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  Jones led the way down another corridor, and the other prisoners rushed after him. Alice brought up the rear, feeling a mix of relief and annoyance that he'd taken her gun and taken charge as well. Well, it's his gun, after all. Still, I was doing all right.

  An office on her right held a couple of civilians cowering behind a desk. Alice ignored them, following the crowd of prisoners as they rounded a corner and hurried up a narrow staircase. The crater gun banged twice, the sound as faint as the snapping of fingers, but the line of fleeing prisoners didn't slow down.

  As she reached the ground-floor landing a door swung open, almost frightening Alice to death. O'Hare stepped through, nodded over the barrel of a crater gun, then followed her up the stairs.

  The shuttle took them from the roof of the police station. They swept low over the spaceport. The port seethed like a kicked anthill, soldiers filling the open area between ships, and Alice heard the rattle of small-arms fire hitting the hull.

  "Well, that's torn it," Harper said glumly. "Stark. Get us out of here. We won't be getting any fuel today."

  The shuttle fled for deep space.

  Chapter 10

  "Here they come."

  Tom, who was watching the shuttle on his own display, didn't look up as Harris spoke. "Accelerate," he said. "And watch for that-"

  "There's the cruiser," Harris interrupted. After a moment he muttered something under his breath, then looked at Tom. "It's a cruiser and a corvette now, Sir."

  The three ships appeared as icons on Tom's display, two in red, one in green. He zoomed in and watched as the shuttle fled toward the Kestrel with the two warships in pursuit. "Get us over there," he said. "I want that shuttle safely back on board before they get crisped."

  "We can reach them in a few minutes," O'Reilly said, "but we'll be hurtling toward the planet when we do."

  And burning fuel at a horrific rate, with more to burn slowing down and changing direction. Not to mention the impossibility of docking with a ship whipping past at thousands of kilometers per hour. "Match velocities with the shuttle," Tom said. "They'll just have to take their lumps until we get there."

  It would take longer to reach the shuttle, but the Kestrel would be moving away from the pursuing ships, not toward them, by the time the shuttle came on board.

  After that there was nothing to do but wait and fight a growing tension as four ships conducted a life-and-death race in maddening slow motion.

  "The shuttle's actually gaining ground," Harris said after a while. He whistled. "That thing can really go."

  "Their fuel won't last," O'Reilly said. "Does anyone know how long an assault shuttle can maintain maximum acceleration?"

  "Thirty-four minutes with full tanks," someone said. "But they used some fuel getting down there and moving around."

  "I'm going to hope for the best and plan on them still accelerating until rendezvous," O'Reilly said. "Intercept in, let me see, eight more minutes."

  As the shuttle entered the landing bay the cruiser fired a trio of missiles in a token display. The Kestrel's lasers destroyed the missiles easily. O'Reilly opened a portal into seventh-dimensional space and Parkland and the pursuing ships vanished.

  "Head for that storm front to starboard," Tom said, and the ship turned. "Any sign of them, Harris?"

  Harris shook his head. "No portals so far." Thirty long seconds passed, and he looked at Tom. "I don't think they're following, Sir."

  For a moment Tom was baffled. They have us outgunned. Why wouldn't they chase us down?

  Because we might be trying to lure them away from the planet, he decided. They won't let us draw them away from their post. He exhaled, letting go of quite a lot of tension. "O'Reilly, you have the bridge. I'm going to talk to Harper."

  Tom found the marine lieutenant in the corridor outside the landing bay. Harper looked weary, his usual perfect posture drooping almost into a slouch. Sweat plastered his short-cropped hair to his skull. "We made a right hash of it, Captain," he said. "We stirred 'em right up, and we didn't get a drop of fuel."

  "Any casualties?" Tom said, and felt a great weight slide off his shoulders when Harper shook his head.

  "We all made it out in one piece. And not just us." Harper jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "We brought back the crew of the Laureline, too." Tom gaped, and Harper grinned. "We got all seven of them. We sort of stumbled across them, and they decided to come with us."

  "Well, that's good," Tom said. Unless we get them all killed. He pushed the thought away. I'll get us all back to Garnet. I'll find a way. "Are they all right?"

