After a microjump aboard the Starfire and a hasty trip in a shuttle on loan from the Vox Humana, they reached the rebel Tygran ship, Vanquisher. The shuttle docked at one of two underhull recesses and when Greg and Lieutenant Berg emerged from the airlock they were scanned for weapons. They were then escorted up two decks to an empty hold where the meeting with the mutiny leader was to take place.
The Vanquisher’s interior was markedly roomier than that of the Starfire and had a decor that was predominantly of a rich, dark blue, offset with softer shades. Corridor bulkheads, pipes, lines and spot monitor readouts were concealed by access panels, giving the ship a much less cluttered feel, while the lighting was smooth and diffuse. In a way it reminded Greg of the Darien Institute’s admin offices.
The hold, however, was brightly lit and functional. The mutiny leader, Braddock, was waiting when they arrived, standing by a long table with three other officers. All wore light body armour in dull green and grey, standard non-combat duty dress. Greg was in ordinary civilian wear with a long black coat, because Ash wanted him to appear as civilian as possible. Braddock had insisted on speaking with a Darien representative before opening any discussions on force dispositions.
And here I am, Greg thought. Trouble is, the Vox Humana admiral is now making the same demand since she finds communications with the Imisil ‘lacking in due courtesy’. Hell’s teeth, what does she want–missives written on parchment and hand-delivered by forelock-tugging peons?
Braddock came forward to shake hands, then gestured Greg and Berg towards the table. Braddock, a wiry man slightly shorter than Greg, had an intense air about him. His dark hair was regulation bristle-short, and his complexion was sallow coupled with a pitted coarseness that could have come from a skin condition. His eyes were bright and seemed to miss nothing.
But now I have to find out what you want.
Seated opposite the man, Greg smiled but before he could begin the Tygran spoke first.
‘Mr Cameron, before we begin I’d better tell you that Lieutenant Ash has briefed me on your background so I understand that you don’t really speak for the colonial government.’
‘There isn’t really a colonial government to speak of at the moment,’ Greg said.
‘And yet you have a certain position, a status that gives your opinions weight and impact, yes?’
Greg frowned. That might be true, considering what I’ve been through… aye, but I’m not alone in that.
‘Maybe so,’ he said. Then a thought struck him. ‘Are you looking for political asylum?’
‘That is our favoured option,’ Braddock said. ‘And not just for me and my crew but also for many of my fellow Tygrans who are now seeking a new home.’
Lieutenant Berg had been tight-lipped up to now but suddenly he leaned forward.
‘Are you referring to ordinary citizens back on Tygra, Nightwalker?’
Braddock stared at Berg. ‘Yes, Stormlion, that is the case.’
‘Why?’
‘You should know–the story goes that Gideon’s crew were the first to view the Rawlins testament, and now you’ve secured yourself a pleasant bolthole on this world.’ Braddock shifted his gaze back to Greg. ‘When you see this ship and its crew in action you’ll realise that we are at least as deserving of asylum as those who arrived earlier…’
‘Have a care, Nightwalker,’ said Berg, rising from his chair. ‘As I speak, my captain is on the planet’s surface, struggling against Brolturans and combat droids…’
‘Whoa, wait just a minute, the pair of ye!’ Greg grabbed Berg by the shoulder and firmly pulled him back into his seat while Braddock settled back into his. ‘Right, I don’t know what kind of competitive sports thing this is all about but get this into your heads–there’s an almighty drittstorm heading our way and nobody’s getting anything if we go under. And before we go any further I’d like to know a bit more about this Rawlins testament…’
Braddock turned to one of his officers, who produced a flat black datapad from a document case and passed it over. Braddock thumbed a control at one of the corners and a thinscreen extruded from one of the sides. ‘I thought you might like to see this,’ he said, turning the screen to face Greg.
As he watched, an elderly Tygran officer introduced himself as Captain Rawlins. He went on to summarise the official history of how the early Tygran colonists vied with a native sentient species, the Zshahil, and how forty years of friction and confrontation led to war. The war culminated in the surrender of the defeated native tribes and their en masse migration to a less hospitable equatorial landmass across a narrow sea. Then Rawlins began to uncover the true history. His report had been recorded outdoors, at a ruined coastal port from which the Zshahil were supposed to have sailed. Greg saw Rawlins use scanning equipment to reveal numerous burial pits around the port, and a digging machine to bring up soil-caked clumps of non-Human bones. Finally, after he arrived at a rough tally in excess of a quarter of a million, Rawlins’s report ended with the words, ‘So now we know the truth, which is that we are capable of murdering an entire race. But will this truth set us free, or will it damn us?’
