Perilous Shield

Chapter Fifteen

Two hours until the freighter left jump. Two hours until they reached Atalia. One hour until “dawn” as measured by the freighter’s internal time. Colonel Rogero lay on his narrow bed in his very small quarters, staring up at the tangle of wiring and ducts that made up the overhead.

The sense that something was going to happen had been growing. Indefinable, perhaps only a new manifestation of the old jump-space nerves, but still it had kept him from sleeping much this night and brought him fully awake well before he needed to get up.

He sensed a trembling through the structure of the freighter before he could consciously feel it. The trembling grew with shocking suddenness, turning into an irregular beat of many feet in the passageway outside. Whoever they were, they were moving quickly and silently.

Rogero’s feet were hitting the deck when he heard the sentries outside Bradamont’s new quarters down this same passageway shout warnings and commands. He paused only for the barest fraction of a second, deciding between his sidearm or heavier armament and choosing the latter. He was reaching for the door when the shouts of the sentries were submerged in a roar of sound that erupted in the passageway as at least a hundred throats shouted hate.

As he opened the door, a crash sounded down the hall, the unmistakable sound of a grenade detonating nearby and only slightly muffled by having exploded inside some room off the passageway. Almost certainly, that room had been Bradamont’s quarters. A small portion of Rogero’s mind wondered where the mob had acquired a grenade, and resolved to find out. If one of his soldiers had lost or bartered away a grenade…

But that would be a priority for later.

Rogero came out of his stateroom, not wearing armor but his pulse rifle powering up. Every passageway on the freighter tended to have a lot of people in it, but right now this passageway was packed solid with the mob pushing toward Bradamont’s quarters.

One of the uglier things about iron discipline was that when it cracked, it didn’t simply cause minor disruptions. Any crack tended to be catastrophic. Which meant responses had to be immediate and overwhelming.

He would have had to react the same even if Bradamont had not been the target of this mob.

“Comply!” Rogero shouted over the tumult, then without waiting fired a shot into the worker immediately in front of him. The pulse rifle blew a hole completely through the worker and knocked down another in front of that man. “Comply!” Rogero yelled on the heels of the shot and fired again right after that.

This time three workers in the congested passageway dropped, Rogero pushing forward over their bodies. “Comply!”

A third shot, two more down, but the others finally grasping what was happening, workers reacting from habit and fear drilled into them, twisting to put their backs to the nearest bulkhead, raising their arms to place both hands on their heads, staring outward without speaking as Rogero bellowed the command a fourth time. “Comply!”

There was a small group before the door to Bradamont’s quarters, trying to push their way inside past a door loose on its hinges but still somehow holding them back as if solidly braced from behind. Traces of smoke from the grenade explosion drifted past the edges of the door from inside. Caught up in their efforts, reacting more slowly to the sounds of the shots and the commands, some were still pushing when Rogero fired a fourth, fifth, and sixth time without pausing.

Silence fell then, except for a couple of wounded workers gasping in pain. Everyone else had their backs flattened against a bulkhead, hands locked on their heads in compliance.

The two soldiers who had been on guard were trying to struggle to their feet when Rogero reached them. He wasted a precious second looking them over, searching for evidence of whether they had resisted the mob or just given in. But uniforms were torn, bruises and scratches were evident, and one of the soldiers, face drawn with pain, cradled an arm broken in at least one place.

“We locked arms,” the other soldier reported. “But we couldn’t hold.” She stood at attention now, almost trembling in anticipation of two more shots aimed at punishing her and her comrade for their failure.

But Rogero lowered his weapon. “You tried.” The grenade detonation and the shots he had fired had set off alarms inside the freighter, the frantic tones stuttering warnings that no longer had any purpose. “There should be more soldiers here very soon. See that you are checked in the freighter’s autodoc.”

He turned to the broken door and carefully knocked in a special pattern. After a moment, the door finally gave way, falling inward to reveal a figure in battle armor standing amid the wreckage created by the grenade explosion in the small room. “Are you all right?” Rogero asked.

Bradamont nodded, unsealing the suit’s faceplate to speak to him directly. “The armor took some damage from the grenade. I’m all right, though. With the help of the armor, I could hold that door for a while.”

