The Ascendant Stars (43 page)

‘This is like a weird rerun of the situation with the Tygran ships,’ Greg said.

‘Pardon for saying, Lieutenant,’ said Berg. ‘You seem very well informed already so why would you need us to remain here?’

‘There is an important function which requires your being in close orbit around the gas giant.’

‘We are already on our way there – ETA eleven minutes.’

‘Good. Stand by for further orders, Mr Berg.’

The channel went dead. Berg frowned.

‘It seems that we must hurry up and wait,’ he said.

Greg was thoughtful. ‘Actually, I think I know what this is all about.’ And when he told Berg, realisation dawned in the Tygran’s eyes.

Sure enough, nearly thirty-five minutes later Ash was back and asking for Greg.

‘And how’s it going, Mr Ash?’ he said as he hurried onto the bridge. ‘As you can see, I’m back in my serious civvy gear, complete with snazzy long black coat. I’ve had a shower, or tornado-fogblast as it should be called, and I’ve had one o’ they wee stimpills as well – which work, by the way. This is the most awake I’ve been for over a week, so … when do I get to meet the vice-admiral?’

Ash glared at him. ‘How did you know … ’

‘Aye, well, that’ll be one of my special archaeologist superpowers, the power of deduction, don’t ye know!’

Greg grinned at Berg, who was striving to keep a straight face.

‘I trust that you’ll keep your witticisms to yourself when you meet Vice-Admiral Ngassa,’ Ash said, stone-faced. ‘When we spoke with him just minutes ago he insisted on speaking with a Darien representative, which means you. When you meet him, emphasise that all of us here have come together as an informal alliance for the sole purpose of defending Darien, and its moon. Be sure that he understands this.’

‘I shall. Anything else?’

‘It would be helpful to learn of his expectations of what the Hegemony fleet will do when it arrives. Before this he was the previous supreme commander of Earthsphere forces in the Yamanon Domain so he’s had experience of the Hegemony military from working alongside them.’

Greg took it all in, nodding. ‘Righto, I get the picture. And don’t worry about my attitude – I shall be the soul of sober diplomacy.’

Ash’s stare was almost unreadable.

‘Once you and Lieutenant Berg are in the shuttle and
declamped we will send you encrypted coordinates for the rendezvous with the vice-admiral’s pinnace. You’ll dock with it, go aboard and conduct the meeting there.’

Greg smiled brightly. ‘We’re on our way.’

To a rerun of that blether we had with Braddock, sounds like
, he thought as he hurried after Berg.

Less than half an hour later they were approaching the rendezvous coordinates and the sleek vessel waiting there. They docked with a transfer conduit jutting from the starboard flank. Greg and Berg were greeted on the other side of the hatch by an armed escort, three Earthsphere marines in ceremonial black and blue uniforms. Along a grey and red passage they were taken to a small room where a tall officer in formal black rose from a table scattered with documents, facing them.

‘Gentlemen, thank you for coming,’ he said. ‘I am Lieutenant Commander Neville, adjutant and chief of staff to the vice-admiral. Which of you is Greg Cameron?’

Smiling, Greg raised a hand. Neville nodded then turned to Berg.

‘So you must be the Ezgara officer,’ he said. ‘There have been wild theories for some time that the Ezgara commandos were actually a Human splinter group of some kind. Now we’re hearing a remarkable rumour that they are actually descended from one of the three lost colonies. Is this so?’

Berg had maintained a neutral expression thus far, to the point where Greg suspected some degree of dislike beneath the surface.

‘With respect, sir,’ he said, ‘I am under specific orders not to discuss these matters.’

The adjutant gazed at Berg for a motionless second before nodding.

‘Of course. Understandable.’ He turned his attention back to Greg. ‘Now that you are here, we can go through.’

Neville crossed to a second door, opened it and ushered them in.

The conference room had soft carpeting, elaborate uplighting
and a substantial oval table surface in pale, polished wood. Four triangular windows with rounded corners were spaced along the outer bulkhead, affording a view of the stars and the wisps and veils of the deepzone. A lanky, brown-skinned man in a formal steel-blue uniform was standing at one of them, drinking from a glass. He looked round as they entered, introductions were made, hands were shaken.

