The Juggernaut (Juggernaut #1)

Sixteen

The next three days passed by like treacle.

It was a quiet time in New Haven. No new ships were expected for another week, and local border issues seemed under control, so there was little work that required her help. The only novelty was the Orion, still under repair by Theo, and that was certainly nothing she could help with.

Tila had left Malachi's workshop more troubled than when she entered.

Malachi's conclusion thrilled and chilled her in equal measure. It meant hope, of a sort, but it was hope edged with fear and more questions. The possibilities it hinted at held a dangerous attraction.

She could easily jump to outlandish conclusions based on what Malachi had found, but if he was right then that truth demanded a response. Truth demanded that she do something, that she act, instead of remaining in this state of passive anger.

Until now, Tila had always felt she could overcome whatever life threw at her. She had done it before, many times, but this – this was something else. In the last twelve years, she had often acted rashly, often enough to have learned that the wise action was sometimes careful, but it was still action. She could still do something, achieve something. To only sit and think and wonder about the actions she did not take was something she could not do.

But there was no action she could take, and so she ached for something she could do. Something other than waiting for the enormity of their suspicion to crush her under the weight of its implications.

At times like this Tila felt the burning need to move. She could not dwell on problems. She worked through them, so she had retreated to her makeshift gym and was working out her frustrations there.

It was a spartan room, out of the way of other living quarters. It was too remote from the main population to be practical for storage or habitation. One day she would have to give it up as the population continued to grow, but for now it was her secret. Her own private getaway.

And it was perfect.

The beams and girders bracing the hull gave her somewhere to stretch and practice and train without bothering anyone and, more importantly, without anyone bothering her.

Today she needed to do something more vigorous than simply stretch. She was working out her frustrations on a makeshift punch bag.

She danced around it and punched, danced and jabbed, danced and kicked for as long as she could, until the ache in her muscles finally overtook the ache in her heart, and she could sleep.

But sleep was no willing partner tonight. Questions tumbled over in her mind, each one demanding attention and each one overtaken by the next.

How could the colony mission have been sabotaged? Who would gain and what would be their prize?

No mission of that scale had been launched in a hundred years, not since long before contact with Earth had been lost.

The expense involved was, quite literally, astronomical. To construct even a single colony ship would cost tens of billions, and then there was ancillary equipment and craft to consider, as well as the crew and training required for the four thousand or so individuals on board.

And this mission wasn't taking any chances: the investors had provided enough funds and resources to build three ships.

Is Malachi asking me to believe that someone had the means and will to murder eight thousand colonists and destroy space craft worth hundreds of billions? For what? What could they possibly gain? It made no sense. Even if someone had the means to pull off a heist like this, why not steal all three ships?