on the frozen tundra was not doing anything to improve his disposition. He hadn’t joined the navy so he could freeze his ass off.

  It was only after they had been following this particular path for half an hour that Webster chanced to look up and see that they were now entering a vast frozen valley.

  He turned to Kekkonen, “Much further?”

  “Don’t worry, we’re nearly there,” he pointed at the far end of the valley. “That’s it just over there.”

  Webster didn’t know whether to believe him or not. The area he was indicating was totally flat and fringed with trees on three sides. In the distance was an impressive series of mountain peaks which suggested that this was the only way in.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  Kekkonen came and stood right next to him. He pointed so that Webster could sight along his arm.

  “See where that tree line starts? Just pull back from there.”

  Webster did as he was told but everything he saw seemed to be obscured by snow and ice.

  Then he saw it. A long, thin cylinder shape lying forlornly on its side.

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  By now everyone in their small party had come to a halt. Nash took out a sleek set of field glasses to survey the wreck. Once he was satisfied, he passed them to Webster.

  “Doesn’t look like much of a ship to me,” he said.

  Nash said, “Reminds me of one of those old Viking burial mounds.”

  “Viking burrows!” Kekkonen was suddenly animated. “That’s where they used to store their treasure. So, really, not that different from what we have here.”

  Nash looked up at him. “So what I’d like to know is: how come you guys have been sitting on this for the last year.”

  “Heay! Wait a minute,” Dabiri held up his hand. “We’ve not been sitting on anything. We notified the appropriate authorities as soon as it came to our attention.”

  Either Nash didn’t pick up on the warning tone in Dabiri’s voice or simply chose to ignore it.

  “I don’t think that’s strictly true. You see, I’ve seen all the documentation on this thing.”

  This caused some consternation among the scientists. As they were under the impression that all their work was highly classified.

  Dabiri turned to Webster.

  “Is this guy for real?”

  “To be honest, I’ve been asking myself that self-same question since the day I met him. But if you’re asking whether he’s seen all your reports then I’d say, yes, he probably has.”

  Nash didn’t say anything.

  “Guy’s a spook,” Kate Marsh said. “It’s obvious. The thing I want to know is: what’s he really doing here?”

  “Trying to find out why you kept this thing hidden for so long.”

  “We reported it as soon as we realised what it was,” Kekkonen said again.

  “You sent a drone to the De-commissioned Vessels Department – a civilian database. And for twelve months, all trace of it effectively disappeared.”

  Kekkonen went bright red in spite of the cold.

  “We didn’t know where else to send it. You keep forgetting we aren’t military personnel.”

  “You may not be,” Nash suddenly turned on Dabiri. “But he is.”

  Dabiri came over then, his arms flaring out from his sides. “And what if I am?”

  Nash stood his ground as Dabiri towered over him. “I’m guessing Airborne Infantry. Something like that.”

  “I was a Ranger.”

  “Well you know what they say: once a Ranger, always a Ranger. What happened? They kick you out?”

  Kekkonen quickly got between the pair of them.

  “Okay, guys. We’re all tired. We’re camping here for the night. No discussions.”

  “Are you serious?” Webster asked. “We’re up against the clock here - we need to go see that thing right now.”

  “We’re camping here for the night,” Kekkonen reiterated. “You need to get your bearings. I know it looks close but that thing’s a good half day’s march away and we’re losing the light.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Once she’d stabilised Hermendal, Morton gave him a shot which would keep him sedated for the next eight hours. Then she indicated for the guards to let her out. She was desperately tired and would need a good night’s sleep if she was going to be able to keep up the pace she was currently working at. Hermendal had the only bed and she was damned if she was going to spend the night sleeping on the floor. The guards would monitor his condition throughout the night and if his condition deteriorated they could always bring her back.

  But instead of taking her back to the cargo bay they took her somewhere else instead. Somewhere that had its own set of cells. They weren’t as hi-end as the one they were keeping Hermendal in – she suspected that these were most often used to house crew members suspected of minor infractions - but they seemed solid enough.

  The door of her cell had a small grill with a shutter set into it which could be slid open to receive food. For some reason they’d left hers open. They obviously didn’t perceive her as a significant threat.

  She wasn’t sure how long they kept her there because she slept for most of it. When she woke up there was a tray of food waiting for her. The food was cold but satisfying enough. As she ate, she took the time to contemplate her options. She briefly considered the possibility of escaping. She was keen to get back to the medical facility where they were holding Faulkner. After everything that Hermandal had said she was anxious to see him again. With Sunderam either dead or a prisoner himself, she was concerned that the programme would be suspended and she didn’t want to think what that would mean for Faulkner.

  In the end she decided to stay where she was. She needed more information before she did anything foolish.

  Her theory about the cells being used to house low priority prisoners seemed largely accurate. By the sound of it, there were a couple of drunks further along although she couldn’t see them. She couldn’t help wondering about where they might be keeping Sunderam and the other members of the House of Attrition, if indeed they were still alive. No doubt they were being held at a more secure location.

  For some reason, she found their situation more troubling than what was happening to Faulkner. After all that had happened, Mahbarat couldn’t have them moving freely about the ship and he was going to have to think carefully how he was going to frame all this. If Hermendal was to be believed, it sounded as if Mahbarat would be within his rights to label this as some kind of failed mutiny and to deal with those involved accordingly.

  It was a depressing thought but she could see Mahbarat getting away with that. Ship’s captains were invariably given the benefit of the doubt on such matters – just so long as the mutiny was defeated and the chain-of-command maintained. The Yakutian’s were known to prize firm leadership over almost anything else.

  And if that was the case, where did that leave Hermendal.

  “Oh God,” Morton rubbed at her face. “What have I got myself into now?”

  “Hello,” a voice sounded. “You speak English?”

  When a face failed to appear at her door, she let out a weary sigh. Just another prisoner, then.

  “That’s right. I speak English.”

  “Doctor Morton is that you?”

  She suddenly perked up.

  “That’s right. Who are you?”

  “I was one of the trainees from the cardiology department. You probably don’t remember me. My name’s Bayas.”

  “That sounds familiar,” she said, desperately trying to fit a face to it.

  “What are you doing down here?”

  Bayas groaned. “Isn’t it obvious? As soon as they suspended the programme we all went out and got drunk.”

  Morton was suddenly interested.

  “Who was it suspended the programme?”

  “Don’t know. They don’t tell us anything. Rumour is that the captain had something to do with it.”

  She approached the shutter. The voice was coming from one of the cells over on her right.

  “What? Just like that, they stopped everything? What about the patients?”

  “Nobody knows, not that they care much either way. The consultants didn’t seem to mind. But then they’ve been against it from the beginning. Different for us, though. For us it was a chance of working with the best. Perhaps even getting taken on by one of their surgical teams. Not going to happen now, though.”