Page 265 of Commander’s Mate

“I am Commander General Zared Maktu of Farseek. We are here to liberate you.”

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

Then a woman near the second row made a sound like something tearing.

“Farseek?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

Hands rose all over the room. Not all. Enough.

“We are taking everyone who wants to leave,” I said. “Farseekian or not. Dress. Take whatever belongs to you. Leave anything you cannot carry. Shuttles are coming.”

No one asked to remain.

The first evacuation shuttle had barely touched down when Degatu’s voice cut across command channel.

“Enemy carrier entered system early. Dread Eight engaging outer escorts. We have troop transports launching ground-side.”

“How long?”

“Less than twelve minutes.”

Too soon.

“Accelerate extraction. Teams do not chase beyond assigned sectors.”

A secondary alarm flashed on my display.

The first lift came up overloaded.

The cage was rated for thirty-two workers.

Fifty-one stepped out.

No.

Forty-nine stepped out.

Two were carried.

Mine dust turned every face the same gray. Men and women stumbled into the processing lane blinking beneath surface lights as if light itself had become unfamiliar. Several wore breathing cloths tied over their mouths. One older male collapsed before the shuttle team reached him.

“Medical marker red,” Pyrr called.

A warrior clipped a priority tag to the man’s borrowed shirt.

I turned toward the lift controls.

“Next cage.”

The console remained dark.

“Tivid.”

Static.

Then his voice returned through my helmet.