  "They's fine," Harper said. "Come in and I'll introduce you."

  "Thank you, Captain. We're most grateful."

  Anderle was a fleshy man in his fifties, the rigid epaulette boards on his shoulders the only part of his body that wasn't soft and rounded. He had a bristling gray mustache that wobbled when he spoke. It was almost hypnotic, and Tom turned away to keep himself from staring. "This is your crew?"

  Anderle nodded to a slender young woman. "This is Janine Greyeyes. She does navigation and logistics for us."

  Her eyes, of course, were not gray. They were brown, and they crinkled in the corners as she smiled up at him. He smiled back, feeling suddenly foolish. "Welcome aboard."

  "Thank you, Captain."

  Anderle kept talking, introducing the rest of his crew, and Tom nodded and said polite things while forgetting their names and faces immediately. He managed not to stare at Janine, but she had almost all his attention. A voice in the back of his head told him he was a fool, that he'd just met her, that his reaction to her was ridiculous.

  It didn't matter. He was smitten.

  "We'll need to get you cabins," he said. "Clothes. Things like that." He scratched the top of his head, unreasonably embarrassed. "Let me see. I could put O'Reilly on that, but he's pretty busy." He lifted his hands in an apologetic shrug. "We lost a lot of crew. Half the crew, in fact. The Kestrel's first battle was pretty ugly."

  Anderle and his people stared at him, shocked.

  "So we lost a lot of infrastructure," he went on. "Let me see. I know the captain's cabin is vacant." He tapped at his bracer. "There. I've unlocked it. You've got a place to freshen up, at least. I'll have to arrange for cabins." He blushed, which embarrassed him so badly his blush deepened. "I'll, ah, send someone to find you as soon as I figure out who's handling cabin assignments." He thought for a moment. "If anyone is handling cabin assignments. Ugh." He grimaced. "I need a ship's clerk or something."

  Harper, the marines, Anderle, Janine, the other rescued merchant spacers, all of them were staring at him. He said, "The mess hall is that way," and pointed. "The captain's cabin is in the spine. Upper deck. Excuse me, I have to go." He spun, hurried to the doorway, then froze. "Um, Lieutenant Harper?"

  Harper, poker-faced, said, "Yes, Captain?"

  "I'm calling a meeting of department heads. You'll need time to change and shower, I guess. Is half an hour good?"

  Harper nodded.

  "Alice?" He looked around and spotted her sitting on the deck behind the marines.

  "Half an hour is fine," she said.

  "Great." He wanted to take one more look at Janine Greyeyes. Instead, he fled into the corridor.

  This time when the department heads met in the boardroom the map was much smaller. O'Reilly kept the projection zoomed right in, reflecting the Kestrel's much-reduced range. Only four star systems could still be reached: Parkland, Hapsburg, Zin, and Jonqing.

  "I'm still inclined to avoid Jonqing," Tom said. "The base at Williams' World means it's a prime target for the enemy." He looked around the table. "Does anyone disagree?"

  No one spoke.

  "All right. There's nothing at Zin. That pretty much leaves Hapsburg. What do we know about it?"

  "It's a bigger colony than Parkland," O'Reilly said. "It's closer to major shipping lanes, too. If the DA is at Parkland, they're at Hapsburg."

  Tom nodded. It made sense. But what else could
they do? He looked around the table. "Anyone else?"

  Harper met his gaze and gave him a fatalistic shrug. "Maybe we should go back to Parkland. Hit 'em with everything we've got. It's bound to be easier than Hapsburg."

  "That's suicide," O'Reilly said.

  Tom said, "Do we have enough fuel to go to Hapsburg, take a peek, and come back to Parkland if the DA is there in force?"

  O'Reilly found a live area on the tabletop, tapped it awake, and did some quick calculations. "Maybe," he said at last. "If the weather is good. One big storm in our path and we'd be sunk. And it means we'd be starting a fight here with empty tanks."

  Not good. Tom frowned, staring into the distance, trying to figure out what to do. Go to Hapsburg and hope against hope the Dawn Alliance wasn't there? Or stay, and start a fight the Kestrel was almost certain to lose?

  What I wouldn't give to not be the one making this decision.

