The Lost Stars (35 page)

“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
!”

“COMMANDOS?”
Rogero's eyes were going back to the display as he felt a surge of adrenaline hit. His body was shifting to combat mode without any prompting. “I can't
see—”

Bradamont shook her head. “They're in stealth-configured shuttles. The best the Alliance has got. The sensors on these freighters wouldn't see them even if those stealth shuttles were doing loops around
us.”

“Admiral Timbale—”

“Is losing control of the situation! He still has the fleet units and the Marines responding to him, but both ground forces and aerospace forces in this star system are acting on orders from the generals in command of them. For the love of our ancestors, get these freighters moving!”

Rogero pointed to the display, letting his frustration fill his voice. “We've still got shuttleloads of personnel to get on board. Are you saying we have to abandon them?”

“How many?” Bradamont pushed people aside until she stood at the freighter's maneuvering controls. “Give me a minute.” Her hands started flying over the controls and the display.

“She's setting up a maneuvering plan,” Ito said. Rogero abruptly became aware that both Garadun and Ito had followed Bradamont onto the control deck, making it very crowded indeed. “She was trying to get up here and being blocked by our workers in the passageways so we came along and told everyone to clear a path. What do you know about her? Does she know mobile forces?”

“She was a battle cruiser commander.”

“Alliance battle cruiser,” Ito murmured. “Which
one?”

“
Dragon.
”

Bradamont looked over at him. “You can do this. Because these freighters accelerate at about the rate of glaciers going downhill on a good day, the Alliance passenger shuttles can keep up for more than half an hour. They can proceed along with us and off-load those remaining passengers before we build up enough velocity that they would have to break off. There's not much room for error, but we can do
it.”

Nonetheless, Rogero hesitated, thinking of those remaining loads of workers, of people who might find themselves watching freedom accelerate away from them when it had been almost within touching distance.

Ito pushed next to Bradamont, her eyes narrowed as she studied the display. “She's right. I'm rusty at this, but if the shuttle performance levels she input are good, then it works.”

“We have to go now,” Bradamont insisted. “That doesn't mean we'll get clear. I don't know exactly where those commando shuttles are. It might already be too late. But if we don't start getting out of here immediately, then we have no chance of outrunning the commandos' shuttles. And if those commandos catch us, then your soldiers on these freighters will not stand a chance.”

Running. Again. “Those commandos would not find my soldiers to be easy opponents,” Rogero said, hearing the stiffness in his voice. “They would
pay.”

“I have no doubt of that, but you would still lose! There aren't enough of you. And how many of the people you've just picked up would die in the cross fire? I know how hard it is to turn your back on an enemy.
I know.
That's why you're in command, because General Drakon knew you would make the hard decisions when they were the right decisions.”

Was it because Bradamont was making these arguments, or because he would have known the truth of those words regardless of who said them? Rogero nodded abruptly. “All right. Let's do
it.”

Ito hit some controls. “I've sent the maneuvering plan to all of the other freighters. You, you're the executive in charge of this freighter? Implement the plan. Get us moving.”

Executive Barchi began slapping controls.

Rogero felt the freighter respond with an all-too-gentle nudge. “Lieutenant,” he ordered, “tell the Alliance shuttles that we need to start leaving now. If any of them ask why, tell them it was orders from their admiral. Tell those shuttles to keep up until they've dropped off the last passenger. Tell the other freighters to redouble their loading speed. Get our people on board as fast as they can move them even if we have to pile the last load in the air locks.”

Garadun was beside him, peering at the display. “Good thing these freighters were all pointed in the right direction already. It would have taken close to half an hour just to pivot them around one-eighty. Did she suggest that,
too?”

“Yes,” Rogero said, realizing only now just how important that piece of advice had been.

“She knows ships. I'll give her that,” Garadun conceded. “Funny, you said the war was over, and here we are being chased by Alliance commandos.”

“I guess they didn't get the memo.” An old joke. How could he think of a joke right
now?

