Perilous Shield

Chapter Twelve

“There’s no way the snakes in Indras would accept silence in response to their demand,” Marphissa said to Bradamont, who, along with Kapitan Diaz, had come to Marphissa’s stateroom in response to a summons.

“Then it sounds like you have no choice but to try your bluff,” Bradamont agreed, looking unhappy.

“Can you think of anything more plausible?”

“Plausible? To a snake?” Bradamont laughed shortly. “Actually, from what I know of them and other bureaucracies, the stupider the directive, the more realistic it might seem to them. How many really dumb directives did you get in the course of a year before you revolted against the Syndicate Worlds?”

“You should measure that in days, not years,” Diaz said. “Otherwise, the number gets too big.”

“They might think this is legitimate because it doesn’t make much sense?” Marphissa asked Bradamont. “You know, that’s possible. That’s really possible. All right, I’m approving the message,” she said to Diaz. “Transmit, and if you still believe in any deities, pray to them to convince the snakes to believe this when they get it.”

Further sleep was impossible. Marphissa tried to work in her stateroom, got irritable, went to the bridge, almost bit the head off of a watch specialist who made a friendly comment to another specialist in too loud a voice, went back to her stateroom, then finally went to Bradamont and sat talking with her.

One hour short of the jump point for Atalia, Marphissa returned to Manticore’s bridge, aware that she looked like hell and feeling just as bad as she looked. “No response from the snakes?” she demanded of Diaz.

“No, Kommodor.” Diaz rubbed his eyes wearily, then slapped onto his arm one of the stimulant devices that everyone called an up patch. “No reply.”

She tried to remember the last time she had come onto the bridge and not seen him there. Diaz had apparently kept himself on duty for the entire transit. “No signs of alerts in the star system?” Marphissa pressed. “Still no indications of any reaction? No fast ships suddenly heading for the hypernet gate as if they were carrying an urgent message?”

“No, Kommodor.”

What are they doing? Marphissa glared at her display. The snakes must at least suspect something. Are they laying some trap? Are they awaiting approval from some CEO who has strict instructions not to be awakened unless Black Jack himself comes storming in here with his fleet? “We keep going. We get to the jump point and head for Atalia, no matter what happens from this moment on.”

To her surprise, the tension level on the bridge seemed to relax considerably. She gave Diaz a questioning look.

“The uncertainty,” he said to her in a low voice. “It’s driving us all crazy. But you just gave them some certainty. We’re going to keep going. Now they know what’s going to happen.”

“What’s going to happen in the next hour,” Marphissa grumbled. “After that, it’s anybody’s guess.”

“It could be worse,” Diaz suggested. “We could still be wearing Syndicate suits, and there could be a snake standing at the back of the bridge listening to our every word.” He paused, an intent expression crossing his face. “That would really suck.”

“Have you been taking too many meds?” Marphissa demanded.

“Maybe.” Diaz leaned back, his eyes on the overhead. “I don’t think I like Indras. Wouldn’t it be great if we had a big display over us that looked like the stars so it would be like we were on the outside of the hull and had a window above us?”

“Kapitan Diaz, one minute after we enter jump for Atalia, you are ordered to turn over the bridge to another officer, go to your stateroom, take a crash patch, and get at least eight hours’ sleep. Is that understood?”

“Uh… yes, Kommodor.”

“I know you’re feeling the responsibilities of being a ship’s commanding officer, but the point is not to stay on duty until you are half-delusional unless there is no alternative. The point is to get sufficient rest so that you can make decent decisions and be at your best when it’s needed. And, yes, I am fully aware that I have done a poor job of that in the last several hours. I’m going to be crashing once we enter jump, too.”

“Incoming transmission,” the comm specialist warned. “Snake cipher, the same one we used.”

Marphissa closed her eyes, exhaled slowly to calm herself, then answered the specialist. “What do the snakes say?”

“Just… we understand.”

“What? They said what?”

“That’s all, Kommodor. The entire message. We understand.”

Diaz roused himself to glare at the specialist. “Are we certain that there is no worm or virus or Trojan horse attached to that message?”

“There is nothing, Kapitan. It’s far too small to carry any of those, and there are no attachments. It’s just the address header and those two words.”

