The Lost Stars (32 page)

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.”

“I should have warned you earlier,” she said. “Saying
for the people
would tag you as Syndics.”

“They'll probably tag us as Syndicate, anyway. But, with any luck,” Rogero commented, “they'll be curious enough about the information on Black Jack to avoid destroying
us.”

“They know that Admiral Timbale will be curious,” Bradamont replied. “And they won't want to make him
mad.”

Rogero watched the freighter's limited display update, an apparently endless array of warships, support craft, civilian ships, repair facilities, and defensive installations popping up in fits and starts. “Black Jack isn't even here,” Rogero murmured. “And look at all of
it.”

Bradamont heard. “There aren't that many warships present, and those here are cruisers and smaller.”

“That's more than big enough for us to worry about,” the freighter executive grumbled.

Less than thirty seconds passed before a reply came in from one of the destroyers. “This is Lieutenant Commander Baader of the Alliance destroyer
Sai
. Your status and your political allegiance are unknown to us, Colonel Rogero. You and your ships look Syndic.”

Bradamont made an encouraging gesture, and Rogero tapped the controls again. “I am a colonel in the ground forces of the free and independent star system of Midway. My allegiance is to our President Iceni, and to my commander, General Drakon. We no longer answer to the Syndicate. The Syndicate is our enemy. We are at peace with the Alliance and have fought alongside your Admiral Geary at Midway.”

This time almost a minute passed before Lieutenant Commander Baader's image once more appeared. “We have forwarded your message to Admiral Timbale, Colonel Rogero. Your freighters are to remain in this orbit until we receive clearance for you to proceed farther.”

“More waiting?” Rogero asked.

“More waiting,” Bradamont agreed. “They've bumped the matter upstairs, which was the smartest thing they could
do.”

Light crawled across the light-hours to the massive orbiting Ambaru station where Admiral Timbale had his headquarters, then crawled back. Awoken from a restless sleep by the freighter's second officer, Rogero returned to the bridge, collecting Bradamont along the
way.

“This is Admiral Timbale.” The admiral looked thoughtful as well as suspicious, which Rogero thought a good sign. “We would of course be happy to repatriate the Syndic prisoners currently held here, especially to representatives of a star system that has thrown off the Syndic yoke. But this is a delicate issue given the history between our two peoples. I will need to request guidance from higher authority. Your ships will have to wait here until I receive an answer, which will require at least two weeks.”

Rogero looked over at Captain Bradamont, who made a face. “That was worst case,” she said. “But now we have a transmission ID that I can send a reply to. Can this ship's comm gear handle a tight beam, secure, eyes only send?”

“It couldn't before we installed some upgrades for the mission to Taroa,” Rogero replied. “That's not standard freighter comm gear. But to use the upgraded equipment we'll need to go to a compartment we rigged up for that.”

He led her along the passageways of the freighter, nearly empty at this hour of ship's time, to a hatch leading into a small compartment which from the smells still lingering inside had once been used to store potatoes and onions. One of Rogero's soldiers maintained a lone watch over the equipment despite the unlikelihood of any messages coming in aimed at its parameters. “Are you going to send it in the clear?” Rogero asked Bradamont.

She held up a data coin. “This contains the necessary Alliance codes. Admiral Geary provided me with them in case I needed to send an encoded message through your channels.”

“Very well.” Rogero gestured to the comm operator. “Up and
out.”

The operator stood, saluted, and left the compartment without a word.

“Your people don't tend to ask questions,” Bradamont observed as she sat down at the comm station.

“The Syndicate hierarchy frowns on workers asking questions,” Rogero replied as he closed and locked the hatch. “For my soldiers, it's a lesson learned over a lifetime and not easily broken.”

She looked at him for a moment, a brief smile showing. “You don't seem to have learned that lesson.”

“No, and you saw what happened to me. I went from being ordered to labor-camp staff to being one step from becoming the occupant of a labor camp myself. If not for General Drakon, I would have probably died in
one.”

“Me, too,” Bradamont said, her eyes back on the comm gear. “Until you told me, I never realized that he was the one who suggested to the snakes that our relationship could be used by them. If not for that, the snakes wouldn't have leaked the information about my transfer to another labor camp to the Alliance, so I could be liberated.”

Rogero nodded. “He is a good man. He no longer believes he is a good man, but I believe
it.”

Another short pause as Bradamont looked at him. “Why? Why does Drakon have such an opinion of himself?”

