The silver fleet the com.., p.36
The Silver Fleet: The Complete Series, page 36
She was trying to make light of it but he could tell by her clipped tone that she didn’t appreciate being turned down.
Good, that was exactly the response he’d wanted to have.
“What does Parnashikan think about you throwing in your lot with Syashami and his people?”
Ardent laughed but it came off sounding a little strained.
“Parnashikan and those of his ilk have too much invested in Blackthorn. He’d have me impeached if he even thought I was considering a deal with the Empire.”
“Really? I didn’t realise he had that much power.”
“He represents a wide range of business interests as well as his own. This station represents a major investment on their behalf and they’d do anything to ensure that it keeps delivering on that investment. But at the same time that they are taken up with the financial side they tend to lose sight of the various threats to our security and the nearly seven hundred thousand people on-board. As governor, I have to consider what’s best for everyone.”
“The gathering storm, governor.”
For a moment, Faulkner caught a glimpse of the immense pressures Ardent was operating under. The fact that she hadn’t denied the idea of some kind of mutually beneficial deal with the Yakutians suggested that she was at least considering it.
It was clear that if he wasn’t able to convince her to stay with the Confederation before the end of the evening’s activities then there was a very real danger that Silva’s worst fears might well be realised. They would lose Blackthorn to the Yakutian’s and, with the very real possibility of a major conflict with the Da’al in the offing that might well prove disastrous for all sides.
The only glimmer of hope came from the fact that Ardent had hinted at the tensions between her and Parnashikan. It looked as if Silva had been right. He’d have to start giving her a little more credit. So far, at least, her analysis had proven to be surprisingly accurate.
Ardent had got a little ahead of him by now and he was forced to quicken his pace. The floor was as slick as the marble it was mimicking and damnably difficult to negotiate at speed. The last thing he wanted to do was fall flat on his face.
When he’d finally caught up with her he said, “I don’t feel we’ve been completely honest with one another. Why don’t we start over? I think we have a lot more in common than we first realised.”
Ardent laughed then turned to face him. “You might be right, at that. But you’ll have to be quick. This is probably the only opportunity we’re going to get to speak without being overheard. That’s why my people scanned you earlier – to make sure you weren’t wearing a wire. Once we sit down to dinner, Parnashikan will be able to hear everything we say. So you’ve got as long as it takes for us to walk the length of the Great Hall to make your proposal.”
Faulkner felt a surge of panic. “So, you’re seriously considering throwing in your lot with the Empire?”
Ardent stared straight at him. “Syashami already has his offer on the table. He’s given me until the end of the evening to decide.”
“And you’d consider that, despite what Parnashikan and the others might think? What it might mean for your career, not to mention your reputation.”
“Oh, have no doubts, Captain Faulkner, once they discover that I’ve sided with the Empire, that would be the end of me. But there’s no point calculating Blackthorn’s end of year profits if it looks like we might not make it to the end of the month. I have to do what I think is best to ensure the safety of those on board. If the Empire can guarantee that then I’d be a fool not to listen to them.”
“The Vice Consul must have made you one hell of an offer.”
Ardent turned on him as though she’d been insulted.
“A military garrison of twenty thousand men, if you must know. To be stationed here permanently.”
That took Faulkner off-guard. “And what does he want in return?”
“We would become a protectorate of the Empire so normal trading would, in the short term, be allowed to continue. Ostensibly nothing would change.”
Faulkner had been a prisoner of the Yakutians for nearly twenty years. He knew exactly how reliable those promises would prove to be.
“But can you afford to trust them?”
Ardent ignored the question. “We get to maintain our trading rights for the next fifty years, after which…”
“You get absorbed by the Empire.”
“No deal is perfect. And, at least that way, we might make it to another fifty years.”
“This garrison that they’re promising? When’s that due to be in place?”
They had entered the Great Hall by this point. The main body of guests were being corralled in a holding area over to the right while a small group of VIPs were gathered in the centre of the room. Faulkner had no doubt that Syashami would be among them.
Ardent said, “The garrison should be up and running within the next eighteen months. Two years at the most.”
“I’m sorry, but that won’t work.”
He took Ardent by the arm and she didn’t resist. But there was a spark in her eyes which he hadn’t reckoned on.
“What do you mean by that?”
“In eighteen days’ time this station will have fallen and the majority of the people around us will be dead.”
Ardent eyed the sway of bodies opposite.
“What are you talking about? You can’t possibly know that.”
“Governor, I understand what you’re trying to do here: you’re trying to make the best deal possible. Problem is that you’re putting your faith in the wrong people. Right now, you need an ally and the Vice Consul, for all his skills as a negotiator, isn’t that man. You need someone you can trust to look out for your best interests.”
“And you think that’s you?” she snorted.
“All I know is that the Da’al will launch a major offensive into this system within the next couple of days. When an occupying force makes a move like that their first objective will be to take out the enemy’s communications centre. That is this station. If they destroy that then they destroy their opponent’s ability to co-ordinate their defences. With Blackthorn gone they can do pretty much what they please. You’re in more danger here than you could possibly know.”