‘It is a pleasure to finally meet someone from Darien,’ said Vice-Admiral Ngassa as he gestured them to sit. ‘The newspipes have been full of stories and docudramas about your world but very little is of use in a situation like this.’

‘Well, Vice-Admiral, if there’s anything you need to know about Darien, especially anything archaeologically based, I’m definitely your man,’ Greg said. ‘Mind you, I have a few questions, myself.’

‘That’s fair, Mr Cameron,’ Ngassa said. ‘Firstly, please understand what we are here for. My orders require me to place my forces in near-Darien space for the purposes of protection and security. The president has invoked the “duty of legacy” principle, which essentially means that Earthsphere can assume responsibility for the external political relationships and negotiations of a Human community or colony if its civilian authority is unable to carry them out for itself.’

‘Aye, well I guess that would be a fair description of the state of things the now,’ Greg said.

‘And in the light of my orders, we are faced with the problem of the various warships currently in orbit around Darien. Can you tell me why they’re here?’

Greg nodded. ‘Oh, yes, I can. Ye see, they’re not the problem – but they are here because of the problem or rather the threat posed by the imminent arrival of a large Hegemony fleet. And when I say large, I mean gigantic, going by what I’ve heard. So basically, they have come together in an informal alliance for the purpose of defending Darien.’

Ngassa nodded calmly, taking it all in.

‘I can see that, Mr Cameron, and accepting such aid is
understandable in the circumstances. However, the real problem, I’m afraid, could be the Imisil.’

‘The Imisil … are the real problem?’

The vice-admiral gave a slightly pained nod.

‘The Hegemony and the Imisil have had … some unfortunate clashes in the past. If they were to leave the system within the next two hours it would make for more relaxed negotiations when the Hegemony fleet arrives.’

‘Well, ye know, it’s funny but our relationship with the Imisil seems to be just fine,’ Greg said. ‘But I’ll certainly pass that on to the joint command, although you should realise that they’ll be looking for some guarantees in return, no planetary bombardment, no atmospheric destabilisation, no attempt at ground invasion, that sorta thing. That would be a great starting point, I think.’ He leaned back a little. ‘Mind you, I have to say – with great respect, by the way – that there seems to be a wee question hanging over your own fleet’s integrity, so to speak. We got the impression that you’ve had a few … problems yourself.’

Ngassa gave a dismissive gesture. ‘Minor disciplinary matters, nothing more … ’

‘Officers and captains refusing direct orders, officers and captains being shot dead or thrown in the brig, using loyal ships to corral whole ships that have gone rogue – stop me if any o’ this is sounding a wee bit familiar … ’

‘Mr Cameron!’ said the adjutant angrily.

‘It’s all right, Neville,’ said the vice-admiral. ‘Your information is quite accurate, Mr Cameron, and courtesy of the Imisil, I expect.’

‘They do have some rather fine sensor technology, I’m led to believe.’

Just then, the adjutant took a datapad from his waist clip, wordlessly indicated it to the vice-admiral, who nodded. The adjutant rose from the table and left by the main door, the data-pad raised to one ear.

‘As I said, Mr Cameron, a disciplinary problem,’ Ngassa
continued. ‘Admittedly, the nature and timing of it is worrying but the situation is firmly under control.’

‘I see, sir,’ said Greg. ‘So you’ve locked up everyone with an AI implant, then.’

Ngassa gave him a mildly incredulous look. ‘I’m sorry but that would be an extreme and irrational response – it would deprive my ships of scores of capable officers and crew who have proved their loyalty beyond question.’

Greg nodded, exchanging a brief look with Berg.

‘Well, I can see your point,’ he said. ‘Sounds sensible. So I guess you have folk on your own staff who have implants … ’ He gestured. ‘Perhaps even yourself?’

