Perilous Shield

Chapter Six

“If she has somehow survived, I will personally kill her!”

Togo, standing impassively near Iceni in response to her summons, wisely avoided saying anything.

It was a shame that Sub-CEO Akiri, who had briefly been on her personal staff, had been assassinated by a snake agent months ago. Right now she really wanted a mobile forces officer nearby so she could scream at him.

On the display above Iceni’s desk, the Midway Flotilla had steadied out, accelerating for all it was worth toward an intercept with the Syndicate battleship. “Oh, isn’t that wonderful! Icing on the cake!”

“Madam President?” Togo asked.

“Look! Do you see those two symbols? They mean that those two Hunter-Killer ships are on tracks to collide with the Syndicate battleship! Not a close firing run! A collision!”

A slight frown creased Togo’s usually smooth brow. “How did the Kommodor convince the crews of those two ships to obey such an order?”

“She didn’t have to! There are remote command circuits. With the right codes, Marphissa can take over control of other ships in her flotilla. I entrusted those codes to her, and now she’s using them to do something that will cost me an immense amount of support!”

This time Togo nodded in understanding. “Because it will be perceived that you sent those two crews to their deaths. The crews of the other mobile forces units will not take that well.”

“Nor will the citizens! I’ve been keeping the citizens happy with a trickle of changes that improve their lot and grant them more freedom. If I were a normal CEO, they wouldn’t blink at my throwing away the lives of their fellow citizens like that, but they expect me to be different.”

“You have codes that override the override codes that you gave to the Kommodor,” Togo pointed out.

“And it would take four hours for my override of her override to get there! Which is about three hours too long,” Iceni got out between gritted teeth.

“The action does not seem characteristic of Kommodor Marphissa,” Togo offered.

Iceni glared at the display. “Characteristic or not, she’s doing it. I want to get rid of Boyens and his flotilla, but not in a way that’s going to undermine my position. News of this will spread to every nearby star system, and everyone will see me as nothing more than a typical CEO.”

“They will respect you if—”

“I do not have enough firepower to rule this region of space through fear!” Nor do I want to. I would have to do things to reinforce that fear, and I have done too many things like that already. Togo knew of some of those things, had followed her orders to carry out some of them, but he did not know everything. Not by a long shot. “This action could destroy our chances of a much stronger mutual-defense agreement with Taroa.”

She forced herself to sit down and breathe slowly. How to deal with the fallout from this? Not only the loss of most of my flotilla but also the deliberate use of two warships and their crews as projectiles.

Togo cleared his throat diffidently. “Some of the Syndicate ships are altering course.”

Iceni looked up at the display, seeing the heavy cruisers and Hunter-Killers that had been sent in pursuit of the new cruiser turning back. “They’re going to reinforce the defenses around the battleship.” But Marphissa’s warships continued on their attack run even though their mission had now become not simply hopeless but clearly impossible. What is she trying to accomplish?

The answer came to Iceni moments before she saw Marphissa’s ships break off their attack and bend back toward their previous orbit. “It was a bluff. Damn her. She scared Boyens into letting that new cruiser go.”

“CEO Boyens will be angry that they escaped,” Togo said.

“Very angry, yes.” Can I use that? Oh my, yes. I can use that. The frustrated anger of a short time earlier had become elation. Not only had Marphissa been far more clever than expected, but the recent events had given Iceni the sort of idea that could finally break the impasse between CEO Boyens and everyone else in this star system. “I need to contact that new cruiser. He could be very helpful to us. Notify General Drakon that I need to speak with him privately. Just him and me. Don’t give me that look. There are still snakes around, and I can’t risk any of them hearing the plan I just came up with.”

“If Madam President no longer believes I can be counted upon—” Togo began, his posture and voice stiffer than usual.

“It’s not that.” It’s that this is exactly the sort of situation where I can use Colonel Malin’s status as an information source to my advantage while also limiting the chances that anyone will guess what I’m planning. She managed to muster up a reassuring smile for Togo. “You’re too close to me. If you’re known to be involved, everyone will try to find out what’s going on.”

Togo did not look comforted by the weak rationale. “Madam President, I must caution you that General Drakon is certain to be working against you. He will use any apparent closeness between you to his advantage.”

“Closeness?” Iceni asked sharply.

“There have been… rumors.”