Marphissa exhaled again, this time heavily. “They know. They’re playing with us. The snakes have figured out we’re not who we say we are. But they probably don’t know who we are. Maybe they hope that message will provoke us into telling them by implying they know more than they do.”

“That’s an old snake trick,” Diaz agreed.

“And they don’t know why we’re going to Atalia, and I will bet my life that the snakes have no idea that we intend going to Alliance space from there. They’ve probably got hidden agents in Atalia, and they’ll find a way to get those agents to report on what we’re doing.” She turned a triumphant look on Diaz. “But we’ll have more firepower than anyone else in Atalia if Captain Bradamont’s information is still good. We’ll block anyone from leaving Atalia for Indras until the freighters return from Varandal and we jump out. The snakes won’t know what we were up to until we get back here; and then it will be too late for them to interfere with us.”

I hope.

Forty minutes later, they reached the jump point. “All units in Recovery Flotilla, jump now,” Marphissa ordered. She barely felt the mental jolt of entering jump space, barely noticed the stars and blackness of normal space replaced by the unending gray sameness of jump space, and only noted in passing the blooming off to one side of Manticore of one of the strange and unexplained lights that came and went in jump space. “I’m getting some sleep. So are you, Kapitan Diaz. Make sure I am notified of any emergencies,” she added to the watch specialists, then marched off the bridge toward her stateroom.

They had to go through Kalixa to get to Atalia. Kalixa had been a fairly well-off star system, bristling with defenses and home to many millions.

Then the enigmas had caused Kalixa’s hypernet gate to collapse in hopes that it would set off a wave of retaliatory actions by the Syndicate and the Alliance against each other.

“There’s nothing left,” Kapitan Diaz breathed in shock as he gazed at the dead remnants of the star system. “Even the star has become unstable.”

“You can still see some ruins on what used to be the habitable planet,” Marphissa replied somberly. “There’s not much atmosphere left to block our view of them. If the enigma plan had succeeded, a lot of star systems belonging to the Syndicate and the Alliance would be like this.”

They couldn’t rush through Kalixa, not with the freighters along, but they made the best time they could to the jump point for Atalia, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief as the gray of jump space replaced the dead remnants of Kalixa.

Captain Bradamont’s information about Atalia was still good.

Marphissa relaxed as her display updated to show only a single Hunter-Killer orbiting near the star system’s primary inhabited world and a single Alliance courier ship hanging near the jump point for Varandal. Getting out of the eerie gray isolation of jump space, returning to normal space, where stars glowed all around once more, was always a relief. But it was often also rendered tense by wondering what might be waiting outside the jump exit.

“That’s it,” she told Bradamont, who had come to the bridge to observe the entry to Atalia just in case other Alliance ships were present. “Let’s get you over to that freighter. I’m going to keep Manticore and Kraken here near the jump point for Kalixa to keep anyone from going on to Indras and taking word to the snakes of what’s happening. The light cruisers and our HuKs will escort your freighters to the jump point for Varandal, then wait there for you to return.”

“For me to return with your shipmates,” Bradamont corrected.

“If it can be done, you’ll do it,” Marphissa said. As she stood to accompany Bradamont to the shuttle, Marphissa was surprised to hear the senior watch specialist call out to Bradamont.

“Good luck, Kapitan!”

“Yes,” another specialist agreed. “One of those guys from the Reserve Flotilla owes me money. I hope you bring him back!”

Bradamont grinned, waved, and followed Marphissa off the bridge.

“That was surprising,” Marphissa muttered, as they made their way toward the air lock.

“They must be getting used to me,” Bradamont offered. “And they idolize you—”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“They do. So when they see that you trust me, it rubs off a little on me.” They reached the hatch, and Bradamont paused. “If Admiral Geary is already at Varandal, this will be a piece of cake.”

“And if he’s not, you said this Admiral Timbale will cut a deal,” Marphissa said. “Be careful. I don’t want to lose you. And you and Colonel Rogero behave yourselves once you’re on the same ship. No sneaking off for a little private recreation.”

Bradamont laughed. “That’s unlikely. You are the only other person in this flotilla who knows about Donal Rogero and me. He thinks his soldiers will take it all right, but we don’t want to create too many problems with the Reserve Flotilla survivors when they get on the same ship with us.”