As the picture faded to black, Greg sat back in his chair, noting the grim faces all around him.
Well, how would I feel if I’d found out that something like that had happened during the early years of our colony? In fact, it could have happened when we discovered the Uvovo on Nivyesta. Were we just lucky enough to hold on to reason?
‘So, have many of your people seen this?’ Greg said.
‘As soon as the Bund became aware of its existence, via some unknown source, it was banned, declared an illegal propaganda tool designed to break our unified will,’ said Braddock. ‘So naturally people then began actively seeking it out. At the same time, several pieces of corroborating evidence started showing up, century-old diaries, secretly recorded group testimonials, even a couple of hundred-year-old commandery reports hinting strongly at disturbing events. In short, Alecto City has become a simmering pot of allegations, accusations and denials, even administrators who seemed to be in danger of being thrown out of their offices.
‘But then Becker’s Shadow Watch troopers began arresting the more vocal critics, as well as their associates. The last we heard, the clampdown was so heavy-handed that some districts of Alecto have refused to permit entry to any city officials.’
‘I didn’t know that the situation had become so charged,’ said Berg. ‘How has it affected the Nightwalker Commandery?’
‘There was fighting outside the barracks when Shadow Watch troopers tried to arrest a couple of our men.’ Seeing Greg’s puzzlement, Braddock explained: ‘Before Captain Rawlins became Preceptor of Veterans, he was Captain of the Nightwalkers, highly decorated and well liked. Our current captain, Eisler, is unfortunately one of Becker’s sycophants, which if anything has intensified our loyalty to the memory of Sam Rawlins.’
‘I see,’ Greg said. ‘So what you need to know is how welcoming a future Darien government would be to an immigration of Tygrans, aye?’ He leaned forward. ‘Assuming that we survive the drittstorm that’s about tae come down on our heads!’
Braddock met his gaze. ‘That’s correct, Mr Cameron.’
‘Well, I tell ye, my people are as cantankerous, difficult and opinionated a bunch as you’re ever likely to meet. We’ve a saying–put a Scot, a Rus and a Norj in a room and after an hour ye’ll have six different arguments not just three!’ Everyone around the table laughed. ‘Of course, that just means that we don’t enter into friendships that easily, but–if someone goes out of their way to help us, even risking their lives to do so, then you can be sure that when they need help we won’t let them down. Does that answer your question?’
‘It’s as good an answer as I could hope for,’ said Braddock. ‘Especially now that our Ezgara cover identity will soon be completely blown.’
‘Aye, well, in the meantime we should concentrate on staying alive, I reckon. Oh, and I probably don’t need to say this but hold off talking about the Rawlins testament with anyone from the Vox H or the Imisil, right?’
Braddock gave a sardonic smile. ‘Yes, Mr Cameron, it goes without saying.’
‘Of course, which is why I said it.’ Greg stood, as did the others. ‘Lieutenant Ash and the new ranking Imisil commander, First Proposer Conlyph, are putting together a definitive defensive battle plan, in consultation with the Vox Humana. Ash should be in touch after we’re away, to let you know where you fit in. Also I think the survivors of the Firebrand are going to be gathered by shuttle from the Vox H ships they ended up in, then brought here.’
‘That is excellent,’ Braddock said. ‘My thanks.’
With that the meeting was over and Greg and Lieutenant Berg were escorted back to the airlock. On the way Berg reminded Greg about the Vox Humana admiral’s request for a meeting, which she was now adamant should go ahead. All through the audience with Braddock, Berg had been receiving updates from the commentary network grouping together the commanders and need-to-know advisers. This innovation had been strongly recommended by First Proposer Conlyph, and the others had readily agreed. After the meeting Berg had used his datapad to advise the command group that Braddock was prepared to be part of the defence of Darien.
‘How long will it take to get over to their flagship?’ Greg said as they re-entered the shuttle.
‘We could just use the shuttle, head straight there,’ Berg said. ‘It would be faster than returning to Starfire, flying it to the flagship, then getting back in the shuttle for another short hop.’
Greg strapped into the co-pilot couch next to Berg, then nodded.
‘Makes sense. Let’s do it that way, then.’