“There will always be rumors. I can’t let my actions be constrained by gossips who haven’t matured since leaving school as children! Get that message to General Drakon while I contact the new cruiser.”

Drakon gazed steadily at Iceni, turning her proposal over in his mind. I’m not expert on mobile forces tactics, but the concept seems sound. “You think this might work?”

“I think it has a good chance,” she said, “but we can’t send Togo. Everyone will notice his absence and assume he’s on some special mission for me.”

“Who do we send? I agree it’s too risky to put any of this into a transmission. One hint of what we’re doing, and Boyens can thumb his nose at us.”

Iceni made a casual gesture with one hand. “How about Colonels Malin and Morgan?”

“Two of my people? Going to personally meet with Black Jack?” His gaze on her narrowed. “You’re willing to risk that I won’t have them carry some other message as well?”

“Yes, I am,” Iceni said calmly. “Are you saying that I shouldn’t?”

“I’m saying that you and I both have a lot of experience with not taking those kinds of risks. What’s changed?”

“I have gotten to know you better.”

He wanted to believe that, which made him even more wary.

“In any event,” Iceni continued, “I can have one of your officers wear a sealed monitor that will record everything said. That will ensure no unauthorized messages get passed to Black Jack.”

“All right. I can see why you would suggest Colonel Malin. But why Morgan?”

Her smile this time was knowing. “Because if either of them had their own plans, the other would tell you.”

“True enough.” He went through the plan again in his mind, then nodded. “I agree. People will notice Malin and Morgan aren’t around, but they’ll assume they’re on my business, which doesn’t involve the mobile forces.”

“Warships,” Iceni corrected. “I want to get completely away from Syndicate terminology and Syndicate ways of thinking. I expect to hear from the new cruiser soon in response to our offer to use one of our heavy cruisers to escort him to his home star. As soon as he agrees, I’ll notify you, and we can work out how to get your officers to Black Jack without anyone’s knowing.”

Drakon rubbed his lower face with one hand as he thought. “We could use that new Alliance liaison officer in this.”

“Could we? Yes. You’re right.” Her smile this time appeared completely genuine. “We make a good team, Artur.”

Marphissa stood at Manticore’s main air lock, waiting for the shuttle to finish sealing to the access. What the hell is going on? Why did the President insist that I go to personally inspect progress on getting our battleship ready to fight?

It had taken two days for Manticore to reach the gas giant, where the new battleship Midway continued her slow progress in fitting out. Now Marphissa was two days away from the rest of the flotilla and light-hours distant from knowing what was happening near the hypernet gate.

The shuttle took her directly to one of Midway’s air locks, where Marphissa found the young and brilliant Kapitan-Leytenant Kontos waiting by himself. “This way, Kommodor,” Kontos said.

They started off alone through the battleship. Despite the shipyard workers and skeleton crew, the vast size of the battleship left many areas seemingly deserted. Marphissa felt a sense of unease as they headed down one such passageway. Kontos had shown no signs of dangerous ambition, and President Iceni had ordered her here, but this setup felt far too much like the sort of disappearance that occasionally afflicted senior Syndicate officers who had offended someone. And there had been rumors passed on to Marphissa by “friends” who had heard that Iceni had been very unhappy with the trick that had fooled Boyens into letting the new heavy cruiser escape. Even if those stories are true, the President would not make me disappear. She is different. “What’s going on?” she asked Kontos in a low voice.

Kontos gave her an enigmatic look. “I can’t tell you. It’s important. You’re… going to meet another officer. Someone who’s supposed to join you on Manticore.”

That was reassuring, since it meant she was supposed to return to Manticore, hopefully in one piece and not under arrest.

Kontos pulled out an envelope and passed it to her. “Orders. I have not read them, just a cover document that told me to pass them to you.”

“Written orders?” Marphissa stared at the envelope as she took it.

“They don’t want to risk any compromise of whatever is in there.”

“I should say they don’t! I’ve never seen orders written on paper before.”

Kontos paused outside a hatch. “She’s in here. I’m the only one aboard this ship who has seen her.”

“Who the hell is it? Has the President herself secretly come aboard?”

“That would have been less surprising,” Kontos said. He saluted. “I am to see you inside, seal the hatch, then wait until you call. There’s a working comm panel keyed to my seat on the bridge. I’ll wait there.”

“Am I supposed to read these orders before I meet this officer?”

