The Pride of the Damned (Cochrane's Company Book 3)
Author: Grant, Peter
Date: 2018-07-07
Rights: Copyright 2018 Peter Grant. All rights reserved.

The Pride of the Damned

Cochrane’s Company, Book Three

Peter Grant

Sedgefield Press

Copyright © 2018 by Peter Grant. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

Cover art and design by Steve Beaulieu
https://www.facebook.com/BeaulisticBookServices/

Spaceship adapted from an image by Luca Oleastri, licensed via https://www.dreamstime.com

This book is dedicated
to my friend and fellow author,

MICHAEL Z. WILLIAMSON,
who encouraged me to get started
on my own writing career,
and supported my fledgling efforts
with enthusiasm. Thanks, buddy!

Contents

1. Disruption

2. Defiance

3. What next?

4. Quandary

5. Quest

6. Dilemma

7. Healing

8. Council

9. Infiltration

10. Default

11. Tidings

12. Coupled

13. Plans

14. Consultations

15. Reunion

16. Incentive

17. Purchase

18. Spacejack

19. Salvage

20. Peril

21. Evasion

22. Decisions

23. Ramp-up

24. Takedown

25. Invasion

26. Destruction

27. Evacuation

28. Extermination

29. Bianca

Epilogue

About The Author

Books by Peter Grant

1

Disruption

NEW SKYROS

Captain Pernaska gazed out through the viewscreen. His office aboard the brand-new depot ship Qemel was far more comfortable and spacious than those of his three previous commands. He knew he should be allowing himself to enjoy it: but the ever-present fear that their enemies would somehow sabotage these ships spoiled any chance of that.

He could see the distant specks of light, each ten kilometers from his spaceship and each other in an equidistant triangle, that marked the positions of the equally brand-new destroyers Gemini and Leo. The first of their sister ships, Aries, had vanished in deep space during her delivery voyage the previous year, along with a freighter, Rades, carrying four full missile reloads. They didn’t know how Hawkwood had managed to destroy them, but they were sure the space security company was responsible. After all, who else could it be? Only the second destroyer, Taurus, had arrived safely, to join their older ships at the Brotherhood’s secret base.

The loss had been staggering in financial terms, but even more damaging in terms of casualties. The passage crews sent to collect the destroyers had comprised many of their most experienced spacers. They simply could not afford to lose such well-trained, highly skilled people. It had left them in an even more parlous situation as far as the rest of their crews were concerned. The Brotherhood had had to struggle mightily to free up enough high-quality spacers to collect these new ships. If anything happened to them, too… the prospect didn’t bear thinking about, particularly since this time, he might be among the victims. He shivered. That was not a cheerful thought.

A moving speck of light grew nearer and larger, resolving itself into a small senior officer’s gig. It slowed as it moved toward the docking bay at the rear of his new command, switching from gravitic drive to reaction thrusters as it entered the field generated by Qemel’s drive unit. He watched approvingly as it passed out of his field of vision, grasped by tractor and pressor beams in the docking bay and drawn into one of the airlocks ready to receive small craft.

He turned away from the viewscreen at last, took from a hook his heavy black uniform jacket with its four stripes on the sleeve, and put it on. Picking up his cap, he went out of the office, thumb-sealing the door lock behind him, and entered the small conference room on the far side of the lobby. Coffee and snacks had already been laid out for his guests. He poured himself a cup while he waited for them to arrive.

A spacer hurried down the passage, snapping to attention in the doorway. “Commander Pernaska and Commander Sulaj are here, sir.” In echo to his voice, the Captain heard their footsteps approaching.

“Thank you, spacer. Return to your duties.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

The two officers entered. The Captain smiled warmly at his younger brother. “Is everything well with Gemini, Burim?”

“As well as can be expected with a brand-new ship. We’re still finding minor problems here and there, but nothing a screwdriver or hammer can’t sort out quickly enough. The trials went well. I think she will handle like a thoroughbred once all her systems have been bedded down.”

“And Leo, Commander Sulaj? Is she in good shape as well?”

“I think so, sir,” the other skipper replied as he hung his cap on a hatstand next to the door. “We are finding the same small issues as Gemini, but nothing serious. What about your depot ship?”

“Qemel was finished almost a month ahead of your vessels, so we’ve had more time to work her up and make sure all parts are taking an even strain. I’m satisfied with her. Help yourselves to coffee and snacks, then let’s get down to planning the final full-power trial for your destroyers tomorrow, and provisioning all three ships. We’re scheduled to leave in less than a week.”

They were hard at work, annotating lists of supplies to be loaded and cross-checking how their stowage would affect the balance and longitudinal stability of their ships, when the intercom on the sideboard chimed urgently. “Officer of the Deck calling Captain Pernaska!”

The Captain frowned, walked over to the set, and pressed a button. “Captain speaking.”

“Sir, a cutter from New Skyros’ System Patrol Service has arrived. It’s carrying an official from their Foreign Ministry, and an inspector from the United Planets. They say – they say this ship – all three of our new ships, sir – they say we’re under arrest!”

“What? Why? On what grounds?”

“I – I don’t know, sir. They say they’ll explain the situation to you. They’re demanding to see you at once.”

“I… All right. Have them brought to the conference room, and we’ll find out what’s going on.”

He turned, to find the destroyers’ commanding officers staring at him open-mouthed. “What the devil can it be?” his brother demanded.

“Your guess is as good as mine. It can’t be anything our crews have done on liberty at the orbital space station. We’ve made sure they behaved themselves.”

It was far worse than that. The UP inspector explained, “We monitor sales and shipments of major arms systems between planets. It seems Tarakan ordered a squadron of destroyers from New Skyros, plus a depot ship – this one, as a matter of fact. The first two warships were delivered by Metaxas Shipyards almost a year ago, but we were recently informed that they still have not arrived at Tarakan. One of our inspectors went there to investigate. He confirmed that Tarakan had provided an end-user certificate, stating that it was the purchaser, but the ships weren’t there, and the planet’s System Patrol Service denied having seen them. He’s therefore placed a non-delivery restriction on the rest of the order. Metaxas can build the ships and test them, but they can’t sign them over to their new owners, and they can’t leave this planet, unless and until the complaint is resolved and the whereabouts of the first two destroyers have been established.”

All three officers had to bite their lips to hold back a vituperative outburst of fury. The Brotherhood had gone to immense trouble and expense to set up the fake end-user certificate, and paid almost double the going rate for Metaxas to ignore obvious discrepancies – not least of which was the fact that Tarakan was too poor a planet to afford even one destroyer, much less a full squadron of them. Now that mammoth investment, and their ability to defend themselves and carry the fight to Hawkwood, was in the gravest jeopardy. If they could not satisfy the UP’s inspectors…

Captain Pernaska managed to say, “What about the destroyers’ final full-power trial run tomorrow?”

“That can go ahead,” the Foreign Ministry official informed him, “but our System Patrol Service will put armed guards aboard all your ships immediately. As soon as the final test has been completed, the ships will be brought back here and assigned a long-term parking orbit, along with your vessel. Furthermore, the destroyers’ missile pods are to be removed immediately after the test. We don’t have space in our orbital arsenal to store their six pods each, plus the twenty-four reload pods you’re carrying. Therefore, the destroyers’ pods will be brought to this ship, for storage in one of your holds until this matter is resolved. All three ships may be provisioned as required, but their reaction mass and nuclear reactor fuel will be reduced to the minimum required to maintain their parking orbit. They won’t be allowed to load enough to depart for another planet.”

“And our crews?” Commander Sulaj demanded.

“Obviously, you’ll need to maintain an anchor watch aboard your ships. What you do with the rest of your officers and spacers is up to you. That’ll be for your account, of course.”

“Can we appeal against the non-delivery restriction?” Commander Pernaska asked.

“You can, but I doubt it’ll help,” the inspector replied. “The complaint originated off-planet, and the order was issued by another UP sector office. All I’m doing is conveying it to you. Your appeal would have to be sent to that office for consideration. Unless they’ve located the first two ships of the order, and found out why they didn’t arrive at the planet when they were supposed to, and what they’ve been doing since that time, they’re unlikely to entertain it. I don’t suppose you can provide that information, can you?”

He looked at the three officers with a carefully expressionless face. Like all weapons transfer inspectors, he was well aware of the many and varied tricks – including falsified end-user certificates – used to obtain military hardware by those who weren’t legally entitled to buy or operate it.

“I’ve no idea,” the Captain replied, trying to sound as innocent as possible. “We’re employed by Kreshnik Security, which has a contract with Tarakan. We’re passage crews, that’s all. We take the ships where our bosses tell us. Surely Tarakan’s government should answer your questions?”

“Yes, they should. I’m surprised they haven’t already. Still, that’s the situation at present.”

“I’ve brought a System Patrol Service detachment with me,” the Foreign Ministry official informed them. “They’ll be stationed aboard this ship from now on. She is not to leave this orbit, unless to move to another one assigned to her by Orbital Control. Two more SPS detachments are on their way to the destroyers. They’ll be staying aboard them until further notice, too.”

When the officials had taken their departure, the Captain ground out, struggling to control his anger and concern, “We must report this at once to Agim Nushi. I shall go myself. Since we cannot use our own ships, I shall have to use commercial travel.”

“Scheduled services will be too slow,” his brother pointed out. “You would have to make at least two connections to reach Patos. You must charter a communications vessel.”

“That will cost a great deal,” Sulaj objected. “We do not have enough in our passage funds to cover it.”

“You are right,” the Captain agreed. “Return to your ships, and inform your crews of what has happened. Continue with preparations for tomorrow’s test run. While you are busy with that, I shall consult with Pellumb Istrefi planetside. He will have to pay for a communications vessel out of the Brotherhood’s construction budget.”

Commander Sulaj bustled out, almost running as he headed for the docking bay and the waiting gig. Captain Pernaska motioned to his brother to remain behind for a moment. “Be very careful about preparing for the test run tomorrow,” he warned him, “and pass this on to Commander Sulaj as you travel back to your ships. We must make sure that none of the System Patrol Service detachments bring anything aboard that might be used to sabotage our ships. Hawkwood must have set up this complaint to the United Planets. They are damnably clever! It will take months to bribe a more senior UP inspector to lift the non-delivery order, and allow our ships to depart. At least Metaxas can continue to build the next two. They have already started construction. We may have four destroyers ready by the time we are able to leave.”

The Brotherhood’s liaison officer to Metaxas Shipyards was busy with a call when the Captain arrived at his office, shortly before lunchtime the following day. He waved the officer to a seat as he finished his business.

“I’m sorry, Captain. I heard the news when I arrived this morning. What are you going to do?”

“Inform Agim Nushi and the Brotherhood Council, of course. They must decide what to do next.”

“Yes, of course. I shall send them a message, too, advising that I have told Metaxas Shipyards to continue with construction of the fifth and sixth destroyers, pending resolution of this mess.”

“Can you charter a communications ship for me, to depart right away? I don’t have enough funds to pay for it myself. I want to report this as quickly as possible.”

Istrefi’s face fell. “That will be difficult. Most brokers offering such vessels for hire will want at least a few days’ notice to load fuel and supplies, and get all the crew aboard. I know one who might be able to help us – he’s done so in the past – but it will cost extra for such haste.”

“Pay it. We cannot afford to delay.”

Istrefi placed a call. “Put me through to Ermis Stavros, please… Hello, Ermis. Pellumb here… Yes, I am well. Listen, I need a courier ship to go to Patos, as quickly as possible. Is anything available that can leave not later than tomorrow?… Yes, it really is that urgent… I’ll be very grateful if you would, please. If they’re prepared to wait, I’ll gladly pay them a cancellation fee and charter their ship instead… All right. You have my comm code. I’ll wait for your call… Thank you.”

He put down the comm unit, smiling. “We may be in luck. A ship was due to leave today, but the passenger has been taken ill. He asked the ship to wait in orbit for a few days while he recovers. Ermis doesn’t have a ship of his own, but he knows the skipper of that one. He’ll ask whether we can take over the charter, given the delay. We’ll pay him a commission to act as our agent. He’ll charter a replacement ship for the original passenger.”

“That would be excellent.”

The comm unit trilled within a few minutes. Istrefi picked it up. “Yes, this is he… Wonderful! Thank you, Ermis!… Yes, my client will board early tomorrow morning… Hold on.” He muted the comm unit. “Who will you send, Captain? Ermis needs the name for the passenger manifest.”

“I’ll go myself. I’ll leave my Executive Officer in charge of the ship. Commander Sulaj is next in seniority, so he’ll act as senior officer on station until I get back, or someone is sent to replace me. The Brotherhood may send more passengers back in the same ship, though.”

“Very well. Ermis? It’ll be just one passenger going there, Captain Spartak Pernaska. There may be more on the return trip. How many passengers can the ship accommodate?… Twelve double cabins. Very good. What is the charter fee?… All right. I’ll transfer the funds to you at once, plus your usual commission, plus a bonus for your trouble. Please ensure the ship takes aboard enough supplies for the trip to Patos… Yes, I will. Thank you very much.”

As he put down the comm unit, he said, “I’ll transmit my latest report to you by this evening, so you can take it with you.”

“I’ll deliver it,” Captain Pernaska promised. “Keep Commander Sulaj informed of anything you hear, and help him if he runs into any more problems. He’ll need your guidance on dealing with the local authorities.”

In the offices of Stavros Shipping, Henry Martin endorsed a bearer bank draft and handed it across the desk. “Thanks, Ermis. You’ve earned your money today, and then some.”

“I’ll have the ship head for Constanta as soon as the prisoner has been secured, immediately after its first hyper-jump out of this system. We’ll hand him over to Hawkwood for questioning.”

“Make sure your crew knows that they must never breathe a word about this. Thanks for holding the ship on standby in orbit for me. It came in really handy today.”

“We aim to please, especially for well-paying clients like you. I’ll have another ship standing by for you within a week, as soon as I can arrange a replacement.”

“Thanks. How will you protect yourself against reprisals from the Brotherhood?”

Stavros shrugged. “You heard me tell Istrefi that the ship wasn’t one of ours. As far as he’ll know, I’m just the agent who hooked him up with its owner-skipper. If it vanishes while on the journey, that’s not my fault. Accidents happen, after all – or I can blame it on sabotage, and accuse Hawkwood. The Brotherhood will be all too ready to believe that, after what happened to their first delivery from Metaxas!” Both men chuckled knowingly.

“The ship will have a different name and beacon ID by the time it calls at Constanta, and another after it leaves there. I’ll keep it out of this system for six months or so. By then, it’ll be just another courier ship doing its rounds. Istrefi and his people have never seen it, or met or spoken to any of its crew, so they won’t know them from Adam. Only this Captain Pernaska will have done that, and he won’t be a problem by then.”

“No, he won’t. I can see you’ve done this before.”

“A few times. It’s inconvenient, tying up one of our ships for long periods like this, but you pay well, and sometimes – like today – it pays off for both of us. You’ll arrange to have the rest of the money waiting for us at Constanta?”

“I’ll have a letter ready for you by this afternoon. Tell the skipper to give it to Hawkwood on arrival. How would you like to be paid – in another draft like this, or in gold?”

“You can do gold? That will save us bank fees, and it’s almost untraceable. If your people give it to the skipper, he’ll deliver it to us. He’s trustworthy.”

“Gold it is, then.”

Stavros grinned. “I wonder how long it’ll take the Brotherhood to eventually learn about the impounding of their ships, and that one of their senior officers has gone missing?”

“Probably several weeks at least; hopefully, a couple of months. By then we’ll have interrogated Captain Pernaska, and used what he tells us to cause them some more problems.”

2

Defiance

CONSTANTA

Captain Pernaska sat on the hard, narrow bunk in his cell, closed his eyes, and prepared himself for death.

Remember our Patriarch, he thought forcefully to himself. He dared not speak aloud, because the enemy would overhear him through the microphones they were sure to have hidden in this confined space. Even in his dotage, afflicted with disease, he went on a combat operation, to prove to our people that he would never ask them to risk anything he was not prepared to risk himself. What an example he set! He died in action, and inspired all of us to avenge his loss in the blood of our enemies. Today is my chance to do that. It is not a tragedy – it is an honor! May I prove worthy of it, and may my death be worthy of his!

He had to act before his captors could transfer him to an interrogation facility. He knew all the Brotherhood’s plans for the next few years, and all about their ships. Most important of all, he knew the coordinates of their secret base, information entrusted only to the Commanding Officers, Executive Officers and navigators of their vessels. Hawkwood absolutely could not, under any circumstances, be allowed to learn that secret… so he had to die. It was as simple as that.

His kidnappers had been almost unbelievably, even criminally inept in giving him access to the ship’s entertainment library, via the screen on the bulkhead beyond the bars. He was still puzzled by that. Hawkwood had proved to be a formidable opponent in space combat, worthy of the Brotherhood’s steel. Why had they made such an elementary error? Perhaps this ship was the exception that proved the rule of their efficiency and effectiveness, the weakest link in their chain. Please God, let its crew not be alone in being so sloppy! Of course, it might not be a Hawkwood vessel at all: but it had brought him as a prisoner to Hawkwood’s home planet, so that was irrelevant. He would treat its crew as the enemy.

He had taken advantage of the screen and its voice-activated controls – which his oh-so-stupid captors had obligingly demonstrated to him – to access the courier vessel’s layout, provided as part of the entertainment library so that passengers could find their way around if necessary. He knew where the brig was in relation to the rest of the ship, and where the airtight bulkheads and doors were that would separate the vessel into pressure-tight compartments in an emergency.

In Galactic Standard English, he called, “Display orbital approach.” The screen obediently flickered, then resolved into a radar-like display of the planet ahead. Several spaceships’ orbits were outlined in yellow, while this ship’s approach to its own assigned trajectory was shown in red. The vessel looked to be no more than a few minutes away from entering orbit. He took a deep breath. It was almost time.

He’d asked for a couple of pairs of utility overalls, to wear instead of his Captain’s uniform. He’d sent that to the ship’s laundry, to be restored to pristine freshness in readiness for this day. Now he took off the overalls, folded them, laid them on his freshly-made bed, and put on his uniform. He tied the old-fashioned laces, critically observing his reflection in the shoes that he’d polished to mirror brightness, just like when he’d been a cadet officer all those years ago. He settled the jacket over his shoulders, and buttoned it. He had no mirror in which to examine his appearance, but knew it would be as close to perfect as possible under the circumstances.

He heard approaching footsteps, and smothered a savage grin with his hand. He’d been on his best behavior with the spacers who brought him meals twice a day, and escorted him to and from the shower twice a week. He’d tried very hard to give the impression of a man resigned to captivity, wanting no trouble, willing even to grovel before his guards in order to avoid conflict. He knew some of them regarded him with scornful contempt as a result… which was exactly how he had hoped they would react.

He reached beneath the mattress on the unused top bunk, and withdrew the pen that one of the spacers had indulgently lent him ‘to write a letter to my wife’. When he’d handed over the letter – addressed to a non-existent woman, and filled with meaningless platitudes – it had been to a different spacer, who hadn’t asked for the pen to be returned. He had taken full advantage of that mistake. It had given him a weapon.

He palmed the pen, with the point up his sleeve, as two spacers entered the brig compartment. Both were armed with pulsers, but only one had his weapon in his hand. The other’s was in the flap holster at his waist, which was unfastened, allowing the butt to peep out from beneath the synthleather cover.

“All right,” the armed spacer said in Galactic Standard English, using what he presumably intended to be a commanding tone of voice. “Stand back from the door while we unlock it, then we’ll cuff your hands and take you to the docking bay.”

“Yes, of course,” the captain answered subserviently, stepping back, half-turning away, hunching his shoulders as if to avoid a blow. The two spacers exchanged contemptuous glances, then the second, empty-handed man unlocked the barred door and swung it open.

“Turn around and put your hands behind your back,” he ordered as he stepped inside.

The captain made as if to obey, but instead of stopping with his back to the spacer, he continued turning, all the way around, moving suddenly faster. Before the startled man could react, he reached out with his left hand, grabbed his collar, and pulled him powerfully forward as he thrust with the pen in his right hand. Its point speared deep into the spacer’s left eye. He screamed in agony.

“WHAT TH–” the second spacer began to yell, eyes bulging in surprise – but Pernaska did not stop. His left hand, still grasping the injured man’s collar, twisted him half-around while his now-empty right hand snaked out and grasped the butt of the holstered weapon, drawing it and releasing its safety catch. He violently shoved his writhing victim back toward the entrance as the other spacer raised his pulser, blocking his line of sight, forcing him to step to one side to aim at their erstwhile captive. By the time he’d done so, the captain had acquired a rock-steady two-handed firing grip on his own weapon. He fired first, three rapid rounds, two into the spacer’s chest, the third at the center of his face as he yelled in pain and shock and began to fold forward over himself. The man dropped his pulser and slumped bonelessly to the deck. Pernaska turned back to the wailing spacer inside his cell and fired one more round into his head, killing him instantly.

He shook his head in a vain attempt to clear his head of the sudden deafness caused by the hypersonic discharge of the pulser’s electromagnetic mechanism. Faintly, through the ringing in his ears, he heard the sudden whooping of the ship’s alarm, followed by the impact of airtight doors slamming shut, reverberating through the vessel’s structure. He grinned savagely.

Thank you, you fools! You think you’ve locked me safely away from the bridge. Instead, you’ve locked me in the same section of the hull as all your off-duty watchstanders. They’re my meat now! You may kill me in the end, but not before I make you pay for my life in the blood of your spacers!

He swiftly searched both bodies. Neither carried spare ammunition for their pulsers, but that was of minor importance. He’d used four of the twenty rounds in the first weapon, and there were twenty more in the other – more than enough for what he’d need. He tucked the second weapon into a pocket of his jacket, then called up the vessel’s schematic on the screen again. There were eight four-person berthing units for the crew in the forward section of the hull, plus three two-berth units for supervisors and four single cabins for officers. Many of the crew would be at their stations, but according to the duty roster he’d carefully memorized earlier, about a third should be in their berthing units. By now they’d have locked their doors, of course, in the vain hope that would protect them from him. He spat contemptuously. They would soon learn otherwise… the last lesson of their lives.

He walked out of the brig, moving slowly and carefully, peering around the corner to make sure that no braver-than-usual spacer had decided to wait in ambush for him. The passage was clear. Grinning almost cheerfully, he moved up to the first sliding door on the port side. It was locked, as he expected. He reached for the keypad set in the bulkhead next to it, and entered the standard merchant vessel emergency access code. It was used on all commercial ships, in accordance with United Planets regulations, so that search-and-rescue teams could enter locked compartments if necessary. Sure enough, the keypad beeped, and the door slid back.

Two spacers inside the compartment screamed in fear as they stared at the black-uniformed figure in the open doorway. Their cries turned to gurgles of agony as he pumped one round into each of their chests. They crumpled to the deck. He walked over, aimed carefully, and put a second round through the head of each man. That’s four, he thought with grim, bitter, vengeful satisfaction.

A voice began yelling over the ship’s speakers, begging, pleading with him to stop. He ignored it as he turned to the door on the starboard side of the passage, and entered the emergency access code once more.

“Commodore, arriving!”

The strident call rang through the small docking bay, and the four armed men and women securing it stiffened to attention. However, they didn’t take their focus away from their areas of responsibility as a tall man in black uniform, sleeves bearing the single thick stripe of his rank, emerged from the gig. He returned the salute of an officer clad in dark battledress.

“What’s going on, Tom?”

“Sir, it’s a real mess. The ship’s engineer tells me Henry Martin hired this vessel at New Skyros. A Brotherhood officer, Captain Spartak Pernaska, chartered it to take him to Patos, to report that our scheme with that UP Inspector had worked, and their ships were detained. Unfortunately for him, Henry got in first. He had the ship’s owner tell his crew to knock out the Captain with sleepy gas, lock him in the brig, then bring him here instead. They were going to hand him over to us for interrogation.”

“Yes, Henry hoped to achieve something like that.” Cochrane followed Commander Argyll out of the docking bay and up the main passageway.

“Yes, sir, but things went wrong when they got here. Near as I can tell, they decided to get him out of the brig themselves, rather than wait for us to do it. They got slack, and gave him an opening. He jumped the two spacers who opened the brig, stabbed one with some sort of makeshift weapon, took his pulser, and killed both of them. The concussion of the shots sounded the alarm, and the skipper could see what was happening over the ship’s security camera network. He sealed all the airtight hatches between hull compartments, but that meant the prisoner was isolated in the forward section, along with eleven off-duty members of the crew. He went after them, hunted them down one by one, and killed them.”

“Damn!”

“That’s putting it mildly, sir. By then the skipper was screaming at us to come and rescue him. We’re lucky he didn’t yell for help on the emergency frequency, otherwise Constanta’s System Patrol Service would have got involved, and there’d be charges of kidnapping involved – certainly against this ship, and perhaps against us, too.”

“That’s all we need! Quite apart from kidnapping, how the hell would we – or the ship – have explained thirteen dead people?”

“Fourteen, sir. One of my teams was already on the way here to collect the prisoner, and I jumped into another cutter and brought more of my people; but none of us could get here in time to save the trapped spacers. The first team to arrive secured the rest of the ship, then waited for me. I ordered the airtight door to be cracked, and we tossed a few gas grenades inside. As soon as Captain Pernaska smelled them, he yelled something in Albanian, put the muzzle of a pulser in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.”

Cochrane shook his head as they came to the courier ship’s bridge. “He may have been part of one of the nastiest, most thuggish criminal gangs in the settled galaxy, but give the devil his due – he had guts. He was obviously determined not to allow us to interrogate him, so he decided to take as many people with him as he could. He probably assumed this ship and its crew were ours. I doubt they’d have told him different.”

“It leaves us in a hell of a spot, though, sir. This ship’s just lost over a third of its crew, and the skipper’s a nervous wreck. Look.” Tom gestured as they entered the bridge. The courier ship’s captain was huddled behind the command console. His face was pale, and he was visibly shivering.

“Good afternoon, captain,” Cochrane said, as soothingly as he could. “I’m sorry you had to endure this.”

The skipper burst out, “He was a maniac! A madman! How will I ever explain this to Mr. Stavros?”

“Is he your boss?”

“Yes! He owns this ship!”

“I’ll write him a letter, explaining what happened. Do you have enough crew to make your way back to New Skyros?”

“N-no. We were supposed to go to another planet, not New Skyros, but I need more spacers first.”

Cochrane sighed. This man was obviously in no shape to continue his voyage, and the rest of his crew were probably no better off. “Very well. I’ll accommodate all of you in one of our facilities planetside. We’ll put your ship in a parking orbit while we wait for Mr. Stavros’ instructions. I’ll send him a message right away, and you can do the same. He’ll probably send a new crew for the ship.”

“I – I’m not sure I should do that.”

“I am. You’re not in a fit condition to proceed right now. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Mr. Stavros knows it was my decision, not yours. We’ve chartered your ship, after all.”

“I… yes, all right.”

Cochrane turned to his companion. “Tom, get the crew together. Don’t let them go into their quarters to pack – we don’t want them seeing the remains of their friends. We’ll buy more clothes and personal gear for them planetside. Take them to our training base at the farm outside town. They can stay there for a few days, using one of the barracks buildings. When they’ve caught their breath, they can enjoy the bright lights of the city for a while, but not before then – and make sure they know not to breathe a word about what happened here today. Signal for an anchor watch crew of our people, to look after this ship until further notice.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Very well. I’ll take a quick look through the forward compartments, then head back planetside. I’ll see you at the staff meeting, tomorrow at nine. Please have a report on this mess ready by then. The others will want to hear it.”

“Aye aye, sir. Er… what should we do with the bodies, sir?”

“Clean up everything. Take all the bodies to our depot freighter. Put the crew’s remains in body bags in the freezer until we know what their boss wants done with them. We’ll give the Brotherhood captain a spacer’s funeral, and drop his body into Constanta’s star.”

3

What next?

CONSTANTA

“According to the ship’s recording, his last words, in Albanian, were: ‘Patriarch! I come! May my death prove worthy of you!’ Then he shot himself.”

Tom set down the tablet from which he’d been reading. There was a stunned silence around the table. Cochrane watched his staff officers carefully, noting their reactions.

“Talk about pointless fanaticism!” Warrant Officer Jock Murray, his S7 staff officer for Communications and Technology, said with a wry grimace. “We weren’t going to kill him, were we, sir?”

“No, we weren’t. We’d have treated him as a prisoner of war, like we did Sub-Lieutenant Alban Sejdiu when we captured him eighteen months ago. We’d have interrogated him, certainly, but not using drugs as we did to the Brotherhood’s assassins. On the other hand, since Agim Nushi, the Brotherhood boss, refused to circulate the news that we captured another officer and treated him in that way, the Captain wouldn’t have known about that.”

“His actions suggest he expected torture, sir,” Commander Caitlin Ross, his S2 – Intelligence, pointed out. “He probably decided he couldn’t risk us learning all he knew, particularly if it could cause the Brotherhood serious harm.”

“It probably would have,” Cochrane agreed. “For a start, an officer of his seniority almost certainly knew the location of their base. We think we’ve – or, rather, Frank has – narrowed that down to a sphere about two hundred light years across; but there are seventeen deserted – or nominally deserted – stars inside it. We’re going to have to check each and every one of them now, slowly and carefully. It would have been a hell of a lot easier and quicker if we could have asked him about it.”

“That’s assuming he’d have told us, sir,” Captain Frank Haldane pointed out soberly. He wasn’t a member of the staff, but as the Commanding Officer of Hawkwood’s newly-formed First Frigate Division, he’d been invited to attend this morning’s meeting. “He probably wouldn’t have talked.”

“True. All right. I don’t think we can expect this trick to work twice, because when the other Brotherhood officers at New Skyros learn of the Captain’s disappearance, they’ll be doubly on their guard. I’ll send a signal to Henry Martin, asking him to inform the courier ship’s owner that he needs to send a new crew to collect it, and what’s left of its previous crew. I’ll recall Henry to Constanta, to see what we can come up with next to disrupt the Brotherhood.” There was a general murmur of agreement from the others around the table. “Jock, do you think you and Henry could repeat your earlier trick with their missiles’ range safety packages?”

“I doubt it, sir. After losing two ships, they must surely have thought of them as a potential weak point. We can’t be sure they won’t double and redouble their security, and catch us red-handed. I’d rather not end up having to die like Captain Pernaska, if it’s all the same to you, sir.” His dry chuckle was echoed by the others.

“I can’t say I blame you. All right, when Henry arrives, we’ll put our heads together. Let’s move on to the next item. Hui, please give us an update on our fleet status and deployments.”

Captain Lu, wearing the uniform of the Qianjin Fleet, smiled. “Sure. Pay attention to the screen, please.” His fiancée picked up a remote control unit from the conference table, pointed it at the far wall, and called up a series of lists and diagrams as she began to speak.

“Let’s look at Constanta first. Caracal and Jaguarundi finished working up in the Mycenae system two months ago. They’ve joined Bobcat here to form the First Frigate Division under Captain Haldane. We also have the arsenal ships Bicuda II and Sorubim, each with one corvette, equipped with the new-generation battle computer, permanently attached to provide fire control for their missiles. The brand-new repair ship Vulcan II is working up here, with the assistance of the Grigorescu Shipyard. As soon as she’s operational, she’ll be going to Mycenae, to provide engineering support to our squadron there.

“We have two communications vessels, Hermoth and Zaqar, the depot ship Anson, and our big warehouse freighter, Humpback. The fast freighter Pilot handles the monthly supply run between here and Mycenae. Our armed fast freighter, Orca, is out-system on a training mission at present, preparing to graduate our latest class of entry-level spacers, and teaching more operators to handle the fire control systems of our frigates and corvettes. That’s a total of fourteen vessels assigned to this station at present. Three corvettes are in the hands of Grigorescu Shipyards, undergoing routine maintenance or overhaul, bringing the total here to seventeen. Of course, Captain Haldane will be taking his three frigates, plus Sorubim and her corvette, on a long-term scouting mission within a couple of weeks. That’ll reduce the number of ships here to twelve.”

“In the Mycenae system we have the arsenal ship Arapaima II, with a corvette attached. Four more corvettes are patrolling the system, and two communications vessels are on hand. The depot ships Jean Bart and Lysander service the squadron, and the warehouse freighters Bowhead II and Dolphin provide stores and supplies. There’s also our asteroid mining decoy setup, designed to attract the Brotherhood to attack it, although they haven’t yet done so. A corvette and a freighter guard and service it, collecting asteroids beaconed for recovery. That totals fourteen ships in that system.

“Finally, we have an ad hoc squadron in the Barjah system. That’s a new station, but it’ll grow rapidly as we assign more ships there. It’s intended to hide the true size of our fleet from both Constanta’s government, and the New Orkney Enterprise in Mycenae. Either or both of them would be uneasy if they realized we now have more, and more powerful, warships than many planets’ System Patrol Services.

“We also want to conceal our true size from the Albanian Brotherhood. They probably know roughly how many ships we have in Mycenae at any one time, and how many here at other times, but they won’t know about Barjah until it’s too late – we hope. My best estimate is that they have to be relying on intermittent reconnaissance, and reports from visiting ships, to put together their intelligence. We think we can fool them for the next year or more, if we play our cards right.

“The depot ship De Ruyter is there, and the fast freighter Minke. The newly-delivered communications vessels Isimud and Mercury are working up there, along with Iris, already in service. The new corvettes Baneberry and Larkspur will arrive there shortly to commence working up. The arsenal ship Piranha II is on station, with a corvette attached, for a total of nine vessels at present.”

“That’s forty ships in commission or working up,” Captain Dave Cousins, Hawkwood’s S1 – Personnel and Training, said soberly. “Remember how we began, some years ago, with no ships at all? We’ve come an awful long way, very quickly.” A rumble of agreement ran around the table. “How many ships do we still have on order?”

Hui pulled up another list on the screen. “Four more communications vessels, two depot ships, six frigates, six corvettes, two fast freighters and another engineering ship. That’s twenty-one more ships, due over the next three years or so.”

“A sixty-one-ship fleet? That’ll make us bigger than almost every planetary System Patrol Service out there. We’ll be in the same league as smaller interplanetary alliances, size-wise.”

“Yes and no,” Cochrane demurred. “Many of our ships are non-combatants or lightly armed, like our corvettes. They’re essentially large patrol and escort craft – defensive ships, not able to go on the offensive without heavier support. Our Sunday punch is in our frigates, equipped with cruiser-size missiles, and our arsenal ships, each carrying as many of the same missiles as four frigates or one full-size cruiser. Hopefully the Brotherhood doesn’t know we have them yet. The only ships of theirs that saw our big missiles at work were destroyed by them. If we can keep them from realizing we have them until it’s too late, I’ll be a happy man. It’ll give us a tactical edge.”

“And we’ve paid for, or can pay for, all this?” Dr. Elizabeth Cousins asked, seated next to her husband.

“Yes, thanks to stealing as many asteroids as possible out of the very system we’re supposed to be protecting, at Mycenae.” A ripple of amusement ran around the table. “I told you all, right at the very beginning, that we’d be doing things that were illegal. I said I had no qualms of conscience about that, because the First Families in the New Orkney Cluster, who’d screwed over all of us at one time or another, set up the law to favor themselves and hurt everyone else. They established the New Orkney Enterprise to exploit Mycenae at taxpayer expense, but for their own private profit. Under those circumstances, I have no problem exploiting Mycenae for our needs as well.”

“I don’t think any of us do, sir,” she assured him. “We’ve all seen how those rapacious bastards operate, and we’ve all suffered because of it. I just can’t help finding it ironic that we butted heads with the Brotherhood because they were stealing asteroids from Mycenae, yet we’re funding our defense against them by doing exactly the same thing.”

“Yes. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery; but I want them flatt-ened, rather than flatt-ered!” More laughter. “We’ve recovered enough asteroids to pay for everything so far, delivered and on order, and fund our operations for the next two to three years. We’ll continue to milk Mycenae for all it’s worth until that becomes impossible. If I can build up ten years’ worth of reserves, or even more, I’ll gladly do so while the going’s good.”

“What about more security contracts, sir?” Lachlan McLachlan, the combined S4 – Logistics and S8 – Finance, asked. He was the only civilian in the group, but had proved his competence to everyone’s satisfaction.

Cochrane looked at Commander Desmond Shearer, S3 – Operations. “Des, would you speak to that, please?”

“Yes, sir. We’ve just signed a contract with the Larcuna system. We’ll be starting work there in a few months. They’ve got a smuggling problem, and want us to protect a new asteroid mining project while it gets up and running, until it’s able to afford to afford its own patrol craft. We’ll send a detachment of four corvettes, two communications vessels, a depot ship, a freighter, and a surveillance satellite constellation. They’ll pay us a hundred million francs per month, plus the right to take up to five asteroids each month from their system. We’ll deploy thirty or forty of our prospector robots in their asteroid belt to cherry-pick the best precious-metal asteroids for us.”

Smiles ran around the table. “If theirs are as rich as the Mycenae asteroids, that should be a very profitable deal for us, sir,” Lachlan agreed.

“It should be, until they realize just how profitable. You see, until their own refinery ship is in operation, we have the right to take the asteroids out of the system to refine them elsewhere. Once theirs is online, we’re supposed to refine them there, and they’ll take the fifty per cent fee we currently pay at Barjah. When they figure out how much we’ve been making, I daresay they’ll want to modify the contract.” More laughter. “Still, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Perhaps it’s time to buy our own refinery ship, sir?”

Cochrane shook his head. “It’s not just the ship, but also a secure base for her, free of interference, plus the hundreds of specialized staff needed to operate her, plus a network of contacts to dispose of her output. It’ll be a major administrative burden. I’d rather not divide our focus until we’ve dealt with the Brotherhood once and for all. After that, we’ll see. Dave, I know we have crews for all our currently operational ships, but how are things looking for those on order?”

“Not very good, sir,” Cousins admitted. “Frankly, we’ve just about exhausted the high-skill spacer pool in the New Orkney Cluster. We’ve employed so many of them that its planets’ System Patrol Services and merchant freight lines are complaining about losing all their best people. We’re starting to cast our net wider for more people, but our stringent security checks put off a lot who might otherwise apply.

“Our repair ships in particular are very hard to staff, because they call for lots of highly trained and skilled technicians. We lost almost all we had when Vulcan was destroyed during the Second Battle of Mycenae, and we’ve only been able to replace half of them so far. That’s half as many as we need for Vulcan II right now, and we have none at all for Hephaestus when she’s delivered next year.

“I’ve got about eighty trainee technicians drawn from our general spacer pool, who’ve volunteered and passed aptitude tests for tech work. I’m pairing each of them with a qualified tech aboard Vulcan, so they can get hands-on training over and above their course work. They won’t be qualified to interplanetary standards for another two or three years yet, but at least they’ll be moderately productive before then. Grigorescu is being very helpful in letting them work alongside its technicians as well. Some of them are complaining it’s a bit like trying to drink from a fire hose. There’s so much to learn that they feel overwhelmed. Still, they’re doing their best.

“As for spacers and officers, our problem is simply that we daren’t relax our standards. We get four or five times as many applicants as we accept. They’re attracted by our wages and salaries, which are far above average, but they don’t have what we want in the way of skills or experience, or they fail our truth-tester security examination for one reason or another, or there’s some other deficiency. Our training program for entry-level spacers is going well, and our internal promotion training is very useful, but neither produces enough people for our needs. Frankly, sir, I don’t know how I’m going to staff our next freighters, depot ships and communications vessels. I’m having to allocate all our new hires to warships, which have priority right now.”

“Yes, they have to, I’m afraid. If necessary, we can put some non-combatant ships into parking orbits, here or at Barjah, until we can scrape up crews for them. Until the Brotherhood is no longer a threat, warships are more important.” Cochrane turned to Jock Murray. “Jock, do you think you can do anything to help our techs get up to speed aboard Vulcan II? She’s vitally important to our operations in Mycenae.”

“Aye, I can spend some time there, sir. I’ve not got anything too important on my plate right now. If Captain Cousins agrees, I’ll go over there tomorrow and see what can be done. Perhaps some of my tech team can help there, too.”

“I’ll be very grateful, thank you,” Dave agreed.

“Er… what about Sue McBride, sir?” Jock asked, almost diffidently.

Cochrane sighed. “Elizabeth, will you tell us what you can, please? – without breaching patient confidentiality, of course.”

“Yes, sir.” She bit her lip. “Commander McBride was almost catatonic for several months after the loss of HCS Vulcan. Don’t forget, that repair ship was her baby. We got her as an empty shell. Sue supervised the installation of all her equipment, personally vetted and hired almost all her engineers, and was friends with most of her techs. They’d worked together for years in the New Orkney Cluster, after all. To see the ship and its crew destroyed before her eyes was traumatic enough; but to have survived almost by accident, through being invited to have lunch with Frank that day aboard the depot ship, added survivor’s guilt to the burden. She held herself responsible for the deaths of everyone aboard Vulcan, feeling they’d been there because of her. That’s not true, of course, but facts are trumped by feelings in a situation like that.

“She’s come out of her catatonia, but she’s basically withdrawn from most social contact. She spends a lot of time alone at a cabin in the mountains. I’m worried about that, but I don’t have the right to interfere as long as she’s in her right mind; and there’s no evidence of actual insanity. I asked her once about going back into space, but her reaction was violently negative – not violent against me, you understand, but very vehement about never wanting to be in space again. That may wear off, or it may not. All we can do is give her space and time to work this out for herself.”

“I sent her a message, asking whether I could visit,” Cochrane added. “She was… very negative about that. I wish someone could break through her shell, but I’ve no idea who, or how.”

“May I try, sir?” Jock asked diffidently. “We were friends back on Rousay. Perhaps I can remind her of that.”

“Please do!” Elizabeth encouraged him. “It can’t hurt, provided you’re careful in how you approach her. If there’s the slightest resistance, back off and give her space.”

“I will, doctor. I’ll take a look at the situation aboard Vulcan II first, then we’ll see what can be done.”

Cochrane nodded. “Thank you, Jock. Very well, everybody. I think we all know where we stand, and we’ve all got more than enough to keep us busy until the next meeting – all except you, Caitlin. I’ve got a new project for you. Please stay behind for a moment.”

She rolled her eyes. “No rest for the wicked, eh, sir?” The others laughed.

“Not in your case. Thank you all for attending. Same time, same place, next week.”

Caitlin moved up to a seat next to Cochrane’s as the others filed out. When the last person had closed the door behind them, he turned to her.

“The next liaison meeting at Bintulu is next month, right?”

“Yes, sir. Chen will be meeting me there. We’re hoping the Big Three will agree to provide some sort of practical assistance for us, since we’re essentially fighting their enemy on their behalf.”

“I hope they will. Take whatever’s offered, and ask for more if you think you can get away with it. That goes for money, of course, but even more for assistance in kind. If Qianjin will agree to lend us technicians to serve aboard our repair ships and help train our own people, that’ll be invaluable. Ask Chen what can be done about that. Hui will ask through Fleet channels as well.”

“Will do, sir.”

“There’s one very important caveat. Any assistance offered has got to be free and clear, with no strings attached. If there are any conditions that might commit us to something we won’t normally agree to do – for example, participate in or provide cover for a crime – then the answer’s no. Not under any circumstances.”

“Understood, sir. I don’t think the Dragon Tong would do that to us, but I don’t know about the Cosa Nostra or Nuevo Cartel. They might not like that.”

“Too bad. If they won’t help us, or offer help with strings attached, I’ll settle for whatever we can recover from the Brotherhood’s base for their space forces, or their ships, or anything we learn there. They can have whatever they recover on Patos, or as a result of whatever they do there. See whether they’ll agree to that.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“There’s another thing, and this one is even more important. You know the Big Three are figuring out how to tackle the Brotherhood on Patos, the planet where they’ve based themselves?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We can’t touch them there, so we’ll leave that in their hands. However, the Brotherhood has made more than a hundred billion Neue Helvetica francs over the past several years from their asteroid theft operation. It’s all theirs, too, because they have their own refinery ship – they haven’t had to pay processing fees to anyone. I doubt they’ve spent more than twenty to thirty billion on warships and operations against us. That leaves at least seventy to eighty billion unaccounted for.

“We’ve no idea where they might keep it. I’m willing to bet most will be in the form of refined precious metals, stored at their secret base or elsewhere. However, that isn’t easily used to pay bills through the interplanetary banking system. They or their representatives have got to have a bank account somewhere, converting some of their gold to currency, and disbursing payments to their suppliers. It may also handle investments on their behalf.”

Caitlin frowned. “That makes sense, sir; but how can we find out who they’re using? It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. There are hundreds of settled planets, and each probably has hundreds of financial brokers. Big financial centers like Neue Helvetica must have tens of thousands of them, and most are very careful about client privacy and confidentiality. I wouldn’t even know where to start looking!”

He grinned. “Start at the end, and work backwards. We know they want to buy a planet, for this ‘Fatherland Project’ of theirs. The United Planets conducts auctions of planets and star systems twice a year, on behalf of exploration and survey companies. If the Brotherhood wants to buy a known quantity, with its resources and suitability already researched, tested and guaranteed, they’ll have to do it through those auctions on Neue Helvetica. They can look for an unclaimed planet or system themselves, of course, just as the New Orkney Enterprise did with the Mycenae system; but I think they’re too busy with asteroid theft and processing to do that – and fighting us, of course.

“To participate in the auction, they’ll have to work through the only brokerage licensed by the UP to accept bids on clients’ behalf. It operates an escrow account. Bidders have to put their money into it well in advance, and have the source and amount verified, before they can place bids. The Brotherhood will probably have made preliminary arrangements already. If you can trace those back to whoever made them, that’s likely to be their bank, or their financial or legal agent.”

Caitlin’s eyes were far away, unfocused, as she thought. “That… that should be feasible, sir. It’ll probably take some time, and perhaps a lot of money for bribes to get the information we need.”

“Time is a factor, but we have the money. If you need technical assistance to hack into computer systems, we can give you that, too.”

She shook her head firmly. “No, sir. At that level, everything’s going to be quantum-encrypted. They’ll notice immediately if anything’s hacked. This will mostly have to be done the old-fashioned way, by human intelligence, sir.”

“All right. I’ll ask Henry to liaise with you about that. He has useful contacts.”

“Yes, sir, he does.”

“One thing, Caitlin.” Cochrane’s voice was deadly serious. “Nobody but Henry – I mean nobody, without exception, but particularly not the Dragon Tong – must know you’re looking for this information. I won’t even mention it to the rest of our staff, not even to Hui. I’m sure the Big Three are planning to get their hands on that money when they deal with the Brotherhood on Patos. I want to steal a march on them. By the time they come looking for it, I want it to be already beyond their reach. You can’t keep any records where anyone can find them, and any you do keep have got to be quantum-encrypted and as secure as possible. That’s an overriding priority. If learning something means you might expose our interest in it, don’t even try. Secrecy is your single most important principle.”

“Understood, sir. Ah… if I may ask, sir, what do you plan to do with the money if we get our hands on it?”

“Ask me that when we’ve located it.”

4

Quandary

CONSTANTA

The guards ushered the three prisoners into the conference room. Despite their status, they were not secured in any way, and walked freely alongside their escort..

Jehona Sejdiu’s eyes widened to see the Commodore as he rose from his chair. “Good morning, Mrs. Sejdiu, Ms. Tahiri, Sub-Lieutenant Sejdiu.”

“Good morning, Commodore,” Jehona said on behalf of them all. “This is a surprise. We haven’t seen you since you sent us up here to orbit for safekeeping.”

“I’ve been busy,” Cochrane replied without elaborating. “However, something’s come up. I need your advice, and perhaps your help.”

“Advice, sir?” Alban Sejdiu asked with a frown. “We are your prisoners, not your advisers.”

“Yes, but this is something that concerns all of you. Please help yourselves to coffee from the urn on the sideboard, and sit down.”

Cochrane waited until they had settled down, then told them in broad outline of the events aboard the courier ship from New Skyros. “I wish Captain Pernaska had been less dedicated to his cause. I realize it’s your cause, too, but I think you’ve all seen another side of it since you were captured, and re-evaluated what you once thought you knew.”

Aferdita Tahiri shook her head slowly. “I… Yes, I now know how we were… misled… but I mourn his death still. He must have been a very brave man.”

“Brave?” Cochrane stared at her, his eyes suddenly hard. “In being willing to take his own life rather than risk being forced to talk, yes, I suppose that took courage. However, killing eleven defenseless spacers, hunting them down and slaughtering them without giving them a chance – that was anything but brave. That was sheer bloody murder!”

“But they were his kidnappers, were they not?” Jehona asked softly. “How else would you expect a man like that to treat the people he knew were delivering him to his enemies?”

Cochrane was silent for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “One to you, Mrs. Sejdiu. I suppose, if I’d been in his shoes, I might have thought like that, too. They were his kidnappers; and from that viewpoint, wanting to take as many of them with him as he could… it does take on a different perspective. However, I need you to see it from mine, too – and, more importantly, how it will look to outsiders, because it’s going to have an impact far beyond this planet.”

“What do you mean?”

“You remember I told you, last year, that the Big Three had taken notice of the Albanian Brotherhood’s activities?”

“Yes.”

“They’re making plans to act against it. What’s more, law enforcement authorities are taking an interest, and even the United Planets is getting involved.” Without revealing Hawkwood’s role, he told them of the detention of the Brotherhood’s destroyers in the New Skyros system. “It won’t stop there. When it’s confirmed – as it surely will be – that the Brotherhood used a false end-user certificate to buy warships – destroyers, no less! – that’s going to be regarded as a major threat to interstellar travel. Action will follow, as surely as night follows day. That’s why the Big Three are moving faster. They don’t want interplanetary action on that scale, because it would affect all of their interests; so, to forestall it, they plan to do something about the Brotherhood themselves. I don’t need to tell you that what they do is likely to be very effective and very permanent. When they hear about what Captain Pernaska did, and see the security vid from the ship, they’ll be even more determined to stamp out such fanaticism.”

There was a long silence in the room. The three prisoners sat stiff, tense, clearly thinking hard about what he’d said. They exchanged glances, then Alban asked, “Why are you telling us this, sir?”

“Because I hope you can help avoid a bloodbath. I don’t want to wipe out every member of the Brotherhood. I want the guilty punished – after all, their illegal, criminal actions have cost Hawkwood well over four hundred dead so far, and we’ve lost several ships. I’m not prepared to let them get away with that.”

“But you have destroyed even more of their – our – ships, and killed even more people.”

“That was in self-defense, young man, and you know it, because it included defending you and your mother! No, I want the guilty punished. However, there must be many others – family members, children, and so on – who aren’t as guilty, except by association. I don’t think the Big Three will bother to make that distinction. They probably won’t waste time identifying the guilty and sparing the innocent. Mrs. Sejdiu, you told me last year you were familiar with clan conflicts among the Albanians. You said that sometimes entire clans had been massacred, from the oldest to the youngest. Would you agree that that’s the most likely solution to the Brotherhood problem, as far as the Big Three are concerned?”

Jehona nodded. There was a glitter of moisture in her eyes as she fought for self-control. “Yes. I cannot see any other way for them to be sure.”

“Then you see my problem. I don’t want that to happen, but I have no way to stop it. Hawkwood is a private space security company. We can’t act on a large scale on a foreign planet. We simply don’t have the knowledge, the resources, or the power. However, the Big Three do. I won’t be surprised if they already have people on Patos, identifying every member of the Brotherhood. When they know them all, and they’re ready, they’ll act.”

Aferdita was trembling. “But… last year, you said you’d try to save our families!”

“I did, and I will. I can get one or two of my people onto Patos, and have a ship standing by. If they can persuade your families to leave with them, abandoning everything, they’ll get them to safety. However, if your families won’t agree to come, or they try to alert the Brotherhood to my people’s presence, or delay in an attempt to bring others with them – if any of those things happen, all bets are off. You’re going to have to figure out a way to persuade your people to go with ours, without delay and without making a fuss. If they won’t, they’ll die. It’s as simple as that.

“I’m hoping for something more. Mrs. Sejdiu, you’ve been in touch with your husband, through the private channel you established before you left. You told him of your arrest, and that your son was not dead, as he’d been told, but alive and well. As you agreed, we monitored the messages you sent, and his replies. I know he was furious with the Brotherhood’s leaders for lying about the loss of Alban’s ship, and his death, and for sending agents to kill you, rather than risk you learning of Alban’s presence on Constanta. I know you’ve exchanged three messages with him so far, and received three replies.

“This is where I need your help. Will you ask him to help us rescue the remaining members of your family? Even more than that, will you ask him whether he can figure out any way at all to protect the innocent – or, at best, the least guilty – of the Brotherhood from what’s bearing down on them? It won’t do any good for him to warn everyone that the Big Three are coming. The leaders of the Brotherhood would surely denounce him as an enemy agent, and have him shot. Whatever he does will have to be secret, and he’ll have to work very carefully indeed.

“If he can find a way, I’m willing to send whatever spaceships are necessary to evacuate as many of your people as we can, either before or during whatever the Big Three plan to do. We will check all of them very carefully, of course, including truth-tester examination. Any of the diehards who try to escape will be dealt with. I’m not prepared to allow them to get away. I have no idea when this might happen, or how we might do it, or where your people will go afterwards. I just don’t want the deaths of hundreds of innocent persons on my conscience. If I did nothing, and allowed them to die when I could have saved them, it would be on my conscience.”

After a pause, Jehona said softly, “Thank you for trying, Commodore. It speaks very well of you. I do not know whether anything will be possible, but I will write to Pal, and ask him whether he can see any way forward. You will read my words, as always, and his reply. At the very least, he can try to arrange to get our children, and my daughter Fjolla’s husband, child, parents-in-law and their other children, to a rendezvous where you can collect them. If he can do more, I am sure he will.”

“That’s all I can ask for.” Cochrane came to his feet. “I’ll keep you informed if I learn anything more.”

As they rose, Aferdita asked shyly, “Sir, I know you said we had to be confined aboard this spaceship for security reasons; but… could we ask for a brief holiday planetside? It has been over a year since I felt grass beneath my feet, and the wind on my face.”

He grimaced. “We don’t know whether Agim Nushi has sent more agents to Constanta. If he has, they may be under orders to attack you on sight. I don’t want to take that chance. Let me see whether I can figure out a way to sneak you down to the planet for a week or two, perhaps at an isolated camp in the mountains or something like that, where you won’t be seen.”

“Oh, thank you, sir!” Her eyes sparkled.

“Don’t get your hopes too high. You’ll have to give me time.”

“Yes, sir.”

He grinned at her. “Do I understand correctly that you and Sub-Lieutenant Sejdiu have become more than just fellow prisoners?”

She blushed scarlet, and Alban flushed as well. “Ah… in a way, yes, sir,” he replied carefully.

His mother smiled indulgently. “I would never have thought an agent who intended to kill me might make a good partner for my son, but I am forced to admit, they suit each other very well.”

Cochrane laughed. “Stranger things have happened, I’m sure. It’s good to know that love can still flourish, even in the midst of this mess!” He sobered. “Be as convincing as you can, Mrs. Sejdiu. I don’t know the Big Three’s timetable, but I think they’ll move sooner rather than later. If we have even a year, I’ll be surprised. Your husband will have to move fast, or we’ll lose them all.”

