Perilous Shield

Chapter Fourteen

“Commandos?” Rogero’s eyes were going back to the display as he felt a surge of adrenaline hit. His body was shifting to combat mode without any prompting. “I can’t see—”

Bradamont shook her head. “They’re in stealth-configured shuttles. The best the Alliance has got. The sensors on these freighters wouldn’t see them even if those stealth shuttles were doing loops around us.”

“Admiral Timbale—”

“Is losing control of the situation! He still has the fleet units and the Marines responding to him, but both ground forces and aerospace forces in this star system are acting on orders from the generals in command of them. For the love of our ancestors, get these freighters moving!”

Rogero pointed to the display, letting his frustration fill his voice. “We’ve still got shuttleloads of personnel to get on board. Are you saying we have to abandon them?”

“How many?” Bradamont pushed people aside until she stood at the freighter’s maneuvering controls. “Give me a minute.” Her hands started flying over the controls and the display.

“She’s setting up a maneuvering plan,” Ito said. Rogero abruptly became aware that both Garadun and Ito had followed Bradamont onto the control deck, making it very crowded indeed. “She was trying to get up here and being blocked by our workers in the passageways so we came along and told everyone to clear a path. What do you know about her? Does she know mobile forces?”

“She was a battle cruiser commander.”

“Alliance battle cruiser,” Ito murmured. “Which one?”

“Dragon.”

Bradamont looked over at him. “You can do this. Because these freighters accelerate at about the rate of glaciers going downhill on a good day, the Alliance passenger shuttles can keep up for more than half an hour. They can proceed along with us and off-load those remaining passengers before we build up enough velocity that they would have to break off. There’s not much room for error, but we can do it.”

Nonetheless, Rogero hesitated, thinking of those remaining loads of workers, of people who might find themselves watching freedom accelerate away from them when it had been almost within touching distance.

Ito pushed next to Bradamont, her eyes narrowed as she studied the display. “She’s right. I’m rusty at this, but if the shuttle performance levels she input are good, then it works.”

“We have to go now,” Bradamont insisted. “That doesn’t mean we’ll get clear. I don’t know exactly where those commando shuttles are. It might already be too late. But if we don’t start getting out of here immediately, then we have no chance of outrunning the commandos’ shuttles. And if those commandos catch us, then your soldiers on these freighters will not stand a chance.”

Running. Again. “Those commandos would not find my soldiers to be easy opponents,” Rogero said, hearing the stiffness in his voice. “They would pay.”

“I have no doubt of that, but you would still lose! There aren’t enough of you. And how many of the people you’ve just picked up would die in the cross fire? I know how hard it is to turn your back on an enemy. I know. That’s why you’re in command, because General Drakon knew you would make the hard decisions when they were the right decisions.”

Was it because Bradamont was making these arguments, or because he would have known the truth of those words regardless of who said them? Rogero nodded abruptly. “All right. Let’s do it.”

Ito hit some controls. “I’ve sent the maneuvering plan to all of the other freighters. You, you’re the executive in charge of this freighter? Implement the plan. Get us moving.”

Executive Barchi began slapping controls.

Rogero felt the freighter respond with an all-too-gentle nudge. “Lieutenant,” he ordered, “tell the Alliance shuttles that we need to start leaving now. If any of them ask why, tell them it was orders from their admiral. Tell those shuttles to keep up until they’ve dropped off the last passenger. Tell the other freighters to redouble their loading speed. Get our people on board as fast as they can move them even if we have to pile the last load in the air locks.”

Garadun was beside him, peering at the display. “Good thing these freighters were all pointed in the right direction already. It would have taken close to half an hour just to pivot them around one-eighty. Did she suggest that, too?”

“Yes,” Rogero said, realizing only now just how important that piece of advice had been.

“She knows ships. I’ll give her that,” Garadun conceded. “Funny, you said the war was over, and here we are being chased by Alliance commandos.”

“I guess they didn’t get the memo.” An old joke. How could he think of a joke right now?

“What is he doing?” Ito demanded to Bradamont, pointing to the display. “That Alliance destroyer.”

“He was coming this way already,” Rogero said. “To escort us back to the jump point for Atalia.”

“He’s accelerating,” Ito pointed out caustically.

Tension levels ramped up even higher, suspicious looks aimed at Bradamont as she studied the movement of the Alliance warship.

Bradamont suddenly began laughing, drawing shocked looks from everyone. “Bandolier is moving to foul the approach of the commando shuttles. Look, she’s not only accelerating but also bending her track a bit. Her vector is going to carry her short of us, but across the route that would have to be used by anything coming toward us from Ambaru. See that light cruiser? Coupe is doing the same though she’s coming in from farther out. The commando shuttles can avoid them, but the extra maneuvering will slow them down a little.”

“How do they know where the stealth shuttles are?” Garadun asked skeptically.

