Tania let go of Natalie and put her hands in her lap, stared down at them. “It’s here already.”

The room became quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioner.

“If it spins its thread at its current pace,” she said in a quiet, even tone, “it should touch ground tomorrow.”

Russell set his fork down gently now. His eyes were firmly locked on Tania. “Where?”

“I …”

“Where?”

Tania had never lied well. She practiced this one for hours, into her pillow.

Russell produced a small pistol from below the table and pointed it at Natalie. “Say it or she dies.”

“Kiribati.”

“Huh?”

Tania swallowed hard, still looking at her hands, which she wrung together in her lap. “Kiribati Island. About three thousand kilometers east of Darwin.”

“Big place?”

“No, it’s quite small.”

Russell put the gun back into the holster on his hip, and Tania felt some of the tension in her dissipate. He pushed back his chair and stood, looking out the window at the first alien craft. “Guards,” he called out. Within seconds the door opened and the two soldiers who had escorted Tania strode in.

Despite the hatred she kept bottled inside, Tania couldn’t help but think how much Russell resembled Neil Platz just now. Confident, bordering on arrogant.

The guards stood at attention behind Tania.

“Natalie, dear,” Russell said after a long time. “Is she lying?”

“Yes.”

Tania turned to face her. “What are you—”

Natalie ignored her and spoke calmly to Russell. “I’m not going to tell you unless you promise to let her live.”

He laughed. “I promise to let her live.”

“Unless you promise not to hurt her,” Natalie corrected.

“I promise to let her live.”

Natalie glared at him.

“I’m joking, for fuck’s sake. You have my word.”

“It’s worth so much.”

“The best I can offer just now. Where?”

Natalie searched his eyes, her jaw clenched, fists balled.

“Tell me where and she won’t be harmed. Tell me nothing, and I’ll have the guards beat her until you do.”

“Africa.”

“No!” Tania rasped. The guards grabbed both her arms, this time with painful force.

Russell never took his eyes from Natalie. “Now, Africa is a big place.”

“The Congo, near a city called Gemena. We have exact coordinates.”

Tania jerked violently against the guards, a futile effort. “How could you?”

“Better,” Russell said, grinning. “When does it arrive?”

“That part was the truth,” Natalie said. “It’s already descending and should attach in a few days.”

“No!” Tania shrieked so loud that Natalie visibly flinched.

“Take her away,” Russell said, calmly. “Lock her in her room until we’ve secured the site.”

Without care for her well-being, the guards hauled Tania from the floor and dragged her from the room. For the entire way she hissed profanities at Natalie, at Russell. At everyone.

When the door slammed shut she shouted even louder. She surprised herself with the profanities that spewed forth.

All the while she kept thinking the same thing.

Well done, Nat. Well done.

Russell returned to his seat at the table, another forkful of egg in his mouth before he’d even settled. “Never seen her so feisty,” he said.

“I could try to make peace,” Natalie said softly. “Soothe her. You could watch, if you want.”

“Enough of that. You two are about as erotic as a pair of mating sea bass,” Russell said. “No, you’re coming with me.”

Natalie’s eyes grew wide. “Where?”

“Africa, of course. To find out which of you lied.”

Chapter Forty-three

Approaching Gateway Station

14.FEB.2283

Skyler feigned sleep on the journey up the Elevator.

A harder task than he’d hoped. More than once an anxious soldier had nudged him, wanting to talk about the experiences that awaited above. Skyler kept his eyes closed and grumbled annoyed responses. Eventually, they gave up and left him alone.

Eavesdropping proved most valuable. Much of the conversation centered on the notoriously gorgeous women of orbit, and what they planned to do with them upon arrival. By the third boast, Skyler wanted to strangle each of them. By the fourth, his thoughts shifted to Tania Sharma, so far away on Anchor Station. He wondered if distance alone could protect her from such men.

There was talk of battle against Platz and his haphazard army. This generated much more debate, and Skyler listened closely. Rumors all, but every good rumor had a kernel of truth.

“Platz built a secret army of superwarriors, armed to the teeth with exotic alien weapons,” one said, drawing laughs.

“No,” another said, “he’s just given gun-shaped cucumbers to his cooking staff.”

“Nonsense, he has no army—just a catapult to sling his bullshit!” Everyone laughed.

“Doesn’t matter,” another said. “Platz is dead already.”

Skyler mulled the ramifications if that was true. The conflict would be over before it really started, and he could return to a normal life.

No, he thought. Whatever happened, his normal life could never be restored, and his future would only be as good as he made it.

“What about the Ghost?” someone asked.

“A myth,” came the response.

“No, it’s true. The Ghost has been killing any grunt who walks Gateway Station alone.” This drew nervous laughs, and Skyler fought the urge to ask what the hell they were talking about.

Much later the topic of Russell Blackfield’s position on the council was discussed more soberly, after the other topics had run dry. Eyes still closed, Skyler listened as two men in particular, clearly students of current politics, appraised the situation.

“Platz still holds the power, sure, but if Russell hadn’t stood up to him, to all of ’em, Darwin would be at their mercy.”

“About time Platz got slapped around,” the other soldier said, “Darwin’s been sucking at that tit too long.” A hoo-rah went up from the rest of the squad at this.

The talk turned to more mundane bravado after that, and Skyler drifted toward a light sleep.

Just before dozing off, he realized the climber had not suffered any power failures.

Last out of the climber, Skyler floated through the bustling cargo bay at the rear of his adopted squad. Most flailed awkwardly in the low-gravity environment, pushing off at odd angles, bumping into containers and fellow soldiers alike. As a result he found it easy to blend in.

Station personnel pushed water containers and compressed-air tanks out of the newly arrived climber with an efficiency that rarely occurred outside military operations. Random Gateway personnel hovered about, helping the soldiers who drifted into dangerous places or managed to get stuck in midair.

