Jack Campbell - Perilous Shield

“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 !”

“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.”