Page 93 of Commander’s Mate

I wanted to take all twenty-six.

That was not rescue.

That was me deciding.

We repaired enough life support to keep the freighter alive.

We transferred the eighteen who chose to leave.

We documented the eight who did not, with private contact routes if they wanted later help.

The child left with her mother.

Good.

When we returned to the convoy, we were twenty-nine minutes behind schedule.

Dreadnought Three had held formation.

No attack.

No lost medicine.

The convoy commander was furious.

He paid us anyway.

Because the contract said he had to.

Back aboard, Harper waited in tactical.

“You stole workers.”

“Eighteen.”

“Rescued.”

“Depending on local law.”

“Local law can bite me.”

I smiled.

She looked at the contract.

“What about the eight?”

“They stayed.”

Her anger disappeared.

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Did they understand?”

“As well as we could ensure.”