Bradamont shook her head. “I won’t give you the details of how the Alliance tracks its own stealth equipment. I wouldn’t expect you to give me details of how the Syndicate Worlds does it. But you know you can track your own gear, and so can we.”

“Those warships are buying us time?” Rogero asked.

“A little. Not much, but hopefully enough.”

He watched the data as the shuttle off-loads proceeded with now-frantic haste, and the vector data on the clumsy freighters showed them very gradually building up velocity, headed outward away from Ambaru station and toward the jump point for Atalia. But Rogero’s mind was consumed by other matters as well. “How did you learn about the commando launches?” he asked Bradamont.

“Admiral Timbale warned us.”

“I don’t understand. Are you saying the Alliance forces here are working against each other? That some of them are not obeying orders?”

Bradamont nodded heavily. “I told you that. They’re not obeying Admiral Timbale’s orders. The Alliance military is badly fractured. Force levels and funding are being chopped, and the different branches are fighting to keep as much as each of them can. The fleet and the Marines have the advantage of being firmly allied, while the ground forces and the aerospace forces distrust each other as much as they do the fleet and the Marines. Right now, in this star system, the ground forces commander and the aerospace forces commander are no longer working with the fleet commander, Admiral Timbale, even though he’s supposed to be in overall command. I don’t know what they think is happening, but they’ve been convinced to try to stop us.”

She looked at Rogero, her expression bleak. “You know what the war did to the Syndicate Worlds. Do you think the Alliance paid less of a price? We won. That didn’t replace the dead, repair the destruction, or pay the costs. The strains of the war tore apart the Syndicate Worlds. I don’t know what those strains may yet do to the Alliance, but the military is as frayed as everything else.”

Rogero’s mind was filled with images of the revolt at Midway, Syndicate unit against Syndicate unit. “Are you talking fighting? Combat between Alliance forces?”

“No!” Bradamont seemed shocked at the suggestion. “I don’t see any of the forces involved shooting at each other. Not over this. Not over anything. But that means none of them will shoot to protect these freighters. The fleet units are trying to delay the commandos without engaging them, and doing it in a way they can claim was accidental. That is the best we can hope for.”

“The fixed defenses,” Garadun said harshly. “The Alliance must have a lot in this star system. Whose orders are they responding to?”

“Ground forces or aerospace,” Bradamont answered. “But even these freighters can dodge shots fired from at least several light-minutes away. We’d be in trouble if we were heading for a site being defended, but we can avoid those.”

“What about a barrage?”

Bradamont shrugged irritably. “That might be challenging. All we can do is try to dodge.”

“We?” Ito asked.

“I’m aboard this ship, too.”

Garadun gave Bradamont an appraising look. “Every one of these freighters has talented personnel on board, people who can make mobile forces dance to their tune. If we have to, we’ll show the Alliance how it’s done.”

“When will we know we’re clear of the commandos?” Rogero asked.

“When they don’t get here,” Bradamont answered. “If we started accelerating soon enough and can prolong their approach long enough, they’ll have to turn back because of fuel constraints. They can’t sustain a long tail chase. I’d guess that if they haven’t caught up with us in an hour, we can breathe easier.”

Rogero turned to Foster. “Lieutenant. All soldiers are to go to full-combat footing. Armor sealed and weapons powered. Threat is Alliance commandos boarding from stealth shuttles. As soon as the last passenger shuttle breaks free, all hatches on the freighters are to be sealed and guarded.”

“The commandos are likely to be in stealth armor, too,” Bradamont said. “And they can get in by other means than using hatches.”

He looked at her, startled by the sudden catch in her voice, and saw that Bradamont looked as if she were physically ill.

She met his eyes. “They’re Alliance,” she said in a low voice.

Of course. Her own people. Bradamont was helping him prepare to fight those she had fought alongside. If the commandos boarded, some of them would die, and many if not all of Rogero’s soldiers would die.

And, quite possibly, Rogero, too.

“You should go to your quarters,” he told Bradamont. “It would be safer.”

“I will not hide down there,” she said. “I will be here if they enter this command deck.”

He had to accept that because he knew she would not bend on it.

Ito gave him a speculative look, though, and glanced at Bradamont.

“The last five Alliance shuttles are mating for the transfer now,” Lieutenant Foster said. “Their pilots are complaining about our acceleration.”

“Just tell them to get our people off those shuttles,” Rogero said. “As soon as the last is clear, they can head home.”

“The shuttles are off-loading very quickly,” Lieutenant Foster commented.

“Good old-fashioned fear-of-death motivation. It’s the Syndicate way.”

Everybody on the command deck but Bradamont laughed when Rogero repeated a joke that was old in the Syndicate Worlds, though the laughter held some nervousness as eyes kept straying to the display, as if the Alliance stealth shuttles would miraculously become visible on it.

“An hour?” Garadun asked Bradamont as he studied the freighter’s acceleration rate with a disgusted look.