“I don’t know, Kommodor.”

“Fine. Let me in. I’ll give you a call when I’m done.” Stupid secrecy, Marphissa thought. What could be so hush-hush as to justify all of this—

She got two steps inside the compartment and froze, barely aware of Kontos sealing the hatch behind her.

Standing next to one of the tables bolted to the deck was an Alliance fleet captain in full uniform.

Marphissa took a deep breath. An Alliance officer. She had seen prisoners, she had met Alliance ships in battle, but she had never actually talked to an Alliance officer, or anyone else from the Alliance for that matter. The war had lasted for a century. The people of the Alliance weren’t just the enemy; they had always been the enemy, always the threat to her and her home. Meeting one of them couldn’t have felt more alien than if there had been an enigma in that compartment.

But President Iceni had sent her here. There must be a good reason for this.

I have faced death. I can face an Alliance fleet officer.

“I’m Captain Bradamont,” the officer said, standing as if at attention.

“Kommodor Marphissa,” she replied automatically. Marphissa’s eyes went to the left breast of Bradamont’s uniform, where the combat awards and duty awards were displayed. But where on a Syndicate suit those awards would form a readable summary of someone’s career, the Alliance decorations were all unknown, a riot of color and design that held no meaning to Marphissa. Who was this woman? “Why are you here?”

“You haven’t been given any orders?”

“I…” Marphissa looked at the envelope she was still holding. “Maybe I had better read these now.”

After some frustrating moments trying to figure out how it worked, Marphissa managed to split the seal on the envelope. She fumbled out the papers inside and read rapidly. Liaison officer… assist in special project… authorized full access… “What’s this special project? Wait, there’s another page.”

An operation aimed at trapping the Syndicate flotilla into either fighting or leaving? Marphissa focused back on the Alliance officer. “Captain ?”

“Bradamont.”

“I am completely at a loss here. I’ve never even imagined talking to someone like you. When the snakes were everywhere, it would have meant being charged with treason.”

“Snakes? Oh. Internal Security.”

The loathing in Bradamont’s voice matched Marphissa’s own feelings about the snakes. Marphissa found herself thawing slightly. “They’re all gone. We killed them.” I personally killed one of them. Why do I feel a sudden need to boast about that, as if I need to top this woman with my own accomplishments? But I don’t like to remember killing that snake. He deserved it, but I don’t like to recall doing it.

Bradamont had nodded at her words. “I know you got rid of your Internal Security. I wouldn’t have agreed to stay in this star system if they had remained.”

“Agreed?”

“I volunteered. Or, rather, Admiral Geary asked me to volunteer.”

“Admiral Geary? Oh, you mean Black Jack. That would have been a hard request to turn down, I imagine. Were you on his staff?”

The Alliance officer shook her head. “I commanded Dragon. A battle cruiser.”

The statement hadn’t come out sounding like a boast, but it could have been. Marphissa came closer to Bradamont, eyeing her. “Why did you believe us when we told you the snakes were gone?”

“It’s hard to miss the wreckage where the Internal Security installations used to be,” Bradamont said. “And someone in this star system whom I trusted confirmed the fact.”

“The Alliance had a spy in this star system?” Marphissa blurted out.

“No. Not even remotely. He’s… a friend.”

“A friend.” A spy she could accept. A friend? How could that be?

A long pause followed as both seemed lost for anything to talk about. What did you say to the enemy? Even if she had ceased to be the enemy? Finally, Bradamont gestured vaguely around her. “I see that you’ve acquired a battleship.”

“Yes.” Marphissa said. “From Kane. We took it from the Syndicate orbital facility there.”

“I got to see the action report,” Bradamont said, startling Marphissa. “Your President sent it to me. That was some very good ship handling, Kommodor.”

Marphissa almost jerked in shock at the praise, then felt herself warming more, though warily. This woman was one of Black Jack’s battle cruiser commanders, and she thinks I did a good job at Kane? Well, I did. But I never expected to hear an Alliance officer say that. Is she trying to get on my good side, flatter me to get me off guard? “Thank you… Captain.” Another uncomfortable pause. “Have you ever been on a battleship?” Marphissa asked.

“A Syndic battleship, you mean?” Bradamont asked. She tilted her head slightly in thought. “Just once. Leading a boarding party. That was at Ixchel.”

