“Kommodor, that is really weak,” Diaz said, “but it’s a lot stronger than anything I’ve thought of. I’ll get the message ready and send it to you for approval.”
Marphissa sat on the edge of her bunk, staring into her darkened stateroom. So close. We almost made it out of Indras without being uncovered. But it looks like we’re going to be busted before we leave here, and that might mean getting home will be a nightmare.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“THERE’S no way the snakes in Indras would accept silence in response to their demand,” Marphissa said to Bradamont, who, along with Kapitan Diaz, had come to Marphissa’s stateroom in response to a summons.
“Then it sounds like you have no choice but to try your bluff,” Bradamont agreed, looking unhappy.
“Can you think of anything more plausible?”
“Plausible? To a snake?” Bradamont laughed shortly. “Actually, from what I know of them and other bureaucracies, the stupider the directive, the more realistic it might seem to them. How many really dumb directives did you get in the course of a year before you revolted against the Syndicate Worlds?”
“You should measure that in days, not years,” Diaz said. “Otherwise, the number gets too big.”
“They might think this is legitimate because it doesn’t make much sense?” Marphissa asked Bradamont. “You know, that’s possible. That’s really possible. All right, I’m approving the message,” she said to Diaz. “Transmit, and if you still believe in any deities, pray to them to convince the snakes to believe this when they get it.”
Further sleep was impossible. Marphissa tried to work in her stateroom, got irritable, went to the bridge, almost bit the head off of a watch specialist who made a friendly comment to another specialist in too loud a voice, went back to her stateroom, then finally went to Bradamont and sat talking with her.
One hour short of the jump point for Atalia, Marphissa returned to Manticore’s bridge, aware that she looked like hell and feeling just as bad as she looked. “No response from the snakes?” she demanded of Diaz.
“No, Kommodor.” Diaz rubbed his eyes wearily, then slapped onto his arm one of the stimulant devices that everyone called an up patch. “No reply.”
She tried to remember the last time she had come onto the bridge and not seen him there. Diaz had apparently kept himself on duty for the entire transit. “No signs of alerts in the star system?” Marphissa pressed. “Still no indications of any reaction? No fast ships suddenly heading for the hypernet gate as if they were carrying an urgent message?”
“No, Kommodor.”
What are they doing? Marphissa glared at her display. The snakes must at least suspect something. Are they laying some trap? Are they awaiting approval from some CEO who has strict instructions not to be awakened unless Black Jack himself comes storming in here with his fleet? “We keep going. We get to the jump point and head for Atalia, no matter what happens from this moment on.”
To her surprise, the tension level on the bridge seemed to relax considerably. She gave Diaz a questioning look.
“The uncertainty,” he said to her in a low voice. “It’s driving us all crazy. But you just gave them some certainty. We’re going to keep going. Now they know what’s going to happen.”
“What’s going to happen in the next hour,” Marphissa grumbled. “After that, it’s anybody’s guess.”
“It could be worse,” Diaz suggested. “We could still be wearing Syndicate suits, and there could be a snake standing at the back of the bridge listening to our every word.” He paused, an intent expression crossing his face. “That would really suck.”
“Have you been taking too many meds?” Marphissa demanded.
“Maybe.” Diaz leaned back, his eyes on the overhead. “I don’t think I like Indras. Wouldn’t it be great if we had a big display over us that looked like the stars so it would be like we were on the outside of the hull and had a window above us?”
“Kapitan Diaz, one minute after we enter jump for Atalia, you are ordered to turn over the bridge to another officer, go to your stateroom, take a crash patch, and get at least eight hours’ sleep. Is that understood?”
“Uh . . . yes, Kommodor.”
“I know you’re feeling the responsibilities of being a ship’s commanding officer, but the point is not to stay on duty until you are half-delusional unless there is no alternative. The point is to get sufficient rest so that you can make decent decisions and be at your best when it’s needed. And, yes, I am fully aware that I have done a poor job of that in the last several hours. I’m going to be crashing once we enter jump, too.”
“Incoming transmission,” the comm specialist warned. “Snake cipher, the same one we used.”
Marphissa closed her eyes, exhaled slowly to calm herself, then answered the specialist. “What do the snakes say?”
“Just . . . we understand.”
“What? They said what?”
“That’s all, Kommodor. The entire message. We understand.”
Diaz roused himself to glare at the specialist. “Are we certain that there is no worm or virus or Trojan horse attached to that message?”
“There is nothing, Kapitan. It’s far too small to carry any of those, and there are no attachments. It’s just the address header and those two words.”
Marphissa exhaled again, this time heavily. “They know. They’re playing with us. The snakes have figured out we’re not who we say we are. But they probably don’t know who we are. Maybe they hope that message will provoke us into telling them by implying they know more than they do.”
“That’s an old snake trick,” Diaz agreed.
