Meyer’s discomfort was palpable. “Obviously, we considered it…”

  “But didn’t choose to act upon it,” Winterson turned instead to Farnese. “Commander, what’s your take on all of this? How would you class these civilian captains if you were part of the Da’al fleet?”

  Farnese stiffened. “Well, sir, as adversaries, I expect.”

  “And why’s that?” Winterson asked.

  Farnese stared straight ahead, anxious not to catch Meyer’s eye.

  “Because they would be preventing me from achieving my objective, sir. They present a kind of hybrid threat. Their motivation might be different from that of my enemy, it may be quite ambiguous, in fact. But the effect would be the same: I would be unable to achieve my short-term goals.”

  “Exactly,” Winterson turned his attention back to Meyer. “But you chose not to support this initiative, captain.”

  It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

  “We rather had our hands full with our Search and Rescue commitments.”

  Admiral Winterson had heard enough.

  “How many pods do you currently have on board?”

  Meyer didn’t know. Despite himself, he flashed a look at Farnese.

  “Currently, we have twenty-one pods on-board, sir,” Farnese said.

  “As many as that?” Winterson said. “Very well, I want them transferred over to Blackthorn Station immediately.”

  Meyer gave a thin smile. “We have avoided using Blackthorn in the past, sir, as we believe that their security systems have been compromised.”

  “Nonetheless. I’d like it done.”

  There was a finality to this which Meyer saw fit not to question.

  “Commander Farnese will see to it,” he said.

  “I’m sure he will. In the meantime, captain, you should be making preparations to move out within the next six hours,” a surge of excitement swept through the bridge. “Now, I believe that you have a VIP on-board.”

  Meyer looked blank. Then said, “I take it that you’re referring to Governor Ardent.”

  “Just so.”

  Meyer moved to one side to allow Ardent to step forward.

  Winterson got straight to the point.

  “Governor, I understand you’ve had a tough time of it lately. It might be a good idea if you were to sit this one out.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you, admiral, but the miners on Laxx are just as important to me as the people back on Iscaria. If you don’t mind, I would like to stick with the Renheim. If Captain Meyer will have me, of course?”

  Meyer dipped his head like the petty bureaucrat he was. He knew that, as Governor of the whole system, they relied upon Ardent’s continued goodwill. Without it, they wouldn’t get very far.

  It seemed that Winterson knew that too.

  “Governor, I have to remind you that this is a military operation. I can’t guarantee your safety if you choose to stay aboard. Once the Renheim is underway there can be no turning back.”

  “Again, I thank you for your concern but I intend to stay.”

  Winterson knew when he was beaten. “It’d be a pleasure to have you along, ma’am. Captain Meyer, be advised that you and your ship are now under my direct command. My office is transmitting your orders as we speak.”

  “Might I ask what they are?” he asked primly. “It would save me from having to brief my senior team separately.”

  Ardent realised that all eyes were now on her. “I’m sorry, I should leave?”

  “Not on my account, ma’am,” Winterson said. “Our orders are to proceed to a point roughly two million miles counter spinward of Laxx, just short of Ares, their big gas giant. There we will set up a forward operating centre where we might set up our own exclusion zone in an attempt to block the Da’al from entering Confederation space.”

  Ardent said, “That’s quite a bold plan, admiral.”

  “We need to establish some boundaries. The Admiralty are still of the mind that this conflict might well be resolved peacefully that the various attacks committed so far may be down to cultural issues, or a lack of clarity on our part. We have no clear sense of how this new species goes about their business. For all we know, they may well think that they were defending their own territory. And considering the difficulty mankind has communicating with fellow mammals on our own planet, there might well be something in it.”

  This was met with a stunned silence from the bridge. Considering what the crew knew about the threat posed by the Da’al, Ardent couldn’t work out why no one had said anything. Then she realised that they couldn’t. They were all constrained by the chain of command.

  All except her. She punched up images of the Da’al ships onto the main view screen.

  “Admiral, can I ask: do you really think that all this can be settled peacefully?”

  “With respect Madam Governor, it doesn’t matter a damn what I think. What I know is that this is how the Admiralty wants this to go. We will attempt to set up our forward operating centre and hope that we can persuade the Da’al to respect it.”

  “And if they refuse?”

  “Well, that’s when we all start earning our paycheck.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  As they made their way back to their entry point, Nash caught up with Webster and pulled him to one side.

  “You realise what we’ve got here?” he asked.

  “To be honest, I’m still taking it all in.”

  “This is the find of the century, commander. We manage to get this back home, we’ll be set for life.”

  “You’re talking about salvage rights? But surely, that’ll go to Kekkonen and his team. They were the ones who found it, after all.”

  “Yes, of course,” Nash demurred. “But that’s only half the battle. All the technology in the world is no good if you can’t find a way of getting it home.”

  “And what are you suggesting? That we fire the old girl up? Take her for a spin?”

  “Tempting though that sounds, I think we’re going to be needing some specialist lifting gear.”