5

Quest

DEEP SPACE

The drone sped silently through the star system, its gravitic drive and every active sensor shut down, imitating a hole in space. It was moving at one third of the speed of light, with all the inevitable relativistic effects of such velocity on its sensors. Nevertheless, its passive suite searched ceaselessly, registering every active emission within range, cataloging, classifying and considering them, building up a picture of all that was going on nearby. There was a lot to see.

Orbiting the second, airless, lifeless planet from the dim, unimpressive star were multiple gravitic drive sources. One was from what the drone’s artificial intelligence system realized must be a very large ship, probably well over a million tons. Around it, three smaller emitters, possibly cargo shuttles or cutters, flickered as they moved to and from seven more ship-size gravitic drives in more distant orbits. Four of the latter were large enough to be freighters, probably in the half- to three-quarter-million-ton range. A fifth was a military drive, probably destroyer-size. Two more were smaller, perhaps communications vessels, possibly small freighters or patrol vessels.

Almost half a billion kilometers from the planet, in the system’s asteroid belt, another freighter-size gravitic drive was active. It was holding its position within and relative to the belt. Asteroids nearby were illuminated by its active radar transmissions. Three smaller gravitic drive sources moved in and out of the asteroid belt, clearly conducting operations there.

More puzzling were two small emitters, approximately one million kilometers above the second planet. They were stacked almost vertically, and appeared to be about ten thousand kilometers apart. They didn’t appear to be moving relative to each other, but were holding their positions relative to the planet. There was nothing else visible to its sensors in that position, no moon, no asteroids… so what were they doing? The AI didn’t know, and wasn’t programmed to waste its time on idle speculation. It merely recorded the details for others to analyze later.

The drone sped on its way, its carefully-shaped hull and stealthy coatings absorbing or deflecting every radar or lidar emission that crossed its unwavering path. It would wait until it was two full light-days past the star before hyper-jumping toward its rendezvous point. That far away, nothing less than a full system sensor array would detect its departure. Such a device could reach out to record a hyper-jump signature up to four light-days distant, but the drone’s programmers had determined that its target would be unlikely in the extreme to possess such advanced – and extraordinarily expensive – technology. Two light-days out, they had calculated, would be a sufficient margin of safety for both arrival and departure.

The group in the conference room looked up as a guard at the door announced, “Commanding Officer and Executive Officer of HCS Caracal, sir.”

Frank grinned as they walked toward him to shake hands. “Last ones to the party buy the drinks when we get home!”

“Och, we’re the furthest away from Sorubim, sir,” Commander Beattie protested with a smile. “We’ve further to travel, so perhaps the officer who designated our parking orbit should buy them, instead of us.”

Commander Murray, skipper of the arsenal ship, mock-winced. “That’s right, blame me. The biggest fish is always envied by all the little tiddlers!”

Smiling at the exchange, Captain Frank Haldane raised his voice. “All right, people, please take your seats. We’ve got a lot of work to do, so the sooner this conference is over, the sooner we can get on with it.” He moved to the head of the long table as the others looked for their places.

“Thank you for accommodating us, Commander Murray,” he began when they’d settled down. “Your arsenal ship has much bigger accommodation and administrative spaces than our warships, and you brew better coffee, too.” Chuckles ran around the table.

“The good news is, I think we’ve hit pay dirt.” He described what the drone had found in the ninth star system to be surveyed. “From now on, in conversation, signals or anything else, let’s refer simply to ‘System Nine’, rather than mentioning the Brotherhood or its base. It’s a nice, innocuous term that doesn’t give away what we’re talking about.” There was a rumble of agreement from his audience.

“That doesn’t mean we’re going to abandon the rest of the survey, though.” Muted groans. “We had seventeen stars to check, and we’ve done twelve. The remaining five will be investigated too, just in case the Brotherhood or anyone else has something going on. I think they’ll come up empty, but I’m not prepared to risk missing something. Recover and reload your search drones as normal, and we’ll head out in forty-eight hours. Bobcat will send its drone to System Thirteen, then pass through System Fourteen itself. Caracal will send its drone through System Fifteen, then investigate Sixteen itself. Jaguarundi – I’ll be on board her for this trip – will send its drone to System Seventeen, then return to System Nine to make another pass through it. She’ll move more slowly, to give her passive sensors the best possible platform to gather more data. We’ll rendezvous back here as usual, although Jaguarundi will take a week or two longer than the rest of you, and the drones.”

His gaze went for a moment to the nameless, outermost planet in an unnamed star system just outside the search sphere. The rocky, airless, lifeless orb was visible through the viewscreen of Sorubim’s conference room. It made a convenient rendezvous point for the squadron, easy for navigators to locate. While the three frigates conducted the search, the arsenal ship and its companion corvette had remained in orbit around the planet, waiting for the other vessels to return.

“Once we’re back here, we’ll plan ongoing surveillance. In broad outline, this is what I’m thinking. We’ll cache supplies on the surface of that planet. I’ll leave one frigate here, fully resupplied from Sorubim’s holds, to keep a covert watch on System Nine. We’ll deploy all three surveillance drones around that system, copying their data by tight-beam transmission to each other. The frigate will visit on a routine basis to download everything the drones have gathered, and pass through the system herself to verify their data. She’ll then return here, resupply, and make another pass. I think she can expect to do that at least twice, possibly three times, before her relief arrives. We’ll send another ship from Constanta to take her place as soon as Commodore Cochrane approves, and keep that up as long as necessary. If the Commodore doesn’t approve, we’ll send a communications ship to this rendezvous with new orders.”

An officer raised his hand. “What are we going to do about the Brotherhood base, sir?”

“Nothing at all for the present. We have a lot still to learn. Is this, in fact, the Brotherhood base, or someone else? Do they have any other bases? If we hit this base, will we get all their important units, or are there some in different locations that we’ll miss, and that will then hit back at us? We have to answer all those questions, then draw up a watertight plan to take out everything and everyone there. It’s going to be complex and difficult.”

He waited for a moment, but there were no more questions at this stage. “All right, let’s hit the highlights of what the drone saw in System Nine. First, and most critical from our point of view, are these drive traces one million kilometers galactic north of the planet they’re orbiting. Do they ring any bells with any of you?” Silence. “No-one? I’ll give you a hint. What do we have in orbit, one million kilometers above both Constanta and Mycenae Secundus Two?”

Three voices yelped simultaneously, “A sensor satellite array!”

“Precisely. It’s a tetrahedon of four satellites, each ten thousand kilometers from the others. We can only see two drive sources in the drone data, but they’re in exactly the right place for vessels deploying such an array. I presume the other two satellites are already in position, or have yet to be emplaced. It means they’ll be able to detect a hyper-jump signature out to about one light-day from the star, and pick up gravitic drive emissions at about four billion kilometers range, even at low power. We’re going to have to watch our emissions ultra-carefully around System Nine. They clearly expect spies to arrive, and they want to detect them as far away as possible.”

“At least it’s not a full system sensor array,” Commander Stroud sighed. She had just been promoted to command HCS Jaguarundi, after proving herself skippering a corvette for two years.

“I’m sure it’s only because they haven’t got enough money for one,” Frank admitted. “We’d love to have one ourselves, but they cost as much as half-a-dozen frigates. There’s just no way we can afford it. On the other hand, if they get desperate enough to draw down even more of the funds they’ve raised toward this ‘Fatherland Project’ of theirs, they might decide to buy one.”

“Let’s hope they don’t!” Rankin exclaimed fervently. “Won’t that installation make it impossible for us to emplace drones? They don’t carry enough reaction mass to avoid using their gravitic drives if they have to maneuver into position. That means the sensor satellites will detect them.”

“It’ll make it more difficult, to be sure. We’ll have to sneak in slowly and carefully with our frigates. As we get near the star, we’ll use reaction thrusters alone to get into position to deploy a drone. If its initial placement is accurate, it carries enough reaction mass to maintain its position on thruster power for up to a year, without needing its gravitic drive. Thrusters emit no gravitic radiation, so the sensor satellites won’t pick them up. After deploying the drones, we’ll use our thrusters to accelerate slowly away until we’re at a safe distance to hyper-jump. It’s going to take weeks to do it that way, and it’ll be boring as hell, but I don’t see any other option.

“Now, on to the rest of the sensor data. The ships orbiting the planet fit with what we know of their fleet so far. They have a refinery ship, probably the very large gravitic drive signature closest to the planet. They converted four fast freighters into armed merchant cruisers. We destroyed one in the Mycenae system a couple of years ago, so we think the surviving three are among the other drive sources. It’s entirely possible they’ve replaced the lost ship – that may be another drive source.

“They have one modern destroyer, whose drive we can identify. They had at least two older destroyers, similar to the two we destroyed in Mycenae several years ago. We don’t see their drive traces in the drone sensor data, so we think one of three things has happened. Either they’ve moved them somewhere else; or they’ve withdrawn their crews to serve aboard other ships, and they’ve been parked in non-powered orbits around that or another planet in the system, emitting no drive signatures; or they’ve stripped them of all usable weapons and systems, and scrapped them. We’ll try to learn more.

“The remaining drive sources are probably either communications or courier ships, or asteroid gathering vessels, the kind they send into systems they’ve infiltrated to gather up the asteroids their robot prospectors have beaconed for recovery. There are probably two or three more such ships in transit between this base and other places, or at Patos.”

“What about the ship and the smaller drive signatures in the asteroid belt, sir?” Commander Murray asked.

“We think they’re busy with a training exercise. Don’t forget, their income is derived almost exclusively from stealing other people’s asteroids. They have to train those who’ll go in to spread their prospector robots, and recover what they find. What better place to do it than their own asteroid belt? They may even recover something worthwhile now and then.”

“I get it, sir. That makes sense.”

“Do you think they have mines orbiting the planet, sir?” another officer asked. “We use them to secure our base at Mycenae Secundus Four, after all.”

“In their shoes, I would,” Frank admitted. “We don’t know whether they have any. I think, for the sake of our safety and security, we’ll assume that they do, and stay well clear of that planet until we know for sure.” Several of his audience murmured their fervent agreement.

“I’ll distribute a more formal assessment of the drone’s data tomorrow. Continue fueling and provisioning your ships for the next surveillance missions. Also, Commander Murray has a proposal. Commander?” He sat down as the other stood.

“Thank you, Captain.” The arsenal ship skipper looked around, a smile playing on his lips. “You’ll recall that we brought a hundred and fifty trainees of various grades with us on this mission, to give them concentrated education and training in space. It helped to pass the time while we waited for you all to get back from your first two surveillance missions. As it happens, they’ve made very good progress. Over eighty per cent of them have already qualified for the next higher grade, and the rest are very close to that.

“I’d like to propose that we distribute the newly qualified spacers, and those ready for advancement, among your ships, replacing those of your existing crews who’d like to study for their next higher grade. If they come to us, they can put in several weeks, maybe even a few months, of full-time, flat-out study and practice, without worrying about anything else. We might be able to get most of them qualified, too, by the time we return to Constanta. What do you think?”

There was an immediate buzz of approval. “That’s a great idea!” Commander Nicholson exclaimed. “I can think of a dozen candidates, and I’m sure my Exec and the Chief of the Ship can think of as many more.” Other commanding officers muttered agreement, turning to ask their Executive Officers for their views.

Murray waited for a few moments, then said, “I’ll send a signal tonight with the names and rates of all qualified candidates. Please check them against your needs, and let me have the names of those you want, and the names and rates of any of your crews who’d like to exchange places temporarily. If you’ll do that by tomorrow night, we can balance out any conflicting requirements.”

Frank added, “Please consider any senior NCO’s who might be interested in Warrant Officer slots, or Warrant Officers who might like to try for Limited Duty Officer rank. We have all the training and assessment materials aboard Sorubim, and it’d be a shame to let them go to waste. If we can return to Constanta with a ripe crop of freshly-qualified spacers, NCO’s, warrant and commissioned officers, the Commodore will be very pleased with us. That means bonuses all round, people, so do your best.”

6

Dilemma

PATOS

“Ten weeks! Ten Godforsaken weeks!”

Agim was so angry he could not find the words to continue. He sputtered, waving his hands in the air in frustration, desperately wanting to punch something or someone to vent his feelings.

Lieutenant-Commander Jashari froze in the visitor’s chair. He recognized the symptoms, and didn’t want to become their target. Cautiously, he said, “I am sorry, Mr. Nushi, sir, but truly, there was no way anyone could have brought word to you earlier. The ships at New Skyros thought Captain Pernaska had brought us the news of their detention. They wondered why why they had heard nothing, but because they were detained, they could not investigate. Captain Toci expected our new ships to arrive within a known window of time. When they did not, he sent my courier ship to make inquiries at New Skyros. I learned what had happened and took the news to him, and he sent me straight here to report it to you. Given the delay in travel between planets, there is no way word could have reached us, or you, any earlier.”

Agim sank back in his chair as he listened, forcing control upon himself. There was nothing to be gained by browbeating this officer. He’d done his job as best he could. He managed to grit out, “Very well. You are dismissed for now. Remain planetside until I give you further orders.”

“Yes, sir!” Jashari sprang to his feet, snapped to attention, and scurried out of the office, closing the door carefully behind him.

Agim closed his eyes, trying not to let anger and frustration overwhelm him. This… this was devastating news. Hawkwood – it must have been them! – had found a way to use the United Planets to interfere with the Brotherhood’s purchase of warships. What’s more, they might have kidnapped one of his most senior spacer officers as well… or had they? As Captain Toci had pointed out, the courier ship Pernaska had hired had done business at New Skyros for several years. He had only been able to obtain her services because her prior charterer had fallen ill. That argued against Hawkwood having anything to do with her disappearance, because it would be difficult to arrange a series of coincidences like that. They could have sabotaged the ship, of course, but Hawkwood had been scrupulous in the past to avoid casualties to third parties. If that was still true, only an accident or disaster of some kind would have prevented Captain Pernaska from reporting to Captain Toci. Such tragedies were extraordinarily rare in space travel, but not unknown.

He heaved a frustrated sigh as he sent two messages to his closest lieutenants. The seizure of their ships called for action… but what?

They met in the park as usual, bringing their food with them in paper or plastic bags. The three men sat down around a picnic table beneath a tree, and ate as they talked. They were able to see all around them, ensuring that no-one could get close enough to hear them. They chose one of three possible parks, and random locations within each park, for their meetings, never using the same place twice in a row. Such precautions made it effectively impossible for anyone to set up parabolic microphones or cameras at a distance, to secretly record their discussions.

Being early spring, new leaves were covering the formerly bare branches of the trees. They provided good cover for what looked like several large moths that followed the three men, flitting from tree to tree, then congregating unobserved in the one nearest them once they had sat down. A bird pecked at one as it flew past, hoping for an easy meal, but spat out the thread-thin metal ribs and wires in alarm as a minor electric shock jolted it. The damaged ‘moth’ managed to flutter to a tree, where it sent out a distress signal to its owners before shutting down, awaiting later collection. The rest of the ‘insects’ continued with their mission.

Agim summarized what he’d learned that morning from Lieutenant-Commander Jashari. “We are in a very difficult situation,” he concluded. “Our two newest destroyers and their depot ship cannot be delivered, leaving our defense in the hands of four converted fast freighters and one modern warship. They are enough to either secure our base, or conduct offensive operations against Hawkwood in Mycenae, but not both at the same time; yet we must strike at our enemy, if only to keep him from striking at us.”

Endrit nodded vehement assent. “The Patriarch – blessed be his memory! – always advocated offense rather than defense. He insisted on making our enemies fear us, no matter what the cost, because otherwise they would become bold and seek to attack us.”

Fatmir shook his head gloomily. “We have struck at Hawkwood twice already. We destroyed up to four of their ships, if our sensor records are to be trusted; but it cost us two old destroyers and an armed fast freighter, plus the life of the Patriarch himself. Over and above that, they sabotaged one of our new destroyers, and a freighter carrying all the spare missile pods for it and its sister ship. Furthermore, one of our courier ships has not returned from its reconnaissance mission to Mycenae, and now another is missing – although that was not our ship, and it may not be Hawkwood’s work, as you say. Even so, they have still hurt us worse than we have hurt them.”

“What of the mission to attack their leaders on Constanta?” Endrit asked hopefully. “Have we still heard nothing from our agents?”

Agim cursed softly. “Sadly, they have been silent for almost a year now. Their last message said they were about to attack, but we have had no news of their success or failure. Of course, we had no other agents on Constanta to report back on their mission. They may have succeeded, at least in part, but we would not know about it – and Commodore Cochrane, one of their primary targets, is still alive and in command of Hawkwood.” Mentally, he added, And I still do not know whether they managed to kill Jehona Sejdiu and her son. God forbid that they yet live! The fact that she has not reported in since then is a good sign, but not conclusive. He did not share that with his lieutenants. They knew nothing of the private spy he had sent to Constanta.

Fatmir asked, “Are our new defenses in place at our base?”

“The system surveillance satellite cluster has just become operational. It has detected nothing of interest so far. We know Hawkwood uses such a cluster in Mycenae – we suspect that is how they managed to detect and destroy the Patriarch’s mission – so we hope to achieve the same success against them, if they should find our base and try to attack it.”

“I suppose the only way we can be sure they know its location is if they attack it.”

“I fear you are right. If they took Captain Pernaska, they might have wrung that information out of him, but there has been no sign of infiltration so far. Besides, he would never have talked. He would have taken his own life first, or forced them to kill him. He was a brave man.”

They ate in moody silence for a few moments. Endrit suddenly paused in mid-mouthful, then chewed faster and swallowed hard. “You said we do not have sufficient strength to attack Hawkwood in Mycenae. What of their base at Constanta? Could we send a ship through that system on a high-speed, no-emissions pass, to fire its missiles into their vessels in orbit around the planet? There is that shipyard, too. They overhaul their ships there. Could we strike it?”

Agim felt a sudden glow of hope. “You are right! Constanta’s System Patrol Service is weak and ineffectual. It does not have a system surveillance satellite, and only a few outdated patrol craft. Perhaps we can hit Hawkwood there. It will need careful reconnaissance, to target the right ships – we do not want to hit ordinary civilian traffic. Even so, a simple visit by an innocent-seeming freighter will allow us to collect all the information we need. If we then attack with one of our armed ships, without any warning of its approach, that has every chance of success.”

“We dare not mount such an attack without the approval of the full Brotherhood Council,” Fatmir pointed out.

Agim could have cursed aloud. He longed to be able to prosecute this war as he saw fit, without interference… but he knew Fatmir was right. The Council had been growing increasingly restive at being cut out of operational control. He had to keep them on his side, or risk being removed as their Chairman and losing power altogether.

“The Council meets in three days,” he observed. “Let us work up an operational plan to strike Constanta, and present it to them. We shall also brief them on the security situation at our base. Pal Sejdiu has just arrived, on the same courier ship that brought us the news from New Skyros.. He is Head of Security on our refinery ship, and responsible to Captain Toci for overall personnel security. He can address the Council with authority. They will believe him, even if they might doubt us. If we remind them of the Patriarch’s teaching that offense is the best form of defense, and assure them that our underlying defenses are strong, I think they can be persuaded.”

“Some will object,” Endrit said gloomily. “There are weaker wills than ours on the Council.”

“Then we shall have to stiffen them – or replace them.”

The leader of the spy team listened to the recording made by the ‘moths’, and cursed aloud. “The travel delay is going to bite us in the butt on this one! It takes five to six weeks for us to get word to Qianjin, sending it via three intermediate planets. It’ll take them two more to forward it to Constanta. By the time it gets there, the attack might have gone in already!”

“What if we try to charter a courier ship on one of the intermediate planets, to head directly for Constanta?” another of his team asked.

“Then we risk blowing our cover. Remember what happened to the other team?”

They all shivered. Another spy ring, centered on the Brotherhood’s leased offices, had been broken up when its listening devices had been uncovered. Its commander had not survived.

They stared helplessly at each other. At last the leader said savagely, “It can’t be helped. Let’s get this out on the next available ship. All we can do is hope for the best.”

Pal Sejdiu rang the doorbell. He heard footsteps inside, then an old man opened the door. His lined, wrinkled face broke into a broad smile. “Pal! It has been too long!” He held out his open arms, and they embraced warmly.

“It has, Gjerg,” the visitor agreed, following his host into the house. “For the last year or more, I’ve visited Patos only on business. I’ve never had enough free time to relax and socialize. This time, I’ve taken a couple of weeks’ leave, so I can catch up with old friends like you.”

The other cocked his head. “There is a heaviness in your voice, Pal. What is wrong?”

“I… I am not supposed to talk about it.”

“Oh, come on! Am I not a member of the Council of the Brotherhood? If you cannot trust me, who can you trust?”

“It… oh, very well. Do not tell anyone else about this, or Agim will probably shoot me.”

The old man’s eyebrows shot up. “What is it?”

Slowly, haltingly, Pal described how his wife had been recruited by Agim Nushi to return to the field as an agent, and sent to Constanta. “The last report Agim says he had from her is a year old. Since then, there has been no word.”

Gjerg was silent for a long moment, then laid his hand gently on Pal’s knee as they sat together on the sofa. “Pal… you know I was an agent, too?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I had much experience in the field, and later rose to supervise our secret operations under the leadership of the Patriarch. I… I am sorry to have to say this, but in all those years, I never knew an agent to fail to report for a year, and still come home safely.”

Pal gulped audibly, and Gjerg’s heart went out to him. “That… that is my fear, too. We lost our son, Alban, aboard our armed freighter Ilaria, while my wife was already on her mission. I asked Agim to tell her, and he said he did, but she never contacted me. Now… now I fear the worst. Have I lost, not just my firstborn son, but my wife, too?”

Tears were in Gjerg’s eyes as he reached over and hugged Pal hard. “I am so sorry! To suffer one such loss is tragedy. To suffer two is unbearable!”

They were silent for a long moment of shared misery. At last Pal straightened, with an almost visible effort. “I… I must not let this interfere with my work for our cause. The Patriarch gave all, his family, his children, and in the end his own life, for the Fatherland Project. If he could give so much, I can give no less.”

“I am proud of you, my boy! That is the only attitude for a true member of the Brotherhood. By saying that, you prove yourself to be a worthy disciple of the Patriarch. Wherever he is now, I am sure his spirit smiles upon you – and I am sure he has Alban and Jehona safe in his keeping.”

“I hope and pray so, Gjerg. Sometimes it is hard not to doubt that.”

The old man nodded. “I have the same problem sometimes when I think of my dear wife and our son. I hope and pray I shall see them again one day.” He rose, walked over to the sideboard, and poured two glasses of a potent raki. “Come, let us drink away our sorrows. You are to address the Council about our security, are you not?” He added a little water to each glass, then handed one to Pal. They clinked glasses and drank.

Pal swallowed, and coughed. “This is good raki! Yes, I am. I have reported to the Council before, but that was when the Patriarch was Chairman. Since Agim took over, he has discouraged outsiders from addressing it. Why has he suddenly asked me to do so, I wonder?”

“He has displeased many of us for cutting the Council out of many decisions, running our operations with the help of two lieutenants. That is not how the Patriarch wished us to operate. Also, there is currently a vacancy – Halil Kuqo has stepped down due to age and infirmity – but Agim has delayed a vote on his successor. I, and others too, find that… unwise.” Gjerg’s words hung ominously in the air between them for a moment. “Let us see what tomorrow brings. I am glad you will be there. Many of the older councilors will remember you.” He shrugged. “Come! Let us talk of other things. Tell me of your work.”

Later that evening, driving slowly and carefully back to his home after consuming a few glasses too many of Gjerg’s strong raki, Pal shook his head. He had received Jehona’s latest missive when he arrived at Patos, and spent a long time mulling over her request. What she and her captors had suggested would be all but impossible for him to accomplish from their far distant base. If he was to achieve anything, it would have to be from Patos, in a position with more authority, one that allowed him to communicate more quickly with all concerned. If what Jehona had said was true, and the Big Three had taken notice, the Brotherhood as a whole was in mortal danger. It could not be long before their enemies acted. Before then, he had to find a way out for as many people as he could… or else they would be exterminated, root and branch.

That was why he had visited Gjerg this evening, and deceived him about his ‘fears’ for Jehona. He knew the old man regarded him with warm approval, and had considerable influence in the Council. Who knew where that might lead, if he played his cards right?

He went to sleep that night with an aching head, but calm determination in his soul.

7

Healing

CONSTANTA

Jock rang the doorbell of the small stone cottage. There was no reply, so he tried again. Still no response. Frowning slightly, he walked to the corner of the house and round to the back. Sure enough, Sue McBride was seated beneath a tree, gazing out over the valley that stretched into the distance. Visibility was crystal-clear at this time of year, with no heat haze to spoil it.

He cleared his throat loudly, then called, “I’m here, Sue.”

She jumped to her feet, looking guilty as she spun around. “Oh, Jock, I’m sorry! I should have been there to meet you. I just got… lost in my thoughts, I suppose.”

“That’s all right, lass. You’re looking better than when I last saw you. Your cheeks are rosy.”

She smiled. “That’s because of that last meal you cooked. I don’t know why you made so much, but the leftovers kept me fed for a week! It was very tasty.”

“Aye. I may not be a blue ribbon chef, but I can turn out a tasty enough meal when I put my mind to it. I’ve got more food in the car. What would you say to cullen skink for supper?”

She laughed aloud. “How many generations is it since your family saw Scotland?”

“Must be a dozen at least – maybe a score or more.”

“Well, you’re still an inveterate Scot at heart! Sure, I’d love to – but where did you get smoked haddock on Constanta? I’ve never found it here, smoked or plain.”

“I had a friend send me some, frozen, from Rousay. It’s not real haddock, of course – just a local equivalent – but it’s not bad.”

“Oh, you dear man! My mouth’s watering at the very thought. Can I help cook?”

“Indeed you can. Let’s get everything inside, then sit down and talk for a while. Later, we’ll have at it over a hot stove.”

He watched her with covert satisfaction as they carried bags into the cottage. This was the fourth time he’d visited her. At first she’d been very withdrawn, painfully so; but they’d shared enough in the two decades they’d known each other professionally for him to break down her reserves, slowly and carefully. He reflected that he was probably closer to her now than any other human being. That was no hardship, of course. Sue was short and stocky, not attractive in the conventional sense, but she was every bit an engineer and technician, just as he was: a mind after his own heart. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed that before. It made things a bit hard on him, having to hide his new-found interest, but if that was what she needed right now, so be it.

“What’s the Commodore got you working on now?” she asked, as she poured a mug of strong black tea. He preferred coffee, but didn’t object as he added milk and sugar. If Sue wanted tea, he’d drink it along with her.

“It’s true what they say; there’s no rest for the wicked!” She laughed as he went on, “He’s got me working with Grigorescu Shipyards, analyzing every aspect of an orbital shipyard; how it’s put together, how its different workshops and tech departments work together, anything and everything you can think of. He wants me to learn enough about them to build or run one myself, if need be.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “He’s surely not planning to set up in competition with Grigorescu?”

“No, not at all. He wants me to teach his skippers how and where to target a shipyard, if it comes to that; where its vulnerable points and nodes are. We don’t know what the Brotherhood has at their base. If there’s a shipyard, we’ll add it to our target list, so any of their ships we damage during a strike can’t be repaired there.” There was another reason, but Cochrane had ordered him to keep that in the strictest confidence for the time being.

“Oh, I get it. So he’s serious about going after them?”

“Serious as a heart attack. He hasn’t forgotten what they did to us in Mycenae.”

“Neither have I.” A spasm as if of intense pain crossed her face for a moment, and Jock cursed himself for having raised the subject, but she went on, “I… I can face up to that now. A part of me will never stop blaming myself for all my friends who died aboard Vulcan, but I suppose that’s part of human nature.”

He breathed more easily. “Aye, I suppose it is. Have you thought about going back into space, in one of her successors? Vulcan II is working up, and Hephaestus will be with us next year.”

“I don’t think so… not now, perhaps not ever. I might go back into space as a passenger, to get from one place to another, but I don’t want to be responsible for more lives there.” She shivered.

He nodded silently. That was progress of a sort. Perhaps more would come later. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but Vulcan II has a memorial to her namesake. They’ve put up a stainless steel panel beneath the ship’s crest in the docking bay, with a picture of her and the names of everyone who died aboard her engraved on it, giving their dates of birth and ranks. Everyone who passes it for the first time each day comes to attention and salutes it.”

Her eyes filled with moisture. “That’s… that’s really nice of them.”

“Anytime you want to see it, I’ll be glad to take you up there.”

“Thanks, Jock, but… not yet. I’m feeling better, but I’m not that much better. Give me time.”

“All right.” He sipped his tea. “Will you be staying up here in the mountains, or moving back to town?”

“I suppose I’ll have to move back. I can’t live as a hermit all my life! I don’t know what I’ll do, though. The Commodore’s been really kind in letting me just coast for as long as I need, on full pay. I tried to tell him to stop that, and let me just resign and cash in my founder’s bonus, but he said it was no problem.”

Jock grinned. “Our bonuses are now up to a hundred million Neue Helvetica francs each. Any of the eight of us founding members can retire very rich, any time we want to.”

She blinked. “That much? Last I heard, we had twenty-five million apiece in our profit share accounts.”

“The Commodore’s raised it twice since then. You’ve been… preoccupied.”

She gave a short laugh. “Out of my head, you mean! Still, it’s good to know that’s there to fall back on.” She glanced at him curiously. “Why haven’t you retired?”

“Cochrane’s a man to follow, lass. I’ve admired him for a long time. He’s kept me busy on really interesting projects, and always treated me as an equal – not like some officers who get all hoity-toity about themselves. I respect him. As long as he needs me, I’ll work with him. If the day ever comes that he doesn’t, I might set up in business for myself. As a matter of fact, one of his plans, if it works out, will give all of us the chance to do that, if we want to.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“I can’t speak of it yet, lass; but take my word for it – it’s big. If he gets it right, we’ll all of us have enough work to keep us busy for decades, for Hawkwood, for ourselves, and for… well, you’ll see.”

She shook her head, half amused, half irritated. “You can’t just leave it dangling like that, Jock!”

“I said too much then. Sorry, but I can’t tell you more yet. If all goes very well, we may all know more soon. Cochrane plays his cards close to his chest, and he wants me to do the same. He hasn’t even brought all the other directors into this – only a couple of us.”

“Oh, very well. I won’t pry. I wonder if he’ll have any work for me planetside for a while?”

Jock looked at her thoughtfully. “If you’re up to it, I can tell you right now, there’s a very important job crying out for someone like you to do it.”

“What is it?”

“Promise me you won’t breathe a word about this to anyone, lass – not even to Cochrane. I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

She sat up eagerly. “If it’s that important, yes, I promise. Go on!”

“The boss needs a project engineer to manage a really big job. She’ll have to work with all sorts of other engineers – civil, computer, electrical, environmental, geotechnical, manufacturing, material, process, structural, transport, you name it. It doesn’t really matter what sort of engineer she is herself, so long as she can talk to other engineers as one professional to another, and pull them together into a smoothly functioning team.”

“Ye Gods, that sounds complicated! What’s she supposed to accomplish?”

Jock took a deep breath. “She’s got to prepare a project plan for the biggest job we’ve ever undertaken. I can’t say what it is yet, but what I’m doing has some connection to it.”

Sue goggled. “If it involves all those areas of engineering, it must be a hell of a job! Surely one person can’t possibly handle all that complexity?”

“Oh, Cochrane knows that. He’ll expect the project engineer to build up a staff to handle it all. He has to have the right person at the top, though; someone he trusts absolutely. That’s why I say it’s right up your alley. I know you’re a damned good engineer, and you’ve known the Commodore almost as long as I have. He likes you.”

“But why hasn’t he asked me whether I want the job?”

“Be reasonable, Sue. You shut out all of us for a long time. The Commodore respected your wishes. If that’s changed, and you’re willing to get back into harness, I reckon he’ll slide you into that slot so fast your feet won’t touch the ground!”

She caught her breath. “I… I don’t know if I could handle that much, this quickly.”

“It’d be high-pressure, all right. He wants whoever takes the job to make a fast overall study of what’s involved. They’ll need to have a handle on it within six months, so they can start planning who and what they want on their team, ready to get moving as soon as conditions are right.”

“Who’s it for? I mean, is this project for a customer, or for us – for Hawkwood?”

“Again, I can’t say right now. If you take that slot, the boss will tell you more, but I daren’t breach security on it. It might – no, it will hurt us if anyone talks out of turn.”

“It sounds like quite the job. I… I’ll think about it.” She jumped to her feet. “I’m getting hungry! Let’s start cooking.”

She peeled and diced potatoes, and set them to boil while he sliced onions and leeks and began sautéing them. While they were softening, he poached the fish in milk. When the potatoes were ready, he mashed half of them with some of the milk from the fish, then combined them with the diced potatoes and the onions and leeks. He de-boned the fish, broke it into flakes and added it to the mixture as he stirred in the rest of the milk. He reached for a bottle of white wine, and poured a healthy glassful into the soup. “I know it’s not in original Scottish recipes, but it tastes so darned good I can’t resist,” he confessed, adding salt and pepper and tasting the thick, rich fluid.

“It smells divine!” Sue licked her lips. “How long until it’s ready?”

“Let it combine over a low heat for ten minutes, then we can eat. I brought some wholewheat seed bread to go with it. Let’s cut and butter that, and set the table.”

They ate in silence for several minutes, savoring every mouthful. As Sue reached for the ladle to help herself to more, she said with a sigh, “And you reckon you’re not a blue ribbon chef? This could stand comparison to anything I’ve ever eaten at a fancy restaurant. If you go on feeding me like this, I’ll have to marry you for your cooking’s sake, never mind for love!”

He blushed scarlet, and was unable to find words to reply. She looked at him quizzically, sensing his discomfort, and reached out to touch his hand. “I’m sorry, Jock. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He met her gaze silently for a moment, then said softly, “Och, it’s all right, lassie. Just don’t get my hopes up. You might be surprised!”

A slow smile came to her lips, and she squeezed his hand. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“I haven’t said it to anyone since I was much younger than I am now. I haven’t given a thought to anyone for a decade or more. I had too many disappointments.”

“Why, for heaven’s sake? I’d have thought a strong, steady man like you would be a prize catch.”

He shrugged. “Not enough money, no fancy degrees, and I didn’t give a damn about rank and social status. Most women seemed to want more of all of them than I had.”

She shook her head. “They’re fools, then. You’re a good, solid man, with a sense of honor and all the grit in the world. You’ve stuck by me when others left me to stew in my bad memories, and helped jolly me out of them. I’m grateful – and I’m glad you’re here.”

He blushed again, and sought to change the subject. “Speaking of weddings, you know the boss will be heading for Qianjin in a few weeks? He and Hui will tie the knot in front of her family.”

“Well, it’s taken them long enough, hasn’t it?”

“It has, but it looks like they’ve got it right in the end. They’re a great couple.”

8

Council

PATOS

“That concludes my report, Mr. Chairman, councilors.” Pal half-bowed in Agim’s direction, but remained at the podium, ready to take questions.

“Thank you, Pal Sejdiu,” Agim acknowledged with a small nod. “We are fortunate to have someone with your ability and skills. The Patriarch chose well when he appointed you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chairman.”

A councilor raised his hand. “I have a question. Mr. Sejdiu, you said you were initially against buying a surveillance satellite, just as some of us were at the time. However, you have changed your mind. What led you to do that?”

Pal shrugged. “I suppose I was too focused on the Patriarch’s insistence that our funds should go toward the Fatherland Project whenever possible, rather than to our short-term needs. The four-satellite constellation cost us almost a billion Neue Helvetica francs. I resented spending that much.

“However, we have only one destroyer instead of the two we expected, and the next two – and those following them – will be, at best, long delayed, if they arrive at all. That makes the satellite an essential part of our defenses. It helps us make the best use of the ships we have. We can use it to guide them to intercept an approaching enemy, long before he reaches our base. That is what Hawkwood did when it intercepted our Patriarch and his two destroyers. That is a priceless tactical advantage. Our Chairman showed wisdom and foresight in insisting on this purchase.” Again he nodded to Agim, who half-smiled as he returned the gesture. Clearly, he was pleased to receive so public an acknowledgment. Several of the councilors murmured and nodded their approval.

Pal waited, but there were no further questions. He stepped back from the podium, looking at Agim inquiringly. The Chairman nodded toward a chair at the window, in wordless invitation to remain for the rest of the meeting – a privilege extended to few non-councilors. Pal grinned inwardly as he sat. He had hoped for this. Agim would welcome the presence of one who had just delivered a very favorable report, and complimented him on his foresight. He would serve as living evidence to the Council that, in one area at least, their Chairman was on top of his game. Now, if he could just get the opening he needed, he had his proposals ready.

“Brothers, it is time to turn our attention from defense to offense,” Agim began. “We told you about United Planets interference in the delivery of our new warships. This can only have been caused by Hawkwood. Who else would have informed the UP? Certainly it was no-one on New Skyros. They are making too much money out of us to want to spoil that. Therefore, we must strike back at Hawkwood again, to demonstrate that no matter what they do, we shall never submit, never be cowed, never falter. We must show them our steel!”

There was an uneasy rustle among the councilors. One raised his hand. “Agim, twice we have attempted such retaliation. On each occasion, Hawkwood hurt us badly, even though we achieved some successes; and their sabotage of our first destroyer shipment hurt us even more. Would we not do better to wait, and consider more carefully when will be the best time to strike?”

Agim shook his head vehemently. “I understand your concerns, Perparim, but remember what our Patriarch taught us. At the last Council meeting before his death, he said – and these are his exact words – ‘Redouble your efforts! Do not let your enemies strike fear into you. Instead, strike fear into them! Hit back at them! Show them that for every blow they direct against us, we shall return it ten times harder!’ What clearer guidance could our Patriarch have left us, by word and by example?”

Perparim looked dubious, but sat back in his chair. Agim waited a moment, then went on, “I have discussed this with Endrit and Fatmir, my lieutenants and fellow councilors. We believe we should strike at that part of Hawkwood’s fleet in orbit around Constanta.”

There was an immediate babble of objection from more than half those present. One voice rose above the others. “But Constanta is a neutral planet! It is not our enemy!”

Agim tried to suppress his visible irritation at their dissent. “You are right, Skender; but if we make sure to strike only Hawkwood’s ships, avoiding other vessels and planetary facilities, there is no reason Constanta should become our enemy. It will not even know who is behind the attack. We shall leave no evidence.” He explained how they planned to strike. “With no gravitic drive emissions to analyze, and no physical identification of our ship, how will they know who to blame?”

Many of the councilors shook their heads. They were clearly not satisfied with Agim’s explanation. In his seat at the window, Pal thought furiously. This will be a disaster! How can I stop it? He slowly, visibly, shook his head, hoping someone would notice. He was not disappointed.

Gjerg Hyka raised his hand. “We have heard from Pal Sejdiu about the state of our defenses. He is clearly very competent. I should like to hear his opinion of this proposal.”

“But he is not a councilor!” Agim objected. “He has no say in the matter!”

“You gave him a voice in this Council earlier, did you not? And am I not a councilor? I can ask for anyone to provide information if I think it will help us. I think Pal may have insights that would be useful. I request that he be allowed to speak.” Several other councilors nodded their approval.

Agim seethed internally, but knew he had to tread carefully. “Very well. Pal Sejdiu, what is your opinion?” He did not step away from the podium, a clear signal to Pal that he was supposed to say only a few words, then sit down and shut up.

Pal did not take the hint. He rose slowly to his feet, a frown on his forehead. “I understand and applaud our Chairman’s desire to take the offensive against Hawkwood. The Patriarch would surely approve of this.” He saw Agim’s face begin to relax. “However, I respectfully submit that there is one factor we have not taken into account. Hawkwood will ensure that Constanta blames us for the attack. After all, they are paying off Constanta’s government to allow them to operate there, just as we are paying off Patos’ government. Hawkwood will manufacture enough evidence to convince investigators that we were responsible for the attack. If Constanta takes that to the United Planets, it might declare us an interplanetary terrorist organization. We would be outlaws, with every man’s hand against us and no safe refuge for our people – not even here on Patos.”

Agim’s face was bleak once more, anger at such opposition hovering in the back of his eyes; but also a reluctant respect. “You may be right. I had not considered that. It makes it much more risky to attack Hawkwood at Constanta. We shall have to find a better way to strike back.”

Pal said, almost diffidently, “There is such a way, Mr. Chairman; one that will not only hurt Hawkwood deeply, and waste a great deal of their bribe money, but also double our strength.”

“What? How?”

“We should seize our destroyers from New Skyros.”

There was an instant hubbub, councilors standing, yelling, objecting. Agim had to reach for the gavel and pound it on the podium. “Councilors! Order, please! Order!” He waited until relative quiet had returned, then looked at Pal, his face eager. “Tell us more.” He stepped back from the podium, gesturing to Pal to take his place.

“Metaxas Shipyards are currently building the fifth and sixth destroyers of our order,” Pal began as he moved forward. “We have paid for them, and for their missiles, so they should be completed in eight months’ time, as scheduled. However, unless the UP releases them, the destroyers will join the other two in detention, and their missile pods will be loaded aboard our depot ship there.

“The question is, will we ever be allowed to take delivery? If Hawkwood has bribed UP inspectors to forbid that, we shall have to find one in a more senior position, and bribe him to override his subordinates. It will be risky for him to take such a position, against all the evidence. Hawkwood might make so much trouble over it that he loses his job. He will demand a lot of money to make that risk worthwhile. We shall have to pay millions, perhaps tens of millions, even if we find someone at the right level willing to take our bribe – which we may not, of course.

“That being the case, why not take the bull by the horns, and steal our ships? If we wait until the next two destroyers are ready, then take all four of them and their depot ship, we shall double the striking power of our fleet. Instead of one modern destroyer, with no reloads, and four armed fast freighters, we shall have five destroyers, with plenty of extra missiles, plus the freighters. Hawkwood operates only corvettes and frigates, far inferior to destroyers. With such a fleet, we could take the fight to them, and laugh at their attempts to defend themselves against us.”

Another rumble of comment broke out. “What about the last two destroyers of our order for eight warships?” a councilor asked.

“What about them? If we will never be allowed to take delivery, are they any loss to us? I would rather take the money we would have spent on them, and use it to buy other ships somewhere else.” There was a rustle of agreement.

“One thing,” Endrit said thoughtfully. “Our ships at New Skyros are not allowed to load enough reactor fuel and reaction mass for anything except maintaining their powered orbits, and short local hops. They probably do not have enough for even one full-power hyper-jump. How would we get around that problem?”

Pal was unfazed. “First, we should say nothing at all about this plan to our skeleton crews already aboard the ships. There is too great a risk that they might talk, or be interrogated. We shall have to smuggle in additional crew members aboard commercial shipping. When the time comes, they can join our crews and tell them what is about to happen.

“Some of our ships will sneak up to the New Skyros system and wait at an agreed rendezvous point. The deserted outermost planet in the system would be ideal, as it provides a natural beacon for our navigators. Our ships will bring enough stores and reaction mass to replenish all those at New Skyros. Our fresh crews will board the destroyers, overpower the guards – taking care not to kill or badly hurt anyone, if possible – and head for the rendezvous, leaving false transponder beacons in place to deceive the System Patrol Service as long as possible. If the alarm is raised, the guards can be released aboard lifeboats. Planetary forces will have to rescue them, which should delay any pursuit. They do not have enough patrol craft in service to do both at the same time.

“The destroyers will proceed to the rendezvous, where they will be resupplied and refueled, and release the guards if that has not already been done. While that is going on, our armed ships will fend off any interference from New Skyros. It might come to fighting, but if necessary, I think a suitable demonstration – perhaps firing a missile or two, programming their warheads to explode in a threatening display – will persuade planetary forces to keep their distance. They only have small patrol craft, after all.” The councilors laughed. By now they were sitting on the edge of their seats, eyes alight with excitement. “As each destroyer is refueled, it will hyper-jump out of the system. When the last one has departed, the rest of our ships will follow, to rendezvous at our base.”

“If we take so many ships to New Skyros, will that not leave our base poorly defended?” Fatmir asked.

Pal shrugged. “It is a question of priorities. If we want to have a strong fleet, we must take risks to get it. I think we can send our destroyer and two armed freighters to New Skyros, escorting two freighters carrying supplies for our new warships. One would be enough, but two can resupply them faster, and speed will be important. That will leave two armed freighters to defend our base. Hawkwood does not appear to have discovered it yet, and even if they do, our surveillance satellite should provide ample warning of any approach. On balance, I think that is a risk worth taking. It would only be about a month between the departure of our ships and their triumphant return, greatly reinforced.” He suddenly grinned. “Just imagine the heartburn among Hawkwood’s officers when they find out!” The councilors laughed again.

Agim stepped forward, nodding to Pal to return to his seat. “I thank Pal Sejdiu for a most interesting and promising suggestion. With the Council’s permission, I shall pursue it with my lieutenants, and draw up plans for action as soon as our next two destroyers are ready.” He frowned as he noticed Pal had not stepped back. “Was there something more, Pal?”

“With your permission, yes, Mr. Chairman.”

“Proceed.” He stepped back again.

“Mr. Chairman, councilors, I suggest that there is another path we can also follow, even as we prepare to recover our ships and take the fight to Hawkwood. We should implement the Fatherland Project at once, rather than wait until we have more funds.”

The council again erupted, voices clashing as its members strove to make themselves heard. Agim gaveled for silence. “What are you talking about?” he demanded, his voice incredulous. “We have drawn down our reserves to buy weapons and defend ourselves. We have only about seventy billion francs available, but a planet worthy of our Patriarch’s vision will cost at least double that.”

“Yes, Mr. Chairman; a desirable planet, rich in resources, will cost that much. However, there are often cheaper planets available. They may be smaller, able to accommodate and support fewer people; or they may lack mineral wealth; or their stars may lack rich asteroid belts. For all those reasons, they are less in demand, harder for exploration companies to sell; but they are available at a price we can afford – sometimes as little as thirty to forty billion francs.

“When we take back our destroyers, the UP will be looking for them – and us. They do not know who we are, but Hawkwood will surely tell them, and alert them to our presence here, and assist in the search for our base. Given that, would it not be good to have a planet of our very own? We can disguise its ownership behind the name of a front company, through which we can register it as a corporate planet. Our ships, spacers and people can disappear from Patos, if necessary going to our base for a few months while the purchase is finalized, then to our new planet. It will never be publicly associated with the Albanian Brotherhood, so no-one will look for us there.

“There will be hardships at first while we establish ourselves, but our greater security there will compensate. In particular, it will make it much easier and cheaper for us to obtain modern warships. After all, a legitimate planetary government can order them on the open market, and issue its own end-user certificates for them. That will avoid our having to pay a black market premium for illegal arms purchases, as we have been forced to do in the past. It will also eliminate the risk – as we have already learned to our cost – that the United Planets might intervene if it learns of anything suspicious.

“Are we not letting our desire for the best blind us to what may be good enough, at least for now? Why not buy a smaller planet, one we can afford, and begin building the Patriarch’s dream? It opens a new future to us without further delay. We can always look for a bigger, richer planet later.”

Agim closed his eyes as renewed hubbub spread among the Councilors. Why did I not think of this? he demanded of himself. It will galvanize our people, and this Council, into action like nothing else! He opened his eyes and gaveled for silence. “Pal, I thank you with all my heart for your suggestion. I think, if the Patriarch were with us today, he would be proud of you. I am only sorry I did not think of this myself.”

Pal shook his head. “No blame attaches to you, Mr. Chairman. You have been, and must continue to be, focused on defending us. I doubt whether any of us could do that as well as you and your lieutenants. Perhaps some other member of this Council can pursue the question of a planet, reporting back to this body as needed. That would leave you free to defend us against Hawkwood.”

Applause broke out among the councilors. Clearly, Pal’s idea met with their overwhelming approval.

Gjerg raised his voice, and stood. “Mr. Chairman, may I speak?”

“Of course.”

“I respectfully submit to this council that we all know Pal Sejdiu. The Patriarch himself appointed him to his present position, five years ago. He has proved his dedication and commitment by sacrificing his son, Alban, who died aboard our armed fast freighter Ilaria when she was destroyed by Hawkwood. I understand his wife, too, has been absent for some time on a mission of great importance, although Pal has never given any details of it.

“I believe there is no better candidate to replace Halil Kuqo on this council than Pal Sejdiu. I hereby nominate him for election, and propose that he should be responsible for pursuing the question of a planet to be the new home of the Brotherhood.”

Agim thought fast. Pal has certainly earned that by his words this morning – and he has spoken well of me. It will be valuable to have such a voice on the Council. Let me ensure his ongoing support, by supporting him now. He nodded. “I second the nomination.”

“And I!” “I, too!” Other councilors jumped to their feet in support.

“Let us vote, brothers,” Agim said firmly. “All those in favor?”

Every hand was raised.

“Very well. Pal Sejdiu, you are hereby elected to the Council of the Brotherhood; and, by acclamation, you are tasked with the responsibility of finding us a new home. I am sure you are the best man for that job. Congratulations, and thank you.”

It took some time for order to be restored. Pal’s hand was shaken again and again, and hugs of warm congratulation were exchanged. Finally, Agim was able to say, “I want you to begin your work right away, Pal. What do you need?”

“Three things, Mr. Chairman. I must first return to our base, to hand over my responsibilities there to my deputy. He is a capable man, and will do a good job. From there I must head for Neue Helvetica, to investigate the United Planets’ auction procedures, make contact with their authorized brokers, and see what planets may be available from exploration companies. I shall need the use of one of our courier vessels for that. If that ship is needed for other missions, I shall require authorization to charter one at Neue Helvetica for a year or so, so that I may send ours back to our base at once. Third, I shall need access to our accounts on Neue Helvetica, both to draw expenses, and to arrange for the transfer of funds to a UP broker if we bid for a planet.

“I have two more requests, Mr. Chairman. I should like this Council to define a set of minimum requirements for our new planet. That will help rule out those that are unsuitable, without wasting any time investigating them. However, our requirements should be realistic and practical, not flights of fancy we cannot afford. Next, I suggest another, more senior councilor should accompany me, starting right away. Two heads are better than one, and an older head is often wiser than a younger. Also, I am new to the Council. A more experienced councilor will help me act in accordance with its traditions and wishes, leading to fewer problems later.”

“I see no problem with any of that,” Agim agreed. “As for someone to accompany you, I suggest Gjerg Hyka. He nominated you to this council, after all, and all of us know and trust him.” He is also one of the dissenters who oppose me, he thought to himself. If he works with you at Neue Helvetica, he will be out of my way here. “If the Council agrees, we can give you joint signing authority on our accounts. You will be a check and a balance on each other, which protects us; and that will save you having to return here every time you need a signature.” More nods and murmurs of approval.

“I thank you for your trust in Pal and I, brothers,” Gjerg said, tears of gratitude in his eyes. “We shall not fail you!”

9

Infiltration

NEUE HELVETICA

“Good evening, Henry.”

Henry Martin looked up as a man slid into the seat opposite him in the booth. “Hello, Gustav.” He slid a menu across the table to the new arrival. “Are you hungry?”

“At this time of day, always. I won’t need the menu. I’m a regular here. That’s why I suggested it as our rendezvous.”

“What do you suggest?”

“At a place called Das Schnitzelhaus, what do you expect? Their jaegerschnitzel is famous. It’s served with spätzle and a rich mushroom gravy.”

“That’s what I’ll have, then. For you as well?”

“Why not? Try their house pilsener. It’s a light beer, but very flavorful. I’ll have it too.”

“Anything you say.” Henry signaled to a waitress, and gave her their order. As she walked away, he added, “I’d expected to find German-style restaurants on Neue Helvetica, but I didn’t realize they were so dominant. With the United Planets headquartered here, I thought you’d have had a wider variety.”

“Oh, we do – just not here. This district is very German, culturally speaking. Go over to the Ausländerplatz and several streets around it, and you can’t move for competing cuisines.”

“I’ll try it sometime, when I have time to relax and enjoy myself – but not tonight. This is business.”

“Yes, and I have business news for you. In fact, my news is so good that I think I should charge you fifty thousand francs for it, instead of twenty-five.”

Henry’s eyes narrowed. “You going back on our deal?”

“No. We’ve dealt fairly in the past, and I won’t change that. Even so, when you’ve heard what I have to tell you, be honest. If it isn’t all you wanted, and much more, I’ll say no more. If it’s as good as I think it is, how about a bonus?”

“All right. That’s fair.”

The waitress slid two glasses of a light-colored beer onto the table, and departed with a swish of her skirts. Henry sipped his brew. “This is good! All right, tell me.”

Gustav lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure they would not be overheard. “There’s an account manager in Hoffmann Geiger, the brokerage the United Planets uses to administer the escrow account for bidders in their planetary auctions. His name is Hans-Jurgen Knappe. He likes to gamble, but his appetites have exceeded his skills and his luck. He earns about eighty thousand francs per year, but he currently owes the Spielbank Garmat almost six hundred thousand. The casino initially bankrolled his losses – they do that with many clients, you understand, because loaning them money at very high interest rates is very profitable for them.” Henry nodded.

“In this case, their tolerance was misplaced. Last month, Hans-Jurgen got in over his head at poker. It was supposed to be a low-stakes game, but the liquor was flowing freely, and players had money to burn, and the dealer let it get out of hand. The stakes rose, and the betting went wild. The game ended with Hans-Jurgen down over three hundred thousand francs for the night. He’d had too much to drink, which is rare for him. It must have affected his judgment. He asked repeatedly for more house credit. The dealer kept on signing his notes, which was foolish of him. He has since been… disciplined, if you follow me.”

Henry restrained an urge to wince in sympathy. The Spielbank Garmat was run by the Gesellschaft, the dominant criminal network on Neue Helvetica, which used the casino to launder much of its ill-gotten gains. The Society was unlikely to forgive any of its employees who cost it money by overstepping their boundaries. It was reputed to make brutal, bloody examples of offenders in its ranks, in order to ‘educate’ the survivors.

“On top of his previous losses, that makes Hans-Jurgen a very poor credit risk indeed. The Gesellschaft has given him until the end of this month to reduce his debt to no more than five hundred thousand francs. If he succeeds, he’ll have one year to reduce the balance to two hundred and fifty thousand, which was his previous limit – and they’ll charge him a steep rate of interest while he does so. He also has to pay them at least two per cent of the outstanding balance every month, and he’s not allowed to gamble anywhere, even for no stakes at all. He’s been warned that he’ll be watched, and disobedience will be treated harshly.”

Henry frowned. “That’s odd. I’d have thought the Gesellschaft would prefer to use him to help them steal money from the bank, in return for writing off his debt.”

“Ah, there’s the problem. You see, Hans-Jurgen is an honest man. He won’t steal. I don’t know how he reconciles that ethic with his compulsive gambling habit, but there you are. Since they can’t use him that way, they’re getting tough.”

“Hmmm. Perhaps they’re trying to break down his scruples through sheer necessity.”

Their food arrived. Henry waited until the waitress had departed, then sampled a mouthful of his jaegerschnitzel, mushroom gravy and egg noodles. It was delicious. He chewed, swallowed, and said, “So he has to find almost a hundred thousand francs within three days?”

“Yes – but he hasn’t got a hope in hell of doing so. His home is already mortgaged, so he can’t pledge that. Also, being a manager in a leading financial brokerage, he’s known throughout the banking sector here. If it became known that he had a gambling problem, and he’d accumulated so much debt, Hoffmann Geiger would fire him on the spot. No other bank or brokerage would hire him. For that reason, he can’t apply for bank credit to cover his debt to the casino. It’d be sure to get back to his employers. They’d want to know why he needed it.”

