“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 i
llusion 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 ass
ign 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?”
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