“I will advise the Captain that we should make the attempt,” he said.  They would certainly need to mine some raw materials from the handful of asteroids in the system.  It wasn't something they had dared in the last system, not when there were a handful of alien ships – or drones – hanging around the tramline.  “I suggest that you prepare your men.”

He smiled as an evil thought struck him.  “Could you take one of the reporters too?”

“One of the experienced embeds,” Parnell said.  Surprisingly, he didn't try to argue.  But then, the Royal Marines had plenty of experience dealing with embedded reporters.  “Not one of the newcomers.”

James sighed.  The thought of abandoning the reporters on Vera Cruz was hellishly tempting.

“Understood,” he said, instead.  He checked the timer and decided the Captain needed a few more hours of sleep.  “Prepare your men.  You’ll have to move quickly once the Captain gives permission for you to go.”

***

Marcus Yang had been sleeping when his terminal buzzed, dragging him out of an uneasy sleep.  But at least he’d been able to sleep, he told himself; several of his fellow reporters had requested drugs from sickbay to help them sleep after they’d realised that the carrier was trapped for the foreseeable future.  Lacking any real training, some of them had even started to panic ... Marcus privately suspected that half of his fellows were on the verge of nervous breakdowns.  Very few of them had truly understood the dangers of serving on a carrier until it was too late.

He pulled himself off the bunk and stood up, reaching for his tunic and pulling it on over his nightclothes.  The other reporters in the compartment stirred, but didn't awaken, thankfully.  Marcus smiled at them, then walked out of the hatch and down towards the briefing compartment put aside for the reporters.  None of the others had realised – at least, not yet – that it wasn't the briefing compartment.  It was merely a piece of window-dressing to impress them.

Inside, he blinked in surprise as he came face-to-face with a Royal Marine, wearing full battledress.  It was hard to be sure, but the man looked to be around thirty, with a rough-hewn face that bore the marks of a lifetime in the service.  He wore no rank stripes – they were uncommon on active service, where the enemy could use them to identify the commanding officers – but he had an air of authority that marked him as a senior officer.  Marcus nodded politely to him, then waited.  His experience told him that explanations would be presented soon enough.

“We’re going down to the planet,” the Marine said, finally.  “Do you wish to accompany us?”