Muffled thuds came through the hull as the airlock declamped, releasing the shuttle. Soon they were on their way and Greg settled back, eyes shut, enjoying the comfort of the padded couch. Yet relaxation proved elusive, somehow, and the tension in his neck eased only slightly. Fragments of the Rawlins testament replayed in his thoughts, along with the sense of revulsion he’d felt on witnessing the evidence of genocide. Previously he would have said that such a crime would be impossible to conceal for any length of time, yet clearly it had been.
And it struck at the heart of his sense of Humanity. Cynics would say that any Human being, any community, any society was just as capable of such atrocities–all it would require was the right combination of circumstances, the right pressures, the right fear, and it would happen. Greg had encountered such arguments before, faced them down, defeating them with his belief in the basic compassion of Human individuals, that in the end the compassionate reason of Humanity as a group existed and would triumph over or at least outlive the savagery of rationalised callousness and the cruelty and hate that it fostered.
Yet he still heard his inner cynic laugh and say: Really? You can look upon the situation we’re in, surrounded by rapacious foes whose soldiers would burn you away to ashes as soon as look at you, sitting here and waiting for a truly gigantic hammer to fall, and you’re still mouthing high-flown rhetoric. What kind of a fool are you?
A realistic fool, he thought. We’ve gone from being on our own to gaining the support of our Human brothers and sisters, the Pyreans, the Tygrans and the Vox Humana, and we even have the backing of the Roug and the Imisil…
Aye? And what about the warpwell? What about the Legion of Avatars? See?–there’s always some bigger, nastier brute getting ready to carve a path of blood. Now, for us cynics that’s what’s known as a win-win…
Greg found that he had no answer, except for the embers of hope.
Next to him, Berg was dividing his attention between monitoring the shipboard systems–which were already under the control of an artificial cognition–and a console holopanel showing the ongoing movements of ships into a sparse-looking shell formation around the planet Darien. The Imisil newcomers were slow but powerful cruisers with wide, almost barrel-shaped midsections and armed with heavy-output beam projectors. Two of them were stationed over Nivyesta along with the smaller, faster Vox Humana ships. All the others were moving into position over the planet.
Berg had configured the holoscreen into a number of sub-screens that he could bring forward, expand, minimise and move by touch. One of them showed a cycle of topics from Nivyesta, each one a capsule summary vid. Leaning forward, Greg saw views of the great continental jungle Segrana, the evidence of battle that he had seen first-hand, the charred trees, burning body pyres, the heaps of wrecked machinery. Contact had been established with an enclave of Human researchers and one of the subscreens showed an interview with a bearded man he didn’t recognise. The researcher spoke of the battles within and above Segrana and how the Uvovo had kept the Humans safe, but there was no mention of Catriona.
He closed his eyes and lay back again.
No mention of a ghost, he thought. No mention of what she did, what we did…
A low, insistent pinging made him open his eyes to see Berg frantically keying through screen menus.
‘What’s the problem?’ he said.
‘We’ve got company,’ the Tygran said, indicating the shuttle’s viewport with a tilt of the head.
Scattered across the black interplanetary void, Greg could see momentary flashes, one or two every few seconds. He was puzzled for only an instant.
‘Ships,’ he said. ‘Dropping out of hyperspace. That’ll be…’
‘Not the Imisil,’ Berg said. ‘They’re Earthsphere warships!’
The shock news made his heart start to pound.
‘But… they’re not supposed to be…’ He paused to compose his thoughts. ‘Are we in danger? How many are there?’
‘They’re coming through in a rough arc extending away from the gas giant so we shouldn’t be in any immediate peril,’ Berg said. ‘Numbers–currently thirty-six and rising.’
‘What’s the reaction from our superiors?’
‘Everyone has gone to combat alert. The remaining Vox Humana vessels including their flagship are moving off and the Vanquisher is with them. Should be about to make microjumps to Darien… yes, they’re away. And we’ve been advised by Lieutenant Ash to forget meeting the Vox-H admiral and to get the hell out, as he put it. I’ve signalled the Starfire to rendezvous with us in ten minutes—’
A dazzling flash of light blasted into the cramped cockpit, cutting him off. As it passed Greg blinked a few times then yelled at the sight of the ship now looming directly ahead, filling the viewport.
‘This boat better have an autoevasion system,’ said Berg as he braced himself against the console. ‘Or else we’re dead meat.’