They were getting closer to where the press was gathering. Faulkner thought he could make out Vice Consul Syashami emerging from the main VIP group. He appeared to be wearing traditional Yakutian dress: silk robes with a bright pink sash across one shoulder. As he drew closer Faulkner could see that Syashami was smiling.
Ardent spoke softly. “And you think that you can stop them – these aliens. The Da’al. Do I have to remind you that the Mantis is just one ship against however many they might have?”
“I didn’t say that I could stop them, governor. All I’m saying is that if you give me your support, I’ll do everything in my power to protect you and your people.”
Ardent considered this, ever mindful of the fact that time was running out.
“Thank you for that, captain. But for all your promises, the Mantis is just one ship while the Vice Consul has the might of the Serrayu at his disposal.”
“Governor, I fear you’ve been misinformed. The Serrayu is here for one reason and one reason only: to protect their Vice Consul and ensure that he gets home safely. You won’t hear much from them once the fighting starts.”
“And what about you?” Ardent asked calmly. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“Because I’ve given you my word. Though there are one or two things you can help me with.”
“You want me to sign up for full membership of the Confederation?”
“In time, hopefully. But for now, I’d appreciate it if you would refrain from signing any agreements with the Vice Consul in the short term. Also, if we’re going to be of any use to you, my ship is going to need a new set of engines.”
He took out a paper copy of what he wanted and handed it to her. She scanned it, taking in the range of specifications.
“The engines I can do. What’s going to be a lot more difficult is resisting the Vice Consul’s advances.”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something. Do we have a deal then?”
She gave him a pained look.
“I can put him off for twenty-four hours, no more.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
CHAPTER SIX
A large group had gathered on the roof of the Confederation building to formally witness Vice Consul Syashami’s departure. An armoured flier stood on the landing zone, its engines running hot, the smell of jet fuel wafting over the main party. No doubt the pilot was eager to make a quick departure but the Vice Consul was in no mood to be hurried.
He was standing over on the far side of the roof, locked in a fierce discussion with his diplomatic team. Faulkner spoke Yakutian reasonably well and would have had a good chance of eavesdropping on their conversation if the roar of the engines hadn’t drowned everything out.
The Vice Consul’s earlier good humour had evaporated after his meeting with the Governor. No one had been expecting him to leave empty handed. It was going to be an awkward flight home if he didn’t have an agreement under his arm. From what Faulkner knew about the way the Empire was run he was fairly sure that the party leaders would view such an outcome as a major humiliation. The Vice Consul might be able to push some of the blame off on his advisors but, in the end, he would be the one who’d have to suffer the consequences.
Faulkner watched as one of the Yakutian party was despatched to try and get Ardent to partake in one last minute spot of rooftop diplomacy. Ardent went out of her way to appear cordial but made sure to take her team of advocates with her. But with Parnashikan at her back the chances of securing a last-minute deal were effectively reduced to zero.
The Vice Consul spoke candidly, his hand movements short and choppy as the downdraught from the flier plucked at his robes. Ardent, for her part, listened intently, a studied expression on her face. She nodded a few times then backed away, indicating the waiting flier. The newsfeed crowd, sensing their opportunity, surged forward but they were too late. The Vice Consul turned with a flick of his robe and disappeared inside the flier without once looking back.
“So, what did you actually agree on in the end?” Silva had to raise her voice over the growl of the engines.
“She signed off on the engines,” Faulkner said. “That was no problem. As far as the Yakutians were concerned, I could only get her to agree to a delay.”
“But for how long?”
“Twenty-four hours.”
“Earth Standard or Station Standard?”
“We didn’t get that far.”
Silva winced. “What if the Vice Consul changes his mind about leaving? Comes back with a better offer?”
“He might, but I doubt it.”
“You sound very confident, sir.”
“She’s got no appetite for a deal with the Yakutians – the fallout from that will ruin her career. Strikes me, she intends to hang on ‘til the last moment, and that’s still a way off yet.”
“While she hasn’t sided with the Empire, she still hasn’t made a formal commitment to the Confederation either. We really need to get something down on paper.”
Faulkner didn’t like being pushed on these matters but he could see Silva’s point.
“Alright, I’ll talk to her tomorrow. See what we can come up with.”
“I’ll draft something tonight. It won’t be perfect but we need something if we’re going to go into bat for her against the Da’al.”
Silva’s voice was drowned out as the flier lifted off. It hovered about ten meters above the roof as it slowly re-orientated itself. Then, with a down draught of sticky heat, the flier took off, angling up over the Japanese gardens before making its way back in the direction of the port. But Faulkner wasn’t watching the flier, he was more interested in Governor Ardent, locked in conversation with Parnashikan.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Webster was feeling refreshed. In his consultations with Doctor Morton he’d mentioned that he’d been having difficulty sleeping. Admittedly, he hadn’t told her the whole truth. Since he’d taken command he’d hardly slept at all. He had taken one break from his duties but even then had just laid in the dark, his mind throwing up an ever-growing list of problems he’d have to face when he returned to duty.