“And they don’t know why we’re going to Atalia, and I will bet my life that the snakes have no idea that we intend going to Alliance space from there. They’ve probably got hidden agents in Atalia, and they’ll find a way to get those agents to report on what we’re doing.” She turned a triumphant look on Diaz. “But we’ll have more firepower than anyone else in Atalia if Captain Bradamont’s information is still good. We’ll block anyone from leaving Atalia for Indras until the freighters return from Varandal and we jump out. The snakes won’t know what we were up to until we get back here; and then it will be too late for them to interfere with us.”
I hope.
Forty minutes later, they reached the jump point. “All units in Recovery Flotilla, jump now,” Marphissa ordered. She barely felt the mental jolt of entering jump space, barely noticed the stars and blackness of normal space replaced by the unending gray sameness of jump space, and only noted in passing the blooming off to one side of Manticore of one of the strange and unexplained lights that came and went in jump space. “I’m getting some sleep. So are you, Kapitan Diaz. Make sure I am notified of any emergencies,” she added to the watch specialists, then marched off the bridge toward her stateroom.
THEY had to go through Kalixa to get to Atalia. Kalixa had been a fairly well-off star system, bristling with defenses and home to many millions.
Then the enigmas had caused Kalixa’s hypernet gate to collapse in hopes that it would set off a wave of retaliatory actions by the Syndicate and the Alliance against each other.
“There’s nothing left,” Kapitan Diaz breathed in shock as he gazed at the dead remnants of the star system. “Even the star has become unstable.”
“You can still see some ruins on what used to be the habitable planet,” Marphissa replied somberly. “There’s not much atmosphere left to block our view of them. If the enigma plan had succeeded, a lot of star systems belonging to the Syndicate and the Alliance would be like this.”
They couldn’t rush through Kalixa, not with the freighters along, but they made the best time they could to the jump point for Atalia, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief as the gray of jump space replaced the dead remnants of Kalixa.
CAPTAIN Bradamont’s information about A
talia was still good.
Marphissa relaxed as her display updated to show only a single Hunter-Killer orbiting near the star system’s primary inhabited world and a single Alliance courier ship hanging near the jump point for Varandal. Getting out of the eerie gray isolation of jump space, returning to normal space, where stars glowed all around once more, was always a relief. But it was often also rendered tense by wondering what might be waiting outside the jump exit.
“That’s it,” she told Bradamont, who had come to the bridge to observe the entry to Atalia just in case other Alliance ships were present. “Let’s get you over to that freighter. I’m going to keep Manticore and Kraken here near the jump point for Kalixa to keep anyone from going on to Indras and taking word to the snakes of what’s happening. The light cruisers and our HuKs will escort your freighters to the jump point for Varandal, then wait there for you to return.”
“For me to return with your shipmates,” Bradamont corrected.
“If it can be done, you’ll do it,” Marphissa said. As she stood to accompany Bradamont to the shuttle, Marphissa was surprised to hear the senior watch specialist call out to Bradamont.
“Good luck, Kapitan!”
“Yes,” another specialist agreed. “One of those guys from the Reserve Flotilla owes me money. I hope you bring him back!”
Bradamont grinned, waved, and followed Marphissa off the bridge.
“That was surprising,” Marphissa muttered, as they made their way toward the air lock.
“They must be getting used to me,” Bradamont offered. “And they idolize you—”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“They do. So when they see that you trust me, it rubs off a little on me.” They reached the hatch, and Bradamont paused. “If Admiral Geary is already at Varandal, this will be a piece of cake.”
“And if he’s not, you said this Admiral Timbale will cut a deal,” Marphissa said. “Be careful. I don’t want to lose you. And you and Colonel Rogero behave yourselves once you’re on the same ship. No sneaking off for a little private recreation.”
Bradamont laughed. “That’s unlikely. You are the only other person in this flotilla who knows about Donal Rogero and me. He thinks his soldiers will take it all right, but we don’t want to create too many problems with the Reserve Flotilla survivors when they get on the same ship with us.”
“Smart move.” Marphissa hesitated, feeling unusually diffident. “What do you say? May the stars protect you? Something like that?”
“Something like that. May the living stars watch over you.”
It was only after Bradamont had sealed the hatch behind her that Marphissa realized that she had not simply given Marphissa the correct phrase, but spoken the wish on her behalf as well. Good luck, you Alliance scum. Come back safely to us.
Several hours later, Bradamont called Marphissa from the freighter she was on. The freighters and their escorts had left the two heavy cruisers behind, plodding at the best rate the freighters could manage for the jump point for Varandal.
Bradamont looked unhappy. “The courier ship confirmed that Admiral Geary has not yet brought the fleet back through Atalia en route to Varandal. That’s not unexpected since he had to go to Sobek, then transit a number of star systems and jumps before getting here, but it means we’ll get to Varandal before he does. We can’t wait around since it could be days or weeks before Admiral Geary makes it here hauling along that Kick superbattleship, which makes these freighters look like racing yachts by comparison. We’ll continue on to Varandal.”
Black Jack is taking longer to get back? Marphissa thought. We did expect that. But I’m worried. The Syndicate wanted him to go to Sobek, and the Syndicate never plays fair. Ha! Listen to yourself. You’re worried about the safety of an Alliance fleet.