  As he stared he gradually became aware that his unfocused eyes were pointed at Alice. And that she was fidgeting like she needed to go to the bathroom. He blinked, focused, and found she was staring right back at him. Looking just as trapped as he felt.

  He said, "Alice? Do you have something to say?"

  There was a long, tense moment of silence. Then she nodded. "Yes, Sir. There's another option." She took a deep breath. "It's at Zin. On the fringe of the system. There's a planet called the Boot. It's got one moon. The Slipper. They're lifeless hunks of rock way out in deep space. You can't even pick out the sun from there. It's just another star."

  "What's there?" he said.

  Alice hesitated, but seemed to realize the cat was already out of the bag. "There's a Free Planets base there. We converted the old mining facility on the Boot. We made it into a supply depot. There's even a bare-bones shipyard. We call it Rivendell." She looked around the table. "Because it's a place for secret meetings?"

  The others gave her blank looks, and she frowned. "Anyway, it's a closely-guarded secret." Her lips twisted as she said those words. "The Dawn Alliance probably doesn't know it exists."

  Tom said, "Will they welcome us?"

  Alice lifted her hands in a shrug. "A couple of days ago, I would have said yes. But if the DA really isn't attacking the colonies …"

  "Is the base defended?"

  Alice shook her head. "We don't have the resources."

  Harper said, "So, if we have to, we can just take the fuel we need." He looked at Alice. "Sorry, Alice."

  "We'll ask nicely," Tom said. "We have to have fuel, though." Alice looked utterly miserable, but he had the entire crew to worry about. "Alice. What else can you tell us about this base?"

  The ship was in hyperspace moving toward the Zin system and Tom was in the wardroom eating breakfast when his bracer chimed. He looked at his forearm and was startled to find "Message From Janine Greyeyes" displayed there. Someone must have added the civilians to the internal com net. He spent a few seconds savoring the moment, then tapped the notification.

  The message was brief and to the point. She apologized for interrupting him and asked if she could see him before his shift started.

  Tom felt his cheeks stretch in an ear-to-ear grin. He glanced around, double-checking he was alone, then did a quick fist-pump in the air. He wouldn't have believed he could be so besotted with someone he'd barely met, but she'd haunted his thoughts since their introduction the day before.

  It was a perfectly idiotic time to be lovestruck, but since he couldn't help himself he decided to relax and roll with it. He considered inviting her to the wardroom, or suggesting they meet in the captain's cabin. Finally he sent her directions to the boardroom, then finished his breakfast and spent a couple of frustrating minutes trying to get his hair to all lie down. Then, filled with a giddy mix of nerves and anticipation, he went to meet her.

  To his abject disappointment Anderle was in the boardroom with Janine. Both of them wore Navy work uniforms. Neither uniform was a perfect fit, but they were close. They rose as he came in, then sat back down as he took a seat.

  Tom leaned back in his seat, doing his best impression of a dignified frigate captain rather than an infatuated schoolboy. "Captain Anderle. Ms. Greyeyes. What's this about?"

  "Please." She smiled. "Call me Janine."

  "I'm here in case I can help," Anderle said. "It's Janine who's done all the work, though. She's a dynamo when she gets started." He waved a hand at Janine and leaned back in his chair.

  "I was thinking about what you said yesterday, Captain, about needing a ship's clerk. I hope you don't mind, but I've been talking to a lot of your crew and asking questions about your procedures." She frowned, making a line appear between her dark eyebrows. "In most cases, there was one set of procedures before the radiation incident, and quite a different set of procedures after."

  Tom nodded, wondering where this was leading.

  "My background is logistics," she said. "I thought I might be able to help." She looked at him, her expression a bit anxious, and he gave her an encouraging nod.

  "I sorted out cabin assignments," she said. "There's a list in the ship's computer now. There were crew sharing rooms while dozens of rooms went empty. I split up all the doubles, and I left empty rooms between people where I could. Since you've got the space, people might as well get some soundproofing."

  "All right," said Tom. "That's good, I guess."