  “Seriously? You plan on hauling this lot out of here? Is that even possible?”

  “That’s for the engineers to decide but I’m sure they’ll think of something, even if they have to strip her out section by section.”

  While Webster didn’t doubt that such a thing were possible, he also had a pretty good idea how long that might take. They were looking at a five-year operation, if not longer.

  “And what do you think the Da’al are going to be doing all this time? Cheering us on from the cheap seats?”

  Nash’s mouth twisted into a sour downturn.

  “I didn’t say it would be easy but the Da’al can be beaten. You proved that yourself when you took out that ship of theirs.”

  “We got lucky with that one. They were slow to catch on to our weapons systems and we took advantage of that but that probably won’t happen again. They learn from their mistakes plus, when they come into conflict with others, they are absolutely ruthless.”

  “Oh, I think mankind can be pretty ruthless as well, when the need arises.”

  As they carried on walking, Webster wrestled with a growing sense of unease and was relieved when he finally caught sight of the cut-away section they’d entered through. But as he drew closer, he saw that someone was waiting for them.

  The young Marine didn’t waste any time and came straight over and saluted. He was an intense figure with badly pockmarked skin.

  “Private First-Class Dylan, sir.”

  “At ease. What’s the problem PFC? Can’t it wait ‘til we get outside?”

  “Sergeant Markham wanted you to be the first to know, sir.”

  That sounded ominous.

  “Know what?”

  “Outside, sir. We’ve got company.”

  *

  The Da’al had landed three shuttles at the other end of the lake. They’d brought ground troops with them although so far, no one was sure about their numbers. Markham had sent a scouting party out to try and gather some intel and they’d had to wait until the party returned before they could decide their next move.

  “Ugly little bastards, aren’t they?” Nash said as he lowered his binoculars.

  “They’re probably thinking the same about you.”

  “How many do you think we’re looking at?”

  “Enough,” Markham said, cutting him off.

  “Any idea how we should play this?” Webster said.

  “Set up defensive positions high up on both banks of the lake, stop ‘em from sneaking round the back. That way we also get to keep our lines of fire clean.”

  No one stated the obvious. That the Da’al, by landing where they had, had failed to win themselves any kind of strategic advantage. It seemed unfeasible that they’d even consider attacking from over there – which suggested that they had some other trick up their sleeve.

  “What happens if they decide to come in from the rear?” Nash asked. “What’s stopping them coming in through those foothills?”

  “I’ve got a couple of spotters out back,” Markham said. “Anything happens back there, they’ll be sure to let us know. No, my concern is if they use those shuttles of theirs for a frontal assault.”

  Webster surveyed the two defensive redoubts they’d established. One was an auto-canon set-up while the other held a pod of ground-to-air missiles.

  “It’d be risky but if they were willing to sacrifice one of those birds a second one just might be able to break through: drop a platoon right on top of us. It’d be carnage but once they were dirtside, we’d have a hell of a job getting rid of them.”

  “We’re going to have to double the size of our watch,” Webster wasn’t sure what else to say. “But, other than that, we’ll just have to sit and wait.”

  “Not a lot else we can do,” Markham seemed resigned to his task.

  “We could try talking to them,” Webster said.

  “Really. Aren’t these the same guys who incinerated your girlfriend?”

  Webster hit Nash full in the chest but Nash refused to back down. Instead, he held his ground, pleased to have finally got a reaction from Webster. Markham pretended not to notice.

  “I’ll set up another duty rota,” he said. “Then we’d best get some sleep.”

  “I’ll leave you two to it,” Nash said unabashed. “I’ve still got a few things I need to attend to.”

  He started moving off towards the bank of equipment they’d assembled at the rear of the camp.

  Webster watched him go and then looked to Markham for his reaction.

  Markham simply shrugged.

  Considering that Nash was supposed to be on their side, it felt like there was still an awful lot he wasn’t telling them.

  *

  Webster was asleep when the first attack came. Once he’d freed himself from the confines of his sleeping bag he had to scurry around on his hands and knees looking for his rifle. All the while this was going on he could hear the crack of automatic weaponry with the odd muffled explosion in the background.

  He took a deep breath before exiting his tent. There was no telling what had been going on since he’d fallen asleep and he was surprised that no one had tried to alert him.

  Once outside, he stayed as close to the ground as possible. With the enemy at such close quarters the obvious thing to do would have been to dig in, but you couldn’t do that on solid ice. Instead, they’d had to scavenge around for ways to fortify their fighting positions and found piles of interlocking ferro concrete sections they could use. They’d been left there some time earlier with the intention no doubt of building a permanent camp here. Not that that was likely to happen now.

  Webster managed to locate a couple of Marines who pointed him in Markham’s direction.

  “What’s going on?” he wanted to know.

  “Nothing out the ordinary. They’re just testing our defences – see what they’re up against before they commit themselves.”

  “How many of them?”

  “Not their full force. Looks like two fire-teams. Just enough to keep us on our toes.”