A slow smile spread across Henry’s face. “So, if he were offered a lifeline, he’d likely grab it?”

“That depends on the lifeline. He needs one, for sure. You see, his wife is very attached to their social status. If he was disgraced – or disgraced her – by being found out, she’d probably file for divorce. The judge would most likely see his gambling problem as evidence that he’s not fit to be a parent. She’d almost certainly be awarded sole custody of their son and daughter. He dotes on them. I don’t think he could handle that, so, yes, I think he’ll grab at any reasonable lifeline.”

“You said he won’t steal. In return for the money, would he provide information, do you think?”

“About his employers, probably not. Other companies or entities… he has no personal loyalty to them, so I think he’d be open to persuasion. He’ll probably be even more open if you promise more money over time, to get his debt back down to a manageable level.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Henry took out the envelope and handed it to Gustav. “You’ve earned that – and I agree, this looks very promising. If you help me make contact with him, and if we come to an agreement, and if he delivers, I’ll double your money.”

Gustav opened the envelope and riffed through the banknotes swiftly, then smiled. “The prospect of more money is like the aroma of fine brandy in my nostrils.”

“Then let’s see if we can’t provide enough of it to get you nicely drunk, shall we?”

“I’ll drink to that!”

They toasted each other solemnly with their beers.

Hans-Jurgen Knappe waited miserably for his ride to arrive. He was bundled in a warm coat and scarf against the chilly winter wind, but it bit deep. His nose was already red from exposure. When the doorman at the employee entrance signaled him, he hurried to the autotaxi and slid into the front-row seat without even looking around. The door slid shut with a whoosh, and the vehicle accelerated smoothly into the stream of traffic as he set his briefcase down on the seat beside him.

A voice from the second row of seats said quietly, in mildly accented German, “Good evening, Hans-Jurgen.”

He spun around. The man sitting behind him had a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face, and a cap pulled low over his forehead. He was wearing shaded glasses that made it difficult to see his eyes.

“Who – who the devil are you? What are you doing in my cab?”

“You can call me Heinrich,” Henry told him. “Don’t worry, I’m not from the casino, and I’m not here to harm you – just the opposite, in fact. I may be your guardian angel in disguise.”

“W-what do you mean? Where are we going?” He looked wildly out of the window as the cab accelerated up an on-ramp to join a multi-lane freeway.

“I’ve told the autopilot to ride around the city on the ring road until you and I have had a chance to talk. You need to raise a hundred thousand francs by the day after tomorrow, don’t you?”

The banker’s face crumpled as beads of sweat suddenly stood out on his brow. “Y-yes. H-how did you know?”

“I know a lot about you, Hans-Jurgen. Take a look at this.”

The other man switched on the dome light above their heads, then took a fat wallet from inside his coat and opened it, riffling through a thick wad of banknotes. In the light, Hans-Jurgen could see that they were thousand-franc notes.

“There’s a hundred banknotes in there, my friend. With a little help from you, they can be yours by this time tomorrow night. What’s more, we’re going to need more help over the next few months. If you provide it, there are five hundred more notes like this tucked away somewhere safe. They can be yours. That would wipe out everything you owe the Spielbank Garmat, and leave you free and clear.”

There was a long silence as the banker stared at the open wallet, mouth open, eyes bulging. At last he said hoarsely, “I – I will not steal.”

“I haven’t asked you to. I don’t even want any of your employer’s confidential information. You don’t have to do a thing that would betray their trust in you, or yours in them.”

“Then… what do you want from me?”

“There’s an outfit I’m investigating. It’s official. Look.” Heinrich closed the wallet and slid it back into his jacket, then took out an official-looking ID wallet. Opening it, he displayed a metal badge in the form of a shield, and a laminated credential card. Hans-Jurgen noticed at once that the line providing the name of the bearer was masked with a strip of tape.

“I’m an insurance investigator from New Skyros,” the stranger continued. “Criminals defrauded one of our clients of a very large sum. We’ve traced them to Neue Helvetica. Now we have to learn the name of the front company they’ve set up, and find out more about their bank accounts. With that information, we can put a trace on its transactions and tie them to what happened on our planet. That will help us recover our money.”

“Why do you not go to the authorities?”

The other man sighed, as if a child was trying his patience, as he clicked off the light. “Oh, come on, Hans-Jurgen! You know what would happen. Local investigators would have to get involved, dragging everything through the planetary bureaucracy for months. That might alert our targets to what we’re doing. Even if it doesn’t, and arrests are made, it’ll take a year or two for the case to wend its way through your court system. The money would have all that time to vanish into other accounts; and, even if it didn’t, we’d take heavy losses through not being able to use it, and not earning interest on it. We’re talking tens of billions of francs – far too much money to risk like that. It’ll be much better to track down the culprits ourselves, and persuade them to hand it over or make restitution in some other way. That’s where you come in.”

“B-billions, you said?”

“Yes. Our client is an asteroid mining corporation.”

The banker sounded unwillingly impressed. “Ah! I see. That industry deals in very large sums.”

“Yes, it does – which is why we’re willing to be generous to the person who helps us recover them. We think the thieves are going to use the funds to put down a deposit on a planet at the bi-annual UP auction.”

“W-why would thieves do that?”

“Because there’s a lot of money to be made from a new colonization project. If they charge premium rates, they can get several thousand francs out of each settler for a plot of land, plus transportation fees and all the rest. They’ll also supply all the raw materials for start-up colonies, at a very nice profit margin. It’s common to earn a return of up to five hundred per cent on such deals.”

“I… I see. What do you want from me?”

“We believe they’re using a front company or organization that has a name similar to “The Fatherland Project”, or “The Fatherland Enterprise”, or something like that. We aren’t sure of its exact title, but we’re certain they’ve made at least preliminary arrangements with Hoffmann Geiger. We want to know everything your company knows about them – their corporate identity on Neue Helvetica, their contact details, their bank account, everything. If you get me that information by tomorrow night, this wallet’s contents will be yours.

“After that, we’ll have a few more things we’ll ask you to do while we prepare to act against them. None of them will involve anything detrimental to your employer, and we’ll never ask you to betray Hoffmann Geiger’s interests. If you cooperate, we’ll pay you a monthly retainer of ten thousand francs, sufficient to meet your monthly payment to the casino. When we’ve recovered our money, one way or another, we’ll pay you half a million francs for your assistance, enough to clear your debt entirely and allow you to make a fresh start. How about it?”

“H-how can I be sure you will pay me?”

He’s hooked! Henry thought with satisfaction. “If we pay you tomorrow, isn’t it likely we’ll pay you next month as well? And if we pay you then, why shouldn’t we pay you the following month?”

“I-I see… I think. And what if there is no information in our records about this company?”

“Then you tell us that. We’ll make sure you’re being honest by using a truth-tester. If you are, you get paid anyway, then we’ll have you keep a watching brief for us. If you’re lying to us, we’ll know soon enough, and then the casino’s goons aren’t the only ones you’ll have to worry about.”

The banker shivered. “You may be an insurance investigator, but you seem just as ruthless as a criminal in the way you operate.”

“You know the old saying: ‘If you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas’. We have to deal with the lowest of the low. It’s no wonder some of their habits rub off on us. Still, look at it this way. They needn’t rub off on you. Help us, and in a few months you can walk away from all this free and clear, and never look back.”

There was a long silence as the cab sped smoothly along at the speed of the evening traffic. Lights were coming on across the city as darkness fell.

At last Hans-Jurgen said softly, “And you promise I shall not have to steal from my employers, or betray their trust?”

“I promise. If I lie, you can always turn me in to the authorities. All I want is information about an outside group of people. You owe them no loyalty.”

“That… that is true. Very well. I will try. How shall I tell you if I have anything?”

“Take your ride home again tomorrow evening, as you did tonight. I’ll be waiting.” The stranger took out the wallet again, and counted out ten banknotes. “Here. This is earnest money – ten thousand francs. The rest will be waiting for you tomorrow night, if you come through for us.”

The banker accepted the notes with a trembling hand. “If there is anything to be found.”

“We think there will be. We’ve been tracking these people for a long time. We wouldn’t have approached you if we weren’t pretty sure of what you’ll find.”

“I… I see. I hope you are right.”

“We’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”

Later the following evening, as an autotaxi took him and Gustav to the restaurant where he’d arranged to meet Caitlin, Henry read through the documents Hans-Jurgen had handed to him in exchange for the balance of the money. “This is it!” he exulted. “There’s enough here to get us to the next stage.”

He glanced at Gustav. “Are you available for an exclusive contract lasting several months, perhaps as much as a year? You’ll be mounting surveillance, looking for more contacts in different companies, and generally running around on our behalf. It should be interesting and rewarding work.”

“How rewarding?”

“Shall we say a retainer of twenty thousand a month, plus generous performance bonuses, plus expenses?”

“That sounds promising. What of my bonus for finding Hans-Jurgen Knappe for you?”

Henry laughed. “All right. I’ll double your fee. If all goes well, and we get what we’re after, I’ll add a hundred thousand to your contract as a completion bonus.”

“Now you are talking, my friend! Yes, for that much, I will do it. If you want me to follow people, of course, I will need to hire assistance.”

“That’s covered under expenses. We’re going to have interesting times together.”

“Well-paid times, too. I shall look forward to them.”

10

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NEUE HELVETICA

Hans-Jurgen felt sweat trickle down his brow as he watched the dealer flip one card at a time toward each player seated around the bed. The room was hot and stuffy. It reeked of cigar smoke and cheap liquor. It was in a run-down hotel in a sleazy part of town, not a neighborhood he’d usually visit or the sort of game he’d normally patronize. However, the casinos were closed to him, under threat of violence if he disobeyed. If he wanted to gamble, this was his only option at present.

He’d spun a sob story to the casino, and they’d allowed him to pay only fifty thousand toward reducing his balance. The remainder of Heinrich’s money had paid his entrance fee to tonight’s game, and bought the pile of chips in front of him. He knew, with the certainty of religious faith, that he would double or triple his money tonight. How could these back-street gamblers, with their primitive facilities and lack of education, hope to compete on even terms with a man who’d played at the top casino on Neue Helvetica? If he won big a few nights in a row, he’d have enough to pay off the casino, and thumb his nose at Heinrich, too.

The third card flipped out, face-up this time. The dealer studied the cards. “Two’s to bet.”

Hans-Jurgen gulped. His was the lowest upward-facing card showing on the ‘table’. He lifted the corners of his two face-down cards and peeked. An ace and a ten… nothing very exciting yet, but the night was young. He pushed a chip out ahead of his stack. “Two bets a hundred.”

Three more players bet, while the others folded at once. Additional cards were dealt, one at a time, face-up, each followed by a round of betting. Hans-Jurgen began to feel the first flush of excitement. He had a second ace now, and there were still two cards to be drawn.

His concentration was rudely interrupted as, behind him, the door to the hotel room opened. He glanced around and froze, staring almost as if hypnotized, as two large, burly men in dark suits entered.

The leader of the two said to the dealer. “Good thing you called. You’d have been in big trouble otherwise.”

“I got the word you put out on him. I wouldn’t go against you.”

“Sensible of you.”

The second man grabbed Hans-Jurgen’s left shoulder, sinking his fingers deep into the muscle, painfully pinching his suprascapular nerve, causing him to cry out in pain. “On your feet, you!”

“W-what are you doing?” he demanded in panic as he was hauled out of his chair.

“You know damn well what we’re doing. You were told not to gamble. You didn’t listen.” The thug glanced at the dealer. “How much did he bring?”

“Fifty thousand.”

“We’ll take that, too.”

The dealer didn’t complain, swiftly counting out the money from a carryall on the floor and handing it over. The other players sat quietly, eyes on the cards ahead of them. They had no desire to get involved in what was clearly a dangerous situation.

The leader accepted the money, then peeled off five thousand francs from it. “You did what you were supposed to do.” He tossed the notes back across the bed.

“Thanks,” the dealer acknowledged as he scooped it up.

Hans-Jurgen tried to struggle, but the agonizing pain in his shoulder increased to almost paralyzing levels as the man behind him tightened his grip. He yelled for help as the two men dragged him across the room and out of the door, closing it behind them… but no-one came.

“You’ve been naughty,” the leader said coldly. “That calls for a lesson.”

They manhandled him to the stairs and down three flights to the basement. It was dark and cold. The leader flicked a switch, and bare bulbs lit up in ceiling fixtures, showing a dirty room with a trash-strewn concrete floor. “Remember, don’t mark his face or hands,” he warned. “He’s got to be able to work.”

“Got it,” the other thug said. He spun the banker around and sank a fist deep into his stomach. Hans-Jurgen’s eyes bulged as he croaked in agony, folding forward, holding his midriff. He sank to his knees as he suddenly vomited up his supper.

There was disgust in the leader’s voice. “Spewing already? We’ve only just begun.” He moved forward, reaching for his victim.

“W-wait!” Hans-Jurgen managed to splutter and wheeze through the thick, wet, rope-like strands dangling from his mouth. “I-I got the money from Heinrich! He has a lot more! I-I can help you get it!”

“Heinrich?” The boss thug was suddenly alert. “Who’s he?”

“H-he paid me f-for information. He s-says he’ll g-give me more, enough to p-pay you off, if I c-cooperate.”

“He’ll give you half a million?” The two gangsters glanced at each other. “Where is he?”

“I-I don’t know. I-I only have his comm code – but he’ll pay, I swear it!”

“Give me the code.” The leader took out his comm unit and held it to Hans-Jurgen’s lips as he spoke, recording the code. He glanced at his sidekick. “Watch him. I’m going to talk to the boss.”

“Got it.”

He headed back up the stairs, obviously looking for a strong enough signal to make a call. The other man watched Hans-Jurgen impassively as he recovered his breath, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and struggled to his feet, trembling. “You’d better be telling the truth about this Heinrich,” he warned. “If you’re not, you’re going to get it twice as hard.”

“I-I’m not lying.”

The leader returned, the clatter of his footsteps preceding him down the stairs. “The boss says to bring him to the warehouse. He’s going to tell us all about his rich friend Heinrich.”

They dragged him up the stairs to the ground floor, then out of the doors of the hotel to a vehicle parked on the street. The leader got into the front seat and reached for the control panel, while his sidekick thrust Hans-Jurgen ungently into the back seat, then slid in next to him. As he shut the door, the autopilot accelerated smoothly away into the night.

None of the three noticed another vehicle, parked further back along the street. As they departed, it followed. It hung well back so as not to be noticed, and didn’t turn on its headlights until they reached a better-lit area, where they wouldn’t stand out.

Henry ran his finger down the column of names in the display. “Damn, you’re good, Caitlin! How the hell did you get to be such an expert on cracking computer systems?”

She shrugged. “I’ve been trying to protect them against hackers for years. If you want to protect them, you have to know how others will attack them, and know how to use their tools. The financial institution they use, Devisenbank, has really good security. I can’t crack it. The Brotherhood’s front company, Vaterland, though… theirs is pathetic! They’re even storing their data backups in the planetary cloud, which is obscenely stupid! I suppose they’ve only had a low-level operative here for a long time, probably because they haven’t bid on any planets yet. He or she just didn’t know, or didn’t bother, about proper security.”

“For which let’s be grateful! All right, let’s see. The Brotherhood deposited gold on those dates… and…” He referred to another screen of information. “A courier ship, Szipnij, arrived from Mavra about a day before every deposit. That’s the same vessel that brings payments in gold to Metaxas Shipyards on New Skyros. We monitored her movements there while we were trying to delay construction and delivery of the Brotherhood’s new destroyers. She’s got to be a Brotherhood vessel, probably specially equipped to carry their gold shipments.”

Caitlin frowned. “What sort of special equipment would be needed? Surely they just load it into the hold like any other freight?”

“It’ll need specialized cargo handling gear and storage facilities. Gold bars are small, and very heavy. They won’t take up much space in a hold. They’ll have to be braced and secured to stop them moving under acceleration or during a hyper-jump, which might upset the ship’s stability. Also, she probably has special protective systems. She isn’t armed with missiles – we saw that at New Skyros – but she may have hidden laser cannon barbettes, and she almost certainly has electronic warfare systems – jammers, active stealth, and so on. She may even have a nuclear demolition charge, to prevent the Brotherhood’s enemies capturing its gold. The crew could activate it, then abandon ship, giving themselves time to get clear before it goes off.”

“Or, if they’re fanatic enough, they could blow themselves up along with the gold.”

Henry snorted. “That’d be the most expensive funeral pyre in the history of the settled galaxy!”

Caitlin thought for a moment. “When Szipnij visited New Skyros, did she also come from Mavra?”

“I think so. I’d have to check our records for that operation, but it rings a bell.”

“Why? What’s at Mavra to cause a Brotherhood ship to always depart from there, when she’s carrying gold? Do they store their profits there?”

“Good question. Hang on a moment. Let me look up Mavra in the UP database.”

Mavra turned out to be a corporate planet, owned and operated by an asteroid mining consortium. Henry frowned as he scanned the entry. “Says here they make a lot of asteroid mining equipment and supplies, and sell it to all comers. I wonder if the Brotherhood buys from them? That would make sense. They’d have to get that stuff from somewhere.”

“Yes, and since they’re stealing asteroids from several stars at once, they’ll go through a lot of supplies. It would also provide a great cover story. They send their courier to Mavra to buy what they need, using a little of their gold. I’m sure the supplier will take it with no questions asked. They load the supplies in the hold, perhaps even on top of the gold, and head out to wherever they’re going. They log their arrival from Mavra, saying nothing about where they’re really from, and dig out the gold for delivery.”

“And after offloading the gold, the ship takes the supplies to wherever they’re needed.”

“Uh-huh. Unless someone tried to trace her route from New Skyros or Neue Helvetica back to Mavra, then from there to wherever her flight plan said she’d come from…”

“Yes. Mavra’s like a navigational fig leaf. It hides all the interesting bits.”

Caitlin giggled. “Trust a man to think of it in those terms!”

Her laughter was interrupted by a shrill trill from the comm unit on the table. Henry reached for it as he said, “That’s Gustav’s ring tone.” He picked it up. “Yes?”

Gustav’s voice answered, “Big trouble. Hans-Jurgen found himself a bottom-tier poker game, and two goons grabbed him. I thought they’d just give him an educational beat-down, but he must have said something that got their attention. They’ve taken him to one of the Gesellschaft’s warehouses. If he talks about you and I, and about money…”

“Shit! Suggestions?”

“Abort, right away. The Gesellschaft is ruthless. If they sniff half a million francs, and perhaps more where that came from, they’ll be after us like dogs after a bitch in heat – and they’ve got more than enough people and resources to find us.”

“Agreed. We have enough to work with for now, anyway. You want out too?”

“Can you? Will you? I’ll feel a lot safer that way.”

“Yes, we can. You ran risks for us, so we’ll take care of you. It goes with the territory. Anyone you want to bring with you?”

“If I can bring three people, that would be a really big help. If they can’t find me, they’re going to ask them where I am, and they won’t ask politely. They’re good people, and loyal to me.”

“Be at the emergency rendezvous with them in two hours. Bring nothing except one carryall apiece with essentials. No weapons, or you won’t be coming. If you have money or high-value assets, you can bring that too, as long as it fits into no more than one extra carryall each. Shut down your comm units now, and destroy them. Leave nothing the Gesellschaft can use.”

“We’ll be there. Thanks.”

Henry didn’t answer as he cut the call, then looked at Caitlin. “We’re out of here, right now. The Gesellschaft is looking for us, or soon will be. I’ll call the ship while you start packing. Move!”

The morning traffic had eased by the time the executive arrived at the warehouse. He had his chauffeur drive the limousine some distance into the building, to ensure that any prying eyes would not recognize him.

“What have you got for me?” he asked the man holding the door as he climbed out of the vehicle.

The other fell in on his left side as they walked toward the offices built in to one end of the warehouse. “We traced the comm code Knappe gave us. It was registered three weeks ago to a company that doesn’t exist. The network traced its location every night to the Merkur Hotel. We went there and asked the night manager about any rooms rented to that company. They’d taken a suite. We had him let us in, but the birds had flown. The desk clerk said they’d headed for the garage at about twenty-two. They took everything with them, and cleaned the place out. They even sprayed the walls, carpets and furniture with DNA neutralizer. We won’t get any clues there. We tried to retrieve their computer traffic from the hotel’s database, but they used a data anonymizer and quantum encryption. The hotel couldn’t say what their traffic was all about. Their comm units went off the air last night at the time they left. No trace of them since then.”

“Verdammt! They were professionals, then. How were they warned, do you think?”

“We don’t know, sir, but I suppose they had someone watching Knappe. If he saw our men bringing him here, he might have guessed what that implied, and warned them.”

“True. How did they locate Knappe? What did they want from him, to make them so generous?”

“He doesn’t know how they found him, sir. We’re working on tracing every comm unit that the network shows was in regular contact, or even frequent close proximity, with Knappe’s or Heinrich’s since their first contact. We’ll identify their owners and look into them. That should let us trace Heinrich’s henchmen. We’ve already identified one named Gustav Holstauff, but his comm unit went off the air last night and hasn’t come up again. Heinrich may have warned him to run. We’re looking for him.

“Heinrich told Knappe he was an insurance investigator from New Skyros, investigating the theft of billions from an asteroid mining company. He said the thieves might try to buy a planet with the money. He paid Knappe a hundred thousand to find out about any brokerage account for any company with a name including the word ‘Fatherland’. He found one for Vaterland GmbH, which they said was the one they wanted. He doesn’t know how they knew that, or what they did with the account profile he gave them. They promised him more money – ten thousand each month – to maintain a watching brief on Vaterland’s brokerage account, and said that if all went well, and he helped them again when they needed him, they’d give him enough to settle his debt with us when it was all over.”

“What about Vaterland?”

“It’s a small company with an account at Devizenbank, which opened the UP brokerage account for them at their request. Until a week or two ago, there was only one contact person at Vaterland dealing with the bank. Two new arrivals have signing powers now, replacing him. We have their names – at least, the names they used with the bank, which may not be real – and their corporate address. It’s a lawyer’s office – Gottschalk, Hauptmann and Widderhorn.”

The senior man frowned. “They won’t give us the time of day. They’re tight-lipped about their clients, and they’ve got enough influence with politicians, even Ministers of State, that we can’t touch them. You’ll have to get descriptions and comm codes for those new arrivals from the bank.”

“That’ll take time, sir. Devizenbank is almost as bad as those lawyers when it comes to client confidentiality. It’s only because one of our people works for them as a clerk that we found out as much as we did. He doesn’t have access to more information than that.”

“Do your best. We can bring some leverage to bear if we have to. Since Heinrich, whoever he was, and his friends have disappeared, we’ll have to find out why he was so interested in this Vaterland. If he was willing to spend that much for information about it, that argues there’s a lot more than that to be made out of it, particularly if it – or someone hiding behind that company name – stole what Heinrich called ‘billions’, wouldn’t you say?”

The other grinned. “Yes, sir.”

“You’ve done very well, to learn so much in just one night. There’ll be a bonus for your hard work. Where is he?”

“The prisoner is in here, sir.” The man indicated the end office.

They walked in to find Hans-Jurgen, stark naked, strapped to a sturdy wooden chair that was bolted to the floor. His head lolled forward on his chest, eyes closed, tongue protruding from his drooling mouth. Copper spring clips were clamped onto various sensitive parts of his body. Wires led from them to a machine on a nearby desk. His body was soaked with sweat. He’d voided his bladder and bowels repeatedly, and the room stank of urine and feces.

The new arrival wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Knappe!” he barked.

The banker ignored him, or perhaps could not hear him. The executive held up three fingers. A man at the desk adjusted a dial, then pressed a switch. The figure in the chair surged upright, eyes bulging, a shriek of agony wrung from his tortured lips. It went on, and on, and on… until finally the senior man made a cutting motion with his hand. Instantly, the man at the desk released the button. Hans-Jurgen fell forward once more, making a gurgling sound as his scream died away.

At the new arrival’s glance, a guard filled a jug with water from a sink in the corner, then threw it over the prisoner. He blinked, and slowly, painfully raised his head.

“Can you hear me, Knappe?”

“Y…yes…I…can…hear…you.”

“Get this straight, arschloch. As of now, we own you, body and soul. You can forget about Heinrich and his friend. You’re going to do what we tell you, when we tell you to do it, and you’re not going to do a single thing we tell you not to do. That includes gambling. Next time you disobey, we’ll take one of your balls – and we’ll remove it slowly, with a cheese grater. Verstehen sie?”

“J…jawohl.”

“You were off work today, so you won’t have to explain your absence to your employer. We’re going to clean you up, put you back into your clothes, and drive you home. When we get there, we’re going to explain to your wife what’s going to happen to her, and to your son and daughter, if you disobey us again. There are always perverts looking for young boys and girls. Yours will do nicely, if you so much as hesitate when we give you an order. Verstehen sie?”

The man seemed to regain a spark of spirit. “N-not my children! Not – aaaaahhh!” He screamed as the man at the desk touched the button again, briefly. The interrogator nodded his approval, and the other guard threw more water over Hans-Jurgen.

“Ja, Knappe, your children. Their safety is in your hands. For their sake, and your own, and your wife’s, you’d better behave from now on. Verstehen sie?”

Silence, except for heavy, labored breathing, then, “J…jawohl.”

“You’re going back to work tomorrow, while we find out what Heinrich was up to. When we know, we’re going to continue with his project, but for our benefit from now on. You’ll do for us everything you were going to do for him, and more besides. If you screw up once more, you’ll watch while we rape your wife in front of you, then rape you too. Screw up a second time, and we’ll do that to your children in front of both of you, then let them watch as we torture you both to death, before we sell them to off-world brothels. Remember that, because I won’t warn you again!”

He turned on his heel and walked out.

11

Tidings

CONSTANTA

Cochrane stood to welcome Frank Haldane as the Captain strode into his office. “Welcome back! You look like a cat that’s been at the cream.” He offered his hand as he came around his desk.

Frank shook it firmly. “Not the cream, sir – I’ve been at the enemy. We’ve positioned three drones to keep watch over the Brotherhood base. One’s at the galactic west side of the star, one at galactic east, and one at galactic north, all outside the system boundary where we can get at them. They’re set up so each transmits its intelligence every day to the other two, and all three retain it in their memory banks. We need hit only one of them to download it all, then reset them to clear out their memory and start gathering new information for our next visit.”

“Excellent! You’ve done very well.” They settled into armchairs by the window. “Any problems?”

“Just one, sir. Their system surveillance satellite is operational now. That delayed us by several weeks, because we couldn’t use our gravitic drives within its range. We had to creep in under reaction thrusters only, to emplace the drones. Since they don’t radiate in the electromagnetic or gravitic spectrum, the satellite couldn’t detect us, but we moved much more slowly than usual.”

Cochrane grimaced. “I understand. You must have got awfully bored during the weeks of creeping in at a snail’s pace, then creeping out again.”

“Yes, sir. Still, we did it. I’ve left Caracal to keep an eye on the system until relieved, with enough supplies at the rendezvous point to keep her going for three months. We need to send a relief ship soon, though, sir. Caracal’s crew weren’t happy at having to miss the fleshpots of a settled planet for even longer than the rest of us.” They chuckled.

“I’ll send a corvette to relieve her as soon as possible.”

“A corvette will be smaller, sir, and that might be an advantage if they start looking for us. On the other hand, she doesn’t have a frigate’s firepower if she has to defend herself; and she carries less supplies, so she’ll have to be on short rations during those long trips to milk the drones of the intelligence they’ve gathered. She’s also got smaller, less spacious crew quarters, so her people won’t be very comfortable if they’re stuck out there for weeks or months at a time. Some might get a bit stir-crazy, if you know what I mean.”

“That’s a good point, but it can’t be helped for now. I need to keep your frigates together. Something’s coming up that will need all your frigates, and the next two as well, to be fighting fit.”

“Oh?” Frank sat forward eagerly. “What is it, sir?”

“I won’t say more just yet, but you can tell your people it’ll almost certainly involve a fight. I want you to take your division to Barjah. I’ll send orders to Caracal with her relief, to join you there.”

Frank looked disappointed. “My people were looking forward to planetside liberty here, sir. We’ve been out in deep space for almost half a year, after all.”

“You can give them a week here, and promise them extended liberty at Barjah, one ship at a time. Help the local Station Commander to work up the new ships there. The next two frigates, Lynx and Margay, will join your squadron in about four months. I need you to expedite their working-up. If necessary, swap some of their crews for more experienced spacers from your ships to speed up the process. Your division will then be five ships strong. It’s got to be ready for action in not more than six months from this date.”

“I’ll do my best, sir. Are we going to hit the Brotherhood’s base?”

Cochrane hesitated. Frank, like most of his senior officers, did not yet know about the Big Three’s involvement. Not even he knew what they planned, or their timetable. He temporized, “We can’t make plans in isolation. We have to liaise with others. Only when we know what they’re going to do, and when, and where, can we fill in the gaps and make our own plans. I think we’ll almost certainly hit that base, but there may be other targets too.”

Frank frowned. “Just as long as we don’t divide our forces too much, sir. Those bastards fight too well for us to tackle them in penny packets. They might defeat us in detail.”

“I agree. I’ll do my best to plan along those lines, but as I said, we aren’t the only players. Also, our security contract at Larcuna is about to begin. It needs four corvettes, so they won’t be available for operations against the Brotherhood. I may have to temporarily strip Mycenae, Constanta and Barjah of almost every fighting ship for a short offensive. It’s going to take some careful juggling of our assets.”

“I’ll say, sir! Aren’t we a bit overextended?”

“When haven’t we been?” They exchanged a tight grin. “We’ve coped so far. We’ll just have to go on coping.”

“Who’ll be in local command at Larcuna, sir?”

“I’m giving that to Angus Darroch, and promoting him to Captain.”

“That’s great! He’ll make a good station commanding officer, sir.”

“I think so, too, once he gets used to no longer commanding his own ship, but being in charge of a small squadron.”

Frank made a wry face. “He won’t like it. He was the first CO of our First Corvette Division when it formed, but he was also skipper of his own ship at the time. It’s really something to be almost the monarch of your own little kingdom. Senior, multi-unit command is nice, but it doesn’t have that personal touch of running your own ship.”

Cochrane smiled. “I remember that, too. Still, Angus can’t complain. He’s commanded a corvette and a frigate with us, and killed two Brotherhood destroyers and one of their courier ships. It’s time he moved up. Speaking of that, when you joined us, we agreed that you’d commit to us for a minimum of five years. Do you plan to stay on, or are you wanting to go back to being your own boss?”

Frank shook his head. “I’ve been so busy I haven’t given it much thought, sir. It was nice to have the freedom of my own operation, but Hawkwood’s a great outfit with top-notch people, and it pays very well – much better salaries than usual, and profit share on top.”

“Give it some thought. Once we’ve settled the Brotherhood’s hash, there may be an even more interesting development in the pipeline. If you commit to us for the long term, you’ll have the opportunity to become a shareholder, rather than merely sharing in our profits. There may be a broad stripe in your future, too.” He reached up and touched the insignia of Commodore’s rank on his epaulettes.

Frank grinned. “I suppose you’ll move up to Rear-Admiral then, sir?”

“Perhaps… or I might have another title altogether.”

Frank tried hard to wheedle more information out of him, but Cochrane fended him off with an amused smile. All he would say was, “All in good time.”

Caitlin and Henry arrived the following morning. They sent a warning signal from the system boundary, and headed straight for his office when their ship entered orbit. Cochrane listened intently as they described what they’d learned, and what had happened.

“Where’s Gustav now?”

“He and his people are aboard our courier ship, sir,” Henry replied. “One of them’s his lover, and the other two work for him. They’re good, sir. I worked with Gustav before, when I was operating on my own account. If you need another investigator, one without too many scruples, he’s a good man to have on your side.”

“We can probably use him. Tell me more about the Brotherhood’s gold shipments.”

Caitlin grinned. “We thought that would get your attention, sir.”

They went over the gold shipments to New Skyros and Neue Helvetica, consulting Henry’s previous reports where necessary. At last Cochrane nodded slowly. “I’m going to go with Henry’s description of Mavra as a ‘navigational fig leaf’. We need to find out what that courier ship does when she calls there, and whether her visits are scheduled ahead of time. I can’t spare either of you for that job. D’you think Gustav and his people might be good enough?”

Henry nodded firmly. “Yes, sir. They won’t have local contacts at first, but if we send them there with a convincing cover story about needing to buy supplies for an asteroid mining ship or project, they can ask around. If things look promising, Gustav can leave his people there, pretending to be ‘purchasing agents’ or something like that, while he comes back here to report. He’ll need to buy stuff, though, sir, otherwise his cover will be threadbare.”

“Well, we do use asteroid mining gear and consumables in Mycenae, although all that’s undercover. If Mavra can supply what we need, I don’t mind sending a freighter or courier ship to pick them up, and gather intelligence at the same time. You have Gustav under contract for several more months, right?”

“Yes, sir, but not his people.”

“Ask Gustav what he and they will cost us for a year, including off-planet travel. If you tell me they’re worth the expense, I’ll hire all of them.”

“I think they are, sir.”

“All right. Caitlin, why wouldn’t the Brotherhood simply pay for their new planet in gold? Why bother converting it to francs, and putting it through their bank account?”

“Because the UP won’t accept anything except currency in their escrow account, sir. They’ve been burned too many times by adulterated precious metals. It would take too long and cost too much to assay and authenticate every gold or platinum bar, so they insist on currency only – and they want to see an audit trail to the bank that deposits it, too. No walking in with suitcases full of cash from who knows where.”

“What if an exploration company agreed to accept cash or gold in payment, without going through the UP?”

“Then the UP won’t recognize the transfer of ownership of the planet, and won’t grant it membership. Again, sir, they’ve been burned too often in the past by fraudulent transactions.”

“Hmmm. I can see how that would put a damper on things.” Cochrane thought for a moment. “Henry, you say you saw that courier ship, Szipnij, in orbit at New Skyros?”

“Yes, sir. She’s bigger than most ships of that type – almost a dispatch vessel, rather than a courier.”

“Is her design from a standard class, or a one-off?”

“I don’t know, sir, but I can try to find out.”

“Do that, please, and let me know. In particular, try to get me accurate dimensions and tonnage for her, and the layout of her internal compartments.”

Cochrane saw them out, then called Frank at the resort where he was enjoying some peace and quiet. “There’s been a change of plan,” he said without preamble. “Your frigates will be staying here after all, for at least a few weeks. You can let them give extended liberty to their crews while you work with me. We’ve got to plan a new operation. It may not happen anytime soon, but I want the plan ready and waiting, because if it goes down, we may have very little warning or time to prepare. It’ll be a rather special job, with some unique challenges.”

He could almost hear the gears engage in Frank’s mind. “What sort of challenges, sir?”

“I’ll tell you about them when you get back. Oh – another thing. Your friend Saul, who helped us deal with the Callanish consortium. Is he still out there? Do you think he’d be available to provide a freighter to help with this operation? I don’t know whether we’ll be able to spare one of our own. We’ll need someone we can trust to do as he’s told and keep his mouth shut.”

“I can send word to him, sir, and find out.”

“Do that, then relax and enjoy yourself.”

Next morning, Tom Argyll appeared without an appointment or warning call. “It’s about the prisoners, sir,” he said as he hurried in. “Mrs. Seljiu’s husband has replied to her last message. It’s a very long reply, and it’s reached us much faster than we would have expected, based on transit time for previous messages from Patos. That made me wonder, so I checked. This one was sent from Neue Helvetica, sir.”

Cochrane frowned. “You’ve deciphered it?”

“Yes, sir – and it’s a lulu! It looks like her husband took your advice to her and ran with it, but in a way we never expected. I’ve sent the clear copy to your mail queue.”

“Thanks. Don’t release it to Mrs. Sejdiu until I tell you. Let me read it first.”

“Aye aye, sir. There’s also a message for you. It came in on the same dispatch vessel from Neue Helvetica. It’s addressed to you personally – an old-fashioned paper letter, marked ‘Personal and Confidential’, with no return address.” He handed over an envelope. “We’ve scanned, sniffed and scoped it. There doesn’t appear to be anything dangerous inside, sir.”

“Well, I’ll be… I can’t remember when I last had one of those. I wonder who it could be? Thanks, Tom.”

Cochrane called up the letter to Jehona Sejdiu first. He blinked in surprise as he read Pal’s account of how he’d taken her warning about the Brotherhood’s parlous future to heart.

I considered Commodore Cochrane’s request. I honor him for being willing to do that much, but it is not enough. We must have a place of our own where we can be safe, where others cannot touch us. I have therefore engineered my election to the Council of the Brotherhood, and proposed that we buy a smaller, cheaper planet than we had planned, so that we can move there as quickly as possible. The Council has approved my proposal, and appointed me to supervise it.

I will be based on Neue Helvetica for at least the next few months, along with Gjerg Hyka, whom you will remember. He will work with me on this project. I hope you can persuade the Commodore to help our people escape there, if it comes to that.

“So that’s behind what Caitlin and Henry found out! Damn, he’s taking the bull by the horns and no mistake!” Cochrane muttered to himself as he finished reading.

He set the message aside for future consideration as he opened the old-fashioned envelope. To his astonishment, Pal Sejdiu had written to him personally.

Dear Commodore,

I thank and honor you for your willingness to help, not so much the innocent, as the less guilty among the Brotherhood. It is more than I would have expected of you – but then, you have let my son live, and my wife as well. Both acts are still astonishing to me. I thank you for your mercy toward them.

He went on to explain his proposal to look for a planet on which the Brotherhood could settle, and concluded:

I realize this goes further than your proposal to my wife, but I think it is essential that we find a home beyond the reach of our enemies. I understand that the fanatics among us, those truly committed to the Patriarch’s cause and his methods – which I now accept were wrong, even criminal – may not survive to reach it. Sadly, that includes most of our people, including many of my friends and colleagues. However, I realize that you cannot intervene to stop what is bearing down on us from the Big Three. In the words of the old proverb, we have already made our bed. You cannot spare us from having to lie on it – unless I find a new and better bed for us.

If I can find a new home for us, and move our people there, I ask you to help me keep it a secret from the Big Three and any others involved in this conflict. Once the Brotherhood is out of sight, I hope it will fall out of mind as well. I want us to focus on building our new home, as the Patriarch wished, but in a less selfish and destructive manner. Failing that, I see no future for the Brotherhood at all.

Pal provided a contact address on Neue Helvetica, and asked him to communicate directly by letter, to coordinate whatever they could. Finally, he asked, almost despairingly:

I realize that my wife and son are your prisoners. I thank you for accepting their limited parole, and treating them as well as you have. If there is any possibility whatsoever of allowing them to visit Neue Helvetica, under whatever restrictions you wish to impose, so that I might see them, I should be more grateful than I have words to express. I realize you are unlikely to grant this request; the Brotherhood and Hawkwood are effectively in a state of war, after all. Nevertheless, I hope you will understand a husband’s love for his wife and firstborn son, and consider it.

Cochrane couldn’t help grimacing. He didn’t have a son of his own, but had longed for one – something his first wife had denied him, because she ‘wanted to keep her figure’ and didn’t want the hard work of raising a child. Hui had already put him on notice that she wanted a large family, and he was looking forward to it, albeit with some trepidation. Their wedding would take place in less than a month, on her home planet.

“What the hell do I do now?” he muttered to himself as he set down the letter and sat back in his chair. Pal’s actions were understandable, even admirable from one perspective; but they threatened to derail certain long-cherished plans of his own for Hawkwood’s future. If he helped Pal, he might simultaneously hurt his own hopes. On the other hand, Pal’s and the Brotherhood’s latest decisions might play right into his hands, if he could take advantage of what Henry and Caitlin had learned on Neue Helvetica.

He thought about the problem for a long time, assessing alternatives, discarding them, looking for others. At last he picked up the letter and re-read it. Perhaps the key lay in Pal’s words. He’d said to his wife: “We must have a place of our own where we can be safe, where others cannot touch us,” and to him: “I think it is essential that we find a home beyond the reach of our enemies.” If that level of security could be achieved, even without a planet of their own, would that suffice?

Sighing, he called Tom. “You can let Mrs. Sejdiu have her husband’s letter. Tell her I’ll come up to orbit tomorrow morning to talk to her and the others about it.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

He took a deep breath as he replaced the handset. All sorts of things were happening almost simultaneously. He’d have to brief some of his staff, but not all of them, and not about the whole picture. Compartmentalization was even more important now, for fear of any breach of security. If the Brotherhood got one single hint, no matter how vague or small, of what he had in mind… or if any of the Big Three – even his purported ally, the Dragon Tong – learned of it… or if the Gesellschaft found out that both the Brotherhood and Hawkwood had been active on their planet… there might be hell to pay.

He didn’t sleep well that night. He had far too many problems occupying his thoughts. Even his impending wedding couldn’t take his mind off them.

12

Coupled

QIANJIN

“You may kiss the bride.”

Cochrane turned to Hui, leaned down and kissed her eager lips as the assembled guests broke into applause. They were both in full military uniform, rather than in traditional wedding garb, so she didn’t have to lift a veil out of the way or hold back her skirts. That also made it easier for them to turn and walk down the aisle together, arm in arm. Behind them, the Qianjin Fleet chaplain who had married them remained at the white-draped table, smiling as he watched them walk away.

More than half the guests wore Qianjin uniform as well. The remainder were Hui’s rather large extended family. Over four hundred people applauded loudly as they exited the auditorium, and turned into the large hall that had been set up for their reception.

“How does it feel to be married at last, after all your fears and worries?” Cochrane teased his bride.

She blushed. “I was silly, I know. Still, you were worth waiting for.”

“And you were, too.”

The reception was lavishly catered. Some of the guests excused themselves and made an early exit, but most stayed to enjoy themselves. Cochrane and Hui had asked that wedding gifts be kept small and simple, due to having to ship them all aboard their courier vessel when they returned to Constanta, but the quality and value of a large proportion of them made Hui gasp and clutch at her husband’s arm.

“That’s unbelievable!” she whispered, awestruck, as she gingerly held a white jade figurine presented to her by an elderly couple. “Thank you so much – but you shouldn’t have! This is too much!”

“Nonsense,” the older man assured her airily. “You and your husband have done much to help us. This is a very small reward for so great a service.”

“I take it they were Dragon Tong?” Cochrane asked with a grin after they’d moved on, and Hui had, very carefully, handed the statuette and its thickly padded, carved wooden box to an aide.

“Yes. I may have kept the Tong at arms length, but some members of my family didn’t. Uncle Jing must have done very well for himself, if he was able to afford that gift; but then, it’s probably not from him alone. He’s merely the means for the Tong to convey it.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know jade at all. Is it very valuable?”

“It’s from Old Home Earth, and well over a thousand years old. That one figurine would buy a big home – no, a mansion! – here on Qianjin, fully furnished, on a property large enough for a big landscaped garden and swimming-pool. It’d probably pay for a couple of very upmarket vehicles in the garage, too.”

He whistled softly. “What did we do to deserve that?”

“Your asteroid refining has made billions for the Tong out of its share, and you’ve also provided information about the Brotherhood that’s helped protect its mining operations. As Jing said, compared to that, the figurine probably isn’t too excessive a gift. It’s not the only jade we’ve been given, either. I suspect if we add up the value of all of them, it’ll come to a mind-boggling total.”

“Well, that’s better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, isn’t it?”

They spent a week on honeymoon in a highland resort, enjoying the windswept beauty of the mountains, hiking several hours each day. They shut out the rest of the world, not watching news vidcasts, ignoring the planetary web, wrapped up happily in each other.

They returned for a short ceremony at Qianjin’s Fleet Headquarters, where her boss, Admiral Kwan, formally announced her retirement from active service and her transfer to the Fleet’s Inactive Reserve. “I’m very sorry to lose your services,” he said with a wry smile, “but you’ve been extraordinarily valuable to the Intelligence Department over the past few years. You’ll continue to liaise unofficially with and for us until matters concerning the Albanian Brotherhood have been resolved, so we haven’t entirely lost you.”

“Not yet, sir,” she assured him with a smile. “I’ll still hold my present rank in Hawkwood Corporation, and I’m sure we’ll be keeping in touch for many years to come. We’re bound to get information from time to time that will be useful to you, and vice versa.”

After the ceremony, they met with the Admiral to discuss their future efforts. He told them what his agents on Patos had learned about recent developments, including a proposed attack on Hawkwood at Constanta. However, they had not managed to record the most recent meeting of the Brotherhood Council. Cochrane was able to pass on what Pal Sejdiu had told him about the abandonment of those attack plans, and the accelerated search for a planet under the Fatherland Project.

“I don’t know whether they’ll find an affordable planet that meets their needs, but they’re looking for one,” he told the Admiral. “We’ll be keeping an eye on that. We daren’t leave an enemy like the Brotherhood in a position to hurt us. If we don’t stop them at their present base, and at Patos, we’ll have to do so at their new home. I want to know where that’s going to be before they move there. It’ll make targeting them much easier.”

“I’m sure you’re right, but hopefully we can deal with them before that happens.”

“I was coming to that, sir. Our existing commitments in Mycenae, and now Larcuna, tie up many of our vessels. If we simultaneously have to attack the Brotherhood’s base, we’ll be overextended. I can only do it by stripping our bases of most of our fighting ships. Would Qianjin’s Fleet consider providing ships for a short time, to assist us? After all, we’ll be dealing with an enemy of Qianjin – or, ah, elements on Qianjin, shall we say?” They smiled gravely at each other. The Dragon Tong was never officially mentioned by the Fleet of its home planet. “Your vessels could either help patrol our security contract zones, or join our attack on the Brotherhood, which means we could leave some of our ships on patrol.”

“That would be difficult. We’re under very strict orders to never even consider an operation outside this system where our ships might be identified.”

“You have a squadron of eight corvettes built by Kang Industries, sir. We use the same model, with some modifications. They all have identical gravitic drive signatures. If you were to make a few of your corvettes available, how could anyone distinguish them from our vessels, particularly if they never actually laid eyes on them?”

The Admiral began to smile. “I see your point; and if we join your attack on the Brotherhood, our ships and crews would gain actual combat experience, something that’s very hard to come by for a Fleet like ours. Tell me more about what you have in mind.”

Cochrane explained for several minutes. “If you could send four of your corvettes to join in the attack on their base, there’d be no-one but ourselves and the Brotherhood to notice, and they won’t be in any position to identify you.”

“I see. I’ll have to take this to our Chief of Fleet Operations, of course. I think he might be interested. If he is, we’ll have to approach our political leaders for their permission to proceed. There’s no way of predicting how they’ll react.”

“I understand, sir. I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”

Hui spent the following day with her parents, brothers and sisters. Cochrane took the opportunity to hold a private meeting with Chen Huan, the Dragon Tong representative who’d accompanied Caitlin Ross to several conferences with the Big Three on Bintulu. His rank within the Tong had never been disclosed, but he was clearly a senior official.

Cochrane chose his words very carefully as he described what they’d learned at Neue Helvetica. If Chen realized what Caitlin and Henry had really been doing, the Dragon Tong would almost certainly intervene, demanding its share of the spoils. He had no intention of allowing that to happen unless there was absolutely no alternative; but that meant being very cautious for now.

He concluded, “The problem is, the Gesellschaft got wind of our presence, and my people, including Caitlin, had to run for their lives. I want to send in replacements that the Gesellschaft won’t be able to identify, but they may need assistance. Would the Tong be willing to provide that, if necessary?”

“An interesting question.” Chen stroked his chin thoughtfully. “We have an extensive operation there. That’s only natural, of course – it’s it’s the headquarters of the United Planets, and a major node in the interplanetary financial system. All the Big Three are there. The Gesellschaft is independent, but it has a comfortable relationship with the Cosa Nostra; not a formal alliance, but an understanding. We try to respect such arrangements and keep our distance, just as the other members of the Big Three do with us on planets where we have similar relationships. If we help you, and the Gesellschaft finds out we are involved, and complains to the Cosa Nostra, that might lead to complications.”

“I see. I don’t want to cause you any difficulty. Could we arrange for anonymous assistance – nothing that would identify the Tong, or cause friction? Say, recommending sources of information or expertise, or gathering intelligence at arm’s length from our operations, or getting someone out of sight to a place of safety as quickly as possible, if the worst happens?”

“That might work. I shall have to ask permission from higher up, of course.”

“Of course. Would you please let me know as soon as possible whether the Tong can help, and if so, how we should go about asking for it on Neue Helvetica if it’s needed?”

“We shall send word to you on Constanta within a month.”

As their courier ship accelerated toward Qianjin’s system boundary, Cochrane and Hui settled down together in the tiny anteroom allocated to them. He looked around ruefully. “This isn’t much of a reception area for the head of an organization like Hawkwood. I’ll have to think of something better for official travel. We need to be able to impress potential customers, if necessary.”

She shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Frankly, I’ll be happier if you also have a few missiles to defend yourself on trips like that. An unarmed courier ship is practically an open invitation to the Brotherhood or other enemies to do something to you while you can’t stop them.”

Cochrane grimaced. “I wish I could argue with you, but I can’t. I’ll look into converting a missile pod into a VIP reception area, a conference room, display facilities and so on. With the missiles removed, that shouldn’t be too difficult. It can be loaded aboard a ship as the need arises, to make her a traveling venue for sales presentations. Using a warship will also help clients to get an idea of what we can offer. When she’s not doing presentations, she can load a second missile pod as usual, and revert to her normal duties. I’ll think of something else for personal travel.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” She wriggled into a more comfortable position in her chair. “Darling, I’ve been thinking about what Pal Sejdiu told you. What if he finds a suitable planet? How is he going to move everybody and everything to it, as well as all the basic infrastructure needed to start a colony? Everything will have to come from outside – water purification, power generation, accommodation, waste and sewage processing and disposal, food storage and preparation, and a whole raft of other things. They can’t have suppliers bring them to their planet and install them. If they talked about it, their enemies might hear, and be able to trace the Brotherhood to its new home. That means they’ve got to do all that themselves.

“It’ll take every freighter they’ve got to do all that. They only have one modern destroyer, according to Qianjin’s spies – the second, and the freighter carrying spare missiles for both of them, never arrived. They’ve got two more destroyers and a depot ship in orbit around New Skyros, but those have been detained by the United Planets. The rest of their destroyers on order will join them in detention, because they can’t take delivery. We know they disposed of the old destroyers they rescued from the scrapyard, after we destroyed two of them in the Mycenae system and killed their Patriarch. They figured the others weren’t up to modern combat operations.”

Cochrane smiled nastily. “We proved that to them, didn’t we?”

“Yes, we did. The only other armed ships they have are four fast freighters that they’ve fitted with missiles. They’re each the equivalent of a destroyer or better, in terms of firepower; but they’re going to need to use them as freighters, not as warships. If that’s the case, how are they going to defend their new planet, and protect and escort their freighters as they load people and supplies? Where are they going to get more warships? One destroyer won’t be enough.”

Cochrane frowned. “Dammit, why didn’t I think of that? You’re right. They must be planning to get more armed ships, and quickly, too – but from where? We know they’ve got enough money for them, but who would sell them modern warships under the counter? It takes time to set up a fake end user certificate, and place orders, and get them approved, like they did at New Skyros.”

They bounced the problem back and forth for half an hour, but could find no solution. Eventually they shelved the discussion, and enjoyed a simple supper with the officers and crew.

Late that night, as the courier ship prepared for its second hyper-jump of the journey, they were awakened by the alarm instructing everyone aboard to secure themselves in readiness for the jump. Cochrane sleepily reached out and pressed the button that drew a webbing net over their bed, then pulled it snugly down over them.

“Thanks, darling,” Hui said drowsily, snuggling closer. He hugged her as the momentary disorientation of the hyper-jump hit them… then she suddenly frowned. As the ship’s speakers signaled a return to normal space, she withdrew the net and sat up, hugging her knees.

“What is it?” he asked, looking up and seeing the concern on her face.

“I… I think I know where the Brotherhood is planning to get more warships,” she said slowly.

He jolted awake. “You do? Where?” He sat up beside her.

“You remember how you got your first warships?”

“Yes. We stole some old, antiquated, unserviceable patrol craft from a planet in the New Orkney Cluster. Do you think they’re planning to do the same?”

“Not old, antiquated ships, no. Think about it. Where can they find more destroyers exactly the same as the one they’ve got, so they can train passage crews to operate them without needing any familiarization or working-up period at all?”

He drew in his breath with a sudden hiss. “You mean…?”

“Yes. I think they’re planning to steal their embargoed destroyers from New Skyros. It’s what I’d do, if I were in their shoes.”

“But – but how? There are armed guards on board every ship, and they’re only provisioned with minimum fuel and stores. They couldn’t leave New Skyros in that condition.”

“Guards can be bribed or overpowered, and ships can be refueled and resupplied by others. You’re doing that right now for the vessels maintaining a watch over the Brotherhood’s base. Why can’t they use one or two of their freighters to do the same once they’ve got the destroyers out of orbit, before they hyper-jump away?”

They stared wordlessly at each other.

13

Plans

NEUE HELVETICA

Pal Sejdiu finished scanning the electronic brochure, shook his head, and filed it in the database. That planet was probably ideal for the Brotherhood’s purposes, but far too expensive. So far there were three options within their price range, but all had drawbacks of one kind or another. He was beginning to think that an in situ inspection was the only way to find out which would be the most acceptable option.

Idly, he logged into an interplanetary message service, just in case. He was startled to see a file addressed to him. He had not expected to receive it so soon. Nominally, it appeared to be an English literature assignment, an analysis of a poem; but it concealed a coded message from his wife. He impatiently copied the message to his personal data assistant, and set the decoding program to work.

The message appeared, line by line.

Dearest husband,

Commodore Cochrane has asked me to inform you that the Gesellschaft, the dominant criminal enterprise on Neue Helvetica, is aware of your presence, and is trying to monitor your communications and activities. I do not know how he knows this, but he assures me it is the case. He advises you to take extreme precautions to protect yourself, as they may try to force you to provide information.

He has sent a package to you, care of general delivery at the post office in the United Planets headquarters building, addressed to Herr Sigmund Bachmeier. It is from Alexandru Dumitrescu of Constanta, and contains letters from me, your son, and himself. He thinks you should have little trouble obtaining planetary identification in that name, and using it to collect the package, or alternatively having someone you trust do so. He urges the greatest possible caution. He says you should consider yourself under surveillance by experts at all times.

I love you. Be safe, darling!

Pal hissed softly between his teeth. The niggling feeling at the back of his neck had started only a couple of weeks after he and Gjerg had arrived here, and grown stronger every day. However, despite his ‘sixth sense’, honed over decades of security work, he hadn’t been able to detect any definite sign that they were being followed or monitored. If the Gesellschaft was doing so, that explained it, of course. They were served by consummate professionals, some as good as he was himself.

I wonder how Cochrane found out? he pondered mentally. He must have his own people operating here as well. Were they trying to monitor me, and found someone else doing the same thing, and identified them? That is the most likely explanation. I must never forget that we have enemies on all sides!

Forged planetary identification was not difficult to obtain, but the Gesellschaft would probably know about it within a matter of hours. However, if he only used it once, to obtain the package, and then discarded it, the knowledge would do them no good.

He scribbled a quick note on a sheet of paper, then took his jacket from a hook behind the door of the office suite used by Vaterland GmbH. He walked into the office next door, where Gjerg Hyka was reading yet another electronic brochure, offering yet another planet for sale.