It had been the only possible solution. While all eyes had been on Bradamont as she shifted her belongings out of her old quarters and began walking to this one, while this passageway had been temporarily cleared of anyone else in the name of security for Bradamont’s move, Rogero had quickly brought his own armor out of his quarters and slid it inside Bradamont’s new living space. If the soldiers outside held long enough, and she had any extra warning, Bradamont would be able to get into that armor and hold off an attack until relief arrived. So he had hoped.

The alarms cut off as someone on the freighter’s bridge shut them down, the silence now filling the passageway holding an ominous quality as Rogero turned to confront the workers and low-level supervisors lining the bulkheads, all of them trying their best to be motionless but more than one quivering with terror.

Executive Ito came running down the passageway, her face contorted with anger. “Who did this? Who led this? Talk, you miserable low forms of life!”

Rogero stopped her with one raised hand. “Get the names of everyone here. Organize a working party to get the bodies packed up.” He looked down at the two still-living-but-wounded workers trying not to writhe in pain, both of them literally biting their lips to keep from moaning.

A few moments ago he would have killed them without hesitation. Now they were helpless. They might have information.

A half-dozen soldiers came dashing up, grim expressions taking in the scene. Lieutenant Foster saluted, his own face rigid. As immediate unit commander, he might also face the severest form of discipline for any failure of his soldiers to protect Bradamont.

But she was unharmed. How would I have reacted if she had been badly hurt or killed? Hopefully even then I would have recognized that punishment would serve no purpose when men and women had done their best.

Rogero jogged his head toward the two battered guards. “Your soldiers did their duty. See that they are looked after. Try to keep those two wounded workers alive. I want them able to talk.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Post half of your unit on guard here, four-hour shifts on and off, until Captain Bradamont leaves this ship.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Captain Bradamont, I recommend you remain in that armor until we can get you aboard a shuttle at Atalia.”

“Yes, Colonel,” Bradamont said, her own voice subdued but betraying no feelings. She looked outside, at the carnage wrought by the mob and by Rogero’s suppression of it, and he wondered what she was thinking.

She was seeing the Syndicate way. Cowering workers against the walls and deadly force against disruptions. He had never liked it even when it was necessary to prevent worse things. I know what Honore will think of it. What will she think of me?

Rogero walked back to his room, the pulse rifle radiating heat in a glow that reflected back from the cowed workers lining the passageway. Behind him, Ito was savaging the workers as other senior supervisors showed up to verbally lash the rioters, tossing in occasional physical blows to emphasize their points. The workers took it passively, as they knew they must.

He had become used to such things. But now he was imagining seeing them through the eyes of Honore Bradamont, and the ugliness of it all was hard to bear. We are changing things. We’ll change this, too. It will take time, but the day will come when I will not have to face down rioting workers with a combat weapon.

Close to two hours later, the freighter flashed back into normal space, the stars gazing down impassively on six ships full of humans who were finally accepting that they were free. Rogero, still depressed over the riot and his suppression of it, gazed morosely at those stars. I don’t want to do this anymore. But what else can I do? And if I don’t, who takes my place? General Drakon says he needs me.

The four light cruisers and six Hunter-Killers were still here. Far off, light-hours distant, the two heavy cruisers waited at the jump point for Kalixa.

A virtual window popped open near Rogero, the image of the commander of the light cruiser Harrier looking out at him. “Welcome back. We were taking bets on whether you would miss them.”

“Miss who?” Rogero asked.

“Black Jack’s fleet. They jumped for Varandal three days ago. You must have passed each other in jump space.”

Rogero used the special, secure comm equipment in the private compartment to send his report to Marphissa. “Kommodor, I have the pleasure to report that our mission was successful. We have over five thousand released prisoners on board, the vast majority from the Reserve Flotilla. In view of the strain on the freighters’ life support, and in light of recent events aboard this ship, I urge that we off-load here at Atalia those who do not wish to go to Midway.”

He provided a summary of events at Varandal, then described the riot a few hours ago. “I will keep Captain Bradamont safe, but the sooner she is transferred back to Manticore, the better. For the people, Rogero, out.”

Marphissa’s reply came back hours later. She didn’t look pleased.

“Colonel Rogero, I was distressed to hear of the threat to our liaison officer. I agree with you that we must get her back aboard Manticore. I am leaving Kraken at the jump point to maintain our blockade of the path back to Indras but will be bringing Manticore to join you. I do not want to delay here off-loading hundreds of people, but I don’t see any alternative. Even if there weren’t a security issue, the life-support readings on those freighters are not good. We need to reduce the load on them. I’m sending the ships with you a new vector to follow toward an orbiting facility that can take on the workers we’re going to be leaving behind. Have your soldiers on the freighters sort out who is leaving. We need that done before we get to the facility, so we can get the off-loud completed as quickly as possible.

