“It’ll take time to get the ships to match our speed,” said Clarke. The garrison must’ve seen the message at about the same time Beowulf did, so their engines were burning right now… “Every second counts, Captain.”
Clarke heard a clank behind him and turned to see Antonov, Pascari, and Julia as they floated into the bridge. They had followed Navathe’s orders and wore their pressure suits.
“We can’t leave,” Antonov bellowed, “without the Independence’s coordinates!”
“There’s a destroyer about to get us down its sights as we speak,” said Clarke. “The plan just changed, sir. We need to survive first, worry about your fleet second.”
Without waiting for an answer, Clarke turned to Navathe. “Sir, ask Navigation what’re the nearest Alcubierre points opposite the one Vortex came from.”
Navathe did as he asked, wasting no time. While she spoke to her pilot, Julia strapped herself to a g-seat next to Clarke.
“Are we under attack?” she asked.
Clarke put her up to speed as fast as he could. Both made the tacit agreement to set their differences aside for the moment.
“How can I help?” she asked when he was done.
“Help me choose an Alcubierre point,” he said.
There was no time to waste, but if they set a course without thinking it through, there would be no time to change it later.
Antonov and Pascari settled next to them and Captain Navathe cut her conversation short and turned to them.
“There’s three points past New Angeles. We have enough fuel to Alcubierre through any of them, but we’ll be stranded afterward.”
She transmitted the points to their wristbands. Clarke gritted his teeth at the prospect of being stranded at some unknown outer system.
One problem at a time, he told himself. He studied the points.
“This one is the farthest,” he said, pointing at the middle one, “and it’s exactly behind the planet from our perspective. I doubt there’ll be a strong defense waiting for us there. The slingshot maneuver will have a tight angle that will help us dodge any incoming fire.”
Julia and Antonov exchanged one glance full of meaning.
“Take the third one,” she said, marking the point in a holo.
“Explain,” said Clarke. Julia’s point was only a quarter turn away from their current course, and farther than Clarke’s option. It wouldn’t hide them from Vortex tracking, and if they were unlucky, neither from its torpedoes.
“We don’t have the Independent’s current coordinates,” Julia said, “but this point takes us close to their last known location.”
She keyed a series of coordinates and sent them to Navathe.
“It’s in deep space,” said Navathe.
Clarke winced. Even Pascari didn’t seem enthused with the idea of being stranded in deep space. If no one knew where they were if the Independent had moved on…it would be a death sentence. A slow death.
“Do it,” said Antonov. “Isabella Reiner is worth the risk.”
Even though he had the authority, Antonov still looked at each of them in the eye, like searching for validation for his decision. Clarke nodded at him.
“But first we evacuate the crew,” he said.
“The SA will arrest them,” Julia pointed out.
“Not if we say the truth,” said Clarke. “Captain, sir, can I send a message to New Angeles and Vortex?”
He explained his plan quickly. Everyone agreed to it. A couple seconds after that, Clarke was staring at a gray screen with the words TRANSMITTING pulsating red and awaiting his input.
Clarke hadn’t realized, until now, how his chest was pounding. After he did this, there’d be no turning back. He’d take the same kind of decision he’d hoped he’d never have to take, the one where he gambled with the life of innocent men and women.
And his hope of ever returning to a semblance of normal life would be gone forever.
He cleared his throat, made sure his uniform was tidy, and faced the music.
“This is Joseph A. Clarke of the Edge Independence Front,” he said. “We’re on board Free Trader Beowulf, which we took hostage. We hope to negotiate with Vortex and the New Angeles’ garrison, and to prove our good will, we’ll allow Beowulf’s crew to evacuate. Clarke out.”
He exhaled loudly after the TRANSMITTING screen closed. Without missing a beat, Navathe opened a new transmission, this one internal, and spoke to the crew:
“This is Captain Navathe. I’ve been in collaboration with the EIF. When you’re interrogated, tell the SA the truth. I’m guilty, you’re innocent. I lied to you all, you owe me no loyalty. Think of your families and don’t play hero. Whatever they say I did, they’re right and you can testify to it in court. Save this transmission, it’s my confession. All personnel, head for lifesaver capsules. Do not dally, do not return to your quarters, head straight for the capsules. We may come under fire soon. Abandon ship. I repeat, abandon ship…”
Clarke’s wristband buzzed with messages. They were from Mann and Lambert. He ignored them. The less they knew the better.
Julia got Clarke’s attention with a gesture. Her face was pale and sickly. “You think it will work?”
“It better,” Clarke said. “The Defense Fleet won’t shoot unarmed lifesavers. They just won’t. I served with them almost all my life, Julia. There’s honorable people aboard their ships.”
Julia shook her head. “I don’t know, Joseph. That may not be the same Defense Fleet you remember.”
Clarke could only hope she was wrong.
Outside the Beowulf, the lifesaver capsules shot out, one after the other.
15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DELAGARZA
Lotti’s friendly smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“Sammie, you don’t look so peachy,” she told Delagarza.
He flashed her a tired grin.
I killed a man today and didn’t feel a thing.
“Must be age, Lotti-doll.”
The surrounding gangers formed a semi-circle spread around Delagarza and their boss. Delagarza had the certainty that, if they jumped him, he wouldn’t get them all with his pistol and the scarce few rounds he had left.
Still, it wasn’t the gangers who worried him the most. He looked behind his back, at the empty side-street from which he’d come from, and wondered if Taiga Town thugs really had lost his track. A part of him whispered that it would be like this for the rest of his life, always looking over his shoulder, wondering where the bullet would come from. Unless he made things right.
“It’s late, Sammie,” Lotti told him, “what do you want to talk about?”
“I want to hire you and your boys,” he said. “As protection for a quick job.”
He explained what he wanted, for them to find a man named Bruno Choffard, a mid-level manager who worked for some obscure tech startup.
“Oh, dear,” said Lotti after Delagarza was done with his quick explanation, “I’m afraid you misconstrued our relationship. Sammie, my boys and I don’t do charity. You can’t afford us, and worse, I can’t let people go around thinking they can waste my time, so…”
She made a gesture to the gangers. Without any of them seeming to move, the semi-circle tightened around Delagarza.
“Wait!” he said. “I can pay you, Lotti. Name your price. Three hours work.”
Lotti flashed him a grin and stopped her gangers. Given her attitude, she must’ve thought Delagarza was lying through his teeth, buying time to run away. She reminded him of a wolf toying with her food.
“My boys only work the night, Sammie. Who do you take us for, honest working ladies?”
She named her price. It was outrageous. Delagarza refused. The gangers approached again.