Gjerg looked up. “Going out, Pal?”

“Yes, something’s come up.” He slid the piece of paper across the desk, and watched Gjerg read his warning that they were under surveillance, and that he should be extremely careful in all he said or did. His colleague stiffened as he read, then looked up, his eyes wide. Pal held out his hand, and Gjerg slowly returned the paper.

“I’ll be back this afternoon. I suggest you stay here until I return.” He nodded meaningfully toward the desk drawer – like him, Gjerg kept a pulser on hand at all times – and then mimed locking a door.

Gjerg nodded his understanding as he slid the drawer open and took his weapon from it. “I shall.”

The food court attached to the UP headquarters building was thronged with people during lunch hour. The dozen restaurants and fast food joints around its perimeter did a roaring trade, with long lines of people waiting to order and pick up their food. Pal picked one at random, and stood in line with everyone else, glancing around as casually as possible. He could not detect anyone following him, but knew they must be in the area somewhere.

He collected his tray of food, and walked into the huge seating area shared by all the fast food patrons. He found a table against a wall, where no-one would be able sneak up behind him or read over his shoulder, and sat down with a sigh of relief. He took occasional bites of his food as he opened the three letters in succession, and photographed each page using his comm unit. It automatically quantum-encrypted each image, making them indecipherable to anyone else. When he’d finished, he tucked all the pages into an inside pocket, then settled down to read the images.

His wife was overjoyed to be able to talk freely and at length. She spent two pages telling him how much she loved him and longed to see him again – sentiments he wholeheartedly returned. He felt a wave of desire surge over him, but forced it down.

Commodore Cochrane has told me something of what he will propose to you. I will not try to persuade you either way. You are a free agent, and I am not. I may not be able to see all sides of the problem. I trust you to do what is best for our people, and for us as a family.

The Commodore says he cannot send us to meet you at Neue Helvetica, due to the threat from the Gesellschaft, who he thinks would like nothing better than to capture us and use us against you. Instead, he suggests that you meet his courier ship at a neutral location to be mutually agreed. He will allow us to be together for a day or two aboard his ship, subject to strict security precautions. Our son will serve as hostage for my return. If you wish to see him on another occasion, the Commodore will allow this under similar conditions, with me as hostage for his return.

I long to see you more than I have words to say, but I cannot make any commitment to the Commodore on your behalf. Only you will know what is possible – but please try, my dearest love! His letter will give you more details.

One last thing. Our son has requested something in his letter. I will not spoil it by revealing it here, but I approve, if you do. The final decision is yours, of course.

I love you with all my heart. Be safe, darling! I long for the day when I can once again be in your arms, and you in mine.

Pal felt tears prickling at the back of his eyes as he finished his wife’s letter. He blessed the day she had agreed to marry him. His life had never been the same since then… and hopefully they would continue to be a blessing to each other for many years to come, if they could only get past this accursed conflict!

He opened his son’s letter. Alban assured him he had made a full recovery from the battle injury that had resulted in his capture. He spent a couple of pages dwelling on the charms and attributes of the young spy, Aferdita, who had been captured while trying to kill his mother and himself. Pal was vastly amused, and had to struggle not to let a broad smile break out on his face. It was obvious where his son was going. Sure enough, Alban eventually got to the point.

Father, I should like to marry Aferdita. Mother approves of her, and of our relationship, but she says we need your permission, according to our traditions. I accept that, but waiting is very hard, being so close to my beloved, yet unable to do anything about it! I hope you understand.

Pal understood very well how his son was feeling. He, too, had had to restrain his urgent, almost irresistible desire for his wife until they were married, particularly because the glare of publicity about their romance had been so strong. She was the Patriarch’s granddaughter, after all.

I know we would normally wait until our wedding could be held on Patos, but we have no idea when that may be possible. Therefore, I ask your permission to marry at once. Commodore Cochrane has agreed that if we do, he will allow us to live together as husband and wife aboard the ship where we are held captive. Will you please give us your permission and your blessing?

Pal mentally promised his son to send both, as soon as he could. However, Commodore Cochrane’s letter had to be dealt with first.

His nominal enemy – now the unlikeliest of allies in his quest for security for the least guilty of the Brotherhood – gave details of the Gesellschaft’s interest in Vaterland GmbH, including its account with the United Planets broker, then raised a number of important points.

I do not know whether the Gesellschaft is acting on behalf of one or more of the Big Three in this matter. We know it is associated in some way with the Cosa Nostra, but the Nuevo Cartel and the Dragon Tong also have a presence on Neue Helvetica. It is impossible to say for sure who is acting for or with whom; but I am certain the activities of the Brotherhood are of interest to them all. In particular, they know of your account with the UP broker, and will try to find out if and when you try to buy a planet.

I therefore suggest that you do not do so at all through your present corporation. Rather establish something completely new, if possible acting through another broker or lawyer, so there is no easily identifiable link between you or the Brotherhood and the new company. It can then bid on a planet with no-one the wiser.

I do not know whether moving part of the Brotherhood to a new planet will protect those involved. If the worst of the threat perceived by the Big Three from your organization has been dealt with, they might be willing to ignore a remnant trying to build a new future for themselves, provided it is not aggressively criminal, as the Patriarch was. However, this cannot be guaranteed. I shall try to think of alternatives. Furthermore, time grows short. I think you will have to do something concrete within six months, or risk losing everything.

Pal nodded silently. That was his estimate, too. Fortunately, it dovetailed with the timetable for recovering their destroyers. If that plan succeeded, they would have enough warships to protect their people and belongings as they moved from Patos, first to the secret base, then on to their new home. If not… he shook his head, thrust the thought from his mind, and returned to the letter.

As for the members of the Brotherhood who might be spared; I think those who are most militant, most committed to the Patriarch’s vision, will not be trusted by the Big Three. They will probably prefer to eliminate them. Those less committed or less active may be allowed to survive, but I cannot say for sure. I think it will be better to get as many as possible out of the way of the coming fight, rather than hope for mercy from your enemies that may not be forthcoming. For our part, Hawkwood will do its best to avoid targeting the less guilty.

I suggest you concentrate any elements of your space forces who fall into that category aboard a single ship. If possible, she should be instructed – covertly, of course – to surrender at the earliest opportunity if battle comes, rather than fight to the finish. If you identify that ship to me, I shall try to inform the Big Three, and ask that she be given the chance to surrender: but I cannot guarantee that they will do so. You will have to decide whether it is worthwhile to attempt this.

Pal nodded slowly to himself. It was a slim chance, but slim was better than none at all.

Cochrane went on to propose that Pal rendezvous with one of his courier ships at a neutral planet, if his movements allowed. He listed three that might be suitable, provided they could arrange the date in sufficient time to set up the meeting. He would send Jehona to meet him, and allow them to spend a couple of days together before she returned to Constanta. If that went well, he would try to send Alban and Aferdita to meet him in the same way on a later occasion.

Pal sighed with longing, but dragged himself back to reality. It would be difficult, although not impossible, to arrange such a meeting; but there was much to be done first. His mind raced as he considered possibilities and alternatives.

He finished his meal, then headed for a business services provider near the food court. There, he paid for the use of a commercial shredder and furnace. He fed the pages of the three letters into it, watching through a plasglass panel as they were first chopped into strips and fragments, then incinerated in a clear gas flame. Only when they had all been reduced to ash did he turn away.

Late that night, he took Gjerg up onto the roof of their apartment building, where he was fairly sure no microphones had been emplaced. He led him out into the center of the flat roof, and spoke in a low voice. He began by outlining what he’d learned that morning, without disclosing its source.

“I think we should set up a new company through which to bid for a planet. Our lawyers can act on our behalf to do that, working through another lawyer if necessary, without disclosing that we or the Brotherhood are behind it. Once established, it can open an account with the UP brokers.”

“That makes sense,” his older colleague agreed. “What then?”

“I think we should visit each of the three prospective planets in turn. We have learned a lot about them from brochures, but a personal visit will allow us to confirm whether or not the brochures are telling the truth. If we agree that one of them is suitable, we can ask the Council to approve its purchase. If they do, we can arrange to send enough gold to Neue Helvetica to purchase it. We shall deposit the gold in our Devizenbank account to convert it to francs, and then transfer the money to the UP broker.”

Gjerg shook his head. “That is a great deal of traveling, Pal – too much for an old man like me. I am already worn out from the journey here, and the hard work we have been doing since then. You set a very fast pace, my friend.”

“I am sorry, but time presses. We need to move fast.”

“I understand. How about this? Let me return to Patos, to tell Agim and the Council what we have done so far, and about our new company. Meanwhile, you can go see the three planets, and decide whether one will do. You can then return to Patos to brief the Council about it, and ask them to approve the one you choose. If they agree, I shall go to our base to collect the gold to pay for it, while you return here to make arrangements. As soon as I reach here, we can proceed. We can sign the necessary documents here, or take them to Patos for the Council to approve.”

Pal regarded the old man with approval. “Those are good ideas, Gjerg. Let us do that. I shall charter a courier ship to take you to Patos, while I take the one we have already leased to look at the planets.”

Gjerg winced. “More expense! Such ships are not cheap.”

“No, they are not, but time is more costly to us right now than a charter fee.”

As they turned toward the stairs, he thought gleefully, And somewhere between the three planets and Patos, I can arrange to meet Jehona!

“Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

The team leader quailed before the executive’s anger. “S-sir, they made the arrangements at a business services office. We could not follow them inside without giving ourselves away. By the time we realized something was going on, they’d already boarded the Elevator and were on their way to orbit.”

“Both of them? They left no-one to staff Vaterland’s office?”

“No, sir. They sent the former office manager away when they took over. There’s a note on the door referring all inquiries to Gottschalk, Hauptmann and Widderhorn, their lawyers. They’ve forwarded their comm lines to an answering service. We asked them, but all they would say was that Vaterland’s people are absent on business, and will return at an unknown future date. Meanwhile, they’re passing all messages to its lawyers for action.”

His boss scratched his chin. “They wouldn’t go to all this trouble and expense, and then simply walk away. We know they approached several planetary exploration firms. I wonder if they’re making an inspection tour, to see what’s worth buying?”

“That’s possible, sir.”

“I think it’s the most likely explanation. Very well, keep an eye on their offices. They’ll be back, sooner or later, likely before too long. When they return, that’ll probably mean they’re ready to file their bid for a planet with the UP. That takes billions – no, tens of billions of francs. As soon as the funds reach their account at Devizenbank, I want to know about it. The Gesellschaft can think of lots more – and better – ways to spend that money than they can!”

The surveillance team leader grinned. “And I’m sure we can persuade them to be generous, sir.”

“We have ways and means.”

14

Consultations

CONSTANTA

Frank Haldane shook his head slowly. “I said to you, a few weeks ago, that we’d be overextended, sir, but I didn’t know the half of it!”

Chuckles from the staff officers greeted his sally as Cochrane replied, “No, you didn’t. Neither did I, as a matter of fact, at least not at that time. I think everything I’ve told you has been based on the best evidence we have, and some pretty solid extrapolation from that. Does anyone disagree?” Heads shook in negation. Nobody said anything. “Then I think we can proceed to planning on the basis of likely developments. We have to deal with four operations. I’m going to assign each one to a separate commander for planning and action.

“First, there’s the Brotherhood’s new destroyers. In many ways, this is the pivotal event around which all others must take place, at least as far as we’re concerned. It establishes the timing for our single most important operation. At present, delivery of the new ships is scheduled for less than five months from now, after completion and shipyard testing. They’ll join the existing destroyers and depot ship in detention in New Skyros orbit. We expect the Brotherhood to try to seize them within a week or two after that happens, because they can’t afford to wait any longer than that.

“This operation is so critical that I’m going to take it in hand personally, at least in the initial stages. I’ll be heading for New Skyros soon, to try to arrange certain things that will make our operations there much easier. While I’m doing that, Frank Haldane will continue planning to attack and destroy any Brotherhood ships entering that system. He’ll have at least three frigates at his disposal. By then, two more may be worked up and available for operations; if not, we’ll add a few corvettes to his squadron, or an arsenal ship. He will command our assault.”

There was a rumble of approval from the staff. Dave Cousins asked, “What about prisoners, sir?”

“Brotherhood prisoners, you mean?” Dave nodded. “We won’t take any ourselves. If some of them take to the lifeboats, we’ll leave them for planetary forces to collect. New Skyros’ legal system can deal with them.”

All around the table, heads nodded. When push came to shove, Hawkwood was still just a space security company. It had no legal authority in its own right to take prisoners of any sort. Those few it had already taken were kept carefully concealed, for that reason.

“Next, the assault on the Brotherhood’s base. This has to take place after their forces have left for New Skyros to recover their destroyers, but before they return – if they survive to return at all, which I hope they won’t! We expect up to half their armed ships will go on that mission, to cover one or two freighters as they refuel and replenish the destroyers.

“That will leave only two or three fighting ships at their base, for our forces to overcome. If any of them try to surrender, we’ll let them, and take their crews and passengers prisoner. There’s no-one else out there to do that, and we’re not going to make ourselves judge, jury and executioner. I have some ideas about what to do with any prisoners we take, but that’s for future discussion. As for the ships, we might be able to use some, and we’ll sell or destroy those we don’t need.

“We don’t know what defenses we’ll face in addition to armed ships. They may have space mines, as we do in Mycenae, or even missile pods. If so, they’ll be in orbit around one or more of the planets in that system. For that reason, our ships must stay at least ten million kilometers away from every planet. If a Brotherhood ship surrenders, and it’s closer than that to a planet, they’ll order her to move out to meet them. If they refuse, they’ll be destroyed. If they’re too damaged to move under their own power, they’ll have to send their people out using lifeboats and small craft, after which their ship will be destroyed.

“Dave Cousins will command our strike force there. It’ll be based on two arsenal ships, accompanied by six to eight corvettes. It’s possible some corvettes may be provided by Qianjin.” There was an instant rumble of astonished comment. Cochrane held up his hand. “Don’t forget, they’ve been plagued by the Brotherhood even longer than we have. If they want to be in at the kill, I’ll accept their help and be grateful for it. It’ll allow us to use more of our ships elsewhere.”

Dave asked dubiously, “Will these be Qianjin Fleet ships, or Dragon Tong, sir?”

“Oh, Fleet, of course. The Tong doesn’t operate its own warships, as far as anyone knows. In the past, it’s called up a division of Qianjin Fleet vessels when it’s needed to deal with interstellar pirates from time to time.”

“I see, sir. Will they take my orders?”

“That’s a very important point. We’ll make sure of that before we allow them to accompany you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Cochrane waited for any more questions, but there were none. “All right. Dave is already busy with planning for that operation. I’m leaving it in his hands, to let me concentrate on New Skyros, and another operation at a corporate planet named Mavra.” There was a rustle of surprise. None of the others, except for Henry and Caitlin, had heard of that planet before.

“I won’t go into details about it yet. Suffice it to say that Frank’s contacted someone he used to work with in the past, who helped us deal with the Callanish consortium a few years ago. We’re going to hire him to help us at Mavra. If we’ve guessed the Brotherhood’s timetable correctly, it’ll likely require action a month to six weeks before they go after their destroyers. Frank’s frigates will deal with it, then go on to New Skyros.”

Sue McBride raised her hand. This was her first staff meeting since her emergence from self-imposed isolation. She’d been welcomed back with exclamations of pleasure, hugs and handshakes all round, but was still a little tense and nervous as she got back into the swing of things.

“Sir, what might happen there? You haven’t given us any details.”

“No, I haven’t. That’s because we don’t know enough yet to say anything for sure, except that it’ll involve dealing with at least one Brotherhood ship. We have people looking into the situation there. Our future actions will depend on their reports.”

Cochrane didn’t look at Henry or Caitlin as he spoke. They’d sent Gustav and his people off aboard a small chartered freighter, soon after they’d arrived. Gustav’s initial report had spoken of establishing a cover story, identifying them as purchasers for an asteroid mining operation that was preparing to commence operations at a deserted star. His second report was expected any day now.

“I get it, sir. Thanks. What’s the fourth operation?” Sue sank back into her chair.

“That’s the only one where we won’t be directly involved in any military activity. It’ll be at Patos, the Brotherhood’s temporary home. We know the Big Three are planning to do something about them there. It may be pretty permanent for a lot of them. I won’t shed any tears for the guilty, but there are families, particularly women and children, who don’t deserve that. I’ve promised… certain parties who shall remain nameless, that if possible we’ll try to rescue those we can. Call it a humanitarian operation, if you wish.

“Hui, my wife,” and she blushed as a ripple of amusement ran around the room, “will handle planning for that. We’ll try to station a small freighter at Patos, carrying a personnel pod or two and the necessary supplies. She’ll use the excuse of a breakdown to remain in orbit there, waiting for parts for one or more of her systems before she can continue her journey. I’ll have a courier ship bring spares to her after a month or two, only to learn that some are the wrong parts, so that it has to go back for more. That’ll give us the chance to send orders, and learn what’s happening there. If anything happens that we have to know about urgently, the freighter can pretend to have repaired her damage, and head out to report to us.”

Jock commented, “And while we’re doing all that, we’ll still have our vessels patrolling in Mycenae and Larcuna, and some ships working up at Barjah, and others defending our base here at Constanta.” He looked across the table at Frank. “You weren’t joking about us being overextended.”

Frank nodded. “As our esteemed boss replied when I said that, ‘When haven’t we been?’ I daresay we’ll cope, even if only because we have to.” Another murmur of amusement ran around the table.

Cochrane looked around. “All right, people. Let’s get to work.”

Aferdita glowed like a sunbeam. “Thank you so much, Commodore!” She looked as if she wanted to throw her arms around his neck and hug him, her happiness was so transparent.

Alban wasn’t much better. “That will be a wonderful gift to my father, sir. Thank you very much!”

“It’ll be a pleasure,” he assured him. “If he can’t be here for your marriage, the least we can do is send him a vid of the proceedings when your mother goes to see him. The crew will arrive tomorrow morning. They’ll set up while the ship heads out beyond the system boundary, where her commanding officer’s powers of marriage take effect. He’ll perform the ceremony, then return to orbit. We’ll send you down to our training camp, to enjoy an extended honeymoon while the ship takes your mother to meet your father.”

Aferdita sighed, “I wish we could go with her, but I understand. You’ve been far more generous than we could ever have expected, and much more than our situation requires of you.”

“I’m accepting her word that she’ll come back, and her husband’s promise that he’ll allow her to return.” He glanced at Jehona. “Please don’t fail in that, Mrs. Sejdiu. If you don’t return, there are many in Hawkwood who’ll take that as a sign that nobody in the Brotherhood is to be trusted. If that happens, all your husband’s efforts, and mine, to rescue those we can, will be in vain.”

“I shall not fail you, Commodore,” Jehona said with a small sigh. “It will be painful to separate from Pal once more, but I know it is unavoidable. Perhaps, this time, it will not be for too much longer.”

“For all our sakes, Mrs. Sejdiu, I hope you’re right.”

PATOS

The hastily-called meeting of the Brotherhood Council listened with rapt attention as Gjerg Hyka recounted his and Pal Sejdiu’s experiences on Neue Helvetica.

“I am frankly amazed at how hard Pal works,” he concluded. “I felt like I was running at full speed trying to keep up with him. It was exhausting!” Laughter ran around the group. “I am very glad he is now counted among our number. He will be an asset to this Council for many years to come.

“He is now inspecting the three planets that are within our price range. He is also obtaining details of their environmental conditions. We shall need those to order the correct infrastructure for our first settlement, such as prefabricated housing, water purification systems, and the like. When he has visited all of them, he will return here to report to us, and allow us to make the final selection. He urges that we send to Neue Helvetica not only enough gold to buy the planet we want, but also sufficient funds to pre-order and pay for all the critical infrastructure we shall need at once, and buy more personnel pods for our freighters, so they can carry all of our people when the time comes.”

“That is an excellent idea,” Agim agreed. “It will save several months of delays.”

“What about the Gesellschaft’s interference?” another councilor asked.

“I am not familiar with them,” Gjerg confessed. “I left it to Pal to handle that side of things. He seemed very competent.”

“He is,” Agim confirmed. “That is why the Patriarch selected him to fill our most vital, most critical security position. I know something of the Gesellschaft. They dominate the criminal element on Neue Helvetica, but do not operate beyond that system, although they work with the Cosa Nostra when necessary. They are certainly dangerous on their own ground. However, Neue Helvetica is where we must buy our future home, thanks to United Planets regulations; so we have no choice but to accept that risk, and deal with it as best we can. I think Pal’s idea of establishing a new company to handle our needs was a good one. The Gesellschaft can waste their time monitoring Vaterland, while we get our business done behind their backs.” More laughter.

“Pal had another idea,” Gjerg went on. “He suggested that our forces should assign their most dedicated spacers and officers, those most committed to our cause, to the ships we send to New Skyros to collect our destroyers. That is the post of greatest danger for us, so our most trustworthy people should be on hand to deal with it. He says the remainder can be assigned to the ships that will remain behind to defend our base, as the risk to them will be much less. After all, as far as we can tell, no-one even knows where our base is, much less has plans to attack it.”

“That is another very good idea,” Agim approved. “I shall send orders this very day to Captain Toci, to implement it at once. I shall also have him assemble our gold aboard the refinery ship from its hiding places throughout the system. We keep it on several of the planets there, and aboard two ships, so that any accident or attack cannot steal or destroy all of it. Since most of it will soon be needed on Neue Helvetica, it will be best to have it ready to send with minimal delay. The balance will be available to take care of any urgent needs while we move our people from here to there, and then on to our new home.”

Another councilor asked, “Should we start preparing our people to move? They can begin disposing of things they do not plan to take, and packing the rest to load aboard our ships. That way, if the need arises, we can leave at short notice.”

Agim smiled. “This council is full of good ideas this morning!” More amusement. “Yes, let us do that once we have chosen our new home. The sooner we are ready, the more efficient will be our departure. Let us make the Patriarch proud of us!”

15

Reunion

RASKOL

Pal Sejdiu almost danced with impatience as his chartered courier vessel slid into orbit. This was a very minor planet in the galactic scheme of things, settled a few centuries before by members of the Old Believers schism from the Orthodox Church on Old Home Earth. They discouraged most contact with outsiders, preferring to keep to themselves. However, merely orbiting Raskol was not considered ‘contact’, so long as visitors did not land without invitation. The planet was only a hundred light years from Constanta, an easy hop for Hawkwood’s ship to rendezvous with him.

“They’re here, sir,” the skipper of his ship said to him, a faint smile on his face at his passenger’s obvious eagerness. “According to Orbital Control, Zaqar entered orbit yesterday.”

Pal nodded wordlessly, heart pounding. Cochrane had told him the name of the communications vessel that would bring his wife to the rendezvous. He managed to say, “Do you need to signal her that I’m coming over?”

“I’ll request permission to send our cutter to her, sir.” The skipper turned to his communications console.

OrbCon obligingly assigned an orbit to the new arrival that was close to Zaqar’s. As soon as the maneuver was completed, Pal grabbed his already-packed carryall and headed for the docking bay, where the ship’s pilot was waiting for him in the cutter. “It’ll take only about half an hour, sir,” he assured him.

Pal gulped. In his present feverish impatience, he knew it would feel like half a week. He forced himself to sit still as the pilot drew nearer to their destination, cut the gravitic drive, and allowed the other ship’s docking bay tractor and pressor beams to lay hold of the cutter, turning it and drawing it toward one of the airlocks. Locking bars extended to hold the small vessel in place, and the airlock trunk reached out to its rear ramp and sealed itself in place. A light above the ramp flickered from red to green.

“Clear to disembark, sir,” the pilot said as he lowered the ramp. “I’ll be back to get you in two days.”

“Thank you.”

Pal walked through the airlock into a small docking bay foyer. It was cramped, as was inevitable in such a compact spaceship, but immaculately clean, testifying without words to a captain and crew who took pride in their vessel.

A uniformed NCO was waiting for him. “This way, please, sir,” he greeted the new arrival. Pal noted with approval that he had not even asked his name. Discretion was clearly well understood aboard this vessel.

As they moved up the main passageway, his escort said quietly, “Sir, the passenger area has been stocked with food and drink, and the crew ordered to keep clear. The Commodore promised your wife that we will not monitor or record her during this visit, and he has so ordered us. She’s in her cabin, waiting for you. We won’t disturb you unless you ask for something.”

“Thank you very much.” Pal could feel his body trembling with eagerness. “I appreciate your courtesy.”

“It’s our pleasure, sir.”

He stopped outside a door. “The passenger area is through here, sir. Your wife is in Cabin One.”

“Thank you.”

Pal hurried through the door, and his escort closed it behind him. He knocked at the door to Cabin One. To his almost unbearable joy, he heard a familiar, beloved voice call, “Come in!”

He opened it – to find his wife standing before him, wearing only a flimsy negligée, clearly every bit as eager as he was himself.

She held out her arms. He dropped his carryall and rushed into her embrace.

Later – much later – he asked drowsily, “Where on earth did you get a negligée as a prisoner of war?”

She giggled as she wriggled into a more comfortable position, lying naked in his arms on the bed. “The Commodore accepted my parole to go shopping on Constanta before he sent me here. He said he couldn’t, in all conscience, send a wife to a long-delayed reunion with her husband wearing military coveralls!”

“I like his sense of the fitness of things – but how did you explain the negligée to him?”

“I didn’t. He wasn’t there, of course, but he told me how much I could spend, and said that within that amount, I could buy what I pleased; so I did.”

“That was uncommonly decent of him.”

“I think he is a very decent man, Pal. I am surprised to find myself saying that about one whom I used to regard as our mortal enemy, but… he is not an evil man. Even though he wants to end the Brotherhood’s threat to himself and his company – and I think he will be as ruthless as he has to be in pursuing that – nevertheless, he does not wish us ill.”

“We shall speak of it later. For now, let me recover my strength, or else I might die of happy exhaustion in your arms.”

She giggled again. “I’m sure I can find ways to revive you.” Her hand drifted lower.

“You minx!”

Later still, he helped her heat a tasty meal in the small galley attached to the entertainment area. It had been well provisioned with a good selection of food, and they sat down to eat with hearty, exercise-sharpened appetites.

When they had finished and cleaned up, she showed him the vid of their son’s wedding aboard that same ship. He watched intently as Alban and Aferdita exchanged vows and rings before the vessel’s commanding officer, then kissed. Their radiant joy was obvious.

“She is a lovely woman,” he said softly as the vid faded out. “I hope they will be happy together. I still find it almost unbelievable that she was sent to kill you.”

Jehona’s face flickered with anger. “Yes – and that Agim Nushi told her and the rest of her team that Alban had turned traitor, and I was about to! How dare he?”

Pal gritted his teeth for a moment. “The most difficult thing I have ever done has been to restrain myself from punching his teeth through his tonsils for that! I have had to hide my anger, and work with him as if I still respected him. It has been… difficult.”

“Oh, dearest!” She hugged him sympathetically, but also with real fear. “Please be careful! If he ever suspects that you are no longer blindly, slavishly loyal to him…”

“I know. I shall be careful.” He heaved a sigh. “I suspect matters are coming to a head. Soon there will be a resolution, one way or another.”

She nodded and sat up, twisting to face him on the couch. “The Commodore asked me to say something to you about that. He will do his best to keep his promises to me, and rescue our children, and Fjolla’s wife and their daughter, and her family too. He will do the same for Aferdita’s parents and brother. However, he says everything depends on what the Big Three do. He has no idea what they are planning on Patos, but fears it may be swift and violent when the time comes.”

Pal nodded. “That is what I fear, too.”

“And I. The Commodore asks that you try, as best you can, to get as many of them as possible to agree to assemble in haste at a central point, to be picked up. Obviously, you cannot ask Aferdita’s family about that ahead of time. They do not even know that she is still alive, much less that we are now their in-laws! Perhaps you can find a way.”

“I shall surely try.”

“I know you will, darling. The Commodore also gave me the name of a ship, a freighter named Pasaré. It means ‘bird’, apparently. He says she should arrive in Patos orbit soon, and will suffer a malfunction that will keep her there until spare parts can be ordered and shipped to the planet. If anything happens, she will call a code that you must provide to her, then send her cutter to collect our people. He warns that it cannot travel all over the planet, but only to the spaceport. Everyone must be there to meet it. They will have only one chance, and very little time to get aboard, so delay might be fatal. They must abandon everything, if necessary, and run for it. If the worst happens, Pasaré will take them to Constanta, where you can meet us all.”

“I understand. I am grateful he is willing to do so much for us. I hope and pray it will not come to that.”

“So do I, dearest: but he warned, again, that he cannot predict what the Big Three will do. His exact words were, ‘It is foolish to stand beneath the sword blade as it descends. Better to get out from under it.’ That is why he wants our families to get off-planet, if at all possible. If the Big Three are merciful, they can easily return. If they are not… they will, at least be out from under.”

“He is a wise man. Very well. I will make what arrangements I can, and set up the call code, and instruct our children to respond immediately to any message. I have a trusted friend on Patos whom I shall ask to get Aferdita’s parents and brother, by any means necessary, and bring them to the spaceport. What about your brother?”

Jehona’s eyes filled with tears. “Pavli is more even patriarchal than the Patriarch! He is fanatically loyal to the Fatherland Project. If you tried to warn him, he would have you arrested. He… he must take his chances with whatever happens. I love him, but I cannot risk our children for his sake.”

Pal sighed. “I fear you are right.”

“What about your parents and sister, dear?”

“They are like Pavli; utterly loyal to the Patriarch’s vision. I do not know whether I shall be able to get them out. I fear it may be impossible. Sadly, I agree with you: our children must come first.”

She was silent for a moment, then said quietly, “The Commodore has made one more arrangement, darling.” She got up, fetched an envelope from her room, and handed it to him. “This is a comm code. He says, if you run into trouble on Neue Helvetica that you cannot escape any other way, call it. He cannot guarantee your safety, but he says someone will try to help you. He emphasized that this was for life-or-death emergencies only. I know nothing more than that.”

Pal tucked the envelope into a pocket. “I would prefer not to use it, but one never knows. Please thank the Commodore for the code. Tell him I will try to concentrate the… the ‘less guilty’ of our people – the less dedicated and fanatical, anyway – aboard our refinery ship. In the event of combat, if given the chance to surrender, I think they might; but I cannot guarantee it.”

“I shall tell him.”

As their two days together drew to a close, by unspoken mutual consent, they showered, dressed, ate another meal, then sat in the entertainment area once more, dreading to glance at the clock as it counted down.

“What will you do now, darling?” she asked, leaning into him as they sat on the couch.

“I shall go to Patos, to brief the Council on three possible planets for us. One stands out as our best option. The exploration company that found it calls it ‘Ostrovy’, which means ‘islands’ in the language of its founder’s ancestors on Old Home Earth. We shall change that, of course. It is not all we wanted, but it is good enough for us for now. With a century or two of hard work, we can improve it greatly. Our children and our children’s children will have plenty to keep them busy.”

She giggled. “What sort of work?”

“It has five small continents – very large islands, really – and a lot of smaller islands too. Only two continents are suitable for settlement. One will be fine for residents, but not for agriculture – too many hills and valleys. The other has broad plains and grasslands, well irrigated and very suitable for farming, so it should probably be reserved for that. They are six thousand kilometers apart, so getting crops to the cities and goods and services back to the farms will be challenging, but not impossible. The other three large islands, each several thousands of square kilometers, have more extreme climates, but can be terraformed until they are suitable for use. The planet has relatively few mineral resources, but its asteroid belt holds promise. On balance, I think it will do.”

“Why is it so cheap?”

“Well, they are asking fifty-five billion francs for it, which is not all that cheap. The asteroid belt drives up its price. However, its currently usable surface area can support and sustain at most twenty to thirty million people. The United Planets’ minimum standard, for a planet fully suitable for settlement and development, is that it should be able to support at least a hundred million.”

She laughed aloud. “And we are… what? Less than five thousand in our entire Brotherhood? I daresay we shall have room enough for us, and plenty for our descendants!”

“Yes. We shall be heavily dependent on robotic assistance to establish ourselves and expand our foothold. It will be a top priority to attract others of our people to join us.”

She frowned. “Will they, after the Patriarch so insulted the rest of the Albanian Mafia?”

“I do not know, but that is tomorrow’s problem.”

She sighed. “You are right. When will you be able to proceed?”

“If the Council directs us to buy Ostrovy, I shall return to Neue Helvetica to begin the process. At the same time, Agim will order our base to send enough gold to Neue Helvetica to pay for it, and buy our initial infrastructure. They will do so by the usual roundabout route, to conceal its origin. When it arrives, I shall convert it to francs and deposit it with the UP. The seller and I have already agreed that the planet will not be auctioned, but sold directly to us. However, that must still go through the usual channels, so our new company will be registered as the planet’s owner, and granted corporate membership of the UP.”

“I see. Why not send the gold direct, just this once?”

“What if questions are asked about where it came from? I do not know whether our base is still as secret as we hope, but if it is, I should hate anyone to learn its location because we neglected such a basic security measure. With the Big Three on our trail, it will be better to keep taking every precaution we can. As far as I know, no-one knows or suspects the intermediate planet we have been using. There is no reason for them to do so. Let us keep it that way.”

“I see.”

They were interrupted by a chime from the intercom. A voice said, “Sir, your cutter is on the way. Someone will knock on the door in ten minutes, to escort you to the docking bay.”

Jehona’s face sagged for a moment, then she visibly braced herself. “No! I will not be sad! I shall remember the joy of these two days for a long time – and soon, please God, we can be together again forever!”

He crushed her to him. “Please God!”

They sat in silence for several minutes, clinging to each other, communing in spirit as only long-term lovers can. At last she stirred. “Be safe, dearest. I fear for you.”

“I shall do my best. I have less fear for you, and for our son and his bride. You are all in the safest possible place for any of us right now.”

“It feels so strange to hear you talk about our status as prisoners as being ‘safe’… but you are right.”

A knock came at the door. He kissed her again. “I will not say ‘goodbye’, darling; only ‘until we meet again’. Be safe.”

She rose from the couch with him, and helped him straighten his clothing and check his carryall. “You too, my dearest. Be safe!”

She stood tall and proud as he let himself out, and closed the door behind him. Only when he was no longer able to see her did she allow the tears of sudden loneliness, and fear for him, to flow.

16

Incentive

NEW SKYROS

“Captain Kokinos will see you now, sir.”

Cochrane rose from his chair. “Thank you,” he replied, and followed the secretary as she led him to an inner door, ushered him through, then closed it behind him.

The Captain proved to be an older man, hair already gone gray. He looked almost patrician in his immaculate uniform, with New Skyros rank insignia on his collars. He held out his hand as he came around his desk. “Good morning, Mr. Smith. I understand you asked to see me.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule for me. Ah… before I continue, I should inform you that ‘Smith’ is not my real name. I’m Commodore Andrew Cochrane of Hawkwood Security, based on Constanta.”

The Captain’s eyes narrowed. “I have heard of that company. Why the deception, Commodore?”

“Because you and I – that is to say, New Skyros and Hawkwood – have a common enemy. It’s planning action against you, here, in your own system. I came here under an assumed name, so that no word of my arrival would leak to them. I wanted to warn you, and offer our help in dealing with the situation.”

“An enemy? Here?” The officer recollected himself. “Please, sit down.” He led him to a group of armchairs around a low table in the corner.

“Thank you, sir. Let me explain.”

Cochrane spoke for almost ten minutes, outlining how the Albanian Brotherhood had ordered eight destroyers and a depot ship from Metaxas Shipyards using a false end user certificate. “They suffered an unfortunate accident to one of the first two to be delivered. She, plus a freighter carrying their spare missile pods, did not arrive at their destination. Only one destroyer made it, and is now part of the Brotherhood’s armed fleet.”

“An accident? Did you, perhaps, have anything to do with that?”

Cochrane met his accusing glare with an impassive face. “Why, Captain, it would be illegal for us to interfere with ships in your system – at least, without your prior knowledge and approval.”

“Yes, it would. We should talk more about that in due course. Continue, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

He went on to describe the coming onslaught against the Brotherhood, without identifying the forces that would be involved. The less the Captain knew, the less he could reveal by talking out of turn.

“The Brotherhood knows they’re in trouble,” he concluded. “They don’t have enough armed ships, and they desperately need more. We have reason to believe they’re going to come here, to try to steal the destroyers that are presently embargoed for delivery. There’ll be four of them before long, when the next two are delivered by Metaxas Shipyards, plus their depot ship and missile pods.”

Captain Kokinos stared at him, alarmed and bewildered. “But… but… I must inform the Minister at once!”

He began to rise, but Cochrane held out an urgent hand. “Sir, please, hear me out! The fewer people who know about this right now, the better. What if we can forestall them?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if you could disrupt their plans, and capture or destroy their ships? You would win a great victory. Surely that would be excellent publicity for your System Patrol Service?”

Slowly, the captain began to nod. “Yes, it would… but it will only be ‘my’ service until the end of the year, when I am due to retire. I suppose it would be nice to go out on a high note like that – but how can we stop them? I have argued for years that we need a stronger, better-equipped patrol fleet, but our political masters prefer to spend their money on things that produce more votes. We have only six heavy patrol craft, of which only three are available at any one time, plus a few orbital boats for our Customs and police. If the Brotherhood are coming to get their destroyers, they will surely bring heavily armed ships to help them. We cannot stand against a force like that.”

“No, sir; but Hawkwood can.”

“No! That is absolutely out of the question! We cannot allow ships from a mere security company to take the credit. Another planet’s armed forces, perhaps, but even then, only if it were an allied nation, nominally ‘assisting’ our vessels. It would be too humiliating to have a private company do what we cannot. The Minister would never agree.”

Cochrane stared for a moment. He hadn’t considered national pride as a potential obstacle. He thought swiftly. “There may be a way around that, sir. Let me explain. For a start, the Brotherhood will have to divide their forces. First of all, they have to get larger crews aboard the destroyers. At present, they have only about thirty spacers aboard each one, serving as an anchor watch. They’ll need sixty to eighty to form a passage crew, working watch and watch, even without actually fighting – which they can’t, having no missile pods installed while they’re detained.”

“I agree. Go on.”

“We think they’ll smuggle more spacers into this system aboard one or more commercial ships. They’ll assemble here, aboard your space station, then go out to the destroyers aboard cutters or other small craft, probably on a regular resupply run or a shift change for the guards. They’ll all have to move at once, so that guards on one destroyer can’t warn the others if something goes wrong. They’ll overpower your guards, take control of the ships, and leave orbit. They may leave false transponder beacons in place to deceive your Orbital Control Center, and slip away under reaction thrusters only, emitting no gravitic drive signature that might be detected.”

Kokinos nodded. “That is logical, yes; but we keep their supplies of reaction mass and reactor fuel to a minimum. They will not have enough to leave the system.”

“No, sir; but what if the Brotherhood arranges to rendezvous with them in the outer reaches of the system, to refuel and resupply them, and put additional spacers aboard? Even fusion reactor cartridges aren’t difficult to swap out. They could then hyper-jump to anywhere in the settled galaxy. While that’s going on, armed vessels could prevent your patrol craft from interfering.”

The Captain’s face twisted in a scowl. “You are right. We would never live down the humiliation of losing vessels embargoed into our custody!”

“True, sir: but think what it would do for your reputation if you recaptured the destroyers, and destroyed any other ships the Brotherhood might send.”

Kokinos stared at him, momentarily speechless, then sank back into his chair. “You would not say something like that unless you had something in mind.”

“That’s right, sir.”

Cochrane spoke for another ten minutes. By the end of that time, the Captain had begun to smile.

“So, you will not bring your ships to New Skyros itself, where they could be identified?”

“No, sir. We’d restrict them to your outermost planet, where we believe the Brotherhood will set up its rendezvous.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“It’s by far the most logical place, sir. It’s clear of both inbound and outbound traffic lanes. There are no scientific, industrial or commercial installations on it, because it has no resources worth exploiting. It’s easily found by navigators, particularly those aboard ships that are new to them, using systems that may or may not be in peak operating condition. That eliminates so many problems, they’d be fools to use a rendezvous that will be more difficult to locate.”

“I take your point. So, if the Brotherhood vessels were to encounter enemy ships there, and be defeated, there could be no proof of just who or what those ships were?”

“No, sir. You could issue a press release that your System Patrol Service was responsible for thwarting their plans and destroying their ships.”

“That would be very useful to the Minister, and to the government. Such publicity would be very valuable in preparation for planetary elections next year.”

“Yes, sir. There’s another thing. If your forces do as I suggest, and you stop the Brotherhood from hijacking the destroyers, your courts can condemn them as prizes recovered from pirates. Their value in the Prize Court should be very high – after all, they’re a full division of four brand-new warships, and their extra missiles and the depot ship would add to their value. I’d say you could expect to get at least seven or eight billion Neue Helvetica francs for them all. Under New Skyros law, a third of that sum goes to the forces making the capture; and you, as their overall Commanding Officer, would receive a very attractive per centage. It might go a long way toward making your retirement more comfortable.”

“It might indeed!” A broad smile spread over the Captain’s face. “I’ve been thinking about running for elected office, on a platform of strengthening our armed forces. The publicity for such a victory might help me to do so. In fact, it might make the difference between being elected or not.”

Cochrane covered a smile with his hand. “I think it would. You might also suggest to your Minister that if some of the government’s share of the prize money was to be used to buy new patrol craft or corvettes, the security of New Skyros would be greatly enhanced. That might also be an important factor in next year’s elections.”

Kokinos nodded firmly. “I’m inclined to go along with your plan, Commodore. There are three stipulations. One: we have some space mines – old and outdated, to be sure, but still in our inventory – that I want you to use.” He explained rapidly. “Please make sure they are destroyed in the operation. That will not only make it easier for my service to claim the credit, but we can also indent for new, much more modern replacements, on top of the purchase of more, and more modern, ships.”

Cochrane made a mental note to replace New Skyros’ suspect mines with ones he knew would work. Captain Kokinos need never know of the substitution. “That will be a pleasure, sir. Next?”

“Prisoners. We shall classify as pirates all those we take prisoner aboard the destroyers. New Skyros law specifies an automatic death sentence for anyone caught in an act of piracy in this system. There is no lesser punishment for that offense. However, I do not have enough forces to both escort the destroyers back to orbit, and deal with any survivors at your position. They will have to wait until we can reach them. If any of your ships are lost or damaged, please rescue their survivors yourself, because we shall automatically classify as pirates all those we recover, and treat them accordingly. They may even receive summary justice on the spot.”

The Commodore nodded silently.

“Third, when your ships arrive, they must not be detected. They must creep in under minimum power, taking care not to let any other ships or sensors identify them, and must leave our system in the same way. That way, the explosions that will inevitably result can be credited to our equipment and our own preparations. It will take my patrol craft several hours to escort the destroyers back to orbit, then get out there to investigate. By the time they arrive, your ships must be gone, as tracelessly as they arrived.”

“I agree, sir. Given the destroyers’ scheduled completion date, and our other commitments, we have just enough time to make those arrangements.”

“You want no share of the prize money, Commodore?”

“No, sir. We want the Brotherhood neutralized. That’s reward enough for us.”

Captain Kokinos smiled. “I am glad to hear it. It will leave all the more for us!”

“I hope you enjoy it, sir. With your permission, let’s make our arrangements as quickly as possible; then I must leave, today if possible. I have a couple of long space flights ahead of me to get our side sorted out. There’s a lot to do, and not much time to do it in.”

MYCENAE

Cochrane stood as Commander Keir Hardie was shown into his minuscule office aboard the courier ship. “Good to see you again, Keir.”

“And you, sir.” They exchanged handshakes, then sat down. “What brings you to the Mycenae system, sir?”

“You do – or, rather, your fast freighter does. Is Rorqual ready in all respects for a tricky and very confidential mission?”

“We need to top off our tanks and fill up on stores and supplies, sir. We’ve been running them down over the last month. Given a day to do that, we’ll be ready.”

“Good man! You’ll be busy here for a week or so, making preparations: then I’m sending you to New Skyros. I’ve just come from there, setting things up for you.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been to that planet, sir.”

“That’s about to change. I’ll give you detailed written orders later today, but in brief, this is what you’re going to do there.”

Cochrane spoke for almost ten minutes. Hardie’s eyes grew wide with surprise as he listened. When his boss had finished, he said quietly, “This is going to be tricky, sir.”

“Yes, it is. That’s why I’ve selected you and your ship. You’ve trained your crew very well, and they’ve proved their efficiency. They’re among the best we have, and we’re going to need every bit of their skill.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Your ship will use the name Fairway during your visit to New Skyros. She’s a freighter registered on Troon. She’s never been to New Skyros, so they don’t know her there. Set your transponder beacon to that identity, and use your frequency modulator to disguise your gravitic drive emissions, so no-one will later be able to associate Rorqual with Fairway.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“All right. Head over to Vulcan II and ask her skipper about the technicians you’ll need. They’ll go with you to New Skyros. Meanwhile, I’ll prepare your orders, then speak with the Station Commanding Officer about thinning out his ships and defenses. He’s not going to be happy with me, but that can’t be helped.”

CONSTANTA

Hui welcomed Cochrane with a warm hug and a kiss. “I’ve missed you!”

“I missed you too, darling. What’s happened in my absence?” He tossed his cap onto a hook, and began unbuttoning his jacket.

“Mrs. Sejdiu is obviously missing her husband very much, but she reports they had a wonderful time together. She sends her grateful thanks. Her husband has sent you a letter via her, and she passed on your messages to him.”

“Good. At least that’ll give him a chance if the Big Three go after him on Neue Helvetica. What did he say aboard the courier ship? Anything to interest us?”

“A lot.” She grimaced. “I know you chose your words, very carefully and very specifically, when you promised that you wouldn’t record her aboard Zaqar. Even so, I’m sure she thought you meant you wouldn’t record her husband, either, or their time together. It feels almost like cheating.”

“It was cheating, darling – and I’ll do it again in a heartbeat if I have to! It was easy enough to instruct the ship’s AI to ignore anything said by her, but record anything said in the passenger area by anyone else. We’re coming to the climax of a struggle – a war, really – that’s gone on for over half a decade. We can’t afford to lose it because of misplaced scruples. Cutting out all the bedroom talk, what did he have to say?”

Hui described what Pal had said about his forthcoming activities and arrangements. “That gives us an approximate timetable for Frank Haldane’s first operation.”

“Yes, it does.” Cochrane thought for a moment. “All right. Let’s get Frank in here, and discuss his final preparations. I’ll fill him in on what I’ve arranged for New Skyros, then he’d better be on his way. If the Brotherhood Council approves buying that planet, and Agim Nushi sends word to their base to ship the gold, we’ve only got about two and a half weeks for Frank to get into position. He’ll be cutting it terribly fine. Any word from Gustav?”

“Yes. He’s ready from his side.”

“All right. All the pieces are on the board, or soon will be. It’s almost time to start the game.”

She shivered. “I’d hardly call it a game when people’s lives are at stake!”

“It’s the oldest, most savage game in the history of the human race, my love. It’s called ‘Kill Or Be Killed’. If it comes to that, I want as few of us to die as possible, and as many as possible of the enemy.”

17

Purchase

PATOS

Pal clicked his remote control, and the final image disappeared from the three-dimensional display hologram. He put down the remote, and looked around at his audience.

“Based on everything I have seen and learned, I recommend that this Council approve the purchase of Ostrovy. The seller is asking fifty-five billion francs, but I think I may be able to negotiate that downward slightly. It will not be much less, but any saving is welcome. While I am doing that, I shall also price the basic infrastructure we will need: things like flat pack housing, aeroponic and hydroponic structures to produce fresh fruit and vegetables until we can establish farms, a reverse-osmosis water purification plant, a portable fusion reactor for power generation, a containerized sewage and wastewater treatment facility, and so on. Most can be prefabricated, then erected or assembled by robotic constructors as soon as we arrive. They are standard designs, needing only to be adapted to suit Ostrovy’s specific environmental conditions. I estimate they can be ready in six to nine months at most if we pay half in advance, and half on completion, with strict penalty clauses for any delays.”

There was a hum of approval from the councilors. Agim rose, and Pal stepped back to give him the podium.

“I think we owe Pal Sejdiu a debt of great gratitude for the very hard work he has done, so quickly and so well,” the chairman began. He was interrupted by a round of applause, in which he joined enthusiastically, nodding at Pal. When the noise died down, he continued, “I second Pal’s recommendation that we purchase Ostrovy.”

“And I!” Gjerg called from his chair. “I, too!” “I also!” came from other councilors.

“I think we already have a consensus, but let us vote, to make it formal,” Agim said. “All those in favor?”

Every councilor raised his hand.

“Thank you. Brothers, we now have a new home, and the foundation for the Fatherland Project. I shall send instructions to our base to load the necessary sum in gold aboard our courier ship, and send it via Mavra to Neue Helvetica. Pal, how much will you need, over and above the planet’s price?”

Pal thought for a moment. “I think I can negotiate a couple of billion off the asking price. Will you please send sixty billion francs? That way, even if we pay full price, I shall have five billion with which to place orders for infrastructure. If my negotiations are successful, I may have more. I can come back to the Council for more gold if I need it, but I would rather not empty our reserves. Let us hold something back, in case of future need.”

“That is very wise. I shall send sixty billion, which will leave about ten billion in reserve. Given the time delay to send orders to our base, and then the trip via Mavra to Neue Helvetica, it should be with you in about three weeks from today. Gjerg, will you please travel with the gold, so that the Council is represented from start to finish at every phase of this purchase? You will join Pal at Neue Helvetica, there to sign the necessary documents on our behalf.”

“More hard work for old bones!” Gjerg mock-complained, to laughter from the others. “I shall do so, of course, Agim. It will be an honor.”

Pal smiled. “Thank you, Gjerg, and you, Mr. Chairman. I shall make sure to reach Neue Helvetica in good time to arrange the conversion of our gold into francs, and begin the purchasing process. I hope you will allow me a few days’ leave first, to see my children and my son-in-law.”

“Of course. You have more than earned them.” Agim looked around. “Now, another important question arises, brothers. We must obviously rename Ostrovy. What shall we call our new home?”

Pal entered the hobby shop, to be greeted enthusiastically by the owner. “Pal! Where have you been? It must be months since you were in here!”

He grinned, returning his friend’s fierce embrace. “I have been off-planet, as usual. It is good to see you, too, Afrim. How is business?”

“Not so good when you are not here to give me money!”

Pal laughed. “I hope I shall soon be able to do so again, my friend. I need to ask you a very big favor. When can we sit down and talk in private?”

Afrim must have heard the tension in Pal’s voice, even though he had tried to disguise it. He looked at him sharply. “I can lock up the store early, if you like. It is only half an hour to closing time. I doubt I shall lose much business.”

“I should be very grateful. I would not ask it if this were not important.”

He waited while Afrim wound up the day’s accounts, turned out the main lights and locked the doors, then took his friend to a restaurant offering private booths, where he knew they would not be overheard. They ordered food, then settled down with a beer apiece.

“What is it?” Afrim demanded without preamble.

Pal took a deep breath. “There are… things happening elsewhere… that might affect the safety and security of the Brotherhood here.”

Afrim snorted disdainfully. “When have such things not been happening? It has been that way for us since the beginning!”

“Yes, but these things are more than the usual vague rumors or fears. They may become all too real.”

His friend sipped his beer. “So why are you telling me this?”

“I want you to think very carefully about who you really want to get to safety, if the worst happens. This cannot be everyone you know, or even most of them. I am thinking of your immediate family and your most intimate friends. How many people is that?”

Afrim stared at him. “You are serious, aren’t you?”

“Serious as a heart attack, my friend.”

“I… I see.” He thought for a moment. “Apart from you, of course, I should say no more than five others, plus myself, of course.”

“Of course. Will they follow you if you tell them, without notice, to drop everything and meet you at a designated point, bringing nothing with them and telling no-one else?”

“Hmmm… that reduces the number to three. I could not trust the other two to do that without babbling about it.”

“Three it is, then, plus yourself. I need you to set this up with them over the next couple of days. They must keep a comm unit with them at all times from now on. If they receive a prearranged message from you, something that sounds innocent but that they will understand, then they must drop everything, stop whatever they are doing, and head for a rendezvous point. There may be very little time for them to get there. This may literally be a matter of life or death.”

Afrim looked at him solemnly. “I must ask, Pal… is the Council aware of this?”

“They are aware of the threats, yes. They are more sanguine than I about our ability to withstand them. I fear we may not be as strong as they think.”

“And you are a security specialist. If you say that, I must believe you know what you are talking about. If we are able to reach the rendezvous, what then?”

“You will be collected, and taken somewhere else. That is all I can say for now.”

“Security again, eh?”

“Yes, of course.”

“All right. I’ll do it – but only because it’s you, mind! I wouldn’t trust anyone else like this.”

“Thank you, Afrim. There is another favor I must ask in connection with this.”

“Here it comes! I knew there would be a catch somewhere!”

Pal laughed. “Of course there is. There are three people, a married couple and a teenage boy – almost a man now – whom I cannot tell about this in advance. They are neither my family nor my friends. If it is at all possible, I need them to be collected and brought to the rendezvous as well. That is very important. Have you any idea how that can be done, particularly if they do not see the need, or try to call others to discuss it?”

Afrim shrugged. “The same way we were taught to do it when we trained to serve the Brotherhood. A swift kidnapping solves a lot of problems.”

“I had not thought of that, but you are right. I know you are still fit and spry. Would one or two of your friends, the ones you plan to bring with you, be able to help you?”

“I think so. What’s more, I’ll trust them to do so, then keep their mouths shut about it.”

“Excellent! I shall give you a letter to show to the three, but they do not owe me obedience, so they may not be persuaded by it. If they are not, use whatever means you find necessary.”

Pal paused while a waitress slid plates of hot, steaming, aromatic food onto the table. Afrim sniffed, and smiled. “I am going to enjoy this! Another beer, please, miss.”

“And for me,” Pal agreed. He took a mouthful of food while they waited for their drinks, chewed, and swallowed. “This is as good as I remember it. I miss the ability to eat out whenever I want. In space, restaurants are few and far between.”

When the beers had arrived, Pal waited until the waitress had moved away, then said softly, “All right, Afrim. Let me tell you a little more.”

When Pal got home that evening, he found that a simple brown envelope had been slid beneath his door. He took it to his study and opened it. A card inside contained a string of digits, without any explanation.

He entered the numbers into a secure comm unit, and pressed ‘Send’. In a few moments, he heard a pre-recorded message in a machine-like monotone.

You will now have the opportunity to record a brief message, then enter a series of comm codes. Finally, you will set an activation code. If you send that code to this number, your message will be sent automatically to the comm codes you provided. Press one to begin, or zero to complete this procedure later.

He pressed zero, which automatically disconnected the call, and sighed softly. Commodore Cochrane had come through again, it seemed.

The following evening, he invited all his children to come to supper. Fjolla brought her firstborn, while Lindita and Pjeter arrived from the apartment they shared. They helped him cook, bewailing the absence of their mother and her tasty food. He had told them only that she was on a confidential, extended off-planet assignment for the Chairman, Agim Nushi. They did not know of her capture or imprisonment by Hawkwood, or how close she had come to being killed.

After the meal, he gathered them in the sitting-room. Sitting in their midst, he said, “I have some news, but it is very confidential. If you let it out, Agim Nushi will be very angry with me, and even angrier with your mother. Can you keep a secret from anyone and everyone except us?”