“That’s just an estimate. I can’t be certain.”

“I hate being stalked by invisible enemies.” His eyes grew shadowed by dark memories. “Like the enigmas. How did Black Jack beat them?”

“We found out they’d been messing with your sensors,” Bradamont said. “Ours, too. Worms in the systems controlled what we saw whenever the enigmas wanted to be invisible.”

“What kind of worms couldn’t be found by our security scans?” Ito demanded.

“Quantum-coded worms,” Bradamont replied. “Don’t ask me how. I don’t think anyone human has figured out how to do it, yet. But we figured out how to cancel them out.”

“I suppose Black Jack figured that out, too?” Garadun said, his tone bitter.

“No. Captain Cresida. One of the battle cruiser commanders.” Bradamont closed her eyes for a moment. “She died in the battle with your flotilla when her ship was destroyed.”

Nobody said anything because there wasn’t anything that could be said. Instead, they all watched the displays where the vectors of the freighters grew longer with agonizing slowness as the clumsy ships accelerated at the snail’s pace that was the best they could manage.

After several minutes, Ito broke the silence. “Why are these commandos chasing us? Why do they want to recapture us? The Alliance guards never made any secret of the fact that they wanted to be rid of us.”

“Some of them want you back because you might be leaving under circumstances they don’t like,” Rogero suggested. “It is also likely that they want me, specifically.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Rogero replied with the ease of someone taught to lie well by the demands of the Syndicate system, “I went to Ambaru station and am known as the one in charge. I then got away from them thanks to their Admiral Timbale. So they want me. They may also have records related to the months I spent as part of the staff of a Syndicate labor camp. That might make me a criminal in their eyes.”

Garadun scowled in frustration. “No weapons to defend ourselves, lousy acceleration and maneuverability, and the best the Alliance has got coming for us. I’ve fought under better circumstances.”

“Sir?” Lieutenant Foster asked. “Shouldn’t we get some armor up here for us?”

Rogero shook his head. “Not until we’ve gotten those last shuttles off-loaded. Then you go join your unit. I’ll stay here.”

“But—”

“They want me, Lieutenant. There’s no sense in everyone else’s dying when I can—”

“Colonel Rogero,” Bradamont interrupted, “they want you, but they’ll hold the entire ship. You and everyone and everything on it. They won’t just take you and let everyone else go on their way.”

“I can take the escape craft—”

“If you eject, they’ll assume you’re trying to divert them from this ship for a reason. They’ll leave you drifting in the escape pod to pick up at their leisure and keep coming for this ship and any other of the freighters they can catch.” Bradamont took a quick breath. “I’m not just trying to save your butt, Colonel. If the commandos catch us, they will hold all of us indefinitely. The entire mission will fail. That’s the best case if they catch us. In my estimation, there is a strong chance they will come in shooting because someone in their chain of command has decided that the whole independent-star-system bit is a trick, and everyone aboard these freighters are actually Syndics on some covert mission that violates the peace agreement. Stop thinking about ways to sacrifice yourself. None of them would do any good.”

“What about you?” Ito asked Bradamont. “What happens to you if these freighters are taken?”

She made an angry, helpless gesture. “I have orders from Admiral Geary that justify my being here. I seriously doubt that would do me much good once I’m in the hands of the ground forces or aerospace forces under these circumstances.” Bradamont looked at Rogero, her glance exchanging understanding of the matter they could not openly refer to, her and Rogero’s involvement with both Syndicate snakes and Alliance intelligence.

He didn’t know what to say, what would be safe to say, but Ito came to his rescue. “I know what the snakes would do to me if I they caught me on an Alliance ship helping them,” she said.

“The last Alliance shuttle has finished off-loading,” Lieutenant Foster cried out in relief, then immediately looked embarrassed at his outburst. “He is breaking free now. Our detachments on the other freighters report all personnel have been brought on board, all hatches are being sealed, and all soldiers report ready for action.”

The Alliance shuttles dropped back quickly, pivoting around to head back to Ambaru for recovery and refueling. For a moment, as the shuttles accelerated in the opposite direction, there was an illusion of the freighters leaping ahead with a burst of speed, but the displays made it clear just what a fantasy that was. The velocity of the freighters was climbing, but with the same dogged slowness as before.

“Lieutenant Foster,” Rogero ordered, “get your armor on and rejoin your unit.”

As Foster rushed off of the freighter’s bridge, he had to veer around the other people blocking him in the crowded and confined area. Bradamont stared after Foster, then her hands flew over the maneuvering planning system again. “Colonel Rogero, there’s something else we can do. If the freighters use their thrusters to nudge them onto a different vector, the commando shuttles will change their intercept vectors to match. If we then thrust back in the opposite direction, it will force the commando shuttles to swing back.”

“They’ll lose ground?” Rogero asked. “And we won’t slow down if we change the direction we’re going?”