  Markham passed him a pair of night vision glasses and he took a moment to adjust the settings. Not that there was much to see. The Da’al had split into two groups, one at the centre of the lake and another one higher up the bank.

  “You said they might try sneaking round,” Webster said.

  But Markham made no attempt to take the credit. “Obvious thing to do. We’ve got some sensors up there so we don’t get caught napping.”

  The exchange of fire went on for a little over fifteen minutes before the Da’al started to move off, firing the odd shot every now and then to dissuade anyone who might have been considering a pursuit.

  “You think that’s it for the night?” Webster said.

  “I very much doubt it. They’re testing us, that’s all. No doubt they’ll try again later. If nothing else, they’ll disrupt our sleep.”

  “Okay,” Webster said, unsure whether Markham still saw him as an observer in all this rather than an active combatant. “What about Nash? Can’t see him sleeping through this.”

  “Mr Nash has yet to go to bed. He’s been keeping himself busy back there.”

  He pointed over in the direction of the crashed ship.

  Markham was pointedly not saying what it was that Nash was up to but the inference was clear enough: you’d better go and check out what he’s doing.

  Webster held up the night vision glasses, as if asking for permission to take them, and Markham nodded.

  Nash was on his own, two hundred metres away to the right of the ship. He was the only thing moving in the entire landscape. He had his shovel out and appeared to be in the process of burying something in the ice. On the floor next to him was a bulky canvas bag.

  “Keeping yourself active, I see?” Webster said as he approached.

  When Nash looked up, he looked genuinely pleased to see him. He’d almost finished burying whatever it was and took a moment to pat the ice back into place with his boot.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” Nash said, the steam from his exertions rising off him. “So I thought I’d make myself useful.”

  Webster went and stood over the packed ice.

  “How many of these things have you planted, so far?”

  Nash took off his right glove and flexed his fingers.

  “So far, I’ve only managed six, which is kind of disappointing. Want to give me a hand?”

  “I might, if I knew what I was burying.”

  Nash drew his hand across his brow while he surveyed his handiwork. “Thermal detonators. But then you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  That sounded like a dig at Markham but Webster didn’t rise to the challenge. Instead, he said, “How many of these do you reckon you’re going to need?”

  Nash took a sip from his canteen. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. I’m thinking about forty but there are a lot of variables.”

  “I’m sure there are. Why don’t you ask the scientists tomorrow morning? They’ve surveyed the hell out of this place. They should be able to tell you exactly how much explosive you’re going to need, if indeed what you’re planning is even possible.”

  “I think I’ll take a pass on asking them. Dabiri is liable to shoot me if he found out I was planning to drop his precious ship to the bottom of the lake.”

  “I wouldn’t worry so much about Dabiri – you can see him coming. Marsh is the one I’d be worried about.”

  Nash nodded as he replaced his flask on his belt. “You might be right there.”

  “No, seriously. You’ve done the math I take it? You think it’s feasible?”

  Nash went over to his bag and teased out one of the thermal detonators and threw it across to Webster. It was a solid enough piece of kit. Webster guessed about five or six kilos.

  “This was not my idea, by the way. A special projects team came up with it. This wouldn’t work if the ice was too thick but it tends to thaw every four and a half years, so it’s doable.”

  “Okay, but what about the lake itself?” he indicated the top of the ship. “Is it deep enough, for a start?”

  Nash gave an expansive shrug. “You really would have to ask the scientists about that. All I know is that it’s a hundred and forty-seven metres deep at its deepest point but where that is exactly, I couldn’t tell you.”

  Webster pumped the detonator up and down as though it was a dumbbell. It would be dangerous to under-estimate Nash. Very dangerous. Webster viewed him like a venomous snake you might glimpse amidst the long grass. Should he let the danger pass him by or risk going for a clean shot?

  He could see now that bringing Nash down here in the first place was a big mistake. The question was whether he compounded that by giving Nash his head and allowing him to continue.

  “You know, I’m not sure I’m alright with all this. Especially, considering how important this ship is potentially.”

  “Well, unfortunately, commander, that is not your decision to make. I’ve got all kinds of executive orders in my bag which pretty much obligates you to do anything I might ask.”

  “I’m sure you have,” Webster threw the detonator back at him but Nash caught it easily. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to go through with it.”

  “Oh, I think you will, commander. You see, you forget not only have I seen your file, I’ve also seen your father’s. And that didn’t end so well for him, now did it?”

  Webster was all too aware of his sudden flush of anger but there was nothing he could do about it. Nash seemed to have a particular skill for pressing his buttons.

  In truth, Webster didn’t know the details about the blot on his father’s record. Indeed, he didn’t want to know. He’d spent years resolutely avoiding the issue. It had overshadowed every success Webster had ever enjoyed in his own career because all the while he’d been aware of his father’s unremitting gaze reminding him: don’t relax – all it takes is a moment’s inattention to bring this all crashing down. He knew that, whatever this thing was, it had been largely responsible for prematurely ended his father’s career. His father had kept his rank but had spent the last five years of his service conducting research in the Admiralty’s libraries.