Apparently there were no safe topics. “I’m not familiar with that engagement.” There had been so many engagements. “I take it the Alliance won.”

“If you define winning as being the last ones left alive, and not very many of you,” Bradamont replied. “Then we left, and we blew it up.”

Common ground. Not too surprising, really. “You lost a lot of people capturing the battleship, then you left and blew it up.”

“It sounds like you’ve been through the same sort of thing.”

“A few times.” Another awkward silence fell as Marphissa gestured toward the chairs around the nearest table. This compartment would be an officers’ lounge when finished. Though still lacking in many features, it did have the furniture installed. “Have a seat. Please.”

“Thank you.” Bradamont sat, her eyes on Marphissa. “In case you’re wondering, I feel uncomfortable, too.”

“I could tell. Because a few months ago we would have been trying to kill each other?”

“And we’ve spent all of our adult lives trying to kill each other, as did our parents and grandparents.”

“But now we’re, um…” Marphissa searched for the right word and failed. “What are we?”

“On the same side, I guess. What do you think of the plan to deal with the Syndic flotilla?”

“Risky. But… if it works . . .”

Bradamont smiled. “Right. If it works.” She reached into a duffel near the table, pretending not to notice Marphissa tensing up, and lifted out a bottle. “I brought a small gift. A token of… um . . .”

“Greetings?” Marphissa asked, examining the label. “Whiskey? From Vernon? Do you know how much this is worth in Syndicate space? Nobody has been able to get this stuff except through the black market for… for a century.”

“We’re not in Syndicate space, are we?” Bradamont asked.

Marphissa grinned despite her worries. “No. We’re not. Not anymore. Do you mind if I open it?”

“I was hoping you would.” Bradamont smiled back. “I’ll take the first drink so you can be sure it’s not drugged or poisoned.”

“You could have already taken an antidote,” Marphissa pointed out. “Or, you might just want a head start on drinking this.”

“You’re pretty sharp for a—” Bradamont’s smile faded. “Sorry.”

“Force of habit,” Marphissa said, pouring out two drinks. “I may call you something obscene without thinking about it. Try not to take it personally.”

“Deal.”

Marphissa took a cautious sip, marveling at the taste. “I admit to being baffled. How could you choose to put yourself in the hands of . . .”

“People who were Syndics not long ago? It wasn’t easy.” Emotion flashed through Bradamont’s eyes. “I’ve been in a Syndic labor camp. I know what they’re like.”

“There are no more labor camps. Not where President Iceni’s authority holds.”

“So I was told.” Bradamont smiled again. “You sound proud of that.”

“I am. We… we are changing things here.” Marphissa smiled once more, too. “President Iceni will help us build a government that truly is for the people.”

Bradamont studied Marphissa for a long moment, then raised her own glass. “In that case, let us salute your President Iceni.”

Marphissa matched the gesture. “To our President.” She watched how much Bradamont drank, determined not to be more affected by the alcohol than the Alliance officer. But Bradamont had saluted Iceni… “You’re just here to help with this operation?”

Bradamont shook her head. “I’m supposed to stay, when the fleet leaves. Liaison officer. To keep track of what’s happening here and to provide any assistance I can that is consistent with Alliance interests.”

“Assistance?” Marphissa laughed at a wild thought. “Tactics? Can you show us how Black Jack fights?”

“Yes.”

Blessed ancestors! Marphissa took a bigger drink. Amazement warred with a feeling of resentment. “That’s… can I explain my feelings to you? Because I’m having a hard time resolving them. On the one hand, I’m thinking how great it would be to have someone teach us a few of Black Jack’s tricks. And with the Alliance fleet having vastly superior power to anything in what used to be Syndicate space, having one of Black Jack’s former officers among us can’t be a bad thing. So, for that I want to kiss you.”

Bradamont took another sip of her drink, raising an eyebrow at Marphissa. “I take it I shouldn’t be freshening my lip gloss right now, though.”

“No, because on the other hand, your Black Jack humiliated us and annihilated our mobile forces, which were crewed by our comrades. That’s bad enough. But now one of his own is descending from on high to show us how to fight. For that, I want to slug you.”

“You don’t usually have that sort of mix of emotions about people, Kommodor?” Bradamont asked.

“Not usually. Or at least not at the same time. What are your emotions, Captain?”