“Smart move.” Marphissa hesitated, feeling unusually diffident. “What do you say? May the stars protect you? Something like that?”

“Something like that. May the living stars watch over you.”

It was only after Bradamont had sealed the hatch behind her that Marphissa realized that she had not simply given Marphissa the correct phrase, but spoken the wish on her behalf as well. Good luck, you Alliance scum. Come back safely to us.

Several hours later, Bradamont called Marphissa from the freighter she was on. The freighters and their escorts had left the two heavy cruisers behind, plodding at the best rate the freighters could manage for the jump point for Varandal.

Bradamont looked unhappy. “The courier ship confirmed that Admiral Geary has not yet brought the fleet back through Atalia en route to Varandal. That’s not unexpected since he had to go to Sobek, then transit a number of star systems and jumps before getting here, but it means we’ll get to Varandal before he does. We can’t wait around since it could be days or weeks before Admiral Geary makes it here hauling along that Kick superbattleship, which makes these freighters look like racing yachts by comparison. We’ll continue on to Varandal.”

Black Jack is taking longer to get back? Marphissa thought. We did expect that. But I’m worried. The Syndicate wanted him to go to Sobek, and the Syndicate never plays fair. Ha! Listen to yourself. You’re worried about the safety of an Alliance fleet.

But I am. Things have changed.

Colonel Rogero had been careful to act toward Bradamont only in the most professional and impersonal of ways. But once they returned to her tiny cabin on the freighter after sending her message to Kommodor Marphissa, alone with no one else around, he gave her a concerned look. “You’re worried.”

“I’m some Alliance officer that you never met before, remember? You’re not supposed to know me that well, Colonel,” Bradamont replied with a small smile.

“But I do, Honore. Do you expect trouble in Varandal?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed. “There shouldn’t be. But. These freighters are Syndicate Worlds’ construction. You and your soldiers are former Syndicate. Someone might throw up obstacles.”

“What are you still not saying?” Rogero pressed.

“Oh, hell, why do I try to lie to you?” She sat down on the single chair in the cramped cabin. “You’re the senior officer. You may have to sign for the released prisoners. And you’re . . .”

“A man in whom your intelligence people might be interested?”

Bradamont nodded unhappily. “If they have files tying Colonel Donal Rogero to the Alliance source known as Red Wizard, they might insist on taking you into custody. They wouldn’t call it that, but that’s what they’d be doing.”

“But what of you? What did Alliance intelligence call you?”

She rolled her eyes. “White Witch.”

“Seriously?”

“Don’t. Make. A. Joke.”

“I wouldn’t,” Rogero protested. “But that means that Alliance intelligence might have a great deal of interest in you as well.”

“Yes.” She grimaced. “I’m going to need to communicate with Admiral Timbale. Admiral Geary provided me with some special codes I can use to do that. But it would be wise to avoid letting anyone else in Varandal know that I’m along for this ride. The wrong words in the right ears could cause me and you to be hauled off and detained, along with perhaps all six freighters. It’s going to be interesting, Donal. And even though we’re on the same ship, I can’t even touch you.”

“Our dreams kept us going for a long time. What’s a little longer? Do you think that Alliance intelligence or the snakes can beat me and you together?”

Bradamont smiled and rendered him a casual salute in the Alliance style. “No, sir. We are going to get this done.”

It was hard leaving behind the light cruisers and HuKs when the freighters entered the jump for Varandal. They were, after all, not just jumping to an Alliance-controlled star system but one that was a military stronghold crawling with defenses. Even though the freighter supervisors and crews were not military and usually regarded Syndicate mobile forces as only one step better than Alliance warships when it came to rapacious threats, even they were rattled by the prospect of arriving at Varandal completely unescorted.

Colonel Rogero listened carefully to the conversations around him during the four days in jump space required to reach Varandal from Atalia. He tried to talk to the freighter supervisors about jump space, but they knew little of the theory behind it and the jump drives. Practical men and women, they knew how to keep their equipment working and what that equipment should do. But they didn’t know whether jump space truly was a different universe in which no star or planet had ever formed and in which distances were much shorter than the human universe. It was something they went through to get where they needed to go within a reasonable period of time. That was all they needed to know.