“No. Not for a change this minor. You’re in space. We’d just be altering direction enough to force the commando shuttles to change their vectors. That means they’ll have more ground to cover to reach us, which will take longer even though they won’t slow down either.”

“And if they’re close,” Garadun added, “it will mess up their final approaches. Five-degree course change?”

“Seven,” Ito suggested.

Bradamont nodded. “We can do seven, even in these freighters, since we’re not worried about how wide the turn would be. Up and to the left. That should maximize how much of a change the commando shuttles would have to make.”

“What about that Alliance destroyer?” Executive Barchi demanded. “What’s he going to do when we veer off our vector?”

“We’re not veering far enough to threaten anything in this star system,” Bradamont snapped at him. “Nor for long. And he’s going to be under orders from Admiral Timbale to protect us. We’ll be fine.”

“Do it,” Rogero ordered.

The orders went to the other freighters, and within seconds a slight pressure announced the thrusters on this freighter firing along with those on the other ships.

Was it working? The vectors of the freighters altered with agonizing slowness, but it was impossible for Rogero or anyone else to tell whether or not the commando shuttles were reacting as hoped. “Twenty minutes?” Ito asked, but directed the question to Bradamont rather than Rogero.

“That’s as good a guess as any,” Bradamont replied. “Were you a battle cruiser driver, too?”

“That’s right.” Ito turned a superior look on Rogero. “We’re the best.”

He just nodded in reply, only belatedly realizing that Ito had included Bradamont in that we. Shared danger could go a long way to breaking down barriers.

The freighter lurched slightly, causing Rogero to flex his hand as if it held the weapon still holstered by his side. That’s it. We didn’t make it. That lurch must have marked a stealth shuttle making contact with the hull of this freighter. How long until the commandos reach this place on the ship?

The others must have been asking themselves the same question, all except the freighter executive who was listening to something. “We got internal comms back,” Barchi announced with a cheerfulness that shocked the others.

“Wonderful,” Garadun muttered.

“Colonel,” the executive continued, “can you tell your people not to shift crowds all at once? These units aren’t made to deal with rapid changes in load locations.”

Rogero squinted at the executive, unable to understand the man’s apparent obliviousness. “What do you mean?”

“That lurch. Didn’t you feel it? My workers say your people rushed a whole bunch of the ones we picked up over two compartments. That’s a lot of mass to shift that fast.”

“The lurch…” Rogero grinned, looking at the smiles breaking out on the faces of the others. “That’s what it was?”

“Yes,” Executive Barchi said, giving him a puzzled look. “Is that funny?”

“No. Not funny. Just very good news.”

Bradamont, rigid with tension a moment before, had sagged against the maneuvering controls. “Five more minutes, then we’ll swing back.”

“Weaving?” The executive scratched his head. “We don’t usually burn thrusters for no reason. That’s money down the drain.”

“We have a reason,” Rogero assured him.

“Here comes that cruiser,” Ito announced.

The Alliance light cruiser Coupe slid past astern of the freighters like a sleek shark cruising behind a pod of clumsy whales. Rogero watched the cruiser tear past, wondering if it was as close as it seemed to be to him.

Apparently it was. Ito shook her head. “If that cruiser came between us and the commando shuttles, they are way too close.”

“Yes,” Bradamont agreed. “Let’s swing back now.”

The orders went out, and the motion of the freighters up and to the left gradually slowed, stopped, then was replaced by a glacial sway to the right and down.

Five minutes. Ten. Twenty. “How long until we’re clear?” Rogero asked.

“I don’t know,” Bradamont replied.

“The destroyer is coming back,” Ito warned.

All eyes went to that warship on the display as Bandolier came in barely astern of the freighters. But instead of sailing past, the Alliance destroyer was braking, her main propulsion units flaring to bring the destroyer to a stop relative to the freighters and not very far behind them at all.

“What is she… ?” Bradamont began.

Bandolier’s thrusters lit off. The warship was vastly more agile than the clumsy freighters, so her hull almost immediately began pivoting, still holding position just astern of the freighters. The bow came up and over and around, the entire ship pivoting in a circle as if it were a hand on a clock of ancient design.

“They’re being fairly obvious about fouling the shuttles’ approach, aren’t they?” Garadun commented. He looked to Rogero as if Garadun couldn’t decide whether to be admiring of the maneuver or amused by it but was too tense to do either. “They’re very close astern as such things are measured in space.”

“Meaning the commando shuttles are, too,” Bradamont agreed, herself radiating nothing but tension. “Whatever Bandolier does next will tell us whether or not that last obstruction trapped the shuttles into an impossibly long stern chase.”

The Alliance destroyer’s bow finished spinning through a full three hundred sixty degrees.

Rogero realized that he was holding his breath, watching the Alliance destroyer, waiting to see what its next move would be.

Instead of continuing around again, Bandolier rolled and pivoted to one side, coming out pointed in the same direction as the freighters.