Bradamont looked around again, taking another slow drink. “I understand your feelings. Any professional is going to feel pride in their own work, in their own abilities. They’re going to resent any hint of condescending assistance. But you don’t need any help with the fundamentals. If what you did at Kane is any indication, you are good, Kommodor. As for me, it’s strange. I’ve been on Syndic, excuse me, Syndicate Worlds’ planets before. As a prisoner. Part of me is screaming escape, you fool! Another part of me looks at you in that uniform and tells me I should hate you for all the deaths and destruction of a very long and very senseless war.” She set down her glass and shook her head. “Parts of me are stuck in the past. The rest sees people who are trying to put the past behind them, to make something new, to throw off the bonds that have held them. And you are Colonel Rogero’s people.”

“Colonel Rogero?” Marphissa had to concentrate to remember who that was. “One of General Drakon’s brigade commanders. He is your friend?”

“Yes.”

The single word held more emotion than friends usually inspired. “Ah. All right. There must be an interesting story behind that.”

“There is.” Bradamont leaned back, draping one arm over the back of her chair. “The bottom line is that I knew, because of Colonel Rogero, that Syndics were human, too. That some of you were not just human but very fine humans. That couldn’t change things during the war. I had to keep fighting all of you, and I had to do my best, because regardless of who each of you were as individuals, you were all fighting for something that I couldn’t allow to win.”

“I see.” Marphissa sighed heavily, looking at the unfinished top of the table. “I didn’t want the Syndicate to win, but I was afraid of what might happen when the Alliance won. They showed us pictures of the planets that had been fought over, bombarded— Don’t. I know. We did it, too. I wanted to protect my home. That was all. They taught us you started the war. Did you know that? As kids, they told us it was all the Alliance’s fault. Once you got old enough and high enough in the executive ranks you could learn the truth, that the Syndicate chose to start the war. But, by then, what were you going to do with the knowledge? By then… there wasn’t anything left to do but keep fighting because what else could you do?”

Bradamont gazed back somberly. “You could have revolted while the war was still going on.”

“Some did. Didn’t you hear of those?” Marphissa shuddered and took a long drink, then refilled her glass. “When the Syndicate had mobile forces in abundance, they could deal with rebellion very easily. Traitors died,” she said bitterly. “The worlds of traitors were reduced to ruins, the families of traitors died or were left to struggle amid the rubble of their cities, and the snakes were everywhere. Breathe the wrong words, and you disappeared. Offend a CEO, and your husband or wife or children disappeared. We could have revolted? Dammit, don’t you think we tried?”

“I’m sorry.” Bradamont sounded like she meant it. “In the Alliance fleet, we often complain about fighting our own government. But we’ve endured nothing like that. Nothing like that.”

“They call us traitors now, the Syndicate,” Marphissa continued. “But we’re not. Do you know the funny thing? The entire Syndicate system encourages betrayal. Of your friends and your coworkers and even your spouse or your parents or your children. But then it says you must be loyal to the boss who has no loyalty to you. Damn them. Damn all of them.” Why am I saying this to her? But I could never say it to anyone. Not for all my life.

Bradamont broke an uneasy silence. “But Iceni is different?”

“Yes.”

“What about Drakon?”

“General Drakon? He supports the President. That’s all I need to know.”

“I thought he was a co-ruler,” Bradamont said.

“I suppose technically he is,” Marphissa conceded. “But I respond to orders from the President. What is Black Jack really like?”

“He’s…” Bradamont frowned at her glass. “Not what anyone expected. Not less. More. He’s real.”

“Is he—? They say he— I mean, there’s talk that he is more than—”

“He’s human,” Bradamont said.

“But was he sent? Is he an agent of more than the Alliance?” Marphissa demanded.

“He never claimed to be. I don’t know. That’s way above my pay grade.” Bradamont bent a questioning look on her. “I thought Syndics didn’t believe in that sort of thing.”

“Religions? Faith? All of those have been officially discouraged. We were only supposed to believe in the Syndicate. But people hung on to the old beliefs.” Marphissa shrugged. “Sometimes that was all we had to hang on to. Some people believed in the Syndicate, like somebody else would believe in a divine power, but a lot of them here were shaken in that faith when the Syndicate abandoned us to the enigmas. Did you really see some of the enigmas?”

Bradamont nodded, not fazed by the change in topic. “We saw one. Part of one. We actually learned very little about them. Admiral Geary is convinced that the enigmas would commit racial suicide to keep us from learning more.”