Indignantly, they all assured him that they could. He was relentless. “What if I told you that breaking security on this might even endanger your mother? It is that important. Promise me now you will say nothing – not even to your husband, Fjolla!”

She looked up, startled, from where she was cuddling her infant daughter. “Not even to Enver?”

“No, not even Enver. If you are not sure you can do that, then I cannot share this with you.”

She stared at him for a moment, then said reluctantly, “If it is that serious, then yes, I promise, Father.”

“All right. Everybody, note this comm code in your units.” He read off the figures, and they entered them. “Greenlist that code to send you a message at any time, day or night, and keep your comm units with you at all times – even in the bathroom! If you receive a call saying simply, ‘It is time’, then drop whatever you are doing, and come at once to this house. I don’t care if it is the middle of the night, or you are in a meeting at work, or a class at University. Use the excuse of a sudden family emergency if you must, but at all costs, come! Fjolla, bring your husband and daughter with you. There can be no delays and no excuses. You must be here within an hour of getting the message, then wait here for more news. Will you do that?”

A wild hope dawned in Fjolla’s eyes. “Does this mean Mama will be coming home? Are we going to welcome her together?”

“I… I am not free to say.” He knew how she would take that, and he was not disappointed.

“Oh, wonderful! Of course we shall come! I am sure Enver will understand, even though he will be surprised.”

“Remember, say nothing to him before the time!” he warned her. “That is critical. If this leaks out, matters may be delayed, perhaps indefinitely. It is a question of security.”

All his children promised faithfully to obey him. He could only hope and pray that they would not forget, and give away his plans in a moment of carelessness. If they did, and Agim got to hear of them, he would be suspicious, and immediately seize his children as hostages against his good behavior. In that case, the odds of their survival if the worst happened would be vanishingly small.

The next day, he visited Afrim and gave him the call code as well. “Greenlist it in your comm unit. If you get a message from it saying ‘It is time’, you will have an hour or two, perhaps a little more – but not much more! – to call your people, collect those I named, and take them all here.” He passed him a scribbled address. “On the way there, collect my children from my home – they should be waiting there – and take them with you. They can follow you if your vehicle is full. If you cannot get to them for some reason, call them – here are their codes – and tell them to meet you at that address, as quickly as possible.”

“Can do. What should I say to them if they ask questions?”

“Just tell them I said you should do this, and they will find out more when they get there.”

Afrim peered at the address. “Hey, this is at the spaceport! What will happen there?”

“You will find out if and when you get there, my friend. I hope you never have to do this; but if you get that message, do not hesitate. It will not be a drill, but the real thing.”

Gjerg accompanied Pal to the spaceport. He would take another courier ship to the Brotherhood’s base, carrying Agim’s order to release sixty billion francs in gold to be sent to Neue Helvetica.

“Godspeed, my friend,” he said warmly to Pal as they embraced on the hardstand. “I know you will do your best for us. Keep your head down, and do not let the Gesellschaft get you in their sights!”

“I shall do my best. You take care, too. I shall be waiting for the gold.”

“I will bring it as quickly as possible.”

They got into their separate cutters, and headed for their ships in orbit.

18

Spacejack

MAVRA

Gustav’s eyes were glued to the display screen on the spaceship’s passenger compartment wall. The camera he’d covertly installed above the gaping doors of a cargo shuttle showed the view ahead as it slowed, some five hundred kilometers away from his freighter. It halted a few hundred meters from the Brotherhood courier ship. Through the camera, he could see that Szipnij’s small cargo holds, fore and aft, were open. The ship’s cutters were transferring the last of a large number of small crates from the after hold to the forward, where space-suited crew members were supervising cargo robots as they laid them on top of an existing set of similar crates, then lashed and propped them into position, with cross-beams and braces to maintain their separation from each other, and from the ship’s hull and frames.

“They’re going to put the mining supplies in the rear hold,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Uh-huh,” his companion agreed. He made a few quick mental calculations. “The crates they’re moving to the forward hold are low-bulk and high-mass. They’re using very heavy bracing, and there’s lots of empty space around and above them. I wonder how much they can fit in the rear hold, to balance them? Longitudinal stability is even more critical for small ships than it is for freighters like ours.”

Gustav shrugged. “They’re sure to have ballast systems, to pump water or reaction mass fore or aft. That’ll help compensate for poor cargo distribution.”

“I suppose so.”

They watched as the cargo shuttle moved closer. Several dozen containers were moved by tractor and pressor beams out of its hold, across the intervening meters of vacuum, and into Szipnij’s now-empty rear hold. A few spacers made sure they were correctly stacked, braced and secured, starting at the forward end of the hold and working aft.

“What time are they leaving orbit?” Gustav’s companion asked.

His boss glanced at another display, showing Orbital Control’s traffic schedule. “They’ll push out at eleven, half an hour after we depart.”

“Then I guess it’s time to warn the others.”

“Yes, it is.”

Gustav checked the time, and made a rapid mental calculation. Space traffic within the system was restricted to a maximum of one-fifth of light speed, even if a ship could travel faster than that. Traffic control records from her previous visits showed that Szipnij usually traveled at that speed, to reach the system boundary as quickly as possible. He tapped at a keyboard, then activated a communications program to encrypt and burst-transmit his message.

Above them, on the spine of their small chartered freighter, a communications dish antenna was aimed very carefully along a line of bearing that seemed to intersect nothing but deep space. It spat out a brief electronic bleat, a swirl of unrecognizable static to anyone who might happen to accidentally intercept it.

Gustav began shutting down the displays and computers. “That’s our work finished here. I hope the plan works.”

“We’ve done everything the Commodore asked asked us to do, so if it doesn’t work, it’s not our fault.”

“Yes, I think we’ve earned our fee. If his people accomplish the rest of the mission, there’ll be a fat bonus on top of that.”

“Ah, money. It makes life so much more interesting!”

“So does the lack of it,” his boss observed dryly.

“Um… no. Being without money isn’t interesting. It’s dreadful!”

Laughing, they headed for the bridge, from where they would watch their chartered freighter’s departure, and follow subsequent events. Their ship was fully loaded with asteroid mining equipment and supplies for Hawkwood’s operation in Mycenae. Cochrane had taken advantage of their presence at Mavra to buy enough for the next year. “Nothing like killing two birds with one stone,” he’d cheerfully observed when making the arrangements, “and it’ll reinforce your cover story as purchasers for an asteroid mining operation.” Gustav had to acknowledge that the plan had worked – or, at least, it had worked so far.

HCS BOBCAT

Frank Haldane was seated in the spare chair behind the command console in the frigate’s Operations Center when the signal arrived. He turned his head as the Communications console operator called, “Communications to Command. Signal from the freighter, sir. The courier ship will reach the system boundary at about fifteen-fifteen. Szipnij transferred her original cargo to her forward hold, and loaded local cargo into her rear hold.”

Next to him, Commander Aidan Mackenzie replied, “Command to Communications, understood.” He glanced at Frank. “Looks like we’re all set, sir. We’ll ambush her at about fifteen, if all goes well.”

“I hope it will. Provided she does what she usually does, and sets course on a direct line to her destination from orbit, she should fall right into our laps.”

They both looked across at the Plot display. It showed their vessel’s icon twenty light-minutes inside the system boundary, with another frigate twenty light-minutes beyond it. A third frigate icon was positioned halfway between Bobcat and the planet. There was a fourth ship in their detachment, but she was so far away at present that her icon did not appear in the Plot at all at this display scale. All of the frigates’ positions except their own were estimated, because none of them had activated their transponder beacons, and none were using their gravitic drives at power levels high enough to be noticed. All the warships’ stealth systems, passive and active, were working overtime to ensure they were not detected.

“Will we earn any prize money from this mission, sir?” his subordinate asked.

“I’m sure there’ll be a nice bonus for everyone aboard if we get it, but I don’t know how much. The Commodore’s been pretty generous in the past.”

“Yes, sir, he has. Here’s hoping he will be again.”

“We’ve got to take the ship first. Let’s get that done before we worry about money.” Frank glanced at the time display. “We’ve got a little over three hours before showtime. Let’s go to general quarters in one hour. We’ll run through the simulation one last time before things start to happen, then start accelerating on her course at minimum power, so we’ll be closer to her speed by the time she catches up to us.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

SS SZIPNIJ

Gjerg Hyka stood up from the visitor’s chair on the courier ship’s bridge. He stretched, groaning with pleasure. “Aaaaah! My old bones cannot handle such a cramped chair for too long. We must get you some more comfortable furniture and fixtures for this bridge.”

Lieutenant-Commander Haxhiu chuckled. “They do not make comfortable furniture in sizes that we can fit into so small a space, sir. Only our passenger cabins have something better, and even that is not much to speak of.”

“Sadly, you are right. I suppose, aboard a small vessel like this, one must make do.”

“Yes, sir, but there are compensations. Due to their small size and outsize power plant, courier ships and communications vessels are the fastest vessels in space. For the kind of missions entrusted to us, such as your present one, speed is more important than any other consideration.”

“I suppose you are right.” The old man peered at the three-dimensional Plot display on the far side of the compartment. “Please explain to me what I am seeing.”

“Of course, sir.” The skipper rose from his console and led the way over to the Plot. “There is the planet. We are moving away from it, accelerating to one-fifth of light speed, on course for Neue Helvetica. On the far side of the planet is a small freighter. She left orbit half an hour before us, but is heading in almost the opposite direction, so we need pay no attention to her. There are two system patrol craft, one just beyond the freighter, the other far out to the galactic north, several hours’ travel from us. There are two more patrol craft in orbit around Mavra, plus one more large freighter discharging her cargo.”

“And that cluster of icons over there?” Gjerg indicated them in the display.

“Those are asteroid mining boats and their mother craft, plus a refinery ship. They are well away from our course, and need not concern us, sir.”

“I see. Thank you for explaining. All this is new to me. In my previous voyages, I traveled as a passenger aboard larger ships, and never got to look behind the scenes like this. How long until we hyper-jump out of here?”

The Lieutenant-Commander glanced at the time display on the bulkhead. “We’ll leave the system at about fifteen-fifteen, sir.”

“All right. I’m going back to my cabin, to rest my aged bones until then. I’ll be glad when we’re in deep space again, where no-one can bother us.”

“We’ve been in and out of this system at least a dozen times, sir, and never had any trouble before. Their patrol craft keep pirates and smugglers at a distance.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

HCS BOBCAT

The tension in the frigate’s OpCen ratcheted upward as the courier ship sped toward them from almost directly astern. The Navigating Officer checked his course again and again in relation to the other ship’s movements, ensuring that the frigate would never be closer to her than a quarter of a million kilometers. If she had a quantum battle computer – as Bobcat did – to process her radar and lidar signals, it might detect the warship at shorter ranges, notwithstanding its stealth characteristics. They did not know how sophisticated the courier vessel’s electronics were, so the operation plan assumed the worst and allowed for it. Bobcat would also cut her gravitic drive as the courier ship drew nearer, so that even its minimal emissions at its lowest power setting could not be detected.

Frank watched the Plot display like a hawk, frowning as he mentally calculated the rate of closure and the timing of their assault. He forced himself to be silent. He was the task force commander, not this ship’s commanding officer. He must leave her skipper to do his job, and not try to take over from him in his eagerness to make this operation work – no matter how important it was, or how much was riding on its success.

He glanced at Commander Mackenzie. “Aidan, would you please confirm the missile pattern?”

“Will do, sir.” The skipper turned to the Weapons console. “Command to Weapons, confirm missile pattern.”

“Weapons to Command, ten of the special missiles will be fired from Pod One, aimed along the target’s length from bow to stern. Ten more are in reserve in Pod Two, in case a second salvo is required. We’ll turn onto our port side as the target draws near, so our missiles can aim at her from their vertical-launch tubes without needing to turn sharply. That should shave ten-plus seconds off their time of flight, which is estimated at thirty-five seconds, sir. We’ll also launch two decoys ahead of the salvo, to confuse the target’s electronic defenses, if she has any.”

“Command to Weapons, very good. Be warned, if you miss her, Captain Haldane is going to spiflicate you!”

“Ah… ‘spiflicate’, sir?” The lieutenant glanced across at Frank with a grin.

“Look it up,” he advised the Weapons Officer cheerfully. “It’s not a good way to die.”

“Um… if you say so, sir. I’d better not miss, then!” The rest of the bridge crew chuckled.

“You’ve got a good team, Aidan,” Frank murmured beneath the cover of their amusement.

“The best, sir. You left a good nucleus when you moved on, and Commander – sorry, Captain Darroch did too when he took half of his command team with him to Larcuna. I’m lucky to have good officers and NCO’s to fill out the skeleton staff he left me, and they’ve worked hard training the newcomers.”

“They do say the proof of the pudding’s in the eating. We’re about to test their mettle.”

Aidan smiled. “I’m not worried, sir. They’ll do fine.” He raised his voice. “Command to Navigator. Status check.”

“Navigator to Command. We’re up to almost one-tenth of light speed, with the target closing on us at one-fifth of light speed. She’ll reach the firing position in twelve minutes from now, sir.”

“Command to Navigator, very good. Turn us onto our port side, to aim our missiles directly at the target as she passes us. Break. Command to Weapons, you are authorized to launch missiles without further orders when the target reaches the firing point. Weapons free.”

“Navigator to Command, aye aye, sir.”

“Weapons to Command, aye aye, sir.”

Frank watched as the ship was slowly, smoothly turned ninety degrees on her longitudinal axis. Since her artificial gravity pulled everyone and everything toward her keel, it was not possible to detect the change of angle from one’s sense of balance. Only the OpCen instruments confirmed it had occurred.

When the maneuver was complete, Aidan added, “Command to Helm, shut down the gravitic drive. As soon as all missiles are launched, stand by for a new course from the Navigator. Make sure our gravitic drive frequency modulator is on – we don’t want them to identify our emissions. Break. Command to Navigator, as soon as the target is disabled, go to max power and catch up to her. If she goes silent, track her on radar for as long as possible, confirm her trajectory, and steer to rendezvous with her, so we can prepare for the next phase.”

“Helm to Command, understood, sir.”

“Navigator to Command, understood, sir.”

Frank forced himself to sit back in his chair. Now all they could do was wait. He found himself murmuring, almost sub-vocally, the opening line from an ancient children’s poem.

“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the Spider to the Fly…

SS SZIPNIJ

Lieutenant-Commander Haxhiu returned to the bridge as Szipnij approached the system boundary. Normally he would leave such routine maneuvers to the Officer of the Watch, but in this case, with so many billions in gold at stake, he wanted to make absolutely sure the jump was performed correctly. The future of the Brotherhood lay, quite literally, in his forward cargo hold.

He relieved the OOW, and sat down behind his command console. Glancing at the time display, he could see it was one minute before fifteen. Less than twenty minutes to our first hyper-jump, he mentally noted. He brought up the navigation program and scanned its proposed course to Neue Helvetica, complete with hyper-jump intervals, nodding in satisfaction. The extra two hundred million francs the Brotherhood had invested in his ship, to provide her with anti-missile defenses, a quantum computer and electronic warfare systems, had included the best commercial navigation system money could buy. It had proved its worth in all their gold-carrying journeys so far.

The scream of an alarm made him jerk upright. Even as he looked across the bridge at the Plot display, a mechanical voice announced, “Missile launch to starboard! Range two hundred fifty thousand kilometers!”

Too close! he instantly realized. We haven’t enough distance to turn away, even if we wanted to. Can’t evade, so don’t even try. Give our computer the most stable firing platform we can.

Even as he thought, his right hand flipped up a screen over a button on his console, labeled “Defense – Auto”. He pressed it as he called aloud, over the curses and exclamations of his bridge crew, “Maintain course and speed! Give our defenses the best possible chance!”. He reached for another button, and the clangor of the General Quarters alarm resounded in every compartment. The ship’s startled crew dropped whatever they were doing and began to race toward their action stations.

Faster than human reflexes could even begin to react, the quantum computer took over the tracking of the missiles. The first two launched were clearly decoys of some kind, broadcasting confusing signals, portraying themselves as multiple inbound missiles, jamming Szipnij’s radar emissions. Fortunately, her active arrays, far more sophisticated than those usually found on commercial vessels, could counter that by transmitting on multiple frequencies at different power levels. Her computer rapidly established a picture of what was coming at them. It ignored the leading two targets, and focused on the ten following them. Those were the true danger.

Four laser cannon barbettes emerged from their concealed emplacements in the hull. They swiveled onto the bearing of the approaching threat, and waited for firing instructions. The computer raced through its calculations, analyzing, assessing relative motion, predicting. Haxhiu followed its analysis on his console, unable to help. Human reaction speeds were so slow, relatively speaking, as to be useless at a time like this. Everything depended on the computer.

As the missiles drew nearer, he realized from the Plot analysis that none of them were aimed directly at his ship. They would all pass close above or below her. That could mean only one thing. They were not intended to destroy Szipnij, but to disable her. They were almost certainly carrying electromagnetic pulse warheads, to shut down all his ship’s electronic systems. Drifting helplessly through space, she would be easily captured. Somehow, whoever was out there knew of his extraordinarily valuable cargo, and was determined to seize it.

His face went pale as he suddenly understood what was happening. He forced down his emotions as he reached for another screen cover, this one over a red button marked ‘Demo’. He flipped up the cover, and turned the knurled button through a hundred and eighty degrees. It instantly lit up, and its label on the console began to flash. The five-megaton nuclear demolition charge in the spine of the ship was now armed, and would detonate if the button was pushed. He replaced the cover, so as not to accidentally press the button, and glanced back at the Plot.

The computer raced through its final calculations. The leading missiles were now less than two hundred thousand kilometers away, accelerating at a mind-boggling rate; but laser beams moved at the speed of light. If the cannon could ‘see’ a target within range through the ship’s sensors, they could hit it. One after another, they began to fire.

The closest missile was one hundred and eighty-two thousand kilometers away when it took a laser beam right through its nose cone. The megajoules of energy imparted by the powerful beam ripped straight down the weapon’s fuselage, and tore apart the magnetic bottle enclosing the nuclear fusion in its micro-reactor. In a perfectly circular fireball, the missile ceased to exist. Slightly behind it, the next three missiles in the salvo were treated likewise; then Szipnij’s computer swiveled the laser cannon to lock onto the next four targets.

Lieutenant-Commander Haxhiu let out an undignified yell of triumph, echoed by everyone on the bridge, as he saw the first four missile traces disappear from the Plot display in the starburst icons that denoted nuclear explosions. He slammed his fist down on his console. “Yes! You beauty! Now get the rest!” he urged the electronic brain guiding his ship’s fight, even as his mind raced. Once all of the incoming weapons were defeated, what evasive maneuvers should he adopt? How could he get away from whoever was out there, trying to target him? Given even half a chance, he could outrun almost anything in space in this speed machine.

The next four missiles closed to within eighty thousand kilometers before all of them were destroyed; then the four laser cannon concentrated on the last two. The ninth incoming weapon exploded fifty thousand kilometers away; then, agonizingly close, only thirty thousand kilometers distant, the final weapon was hit. Its reactor did not explode, but its fuselage was blown apart by the impact of the laser beam. Its forward section, now inert, tumbled as it fragmented. Its trajectory was forced almost imperceptibly downward.

Haxhiu and his crew were still yelling in jubilation when a chunk of the destroyed missile struck the stern of their vessel a glancing blow, in the last meter of her hull. The impact occurred at a crossing velocity of more than twelve thousand kilometers per second, releasing unimaginable kinetic energy, even from so relatively small a piece of metal. It wiped out the aftermost ten meters of Szipnij’s hull, smashing her docking bay and associated compartments into scrap metal and vaporized steel molecules. Her hull shook violently under the enormous impact, and her main fore-and-aft passageway was blown open to space.

In a hurricane-force holocaust of wind, every pressurized compartment in the ship vented to vacuum down the passage. None of Szipnij’s airtight doors had yet been closed, because many of her crew were still running to their action stations when the impact occurred. They were not wearing spacesuits, either.

Every soul on board felt the air sucked right out of their lungs. The blood began to boil in their bodies as atmospheric pressure was removed. The lucky ones were carried aft by the wind, smashing into the hull or its fittings, scraping across the torn, twisted metal at the rear of the ship, their lives snuffed out as if by the blow of a giant hammer. The unfortunate ones died more slowly, screaming soundlessly in vacuum, writhing, gasping for oxygen that was no longer there.

On the bridge, Lieutenant-Commander Haxhiu stabbed his hand toward the ‘Demo’ button. Even as he did so, the bolts securing his chair and the command console to the deck were snapped in half or ripped out of their sockets by the whiplash of the hull. His finger never reached the button. Still strapped into the chair, he was hurled through the space formerly occupied by his disintegrating console, and across the bridge, to collide head-first with the Plot display. The impact killed him instantly, which was merciful. He did not have to witness the deaths of those around him, or the final agony of the ship he had loved and served so well.

Szipnij’s fusion reactor went into emergency shutdown under the impact. Her wiring harness was severed at a number of critical junctions, cutting off backup power from her capacitor ring. Every system on board, even her ruptured emergency beacon, shut down instantly. Lifeless, powerless, she drifted onward through space, unguided, at one-fifth of the speed of light, followed by a slowly expanding cloud of debris, bodies, and body parts.

19

Salvage

MAVRA SYSTEM, HCS BOBCAT

The OpCen team watched in disbelief as their missile salvo was eviscerated by the target’s unexpectedly proficient defenses. The Weapons Officer cursed aloud. “Weapons to Command, request permission to launch the second salvo, plus all our decoys!” he called. If the massed decoys could burn a way through the target’s defenses for the missiles, their attack might yet succeed.

“Command to Weapons, per-”

Mackenzie’s assent was interrupted by a disbelieving shout from the entire team as a piece of the last missile slammed into the courier ship. Her stern disintegrated, and every emission from her hull ceased. The Plot display showed her forward portion, sliding away from them, followed by the expanding cloud of debris that had been her after section.

Frank snapped, “Aidan, go get her!”

“Yessir! Command to Helm, full ahead! Break. Command to Navigator, accelerate around her, then come in ahead of her and slow down to let her catch up with us. We don’t want to get hit by any of that wreckage.”

“Helm to Command, aye aye, sir.”

“Navigator to Command, aye aye, sir.”

The Commander turned to his boss, eyes wide. “I thought she’d got away scot-free! That was sheer blind luck!”

“You said it! Our missiles would only have disabled her, but she damned nearly shot herself out of space. We’re lucky it was pieces of the last missile that hit her. It was targeted at her stern. If fragments of other missiles, targeted further forward, had hit her, the whole ship might have disintegrated – and then where would we be?”

Mackenzie shuddered. “Don’t even think that, sir, much less say it!”

“When we board her, I want your technicians to look at her OpCen, to find out what defensive equipment and systems they have. She dealt with our missiles far better than any courier ship in my experience could have done.”

“Will do, sir, but we may not have enough time to do a thorough job. Why don’t we ask your friend to load the entire remaining portion of the hull? It probably contains the OpCen and her main computer. That way, we can examine it at our leisure, back at Constanta.”

Frank blinked. “It’ll be tricky – we have no docking cradles shaped to fit her – but I’ll be darned if that’s not a good idea. I think she’s small enough now, after losing her stern, to fit into his biggest hold, if it’s empty. Let’s get her under control, then see what Saul says.”

The Navigating Officer plotted Szipnij’s slightly altered trajectory as she zoomed ahead of them, disappearing out of radar range as Bobcat’s own speed began to rise. He snapped orders, directing the fast-accelerating frigate to swing further out from the wreck’s course, to avoid any fragments spreading out from her hull. His skipper and the squadron Commanding Officer watched and listened in silence, not interrupting him, letting him do his job.

HCS JAGUARUNDI

Jaguarundi was much closer to Mavra. Her OpCen crew picked up the traces of the fight at the system boundary about half an hour after it had occurred, as soon as the speed of light allowed its echoes to reach them. It was followed almost instantly by a signal.

“Communications to Command, signal, Ma’am. ‘Bobcat to Jaguarundi. Close the door.’ That’s all, ma’am.”

“Command to Communications, thank you.” Commander Sheena Stroud stretched in her command chair, smiling. “We’ll just wait for the fight to be noticed at the planet, and their patrol craft to head this way, then we’ll do as he says. They don’t yet know we’re here. We’ll be a nice surprise for them.”

Tense, excited laughter rolled around the OpCen.

MAVRA SYSTEM CONTROL CENTER

Lieutenant Sanna jerked upright in his chair as the Plot operator suddenly shouted in alarm, “Missile launch! Correction – multiple missile launches at the system boundary, sir!”

He jumped to his feet and ran across to the three-dimensional Plot display, staring in utter disbelief at the traces appearing almost a billion kilometers from the planet. “How – what – I…” He suddenly remembered his responsibilities, and dashed back to the Command console. He slid into his seat, flipped up a cover and hit a button. Alarms began to clang throughout the facility, summoning the headquarters personnel of Mavra’s System Patrol Service to their posts.

A Commander burst through the double doors to the OpCen, still shoving an arm into a sleeve of his uniform jacket. “What the hell’s going on, Sanna?”

“M-missile launches at the system boundary, sir! Given light speed delay, they must have happened more than an hour ago. Szipnij’s beacon has gone silent, and her gravitic drive emissions have stopped. She was attacked by something that’s accelerating very fast along her course, sir. We’ve never seen those emissions before. Whoever it is must be modulating them, to avoid being identified.”

“Of course they’re bloody modulating them!” The senior officer glanced at the Plot, and his face and voice hardened. “If she can crank out acceleration like that, she’s no ordinary pirate. That’s got to be a warship of some kind, to move that fast, and launch missiles like that. Give me that chair!”

“Aye aye, sir!”

Sanna jumped up and slid out from behind the console. The Commander took his place and reached for the microphone.

“Communications, signal Kriezis and Tatoi to leave planetary orbit at once and head for the scene of the engagement. Signal Thetis and Kyklon to abandon their present patrols and do the same. Let’s see if there are any survivors, then we can try to locate whoever did this. If they’re still looting Szipnij, we may have a chance to nail them.”

“Communications, aye aye, sir.”

Sanna said diffidently, “Ah… sir, Kriezis is giving her crew extended liberty. I doubt she has more than a third of her people on board. Should we sound the alarm in the Orbital Space Station, to alert them to return to their ship?”

“Yes, dammit! Do so at once! You shouldn’t need me to tell you that!”

“A-aye aye, sir!”

MPV TATOI

The patrol vessel scorched away from Mavra under maximum acceleration, speeding toward the place where Szipnij had been ambushed. Her skipper, a young Lieutenant, was rattled by this completely unexpected turn of events, and her crew even more so. After all, nothing ever happened in the Mavra system. That was why the company that owned it had spent relatively little on its System Patrol Service, equipping it with older, second-hand patrol craft and hiring only the minimum number of spacers to crew them. Now, that emphasis on economy meant that they might be going into a fight against enemies whose capabilities were unknown, with only old-fashioned weapons and equipment to defend themselves. That was not a comforting thought.

After an hour, Tatoi was a hundred and fifty million kilometers from the planet, still gaining speed, her inertia compensator whining loudly under the strain of dissipating the stress of such violent acceleration into the dark matter of space. Her crew listened with growing concern. If the compensator let go, they would be smeared against the bulkheads like so much strawberry jam. The only comfort in that prospect was that it would happen so fast, they’d never know what hit them.

The Plot operator reported, “Sir, Kriezis has left orbit and is following us. She must have got her crew aboard at last.”

The skipper grunted unhappily as he studied the display. Their sister ship was too far behind to be of any assistance, if trouble awaited them. The other two patrol craft were even further away. He had just opened his mouth to reply when the operator stiffened and yelled.

“Missile launch! Multiple missiles launched, very far ahead, sir! Looks to be at least two hundred million kilometers ahead of us. They’re headed this way, sir!”

“That’s insane!” the Lieutenant spluttered. “No missile in the settled galaxy has that kind of powered range. They’ll never hit us from that far away!”

They watched, dumbfounded, as the missiles picked up speed and headed for them. The Plot operator began to call out their time of flight. “Thirty seconds elapsed… one minute… one minute thirty…”

The skipper shook his head. “They’re still accelerating. They’ve got one hell of a powered range, that’s for sure. Even a destroyer’s weapons aren’t good for more than about eight million kilometers. They’ve already exceeded that. What the hell is firing at us?”

Within seconds, the thirteen missiles in the pattern detonated. They formed a giant thermonuclear X in space, each fireball separated by enough distance to spread the letter’s arms over tens of thousands of kilometers. It was far enough ahead to offer no risk… but its message was unmistakable, and the Lieutenant knew it might be death to disregard it. He didn’t hesitate.

“All right, that’s our lot, right there. Helm, turn us around and take us home. Drive to full braking power. Communications, signal to System Control and all the other patrol craft that we’re returning to orbit. I’ll be damned if I commit suicide for what the company’s paying me! Send it on the general traffic channel, too. I want whoever’s out there to hear us, and know what we’re doing.”

His OpCen crew loudly, emphatically and profanely agreed with his sentiments as they shut down the ship’s weapon systems. As they saw the explosions in their Plot displays, and Tatoi’s message reached them, her sister ships also set course for Mavra orbit.

Jaguarundi had very emphatically closed the door.

HCS BOBCAT

“Contact, sir!” The Plot operator’s voice was jubilant. “She’s still at extreme radar range, but she’s right where the Navigator said she’d be. One large echo, followed by a cloud of small ones.”

“Well done, Navigator!” Mackenzie praised, as Frank exhaled in profound, heartfelt relief beside him. He’d harbored a secret fear that they might never pick up the dead hulk of the courier ship on their radar, and was already dreading what Commodore Cochrane might say to him.

“Helm, take direction from the Navigator,” Bobcat’s skipper continued. “I want us to match speeds with her, directly ahead of her hulk, then latch onto her with our tractor beam. Let’s tow the surviving piece of her hull upwards, clear of that cloud of wreckage. As soon as we can maneuver closer to her without being struck by fragments, we’ll send our small craft to inspect her. What they find will determine what we do next.”

It took several hours of slow, careful, delicate maneuvering before they’d hauled what remained of Szipnij clear of the debris field. One of Bobcat’s cutters was sent to inspect the wreckage, and Frank commandeered Mackenzie’s gig to do the same. He wanted to satisfy himself of her condition at first hand.

He had the pilot steer the small craft to within a hundred meters of the hulk. The aftermost fifth of the hull had almost completely disintegrated, leaving only a few steel stringers and torn frames. The gravitic drive compartment was open to space, the shattered remains of the drive visible inside. The aft cargo hold had been ripped open, and most of its contents had been blown out of the hull. They now formed part of the debris field, behind and beneath the wreck. However, the central and forward parts of the hull seemed to be intact. In particular, the forward hold doors had not been sprung by the impact. They were still closed, and there were no tears in the hull plating, meaning that whatever had been inside it was almost certainly still there.

Frank heaved another sigh of relief, and picked up a microphone. “Frank to Aidan. She’s intact enough for what we need. Signal Saul to rendezvous with us as arranged, and set course to meet him there. While we’re en route, send Commander Argyll’s special security team to investigate her hull and rescue any survivors. Over.”

Commander Mackenzie’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Got it, sir. We’ll commence towing as soon as your gig and the cutter are back aboard.”

RENDEZVOUS

It took almost a full day to slow Szipnij’s hulk from its residual velocity of one-fifth of light speed to a standstill. If they tried to do so too quickly, they found that the tractor beam would lose its grasp on the wreck, which would sail off ahead of them as they slowed. It took several attempts before they found the right balance between braking and grip.

As they crept up to the rendezvous, where Saul was waiting with his freighter, the special security team Tom Argyll had provided for this mission returned to Bobcat. Its leader reported to Frank and Commander Mackenzie in the latter’s command office.

“We’re going to need lots of body bags, sir,” he said wearily. “There were no survivors. Near as we can tell, half the crew went out the rear of the ship. They’re somewhere in the debris cloud. The bodies aboard her are in very bad shape, sir. I don’t think we should bring them aboard where the crew can see them..”

“All right,” Frank agreed. “We’ll clean up back at Constanta, and give them spacer’s funerals. What about the cargo hold?”

“It’s intact, sir. We managed to gain access through the interior door.” He deposited the pack he was carrying on the desk, opened it, reached inside, and retrieved a solid gold bar. He handed it to Frank. “I figured you might like to see this, sir.”

Frank hefted the heavy bar in his hands, grinning. “Oh, yes! This is what we came for!” He handed it to Commander Mackenzie, who was also smiling.

“What about her defensive systems?” the skipper asked.

“I’m no technician, sir, but she looks to have a lot more electronics on her bridge than our courier ships carry. If we get her hull back to Constanta, I reckon Warrant Officer Murray will be able to take them apart and tell us what she had.”

“We’d better clean it up properly first, or he won’t thank us.”

The team leader grimaced. “He won’t, sir. The bridge crew are still in there – what’s left of them.”

It took Saul another two days to clear out his freighter’s largest hold, using the cutters of all the frigates to help move its contents to other, smaller cargo compartments, and then load the wreck. Even with part of her hull destroyed, Szipnij still displaced well over twenty thousand tons, far too much for cutters to maneuver safely with their small cargo-handling tractor and pressor beams. The frigates had to move the wreck into position, half a kilometer clear of the stationary freighter. Its two cargo shuttles then took over, each able to lift up to five thousand tons underslung. Very slowly, very carefully, they eased the hulk closer, until the open hold’s own tractor and pressor beams could take up the strain. Twelve hours of nerve-wracking maneuvering later, her motion sometimes almost imperceptibly slow, the wreck was snugged down onto the floor of the hold. To keep her there as the freighter moved, Saul had technicians from the frigates assist his crew to move additional tractor and pressor beam units from smaller holds into the bigger compartment, pinning down the courier vessel with enough force to hold her in position.

At last, the job was done. Frank joined the frigate commanding officers and Saul for a celebratory cup of coffee in the freighter’s main passage, outside the hold. They looked through the corridor viewports at the devastated hulk, lying on its side, looking curiously forlorn.

“Sad to see a ship like that,” Commander Stroud said softly.

“That it is,” agreed Commander Beattie of HCS Caracal. “She may have been full of those Brotherhood bastards, but that’s still a hell of a way for a spacer to die.”

Frank shook his head. “Dead’s dead, I reckon. It’ll come to us all in the end. I’d prefer to go quietly and peacefully when my time comes, but in this line of business, that’s less likely than in some others. All right, people. We’re done here. Let’s head for Constanta, and report to the Commodore.”

Behind them, as the four ships hyper-jumped away, only a cloud of debris remained of Szipnij’s aft section. It was already widely dispersed as it headed out into deep space, still moving at one-fifth of the speed of light, never to be seen again by human eyes.

Among the fragments drifted what little was left of the desiccated body of Brotherhood Councilor Gjerg Hyka.

20

Peril

NEUE HELVETICA

“That’s him!”

The exclamation came from a tech seated at a console in a windowless office in downtown New Geneva. She swiveled in her chair to beckon a supervisor at the rear of the room. He hurried to her side, bending to examine an image on her screen.

“The facial recognition software just found a match, sir. He came down from the space station last week. Surveillance vid caught him at the passport desk.”

“Well done! What name was he using?”

“Just a moment, sir…” The tech consulted a database. “Says here he was using a Tarakan passport in the name of Cahaya Kuzai.”

The supervisor shook his head. “The name matches the planet – they’re both of Malay origin – but his skin and features aren’t Malay at all. Check hotel reservations, cabs, and anything else he might have used or be using under that name. I’m going to make a call.”

“Yes, sir.”

She set to work as the supervisor returned to his desk, picked up a comm unit, and entered a code. “Sir? Facial recognition has a match. He’s using – or was using when he arrived – a Tarakan passport in the name of Cahaya Kuzai… We’re checking for links now, sir… Yes, sir, we’ll check those names as well, particularly places where he stayed or paid for services using them… Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

He replaced the handset, and hurried back to the tech with his notes. “Here. He used these two names last time he was on the planet. Check them against any places he’s used his new name, and check places he used the old names, to see whether his new name pops up there too.”

The tech frowned, but kept her face turned to her screen, so that her boss couldn’t see her displeasure. This would keep her busy through her lunch hour, and she was hungry – but he wouldn’t care about that. She said only, “Yes, sir.”

Two hours later, she sent a message to her boss listing a hotel, a vehicle rental agency, and two restaurants that had done business with ‘Cahaya Kuzai’ since his arrival. None of them had any records of transactions with the man’s earlier identities.

He’s being careful, the supervisor mused to himself as he forward the message to his boss. He’s making sure he doesn’t establish any patterns that can be easily traced. He doesn’t know we’ve got the latest face recognition software. Even his beard and mustache, and the pads he’s inserted inside his cheeks, and his sunglasses, aren’t enough to hide who he is. I wonder why they want to find him so urgently?

He shrugged. It was none of his business… but the level of interest the Gesellschaft had in this man didn’t bode well for his future health or happiness.

Pal Sejdiu waited in the interview room as the banker made his arrangements. At last he returned. “It’s all in order, Mr. Kuzai. We’ve sent the request to open the brokerage account, along with your token deposit of one thousand francs. As soon as they’ve set it up, we’ll contact you with the details. When your gold arrives, we’ll convert it to francs and make the necessary deposit.”

“Thank you,” Pal acknowledged as he stood. “It should be here any day now.”

He spent the rest of the afternoon consulting with the local agents for a Bismarck company that manufactured water filtration and purification systems. He gave them the chemical and impurities analyses of Ostrovy’s ocean water, and the agency ran them through their computers to produce a filtration profile. They assured him there would be no problem in manufacturing a containerized plant capable of providing abundant potable water for up to a hundred thousand people. It would be ready for collection within the time frame he’d specified. All that was required was a deposit of a million francs, the balance to be paid in three installments during manufacture and on delivery.

“I’ll have that within a couple of days,” he promised as he took his leave.

He headed back to his hotel, stopping at the exploration company’s office en route to assure them that the money to pay for the planet would be in the broker’s escrow account within days.

“I’m glad to hear it,” the local manager informed him with relief. “Remember, our exclusive offer to sell to you is only binding for another ten days. After that, if the money isn’t there, the planet will be thrown open again to all comers.”

“It’ll be there. My colleague, whom you met during our last visit, is traveling with it, to make sure it gets here on time.”

Pal was as careful as always in returning to his hotel. He scanned the streets and walkways, looking for anyone following him, but found no-one.

As he set out next morning to continue his work, a call reached an official of the Gesellschaft. “This is Hans-Jurgen Knappe, Herr Winckler.”

“What is it, Knappe?” Curt, blunt, a voice that brooked no nonsense.

“You said I had to report any new activity, sir. An account has just been opened in the name of Siedlung GmbH. It’s a newly-formed company, with no prior record of activity. The contact name is a Mr. Cahaya Kuzai.”

His listener’s eyes lit up. “Aha! That’s what we’ve been waiting for! You’ve done well, Knappe. As a reward, I’m deducting ten thousand from what you owe us. It’s only four hundred and sixty thousand francs now.”

“I… thank you, sir.” The broker’s voice was low, dispirited – music to the other man’s ears.

“Get me full details on how that account was opened, and which bank made the opening deposit. Keep up the good work, Knappe.”

The official ended the call, then placed another, this time to an executive at the highest levels of the Gesellschaft. He reported the conversation. “I suggest that means this ‘Cahaya Kuzai’, or whatever his real name may be, is ready to deposit the money to pay for his planet, sir. It hasn’t hit Vaterland’s account at Devizenbank, but they may be using a different account. I’m waiting for details of the bank that made the opening deposit – a token one of only a thousand francs. I’ll bet the gold will be converted through them.”

“You’re probably right. Good work, Schulz! Keep me informed – and put tight surveillance on Kuzai. If he so much as farts, I want a gas chromatograph readout and odor analysis on my desk five minutes later, understood?”

His subordinate sniggered. “Understood, sir.”

“Good. Line up a direct action team, too, the best we’ve got. We’ll snatch him as soon as we get word that the money’s here. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to transfer it to our account, not the broker’s.”

Five days later, Pal was growing more and more frustrated. At the very latest, Szipnij should have arrived three days ago. What was keeping her? Had Gjerg not made it clear to her skipper that time was of the essence? Fuming, he registered for alerts from Neue Helvetica’s System Control Center. The automated system would call him as soon as soon as the vessel’s name was mentioned.

He felt the familiar, unwelcome prickle at the back of his neck again as he took a cab back to his hotel. It felt like unfriendly eyes were watching him. He’d sensed it once or twice a day, several days in a row, but never spotted anything nearby that could be considered a threat. Nevertheless, he took the feeling seriously. It had saved him on a number of previous occasions. It might do so again. He kept a careful watch as he ate supper in the hotel’s restaurant, but saw nothing out of place.

He was woken from his sleep at four the following morning by a pinging alarm. It was his comm unit. Bleary-eyed, he stumbled out of bed, crossed to the desk, and read the message. It was an alert from the System Control Center.

Report from Mavra indicates SS Szipnij, a private-registry courier ship, was attacked by pirates at the system boundary upon departure for Neue Helvetica. Fate of ship unknown. Pirates could not be intercepted. Emergency alert passed to all planets to be on the lookout for this vessel and her crew. Details to follow.

Pal felt as if his veins had suddenly filled with ice water instead of blood. He stared at the screen, unable to believe his eyes. Szipnij pirated? How – and why now, and not on any previous occasion? There was only one explanation possible. Someone must have learned about her cargo! Was it one or more of the Big Three? Commodore Cochrane had warned that they were planning to act against the Brotherhood. They were certainly the most likely suspects.

For a moment, he wondered. Had he betrayed the secret of the gold shipment during his tryst with Jehona? He thought carefully, then shook his head. They had never discussed from where the gold would be shipped, or aboard which vessel, or the route it would follow. He was positive he’d never mentioned Mavra at all during their time together. No, even if Cochrane had arranged to record their conversations, he could not have learned enough from them to intercept the shipment. He was obscurely comforted by that thought. If the Commodore could not have betrayed his trust like that, it meant his wife was likely to still be safe in Hawkwood’s hands.

He cudgeled his brain into action. His sense of being watched, perhaps followed, over the past few days… that made more sense now. If the Big Three were behind this, or the Gesellschaft – which, he reminded himself, was affiliated with one of the Big Three – then they would undoubtedly have professionals good enough to watch him without being detected. In fact, they had probably already traced him to this hotel. Had they been waiting for the gold to arrive, to force him to hand it over? That would be a logical backup plan, in case the attempt to pirate Szipnij failed. If so, the news of her loss would put him in mortal danger. They would no longer need to wait for her arrival in order to take him, and milk him of any and all information he possessed. What should he do?

As he mentally ran through his options, he threw on his clothes, then took a messenger bag from the cupboard. He packed it swiftly with a change of street clothing, a pair of dark gray utility coveralls, two changes of underwear and socks, toiletries and a makeup kit to maintain or alter his appearance, a six-pack of concentrated ration bars, a collapsible water-bottle that he filled from the bathroom tap, and a newly-acquired comm unit that was not registered in any of the names he’d used on Neue Helvetica to date. Its battery had been charged, but not installed, so it could not be tracked even passively at present.

He took a small, easily-concealed, silenced pulser from a hidden, shielded compartment of his suitcase. He inserted its capacitor, and set it to top-up its charge while he checked the rounds in its three magazines. He hung a cord around his neck supporting two thin fixed-blade polymer knives, one hilt-down on his chest, the other hilt-up between his shoulder-blades. They would not set off metal detectors, but were strong enough to inflict a fatal stab wound if wielded expertly. A steel folding knife went into his left trouser pocket, along with his emergency supply of cash and gold taels. The pulser would fit into a holster sewn inside the left chest of his jacket. A flashlight balanced it on the right side, along with two spare magazines of ammo and his passport chip. His wallet went into his right trouser pocket.

Finally, he took a printout of a three-year-old magazine article from his suitcase. He’d picked it up during his previous visit to Neue Helvetica. It described, with many images, the adventures of a gang of teenage daredevil misfits who’d spent a couple of years exploring the drains and utility tunnels beneath New Geneva. It even included a helpful map showing much of their layout. One of the major nodes was accessible through the service basement of this very hotel – which was one of the reasons he’d selected it. A man never knew when he might need a back door, after all. He scanned the article quickly to refresh his memory, then folded it and put it in a jacket pocket.

He glanced at the time display. It was almost five. The city would be waking soon. Any watchers keeping an eye on him would expect him to be up and moving within an hour or two. Better to leave now, and try to avoid detection as he made his way to the basement. With luck, the service staff would not have arrived yet to set up the cleaning bots and other equipment.

He looked up a code in the files of his comm unit, and wrote it down. He might need it after all. He erased all the codes in the unit’s index, set it to wipe its memory clean, and left it on the desk, where signal triangulation would continue to locate it for the benefit of any observers.

He slung the messenger bag over his shoulder, walked out of the room, and closed its door gently behind him.

“What do you mean, he’s not in his room?” The senior man’s voice was furious.

“Sir, I came on duty at six, and checked the signal from his comm unit. It was still in his room. He normally comes down by seven, so when he didn’t, I checked last night’s vid. He left the room just before five, and went down to the lobby. From there, he turned toward the back of the hotel. Security vid didn’t show him coming out of the rear entrance, so he must have gone somewhere in the building. That’s all I have so far, sir.”

“Verdammt! Find out whether he got out aboard a utility vehicle, or perhaps hid in the basement. I want the names of the overnight crew. They lost him, so they’re going to pay for that!”

“Yes, sir.” He mentioned two names.

The boss was only half-dressed when the second call came in. The surveillance operator sounded out of breath. “Sir, I checked the security vid for the basement. Target went down to the utility level. No-one was on duty there so early in the morning. He went through to the rear, opened the grate separating it from the city utility tunnel that runs under the street, and climbed through, securing the grate behind him. No trace of him since then, sir.”

“All right. Get whatever he left in his room, then bring it and your team to the warehouse. We’re going to have to blanket the city. He must not get away!”

It took the team a little over an hour to make their way through morning rush-hour traffic to the warehouse in the industrial area. The guards on the doors checked their identities carefully, then waved them inside. The team leader parked their van, and handed over Pal’s suitcase and garment bag to a waiting specialist. “That’s everything he left in the room,” he informed him.

“Passport? Travel papers?”

“None that I could see.”

“Scheiss! He could be anywhere in the city by now. Go to the meeting-room. The boss wants to see everyone who staked him out. The others are already there.”

The leader led his team to the back of the warehouse, where a double-story bank of offices had been erected against the rear wall. He took them to a large room on one side of the lower level. They found about twenty others gathered, sitting still as mice. Their boss stalked the front of the room, his face dark with fury. To one side, two of their number were tied to chairs, their faces marked with bruises and cuts, bleeding freely.

“There you are at last!” the senior man snarled. “Sit down!”

He waited until they had taken their places, then snapped, “I told you all how important this job was. You have no idea how much money we’re talking about. It’s more than you can imagine in your wildest dreams! My ass is on the line right now with the big bosses. They’ve given us an ultimatum. If we can’t find this guy, they’re going to discipline all of us. I don’t need to tell you how unpleasant that might get!” A shiver of fear through his audience proved they understood all too well.

“As for these two clowns, they must have been fast asleep. They had the same access to hotel security vid as Wolfgang and his team, but they didn’t use it at all. They let our target waltz right out of his room, down the corridor, down the elevator, past the reception desk and down to the basement, then get into the city utility tunnel. At any time, they could have seen him and stopped him. They failed. I asked the bosses, and they said there’s only one penalty for that sort of neglect.”

He produced a silenced pulser from inside his jacket. The two men cried out in fear and horror, but he ignored their pleas as he aimed carefully, then fired one round into the center of each face from point-blank range. Blood and brains were blown all over the wall behind them, leaving two ghastly red-and-gray splotches on the white paint as they toppled sideways in their chairs.

“Any of you fail like they did, and you’ll wish you had it as easy as them! Do I make myself clear, damn you?”

He looked around, dominating them. “Every section leader in the city has been put on alert. All our people are looking. Our next job is to sweep the utility tunnels, checking all the security vid from them, visiting everything in easy reach of the hotel basement, trying to find any trace of where the target went. Don’t expect to get home to your families until he’s found. All right, here’s how we’ll do this…”

21

Evasion

NEUE HELVETICA

Pal sat huddled between the heaped garbage bags loaded aboard the utility robocart. He’d made a hole in the pile, crawled in, then pulled the bags closed and tugged a couple over his head. Small gaps allowed him to see out to either side.

The robotic cart bumped over debris and trash as it trundled toward the next stop on its route. Its electronic sensors detected an obstruction ahead, and it slowed, then stopped. As the whine of its electric motor died away, Pal could hear raised voices.

“Like I told you last time, I haven’t seen anyone go past at all! Why the hell do you keep coming back and asking me the same thing, over and over again?”

“Because we want this guy badly.” The second voice was cold, remorseless. “You’d better wise up and cooperate, junge. If you don’t, we’ll have a word with your union rep. Next thing you know, you’ll be wading knee-deep in raw sewage, clearing blockages at the processing plant. If you don’t show me some respect, you’ll be doing it without protective gear, too!”

Pal peered through the gap to his left as the cart moved forward a few meters, then stopped once more. He could see a sanitation worker in a white protective suit, with its head covering pulled back. He was talking to a man wearing smart street clothing, which looked completely out of place in this garbage tunnel.

“All right, all right, keep your shirt on! I’ll let you know if I see anyone.”

“See that you do.”

The man in the suit turned on his heel and walked out of sight toward the front of the utility cart. A few seconds later, there came the whine of an electric motor as a vehicle moved away.

The sanitation worker muttered, “Like hell I’ll tell you, you bastard! Who do you think you are, anyway, you stuck-up pimp?” He turned to the cart as it began to move, and raised his voice. “Wagen, halt!”

The robocart obediently stopped, and the worker began to toss bags of trash onto those already in its load bed. As he did so, Pal was struck with a sudden idea. He moved a bag away to reveal himself, looked out at the man, and put his finger over his lips. “Shhhh!”

“Zum Teufel?” The sanitation worker goggled at him.

Pal motioned him closer, trying to look as conspiratorial as possible. “Don’t give me away!” he whispered, hoping he sounded scared enough to be convincing. “It’s not ‘they’ who want me – it’s that bastard. It’s personal. You see, I screwed his girlfriend.”

The worker broke into delighted laughter. “Ach, so! I knew there was something weird about this! I haven’t seen so much fuss since I started here! How did you manage that?”

Pal hung his head sheepishly. “I’m a contract worker at the casino. I saw him there with her one night. He was concentrating on the cards, and she was bored. We got to talking. One thing led to another, and… you know…”

“I sure do! And he found out, huh?”

“Yeah. She got mad at him one night, and told him all about how I was a better lover than he’d ever be. He lost it. Kicked her out, and now he’s after my blood. He’s using his goons to help him.”

“He sure is. There’s a few dozen of them searching the tunnels. They must know you came in here.”

“Yeah. Will you help me get out?”

“Sure I will! Crawl out on the far side of the cart, staying low, and crouch down next to it, so the security cameras in the middle of the tunnel don’t notice you. When it starts moving again, stay next to it for about fifty meters. You’ll come to a yellow door. Open it, slip inside, and close the door quickly, before the cart moves past. Wait there. I’ll be along in about ten minutes, and I’ll show you a way out.”

“Thank you so much! I owe you, friend.”

“Hey, buy me a beer sometime. I’m glad to help put one over on that overbearing bastard. All right, get going. See you in a few.”

The worker was as good as his word. He came in, whistling cheerfully, and closed the door behind him as he winked at Pal. “They’re in all the tunnels, so we’ve got to get you past them. Here, put this on.” He pulled a clean white sanitation oversuit from a locker and tossed it to him. “Sling that pack of yours behind your back, so it looks like just another lump in these cheap suits. Leave your head covering on, with the mask, so they can’t see your face. We’ll take a cart to an exit about a kilometer away. If anyone stops us, let me do the talking. You keep your mask on the whole time. When we get there, I’ll show you how to get up to the street. It comes out next to a workers’ café in the industrial area. Stay out of sight and off the streets until dark, then you should be able to call a cab and slip away.”

“I owe you for this. Can I…?”

The worker accepted the proffered hundred-franc bill. “Hey, thanks! This’ll buy a few beers for myself and my mates tonight.” He looked abashed. “Say, I don’t even know your name.”

“Better that you don’t, or I yours. Say, do you know anyone with wheels I can borrow or rent for a couple of hours, or even buy?”

The sanitary worker grimaced. “With all the fuss going on, I don’t know who else can be trusted to keep their mouth shut. I’ve only got an old city scooter.”

“I can ride one. What’s it worth?”

The other shook his head. “It’s twelve years old, and it’s pretty worn. Tires are almost bald. Can’t be worth more than three, four hundred.”

Pal peeled off ten notes. “Here’s a thousand. When do you go off shift?”

“Tonight at eighteen.”

“Wait until then, then report it stolen, and you can collect the insurance, too. I won’t need it any more by that time. Do we have a deal?”

“Ja, genau! My helmet’s clipped to it. For this much money, you can have that, too! It’s in the worker parking area next to the exit you’ll use.” He took an ignition fob from his pocket and handed it over.

“Danke. You just saved my life again, giving me a way to get clear of that bastard.”

“I’m glad to help. Get into that oversuit, and let’s go.”

An hour later, Pal emerged onto a side street, looking around cautiously. He’d spent a precious half-hour in the employee washroom, removing his beard and mustache, thinning and reshaping his eyebrows, then coloring them and his hair an iron gray, making him look older. He’d parted his hair at one side, rather than combing it straight back, and removed the cheek pads he’d used to widen his features. Facial recognition software wouldn’t be fooled, but hopefully a human observer, looking for a man resembling his previous appearance, wouldn’t identify him in time to stop him. He’d also put on his gray utility coverall, so as to look more like a sanitation worker and less like a businessman.

Sure enough, there was a heavyset man standing near the door. A bulge beneath his coat indicated that he was probably armed. He glanced at Pal, but didn’t say anything. Pal ignored him as he walked past, heading for the parking area placarded ‘Nur Sanitärarbeiter’. Pressing the key fob caused an urban scooter to flash its lights from the second row of parked vehicles. He walked over to it, took the helmet from the rack at the rear, and strapped his messenger bag in its place.

He inserted the battery into the newly acquired and totally anonymous comm unit, powered it up, and dialed the code he’d written down that morning. After a few rings, a voice answered.

“Ja?”

Pal said simply, “Commodore Cochrane told me to call this code if I was in trouble and needed help.”

“Ach, so. You are Pal Sejdiu?”

“Yes, I am.”

“The Commodore informed us of his arrangement with you. The Gesellschaft is looking for you all over. This will be difficult, but we shall do our best. Where are you?”

“I’m on Zufahrtsstrasse, in the sanitation employees’ parking lot.”

The voice sounded unwillingly impressed. “You have done well to get so far without being picked up. Can you get to the Stadthöfe shopping mall?”

Pal thought rapidly, consulting a mental map of the city. The mall was about twenty kilometers away, on the other side of town. A scooter wasn’t allowed to use the elevated ring road, so he’d have to ride through stop-start city traffic all the way. “Yes, I can be there in about an hour.”

“Very well. We shall send someone to meet you at the third level entrance to the parking garage in concourse A. Look for a man wearing a black mourning armband on his left arm over a white shirt, with a gray jacket over his right shoulder. He will take you somewhere else. Ask no questions and do everything he tells you, on pain of forfeiting our help if you disobey.”