He didn’t have a lot of ground forces on each freighter, just a platoon per ship. As much room as possible had to be left open for accommodating freed prisoners. Rogero’s troops were leery of Bradamont, but the knowledge that General Drakon had ordered her to be along on this mission (for that was what Rogero told them) led the soldiers to accept the odd presence of an unconfined Alliance officer among them.

Bradamont had also arranged to “accidentally” reveal in the presence of some of the soldiers the place on her arm where the Syndicate labor-camp mark was still visible. Anyone who had been through a labor camp and survived automatically earned some degree of sympathy and respect from those like Rogero’s soldiers, who had lived under the Syndicate.

But now that period of waiting was coming to an end. Rogero had escorted Bradamont to the cramped bridge of the freighter, where the freighter executive waited with ill-concealed nervousness for the exit from jump space.

“They won’t shoot?” the freighter executive asked Bradamont for the third time despite her having said no the first two times.

“Probably not,” she replied on this occasion, without visible concern. “If they do, we’ll probably be able to make the escape pod before the ship blows up. We won’t all fit, though, so I hope you’re a fast runner.”

Behind the freighter executive, Rogero grinned at Bradamont, but she kept a serious expression.

The drop out of jump space interrupted whatever reply the merchant executive might have mustered.

Two Alliance destroyers were within five light-seconds of the jump exit.

Rogero felt his breath catch as instinct born of a lifetime of war warned of serious danger.

But Bradamont gestured to him with an encouraging look, pointing to the freighter’s transmitter. All right. Let’s see how good I am at talking to the Alliance. “This is Colonel Rogero of the independent Midway Star System. We are here at the invitation of Admiral Geary, on a peaceful mission to recover prisoners of war from the Syndicate Reserve Flotilla. Please notify Admiral Timbale that we have information regarding Admiral Geary and the success of his mission, and would like to speak with him.”

Bradamont made a quick warning gesture and Rogero managed not to speak his next intended words. “Rogero, out.”

“I should have warned you earlier,” she said. “Saying for the people would tag you as Syndics.”

“They’ll probably tag us as Syndicate, anyway. But, with any luck,” Rogero commented, “they’ll be curious enough about the information on Black Jack to avoid destroying us.”

“They know that Admiral Timbale will be curious,” Bradamont replied. “And they won’t want to make him mad.”

Rogero watched the freighter’s limited display update, an apparently endless array of warships, support craft, civilian ships, repair facilities, and defensive installations popping up in fits and starts. “Black Jack isn’t even here,” Rogero murmured. “And look at all of it.”

Bradamont heard. “There aren’t that many warships present, and those here are cruisers and smaller.”

“That’s more than big enough for us to worry about,” the freighter executive grumbled.

Less than thirty seconds passed before a reply came in from one of the destroyers. “This is Lieutenant Commander Baader of the Alliance destroyer Sai. Your status and your political allegiance are unknown to us, Colonel Rogero. You and your ships look Syndic.”

Bradamont made an encouraging gesture, and Rogero tapped the controls again. “I am a colonel in the ground forces of the free and independent star system of Midway. My allegiance is to our President Iceni, and to my commander, General Drakon. We no longer answer to the Syndicate. The Syndicate is our enemy. We are at peace with the Alliance and have fought alongside your Admiral Geary at Midway.”

This time almost a minute passed before Lieutenant Commander Baader’s image once more appeared. “We have forwarded your message to Admiral Timbale, Colonel Rogero. Your freighters are to remain in this orbit until we receive clearance for you to proceed farther.”

“More waiting?” Rogero asked.

“More waiting,” Bradamont agreed. “They’ve bumped the matter upstairs, which was the smartest thing they could do.”

Light crawled across the light-hours to the massive orbiting Ambaru station where Admiral Timbale had his headquarters, then crawled back. Awoken from a restless sleep by the freighter’s second officer, Rogero returned to the bridge, collecting Bradamont along the way.

“This is Admiral Timbale.” The admiral looked thoughtful as well as suspicious, which Rogero thought a good sign. “We would of course be happy to repatriate the Syndic prisoners currently held here, especially to representatives of a star system that has thrown off the Syndic yoke. But this is a delicate issue given the history between our two peoples. I will need to request guidance from higher authority. Your ships will have to wait here until I receive an answer, which will require at least two weeks.”

