“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. T
hat 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.”