She went immediately to a panel of monitors, swiped the card again, and tapped the screen until they were looking at Red Level. The cargo dock.

Karl stood next to her, and together they watched the second phase of their plan unfold.

On the screen, a maintenance crew mingled with four security guards. Tania replayed their planned story in her mind. The workers would tell the guards on duty that they were being punished for a well-intentioned but poorly executed prank against their boss. Their penalty: perform a full inspection of all climbers in dock, and check all the airlock doors for leakage. The guards laughed and waved them in.

Play on the universal disdain for bureaucrats, Karl had said.

Brilliant, Tania thought.

Fully inside the docking area, the disguised workers floated into positions around the laughing guards. Red Level duty was considered a “short straw” security post, unlike the two slackers Tania’s group had encountered. These guards would be younger and prone to fight back. Karl’s words, and right again.

A melee erupted on the screen; a clumsy battle in the weightless environment. One guard had the sense to turn and push himself, flying toward an alarm panel ten meters away. No one gave chase.

The guard reached the lever and pulled it. And pulled it again.

“So predictable,” Karl said, tapping away on the adjacent monitor.

Tania watched as the man turned back to the fight. The other guards were clearly losing. And now three workers fanned out to take on this last. Tania held her breath. Weapons were drawn, and the idea of more bloodshed on the station terrified her.

Thinking better of his choice, the remaining guard let go of his weapon and raised his hands. The gun drifted away, and Tania breathed a sigh of relief.

Within a minute the guards were bound and gagged. According to the plan they would be locked in one of the offices on Purple Level, pending further instructions.

“It’s time, Miss Sharma,” Karl said.

Tania hesitated. “Can’t you do it?”

Karl gave her a gentle pat on the arm. “I clean toilets,” he said, “as far as these people know. A voice of authority is critical now. A familiar voice.”

She nodded. He was right, but it did not make this easier. “This is all happening so fast,” she said, watching the guards on the monitor get escorted offscreen.

“Neil has a plan,” Karl replied. “We’ve got to trust it.”

Tania wondered if Neil had really thought all this through. More than anything, she wanted to speak with him. No, she thought. More than anything she wanted to get back to her research and have no further part in activities like this.

Instead she would have to speak to the entire station. With trepidation, she picked up the microphone.

“Attention please. This is Dr. Tania Sharma. Due to an increasingly dire rift that has formed within the Orbital Council, I’ve been asked by Neil Platz to take control of the security situation on Anchor. Be assured I take no pleasure in this act. However, after a violent and unprovoked attack on Platz Station yesterday, I felt action was necessary to ensure the safety of everyone here. I have Neil’s full blessings in this matter.

“Security personnel have been temporarily relieved of duty, due to their association with Alex Warthen, who ordered the attack on Platz Station.”

“When the differences within the council are resolved, the situation will return to normal. Until then, Neil has appointed me director of Anchor Station. I ask that you go about your normal duties. The station is supplied with ample food, water, and air.

“It saddens me to inform you that external communications have been temporarily suspended. I know many of you have family elsewhere in orbit. I promise you this will be reversed as soon this crisis is resolved.

“I’ve called a meeting at ten this morning with all department heads so I can answer questions and explain the situation in greater detail. Please direct your concerns to them. Thank you for listening.”

Tania turned off the microphone and buried her head in her hands.

“You did fine,” Karl said.

“It won’t matter,” Tania said through her hands, “if Neil doesn’t resolve this soon.”

The important part done, Karl set to doling out specific orders to the rest of his group. “I need to think,” Tania said, and wandered to the back of the lab.

Alone, she slipped into the research room and logged in. The high-resolution image from the telescope’s nightly scan awaited her. She took one more glance at the door and then filled the bank screens with the picture.

The Builder’s ship sat in the center, a dark mass against the blackness of space. She enlarged that portion and studied the telltale oblong shape. Because of the dark material there still wasn’t enough detail to discern any purpose, but she could just make out what looked like a shield covering the nose of the vessel.

Tania walked around the desk to stand directly in front of the screen. She traced a finger along the vessel’s length, looking for any other differences, and found none.

She stepped back and took in the whole scene. A few small discolorations caught her eye. On the left monitor, near the top corner, a tiny gray blob could just be seen. Another sat near the center. She studied the monitor on the right and found another.

“Multiple ships?” she whispered.

Concerned, Tania moved back to the console and set up Natalie’s program again, flipping the image through the entire sequence captured by the telescope. Only three images had been captured, but when they were shown in sequence Tania could see the tiny blobs moving in loose formation with the new Builder ship, which dwarfed them in size. Even with just three pictures to study, Tania realized the small objects were breaking away from the craft.

She counted five in all, and what purpose they served she couldn’t begin to imagine.

Chapter Thirty-five

Gateway Station

9.FEB.2283

Inside the primary cargo bay on Gateway’s lower ring, the Nightcliff men floated around like balloons set adrift. Only a few managed to keep with Russell as he moved for the exit, where a stocky Gateway security officer waited for him. The man had a face like a bulldog and kept his sand-colored hair closely cropped. Ex-military, through and through.

“Jarred Larsen,” the man said, extending a hand to Russell as he drifted in.

“I was expecting a horde of nurses and decontamination showers,” Russell said.

“There’s no time.”

“So we depart for Platz Station soon?” Russell asked, grabbing a handhold. Two of the three soldiers who had followed him across the room found something to grab, and landed reasonably well. The third bounced off the wall and drifted slowly away.

Russell wrinkled his nose.

Jarred either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. “No need. They came to us. Platz’s men hold the upper ring, but so far we’ve managed to contain them there.”