The autopilot applied braking thrusters to angle the shuttle away, yet still the warship seemed to be all that was in front of them. Its name was spelled out across the stretch of stern hull plating–Tiberius, its black capitals growing ever larger… until the shuttle’s autopilot finally got it on a parallel course, sweeping across the upper hull, missing a sensordome by metres.
Greg gave a shaky laugh then noticed that Berg still looked grim.
‘They’re activating their grappler field. I might be able to…’
‘Unidentified small craft, this is ESS Tiberius–come about, power down your drive and prepare to be brought… wait, sir, what are you doing?’
As Greg and Berg stared at each other, a second voice came over the link.
‘I ordered you to target and destroy that vessel, orders that you disobeyed in a war zone… you know what the punishment for mutiny is…’
There was a sudden chorus of angry voices, some of them shouting about new orders, then the channel went dead.
‘What… the hell was all that about?’ Greg said.
‘Not sure,’ said Berg. ‘But those grapplers have been switched back to standby mode, which is the signal for us to put some distance between us and them…’
Berg had also sent a brief message to the Starfire and less than ten minutes later the shuttle rejoined its mothership. Even before he left the shuttle, Berg was ordering the bridge officers to ready the navigationals for a microjump to the Darien vicinity. But when they entered the Starfire’s bridge the face of Lieutenant Ash was on the holopanels, waiting.
‘Mr Berg, Mr Cameron,’ he said. ‘Nice to see you back in one piece. Now, rather than cross half the system to join us, we want you to take up a position near that gas giant and monitor developments as they unfold.’
‘Developments?’ Greg said with a frown.
‘The Earthsphere fleet is not making any move or preparation in the direction of Darien,’ said Berg, who was studying datastreams on his holoconsole.
‘Exactly so,’ said Ash. ‘Something is very wrong aboard some of those ships. Half of them aren’t in formation and a few are still where they were on exiting hyperspace.’
‘We overheard an argument during a communication from one of them, the Tiberius,’ said Berg. ‘Something about new orders, and it sounded like a fight was about to break out.’
Ash nodded. ‘The Imisil long-range sensors have been picking up a lot of ship-to-ship messaging on the subject. Seems that the Earthsphere president was forced by political pressure to cancel the fleet’s original orders. They are now supposed to take up positions around Darien, which has now been declared a provisional Earthsphere protectorate…’
Greg felt a wave of exhilaration and almost cheered out loud.
‘That is… amazing!… isn’t it?… but their ships aren’t… okay, Ash, what is going on?’
Ash was wearing a knowledgeable smile which at that moment Greg found aggravating.
‘On many of their ships,’ the Tygran said, ‘the new orders have been rejected by either the captain or the first officer, who have taken extreme measures to exert their authority. Four captains have been removed from command and confined to quarters, and two have been shot. Six first officers have been shot dead and nine have been confined to quarters. And here is the revelation–all who rebelled against the orders have AI implants, every single one.’
‘That’s a bit disturbing,’ Greg said.
‘It gets better. There are two ships whose senior officers nearly all have the same implants. The captains have refused to recognise the validity of the orders, claiming that President Castiglione has been blackmailed into rescinding the original ones. Both ships are surrounded by vessels loyal to the fleet commander, Vice-Admiral Ngassa.’
‘This is like a weird rerun of the situation with the Tygran ships,’ Greg said.
‘Pardon for saying, Lieutenant,’ said Berg. ‘You seem very well informed already so why would you need us to remain here?’
‘There is an important function which requires your being in close orbit around the gas giant.’
‘We are already on our way there–ETA eleven minutes.’
‘Good. Stand by for further orders, Mr Berg.’
The channel went dead. Berg frowned.
‘It seems that we must hurry up and wait,’ he said.
Greg was thoughtful. ‘Actually, I think I know what this is all about.’ And when he told Berg, realisation dawned in the Tygran’s eyes.
Sure enough, nearly thirty-five minutes later Ash was back and asking for Greg.
‘And how’s it going, Mr Ash?’ he said as he hurried onto the bridge. ‘As you can see, I’m back in my serious civvy gear, complete with snazzy long black coat. I’ve had a shower, or tornado-fogblast as it should be called, and I’ve had one o’ they wee stimpills as well–which work, by the way. This is the most awake I’ve been for over a week, so… when do I get to meet the vice-admiral?’
Ash glared at him. ‘How did you know…’
‘Aye, well, that’ll be one of my special archaeologist superpowers, the power of deduction, don’t ye know!’
