“Good,” Colin said. There was nothing particularly special about the arsenal ships. He would be surprised if the Empire failed to duplicate the freighter modifications within a month or two of seeing the concept in action. By then, he wanted a countermeasure of his own in place. “And superdreadnaughts?”
“We’re cutting out much of the Class-III shipyard infrastructure,” Hannelore said. “However, it will still be several months before we’re ready to produce our own superdreadnaughts — and at least nine months after that before the ship is ready for launch.”
Colin nodded, although it wasn’t good news. The rebels had captured fifty-six superdreadnaughts in all, including a handful that had mutinied and then made it out to Sector 117 after the Battle of Camelot. But the Empire still had several hundred under its control, an irresistible force if they were combined into a single unit. Colin doubted the Empire would put so much firepower under anyone’s control, but it was still a nightmare.
“Work on it,” he ordered, tiredly. He looked around the room, then smiled. One way or another, they would either emerge victorious or lose the war within a year. “We launch in two days. Good luck to us all.”
Chapter Six
“I don’t think they trust me very much,” Hannelore said, as she stepped through the airlock into Random Numbers. “I keep getting suspicious glances.”
“Not on my ship,” Cordova said. He closed the airlock behind them, then led the way towards Officer Country. “You’re more than welcome here.”
Hannelore gave him a sharp glance. “You know what I mean.”
Cordova said nothing until they were inside his cabin with the hatch firmly closed, then turned to face her. “Trust is not something given freely along the Rim,” he said, seriously. “I don’t care to recall how long it took me to gain the underground’s trust, even though I had a whole heavy cruiser under my command. You’re an aristocrat from an aristocratic family and not all of them can see past it. Not yet.”
“And yet they trust me to handle procurement and industrial production,” Hannelore said. “I have ample opportunities for sabotage.”
“There’s a shortage of qualified personnel,” Cordova reminded her. “But they wouldn’t be too trusting of anyone new, no matter where they came from. It takes time to build up trust — and it can be lost in a moment, if the wrong thing is said or done.”
He grinned at her. “Can I stop being serious now? I hate it.”
Hannelore rolled her eyes. Cordova seemed larger than life. His body was massive, his golden hair and beard made him look like a gallant pirate out of a child’s book and he even carried a sword at his belt. The outfit he wore looked thoroughly absurd, the fashion of a bygone age. And he was rarely completely serious, except when he was with her — or Colin, who he seemed to respect. There were times when Hannelore wondered if he was bipolar.
She suspected, judging by his reaction to her comment, that he had aristocratic blood in him too. It wasn’t the only clue. He’d spoken to her of the High City more than once, showing a familiarity that could only have been gained through living there for a while. Few non-aristocrats were allowed anywhere near the city, apart from servants — and the servants were conditioned for complete loyalty. No, Cordova had to have been an aristocrat once. And then he’d walked away from it all.
It made him more… moral than her, she decided. She had only decided to throw her lot in with the rebels after Cordova had captured her mining platform, although in her heart she had always been a rebel. After all, she could easily have stayed in the High City and sunk into a life of luxury. Instead, she’d tried to build a fortune for herself — and, when offered the chance, she moved over and joined the rebels. She had little true reason to love the aristocracy. Even her name was a reminder that her family hadn’t wanted anything apart from someone to bind two families together. And it had failed.
“I managed to get the fleet train organised for you,” she said, pushing her memories back into the back of her mind. If the rebels won, she would be well-placed to extract revenge; if they lost, she would have worse problems than bad memories. “You’ll have all the supplies you need, I hope.”
“I hope so too,” Cordova agreed. “None of the ammunition expenditure projections I’ve seen have ever been anything other than understatements.”
“They were trying to save money,” Hannelore said. She’d seen similar charts when she’d been a mining engineer. It was astonishing how little concern a manager thousands of light years from her complex had shown for the men and women working in deep space. “But I have crammed forty freighters with missiles, spare parts and repair crews.”
The thought made her smile. It was astonishing just how many starships there were in the Beyond — and just how many of them had signed up with the rebellion. But many of their crews had balked at hauling freight, pointing out that there was no glory in it. Hannelore had had to point out, more times than she cared to remember, that rebel starships couldn’t fight without missiles, which had to be delivered to the front lines by freighters. And then there were the problems with missile supply… if they hadn’t captured the supplies at Camelot, the offensive might have had to be delayed for several months.
“That’s a relief,” Cordova said, bluntly. “We’re not going to be operating in friendly territory.”
Hannelore couldn’t disagree. Pirates required an infrastructure to operate — and the Imperial Navy had long since purged the Core Worlds of hidden pirate bases, supply dumps and repair yards. There was no shortage of smugglers in the region — the Empire’s high taxes had seen to that — but none of them were likely to support even a single pirate ship, let alone a whole squadron. Cordova and his crewmen would be on their own.
Rebel logistics were a nightmare, even without the endless bureaucracy that characterised the Imperial Navy. There was no ready-made network of bases, forcing her to organise freighter convoys to transport supplies from Sector 117 to the front lines. The further Colin and his fleet moved from their bases, the harder it would be to maintain the offensive. Hannelore had actually put out a standing request that all enemy freighters be captured instead of destroyed. The Shadow Fleet desperately needed them.
The freighter crews had been right; there was no glory in hauling freight. But without them, the offensive would grind to a halt.
“Make sure you come back alive,” she ordered. She couldn’t go with him, as much as she might want to. She’d accepted her own duties on Camelot. “I’ll miss you.”
Cordova unbuckled his jacket, then dropped it on the deck. “I’ll miss you too,” he assured her, as he pulled her into his arms. “Just remember to keep studying logistics.”
Hannelore rolled her eyes, then smiled as he started to open her shipsuit. It was odd, but making love with Cordova was more exciting than making love to anyone in the High City. Maybe it was the excitement of being a rebel, matched with the certain knowledge that she would be executed on the spot if she was ever caught… or maybe it was the awareness that Cordova, for all his faults, lived life. It was more than could be said for any spoilt brat from the High City.
Afterwards, she held him tightly. She didn’t want to let him go.
“I had to speak to a few freighter crews,” Daria said, as she and Colin sat down to breakfast the following morning. Her bright red hair seemed to glow under the light, drawing attention to her face. “Not all of them were happy serving under Hannelore.”