Morton must have sensed his anxiety and prescribed him some mild tranquilisers arguing that this could only help maximise his functional awareness over time. And she’d been right. Even though he’d only slept for four hours after taking them he awoke feeling rested and alert. When prescribing him the meds she’d stressed how important it was to consume enough calories so, once he’d showered, he went directly to the officers’ mess.
He took his place in the line while he decided what to eat. Ensign Roberts was in the queue ahead of him and they made small talk about what was on offer – it seemed that the quality had improved somewhat since their re-supply from Blackthorn.
He kept her talking while he carried his tray to his seat, knowing that she couldn’t easily break off their conversation without asking to be dismissed. He made a point of occasionally dining with the other ranks as it gave him an insight into how the ship was running, though some of the younger officers were better at engaging in conversation with their superiors than others. But it was a skill they were going to have to practice if they intended moving up the ranks.
“Did you get anything more from that anomaly or did it turn out to be nothing in the end?”
Roberts paused before replying. “That’s right, sir. Turned out to be nothing so we disregarded it. Now I’ve been re-assigned: looking for orbital debris around Iscaria.”
“That’s a shame,” Webster toyed with his food. “I was rather hoping that you might have continued tracking it. I was interested in whether there were any changes in the thing’s velocity.”
Roberts concentrated on her dinner. “And why might that be, sir?”
“Well, if it was some kind of alien probe, as opposed to, say, an asteroid, I’d imagine that at some point it’s going to enter a boost phase.”
Roberts regarded him while she chewed her food. “That would be interesting. Unfortunately, as I said earlier, I’ve already been re-assigned. And I wouldn’t want to upset Lieutenant Yamada.”
Yamada had wanted to make a point and it looked like he’d succeeded.
“I understand,” Webster said. “But what if I were to instruct you to report to me directly on the progress of that anomaly. Is that something you could do?”
“Yes, sir. If that’s what you’d like.”
Webster gave her a knowing look. “So, Ensign. Have there been any changes?”
Roberts smiled and lowered her fork. She took a moment to scan the room.
“No, sir, and that’s the odd thing. The object has maintained a constant trajectory all this while along with a constant speed. And that’s what got me thinking. She should be radiating some temperature but she isn’t. From our scans, she seems to be maintaining a temperature consistent with the space around her.”
“Okay,” Webster paused. “And is that significant?”
“Well, the question is: why isn’t it generating a slightly higher temperature than its surroundings? If it’s traveling at such high speeds it should be generating at least some heat, but it isn’t.”
“And why do you think that is?”
“Well, the only thing I can think of is that its temperature is being artificially controlled. Whoever sent this thing doesn’t want it to draw any attention so they’ve found a way of cooling its surface. I’d imagine that large quantities of helium gas might create such an effect.”
Webster sat forward in his seat. What had started off as an intellectual exercise was slowly developing into something much more interesting.
“Okay, supposing I accept that this is what’s happening – how do you explain this thing’s speed? Surely, if it were a ship of some kind we’d expect to see some slight fluctuations in its overall speed. That would be normal, right?”
Roberts was becoming more assured, using her fork to emphasize her point. “It would, sir, yes, but we can’t be certain that it has a propulsion system of any kind. It could just as conceivably operate like a conventional rocket: firing its engines early to create an initial boost before cutting out. With its propulsion system shut down and with no engine signature…
“The thing effectively disappears,” Webster said.
“Exactly!” Roberts stabbed at him with her fork before remembering herself. “Exactly, sir. And that way they get to conserve energy. A ship that size can only carry a limited amount of fuel so they’re going to want to minimise their output once they’ve entered the system. That’ll give them one, perhaps two, energy boosts as they approach Blackthorn.”
“But why would they want to do that, anyway?” Webster said. “At that sort of speed they’re liable to fly straight past us.”
Roberts nodded, her expression growing serious. “What if they needed that speed? What if they intended to use it as a weapon? In a direct assault, Blackthorn would probably only spot it at the last minute, thereby giving them a limited response time. If this probe thing wanted to crash into Blackthorn then there’s not much anyone could do to stop it. We’re talking: Game Over.”
Webster sat back, his meal all but forgotten.
“And you think that’s likely?”
Roberts blew out through her lips. “Not really. The ship has to be unmanned to function at those kinds of speeds plus it’s operating over huge distances. No matter how good your calculations are – it’s going to be all but impossible to hit Blackthorn from so far away. You might have a chance of hitting the planet but not a space station. No way.”
“So you’re saying there is no threat to the station?” Webster felt a palpable sense of relief.
“I wouldn’t say that there’s no threat. I just think that we need to be prepared.”
“Agreed.”