Rogero looked over at Captain Bradamont, who made a face. “That was worst case,” she said. “But now we have a transmission ID that I can send a reply to. Can this ship’s comm gear handle a tight beam, secure, eyes only send?”

“It couldn’t before we installed some upgrades for the mission to Taroa,” Rogero replied. “That’s not standard freighter comm gear. But to use the upgraded equipment we’ll need to go to a compartment we rigged up for that.”

He led her along the passageways of the freighter, nearly empty at this hour of ship’s time, to a hatch leading into a small compartment which from the smells still lingering inside had once been used to store potatoes and onions. One of Rogero’s soldiers maintained a lone watch over the equipment despite the unlikelihood of any messages coming in aimed at its parameters. “Are you going to send it in the clear?” Rogero asked Bradamont.

She held up a data coin. “This contains the necessary Alliance codes. Admiral Geary provided me with them in case I needed to send an encoded message through your channels.”

“Very well.” Rogero gestured to the comm operator. “Up and out.”

The operator stood, saluted, and left the compartment without a word.

“Your people don’t tend to ask questions,” Bradamont observed as she sat down at the comm station.

“The Syndicate hierarchy frowns on workers asking questions,” Rogero replied as he closed and locked the hatch. “For my soldiers, it’s a lesson learned over a lifetime and not easily broken.”

She looked at him for a moment, a brief smile showing. “You don’t seem to have learned that lesson.”

“No, and you saw what happened to me. I went from being ordered to labor-camp staff to being one step from becoming the occupant of a labor camp myself. If not for General Drakon, I would have probably died in one.”

“Me, too,” Bradamont said, her eyes back on the comm gear. “Until you told me, I never realized that he was the one who suggested to the snakes that our relationship could be used by them. If not for that, the snakes wouldn’t have leaked the information about my transfer to another labor camp to the Alliance, so I could be liberated.”

Rogero nodded. “He is a good man. He no longer believes he is a good man, but I believe it.”

Another short pause as Bradamont looked at him. “Why? Why does Drakon have such an opinion of himself?”

“He was a CEO. To reach the ranks of a CEO, to survive in such a system, requires doing things that would eat the soul of any person. I have met all too many CEOs who showed no signs of missing their souls. General Drakon somehow retained most of his.” Rogero tapped his chest. “But that means he also knows in his heart the wrongs he did.”

“Ignorance is bliss,” Bradamont muttered. “It was an ugly war. Has any war ever been anything but ugly? We all carry scars inside us from that.”

“It wasn’t just the war, Honore. It was the system. The Syndicate system. You ate others, or the system ate you.”

She nodded, not looking at him this time. “But you got rid of that way of doing things. You’re going to make a better way. If General Drakon and President Iceni don’t screw it up.” Bradamont sat back, running her hands through her hair. “It’s ready for the transmission. How do I look?”

“More beautiful than ever.”

Bradamont laughed. “It’s a good thing we’re alone in here.”

“And an unfortunate thing that we can’t stay alone in here long, and that it is so confining.”

“Maybe that’s a blessing in disguise. All right. Move over that way as far as you can. We want to be sure you don’t show in the image.”

Rogero scrunched over as far as he could, waiting.

Bradamont tapped a control, her eyes on the video pickup. “Admiral Timbale, this is Captain Honore Bradamont, formerly commanding officer of Dragon. Admiral Geary detached me from the fleet when it returned to Midway Star System and ordered me to serve as a liaison officer to the government and military there. Midway Star System is completely independent of the Syndicate Worlds. It has a stable government that is pursuing a more democratic course and has assisted nearby star systems in throwing off Syndicate Worlds’ authority. Their warships assisted our fleet in the most recent battle there against the enigmas. They need the personnel from the Reserve Flotilla to crew warships that are under construction to defend them against attempts by the Syndicate Worlds to reconquer the Midway Star System.