Greg grinned at Berg, who was striving to keep a straight face.
‘I trust that you’ll keep your witticisms to yourself when you meet Vice-Admiral Ngassa,’ Ash said, stone-faced. ‘When we spoke with him just minutes ago he insisted on speaking with a Darien representative, which means you. When you meet him, emphasise that all of us here have come together as an informal alliance for the sole purpose of defending Darien, and its moon. Be sure that he understands this.’
‘I shall. Anything else?’
‘It would be helpful to learn of his expectations of what the Hegemony fleet will do when it arrives. Before this he was the previous supreme commander of Earthsphere forces in the Yamanon Domain so he’s had experience of the Hegemony military from working alongside them.’
Greg took it all in, nodding. ‘Righto, I get the picture. And don’t worry about my attitude–I shall be the soul of sober diplomacy.’
Ash’s stare was almost unreadable.
‘Once you and Lieutenant Berg are in the shuttle and declamped we will send you encrypted coordinates for the rendezvous with the vice-admiral’s pinnace. You’ll dock with it, go aboard and conduct the meeting there.’
Greg smiled brightly. ‘We’re on our way.’
To a rerun of that blether we had with Braddock, sounds like, he thought as he hurried after Berg.
Less than half an hour later they were approaching the rendezvous coordinates and the sleek vessel waiting there. They docked with a transfer conduit jutting from the starboard flank. Greg and Berg were greeted on the other side of the hatch by an armed escort, three Earthsphere marines in ceremonial black and blue uniforms. Along a grey and red passage they were taken to a small room where a tall officer in formal black rose from a table scattered with documents, facing them.
‘Gentlemen, thank you for coming,’ he said. ‘I am Lieutenant Commander Neville, adjutant and chief of staff to the vice-admiral. Which of you is Greg Cameron?’
Smiling, Greg raised a hand. Neville nodded then turned to Berg.
‘So you must be the Ezgara officer,’ he said. ‘There have been wild theories for some time that the Ezgara commandos were actually a Human splinter group of some kind. Now we’re hearing a remarkable rumour that they are actually descended from one of the three lost colonies. Is this so?’
Berg had maintained a neutral expression thus far, to the point where Greg suspected some degree of dislike beneath the surface.
‘With respect, sir,’ he said, ‘I am under specific orders not to discuss these matters.’
The adjutant gazed at Berg for a motionless second before nodding.
‘Of course. Understandable.’ He turned his attention back to Greg. ‘Now that you are here, we can go through.’
Neville crossed to a second door, opened it and ushered them in.
The conference room had soft carpeting, elaborate uplighting and a substantial oval table surface in pale, polished wood. Four triangular windows with rounded corners were spaced along the outer bulkhead, affording a view of the stars and the wisps and veils of the deepzone. A lanky, brown-skinned man in a formal steel-blue uniform was standing at one of them, drinking from a glass. He looked round as they entered, introductions were made, hands were shaken.
‘It is a pleasure to finally meet someone from Darien,’ said Vice-Admiral Ngassa as he gestured them to sit. ‘The newspipes have been full of stories and docudramas about your world but very little is of use in a situation like this.’
‘Well, Vice-Admiral, if there’s anything you need to know about Darien, especially anything archaeologically based, I’m definitely your man,’ Greg said. ‘Mind you, I have a few questions, myself.’
‘That’s fair, Mr Cameron,’ Ngassa said. ‘Firstly, please understand what we are here for. My orders require me to place my forces in near-Darien space for the purposes of protection and security. The president has invoked the “duty of legacy” principle, which essentially means that Earthsphere can assume responsibility for the external political relationships and negotiations of a Human community or colony if its civilian authority is unable to carry them out for itself.’
‘Aye, well I guess that would be a fair description of the state of things the now,’ Greg said.
‘And in the light of my orders, we are faced with the problem of the various warships currently in orbit around Darien. Can you tell me why they’re here?’
Greg nodded. ‘Oh, yes, I can. Ye see, they’re not the problem–but they are here because of the problem or rather the threat posed by the imminent arrival of a large Hegemony fleet. And when I say large, I mean gigantic, going by what I’ve heard. So basically, they have come together in an informal alliance for the purpose of defending Darien.’
Ngassa nodded calmly, taking it all in.
‘I can see that, Mr Cameron, and accepting such aid is understandable in the circumstances. However, the real problem, I’m afraid, could be the Imisil.’
‘The Imisil… are the real problem?’