That took a while to sink in. “A race even crazier than humanity? Wonderful.”

“To them,” Bradamont said, “it’s not crazy. To the enigmas, what they’re doing makes perfect sense. Kind of like how the war made sense to humanity.”

“No, there you’re wrong,” Marphissa said, refilling her glass and Bradamont’s as well. “We’ve all known the war was crazy. No one could figure out how to end it. Fighting a war because we couldn’t figure out how to end it. I guess the enigmas aren’t crazier than we are after all. What about the fast ships we saw? The beautiful ships. Can you tell me about the ones in those?”

“The Dancers?” Bradamont couldn’t help smiling. “They’re very, very ugly. And they seem to think in some different ways than us. But there’s still a connection there. They helped us.”

“They saved our primary planet.” Marphissa raised her glass in salute. “I couldn’t believe it possible, actually managing to divert a launched bombardment. To the Dancers!”

“To the Dancers,” Bradamont echoed. “But they are really ugly. Here’s an image.” She offered a data pad. “I’m going to deliver a report on them to your President.”

Marphissa gaped at the image. “Like a wolf and spider having offspring. Seriously? This is how they look? But they drive ships like the ships were part of them. Incredibly graceful. How do their maneuvering systems manage that?”

Bradamont rolled a drink around in her mouth before swallowing it. “We’re pretty sure they drive their ships manually.”

Marphissa jerked in involuntary reaction. “Those kinds of maneuvers at those speeds? Done by manual control rather than automated systems? That’s impossible.”

“It is for us.”

“What can you tell me about the huge ship?” Marphissa pressed.

“The Invincible? We captured it from the Kicks.” Bradamont squinted as she studied the play of light in the amber liquid partially filling her glass. “They’re cute. The Kicks. And crazy. Not leave us alone crazy like the enigmas. Take over the universe if they could crazy. And absolutely fanatical fighters. To the death. They’re in the report for your President, too. Hopefully the Kicks will never make it to human space, but you need to know why you don’t want to go to space controlled by the Kicks.”

“Thank you.” Maybe it was the booze. Maybe it was the shared experiences in warships. But Marphissa felt herself relaxing and smiling at Bradamont with real welcome. “I hope that includes how you captured that huge ship.”

“It was… challenging,” Bradamont commented. “Yeah. We can talk about how we, Admiral Geary’s fleet, that is, beat our enemies.”

Marphissa met the Alliance captain’s eyes, feeling an inner chill that fought her previous sense of warming toward Bradamont. “Like us. How you beat the Syndicate mobile forces.”

“Yes,” Bradamont said in a softer tone as if sensing Marphissa’s feelings. “I meant it when I said that. To help you work out ways to defeat the Syndicate Worlds’ forces that come here to try to regain control of this star system. I can talk about what was done in different engagements, from Corvus all the way to Varandal. Admiral Geary authorized me to do that.”

“Varandal? Isn’t that Alliance space?”

“Yes. That’s where we fought your Reserve Flotilla.”

“Destroyed our Reserve Flotilla, you mean,” Marphissa corrected. She stared at her glass. “I know. CEO Boyens told President Iceni that much, at least, though it seems he left out a lot of other things from when he was your prisoner. We had a lot of friends among the crews of those units. Some people had more-than-friends. The Reserve Flotilla spent a long time out here. They were based in this star system for decades.” Her tones had turned sad, angry, and accusing. Unfair, she knew. It had been war. But, still…

“I’m sorry,” Bradamont said again.

“We’ve both lost plenty of friends, I’m sure.”

Silence for a few moments, then Bradamont spoke with forced cheerfulness. “Have you received a list of prisoners yet?”

“What?” Marphissa asked, wondering if she had heard right.

“A list of prisoners,” Bradamont repeated. “The officers and crew members from the Reserve Flotilla we took prisoner at Varandal after their ships were destroyed.”

Marphissa had been raising her glass for another drink, but now her hand froze in midmotion. “Prisoners? You took prisoners? Not just CEO Boyens?”

“Yes.” Bradamont flinched. “Hadn’t you heard that as soon as Admiral Geary took command, he banned the killing of prisoners?”

“I’d heard that, but I didn’t believe it.”