“Admiral Geary’s fleet is on its way back from Midway but was delayed by Syndic interference. I don’t know exactly what he has run into, but we have learned that the Syndics have a means for temporarily blocking use of their hypernet. That forced Admiral Geary to take his fleet to Sobek. He is doubtless proceeding homeward from there but may have run into Syndic opposition despite the peace agreement. The fleet took considerable combat damage fighting our way through enigma space, during combat with a second alien species, and when defeating a renewed enigma assault on Midway Star System. It is also burdened by the presence of a captured alien warship, which is being brought back to Alliance space, and six ships belonging to a third alien species, which seeks friendly relations with us.

“I can provide you with further information regarding Admiral Geary’s successful mission, but given the extreme sensitivity of the information and my assignment by him to duty at Midway, I do not want it known that I am back at Varandal. Fleet headquarters would surely negate my orders from Admiral Geary as a liaison officer, order me to report to them and provide them with all I know regardless of how Admiral Geary wants to present that information upon his return.

“I am, of course, subject to your orders here. But my interpretation of Admiral Geary’s orders to me is that I should do my utmost to ensure those prisoners of war are returned to Midway Star System, and thereafter continue to monitor the situation there and provide whatever reports I can back to Alliance authorities. I respectfully request that we undertake as soon as possible a transfer of all Syndic prisoners of war in this star system to the freighters under Colonel Rogero’s command.

“Captain Bradamont, out.”

Rogero waited until Bradamont had cut the connection before saying anything. “That ought to be a wide-awake call when he gets it.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Rogero eyed her a moment longer, wondering if he should ask the next question, but finally decided to do so. “Do you believe it? What you said about President Iceni and General Drakon.”

She returned his look. “What did I say? You mean that your government is stable and undertaking democratic reforms? As far as I can tell, it is.”

“What do you think of President Iceni?”

“Are you collecting intelligence on me for your boss, Colonel Rogero?” Bradamont asked. Her tone was light, but there was a real challenge in her eyes.

“No. I want to know what you think. I won’t tell anyone else.”

She paused, frowned, then looked at him. “I think she is one very tough bitch. And I mean that in a good way.”

“You can mean that in a good way?” Rogero asked. “So, you think she really will do things for the people?”

“Yeah, I do. Don’t get in her way. I think people who get in Iceni’s way regret it big-time.”

“What about her primary assistant? That man Togo.”

Bradamont shook her head. “He’s a cipher to me. I haven’t seen enough of him. Now, you answer something for me about your General’s two assistants.”

Rogero laughed. “What a pair, eh? But they are very, very good at what they do, Honore. Individually, each is impressive. Together, they give General Drakon the type of support that equals another brigade of troops, if not more.”

“Do they hate each other as much as it seems?”

“More,” Rogero said. “Morgan had been here a few years when Malin showed up. Instant, mutual hatred. Too much alike if you ask me.”

“Alike?” Bradamont questioned. “Those two?”

“Sure. They just handle things differently. Morgan would laugh while she put a bullet in you. But she would have what she thought a good reason to do it. Malin would, maybe, feel a little sorry when he killed you in cold blood for what he thought was a good reason. But you would be dead, either way. I think they both have big plans. Very different plans, but plans that place them at the center of things.”

Rogero paused. “There was an operation that both Malin and Morgan were on, to take an orbiting platform. This was right after we killed the snakes. It turned out the commander of the platform was a covert snake. While the snake was being killed, Malin put a shot so close to nailing Morgan in the back that it looked like he barely missed a chance to end their feud permanently. But the General didn’t toss him out because that shot killed the snake right before she would have killed Morgan. Funny, isn’t that? If Malin did try to kill her, he instead saved her life. If he did try to save her life… well, he saved her life! And she damned near killed him right after that because she thought he’d tried to kill her. Only the friendly-fire inhibits in her weapons saved Malin.”

“I would not want to get on her bad side,” Bradamont said.

“The entire universe is on Morgan’s bad side,” Rogero explained. “I don’t know the details. Some special mission when she was young. The mission messed her up bad. There’s only one person who has Morgan’s undying loyalty. That person is General Drakon, who gave her a chance when no one else would.”

“She’s been nice to me,” Bradamont said. “Respectful. It’s a little scary.”

Rogero felt a bit of a chill, too. “Morgan doesn’t fake nice unless she has a reason. If she’s acting that way, she thinks you are important to her. Or to General Drakon, which may be the same thing in her mind.”