“I will. I’ll be wearing a gray coverall, and carrying a messenger bag. Thank you.”

Pal removed the battery from the comm unit. There was no sense in letting anyone track it from here to his destination, and perhaps link it with him. Better to reserve it for emergencies only.

He put on the helmet. It was a little too small, which was uncomfortable, but the ability to lower its visor over his face was too useful to forgo. He started the bike, hearing its small electric motor whine shrilly, and rode off, a little unsteadily, into the traffic.

Pal parked his scooter on the third level, then walked toward the mall entrance. His utility coverall looked sadly out of place among the fashionably clothed shoppers as he went inside, but he hadn’t found anywhere convenient to change.

Sure enough, a man dressed as described was waiting for him, just inside the entrance. His eyes narrowed as he turned toward him.

“Pal?” he asked baldly.

“Yes.”

“Come with me.”

The man led him to a door set into the wall of the parking garage. Inside was a small room filled with cleaning gear. Another man waited there, casually dressed. He was about Pal’s size and shape.

“Quick, take off that coverall and give it to Manfred. He will walk around the mall for an hour or so, to let any watchers find him and realize that despite his clothing, he is not you. Perhaps that will help to throw them off the scent.” He reached for a garbage bag. “Put everything from that messenger bag in this, and give Manfred your bag and helmet. It will help him look more like you.”

The exchange was soon made. Pal handed over the scooter key fob, providing quick details of where it was parked, then dressed in the spare street clothes he’d packed early that morning. They let themselves out of the room, and Manfred disappeared into the mall.

His escort led Pal to a car in the parking garage. He opened the hatchback lid, then retracted the flexible cover over the baggage area. “Lie down in here, and I’ll cover you. It will be an uncomfortable journey, lasting up to an hour or even more, but you will be out of sight.”

Pal obeyed. The man closed the cover over his head, then shut the hatch, plunging the baggage area into Stygian darkness. He drew the silenced pulser from his jacket, and prepared to sell his life dearly if the need should arise.

The journey turned out to be nearer two hours than one. The driver constantly changed direction, turning left and right, and sometimes appearing to make U-turns, always at slow speeds, presumably because he was in evening rush-hour traffic. The noise of other vehicles, warning horns and sirens, and the bustle of the city never stopped.

At last the vehicle turned off the street and up a ramp. Pal heard a gate sliding back, then the car drove into an echoing space that sounded like a parking garage. He heard the gate close behind them as the driver turned, then halted the car. A brief pause, then the hatch opened and the flexible cover was slid back. Pal blinked in the sudden bright lights of the garage.

The driver glanced at his pulser. “Give that to me, along with any other weapons and ammunition you have on you. If you disobey, and we find a weapon on you, we shall instantly kick you out onto the street and leave you to your own devices.”

Pal hesitated. “How do I know I can trust you?”

The driver sighed, as if irritated by an annoying child. “Have we harmed you or led you astray so far? If we have not done so yet, why should we do so in future? Besides, you have no choice. Do as we say, or leave, right now. I doubt you will last the night. The Gesellschaft has blanketed the city. Their people are everywhere. They have even co-opted the city’s security vid network. Their operators are searching its images for you, using facial recognition software.”

Pal sighed, reversed the pulser, and handed it to the man butt-first; then he took the magazines from his jacket, the folding knife from his trouser pocket, and the two polymer blades from around his neck. “That’s all I’m carrying.”

The driver looked unwillingly impressed as he examined the neck knives. “These are professional’s weapons. I suppose I ought to take your hands as well, nicht wahr?”

Pal had to laugh. “Yes, I can use them as weapons, but I’d rather use them to eat. I’ve had only one emergency ration bar all day.”

“I think we can do better than that. Come with me.”

Pal carried the garbage bag filled with his belongings through a door, up a flight of stairs, and into an apartment. An older man was waiting for them, and came forward with his hand outstretched.

“Good evening, Mr. Sejdiu. You can call me Marko. I will be your host tonight, and probably for several days. We shall move you around from time to time, you understand.”

“Thank you.” He shook the man’s hand. “Who are you people?”

“Please ask no questions, just as we shall ask you none. It is better for security, you understand. What you do not know, you cannot tell, even under torture. The Commodore made arrangements with us to help you in an emergency – and you certainly have one on your hands right now. I have never seen the Gesellschaft more determined to find anyone. They are leaving no stone unturned in their search for you.”

“Ah… Will it be safe to move me around, then?”

“It will be less safe to keep you always in the same place, for fear something should leak out. Do not worry. We have experience of this. However, it may be weeks, even possibly a few months, before they relax their vigilance enough to allow us to smuggle you off-planet. You must be prepared for a long stay.”

Pal’s face fell. “That… that is very bad. There is so much I must do!”

“You cannot do it if you are dead.” His host’s voice radiated deadly earnestness.

“I suppose you are right. Can you help me send a message off-planet?”

“Nein. Anything that might be traced back to you, or to us, is out of the question. You cannot even access the planetary web, for fear some of your online activity may be correlated with what you have done before. Today’s surveillance tools can even measure the speed and pattern with which you enter instructions, and match it to how you have done so in the past, and identify you that way. The Gesellschaft want you badly enough to check everything.”

Pal sighed. “I understand.”

“Good. Come, let me show you the room you will use. Keep its window closed and the blinds down at all times, no matter how much you want to see sunlight. You can do so in this living-room, but only sitting well back, where the sun does not fall on you. There is a privacy film on the windows, so no-one will see you from outside except as a fuzzy, indistinct outline. Do not go onto the balcony for any reason. You can shower while I prepare supper.”

As Pal soaped himself beneath the steaming hot water, he tried to force himself to be calm. He was still alive, after all. There was a lot to be said for that – probably more than the crew of Szipnij, and poor Gjerg Hyka, could say right now, if the initial report proved true. He had to wait, and trust his hosts to get him out as soon as it was humanly possible. If he got himself killed due to his impatience, Jehona would never forgive him. She was worth living for, and waiting for.

Even so, it took him a long time to fall asleep that night. He tossed and turned in bed, his mind racing as he considered all that had happened and tried to make sense of it. Had the Big Three, or one of them, been responsible for what had happened at Mavra? If so, did that indicate they were prepared to move on the Brotherhood’s base as well? What about Patos? Was the Brotherhood still safe there? Would Commodore Cochrane come through for his children there, if necessary, just as he had for him here? How would Agim learn – if he learned at all – of the loss of Szipnij at Mavra? When he and Gjerg failed to report, would the Brotherhood think they had made off with the money? Would they curse them as traitors, and take out their anger on their families?

He was bleary-eyed with lack of sleep and nervous tension the next morning. His condition was not helped by being unable to go out. He had to content himself with working out in his bedroom, using isometric exercises and dynamic tension routines to exhaust himself, showering off the sweat, then doing it all over again a few hours later. His host sent out for more clothes for him, but warned, “You have to control yourself and learn patience. This is just the beginning. There is a long wait ahead of you, if you want to survive. Haste will kill you – and maybe us, too.”

Pal tried to persuade himself of that… but everything in him rebelled at the prospect. He forced his feelings down, but knew he would have many sleepless nights to come.

Marko kept his amusement to himself. He could imagine his guest’s horrified reaction if he learned he was being protected by the Dragon Tong, one of the same Big Three who were preparing to attack his people. The irony was positively delicious. Commodore Cochrane had made this arrangement with the Neue Helvetica chapter of the Tong after clearing it with Qianjin, which had ordered them to do whatever he asked. They would look after their guest until the situation on Patos was resolved. Thereafter, they would send him to Constanta. They didn’t understand why such a long delay was necessary, or even why this man should survive at all: but if that’s what the Commodore wanted, that’s what he would get.

22

Decisions

CONSTANTA

Cochrane looked up as a knock came at his office door. Tom Argyll stood there, with Jock Murray looking over his shoulder. “Got a moment for us, please, sir?”

“Of course. Come in.” He shut down the document he was reading on his terminal, and rose to greet them. They settled down in comfortable armchairs around a table in the corner.

“What’s up?”

“We’ve offloaded all the gold, sir,” Tom began. “It’s being transferred to Isimud, our newest courier ship, as we speak. She just arrived after working up at Barjah. This will be her first operational mission.”

“And what a mission! She’ll never have one like it again, I’ll bet.”

Jock sniggered. “She’ll be carrying enough gold to make every member of her crew a billionaire-and-a-half. Kinda hard to top that, sir! What does her name mean, anyway?”

“Isimud was the messenger of the Sumerian god Enki,” Cochrane explained. “All our courier ships are named for messenger gods, or messengers of the gods, in ancient mythology.”

“Figures. Never heard of that one, though, sir.”

“Neither had I, until we started researching possible names. What about the bodies, Tom?”

Hawkwood’s Head of Security grimaced. “That was a hell of a job, sir – messy. A lot of them weren’t intact any more. We put them in body bags, and sent them off aboard a local tender to be given a spacer’s funeral. They’ll be dropped into Constanta’s star this morning.”

Jock added, “I had to wait to get at Szipnij’s bridge until they’d removed them. Even then, there were enough traces left that it wasn’t pretty. It’s still in vacuum, of course – there’s no way to seal her pressure hull any longer – so, wearing a spacesuit, at least I didn’t have to smell it.” He grinned. “We nearly gave Saul a heart attack, sir. Turns out Szipnij had an armed, ready-to-blow five-megaton thermonuclear demolition charge buried in her spine. When she lost power, the fail-safes cut in, so it didn’t go off, but it must have been a near thing. We were planning to restore power to the ship to check her computer, but when I found the charge, Saul flatly forbade it. He said he didn’t want to risk that thing going off in his Number Two hold!” The three men laughed aloud.

“I can’t say I blame him,” Cochrane agreed. “You disarmed it?”

“Yes, sir, and removed it. We’ve reset it and given it to Captain Haldane, to take to New Skyros with him. He said he wanted a couple, in case of need.”

“And the computer systems? Frank says her defenses were much better than any courier ship’s had a right to be.”

Jock frowned. “That’s interesting, sir. She had capable enough sensors, rather like what Amanita, our first corvette, has. What made the difference was the addition of a quantum computer, acting as a back-end processor. It took the inputs from all the sensors, then essentially supercharged their analysis. It’s a dedicated unit, designed for the purpose. From its size and design capabilities, I’d say it was originally intended for a heavy patrol craft. I think they must have stolen it from a major power, or bought it from someone who stole it, because that level of sophistication isn’t available from second- or third-tier planets. It’s better than anything Kang’s sold to us.”

“That’s interesting. Any idea which power?”

“I’d bet on the Lancastrian Commonwealth, sir, given the hardware involved. It may be from one of their latest-generation Serpent class patrol craft. They’ve built well over a hundred so far, for their own Fleet and the System Patrol Services of their member planets, and for export. I reckon one of their processing units might have fallen off a transport somewhere.”

“Can you duplicate it?”

“Not exactly, sir. The software seems to be keyed to that specific hardware. It’s way more advanced than anything I’ve ever seen before. Still, if I put a few months into it, and get the help of a couple of quantum mechanics boffins, and a few experts and an artificial intelligence system to reverse-engineer the software, I reckon I can come up with a near equivalent. I can make it scalable, too, so we can use it aboard our frigates and corvettes. It’ll be a big upgrade, sir. It’ll put our vessels at almost the same level of fire control performance as smaller warships from any of the major space powers – the Zhongguo Hegemony, the Lancastrian Commonwealth, the Columbia Confederacy, the Bismarck Cluster, and so on. I think it’s worth trying, and I’d enjoy the challenge.” His eyes shone with enthusiasm.

“Hmmm… Do you think the Brotherhood will build this into their other armed ships?”

“I don’t see how they can, sir, unless they’ve got someone as good as me to lead the project, and a whole lot of expert assistance, and access to quantum computers to modify for the purpose. It’s going to be a really big job, and cost a lot of money. No, I reckon they probably bought this computer from whoever stole it, and put it on that courier ship to protect their gold shipments. It wouldn’t have been hard to wire it into her existing systems and sensors, provided they knew what they were doing – which, obviously, they did. They may be criminals, but they aren’t stupid.”

“That makes sense. How far along are you with the other project I gave you?”

“That’s just about finished, sir. Another week or two and I’ll have everything you need.”

“All right. Finish that, then start work on that quantum computer. Figure out what people and budget you need, and let me know.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Tom, as soon as Jock has got everything he wants out of the wreck, have Saul take it to Mycenae and drop it into one of its binary stars. We’ve no further use for it.”

“Aye aye, sir. He’ll charge us extra for that, though.”

“I’ll pay it. Tell him to send me the bill. What about security for the gold, and for Caitlin?”

“I’m sending two full teams aboard Isimud, sir. One will remain aboard at all times until the gold’s offloaded. The other will escort Commander Ross planetside, and escort the gold when it’s shipped to the bank. I’ve also arranged to have one of our corvettes escort Isimud to the system boundary here, when the time comes. We don’t want anyone doing to her what we did to Szipnij.”

Cochrane winced. “Don’t say that, even as a joke! Thank you, both of you. You’ve done very well.”

When they had gone, he thought for a moment, then sent several messages to arrange three more meetings. The time had come to settle the past once and for all – and provide for Hawkwood’s future, too.

Caitlin Ross arrived the following morning, in response to his message. “What’s up, sir?” she asked cheerily.

“Quite a lot. You’re off to Neue Helvetica again.”

“Oh? What am I going to be doing there this time, sir?”

He grinned. “Buying a planet.”

“Buying a – oh!” She goggled at him. “So that’s what you’re going to do with the Brotherhood’s gold!”

“Yes. I’ve been thinking about it ever since, some years ago, Tom said it might help if we became a sovereign nation, because we could get away with a lot more.” Caitlin laughed. “He was right, and that gave me an idea. As long as we’re dependent on another government to provide us with bases, we’re at their mercy. If it’s more to their advantage to turn on us, they’ll do so in a heartbeat. There’s precious little honor among politicians.”

“You got that right, sir!”

“I hadn’t planned to do anything about it in the short term. This was a long-term plan, something to work toward over many years, even decades. However, when we heard about Pal Sejdiu’s plan, I began to wonder whether we could use the Brotherhood’s money to move faster ourselves. You see, he and the rest of the Brotherhood – assuming any of them survive what’s heading their way – are bound to blame the Big Three for the loss of Szipnij and her cargo. It’s a perfectly logical, rational explanation, after all, particularly after the Three deal with the Brotherhood on Patos. They won’t think of blaming us at all, unless we let something slip, and we’ve done our best to prevent that. Even the frigates’ crews, except for their commanding officers, don’t know what was aboard the courier ship, or even her name. They think I was after intelligence from her.”

“I get it, sir. Good plan. What they don’t know, they can’t talk about.”

“That’s right. From Pal’s discussions with his wife, we know that Ostrovy, the planet he chose for the Brotherhood, was only being held for them for a limited time. By the time you reach Neue Helvetica, it should be back on the market. What’s more, the company that offered it for sale must be getting desperate. They’ve tried to sell it at a higher price for two to three years, and gotten only nibbles. Pal’s offer was lower than they’d been asking, but they agreed to it. If you offer them a little less, they’ll probably bite, just to get the planet off their hands. If you can prove that the cash is waiting in our bank account, they’ll be even more interested.”

“Yes, sir.” She shook her head. “It’s a bit mind-boggling to bandy about numbers like that, sir. I mean, this is hardly your average shopping trip, is it?”

He laughed. “You can say that again! I’m trusting you to buy us a future, Caitlin. Don’t let us down.”

She sat up proudly. “I won’t, sir.”

“Good. I’ll send you detailed orders later today, but in brief, I want you to set up a new front company on Neue Helvetica, with our lawyer’s help. Call it ‘Compagnia Bianca’.”

She blinked. “Why not use our existing company, sir? And what does that name mean?”

“I don’t want Hawkwood’s name to jump out at anyone looking into the ownership of the planet. The new company’s name is the Italian translation of ‘White Company’. That was the title of the first mercenary company Sir John Hawkwood commanded. Almost no-one today remembers him, so I don’t think they’ll make the connection.”

“I get it.” She smiled. “Keeping it in the family, so to speak. Why Italian, sir?”

“It’s both history and misdirection. The White Company operated in France, so I suppose we’d call our company ‘Société Blanche’ if we wanted to be pedantic. However, Hawkwood gained his real fame after that, in Italy, so I chose that language instead. Anyone seeing the name will hopefully assume it’s been set up by business interests from Marano, or Lombardia, or Nuova Calabria, or any of the other planets settled from that part of Earth. Set up a bank account for the new company – use the Handelsbank again; we’ve learned to trust them – and deposit the gold into it, then buy the planet. Register its name with the UP as ‘Bianca’, the last word of the company name. It’ll be registered as a corporate planet at first, of course. Hawkwood will start to move our operations there as soon as the ink’s dry on everything.”

“Yes, sir.” She took a deep breath. “It’s going to be a mammoth job, moving everyone and everything there, sir.”

“Yes, it is. I reckon it’ll take us five to ten years to do it, but if we’ve got the Brotherhood out of the way, we won’t be under the same pressure of time. We also have all the preliminary studies Pal Sejdiu did about the planet’s features and environment. We found copies in a passenger cabin aboard Szipnij. We can use them to help buy the equipment and infrastructure we need. The more you save us on the price of the planet, the more we’ll have available for that purpose. With luck, we won’t have to draw down our own reserves at all, except to pay for the actual move.”

“Do you think most of our people will follow us there, sir?”

“I think so. We’ve recruited largely from the New Orkney Cluster, where all of us founders came from. Most of our people are fed up to the back teeth with the First Families there, and their corruption. If we offer them a fresh start on a brand-new planet, with free land and housing into the bargain, plus free shipping to move themselves and their families there, I think a lot of them will jump at it. There may be some who won’t, but we’ll recruit suitable people to replace them.”

“That’ll work, sir. It’ll also be good for the planet, right from the start. Everyone we’ve hired has been vetted six ways from Sunday, and they’re security-checked using a truth-tester every year or two. We won’t have any unknown quantities or shady characters to worry about.”

“Oh, they’re bound to pop up in due course. They’re part of the human condition, after all. Still, you’re right: we can minimize that problem in the beginning.” He stood up. “All right, pack your bags. I’ll send you detailed written orders this afternoon. You’ll head out tomorrow morning, with two security teams to keep you and the gold safe. Bring back the title deed to our new home!”

Frank Haldane was the next to arrive. “Is this it, sir?” he asked eagerly as he sat down.

“Yes, it is. Let’s go over your final op order.”

They spent an hour going over Frank’s plan of attack, drawn up in consultation with the senior officers of his frigate division. Cochrane asked many questions. Frank answered them all, and had a few queries of his own.

At last Cochrane sat back with a sigh. “I think you’ve covered all the bases, and allowed for every contingency we can think of. Are Bobcat and Jaguarundi reloaded?”

“Yes, sir.” The orbital dockyard had pulled the partly-expended missile pods from each ship, and replaced them with fully loaded units, while Bobcat’s remaining EMP warheads had been swapped for bomb-pumped lasers.

“What about Lynx and Margay? Are you satisfied they’re ready for this operation? They’ve only just finished working up.”

“They’re as ready as they can be without more experience, sir. We don’t have enough ships as it is, so we can’t do without them. I’ve moved a few of our senior NCO’s to them, to provide more experience and steadiness to their crews. That’s the best we can do at this stage.”

Cochrane shrugged. “You know what they say. Good judgment comes from experience, while experience comes from bad judgment. This operation will give them plenty of opportunities to gain experience!” Both men laughed, a little uncomfortably. The old saw was amusing, but also too accurate to be truly funny. “You’re right. We need them too much to leave them behind. We’ve given them the best officers and spacers we can find, and the best training we can provide. Now it’s up to them to prove themselves.”

“Yes, sir.” Frank sighed. “I still wish we had an arsenal ship with us, but the toys Rorqual left for us should make up for one. We’ve got all five of our frigates, plus two corvettes. That should be enough.”

“Yes, it should. I’d love to give you an arsenal ship, as originally planned, but Dave was right. We daren’t leave our primary bases at Constanta and Mycenae uncovered, in case the Brotherhood is planning an attack of their own. An arsenal ship plus two corvettes at each base should be enough to protect them until our forces return. Two more corvettes at Barjah will defend our ships there, plus the planet’s own defenses, of course. All our other warships, less those in dockyard hands, are going to be involved in our attacks.”

Cochrane stood, and held out his hand. “All right, Frank. You’ll depart tomorrow. I’ll send your final written orders this afternoon. God be with you.”

“And you, sir, and the others.” Frank shook his hand. “I’ll see you when we get back.”

Dave Cousins was the last to report, late that afternoon.

“How did the exercises go with the Qianjin corvettes?” Cochrane asked.

“Well, sir. They’re as good as we are, if not slightly better, because they have all the discipline and organization of a professional Fleet behind them. I think they’ll be able to operate alongside us with no trouble.”

“And they took your orders as Commodore of the attack force?”

“Yes, sir. There was no friction. As a matter of fact, I’m seriously considering making their Captain Liao the commander of our western task force. He’s that good.”

“I’m glad to hear it. It would certainly please Qianjin to have one of their senior officers offered a command slot like that. I’d wondered whether their ‘professional Navy’ officers would be comfortable taking orders from a security company Captain. I’m glad it’s working out.”

“Yes, sir.” Dave took a deep breath. “Is it a go, then, sir?”

“Yes, it’s a go. The next two destroyers will finish their builder’s trials at New Skyros in three weeks, and be added to the two already in detention. Their missile pods, plus reloads, are already aboard their depot ship. We can expect the Brotherhood to make their move almost immediately after that, because they want the ships as quickly as possible. I daresay they’ll be leaving their base to go get them soon after Frank departs from here.”

Dave grimaced. “It’d be a hell of a thing if he tried to creep into the New Skyros system at the same time, in the same place, that they do, sir.”

“Don’t even think that! I reckon we’ve made sufficient allowance for the timing that Frank should be in position before they arrive. If all goes well on the New Skyros side, they’ll be caught with their pants down. Your attack will hit their base even before they reach New Skyros, to give you plenty of time to deal with whatever you find before any survivors can get back there.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for Frank, sir.”

“So will I. Are all your ships ready for action?”

“Yes, sir. We’re loading final stores today and tomorrow. We’ll head out tomorrow night.”

“All right. I wish I could be with you, truly I do! It’s painful to send out two task forces, and have to sit here keeping everything else on an even keel.”

“That’s the job of a Commander-in-Chief, sir. I guess that’s what you are, in Hawkwood’s frame of reference.”

“Sadly, you’re right.”

“If it’s any consolation, sir, I don’t think any of us could do your job. You juggle so many different balls at once, and keep so many different plans and activities on the go at the same time… it’s quite an achievement, sir.”

Cochrane grinned. “I’m glad you think so. If – no, when – you come back to report victory, I hope to be able to tell you about another of those balls, a very big one. If it bounces as I hope it will, it’ll mean a better and much more interesting future for all of us.”

“Oh?” Dave’s face and voice were eager. “How about a hint, sir?”

“You want a hint? All right. Think of white.”

“White, sir? The color?”

“Yes, that white.”

“Ah… that’s a hell of a mysterious hint, with all due respect, sir!”

“Well, you asked for it, didn’t you?”

They were both laughing as Dave said his goodbyes and headed back to his flagship.

That night, over supper, Cochrane confided his concerns to Hui. “It’s so damned hard to step back and let go! I keep worrying about whether they’ll do the right thing, and whether I should have gone with one or the other task force. It’s stupid, I know, but…”

She shook her head as she laid a hand lovingly on his. “It’s not stupid, darling. I suppose you’re doing what every other Fleet commander has done throughout human history. It’s all very well to pick the best subordinates you can, and let them prove themselves in smaller ways, then give them their heads; but you’ll never shake the feeling of personal responsibility. It goes with the territory.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“What have we heard from Neue Helvetica, if anything?”

“Nothing so far. I daresay Pal Sejdiu’s realized by now that something’s happened to Szipnij, because she won’t have arrived as scheduled. Whether he’s been able to avoid the Gesellschaft’s attentions, I can’t say, but I doubt it. They’ve got the scent of big money in their nostrils, and they’re going to follow it. I hope he makes it, if only for his wife’s sake.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then at least we were able to give them a last weekend together.”

“I… I suppose you’re right. We can’t do anything else, can we?”

“No. We’ve tried to provide him with emergency help there, if he needs it, and if he can reach it. More than that we can’t do. I hope he does contact them, because I’ve asked them to keep him out of reach until everything’s over. He’s too good at his job for us to risk him being active when the crunch comes, but I think he’s basically a decent man, serving a bad cause. I don’t think he deserves to die. Once all this is over, the situation will have changed, and he won’t be so much of a threat to us.”

“What if he survives, but the Brotherhood doesn’t? He was relying on their new planet to offer a place of safety to them all. What if it’s not available? What will he and his wife and son do?”

“I’ve got an idea about that, too, but let’s wait to see how things go down.”

“You can’t be thinking of them working for us, are you? We could never trust them.”

“No, it’s not that. Please forgive me, love, but I’d prefer to keep it under my hat for now. Ask me again if Pal survives, and if we win at New Skyros and at their base, and if the Big Three deal with the Brotherhood on Patos. If all that happens… we’ll see.”

23

Ramp-up

NEW SKYROS, HCS JAGUARUNDI

As the flotilla crept up to Pagoménos, the outermost planet in the New Skyros system, a deserted ball of ice far beyond the system boundary and outside space traffic routes, Frank heaved a long sigh. No other ships had shown up on their sensors. They’d made it here ahead of the Brotherhood ships they were expecting.

He turned to Commander Stroud. “All right, Sheena. Make the signal to the planet, then signal Belladonna to take up position, link to the mine controller satellite and prepare them for action. The other ships are to take up their prearranged positions.”

“Aye aye, sir,” she replied briskly. “Command to Communications. Send the pre-recorded signals to the planet and Belladonna, then go to tac net and give me the mike.”

“Communications to Command, aye aye, ma’am.” There was a brief pause as tight-beam signal dishes swiveled above the frigate’s spine and spat out their high-speed encrypted transmissions, then, “Tac net’s open, ma’am. You have the mike.”

“Thank you.” She picked up the microphone on her command console. “Jaguarundi to flotilla. Resupply from Porpoise, then assume attack formation and go to radio and emissions silence, except tight-beam via Belladonna, which will be our communications relay. Acknowledge. Over.”

Seven ships – four more frigates, two corvettes and a resupply fast freighter – rattled back their understanding and compliance over the encrypted, low-power, frequency-hopping local network.

“Jaguarundi to flotilla. Good luck to us all. Jaguarundi out.” She turned to Frank. “How long, do you think, sir?”

“Could be any time from now. We’ll just have to listen very, very carefully to hear them coming. Make sure we fill our tanks and storage compartments, and the other ships do the same. We may have a long wait, and we can’t resupply once we go to emissions silence.”

Moving at very low speed to avoid gravitic drive emissions that might be detected, the ships sent their small craft to replenish their supplies from the freighter, then spread out. The freighter Porpoise had been specially equipped for this mission with sensor arrays down her flanks, much larger and more sensitive than those used by the smaller warships – almost as large and as sensitive as those of a battleship. She took up a position to one side of Pagoménos. Her operators settled down to listen half a light day into out-system space, trying to detect any emissions of any nature whatsoever. Their sensors could detect even a relatively tiny gravitic drive unit, such as those aboard cutters or gigs, as well as broadband radio transmissions between ships in formation.

Silent, listening, waiting, they prepared their ambush.

NEW SKYROS SPACE STATION

Captain Kokinos’ intercom crackled. “Lieutenant Demetriou here, sir, in Communications. We’ve just received a personal signal addressed to you. It’s only one word, ‘Marathon’. It came from the direction of Pagoménos, but the sending station did not identify itself.”

The Captain smiled. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I was expecting it. Alert all watches that there may be more one-word signals for me. Any that arrive are to be relayed to me at once, no matter where I am or what I’m doing. If I’m out in space, forward them to my ship, top priority, encrypted.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

He selected another switch on the intercom panel, and pressed it. A voice replied, “Security, Commander Papadopoulos.”

“Commander, this is the Captain. It looks like things are going to go hot any time now. How many spacers are waiting in the transit lodge?”

“Seventy-three so far, sir. They came in aboard two ships over the past week. Their senior man said they’re waiting for the ferry from Agios, to meet up with some more spacers, then they’ll all ship out together.”

“All right. When they gear up to move, we can expect things to get interesting. Are our extra personnel aboard each ship in detention?”

“Yes, sir. We’ve quadrupled the guard, which is now mostly spacers, enough to form a passage crew. They’ve all been trained by Metaxas Shipyards, so they know how to operate the ships. The anchor watches on board were surprised and suspicious, but we told them the extra people were reservists on their annual call-up. We have nothing else for them to do, so we’re running out their call-up by using them for guard duty. They seemed to accept that.” He chuckled. “At any rate, they sympathized with the new guards for having bureaucrats who screwed them around like that.”

“It’s a convincing excuse. Well done, Commander. What about radio transmissions? We don’t want them contacting, or being contacted by, our temporary guests.”

“No, sir. We’ve insisted that the communications consoles on all detained ships must be staffed by our guards, not the anchor watch crews, and any and all communications must go through us. I think we can keep a lid on that, sir.”

“Good man! Carry on.”

Finally, he called his aide. “Advise Velos that I’ll be coming aboard tonight. They’re to prepare the visiting officer’s cabin for me. Tell them under no circumstances to announce my intentions or my presence. As far as anyone knows, I’m busy planetside. You’ll relay all messages to me as soon as you get them.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

As he rose from his desk, Captain Kokinos was smiling. The next few days promised to be very interesting… and, hopefully, extremely profitable, both for the System Patrol Service as a whole and for him personally.

Three days later, a self-identified Bosun in the space station’s transient quarters received a call from Orbital Control. “Bosun, you asked to be informed when the ferry from Agios entered the system. Hydra has just signaled her arrival at the system boundary. She’ll enter orbit at about nineteen tonight.”

“Thank you, OrbCon. We’re expecting a few dozen of our mates aboard her. I’ll get things organized.”

He called an orbital services company. “Our remaining spacers will be here tonight. I want those five personnel shuttles to be ready by nineteen. We’ll head out to our ship within an hour or two after that, as soon as they’re all aboard.”

“Yes, Bosun. Ah… you know it’ll be a lot cheaper if you hire one or two shuttles, and they make a few trips each? It costs a lot more to have our people staff five of them. That’ll keep them up into the small hours, and we have to pay them overtime. That gets expensive, for us and you.”

“That’s all right. We’d rather complete the movement as quickly as possible.”

“OK, Bosun. It’s your money, after all.”

The Bosun spent the next few hours passing the word to his fellow spacers in the transient quarters. “Be ready at nineteen in the docking bay foyer, with your gear packed. As soon as the others join us, we’ll be dividing into crews and heading out. Tonight’s the night!”

HCS JAGUARUNDI

A little later that morning, Frank was woken in his cabin by an intercom call. “Communications here, sir. Two signals. Captain Kokinos signals that he expects action this night. Tight-beam signal from Belladonna says that weak gravitic drive signals have been detected on bearing two-eight-zero degrees. Porpoise is moving to get cross-bearings.”

He felt a thrill of anticipation run through his veins. “Thank you, Comms. Inform Commander Stroud of Captain Kokinos’ message, please.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

He lay back in his bunk, envisioning the ship’s positions in his mind. The freighter had been five thousand kilometers to starboard of Pagoménos. She’d cross over, moving about fifteen thousand kilometers laterally, and obtain cross-bearings on the emissions from the other side of the planet. She’d move very slowly, of course, under minimum power, so as to make no detectable emissions herself. Allowing for time and distance, she should be able to establish an approximate range to the unknown emissions within the next couple of hours.

They’re almost certainly Brotherhood ships, braking to reach this planet at relative zero velocity, and in its radar shadow, he thought. If we’re right, they’ll most likely arrive here at this time tomorrow morning, by which time the destroyers should be on their way to meet them. They’ll expect to detect their drive emissions, or possibly get a signal giving their time of arrival for refueling and resupply. I hope Captain Kokinos has thought of that.

HCS BELLADONNA

The corvette was maintaining station beneath the mines deployed some weeks earlier by Rorqual, very close to Pagoménos. The tension in her OpCen was electric as they waited for the freighter’s next tight-beam signal. It came three hours after the first. The Navigator bent over his console, entering figures, then looked over at the Plot display. The three-dimensional image shimmered as a dotted yellow line extended out from the ice planet, on a bearing of two eight zero degrees, ending in an icon. “That’s them, sir,” he called, forgetting proper procedure in his excitement. “Range three hundred thousand kilometers. At their present rate of deceleration, they’re about eighteen hours from the planet. They should end up right where we want them.”

Lieutenant-Commander Wallace grinned. “All right! Command to Weapons. Set up the mine pattern accordingly, range twenty thousand kilometers from the planet. Do not, I say again, do not arm the mines until I give the order. Break. Command to Communications. Send to all ships in company by tight-beam, ‘Enemy bears 280:005, range three hundred thousand. They will reach Pagoménos at approximately six hundred local time tomorrow. Setting mines around the line of bearing, twenty thousand kilometers out.’ Get that off right away, then stand by for orders from Captain Haldane.”

“Weapons to Command, aye aye, sir.”

“Communications to Command, aye aye, sir.”

Very slowly, very quietly, a hundred small objects – powered mines and their control satellites – crept out from their position in Pagoménos’ radar shadow. They moved along the bearing of the approaching enemy with what seemed like almost glacial slowness to the tense, fretful watchers. By late afternoon, they were twenty thousand kilometers from the planet. They divided, arranging themselves into five columns stretching along and around the approximate line of bearing, each column about ten thousand kilometers from it. Control satellites spaced themselves evenly along each line.

Belladonna moved directly beneath the mines, where she could reach their controllers by tight-beam without it being pointed at the enemy. The warship, with its active and passive stealth systems, and the small, stealthy satellites and mines, were effectively invisible, particularly because the approaching vessels were not using active sensors, radar or lidar, to avoid making emissions that might be detected. The ambushers could only be spotted visually at point-blank range; and anything getting that close to them was going to wish – briefly – that it hadn’t.

The five frigates and the second corvette divided into two groups, each of three warships, to each side of and below the columns of mines. Porpoise, her replenishment and detection functions completed, slid behind Pagoménos, hiding in the ice planet’s shadow from the approaching enemy. Unarmed, defenseless, she could not help in the forthcoming fight.

NEW SKYROS SPACE STATION

The throng of spacers milled around at one side of the foyer to the space station’s docking bay. They called out greetings to about forty more spacers who disembarked from a personnel shuttle, hefting carryalls and other baggage as they joined their waiting comrades. A buzz of conversation rose.

The ‘bosun’ waited, counting, until he was satisfied that the correct number of spacers had just joined them. Speaking loudly to be heard above the hubbub, he shouted, “Seniors to me!” and waved his hand. Fourteen of the spacers moved toward him as he stood against the rear bulkhead. All were Brotherhood officers, temporarily passing themselves off as merchant spacers. Their crews spread out around them, conducting animated conversations of their own, preventing anyone else getting close enough to overhear their leaders’ discussion.

“All right,” he said in a low voice as they gathered round. “Our shuttles are down that arm of the docking bay. Airlock fourteen is for Gemini, fifteen for Leo, sixteen for Libra, seventeen for Scorpio, and eighteen for the depot ship, Qemel. Sort out your people and get them aboard. Be warned – the New Skyros people insist on their procedures being followed. Make sure everyone stows their baggage properly, then sits down and straps in securely. The shuttles won’t be leaving until they do.

“Let’s run through this quickly one last time. Our mission channel is HF 928. Our anchor watch crews aboard the ships don’t know we’re coming. I’ve told local traffic control we’re swapping out the anchor watch. They won’t know how many people are aboard our shuttles. There should be no more than one or two guards on duty in the docking bays of our ships. Assemble inside peacefully, and remain there while your hit teams make for the OpCen. They’re to shoot any guards on the communications console, and shut it down. When you hear the disturbance, the rest of you can take down the guards in the docking bay, then spread out to secure the ship. There should be only a dozen guards on each one, so that won’t be too difficult.

“We’re going to head out from the planet at twenty-two sharp, so make sure the ships’ drones, with their fake transponder beacons, are deployed by that time. As soon as we move, I’ll transmit the code words ‘Ismail Qemali’ to our comrades, to let them know we’re on our way. I’ll use tight-beam, of course, so that SysCon doesn’t hear me. Head out at minimum gravitic drive power, to control your emissions. If SysCon detects and challenge us, leave the talking to me. If I send the code word ‘Zodiac’, that means they’re after us. In that case, go to max speed and make your way independently to the rendezvous. Our comrades will be there from six tomorrow onwards. Any questions?”

His audience shook their heads. Their expressions were tense, but eager.

“All right, brothers. Remember, the Brotherhood needs these ships like we need air to breathe. Let us not fail our Patriarch or his vision! Board your shuttles and stand by for action.”

They separated, looking for the spacers assigned to their vessels, forming them into groups in front of each of the five airlocks.

In the Operations Center of New Skyros’ System Patrol Service, Commander Papadopoulos listened through a pair of headphones, and smiled. “Tell the directional microphone operator he did an excellent job.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Signal to Captain Kokinos aboard Velos. Mission channel is HF 928, departure at twenty-two, departure signal on tight-beam to Pagoménos are the code words ‘Ismail Qemali’. Speed-up signal is ‘Zodiac’. Rendezvous from six onwards.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

He turned to his aide. “What does that first code mean, anyway? It seems to be a name.”

The lieutenant consulted the planetary web’s online encyclopedia. “Says here he was one of the leaders of Albanian independence before the Space Age began, sir.”

“A logical choice for the Brotherhood, I suppose. Very well. Signal all shuttles to stand by.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

A signal was passed, a simple tone transmitted over a guard channel. On the control consoles of the five shuttles, rapidly filling up with spacers and their baggage, a light glowed. The five pilots took note, and prepared themselves.

The mission commander settled into his seat aboard the shuttle, and tightened the four-point harness around his body. He looked around. All his people had taken their seats, and were securely strapped in.

A space station crewman looked in through the airlock. “Pilot, there’s an official package to be delivered to Scorpio’s guard detachment. You have to sign for it.”

“Oh, very well.” The pilot mock-sighed in pretended exasperation. “I’ll come.”

He released his harness, rose from his seat at the console, and walked toward the airlock. “This won’t take long, Bosun,” he assured the senior passenger as he passed him. “It’s just routine.”

“All right.”

The commander forced himself to relax, sitting passively in his seat. They were so close now! He was sure his team were as tense as he was – in fact, he was amazed that local personnel hadn’t noticed.

He looked up, startled, as the airlock door slid shut with a whoosh and a clunk! as its locking bolts engaged. “What the–?” he began to say.

With a moaning, groaning rush, the atmosphere inside the shuttle suddenly vented to vacuum. He and his spacers tried to cry out in shock and fear, but there was no longer enough air to carry the sound. Their arms and legs thrashed aimlessly as they gasped in vain for oxygen to keep them alive. A few managed to release their harness in desperate attempts to reach the airlock, but none of them made it through the tangle of seats, bodies, and spasmodically flailing limbs.

It took only a few minutes for stillness to descend on the ghastly scene. The bodies of the shuttle’s erstwhile passengers were slumped in their seats, or sprawled on the deck. They never knew that in the docking bays alongside theirs, their companions had all suffered the same fate.

The intercom crackled. “Docking bay to Security. Operation Breathless executed, sir. There are no signs of life aboard any of the five shuttles.”

Commander Papadopoulos smiled grimly. “Security to docking bay. Pass my congratulations to all concerned. Seal off that sub-corridor, restore atmosphere to the shuttles, then send in the cleaning crews.”

“Docking bay to Security, aye aye, sir.”

The Commander grimaced as he rose from his seat. The cleanup would take a long time. Removing the bodies and their baggage was only the first step. The interiors of the shuttles would have to be, not just cleaned, but sanitized, to remove all traces left behind by the mass executions. It would be a week or more before they could return to service, and the System Patrol Service would be on the hook for their hire for the whole of that time. Oh, well… with luck, they’d make so much in prize money out of this operation that such expenses would be a mere bagatelle by comparison. What’s more, they’d just saved a small fortune in unnecessary prison and trial costs.

“Communications, signal Captain Kokinos aboard Velos. Operation Breathless successful.”

“Communications to Security, aye aye, sir.”

Papadopoulos left the OpCen with a jaunty step. His part of the evening’s proceedings was now complete, leaving him the pleasure of contemplating his share of the expected prize money… and, if the rest of the operation went as planned, his imminent promotion to Captain, and appointment to succeed Captain Kokinos as the next Commanding Officer of New Skyros’ System Patrol Service.

NSS VELOS

Aboard the patrol craft, Captain Kokinos considered. The first part of the operation was over. Now to set up the second, even more important part – the deception.

He turned to the commanding officer of the patrol craft division. “Lieutenant-Commander Spiro, tight-beam signal to all five vessels in detention. Commence Operation Deception at twenty-two sharp. Patrol craft will stand fast until zero-two-hundred, when we’ll set out in mock pursuit. Radio silence for all concerned, except via tight-beam to us aboard Velos. We will send the signal informing the enemy that the first phase of their operation was a success.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Transmit code word ‘Sparta’ on the special tight-beam channel, and add the following: ‘Enemy mission channel HF 928. Departure signal is ‘Ismail Qemali’ at twenty-two local. We will send speed-up signal ‘Zodiac’ at two. Enemy rendezvous currently expected from six onwards.’ Encrypt the message, of course, using the special code I gave you.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

HCS JAGUARUNDI

“Communications to Command, message from the planet, ma’am. Transferring to your console.”

“Command to Communications, thank you.”

Commander Stroud read the message as it appeared on her screen. By her side, Frank read it too. She glanced at him. “Looks like they’ve got everything in hand on their end, sir.”

“Yes, it does. They must have taken prisoners, to get that information so quickly.”

“Perhaps, sir, but from what the Commodore told us after his visit here, they probably won’t be prisoners for long. They’re due for something more permanent.”

Frank grimaced. “Yes. So are the anchor watch crews. The SPS doesn’t want any inconvenient witnesses who might argue about its version of what happened. They’re pretty ruthless on New Skyros.”

“So much for the rule of law, eh, sir?”

“You know what they say, Sheena. He who writes the laws, makes the rules.”

She laughed quietly. “I’ve heard a different version of that, sir, about the Golden Rule.”

“Yes, so have I. It’s just about as true, too. All right.” He raised his voice. “Flotilla leader to Communications. Signal via Belladonna to all warships on tight-beam: ‘Planet has taken down Brotherhood personnel. Destroyers will start moving at twenty-two local. Enemy will be informed, and may speed up. Currently scheduled to reach rendezvous at six. Be on the alert. All ships go to General Quarters at midnight local until further notice.’ Confirm.”

“Communications to flotilla leader, copied, sir.” The operator read back the signal word for word.

“Good copy. Transmit.”

24

Takedown

NEW SKYROS, BROTHERHOOD DESTROYER TAURUS

“Communications to Command. Signal on mission channel: ‘Ismail Qemali’. Time of origin twenty-two local, sir.”

A cheer ran around the OpCen as Commander Dauti replied, “Command to Communications, thank you.” He looked around at Captain Toci, his face exultant. “They did it, sir! Our forces have taken over the ships!”

“Yes, and they’re on their way. Command to Navigator. Confirm our arrival time at the rendezvous.”

“Navigator to Command, arrival time is still zero-six-hundred, sir.”

“Hmmm… Commander, if they creep away from the planet at low power without being noticed, we’ll arrive several hours before they do. However, if they’re discovered and have to go to max power, they’ll reach the ice planet a couple of hours before we do. I think we should increase power slightly, to get there by zero-four-hundred. Your thoughts?”

“I concur, sir. The increase in gravitic drive emissions will be so slight that it won’t be noticed at New Skyros.”

“Very well. Make it so.”

“Aye aye, sir. Navigator, recalculate our speed and power setting to reach rendezvous by zero-four-hundred.”

“Aye aye, sir. Wait one, please… New power setting is six-point-two per cent, sir.”

“Communications, transmit to ships in company on tight-beam: ‘Recalculate power settings to reach rendezvous at zero-four-hundred and implement. Maintain close formation.’ Helm, set power to six-point-two per cent, confirm when Engineering acknowledges.”

“Aye aye, sir,” the Communications operator acknowledged.

The Helm operator added, “Setting power to six-point-two… Engineering has acknowledged, sir. Power setting adjusted.”

The increase in power was very slight, but enough to begin accelerating the destroyer very gently toward her destination. It also slightly increased the emissions from her gravitic drive. At such low power, most sensors would only be able to detect them at ranges under a few hundred thousand kilometers. Since there were no ships’ emissions visible in the Plot for several hundred million kilometers in every direction, Captain Toci was supremely confident that his five vessels – Taurus, two heavily-armed fast freighters, and two smaller, unarmed freighters laden with supplies to replenish and refuel the destroyers and depot ship – remained undetected.

HCS JAGUARUNDI

“Plot to Command, contact, ma’am!” The operator’s voice was exultant. “Three – no, four… five gravitic drive emissions sources bearing 280:005. Waiting for cross-bearings to establish range.”

“Command to Plot, well done!”

“Communications to Command, signals from Caracal and Margay, ma’am. Both confirm detecting the same emissions.”

“Command to Communications, thank you. Stand by for signals from Bobcat, Lynx and Mandrake with cross-bearings.”

“Aye aye – here they are, ma’am! I’m plotting them… I make the enemy eight zero thousand kilometers from Pagoménos along the line of bearing, ma’am.”

“They’re damn nearly on top of us!” Captain Haldane muttered beside her. “They must have been crawling along like snails, to get so close without us noticing their drive emissions. They’ve just speeded up slightly, if their emission strength has gone up like that.”

“Yes, sir,” Commander Stroud agreed. “Command to Navigator. Keep an eye on the enemy’s speed as more cross-bearings come in. Advise if their arrival time at the rendezvous has moved up.”

“Navigator to Command, aye aye, ma’am.”

It took fifteen minutes to measure the enemy’s speed of advance. The Navigator reported, “Estimated time of arrival at rendezvous now zero-four-hundred, ma’am.”

“Command to Navigator, thank you.”

Frank sat forward in his chair. “All right, Sheena. Signal all ships to shut down their gravitic drives and particle shields immediately. Use reaction thrusters to maneuver if necessary. Work with your Navigator to pin down their exact line of advance. As soon as you’re sure of it, order Belladonna to adjust the mine columns to fit around that line as precisely as possible, and ten thousand clicks from it. She is to complete that by zero-two-hundred, then go weapons free on the mines. All ships are to go to complete radio silence, even on our tight-beam network, from zero-two-hundred.”

HCS BELLADONNA

“Weapons to Command. The mine formation is complete, sir.”

“Command to Weapons, well done! We’re just inside Captain Haldane’s deadline.”

Lieutenant-Commander Wallace stretched extravagantly in his command chair. With the enemy’s increased speed of advance, they could look forward to the fight starting in a little over two hours. What would happen after that was anyone’s guess. As he’d been reminded on numerous occasions during training, and had since learned the hard way through experience, old Helmuth von Moltke had been absolutely right when he opined, “No plan survives contact with the enemy”.

He glanced at the Plot. Belladonna was sitting a quarter of a million kilometers below her minefield, her solitary icon looking very lonely. Two groups of three icons apiece were to left and right of her, a quarter of a million kilometers distant on either side. They would open fire, but Belladonna was under strict orders not to do so at first. Instead, she would stand by to deal with any damaged enemy stragglers after the main battle was over.

Wallace took a deep breath. The die was cast now.

“Command to Weapons. All mines to the active state, using passive sensors only. Command nodes are to allocate mines equally between the targets. When the enemy is in the trap, the command nodes are to initiate the attack. Weapons free on the mines only, I say again, the mines only.”

“Weapons to Command, aye aye, sir.” The Weapons Officer read back his instructions, to show that he’d understood them.

“Command to Weapons, make it so. Break. Command to Communications. As soon as Weapons has activated and programmed the mines, go to full communications lockdown. Don’t let anyone hear another peep out of us.”

NSS VELOS

The team in the patrol craft’s tiny Operations Center watched as the time display clicked over to read 02:00. Captain Kokinos snapped, “Signal to System Control, copied to Aspis and Doxa. ‘Squadron will depart at max acceleration. Maintain radio silence until I order otherwise.’ Read back.”

The communications operator read back the signal, then transmitted it. As soon as he had done so, the Captain added, “Send one word, ‘Zodiac’, on channel HF 928, directed via tight-beam at Pagoménos. Lieutenant-Commander, drive full ahead, steer for Pagoménos. We’ll meet the destroyers and depot ship a couple of hours out.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

The patrol craft and her two sister ships scorched away from New Skyros, to complete the last part of their charade.

BROTHERHOOD DESTROYER TAURUS

“Signal received! It’s ‘Zodiac’, sir!” The communications operator’s call was sharp, alarmed.

Captain Toci cursed beneath his breath. He’d hoped the destroyers and depot ship might make it all the way to Pagoménos without their absence being noticed, but that was no longer an option. What pursuit might be mounted? Where were New Skyros’ patrol craft? Was there any other vessel in the system that might pose any threat at all?

He glanced at the time display. It read 03:51. He snapped, “Commander Dauti, I need a better picture of what’s out there. Signal all vessels to stop their gravitic drives and drop their gravitic shields, so they make no emissions at all. We’ll use reaction thrusters – they won’t interfere with our sensors – to move out of the planet’s shadow and listen carefully on passive sensors. The others are to continue on course and wait for further orders.”

“Aye aye, sir!” the destroyer’s commanding officer acknowledged. He volleyed orders at his Communications, Navigation and Helm operators. Tight-beam signals flew between ships. As the time display clicked over to 03:53, Taurus began to be pushed sideways by her reaction thrusters.

HCS BELLADONNA

“Holy shit! What do we do now, sir?” the Weapons Officer exclaimed.

Every person in the corvette’s OpCen stared in disbelief at the Plot display, where every enemy emissions signature had suddenly vanished. They had been only minutes away from cruising into the trap, between the columns of waiting mines – and now they were invisible. Using their passive sensors alone, the mines would not be able to locate or attack them.

Lieutenant-Commander Wallace thought furiously. There was no time to ask for orders from Captain Haldane; and if he did, the enemy might detect traces of even a tight-beam signal at such close range, and be warned. The mines were his responsibility, and everything was up to him.

He hesitated a moment, then spat out, “Weapons, they should be centered in our trap at zero-four-hundred. At that time, I say again, at that time, but not before, tell the mines to go to active sensors. Weapons free is still in effect.”

“Weapons to Command, aye aye, sir!” The Lieutenant’s fingers flew over his console as he tapped in commands. “Programmed, sir!”

Two minutes later, two hundred and fifty thousand kilometers directly above Belladonna, a hundred mines and their control satellites received the signal and bloomed into radar-guided life.

BROTHERHOOD DESTROYER TAURUS

“What the hell?” The Plot operator’s agonized yell drew all eyes to the display. Suddenly, around the space where their four colleagues were cruising under emissions silence, five long columns of radar emitters appeared out of nowhere. Taurus was just outside their lines, moving away to port.

Captain Toci instantly understood what had happened. Those were powered space mines! They had to be! Whoever had sown them must have been tracking his ships using passive sensors only. His decision to shut down all emitters had forced them to go to active sensors. By moving sideways, Taurus had, all unknowing, evaded the trap by the narrowest of margins.

He opened his mouth to shout an order – but the mines forestalled him.

The control satellites’ active sensors immediately picked up four large targets, moving within the tube formed by their columns. Working at battle computer speeds, the controllers allocated mines to ships and ordered them to take targeting information from their own sensors. Less than five seconds after the mines had gone active, the first one exploded, sending a cone of bomb-pumped lasers into the armed freighter Oraku. More than eighty others followed in rapid succession, a rolling, actinic glare of fireballs and stabbing laser beams.

The holocaust in the center of their pattern was catastrophic. All four Brotherhood freighters, the two armed ships and the unarmed replenishment vessels, staggered under the impact of dozens of laser strikes each. Oraku, the first hit, was also the first to die, as a laser beam pierced her forward fusion reactor’s magnetic containment field. She flared into thermonuclear oblivion in a fireball three kilometers wide. She was followed in rapid succession by the two replenishment freighters. Every member of their crews was killed instantly.

Only the last armed freighter, Lasus, did not blow up – but she was riddled from bow to stern by scores of laser beams. All her systems shut down. Most of her internal atmosphere vented to space. Almost all her crew died in her colandered hull, flailing uselessly in their airless attempts to cling to life. Only seventeen, in compartments that retained at least some air for long enough to let them struggle into emergency spacesuits, survived the devastation. They headed for three lifeboats, and cast off from the shattered hulk. The lifeboats’ emergency beacons began to wail automatically, plaintively, for rescue.

BROTHERHOOD DESTROYER TAURUS

Captain Toci’s jaw hung open in sickened disbelief as he watched his squadron’s destruction. The reality of the disaster crashed in upon him. He would not be able to save the new warships and depot ship now heading toward him from New Skyros, in desperate need of resupply. All the efforts of their crews, his brothers in arms, would be in vain – and some of them now faced the certainty of arrest and trial. His destroyer did not carry enough supplies or reaction mass to replenish even one of the new ships, and he could not possibly accommodate all their crews in her limited free space. Taurus would have to pack aboard as many of them as possible, then return to base alone.

He knew with gut-wrenching certainty that even if he and his ship somehow escaped this trap, he would be branded forever as the man who had led the Brotherhood’s forces into the worst, most disastrous defeat they had ever suffered. His gorge rose, and a red curtain of rage washed over his vision. No! Never that! Better to die fighting, and take as many enemies as possible with me!

He roared at the top of his lungs, “Sensors to active! Tell me where our enemies are!” Commander Dauti tried to say something, but he overrode him. “Silence, Dauti! There is no time!”

The Plot operator called, voice high-pitched with shock and desperation as Taurus’ radar came to life, “Targets! Three vessels below and slightly to port. One small echo below and slightly to starboard. Three more below and further to starboard. They are all at point-blank range! One much larger vessel is behind the planet.”

Toci didn’t wait for more. “Weapons free! Weapons officer, hit that big ship behind the planet with two missile pods, and the three below and to port with the other four. Flush your pods! Fire all your missiles at the enemy, offensive and defensive! Overwhelm their defenses!”

Dauti yelled, “Wait, sir! Let’s classify the targets, so we know what we’re shooting at, and we can pick the most important!”

“There is no time, you fool! Look!” Even as he spoke, the first missile traces began to appear in the Plot from the enemy ships closest to them. “We are going to die, Dauti! Our final duty is to take as many of them with us as we can!”

HCS JAGUARUNDI

Commander Stroud saw the mines go to active sensors, and didn’t hesitate. “Command to Plot, active sensors now!”

“Plot to Command, aye aye, ma’am!”

Frank watched the destruction of the four freighters, fascinated, but Sheena had eyes only for the one ship that had avoided the mines. She snapped, “Command to Weapons, hit that bastard with everything you’ve got! Don’t let him get away! Weapons free!”

“Weapons to Command, aye aye, ma’am!”