“It’s true. We stopped executing prisoners—” Bradamont flushed this time. “I can’t believe we ever did it. I can’t believe we sank so low before he reminded us— The point is, we took prisoners. And if we didn’t want prisoners and were in a Syndic-controlled star system, we let their escape pods go. Didn’t you hear that?”

“We heard only what the Syndicate government wanted us to hear,” Marphissa said.

“Oh, yeah. Security. It’s funny what governments justify using security as a reason, isn’t it? Well, I can tell you there are prisoners from your Reserve Flotilla being held at Varandal. A lot of them. I know that.”

Marphissa just stared at Bradamont for what felt like a minute, then managed to speak again. “You’re sure they’re still at Varandal? Not dispersed to labor camps all over the Alliance?”

Once again Bradamont flushed, but this time in anger. “The Alliance never had labor camps. They would have been sent to prisoner-of-war camps. But they were still being processed when the war ended, then nobody wanted them sent to their star system to worry about. They’ve been stuck at Varandal, in the hands of fleet authorities, who have to worry about feeding them and housing them and guarding them and taking care of them until the prisoner-repatriation agreements are finalized. I know because so many of the officers there were complaining about it. The Syndics, I mean the Syndicate Worlds’ government, is supposed to be working out procedures for prisoners of war to be sent home, but the whole process is dragging out, and meanwhile, the authorities at Varandal are stuck with a lot of Syndics they’d love to give back to someone.”

Bradamont’s flush faded into a thoughtful expression. “You guys are someone. You say you know the survivors of the Reserve Flotilla being held at Varandal. Why don’t you send somebody to get them?”

“What? Us?” Marphissa asked, not quite believing what she was hearing.

“Send a converted freighter or two. How many would you need? More than two. Four. No, six. There are about four thousand prisoners from the Reserve Flotilla. It’ll be a little tight, but six converted freighters can haul them if they’re rigged to carry as many people as possible.”

“We can rig—” Marphissa began eagerly before reality imposed itself on her thoughts. “Freighters. All the way across to the Alliance, through space where Syndicate authority is being contested or has already collapsed? Where any Syndicate authority that did exist would be gunning for ships operating on our behalf?” I will not get my hopes up. I will not think this could happen.

“You would have to send an escort,” Bradamont agreed. “A few of your warships.”

“Warships. We only have a few. And you want us to send a convoy escorted by warships to an Alliance star system?”

“That might not be a good idea.” Bradamont took a drink, swirling the liquid in her mouth again for a moment before swallowing. “All right, here’s how you could do it. Just a suggestion,” she added wryly. “Go to Atalia. You’ve got the hypernet gate, so you can use that to get most of the way there. From Atalia, it’s an easy jump to Varandal. Atalia has declared independence from the Syndicate Worlds like you have though it’s not in nearly as good a shape as you are.”

Marphissa nodded wordlessly. They didn’t have to discuss the reasons for that. A border star system would have been pounded mercilessly over the decades.

“Atalia had a Hunter-Killer when we went through there last,” Bradamont continued. “Just one. There’s an Alliance courier ship there, too, maintaining a picket watch at the jump point for Varandal. Your convoy pops in to Atalia, then your warships wait at Atalia while the freighters go on to Varandal.”

“What happens when six former Syndicate freighters show up at Varandal?” Marphissa asked.

“The Alliance authorities will demand to know why they’re there. They won’t destroy them right off the bat. Would you do that if Alliance freighters showed up here?”

“No.” Obstacles. Objections. What could prevent this from working? “Would they release those prisoners to us?”

Bradamont grimaced, rubbing the back of her neck. “Technically, we’re supposed to repatriate them to the Syndicate Worlds. But that’s getting harder with every star system that bails out of the Syndicate Worlds. And we still don’t like the Syndicate Worlds. It wouldn’t be very humanitarian to take people from newly independent star systems and dump them back under Syndic control.”

“Humanitarian?” Marphissa asked sarcastically.

Bradamont responded with a questioning look. “Why did you say humanitarian like that?”

“Because it’s… a joke. No one ever says that and means it. Means what it actually is supposed to mean, whatever that is.”

“Oh.” Bradamont seemed briefly rattled, then refocused. “Then let’s say that, in practical terms, the Alliance fleet wants to be rid of those prisoners at Varandal.”

Marphissa sat her glass down carefully, aware of how her hand was shaking. “How many?” she whispered. “How many did you say?”

