Sensing that Amaris is completely serious, with great reluctance, you parade Babcock in front of the viewer. Amaris's eyes narrow at the bindings and gags, and he speaks softly.
"Don't worry, old friend. I'll make sure you make it home safely."
Then he regains his bearings, and addresses the remainder of you. "I can see that you've got a flight plan taking you along the plane of the system out towards the Belters. I'm assuming that you're actually making for a pirate point somewhere out beyond Jupiter where you'll make rendezvous with a JumpShip that you called for from the Winnipeg HPG. Go ahead. If you want safe passage out of the system, at this point, you can have it - you've earned it. You're not worth wasting any more of my troops dealing with. But what you are going to do is leave Anton at Io Station, alive and unharmed, with sufficient food, water, and life support for a minimum of seven days. I'm dispatching a squadron from the nadir jump point to pick him up. Further, you will have no contact with the ships currently docked at Io Station whatsoever. They'll make a fine addition to my navy, once I get around to retrieving them, and can figure out where to get new crews. So you understand how serious I am about getting Anton back, I want to you watch this."
His images fades into a new scene. The shot is taken from a starport, in winter. Pearlescent snow covers the ground, and ice sheathes the fencelines and power cables that lay strewn about. The scene is marred by black scorch marks and scars of war. Someone attacked this place, hard. The control tower stands like a broken fang, snapped off and blackened fifty feet above the ground. Smoking and flattened personal vehicles and small, unmoving bundles of rags litter the tarmac. You recognize this place as the ruins of the Winnipeg Starport. In the background, you can only assume the rising smoke emanates from the HPG station. The person holding the camera holds this image for several seconds, then slowly pans around to show a ruined barracks, with a black-and-red painted Jackrabbit standing in the middle of it, its weapons pointing down at the backs of a group of battered survivors. About two dozen men, women, and children stand in a line against the broken ferrocrete wall. One, a Hispanic woman with a bloody gash on her forehead and raven hair, holds two young boys against her sides with their faces turned towards her, her hands on the backs of their heads. She looks directly into the camera for a moment, staring sheer bloody defiance into the unblinking eye, and then turns her face downwards. Come, Miguel, James,, you hear her say, it's the holidays. Can you sing with me?. Slowly, haltingly, she lifts her voice up in the eternal carol of the season. Silent night! Holy night! All is calm, all is bright.. The quavering voices of the boys join that soul-aching soprano lift. Round yon Virgin, mother and child. Then all of the prisoners are singing. Most are looking away, some looking seemingly right at you. Holy infant so tender and mild. Sleep in heavenly peace! Sleep in-. A sickeningly bright azure light fills the screen as the camera's filters overload. The sound cuts out completely. Slowly, the image filters back, grainy at first, and then with horrific clarity, showing clearly about two dozen blackened silhouettes starkly outlined on the brick wall. The camera pans back around and upward to show a black-and-red Griffin standing about twenty meters distant, its PPC smoking and with a shimmering heat rising from its sinks. Then the image cuts out completely to show the watery blue eyes staring out at you again.
"Let me be clear, gentlemen. I want Anton back. I was mildly piqued that my forces were unable to stop a company of SLDF troops from getting offworld, though to be honest, I expected something like that to happen sooner or later. This was how I deal with a spot of mild pique. If I don't get Anton back, alive and unharmed, I add, then I may have to throw a tantrum. Do I make myself clear?"
He grins at your ashen faces. "I thought so." The viewer goes black.