The vice-admiral gave a slightly pained nod.
‘The Hegemony and the Imisil have had… some unfortunate clashes in the past. If they were to leave the system within the next two hours it would make for more relaxed negotiations when the Hegemony fleet arrives.’
‘Well, ye know, it’s funny but our relationship with the Imisil seems to be just fine,’ Greg said. ‘But I’ll certainly pass that on to the joint command, although you should realise that they’ll be looking for some guarantees in return, no planetary bombardment, no atmospheric destabilisation, no attempt at ground invasion, that sorta thing. That would be a great starting point, I think.’ He leaned back a little. ‘Mind you, I have to say–with great respect, by the way–that there seems to be a wee question hanging over your own fleet’s integrity, so to speak. We got the impression that you’ve had a few… problems yourself.’
Ngassa gave a dismissive gesture. ‘Minor disciplinary matters, nothing more…’
‘Officers and captains refusing direct orders, officers and captains being shot dead or thrown in the brig, using loyal ships to corral whole ships that have gone rogue–stop me if any o’ this is sounding a wee bit familiar…’
‘Mr Cameron!’ said the adjutant angrily.
‘It’s all right, Neville,’ said the vice-admiral. ‘Your information is quite accurate, Mr Cameron, and courtesy of the Imisil, I expect.’
‘They do have some rather fine sensor technology, I’m led to believe.’
Just then, the adjutant took a datapad from his waist clip, wordlessly indicated it to the vice-admiral, who nodded. The adjutant rose from the table and left by the main door, the datapad raised to one ear.
‘As I said, Mr Cameron, a disciplinary problem,’ Ngassa continued. ‘Admittedly, the nature and timing of it is worrying but the situation is firmly under control.’
‘I see, sir,’ said Greg. ‘So you’ve locked up everyone with an AI implant, then.’
Ngassa gave him a mildly incredulous look. ‘I’m sorry but that would be an extreme and irrational response–it would deprive my ships of scores of capable officers and crew who have proved their loyalty beyond question.’
Greg nodded, exchanging a brief look with Berg.
‘Well, I can see your point,’ he said. ‘Sounds sensible. So I guess you have folk on your own staff who have implants…’ He gestured. ‘Perhaps even yourself?’
Ngassa smiled and shook his head. ‘My parents were a little old-fashioned and disapproved of the practice and by the time I was old enough to decide for myself I found that I just didn’t care for the idea. And yes, some of my staff are equipped with implants, like my adjutant, Neville. Why do you ask?’
That was when the adjutant Neville entered the room carrying a beam pistol.
‘Hands on your heads,’ he said. ‘Over to the wall.’
‘What the stinking hell are you doing, Neville?’ said the vice-admiral with stunned anger. ‘Are you a traitor too?’
‘Do as I said,’ Neville said, suddenly shifting his aim to cover Greg and Berg. ‘No heroics. Do it.’
Greg linked his hands and put them behind his head then moved towards the bulkhead. Berg didn’t move.
‘So how is Neville?’ Berg said. ‘Is he even in there any more?’
The adjutant’s mouth twitched into a half-smile. ‘Not for quite some time. Hands on your head and move!’
Berg clasped his hands behind his head, took a step and paused, glancing over at the doorway. ‘Well, about time!…’
The adjutant laughed. ‘Moron–I know there’s no one…’
And Berg’s hand whipped out from behind his head and hurled a small spinning object. It flashed straight towards Neville’s right shoulder and since he was holding the gun with his right hand his reflex avoidance motion pushed his aim off for just a moment, long enough for Berg to launch himself in a flying lunge.
Neville managed to fire off a burst before he and Berg went down in a tangle of flailing legs and savage punches. Greg and the vice-admiral had leaped forward the moment after Berg made his move. The adjutant proved remarkably strong and it took the three of them to disarm him and hold him down. After repeated shouts, two guards appeared and provided restraints with which they were able to immobilise their prisoner.
‘You should release me,’ said the adjutant. ‘It would be in your best interests.’
‘You are going back to stand trial for mutiny,’ said Ngassa, wiping his face with a napkin from the table.
The adjutant laughed. ‘What a delightful race Humans are. Malleable, useful, and never dull. I remember how trusting you used to be back when all you had was that half-trashed planet and a few primitive colonies…’
‘You don’t seem that worried about your situation,’ said Greg. ‘If I was a betting man, I’d say that you really are an AI with a link to some bolthole out in hyperspace. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.’
