“Captain,” Basterra called, striding toward her. “We didn’t expect you back for two days. I have three pallets left for the Pegasus, and—”
“I know, Cargomaster. I need to speak to you. Please come with me.”
Basterra glanced at Ronan with a frown. “Ser Janek—”
Ronan moved up behind Basterra, who thought better of further argument. The three of them climbed the ramp into the shuttle. Cynara steered Basterra into the passenger compartment and glanced into the cockpit. The pilot for this run was not, unfortunately, Lizbet. Cynara could only hope that Jesper had thought of sending a message to her as well.
“Something has come up, Cargomaster,” she said. “Council’s orders. I must return to the Pegasus immediately. The rest of the cargo can come later.”
“If you will show me the orders, Captain—”
“Are you questioning my authority?” She smiled in Basterra’s face. “There is at least one informant aboard the Pegasus, Basterra. I know you’ve got your own contacts in the Council, and dubious loyalty to me. Still, I wouldn’t advise direct defiance.”
Basterra backed down with the usual bluster and bumped into Ronan, who also smiled. The expression looked uncomfortably alien on his face.
“Ronan, please stay with the Cargomaster while I speak to the pilot.” Don’t be too late, Kord. She caught a final glimpse of Basterra’s worried face before Ronan herded him into one of the seats.
Second Pilot Jauregi had more respect than to question her order to prepare the shuttle for imminent departure. ‘The tower is hailing us, Captain,” he said.
“No response.” The controller on duty might howl, but they weren’t likely to shoot at the shuttle or its crew without explicit Council authority.
Jauregi resumed systems checks while Cynara took a quick survey of the shuttle and retrieved her sidearm from her locker. Some crew were still at large on Dharma, but that couldn’t be helped. She’d have enough essential personnel to take the Pegasus where it needed to go.
One of the dockhands came up the ramp and stuck his head through the hatch. “Cargomaster?”
“We’re preparing for emergency departure,” Cynara said before Basterra could speak. “Please seal the hold and move your men away from the perimeter.”
The men who loaded cargo, whether onto a starship or a seagoing vessel, were used to taking orders. The dockhand shrugged and went back down. Out the open hatch Cynara saw a car speeding across the field.
Either it was Kord, or someone bent on stopping them. “Strap in, Ronan,” she advised. “As for you, Basterra—”
But Ronan was already moving past her into the cockpit. He emerged with an unconscious Jauregi over his shoulder.
“Your an’laik’in was disobedient, Aho’Va,” he said, dumping Jauregi onto the deck. “He intended to impede our departure. I will take his place.”
She threw a hard look at Basterra, little doubting where Jauregi’s true loyalty lay. “You can pilot the shuttle?”
“It should not be difficult.”
Ronan didn’t wait for her decision. He settled in the pilot’s seat, his hands flying over the controls.
“Cargo hatch is sealed,” he reported. “All systems green.”
Down on the field, the dockhands had moved well away from the shuttle. The approaching car skidded to a stop at the foot of the ramp. The passenger door flew open.
Lizbet jumped out, a pack slung over her back. The car began moving again, and Kord abandoned the vehicle while it rolled in a wide circle away from the Thalassa.
“About time,” Cynara said as Kord and Lizbet hurtled through the hatch. “Ronan?”
The engine hummed under her feet. “One minute.”
“Cargomaster, you may leave the shuttle with your pilot. You will not be seeing the Pegasus again.”
Basterra eyed her as if he were actually considering attack. Kord heaved Jauregi from the deck and shoved him into Basterra’s arms. Siroccan was a language beautifully adapted for elegant cursing.
“Ready, Aho’va,” Ronan called. Kord propelled Basterra down the ramp and sprinted back to take his seat.
Cynara ran a final check and strapped in. Bulkheads vibrated. The hatch closed and just as suddenly opened again.
Janek walked into the passenger compartment, turned, and sealed the hatch behind him. He clutched a small black object in one hand. Cynara aimed her gun at his head.