Above the station the menisci of its energy shields flashed into view intermittently under the impact of missiles fired by the approaching hilldiggers. Ships crammed with people were constantly departing from below the station, while other ships were returning from the surface of Sudoria. Nevertheless, ensconced in his office aboard Corisanthe Main, Gneiss could tell by the numbers he called up that this civilian evacuation would take months. Hopefully their assessment of Harald's strategy was correct, and he did not intend the total destruction of this place but merely to break supply chains by keeping the station on the defensive.
"Wildfire and Resilience are bearing down on you again," warned Gneiss. "Clearly, whatever problem caused Fleet to pull back has now been resolved. We want you to get as many of your attack craft out as you can, and while you can. The evacuation will meanwhile have to cease."
"'We'?" enquired Glass.
"I am acting commander for the duration of this emergency, and I require you to get as many of your ships out of the station as you can. I don't want them trapped there when they could better serve us out in space."
In reply Glass merely sent a couple of camera feeds that now flashed up as icons on Gneiss's screen. As he connected to them he observed panicked crowds milling about within the main concourses of Corisanthe III, and a riot breaking out in the storage areas to the rear of the cargo docks.
"We were going to cease the evacuation anyway," commented Glass. "As you can see, it's getting out of control down there."
Gneiss silently eyed the ugly scenes. He could spot station security personnel trying desperately to keep order and medical staff stretchering out the injured. Against the far wall of one storage area rested a stack of bulging body bags. One of them was still open, with a woman kneeling beside it rocking back and forth in grief. There was no sound accompanying these images, and they seemed all the more poignant for that. Gneiss sensed that soon things would be getting even worse: additional shield generators blowing, more areas of the station decompressing, more panic, more body bags.
"Why did they withdraw?" wondered Glass.
"My intelligence is that there was some sort of attack on Admiral Harald," replied Gneiss. "My source informed me that he was assassinated, but I rather doubt that since this would all be over now if he had been."
"Too much to hope for," Glass said glumly.
"Quite." After a brief silence between the two men, Gneiss continued coldly, "Keep me informed of the situation with those ships." He then moved to put his links to Corisanthe III on hold.
"Wait!" said Glass. "We're getting something…a message laser from the Resilience."
It had to be a surrender demand, Gneiss decided as he observed the image of a young man in a Captain's uniform fill the screen. But this was no Captain he recognised, so perhaps other intelligence received earlier that told of some sort of reorganisation of the command structure in Fleet was true.
"This is Captain Orvram Davidson calling Corisanthe III. Please respond."
"Should I respond?" asked Glass.
"Connect him to me, if you would," Gneiss instructed.
In the corner of the screen an icon lit to indicate that the connection had been made. On his own screen, Captain Davidson would now be seeing Gneiss himself.
"This is Director Gneiss, Combine military command for the duration. What can I do for you, Captain?"
"I think rather I can do something for you," said Davidson hurriedly. "I have little time over this link, since it's jury rigged and will soon be detected and shut down. You need to know that not all of the ships now attacking Combine are doing so willingly, nor are they still under the command of their legitimate Captains and crews. Harald has managed to slave the controls of my own ship, Resilience, to those of the Wildfire. Stormfollower and Musket are similarly slaved to Harvester. After using false emergencies to get my people out, he closed the blast doors on weapons systems and engine galleries and then opened those areas to vacuum."
"Do you seriously expect me to believe that you can do nothing at all?" asked Gneiss.
Davidson winced. "I sent twenty crew to break through to the coil-gun breech. Supposedly a flak shell accidentally detonated after they gained access, and I've heard nothing from them since."
"You are a soldier, and you must find a solution," said Gneiss, without a flicker of emotion.
"Yes, but it is extremely difficult here," said the Captain. "Harald has shut down all the lifts and the internal railway, closed spacesuit lockers and shut down EVA vehicles, and strategically opened many intervening areas of the ship to vacuum."
"What do you expect from us—that we don't fire on you? You must understand that, though I sympathise with your plight, there are over 140,000 non-combatants on board the station you are currently approaching."
"I understand that perfectly, which is why I am now sending you this." A package arrived at Gneiss's screen. He opened it and studied the blueprint of a hilldigger, with shield generators and their fields of cover highlighted. All the generators were numbered.
"This is not new information to us," observed Gneiss.
"It has cost us a further five lives and may yet cost us more," said Davidson, "but in two hours' time, as Resilience draws close enough to Corisanthe III to employ beam weapons, we will destroy shield generators fourteen, sixteen and twenty. This will allow you to fire on our ship's engines, and on the main reactors feeding the weapons systems—as you can see indicated on the schematic."
Gneiss could indeed see the targets mentioned. "We will endeavour not to hit anything else," he said, knowing that all three targets could result in a chain-reaction detonation.
"And we on board will endeavour to survive," replied Captain Orvram Davidson.
Orduval
The mobile incident station was a massive rectangular vessel half a mile long, bristling with com and scanning gear interspersed with the occasional gun turret or missile launcher. Its flat sides were inset with windows and its partially camouflage-painted hull lay open along the rear corner, with internal joists exposed, for construction had yet to be completed. It came in to land on the Komarl sands, blowing up a storm around it before settling down with a grinding roar. On one of the screens in the control centre, Orduval observed the flat circular feet extending below to crunch down on the sand and adjust the station level. Gazing out of a window he felt sure, even at night, that he recognised this stretch of desert. Wasn't that mount rising over there in the distance his erstwhile home?
"Reyshank has told me you've some important research to conduct. Another book perhaps?" suggested Chairman Duras, ensconced in one of the control chairs, his fingers intertwined over the head of his cane, as it balanced on the floor before him.
Leaning against the window frame, Orduval turned towards him. "When will that ship with my two sisters arrive?" He nodded towards the sky still lit by the fires from the battle raging above.
"Within the hour, and with the dawn," Duras replied, with a touch too much poetic drama, Orduval felt.
"You yourself chose the landing site?" he asked.
"Parliament chose it—those of them aboard this vessel. This part of the Komarl lies far enough from the nearest city that any detonation here will have little effect and, should any biologicals be deployed, the prevailing winds blow out into the deep desert. We also have ground installations targeting that ship should it deviate from its predetermined course here. We're probably taking unnecessary precautions."