“I am grateful you are all back safely. For the people, Marphissa, out.”

Traveling through space, Rogero decided, was like running in quicksand. You could put tremendous effort into it, but it still felt like you were running in place. Days after arriving at Atalia, he stood, disconsolate, outside the air lock, where a shuttle carrying Honore Bradamont had only just departed.

A bit of Bradamont remained with him, in a way. She had been forced to continue constantly wearing Rogero’s battle armor, with the result that she and it had stunk pretty bad by the time she had finally shed it outside the air lock. There had been witnesses, they couldn’t say much, but she had looked into his eyes, and the message there had been clear. Her feelings for him had not changed.

A large group approached, led by Sub-CEO Garadun, who smiled ruefully at Rogero. “I’m told the next ride is ours. You never promised we’d get to ride farther than Atalia.”

Rogero waved one hand in front of his face as if shoving aside the odors that had seemingly grown strong enough to see as the freighter’s overburdened life support kept up its losing battle. “I’d think you’d be glad to leave this.”

“No, Donal, I want to see those aliens! I’m going to get to Darus, somehow, but look for me after that.”

“I will.” Rogero clasped Garadun’s hand with real warmth. “At least you won’t have to go back with us through Kalixa.”

Garadun shook his head, glowering. “You see, Donal, that’s one of the reasons why we continue to hate the Alliance. Before our flotilla was destroyed, the CEOs showed us images of what happened there. Of what the Alliance did at Kalixa.”

“What?” Rogero gave Garadun a startled look. “Didn’t anybody tell you what really happened, Pers?”

“What do you mean? The Alliance collapsed the hypernet gate. That’s what killed Kalixa Star System.”

“No. It wasn’t the Alliance. It was the enigmas.”

Garadun stared at Rogero wordlessly.

“We found out the enigmas could send a signal that traveled faster than light,” Rogero explained, “a signal that could cause any hypernet gate to collapse and emit a huge burst of energy. All of the gates now have a special modification that prevents that from happening, but we didn’t learn it until too late to save Kalixa.”

Garadun finally found his voice. “Why did the enigmas destroy Kalixa instead of someplace closer to them?”

“Because,” Rogero said, hearing his own voice grow hard, “they wanted us to blame the Alliance. They wanted the Syndicate Worlds and the Alliance to start collapsing hypernet gates in each other’s star systems.”

After a long moment, Sub-CEO Garadun looked away angrily. “Wipe each other out. They wanted us to wipe out each other. Let humanity kill itself, and they’d inherit the wreckage.”

“Yes.”

“And we almost did it. We almost did exactly what they wanted. The Reserve Flotilla had orders to collapse the hypernet gate at Varandal. Did you know that? In retaliation for what happened at Kalixa.”

It was Rogero’s turn to stare without words.

“We almost did it.” Garadun shuddered, his face twisted with pain. “Dammit all. If we hadn’t lost that fight… I need to tell people about this. They don’t know. They think the Alliance destroyed Kalixa. Are you absolutely certain, Donal? There’s no doubt of what you say?”

“No doubt at all. It’s widely known because of the crash program to get the modifications installed on the hypernet gates.” Rogero paused. “You should know what happened at Prime. The gate there collapsed as well, at a time when it would have destroyed not only Prime but also Black Jack’s fleet. But it had the modification installed, and so did not collapse in the way that led to something like Kalixa.”

Garadun shook his head, looking around. “There’s Ito. Hey! And you, Jepsen. Did you hear what Colonel Rogero said? You’re staying with him, so you two make sure everyone on this ship and the other freighters know the truth. I’ll tell the ones who are going to be dropped off here. There are plenty of real reasons to hate the Alliance for what they did during the war, but none of those reasons approach the scale of what happened at Kalixa. Our people need to know who was really responsible.”

“The enigmas tried to use the hate we felt for the Alliance,” Rogero said, “and the hate the Alliance felt for us, to achieve their own goals.”