Ngassa smiled and shook his head. ‘My parents were a little old-fashioned and disapproved of the practice and by the time I was old enough to decide for myself I found that I just didn’t care for the idea. And yes, some of my staff are equipped with implants, like my adjutant, Neville. Why do you ask?’

That was when the adjutant Neville entered the room carrying a beam pistol.

‘Hands on your heads,’ he said. ‘Over to the wall.’

‘What the stinking hell are you doing, Neville?’ said the vice-admiral with stunned anger. ‘Are you a traitor too?’

‘Do as I said,’ Neville said, suddenly shifting his aim to cover Greg and Berg. ‘No heroics. Do it.’

Greg linked his hands and put them behind his head then moved towards the bulkhead. Berg didn’t move.

‘So how is Neville?’ Berg said. ‘Is he even in there any more?’

The adjutant’s mouth twitched into a half-smile. ‘Not for quite some time. Hands on your head and move!’

Berg clasped his hands behind his head, took a step and paused, glancing over at the doorway. ‘Well, about time! … ’

The adjutant laughed. ‘Moron – I know there’s no one … ’

And Berg’s hand whipped out from behind his head and hurled a small spinning object. It flashed straight towards Neville’s right shoulder and since he was holding the gun with his right hand his reflex avoidance motion pushed his aim off for
just a moment, long enough for Berg to launch himself in a flying lunge.

Neville managed to fire off a burst before he and Berg went down in a tangle of flailing legs and savage punches. Greg and the vice-admiral had leaped forward the moment after Berg made his move. The adjutant proved remarkably strong and it took the three of them to disarm him and hold him down. After repeated shouts, two guards appeared and provided restraints with which they were able to immobilise their prisoner.

‘You should release me,’ said the adjutant. ‘It would be in your best interests.’

‘You are going back to stand trial for mutiny,’ said Ngassa, wiping his face with a napkin from the table.

The adjutant laughed. ‘What a delightful race Humans are. Malleable, useful, and never dull. I remember how trusting you used to be back when all you had was that half-trashed planet and a few primitive colonies … ’

‘You don’t seem that worried about your situation,’ said Greg. ‘If I was a betting man, I’d say that you really are an AI with a link to some bolthole out in hyperspace. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.’

‘You’d win the bet, man of Darien. You are an interesting batch, growing up without any guidance or constrictions, wolflings some of my colleagues call you, a pure-strain control group, in a way … ’

Suddenly alarms were sounding out in the corridors, an insistent metallic sound that made the adjutant laugh.

‘Judgement has come and the punishment will be harsh … ’

A communicator node on the conference table also started chiming so Ngassa leaned forward to thumb it and a small holoscreen appeared, showing an officer in a pilot couch.

‘Captain, what’s happening?’

‘Vice-Admiral, vessels have started appearing in hundred-strong formations spaced around the system. We estimate total numbers approaching two thousand … idents are showing as the Hegemony, sir.’

‘Any communication from them?’

‘None, sir, but that’s not the worst – eight of our ships have broken formation, including the two under guard, and are heading towards one of the Hegemony formations.’

‘As am I,’ said the AI-possessed adjutant, who then slumped forward in his chair. For a second everyone was still, staring. Suddenly the adjutant’s head came up as his entire body went into a muscle-straining spasm, a locked rigidity. Greg saw a tracery of dark lines creeping up the neck towards the scalp. One of the guards looked away, and when the adjutant went wholly limp the head rolled to one side to reveal eyes that were charred pits.

‘Captain,’ Ngassa said over the holocomm link, ‘get us back to the flagship without delay – in fact tell Commander Paxton to get under way towards us and we’ll rendezvous … ’ Pausing, he looked at Berg. ‘Dammit, man, you’ve been injured! Field treatment for this man.’

‘Sir, I am not wounded,’ Berg said, pulling aside the singed edges of the slash in his uniform to reveal a line of bubbly melt across the surface of a protective vest. ‘Semi-ablative subarmour, sir.’

‘More to you than meets the eye, Lieutenant,’ said Ngassa, who then cast a disdainful look at his former adjutant. ‘So whatever was using Neville has fled?’