Page 50 of Warrior’s Mate

Kaiven stood at the relay's tactical console with a headset pressed to one ear. "I know."

"How many more?"

"Confirmed? Nine hundred fourteen. Likely another two hundred whose trackers are offline."

"Then we need two lifts."

"They don't have time for two lifts."

She looked at him.

"Why?"

He ended the channel before answering. "Orbital conditions are degrading. Sargan ships are moving into the western lane, and the detachment has orders to clear the surface after one extraction cycle."

"Orders from whom?"

"Regional command."

"Can they be changed?"

"Possibly. Not quickly."

Maelis felt anger rise and forced herself to use it instead of letting it use her.

"Then seven hundred places are not seven hundred people. They're seven hundred decisions."

"Yes."

"Who decides?"

"We do."

She had expected him to say command; the answer was worse. Maelis sat down. Registry work had taught her to turn lives into fields without forgetting the lives behind them—food needs, medical status, dependents, mobility, housing, transport. This was different, because this field meant gets out and that one meant stays.

"Children first," she said.

"Agreed."

"Medically fragile."

"Agreed."

"Families stay together where possible."

"Where possible."

She looked at him sharply.

"We're not splitting children from parents to improve capacity."

"I didn't say we were."

"You said where possible."

"Because if one parent is Brigade and must remain for defense—"

"Then that's their decision, not ours."