“That’s the problem with hate, isn’t it?” Garadun said. “It’s very easy for hate to hit the wrong targets. Yes, I know that. I always have. I couldn’t change my feelings about the Alliance, but I could stay aware of the mistakes those feelings might cause me to make. Collapsing that gate at Varandal might have been the worst such mistake, and in that case I didn’t realize it until now.” The air lock cycled open. “Here’s my ride. Thank you, Donal. I have a life again. I won’t waste it.”

“See you don’t,” Rogero advised, as Garadun entered the air lock, followed by other workers and junior supervisors who had chosen to leave the freighter at Atalia.

“I’ll see you at Midway!” Ito called before the air-lock hatch sealed. “Can we talk?” she asked Rogero.

“Of course. Help me carry my armor back to my quarters.”

Ito wrinkled her nose. “Even with this air, I can smell that. Better clean it out.”

“I’ve done it plenty of times before after a long fight,” Rogero said. “Have you discovered anything about that riot?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk about,” she said, falling into step beside him. “None of the workers knows who motivated it. Just the usual somebody said something and everybody was doing it nonsense.” She snorted in derision. “Sheep.”

“What about the wounded?”

“The wounded? Oh, you mean the two injured workers? One died.” Ito didn’t sound concerned about that. “The other will be able to return to duty eventually if you don’t want to execute her as a lesson to the others. Those two didn’t know anything, either.”

“It was planned,” Rogero said. “Someone planned that and led it, and I very much doubt that whoever motivated that mob was anywhere near the forefront of the action. More likely they were a ways back from it, building an alibi.”

“You’re right. But anybody who knew who that was must have died when you put down the riot. I used the portable ground forces interrogation gear you guys brought. It’s not great, but it’s good enough. None of those workers were trained to handle interrogation.”

“What about the grenade?” Rogero asked. “I was able to determine that it was stolen from our supplies, not delivered to someone by one of my soldiers. That theft took considerable skill, getting past the alarms set in that cargo area and leaving no trace of the intrusion. But there was only one grenade missing.”

“You probably killed the one who got it from whoever stole it,” Ito said. “He or she had to have been at the front of the mob to toss it through the door when they got it partway open. They only took one because if they had taken two, we might have found it during a search after the riot; and then we would know who was behind everything.”

“Most likely,” Rogero agreed. “Whoever planned this did a professional job. They need to be caught.”

“And killed?”

“Probably. After they answer a few questions.”

“So,” Ito said, “tell me something. You killed all the snakes at Midway? What did the workers do without the snakes keeping them down? They must have rioted. Did you have to do a compliance action on the whole planet?”

Rogero’s memory filled with images of the nearly hysterical crowds, which had celebrated the deaths of the snakes on Midway and the destruction of the Internal Security Service headquarters by General Drakon’s soldiers. He had seen the trouble developing, he had known the celebration was growing more frenzied and would soon descend into riot. “No. I could tell things were going to get out of hand. But they didn’t. General Drakon sent us out, but he sent us out to enlist the citizens in preventing the celebration from turning into a rampage of looting and destruction.”

“Enlist them?” Ito asked. “You mean he drafted a lot of them to use for locking down the rest?”

“No. General Drakon talked to the citizens. He told them they needed to keep anyone from using their freedom to harm the rest of them. He told them any surviving snakes might try to convince them to riot and destroy things. He got the police on the streets, with our backup. He went out himself on the streets, and calmed everyone, got everyone to think about tomorrow, and what they needed to do to keep themselves and their families safe.”

Ito was watching him with a baffled expression. “But he also threatened them.” She made it a statement, not a question.

“No,” Rogero said. “He and President Iceni told the people that they must act responsibly, and made it clear that anyone who didn’t would be dealt with.”

“That’s a threat,” Ito concluded. “How much unrest has there been since then?”

“Very little. Demonstrations, yes. President Iceni permits those as long as everyone behaves. It lets the people know they have a real voice.”

They reached his quarters, and Ito left Rogero to the familiar but tedious job of cleaning out his armor. I love you most dearly, Honore, but you stink remarkably after a few days in armor. I won’t be telling you that to your face, though.

I haven’t thought much about those days right after the revolt when we killed the snakes at Midway. There’s been too much else to keep me busy. But what would have happened if General Drakon and President Iceni had ordered Syndicate methods be used to suppress the citizens? We would have been on constant garrison duty, fighting to keep a rebellious people from doing to us what we had done to the snakes.