Bradamont nodded wearily. “That did it. They’re just accompanying us now. I expect that Coupe will come back and join up with Bandolier.”

Rogero felt the same sense of tiredness as his body finally relaxed. “They’ll stay back there until we reach the jump point?”

“Once the commando shuttles give up the chase, there’s a chance Bandolier and Coupe will maneuver around us, taking up different positions relative to the freighters, to make it hard for any fixed defenses to throw rocks at us without risking hitting them. That’s what I would do.”

“Thank you, Captain Bradamont,” Rogero said. “I’m going to tell the soldiers on the other units to stand down and locate Lieutenant Foster to tell him we can relax on this freighter. It would be a good idea for you to return to the comm compartment, where you can see if Admiral Timbale has sent any further messages.”

She nodded, then, with a small smile, stood at attention and saluted him.

Rogero returned the salute with crisp professionalism, knowing that they would never have made it out of danger without her.

Garadun gestured to Ito. “Since Alliance forces are escorting us, we’ll provide an escort for this Alliance officer. She’s not safe in the passageways of this unit if she’s moving alone. You should assign some of those ground forces soldiers to guard her now that this freighter is full of veterans from the Reserve Flotilla.”

“Thank you. I’ll do that.”

Bradamont had paused, her eyes on the display. Was it his imagination that those eyes held a yearning in them? She had given up those Alliance ships to serve as a liaison officer, and now could only watch as others rode those decks and ordered those ships about.

She looked away, catching him watching her. No, he wasn’t mistaken about her feelings.

“Thank you,” Rogero said, this time only to her. He was certain she knew he meant it for far more than just her help in this latest incident. “I’ll accompany you as well. It’s on my way.”

He, Bradamont, Garadun, and Ito moved off the command deck and into the passageways, now crowded with survivors from the Reserve Flotilla. Bradamont’s Alliance fleet uniform drew looks of surprise that almost immediately changed to anger and hate. Shouts sounded, hands reached to punch and push, but Garadun and Ito shouted back. A year as prisoners of war had done nothing to fray the iron discipline drilled into Syndicate forces. At the commands from a sub-CEO and an executive, men and women fell back, faces going blank as they came to attention.

And Ito, at least, had gone into full executive mode, her voice booming through the passageway and surely carrying a good distance down it. “You will now hear this! All line workers, all line supervisors, all junior-executive ranks will treat this Alliance officer as a direct assistant to Colonel Rogero. Anything said to her will be appropriate to her status, and any physical action against her will be treated as deliberate assault against a supervisor. Is that clear?”

Everyone in the passageway waited for the two-second beat required, then thundered their response. “Yes, Madam Executive!”

The rest of the walk to the tiny comm compartment was met by silence, and everyone lined up along the bulkheads as word spread ahead faster than the small group could walk. As Bradamont said good-bye to Rogero she beckoned him close. “Did their treatment of me really outrage her that much?”

Rogero replied in a low voice. “I believe Executive Ito was very unhappy with the treatment you were receiving. But that’s because of your actions. She sees you as an equal if also a recent enemy. What made her outraged was to see line workers and supervisors behaving that way toward someone of executive rank, as well as the lack of discipline in their showing such behavior in the presence of her and Sub-CEO Garadun.”

“I see.” Bradamont smiled wryly. “I guess I should be grateful, whatever the reasons.”

“I’ll have two soldiers here before you leave. You’ll have an escort from now on.”

“It looks very much as if Ito’s instructions are being followed,” Bradamont pointed out.

Rogero paused, realizing how little Bradamont knew of the Syndicate way of doing things. It was hard to think of her as being innocent, yet when it came to the underside of Syndicate life, she knew almost nothing despite the attack on General Drakon soon after her arrival. “You understood the need for bodyguards on the planet.”

“Yes. That necessity was pretty heavily underlined by the attack on your General right after I arrived. But that was a much-less-controlled environment than this. I can see the discipline these people were trained to follow.”

How to explain? “Very rigid control can mask and create a great deal that happens out of sight,” Rogero said. “There is the surface, and there is what goes on beneath it. I routinely sleep with a sidearm handy because assassinations happen. Personal disputes, the desire for a promotion opportunity, an opportunity to blame a rival for the deed, there are many reasons. Disputes are resolved in ways that never see the light of day. Rules are meant to be twisted, or ways are meant to be found around rules, all without anyone in authority admitting to anything. You deserve whatever you can get away with, and if you get caught or simply accused, no mercy will be expected or given unless you have a patron powerful enough to protect you. That is how things have been done, in all aspects of Syndicate society. That is what President Iceni and General Drakon rebelled against.”

She gazed somberly at him. “General Drakon told me the same thing. The snakes, the Internal Security Service, were a symptom, not a foreign element.”