“Why does he keep her around?”

“Because he’s trying to help her. And because General Drakon doesn’t throw away people. And because if he fired her, sent her away, she would be dead within a month. She might take an entire planet with her when she died, but she wouldn’t survive very long without General Drakon’s guidance and support.”

“That’s tough,” Bradamont said. “I take it if you ever said that to her, she would go completely berserk.”

“Yes. Don’t do that.”

“Thanks for the advice.” Bradamont stood up with a longing expression as she looked at him. “Now open that hatch before I lock it and have my way with you, or your soldiers try to break it down to save you from me.”

“Alas, I can be free of the Syndicate, but I can never be free of you,” Rogero said as he opened the hatch.

Their first reply to Bradamont’s message came from the Alliance destroyers.

“You are to follow the attached vector in-system toward the vicinity of Ambaru station,” Lieutenant Commander Baader informed Rogero. “All six freighters must conform to the indicated velocity and course. Sai and Assegai will accompany your ships to ensure that you remain on vector. Baader, out.”

“Get moving,” Rogero told the freighter executive. “Make sure the other ships do the same.”

“Those Alliance destroyers aren’t escorting us,” the executive complained. “They’ll stay close so they can blow us apart if we go off vector.”

“Then don’t go off vector.”

Bradamont came by the bridge, waving at him. “Your comm watch says there’s an incoming message using Alliance encryption.”

“Let’s go see what it says,” Rogero said. He followed her to the tiny comm compartment, waited while the soldier on duty left, then pulled the hatch shut. The small size of the compartment meant that he had to stand near Bradamont, but that wasn’t exactly a hardship.

“Captain Bradamont, this is Admiral Timbale. I am, needless to say, surprised.” Timbale gazed out from the comm display as if he could actually see Bradamont in real time. “That’s good news about Admiral Geary’s being on his way back and having successfully completed his mission. And that’s bad news about the Syndics being able to play games with the hypernet. I want to know everything you can tell me about what has happened to Admiral Geary and his fleet since they left Varandal. Do I understand correctly that three intelligent nonhuman species have been discovered? That is remarkable.

“You’ve given me all of the reasons I need to hand over those prisoners. I’ve wanted to get rid of them for some time, but no one would take them.” Timbale scratched one cheek, his eyes on something beside him. “I’ve got five thousand two hundred and fifty-one Syndic prisoners here. Most of them from that Reserve Flotilla, but several hundred from other sources. Can you take them all? Let me know as soon as possible. If we have to sort out the Reserve Flotilla survivors from the others, it might take a while.

“Now, the hard part. There has to be a physical transfer of custody,” Timbale insisted, tapping one finger on his desk for emphasis. “There’s no exception allowed under these circumstances. Someone has to be handed the agreement and make a legally binding statement of acceptance in my presence. Needless to say, I can’t go to the Syndics. To the people of Midway, rather. The symbolism would be very bad since they still look too much like Syndics. One of them, their senior officer, has to come to us, has to arrive at Ambaru station so we can meet the physical requirements for turnover of the prisoners.”

“Damn,” Bradamont muttered.

“That would be me,” Rogero said. “Can I trust Timbale?”

“Yes. He wouldn’t approve of trapping you, not when you’re here at Admiral Geary’s behest. He’d give me some sort of subtle sign that everything wasn’t on the up and up.”

“I’m aware of the risk to Colonel Rogero that this might entail,” Timbale continued. “By the way, the fact that they’ve started using military ranks instead of the Syndic executives and CEOs thing really helped me make up my mind to agree with this. Nonetheless, legally, I have to cover my butt on the transfer, or compliance officers might throw up obstacles that will put a stop to the transfer for who knows how long. We’ll keep the meeting as low-profile as possible, which won’t be much. Some word will leak out, especially among the civilians in the dock area when it actually goes down, but I’ll have plenty of Marines there to provide security on the dock.”

“You can’t ask for better than that,” Bradamont said.

“Alliance Marines?” Rogero asked. “Is the prospect of being surrounded by Alliance Marines supposed to comfort me?”

“They’re damned good fighters, Donal!”

“I know! I’ve fought them! That’s why the idea of being surrounded by them does not make me feel better!”