“What is he doing?” Ito demanded to Bradamont, pointing to the display. “That Alliance destroyer.”

“He was coming this way already,” Rogero said. “To escort us back to the jump point for Atalia.”

“He's
accelerating
,” Ito pointed out caustically.

Tension levels ramped up even higher, suspicious looks aimed at Bradamont as she studied the movement of the Alliance warship.

Bradamont suddenly began laughing, drawing shocked looks from everyone. “
Bandolier
is moving to foul the approach of the commando shuttles. Look, she's not only accelerating but also bending her track a bit. Her vector is going to carry her short of us, but across the route that would have to be used by anything coming toward us from Ambaru. See that light cruiser?
Coupe
is doing the same though she's coming in from farther out. The commando shuttles can avoid them, but the extra maneuvering will slow them down a little.”

“How do they know where the stealth shuttles are?” Garadun asked skeptically.

Bradamont shook her head. “I won't give you the details of how the Alliance tracks its own stealth equipment. I wouldn't expect you to give me details of how the Syndicate Worlds does it. But you know you can track your own gear, and so can
we.”

“Those warships are buying us time?” Rogero asked.

“A little. Not much, but hopefully enough.”

He watched the data as the shuttle off-loads proceeded with now-frantic haste, and the vector data on the clumsy freighters showed them very gradually building up velocity, headed outward away from Ambaru station and toward the jump point for Atalia. But Rogero's mind was consumed by other matters as well. “How did you learn about the commando launches?” he asked Bradamont.

“Admiral Timbale warned
us.”

“I don't understand. Are you saying the Alliance forces here are working against each other? That some of them are not obeying orders?”

Bradamont nodded heavily. “I told you that. They're not obeying Admiral Timbale's orders. The Alliance military is badly fractured. Force levels and funding are being chopped, and the different branches are fighting to keep as much as each of them can. The fleet and the Marines have the advantage of being firmly allied, while the ground forces and the aerospace forces distrust each other as much as they do the fleet and the Marines. Right now, in this star system, the ground forces commander and the aerospace forces commander are no longer working with the fleet commander, Admiral Timbale, even though he's supposed to be in overall command. I don't know what they think is happening, but they've been convinced to try to stop
us.”

She looked at Rogero, her expression bleak. “You know what the war did to the Syndicate Worlds. Do you think the Alliance paid less of a price? We won. That didn't replace the dead, repair the destruction, or pay the costs. The strains of the war tore apart the Syndicate Worlds. I don't know what those strains may yet do to the Alliance, but the military is as frayed as everything else.”

Rogero's mind was filled with images of the revolt at Midway, Syndicate unit against Syndicate unit. “Are you talking fighting? Combat between Alliance forces?”

“No!” Bradamont seemed shocked at the suggestion. “I don't see any of the forces involved shooting at each other. Not over this. Not over
anything
. But that means none of them will shoot to protect these freighters. The fleet units are trying to delay the commandos without engaging them, and doing it in a way they can claim was accidental. That is the best we can hope
for.”

“The fixed defenses,” Garadun said harshly. “The Alliance must have a lot in this star system. Whose orders are they responding
to?”

“Ground forces or aerospace,” Bradamont answered. “But even these freighters can dodge shots fired from at least several light-minutes away. We'd be in trouble if we were heading for a site being defended, but we can avoid those.”

“What about a barrage?”

Bradamont shrugged irritably. “That might be challenging. All we can do is try to dodge.”

“We?” Ito asked.

“I'm aboard this ship,
too.”

Garadun gave Bradamont an appraising look. “Every one of these freighters has talented personnel on board, people who can make mobile forces dance to their tune. If we have to, we'll show the Alliance how it's done.”

“When will we know we're clear of the commandos?” Rogero asked.

“When they don't get here,” Bradamont answered. “If we started accelerating soon enough and can prolong their approach long enough, they'll have to turn back because of fuel constraints. They can't sustain a long tail chase. I'd guess that if they haven't caught up with us in an hour, we can breathe easier.”