‘You’d win the bet, man of Darien. You are an interesting batch, growing up without any guidance or constrictions, wolflings some of my colleagues call you, a pure-strain control group, in a way…’
Suddenly alarms were sounding out in the corridors, an insistent metallic sound that made the adjutant laugh.
‘Judgement has come and the punishment will be harsh…’
A communicator node on the conference table also started chiming so Ngassa leaned forward to thumb it and a small holoscreen appeared, showing an officer in a pilot couch.
‘Captain, what’s happening?’
‘Vice-Admiral, vessels have started appearing in hundred-strong formations spaced around the system. We estimate total numbers approaching two thousand… idents are showing as the Hegemony, sir.’
‘Any communication from them?’
‘None, sir, but that’s not the worst–eight of our ships have broken formation, including the two under guard, and are heading towards one of the Hegemony formations.’
‘As am I,’ said the AI-possessed adjutant, who then slumped forward in his chair. For a second everyone was still, staring. Suddenly the adjutant’s head came up as his entire body went into a muscle-straining spasm, a locked rigidity. Greg saw a tracery of dark lines creeping up the neck towards the scalp. One of the guards looked away, and when the adjutant went wholly limp the head rolled to one side to reveal eyes that were charred pits.
‘Captain,’ Ngassa said over the holocomm link, ‘get us back to the flagship without delay–in fact tell Commander Paxton to get under way towards us and we’ll rendezvous…’ Pausing, he looked at Berg. ‘Dammit, man, you’ve been injured! Field treatment for this man.’
‘Sir, I am not wounded,’ Berg said, pulling aside the singed edges of the slash in his uniform to reveal a line of bubbly melt across the surface of a protective vest. ‘Semi-ablative subarmour, sir.’
‘More to you than meets the eye, Lieutenant,’ said Ngassa, who then cast a disdainful look at his former adjutant. ‘So whatever was using Neville has fled?’
Berg nodded. ‘The AIs with the Hegemony fleet will now know that you’re aboard this vessel. And that we are too.’
‘In which case,’ Greg added, ‘it might be prudent for us to take our shuttle back to our ship.’
‘I’m… anxious about putting your lives at risk, gentlemen,’ Ngassa said. ‘No, I’d rather you stayed with us. Once aboard my flagship we will microjump straight to Darien and let you rejoin—’
‘Sir!–sir, the Hegemony formations have just microjumped in unison!’ said the pinnace captain from the holocomm. ‘They have reappeared at half their original distance from Darien, and still in that encircling array.’
‘Tightening the noose,’ Ngassa snarled. ‘And still no word from them?’
‘Nothing, sir.’
‘Get me Paxton.’ A second later a rugged-looking officer appeared in the holopanel. ‘Commander, I want you to order the fleet to microjump to Darien vicinity immediately!’
Ngassa’s second-in-command was startled. ‘Now, sir? Before we get you aboard? We’re only three minutes…’
‘Now, Paxton. Then I want you to use what I’m about to dictate–This is Vice-Admiral Ngassa. In accordance with the orders of the president of the Earthsphere alliance, the colony and planet of Darien is declared to be a provisional protectorate and is therefore under the administrative protection and guidance of the Darien Expeditionary Force, Vice-Admiral Ngassa commanding. All grievances and disputes will be heard by a commission consisting of myself and three judicial appointees. In addition, all communications and requests should be made on the main ES navy channel. Thank you for your attention.–Now have Central Comms widecast that on repeat, and put it out on tiernet channels as well, understand?’
‘Yes sir, and we’re less than a minute away.’
Greg glanced at Berg, who was taking it all with typical Tygran composure.
‘So… where does that put us, overall?’
Berg frowned. ‘We have the Starfire and the Silverlance, the Imisil have five ships, the Vox H are down to seventeen, and the vice-admiral brought sixty, minus the eight defectors, plus the Retributor…’
‘So you don’t think that the Hegemony are going to play nice and be diplomatic?’
The Tygran raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s not really their strong point.’
‘So how many all told?’
‘Eighty-four, while the Hegemony armada consists of a reported two thousand vessels.’
Greg almost laughed. ‘Is that what’s known as a crushing superiority?’
‘Ye know, when we get back to the Starfire I’ll have to lay hands on a set of that handy subarmour of yours.’
Berg’s smile was bleak. ‘I think we’ll need something a bit stronger than that.’