“Sadly, that is true. Which is why, when the Syndicate grew weak enough, everyone who could began revolting against it. Wait for the escorts to arrive before you leave.” He drew out his sidearm, holding it out to her. “And keep this handy. Don’t worry. I’ve got another.”

Bradamont’s estimates proved accurate. The Alliance destroyer and light cruiser were eventually joined by another destroyer, all of them weaving around the freighters in a frequent shifting of positions that must have caused a huge amount of frustration for the fixed defenses in the star system. No rocks were fired at them from the rail guns occupying many defense sites throughout the star system; though whether that was because they could not get a clean shot or they had been told not to fire remained unknown.

Admiral Timbale had sent Bradamont one final message, urging them to keep going, then ceased communicating to protect himself.

No one called them, in fact. The six freighters might have been in a bubble insulated from any form of communication, except that they could tap into the Alliance news broadcasts filling the space between planets.

Where is Black Jack? seemed to be the most common theme.

“These are not a happy people,” Sub-CEO Garadun observed in the tiny meal compartment of the freighter, which had become an executive dining room. He sat on one side of the small table, looking across it at Rogero on the other side. “I used to imagine them gloating over their victory, assuming they really had won. It doesn’t seem to have brought them much joy, though.”

“I wonder if there were any winners,” Rogero said. “The Syndicate Worlds lost, but did the Alliance win? Or did they suffer a lesser form of defeat?”

“If not for Black Jack . . .”

“Yes. He made the difference, just when he was most needed, just as the legends of the Alliance claimed.” Rogero turned a questioning look on Garadun. “According to the people of the Alliance, that was the work of the living stars.”

“More likely coincidence.”

“Hell of a coincidence,” Rogero observed.

Garadun raised an eyebrow toward Rogero. “Have you been hanging around the workers too much, Donal? Listening to their myths about ancestors and stars and other mystical powers that care what happens to us? What’s the policy toward that at Midway? Is it still officially discouraged?”

Rogero shook his head, looking down toward the table’s well-worn and blemished surface. “No. It’s not being encouraged, either. It’s just allowed. If citizens want to believe in something, that’s their business.” He looked directly at Garadun again. “The Syndicate taught us to believe in nothing. And eventually they taught us so well that we didn’t believe in the Syndicate anymore either.”

“That’s a point.” Garadun set down his drink, a pouch of Ground Forces Fluid Maintenance and Vitamin Supplement, lemonade flavor (contains no lemons), and looked back at Rogero. “I’ve been thinking. I don’t blame you for revolting and wiping out the snakes in your star system. Hell, I’m happy for you. But Midway isn’t home for me. I need to get back to Darus.”

“We don’t know what the situation is at Darus,” Rogero replied. “And we can use you. Midway is building a bigger flotilla. But it’s your choice.”

“Are you going to drop the loyalists off at Atalia?”

“I don’t know,” Rogero said. “Maybe there, maybe at Indras. It will be up to Kommodor Marphissa. I’d say Atalia for sure, since we can use the room on the freighters, but Atalia is also independent now. They probably won’t appreciate having a thousand or so Syndicate loyalists dropped in their laps.”

“I’m scarcely loyal,” Garadun said. “But… look, Donal. I know you get on all right with that Alliance officer, but it’s very hard for me. If Midway is a place where the Alliance has a strong voice… then it isn’t somewhere I can accept yet. There’s too much history, too much pain, for me to be part of that.”

“I understand. But that officer is the Alliance voice at Midway. She’s all there is, and she has only as much authority and influence as we grant her.”

“Hmmm. But still,” Garadun noted, “she has Black Jack and his fleet behind her. The fleet Midway needs to protect itself.”

“President Iceni knows she has a lot of leverage because of how much Black Jack needs Midway. According to what General Drakon has told me, she’s playing her side of the game well.” Rogero tapped the tiny table between them. “The Alliance doesn’t want the enigmas getting any closer to it. And only through Midway can the Alliance access the other two alien races that Black Jack found.”

Garadun stared back at Rogero. “Two more? Different than the enigmas?”

“Very different.”

“How did you find out about them?”

“Black Jack told us about them.” Rogero sat back as far as the cramped seat would allow, which wasn’t far. “It’s strange. Do you know what Captain Bradamont told me? Black Jack was in survival sleep during the war. The whole time since it began until he was found recently. He never knew the war. He didn’t grow up hating us or knowing how many of his friends and relatives had died during the war. So it’s much easier for Black Jack to imagine getting along with us. Not the Syndicate. Us. It’s not emotional for him. He can still believe in peace.”

Garadun didn’t answer for a while, brooding over what Rogero had said. “I can’t believe in peace,” he finally said. “Not yet. Not even after that Bradamont did so well getting us out of that mess. I can see her professional skills and accept them and even admire them. But that’s not the same as accepting her.”