  "We only had the clothes we were wearing," she went on, glancing down at her borrowed uniform. "So I started organizing clothing and laundry. The ship used to have a pretty good laundry system." Her face went sad for a moment. "But the people who ran it are mostly dead. Now most people are doing their own laundry. It's really inefficient. Sometimes the washer units are idle, and other times there's lineups, and nobody can plan ahead."

  Tom fidgeted. "We've had other priorities …"

  "Of course," she said. "I completely understand. But I wanted to be useful." She gestured at Anderle. "We all did. And we wanted laundry, of course. So I made us – the crew of the Laureline, I mean – I made us into a laundry team. We've got a roster and a schedule, and people can drop off their laundry in the bins like they did before. We're washing everything and delivering it to people's quarters."

  "Oh." Tom blinked. "Really? That's great."

  She beamed. "I was hoping that was what you'd say." The smile vanished. "Um, I took an additional liberty."

  An awkward silence stretched out until Tom said, "Yes?"

  "There's a bit of a slop chest," she said. "Most of it went to the pir – er, the Free Planets crew. But there's dozens and dozens of uniforms and clothing just sitting in drawers in the empty crew quarters."

  In the quarters of the dead, in other words.

  Her cheeks reddened. "I didn't want to be disrespectful. But I really wanted to change out of my old uniform. So I started my people making an inventory of clothing and the like from your … lost … crew. We've been moving things out of the empty rooms. Three or four rooms are set up now for clothing storage. You go in, you find something in your size, and you register the tag."

  Tom said, "Register the tag?"

  "So we can get it back to you after it's gone through the laundry," she said. "Everything's tagged. Otherwise you'd never get your own shirts back."

  "Oh." He considered that, feeling foolish. He'd never thought about the mechanics of laundry on a large scale before. "I see. Well, I guess that's … I guess it's the best thing to do."

  Janine nodded, solemn and sad. "Your shipmates wouldn't want their quarters to become shrines. If I was lost during a voyage, I'd want my friends to put my stuff to use."

  She's about the size of Brady, he thought, remembering the lieutenant who'd been his mentor and his friend during his first days on the Kestrel. I wonder if she's wearing anything of Brady's. She wasn't, of course. Janine wore a spacer's uniform, not an officer's. Still, the idea disturbed him.

  However, she was right. There was nothing healthy or practical about refusing to touch the quarters or t
he possessions of fallen crew.

  "Tell him about the database," Anderle said.

  When Tom raised an eyebrow Janine said, "I want to create a database of skills. Who's good at what, beyond their basic job description. So when you need a vibration welder you don't have to ping the whole crew."

  She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, her voice warming with enthusiasm. "On a little boat like the Laureline we all know what everybody can do. On a big ship like this, if I understand it correctly, it's your crew chiefs and lieutenants who know it all. But they never wrote it down. They carried it all in their heads, and now it's lost. So you need a more formal system. Someone has to interview your crew one by one, or maybe send around a questionnaire. And then we'll enter it in a database."

  "She says 'will'", Anderle said with a wry grin. "Like she hasn't already started."

  Janine flashed a sheepish grin. "I couldn't sleep last night. So I put together a basic database and I entered what I could think of for the crew of the Laureline. It won't be difficult to add records for your crew."

  "Thank you," Tom said. "We should have thought of all that stuff on our own."

  "I'm a bored logistics expert," she said. "You and your crew have other skills, and other priorities. I'm just glad I could help."

  Tom nodded, then grinned and said, "Do you have any more suggestions?"

  He meant it as a joke, but she nodded back. "Yes. You should start a memorial wall."

  "A … what?"

  "We lost a couple of people last year," she said. "It was rough. The Laureline's a small ship. We were pretty tight. We had to use their cabins. Their gear. Someone else sat in their usual chairs at mealtimes. It was necessary, but it hurt." For a moment her eyes stared into the past. "But we couldn’t just pretend they'd never been aboard. So we picked a section of bulkhead by the forward cargo hold, and we made a memorial."

  "A memorial?" He felt foolish parroting her words, but he had no idea what else to say.

  "Nothing obtrusive," she said. "We wrote messages. Jerry did a couple of sketches. The rest of us just wrote things. Goodbye. I miss you. I still laugh when I remember that time you spilled the noodle soup. That kind of thing."