The Nightcliff troops far outnumbered the Gateway staff helping them.

It occurred to Skyler then that Russell was either grossly overreacting to an uprising by Neil Platz, or his ambitions were much grander.

His squad mates rallied at the entrance to an access tube, where a native Gateway Station guard awaited them. Skyler pulled his helmet low and kept his focus on the floor in front of him.

“I’m Corporal Sobchak,” the Gateway guard said in a raised voice.

One of the soldiers shouted back, “When do we see some action?”

“When do we see some women?” another said, getting a few chuckles.

“That’s what I meant,” said the first, earning even louder laughs.

“Knock it off,” Sobchak barked. “Follow me and mind yourselves, the farther we go from the hub, the heavier you’ll be.” With that he turned and drifted “down” the harsh metal corridor, one hand always in range of the red-painted ladder that spanned the entire length.

Skyler lagged back, following the last man into the tube. As they floated down, the man in front of him got sloppy, drifting too far from the ladder as the simulated gravity began to pull. Skyler grabbed his collar and yanked him back to safety.

“Thanks,” he said.

“No worries,” Skyler replied.

“Zero-g, man!”

“Yeah,” Skyler said, “crazy.” He kept his voice monotone, hoping to kill the conversation. It worked.

At the bottom of the shaft, at their normal weight again, the troops followed Sobchak past the decontamination area. It had been a wide hall before, but now beds and mattresses lined the walls.

The sight of wounded men, some from Nightcliff, silenced all remaining chatter from the fresh arrivals.

“Who’s that?” someone asked Sobchak, nodding toward a curtained-off area at the far end of an adjacent room.

“Alex Warthen,” said the corporal. “He runs security—”

“I’ve heard of him. What happened?”

“Took a bullet through his shoulder on Platz Station, shattered his collarbone.”

“They get the son of a bitch?”

“Not on that attempt. Second time’s a charm.”

That caught Skyler’s attention. “Neil Platz is …?”

“Dead, yeah. Shot through the forehead.” Sobchak motioned for the group to follow him. “They put his body out the airlock and everything.”

Skyler leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

The end of an era. Everything would change. Neil dead, and Russell brazenly establishing himself in orbit? Whatever semblance of balance that existed before would surely evaporate.

His thoughts turned to Tania. He wondered about her fate. Would she take her orders from Blackfield now? The idea sickened him.

The council would fall apart, he suspected. None of the other members were well known to him. Platz was the face of the group, the leader by right of fame. Somehow Skyler doubted the rest of them could band together against a personality like Blackfield.

“Shit,” said a grunt to Skyler’s left. “There any fighting left to do?”

“Most of his staff and mercenaries fled,” Sobchak said. “Platz was the last one on the station, our men said. Gotta give the old goat respect for that.”

Some of the men smirked at that. Skyler did not.

“Where’d they all go then?”

“That’s what everyone wants to know,” the corporal said.

Odd, Skyler thought. He took a chance. “Where’s Blackfield?”

“Took a squad to Anchor, in case the enemy ran there. If not, they’ll work their way down and we’ll work our way up. Sooner or later, we’ll sandwich them.”

Skyler took the information in stride, but his mind raced. Blackfield, on Anchor, with Tania. He tasted bile and swallowed it.

Sobchak led them past Ten Backward, the bar where Skyler had last seen his crew. The place bustled with soldiers and station crew. No signs remained of the bloodshed that had occurred there.

An impressive, muscular man with sand-colored hair approached from the bar. Sobchak snapped off a salute the instant he saw the man. “Captain Larsen.”

“At ease.”

The man had keen eyes, and Skyler made sure to meet them as the captain’s gaze swept the group. To do otherwise would only draw unwanted attention.

Satisfied, Larsen consulted a clipboard he was carrying. “This bunch is going …?”

“Station patrol,” Sobchak said. “Sections B and C.”

One of the young Nightcliff guards spoke out. “Security? To hell with that, I want—”

“That’s enough,” Larsen said. He did not look up from the clipboard, and his voice, though calm, exuded absolute authority. “Security detail. All climbers are inbound right now, anyway, so there’s nowhere to go at the moment. Food is more important than you guys.” He paused, commanding attention. The anxious recruits settled down. “Platz may be dead, but he had a private army of unknown size. How he managed to train or arm them is anyone’s guess. The problem is they are God-knows-where. When they’re found, we’ll have work to do. Until that time, we have a local problem to deal with.”

Skyler fixated on the fact that climbers were coming down, not going up. A ride to Anchor would have to wait.

Someone asked, “Problem. You mean the Ghost?”

“Insurgents,” Larsen said. “Two women, at least.”

“Samantha,” Skyler muttered. Aloud, he realized.

Larsen glared at him. “Come again?”

“Sounds easy,” Skyler managed.

The captain held his gaze. Skyler felt his heart pounding and fought to maintain composure. Finally, mercifully, Larsen looked away.

“Brief them,” Captain Larsen said to Sobchak, and marched out.

“Sir.”

With a slow exhale, Skyler willed himself to be calm. Two women. One must be Kelly, he thought. The other, he could only hope.

The squad crowded around a table in the center of the tavern. A map spread out across it showed Gateway Station in every detail.

“Every hallway and room in this bloody place,” Sobchak said, “is connected to a complex network of tunnels and shafts that circulate and process air, route water and waste, hide all the wiring, et cetera.”

“What are the red marks?” someone asked.

Sobchak exhaled a long, frustrated breath. “Where our people have been ambushed.”

Skyler glanced across the schematic. The marks were surprising in both their number and spread. He thought of Kelly and the amazing speed at which she’d led him through the maintenance shafts.