Shadow of Freedom

“That’s all I can ask for.” Harahap smiled. “Like I say, no one wants you running stupid risks, so look at those options carefully. But if you do decide to move, Admiral Gold Peak will be there for you.”

“Good.”

Indiana looked as if he wanted to say more, but at that moment Alecta reappeared, carrying a tray laden with steaming bowls. She set it down and began distributing food, and Harahap settled back, sniffing appreciatively. The curry smelled just as good as she’d promised, and he allowed himself to look forward to it.

He wasn’t completely satisfied with the evening’s work, and his bosses wouldn’t be either. Fortunately, they were professionals who understood timing was always a problem in an operation like this one, and no one could ever predict how it would work out in the end. Not really. There was always some damned unknown factor waiting around to screw things up, like that idiot Zagorski in Loomis. An entire T-year of preparations and quiet contacts right down the tubes because of him and MacQuarie, and the fumblers hadn’t even turned up evidence that Manticore had been involved with the LLL! Talk about wasted effort! As a general rule, incompetent opponents were a blessing, but when they were too frigging stupid to do their own jobs just when you actually needed them to…

He brushed that thought aside. Done was done, and Loomis hadn’t been his op, anyway. This one was, and he was a craftsman who took pride in his work.

So did those superiors of his who weren’t going to be happy if he couldn’t convince these kids into accelerating their schedule. He didn’t know exactly why that was, and those superiors weren’t about to tell him, but that was fine. He understood the rules, even if they could turn around and bite someone on the arse too often for comfort, and he’d do his best to pull it off. It was obvious he wasn’t going to rush these two after all, though. Indiana was clearly more inclined to act quickly, yet it was equally clear he wasn’t prepared to overrule Mackenzie’s more cautious, analytical approach. His employers were just going to have to settle for the best he could do, and at least they were far more pragmatic—and aware of operational realities and limitations—than some of the people he’d worked for in the past. As long as he was honest in his reports to them they were unlikely to send him a pulser dart just because he hadn’t been able to accomplish the impossible.

Harahap considered the odds as he began ladling curry over a plate of rice. Fifty-fifty, he decided. Maybe as high as sixty-forty, his favor, given Indiana’s aggressiveness, but not any better than that. Still, he’d won a lot of bets at worse odds than that, and if this one didn’t work out, all he and his employers lost was the time and the piddling expense of the weapons they’d provided. Whereas if it did work…

I can live with fifty-fifty, he decided. After all, it won’t be my ass, whichever side craps out.

August 1922 Post Diaspora

“And best of all, if we do it right, the bastards won’t even realize we’re onto them until we hand them over for trial!”

—Captain Cynthia Lecter,

Royal Manticoran Navy

Chapter Thirty-Three

“I suppose that’s just about it, then.” Michelle Henke tipped back in her, rested her right ankle on her left knee, and clasped her hands behind her head. “Unless anyone else has something they think we should be looking at?”

She looked around the officers gathered at the long table in her dining cabin, most of them sipping coffee or munching their chosen form of fingerfood, and quirked an eyebrow. It was an informal looking group, which wasn’t too surprising, considering the fact that their commanding admiral had chosen to hold it here, rather than in her briefing room…and to attend in her Academy sweats and treecat slippers. None of the others were quite that informal, of course—rank did have its privileges, which none of them were so rash as to usurp, however congenial their CO—but there was still an undeniably casual, comfortable feel to the meeting.

“It looks to me like you’ve covered all the points from the agenda, Ma’am,” Gervais Archer said, consulting his minicomp. Then he smiled wryly. “For that matter, you’ve, ah, hit on at least a few additional points.”

Several people chuckled, and Michelle grinned unrepentantly. Organization was a good thing, and she was as organized as anyone until she was certain she’d covered all the points she’d planned on covering. After that, free association was the order of the day as far as she was concerned. In fact, she encouraged it as a way to expose points she hadn’t thought about ahead of time.