“He was a CEO. To reach the ranks of a CEO, to survive in such a system, requires doing things that would eat the soul of any person. I have met all too many CEOs who showed no signs of missing their souls. General Drakon somehow retained most of his.” Rogero tapped his chest. “But that means he also knows in his heart the wrongs he
did.”

“Ignorance is bliss,” Bradamont muttered. “It was an ugly war. Has any war ever been anything but ugly? We all carry scars inside us from that.”

“It wasn't just the war, Honore. It was the system. The Syndicate system. You ate others, or the system ate
you.”

She nodded, not looking at him this time. “But you got rid of that way of doing things. You're going to make a better way. If General Drakon and President Iceni don't screw it up.” Bradamont sat back, running her hands through her hair. “It's ready for the transmission. How do I look?”

“More beautiful than ever.”

Bradamont laughed. “It's a good thing we're alone in here.”

“And an unfortunate thing that we can't stay alone in here long, and that it is so confining.”

“Maybe that's a blessing in disguise. All right. Move over that way as far as you can. We want to be sure you don't show in the image.”

Rogero scrunched over as far as he could, waiting.

Bradamont tapped a control, her eyes on the video pickup. “Admiral Timbale, this is Captain Honore Bradamont, formerly commanding officer of
Dragon
. Admiral Geary detached me from the fleet when it returned to Midway Star System and ordered me to serve as a liaison officer to the government and military there. Midway Star System is completely independent of the Syndicate Worlds. It has a stable government that is pursuing a more democratic course and has assisted nearby star systems in throwing off Syndicate Worlds' authority. Their warships assisted our fleet in the most recent battle there against the enigmas. They need the personnel from the Reserve Flotilla to crew warships that are under construction to defend them against attempts by the Syndicate Worlds to reconquer the Midway Star System.

“Admiral Geary's fleet is on its way back from Midway but was delayed by Syndic interference. I don't know exactly what he has run into, but we have learned that the Syndics have a means for temporarily blocking use of their hypernet. That forced Admiral Geary to take his fleet to Sobek. He is doubtless proceeding homeward from there but may have run into Syndic opposition despite the peace agreement. The fleet took considerable combat damage fighting our way through enigma space, during combat with a second alien species, and when defeating a renewed enigma assault on Midway Star System. It is also burdened by the presence of a captured alien warship, which is being brought back to Alliance space, and six ships belonging to a third alien species, which seeks friendly relations with
us.

“I can provide you with further information regarding Admiral Geary's successful mission, but given the extreme sensitivity of the information and my assignment by him to duty at Midway, I do not want it known that I am back at Varandal. Fleet headquarters would surely negate my orders from Admiral Geary as a liaison officer, order me to report to them and provide them with all I know regardless of how Admiral Geary wants to present that information upon his return.

“I am, of course, subject to your orders here. But my interpretation of Admiral Geary's orders to me is that I should do my utmost to ensure those prisoners of war are returned to Midway Star System, and thereafter continue to monitor the situation there and provide whatever reports I can back to Alliance authorities. I respectfully request that we undertake as soon as possible a transfer of all Syndic prisoners of war in this star system to the freighters under Colonel Rogero's command.

“Captain Bradamont,
out.”

Rogero waited until Bradamont had cut the connection before saying anything. “That ought to be a wide-awake call when he gets
it.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Rogero eyed her a moment longer, wondering if he should ask the next question, but finally decided to do so. “Do you believe it? What you said about President Iceni and General Drakon.”

She returned his look. “What did I say? You mean that your government is stable and undertaking democratic reforms? As far as I can tell, it
is.”

“What do you think of President Iceni?”

“Are you collecting intelligence on me for your boss, Colonel Rogero?” Bradamont asked. Her tone was light, but there was a real challenge in her eyes.

“No. I want to know what you think. I won't tell anyone else.”

She paused, frowned, then looked at him. “I think she is one very tough bitch. And I mean that in a good
way.”

“You can mean that in a good way?” Rogero asked. “So, you think she really will do things for the people?”

“Yeah, I do. Don't get in her way. I think people who get in Iceni's way regret it big-time.”

“What about her primary assistant? That man Togo.”

Bradamont shook her head. “He's a cipher to me. I haven't seen enough of him. Now, you answer something for me about your General's two assistants.”

Rogero laughed. “What a pair, eh? But they are very, very good at what they do, Honore. Individually, each is impressive. Together, they give General Drakon the type of support that equals another brigade of troops, if not more.”