So many think that way. I love her. But those around me distrust her at best. They see the enemy, where I see the woman. Will that ever change? But Rogero kept those thoughts hidden. “You are far from alone in that. We can’t forget. If for no other reason than we owe that to those who died not to forget them. But if we let the past rule us, we’ll be condemned to endless war and endless dying, and we all know how that feels.”

“All too well,” Garadun said. “What do we know about those two new sets of aliens? Did you see them?”

“Images of some of them, and records the Alliance provided.” Rogero paused, remembering his first sight of the alien spacecraft when Black Jack’s fleet arrived at Midway. “One of them is dangerous. The other is friendly. The friendly ones helped us. They stopped a bombardment aimed at our primary world—”

“You’re joking.”

“No, they did it. We’ve got a lot to learn about them, besides making Midway safe against any threat from the Syndicate government on Prime. Are you sure you don’t want to help?”

“Not as sure as I was.” Garadun looked outward, his eyes distant. “I wanted to be a scout when I was young. An explorer. As a young boy, I dreamed of being the one to finally find another intelligent species. The existence of the enigmas was a deep secret, so I thought I could still be the first to find aliens. But there weren’t any job openings. No scouts required. Everyone had to support the war effort. No resources could be wasted on exploration, and besides, the frontier was sealed for reasons that were so secret no one would even say they were secret. I went into mobile forces training with a vague hope that someday, when the war ended, I’d be able to use those skills to become a scout and see new star systems.” He sighed, saddened by the memories. “I gave up those dreams a long time ago. They died with each inhuman bureaucratic decision I had to live with and with every battle at every star where I fought.”

Garadun played with his drink pouch for a few moments before giving Rogero a searching look. “But, maybe, like Black Jack, my dreams aren’t really dead. Maybe they just went to sleep so deeply I didn’t realize they still lived. I need to see my family at Darus. But afterward, if a former sub-CEO can make his way to Midway, maybe with his family, would there be room there for him?”

“I’m certain of it.” Rogero gestured vaguely. “Or on Taroa if you prefer there. Didn’t you once tell me you liked it?”

“Taroa? Sure I liked it. Lovely place. What’s happened there?”

“Revolt. The people rule there, but it’s not a mob. They’ve got a government that we’re supporting. They also lost a lot of people during the revolt and could use immigrants. Especially immigrants with the right skills and training,” Rogero added.

“I’ll think about it,” Garadun promised.

“What about Ito? Any idea how she feels?”

“Ask her.” Garadun took a drink and grinned. “She’ll want at least a heavy cruiser.”

“I don’t know that I can promise that.”

“Just tell her you’ll try. All she wants is an excuse to go. Most of the former crews will go, too. Not that they love their supervisors.” Garadun laughed at the idea. “But they think we’ll look after them, they think of Midway as home, and a lot of them have family there, and since we’ve been living without snakes for a while, they’ve gotten used to that and like it. They’ll need a firm hand, though. Ito can provide that.” He laughed again. “One of the snakes on our ship almost made it to the escape craft. I saw Ito shoot him before he made it to the hatch. She’ll go with you.” Garadun laughed a third time, accompanied with a sly look at Rogero. “Ito told me she thought you were hot for that Alliance captain. Can you imagine? Women see that sort of thing everywhere.”

“I guess so,” Rogero said, hoping that he had revealed no reaction to Garadun’s words and deciding to change the subject as quickly as possible. “How certain are you that there aren’t any snakes or snake agents among the workers and supervisors that we recovered?”

Garadun shrugged. “As certain as we can be. You know how often snakes on stricken mobile forces units mysteriously fail to make it to escape craft. When we were picked up by the Alliance, there weren’t any openly known snakes among us. Every once in a while, someone among the prisoners would get tagged by their fellows as a covert snake. We’d hold a trial, without the Alliance guards knowing, of course, and if the charges held up, we’d deal with the snake. Then we’d turn the body over to the guards with one of the usual excuses about falling down stairs or off a building or something.” He gave Rogero a knowing look this time. “It’s a little worrisome how easily the workers came up with excuses like that. I can’t swear there aren’t still some covert snakes among our numbers. I don’t think so. But they can be very hard to spot.”

“I know,” Rogero agreed. “How many of those with us do you estimate will want to be let off?”

“Off the top of my head? Maybe fifteen hundred. No more than that. Most of those won’t be loyalists any more than I am. They’ll be people wanting to go to their families at places other than Midway, or people who can’t stomach even a whiff of Alliance involvement with you, or both. How long until we jump?”

Rogero checked his data pad. “Assuming nothing happens between now and then, about five hours.”

“It can’t happen a minute too soon for me.” Garadun stared toward the hatch leading into the passageway where workers sat with their backs against the bulkheads. “I never thought that I’d leave here, not unless it was on some prison transport taking me to a camp somewhere deeper inside the Alliance. I never thought I’d go home again, see my family again, have a chance at anything again. And now…” He exhaled heavily. “If that Alliance officer had as much to do with it as you say, well, maybe someday I can look her in the eye and not have to hide how I feel.”