We were given the leaders we needed, when we needed them. I must remain grateful for that, because Honore told me of many other star systems that lacked such leaders and have paid an awful price. I’ve heard about Taroa and some of the things that happened there. Was it coincidence that we had both Drakon and Iceni? I think not. Who or what do I thank for our good fortune?

Not the people. This was beyond our powers.

Marphissa watched Bradamont board Manticore and could not help but hug her in welcome. “You made it back.”

Bradamont laughed, surprised by the gesture. She had dark circles of fatigue under her eyes and smelled like she had been buried for a few days and dug up. “I was wondering if I would make it back. I’ve been wearing battle armor nonstop for a while.”

“No wonder,” Marphissa said.

“No wonder what?”

“Nothing! I’m sure you want to clean up and rest. Don’t worry about anything else. We’ll get the one thousand three hundred twenty six Syndicate lovers dropped off and head back for the jump point. Life support on the freighters will gradually recover with the load on them reduced, and with any luck, we won’t need you again on this trip.”

“Don’t jinx me,” Bradamont cautioned. “Not everyone we’re leaving is a Syndicate lover, Asima. Some just didn’t want to go to Midway.”

“Their mistake.”

“Did Atalia give you much trouble about accepting them?”

Marphissa grinned. “I’ve been around President Iceni enough to know how to do these things. I didn’t ask Atalia if they’d accept them. I told Atalia they were getting them. Atalia decided not to argue since I had so much more firepower than they do.”

“Don’t learn the wrong lessons, Asima.”

Marphissa paused at Bradamont’s stateroom before heading back to the bridge. “Let me tell you something, Honore. You’re on Manticore. Keep your hatch locked as usual, but you’re safe here.”

Bradamont smiled wanly. “You warned me about the crew, remember?”

“That was before. You’ve been on board awhile. They know you. Then word got around about that riot. To them, Manticore’s Alliance officer, their Alliance officer, was almost killed by a bunch of louts from the Reserve Flotilla. They may not love you, but you belong to Manticore. That’s what they’re thinking. You’ll be safe here,” Marphissa repeated.

“I’ll never understand sailors,” Bradamont said.

“You understand them well enough. Welcome back, you Alliance monster.”

“I’m glad to be back, you Syndic devil.”

It hadn’t been easy waiting at Atalia. It wasn’t easy transiting back through Kalixa. But Marphissa had reserved most of her worries for what might await them at Indras.

Why did I have to be right?

“Damned snakes,” Kapitan Diaz spat.

There were now three light cruisers and five Hunter-Killers at Indras, and they were orbiting ten light-minutes from the jump exit to Kalixa, along the most direct route from there to the hypernet gate.

“Maybe we can bluff our way past them,” Marphissa said. She was once again wearing the Syndicate CEO suit. Don’t sit too straight. Look bored. Act like you are the biggest thing in this star system and every surrounding star system.

She reached for her comm control and schooled her voice again to an arrogant drawl. “This is CEO Manetas. Our mission at Atalia has, naturally, been successfully completed. We are returning to Prime with prisoners for special evaluation and interrogation. All ships are to remain clear of the path of my flotilla. Manetas, for the people, out.”

“I’m praying again,” Diaz told her after the transmission ended. “My parents taught me how to do that in secret.”

“They did? I hope you learned well.”

Their answer came much quicker than expected. “Kommodor, it is an eyes-only message, from the Syndicate flotilla ahead of us, for your private viewing.”

Marphissa knew what everyone expected. She would go to her stateroom and view the message alone, a message that probably contained secret offers as lucrative as the Syndicate could come up with. That was what Syndicate bosses did. “I’ll watch it here,” she said. “Anything the Syndicate has to say to me is not private.”

“Yes, Kommodor,” the comm specialist said, betraying a pleasant sort of surprise. “On your display.”

The man looking out at them was clearly a snake. A senior snake. Marphissa felt her blood growing cold just seeing him, despite knowing that his eyes could not actually see her. Such eyes, such a gaze, had been the last thing many of her friends and acquaintances had ever seen before being hauled off to a labor camp or simply disappearing without a trace.

“I am Sub-CEO Qui. I don’t know who you really are, but I will find out. You have something the Syndicate Worlds needs. What we need is you. The Syndicate Worlds requires good CEO material. You have proven your abilities by the accumulation of a substantial flotilla of mobile forces, a flotilla that follows your orders.