All the Weapons Officer had to do was indicate the target to the battle computer, and let it have its head. Five seconds later, the first of Jaguarundi’s sixty main battery missiles speared out of its vertical-launch tube, soaring upward at the target almost directly overhead. It was only a quarter of a million kilometers above, a trifling distance compared to the big weapon’s maximum powered range of twelve million kilometers.

Jaguarundi’s hull trembled as missile after missile was ejected from her tubes by mass drivers. Since the ship was not under power, their gravitic drives did not have to worry about interference from her power plant. They kicked in immediately, sending the weapons screaming toward their prey.

However, the enemy’s reactions were almost as fast. Before even a tenth of the frigate’s missiles could be launched, the other ship began to volley-fire missiles as fast as she could, heedless of gravitic drive interference between them. Sheena blinked at their unexpected numbers, then realized what her opponent must be doing. “That’s got to be a destroyer, not an armed freighter! She’s firing everything she’s got at us, offensive and defensive missiles together! Weapons, get on them!”

“On it, ma’am!” the Lieutenant at the Weapons console snapped, fingers already flying over his controls.

Captain Toci’s last order had been, albeit unknowingly, the most effective he could possibly have issued. Hawkwood’s ships had discovered to their cost during the Second Battle of Mycenae, a few years before, that when a hostile missile bored in at a significant fraction of the speed of light, surrounded by scores of other targets to confuse guidance systems, it took an average of more than three defensive missiles to stop it. At such desperately close range, offering so little reaction time, it would need even more.

The three frigates at which Taurus had fired possessed a total of two hundred and sixty-four defensive missiles. However, they now faced one hundred and sixty incoming enemy missiles, all ripple-launched within a few seconds of each other in a deadly cloud. They didn’t have to wait to get clear of the destroyer’s gravitic drive field before activating their own, because she wasn’t using her drive – only reaction thrusters. What’s more, at so short a range, the frigates’ defensive missiles didn’t have enough time to spread out and aim at individual targets. They could only try to form a firewall of thermonuclear detonations between the ships and the approaching missiles, to destroy, or blind, or confuse as many of them as possible.

Their efforts met with considerable success. A radioactive holocaust erupted about a hundred thousand kilometers above the frigates as their defensive missiles spewed out. New arrivals kept thickening the barrier, even as enemy missiles blasted through it. About two in five of the incoming weapons were destroyed in the explosions. Another two in five found their sensors blinded by the effects of radiation and electromagnetic pulse. Unable to see their targets, they zoomed past the frigates, to lose themselves in the blackness of space. Most would self-destruct when their fuel ran out, so as to remove the hazard to navigation that would otherwise be posed by their drifting hulks.

That left about one-fifth of the incoming weapons. The main battery missiles screamed into range of their targets, rolled to present their bomb-pumped laser warheads at the right angle, and detonated. Out of each fireball, clusters of laser beams slashed and tore at the frigates.

At the head of the formation, furthest from the enemy destroyer, Jaguarundi was targeted by fewer missiles than her consorts. Her laser cannon, eight of them, took out several before they could explode. However, five warheads sent at least some of their laser beams into her hull, shattering steel, blowing compartments open to space, causing major damage – but miraculously missing her Operations Center and all her critical systems, the fusion reactors, the gravitic drive, and the capacitor ring. She was gravely wounded, and lost almost a quarter of her crew killed and injured, but was still able to move under her own power.

Her two sister ships were less fortunate. They were closer to the incoming missiles, and therefore received the most attention from them.

HCS Caracal staggered under the impact of dozens of laser beams. They eviscerated her, shutting down her reactors, rupturing her capacitor ring, leaving her a ruined wreck without power. Even as the incoming main battery missiles ran out, the enemy’s defensive missiles were close on their heels. They did not carry bomb-pumped lasers, but nuclear blast warheads. Three of them closed in on Caracal, no longer able to defend herself, and scored almost simultaneous direct hits. She vanished in their fireballs, taking her entire crew with her.

HCS Margay fared somewhat better, but not much. She, too, was riddled by laser beams, which sent her forward fusion reactor into emergency shutdown, destroyed her gravitic drive, and cut her wiring harness in several critical places. However, her capacitor ring continued to provide power to the four laser cannon around her stern. They were able to fend off the last missiles closing in on her. Even so, she was a dead hulk, no longer able to move under her own power. She would have to be ferried to a dockyard – but there were no ferries available. The surviving members of her crew tried desperately to rescue those who were trapped, and account for those who did not answer their calls.

The enemy’s last thrust reached out and annihilated the unarmed freighter Porpoise in a welter of explosions and laser beams. Unable to defend herself, she staggered under their impact, then she and her crew were reduced to radioactive molecules in the actinic furnace that consumed her.

However, the destruction worked both ways. Even as Frank Haldane and Sheena Stroud fought to save their ship, and looked on in horror at the destruction of her sister vessels, the frigates’ missiles reached Taurus. By using all her defensive missiles as offensive weapons, she had left herself almost completely unarmed. All she had left were her laser cannon. They scored impressively against the incoming missiles, shooting more than twenty of them out of space; but that wasn’t good enough. The remaining weapons, all cruiser-size missiles with outsize warheads and massive laser cones, smashed the Brotherhood destroyer into scrap steel and her crew into bleeding corpses, then blew them all to oblivion. By the time more missiles began arriving from Bobcat, Lynx and Mandrake, further away from the destroyer, there was nothing left for them to hit. They veered from side to side, seeking a target, then self-destructed in a welter of pointless explosions.

HCS JAGUARUNDI

Frank shook his head violently, as if to clear it of the fog of war, and snapped, “Communications, signal Bobcat and Lynx to assist Margay and look for survivors from Caracal. Signal Mandrake to check for survivors from the enemy ships. Signal Belladonna to program any remaining mines and control nodes to self-destruct, then check for survivors from Porpoise.”

“Communications to Command, aye aye, sir.”

He turned to Commander Stroud. Her face was pale, droplets of sweat clearly visible on her forehead. “Sorry, Sheena. I should have done that through you, to preserve the chain of command, but…”

“No problem, sir.” Her voice was shaky. “I… I can still hardly believe what we just went through. Somebody up there must surely love us! We were amazingly lucky to survive that.”

“We were indeed! Remind me to show you the post-combat analysis I did after the Second Battle of Mycenae. Against that weight of fire, at such close range, our survival was definitely against the odds. Now, check your ship for damage and casualties, and let me know how badly she’s hurt. I’m going to coordinate the other ships’ efforts while you do that.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Mandrake reported in due course that the only survivors from the enemy ships appeared to be three lifeboats from one of the Brotherhood freighters. “What do you want me to do with them, sir?” her skipper asked.

“Leave them in their lifeboats for New Skyros forces to collect. Over.”

“Understood, sir. What about the wreck of the freighter? Over.”

“Leave her for the New Skyros people as well. It may be useful as publicity material for their news media. Form up on Jaguarundi, and let’s wait to hear from the others.”

In a short while, Bobcat reported, “We can’t find any survivors from Caracal, sir.” Even over the flat, crackling radio circuit, profound sadness was evident in her commanding officer’s voice. “As for Margay, she has over fifty per cent casualties, mostly fatal, and she can’t move under her own power. I’m transferring her survivors to my ship and Lynx, sir. Over.”

“Very well. We’ve no ferry, and we can’t leave her as evidence that we were here. As soon as you’re confident all her survivors have been recovered, put a demolition charge aboard her, set the timer for half an hour, and get clear. Over.”

“Aye aye, sir. What about Jaguarundi? Over.”

“We can move under our own power, and the Engineering Officer says we’re good to hyper-jump, too. We can make it back to Constanta. We’ll transfer some of our wounded to other ships for treatment, so as not to overload what’s left of our facilities.”

“Understood, sir. I’ll let you know when the demolition charge is set.”

“Thank you. We’ll wait nearby to make sure it blows, then we’re out of here.”

Frank turned to the Plot operator. “What are the destroyers and depot ship from the planet doing?”

“Sir, they were joined by three patrol craft. They all turned around together, and they’re heading back to New Skyros orbit.”

Frank’s lips twisted briefly. He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the Brotherhood’s anchor watch crews aboard those ships. They would be inconvenient witnesses, so the odds were pretty good that they’d either been – officially, at least – ‘killed in the fight to recapture the stolen vessels’, or would soon face execution. Captain Kokinos would take credit for his service’s performance in ‘detecting a plot to steal the detained ships’, and thwarting it ‘using only their own resources’. He’d doubtless receive hundreds of millions of drachmas as his share of the prize money, and a honking great medal to boot. That should make his retirement a lot more comfortable, and propel him to an easy victory when he stood for election to the Hellenic Parliament next year.

Frank’s face tightened in renewed sorrow. The Captain’s likely electoral success had been paid for with the blood of his squadron’s spacers. He didn’t begrudge Kokinos his medals or prize money, particularly after Hawkwood had recently made so much at the Brotherhood’s expense. The captain’s assistance had made it possible for them to wipe out the larger part of the Brotherhood’s armed spacecraft, so he’d earned his reward… but at a terrible price in lives and ships. At least, if Dave Cousins could take out the rest of the Brotherhood’s fleet, Hawkwood’s problems would be even further reduced. He must be about to strike at their hidden base, if he hadn’t already done so.

After that, there would only be the enemy’s people to deal with – and that was in the hands of other actors in this long-drawn-out struggle. Hawkwood would be a spectator for once.

25

Invasion

HCS LARKSPUR

As the ship made her final hyper-jump and entered the nameless system containing the Brotherhood’s base, Dave Cousins reflected yet again that a corvette’s Operations Center was really too small and too cramped to exercise task force command. He could fit behind her command console with her skipper, Lieutenant-Commander Bruce Urquhart, but there was no room for his abbreviated command staff. They had to sit in the adjacent (and also too small) conference room, from where they could peer into the OpCen through its open door. It was not very satisfactory.

He glanced across at the Plot display. Sure enough, the other four ships in this group had also made the transition. They were still spread wide apart, having taken up intervals of two million kilometers before the jump, to allow for navigational and other errors and avoid exiting it too close together. Now they would join up in tight formation. The arsenal ship Sorubim would be in the center, with four corvettes around her. Larkspur would lead the formation, with Aconite and Wolfsbane on the port and starboard wings, while Amanita would bring up the rear.

The other vessels of the task force were not yet visible in the Plot display, thanks to light speed delay. Still, he knew that the Qianjin corvette Xinyang would have appeared at the northern pole of the system boundary. There she would download the latest data from the nearby surveillance drone and transmit it to both this eastern group, and the western group under Captain Liao, currently arriving at the opposite edge of the system boundary. It comprised the arsenal ship Payara II, the Hawkwood corvette Castor to provide fire control for her missiles, and the Qianjin corvettes Jieyang, Bengbu, and Captain Liao’s flagship, Meizhou. All the Qianjin ships were named for towns or suburbs on that planet, which were in turn named for locations in China on Old Home Earth.

Dave watched silently as the icons in the Plot moved toward each other. Beside him, Lieutenant-Commander Urquhart exchanged data through his command console with the Weapons Officer, making sure that they were in agreement on fire plans.

As soon as the formation was formed, he said, “Mind if I get things moving, Bruce?”

“Be my guest, sir,” Urquhart replied with a grin.

“Thank you. Command to Communications. Signal all ships, ‘Formation will proceed as planned at zero-nine-hundred. Speed of advance point-two-five Cee, course two-seven-zero, two-six-three. Keep station on Larkspur.’ Read back, please.”

“Communications to Command, I read back.” The operator repeated what he’d been told.

“Command to Communications, good copy. Send it.”

Urquhart called, “Command to Plot. Give us a closer look at the second planet, please.”

“Plot to Command, aye aye, sir.”

The operator changed the three-dimensional display to a close-up view of the emissions signatures detected around the airless planet. There was one very large signature nearest to the planet. Two more circled further out, and there were a number of tiny dots that must be small craft.

“They won’t have seen us yet,” Dave said as he looked at the activity. “Light speed delay means they won’t notice our arrival for another hour or so.”

“By which time we’ll be a lot closer.” Urquhart’s voice was redolent with satisfaction. “It’s nice to be the ones to catch them on the hop for once, sir.”

“I can’t argue with you there.”

At nine precisely, Urquhart set his ship in motion. Dave watched as the others fell into place behind Larkspur, moving quickly and professionally into position. He knew that on the far side of the system, Captain Liao’s force would be doing the same. In the north of the system, Xinyang would have taken control of the surveillance drone. She would now be driving it down toward the planet at full speed, running ahead of her, using its sensors to look for any nasty surprises that might be waiting for the attacking forces. If any were found, she’d alert them at once.

“What do you think they’re going to do, sir?” the skipper asked.

“Only they know. We know what we think they’re going to do, and we know what we’d prefer them to do, and we know what we want to do, but they get a say as well. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

BROTHERHOOD ARMED FREIGHTER BUTRANTI

Commander Nikolla burst into the bridge, still buttoning his jacket. “What is it?” he demanded breathlessly over the trilling note of the alarms still resounding throughout the ship.

“Unknown ships detected, sir!” the Officer of the Deck reported crisply. “Five vessels have appeared at the eastern system boundary, and the same number at the west, plus one to system north. The eastern and western forces are moving into close formation.” He gestured to the Plot display, where the icons representing the unknown vessels’ gravitic drive emissions were displayed. “That was at least an hour ago, sir, thanks to light speed delay, so I presume they’re heading for us right now.”

“They’d hardly be going anywhere else, would they?” his skipper demanded in an angry growl.

“Ah… no, sir.”

“Very well. I relieve you, Lieutenant. Get to your action station as fast as you can.”

“Aye aye, sir!” The young man ran out of the bridge.

Nikolla did up the final button of his jacket as he stepped over to the Plot, staring into it intently. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. Ten – no, with the ship to the north, eleven vessels were closing on them. They would not know how fast they were moving until the passage of time gave them more data, but they could only be here with hostile intent. After all, the only ships that had any reason to be here were those of the Brotherhood. If the new arrivals could equal Butranti’s performance, that gave them a speed of point-two-five Cee – perhaps more, if they were warships. His blood ran cold as he thought, They’ve already been under way for an hour. That means they might be here in three hours from now!

He turned away from the Plot and sat down at the command console, mind racing furiously as the last members of his combat team ran into the bridge and took their places. There was no point in trying to flee. The refinery ship, Bashkim Bregija, renamed for their beloved Patriarch after his death in battle, was already an old freighter when they’d bought her two decades before. Even back then, she could only manage a speed of one-twelfth Cee. After conversion to a refinery vessel, and many years spent in orbit around this planet, it was doubtful she could make even one hyper-jump without something breaking down. She was certainly too slow to outrun the sort of pursuit that was bearing down on them.

All right, he thought. Our only option is to defend the refinery ship – but how? What tactics will be best, when I do not know what these ships are, or how much of a threat they are? What is worse, ten billion francs worth of the Brotherhood’s gold is in Bashkim Bregija’s holds. We gathered it up and put it there last month, on Agim Nushi’s orders. We must defend that at all costs – but how? Her captain is old, a merchant skipper, not a fighting man. He will not have the guts to resist, if it comes to that.

In swift decision, he picked up the microphone from his console and pressed a key combination. “Engineering, send Lieutenant Nikolla to the bridge immediately. Acknowledge.”

The Chief Engineer’s voice replied. “I shall send him at once, sir!”

“Thank you, Halil.” He glanced around, to ensure that none of his bridge crew were close enough to overhear him, and lowered his voice. “There is one more thing.” He explained what he needed, quickly and quietly.

“I will do it, sir. In the Patriarch’s name!”

“In the Patriarch’s name.”

That is a good man, the Commander thought as he put down the microphone. He asks no stupid questions, merely obeys.

“Communications, signal Skodar to come to general quarters, if she is not there already, and stand by for further orders.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

He frowned as he recalled Skodar’s limitations. She carried even more missiles than his ship, but they were all old, very limited in range and performance. After Hawkwood had destroyed two of the Brotherhood’s old-model destroyers – with the Patriarch aboard, curse them! – the decision had been made to scrap the other two, since they were obviously unfit for combat against more modern vessels. However, due to the Brotherhood’s desperate shortage of modern weapons and systems, they had stripped the destroyers of theirs and kept them in reserve. When one of their new armed freighters, Ilaria, had disappeared while attacking Hawkwood’s operations in the Mycenae system, they’d installed the old missiles and systems aboard Skodar to replace her. Their limitations meant that she was nowhere near as capable as Butranti.

On the other hand, most of Hawkwood’s ships were corvettes. If that’s what these intruders were, they would carry smaller, shorter-ranged missiles than a destroyer’s weapons, and a lot fewer of them than larger warships. He should be able to give them a real fight. He would certainly try. Now, how best to do that?

His brother burst through the door, and snapped to attention beside his command console. “You sent for me, sir?”

He looked at the smartly turned out Lieutenant with pride. His younger brother had followed him into the Patriarch’s service, and tackled his duties every day with energy, enthusiasm and dedication. He only wished others aboard Butranti would follow his example. Sadly, such fire and drive were exceptional.

“Come into the conference room for a moment, Lieutenant.”

When he had closed the door behind them, he embraced the younger man with real warmth and affection. “Xhafer, I have a very hard job for you.”

Xhafer’s eyes shone with pride. “Whatever it is, Burim, I shall not let you down!”

“I know that. That is why I sent for you. There are eleven ships bearing down on us. I think they are individually a lot weaker than this ship or Skodar; but collectively, they may give us a hard fight.”

His brother’s face grew hard. “We are not afraid of that. Let us show them our steel!”

“We shall indeed! However, there is one precaution I must take, in case the worst should happen. You have not been told that last month, Agim Nushi ordered all our gold reserves to be gathered from their hiding places throughout this system, and brought to Bashkim Bregija. Sixty billion francs worth was dispatched to Neue Helvetica aboard a courier vessel, to be converted into currency. The remaining ten billion francs worth is still aboard the refinery ship. If… if the enemy prevails, we must not let him steal our patrimony. He would use it to strengthen himself. We cannot permit that.”

“But… if that is all we have left…”

“As long as the Brotherhood exists, we can start all over again, if we have to. Our strength is not in our money, or even in our missiles. It is in our people, and their dedication to our Patriarch and his vision.”

Xhafer’s eyes shone with renewed resolve. “You are right, as always, brother!”

“I merely follow our Patriarch’s example. He did not flinch even from death in battle at an advanced age, in order to set an example for all of us who follow him. You and I can do no less. However, Commander Thanas is an older man, and a merchant spacer. He is an adequate skipper for a refinery ship, but does not have the discipline and drive that we look for in those who command our warships. What is more, his crew – and some of those aboard Skodar, too, and even a few of mine – are not as committed as we are to our Patriarch’s vision. All our best, most dedicated spacers were drafted for the New Skyros mission. Their places were taken by… shall we say, less dedicated men, many of them third-rate contract spacers from Keda.

“I sent all of the Kedans to the refinery ship, and drafted all of its most reliable Brotherhood spacers to our armed vessels: but now that the enemy is here, that may backfire on us. I am not sure whether Commander Thanas and his weaker-willed crew can be trusted to do what may become necessary.” He took a deep breath. “That is where you come in.” He explained in short, crisp sentences. “Will you do this, brother? I ask it in the Patriarch’s name, because there is no-one I trust more to accomplish it if necessary.”

There were tears in Xhafer’s eyes. “I shall, brother, if it should come to that.”

“Thank you, brother. The Patriarch himself would be proud of you.” They embraced. “Go to the Chief Engineer. He will tell you what to do. After that, you must follow events and use your best judgment.”

“I shall do my best, whatever happens. Go with God, Burim!”

“Go with God, Xhafer.”

The Commander settled down behind his console again as his brother hurried out of the bridge compartment. He paused, deliberately emptying his mind of all distractions, then focused on the problem at hand.

“Communications, signal all small craft to head for Bashkim Bregija and dock with her. They are not to return to their parent vessels, but wait there until this engagement is over.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

That will give Xhafer the cover story he needs. Now for the enemy. “Plot, give me an update on what our visitors are doing.”

“Sir, they are moving toward us from the east and from the west, and their lone ship to the north is heading this way too. Another source of gravitic drive emissions is in front of her, probably a drone.”

“Thank you. Weapons, prepare all missiles and stand by.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

As the Commander entered figures and ran calculations on his console, the Plot operator said hesitantly, “Ah… sir, one of our small craft has just left the ship.”

“Yes, I know about that. It’s authorized.”

“Understood, sir.” The operator’s voice was relieved.

Commander Nikolla kept his face expressionless, but inwardly he was amused. He probably thought someone was deserting, trying to get away from the fight. Little does he know!

QNS MEIZHOU

Captain Liao glanced at the Plot display once more. His ship led the western formation, with her sister corvettes Jieyang and Bengbu respectively on the port wing and astern. The Hawkwood arsenal ship, Payara II, and her attached corvette, Castor, were in the center and on the starboard wing.

He mused for a moment on the modifications Hawkwood had made to the original corvette design that Qianjin had purchased. With the exception of Amanita, their first ship of the class, all Hawkwood’s corvettes were several frames longer, providing additional accommodation for boarding or damage control parties, an enlarged sick bay, and extra storage, increasing their endurance. More important, their longer hulls allowed full-size destroyer sensor arrays to be fitted, instead of the smaller ones carried by earlier-model corvettes. He had seen for himself, during training for this mission, that the larger arrays conferred a significant improvement in performance. Hawkwood had also bought and retrofitted much more powerful fire control computers, enabling even a single corvette to control and direct the much larger missile load of an arsenal ship.

Not for the first time, Liao conceded that Hawkwood, even thought it was ‘only’ a private space security company, was equal to or better than many planetary System Patrol Services when it came to professionalism, innovation and expertise. The arsenal ship concept had been tried and discarded by many fleets over the centuries, because its operational command and control had proven too difficult, and the ‘too many eggs in one basket’ problem had reared its head. Hawkwood had used its super-corvettes to solve those problems in the context of its simpler security operations, giving it the equivalent of cruiser firepower at a fraction of the cost. Furthermore, Qianjin’s Fleet was building on Hawkwood’s innovative frigate design, with its fewer but much larger missiles, to develop a super-destroyer or light cruiser along the same lines, carrying more of the same missiles.

His musings were interrupted. “Plot to Command, the enemy is moving, sir! One of their ships is heading this way. A second is steering toward the eastern task force. The largest drive signature is still in orbit around the planet. It doesn’t seem to be moving out, sir.”

“Command to Plot, very well. Keep me informed.”

He settled down in his command chair. It looked like things were soon going to get interesting.

BROTHERHOOD REFINERY SHIP BASHKIM BREGIJA

“Butranti Cutter Three to Bashkim docking control, over.”

There was a brief pause, then a harassed voice replied. “Bashkim DeeCee to Butranti Three, go ahead, over.”

“Butranti Three to DeeCee. Request clearance to dock, in accordance with orders from Butranti for all small craft to report to you.”

“DeeCee to Butranti Three. Negative. All our airlocks are already occupied with other small craft. You are the fifth stray we have had to take in. There is no room for you right now. Take station in trail, and wait until we can figure out what to do with you. Maintain three kilometers separation, to prevent interference between our gravitic drive and yours.”

Lieutenant Nikolla grinned in satisfaction. Now he would no longer have to find an excuse to stay aboard his cutter, instead of disembarking. “Butranti Three to DeeCee, understood and will comply. I will listen on this circuit for further instructions. Out.”

He guided his cutter into position, three kilometers behind the enormous, multi-million-ton bulk of the freighter-turned-refinery-ship. He set the automatic pilot to remain at least three kilometers behind the larger vessel, then turned to gaze out of the viewscreen. The bright dot that was his brother’s ship was fading to a mere pinprick as it headed away at full blast. Skodar was already out of visual range.

He set his console to display the feed from Bashkim Bregija’s Plot display, and settled down to watch. If he should be needed, he would be ready.

26

Destruction

HCS LARKSPUR

“I don’t get it, sir.” Lieutenant-Commander Urquhart’s voice was puzzled. “His force wasn’t large to begin with – it looks like just two armed merchant cruisers – yet he’s sending one against each of our task forces. That’s crazy! Every military academy in the settled galaxy teaches concentration of force, not dividing it!”

Dave shrugged. “What choice does he have? Sometimes circumstances override military maxims. He can’t know exactly what we are, but our speed of advance speaks volumes in itself. Only fast freighters and warships can maintain a quarter of light speed, and no regular freighters come here. It’s obvious we’re after them. That being the case, if he waited with all his ships in orbit around the planet, he’d be confronted by eleven attackers. Against those odds, he’d have very little chance. This way, he might get lucky.

“Remember, we’ve run into their armed merchant cruisers before. The one that attacked us at Mycenae fired something over a hundred and fifty missiles, more than even a destroyer carries. That makes them equivalent to a light cruiser. As far as we know, they have no idea we have arsenal ships. The only Brotherhood ships that have run into them were destroyed, with no chance to tell their friends about them. He may think he’s facing only four corvettes, plus a fast freighter to collect the loot we hope to capture. That’s a logical assumption, because corvettes make up most of our fleet. Four corvettes, with forty to fifty smaller missiles apiece, won’t look so bad if he’s got a hundred and fifty to two hundred missiles of his own.”

Bruce nodded thoughtfully. “I get it, sir. He’s hoping that, even if we hurt him badly, he can hurt us badly enough to drive us off. At the very least, he’ll want to clear a path for long enough to let his refinery ship get away.”

“I think that’s it. If so, he’s going to get the shock of his life, real soon now.”

“More like the shock of his death, sir.”

Dave laughed. “Nice turn of phrase, that. Let’s hope you’re right.”

The skipper called, “Command to Weapons. Given our closing velocity, at what range can we launch Sorubim’s missiles?”

“Weapons to Command. Our closing velocity will extend their powered range by at least fifty per cent, sir, so we can launch at eighteen million kilometers from the target.”

Dave pursed his lips in a soundless whistle as Bruce replied, “Command to Weapons. Let’s give the missiles a bit of wiggle room, in case she maneuvers. Plan to commence firing at sixteen million kilometers range, and flush two-thirds of Sorubim’s warload at her in the first salvo. Use a wide pattern, so that no matter what way she might twist and dodge, some of the missiles will find her. Start programming the missiles now, while there’s plenty of time. Break. Command to Communications. Signal Sorubim that we will open fire at sixteen million kilometers range. Larkspur will provide fire control guidance and direct the launch. Signal Aconite and Wolfsbane to each take control of half Sorubim’s defensive missiles. They can handle incoming threats. That’ll free us to concentrate on killing the enemy.”

BROTHERHOOD ARMED FREIGHTER BUTRANTI

Commander Nikolla walked over to the Plot display, trying hard to portray an imperturbable commanding officer who wasn’t in the least worried by the enemy bearing down on him. He had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t succeeding. He stared at the oncoming formation, now only a hundred million kilometers ahead. Both sides were moving at one-quarter of light speed, giving a closing velocity of fully half Cee. Unease wormed its way into his mind. Would Butranti’s makeshift fire control system be able to guide her missiles to their targets at such outlandish speeds, given the effects of relativity on her sensors? He thought a moment, then shrugged. It was too late to worry about that now. It would work, or it wouldn’t. It was not like he’d had much choice, anyway.

He returned to his console and sat down. “Weapons, our missiles are from different sources, so they have powered ranges varying from three to six million kilometers. Our closing speed with the enemy will extend that by up to fifty per cent. Prepare a firing pattern against all four of the smaller emission signatures. Those will be their corvettes. Ignore the freighter. I want to open fire at eight million kilometers with our longer-range weapons, and bring the others into play as the range decreases. Set up your fire plan accordingly.”

“Aye aye, sir!”

Nikolla watched the Plot as the range dropped. The distance between his ship and the enemy was shrinking by almost nine million kilometers every minute – a mind-boggling number. At this rate, they’d be in range in about nine and a half minutes. He felt his nerves tingling at the prospect.

As the range dropped to twenty-four million kilometers, the Weapons Officer reported, “Sir, pattern complete and locked in. Ready to fire at your command.”

“Excellent! You have done well. When the enemy reaches eight million kilometers range, you may open fire at once. Weapons free.”

“Aye aye, sir!”

The Commander smiled grimly to himself. So these little corvettes thought they could scare him, did they? They were about to learn differently. He looked across at the Plot, and the counter that was spinning downward as the range shortened. A million kilometers ticked off every six and two-thirds seconds. Nineteen million kilometers… eighteen million… seventeen million…

His breath caught in his throat as the Plot operator almost screamed, “Missile launch! The enemy has launched multiple missiles – they are still launching, sir! There’s a torrent of them!”

For a moment, his mind froze. How could this be possible? Corvette missiles were small, having a powered range of five to six million kilometers from rest. Had the enemy miscalculated the range? Then realization dawned. Those must be bigger, longer-ranged missiles… and that meant the big emissions signature at the center of the enemy formation was not just a freighter. It must be an armed merchant cruiser like his own, but with far larger, and probably far more lethal, missiles.

He heard his own voice saying, with preternatural calm, “Weapons, set firing pattern to automatic for our main battery missiles, and lock it in so you don’t have to launch them manually. After that, defend us against incoming weapons.”

“A-aye aye, sir.” The Weapons Officer’s voice was tightly controlled, shaky. The man was clearly terrified at what was bearing down on them. Well, he has reason to be, the Commander acknowledged mentally. We are really up against it now. I must encourage the crew.

He clicked the ‘All Stations’ button on the ship’s intercom. “Commanding officer to crew. We are about to engage the enemy. Stand fast! Be resolute! Remember – we are the sons of the Patriarch! We fight in his name! Show the enemy our steel, and strike home!”

HCS LARKSPUR

Sorubim’s eight missile pods spat out their weapons at the rate of four every second. In fifty seconds, she fired a hundred and sixty cruiser-size missiles and forty decoys at the enemy… and in that time, the distance between them decreased by a staggering seven and a half million kilometers. The missiles streamed away ahead of the formation, spreading out so that no matter which way the enemy vessel might dodge, at least some of them would catch her.

To Dave’s surprise, the Brotherhood vessel didn’t dodge at all. She stayed firmly on her course, closing the range with every second. Beside him, Commander Urquhart exclaimed, “She must be trying to give her missiles the best chance to hit us. She’ll trust her defenses to do their best, as long as she gets a piece of us.”

“We’d better make that as difficult as possible,” Cousins murmured, and raised his voice. “Command to Communications. Message to all ships. Larkspur and Amanita will use their counter-missiles to thicken our defensive barrage as enemy weapons get closer. All ships are weapons free with their laser cannon.”

“Communications to Command, aye aye, sir.”

As he finished speaking, the Plot operator shouted, “Plot to Command, enemy is firing, sir!”

Dave glanced at the range counter. It had just spooled down past eight million kilometers. He said softly, “For what we are about to receive…”

Bruce Urquhart joined him in the last words. “May the Lord make us truly thankful!”

Butranti’s older-technology missiles, bought clandestinely from four different planets, had less powerful mass drivers in their launch tubes than Sorubim’s, and not as much reactor power to draw upon. Their rate of fire was only two missiles every second, and they had no decoys. Even so, they put out sixty missiles in the first half-minute of firing… but then the first enemy weapons drew near, and chaos descended.

The Weapons Officer began launching defensive missiles to intercept the incoming enemy weapons; but the rate of fire overall could not be increased. For every defensive missile fired, a main battery missile had to wait. Butranti’s offensive fire slowed precipitously, to less than one missile every two seconds as her defenses took priority, then ceased altogether. Commander Nikolla noticed at once, and opened his mouth to yell at his hapless Weapons Officer… but he hesitated, then shook his head, looking at the torrent of missiles headed his way. There was not enough time for more offensive missiles to make a difference, given their closing speed. This entire fight would be over, on both sides, in far less than a minute. Silently, in the Orthodox fashion, he crossed himself.

The first enemy missiles roared closer, to be met by Butranti’s first defensive missiles. However, with four incoming missiles to every two outgoing ones, the mismatch was immediately apparent. Butranti’s weapons did their best, but it was not, and could not be, good enough. More than half the incoming weapons screamed through the defensive missile barrier. Butranti’s laser cannon began to target them, but they could not change their aim fast enough to get them all.

One by one, missiles streaked into range, swiveled to point their laser cones at the ship, and erupted in thermonuclear blasts. Fifty laser beams erupted from each fireball. Some missed, but others smashed into and through Butranti as though the steel of her hull were so much paper. Within five seconds, she’d taken over a hundred hits. Her outgoing fire died as her secondary reactor, which powered her missile pods, went into emergency shutdown. That was just the beginning. Methodically, brutally, ruthlessly, every system on board was blasted into uselessness, every compartment vented to space.

By the time her primary fusion reactor lost its magnetic containment field and vomited its actinic fire, all of her crew were already dead. They and their ship simply ceased to exist. They did not live long enough to see the effects of their fire on the enemy.

Butranti’s slower, shorter-ranged main battery missiles might not have been up to the standards of the enemy’s, but they were still deadly weapons. They ran into a hurricane of counter-missiles launched from Sorubim, and more from Larkspur and Amanita, but the mind-bogglingly high closing speed imposed its own limitations on the Hawkwood formation’s defensive fire. Missile guidance systems found it hard to lock onto their targets, because of the effects of relativity on their sensors. They got in each other’s way, took each other out in the explosions of their warheads, and became confused when enemy targets were too close together. All in all, it took four or five defensive missiles to stop one of Butranti’s incoming warheads. In the very short time available – mere seconds – that was too many.

One of the enemy missiles flashed into range of Larkspur and detonated. Its simpler, smaller warhead fired only nine laser beams, but three of them found their marks along the corvette’s hull. One of her crew berthing units, her forward missile pod, and a storage area were smashed, the compartments voiding their atmosphere to vacuum. Airtight doors clanged shut with a wail of alarms, and her space-suited damage control team ran forward from their station in the stern to do what they could. Her whole hull shook to the energy transfer of the impacts… but they did no crippling harm, and caused no injuries, because the damaged compartments were empty during General Quarters.

Lieutenant-Commander Urquhart snapped orders to continue the fight, and dispatched his Executive Officer to report on the damage. When he returned to report, he listened carefully, then turned to Dave. “We’re not badly hit, sir. No casualties. We can patch the holes ourselves, given a few hours of peace and quiet, and make our way back to Constanta for permanent repairs.”

“That’s good news. Let’s wait to hear from Sorubim and Amanita. They were hit, too.”

A few minutes later, the arsenal ship reported that she was in good shape. A laser cone had splashed its beams across the upper part of her bow; but all her missiles were in the lower part of the ship, and the forward cargo holds were empty. She, too, could make it to a dockyard.

Amanita was not so fortunate. Her commanding officer reported, “We were hit by five laser beams, sir. We have at least ten casualties, dead, wounded and missing. A laser went through our Engineering section. Several capacitor ring cells are shattered, and electrical components are arcing throughout that area. We’re hit hard, sir.”

Ten doesn’t sound like a lot of casualties, but it’s over twenty per cent of her small crew, Dave reminded himself. He asked, “Do you require assistance?”

“I’d appreciate damage control teams, if the other ships can spare them, sir.”

“I’ll have Wolfsbane and Aconite send their teams to you by cutter, along with electrical repair gear. Keep us informed. Can you stay in formation?”

“For now, yes, sir. If our drive goes out, we won’t be able to slow down or maneuver freely, and I’m not sure about being able to hyper-jump.”

“I’ll order Wolfsbane and Aconite to stand by you. If necessary, they can use their tractor beams to slow you down and tow you to a rendezvous. Let me organize that now. Larkspur out.”

QNS MEIZHOU

The western task force’s engagement with the Brotherhood armed merchant cruiser Skodar was far more one-sided than that on the far side of the system. Skodar’s antique missiles had a powered range of only three million kilometers. Long before she got close enough to use them, she was hammered into scrap metal by Payara II’s missiles. Both of her fusion reactors went into emergency shutdown, her capacitor ring burned out, and every system on board failed. Most of her crew were killed or injured.

The task force sped past her battered wreck, and headed for the planet. Captain Liao called Jieyang on a tight-beam channel, and gave orders to her commanding officer.

“Meizhou to Jieyang. You are to leave the formation, turn around, and catch up to the wreck of that Brotherhood ship. I presume there are no survivors.” He knew Jieyang’s skipper would take the unsubtle hint, without needing bothersome explanations. “Place a nuclear demolition charge aboard the wreck. Make sure it is destroyed, then rendezvous with us at the second planet.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

BROTHERHOOD REFINERY SHIP BASHKIM BREGIJA

Commander Thanas stared as if transfixed at the Plot display on his bridge. Both armed vessels had been destroyed by the enemy, who were now heading in his direction, and slowing down as they drew near. Clearly, they intended him to be next.

What should I do? he thought, half-panicked, half-resigned. We cannot fight them – we have no weapons! He cudgeled his brain for a moment. Well, if they are in a mood to listen, I can at least bargain with them for our lives. There were over two hundred co-opted spacers from Keda on board, and a couple of dozen former merchant officers and spacers. None of them were fanatics, and he was sure none of them were eager to die. If he offered the invaders the remainder of the Brotherhood’s gold in exchange for the lives of his crew, they might live to see another day. There was also what Pal Sejdiu had hinted, in his last message. Perhaps surrender was no longer so unthinkable an option under the circumstances, particularly now that there were no surviving hard-liners in armed vessels to prevent it.

He returned to his command console. “Command to Helm, drive to ten per cent power, take us out of orbit. We are not going to wait for those ships to fire on us. We will go out to them and surrender. There is no point in dying uselessly, accomplishing nothing.”

The helmsman’s knees almost buckled in relief at the thought that he might not have to die today. “A-aye aye, sir! T-thank you, sir!”

He thrust the power slider forward. Grudgingly, creakingly, Bashkim Bregija began to move.

In his cutter, following the big ship, Lieutenant Nikolla watched the two engagements on the Plot display feed he’d linked to his console. He gasped in shock and horror to see both Brotherhood vessels disappear as their power failed, cutting off their emissions signature. Where his brother’s ship had been, the starburst icon of a thermonuclear explosion bloomed briefly, then faded out.

He wiped tears from his eyes. You did not fail the test, brother! You died for our Patriarch, just as he died for you! Now it is my turn to follow your example. I shall keep faith with you! I shall not let the enemy get their greedy hands on our gold!

He turned to the nuclear demolition charge that the Engineer Officer had placed in the load bed of the cutter. It would destroy the refinery ship utterly, and reduce the gold aboard her to so many atoms and molecules, useless to their enemies. He inserted a key into the cover over the weapon’s control panel, and opened it. Flicking on the power switch, he was greeted with a demand for a passcode. He fished in his trouser pockets, but couldn’t find it. For a moment he felt panic, but then remembered he’d put it in a pocket of his uniform jacket, which now hung on the back of the pilot’s chair. He hurried over to retrieve the code. As he did so, he glanced through the viewscreen at the big refinery ship. It was right where he expected, three kilometers ahead of him.

He entered the code, and followed the prompts on the weapon’s panel as it led him through a series of steps to prepare it for use. He forced himself to proceed slowly and carefully, double-checking every stage, to make sure he’d gotten everything right. At last he was greeted with a time display, and a demand to set the delay period. The instructions informed him that the delay could not be set to less than fifteen minutes, although the bomb could be detonated instantaneously if necessary by entering another code. He shook his head. He would first have to steer the cutter to the center of the refinery ship, then land it on her hull, to make sure she was completely destroyed. He set the timer to fifteen minutes, then activated it. The display beeped, then began counting down. 14:59… 14:58… 14:57…

He straightened up, sighing, and glanced through the viewscreen. To his utter horror, the ship was gone! While he had been working on the demolition charge, it had disappeared!

Frantically, he scrambled back to the pilot’s console, scanning its sensor display feverishly. He cursed aloud as he saw Bashkim Bregija’s icon, already a hundred kilometers away, moving out from the planet, turning toward the oncoming enemy.

He rammed the power slider forward to its maximum setting. The cutter jerked into life, accelerating fast… but its gravitic drive had been designed for short-range journeys between ship and ship, or ship and space station. Its maximum design speed was no more than one per cent of Cee, and the refinery ship was already creeping toward that velocity. He turned after her, straining every sinew in his body, as if pushing his craft along by willpower alone. However, Bashkim Bregija was still accelerating; more slowly, to be sure, but she had a head start on him, and a vastly more powerful drive.

At first he closed the distance, to within fifty kilometers… but then his drive ran out of energy as its power was automatically siphoned off to the gravitic shield against small particles, energizing it to protect the cutter against collisions at higher speeds. In a small utility craft like the cutter, the engineering controls were not sophisticated enough to switch off the shield, redirecting all power to the drive. Slowly, steadily, the refinery ship began to pull away again.

Acid tears stung Xhafer’s eyes as he realized, I cannot catch her! I have failed my brother! I have failed the Patriarch! He lowered his head onto the pilot console and cried aloud in his agony of spirit.

He was still weeping when the counter on the demolition charge flickered to 00:00.

HCS LARKSPUR

“What the hell?”

The Plot operator’s startled exclamation drew the eyes of every person in the OpCen to his display. The starburst icon of a nuclear explosion appeared near the second planet, close behind the big ship as she moved out to meet them.

“What the devil was that?” Lieutenant-Commander Urquhart exclaimed.

“I’ve no idea,” Dave replied, shaking his head. “It looked like a small craft drive signature at first, following the big ship, but it might have been a powered space mine. Whatever it was, it doesn’t seem to have damaged that ship. She’s moving faster.”

Indeed, in his alarm at the massive explosion behind him, Commander Thanas had rammed his throttle through the gate, accelerating as quickly as possible. He reached for his microphone. “We surrender! We surrender! Stop shooting at us! The Brotherhood’s gold is in our holds! It is yours, if you let us live!”

The OpCen team on Larkspur’s bridge perked up as they heard the message on the standard emergency channel, their eyes sparkling at the thought of the bonuses they would earn for such a prize.

“What do you think, sir?” Urquhart asked cheerfully. “Should we accept her surrender?”

“If gold is involved, I daresay we should,” Dave agreed with a smile. “Tell her to shut down her drive and wait for our boarding party.”

Two days later, the commanding officers and executive officers of all the ships met in the conference room aboard the arsenal ship Payara II. It was big enough to accommodate everyone in comfort. They relaxed over coffee, cookies and pastries, congratulating each other on how well all their vessels had performed.

Dave called the meeting to order at last. “This won’t take long,” he promised. “I need to tell you about some decisions that have been made. First, let’s talk about the gold.” He paused, grinning, as loud cheers came from his audience. “There’s about ten billion francs worth aboard the refinery ship.” Whistles of surprise and exclamations of glee. “Obviously, we’ll divide it between both forces. Captain Liao and I have agreed to do so on the basis of the ships involved. There are four Qianjin vessels and seven from Hawkwood, so we’ve divided the gold into eleven equal shares by weight. Four shares will go back to Qianjin, and seven will return to Constanta.”

Captain Liao bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Thank you for making the division so painless,” he said. “That is a very fair solution, particularly since your ships fired, and must now replace, all the missiles used in the engagement. You may be sure that my report on how you planned and conducted this operation, and used your arsenal ships to such good effect, is going to attract a great deal of attention in our Fleet. It was a masterful display.” More pleased remarks came from the Hawkwood officers, along with applause from their Qianjin counterparts. “I should add that this is the richest haul of prize money ever taken by our Fleet. Our share will make everyone aboard our ships wealthy, even the lowest-ranked spacer. We are all, personally, very grateful to Hawkwood for inviting us to be a part of this operation. I daresay every ship in our service will be volunteering to serve with you in future.” Laughter and more applause.

Dave thanked him, then continued, “As far as the refinery ship is concerned, our engineers have surveyed her. Their unanimous opinion is that she’s too old and decrepit to safely make the journey to another star. Therefore, we’ll accommodate all her prisoners in the personnel pods aboard our arsenal ships. They started life as fast freighters, and more than half their hold space is still available. We have a personnel pod aboard each of them, to provide emergency accommodation – just what we need for the prisoners. We’ll transfer rations from the refinery ship to feed them, as well as anything that looks interesting or valuable. When that’s done, we’ll drop the refinery ship into the star.

“Sadly, we’ll have to do the same with Amanita. She was our first corvette, and saved our butts at the First Battle of Mycenae, but that’s water under the bridge now. Her capacitor ring is too badly damaged to allow her to hyper-jump. If we knew for sure what’s happened at New Skyros, we might leave her here, plus another corvette as escort, to await a repair ship; but we’ve no idea whether Captain Haldane’s task force has destroyed the Brotherhood squadron. If some or all of them arrive back here with their weapons intact, two corvettes won’t be able to defend themselves against them. Not even our whole squadron could be certain of that, since we’ve used more than half of the missiles aboard our arsenal ships.

“Therefore, I’ve made a command decision. We’ll strip Amanita of everything of value we can take off her without needing a dockyard. We’ll load it aboard our arsenal ships, then we’ll drop her hull into the star as well. I’m sure Commodore Cochrane will be very sorry to learn of her casualties, even more than her loss, but we’re bringing back enough gold to buy a dozen more corvettes to replace her – less our bonuses, of course.” More laughter.

“It’ll take us a week or so to get all that done. While we’re busy, I’ll send some of you to collect the other two drones we planted to keep an eye on Brotherhood activities here, and others to dismantle and load their surveillance satellite constellation. Its control console is aboard the refinery ship, which is very convenient – it means we’ve captured the whole thing. We can set it up somewhere else, and use it ourselves.” More cheers.

“The Brotherhood has a repair ship, too, and a couple more small freighters used to recover asteroids. They were all absent on other missions when we arrived. If they come back in time, we’ll snap them up. If they don’t, once they find out what’s happened, they’ll probably run for their lives, change the ships’ and their crews’ names, and try to find a new home somewhere else – unless and until their enemies catch up with them.

“All right, people. When everything’s finished, we’ll head for home. Thank you all very much for a good job, well done.”

As the officers helped themselves to more coffee and pastries, Captain Liao joined Captain Cousins at a viewscreen, looking out toward the refinery ship in close formation nearby. “It is a pity you cannot salvage her for your own use,” the Qianjin officer observed.

“Yes, but we can afford to buy a new one now, if the Commodore wants one.”

“And more corvettes.”

“Yes, or perhaps some of those super-destroyers you’re designing. They look very interesting.”

“Indeed. I foresee an ongoing exchange of views and information between our forces. We work well together, and we have learned to respect each other.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

They raised their coffee cups to each other in an informal toast.

27

Evacuation

PATOS

The spy team assembled quickly in response to their leader’s urgent message, gathering at the small, nondescript warehouse he’d rented in the industrial area. He was waiting for them.

“I’ve just received a message from Admiral Kwan. The Big Three will make their move in the small hours of tomorrow morning. We have to pack up and be off-planet before midnight.”

“Tonight?” one exclaimed. “But we have no ship in orbit! How did the message reach you? How will we get away?”

“Ask the Admiral about the message. He has ways and means we can only guess at. As for a ship, we don’t have one, but Hawkwood does.” He explained about the freighter Pasaré, which he’d already confirmed was in orbit. “She’s been ‘repairing a defect’ for several weeks. Her crew are ready to take aboard a few select refugees, to get them out of the way before the hammer comes down. She’ll take us, too. Drop whatever you’ve been doing, gather up all your sensitive equipment, and meet here by not later than eighteen. If you can’t bring something sensitive with you, make sure it’s so thoroughly destroyed that no-one can learn anything from it. In particular, no-one must be able to figure out that Qianjin’s had a spy operation on this planet for several years. We were never here, and we know nothing. Get it?” Solemn nods. “All right. On your way. I’ll see you tonight.”

As his team hurried out, he consulted Admiral Kwan’s message again. He dialed a comm code, waited for the tone, then tapped in the activation code the Admiral had provided. He did not speak, but simply ended the call.

Afrim was busy with a customer when his comm unit chirped at him. He ignored it until he’d taken her payment and escorted her to the door. “Thank you for your business, Mrs. Rexha. Remember, if your son doesn’t like that, you can bring it back to exchange for another, provided it’s in new condition with all its packaging intact.”

She smiled at him as he opened the door for her. “I’ll remember. Thank you.”

Letting the door swing closed, he walked back to the counter and reached for his comm unit. The caller was not identified, but a flashing light showed that there was a voice message. He clicked over to the message service… and froze as he heard a voice say simply, “It is time.”

“Oh, shit, Pal!” he muttered to himself. “You really meant it! You weren’t joking!”

Even as he spoke, he was moving. He hurried back to the front door, locked it, and reversed a hanging sign so that it read ‘Closed’. Next, he placed a couple of calls. To each person who responded, he said, “It is time. Meet me at the back of the shop. Ten minutes, if you can.” One man said he’d need more. “All right, fifteen, but cut it finer than that if you can. We are in a hurry.”

Ever since Pal had approached him, he’d kept an overnight bag packed and ready in the storeroom behind the shop. Now he collected it, and slipped into its outside pocket an envelope Pal had left for him. He took all the money from the till, plus his emergency stash of hard currency and a few gold taels, which he’d built up at Pal’s recommendation. He shut down the store computer, turned off the lights, and let himself out the rear door into the loading zone, locking it behind him.

One of his friends was already pulling up in his van. “Morning, Afrim,” he called as he stopped. “Is this what you warned us to be ready for?”

“It is. I still don’t know exactly what’s going on, but Pal Sejdiu said we needed to move fast if he sent word. He just did.”

“That’s good enough for me. What next?”

“Back up so I can get my van out, then we’ll wait for the others. You have what I asked you to bring?”

“I have. It’s in the back.”

“Good. I hope we won’t need it, but you never know.”

Another car pulled up, with an old man and a younger one inside. They waved, and Afrim hurried over.

“Thank you for hurrying. We have to pay a call on a couple about ten minutes from here. They’re going to come with us, along with their teenage son – and I mean, they’re coming whether they want to or not. If we have to persuade them the hard way, we’ll tie them up and put them in the back of one of the vans, where they can’t be seen.”

The driver rolled his eyes. “You don’t do things by halves, do you?”

“Hey, you know me.”

“Yes, I do!” They laughed. “All right. We’ll follow your lead.”

Afrim rang the doorbell of the upmarket house, looking around with appreciation at its garden, which was clearly a labor of love. Flower beds and displays ringed a smooth, evenly-cut lawn, and bird feeders hung from the branches of trees.

A woman answered the door. “Yes?”

“Are you Mrs. Tahiri?”

“I am. And you are?”

“I need to speak with you and your husband, ma’am. It’s about your daughter.”

“Aferdita? You have news of her?” Hope flared in her eyes.

“Ah… your husband, ma’am?”

“He’s in his office. Come in, quickly!” She turned away for a moment. “Gjon! This man says he has news of Aferdita!”

A male voice called from inside, “What?” Afrim heard footsteps hurrying closer as he went inside, pulling the front door partially closed behind him. An older man appeared, his face agitated. “Who are you? What can you tell us?”

“Sir, I need you and your wife to read this, please.” Afrim produced the envelope Pal had left with him, and handed it over.

The man ripped it open impatiently. A letter and a photograph fell out onto the floor. He snatched them up, glanced at the photograph, and gasped aloud. “It’s Aferdita!”

Pal had extracted the image from the vid of the wedding of his son to the young former spy. Her face was radiant with happiness as she looked straight into the camera. Her mother seized it from her husband, stared, and let out a cry. “She looks so joyful! Where is she? We have heard nothing from her for more than two years!”

Afrim shifted awkwardly. “Ma’am, please read the letter.”

Her husband unfolded it and read it aloud.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Tahiri,

I have very good news for you concerning your daughter. She is alive and well. However, I have been unable to convey it to you before now, due to circumstances beyond my control.

Please take your son and go with the man who will bring you this letter. He will take you to a rendezvous, from where you will be taken to meet your daughter. I apologize for not being more specific, but all will be explained in due course.

You do not know me personally, but I hope my office as a Brotherhood Councilor will convince you that I am serious, and persuade you to do as I ask. Please do not hesitate for even a moment. Go with this man, and take your son, and you will soon learn more.

Say nothing about this to anyone else. The time is not yet right. They will be informed soon.

Yours in the Patriarch’s service.

“Pal Sejdiu? I don’t know the man, but he was praised to the skies by Agim Nushi when he was voted onto the Council. He sounds like a good man.”

“He is, sir,” Afrim assured him. “I’ve known Pal for years. He’s the Head of Security for our space operations, and more besides. I’d trust him with my life.”

“Then we’ll do as he says. Vasil!”

A younger man’s startled voice came from the rear of the house. “Father?”

“Come here at once! We are going out!”

“But, Father, what about lunch at Tirina’s? All my friends are expecting me!”

“This is about Aferdita! Are you dressed?”

“Aferdita? Is she home at last? Hold on.”

There came the sound of clothes and shoes being flung around a room. Afrim had to hide his smile. He could remember being a teenager himself, once upon a time.

A young man appeared, pulling a T-shirt hastily over tousled, unkempt hair. “Is it really Aferdita, father?”

“So this man tells me – or, rather, so the letter he brought tells me. Look!” He held out the photograph to his son, who goggled at it, then turned to Afrim. “That’s it? We must come just as we are? Let me get the car out of the garage.”

“Please hurry, sir. There’s no time to waste. You can follow my van, and the other vehicles will follow you.”

“Very well. Aferdita! After all this time! We’d feared the worst!” He hugged his wife. “All right. Let’s go!”

“Thank you, sir. We’ve just got one more stop, at Pal Sejdiu’s home, where his children will be waiting for us. They’re going to the rendezvous, too. After that, we’ll be on our way.”

The afternoon was drawing on when they heard, faint in the distance, the battering sound of reaction thrusters sinking toward the spaceport. Afrim looked out and up, to see a cutter approaching the small warehouse where they were waiting, at the end of the hardstand. “I think this is our ride,” he called over his shoulder.

“At last!” Mrs. Tahiri said, half-scoldingly. “We’ve been here for hours!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I know no more than you do about what’s next. All Pal told me was to bring everyone here, then wait for someone to collect us. We’ll all learn more soon, I am sure.”

The cutter touched down in front of the warehouse, bouncing lightly on its gel-filled tires. It was clearly lightly laden. It turned around, backed up to the warehouse, and lowered its rear ramp. A man in spacer’s uniform trotted down it and over to the door.

“You’re the party for Pal Sejdiu?” he asked cheerfully.

“We are,” Afrim replied, shaking his hand. “Is he here?”

“You’ll be told more aboard the ship.”

“We’re going into space?” Mrs. Tahiri exclaimed. “But what about our passports? We don’t have them with us!”

“Not to worry, ma’am,” the spacer assured her. “We can take care of any formalities from the ship. I need you to board right away, please. It’ll take us an hour or two to reach her, then I’ve got to come back for some more people.”

“I – but – I’m not sure… darling?”

Her husband took her hand in his. “The only way to learn more is to go along with this, my love. Remember that picture of Aferdita. If she looks that happy, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.”

He pulled her gently through the door and toward the cutter, eagerness written all over his face. Their son followed.

“Now that looks like a man who’s learned how to cope with his wife,” the spacer said mock-seriously as he watched them.

Afrim laughed. “I should have tried that myself,” he said as he picked up his overnight bag and followed the spacer. “I might still be married if I had!”

They arrived at the spaceship almost two hours later. The cutter slid into the airlock in her docking bay, and disgorged its passengers into a spartan, bare-metal foyer that contained no creature comforts whatsoever. Clearly, this was a working freighter.