Rogero made sure to be on the freighter’s command deck as the small convoy approached the jump point that led to Atalia. The six freighters lumbered along steadily, not far from each other but not in anything resembling the ordered formations that mobile forces units always adopted.

The three Alliance warships had fallen back, opening the distance between them and the freighters. They had never communicated with the freighters, and didn’t seem likely to say good-bye. Rogero wondered whether he should send a message to the warships.

Bradamont came onto the command deck, her eyes going directly to the display where the three Alliance warships loomed nearby.

“Should we say something?” Rogero asked her. “Thank them for their assistance? Just say farewell?”

“No.” Bradamont’s voice sounded hollow. “You can’t acknowledge that they did anything for you. It could get them in trouble.”

“But everybody knows. It was obvious.”

“Yes, everybody knows, but nobody is admitting that they know.”

Rogero shrugged. “All right, but it sounds like how we did things in the Syndicate.”

“I didn’t need to hear that.” She clearly wasn’t taking the comment humorously.

He watched her, seeing the look in Bradamont’s eyes as they prepared to leave Alliance space and leave behind Alliance warships, everything that Bradamont knew and held dear. Everything except him. And for him as much as anything she had given this up, official orders or not.

“Ready,” the freighter’s executive said.

“What about the other five?” Rogero asked.

“Yes. Ready to go. See those lights on the display? We’ve got our jump orders linked. When I go, we all go.”

“Then go,” Rogero said.

The stars vanished.

The endless gray of jump space filled the display.

Captain Bradamont left the bridge.

After a long minute, Rogero left, too. It would be four days in jump space before they reached Atalia. At least in jump space, everything traveled at the same speed, and they would reach the other star as swiftly as the fastest battle cruiser.

Two days in jump, and Rogero was feeling uneasy. Uneasiness was normal in jump space. People didn’t belong here, and the longer they stayed, the worse it felt. But that kind of discomfort usually took a bit longer than two days to be noticeable. This was something else.

He walked restlessly around the freighter, having to step over innumerable workers sitting in the passageways because there was not enough room elsewhere for them. The air had already gone a bit stale, life support not quite up to the task of handling so many people. It wouldn’t become dangerous in the time they would have to live with it, but the smell would get worse, and headaches would become increasingly frequent.

Rogero found that his steps had brought him to the quarters occupied by Honore Bradamont. He frowned slightly as he realized that this was the source of his unease. Why? Since entering jump, Bradamont had stayed inside that small compartment, out of sight of the workers, not wanting to flaunt her presence before those who still saw her as the enemy. The two soldiers of Rogero’s who were standing sentry outside Bradamont’s door at this hour were alert. What, then, bothered him?

He walked up to the soldiers, who both came to full attention and saluted him. “How does everything look?” Rogero asked.

Syndicate soldiers were trained to not ask questions, to not volunteer information, to do what they were told and nothing more or less. Rogero’s soldiers, like many of those in General Drakon’s forces, had been given different training for the last few years. Observe. Think. Tell someone if something looks wrong.

So when he asked how does everything look? these soldiers knew that he meant it as a question to be answered.

The more veteran of the two chewed his lip for a moment. “We’re being watched, Colonel, sir.”

The other soldier nodded.

“By who? How often?”

“Pretty often, Colonel. It’s a feeling. Someone is watching. Like on a battlefield, even when the armor sensors are saying there’s nothing there, you can still tell there’s a sight on you. They’re staying low, though. So many workers go by all the time, they can just meld in with them.”

The second soldier nodded again. “Especially when we’re doing turnover, Colonel, relieving the shift before us or being relieved. Whoever it is pays close attention at those times.”

“But you haven’t seen anyone in particular?”

“No, sir. Just the feeling. The others who’ve been standing guard have mentioned it, too, Colonel.”

Worrisome. Very worrisome. Veterans developed a feel for such things, sort of a new sense, or perhaps a very old sense brought to life again, one that had been mostly lost as humans developed tools.

No one person could be watching the soldiers that often. This was a group effort. Would someone try to get at Bradamont? The two sentries could stop one or two attackers, but what if there were many? What if an overwhelming number of workers came down this passageway, bent on revenge against the woman who represented the enemy and was within their reach?

Rogero studied the door. A freighter’s internal door. Just a flimsy, lightweight panel that provided some privacy but little else. Like most living compartments on the freighter, this one couldn’t even be locked.

She would be trapped in there.

But there were no better rooms, no more secure place on this ship, and he knew better than to suggest that she share his room. Bradamont would not agree under these conditions, and if, impossibly, she did agree, the blowback against him from everyone else on the freighter would be huge.

There must be something he could do. The vague sense of warning had grown stronger. If I do not think of some extra measures to protect Honore Bradamont, she might not make it to Atalia. I must think of something, and I must do so quickly.