Rogero stiffened. He could let the words pass, and after all they were what any Syndicate citizen would have said, but this was Bradamont. “Executive Ito, that officer, that Alliance Captain, is the only reason we are here. She told us of you, she helped convince our leaders to send this mission, she helped us get here, and she convinced her own leaders to release you to us. Her fleet, her people, took losses defending our homes from the enigmas. During the war, she was captured and spent time in a Syndicate labor camp. Yet she fought for us.”
Neither one wanted to hear it, but Garadun finally answered in a gruff voice. “A labor camp? All right. As long as she answers to you.”
Ito was watching Rogero closely. “Yes. Since it seems to be important to you.”
“Colonel Rogero?” Lieutenant Foster sounded worried as he pushed through the crowd toward him. “We need you to talk to the Alliance shuttle pilots. There’s some problem with timing between deliveries. And, sir, there’s another Alliance destroyer on an intercept with us.”
Rogero nodded briskly to Garadun and Ito, dashing off with gratitude for the interruption. Ito had plainly sensed that his opinion of Bradamont was not purely a professional matter.
He reached the small command deck of the freighter and squeezed in near Foster and Executive Barchi. “Where’s the destroyer?”
Barchi pointed. “Here. There’s its track. It will be here in about half an hour if I’m reading this right.”
“What happened to the other two? Sai and, uh . . .”
“Assagei. They headed back for the jump point a few hours ago.”
“Velocity…” Rogero muttered, trying to find that data. He was used to displays for ground equipment, not those for spacecraft. “There it is. Point zero three light. Is that fast?”
Barchi made a dismissive gesture in response to Rogero’s question. “On a planet? Fast as hell. Up here? A mobile forces unit? He’s loafing along.”
“He’s not in a hurry?” Rogero pressed.
“A ship like that, they don’t think anything of ramping up to point zero five light or point one light,” the executive explained. “He’s taking his time. But then, he knows we can’t outrun him. Why rush when we’re sitting ducks? Even if we bent on full acceleration, he could catch us within an hour or so.”
Rogero kept his eyes on the display, not wanting to look at the freighter executive who simply accepted his helplessness. Rogero had always been in the ground forces, always been able to fight or run or perhaps fight and run. It was easy to forget how things were for those without weapons or speed to serve them. Men and women like this freighter executive, who had spent the years of the war knowing that if the enemy appeared, they had no good options, no chances unless distances were great enough or the freighter too small a prize for the enemy to bother with. Without them and the cargoes they hauled between stars and planets, the war could not have continued, but they had always been prey in that war. It was a strange and ugly irony.
He called down to the tiny comm compartment, where Bradamont had again taken up her watch. “Captain, there is an Alliance destroyer on its way to intercept us.”
“I’ll see what I can find out,” Bradamont called back. “What’s her velocity?”
“Point zero three light.”
“That’s all? What are the Alliance shuttles doing?”
“Still off-loading.”
“They’d break off if there was impending action. Let me know if any start heading away before off-loading.”
Lieutenant Foster had relaxed since Rogero arrived. Someone of higher authority was here to make the decisions, and Rogero knew his soldiers had confidence in him. I earned that confidence the hard way. But now I’m putting on an act for the lieutenant and everyone else. Calm. Confident. Everything may be hectic, but otherwise it’s fine. Except if that Alliance warship comes in shooting, we’re all dead.
“Colonel Rogero?” Bradamont’s voice had rarely been so welcome.
“Here.”
“Destroyer Bandolier is being sent to provide close escort for us. Admiral Timbale is increasingly concerned that someone might try to interfere with the prisoner transfer or try to board one or more of the freighters. He’s also going to send the light cruiser Coupe over to us. They have orders to accompany us until we jump for Atalia.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Rogero said, trying to sound as dispassionately professional as possible in a this-woman-is-merely-a-fellow-officer manner. Someone might try to interfere? The Alliance ground forces people. Or maybe their intelligence branch. Or maybe other people I don’t even know about. I hope Admiral Timbale can keep them off our backs. “That’s it, then,” he told Lieutenant Foster. “We’re getting an escort.”
“An escort?” Foster asked. “Alliance mobile forces are going to escort us?”
“I know it feels strange. Think how strange it will feel for them.”
“More likely,” Executive Barchi grumbled, “they’ll be along to nail us immediately if we do anything suspicious.”
“We won’t do anything suspicious. Let’s get those people aboard our ships and get out of this star system.”
“Yes, sir!” Foster agreed.
There wouldn’t be any need to motivate everyone to keep working quickly. Not this time. Nobody wanted to stay here, where the Alliance ruled and evidence of Alliance military power loomed with deadly menace on all sides.
“Um, Colonel?” the freighter executive asked, sounding and looking like the bearer of bad news. “My line workers say we’ve got a problem in the internal communications. Some of that new stuff you installed seems to be interfering with it, so if you need to talk to anybody inside this ship before we get it sorted out, you’ll need to send a runner.”
Rogero’s immediate frown caused the executive to look a lot more nervous. “Are external comms impacted at all?”
Lieutenant Foster was already shaking his head when the executive answered. “No. No. No problem there. It’s your external comm gear that is somehow interfering with internal comms. We could probably fix the internals really fast if we shut down the externals for a few—”
“We can’t afford to lose external comms,” Rogero said. “Not for any length of time.” Not being able to talk to the Alliance shuttles and the other freighters would be a major problem, but a temporary loss of internal communications in this freighter was only annoying, not serious. “Let me know as soon as internal comms are fixed.”
The executive nodded with visible relief that Rogero’s response hadn’t been worse.
“Lieutenant Foster, with internal comms down, I want you to check on conditions personally and report back here.”
Foster saluted and rushed off.
Another shuttle came and went. Another shuttle docked.
“How are we doing, Lieutenant?” Rogero asked, as Foster returned, looking like he had just run a race.
“We’re tight, but there’s room, sir. We can take more. No discipline problems.”
“We’re almost done,” Executive Barchi reported. “Only two or three shuttle loads per freighter left to go. Another half an hour to forty-five minutes, and we can get the hell out of Dod.”
“Just where is Dod?” Rogero asked, his eyes on the freighter’s display.
“I dunno. Some star system nobody wanted to stay in, I guess. It’s not even on the charts.”
Rogero had barely begun to absorb the executive’s good news when Bradamont burst onto the command deck. “What the hell happened to internal comms on this ship? Commandos have launched from Ambaru! We’ve got to get moving now!”