Free Starship's Mage: Episode 5 by Glynn Stewart Page B

only reasons Damien hadn’t already jumped them away was David’s strict orders not to jump without waiting twelve hours from the last time. Once the Captain revoked that order, he settled his hands on the Simulacrum.
    Energy flowed through him as he aligned the runes inlaid into his palms with the gaps and the models, and he relaxed into the warming sensation.
    “Jumping,” he reported, and channeled the spell.
    One indistinguishable moment later, and the freighter was somewhere else – and Damien’s migraine was back. At least he wasn’t bleeding like he’d been after pushing the first six jumps.
    “We’ve bought ourselves at least some time,” David told Damien and the others over the intercom. “Everyone get some rest – especially you, Damien. In six hours, I need you to jump us again.
    “Then, once we’ve got a bit more space between us and these assholes, I’m calling a staff meeting,” the Captain continued. “I’m starting to run out of clever ideas, so I’m planning on stealing all of yours.”
     
    #
     
    Alaura paced her office on the Tides of Justice impatiently. She’d configured the one bare wall to show her the view of the asteroid below, and it was a depressing sight.
    Darkport had been hammered hard, and it turned out that their main hangars weren’t even working anymore. Brigadier Raphael’s transports had ended up having to blast their way into the station to deliver desperately needed oxygen resupply.
    For all that the second thing the Brigadier’s men had done was arrest the entire ruling council of the station – all Falcone Dons, wanted for dozens of crimes across the Protectorate – they’d been greeted as rescuers and heroes. Julian Falcone, who had met the Marines when they boarded and pre-emptively surrendered himself, had not understated the situation.
    Raphael’s men judged that they’d had less than twenty minutes to spare when they’d blasted new tunnels into the blocked off third of the station and set up field oxygen supplies. There had been fourteen hundred people in that part of the station, and every one of them owed their lives to the Protectorate.
    The Protectorate was now in unquestioned control of the notorious station that had spawned a lot of black spots on recent history. The last twenty hours were easily described as ‘a good day’s work,’ but Alaura still had a problem.
    They had no idea where either the Blue Jay or Mikhail Azure’s Azure Gauntlet had gone. Darkport wasn’t a place for requiring flight plans on good days, let alone while under attack by overwhelming force.
    Now that Raphael’s men were in control of the station, he had a cyber-warfare team quietly tearing through the computers. Alaura’s hope was that they would find some clue that would permit to chase one of the two ships.
    A pinging chime from her wrist personal computer interrupted her reverie, and she threw the call up on the wall-screen, superimposing it over the image of Darkport.
    “Brigadier,” she greeted Raphael. “Do you have good news?”
    “Not sure yet, ma’am,” the soldier, still wearing his combat exo-suit despite having declared the station secure four hours ago, told her. “I have someone who is insisting on speaking to the ‘leader of your tin cans out there’, and since she managed to sneak into my command post past half a platoon of very capable security types, I figured she might well be worth your time.”
    Raphael gestured, and the camera rotated to show a woman dressed in a dark blue jumpsuit. For a moment, Alaura thought she was a small woman, and then realized that the soldiers flanking her were still in exo-suits. The intruder was easily six feet tall, with short-cropped black hair and dark eyes that were currently unreadable.
    “I am Alaura Stealey, Hand of the Mage-King of Mars,” Alaura introduced herself calmly. “You’ve managed to impress my Brigadier. Who are you, and why do you wish to speak with me?”
    “A Hand, huh?” the