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below decks, slapped on a seasickness patch from the first aid cabinet, and found a cabin to lie down in. He drifted halfway between sleep and wakefulness until a commplant call from Handler roused him.
     
    We’re approaching Station Ares. Ten klicks out.
    Be right there.
     
    “I’ve messaged ahead,” Handler said as Dev scaled the ladder to the flybridge. “They should be expecting us.”
    It was fully dark now. The sonar scope indicated a sizeable bulk, due west. It was getting nearer, but Dev could see nothing through the windscreen except tar-black ocean and a myriad of constellations.
    “Haven’t they heard of lights?” he said.
    “Station Ares is a low-profile structure. No part of it rises more than four metres above sea level. You won’t be able to see it with the naked eye until we’re virtually on top of it.”
    There was a sudden, low whump , like a huge, distant door slamming.
    “What was that?” Handler said.
    Dev knew. He recognised, all too well, the sound of an artillery shell being fired.
    “Get down!” he cried, and when Handler, startled, didn’t budge, he grabbed him in a bearhug and fell with him to the deck.
    The air shrieked.
    The sea exploded.

 
    9
     
     
    T HE DETONATION OF the shell, just a few metres off the bow, sent a spray of water over the entire boat. The Reckless Abandon rocked and wallowed crazily.
    Dev, his ears ringing, reached up to the control console and groped for the button to disengage the autopilot, then hauled back on the throttle. The boat slowed.
    “What are you doing?” Handler demanded. “We’ll be dead in the water. A sitting duck.”
    “And if we keep going, they’ll take us for hostiles and hit us.”
    “They’re already trying to hit us.”
    “No, they’re not. If they’d wanted us sunk, we’d be sinking already. That was a warning shot.”
    “So we’re not going to take evasive action?”
    “No. You’re going to boot up your commplant and tell whoever’s in charge here that we’re ISS and we come in peace.”
    The fog of panic on Handler’s face cleared. Unlike Dev, he had never come under fire before. It was a new and terrifying experience for him. Dev’s words cut through the fear.
    “Yes. All right. Of course.”
    His eyes lost focus as he accessed his commplant. Dev, meanwhile, scanned ahead, looking out for the telltale flash of a shell exiting a barrel. He hoped he was right about the warning shot. If not, then by now the artillery piece’s targeting guidance system would have a solid fix on the boat. The first shell might have been a near-miss. The next would be a dead cert.
    “Through yet?”
    Handler shook his head. “Connections are slow on Triton. We have about half the number of communications relay satellites a planet this size needs.” He raised a finger. “Hold on. I think I’m... Yes.”
    There followed a conversation between Handler and someone at Station Ares which Dev was not privy to. His only clue to its content was Handler’s face, which ran the gamut of expressions from anxious to indignant to relieved. At the end of it, the ISS liaison looked up and gave a broad smile.
    “Phew,” he said.
    “I like ‘phew.’”
    “It was all a misunderstanding, apparently.”
    “ That was a misunderstanding? I’d hate to see what they do when they’re really confused.”
    “The base is on high alert. Someone on watch got over-keen. We’re safe to go in and dock now.”
    Handler piloted the boat cautiously for the remaining few kilometres, sticking to a gentle, unthreatening speed. Eventually, Station Ares came into view, a long, low block of blackness studded with lights. As the Reckless Abandon drew closer, Dev got an impression of its shape: a hexagonal axis with six radial arms, each subdividing into branches and tipped with a field gun.
    A standard pop-up offshore naval base, the kind which could be airdropped in kit form and assembled on site in under a week and which was known colloquially as a