“I don’t know exactly. Roughly four thousand. That’s the number people kept throwing around.”

“Four thousand.” Out of how many? But so many times, when ships were destroyed, it happened in a flash, with no chance for survivors. For even four thousand to come out of that battle alive after their ships had been too badly crippled to fight reflected considerable luck. “We had no idea. Many of those men and women are our friends. They’re from here, or nearby star systems.”

“I’m sorry. I would have mentioned it right away if I’d realized—”

“That’s all right.” Marphissa sighed. “We just assumed they were all dead. We had to. That’s how it’s been.”

“I know.” Bradamont grimaced. “We assumed the same when forces were lost to Syndic hands.”

“I’ll need to get President Iceni’s approval for it. We can’t even think about doing this until the, uh, special operation to get rid of the Syndicate flotilla here succeeds. If that operation works, it will mean sending off a flotilla to escort those freighters, and they’ll be gone awhile. That might be a hard sell when we have so few units. To be honest, if it were anyone but President Iceni, it would be an impossible sell. I think our President will jump at the opportunity, but there will be advisers trying to convince her not to do it. Where’s the profit in it?” Marphissa added bitterly. “And General Drakon might be hard to sell on it as well.”

“From what I have heard of General Drakon, he’s not that bad. But he might still need a strong reason.” Bradamont gazed at her somberly, then gestured around them. “This battleship of yours is still being fitted out. Do you have a crew for it?”

“Just a skeleton crew,” Marphissa admitted. “Finding enough trained mobile forces personnel to fill out the crew of a battleship is proving to be a serious challenge, and there’s another under construction at Taroa that will eventually require a crew, too. Our ambitions and hardware exceed our available supply of skilled personnel.”

“Four thousand survivors of the Reserve Flotilla might help you out with that problem,” Bradamont noted.

“That’s right.” Marphissa looked around her at the unfinished compartment they were in, imagining it completed and filled with people she had never expected to see again. “They’re alive, they’re trained, a lot of them thought of Midway as home before they got yanked out of here, and with those reasons, I’ve got a good chance of convincing people in charge to let us go get them. Damn you, I think I do want to kiss you, you Alliance monster.”

Bradamont grinned. “Keep your filthy hands off me, you Syndic scum.”

“Your people also exchange insults to express friendship, Alliance demon?”

“We reserve those kinds of insults for the best of people, Syndic shrew.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Alliance fiend.”

“You’re welcome, Syndic savage.”

“No problem, Alliance ghoul.”

“Happy to oblige, Syndic devil.”

Marphissa paused, realizing that the booze had gone to her head and not caring except that it made concentrating more difficult. She hauled out her comm unit. “Excuse me while I look up some more words.”

“Is it all right if I have another drink while I wait?” Bradamont asked.

“Be my guest, you… Alliance… harpy.”

“Thank you.” Bradamont was checking her own personal unit. “We’re supposed to be getting to know each other, you Syndic… sleaze. I can keep it up as long as you can.”

When Kapitan-Leytenant Kontos, looking worried, finally checked up on them, the bottle was empty and they were leaning on each other, crying over the friends they had each lost.

Marphissa called Manticore to let them know her inspection of the Midway was taking longer than expected.

The next day, hangover controlled but not eliminated by a generous dose of painkillers, she transmitted a “report” of her inspection of the Midway that included the code phrase called for in her written orders (“everything can be done on schedule with proper support”), then led Captain Bradamont, her uniform hidden under standard-issue Syndicate-crew coveralls adorned with the insignia of a Midway Kapitan, to Manticore’s shuttle. Kontos joined her there, unhappy at leaving Midway but obedient to his own orders to also transfer temporarily to Manticore.

A couple of days after that, in company with the newly arrived cruiser, Manticore approached the jump point for the star Maui. Officially, Manticore would escort the cruiser all the way to the home star of most of its crew, Kiribati.

Only three people aboard Manticore knew that in fact she would leave the cruiser when it was most of the way to Kiribati. Kommodor Marphissa, Kapitan-Leytenant Kontos, and the mysterious VIP going by the name of Kapitan Bascare knew that Manticore would jog off to one side, heading for the star named Taniwah, where another hypernet gate could be found.

From the hypernet gate at Taniwah, Manticore would leap back to Midway.

To arrive nose to nose with the Syndicate flotilla commanded by CEO Boyens.