‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I despise the lack of honesty. And if we did ask Kenelm what’s going on – why the secrecy – we’ll get the usual answers: for your protection, denying information to the Olyix in case of capture. All that politician crap. I doubt we’ll get a genuine explanation about their agenda.’
‘Have you got any idea what that is?’
‘It has to be connected to the original Strike operation. Occam’s razor says it’s something simple, like not revealing how expendable they consider us binaries, or just ensuring each generation world does its duty at the end and produces a bunch of warships to send on Strike missions.’
‘So they’re, like, orthodoxy enforcers?’
‘Something along those lines, sure. I always did think it was extraordinary how our lineage stuck to a single political-cultural ideology so rigidly across every iteration at a generation world.’
‘But the generation world model has failed, hasn’t it?’ he said bitterly. ‘There’s never been a Signal from any Strike. By the time the generation ship from Quiller met the aliens and built the Factory, they must have been seriously concerned about that. So why did they stick with a failed strategy?’
‘I’m not sure they did. The Factory built the Ainsley ship or ships. But you’re right, Ainsley is incredibly powerful, so why bother carrying on with the Strike missions?’ She shook her head, as if there were too many thoughts cluttering her brain. ‘Consider what happened. Ainsley was in some kind of condensed mode while he lurked in the Vayan system. All he did was wait and watch. We were the ones who built the lure. And the Olyix knew nothing about Ainsley, which suggests Vayan was the first time they’d encountered a warship from the Factory.’
‘So there is only the one?’
‘I can’t believe that. But there probably aren’t many. And we’re now finally picking up a Signal, but not the Saints’ Signal. Someone else has defeated an Olyix ship. That can’t be a coincidence. After thousands of years, they’re defeated twice within eighty lightyears. That’s close in galactic terms – practically neighbours. The Factory must have sent them here, to this section of space – a long way from where they originated, which gives everyone involved in the Factory a massive head start if it turns out the Olyix can defeat an Ainsley-class ship.’
‘Sanctuary,’ he said. ‘Even if the Olyix find out where the Factory was, they’ll never be able to find where the Katos mothership went. Not now.’
‘So it is all about security, after all. That’s a hell of a secret to keep for two thousand years.’
‘But . . . the whole Strike mission – ships like Morgan and all the squads – we’re just a cover so the Katos mothership could get away clean?’
‘We always knew we were expendable,’ she said slowly. ‘If this is all true, then we’re dealing with entities that we don’t really understand. Certainly I can’t imagine how superior an immortal human would consider themselves compared to us short-lived binaries. We’re probably just muncs to them.’
Dellian felt his fists clenching in anger. ‘We need to confront Kenelm. Force hir to tell us what’s going on. The squad leaders will back me, I know they would.’
‘No, Del, absolutely not.’
‘Why not?’
‘Firstly, this is all conjecture – a tower of hypotheticals. Secondly, the fleet is taking us to where I want us to be: the neutron star. If we expose an immortal clique that’s been manoeuvring our mission to conform to their own agenda, the political fallout inside the fleet will be enormous. Saints know what people will do! I can’t have that, not now that we’re so close. I’m happy for this delay to push our arrival date back even further. It’s fortuitous. But I can’t risk FinalStrike being compromised. And so far, I don’t believe Kenelm – with all hir secrets – has done that.’
Dellian wanted to punch the pillow in frustration. She was right, of course. That never changed. But that didn’t mean the situation was fair. Being used so insolently was totally humiliating. Needing to hit back was instinctive, not to mention justified. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘But if I think Kenelm is manipulating us away from the FinalStrike, I will—’
‘I know. And thank you for having faith in me.’ She kissed him – a longer, warmer kiss than before. The cabin lights dimmed to a rose-pink glimmer.
‘Is this a bribe?’ he asked, smirking in the dusk. ‘We’re not supposed to, remember?’
Yirella chuckled. ‘Think of this as our first act of rebellion against Kenelm’s authority.’
*
The advisory council was smaller now. Back to a manageable number, Yirella thought as she and Dellian sat down next to each other. He was wearing his uniform, as he always did, but that was Dellian for you: he possessed an old-fashioned dignity that didn’t really have a place in this era. But she loved him for it.
Kenelm took hir place at the table. ‘My gratitude to Cinrea for managing this incident so capably. I’d say thank you all for coming, but as none of us had a choice . . . We’ll start with the Mian’s drive, please.’
‘The problem has been resolved,’ Wim said. ‘We’ve manufactured replacement components, and they are functioning normally.’
‘That’s it?’ Kenelm’s tone was surprised.
‘I hate the phrase,’ Wim admitted, ‘but it looks like this situation was a one-off. We’ve run a complete review on every propulsion system in the fleet. All the units were fabricated to the correct specification.’
‘I don’t understand how a batch of bad components got past our performance and quality examination routines,’ Tilliana said. ‘Were you running those same procedures when you checked the fleet?’
Yirella managed to keep a straight face, which was more than Wim did. Sie directed a furious glare at Tilliana. ‘Give me some credit. The analyses we’ve spent the last six weeks