An officer was waiting for them. “This way, please, ladies and gentlemen,” he said politely, ushering them toward the high-speed walkway that ran up and down the main corridor. “Be careful how you step onto the conveyor. Careful… there you are, ma’am. I’m taking you to our passenger quarters.”

The ‘passenger quarters’ proved to be a temporary passenger pod, installed in one of the freighter’s smaller holds. There was only one entrance. Ten double cabins, very small by planetary standards, led off a central reception and dining area. It was equipped with a long table and benches for meals, and some more or less comfortable armchairs around a vid display in one corner. A communal fresher was at the other end of the room.

“Please sit down,” their host invited. “I have a vid to play for you.” He took up a remote control unit, and pressed a button.

Aferdita Tahiri and Jehona Sejdiu appeared in the display. They were seated on a well-grassed lawn, next to a hedge bristling with brightly colored flowers. Most of the watchers exclaimed with surprise and joy to see them.

Jehona spoke first. She introduced herself to those who did not know her, and went on, “I’m sure this all seems very mysterious to you. It may even seem threatening, because it will involve temporary restrictions. Believe me, it is not threatening. In fact, it’s the very opposite of threatening. I can’t explain more now, but soon, when we meet, you’ll be told everything. Meanwhile, please do all that the crew of that spaceship ask you to do. They’ll take you to another planet, where we will be waiting.”

Mrs. Tahiri exclaimed, “But that’s impossible! We have no luggage, no clothes!”

As if she’d heard her, Jehona went on, “You’ll be provided with basic spacer clothing for the journey. It won’t be anything to speak of, but it will suffice. We’ll shop for more clothes when you get here. Just trust me – this is good, not bad. Don’t argue, don’t object, just do this, please.”

Next it was Aferdita’s turn. “Mother, Father, Vasil, I hope you’re watching this. I’m alive, and well, and very happy. In fact, I’m married!” Laughing, she held up her hand, showing engagement and wedding rings gleaming on her finger. Her family exclaimed in shock.

“You’ll meet my husband when you get here. He’ll be a very nice surprise to Jehona’s children, too, because they know him. Please do as Jehona says. Go with the ship, and obey the orders of the crew, and don’t argue. I’m sorry to sound mysterious, but there are good reasons for it. You’ll be told about them when you get here.”

The vid came to an end, and the officer turned to face them. “There. You’ve heard all I’m able to tell you right now. Please choose cabins for yourselves at one side of the pod. There’ll be a few more people joining us later this evening; they’ll take cabins on the other side. We’ll depart at about midnight. The journey will take about two weeks. A meal will be served shortly, then we’ll get your sizes and issue you with clothing. It’ll be pretty simple: spacer’s utility coveralls, underwear, socks and soft shoes. That’s all we have in our stores. We’ll also give you towels and basic toiletries.”

They tried to ask questions, but he would say only, “Wait until you get where we’re going, then you’ll be told. Believe me, I don’t know more than you’ve already heard.”

“But this is impossible!” Mr. Tahiri stormed. “I have an important business meeting tomorrow! I can’t just not show up!”

“Sir, that meeting will not take place.” The officer’s voice was flat, emphatic. “The others scheduled to attend – if they’re part of your Brotherhood – won’t be there either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sir, didn’t you listen earlier? I can’t tell you yet. You’ll have to wait.”

“No! I refuse! I’m going to call my partner now, and have him get to the bottom of this!”

He pulled out his comm unit, but stared as he realized that there was no signal. “What’s the meaning of this? This unit should work fine in orbit! Are you jamming the signal?”

“Inside this pod, yes, sir, we are. I repeat: there are reasons. You’ll be told about them in due course.”

“Then I’m going to call from the docking bay!”

The officer sighed. “Sir, you won’t be allowed to leave this pod. There’s an armed guard on the door right now. He will shoot you if you try to force your way past him. He’ll do his best to wound you, rather than kill you; but he will stop you, any way he has to.”

Mr. Tahiri stared at him disbelievingly for a moment, then rushed to the door. He yanked it open, only to find a carbine-carrying crewman standing outside. As the spacer saw him, he hefted the carbine in both hands and moved forward.

“Sir, you need to go back inside, right now.”

“But – but…”

“Right now, sir!” The spacer physically pushed him inside, then glanced at the officer. “All in order, sir?”

“All in order, spacer. Carry on.”

“Aye aye, sir.” He gently closed the door.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Tahiri. I tried to warn you. I think that tomorrow, we may be able to tell you a little more, but that will depend on factors beyond my control. Most of it will have to wait until you reach your daughter, and she can explain.”

The businessman shook his head. Anger, frustration and bewilderment chased each other across his features. “I don’t believe this!”

“Believe it, sir. In a couple of weeks, I think you’ll be truly grateful that right now, you’re up here instead of planetside.”

Mrs. Tahiri said plaintively, tears in her eyes, “But – our house, our garden, our… our cat!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Is your cat kept indoors?”

“N-no, she goes in and out as she pleases. There’s a cat door.”

“Then she’ll be all right, ma’am. Don’t worry about her. My wife and I have cats, so I understand them. There’s an old saying: ‘Dogs have owners, cats have staff’. She’ll find new staff, and she’ll do just fine.”

28

Extermination

PATOS

The repeated, insistent, urgent knocking on the front door woke Agim from a sound sleep. He cursed as he pulled himself away from the soft, warm body of his wife, rolled over, and looked at the time display. Three in the morning? Who the hell is disturbing us at this hour? he wondered mentally… then his eyes registered repeated blue flashes from outside, seen dimly through the drapes. Is that the police?

It was the police. He opened the front door to find a uniformed Inspector waiting for him, flanked by a sergeant and a constable. “Mr. Agim Nushi?”

“Yes. What is it?”

“Sir, I must ask you to come with us. Your wife also.”

“My wife? I – I don’t understand. We’ve done nothing wrong. What is this?”

“Sir, I have orders to bring you to a central location, where you’ll be told more.”

“But you can’t…” Agim’s voice trailed away and his eyes opened wide in surprise as he noticed another police vehicle three doors down. “Tha – That’s Vlad’s house!” he managed to say, pointing. “Are you taking him, too?”

“Sir, you’ll be told more downtown. Please come with us.”

“Can’t I get dressed?”

“Very quickly, please, sir. I can give you only a minute, and the same for your wife.”

As the vehicle drove them away, dressed in the exercise sweatpants and tops they’d been allowed to throw on, Agim stared around. Many of the Brotherhood lived in this neighborhood… and every one of their houses that they passed had a police car or other official vehicle – including military ones – parked outside it. He began to feel the first tremors of fear. What was going on? The Brotherhood had paid a large monthly sum to Patos’ government for over two decades, to guarantee them a place where they could live peacefully and free from worry about arrest or prosecution. Had that now come to an end?

They were driven to an indoor stadium downtown. Agim’s name, and his wife’s, were checked off on a computer terminal at the door, then they were herded unceremoniously down a tunnel into the main arena. Armed guards from the Planetary Self-Defense Force stood around a roped-off area of the grass, into which they were ushered. A few of the Brotherhood were already there. There were no seats or facilities except for a row of portable freshers set up on one side.

An older man approached them, looking confused. “Agim, what is the meaning of this? They dragged me out of bed without so much as a ‘by your leave’! They wouldn’t even let me get dressed!” He was wearing a dressing-gown over pajamas and slippers, looking incongruous against the background of armed officials and empty stadium seats.

“I do not know, Ferdan. My wife and I were brought here the same way. I shall try to ask someone in authority.”

He turned to one of the armed guards, and demanded to speak to his supervisor. The man would only say, “Sir, I’m not allowed to leave my post. When everyone’s assembled, somebody will be along to talk to you.”

Within two hours, almost two thousand people milled around in the roped-off area. Complaints and angry protests began to get louder and louder. At last there came a click, and the hum of loudspeakers. A man Agim recognized appeared from the tunnel, and was handed a microphone. He cleared his throat.

“You have been brought here because of a change in your status. You will be given more information at your destination. Cutters will be landing over there, to take you aboard and fly you to another place. Obey the orders of your guards, and do not argue. Resistance will not be tolerated, and will be dealt with severely.”

He handed the microphone to a guard, and made as if to turn away. Agim yelled at the top of his voice, “Minister! Minister Gaspar!”

The man hesitated, then came over to him where he stood pressed against the rope. A guard tried to push him back, but the minister raised his hand. “What is it, Agim?”

“Minister, what is the meaning of this? We have paid you every month for many years! Why are we being treated like criminals, or prisoners? What have we done to deserve this?”

The minister hesitated. “Agim… you paid us, yes, but you paid in gold. There are those who pay in… harder coin. They do not bribe; they demand. They do not compromise; they dictate. They do not persuade; they threaten. They also are not afraid to demonstrate, hideously, that their threats are not empty words, but real. Their actions have spoken louder than your gold.”

“I… I do not understand!”

“You will, soon. I am sorry, Agim. This is goodbye.”

The minister did not offer to shake hands. He simply turned around and walked away. Agim called after him, but he did not so much as acknowledge hearing him. He walked back into the tunnel and disappeared.

Agim turned to his wife, his face bewildered, but the stuttering rumble of reaction thrusters drew nearer, strangling his words in his throat. He watched, open-mouthed, as a cutter settled onto the grass on the far side of the field. He thought to himself, Those thrusters will burn the grass to a crisp, and sear the soil underneath. It will take months to get this field back into playable condition. If they are willing to do so much damage to the most-used stadium in town… this must be really serious!

An officer began to bark orders over a megaphone. “Sixty people, get aboard that cutter and strap in! Guards, move them along, smartly now! The rest of you, wait for the next cutter! Come on, damn you! Move!”

It took almost four hours to put everyone aboard cutters. Agim could not help noticing that very few bore the insignia of the planet’s security forces. Many were unmarked, showing signs of considerable wear and tear. They were of different models, sizes and colors, which made it easier for him to realize that none of them came back for more passengers. He had not known there were that many cutters on Patos. That, in turn, argued that many of them had been brought in from off-planet, to speed things up… but from where? Why? Who had sent them?

Being at the far side of the gathered Brotherhood members from where the boarding parties were assembled, Agim and his wife found themselves among the last group to be loaded. Once they were strapped in, two armed guards went forward to sit beside the pilot, facing aft, and two more occupied jump seats by the rear ramp as it closed. They aimed their guns casually in the direction of the seated passengers.

The pilot announced, “The journey will take approximately two hours. We are going up to orbit, where you will be transferred to a spaceship.”

A hubbub of shouts, protests, and demands for explanations erupted. He ignored them as he shoved the throttle forward. With a roar from the reaction thrusters, the cutter rose into the air, turned, and began to climb steeply.

Agim sat rigid, stunned. Going to orbit? Boarding a spaceship? This was… this was impossible!

Two hours later, he found that it was all too real. The passengers were shoved ungently out of the cutter, through an airlock, across a freighter’s docking bay foyer into its main passage, and up toward the bow. About midway along the ship, more armed guards ushered them through another airlock into what appeared to be a very large personnel pod – but it was unlike any such pod Agim had ever seen. Instead of cabins, beds, furniture and other amenities, it offered only serried ranks of cheaply manufactured plasfiber benches, arranged in rows, facing a display screen mounted on the far wall. A row of fresher stalls were arrayed to one side, lashed to the bulkhead – but they were all portable units, not plumbed into the ship’s sanitary systems. Alongside them were water dispensers, again using their own tanks, not the ship’s water supply. Agim frowned. He’d never seen or heard of anything like that aboard spaceships.

The guards waited until everyone had entered the pod, then withdrew. Agim watched them, feeling curiously detached. He noted that the inner door of the airlock was unusually thick and strong, more like a prison door. It closed with a solid thump. Almost immediately, he felt the tremble of a drive unit beneath his feet, and a surging motion that made him sway on his feet. The ship had begun to move… but where was it going?

Agim realized that, even though no-one knew what was going on, it would be best to establish some sort of order. He squeezed his wife’s hand, indicating that she should remain seated, then stood and walked to the front of the gathering, beneath the display screen. He turned to face his people, then called loudly for attention and waited until the hubbub of confused, dismayed talking had died down.

“Brothers and sisters, I have no idea why we are here, or what is happening. To begin with, let us see whether anyone is missing. Ward leaders, gather here in front. One at a time, each of you will summon your people, count them, and report any who are absent. When you have done so, take your ward to that end of the pod, and sit down. The others will do so in their turn. The rest of you, please shift up toward the other end to make room for them.”

The process took more than four hours. Agim stood against the wall, watching, trying to radiate an authoritative, comforting presence, even though he felt anything but comfortable. This situation had ominous overtones. Why would an entire people, who had been happily settled on Patos for two decades, suddenly be uprooted by the authorities like this? What could possibly be behind it?

It was soon evident that the sweep by the authorities had been extremely thorough. Apart from almost a thousand spacers absent on duty aboard their ships, only fifty-seven people were identified as missing by their ward leaders. They reported the names and totals verbally to Agim, but could not do so in writing, as there was nothing to write on or with. He could only tell them to remember the names for future reference. Among them were Pal Sejdiu’s family. He frowned. Pal was on Neue Helvetica, but where were his family? Had they somehow got wind of this, and escaped the roundup? And what about the Tahiris?

Another hour passed. Relative silence fell, as most of the assembled people began to sink into apathy. Agim and the other members of the Council, and some of the ward leaders, moved among the rows of benches, trying to encourage those looking particularly worried or downcast; but since they knew no more than anyone else, they did not have much to offer.

At last the display screen flickered, and its speaker crackled. People who noticed shook their neighbors and pointed. Within a few minutes, everyone was looking at it.

At last the screen filled with three men, seated at a table. A microphone was centrally placed. The man in the center, heavy-set with dark hair and heavy eyebrows, pulled it toward him and spoke in Galactic Standard English.

“Members of the Albanian Brotherhood, you have been gathered together for punishment. Your movement ends here, this very day. You have dared to steal asteroids from mining enterprises in which the Cosa Nostra, the Dragon Tong and the Nuevo Cartel have an interest. Not content with robbing us, your activities have stirred up interest and investigations from law enforcement on many planets, making our work much more difficult and dangerous. Because of you, we have lost a great deal of money and some of our best people. We have therefore passed judgment upon you all. For your crimes against us, direct and indirect, you will die. I, Giuseppe Mancuso, declare this on behalf of the Cosa Nostra.”

There was a collective gasp from those watching. Before they could collect their thoughts, the speaker passed the microphone to the person on his right. This man was of lighter build, his skin pale, with eyes showing a slight epicanthic fold. His voice was soft, but iron was in his words. “I, Lau Jianhong, speaking for the Dragon Tong, declare on its behalf that your insolence and disrespect for our organizations has gone on too long. It is no longer tolerable. For the trouble you have caused us, and the money you have cost us, you must die.”

He passed the microphone back to the man in the center, who slid it further down the table to the person on his left, an older man with swarthy skin and black eyes beneath graying hair. “I, Manuel Gonzalez of the Nuevo Cartel, agree with my colleagues here. On behalf of my Cartel, I sentence you all to death. You should have known better than to steal from us, and to cause us so many problems.

“The Cosa Nostra and the Dragon Tong have agreed that the Nuevo Cartel should be entrusted with the task of dealing with you. We shall therefore make an example of you, one that will arouse fear and horror in anyone else who even thinks about defying us. In this way, even though your lives have served no useful purpose, your deaths will.”

Numb with shock and disbelief, the audience watched as the three men rose from the table and walked off to one side, out of the field of view of the vid camera. A fourth man stepped into the picture, picked up the microphone, and turned to face the camera. His face was red, and his eyes hinted at moisture: a curious combination of mingled fury and sorrow.

“I am Dardan Bregija, current leader of the Bregija clan. Your founder, Bashkim Bregija, turned his back on us in anger and contempt more than four decades ago. We warned him at the time that his folly would cost him dear, and those who followed him. That warning will come true this day.

“The greatest tragedy for us is not your deaths, but that we have been forced to be the instruments of your destruction. The Nuevo Cartel ordered us to assist them. They said that since we had failed to do what we should have done at the time of the breakaway, we would have to do it now, on pain of being exterminated ourselves if we did not. The Bregija clan today numbers tens of thousands, scattered across at least a dozen worlds. We could not let the actions of a few thousand rebellious dissidents imperil the lives of many times their number. Your actions – no, your very existence has caused this threat to us. Therefore, we shall end it, so that we may continue to exist.

“The Nuevo Cartel coordinated your arrest with the authorities on Patos by threatening them with sanctions and reprisals if they did not assist. You may recall hearing that the Minister of Health died last week, along with his family, when they were burned to death in a vehicle accident. That is not true. Patos’ Cabinet was on a weekend strategy planning retreat at the Prime Minister’s lodge in the mountains. The Nuevo Cartel invaded it, held them all as prisoners, and forced them to watch as the Minister and his family were chosen by lot, then tortured to death, to provide an object lesson in what would happen to the other Ministers if they did not cooperate. Their bodies were then burned in their vehicle, to hide the evidence of how they died.

“Furthermore, the Ministers were warned that failure to cooperate would see piracy take root in this system overnight. It would grow until space travel to and from Patos was too dangerous to insure, and its orbital economy was in ruins. In the face of such threats, they surrendered. Patos is a minor planet, without influence or riches to obtain help against such a threat. They had no choice, just as we have no choice.

“Your vessels have already been dealt with, or soon will be. Your base in a deserted star system has by now been invaded and destroyed. Your spacers are dead. Now it is your turn. This ship is ours, commandeered by the Nuevo Cartel for this mission. They have forced us to be your executioners, and even dictated the way in which you will die.

“We are now drawing near to Patos’ sun. In a few moments, your personnel pod will be ejected. It holds enough air to last you for the rest of your lives. We shall turn away, leaving your pod to continue toward the sun. It will begin to burn up in its heat within five to six hours.” He paused, then sighed. “I am more sorry than I have words to say that it has come to this, but your madness and folly, and the Big Three’s anger, are to blame – not us.

“May God have mercy on your souls… and on ours, for what we are forced to do.”

Dardan Bregija laid down the microphone, turned, and walked out of camera shot. A moment later, the display screen went dark.

The members of the Brotherhood stood mute, staring at each other, aghast. Some turned to their partners and buried themselves in each other’s arms. Sobs broke out here and there around the room. Parents gathered their children to themselves, hugging them wordlessly.

Agim stood motionless. So it has come to this, in the end, he thought, a bitter, cold fury rising in his soul. The Patriarch warned us that the Bregijas were small-minded, ignorant, unworthy. They have just proved him correct! They could have died gloriously, refusing to be cowed! They could have joined us, making both groups immeasurably stronger! With our own planet, we might even have withstood the Big Three together, until we could grow strong enough to demand that they accept us as equals! But no… they would not do that. They chose the coward’s way. Well, we do not! We shall not die as cowards! We shall stand proud to the last, as the Patriarch did!

He squared his shoulders, lifted his head proudly, and walked to where his wife stood. Taking her hand, he led her to the front of the pod once more, turning to face his people with her at his side. Taking a deep breath, he began to sing the Himni i Flamurit, the Hymn of the Flag, the ancient anthem of the Albanian people. The Patriarch had loved it. It would now be the funeral song of his followers – and their shout of defiance in the face of death.

Slowly, hesitantly, a few voices began to join with his.

Around our flag we stand united,

With one wish and one goal,

A sacred oath we swear upon it,

A covenant of loyalty for our salvation.

Agim broke off for a moment. “Sing, brothers and sisters! Sing it with me!” More people straightened their backs, took deep breaths, and joined in the second verse.

Only he abstains from war

Who is born a traitor,

He who is truly a man is not frightened,

But dies as a martyr for the cause.

By now almost half the pod was singing.

With weapons brandished in our hands

We will defend our fatherland,

Our sacred rights we shall not share,

The enemy has no place here.

By the time they reached the sixth and final verse, the volume had become deafening. Almost everyone was singing at the tops of their lungs.

The man’s name is remembered and honored
who sacrifices himself for the fatherland.

Forever he will be remembered

Above earth and upon it as a saint!

Agim raised his voice in a mighty shout as the anthem ended. “Again, brothers and sisters! Sing it again, to the honor and glory of our Patriarch!”

In the conference room to one side of the freighter’s bridge, Dardan Bregija and the representatives of the Big Three watched and listened through hidden cameras and microphones as the Albanian Brotherhood bellowed its collective defiance.

The Nuevo Cartel man asked, “What are they singing? I do not speak Albanian.”

Dardan replied, “It is an ancient song of our people, of dedication to our fatherland’s flag.”

“As good a final song as any, I suppose. Are you recording what goes on in there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. We will need a copy, to get the names of the missing. Our people will hunt them down, sooner or later, wherever they are, and make sure they do not escape their fate. Destroy all other copies. We shall let it be known that the Brotherhood died badly, begging and screaming for mercy. Make sure you and the crew of this ship never contradict that, on pain of sharing their punishment.”

Dardan gritted his teeth. He wanted to scream his own defiance at this… this monster… join the Brotherhood, no matter how misguided they were, in rejecting him… but he knew what that would mean for his people. He forced himself to respond with only a muttered, tortured “Y-yes, sir.”

As the captives began the anthem again, he turned on his heel and walked through the open door to the bridge, where the ship’s captain and a few of his officers and spacers were listening in unwilling, almost horrified fascination.

“All is ready?” he asked the spacer skipper.

“All is ready, sir.” The man hesitated. “They… they are brave people, sir. They stand proud in the face of death.”

“Yes, they are brave, and proud, too. Sadly, it is the pride of the damned. How is the pod released?”

The captain pointed to a button on his command console, covered by a transparent flip-up cap. “We have programmed it to that button, sir. When it is pressed, everything will happen automatically. Our present trajectory will take the pod into the sun as we turn away.”

Dardan braced himself. “They are rebels, but many share our heritage and our blood. If the spirits of our ancestors curse us for killing them – as well they may! – then I pray their curse will fall on me alone, and spare our clan. God have mercy upon my soul.”

He reached out, flipped up the safety cover over the button, hesitated a moment, then pressed it. They all heard and felt the thump! through the hull as the latches securing the pod to the hold floor were released, and the hold doors opened. Cargo-handling tractor and pressor beams shoved the pod out into space. They watched, silent, through the viewscreens as it came into view, drifting off to starboard, already beginning to tumble slowly in the airless void.

Dardan crossed to the viewscreen and stood with his nose pressed against it, tears filling his eyes, heart pounding, feeling sick to his stomach as he watched the pod drawing further away. He knew it would have lost its artificial gravity field as it left the ship. Those inside would now be floating in free-fall… and few of them were spacers, familiar with such conditions. Their vestibular systems would now be destabilized, their sense of balance disoriented. Vertigo would already be setting in, and nausea as their stomachs revolted.

Within minutes, the first of them would begin spewing uncontrollably. Their vomit would float as well, splashing everyone nearby, growing worse by the minute as more and more people were affected. The portable toilets, designed for operation only in gravity, would remain lashed to the bulkhead; but the contents of their waste tanks, now also weightless, would drift up and out of their doors and vents, adding their stench and filth to the noisome atmosphere.

Those inside the pod would have to endure all that for hours, in rising temperatures as the pod drew nearer to the sun. No matter how great their courage, in the end, instinctively, hopelessly, at least some – the younger children first, and then adults, too – would begin to struggle uncontrollably, screaming, threshing about in a desperate attempt to find some, any, relief. The torment would continue and get worse, until… until all torment was burned away forever.

Dardan bowed his head and wept, silently, hopelessly. With an inner clarity and absolute certainty he had never felt before, he knew he had surely damned himself by agreeing to be complicit in this foulness. It would have been better to shoot himself first… but such defiance would have condemned his entire clan to death as well. He was trapped. He had no choice but to bear and endure this evil for his people. It was nothing less than his duty, as cold as ice, as hard as steel, as heavy as a mountain… and it crushed his spirit beneath its burden.

As he wept, the captain made a wordless sign to the helmsman, then reached for his control panel. The hold doors slid smoothly shut, and the ship turned away.

29

Bianca

CONSTANTA

Cochrane studied the figures. Slowly, he began to nod. “You did really well, both on the price of the planet, and getting lower prices for the infrastructure we’ll need.”

Caitlin smiled. “Thank you, sir. It was just as you thought. The company had gotten their hopes up really high that the Brotherhood would buy Ostrovy, but then the sale fell through and Pal Sejdiu vanished. They were almost in despair, because they’re a new outfit, and under-capitalized. They’d spent a lot of money on the planetary surveys, funded by debt, and it’s crippling them. They badly needed an injection of capital, to clear the debt and pay for a couple of new ships and all the robotic exploration gear they use. When I turned up, with money in the bank, they could hardly believe their luck. I was able to put the screws on them.”

“You certainly were! Forty-eight billion is a steal for a planet like that. The infrastructure prices are also less than I expected.”

“Yes, sir. I think we can have up to a thousand people living on the surface, with everything they need, in less than three years, for about three billion francs. To build a town of five to ten thousand, which should be big enough for all our people and their families at Hawkwood’s present size, would be twice that cost. That’s bringing in everything from off-planet, of course, and providing flat pack housing. Anyone wanting something fancier will have to build it themselves.”

Cochrane grinned at her. “Using parts and materials bought from us, or at the very least shipped in from other planets aboard our vessels. I’ll never charge our people more than cost plus ten per cent, and I’ll publish the numbers to prove it. Even so, that’ll grow into another useful income stream in due course.”

“Of course! I hadn’t thought about that, but most corporate planets do the same.”

“Yes. I’m particularly pleased that, even with all we need to buy, you’ve saved four billion out of what the Brotherhood sent to Neue Helvetica. I’ll use that right away to help replace our losses.”

Her face fell. “Yes, sir. How have our spacers taken them?”

“Hard. We lost three ships at New Skyros, and almost all their crews, a total of well over two hundred dead. We only lost four killed at the Brotherhood’s base – thanks be! – and one ship.”

“That makes it almost seven hundred people we’ve lost to the Brotherhood over the years, sir.”

“Yes, it does, but they’ve lost thousands – in fact, they no longer exist. Frank was very downhearted for a while after he got back. He blamed himself, until I pointed out that anyone caught in that situation would have suffered just as badly. He was fighting a fanatically determined, well-equipped enemy at point-blank range, and still succeeded in killing four out of five ships with no trouble at all. If they’d all fought as hard as the destroyer, he might not have got back at all.”

She shivered. “Yes, sir. It looks as if New Skyros was as ruthless with its prisoners as the Big Three were on Patos. All the survivors, and the anchor watch crews, and the staff of the Brotherhood’s purchasing mission on the planet, were convicted of piracy, condemned to death, and hanged within a couple of months.”

“And whose fault is that? The Brotherhood started it. Hawkwood, and the Big Three, and New Skyros, have finished it.” Cochrane’s voice was very cold.

He sat silent for a moment, then changed the subject. “All right. Over the next few months, you’ll set the wheels in motion on the water purification and sewage treatment plants for Bianca. They’ll go out there in containers, for robotic assembly on site. Also, look into autonomous site preparation robots. Sue McBride will give you the details. They’re expensive, but if they save as much time as their manufacturers claim in leveling and clearing building sites, digging trenches, laying pipe and cable runs and preparing roadbeds, they’ll be worth it.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Sue will be our project manager for Bianca. She’ll coordinate all the various disciplines involved, and make sure they’re working smoothly together. She’s been getting ready for this for a while.”

“That’s great, sir! I’m so glad she’s back in harness.”

“So am I. She’ll specify what we need – except for what Pal Sejdiu worked out, of course; we won’t reinvent the wheels he provided. You’ll buy it for her. You’ll also handle things like our relationship with the United Planets. You said you were worried about being bored, before you moved here. If that’s still a concern, we’re going to need a Consul at the UP, possibly growing to a full Ambassadorship in due course. Want the job?”

Her eyes sparkled. “On Neue Helvetica? Try and stop me, sir! That’ll be fascinating, as well as working with Sue, of course – and just think of the intelligence-gathering opportunities! Can I have Henry to help me?”

Cochrane winked at her. “A little bird tells me you and he are getting closer than just a professional relationship.”

Caitlin blushed. “Yes, sir. We’ve worked together for several years now, and… well, he’s quite a guy.”

“Yes, he is. If he agrees, and if you both figure you can make the relationship work, I’m willing to make him Vice-Consul and Commercial Attaché. It can be tricky to work alongside your partner, as Hui and I have learned the hard way, but it can also be very rewarding.”

She smiled eagerly. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re going to Neue Helvetica next week, so you can start looking for offices for the Consulate and a nice place for you to live. Also, bring Pal Sejdiu back with you. He’s been kept incommunicado while we dealt with the Brotherhood. It’s time to consider his future now, and that of the other prisoners and survivors.”

“With the Big Three looking for them by name, do they have a future at all, sir?”

“Let’s get him back to his family, then I’ll discuss it with them.” He stretched. “Don’t tell anyone else about Bianca yet. Only a few of us know about it. We’ll announce it to the rest of the staff in due course.”

The following week, Cochrane called in Lachlan MacLachlan, who wore the twin Staff Officer hats of S4, Logistics, and S8, Finance.

“How does our balance sheet look now, after all our recent wheeling and dealing?” he asked.

“Pretty good, sir.” Lachlan called up a spreadsheet on the Commodore’s desk terminal. “Right now we have just over thirty billion in our asteroid reserve account, mostly from the Mycenae system, although the first fruits of our Larcuna contract are beginning to arrive. They’re looking good. Thanks to Caitlin’s haggling at Neue Helvetica, we still have four billion uncommitted in the account of Compagnia Bianca GmbH. We recovered six and a third billion francs worth of gold at the Brotherhood base, of which we’ll retain about five billion after bonuses or death benefits for everyone who took part in both operations to deal with the Brotherhood’s ships. Finally, there’s eight and a half billion in our operating account, and eight billion in our capital expenditure reserve, earmarked for the ships we have on order.”

“So, a total available, uncommitted balance of about forty-seven billion? That’s better than I’d realized.”

“We’ve been working the asteroid field in Mycenae pretty hard, sir. I’m afraid the New Orkney Enterprise may smell a rat there in due course, despite our cover story, and demand that we stop. Also, don’t forget that our operating costs are well over a billion a month, and getting higher as more of our ships are delivered and enter service. That balance isn’t nearly as much as it sounds.”

“You’re right. Also, don’t forget that NOE is gearing up to expand their own security force. Within about two years, they’ll have their new ships in service, and our contract with them will come to an end. We’ll take as much as we can out of Mycenae until then, of course, under cover of the presumed threat from the Brotherhood; we just won’t tell NOE that they’re now defunct. I’ll speed that up as much as possible by allocating more ships and resources to it. If I can stockpile a few hundred asteroids from that system over the next two years, I will, against future need. We have a planet to settle, don’t forget. That’s not going to be cheap.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll inform the staff about this later, but right now, you’ve got more ships to buy. First off, we have another four frigates on order, right?”

“Yes, sir, out of a total of nine – but we’ve just lost two, of course.”

“I want you to add one more to our order. After our losses, that’ll give us a squadron of eight frigates. Qianjin is talking to Kang Industries about taking the full-size Desroches class destroyer hull, which we shortened as the basis for our frigates, and fitting three, rather than two, cruiser missile pods into it. It’ll have to be reconfigured internally, of course, and perhaps lengthened, too – maybe even enough to fit four missile pods. If they get that design right, I want to order some of them, too. They’ll form the core of our System Patrol Service at Bianca.”

“Ah… isn’t that a very big, expensive defense for a brand-new, insignificant planet, sir?”

“Yes, it is, but I expect Hawkwood will make more enemies in due course – although not another Brotherhood, please God! Also, we don’t want anything like what the Big Three did to Patos to happen on Bianca. We need to make our base too tough a nut for them to even think about cracking it like that. Super-destroyers, plus one or two arsenal ships, should be a good start.”

“Yes, sir. There are two problems. First, Hawkwood can’t buy ships like that. As a private security company, we’re restricted under United Planets regulations to warships that can carry no more than two missile pods. Even our arsenal ships, which technically aren’t warships, are stretching that regulation about as far as it can go.”

“True, but Hawkwood won’t be buying these ships – Bianca will. Our new planetary government will also issue an end-user certificate for them. That’s entirely legal.”

“Oh! You’re right, sir. I’d forgotten about that. My second point was, they’re going to be very expensive. Can we afford them?”

“If we get enough out of Mycenae before NOE shuts us down in that system, I think we can. I expect them to cost about two and a half billion francs apiece, compared to a frigate at under one and a half billion. We may take our time ordering them, depending on the money situation. I’ll let you discuss that with Kang Industries. Qianjin will keep us informed on how the design is progressing.”

“Yes, sir.”

“As for getting enough out of Mycenae, and out of asteroids in general, I think it’s time we bought ourselves a refinery ship. Now that the Brotherhood’s out of our hair, we can afford to divert some of our time, resources and attention from our fighting ships and spacers. At present, Barjah refines our asteroids, and charges us fifty per cent of what they yield. If we have our own refinery, that instantly doubles our income from that source, less the operating costs of the ship. Go ahead and order one.

“While you’re at it, order a full metalworks ship as well, one that can produce various grades of steel, aluminum and alloys, then cast, roll and forge them into whatever we need. We’ll base them both at Bianca. Its asteroid belt will provide raw materials, the refinery ship will process them, and the metalworks ship will produce most of our infrastructure needs, both orbital and planetside. Its first job will be to produce the frames and plating for an orbital space station for Bianca.”

“Yes, sir. For a pair of new-construction, state-of-the-art ships like that, you’re talking five to six billion francs. They’ll take two to three years to build, because they’re very specialized and very big – four to five million tons displacement apiece. The industrial production lines and equipment aboard each of them cost many times more than the ships themselves.”

Cochrane shrugged. “Spend it. As I said, we’re losing half our asteroid revenue through not having our own refinery. We’ll more than cover their cost from the first two precious metal asteroid shipments we refine. I’ll stockpile most of the asteroids we get out of Mycenae in orbit around one of Bianca’s moons, and wait to refine them until we can keep all the profit for ourselves.”

“Yes, sir. What about crews for the refinery and metalworks ships? Those are specialized occupations.”

“Yes, they are, but we can afford to pay for the best. Some of our people might want to retrain in those specialties, and I’ll give them the opportunity. That’s not the end of our ship needs, either. I’ll re-examine our growth plans with Dave Cousins and Frank Haldane over the next couple of weeks. We’ll probably order more corvettes, to bring our total fleet of that class to twenty-four once they’ve all been delivered. That sounds like a lot, but up to a third will be rotating through maintenance and training at any one time, and there’ll be enough security work to keep the rest busy.

“I’ll also order two extra frigate missile pods, but empty, without missiles. One will be outfitted as a marketing and presentation suite. The other will provide VIP accommodation for any of Bianca’s or Hawkwood’s senior executives and officers who need secure travel facilities. The pods will have plenty of room to install those facilities and whatever else they need. We’ll put them aboard any available frigate or destroyer whenever they’re needed. There’ll be a few more freighters, to replace Porpoise and support our migration to Bianca and our expanding operations; and probably some more communications vessels, too. We’ll also need a shipyard.”

“A shipyard, sir?” Lachlan was clearly shaken. “At Bianca? That’s a hellish expensive item, even more than the refinery and metalworks ships. Even a small one will cost up to ten billion francs.”

“Yes, but we’ll need one to support our vessels. It’s a longer-term project, of course. I’ve had Jock Murray researching it, with the assistance of Grigorescu Shipyards. They’ve agreed to help us build it in due course, and Matei Grigorescu will lend us one of his sons to help get it up and running. He says that when the time comes, he might even sell his shipyard as a going concern – it’s worth a lot more now, because it’s expanded to keep pace with our growth – and buy a half-share in ours. If so, he’ll move his entire family and a lot of his workforce to Bianca, to run our shipyard for us. They like us, and we like them, and we work well together, so I’m going to encourage that. He’ll also train shipyard staff for us in his establishment here.”

Lachlan shook his head bemusedly. “Don’t you ever run out of new ideas, sir?”

“Well, there’s no point in stagnating, is there? Besides, now that the Brotherhood’s out of the way, we’ll be much better positioned to grow our business without them interfering. Let’s stretch our wings as wide as we can, and climb as high and go as far as they’ll carry us.”

The following month, Cochrane booked the private room of an exclusive restaurant to host a victory dinner for Hawkwood’s directors and staff officers. The atmosphere was a blend of sorrow for their losses, pleasure over their victories, sober contemplation of the Brotherhood’s fate, and consideration of their own future.

After enjoying a sumptuous meal, they settled down to business. The waiters cleared the tables, served coffee and liqueurs, then closed the doors to give them privacy. Cochrane started the ball rolling by unveiling a large-scale model of Bianca, cast, carved and painted to represent her continents, smaller islands and oceans.

“This is our new home,” he told them. “We’ve already bought and paid for it. I’ve ordered our satellite base at Barjah to move to Bianca at once, with all its ships. It’ll be out of the way of prying eyes there, which was the reason we put it at Barjah in the first place, and it’ll provide local security. All of our warships based here at Constanta will be transferred there over the next five to ten years, as circumstances allow, although our freighters will continue to be based here for the foreseeable future. Caitlin, tell us about Bianca.”

Caitlin spoke for almost fifteen minutes, showing vid and images of the planet. Sue joined her to describe the next stages in the settlement process. Those who hadn’t been aware of the project grew enthusiastic, as they realized the flexibility that owning their own planet would provide.

“That brings me to future expansion,” Cochrane said as he took over once more. “I’m going to be doing a lot more corporate work, including initial planetary governance, and less on the security side. I’m promoting Dave Cousins and Frank Haldane to Commodore with immediate effect. Dave will look after Hawkwood’s infrastructure and administration, while Frank handles operations. I daresay they’ll swap jobs every couple of years, to keep each other fresh. They’ll work hand in glove, of course. For the sake of the chain of command, I’ll promote myself to Rear-Admiral and referee any conflicts, but I don’t think there’ll be many. They get on too well together for that.”

Congratulations and good wishes were showered on the newly promoted flag officers. They accepted them, grinning.

“Hawkwood has grown far and fast since we began,” Cochrane continued. “When we began, I promised all of you who first joined me that you’d receive a guaranteed profit share, in cash, of at least five million francs, payable after five years. You all rolled that over, and the amount kept going up as we did better and better. Right now, there’s two hundred and fifty million francs in a Neue Helvetica bank account for each of you.”

There were gasps as the eight original directors realized they were now independently wealthy, to the point that they need never work again, if they so chose.

“I’m going to pay you out right away, whether or not you stay with Hawkwood. You have a choice. You can take the cash: or, if you prefer, and if you’re going to stay with us, I’ll give each of you a five per cent shareholding in Hawkwood instead of the money. You won’t be able to sell it to anyone but me, to prevent dilution of ownership outside our circle, but I’ll guarantee a fair, market-related price if you want to do that. It’ll earn you twenty-five to thirty million every year in dividends and profit share, if we go on doing as well as we have been. Personally, I think we’ll do even better, now that the Brotherhood’s out of our hair. There’s the risk we may have some bad years, of course, but there’s also the potential to double your money over time, or even better. Cash or shares, the choice is yours – or some of each: a one per cent share equates to fifty million francs, so if you took that in cash, the balance of your money would buy you a four per cent share in Hawkwood. Let me know over the next few days what you’d prefer, and in what proportions.”

Cochrane turned to Frank Haldane. “Frank, you weren’t part of our original board of directors, but you helped us with a couple of very important jobs right at the start, and you’ve been a big part of our success since you joined us. For that reason, I’m offering you a special deal, second only to the eight original directors. You can have two hundred million francs, or a four per cent shareholding in Hawkwood, or a proportion of each. I’m also appointing you a director with immediate effect.”

Frank Haldane looked stunned. “Ah… um… thank you, sir! That’s the last thing I expected to hear tonight!” The others applauded, their faces lighting up with pleasure and approval.

“You’ve earned it the hard way. Let me know which option you’d prefer.”

He went on to tell them about the refinery and metalworks ships, and the planned dockyard. “We’ll need crews for them, of course. They’re all specialized occupations, so we’ll probably have to hire contract personnel at first, but we’ll try to grow our own people into their jobs.

“There’s another potential source of recruits I hadn’t thought about. You’ll recall we’ve had several spacers from Keda as our prisoners for a couple of years. The Brotherhood shanghaied them from their planet, and paid most of their salaries to Keda officials as a bribe for their services. They’ve actually preferred being our prisoners to working for the Brotherhood!” Laughter from the staff, some of whom had met the Keda prisoners and come to like them.

“We captured another two hundred and thirty-seven Kedans aboard the Brotherhood refinery ship. I asked our earlier prisoners to reassure them that we’d send them all home safely; but that had an unexpected result. When they heard about how well we’d treated their people, about two-thirds of the Kedans asked to join us. They don’t want to go back to their planet. They’ve also offered to recruit more spacers for us, people they know personally and are willing to recommend.”

Frank frowned, and raised his hand. “Mightn’t that be a security risk, sir?”

“Yes, it might, but I’m planning to use them at first aboard our freighters and communications vessels, not our fighting ships. That’ll free up our people for more demanding work requiring greater security. I’ll send back to Keda all those who want to go, with a year’s salary. We’ll take that out of what we captured from the Brotherhood. Those who want to work for us will first have to pass our security checks, including a truth-tester examination. Next, within six months they’ll have to be sufficiently fluent in Galactic Standard English to learn, and then do, a spacer’s job without needing translation software. We’ll give them hypno-study courses and immersion language training.

“After that, we’ll put them through the entry-level spacer course aboard our training ship, to bring their standards up to the minimum we require. Irrespective of their current rank, they’ll all start with us as Spacers Third Class. They’ll have to prove themselves, and work hard, and qualify to our standards as at least Spacers First Class within three years. Their more experienced people will probably advance much faster, of course. If they fail any of those steps, back to Keda they go.”

“That’s a pretty tough program for people with their limited background, sir,” Dave Cousins said, concern in his voice. “Will they be up to the challenge?”

Cochrane shrugged. “We aren’t running a charity. This is a tough business. Yes, it’ll be hard for them: but if they’re willing and able to make the effort, it’ll be worth their while – and ours, I hope.”

“What about their families, sir?” Caitlin asked.

“They’re all on Keda. I don’t expect that to change anytime soon. Once they’ve qualified as spacers to our standards, we might look into letting them bring their families here to Constanta, which will still be the hub of our freight operations for at least the next decade. We can get them residence permits. The spacers will serve aboard ship for a regular one- to two-year tour of duty, as most merchant spacers do, then come home for six months to a year. For those wanting more family time, we might let them work on our vessels undergoing routine maintenance at Grigorescu Shipyards. In time, perhaps they can graduate to our new dockyard at Bianca.”

“Will you allow them to live on Bianca, sir?”

“I’m not sure yet. It depends how well they work out for us, and on the progress of our infrastructure there. Also, we’ll have to make sure we won’t have a clash of cultures in our new home. We can’t have a New Orkney Cluster, and a Constanta, and a Keda culture, and who knows how many others, all competing with each other. There’s too much risk of conflict. We’ll need to establish an overarching ‘Hawkwood culture’, for want of a better term, with common values and a common language. If individuals and families can fit into that, and not be insular, that’ll be fine. If they can’t, then they won’t be allowed to live on Bianca, irrespective of where they came from.

“We want people for whom Bianca alone will be home, and who are its citizens alone, not hyphenated Biancans from all over the place. Too many planets have that problem. I don’t want ours to be among them.”

Dave asked, “What about the Brotherhood officers and spacers we captured at their base, sir, and those who escaped from Patos?”

“They’re under sentence of death from the Big Three, who are actively looking for them. I’m trying to find a way around that. Caitlin, do you remember the planet you visited for conferences with the Big Three?”

“Bintulu? Yes, sir.”

“You’ll remember its special attributes, then. Do you think that might offer a solution for our prisoners?”

She began to smile. “I daresay it will, sir, if they’ll agree to it. The Big Three will probably honor it. I don’t think they can do otherwise – they rely on it too much themselves.”

“I’ll discuss it with the prisoners, then. Frankly, I don’t think they have any safe alternative. We’ll have to subsidize them with some of the captured Brotherhood gold, but I don’t mind doing that, considering how much help the Brotherhood unknowingly provided to us over Bianca.”

The briefing over, waiters entered once again to serve fresh coffee and more liqueurs. Jock Murray waited until they’d finished, then rose to his feet, smiling down at Sue McBride, who’d been leaning against him. Their budding romance had amused and pleased all the others. He picked up his glass.

“Sir, we’ve been very lucky to have you as our leader over the past several years. I don’t think Hawkwood could have even survived, let alone flourished as it has, without you at the helm. You’ve provided the sort of leadership most Fleets can only dream of. Here’s to you, sir. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Rear-Admiral Cochrane, majority owner, Chairman and Managing Director of Hawkwood Security, and prospective first President of Bianca!”

They jumped to their feet as one, and raised their glasses in a chorus of agreement.

Epilogue

BINTULU

The personnel shuttle settled into its slot in the space station docking bay. The pilot waited for the airlock to be linked, then announced, “Passengers may disembark.”

The forty-two men and women slowly filed through the airlock into the space station. A woman was waiting for them, holding a sign reading ‘Sejdiu Party’. “Please follow me,” she invited them. “Your baggage will be held for you until we have finished.”

She led them to a small auditorium, with seats for up to a hundred people. They filled the front few rows. A man at a podium in the front of the room waited until they were seated.

“We provide this briefing to all new protective residence permit holders, to give you one last chance to reflect on the restrictions that will govern your lives on Bintulu,” he began. His voice was cool and formal, neither welcoming nor forbidding. “If you choose not to accept any of these restrictions, you are free to re-board your shuttle. It will return you to the ship that brought you here. However, once processed through Customs and Immigration, you will be governed by these restrictions. Any violation will – I repeat, will – have very serious consequences.

“Bintulu is recognized throughout the settled galaxy as a place where feuds, vendettas and revenge may not be pursued by outsiders, resident or not, under any circumstances. The punishment for doing so is drastic – usually terminally so. Organizations and individuals may not target their enemies who have sought sanctuary here, and individuals with protective resident permits may not seek to strike back at their enemies, whether here or off-planet, either directly or through third parties. Bintulu is a strictly neutral planet, and we defend that status vigorously by any and all means necessary. What is more, certain interplanetary organizations that benefit from our neutrality help us to enforce it, also by any and all means necessary. I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate.

“Another condition of your protective residence permits is that you may not leave Bintulu. If you do, you will not be allowed to return, and your enemies will be free to act against you as they see fit. You are safe here, so long as you stay here. Leave, and you are on your own.

“You were members, and are now almost the only survivors, of an organization that no longer exists. A benefactor has paid on your behalf the five million francs we charge per person for protective residence permits, and also for a month’s hotel accommodation for each of you. He has deposited a further two million francs per person in bank accounts that will be made over to you after entry processing. Housing is expensive in East Kampung, the part of our capital city where most expatriates like yourselves live, but you each have enough to purchase a moderately comfortable residence. The balance will support you until you can establish yourselves; or, if you are frugal and don’t spend too much on a home, it will earn enough interest to serve as a pension.

“Are there any questions?”

Alban Sejdiu raised his hand. “Does ‘leaving’ mean the planet, or the system? May we engage in space commerce within Bintulu’s system – say, asteroid mining, or orbital warehousing?”

“Yes, you may. Anything within the Bintulu system is in order. However, if you hyper-jump out of our system, your protection is permanently revoked, and you lose your right of residence. The only exception to that is if you choose to become a citizen in due course, and then join Bintulu’s armed forces or a department of the government, and are sent out of our system on official planetary business.”

“I see. Thank you.”

A former Brotherhood spacer officer asked, “What about families? Most of us have none now…” He had to pause to collect himself, the pain of all-too-recent bereavement showing clearly on his features. “If… if we marry again, and have children, can they leave someday?”

“Anyone arriving here from off-planet under a protective residence permit may not leave. However, any children born to you here will be Bintulu citizens, and therefore will not be bound by that restriction. They are free to depart. Whether or not that is advisable will depend on whether or not your enemies might regard them as targets. That is out of our hands, of course.”

The official waited for a moment, then said, “If there are no more questions, is there anyone who wishes to return to the shuttle that brought you here?” None of his audience moved, and he smiled. “Very well. You may proceed to Customs and Immigration, where your protective residence permits will be issued, and your bank accounts handed over and validated. Welcome to Bintulu!”

Three days later, Pal Sejdiu, his wife and their children, complete with Alban’s wife and Fjolla’s husband and daughter, sat down at the outdoor terrace of an East Kampung restaurant. They ordered food, then sat back to enjoy their drinks while waiting for it to arrive.

“So, what do you think of the place?” Pal asked his children.

“It will do,” Fjolla observed. “Given the alternative, it will do very nicely!”

The others laughed, but there was an undertone of profound sorrow to their amusement. They could not forget – they would never forget – how many of their relatives and friends had been forced to endure that alternative. They knew how fortunate they had been to be saved. The Brotherhood spacers from the depot ship had lost their entire families. A few of them had found the grief unbearable, and had committed suicide. Meanwhile, rumors of the Brotherhood’s fate had sent a frisson of horror throughout the settled galaxy – particularly the underworld, which was better informed than most, thanks to the Big Three.

Jehona said quietly, “Let us be grateful for what we have. We shall make new lives for ourselves here, and the children born to us on this planet will regain all the opportunities we have had to give up. It could have gone much, much worse for us, as it did for all too many of our friends.”

“Yes, it could,” Aferdita agreed. “I don’t know why Commodore – sorry, Rear-Admiral Cochrane was so generous to all of us, but I’m very grateful that he was. He could just have released us with no money or anything, to run for our lives until the Big Three’s assassins caught up with us, as the crews of the Brotherhood’s few surviving ships must be doing.”

“We would not have got far,” Pal agreed. “I asked him why he had not done that. He sighed, and said there had been enough hatred and enough killing. Sooner or later, we had to get on with the business of living instead.”

“He told me that the Brotherhood effectively paid for our permits here, out of the gold Hawkwood recovered at our base,” Alban noted. “It was still very generous of him, though. He could have used that money for many other things. To send forty-two of us here, paying for our space travel, protective residence permits, hotel and funding, has cost him about three hundred million francs. That is far more than I ever expected of him.”

“I wonder if the Big Three will be angry with him when they find out?” Lindita mused.

“They may be, but I think they will let it go,” Pal replied. “In the end, they got what they wanted. A small group of survivors is not really worth worrying about, so long as we do not try to re-establish the Brotherhood. If we were that foolish, they would act.”

“Bintulu would regard that as a breach of our residence conditions,” his wife pointed out. “It would probably hand us over to them.”

“Then let us make sure we never give them cause to do so!” His listeners agreed, loudly and fervently.

“Commander Thanas and his surviving spacers are not letting grass grow under their feet,” Fjolla’s husband Enver commented. “They are talking about contributing a million francs each to a pool, and using it to buy a share in an orbital warehouse, or perhaps a couple of used cargo shuttles, or both. They can operate them themselves, of course. They think they can make a good living in orbital cargo handling and storage.”

“I wish them luck,” his wife said. “Father, have you had any thoughts about what you will do?”

“Aferdita’s father, Jehona and I are talking about going into business together. I have a broader and more in-depth knowledge of security than almost anyone I know, Jehona is almost as good, and is also a highly trained accountant – and a trained intelligence operator besides, which I am not – and he is a skilled financier. Together, we can offer security products and services to banks and businesses. I think, between us, we have more experience and expertise than any of the companies currently operating here in that field.

“It will take more capital than we have, though. What with licensing suitable products from off-planet, consulting fees and other costs, we shall probably need ten million francs in startup funds. If we can raise five million, he thinks he can obtain investors for the balance.”

“Well, you and I each have two million in the bank, and so does he,” Jehona pointed out.

“Yes, but we have to buy a home, too.”

She shrugged. “Let us start small. We can buy something simple, perhaps further out of town. We can upgrade later, when our finances allow.”

“Why don’t we all buy something together, perhaps a large house we can share, or a building with two or three apartments?” Alban suggested. “That way, we can help support each other, and pool the money we save to finance our future together. If all of us contribute to your venture, that would give you ten million or more, and our shares would earn us money over time.”

“What are you going to do, Alban?” his younger brother asked.

“I’m thinking about going in with Commander Thanas, or perhaps looking for employment in an asteroid mining company. I’m a trained spacer officer, after all, even if only a junior one. I don’t mind starting at the bottom of the ladder, and working my way up. What about you?”

“I’m going to talk to Commander Thanas, too. We have to make a fresh start here, and there’s no point in being too choosy at first. Let’s work together to get ourselves established. After that, we can figure out what we want to do next. I might follow you into merchant spacer officer training, or study at a university down here. Who knows?”

“That is a good attitude,” Pal said approvingly. “We shall be stronger if we work together.”

Jehona shivered. “I wish you hadn’t put it like that. It reminds me too much of my grandfather, and the disaster he brought upon us by saying much the same thing, over and over again.”

“You are right. Let us never take it to such an extreme again!”

When the meal was over, they decided to walk back to their hotel along the river. The weather was balmy, and crowds of strollers, diners and shoppers kept the broad, paved walkway bustling with activity. Along the street above, the noises of the entertainment district reminded them that this was the heart of East Kampung’s night life, too.

They paused to watch a paddle-boat swish slowly past on the river, couples dancing to a live band on its upper deck. “That looks like fun,” Alban observed to his wife. “We must try it soon.”

Aferdita hugged him. “I’d like that. I’m sure we can spare a little of the Rear-Admiral’s gold to enjoy ourselves.”

Pal nodded. “It was our gold first, of course, before he captured it from our refinery ship,” he said contemplatively. “I wonder what happened to the gold Szipnij was carrying? We never heard anything more about her after she was pirated in the Mavra system. I suppose one of the Big Three got her. I know Ostrovy went back on the market after our purchase fell through, and was bought by someone else within a couple of months. I’d never heard of the buyer before.”

Jehona shook her head. “Let it lie, dearest. It is no longer important to us. The Fatherland Project turned out to be disastrous for us, first in the way we raised funds for it, and then when we tried to use them to buy a planet. Let us hope that whoever bought Ostrovy has better luck with it than we did, and much greater success.”

“Yes. Let us hope and pray so, for their sake.”

About The Author

Peter Grant was born and raised in Cape Town, South Africa. Between military service, the IT industry and humanitarian involvement, he traveled throughout sub-Saharan Africa before being ordained as a pastor. He later immigrated to the USA, where he worked as a pastor and prison chaplain until an injury forced his retirement. He is now a full-time writer, and married to a pilot from Alaska. They currently live in Texas.

See all of Peter’s books at his Amazon.com author page, or visit him at his blog, Bayou Renaissance Man. There, you can also sign up for his mailing list, to receive a monthly newsletter and be kept informed of upcoming books.

Books by Peter Grant

MILITARY SCIENCE FICTION:

The Maxwell Saga:

Take the Star Road

Ride the Rising Tide

Adapt and Overcome

Stand Against the Storm

Stoke the Flames Higher

Cochrane’s Company:

The Stones of Silence

An Airless Storm

The Pride of the Damned

The Laredo War:

War to the Knife

Forge a New Blade

Knife to the Hilt (coming soon)

FANTASY:

King’s Champion

WESTERN:

The Ames Archives:

Brings The Lightning

Rocky Mountain Retribution

Gold on the Hoof (coming soon)

MEMOIR:

Walls, Wire, Bars and Souls