Timbale was finishing up. “It will take those tubs you’re riding a while to get close to Ambaru. Not too close, mind you. No one wants Syndic-origin freighters getting within danger range of this station. But the time required for your trip will give me time to get those prisoners up here and ready to shuttle over to you. Timbale, out.”

Bradamont gave Rogero a demanding look. “Can I tell him we’re good with this?”

“We’re good with it? I’m the one who is going to have set foot on that station. What is Alliance intelligence going to do when they hear that Colonel Donal Rogero is literally on their doorstep?”

“First,” Bradamont insisted, “they have to figure out that the Midway Colonel Rogero is the same as Sub-CEO Donal Rogero of the Syndicate Worlds’ ground forces. Second, if they do, the Marines will be there. Third, if somehow Alliance intelligence does get its hands on you, I will personally go onto that station and get you back no matter what it takes. I will not have you treated here as I was by the Syndics even if I have to do things that neither Admiral Timbale nor Admiral Geary would approve of.”

Rogero looked at her and felt himself smiling. “How was it you characterized President Iceni?”

“What? Why did you bring that up?”

“No reason. Tell your Admiral Timbale that I’ll be there.”

She gave him another look, this one suspicious, then hit the send command. “Admiral Timbale, thank you. I will provide what I can via this message about Admiral Geary and our activities in alien-controlled space. Before I begin, Colonel Rogero has agreed to the physical turnover of prisoners aboard Ambaru. I assured him that there would be no danger to him when you had promised his safety. I must, however, inform you that it is very likely that Colonel Rogero has a high-priority flag on his files in our intelligence system. It is purely an intelligence matter. It has nothing to do with his actions in the war. You have my word of honor, sir, that it is not a war-crimes flag.

“Here is a summary of what Admiral Geary’s fleet encountered . . .”

After a long, plodding voyage that was the best the freighters could manage, they were close enough to Ambaru station, within a few light-seconds, for the communication delays to be almost unnoticeable. “Believe it or not, Captain Bradamont,” Admiral Timbale said, “I have some qualms about turning some of these Syndics over to those Midway people. There’s no doubt that at least a few of the prisoners are die-hard Syndicate Worlds’ patriots. What will your Midway people do with them?”

“Are any of them snakes, Admiral?” Bradamont asked, exchanging a glance with Rogero.

“Snakes?”

“Syndic Internal Security Service.”

“Oh, those guys. No. None of them are tagged with that.”

Rogero leaned in. “Admiral Timbale, only ISS agents would face danger at our hands, and that is because of the blood of our people on their hands. Each of our freighters has a small ground forces unit aboard for security, so we need not fear actions by the Syndicate loyalists. We will drop off along the way to Midway anyone who does not want to join us.”

Timbale paused, then spoke heavily. “Drop off? Admiral Geary has had some influence on me, Colonel. I would feel guilty if I turned over to you prisoners who were subsequently pushed out of air locks to get rid of them.”

Rogero shook his head firmly. “We will not do that. General Drakon’s orders.”

“What’s that?”

“We have orders not to kill prisoners. We will obey those orders, Admiral. Any prisoners released to us who do not wish to join with us will be delivered to one of the Syndicate-controlled star systems we pass through on our way home. Safely delivered.”

Timbale studied Rogero, then nodded. “Very well, Colonel. The first shuttle is on its way to the freighter carrying you. Ride it back here, and we’ll get this done. Don’t worry, I’m not going to wait for the completion of the physical turnover before we start shoveling Syndic prisoners at you. Make sure those freighters are ready to take a lot of prisoners and take them fast.”

Bradamont spoke warily. “Are there any grounds for concern, Admiral? Any security threats?”

“I don’t have ironclad control of every unit in this star system, Captain. Not even close. So far, I’ve presented a very carefully tailored account of what’s going to happen to everyone. But at some point, some of the Alliance military forces that don’t answer to me might get orders from some other high-ranking officer to do things that you and I and Colonel Rogero wouldn’t like at all, especially given what you told me about possible Alliance intelligence interest in Rogero. The faster we get this done, the better.”

“That does not sound good,” Rogero said after Timbale had signed off.

“No,” Bradamont agreed. “Get in, get out, get back here in one piece.”

“I’ll do my best.”