Rogero turned to Foster. “Lieutenant. All soldiers are to go to full-combat footing. Armor sealed and weapons powered. Threat is Alliance commandos boarding from stealth shuttles. As soon as the last passenger shuttle breaks free, all hatches on the freighters are to be sealed and guarded.”

“The commandos are likely to be in stealth armor, too,” Bradamont said. “And they can get in by other means than using hatches.”

He looked at her, startled by the sudden catch in her voice, and saw that Bradamont looked as if she were physically
ill.

She met his eyes. “They're Alliance,” she said in a low voice.

Of course. Her own people. Bradamont was helping him prepare to fight those she had fought alongside. If the commandos boarded, some of them would die, and many if not all of Rogero's soldiers would
die.

And, quite possibly, Rogero,
too.

“You should go to your quarters,” he told Bradamont. “It would be safer.”

“I will not hide down there,” she said. “I will be here if they enter this command deck.”

He had to accept that because he knew she would not bend on
it.

Ito gave him a speculative look, though, and glanced at Bradamont.

“The last five Alliance shuttles are mating for the transfer now,” Lieutenant Foster said. “Their pilots are complaining about our acceleration.”

“Just tell them to get our people off those shuttles,” Rogero said. “As soon as the last is clear, they can head home.”

“The shuttles are off-loading very quickly,” Lieutenant Foster commented.

“Good old-fashioned fear-of-death motivation. It's the Syndicate way.”

Everybody on the command deck but Bradamont laughed when Rogero repeated a joke that was old in the Syndicate Worlds, though the laughter held some nervousness as eyes kept straying to the display, as if the Alliance stealth shuttles would miraculously become visible on
it.

“An hour?” Garadun asked Bradamont as he studied the freighter's acceleration rate with a disgusted look.

“That's just an estimate. I can't be certain.”

“I hate being stalked by invisible enemies.” His eyes grew shadowed by dark memories. “Like the enigmas. How did Black Jack beat them?”

“We found out they'd been messing with your sensors,” Bradamont said. “Ours, too. Worms in the systems controlled what we saw whenever the enigmas wanted to be invisible.”

“What kind of worms couldn't be found by our security scans?” Ito demanded.

“Quantum-coded worms,” Bradamont replied. “Don't ask me how. I don't think anyone human has figured out how to do it, yet. But we figured out how to cancel them
out.”

“I suppose Black Jack figured that out, too?” Garadun said, his tone bitter.

“No. Captain Cresida. One of the battle cruiser commanders.” Bradamont closed her eyes for a moment. “She died in the battle with your flotilla when her ship was destroyed.”

Nobody said anything because there wasn't anything that could be said. Instead, they all watched the displays where the vectors of the freighters grew longer with agonizing slowness as the clumsy ships accelerated at the snail's pace that was the best they could manage.

After several minutes, Ito broke the silence. “Why are these commandos chasing us? Why do they want to recapture us? The Alliance guards never made any secret of the fact that they wanted to be rid of
us.”

“Some of them want you back because you might be leaving under circumstances they don't like,” Rogero suggested. “It is also likely that they want me, specifically.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Rogero replied with the ease of someone taught to lie well by the demands of the Syndicate system, “I went to Ambaru station and am known as the one in charge. I then got away from them thanks to their Admiral Timbale. So they want me. They may also have records related to the months I spent as part of the staff of a Syndicate labor camp. That might make me a criminal in their eyes.”

Garadun scowled in frustration. “No weapons to defend ourselves, lousy acceleration and maneuverability, and the best the Alliance has got coming for us. I've fought under better circumstances.”

“Sir?” Lieutenant Foster asked. “Shouldn't we get some armor up here for
us?”

Rogero shook his head. “Not until we've gotten those last shuttles off-loaded. Then you go join your unit. I'll stay here.”