“They took the offensive? How did they even make it off the climbers?”

“Didn’t use climbers. They came on lifeboats. Somehow they sealed the section remotely,” Jarred replied.

“Bold son of a bitch, isn’t he. Where’s Warthen?”

“Still in the infirmary, sedated. You got here just in time. We’re about to try to retake the section. On any other day I’d have your men trade their weapons for coilguns, station regs, but we’ll make an exception today.”

Russell turned to his soldiers. Slowly they were managing to orient themselves and float toward the exit. “I need a word with your dockmaster.”

Jarred called out to a woman on the far side of the bay; she was directing a team who were unloading supplies from the first climber. She heard her name and launched across the bay with expert precision. One of the Nightcliff soldiers nearly collided with her as she sailed past.

“Listen,” Russell said to her, “there are nine more climbers right behind this one. I realize the supplies are badly needed, but if you’d be so kind as to, uh, assist my soldiers in getting to the outer ring?”

“Sure,” the woman said. “Anything else?” She directed the question to Jarred.

He shook his head. The woman, Williams, nodded to each of them and returned to her crew. Russell and Jarred watched as she had her team efficiently gather the remaining infantry, who floated around the room like so many dead fish, and deposited them along the wall near the exit. A rail ran the length of it, and luckily the men were smart enough to grab it.

“She could be useful,” Russell said, “for training my men to fight up here.”

“I agree. Hadn’t thought about it until now. I think our men will handle any zero-g business until then.”

Russell continued to watch for a few more seconds, mesmerized. His attention eventually returned to the task at hand. “Lead on, Captain Larsen.”

The burly man moved quickly along the access tube that led from the inner cargo bay to the outer ring. Russell mulled the skipped decontamination. He’d never heard of that happening before. The situation must be dire indeed.

The access tube gradually changed from something they moved along to something they fell down. Red metal bars spaced along the walls turned from handholds to the rungs of a ladder.

Captain Larsen stopped suddenly in front of a large schematic on the wall. “There’s a map at each main junction,” he said. “Best to memorize it, though.” His tone had more authority than Russell cared for, but he allowed it. He already envisioned this man as a platoon leader; might as well let him get comfortable in the role.

The men studied the map. One asked, “Where’s the conflict now?”

Russell pointed at three locations marking junctions between the uppermost deck, in terms of distance from earth, and the one next to it. “Platz basically owns Section H. He has a suite of offices there. Some storage. He sealed these doors remotely,” he said, indicating them, “preventing us from stopping them at the climber bay.”

“Platz is with them?”

Jarred shrugged. “I use the name loosely. We don’t know.”

“Are the doors still closed?” Russell asked.

“Not completely. We were in the process of forcing them open when the shooting started. At this point, we’re just managing to keep them contained to Section H.”

“How many are we talking about?” someone asked.

“Unknown,” Jarred said. All business, no bullshit—Russell really liked this guy. “Four small shuttles docked, but we don’t know how many were aboard.”

Blackfield studied the map. “Is there any other way into that area?”

“Via the climbers,” the captain said, pointing along the Elevator thread. “You’d be a sitting duck coming out of one, though. Surveillance cameras, when they were working, showed they have the cargo bay well guarded.”

Russell had an idea. “I need a volunteer,” he said to his men. No shortage; every hand went up. He picked one at random. “Listen up. Go back to the dock. Your mission is to lead the rest of the troops, as they arrive, to the three combat zones, until you hear otherwise. Spread ’em evenly, got it?”

“Yes, sir,” the man said. He seemed to regret volunteering to miss the battle.

“While you wait,” Russell continued, “see if you and the dockmaster can find some empty air canisters. Load a climber full of them, rig it with something that looks like a fuse, and send it up to the climber bay in Section H.”

“Sir?”

“Keep them on their toes,” Russell said. “They’ll waste time and people on it until the jig is up.”

The soldier smiled, as did the others. “Good idea.”

“Get moving,” Russell said. As the man turned and hustled back the way they had come, Russell turned back to Captain Larsen. “Lead on.”

Not thirty seconds later, an alarm sounded.

Jarred stopped in his tracks and tapped the small communicator in his ear. All of the Gateway security personnel wore them, Russell realized. The little device added a certain air of importance to the wearer. He made a mental note to ask for one.

The captain listened for a few seconds and then shot a sidelong glance at Russell. “Trouble at the brig.”

“What?”

“An escape attempt,” Jarred said, still listening to the report. He began to run, and shouted over his shoulder. “This way!”

Russell ordered his men to secure the entrance to the brig. He followed Jarred into the small room that fronted a row of four cells.

A guard waited there, his face pale and flushed. He kept one hand pressed to the back of his head. “I was just sitting here at the desk,” he told Jarred. “Then … nothing. I woke up a few minutes ago.”

“You were alone?”

“No,” he muttered. His eyes shot left toward the only open cell door. “Found Barry in there, instead of the prisoner. He’s dead.”

“Step aside,” Jarred said. Instead of going to the cell, as Russell expected, he went to the desk. “Cameras may have captured something.”

As he tapped away on the terminal, Russell walked around to the cell door. It appeared undamaged. Inside, a guard lay on the floor, one arm folded awkwardly underneath him, bruising around his neck. “The prisoner lured him inside, perhaps?” Russell said, to no one in particular.

“No,” Jarred said. “Take a look.”

The screen in front of him showed the view from a camera mounted in the ceiling.

“Fifteen minutes ago,” Jarred said.

In the footage, the guard at the desk waved as another guard approached, carrying a covered bowl. Food, Russell guessed. There was no sound, but Russell could see the two men chat for a few seconds. Then the food carrier moved on to the cell block.