But I am. Things have changed.
COLONEL Rogero had been careful to act toward Bradamont only in the most professional and impersonal of ways. But once they returned to her tiny cabin on the freighter after sending her message to Kommodor Marphissa, alone with no one else around, he gave her a concerned look. “You’re worried.”
“I’m some Alliance officer that you never met before, remember? You’re not supposed to know me that well, Colonel,” Bradamont replied with a small smile.
“But I do, Honore. Do you expect trouble in Varandal?”
“I don’t know,” she confessed. “There shouldn’t be. But. These freighters are Syndicate Worlds’ construction. You and your soldiers are former Syndicate. Someone might throw up obstacles.”
“What are you still not saying?” Rogero pressed.
“Oh, hell, why do I try to lie to you?” She sat down on the single chair in the cramped cabin. “You’re the senior officer. You may have to sign for the released prisoners. And you’re . . .”
“A man in whom your intelligence people might be interested?”
Bradamont nodded unhappily. “If they have files tying Colonel Donal Rogero to the Alliance source known as Red Wizard, they might insist on taking you into custody. They wouldn’t call it that, but that’s what they’d be doing.”
“But what of you? What did Alliance intelligence call you?”
She rolled her eyes. “White Witch.”
“Seriously?”
“Don’t. Make. A. Joke.”
“I wouldn’t,” Rogero protested. “But that means that Alliance intelligence might have a great deal of interest in you as well.”
“Yes.” She grimaced. “I’m going to need to communicate with Admiral Timbale. Admiral Geary provided me with some special codes I can use to do that. But it would be wise to avoid letting anyone else in Varandal know that I’m along for this ride. The wrong words in the right ears could cause me and you to be hauled off and detained, along with perhaps all six freighters. It’s going to be interesting, Donal. And even though we’re on the same ship, I can’t even touch you.”
“Our dreams kept us going for a long time. What’s a little longer? Do you think that Alliance intelligence or the snakes can beat me and you together?”
Bradamont smiled and rendered him a casual salute in the Alliance style. “No, sir. We are going to get this done.”
IT was hard leaving behind the light cruisers and HuKs when the freighters entered the jump for Varandal. They were, after all, not just jumping to an Alliance-controlled star system but one that was a military stronghold crawling with defenses. Even though the freighter supervisors and crews were not military and usually regarded Syndicate mobile forces as only one step better than Alliance warships when it came to rapacious threats, even they were rattled by the prospect of arriving at Varandal completely unescorted.
Colonel Rogero listened carefully to the conversations around him during the four days in jump space required to reach Varandal from Atalia. He tried to talk to the freighter supervisors about jump space, but they knew little of the theory behind it and the jump drives. Practical men and women, they knew how to keep their equipment working and what that equipment should do. But they didn’t know whether jump space truly was a different universe in which no star or planet had ever formed and in which distances were much shorter than the human universe. It was something they went through to get where they needed to go within a reasonable period of time. That was all they needed to know.
He didn’t have a lot of ground forces on each freighter, just a platoon per ship. As much room as possible had to be left open for accommodating freed prisoners. Rogero’s troops were leery of Bradamont, but the knowledge that General Drakon had ordered her to be along on this mission (for that was what Rogero told them) led the soldiers to accept the odd presence of an unconfined Alliance officer among them.
Bradamont had also arranged to “accidentally” reveal in the presence of some of the soldiers the place on her arm where the Syndicate labor-camp mark was still visible. Anyone who had been through a labor camp and
survived automatically earned some degree of sympathy and respect from those like Rogero’s soldiers, who had lived under the Syndicate.
But now that period of waiting was coming to an end. Rogero had escorted Bradamont to the cramped bridge of the freighter, where the freighter executive waited with ill-concealed nervousness for the exit from jump space.
“They won’t shoot?” the freighter executive asked Bradamont for the third time despite her having said no the first two times.
“Probably not,” she replied on this occasion, without visible concern. “If they do, we’ll probably be able to make the escape pod before the ship blows up. We won’t all fit, though, so I hope you’re a fast runner.”
Behind the freighter executive, Rogero grinned at Bradamont, but she kept a serious expression.
The drop out of jump space interrupted whatever reply the merchant executive might have mustered.
Two Alliance destroyers were within five light-seconds of the jump exit.
Rogero felt his breath catch as instinct born of a lifetime of war warned of serious danger.
But Bradamont gestured to him with an encouraging look, pointing to the freighter’s transmitter. All right. Let’s see how good I am at talking to the Alliance. “This is Colonel Rogero of the independent Midway Star System. We are here at the invitation of Admiral Geary, on a peaceful mission to recover prisoners of war from the Syndicate Reserve Flotilla. Please notify Admiral Timbale that we have information regarding Admiral Geary and the success of his mission, and would like to speak with him.”
Bradamont made a quick warning gesture and Rogero managed not to speak his next intended words. “Rogero, out.”
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