“If you were of lesser talents, you would not receive this offer, which is fully backed and guaranteed by the government on Prime. If you accept Syndicate authority again, if you bring these mobile forces back under the command of Prime, you will immediately gain actual CEO rank, as well as full immunity for any actions that might have violated Syndicate law or regulations or procedures. Blanket immunity for any possible offense, as well as a leap into the highest ranks of the Syndicate Worlds.

“I hope you recognize the benefits of this very generous offer,” Sub-CEO Qui continued, his eyes and smile equally cold. “You gain high rank and a certainty of safety, and the Syndicate Worlds gains a very talented CEO and a small but valuable flotilla of mobile forces units. You need not fear opposition from your subordinates or workers. We will provide you with a plan to get sufficient forces aboard each unit to subdue any resistance.”

Qui’s smile changed, gaining a terrible kind of promise. “Or, you could reject this offer. It would be an awful waste of your talent. We’ll destroy every freighter with you before you can reach the gate, which means you will return to wherever your home is as a failure. You know the rewards that come to failures. And we will determine who you are, and where your family is, and we will hold them accountable for the crimes against the Syndicate Worlds you have surely committed, and they have surely conspired to assist.

“Far better to pursue the most profitable course. I’ll await your reply on this channel. Qui, for the people, out.”

The silence on the bridge when the message ended was close to absolute, broken only by the soft noises from the ship’s automated systems and the breathing of the men and women around Marphissa.

She laughed, letting all the scorn she could manage go into the sound. “Does he think I am like him? Does he think I really am a Syndicate CEO? Is he so stupid as to think I would betray those who follow me, who have sworn to follow President Iceni, who fight for our freedom and the freedom of our families?”

“I think the answer to all of those things is yes,” Kapitan Diaz replied.

Bradamont had been listening with disbelief painted large on her face. “He actually proposed that, thinking you would accept?”

“It’s probably how he got to be a CEO. By accepting similar offers and selling out people who were depending upon him,” Marphissa explained. “And he’s a snake. He doesn’t mean it. Every word was a lie. I would die along with everyone else in a command position, while the workers were shipped off to slave labor. He thinks my greed will override my common sense and cause me to ignore my experience with watching people being betrayed every time they were fools enough to believe the soothing words of a snake.”

“Are you going to tell him that?” Diaz asked with a grin.

Marphissa almost said yes, then shook her head. “No. I want to buy time for us by making him think I am considering his offer. The closer we get to the gate before the Syndicate mobile forces start attacking, the better chance we have of getting some of the freighters through.”

She looked around the bridge at the grim expressions her last words had brought to life. “We have to accept this. We outnumber them, but stopping them from hitting the freighters is going to be very difficult. We’ll do our best.”

“Those freighters are packed with workers,” Diaz said. “Any hit at all will kill many.”

“We will do our best! Let me send my reply to Sub-CEO Qui. Comm specialist, can you give me a digital background that makes it look like I am in my stateroom?”

“It is done, Kommodor,” the comm specialist said. “Ready for your transmission.”

Marphissa put on a wary expression this time before hitting the reply command. “Sub-CEO Qui, your offer is intriguing. I am carefully considering it. You understand that I must maneuver carefully to ensure none of my subordinates suspect they may be supplanted. I will give you my reply soon. Out.”

She looked around. The Syndicate flotilla was ten light-minutes distant, so it was a bit over an hour and a half before any physical contact was possible. “I’m getting out of this CEO suit now,” Marphissa announced. “If I’m going to fight, it will be in the uniform of Midway.”

She was back on the bridge a few minutes later, in time to hear the operations specialist call out a warning. “The Syndicate flotilla is maneuvering.”

Marphissa watched, waiting, as the vectors on the Syndicate mobile forces changed. “They’re accelerating to intercept. I guess Sub-CEO Qui didn’t like my answer.”

“Forty minutes to contact on their current vector,” Diaz noted. “He said he’d be going after the freighters, and even though snakes always lie, I think this time he told us what he was actually going to do.”

The freighters were sitting ducks and would be all of the long transit from this jump exit to the hypernet gate. The light cruisers and HuKs the snakes had at their disposal couldn’t defeat Marphissa’s warships, but they could target the freighters and blow the large, clumsy ships apart one by one.

I’ve never done this. How can I save those freighters? Can I save those freighters?